#not to ignore his missteps though...

[grants-blue-eyed-stare]

Abraham Lincoln

#my honest reaction to him #i am so happy he exists #not to ignore his missteps though... #abraham lincoln #american civil war #acw #civil war #presidential history

[antiquarianfics]

The Best Things Take Time

Bucky has a code. You manage to crack it.

A/N: This took me so long because I wasn't really sure how I wanted to go about it. I'm pretty happy with it, I think. Also, my first request! I hope I did your brain-child justice. :) Warnings: Mild language. Based on this request. Note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to repost or translate my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and/or reblog.

----

Bucky Barnes decided early on in his life as a free man that he wasn’t going to try and date—even with Sam and Yori pushing him all the time. His triggers are gone, yes, but he is starkly aware that he still has a long way to go before he might be considered ready to give time and energy to another person on a daily basis. However, if there is anyone in the world that makes him reconsider his own rule, it’s you.

The two of you first formally met when Steve, Sam, and yourself finally tracked him down. You were kind to him, but you kept your distance. He never made many attempts to speak with you, but the short interactions he did have with you were short and clinical. He never asked, but he’s pretty sure you’re afraid of him—of what he’s done.

Despite this assumption, Bucky takes note of the way you drop everything to help him time and time again. You back him in Washington, you back him in Siberia, you back him in Wakanda, and you back him in Washington in the second go-round. He is appreciative—very much so—but he keeps his distance regardless. After all, he shouldn’t risk losing an ally by something as silly as small talk.

Things begin to change, though, when he runs into you at the airport. Both him and you felt the need to get on Sam’s back about giving up the shield.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, a little indignantly. You cringe a little at your tone, but you brush it off nonetheless.

Bucky shoots you an annoyed look before turning to Sam.

Throughout the mission to track down the Flag Smashers, you and Bucky bicker (even more than Sam and Bucky do). You challenge him on every opinion he shares, poke fun at every misstep he takes, and side with Sam for the sake of disagreeing with him. He returns the favor, and he ignores the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth.

Your interactions are not particularly pleasant, sure, but they’re existent—which is progress.

—

“Does he always stare like that?” Walker asks Sam, eyeing Bucky uncomfortably.

“You get used to it,” Sam replies.

You glare at Walker. His attitude towards you and your boys bothers you. His entitlement to Steve’s shield and name bothers you. He bothers you.

“Does she always stare like that?” Walker asks, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Only when douchebags harass my friends,” you deadpan.

You are plenty aware this is the first time you’ve called Bucky your friend, and you can tell he is too by the way his eyes shift from Walker to you. You’re not aware, though, that your concession of friendship serves as the push he needs to talk to you more.

—

It takes time, but over the next few weeks, Bucky manages to get you to open up. He’s surprised with himself by how he’s willing to talk to you; after all, people are usually trying to get him to talk.

Bucky finds out that you’re actually not as reserved as he thought, but you had heard both Steve’s stories of before and multiple people’s accounts of after. Your distance, you admit, was a consequence of you trying to give him space when everyone else was crowding him. Your teasing and bickering with him was a consequence of trying to create said space. The revelation makes Bucky’s heart clench: no one has made him feel so cared for in a long time.

Bucky sticks by his no dating rule, though. After all, you may be friends, and you may be acting nicer to him lately, but there’s no way you like him like that.

Or, at least he thinks so until Louisiana.

—

“Hey, Sarah,” Bucky says, flashing a charming smile at her from where he sits next to Sam and yourself on the dock.

“Hey!” You smack his chest with the back of your hand. “No flirting with Sam’s sister.”

He lets his attention shift to you, and he can’t help the surprise. He’s aware that you could just be enforcing Sam’s demand from earlier, but you’re so adamant. He thinks maybe he sees a flash of jealousy in your eyes, but he thinks, too, he might just be seeing what he wants to see.

Sam and Sarah continue to bicker before she shoos the three of you away from the boat. Sam and Bucky step onto the dock and begin to walk away before you, and they keep walking even when Sarah stops you.

“Subtle,” she says, smirking at you. You wave her off, your face heating up with a blush.

“Shut up,” you say, embarrassment entwined with each syllable.

Bucky thinks maybe—just maybe—you might like him back.

—

Looking back on the last few years, Bucky can hardly believe the journey you and he had been on. Being so distant most of your time together in the first few years, and then being so rude to each other the next few, and then needing a push from the Wilsons to actually do anything about your feelings… it was interesting, to say the least.

He remembers the day you agreed to leave Louisiana with him. It was an impulsive decision, but it led to the first time the two of you had truly been alone together. It led to inside jokes and deep conversations. It led to a genuine friendship.

“I’m headed out tomorrow,” Bucky informed you and Sam.

The three of you were sitting on the porch of Sarah’s house, conversation flowing from friendly jests, to Karli, to the boat, to whatever else. Your head shot up to stare at him, eyes widening.

“What? Why?” Your tone was a little panicked. Bucky raised his eyebrows at your tone. Sam laughed, and you shot him a glare.

“I don’t want to overstay my welcome, Doll,” he said. Ever since the incident with Sarah, he’d let a few pet names for you fall from his lips, and he smugly noted the way they made you squirm.

“Oh.”

“Well!” Sam exclaimed, clapping his palms on his knees as he stood. “I’m gonna go check on Sarah and the boys while you,” he pointed at the two of you in turn, “figure whatever is going on here out.”

You protested, but Sam was gone without another word. Neither one of you spoke for a moment, and you chewed on your lip.

“You’re really going?” You asked shyly.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“You can come with me, if you want,” he offered before he can think better of himself.

Your eyes shot to his, analyzing his face for any sort of jest. He seemed sincere, and once you decided he wasn’t pulling your leg, you responded.

“Okay.”

He remembers the day the two of you finally addressed that you were more than friends. Bucky, of course, has a no dating rule, and you? You had no such thing, but you weren’t dating either. In fact, you hadn’t since before Karli and the Flag Smashers showed up.

Bucky and yourself were at a bar, drinking and laughing with one another. He was sober, of course, but you were a little tipsy. You had a dopey smile on your face that he thought was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. He still thinks your smile is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

That’s when a young woman sauntered up to the bar. She was gorgeous; her long, black braids reached her waist, her lips were painted a bright red color, and she wore a halter top that left little to the imagination.

“Hi,” she said, grabbing your attention, shooting you a flirtatious smile.

“Hi!” You said, the alcohol making you friendlier than you usually are.

“I saw you across the bar, and I was jus’ wonderin’, would you wanna grab a drink with me? Maybe dance a lil’?” Her eyes dragged down your body and back up to your eyes.

Your eyes widened and you blushed.

“Oh, uh! T-thank you! I’m flattered, but, uh, I got my guy right here, and I kinda like him too much to date!” You sort of yell-whispered the confession to the girl.

She glanced behind you to Bucky whose eyes had also widened in shock, his mouth hanging open a little. The woman laughed and touched your shoulder comfortingly.

“‘s alright,” she assured. “Was worth a shot, though.”

She turned to Bucky then.

“Yo, congrats, man. You’re a lucky guy once you two talk that through.”

With that, she had left, and you turned around to Bucky.

“Look,” you said, more sober sounding than you’d been since the two of you arrived at the bar. “I don’t know what you think this is, or what you want it to be, but I’m all in if you are.”

Bucky leaned forward and kissed you without a second thought.

And he remembers the moment he decided he was going to marry you, if you’d have him.

The two of you were sitting on the couch in your shared apartment; after about two years of dating, you insisted you live together.

“Buck, you’re always here. All your stuff is here. I don’t think you’ve stepped foot in your apartment in a month. You’re just wasting money on rent at this point.”

You were leaned into his side, eyes glued to the tv screen. The two of you were watching The Princess Bride (it’s one of the many movies you insisted was so culturally significant that he had to see it). It was the way you would turn to him at your favorite parts, gauging his reactions to see if he loved it like you did; the way you would mouth the most iconic lines along with the characters; and the way you would sigh contentedly and cuddle further into his side at the romantic scenes that really pulled the realization from deep within him. And, perhaps, it was the way you produced the most ridiculous voice to say "Mawwiage! Mawwiage is what bwings us here today!" that truly brought the idea of marrying you to the forefront of his mind. Regardless, he knew he wanted you around for the rest of his already over-extended lifetime.

