#my love language is forcing people to read/watch my hyperfixations | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justwearthegoddamncardigan · 1 year

Note

Hello:)))

I haven't seen anything against this but if u feel uncomfy with this just ignore it please!

Could you do a newt x autistic fem!reader? Like they find it hard to deal with noise, panic attacks, stims, hyperfixations and being tired from masking?? Again if this makes you uncomfy please ignore it. Thanks:))))

Ahhhhh thank you for this ask!! Don't worry it's not uncomfortable at all - I just want to make sure my representation is done well ❤❤

Tides

Newt x autistic!fem!reader

Set during tmr (movieverse)

Notes: okay so, so far in my fics I've written representations of asexual and deaf people. With the ace!reader I wrote that from my own experiences, and for the deaf!reader I've had interactions with the deaf community, so I had a bit of background. However, I don't know a lot of autistic people, so my representation in this fic is completely research-based. Please let me know if anything should be changed - it is really not a problem to go through and make edits

Warnings: language, feelings of insecurity due to autism, panic attacks, minor injuries (some blood and stitches, not detailed though)

You think you've acclimated to the Glade pretty well.

The first day was... pretty shit.

You'd been dropped in a strange place, blocked in by a massive hulking Maze, and you spent the whole day forcing yourself to maintain eye contact and make awkward conversation with people who were clearly trying their best to be friendly (or flirtatious, but you ignore those).

You think back to that first night, during the celebration bonfire.

This whole bonfire situation is starting to overwhelm you. You can hear the raucous shouts of drunk boys bombarding your senses, and their voices overlap to form a huge wall of noise that starts to crash down on you.

It's like you're drowning. You feel your breaths start to quicken and your palms grow sticky, and something in you tells you to get out.

You stand abruptly, walking quickly away from the group and into the open field.

You gulp in deep lungfuls of the cool night air and try to calm yourself, not bothering to wipe away the tears sliding down your face.

Newt had come to find you that night, and had comforted you gently.

In an overwhelmed rant, you'd ended up spilling out all your feelings and explaining your issue with the noise of the other Gladers.

You remember stepping back, terrified that you sounded crazy or weird, but Newt had actually understood what you were going through, and kept you company in the field for the night.

⭒----⭒

"Morning Y/n," greets Jeff as you enter the medical hut.

You'd been chosen to be a Medjack by the end of your first week, and have been training for a while now.

You mostly watch Clint and Jeff bandage the regular scrapes, and practice making the cures and salves from the herbs and medicines in the storage cupboard.

There are tens of ingredient combinations for each different cure, but you memorised them all within a week. You'd stolen Jeff's booklet of cure methods and learnt them while reading at breakfast, fingers tapping on the table as your eyes flicked across the pages.

You're always moving your hands, whether that's drumming your fingers on whatever surface is near, or shaking your hands, or just playing with your fingers.

You get some weird looks for it sometimes, and usually end up shoving down the instinct.

You don't read at lunch though, cause Newt always flops down and starts ranting about whatever Glade disaster he had to deal with in the morning. You love chatting with him and Minho, and Alby too when he pops up on occasion.

You were worried that after your spill in the field on the first night Newt would treat you differently, but he mostly just made subtle movements to make you comfortable.

He always finds you on the nights you stay up for hours mass-making salves for burns that haven't even happened, too lost in your work to notice that the rest of the Glade has already gone to bed.

On some of those nights he simply provides quiet company by sitting in one of the medical beds, but if he think's you're not sleeping enough he'll persuade you to stop your task and go to bed.

⭒----⭒

Most days you can hide your differences.

You can force yourself to hold your hands still and look straight into people's eyes when they're talking, and smile along.

But it's exhausting, and it's all started to build up in your head.

One afternoon, you're still worn out from trying to just act normal the previous night, and it's not at all helped by the commotion outside.

The yelling fills your ears and swells as the voices grow closer to the medical hut.

"What's going on?" mutters Clint, looking out the window in frustration.

You focus and try to tune out the noise, going back to the hangover cures you're making for the next Greenie bonfire.

"Hey! We need Medjacks!" calls the boys from outside.

"Shuck," says Jeff, rushing out to check on them.

"C'mon Y/n, sounds like a few injured," says Clint, lightly touching your shoulder.

You shrug the hand off automatically, before realising and sending him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry," you say, looking down.

"Nothing to be sorry for," replies Clint with an easy smile. Then he looks outside, concerned. "I'll go out with Jeff, you stay and prepare the hut."

You nod and wrench your focus away from the hangover cures.

Alright Y/n, you can do this. You lock down that feeling of wrong that comes from forcing yourself away from making the cures when you were fully immersed in them just seconds ago.

You're usually pretty good with patients, but you're drained from way too many difficult interactions last night, plus the noise from outside the hut.

The noise gets worse as a bunch of boys barge through the door.

"Accident with the Builders," explains Clint as he stumbles in holding up an injured Glader.

The guy probably fell from one of the roofs.

Clint manoeuvres the guy onto a bed and turns to you. "Jeff and I 'ave gotta deal with this guy, can you check on the rest?"

"Okay," you respond, head starting to ache from the noise.

The rest aren't really injured, just a bit scratched or bruised.

There's one guy that needs stitches though, so you sit him down on a bed and give him some anaesthetic.

"Woah, what are you doing with that?" he yelps as you lift a needle.

"You need stitches," you tell him, gesturing to his arm like it's obvious, cause it is.

"C'mon, man suck it up," jeers one of the other Builders.

You're head begins to pound.

You reach out and hold his arm steadily as you begin stitching the wound closed.

The noise has passed breaking point by a long way now, as the boys start shouting "ew" and "dude, can you feel that".

The sound of their voices increase tenfold as Newt walks into the hut.

"Alright, what the shuck happened?" he demands.

He doesn't see you surrounded, caged in on your low stool with tall boys standing around you yelling.

Your breaths start shuddering through your chest and you grip your needle tighter to stop your shaking hands as you struggle to finish the stitches.

The boys start loudly explaining their stories.

"Gally was just barking orders-"

"And Ryan fell off his shuckin' ladder-"

"-idiot kicked me in the face on the way down."

"Then Pete sliced his goddamn arm open-"

The sound of their voices lances through your head and you rush to finish and bandage Pete's arm, tossing the needle on the table and raising your hands to cover your ears.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hunching over and hyperventilating at this point.

You need out. You need to get away. But there's people all around you, and the exit is so far away.

"Hey, uh- You okay?" Pete's worried voice barely manages to cut through the waves of noise crashing over you.

"Oi, move aside." Newt shoves through the wall of people, and he inhales sharply as he sees you.

"Alright. Everyone out," he commands, pointing out the door. "You too Pete."

Newt tugs the curtain closed around the cubicle and bends down beside you.

"Y/n, hey, hey. Can you hear me? Just breath, you're okay." He reaches out and gently guides your hands from their clamped position over your ears.

"That's good. You hear me now, yeah? It's just us. I promise it's okay. You wanna open your eyes?"

Your breaths slow down a little as you open your eyes and meet his concerned gaze.

He gives you a smile. "That's really good, Y/n. Just focus on me. Here, breathe with me."

You sit there for a few minutes, just inhaling and exhaling and matching Newt's rhythm.

You let out a shaky breath. "Thanks," you say, voice scratchy.

He opens an arm in offer, and you know that you could say no with a simple shake of the head.

But the comfort would be nice right now.

You slide off the stool and onto the floor with him, slumping against his body and pressing your face into his shoulder as he rubs soothing circles on your back.

⭒----⭒

Dinnertime passes and you stay in Medjack hut, continuing with the hangover cures you were making earlier.

It calms your head; first bottle, one drop, second ingredient, mix, next component, etc, then repeat the whole thing.

"Hey." Jeff knocks gently on the door. "Some of the boys wanna apologise for earlier. I told them I'd just pass the message on."

"Thank you," you say with a smile.

"Here, Clint got some dinner for you." Jeff sets the plate down on your table. "Make sure you don't sleep too late, okay?"

You nod. "Promise."

"Alright, night Y/n."

⭒----⭒

You definitely do not keep to that promise.

When there's enough hangover cures for the next three months, you move on to stomach medicine and re-rolling bandages, then you rearrange the entire storage cupboard and wash all the equipment.

You don't even know how much time has passed until Newt walks in.

He doesn't say anything, just leans on the wall until you see him (which takes a concerningly long period of time).

"Newt," you say, only half surprised.

"I missed you at dinner earlier."

He catches your guilty glance at the food on the table, now cold.

"Ah." He picks up the plate. "We'll get you breakfast tomorrow. Come with me to the bin."

Your gaze flicks back to the work table, calling you to come back and keep making the cold cures.

"Y/n, please walk with me." He gives you an pointed look and raises his eyebrows. Then he extends his hand towards you with a grin.

You huff and push away from the table, grabbing his hand and interlocking your fingers with his as you stand in the doorway.

He looks at you, thrown off for a second.

You tilt your head at him. "Are we gonna go or..."

"Yeah, let's go," he says, breezing out. You laugh as he yanks on your hand to pull you with him.

"Are you okay, after earlier?"

"I think so. Or at least, I will be, after a while."

He tosses the food in the bin and turns to you.

"So why aren't you sleeping then?"

"Why aren't you?" you shoot back.

"I was waiting for you," he responds easily.

It's a simple sentence, but it warms you all the way down to your toes.

"I won't be able to sleep, even if I go to bed," you admit. "Too much going on in here," you say, tapping your head with a finger.

He seems to think for a moment. "Walk with me again."

"Where?"

"Keepers' personal huts," he replies, grinning.

You stop walking for a second, and he turns to face you.

"Unless-"

You step forward and take his hand again. "I really think it's unfair that you guys get your own huts."

The grin returns.

"I'm just walking there with you, though," you clarify with a raised eyebrow.

The moon illuminates his smile. "Of course."

Your heartrate picks up a little as you walk closer - but in the good way, like fluttering.

You and Newt have sort of been dancing around each other for a while. You're not oblivious, and you know how you feel, but you haven't done anything about it so far.

You’ve been trying to hype yourself up to confess your feelings, but you haven’t been able to do it yet.

Part of you is worried he’ll be creeped out by how you feel for him. Who would want to deal with all your problems in a relationship?

But at the same time you can see that he likes you too, at least a little bit.

You know he cares about you from the way he takes care of you and genuinely wants to know you.

And you’re pretty sure it’s not just friendly feelings. He always blushes at your embarrassingly lame attempts at flirting, and you think he tries to flirt back in his own way. You're not sure about that one though.

Anyway, you get to his hut, and he opens the door and walks in.

"Y/n." You realise you've been standing in the doorway for while now.

"Yeah."

"Close the door behind you," he says, deliberately vague.

He turns and starts casually rearranging the few things in the room, giving you time to decide.

You glance at the door handle.

Then you step into the room and shut the door behind you.

He sits on the bed, fiddling with the blanket nervously.

You both seem to keep switching from confident to shy, like tides pulling back and forth.

It's getting old. You definitely need to confess soon, and just get it all out.

There's one low-burning torch in the room, so you can see as he moves to lie down on the bed.

The other side of the bed has more than enough room for you to fit comfortably.

"Y/n. I'm not gonna do anything," he says softly.

You snort. "That's a great line."

You can feel the way he rolls his eyes. "Let's just sleep, okay?"

You move carefully into the bed beside him, pulling the blanket over yourself.

There's a safe distance between the two of you, and you lie on your sides facing each other.

There's a few beats of silence before Newt speaks again.

"You're still awake."

You huff out a soft laugh. "That would've been a fast time to fall asleep in."

He doesn't respond.

You sigh. "Everything is too much," you tell him. "I can't- There are too many feelings. The noise from earlier... everyone was just yelling so much, and it's like it's still in my head."

He nods understandingly.

"Okay," he says. "Let's try something. Listen out, what can you hear?"

You sigh again. "It's not that easy."

"I know, just humour me."

"Okay. I can hear..." you pause listening. "There's a bit of breeze."

"From where?" he asks, shifting slightly.

"The w- window." Your voice stutters as his hand brushes yours, both your arms bent at the elbow.

Oh. That's what he's doing.

"I can hear you," you say quietly.

"You can," he agrees. He brushes his fingers with yours again.

"Oh for fuck's sake." You grab his hand and hold it properly.

He lets out a soft chuckle. "So, is the noise any better?"

"Yeah..." You can't concentrate. You're basically breathing the same air as him now.

"There was one other thing," you say. "Keeping me up."

"And what was that?"

You've just gotta tell him. It's taking up way too much energy to keep it down.

"I kind of like you," you whisper. "Without the kind of. I mean, I like you. A lot. Was kinda hoping you feel the same."

Your heart drops for a second when he lets go of your hand, but he just moves to pull you closer. You melt against him, tangling your legs together as he wraps his arm around your waist.

"I like you too," he says. "Also a lot."

"Okay," you say, smile stretching involuntarily. "That's all, then. I think I can sleep now."

"Yeah? I'm glad." He pauses. "One more thing though."

"Hm-" he cuts you off with a kiss.

You pull back, surprised.

"Shuck, shuck, sorry. I meant to ask but then I got... and I forgot, shuck-"

"Newt. It's fine. Just caught off guard."

"Oh, okay."

There's a pause.

"Newt?"

"Yeah"

You lean in, and he meets you in the middle.

You fall asleep easily after that, after exchanging a few more soft kisses.

This one was pretty rushed at the end so it probably feels a bit messy there. I might go back and edit but every time I say that I don't do it so we'll see. Apologies for the weird ending, for now.

Side note that I desperately wanted to have in the fic but couldn't figure out how to squeeze in:

Y/n gets tired of suppressing her stims sometimes (the hand movements and tapping stuff) so sometimes Newt's just like 'here' and they sit together while she plays with his hands instead of her own. They get a pen and sometimes she just draws stars and hearts all over his hands.

Thank you for anon for requesting, and thank you for reading!

@idkwhattonamethishi16 thank you for the lovely words I’m glad you enjoyed ❤️ (writing this here cause my comment thing doesn’t work lol)

#the maze runner #tmr newt #newt x reader #newt x you #tmr newt x reader #my writing

90 notes · View notes

robertseanleonardthinker · 8 months

Text

can i just talk abt how goddamn isolating being autistic is (for me at least)

big rant ahead

like of course for the more obvious reason of i can't read social cues and i have trouble interacting/socializing with people. but like there's so much more to that and i haven't seen anyone else ever talk abt it. it makes me think maybe this is just me who feels like this.

i fucking wish i could be like everybody else. i wish i could express my feelings in a normal way. i wish i could show people i loved them properly. in ways where there's absolutely no doubt about it.

my boyfriend knows he's loved by physical touch. that's his love language. i hate being touched. i don't like hugs and i don't like hand-holding and i don't like cuddling. sometimes i can make myself do it but most of the time i can't and it kills me to know he's not getting the love he needs or deserves. just because my brain isn't the right way.

it's hard for me to even understand the feeling of love. it's hard for me to understand all of my feelings. but especially one so complicated. i don't get it. it confuses me. it's weird and complicated and makes me feel arrrggggshghfgr. i never had crushes (or i guess never knew i did maybe?) as a kid and it made me feel left out. i would pretend to have crushes on people just to feel like everybody else.

i used to think i was good at reading social cues up until somewhat recently. the reason i thought this is because i never knew what i was missing. it wasn't there for me. it wasn't until i heard a neurotypical person explain how they experience things that i realized... holy shit. i've missed so much. i've missed so many subtle things. this made me think... how many people actually liked me as a kid but i couldn't tell because they didn't say it up front? how many times did i sob myself to sleep as a child thinking nobody liked me when maybe i didn't have to?

it's the same way with shows and movies, too. i miss out on so much and it fucking sucks. i can't fully understand even my hyperfixations. god only knows how many important things i missed just because i can't see them? i see people talk about this or that in a show i've watched dozens of times and thought about so deeply and i'm like... what the fuck are they talking about??? and then i realize, they're talking about things that were told through non-verbal communication and such. things that i don't pick up on. things i never realized had any meaning.

another thing with shows and movies is that i absolutely hate watching them with other people. it's because when i'm around other people i feel like i need to react to certain things a certain way. i need to display my emotions the same way they do. if they cry, i should be crying or otherwise i'm a cold heartless bitch. if they're laughing, i need to laugh too otherwise i'm emotionless and weird. i feel the same emotions, i know i do. i just don't show them outwardly. and i hate that. when things are sad or funny, i feel those emotions. it's just that that's not the way i express them. i feel like i need to perform or else i'm wrong. i'm watching the show wrong. i'm feeling those emotions the wrong way.

sometimes i feel like i even think the wrong way. the way my brain works is that i don't think in just words. when i am in my head and thinking, it's a mix of words and images and gestures and feelings and sounds and sensations and smells and what the fuck ever. it's so hard to put what i think into words. i think that i think some very good thoughts and i'd love to share them but i can't and it hurts me because i want other people to be able to enjoy what i'm enjoying, you know? like i'm not saying i'm the best and my thoughts are the best, it just makes me happy to share my passions and ideas. but i can't. my speech is stop-and-go and choppy and forced. it's hard. it's hard to even type this out. it's hard to find words.

i feel so isolated. i feel like i miss so much. like everybody else is speaking a different language i'm not allowed to ever learn. it's their secret. i'm not allowed. but they make fun of me for not knowing anyway.