—

Bucky Barnes decided early on in his life as a free man that he wasn’t going to try and date, and he decided late in his life as a free man that he wasn't going to ever try and date anyone other than you. So, here he finds himself, kneeling on the ground in front of you with a ring extended towards your person, and hoping you'll say yes.

"Sweetheart, I know we've had a lot of ups and downs. We met when I wasn't truly myself, we got together when I was still figuring out who I am on my own—without Steve, without HYDRA—but no matter what, you've been there for me. You're still here for me.

"You deserve the world, Doll, and I want to give it to you. I want to be here for all your ups and downs, and I want to spend my life being to you what you've already been to me.

"You're my partner, you're my best friend, you're the love of my life. And if you'll have me, I'll be your king, if you'll be my queen. I'll be your husband, if you'll be my wife.

"Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?"

You let out a laugh through a sob, pulling your hand to your face to quickly wipe your tears away, and you nod vigorously. You drop to your knees, pulling Bucky's face into your hands, caressing his cheek gently. Smiling, you respond.

"James Bucky Barnes, of course I'll marry you."

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader fluff #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfic #tfatws!bucky x reader #tfatws!bucky x fem!reader

[lilisettean]

Ice Wine | Zayne/Reader

About: A slight misstep and slip of hand when playfully shoving Zayne caused you to fall onto his lap, with you straddling him.

Pairing: Zayne/Reader

Notes: A partial rewrite and continuation of Zayne: Drunken Intimacy. I liked the memoria event from this card but when compared to Xavier and Rafayel's... Yeah...

AO3: Read here!

Warnings: Dubious consent (reader is drunk), light bondage, hints of dominant Zayne, hints of brat/brat taming. Age 18+ please! Enjoy :)

“I… Whatever. I’m going to sleep.”

You mumbled, pointedly ignoring the warmth lingering on your cheek. At this point, you don’t know whether you were flushed because of the alcohol in your system, or because of the position you were in.

While inspecting Zayne’s chin for bruises, a slip of your feet made you tumble forward, causing you to straddle him while you looked at him for possible injuries due to your headbutt earlier. 

The suggestive position you were in hadn’t registered until he kissed you, his face mere inches away from yours afterwards. It didn’t help when you tugged at his loose tie again to tease him, only to be met by his hands gripping at your waist, pulling you closer to him.

Unlike most of the time when his skin was cold, almost icy, to the touch, you could feel heat radiating off him, warming you even further. 

“I thought you had good reflexes.” He remarked, his eyes not once leaving your face. You met his gaze head on, determined not to shrink away from his intense focus on you. “For a hunter to be caught so easily… It seems you’ve gotten careless, no?”

“...Do I need to be alert when with you?”

He froze at your reply, his grip on your waist loosened momentarily before tightening again. “How sly.” He smiled as he leaned into you, closing the gap that was present. “One would think you are tempting fate.”

“Yes, how sly.” You mumbled, unperturbed by the sudden closeness. “You haven’t drank a single drop of wine, and yet you act as if you are drunk. You’re not making any sense here.”

“With you in front of me like this… How am I supposed to make sense of anything?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, a question ready on your tongue but then something within you clicked, a sudden realization shocked you out of your drunken stupor. 

The heat. 

Zayne never was warm to the touch, unless he was sick. But he was neither that nor a drinker, so that left only one possible explanation.

You quickly glanced down, and you were appalled to find the neckline of your dress was pulled down further and the strap of your dress falling to the side, giving Zayne an eyeful of your cleavage. It didn’t help that because of the dress, you opted to use pasties instead, leaving your breasts barely covered. 

Combined with you straddling his lap, and your face flushed from the alcohol, the sight made it seem as though you two were–

No longer hiding his true intentions, Zayne slid one of his hands down your hip and under your dress, caressing your thigh. “Am I still not making any sense to you?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Seeing you shiver at his touch yet not pulling away from him, he continued. “You wouldn’t object if I kept you close, would you?”

Instead of replying however, you hooked a finger onto his loose tie, and–

“Mmph–”

It was as though a switch had been flipped the moment his lips met yours. Gone were those gentle touches and careful caresses of your skin, his need to be with you– be in you– consuming every single rational thought he had. 

While you had the element of surprise, shocking him when you sealed his lips with yours, he quickly wrestled back control, taking the lead of the kiss by tilting his head slightly for better access and pushing his tongue against yours. The roughness of him pulling your hips closer to him, to have you straddle his crotch and feel his clothed cock nudging against your inner thigh, made it seem like he was as drunk as you were, having lost control of his tightly held restraint. 

No, he was as drunk as you were. But instead of being drunk on those fruit wines you brought home, he was intoxicated by something– someone– else.

You.

“Zayne–” You gasped between kisses, your face no longer flushed due to the alcohol, but because of the intensity of his kisses, not giving you much respite between them. It didn’t help that his hands were roaming all over you, the warmth from his touch seeping into you, banishing all hints of drowsiness away.

You fumbled with his tie and cursed at the many buttons his shirt had while he tugged down the straps of your dress, peeling away the annoying pasties that were in the way and cupped your breast, thumbing over your pert nipple.

“A lot of people asked about you tonight.” Zayne remarked as he kissed your neck, his breath tickling your skin. “They asked if you were single.”

“What did you tell them?” You asked moments later, too distracted by the hand that was under your dress. He had dipped his fingertips under the waistband of your panties, toying with it and teasing you for what’s to come.

“No.” His denial, while quiet, was firm, commanding almost. “You are not. In fact–”

Zayne adjusted the position you were in, keeping you close and– oh. 

“You are taken.” He stated, emphasized by the bulge pressed against your clothed heat. You could feel the outline of his cock next to you, its hardness causing warmth to pool within you. Against better judgment, in which you should undress him and yourself before attempting anything, lest you ruin the outfits, you wiggled your hips and responded in kind.

And before you could react, he slid a hand under your hips and lifted you up, and pinned you down to the sofa, forcing you into the same position as earlier when you had tugged on his tie.

Unlike earlier when you were in control and him pulling away at the end however, he was hovering above you, one of his hands right beside your head while the other was still on your hips, his body right between your thighs.

Your heat clenched in anticipation, waiting for him to pull you closer and onto his clothed cock. But instead of that he paused to look at you, his half lidded eyes roaming all over your form.

You took the chance to take a good look at him as well, to see if he was just as affected by this non alcohol induced heat. His tie was long gone and his shirt was half buttoned, revealing his broad chest. While his pants remained the same, you could see the outline of his cock straining against the front of his pants, making you wonder how it would feel against, and inside you.

Zayne felt his cock throb at the sight, and he couldn’t help but bunch your dress up further to your abdomen, exposing more of you to him.

“The dress…” You mentioned, suddenly made aware of it. He had paid for both of your outfits before you could’ve and you’d hate to ruin his gift. But he silenced you by lowering himself down to your lips and sealed it with his, distracting you.

You were so caught up in him that you barely noticed him pressing closer to you, his hand that was on your hip no longer there. It was only when you heard the unbuckling of his belt and the telltale unzipping that you remember about the dress.

“The dress will be ruined if I don’t take it off.” You breathed out after you broke away from the kiss, your eyes darting down to where his cock would be. And sure enough, it was right on top of your heat, its tip glistening with precome. Zayne tilted your chin upward before you could stare at it further however, forcing you to meet his heated gaze head on.

“Don’t worry about it. I want it on you.”

“Have you been imagining fucking me while in this dress, Zayne?” You teased, and when he responded with a small smile only, you laughed. “Who knew ‘Zayne the Terrifying’ had such dirty thoughts?”

“I may be a terrifying man, but I am still a man in the end.” He replied as he pushed your panties to the side, and dragged a finger up against your entrance. “Especially when it comes to you.”

With that, he captured your lips once more, slotting himself between your slick folds, and thrusted slowly against you. His hands were on your hips, sliding your wet heat up and down the side of his stiff cock as he fucked your folds.