#rant post #venting kinda #being autistic #the autistic experience #autism #actually autistic

11 notes · View notes

aidansloth · 2 years

Text

this is my first time posting on Tumblr so constructive criticism/tips are appreciated <3

disclaimer, English is not my first language sorry if there are any mistakes

Gareth Emerson Headcanons (General):

he has ADHD

probably undiagnosed, but he researched about it and talked to his mom, she was really supportive but they don't have the money to get him diagnosed, so she does the best she can to understand him and do her own research

he also has 2 younger sisters (I think their ages would be around 7 and 11? A lot younger though) which 'force' (he enjoys it) him to play dress-up and have tea parties with them and their plushes

this would include Gareth's old plushies too (cute bats and a raccoon)

he loves his sisters so much ok-

on that note, he's a feminist 100%, as in he corrects other people on misogynistic behaviour and calls out other guys too

and also anti-racist

I'm so in love with him I can't-

he's also protective of his mom, since I headcanon that his dad was abusive, but they left once things got really bad and that's when they moved to Hawkins

this happened when he was like 11, he arrived during the school year and didn't talk to other people unless he had to

his mother was really worried about him, and that's when Eddie saw the cool introverted kid that liked D&D and decided he was going to be friends with him

they realised they both liked the same stuff and in no time Jeff and Kevin (the other guy with no name) tagged along

Gareth's mom loves his friends since they got him out of his shell

moving on, he's sarcastic like 99% of the time

Jeff loves to watch other people not understanding his sarcasm

because of his ADHD he often forgets to eat so his mom or sisters have to remind him

he also forgets to bring lunch a lot of the time so the Hellfire club learnt to always bring some extra food for him

Eddie and Gareth bond over being neurodivergent ('cause Eddie's autistic)

he stims and fidgets all the time, mostly by drumming his fingers on any surface available, but also bouncing his leg or tapping his foot

often his hyperfixations are new bands/singers, but also likes to learn about animals so he will just talk about hours about whatever animal he has his mind on

somehow always misplaces his drumsticks and has to buy new ones everytime (then he finds them under the sofa 7 months later)

either that or he breaks the drumsticks out of anger (that's very cishet man of him)

yes he has anger issues and drumming is his outlet

he also has anxiety and sometimes pulls all nighters just to perfection something he's making (like a patch, D&D figurines he's painting or a drawing)

yes I decided he likes sketching, but he doesn't think he's very good so he barely shows his art to other people

he often draws landscapes from Eddie's campaigns but also his D&D characters

I read someone else's headcanon on this, so don't credit me (don't remember who said it sorry), but because he stays up late he uses that time to study and catch up on homework otherwise he wouldn't do it

he just finds it easier to concentrate at night when everything is calm

all his pins are gifts from his friends or his mom

he made his cut-off flannel by himself one night he was bored and ended up loving it

he likes red but it's no his favourite colour, it's green

he's either bisexual or pansexual and identifies as demiboy (I don't care if it's the 80s, he does)

he knows how to cook basic things, just for when his mom has to work late and he has to make dinner for sisters

they love his cooking

doesn't really believe people when they compliment him, given he has been bullied most of his life for his hobbies and who he is, but doesn't correct people

if they compliment him he just thanks them because he doesn't want to put up a fight

one thing that he's very confident about is his skills on the drums (and his style obviously)

he feels like the dad/mom friend

he also has plants and has named all of them (they all have names of his favourite drummers and musicians)

would absolutely burst out crying if one of them were to die

also collects crystals or just pretty rocks

he loves tiger's eye (I don't remember if that's the exact name sorry)

this is pretty much what everybody said but loves Dr. Pepper

he would also love Monster, especially the Pacific Punch one (I am not projecting ok-)

had to share a room with his 12 year-old sister when they were little but once they moved he got his own and has never been happier

his room is covered in empty cans, vinyls and mixtapes

always forgets to throw away those empty cans and other rubbish

he tries okay

but other than that, it's all very clean and tidy

he tries to clean it every week but the rubbish always seems to pile up

his walls are covered in band posters and some drawings his sisters made of/for him

of course his plants on the balcony, and has a special hanger for his cut-off flannel

honorary mention to this man's thighs please

and his tummy

I love him.

he would be insicure about it though, cause you know, society

would rather die than use a 3 in 1 bodywash

and I respect that

he's always cold- I mean, he's wearing 3 layers in SPRING

so yeah his favourite season is winter, he loves curling up on the sofa with a soft blanket and a cup of hot chocolate

is scared of cockroaches, actually any bug

and the dark (he has a cute nightlight that he's had since he was a kid)

you know the scene when Eddie jumps on the table and everyone but Gareth is looking at him? he really said "here we go again", he literally looks so tired

he's just dealing with his theatrics on a daily basis

tired dad friend

he's really into astrology

he'll go "that's very Capricorn of you" at people

he once said something along those lines to Eddie

they didn't speak to each other for a week

loves bubble baths with scented candles and shit

on that note, he has a lot of scented candles for when Eddie comes to hang out so his sisters don't smell cigarette smoke (or weed-)

he would smell of his mom's freshly baked cinnamon cookies and coconut shampoo

because his little sisters get hurt very easily he's very good at patching people up

also has experience with periods because his mom taught him like the queen she is, also his sister already started hers so he often makes her tea and warms up her heating pad

he's either a Leo or a Cancer I don't make the rules

I'm sure I have others but I can't think of them right now (if there's enough I'll make a part 2)

<33

#gareth emerson #gareth emerson x reader #gareth the great #stranger things #gareth emerson headcanons #your honor i love him

61 notes · View notes

make-me-imagine · 1 year

Note

Fandom 1: Star Trek Voyager (I'm watching the show for the first time and curious what vibe I put off haha)

Gender: I'm female. I am open to ship with any gender.

Me: I'm autistic/ADHD and a very big fan of to do lists and scheduling my day (which I sometimes need to do or I forget what I have to do). I've been told I am very generous, sweet and good-hearted. I tend to put everyone before myself, which means sometimes I forget to eat, don't sleep, or skip things I like to do in order to do what others prefer. I'm terrible with talking about emotions so my love language tends to be gifts and acts of service but I often need people to tell me I'm important to them. Unfortunately, I will let people take advantage of me if it keeps the peace.

I'm not assertive, I feel things extremely deeply, (also you can read my emotions on my face...I can't hide them for anything!), and I have a deep-seated fear of never being good enough for anyone.

I love playing World of Warcraft, watching TV and movies (several genres...crime, action, sci-fi, adventure, fantasy), and writing stories. I love to read, sunrises and sunsets, the ocean, weather, volcanoes, the Navy (I have a thing for ships), and history. (If I was on a holodeck I would be all over history...the 20s, the 80s, the 40s, the moon landing...)

My partner has to be patient and have a sense of humor. They have to understand that some days I can't take direct talk, and some days that's all I can do. They have to be willing to give me my space but at least check in with me to make sure I'm taking care of myself. A little tough love now and then is good. Finally, they have to be understanding about my hyperfixations. I am going to get crazy about things and they are going to affect me emotionally. I have no control over this.

Thanks. ❤️

I'm gonna go ahead and answer both ships in one ask! I hope you don't mind :)

I hope you are enjoying Voyager it's a great show!

Fandom: Voyager

I ship you with Chakotay

Chakotay is very caring and genuine and would be able to see you for who you really are a lot easier and faster than some. He is not judgmental or harsh in any way, and he is very patient.

Chakotay never shy's away from telling you how he feels about you, and he will definitely come with the tough love if needed. He knows your love languages well, so he can easily tell just ho much you love him. He will watch out for you and make sure you are eating properly, and drinking water. He will chastise you (lovingly) when he finds out you forgot to eat.

He is also protective and if he ever finds out someone is using you, he will protect you.

He's into history as well, so he would be down for going on history related holo-dates.

Runner Up Ship: Harry Kim

----

Fandom: Enterprise

I ship you with Malcolm!

At first my immediate thought was to ship you with Trip. Bu then I realized, that you and Malcolm would probably have a great relationship. BUT it would start out as a sort of love/hate, enemies to frenemies to lovers thing.

You two would misunderstand each other at first. He thought you were an over achiever and were trying to get to something selfishly (but in reality you just worked really hard). You thought he was rude, and didn't get why he seemed to dislike you for no reason.

You would avoid each other as much as you could. But things happen and you get forced together, and Malcolm starts to realize he misunderstood you, and that you were a lot more like him than he had realized.

After that he started to actually pay attention to you, and found himself falling for you. He started to be nicer, and seemed to seek you out. Eventually he apologized and told you that he had misunderstood you. You forgave him and then you two became good friends, which eventually turned into a very loving relationship.

He is not the best with his words either, but you two grew to understand each other so well, that you knew in your actions how much you loved each other.

Malcolm might make fun of you for your hyper-fixations (always in a loving, teasing way), but he supports them, and will discuss the with you as well. He loved listening to you talk about things you enjoy, even if he might not understand them himself.

Runner Up Ship: Trip

#milestone ships #8.5k ships #fandomdancer #fandomdancer ship #star trek ships #ships #ask #ship request

5 notes · View notes

soleadita · 1 year

Note

i have. media recs. what kinda stuff do u like (other languages, mecha, animated, so on and so forth)

hehe hi. i meant to answer this earlier but then. teen wolf. u know.

i always have an extraordinarily difficult time pinning down my tastes in visual media, probably because so much of what i end up loving is dictated by the Hyperfixation Center, over which i have no control. but. i tried. <333

here is a (super non-exhaustive) list of things i generally like. some of them are tropes some of them are actual movies or shows some of them are just...words...concepts...

snarky, sarcastic, bickering characters

witty dialogue

heists and adventures

big casts of characters that are sooo... <333 (stranger things scared the shit out of me initially but i forced myself to watch it because i loved the character dynamics and the writing so much. i also LOVE the crows <333)

actiony things that i can kind of only half-watch and still mostly understand (i love action movies for background noise)

things that are fun and silly but still have some core component that's...like really well-written and compelling? (things like dcoms, she's the man, d.e.b.s.)

i don't usually seek out animated things, but i'm not against them!! i watched the first 2 seasons of young justice and really loved it (but i forgot everything by the time the third season came out so i didn't keep going), and i've watched some anime.

the half of it is one of my favorite movies of all time. do with that information what you will.

vampires vs the bronx <3

characters like jess mariano from gilmore girls <333

the princess bride!!!!

grumpy/sunshine

GAAAAYYYYY <3

bones (the tv show, not, like, skeletons)

daredevil. i don't know why. i don't know what about it. but. i love it? i rewatch it all the time?

anne of green gables (all variations but. the megan follows version has my heart forever)

an intriguing ship (the fastest way to get me invested/interested in something is to get me interested in the ship. i'm literally on the brink of dropping by your inbox to ask about. um. well. dc stuff. where to start. u know.)

some things to know:

i don't do horror (i live alone rn and my imagination is ~so active~)(stranger things is the most suspense/horror-adjacent thing i can handle)

i'll take recs for non-english-language things but i probably wouldn't watch anytime soon (this is no shade to subtitled things, it's just that if i have to read subtitles, then i can't multitask)

i'm a little sensitive to gore, but it's also not a dealbreaker. if something is too gross or intense for me, i'll just turn it down or skip it. and like. i DID tell you i wanted to watch kingdom, and i can't imagine a zombie series being not gory, so. clearly i'm willing to put up with it in some cases.

i really don't love things where someone is sick and then dies at the end (a la the fault in our stars)

uhhh...i feel like this probably wasn't super helpful - i tend to stick less to genres and more to vibes and types of characters, which is, like, obnoxiously vague and unspecific. honestly though, i love hearing recs of anything, and i'm always happy to try things that people i know and care about have enjoyed.

<33333

#THANK YOU I AM EXCITED TO RECEIVE THE MEDIA LIST <33333 #(but no pressure. obvs.)#if you have more questions just ask me bc i feel like this is a very uh...haphazard collection of words and might not make sense #winter❄️#leo's asks

5 notes · View notes

chloelucia13 · 3 years

Text

Made of Ashes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Prompt: Faking your death wasn’t an easy thing to do, but SHIELD said that it had to be done. But you couldn’t stay out of the life you were born to have, even if it was risky. Even if it brought you face to face with the people who still believed that you were dead. Based off of “My Tears Ricochet” by Taylor Swift

Warnings: ANGST, a teensy bit of fluff, language, violence, gore, discussions of death (obviously)

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: We did it, boys, we’ve found another hyperfixation. Let’s see how long this lasts. Anyway, my tag lists and requests and DMs are always open! Hope you enjoy!

Death was never a foreign thing to you. It seemed to linger, its presence permeating every interaction and movement as if to remind you that you never know what could happen.

Just because it wasn’t unfamiliar didn't mean that it wasn’t miserable, though. You’ve lost so many friends, family, and everything in-between and it never seemed to get any better.

You knew how painful it was, but you could never imagine the pain that you felt when you witnessed your own funeral. When you watched the people you love grieve over you while you were only feet from them but couldn’t comfort them.

You had watched their tears streak down their faces as they stared ahead at the closed casket, their cheeks glistening under the rays of sun that shone down on them. You watched their hands tremble as they showered individual roses onto the gleaming mahogany lid before returning to their seats with their heads bowed low. You watched the light sheen of sweat build on their skin that made them wonder if this heat was comparable to what you had felt.

They were told that you were caught in a building that Hydra had bombed, pinned underneath the falling debris as the flames rose as engulfed you. They were told that your body couldn’t be found, that it was most likely hidden under all of the rubble or turned to ash. They had to bury an empty casket.

The word had spread fast, and the wake that they’d planned on being a small gathering became flooded with familiar faces from around the galaxy. Basically everyone was there, eyes damp and hearts heavy.

In a car tucked away from the wake but still in view of it, you and Maria Hill watched their grieving in silence. “This is all for your safety,” she had explained to you, but the guilt of what she had to do was still lingering. You had nodded along to her word, but your mind was in another place.

It was stuck in a whirlwind of panic, hurt, and confusion as you stared at the man who kept his distance from the crowd of Avengers, but his shoulders still shook with sobs as your casket was lowered into the ground. The man who gave you heaven and gave you hell. The man you swore you’d love until you died, even if you were already dead to him in his mind.

And to him, it was true.

You and Bucky had met when he was still the Winter Soldier, when he had dragged Steve from the water and dropped his limp body directly at your feet. You remember staring at him in a panic, unknowing of what he would do to you. He had stared you directly in the eye and gave you a nod before walking past you, leaving you with a seemingly-lifeless Steve.

That small, but meaningful, interaction had led you on a manhunt of sorts, devoting your free time to finding this “Bucky” that Steve spoke so fondly of.

After a couple of months, you came across a reported sighting of the Winter Soldier in Bucharest, though the man was not hostile. Immediately, you booked a flight there and, without telling another person, snuck off to find this supposed Winter Soldier.

You found him at a small market in the middle of town, your eyes locking with his as he lifted his gaze. The panic he felt from being seen was evident, but that panic seemed to melt away as a smile grew on your lips. He was still on alert, though, as you crossed the street and walked over to him. It was clear that he recognized you, but your gentle demeanor gave him a strange sense of comfort.

That first meeting had slowly built up to monthly visits that lasted for days at a time, the two of you nurturing a relationship that was kept hidden from the word, especially the Avengers.

The day that Bucky’s past life came rushing back, the two of you were on one of your monthly “dates,” as you’d jokingly called it.

The blue of his eyes had drawn you in for a moment too long, prompting a chuckle from him. You rolled your eyes and pursed your lips, turning your face from his so he couldn’t detect the blush blooming on your cheeks. “What, I can’t admire the beautiful sight before me?” you defensively hummed in Romanian, crossing your arms over your chest as your examined the baskets of fruit in front of you.

“I never said that,” he teased, playfully bumping your shoulder with his before turning to the woman running the fruit stand and asking her a few questions.

The woman handed Bucky a bag of plums and you both thanked her before walking down the street. “Plums?”

He nodded, shrugging slightly. “I figured we could make something with them.”

“I think there’s still some phyllo dough in the fridge.” He nodded, but his attention was clearly elsewhere. You followed his line of sight and saw a man sitting in a newspaper hut staring worriedly at Bucky. You touched his right arm and the two of you exchanged a glance before making your way over to the man. The moment he noticed the two of you stepping towards him, he retreated back before running out of his hut.

Bucky pulled the newspaper the man was reading off of the surface it rested on and held it out in front of him.

“Winter Soldier Cautat Pentru Bombardmentul Din Vienna”

“Bucky,” you spoke slowly, forcing yourself to tear your eyes from the paper so you could look up at his visibly shaken face.

“We need to go,” he grumbled, placing the paper face down and gripping onto your forearm.

The two of you walked at a hurried pace down the street that led up to his apartment, trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible despite the fact that you both were shivering with fear.

After climbing the multiple flights of stairs with no one in sight, the tension slowly began to dissolve from the naive belief that they may not have tracked him down yet. His grip had loosened on your arm, as well, signifying that the fear had began to die down in his mind as well. The two of you silently slipped inside and closed the door behind you, letting out a soft sigh of relief when you could see that the apartment was empty. That breath hitched in your throat, though, when a pair of heavy footsteps echoed through the stairwell just outside the door.

You nodded towards the bathroom door and he quickly pulled you into the small room, closing the door and tucking your form behind him. The creaking front door swung open and shut, and a shadow passed across the crack of the bathroom door. You gripped tightly onto the arm of Bucky’s canvas jacket and he placed his hand over yours, giving you a gentle nod. He led the two of you out of the bathroom and into the open space of the studio apartment, keeping your eyes trained on the familiar figure standing at the fridge that made your stomach turn.

After speaking out to what was most likely a voice in his ear, he turned on his heel to face you two.

You could tell from the look of pure bewilderment on his face that he absolutely was not expecting you to be there. “Y/N?” Steve questioned.

You gave him an awkward smile and a wave. “Hi,” you hummed with a simple nod.

A wave of emotions crossed over his face and he let out a sigh. “We don’t have time to talk about this right now.”

After the chase that led you, Bucky, Steve, and King T’Challa in prison, and the prison break that took place afterward, Bucky had kept his distance from you. He became cold, calloused to you. You figured that it was due to the stress of being framed for a crime he didn’t commit and the man who did commit it trying to tap into the Winter Soldier, but that didn't mean that it didn’t hurt. You’d spent months working on a relationship with this man who you loved more than you’d care to admit, all for it to be gone within moments.

But it didn’t go away, even after everything was taken care of and Bucky had came back to you.

The bright smile on your face couldn’t be suppressed when Steve and Bucky had came into view, both of them clearly exhausted from everything that had occurred. That exhaustion was tucked away, though, when Steve saw you standing there, and he quickly headed over to you and pulled you into a tight hug. You took his affection gratefully, the two of you chatting with equally wide smiles.

After about a minute or two, Steve told you that he had something to do before quickly slipping out of the room, leaving you and Bucky alone. Bucky stood a good distance from you, avoiding your gaze and keeping his stance rigid. It was obvious that he was still hurting, but you figured that your presence could cheer him up.

“Bucky,” you sighed, hurrying over to him and reaching out for a hug.

He turned away from your embrace, keeping his eyes on the ground and his face emotionless.

“Buck?” You dropped your arms to your sides, brows furrowing in confusion as you attempted to search his face. He gave no expression, and you gave up on his face, instead glancing at his robotic arm that was no longer there. “Oh my god, your arm.”

“It’s fine,” he huffed, stepping away to stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the landscape of Wakanda.

He was shutting you out, acting more rigid than he did when you two first met. Your lips pressed together as you walked over to the windows, keeping a few feet of distance between you two. “It’s beautiful here-”

“God, do you ever take a fucking hint?”

You jumped from the tone of his voice, giving him a look of shock while his face, still, stayed flat. “What?”

“I don’t want you here. I want you to leave me alone.”

His words made your heart sink to your shoes, but there was a pestering itch in the back of your mind that made you push him further. “You don’t mean that.”

He stepped forward until you were backed up against the glass, placing an arm on each side of your body and caging you in. “Don’t I?” He let out a huff, eyes trained on yours which were brimming with tears. “You’ve ruined whatever chance I had at being normal. You found me, you led everyone to me, and you got me sucked back into all of this bullshit.”

You shook your head. “I just wanted to help.”

He scoffed. “You sure helped a lot.”

You blinked back the tears and clenched your jaw, giving him a look of spite. You averted your gaze for a moment, eyes catching on the small black cord that peeked out from his shirt. The cord that was so familiar because it was a necklace you’d gifted him. You let out a huff before shoving his arm out of your way and stomping away down the expansive hall.

On your way to your room that T’Challa had given you the key to earlier, you ran into Sam, who immediately noticed the anger and pain radiating off of you. “Whoa, whoa, cool it on the stomping there. You might just smash through the floor,” he teased and gripped your arm with a smile, but it fell when his eyes searched yours. “What’s wrong?”

“Go ask Bucky, because I sure as shit have no clue.”

Months after you’d left Bucky in Wakanda, your “funeral” had taken place, and it pained you that you were never able to resolve the issues that had divided you two.

You tried your hardest to live your life as normal (well, as normally as you could while staying as underground as possible and basically living a completely different life than the one you previously had), but that plan had crumbled and turned to dust like half of the planet. You’d lost Hill and Fury, the only people who knew that you were still alive and were actively working to keep you safe. At first, it was horrifying to know that no one would be watching your every move as you’d grown so used to it. But as time went on and you realized that you had to be somewhat present in society, you had finally felt the freedom that you’ve been held from for years.

You lived life under the new identity that Hill and Fury had previously given you (Sandra McMahan, 27, unemployed, living in Boston, Massachusetts), but you couldn’t give in to the normal life that was at your fingertips, so close yet so far away. Instead, you launched yourself headfirst into researching all of the people who turned to dust. It was clear that it was a result from something that the Avengers fought due to the multiple sightings of spacecrafts that were documented on Stark’s databases, but it proved to be much more devastating than you could’ve guessed.

All of your friends were either dead or missing, and you couldn’t help but feel the immense guilt from the thought that you could’ve saved them.

Five years had come and gone in a haze of misery and loneliness, each day blurring into the previous day and the next day. You tried your hardest to participate in a society that was struggling to cope with the devastating loss that had occurred, but most days you had failed to get out of bed.

You still vividly remember the day of the blip, when the billions of people who’d vanished into thin air had reappeared just as quickly and in the same exact state. You remember the amalgamation of cheers and cries as people were reunited with their loved ones, all while you watched them from your 10th floor window in your dingy little apartment.

All alone.

The databases were updated at that point, displaying who had come back. Of course, there were still a few people whose status never changed, and no matter how long you refreshed the page in hopes that it would switch from “missing” to a blank spot where that word once sat, it didn’t. Instead, it changed from “missing” to “deceased.”

Hill and Fury had tried to get back in contact with you, but you ignored their messages, instead choosing to look deeper into the reappearance of one man.

You’d watched Bucky from a distance, lingering in the shadows as you went along with all of daily activities. Going to the grocery stores, spending Wednesdays at an asian restaurant with a man you didn’t recognize, and attending this weekly therapy appointments. His routines were, well, routine, until the day that he and Sam traveled to the Raft to break out the man who nearly landed Bucky in that same prison. They’d escaped successfully, and their movements brought you to Madripoor, a place that instantly settled a heavy weight in the pit of your stomach.

The dress you wore in that dark and musty bar was itchy and the stares you earned from it made your skin crawl, but you bit your tongue and kept a straight face as you tucked yourself away into a dark corner. The doubt that itched in the back of your mind of how the three men would show kept growing stronger and stronger, only for it to shift into pure terror as Bucky and Sam walked in with that bastard.

Bucky’s face was as still and hollow as it was the first day you met him, that hauntingly empty look that made your insides churn. But that churning was incomparable to the bile that bubbled in your chest as he attacked men at Zemo’s word, his actions harsh and merciless.

Silently, the three men were led into a back room by an armed man, and once the trio disappeared into the room, you overtook the man and disarmed him. You gripped the gun in your hands and stood just outside of the room, still lingering within earshot.

Zemo and who you assumed to be Selby discussed some sort of contract that had to do with the super soldier serum, of which he offered Bucky as payment for information on where to get the serum. The discussion was cut short by Sam’s phone ringing, which snowballed into a situation much bigger than they were expecting.

As Selby ordered for them to be killed, a gunshot rang through the air and Selby’s words were cut short. After attacking the guards that surrounded the room, the three men escaped out the back door, and you followed them. The road leading out from the bar proved just as treacherous as another spray of gunfire sounded from all around, and you all sprinted down the narrow street and into an attached back alley.

You shot down the two motorcyclists that had followed them in and stepped out of the shadows, gun trained on Zemo as your hands shook with fury. “Disarm him,” you spat, finger hovering over the trigger.

“Y/N?” Sam spoke, voice laced with shock.

“Power him down, Zemo,” you continued, ignoring the shocked looks from Sam and Bucky. “I will not hesitate to blow your fucking brains out!”

“Drop the gun” Bucky roared, making you jump.

“Well, this is too perfect,” a woman’s voice echoed, standing in the space next to you and aiming her gun at Zemo. “Drop it, Zemo.”

Zemo slowly lowered his gun to the ground and held his hands in the air, retreating back as the other two men walked forward. “Sharon?” Bucky spoke.

“You cost me everything.”

“Sharon, wait-” Sam pleaded.

The four of them bickered while you stepped back and lowered your gun to your side, trying to catch up with everything that was going on while also trying to comprehend why Bucky was with Zemo, why he acted like he was the Winter Soldier.

Sharon’s offer of refuge seemed to draw everyone in, but as they all began to walk, Bucky turned to you and gripped both of your biceps in his hands, forcing you to drop your weapon. He backed you up into the brick wall and tightened his jaw, the rough material scraping against your exposed back. “Bucky,” you cried out.

“Who are you?” he hissed, pulling you close to him before swiftly slamming you back against the wall, knocking the breath from your lungs.

“Bucky, it’s me. It’s Y/N. Please.”

“Y/N is dead.” Sam appeared behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. “Who. The fuck. Are you.”

“Bucky, we don’t have time for this!” Sam snapped. “She’s coming with us, let’s go.”

You silently pleaded with Sam but he walked away, allowing Bucky to wrestle both of your arms behind your back and walk you to the car.

*** As Sharon and Sam and Zemo conversed, Bucky dragged you into the first room he saw and threw you inside, locking the door behind him.

You let out a hiss of pain as you pushed yourself up into a sitting position, glancing dow nat the rug burn on your palms before looking up at Bucky. “Buck, come on, it’s me,” you begged, watched as he leaned against the wall that faced you.

“Don’t call me that,” he hissed, lips pursed tightly. “Who are you and why are you here? How did you find me?”

You spoke slowly, “Bucky, it’s Y/N Y/L/N. We met in Bucharest, we were... We were best friends, until...”

“What, until I went to Wakanda or until you died?”

“They made me fake my death, Buck, it wasn’t my choice. They made me hide away from everybody for what they said was my own safety. They said that I could be used by Hydra to get secrets about everyone, about you.” You let out a trembling sigh. “I’ve been hiding for seven fucking years. I’ve been alone for seven years.”

He looked away from you, gliding his tongue over his bottom row of teeth before pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You cut your hair,” you spoke after a moment’s silence.

“You came back from the dead.”

“So did you.”

He shot a glare at you, standing up straight and walking over to sit in a chair on the other side of the room. Hesitantly, you rose to your feet and walked over to him, leaving about 10 feet of distance between you two. “How did you find me?”

“Stark’s databases. They said that you were getting court-mandated therapy in New York City, so I went there, and I guess I just followed you from there.”

“Why...” He cleared his throat. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“Well, first of all, I couldn’t. I didn’t want to risk you getting hurt because of my selfishness.” You sat in the chair adjacent to his. “And I figured that it would be best that I stayed away from you since you despised me.”

He let out a sigh, mouth opening to defend himself.

You shook your head. “Do you know how much that hurt me?” you cried out, lower lip quivering. “I-I thought that you cared about me, but you didn’t, did you?”

“I can say the same fucking thing about you!” he snapped. “When I came back from the blip, I saw you everywhere! I thought that you were haunting me, that my guilt was just making you appear, but it was actually you!”

“I didn’t want to do that, okay.” “What, you didn’t want to haunt me? You made me miserable!”

“That’s just what you said the last time I saw you.” You pushed yourself out of the chair and faced away from him, not wanting him to see you cry. “You were one of the only people I had. After you left, I wanted so badly to go see you. I could’ve gone anywhere, but the one place I wanted to be was with you. And then I had to hide away from the world, and I had no one. And I had to live with the fact that I would never be able to fix things between us.”

“You’ve really got some balls to say that shit.” He gripped your arm and spun you around to face him. “Fuck you, Y/N. Fuck you and everything you did.”

You yanked your arm from his grasp and stormed away. “I don’t think I’m the one to blame here, Bucky.”

You slammed the door shut behind you and walked past the room where the other three were gathered. “Hey, where are you going?” Sharon shouted.

“Outside,” you grumbled, walking out into the open courtyard in front of the house.

Sobs bubbled in your chest and past your lips, collapsing onto the front steps with your head held in your hands. Your shoulders shook and though you tried to keep the noise to a minimum, you couldn’t hold back the hiccups of air that you tried to breathe in.

Heavy footsteps clicked on the pavement behind you a few minutes later, and you hastily swiped away the tear tracks that soaked your cheeks. “Sam, I’m fine. I’ll be in in a minute and you can interrogate me all you want,” you choked out, wrapping your arms around your knees.

“Not Sam,” Bucky’s gruff voice rumbled behind you, his form settling beside you on the steps.

You pursed your lips, eyes trained on the concrete path ahead of you. “Why did you go to the wake?” The words tumbled from your mouth before you could stop them.

“What?”

“I... I saw you at my wake. Why were you there? I thought I was dead to you.”

He shook his head. “You were never dead to me. You... God, you were the only thing keeping me going. You were all I had.”

You finally lifted your gaze to his face, locking eyes with him. “Then why’d you hurt me?”

A sigh left his lips. “After that chase in Bucharest, I... I guess I realized that you being with me wasn’t safe. And then when Zemo was able to get the Winter Soldier to come out...”

“So you hurt me to keep me from getting hurt.”

“Y/N-”

“What, am I wrong? God, when you push people away you really go for the heart.”

“It’s not like it was easy for me! When I saw how badly I hurt you, it felt like a part of me died inside.”

“But you still had every goddamn piece of me in your hands. Was that not enough for you?”

He stayed silent, searching your eyes for a moment before directing his gaze to his shoes. You scoffed and pushed yourself to your feet, turning on your heel to leave.

Bucky reached his left arm up, the cool metal curling gently around your wrist as he also stood up. In one fluid motion, he spun you around to face him and pressed his lips into yours. You froze in shock, but before you could even decide how to feel about his bold actions, he pulled away and searched your eyes.

You let out a shuddering sigh, trying to gather your composure as quickly as possible. “Bucky, I would’ve died for you.”

“That was the last thing I wanted. It still is.” His cool fingers loosened their grip, delicately gliding along the back of your hand. “And when I found out that you died, I blamed myself. I told myself that if I hadn't hurt you, if I was with you, then you would’ve lived.”

“Bucky-”

“My therapist, she made me create a list of people that I need to make amends with. I-I’ve gotten through most of it, but there’s a few names that I still need to get through.” He dug in his back pocket, fishing out the small pocketbook and turning to the last page. “I wrote your name down. I-I knew that there was no way I could ever make amends with you, but I felt like I had an obligation to.”