It was difficult to concentrate, every single coherent thought disappearing like mist with every thrust against you. You had half a mind to unbutton his shirt further, to slip your hands under them and drive him mad with want like he did to you, but that required focus, which you had none of. Especially when his cock grazed over your clit, forcing whatever drive you had out of you.

The ache to have something, anything, within you grew every time his tip caught onto your entrance. You waited  with bated breath for the inevitable push of his hardened cock into your waiting heat, only to have him thrust upward again, leaving you wanting.

You reached down to take matters into your own hands. But before you could do so, Zayne caught your wrist and pinned both of your hands above your head.

“Zayne–” You whined in protest when he reluctantly pulled away from you. But instead of teasing you as expected, his attention was elsewhere, his free hand grasping onto something on the side while he kept you pinned down with one hand.

You tried to see what he was looking for, but couldn’t as his attention returned to you once more, his half lidded gaze freezing you in place. He merely smiled at your confusion, and you were about to question him when you felt it.

He was binding your wrists with something… soft. Was that silk– oh. 

His tie.

Zayne leaned down to nip your earlobe, the corners of his lips twitching upward when you wriggled against your restraint. “Behave and let me.” He whispered, his soft demand contrasting your whimpers. “Impatience will get you nowhere.”

“And if I don’t?”

“In that case…” He trailed off, pulling away from you and sat up. His cock was no longer between your folds, and was instead replaced by his finger, prodding and teasing your heat. He traced the edges of your entrance, coating his finger with slick, before pushing it in. 

Before you could question him on how this was going to force you to behave, he curled his finger and prodded at your soft spot, touching it every time he pumped his finger in and out of your heat. 

Just when you were accustomed to his touch, he pulled his finger out of you entirely. A thin strand of slick connected your heat and his finger, snapping when he brought it up to his lips, staring directly into you whilst he licked his finger clean.

“Now…” Zayne said, positioning himself between your thighs once more. He had wanted to please you and push you towards that high you wanted at least once before burying his fingers, then his stiff cock, inside you, but your impatience– and his as well if he were to be honest– forced his hand. “Will you behave and let me prepare you?” 

“Or do you want me to make you beg?”

#love and deepspace #love and deep space #love and deepspace zayne x reader #no fade to black smut? ok . #*thanos voice* fine. i'll do it myself. #seriously tho the memoria is very zayne and i like that he's worried for mc #but unfortunately i am down bad so...

[fancyfade]

2009 era Damian reading

As I've been doing my 2009 era Damian reading, I'm trying to condense the good stuff and bad stuff, and things I believe are relevant for his character. These are in addition to what I assume is obvious (Batman and Robin 2009, the comic where he has a starring role).

Battle for the Cowl: this has how Damian becomes Robin. It's not necessarily good. Daniels really does not understand Damian, especially this early in his writing, but it does have some important context for things going down b/c Damian helps Squire save Tim's life, and we can see Dick viewing training Damian as something he is responsible for.

Secret Origins (2014) #4: This is a much more in character Damian becoming Robin, though fit for a condensed new 52 timeline that leaves some stuff out (like Damian's rocky intro with Bruce).

Batman #688 (Long Shadows part 1): Winick seems one of the early writers who does a Damian as he lines up with later characterization (views himself more as a professional assassin), so I think this one's good.

Batman: streets of Gotham #1-6: damian makes some minor appearances here.

Batgirl #5-7: Always take Damian's guest-starring stuff with a grain of salt, as often times writers just go with "how would an obnoxious 10 year old boy act here" without understanding he's a specific kind of obnoxious 10 year old boy... that said I do like some of his interactions with Steph, and I think it's incredibly important that we see Damian defends his competence based on his training, not on his blood.

Like he'll sometimes justify why he belongs based on his blood (which like... no one acts like they want him around), but he isn't going around saying "I'm better than you b/c I'm batman's son". he was trained intensely since birth (and that's why he should say he's better than you :P)

Batman #692-697: not a ton of Damian in this, and it is Daniel's writing, but he's a little better than he was in Battle for the Cowl. We see Dick training Damian some.

Batman: Streets of Gotham #7, #10-#11: love this plotline for him. Good show of competence and characterization.

Blackest night: batman: More focused on Tim and Dick, and Tomasi sucks at writing Babs, but at there is some Damian content that I remember enjoying.

Red Robin #11-15: as long as you read this one with your brain turned on, it's good for explaining some Tim and Damian stuff. Sadly some fans are like "woooo arrogant 10 year old gets beat up". Nicieza makes some missteps (frames Tim's thinking around Damian as coldly logical, when it is anything but and he is reacting from a place of emotion), but one can ignore those.

Batman #703: shows Damian's character pretty well in a default Batman and Robin adventure, and his relationship (or lackthereof) with Bruce and his dynamic with Dick and Alfred

Teen Titans #88-92 (including Red Robin #20 in a crossover plot): surprised by how well I liked this one. I think it portrays Damian pretty fairly, and we can see that he is trying hard, but hasn't been given a lot of support up until now (or even now, Dick kind of just drops him off with a bunch of older kids who all also have issues and are predisposed to disliking him XD). His dynamic with rose is fun and I think it is notable how quickly he does acquiesce to following Cassie's orders when she's like (at first) the only Teen Titan who is OK with him being there and assures him its not personal when she makes a comment he doesn't like.

Bruce Wayne: The Road Home: Batman and Robin: Has some nice Dick and Damian banter, showcases how they've worked together well

Batgirl #17: more damian and steph interactions.

I will probably add more (either editing this post or in a reblog) as I keep reading.

#dc comics #fade reads dc comics #damian wayne #robin #reading list #sort of #2009 era batfam stuff

[rinniereads123]

One-Shots

SOME OF THESE STORIES ARE MATURE! READ THE WARNINGS AND TAGS BEFORE YOU READ!

Last updated 05/27/2024

★ - personal favorites | masterlist

The Push and the Pull - @delaber

There’s nothing Bucky wants more than to be with you - and for that reason alone, he has to break both your hearts.

Little Bookworm - @heytheredelulu

Your boyfriend can’t think of anything more adorable than watching you read. One night while you’re in the shower he picks up the book you left on the nightstand: “Haunting Adeline by H.D. Carlton” and thumbs through it, very quickly realizing just what kind of books his sweet little bookworm is really into.

Anywhere Away With You - @thevillainswhore

Old ghosts from your past threaten to disturb the peace you’ve made with your new life. Will temptation steer you away?

★The Ties That Bind Us - @thevillainswhore

Even though Bucky is your ex-husband, you still have to see him often because of your shared son. But the heated tension, the spark that is still very much alive after your divorce, finally reaches its peak when you come home from your date.

Warrior/Worrier - @delaber

After a mission gone awry, Bucky finds himself on your doorstep in the middle of the night.

Pink in the Night - @d0wnb4df0rf1cm3n

Some interesting rumours have been circling around about Bucky. Little do you know, it's kinda your fault.

Love Hurts - @urdepressedslut

You and Bucky get into a heated argument, things are said and done and now he won’t speak to you. You don’t think you can handle him ignoring your existence.

in losing grip, on sinking ships (you showed up just in time) - @mellowsaturns

When the Avengers pick up unusual activity, they realize that not all of Hydra was destroyed. One unidentifiable face sends the team into a frenzy but Bucky knows it. He could recognize those eyes anywhere.

I Hate You - @ellemj

After ending up on SHIELD's radar, you're moved into the tower against your will. Of course, you can't stand the one man that you have the most in common with.

One More Night - @marvelouslizzie

You and Bucky Barnes are fuck buddies for a while. The problem is you have feelings for him but you don't think he reciprocates and it just makes it impossible to continue your relationship. Little did you know how much he wants you and how hard he's trying to keep it casual.

The Things We Carry With Us - @pellucid-constellations

You were injured on a mission and didn’t tell anyone, leaving your already rocky relationship with Bucky crumbling. Was it really hate he harbored for you, or was it something else? 

Control - @bucky-bucket-barnes

John Walker makes the dire mistake of messing with Bucky’s girl. This misstep causes a major fight to break out between the two, ending in nothing but blood and rage.

I Can Save You This Time - @pellucid-constellations

It’s the 4th of July and you’ve never been more sick. Turns out you aren’t the only one in the compound that stayed home from the celebration.