You stared at your name scrawled out on the page in his messy handwriting. It was the only name on the page, placed right in the center. Tears welled in your eyes and you let out a shaky breath, unable to find the words to say.

“You don’t have to forgive me, and honestly I don’t expect you to, but I just needed-”

“Bucky.”

He closed his mouth, his sweet blue eyes following your movements as you closed the book in his hands and settled both of your hands on his cheeks. You could see the stress melting off of him as soon as he felt the warmth of your touch, his shoulders dropping slightly and a hint of a smile threatening to crack on his lips.

“Bucky Barnes, you are the most stubborn son of a bitch I’ve ever met,” you sighed, giving him a small smile. “And I know it’s because you’ve been hurt more times than you can count, but if I can take away some of that hurt, I’d do it a million times over and never regret it.” The tip of your nose brushed against his, and you heard his breath hitch in his throat. “I forgive you.”

With a gentle tilt of his head, his lips bumped against yours before quickly locking together. Your fingers drifted down his cheeks and his throat before clasping together behind his neck.

He stole a few more quick kisses before pulling away completely, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before permitting a smile to rest on his face. You mirrored his smile and carded a hand through his hair. “Y’know,” you breathed, “I really dig this haircut.”

He arched a brow. “Really, I thought you liked the long hair.”

“I did like the long hair! It just... This is more you. Not the Winter Soldier, not HYDRA. You.”

You felt his arm pressed against your body as he tucked his book into his jacket pocket before both arms tenderly snaked around your waist and pulled you close to him. He pressed a chaste kiss, then two, then three onto your lips before letting out a small sigh.

“I’ve got clients coming in half an hour and I’d prefer not having people with targets on their heads making out on my front step,” Sharon shouted from the front door, giving both of you a pointed look before stepping back inside.

“I should leave,” you hummed, dropping your hands to your sides and beginning to wiggle yourself free of his grip.

“Y/N,” he breathed, fingers catching onto yours and weaving together. “Stay. Please. I... I just got you back, I don't want to lose you again.” Your eyes locked with his and he held the stare for a few moments before clearing his throat and shifting his gaze to the ground between you two. “Besides, I think Sam and Zemo might kill me if I don’t go back in there without you.”

You giggled. “Oh, that’s the reason you want me to go in there with you?”

“Yeah!” His voice was nearly drowned out by your laughs, but he persisted. “I swear to god, if looks could kill, I would’ve died before I could’ve even gotten out here to talk to you. Fucking Zemo even said something about ‘when you’ve got a woman like that, you should never take hurt them.’”

You grinned. “You think he’s wrong about that?”

He shook his head fervently. “No, no, not at all! I just... I guess I’m out of practice with this whole... talking thing.” He let out a breath and squeezed your hands. “I need to catch up on the seven years that I’ve spent without you, and there’s no better time to start than now.”

You bit down on your lower lip to suppress the smile that was close to splitting your face in two. “I don't know, Bucky, but that sure sounds like some good talking to me.”

He rolled his eyes, but a smile finally began to settle on his lips. “Shut up.”

You pressed a final, sweet kiss to his lips before slipping from his grasp, giving yourself a moment to admire the purple light that caressed his skin. “Come on, let’s head inside before Sharon loses her shit.”

522 notes · View notes

spockandawe · 3 years

Note

Hi.....if you don't mind me asking, what are your top 10 favorite books? And why? Sorry if you've answered this question before....

This is an interesting question, and a difficult one! Which is why I let it steep for a few days while I was in a bookbinding fugue, haha XD

I’m not sure I’ll be able to answer it, because my level of fondness is highly dependent on how recently I read a book/how many times I’ve reread it, with an optional nostalgia modifier if something made a huge impression in my youth. And when I’m picking favorites, as the number of potential [thing] expands, the more I end up dithering and fretting that I’m forgetting something HUGE as I choose. So rather than a selection of top ten, I’ll just run down through some of my favorites! I’ll split it as five cnovels (recent reads, current genre hyperfixation) and five more conventional english-language novel (realistically, probably more like series, unless a standalone book occurs to me), and I’m not going to rank the conventional novels.

SO. Regular novels first. There’s a heavy recently-read/frequently-reread element going on in here.

The Imperial Radch trilogy, by Ann Leckie. Okay, I am a sucker for a nonhuman protagonist, which is going to pop up in at least two other entries. And I’m also a sucker for themes of what can be perceived about a person externally versus their internal world, and Breq delivers like WHOA. She has SO MUCH going on in her head, and even though we’re in there with her, she still hides lots of her emotions from us. And characters like Seivarden hit me in character development buttons that I’m a sucker for, and the whole idea of consciousness being split across multiple bodies is DELICIOUS to me. Also... love me a sentient spaceship. ‘The Ship Who X’ series by Anne McCaffrey isn’t going to make this list, but I also love it a lot. (also, a universe of ‘she’s made me realized how STARVED i was for that degree of representation in certain genres that i love a lot, but don’t often see myself in as often as i might like)

The Murderbot series, by Martha Wells. Another nonhuman, sometimes-human-passing protagonist! Another one processing MASSIVE trauma of a sort that I, the human reader, have to slow down a lot and try to comprehend from an extremely different life experience! I like that a lot, it really forces me to LINGER on the nature of what a character is feeling. And oh my god, Murderbot’s voice is one of my favorite pov voices of all time. And watching it work (or go hogwild on its own asdfdgd) is absolutely delightful. I love literally everything about this series, except what happened with Miki. Other than that? Flawless.

The Books Of The Raksura, by Martha Wells. Martha Wells is a DELIGHT, y’all. Also! Another heavily-traumatized, nonhuman protagonist! And this time, like... It’s a fantasy world with huge amounts of sentient species, and the protagonist grew up away from his people, who are basically a bunch of feral homesteaders (LOVE THAT), and is trying to figure out how to reintegrate into their societal structures as an adult. That desperate desire to belong and feeling of discomfort and not-fitting-in, and the connections he makes and the way he DOES find a way to fit... like if u crey every time. Also, as far as we’re shown, it’s a cheerfully bisexual, polyamorous society, and *grabby hands*

Discworld, by Terry Pratchett. God, what do I even say about this series. It was a PARADIGM SHIFT. It’s bitingly funny, and also just plain biting, and full of huge varieties of interesting stories, set in a fascinating world, with a series of protagonists who I love too much for words. Vimes! The witches! Moist!!! They’re all so WONDERFUL. I still haven’t read the last book in the series yet, because then it will be Over Forever, and I can’t deal. This one is heavily nostalgia-tinted, but also, I stand by it.

The Belgariad/Mallorean, by David Eddings. Okay. Also very nostalgia, and the choice I can justify the least. But these books CLICKED with me. I’m afraid to reread them, because I’ve been wallowing in queer fiction for so long I’m worried about what the compulsory heterosexuality will feel like, and I know both series are very... episodic, in a way that isn’t necessarily great literature. But I dunno! Feels good, man. It’s high fantasy with a magical system I like, segmented worldbuilding of a sort that isn’t necessarily WELL-MADE, but it’s like... comfortable and easy. And something about the style and the character voices just clicks with me. I have no idea how well these hold up in the present day, but I do love them, and I’ve been planning to reread at least The Redemption Of Althalus by the same author as a standalone before I commit to a 12-book rereading of this universe, but.... I like em XD

Cnovels! I think I can rank these, so let’s go for it.

Fifth favorite: The Disabled Tyrant’s Pet Palm Fish :B Look, it’s ridiculous. It’s a transmigration story where the lead enters this fictional universe in the body of a fish, where he is adopted by a prince who eventually falls in love with him, and YES IT IS TAGGED MPREG, BUT HOLD ON A MOMENT-- I don’t know! I came here to point and laugh, but I’m honestly having such a good time right now. It’s really cute! And sweet! The main character is delightful, and the love interest is that particular flavor of semi-socialized upper-class young man, where like, can he do court politics? yes. can he politely express his affections for the main character? uh....... less so. It’s a really fun read, and I felt very sincere emotions about this prince who is passionately, deeply in love with his pet fish!

Fourth favorite: Mmmmmm, Mo Dao Zu Shi, I think. I struggle here, because it is NOT an easy book to read or show to watch, but having consumed the story, I love it to PIECES. I know a big draw for me is the protagonist, specifically, and his relationships to the people around him. And the more I cared about him, the more I wound up caring about the people around him, who I’d kind of neglected before, if that makes sense? It’s a story that really rewards some good old pondering. I didn’t care that much about Lan Xichen, but then I started thinking about how Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji relate to Lan Xichen, and then oh no, I care SO MUCH about his emotions, and now I’m thinking more deeply about how Lan Xichen relates to Jin Guangyao and Nie Mingjue-- It does lose points in this ranking because it IS hard to get into, and I would struggle to keep everyone straight even more if I didn’t have the show visuals to lean on, but it is still story I enjoyed VERY much.

Third favorite: Erha, but I feel REALLY, REALLY BAD that I can’t fit Yuwu on this list too, and I just want to loop them together. It’s time travel fixit fic, but it’s the book! Yes????? I love this. I love the striking character growth we get to see, and the changing perception of the world as the main character relives through events he already experienced and sees things in a new light, and I adore how Mo Ran’s growing guilt goes hand in hand with his growing love. And Meatbun in general... like, my god. I haven’t read another author who’s able to yank me through emotional whiplash so hard and fast. She makes me hoot with laughter one moment and then burst into tears the next. It’s absolutely wild. I love mxtx, and I think svsss/tgcf are gentler entry points into the genre and deal with lighter themes, but meatbun is seriously an UNBELIEVABLE writer if you can deal with the darker topics she covers.

Second favorite: The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System :V Look, I love it. I just love it. I love, again, characters dealing with the aftereffects of old trauma, plus I do also love seeing NEW trauma piled on top of it. I love having a main character with emotional dysregulation issues who doesn’t necessarily make good decisions, but doesn’t just leave me thinking ‘jfc what an asshole’, and I think that’s a really hard balance for an author to strike, especially without us getting direct pov. I love themes of being wanted and insecurity about being wanted, which is Luo Binghe’s major, major damage. And this is my first transmigration story I ever read, and the contrast between a main character who read the novel telling us about what’s totally going to happen versus the ground shifting under his feet is INCREDIBLY delightful to me. I’ve read other transmigration stories I enjoyed, but none that got my attention quite as much as this one.

First favorite: Tian Guan Ci Fu ;u; It’s so good. It’s so well-made! It’s so LONG, and it meanders, but also, I would scream if anyone tried to trim anything out of it. I am here a lot for the ship, honestly, but I also find the plot themes VERY interesting. I am very much here for reading about characters trying to process old trauma that’s been dredged up by new events, and also very here for the themes about how characters either pass their traumas along to the next generation, or try to shield the next generation from taking the same kind of damage (see: mdzs). And I’m also very much into tempering stories about pain with like... memories of kindness, and small acts of kindness repaid with an outpouring of devotion (see: svsss). But the craftsmanship in this book is just... DIVINE. I’m always reluctant to start rereading this one, because I have a terrible time stopping. There’s nothing about this book that I don’t like.

#spock replies #long post/#thanad-zid

37 notes · View notes

inspired-by-the-music · 4 years

Text

For You: Stand By Me

Taglist: @jineunwootrash

If you would like to be added to the taglist of any of this blog’s works, please ask!

Recommended Reading: For You: 4 O’Clock; these works have separate, independent, but deeply interwoven timelines.

Chapter 3: The Girl Who Wouldn’t Let Go

Sehun’s POV

In pre-debut days, before we were even grouped together, Junmyeon was determined that trainees should bond, so he wrote these little schedules of nearby events and sent them out in group messages. Owing to his busy university schedule, Junmyeon rarely went anywhere with us himself. He was absent that night in the drive-in too.

Although I was sixteen, I wasn’t especially eager to drive, so I didn’t mind when Minseok claimed the driver’s seat. Because I respected Luhan too much to complain when he bounced into the passenger seat, I quietly squeezed into the backseat where— as the youngest— I was sandwiched between Chanyeol and Kyungsoo.

Objectively, it was unfair that I was forced into the smallest seat because of my age. I get that Kyungsoo was older, and that was why I didn’t demand to trade seats. Still, I think that it only would have been right for him to take the middle seat because he was the shortest. I wasn’t really one to argue against rules, traditions, and societal roles, though, so I just folded my hands in my lap and decided that if ever I were the oldest person in the room, I wouldn’t get a big head. I wouldn’t abuse my power. I would be fair.

My members like to joke that I’m disobedient and border on disrespectful, but that’s not true. To tell you the truth, spending my Friday night in the drive-in with Chanyeol talking loudly in my ear wasn’t my idea of a good time, so my presence alone testified to my respect for Junmyeon before he was even the leader.

I wasn’t trying to be rude or disrespectful when I pushed Chanyeol out of the car as soon as Minseok parked. My legs were just aching from being cramped in the back seat, so I was eager to stretch and climb into the bed of the truck, where I could massage the knots that formed in my muscles. My eyes instinctively rolled at Chanyeol’s dramatized howls of pain as he tripped over gravel; he shouldn’t have taken offense.

As I eased my back against the cool metal wall of the truck, stretching my legs before me, Minseok smiled. His smile was always timid in those days. His voice was so quiet that my ears had to strain to make out his words. “Sehun, do you want something from the concession stand?”

Groaning at the thought of standing, I asked, “Are you going to pay for me?”

Having recovered from his trip, Chanyeol laughed as he sat next to me. “What a cheapskate!”

I didn’t think anything about what I said until I heard Kyungsoo’s faint snort of a laugh while he pushed his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose. Look— I firmly believe that seniors should pay for all expenses, and I still abide by that rule whenever I’m a senior— but I didn’t really know Minseok well enough to expect anything from him. All we had in common was that we knew Junmyeon.

Tugging my wallet out of my pocket, I prepared to hand it over with the explanation that I was too tired to walk with him after the full week of training, but Minseok wouldn’t accept my money. “Of course I’ll pay for you!” He was almost too nice. Sometimes, I don’t trust people like that, or I worry that someone will take advantage of them, but I was never worried about Minseok. “Just tell me what you want.”

I fit my wallet back into my pocket and shrugged. “I’m not picky.” Chanyeol laughed again— roaring right in my ear— and I cut my eyes at him. We were always friends, I guess, but we were very different people, and that’s why he was always on my nerves. “Just get me something sweet, please.”

Minseok nodded and, after listening to requests from Kyungsoo and Chanyeol, he took off with Luhan toward the concession stand.

Although too many hours had passed since the sunset for it to be bright enough to read, Kyungsoo held a book up to his face. He always liked to look smart, even when nobody was paying attention to him. Dropping the book to glance at me over the pages, he remarked, “You don’t seem like you would have a sweet tooth.

I blinked at him, never really caring much for people who speak in metaphors. A part of me wanted to tell him to speak plainly, but he probably wouldn’t have humored me anyway, so I bit my tongue. Besides, it didn’t matter what he meant.

Kyungsoo blinked back at me. It was obvious that he was sizing me up. That didn’t bother me so much; I just didn’t know what he thought he could discover about my character from my vague snack preferences. It’s foolish for people to attach meanings to insignificant things, but that’s something people do best.

I probably wouldn’t have responded to Kyungsoo even if Chanyeol hadn’t interrupted my thoughts to ask, “So, what movie are they playing?”

It wasn’t such a bad question. Because I only went to please Junmyeon, I didn’t know any specifics. Noticing that Chanyeol and I were looking to him, Kyungsoo answered, “Beauty and the Beast,” with a smile. He liked getting to share his knowledge.

“Like, the Disney movie?” I asked.

Kyungsoo nodded sagely, and Chanyeol lowered his head, whining, “I didn’t realize we were here to watch a little girl movie!” He was a little too obsessed with being macho those days. If you ask me, a hyperfixation on manliness is pretty lame.

Kyungsoo glared at Chanyeol. “Animation is not exclusively for children.”

“Dude.” Chanyeol returned his glare— sharpened it. “It’s a princess movie! It’s marketed to little girls!”

“Don’t you think you’re being narrow-minded?” Kyungsoo phrased his criticism as a question, maybe, because Chanyeol was technically his senior. “Beauty and the Beast explores significant themes about sacrifice, superficiality, the nature of love—”

Regretting that I hadn’t pushed through my fatigue to walk with Minseok and Luhan, I tore my eyes away from Kyungsoo and tried to will myself deaf to his monologue as I tinkered with our portable speaker. Upon finding the station broadcasting the audio accompanying the images projected on the towering screen at the front to the lot, I frowned at an obvious problem.