Shaken Up - @jamesbuchananxsteviegrant

Steve and Bucky find their girl passed out.

Under Pressure - @banditthewriter

Y/N hides a nasty injury from the team until they know everybody is safe, and then they collapse. Bucky worries about Y/N.

Injuries - @flowinglocksofbuck

you get injured on a mission and Bucky freaks out

Wicked - @str-spangled-banner

You were injured during a mission two weeks ago and put to much pressure on your healing wounds, doing more damage than you thought possible. Bucky fears he will lose you.

Necessary Evil - @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

Y/N gets seriously injured and Bucky takes care of her.

fingers fantasy fulfilled - @purple-babygirl

If Bucky's doll wanted his metal fingers then that was exactly what she was going to get.

Lavender - @wkemeup

Not every nightmare is the same and Bucky doesn’t always wake up as the man you know. 

Give Me A Sign - @lostgirlmuseum

Bucky asks the universe for a reason to live. The universe delivers you.

Fulfilled Fantasy - @sergeantbarnessdoll

Y/N admits to Bucky that she wants to have a threesome so he has Natasha help fulfill her fantasy.

Hottest Night of Your Life - @bossbtch1

Bucky and Steve joined you for a night out at the club, but things took a dark turn when a stranger spiked your drink. Bucky and Steve were more than willing to "take care" of you.

Sharing is Caring - @sad-not-glad

Soft Dom! Steve x Sub! Bucky x Dom! reader

My Queen - @adrinktostopyourthirst

The post-battle energy rush needs a release. Suddenly, there's a willing soldier at your disposal.

all the apple cider and no more haunted houses - @witchywithwhiskey

you and bucky barnes have a love-hate relationship—you love him and you believe he hates you—but when your friends insist on going to the scariest haunted house attraction in the area, the experience ends up forcing your real feelings for each other out into light

my everything - @mrsbarnesblog

The last thing that Bucky ever expected to see was the love of his life from the past trapped in one of the Hydra bunkers in the cryofreeze chamber. Yet here he was almost two days later, staring at your still unconscious body through the window at the medical wing, imagining the horror and disgust on your face when you found out that he was no longer the innocent and happy boy you knew before.

you were mine just yesterday - @notafunkiller

It's been a while since your break up with Bucky happened, but you're still not over him. You try to move on, go out, and have fun with your friend, Steve, but you end up in the same bar you two went to often. It also just happens that Bucky is there too, with Natasha by his side. It doesn't take long for you two to end up getting into old habits.

[yesimwriting]

can we get a felix angst where its not like felix causing the angst its the reader 😭 i dont know if I worded that correctly.but it’s always felix making the reader sad so maybe the other way around?

a/n we are giving felix a rough day >:)

i love queue,, i'm posting this and babysitting at the exact same time hehehe

----

Three songs. You've been sitting at the bar, undivided attention focused on a guy that walked up to you for three songs.

You place your elbow on the bar's surface, angling your head upwards so that it's easier to direct a grin at the stranger. The guy takes a partial step forward, his hand settling on the counter, about an inch away from your skin. Felix can feel some muscle in his law lock. Three and a half songs now.

"You okay?" Annabel's voice is warm against his skin, soft and yet still clear despite the heavy music.

Felix lets his eyes fall shut, his hand settling against Annabel's side. The odd, hollow feeling creating a pit in his stomach has to be a result of the influx of alcohol in his system. Or maybe he's over extended himself, one too many parties and social activities during a week in which he had to complete several, time consuming assignments.

Your distance isn't making these things easier, which is an okay thing to feel. It's even a fact he feels no shame admitting to himself. You're his friend--his best friend--and the two of you came here together. It's only natural for Felix to feel irritated at the thought of being so casually dismissed.

There's also the usual, completely understandable, worry. You're a girl...and while Felix knows you're capable, strong willed, and brilliant, he also understands how guys are.

Sure, Felix might not know that particular guy, but that doesn't mean Felix can't see right through him. Nice hair cut, confident stance, a familiarity in the way he looks at you...

Felix opens his eyes. "I'm fine." He gently squeezes Annabel's hip. "You need another drink?" His eyes land on you. You're giggling now. Beaming. "I'm getting one."

His hand drops back to his side. Annabel's lips pull into a frown. "Sure. I'll have whatever."

He nods once, the motion absentminded as he walks forward. The crowd is a mesh of enthusiastic bodies, packed together too tightly on a too small dance floor. They don't seem to mind, too distracted by the discounted drinks and the prospect of the long weekend the deal is meant to celebrate.

Felix approaches the side of the bar you're sitting at even though the bartender's closer to the other side. He has all night.

He doesn't need it. After a few seconds, there's the squeak of a shifting barstool and something warm touching his forearm. "Lex." Your name for him slips past your lips enthusiastically. You grin at him. "You're here."

Felix's irritation is still sharp enough to make him consider gently pulling his arm away from you, but your touch is so assured and oddly settling. He also likes the thought of you being so willing to hold onto him in front of that guy. "Needed a drink."

You briefly press your lips together, a hint of uncertainty tinging your expression. "I could've brought you one." You let your hand fall away from Felix before crossing your arms on your lap. "And Annabel--she's with you, right?"

There's something pressed between the syllables of your secondary comment that Felix doesn't get. You and Annabel seem to like each other well enough, chatting comfortably during group get togethers. And it's not like Felix was ignoring you to talk to her, you wandered away and Felix ran into Annabel. "You seemed busy."

Your eyebrows pinch together. "Oh, I'm being rude." You shake your head once in an attempt to dismiss any social missteps. "Felix, this is James..." You turn your head, smiling at the guy that's been patiently waiting for this. "And James, this is Felix."

James isn't the first guy to accidentally stumble onto you. They have enough in common to be interchangeable. They all look at you the same way, like you're something to take. They don't think to approach you until late enough in the night to assume that you've had a few. However, there's one thing that unites them more than anything else, and that's the way they react to Felix.

As soon as it's clear that you and Felix are friends, that you're close, they're doing all they can to silently promise that they meant to offense. That they didn't know. That their intentions were perfectly innocent and would have never manifested themselves as anything if they had known that they were treading on unsafe ground.

"James is in my anatomy class." So he already knows you. "And Felix is my friend."

"Best friend." That's the comment that usually does it.

Felix studies James's reaction. There should be something indicating some form of regret or inferiority. Instead, James straightens his spine and tilts his chin upwards a fraction of an inch. There's something determined in the look. "Felix. Nice to meet you. Your friend's talked a lot about you."

The pit in Felix's stomach expands into a chasm. He had never let himself consider the possibility that someone would take you away from him.

You're a relationship person. If this were to go further than a bar chat, it'd turn into more than that. James would fall for you, because who wouldn't? And that--that'd be it.

A boyfriend wouldn't let you sleep in his bed. A boyfriend wouldn't let you get away with a few just because kisses at the end of long night outs. A boyfriend wouldn't understand the two of you enough to let things stay the same.

"Yeah," Felix manages, "Nice to meet you, too." He straightens, his posture reaching a rigidness that's usually reserved for formal events back home. "Y'know she's never really mentioned you, and I'm around her enough to know."

You throw him a look. "We were just talking about how we haven't really talked much this semester."

"Not a lot of room for conversation between labs." James extends a hand, his fingers brushing against your arm. "Though you wouldn't know that watching this one." James tilts his head in your direction. There's a fondness in his expression that has Felix's stomach turning. "Want to see stable hands? Watch her dissect a cat."

Felix doesn't miss the way your expression instinctually sours. Anything that involves cutting into something that once was alive makes you a little nauseous. He's had to subtly comfort you after more involved labs, smoothing circles against your back and assuring you it was all for a good cause.

"Y'know the only reason she's fast is because cutting into animals makes her a little sick." You angle your head upwards to frown at him. The amount of heartache dissection based labs bring you has always embarrassed you. "But I know what you mean, steady hands."

You tilt your head, squinting your eyes slightly in confusion. Felix doesn't think he's said enough to upset you, but then again, who knows what kind of image you want James to hold onto?

There's no way James from intro to anatomy knows you the way Felix does. There's no way he ever could. Letting go of desired perceptions is at the heart of your friendship.

"Let's get a round."