I interrupted the debate to announce, “This is in English.” Even when I squinted, trying to distinguish the finer details on the screen, there were no captions to be found. When nobody responded, I added, “I don’t understand English.”

Chanyeol nudged my ribs and joked, “Does anybody?”

Kyungsoo rolled his eyes. “Just appreciate the art of animation, Sehun.”

I huffed at Kyungsoo’s pretentious attitude, “How am I supposed to appreciate something I don’t understand?”

“Well—” Kyungsoo’s eyebrows knit together, and I knew that he was considering my words too deeply again— “you’ve seen the movie before, right?”

Before I could respond flatly that (obviously) I had, Minseok returned, carrying armfuls of snacks that he dropped in the center of the truck bed along with the bright announcement, “Look who I found!”

I don’t know who I expected to find when I glanced over at him, but judging from the drop of my jaw, I hadn’t expected to find Lei clinging onto Luhan’s arm. I hadn’t expected to see her beaming up at him as if he hung the moon.

When Luhan gestured for her to climb into the truck before him, she gasped, “Where did Heechul go? One second, he was standing next to me, and the next—” Her head turned from side to side as if she couldn’t imagine how she wound up at our truck.

As stupid and irresponsible as it was, I could have forgiven her for losing Heechul in her starry-eyed pursuit of Luhan. After all, she was just a kid. But I couldn’t forgive Heechul for losing her. Who knows what could have happened if Minseok and Luhan hadn’t been there to lead her through the dark? All I knew was that after that night, I wouldn’t be able to look at Heechul without confronting the urge to roll my eyes at his carelessness.

While Chanyeol, who never liked Lei for whatever stupid reason, stiffened at my side, Kyungsoo dropped his book to wave at her. “Hey, Lei!”

My eyebrows twitched. How did Kyungsoo know her? Glancing from Kyungsoo’s joyful wave to Chanyeol’s scowl to Minseok’s small grin to Luhan’s dimpled smile, I realized that Lei wasn’t a stranger to anybody. Except for Chanyeol, she had managed to charm everyone into being her friend despite the age difference.

It would have been weird to be jealous or possessive of a kid’s attention— even Lei’s— but there was something weird about recognizing that I wasn’t the only trainee she knew well enough to greet outside of the agency. It shouldn’t have been such an epiphany. I knew I wasn’t the center of the universe or anything. I knew that before we ever met, she was well acquainted with real idols. She was loved by real idols.

She just always had this way of looking at me that made me feel— I don’t know. I don’t like talking about this kind of thing. I guess that moment was humbling. I guess Lei continued to humble me when she settled into the space next to me only to excitedly chatter to Luhan in rapid-fire Mandarin. Despite my basic understanding of the language, I couldn’t quite keep up with what they said between giggles.

I guess I had always known that Lei wouldn’t cling to her crush on me forever. I guess I knew that I had been hoping for that day to come quickly, but now that I thought it had arrived, I felt weird. It wasn’t that I wanted her to like me or anything. I guess the issue was that if she had outgrown me, time really was passing, and it had done so without my permission. Nobody is ever that comfortable with time.

When Lei and Luhan fell silent just long enough to glance at me before laughing again, it was obvious that they were talking about me. The tips of my ears probably burned.

“Yeah,” I understood Luhan as he nodded at Lei, “he is pretty handsome.”

Oh. So that’s still what she thought of me. Weirdly, I was relieved. Some things would probably never change. Maybe Lei would always think I was handsome. Maybe no matter how many times I told her not to flirt, she would do what she wanted. Maybe people should learn to find comfort in constants.

Probably because she seemed so happy, chewing through a chocolate bar as she talked to Luhan, probably because I was kind of (just a little) flattered, I swallowed the fading urge to lecture her. I instead listened to Chanyeol growl, “Look, Minseok, I don’t care where you found her. I just know that she can’t stay here.”

Although Chanyeol hadn’t said her name, Lei was sensitive to his criticism. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she said in a small voice, “I should probably go. My mom is probably worried about me.”

Kyungsoo was only trying to be helpful when he offered, “We’ll help you find your parents.” He wasn’t trying to knock all the air out of Lei’s chest.

She ceased her efforts to climb down the side of the truck, collapsed at my side, and wheezed. I had seen Lei upset before, but never in my life had I seen somebody look so wounded by mere words— words that weren’t even harsh. Blinking at her, I understood: Lei didn’t have parents.

We never talked about her family. I would never know how to approach that topic— and I didn’t know yet that her mom was the idol who never debuted. I could just tell from her labored breathing that she didn’t have a father. That’s why she followed her mom everywhere. That’s why she sat alone at that table by the vending machine every day. That’s why she claimed Super Junior as her family, and that’s why they protected her: they were filling a void.

Had I believed that an embrace could mend that kind of deep wound, I would have wasted no time in slinging an arm around her shoulders to brace her against everyone’s stares. I didn’t believe that, though, even if I wanted to, so I just laid my arm over the edge of the car, cutting my eyes at Chanyeol (because he was on my nerves, and we were only in this situation because he couldn’t be nice to Lei for five seconds) and Kyungsoo (because, despite his good intentions, he prodded at Lei’s wound and made it impossible for me to ever overlook the scar again).

I said, “I don’t think we should rush to return Lei to whoever abandoned her at the concession stand.” I think I was angry. My hands were balled into fists, and my jaw was so tense that my words were almost unintelligible. I’m not sure, though; I’m not that experienced with anger.

Even before her breathing hitched at the word ‘abandoned,’ I should have known that I said the wrong thing. I wasn’t trying to make matters worse. I didn’t know what to say. I could only grimace at my mistake after the fact— after I couldn’t snatch the words back out of the air.

Luhan playfully tugged on one of Lei’s twin braids and, after earning the faintest grin, he said, “I think we should keep Lei! At least until the movie ends.”

Well. If you put me at that awkward stage— no, even me on my best night— next to Luhan, I guess it’s clear who any kid (or maybe any girl at any age) would prefer. We weren’t even in competition, and I felt like Luhan was winning. How stupid.

Nodding enthusiastically, Minseok agreed with Luhan, Chanyeol groaned, and Kyungsoo insisted (despite the fact that the entire drive-in was a dead zone) that we should call Lei’s parents, but Lei didn’t respond to any of them. She didn’t even seem to hear them. She only looked at me with big eyes.

Did she want me to tell her what to do? I guess that was something I did often enough without being asked, but— for the first time in a while— I didn’t know what to say.

Unsure of what to do with the authority she always entrusted to me, I cast my eyes toward the screen and fidgeted with the speaker. “Hey, Lei.” I didn’t glance at her, but I could still feel her eyes watching me. I know she wasn’t looking for fault. I know that she was just admiring me the way only a kid can. Still, I squirmed. “Can you translate this movie for me?”

Once I looked at her, and she understood that I was encouraging her to stay— resolving within myself to help her find her mom and Heechul once the street lights turned on at the end of the movie— she smiled. Her gap was now replaced by the metallic glint of braces. I guess I was just glad that she could breathe again.

Lei had just started to nod her head when a shriek broke through the quiet night. “Why don’t you shut the hell up? If you’re so invested in how this fairytale ends, I’ll tell you— the girl falls in love with the beast! He falls in love with her! And it’s beautiful! Now, get out of my way! I’m looking for my kid!”

In the moments before I realized that the shriek belonged to her mom, while the guys and I spun our heads in search of the conflict, I clutched Lei’s arm and pulled her behind me so I could shield her. In the event of a real emergency, I don’t know how effective my body would have been as a shield, but I wasn’t really thinking too deeply. At some moments in life, you act purely on instinct. That was one of those moments. My instinct was to protect Lei from the screaming woman.

In hindsight, even now that I know that there was no real threat to our safety, I am proud of my instincts.

Heechul’s voice preceded him. “Kimberly, you have to calm down.”

Recognizing Heechul’s voice, I figured that Kimberly must have been Lei’s mom’s name. My forehead wrinkled as I tried to fit the name with her face. It was weird, I guess, because I had never heard it before, just like I had never heard her yell.

“Calm down?” She laughed one of those hollow laughs. The scary kind. “You leave my child all alone at the concession stand, and you have the nerve to tell me to calm down?”

Heechul must have been stupid to argue with a panicked mother. “I told you, she wasn’t alone! She was with two handsome young men—” Minseok and Luhan, I assumed— “and from how she lit up while talking to them, I assumed that they were friends!”

“So you just left her there?”

“I didn’t mean to!” I don’t know how Lei’s mom resisted the urge to punch Heechul’s face that must have coursed through both of us with comparable intensity. “Besides,” he added, “Lei is, like, a black belt in taekwondo, so if she was in trouble—”

“She is a little girl!” Lei’s mom screamed to drill the rather obvious reminder into Heechul’s thick skull. Some kind of desperation ripped through her voice and caused Lei to tense under my grip.

Something about the frown I found on Lei’s face when I glanced back at her and the fear in her mom’s voice spurred me to action. “Come on, Lei.” I ushered her out of the bed of the truck, offering both of my hands so she wouldn’t trip. “Let’s go find your mom.”

Her small, cold hands trembled in mine, and as I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong, it dawned on me: she was afraid of the dark. She tripped once or twice because her eyes were fixed up on the sky, probably searching for the moon and stars.

Once we found her mom and Heechul after a few minutes that felt like eternities because of the silence and her palpable fear, I thought they would never stop thanking me for being, as Heechul said, a knight in shining armor.

“You’re welcome,” was the only thing to say. I guess I meant it because something like pride spread through my chest and pulled my lips into a smile even though it was dark and nobody could see it.

When I released her hand, Lei mumbled, “Well, I guess you’re leaving now, right?” Although I couldn’t quite make out the features on her face, I imagined from her tone that she must have been pouting. Without even waiting for my reply, she said, “Goodnight, Sehun. Thank you for helping me find Mom and Heechul.”

Mostly because I wanted Lei to be happy— and I realized that somehow, just by being around, I made her happy— I raised an eyebrow at her. “What are you talking about? I told you— I need a translator, and nobody back in that truck knows English. Where you go, I go.”

Hearing my excuse for tagging along, neither her mom nor Heechul objected. Breathing another sigh of relief because Lei was safe and sound, they led us back to their car. As Heechul finally started to apologize for losing Lei in the first place, nobody noticed that Lei was bold enough to reach for my hand again with the whispered excuse, “I don’t want to get lost again, Sehun.”

I gave her a stern stare— the one I tried to reserve for the lectures about acting appropriately around boys— and I know she must have felt it. I know she must have been able to see it even in the darkness when she looked up at me, but she wouldn’t let me go.

I guess because I started it by holding her hand first, I guess because I didn’t want her to get lost again either, I guess because I wanted to be some comfort even if I couldn’t cure her fear of the dark, I guess because I didn’t want to risk driving the smile from her face, I just let her do what she wanted that one time.

That one time would become two times and then three and then a hundred and then a thousand and then a million until I didn’t know how to tell her no anymore, until I didn’t want to tell her no anymore, until I didn’t know what to do when she wasn’t bold anymore, until I didn’t quite know what to feel when she didn’t look at me first anymore. When I walked with her through the night that was too dark to find any stars or even the moon, I swear I never imagined that she would grow into somebody that I love in the heart-fluttering, gut-wrenching, world-changing kind of way.

Then, Lei was just a kid who deserved a protector, and I was just one of many who tried to overfill the place of a father who never should have left her.

As I walked with her, deciding what I would say to Chanyeol when he would inevitably curse me for ditching him (again) for Lei, I told myself that I wouldn’t have been able to find my way back to the truck anyway. And it wasn’t a lie, I swore as Lei’s translation of the movie— complete with unique voices for each character— captivated everyone in her mother’s car.

17 notes · View notes

theexistentiallyqueer · 5 years

Note

Sorry to bother, but where do autistic and adhd brains overlap? Because both are neurodivergent (and beautiful, I agree) But how can I find out which behaviour belongs more to me being autistic (got diagnosed this year) and which is adhd? (No Matter What Deadline, after several years in hostile environment (failed university, then call center work) I panic. Hard.) How do I disentangle adhd and autism to find out what strategies to use to function better?

Please don’t feel like you’re being a bother, because you’re not! Honestly the fact that someone is coming to me to ask ADHD questions makes me teary-eyed, because I’ve fought so hard to learn to function with ADHD that people Asking Me Things like I’m a trusted expert just makes my heart grow three sizes, the opposite of the Grinch.

I’m probably not the best person to ask about how ADHD and autism overlap specifically, especially if you’re taking this from an autistic POV. And I’m also not a behavioral expert, which is a very strong preface. But I can (and am very happy to) talk a bit about my experiences with ADHD and how I’ve learned to make things work for my brain.

I’m going to put this under a cut, if that’s okay with you, anon. It got kind of long and I don’t want to overrun anyone’s dash. And you can always, always ask me ADHD questions, and I’ll try my best to answer.

My ADHD tends to manifest specifically in the following ways:

Extreme hyperfixation that has its own varying degrees (e.g., I’m really into Fire Emblem: Three Houses, but I have so lack of interest in Byleth/Claude that my lack of interest feels like an actual void)

An inability to process feelings regarding things other people care strongly about that I don’t. If we’re using the same fandom example: I could rant forever about how Byleth/Edelgard gives me ALL THE FEELS, but if I friend I care about started to talk about Byleth/Claude, I would immediately lose all interest in the conversation and struggle to react in a way that doesn’t present me as a selfish monster who doesn’t care about the person I’m talking to.

I tend to monopolize conversation if I’m given the opportunity because I LOVE getting the chance to talk about my hyperfixations. If someone cuts me off when I’m really into a topic, I get incredibly irritated and have to try to restrain from myself from acting petty in response. The number of times I have smiled my mouth is a knife and said, “ANYWAY, as I WAS SAYING…” is beyond count.

I don’t recognize or remember people until I have something meaningful to associate them with. I also don’t tend to notice things that don’t clock themselves as Important in my brain. I usually describe this as “background furniture.” Even PEOPLE become background furniture. A girl I work with mentioned a person on her team had quit, and I’d literally walked by that person’s desk earlier that day and didn’t notice it was empty, because that person and the entire space they occupied was background scenery.

If something affects or touches me personally, it hits me Very Personally. I had a complete fucking breakdown watching the video of Philando Castille’s shooting, because I heard his daughter crying while she watched him getting shot and went down onto a spiral of personal loss over my own father to gun violence and started to immediately correlate the two. Separating ADHD brainness from my whiteness is complex and hard and (said sarcastically) so, so much fun.

The direct inverse of that are things like: I’m talking to my mom, who’s telling me about a high school friend of hers just got into a horrific vehicle accident and is in the ICU. My mom then goes on to give me regular status updates on this woman I don’t know. I get out of work, and she talks about this woman’s surgery. I get out of work, and she talks about this woman’s family’s attempt to find an adequate rehab center. They find a rehab center, and my mom shows me how her friend decorated her daughter’s room. My mom shows me a video of the girl working with a physical therapist, who gets her to push herself upright with a walker and take her tentative steps. “Awesome!” my brain thinks. “Great!” my brain thinks. All of it spans over several days, weeks, months. I have nothing to do with this constant influx of information. I don’t know how my brain should file it. I don’t know this woman who was injured. I feel for her in theory because no one should ever have to go through that even though so many people do, but I haven’t ACTIVELY PRETEND like I personally am invested in the situation or else my mother gives me Concerned Eyes because I seem to be In A Bad Mood Today.

When it comes to organization, I tend to lean towards hyper-organization rather than hypo-organization. By which I mean I over-organize to combat the fact that ADHD often results in disorganization, and disorganization results in chaos, and chaos gives me COMPLETE PANIC ATTACKS. At work at one point, I had my emails auto-tagging every incoming email based on the email type, on top of tagging for my clients. Every label had a different color, and it all made sense to me, because I’d made it. When my team had cover my stuff on a day I was out, my inbox was such a horror show that it left them feeling drained and distressed.