You pull your arm away from the counter. "Lex, we can--"

"C'mon." Felix keeps his voice as harmless as possible. He places a hand on your shoulder, thumb instinctually dragging against the side of your collarbone. "Let me get to know your new friend, Lovie."

James taps his fingers against the edge of the bar. "Yeah," he mumbles, "We're all friendly."

You don't ease, but you also don't say anything or attempt to push Felix's hand away. He waves down a bartender, ordering something from the top shelf.

Felix briefly thinks of Annabel and his promise to bring her something. The bar's too crowded for him to wave her over without leaving, and if there's one thing that isn't an option now it's that. She'll find them if she feels like it, and either way, she's not the type to be bothered by that kind of thing.

James downs his shot with an ease that has Felix wanting to roll his eyes. You're fighting against a grimace, the way you usually do when drinking certain hard liquors without anything to follow. Despite his irritation, Felix still smooths circles against your back.

One round turns into another, which eventually turns into a third. James is chatty, comfortable and unflinching in his place by your side. Something about James's inability to take a hint makes it harder to keep the drinking lighthearted.

"'Nother round?"

You shake your head, the motion exaggerated and sluggish. "I'm out."

The reaction is too tired and genuine to be a sign of anything else besides you having a little more to drink than usual. Felix should take it as a sign to let any passive aggression go. You'll be crawling into his bed, in one of his T-shirts, by the end of the night. There won't be any reason to worry about James then, when he gets to smooth back your hair and brush his fingers against your skin without concern.

But rationality feels too distant for Felix to grasp onto, especially with that gnawing feeling still attacking his stomach. "Come on, Lovie, you don't want to tap out early in front of your new friend."

Leaning back into your seat, you look at Felix openly. For a fleeting moment, there's something unnervingly sober behind your eyes. He can feel you seeing right through him. "Are you okay?"

Felix blinks. "Why wouldn't I be?"

You prop your head up on an elbow, eyebrows pinching together. The haze of alcohol's pulling at you again. "You seem...weird."

He doesn't have a good response. There's no good way to describe the unease that's making it hard to just stand there. Maybe tonight should've been a dorm room night. The two of you could be reading together right now or listening to music or falling asleep to some movie.

"I'm tired."

You frown. "You want to go?"

The thought of leaving with you, of ending this interaction all together is more comforting than the thought of going to bed. "Think so."

You reach forward, not quite reaching Felix's hand but coming close enough for him to get the hint. He intertwines your fingers.

You turn your head to look over at James. He frowns, feeling the impending rejection. "Felix is all grown up, I think he can get back to his room by himself."

"We came here together." There's a sharpness to your voice that has Felix easing slightly, like the thought of ever leaving him to fend for himself is inherently ridiculous.

"Yeah." James presses his lips together into what isn't quite a smile. "I'll see you around."

Felix squeezes your hand. You push yourself to stand. "Yeah, I'll see you."

The two of you stumble out of the nightclub and into a much quieter, stiller world. The moon illuminates the street more than the few streetlights.

You two are walking so close together it's hard to tell who's supporting who. You're leaning against him, but Felix's hold on you is so tight he's not sure he'd be able to walk straight without you. He decides it doesn't matter.

Felix stops walking. It takes you a second to still. Even though you're only half a step ahead, you still turn around fully. Before you can say anything, Felix leans forward, pressing his lips against yours.

It takes you a moment to catch up with what's happening, but once you do, you lean into it. Felix pulls away slowly, his teeth dragging against your bottom lip.

"What was that about?"

Felix can feel the answer in his bones. He wanted to kiss you to prove to himself that he could, that nothing had changed. Instead of admitting that, he shrugs. "You, I guess."

You laugh, tugging on his arm to get him to start walking forward, "You're drunk."

"And you love me."

You roll your eyes. "Very much."

----

taglist; @vader-is-hot @spiritofbuddha @getosangie @freyafriggafrey @ilovehyperfixating @aryiannarae @willowpains @ker0senebunny @lilyrachelcassidy

#felix catton x reader #bestfriend!felix x reader #bestfriendfelix #bestfriend!felix #saltburn x reader #jacob elordi #jacob elordi x reader #felix catton

[haztory]

[seagirl]

⤷ kuroo tetsurou x f!reader; spider-man!au, mentions of violence, brief gore mention, exes to lovers arc, p in v smut, fingering, praise, a lot of descriptive language

⤷ summary: her underwater ecstasy, you could easily be the death of me, i swim through/ he comes to me, stuck on his knees, asking for better days

(w.c: 9.5k)

previous | masterlist

He stands in your living room like an ill-timed memory. 

Whole and vivid, he’s a flash of overdue colors and a crashing tide that overwhelms you. You blink a few times in hope that this may still be a dream; That his image will turn bleary and you’ll close your eyes enough times to realize they were never really open. That you’re in your bed waiting for the alarm to ring and the day to start as it always does.

It doesn’t happen.  

The person ambling around the room is not a figment of sheepish delusions, or the product of late night fantasies, but him— a heart-wrenching familiarity in a room that has been home to him so many times before.

It’s been three months since a hue of red has disturbed your home.

He’s lit only by the warm lowlight of your lamps as the sun returns to its place of rest. The dark bruise on his face looks gaunt, and his cheekbones arch higher in the shadows. He’s hauntingly beautiful, always has been, and yet, this beauty is unfamiliar to you. He looks nothing like you remember. 

Kuroo walks slowly in your living room, his trained steps light and deft on tile as he practically tiptoes around the room. As though a guard dog were sleeping in the corner of the room and one slight misstep would awaken the beast, disturb the peace and replace it with snarling roars and gnashing teeth. Force him out of the apartment entirely.

Maybe there is one—a silent protector lying in wait for the chance to jump out and bite; Chains wrapped tightly around its neck, made bloodied and raw from how tightly it’s leashed. It watches with focused eyes ready to ring the alarm at any second. It must sit largely in the corner, its presence so unmistakable that Kuroo must see it otherwise he wouldn’t be so diligent in trying to avoid the furniture. He circumvents the rug underneath your coffee table, hunches his shoulders and makes his body smaller as he sidesteps the loveseat to look quickly out the balcony sliding doors. He briefly pushes the curtains aside with one finger, surveying the darkening city with little more than a nod of acknowledgment before he returns his attention back to the room, looking around once more to see if anything has awoken by his doing.

He stills— amber eyes meet yours and he waits. Watching and waiting, waiting and watching. Stilling his movements as the predator watches its prey. Hoping for the acceptance in your space yet preparing for the barking.

It’s only when you break the gaze that he breathes. The dog rests its head on the floor.

The walls of your apartment have seen and felt Kuroo Tetsurou many times before; They have tasted his spilled blood, remain stained from it, and know of him in whole and scattered fragments—and yet he stands as a man seeing it for the first time. Perusing trinkets he knows too well, and focusing a little harder at the ones that have found their place during his absence. Acting as a stranger in the garden he helped grow. 

Do you—can we do this someplace more… private? 

N-no, I can’t do this—

Please? You can ask me anything, yell at me, whatever, I swear. I want to explain things, just… not here.

He had begged in the pharmacy. 

All reservations you had leading up to this moment crumbled alongside the shopping basket laid abandoned by your feet—much like everything else belonging to him and you. He’s in your home and it feels like both the violation of a boundary that you have rigidly put up for safety and the final piece to a puzzle. You try not to choke around a lump in your throat. 

You fight to ignore the whine of the dog and the ache that pulses your fingertips with the remembrance of him beneath your touch. A tired and worn body held tightly by lithe and lean muscles adorned with the kisses of blue and purple. Valleys and bumps, heartbeats pulsing beneath skin, it shouldn’t have changed that much in such a time— it couldn’t have. But, he looks so different in the passage of such a brief time. 

Maybe his heart beats differently now, but you suppose yours does too. You hardly feel like the same person that held him close on a thundering night. Was it even you who held a warm hand under violet flowers? You wouldn’t know. 

(It was you. There’s no way you could ever forget, no matter how hard you try.)

He’s standing by the coffee table when he reaches out to pick up an item on the glass surface; Some coasters lying stacked on top of each other, well loved and stained with drink. They’re recent additions to your home, hand painted and gifted by a friend from work after the success of one of your reports, but you suppose he must know that they’re new with the way he fixates.