Let’s talk about socialization! I have a rocky relationship with my childhood best friend. When I discovered social justice in college, I started picking fights with everyone over everything Problematique. The first major fight I had with my best friend at the time was because she felt I was over-aggressive towards a mutual male friend of ours. She was probably right, because I know the kind of bullying behavior I later developed. I thought I learned from it. After the 2016 election, I messaged her on FB, thinking I had a sympathetic ear, to say that seeing her mother post constant messages of support for Trump and sharing stuff dismissing Trump’s sexual assault allegations was particularly hurtful considering I’d told my friend that my mom had been sexually assaulted.. I’m not going to share what she said, but she wasn’t in the wrong. We didn’t talk for several months after that.

Speaking of her! When she started dating the guy she’s now married to, at one point I asked her if they’d had sex yet. I asked it because I thought it was a thing you were Supposed To Talk About as friends, and also because I was, in a way, morbidly curious, because I’m grey-ace and queer. She confirmed that they had, but I still felt so icky and uncomfortable about that for so long afterwards. It was only after I started to understand that I’m not cis and not allo that I really understood why: I was forcing myself to perform what I thought female friendship was based on how it’s portrayed in media, and it’s only once I began to understand that I’m on the ace spectrum and that I’m nonbinary that I really started to understand how forced mainstream conversations of attraction are.

I’m loud! I’m loud! I’m loud! I’m loud all the time! I live with my mom and I socialize with my mom and when we’re in public spaces and I’m talking about something that interests me, she always, always, always feels like she has to shush me. What makes it ironic? If there are other people being loud around me, I can’t function. I can’t process the noise. It’s EVEN WORSE if they’re speaking in another language, because if it’s English I can process the words at least, but if it’s another language, it’s just pure, inescapable sound that I know has meaning but can’t intuit, and if I can’t understand something, that’s as bad as dying.

From what I’ve read about autism, here are ways I THINK my ADHD traits overlap with autistic traits:

I can’t read facial expressions. I think I have a better concept of emotional nuance in facial expressions than someone who’s strictly autistic, but I’ll still panic when I see a smile that isn’t bland enough. RDS (rejection-sensitive dysphoria) will kick in. They hate me, they hate me, they hate me, is the track my brain will play on repeat until I’ve drunk myself into oblivion. Whenever someone smiles, I mistrust it immediately.

Eye contact is incredibly fucking frustrating. I understand that it’s expected, but it’s SO UNCOMFORTABLE. Why do we need to stare into each other’s eyes to understand one another? How can you people write whole treatises on the sanctity of locking gazes and finding an instant intellectual bond without realizing that eye contact that’s not called for is personally invasive?

I can’t understand flirting vs not flirting to the point that I’m absolutely paranoid someone is flirting with me, at which point I usually become hostile if I think they ARE, because DON’T FLIRT WITH ME. TALK to me!

I hate, hate, hate unsolicited physical contact. If I’m in a state of over-expression, I hate it even more. I’m not physically withdrawn, because I love hugs, and cuddles, and human touch. But when I’ve spent the entire day listening to other people talk and I have to walk into a room where people continue to talk, if someone touches me, it’s fucking No-Oh-One.

Someone is interested in a thing I’m interested in. We’ll use Persona 5 as the concept, because this honestly happened recently. I talk with the guy whose desk is across from mine about Persona 5 all the time. He’s also excited about Royal. I started going into my Sophia theory that I’ve really only lobbied at @softspokensansa. I could see, I could viscerally see, the interest drain from his expression. BUT I HAVE AN IDEA SO I WILL TALK ABOUT IT ANYWAY, and then afterwards I felt incredibly resentful that I was being filtered through a cookie-cutter drain.

It’s painful–it’s really painful!–to try to talk about my spiritual ideas with other people. I have a side blog I just started and am preppy myself to share, and I’m absofuckinglutely TERRIFIED everyone is going to write me off without looking at what I have to say. IT’S THE RSD AGAIN! Nothing I ever said has actually mattered before, so why should it now?

I feel, constantly, like I’m halfway between a point of reality and a point of something. What that something is is indefinable, but regardless of it, I exist.

I’d like to direct you to two very positive youtubers I know; I meant to do this earlier, but now feels right in terms of how I’ve written: How To ADHD and Amethyst Schaber.I credit both of them in helping me find a safe place with ADHD before diagnosis. There are stories other than yours that matter.

I wish you the best, anon! If you think you’re autistic and ADHD: given the comorbidity between the two, you probably are! And ADHD is just as beautiful, complicated, and misunderstood as autism is.

If anyone reading this can speak to living as both autistic and ADHD, please respond so I can lift your voice. And to my anon: you’re beautiful completely. I hope my story has helped you in its anyway, and I hope that you find yourself at a place of peace. It’s a struggle to get there, but it’s worth it, every step of the way.

#anonymous #thanks for coming to my teq talk #gaydhd

5 notes · View notes

cumulohimbus · 5 years

Text

100 things I want to do in my lifetime

So, I had a really good conversation today with friends, and I opened up briefly about my stay in a psych ward a few years ago. It came up because I am acutely aware that I haven't been doing well, and am scared to return to a situation anything like my previous stay at said ward despite knowing that being hospitalized would probably be very beneficial at this time in my life. Talking about it did make me remember something though, something that gave me a lot of hope. While my experience with a psych ward was overwhelmingly negative, there was a part of treatment that really got through to me at the time. It especially helped with my suicidal ideation, which is something that's been really problematic for me again lately. Since I remembered it, I'm going to revisit the exercise, and I encourage anyone and everyone who also struggles with suicidal thoughts, thoughts of self harm, mental health issues, or even if you're just having a bad day, to give this a try. It's simple. Make a list of 100 things you want to do in your life. They can be as realistic or unrealistic as you want them to be. They can be big, long-term goals, or small, silly goals, and everything in between. The only rules are to write 100 things, and to avoid sarcastic or pessimistic things like saying one of your goals is to die or something like that. Save the list! Then someday you can go back and cross off things that you've accomplished or edit as you see necessary. Without further ado, here is my list:

1. I want to get my name legally changed to Larkspur Emmett so my dead name is no more

2. I want to get top surgery

3. I want to rekindle relationships within my family, especially with my cousins

4. I want to get scuba certified

5. I want to dive over the "sunken island" location on the lake my family had a cabin on that I visited frequently while growing up

6. I want to go diving in general, seeing a coral reef in person is an especially huge dream of mine

7. I want to rekindle my knowledge of the Spanish language and eventually become fluent

8. I want to continue learning American Sign Language

9. I want to learn more about my ancestry; I know I'm a vast mix of probably mostly European blood, but my family comes from so many different places and I'd like to know more about them

10. I want to finish the art commission I started for my close friend

11. I want to travel to places like Costa Rica, Japan, Chile, and Australia

12. I want to go on exotic travel adventures with a future romantic partner or close friend

13. I want to get my Bachelor's degree

14. I want to earn enough money to live comfortably, probably with pets

15. I want to adopt a pembroke welsh corgi

16. I want to beat my eating disorder(s) for good and be able to stop taking medication to help if at all possible

17. I want to go ziplining

18. I want to go skydiving

19. I want to hike through the Monteverde biological cloud forest reserve in Costa Rica

20. I want to develop a drag persona and perform as my persona on a regular basis

21. I want to make a fursuit (yes I said it, fite me)

22. I want to finish an entire animated music video

23. I want to learn more about plants and successfully keep one alive for longer than a year

24. I want to try my hand at raising an ant colony

25. I want to go swimming more often

26. I want to learn more martial arts

27. I want to learn to be a leader in my community

28. I want to work harder in my college classes

29. I want to learn to not fear loneliness and abandonment, and to appreciate my alone time

30. I want to get (many) more self-designed tattoos

31. I want to continue learning how to appreciate my body without caring about other people's opinions on what is considered "attractive"

32. I want to eat more whole foods both because they're healthy for me and taste far better than anything with chemicals in it

33. I want to meet a few famous people in person, can't think of many off the top of my head though, but I know there are a couple

34. I want to take dance classes again

35. I want to learn how to play a musical instrument (I mean, I took 7 years of piano and can kinda read music, but I wanna learn an instrument that's better suited for short fingers lolol, maybe french horn?)

36. I want to finish the paintings I've started

37. I want to learn how to digitally render things realistically

38. I want to finish the fanfiction piece I started a couple years ago

39. I want to become more patient and less envious

40. I want to heccing fly, okay?

41. I want to feel like relaxation is deserved and expected, and not a luxury only for those who can afford it

42. I want to reassemble an animal skeleton

43. I want to dig up a fossil (specifically of some sort of mesozoic creature, that'd be so cool)

44. I want to get back to using my planner

45. I want to play more (board, card, video, etc.) games with my friends

46. I want to disassociate less and be present in the real world more often

47. I want to be more informed about what is going on both in general, but especially in my more immediate environment

48. I want to take up better drawing habits (more life drawing, warm ups, breaks, etc.)

49. I want to try a real goddamn piña colada, bonus points if it's on the beach

50. I want to try existing in a portable living situation, like a renovated bus or van, for a while

51. I want to learn basic wilderness survival skills

52. I want to learn how to identify many different species of all types of organisms, especially plants and animals

53. I want to get my vehicle fixed up nice and maybe hand paint some things on it

54. I want to learn more about different cultures because they're fascinating and I want to be as respectful of all people as I possibly can be

55. I want to paint the waterfall jungle mural of my dreams in my future house

56. I want to gain better control of my emotions and my responses to them

57. I want to fabricate a working pair of wings for human beings

58. I want to learn/do more embroidery

59. I want to get a cerulean blue Corvette stingray

60. I want to get better about not procrastinating

61. I want to go to more events/be more involved wherever I am

62. I want to go for more walks to places I haven't been to before, bonus points if it's in the middle of the night and/or in the rain

63. I want to do things like play in inflatable obstacle courses and ride on roller coasters without caring about whether other people judge me for doing those things as an adult

64. I want to regain the physical strength I have lost from being sedentary while my mental health has been at its lowest

65. I want to spend more time laying in the sunshine, preferably with the bare minimum of clothes on because I enjoy the warmth on my skin

66. I want to cuddle more with others that feel comfortable enough to participate in that with me

67. I want to learn more about the fabrication of clothing and design/make some outfits for myself

68. I want to cosplay, maybe go to a convention sometime

69. I want to go skinny dipping >:3 (look, it's number 69 on the list, okay?)

70. I want to try all sorts of foods I've never had before

71. I want to see a butterfly leaving its cocoon in real life again

72. I want to read more of the books I own

73. I want to be kissed by someone again...it's been over 4 years...

74. I want to eliminate my habit of requiring a Youtube gaming playlist to be playing in order for me to fall asleep

75. I want to learn more about the history of the lgbtqia2s+ community

76. I want to learn how to cook for myself better, and like, actually use those skills on a regular basis

77. I want to learn how to take care of my vehicle better on my own, like how to change a tire and such

78. I want to learn to communicate better, and just, in general how to be the best friend I can be

79. I want to stop using all substances for the purpose of drowning out my surroundings and messing with my temporal senses, if I'm going to drink/smoke/get high/whatever, I want it to be because I want to for fun, not because I want the chemicals to take the edge off my mental illness(es)

80. I want to start taking better care of my dental hygiene

81. I want to learn more about my legal rights and finances and other "adult" stuff that doesn't really get taught to you unless you specifically go looking for it

82. You know the somewhat obnoxious game Bop It? Yeah, I want one of those again, keeps me entertained for a long time

83. I want to design more things in general, more characters and their outfits and personalities and the worlds they live in, I enjoy that

84. I want to spend more time outdoors with my friends, watch sunsets and collect miscellaneous objects from the universe and such

85. I want to teach someone something, sit down and maybe teach someone how I draw or about something that I am at least somewhat knowledgeable about

86. I want to go to more aquariums; if/when I travel more I want to go to every aquarium I come across

87. I want to start a legit collection of something and like, build it up over a long period of time so it gets pretty impressive

88. I want to get my eyes surgically corrected so I don't have to wear glasses or fiddle with contacts

89. I want to learn more about Greek and Latin roots and just words and symbolism in general

90. I want to lose the embarrassment I have about my hyperfixations because I deserve to not feel ashamed of the things that bring me satisfaction and joy, and it's okay if other people don't share my enthusiasm about such things, I just want to learn to not be embarrassed that I like stuff

91. I want to get over my fears/discomfort re: nudity, especially for life drawing classes; see, it's one thing to see someone nude and divert my eyes but for life drawing I'm kinda forced to look...

92. I want to understand myself better and learn to love me instead of the opposite; I want to be full of love for the beautiful people around me and I want to really solidify in my brain that I am one of those beautiful people

93. I want to do more things for others that are meaningful because that makes me happy, and I want to learn to do those things while also respecting everyone's, including my own, boundaries

94. I want to develop a sleep schedule that is healthy and appropriate, and that I'm able to maintain

95. I want to run in the rain more often and jump in puddles (edit: while typing this it started storming out and I had to run outside in my bunny pajama short-shorts, winter boots, and a sweatshirt, to grab my box of silly plant seed experiments before they blew away, so progress is already being made)

96. I want to get over my intense fear of making phone calls

97. I want to learn how to sing better with my new and improved deeper voice from being on Testosterone

98. I want to get my first tattoo fixed up and hopefully renew the meaning it had to me at the time that I got it -- I want to try to keep that promise

99. I want to spend more time actively working on improving my mental health

100. I want to see more, I want to learn more, I want to do more, I want to be the version of myself that is genuinely amazed and curious by all manner of things, and I know that part of me is still there

And now, once you've finished your list, you have 100 reasons to not give up, because there's no way of knowing what you're capable of doing if you don't exist to try.

#long post #for future reference #silver writes #mental health things #but positive #100 things i want to do #i'll add a keep reading thing later #can't figure out how to do that on mobile

5 notes · View notes

master-sass-blast · 6 years

Text

Authority Issues

Well, well, well. What do we have here?

(AN: I’m not abandoning Strong as Stone. This was just my entertainment for the day.)

Long story short: I had a dream with Piotr Rasputin/Colossus in it last night. It was glorious. I might’ve kissed him.

Like I said. Glorious.

And thus, after kissing the dream Colossus, I woke up inspired to write some fanfiction loosely inspired by my dream.

So, essentially, welcome to my latest hyperfixation.

For the record, I haven’t seen the Deadpool movies. I haven’t read the X-Men Comics. I haven’t seen the X-Men movies.

Yes, you got that right, this is undoubtedly the crackiest fic you’ll ever read.

Or maybe not. I’ll let you be the judge.

So, loosely based in the Deadpool Movieverse/X-Men universe, I present you this: a self insert pic with Colossus.

You’re welcome.

Also, @colossus-and-cable, I blame you for suckering me into this hyperfixation! Because of your brilliant writing, I can’t get enough Colossus content!

Well, they say create the content you want to see.

Rating: M for kidnapping, mentions of abuse, sexual assault, sequences of terrifying action (nightmares), and stong language.

Pairing: Reader x Piotr Rasputin.

Alright, so, it wasn’t your fault. Technically.

Remember that ‘technically.’ It’ll come in handy later.

For context: you are the latest trainee/recruit/refugee at the Mutant Mansion a la Professor Xavier is really stinking rich to afford the utilities bills for this group.

You’d seen the X-Mansion briefly, two years ago, on a newscast that your mother had turned off as soon as she’d seen you watching it, then forced you up to your room to ‘pray for protection against the ungodly lures of the outside world.’

Ah, the joys of growing up in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere --zero tolerance of the queers, people of color, and mutants.

You’d read about the X-mansion’s purpose --taking in and training mutants to control their powers--in a newspaper article a few months later --well after your parents had decided that TV was ‘too great a portal to temptation’ for someone of your ‘unnatural, hedonistic tendencies.’

You’d been shocked. You hadn’t known that there was an actual group out there that was willing to take in mutants, much less train them.

Your father had ripped the paper out of your hands a few moments later and tossed it into the burning fire, stating that the X-Men were nothing more than heathens upsetting the natural order of God’s holy creation.

Perhaps with some great amount of foresight, your parents had decided to lock you into your room that night. Not that it mattered; the lock on your bedroom door had always been easy to pick.

No one ever said that foresight and practical wisdom were the same things.

You’d packed a bag of everything that mattered --clothes, toiletries, a stuffed bear, your state ID--then crept downstairs and broken into the family safe. You’d taken all of your paperwork --birth certificate, social security card--and all the cash that your parents had kept in there, and left.

Looking back on it, you were incredibly lucky the universe had gifted you with the powers to control air and wind. Instead of having to plot out a route via bus and train routes --thus risking being caught by the authorities and shipped back home--you could simply fly to the X-Mansion, stopping to buy food and rest as needed. Within a couple days, you’d found the X-Mansion, dropped yourself on their doorstep, knocked, and asked if you could stay.

Which, apparently, they were used to, because they’d just said ‘sure’ and let you in.

Two years later and look at you now!

A --still, technically--trainee on account of your difficulty controlling your powers and hot, hot issues with authority, under the tutelage of the X-Men. Free room, personal bathroom, three hot meals a day, and the fastest WiFi the world has ever seen.

And, well... a boyfriend, too.

Piotr Rasputin, code name Colossus, with the real secret to his identity being that he was a massive marshmallow with a heart of gold. He’d wooed you in his own sweet, subtle way as he’d helped you adjust to your new life at Xavier’s, taking your poor impulse control and hot, hot issues with authority in his patient, gentle stride.

It had been a good two years. The best two years of your life.

Which wasn’t to say that everything was perfect...

Right, so this is where the ‘technically’ comes in. And, as with ninety percent of your ‘technically’s, Wade Wilson is along for the ride.

You and Wade get along like a house on fire --compatible in all the wrong ways and usually resulting in some sort of damage to persons and/or property.

Wade, also known as Deadpool, also known as the Merc’ with a Mouth, also known as ‘the Obnoxious Red Dildo,’ has widely known and accepted authority issues, zero impulse control, and a daddy kink a mile wide that he likes to remind everyone of at any given moment --which is all of them.

You, the formerly repressed and abused mutant who has had their first taste of freedom and are itching for more, are --unfortunately--all too willing to help Wade execute any sort of prank, joke, or hijink, because for fuck’s sake, people, live a little!!!

Cue today’s incident.

It had started with a bet. Wade had bet you that there was no way in hell you could use your powers just right to launch a lit firework into Scott Summer’s --aka Cyclops’s--room.

The man had given you kitchen duty for being fifteen minutes late to morning training. The loser had to buy the winner pizza. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up!

You're just about to light the firework when something lifts Wade off the ground and hefts him to the side. A large shadow falls over you, and you look up with a cheesy grin. “Hi, babe.”

Piotr stares down at you, arms across his chest. He’s in defense mode, which means he isn’t here on the friendliest of terms. “What are you doing, myshka?”

You look down at the firework in one hand, the lighter in the other, then up at Scott’s open window. “Uh...” You look back up at Piotr and give him the most convincing look you can muster. “Arts and crafts?”

He isn’t convinced. “Professor Xavier sensed your plan.”

Ah. Well. That would do it.

“Hey! Russia’s Greatest Love Machine!” Wade interrupts, madder than a hornet and a little more crooked than the human body usually looks. “Stop fucking throwing me everywhere, you giant metal dildo!”

“Wade, watch your language, please.”

“Suck a cock!”

“In my defense,” You interject before Piotr can go off on his usual spiel about rules and ‘appropriate language,’ “it was Wade’s idea.”

“Hey!”

Piotr is still unmoved. “You are capable of making your own choices, dorogoy. Wade did not force you.”

“He was going to buy me a pizza, Colossus! How do you expect me to refuse?”

“Hey, that was only if I lost!”

“Yeah, well, you were gonna lose!”

Piotr sighs, shakes his head, then extends a hand to help you off the ground. Even when he’s busting you for misbehavior, he still treats you with the utmost respect and courtesy. “Come. We need to talk to Professor.”

You sigh and trail after him. This is gonna suck.

It does, in fact, suck. Talking to Xavier --again--sucks like a vacuum cleaner gone prostitute that’s hellbent on sucking its client’s dick off.

The professor, as always, is patient with you in talking about rules and your struggles with following them.

Scott Summers, who must have a serious anal kink considering how far he has a pole wedged up is ass, is not. “I’ve just about had enough of your acting out! Either act your age or--”

“Or what?” You interrupt with a roll of your eyes. “You’ll kick me out?”

“No,” Professor Xavier interjects firmly before Scott can speak. “You will always have a safe place at the Institute, Y/N.”

Scott scoffs. “Safe for her and no one else.”

You narrow your eyes at Scott. “Says the guy who has to wear glorified sunglasses all the time or he’ll blow a hole through the wall. You look like a tool, by the way.”

“Your destructive tendencies are way out of hand!” Scott snaps.

“My destructive tendencies? Logan goes through four phones a month and cut your bike in half because you drank one of his beers! How come he always gets away with it?”

“We’re not talking about that right now!”

You sit back and your chair and nod, feigning amicability. “Ah, I see. You’re a misogynist.”

“Y/N--”

“No wonder Jean’s always looking at Logan the way she does. You must be a pain in the--”

Scott’s hand smacks down on Xavier’s desk, cutting you off. “Are you looking for extra kitchen duty? Because I’ll be happy to provide it for you.”

You refocus on Xavier. “Okay, I have an administrative question. Why’d you make the actual tyrant in charge of punishment duty?”

“I run a fair and understanding system!”

“You gave me three nights of kitchen duty after I was late for morning training! By fifteen minutes!” You look back at Colossus, who is standing post in the back of the room. “Does that seem fair to you?”

Piotr flounders. “Well... being on time is important...”

Your jaw drops. “You’re not honestly siding with him.”

“I think things have gotten out of hand,” Xavier says, reasserting control over the room. “And I think I need some time to speak with Mr. Summers about his ‘system.’”

Scott recoils. “What?”

You pump your fist in the air. “Ha! Suck it, dickhead!”

“In the meantime,” Xavier added with a stern, if somewhat amused look in your direction. “Mr. Rasputin, I’m discharging Y/N into your care. I’d like to keep her separated from Mr. Wilson until she and I have had a chance to talk about the root of her rebellion.”

Your mouth falls open at the Professor’s orders, and your shock only mounts as Piotr actually accepts. You’re so shocked that you let yourself be ushered out by the metal man himself --ever gentle and respectful of your space--into the hall and away from Xavier’s office.

It isn’t until you’re halfway down the hall that it hits.

Rage. Red hot and burning. Rage at being chastised by Scott, rage at Piotr’s refusal to defend you, rage at being unfairly separated from your best friend. You were an adult, for fuck’s sake! You could make your own decisions!

You storm ahead of Piotr, ignoring his concerned calls, and march to your room.

Like the exposition said: hot, hot issues with authority.

You manage to grab the essentials --bag, wallet, ID, phone--and make it halfway to the front door before he catches you.

Technically, he’s already waiting there for you, in his human form.

Well, that would explain how he beat you there and why you didn’t hear him.

Piotr looks up at you, expression patient if somewhat admonishing. “And where I are you going, dorogaya moya?”

“Out,” You say. No point in denying the obvious.

Piotr sighs and shakes his head. “I do not think that would be wise.”

You shrug. “Arguable. I just need some time to blow off some steam.”

Piotr presses his lips into a firm line. “Y/N.”

Uh-oh. You recognize that tone --the ‘we need to talk as serious adults about serious things in a serious manner.’

Right now, it’s just seriously annoying.

“This is fifth incident in as many weeks.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, can the record please note that Wade and I have been trying to scale back our ‘escapades?’ The car blowing up was a complete accident, not that Scott cared --oh, by the way, thanks for sticking up for me back there.”

That one lands hard, you can tell by the way his shoulders tense. “This behavior is irresponsible.”

“What, exactly, is with the vendetta against having fun?”

“Throwing firework into someone’s room is dangerous, myshka. Someone could have been hurt.”

You roll your eyes again. “It was a smoke bomb, Piotr. Not a 4th of July finale piece! Remember was I said about ‘scaling back?’” You finish descending the stairs and reach for the door handle.

Piotr reaches out --not much of a reach, he’s still a giant in his human form--and places his hand against the door. “No, myshka. You stay here.”

You bristle as you glare up at him. “I don’t remember for asking for you permission.”

Piotr exhales through his nose, the first sign that he’s actually getting frustrated with you. “The Professor--”

“Is not my dad.”

“--has asked me to watch you.”

“Well, I mean, if you want to come with me, I wouldn’t mine.” You grin up at him. “It could be a date.”

“I have things to do here.”

“Of course. Well, in that case...” You yank at the door, but Piotr is unmovable. “Look, Piotr, I’m an adult. I can make my own choices.”

“My instructions are to look after you. I cannot do that if you are not here.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “And how are you going to keep me here? Lock me in my room like my parents did?”

The comparison hurts him, you can tell by the way his blue eyes flash, but it’s enough of a distraction to suit your purposes.

While he’s still reeling from your words, you rip the door open and dart onto the front lawn. You can hear Piotr pursuing you, shouting your name, but outrunning him is easy, even when he’s in his human form. You simply manipulate the air around you to propel you forward. Before he’s even taken three strides, you’re over the wall and out of sight.

You grin as your feet hit the ground outside the wall that borders the grounds of the mansion and run towards the city.

Freedom.

The first thing you do is find a diner and order a heaping plate of food. A massive, greasy cheeseburger with extra bacon, a small mountain of fries, fresh out of the fryer, and a thick, sugary chocolate milkshake that comes in a glass bigger than your head.

It tastes like heaven. Junk food is in rare supply at the mansion, what with Piotr’s obsession with proper nutrition. You love him for it, but you miss your guilty pleasures.

The next thing you do is find that arcade Wade took you to for your birthday. You still have the credit card he bought for you, and you spend the day switching from game to game as you please.

It’s early evening when you leave, and it occurs to you that Piotr is going to be absolutely --you’d use the word furious, but you’re not sure if that’s even genetically possible for him--upset with you when you get back to the mansion, so you stop by the chocolate shop he took you to on your first date and pick up some fudge for him. He rarely treats himself, but you know it’s a favorite.

As you start walking the path back to the mansion, you get the eerie sensation that you’re being watched. Maybe it’s just the unfamiliarity of the city after growing up in a small town, maybe it’s just being a woman in an unfamiliar place while the sun is setting, but--

You look behind you, trying to find anything out of the ordinary.

A man, wearing a black sweatshirt, quickly turns to look in one of the store fronts.

You watch him, anxiety churning in your stomach. You catch his eye, he nods, and starts walking in the opposite direction.

You sigh in relief, and resume your progress back to the mansion. False alarm.

A few blocks later, and that creeping sensation on the back of your neck is back with a vengeance. You turn around again, unable to shake the suspicion that was curling in your chest.

The man in the black sweatshirt was back, standing about twenty feet behind you.

You grit your teeth as you pick up your pace. You focus on trying to find a place where you can duck out of sight and use your powers to run back home, back to the safety of the X-mansion, back to Piotr’s waiting arms --because even when you’ve been an ass, he’ll still oblige you with buckets of affection.

You spot an alley ahead --not ideal, but out of sight enough that you should be able to levitate yourself to a roof top, then hide there until the guy goes away and fly home.

You glance over your shoulder to check the pace of the guy following you and nearly have a coronary.

He’s now five feet behind you.

How did he catch up that fast? You break off into a run, desperate to reach the alley before the guy reaches you.

A man steps out of the alley, grinning malevolently at you. “Going somewhere, doll?”

You barely have time to skitter to a stop before something hits you in the back of your head, knocking you to the ground.

Your last thought before you lose consciousness is how bizarrely empty the streets are.

“Hey there, doll. Open those pretty eyes for me.”

You come to in some sort of basement, dirty and littered with crumpled beer cans and other garbage. You’re tied to a chair, arms tied to the arms and legs to the legs, with another thick rope tying your waist to back of the chair. There’s a gag in your mouth and odd weight hanging around your neck.

The man that jumped out at you is sitting in a chair in front of you, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. “You’ve been difficult to track down. Lucky us, you decided to step outside your precious fortress for the day.”

You’d smirk at the man if you weren’t gagged. Apparently, for all their efforts to find you, they didn’t research your powers very well. You flick your fingers, ready to send the man flying across the room with a gust of wind.

Nothing happens.

You try again, then again, stomach sinking with dread as the man’s grin grows.

Nothing.

The man leans forward and taps at the weight on your neck, a soft metallic sound resulting from the press of his fingernails. “Suppression collar. No powers for you.”

Shit.

Left with nothing else, you try to yank yourself out of your restraints. You thrash and struggle to no avail --no amount of training was going to make you as strong as Piotr, even in his human form.

“They told me you were feisty. Apparently, you tried to run away from home several times before finding the X-Men.” The man leans forward, watching you with a lurid gaze as you struggle.

You growl at him through the gag. Just wait, motherfucker. I’ll get out of these ropes, and then I’m going to beat your ass stupid.

“Not gonna lie. It’s pretty hot.”

You try to flinch away as he reaches towards your face, but are ultimately subjected to the unpleasant sensation of his fingers caressing your cheek.

His touch is nothing like Piotr’s --it’s too rough, too forceful, and nowhere near loving enough.

“Now, we’re supposed to just take you back home--”

Your eyes widen at the mention of home --the small town you grew up in--and you start your struggle to free yourself anew.

“--but maybe we should have some fun first. After all, we’re not in any hurry.”

You stiffen and stare at him as your mind puts together what ‘fun’ might mean, then thrash around violently, almost knocking yourself over in the process.

The man reaches out and grabs the chair, forcing it back into its normal position. “Of course, I’d have to untie you for that, and I don’t want to risk you running away...” He turns to look at the other man --the one that had been wearing the hoodie. “Go get me the paralytics.”

You watch, horrified and on the verge of tears as the other man walks away and up the stairs, and let out a muffled scream.

“Oh, it’s alright,” the man said, leaning in to run his tongue over the shell of your ear. “You’ll be doing a lot of that later, and you’ll be loving it.”

You’re about to headbutt him, but are distracted by the sound of several heavy thuds on the floor above you.

You and the man look up in unison, both trying to discern the source of the noises.

Then, there were several brief bursts of gunfire, accompanied by several metallic pings.

Silence follows.

The man growls under his breath and pulls a gun out of his jacket. He points it at your head. “Don’t go anywhere.”

You watch him ascend the stairs, then start trying to work yourself free. In your efforts, you cant the chair sideways and fall on your side, back to the stairs. You wince at the impact --your arm’s going to be bruised as shit later.

You flinch at the sound of another gunshot.

Everything’s silent for a minute, and then there are footsteps on the stairs again.

You start crying, tears streaming down your cheeks, and you try anything to wiggle your way free.

Then, there are a pair of hands on your shoulders, pulling you up and turning you around, and--

Piotr kneels in front of you, resplendent even in his human form, smiling reassuringly. “It’s alright, moya lyubov’. I’ve got you.”

You draw in a sharp breath and moan at him through the gag.

“Hang on.” He pulls the gag out of your mouth --carefully, the man is always careful--and lifts it over your head.

A cry bubbles out your mouth, followed by a breathless apology. “Piotr-- I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry--”

His thumbs are already wiping the tears off your cheeks while his lips press sweet, gentle kisses along your hairline. “It’s okay, myshka, I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He leans back and flashes you a crooked grin. “Let’s get you out of here, da?”

You nod, already itching to be out of the chair and in his arms. “Da. Yes. Si. Now, please.”

He chuckles and pulls a knife off his belt. “I need you to hold very, very still, moya lyubov’. Can you do that for me?”

You nod again and focus on holding still while he works at the ropes holding you in place. “How did you find me?”

“Tracker on your phone. Men forgot to turn it off.”

You manage a weak, half-hearted giggle. “Idiots.”

He chuckles back, mostly because it’s clear that’s the response you wanted. “So, what did you get up to before all this happened?”

“Oh, you know.” You tip your head back to try and hold back the tears that are threatening to reappear. “Got a bite to eat, smashed Wade’s highscore in Pac-Man at the arcade.” You manage a wavery smile as you tip your head forward to look at him. “I stopped by that chocolate shop you took me to on our first date, got you some fudge.”

“That was very sweet of you, dorogoy.” He’s done with your legs and waist and already halfway through the ropes on your left arm.

Your laugh comes out less as amused and more as hysterical. “Yeah, well, I figured it’d pay to have a bribe.”

“Bribe?”

“To get back in your good graces after being an ass.”

He smiles at you, soft and sweet, as he tosses away the rope that had been holding your left arm in place. “You don’t have to earn my ‘good graces,’ Y/N. You’ll always have them.”