He looks at them intently, fingers gently brushing over the acrylic surface. Tracing over the painted image with reverence, holding it tightly with a look in his eye that you can’t quite make out. But, he’s thinking— maybe too much as a minute, then two, passes. And still, he stares.

It is only after he speaks that you remember the coasters have wisteria painted on the surface.

“These are pretty.” He says, quietly. 

It’s a decoy—a false coercion to ease. A knock on your door with a whisper behind its asking sound, a quiet plea to join him. You’ve already let him in, isn’t that enough? What more could he want? It’s bait. 

You take it anyway. “Aoi made them.”

He nods, impressed. He holds the coaster up, waving the handiwork of your coworker gently in the air between his pointer and thumb. “Compliments to the chef.” He says, before setting it back down on the table. A gentleness in the action as though an actual flower were between his fingers, threatening to rupture at any sudden movement. “How is she?”

“Good.” You supply, simply.

He nods again. “And the job?”

“Good, too.” Even simpler. 

Silence encumbers the space once more. Red, scabbed knuckles make a flash appearance that you stare at, swallow a little too thickly at. Words live and die on your tongue, the urge to break fickle silence seemingly impossible. 

What could you ask him that you didn’t already know? What answers could you beg for that you weren’t already sure of? Spoken in the thick of his betrayal, truth settled on the guilt that hunches his shoulders. You don’t want to know about his life and the things he’s been up to because then it needs to be discussed.

But it ravages within you; the glaringly obvious, the bleeding heart of truth. The whining dog foams at the mouth as it barks for the taste of spilled ichor, the feel of the bone cracking between jagged teeth, and the savor of the split marrow. The dark, apoplectic fit of a yearning so deep that it tears the seams of you, screams to be held. Your want of knowing is equal if not more to the anger that has simmered within you for so long. 

You could demand an apology. It would be the appropriate thing to do. 

(It wouldn’t solve anything. Because he still left, and you still know why even if you lie to yourself and say that you don’t, and you both end up in the same place that you started. The hideous silence drowning you in the sanctity of your own home; Two familiar strangers trapped on a deflating raft wondering what there even was to say.)

“I read your articles.” He says, after a moment. Eyes flicker to yours, a slanted smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Genuity etched into the cracks. “The one about the wisteria tunnels was good. Really good.”

Hook pierces through you and tears through skin. Bait, bait, bait—

“Not too cheesy?” You offer quietly, eyes following red knuckles down to their place beside his body. If only to avoid his gaze. 

“No.” He says earnestly. “The right amount of cheese. It was amazing. You’re amazing.” 

Your body stills, rigid. You sigh and he knows. The barking commences.

“Kuroo—”

Lolling his head forward, shaking the mess of his black hair as he tries to roll the discomfort off of his body, he meets your gaze with a grimace of his own. “No, c’mon. Don’t—don’t do that. Please.” His lips are drawn in a tight line, some kind of debate playing over his features as he weighs the pros and cons of this—whatever this is. It’s infuriating, it’s misery, it puts you right back into the hole of devastation that you just finally started to see a way out of. 

Eyes of deep sorrow meet your angry ones. 

“That’s not my name,” Tetsurou breathes out in the empty space of your living room. He’s quiet with his words, convinced in them despite how gentle he says it. “Not with you.”

You shake your head bitterly, “You don’t get to do that anymore.”

His face furrows with a register of injury, but he doesn’t fight it. He does not mean to challenge you. He did not come with the intention to wage a war and emerge victorious— he didn’t really have much of an intentioned plan at all. Only knew that his mind froze at the sight of you and his heart lurched in a need long left unsatisfied.  

The frigid cold of your stare meets the charged electric of the tense room, the atmosphere turning white and hot as it bolsters through the already fraught room, unspoken words feeding the collision of the two forces. Your breath draws more ragged, the floods rising to your neck; Kuroo stands still, certain that his next step forward will be on the wire to the ticking bomb in the room—the cause of the implosion. 

(Kuroo thought he knew what the aftermath of an imploded life looked like— capitulating anger molding with deprived sleep left him a hollowed mess; Locked knee-deep in an endless vortex of must-do’s and must-be’s that resulted in nothing but a blank wall to stare at as fingers attempted to clean a mess that had no resolve. A fool tethering the same wounds, with the same tools, with the same outcome.

This is a different kind of hurt. Where home spits a poisonous rejection and burns through the still raw stitchings of patched skin. Comfort turned caustic, the remnants of good intentions showing him just how well they turned out to be. His name is no longer the reason for an amorous love, but instead the code to a blaring, bright red warning. 

Bloodied and broken fingers inch forward, doing as they always do and try to fix. Like a fool.)

“Okay.” He nods in acquiescence, placating but still firm. Determined, even in the threat of your gaze that tears him apart, to mend this. He hasn’t been imagining this day for three months now to fuck it up at the slightest sense of your anger. No, he’s handled worse than this. He would handle much worse if it guaranteed him this moment, this chance. Straightening his shoulders and standing tall before you, he readies himself for impact. Bracing himself for the explosion. 

He takes the step forward. 

“How do you want to do this?” He says, staring a kind of serious in you that is unsettling. As though something snapped into place within the brief second, a resolve solidified. This isn’t the Tetsurou you once knew, the one who made a fool of himself in his youth; This is the one you had the unpleasant encounter with—where lightning cast a sharp silhouette around with blood pouring from gaping wounds and fear filled the room with an impenetrable stink. 

That Tetsurou stands before you. Your bitterness settles like a pill stuck in your throat. “Hm, I don’t know. Maybe you should start with an apology?” 

“An apology won’t fix this.” He says succinctly, a knowing within him that he has deemed unnecessary to expand on, and it infuriates you.

“Well then maybe you should have thought of that before you left.” Rage stirs your appetite. Teeth growing, snarl rising, bite less of an inhibition and much more of a possibility as you thrash against rising waters. The taste of the marrow is thick on your tongue, its source right in sight. “No phone calls, no texts, nothing. You threw me away—”

He seems affronted, as though that insinuation were an insulting one, but he has no right. It only drives your anger further the more he seems to hunker down. “I was trying to protect you.” 

“You don’t protect someone by leaving them in the dark about something. By abandoning them.”

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, but you need to understand—”

“No, you need to understand what you did. The last time I saw you I thought you were going to die.” 

It’s the opening of the Pandora’s Box; Hurt and all of its tendrils that you tried to shove so deep within the confines of hiding crawl up your throat, wrapping around vocal chords and choking. They weave the familiar narrative and it is as vivid as you remember it to be. The pains and aches of an abandonment that dug into the depths of your soul, the heartbreak that comes when your great love has removed himself from it entirely. Rage tainting all that you have known, a rage that you were just starting to overcome. It’s hard to tap into the person you were earlier, the one that sat at lunch smiling and light-hearted and somewhat healed from the atrocities of lost love. 

Your guard has risen before the man you’ve entrusted the entirety of yourself to, its fortified walls shaking with each knock of hurt he brings to your door. “And then you left. You swore Kenma to secrecy. He wouldn’t tell me more than if you were alive or not. You could’ve given me something, anything. But you decided to act as if I didn’t exist—how could you do that to me?”  

His jaw clenches, the skin above pulsing with the movement. Darkness seems to swirl around him as he says, “I told you. I put you in danger.” But you hardly notice; Hardly care to. You plow forward.

“And I told you I was safer with you. You had no right to make a choice for me, especially not one that I didn’t want. And what’s worse is that you didn’t even have to think twice about leaving me behind.”

Kuroo takes another step forward, truly insulted as he crosses the expanse of your living room in quick steps— the speed in his movements still an alarming sight even after all of this time. He’s an arm’s distance away suddenly, intensity in his stare as he defends against your jabbing strikes, defense webbed against your venom. 

“That’s not even remotely true. It hurt me to let you go, more than you could ever know.” 

“Did it? More than not knowing anything? You had no problem staying away.”

“I did it to save your life.” He says, firmness beneath his in the tone, his own ire rising to match yours and you roll your eyes. 