It’s serendipitous timing that he finishes freeing your right arm in that moment, because you want nothing more than to be in his arms after that comment. You launch yourself at him, winding your arms around his neck. You sob, the weight of what could’ve happened hitting you full force, and press your face against his chest.

Piotr is forced to temporarily abandon his knife, tossing it off to the side so he can wrap his arms around you. He’s massive, exceedingly so, and it’s easy for him to curl himself around your --much smaller--body. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I’m so, so sorry, Piotr! I shouldn’t have run off, and I shouldn’t have said those things, and--”

“It’s okay, dorogaya moya, it’s fine.” He presses his lips against your forehead. “Let’s get you out of here, then we talk. But first.” His hands turn to the solid steel you know so well, and he presses his fingers against the suppression collar. “Hold still.”

You keep yourself still as he tears the collar off of you, then let out a relieved breath, sending a gust of wind throughout the dusty basement.

“Much better,” Piotr murmurs as he rubs his hand up and down your back.

You press against him, trying to close every tiny gap between you and him. You’re shaking like a leaf in a gale, body trembling with adrenaline and relief. You let out a tiny squeak as he lifts you into his arms and wind your arms around his neck as he starts carrying you up the wooden stairs. “I half expected you to come down in full metal.”

“House is very old,” Piotr grunts as he navigates the rickety steps with ease. “I am surprised I did not fall through floor.” He pauses halfway up the steps to look at you. “You may want to close your eyes.”

You oblige him and lean your head against his shoulder. “A grisly scene, unfit for the eyes of a lady?”

A puff of laughter ghosts over your cheek. “There was struggle.”

You can’t resist the temptation to peek at the scene as he carries you through the house. You open your eyes and gasp at the sight of bodies crisscrossing the floor, riddled with bullet holes.

“I thought I told you to close eyes.”

“You should know by now I’m not good at listening.”

That finagles a chuckle out of him. “Stubborn girl.”

“Well, duh.” You peer at the bullet holes --some in the bodies, some in the walls--then check Piotr over for any sign of injury. “How’d you survive the shooting?”

“I came in defense mode. I was not sure stairs would hold me, so I changed.”

“They should’ve thought about the ricochet.”

“Da.”

The sun is almost done setting as he carries you outside to the awaiting jet.

You wince as your eyes adjust to the fading natural light, then blink as you realize you couldn’t have been captured for more than a few hours. “How did you know to come looking for me in the first place?”

“Professor Xavier got letter from intelligence operative. Said your parents had hired bounty hunters to find you and to keep you at X-Mansion until coast was clear.” He clears his throat and ducks his head, looking sheepish. “My... over-protective instincts got the better of me.”

You can’t help but tremble in his arms at the mention of your parents or the fact that they hired a fucking bounty hunter, good God. Your stomach churns as the memory of the hired man threatening to rape you and asking for paralytics, and you cling tighter to him. “Well, I’m glad they did.”

“So am I, moya lyubov’. So am I.” He carries you onto the jet and sets you on one of the seats. “Stay here. I will come back when we are in stable flight pattern.”

You try to stay in the seat as he starts the take off process, but you can’t help but stumble up to the cockpit after him.

“Yes, I found her.” Piotr looks up at you as you press yourself against his arm, and pauses to kiss your forehead. “She is alright, a little shaky.” He pauses again as he pilots the jet high enough to clear the top of the trees and surrounding buildings, then nods as the voice in the pilot’s headset speaks. “Da. We are on our way back now.” A few more exchanges between him and the voice in the headset, and then he’s setting the jet on autopilot and taking the headset off. He turns to face you, flashing you a crooked grin. “I thought I told you to wait.”

You try to reciprocate, you really do, but the past few hours as catching up with you. You lower lip starts trembling, and you slump against Piotr, crying quietly.

He wraps his arms around you and presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Come on, dorogaya moya. Let’s get you checked out.” He carries you back into the main bay of the jet and --with a gentleness that completely belies his sheer size--deposits you on one of the seats. “How did they capture you?”

You lift your hand to the back of the head, wincing as your fingers brush against a small lump. “They hit me. Knocked me out.”

Piotr’s lips are set into a tense line as he pulls a flashlight out of his suit pocket. “Look at my nose, myshka.”

You stare straight ahead as he checks your pupil response to the light. “Piotr... I’m really sorry for being such an ass at the mansion.”

He chuckles. “It is alright, dorogoy. I need you to follow light with your eyes now.”

“And...” You add quietly as you track his light with your eyes. “...I’m sorry I compared you to my parents. That was... royally unfair of me.”

“It is okay, Y/N. I forgive you.” He clicks off the light and turns his attention to the nice, ugly bruise forming on your left forearm. “How did you get this?”

“I knocked myself over trying to escape.”

Piotr chuckles as he carefully prods the bruise. “That’s my girl. My fierce myshka.”

“Getting herself bruised,” you mutter with a wince. “That sounds about right.”

“Am I hurting you?”

“Well, it’s a bruise and you’re poking it. What do you think?”

“I am trying to ascertain if it is broken.”

You shake your head. “I’ve broken my arm before. It just feels like a bruise.”

He stops prodding at your forearm in favor of encapsulating your hands with his massive ones. “Did anything else happen? Anything you can remember?”

“No, I was out for most of it.”

“What happened when you came to?”

“I tried to use my powers to throw them across the room.”

Piotr snorts --actually snorts. “I suppose, for them, it was good thing they had collar. You would have kicked their asses otherwise.”

“Good for them, pain in the ass for me,” you mumble, annoyed. “He pointed out the collar, so I tried to yank my arms free.”

“I figured. You have rope burns on your wrists.”

You have to stop to force down the bile creeping up your throat before you can go on. “He said I was feisty. Said it was hot.”

Piotr’s hands tighten around yours. “Anything else?”

You start shaking again. “He said that he had to take me back home... but that he didn’t have to rush. He... asked for some paralytics... said he was going to make me scream.”

Piotr’s jaw clenches, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly.

You giggle hysterically against his chest. “You came in the nick of time. He’d just sent the guy up for the paralytics when you crashed in.”

“Bozhe moi, I am grateful. I am grateful I found you when I did.”

“Me too.”

He presses his forehead against yours, taking deep, shaky breaths. “Was there anything else that happened, lyublyu?”

You frown. “Yeah. He touched my cheek and licked my ear.” You rub your cheek, then your ear. “God, that was gross.”

Piotr is quiet for a moment. Then, he lifts his hand to your cheek, rubbing his thumb against your soft, supple skin. “Like this?”

You lean into his touch, smiling weakly. “Yeah. Yours is better, though.”

“I would hope so.” He’s quiet for another moment, then leans forward.

A shiver runs down your spine as he presses a soft kiss against your ear. “Piotr,” you sigh.

He presses the side of his face against the side of yours. “Better?”

“Yeah.”

And, oddly enough, it is. It was as though Piotr’s touch erased the traces of the bounty hunter’s harassment. Sure, you could remember it happening, but you couldn’t quite remember how it felt. All you could feel was Piotr’s loving, tender touches and the affection he so willingly lavished upon you.

You turn your head towards him and press your lips against his.

He kisses you back for a moment the way he always does --with a tenderness that never fails to make you weak in the knees--and then pulls back. “I must apologize for my behavior earlier. I was too controlling. You are an adult, and I need to respect that.”

“Eh, I think I need to talk to Xavier about that one more than I do you.”

“Still, I am sorry--”

“I forgive you, Piotr. Stop beating yourself up.”

He ducks his head, smiling sheepishly. “Khorosho. I also want to apologize for not defending you in front of Scott. He was out of line.”

“It’s alright. I’m just glad to be with you right now.”

“As am I, myshka. As am I.”

After one of the resident medics gives you a thorough check over and a blood test to ensure you hadn’t been injected with anything while you were knocked out --at Piotr’s worried insistence, and you were too worn out to put up too much of a fight--you're given a clean bill of health and instructions to rest for a few days.

Piotr escorts you to the living space side of the mansion, his hand a warm and soothing presence on your shoulder.

The two of you are met by Professor Xavier and one very pissed off looking Scott Summers.

“It’s about time,” Scott snaps. “We have jobs to do, you know. We can’t just waste our time keeping up with your outbursts.”

You roll your eyes. “Geez, Scott, who rusted the pole up your ass?”

Before he can retort, Piotr steps in between the two of you. “Enough,” he says, voice deep and hard. “She has had long day. She needs rest.”

“Yes,” Professor Xavier agrees. “We’re glad to see you back safely, Y/N. Rest for now. We can resume our discussion when you feel more recovered.”

You nod and let Piotr escort you to your room.

“The medic cleared you for concussion, so you can sleep on your own tonight.”

You bite back a frown. You would rather stay with him --in general, yes, but especially tonight, given the circumstances. Dammit. Why couldn’t I have a concussion? “Okay.”

Piotr cups your face in his massive hands. “If you need anything, come wake me up. Time does not matter, okay?”

You nod, then roll up onto your toes to kiss him. When he tries to break away once, you grab onto his shirt and cling to him.

He humors you for a few moments longer before disentangling your hands from the material of his shirt. He kisses both of your hands. “Sleep well, myshka.”

You manage a smile for him, but it dissipates as soon as he turns away.

You’re not sure sleep will come easy tonight.

You’re not sure it’ll come at all.

The needle glints in the glaring overhead lights of the basement, sinister and clinical.

You wrench at your restraints, but you’re stuck, frozen in place.

The man in the hoodie holds you still while the man from the alley stabs the needle into your arm, slowly injecting you with its malevolent contents.

You try to fight, try to free yourself, but you can feel yourself quickly becoming sluggish. Your limbs are heavy, stiff from the dose of the paralytic.

You can only watch, frozen, as they cut your ropes away. Tears trickle down your cheeks, but you can’t so much as flick a finger.

You’re helpless. Completely at their mercy.

You’re laid out on the dirty stone floor without any decency or preamble.

The man from the alley laughs as he cuts your pants away from you, laughing at your tears and the sight of your shame. He leans towards you, close enough that you can smell the beer he drank while waiting for the paralytic. “You’re going to love this, doll.”

You stare at the ceiling, crying as you try to will your useless limbs to move --to fight.

You jerk upright, breathing hard.

You’re in your room, lonely and terrified in your bed. The darkness around you feels oppressive, like it’s choking you.

You try to calm yourself, to still the tremors in your hands. You use your powers to draw more air into your lungs, to try and quiet your nerves.

You can still smell the beer on his breath...

You can still feel your limbs going numb...

You bolt out of your bed and fling open the door --screw anyone who complains about the noise. You dart down the hall, skidding to a stop in front of Piotr’s bedroom door. You rap your knuckles at the door, trying to stay upright while your knees knock together. “Piotr! Piotr!”

A light flicks on his room, the glow creeping out from around the edges of the door. There’s the thud of footsteps --too light for him to be in defense mode--and the door swings open to reveal Piotr’s confused, sleepy face. “Zdravstvuyte? Hello?” You must look worse than you thought, because the exhaustion drains from his face in seconds. “Myshka, what is it?”

“I had a nightmare,” you whimper.

Piotr ushers you into his room, closes the door behind him, and kneels in front of you. “It’s okay. You’re safe. They can’t reach you here.”

You sniff and slump against him. “I dreamed that you didn’t get there in time, and that they injected me with the paralytics, and--”

Piotr wraps his arms around you and holds you against his chest. “Sh, lyublyu, it’s alright. You’re safe, I’m here.”

You wipe your eyes with the back of your arm. “Can I stay with you tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”

You hadn’t asked earlier to avoid making him feel awkward. Piotr was such a stickler for rules and ‘appropriate behavior,’ and you had no doubts that he would consider sleeping in the same bed --especially since your relationship was still fairly young--to be inappropriate, to say the least.

However, he doesn’t so much as hesitate when you ask. He simply presses a kiss to the top of your head and whispers, “Of course, dorogoy. All you had to do was ask.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and let him carry you to --and set you on--the bed.

There’s bit of shuffling as Piotr finds a pillow for you, and then he shuts his bedside lamp off and lays down next to you.

You wiggle across the bed until you’re pressed up against him.

Rather than mind the invasion of his space, he simply winds his arms around you, holding you against his large, muscular body. “I would’ve have offered earlier, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You can’t help but smile at his sweetness. “Well, I would’ve asked earlier, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Politeness gets you nowhere.”

He huffs out a soft laugh and runs his fingers through your hair. “You don’t mean that.”

No. You really don’t.

Rather than admit defeat, you opt to trace your fingers over his chest. He’s wearing a loose t-shirt, exposing his collarbone and the tops of his pecs. His skin is warm and soft under your fingertips.

Something in the back of your mind registers satisfaction at the shuddering gasp you pull out of him when your fingers graze over his collarbone, but you’re too tired to let the thought manifest past that.

By all means, it’s really soothing. Piotr’s fingers playing with your hair, his comforting embrace and warmth, the way his skin feels under your fingers. It’s almost enough to lull you into sleep, save for one nagging thought--

You tilt your head back to peer up at him. Piotr’s face is near indiscernible in the dark, but you can make out the shadowy outline of his features and the soft glint of his eyes. “What happens if I have another nightmare?”

“I will wake you up and comfort you.”

That --the promise that you won’t be left to suffer alone--is enough to finish calming you down. You close your eyes, lay your head on his chest, and let yourself fall back asleep.

You wake up --but not in the place you fell asleep in.

You’re in your room --not the one at Xavier’s, but in your old room, back in the middle of nowhere.

You bolt out of bed and race to the door. You yank and pull on the handle, but it doesn’t budge.

You try the windows next. You rip the curtains away, only to find that you’ve been sealed in. The windows are boarded over; not even a trace sunlight peeks into your room --your cell.

You pound your fists against the walls, desperate to find a way out. “Help me! Please, help me!”

A bright light floods the room, seemingly from nowhere. Someone grabs your shoulders--

“Y/N!”

You jolt awake, mid-scream.

Piotr is holding you by your shoulders, expression pinched.

Oh. That’s right. You’re in Piotr’s room. Not at home.

The relief hits you like a brick to the chest, and you start crying.

“Oh, myshka, what happened?”

“I dreamed was back home, trapped in my room.”

His arms slid underneath you and lift you off the bed. “It’s alright, love. I’ve got you.”

You draw in shaky, uneven breaths as you press your forehead against his shoulder. “I know. I’m just happy that I’m here, instead of stuck back there.”

“So am I, lyublyu. So am I.”

You sit at one of the many window seats, staring out at the cool, rainy day. Normally, a view like this --gray skies and damp grass--would leave you in a foul mood. Today, however, you were simply grateful to be seeing it.

It was horrifying to think that if Piotr hadn’t started looking for you, or if you had left your phone at the mansion, or if the bounty hunters had turned it off, or --a thousand other things, who knows. Point stands, you would be on your way back to your parents, never to see Piotr or the other X-Men again.

Or, maybe you wouldn’t have been underway to see your parents by now. Maybe the bounty hunters would’ve kept you in the basement, torturing you however they pleased.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t hear Piotr sneak up behind you. You shriek as he lifts you off the seat and spins you in a circle.

“ Zdravstvuyte, myshka.”

You can’t help but smile at him as he settles you into his arms, bridal style. He’s in defense mode, which makes things a little uncomfortable, but you don’t mind. “Hey, yourself. I didn’t heart you coming.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I was lost in thought.”

“Good thoughts, I hope?”

Your smile fades. “Not really, no. I was just thinking... what would’ve happened if I hadn’t had my phone on me...”

Piotr’s grip on you tightens. “Easy, dorogoy. There isn’t much to be gained by those thoughts.”

“I know. It’s just kind of horrifying.”

He kisses you gently, then carefully sets you on your feet. “You need distraction. Have you had lunch yet?”

“No.” You intertwine your fingers with his --a near impossible task when he’s in defense mode, but you manage. “But, I can think of a couple other things if you really want to distract me.”

He ducks his head and chuckles. “Perhaps another time, myshka. Skipping meals is not healthy.”

You smile and let him lead you out of the library and in the direction of the kitchen. “Of course. Heaven forbid we mess up our meals.”

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #x-men fanfiction #colossus x reader #piotr rasputin imagine #colossus imagine #self insert #welcome to my new hyperfixation #enjoy the stay #i certainly have been #colossus is the biggest marshmallow and no one can convince me otherwise #oops it got long #like 7k words long

115 notes · View notes