“From someone who was already in police custody. Don’t say it like I should be grateful to you for it. Maybe if you involved me in the first place, maybe if I knew a little more than just you bleeding out on my couch, I’d have a little bit more sympathy for you right now.” 

The explosion happens, then— the bomb sets off. Only, it was you who stepped on the wire.

Series of images that only he knows intimately flash through his mind in quick succession—hideouts, trails of blood, dirty men with dirty intentions that filled Tetsurou with a vengeance that broke Hell and lit every fiber of his being aflame. It bursts from him at that moment.

“He knew where you lived. He knew your schedule, he had a whole fucking hideout with photos of you on the walls! I was compromised and because of that, you were a target. So yeah, I made a choice for you. I cut all ties and made it clear that you and I were done so that I could make sure he and anyone else he was working with were off of your scent. So that I could protect you.”

His lived nightmare—the one he worked so hard to shield you from for the past three months— spills from his lips in a frenzied shout. There is no hesitation to his tone, conviction bleeds through and you are taken aback. He is pulled taut, a rope fraying at the edges, unraveling right before your eyes.

Tetsurou continues, “I didn’t know who was involved or how long I had so I— I panicked. I should have told you, I know that. I’ve spent the past three months knowing I did it wrong but, I’m outside your window most nights just so I can make sure that you’re safe. And you are, so far as I can tell. So that means I did what I was supposed to do and I did a good fucking job at it.”

You stare at him, wide eyed and silent. It’s all you can think to do.

It was always a possibility. One you ran through in your mind, held quietly when Kuroo’s own worries about his other job came to the forefront. Someone knowing you, knowing about your ties to him and using that against him; But a year had passed with him as Spider-Man and for all of its ups and downs, Kuroo was careful. Nothing ever came of it.

But, a hideout? Enemies, plural, knowing who you were and seeking you out?

Even if doubt wanted to wiggle within the expanse of your mind at the admission, disbelief and all of its synonymous cousins working overtime to protect you from an unfathomable reality, it’s quickly squashed at the sight of Tetsurou’s haunted eyes. Caged fear and all of its tattered belongings veiled within his gaze. And while this transgression of his is large and looming, you believe it’s cause entirely; Because Kuroo may have broken your heart, but he’s never lied to you before. He couldn’t even think to lie to you about the symptoms of a spider bite, he certainly wouldn’t lie to you now about this. 

You believe him, unquestioningly. And it clicks then, like a light switch flicking, that as you have been wallowing in the ache of your loneliness, he has been navigating a world that has threatened him and you all on his own. That your life was in more danger than he had initially let on when he stumbled into your apartment, worried and frantic for your safety and he knew nothing more in his injured state other than the fact that he had to fix it.

His stupid senses of righteousness, his assumed burden to protect; Taking on the world at the tender age of twenty-three. Atlas, with his dark eyes and bruised skin, believes the threat of your safety to be his sin. One that he has exiled himself for, that has him stepping tentatively closer to you, until he’s right in front of you. And he doesn’t want to tell you these things that have kept him up at night, he hardly wanted to tell them to himself, but he knows if there is any way for him to win this—to make you see— then he’ll have to concede something. 

“I’m not— I’m smart but I’m not—I’m not good at this stuff. Okay? I don't know how to be him and also be yours. But, he knew your name.” Tetsurou’s voice cracks with desperation. “And yeah, I could’ve done a hundred things differently, but it wouldn’t have mattered because of how scared I was. I was willing to do anything to make sure you were safe.”

The first piece to your cracked walls falls. 

His fingertips lift up, padded fingers tracing your jaw, and it’s exactly as you remember. Heavy and sweet, the familiar touch satiating a dormant urge that has awoken only at his doing. You lean into it without realizing, the feel of his comfort sticking to you like  caramel. The sticky sugar of him pulls in closer no matter how hard your mind tries to chew your way out of it. You're stuck in the tar, mouth closed, voice silent, heart fluttering. 

His thumb sweeps across your cheek, his hand fitting against your skin like it never left. Warmth seeping in, blending the eternally blurred lines. A gentle force has your chin pulling upward, amber eyes meeting yours, like they always do. Finding you in a crowd of hundreds just as they do in the darkness of your living room. Meeting your gaze with little effort and boring into you, giving you ample opportunity to witness the throes of the brewing hurricane in his irises. 

Its hurtling towards you, the arms of its winds already wrapping around your wrists, your neck, your lungs. You’re inhaling its scent—musky and warm, the fading smell of a well-loved aftershave and damned latex. Tetsurou stares at you, and you stare at him, and it’s a fool’s game to think you’re anywhere but knee-deep in the eye of the storm.

“I will do anything to keep you safe.” He says, determination and all of its implications weigh on you.

His stare trails. Skirts across the features of your face as though he’s studying. It’s a quick flicker down to your lips and your heart leaps emphatically. He hears it, he must, because he’s then looking back to you and stops there. Parks his wandering gaze right into you and waits. He’s unconstrained, open, pleading for you to look and see; Find the answer in the ways that only you can find within him. 

“I couldn’t lose you.” Tetsurou brushes the underside of your lip with his thumb. His voice is low, low enough to rumble through his chest and into you. “I can’t lose you.”

You knew the moment he left why he did. Remember his words like a repeating lullabye as you run over them in your mind before bed, the desperation in his tone withering away the stone walls of your heart, the begging crumblings of letting him back in. Forgiving him is excusing the pain and the anger that tore through you, that left you cracked open and raw. You try to insist that within you, hammer that truth in with rusty nails in hopes that it will stick.

But you're drowning in the deep waters of anguish that he has flooded your apartment with, fighting life and limb against the beatings of caged desire that begs to reach out to him. Maybe, if you close your eyes hard enough you can shield yourself from the certainty of his gaze that the whimsies of romance try to convince you of and you can stand firm. You can open them and realize that this is all a dream that you had hoped it was at the beginning of this whole thing.

Maybe you could believe in that harrowed truth enough to have it buoy you to safety. A life preserver that whisks you away from the familiar touch of his hands that meld into your skin and drag you into the depths of his waters. 

You can remember his wrongs and try to do right by the girl that sat hurt and alone for three months. (Not alone, never alone. He was there; Watching, waiting. Ensuring your safety from a distance, checking through a widow. 

Loving you from afar in the only way that he could.)

“I wish you trusted me.” You whisper, and it’s not an invitation for forgiveness, but he shifts closer anyway. Lowlights of the room dance across his features, the shadows suiting him as they blend him half into the light and half into the darkness. What isn’t spoken is the hearty truth that lingers in the air. I wish I trusted you now.

Suddenly, his nose bumps into yours. Lips brush against yours and they part on instinct, puzzle pieces inching to find their unity once more. Mouths dancing, breaths mingling, one push and it would be the reunion of a past that is held up only by the misery of yearning. 

You want it, know deep within the parts that belong to him that he does too. He’s chasing it, looking for what once was his. His alter-ego isn’t one of the past, not one that he intends to give up anytime soon. Kuroo has never been a quitter, and you doubt as he pushes past blurring lines and unspoken boundaries that this is the indication that he’s willing to turn over a new leaf. 

He still wants both, still wants to be in the light and the dark, wants the normalcy of a life with you with the suit of red and blue. (And maybe, just maybe, a compromise could be struck; Balance could be found, with the growing pains. He could do both, don the mask and make time for you. You could enjoy the moments with him without pouring so much of yourself into him, the tiny voice of your heart whispers in your ear.

Maybe.)

“You should go.” You say, lips brushing his as your mouth moves to draw the line in the sand. The shattered pieces that were begging to finally be glued together drop to the floor. 

It’s hard to convince yourself that this is what you want, especially when he feels like sweet release in your hands, your mind finally feeling quiet in the warmth of his touch. It’s a betrayal against the deepest parts of your romantic self to deny this homecoming, but you do it anyway. Pulling away from his touch just slightly to stay firm.

It’s a minute before he finally nods. It’s absent of surety, instinctual almost, as he collects himself amidst the swarming tides of his thoughts. He parts, feet taking slow and heavy steps away from you. His thumb rubs across scabbed knuckles, hardly minding the pangs of pain that accompany as he picks and prods at his peeling skin. The jabs of sharp hurt macabrely steadying him as he wades through the sea of his own longing— intently hoping to push it to the side for this, for you.

“Yeah. Okay.” He says quietly, like he too has forgotten himself and is trying to piece himself together once more. 

His departure is slow moving, the disentangling of an entwined tar removing itself from the tether, an even harder fest the second time around— but he manages. Gathering himself, he steps towards your apartment door, opening it before halting and sparing one more glance towards you. Searching for something, trying to find it in your apartment, in you.

But you steel yourself, hold firm on this. Forgiveness is not given, it is earned—even for him.

“I want—” He begins before grimacing and shaking his head, “I would like to explain more. If you want. I know we’re not— I have to put the work in to get you to trust me again, and I want to do it.”

He shuffles in place, door adjusting with his movement, “Can I take you out for dinner? Try to do this the right way?”

And you should say no, should slam the door in his face for coming into your home, touching your things, yelling at you and crossing boundaries all within the same night. But even as your anger has risen at the confrontation of the past, at the poor attempts of mending, he has equally placated them. And you hate him for it, hate the fact that even though you haven’t seen him for three months, you’re still just as in tune with him as you were when he left.

This is a fine line between healing and dangerous territory— it could be the closure you need, the step forward to clarity. Or a warning. You fold your arms into yourself, deciding on the boundary at that moment, as shaky as it may be within your mind.

This cannot happen again; He cannot come into your home, touching you, breathing life into you when you have been wasted for so long. Pieces of the past cannot be picked up after they have laid abandoned for so long. For as long as you continue to look at Kuroo and see the wreckage that lies between you, things cannot be as they once were. Where you were a silly girl in head over heels for a stupid boy, reactionary to the ebbs and flows of a relationship that hadn’t known what steady ground was since the bite of the spider. It wasn’t a way to live, it wasn’t the way to be with someone.

Things need to be rewritten, dismantled and put back together. Etched anew. You are not who you once were three months ago, you look at him with too much distrust to be. He is not who he once was, his eyes are too sad to be. 

“I won’t promise you that I’ll trust you again.” You tell him and a deep breath racks his shoulders, “But I want to hear you out. As a friend.”

Tetsurou stares for a moment, understanding the words written between the lines of your statement. The line drawn in the sand. He weighs the options for a moment before eventually nodding, seemingly satisfied with that answer. Better to have you than not at all. “Yeah, that’s… that’s good. I’ll text you, we can figure out the details later.”

“As friends.” You repeat, unsure if it was meant to be a convincing reminder to him or yourself. 

“As friends.” He confirms. He gives you one last long look before he leaves your home. The water that choked you all evening receding with his exit. 

You had hoped in the crevices and cruxes of your mind as your entire world was tilted on its axis the moment that Tetsurou made his appearance, that you would be able to find your footing once he left. That your breath would come back to you in a way that it was pointedly thinned from your lungs— that peace could be found in the same way that you were just starting to become acquainted with it without your ex. This does not happen; As the apartment is submerged in silence, leaving only you in its embrace, you find that air doesn’t come back to you. If anything, you choke even more. Stand achingly still as your apartment becomes as it once was and settles emptily.

Even with the fire that he dredged forth, even the hurt that beat against the cages of your chest, even as you found the urge to yell and yell and never stop yelling at him—you can’t deny the truth that remains and rattles in the hollows of your mind.

You missed him. The way he spoke, how he filled your room, how his eyes found yours and stared an eternity into them. And maybe that’s the problem with first loves— the ghosts of them will always haunt the space of your heart, phantoms entwining around arteries and veins, infusing in your blood. But this is more than a rose-tinged ardor and a childish squabble; This is life and death, his and your own. And it cannot be regarded as anything but that, even if you want nothing more than to run out into the hallway and call after him.

You put that desire down, leaving it in the cage with all the other locked up hurts you hold of he and you, deciding it is a problem for another day. You force yourself to shift gear, turning to your bathroom in need of a shower to wash away all of the strain of the day, all of its exhaustion—

A knock resounds throughout the apartment. A beat passes, then two as its echo rings throughout the space.

You stare at it, wondering for a moment if it is your brain playing with you. If somehow you hadn’t locked that desire up tight enough and it was now at your door, toying with your hearing. A shadow filters underneath the door, a shuffling of feet. 

You know what’s on the other side without having to look. 

There’s a million reasons not to do something, pages and pages of entries in your castaway diary that depict the woes of your heart in the time that Kuroo had abandoned it—all of it’s waxing poetry serving as a poignant explanation as to why you should not open the door. But something tells you to open it, something smaller and sanguine—plumes of billowing hope that curdle in your stomach and float through you like an intoxicating smoke. Filling your lungs on the inhale, decadent exhaust that burns the nicotine, spreading the burning high.

Your hand is on the knob before you have much of a realization.  

And he’s there. 

Eyes inked with a steady fortitude, filled with an intensity saved for moments where you imagine the other guy comes to play, saved for the moments when he’s hellbent on getting you to see him. He stands at your doorway, lit under the harshness of the fluorescent hallway lights, chest rising and falling with the heaviness of his breaths. 

And it calls to you—that craving for the marrow, the barking that rings throughout your ears. It isn’t for the truth of words—it’s for him.

Really, he should be a better person and commit to the drive that led him to leave for three months, his need to keep you safe; Commit to the boundary that you have placed, the one that says I’m not ready to forgive you, the one that dresses you in caution tape and blinks in flashing red lights to avoid lest he do as he’s done before and try to fix things like a fool.

(A fool in love.) 

But it tugs at him, pulls him to his knees when you meet him with your eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed. Confusion, curiosity, and something pouring into you. He’s neck deep in the throes of longing just at the sight of you and that third element, that fickle something that he knows better than anyone else. He should be a better person and walk away, do as you have asked and respect boundaries. But then you say his name, a whisper on your tongue, like how you used to speak to him. And he realizes that he’s already done his time in being a better person. Three months of denying all he has wanted for the sake of protection. 

He’ll indulge in selfishness, just this once. 

Greedy with his intentions, desperate for you; Ready to drown. 

His hand is on the wood veneered door pushing it wider. His heart races in his chest as he realizes you put up no resistance in his doing so. A decision is made, absent of logic, truant of any remorse. 

“We will never be just friends.” He says, voice laden and heavy with that third thing that sparks a glint in your own eyes—want.

His lips are pressing to yours, rushing forward and slamming the door closed behind him in quick succession. A muffled whimper escapes your lips as you fall into old habit. The rough parting of plushness for a ravenous taste that stokes the embers of a desire hardly contained. And suddenly, his waters are rising around your ankles again, his own feet dragging against the force of its push and pull. Salty spray splattering against him, his clothes heavy with the damp and he’s sinking. 

(Even if you hate him, even if you push him away, at least you’re there—alive. 

He should fight and climb his way to survival, it’s the one thing he’s good at after all. But he doesn’t. This could easily be his death, headstone laid at your feet, the key to his coffin in your palm. 

There is no part of him that hasn’t been tethered to you in the formations of love and remained resilient in the absence of you; He is and has been yours, entirely.  And that was precisely the issue; For where he ended, you began. There was no better danger to him than you. And now, there is no greater danger to you than him. 

The taste of you is just as he remembered.)

Kuroo kisses as if this is how he could explain things. 

He pours all of his ferocity into the action, eagerly laps up the savory of the needing touches and the sweetness of bared soul, as it pours out and in. Joined into one, lines blurred, delineation a fool’s game. When wrapped in the throes of your embrace, the parting of your lips is all too addicting, and submission isn’t a threat but a promise of more.

He digs his teeth into the plump and pulls, losing the fight with his feelings when a whimper erupts from your mouth and even more lost when you push into him with equal fervor. Your hands are rushing up to his hair and tugging on the strands, pulling him closer into you if that were even possible. His hands find their place on your waist, finding solace when you fit against him in the exact way that he remembers. Joy coursing through the rushing blood when his fingers dig into plush skin, craving hardly satiated but instead, amplified. 

It’s desperate, and mean, and hard, and consuming and it's the greatest thing he’s ever had. Flurried limbs pulling each other together, gripping on skin in calloused moans and tugging movements. Your tongues taste one another, licking into the open in wet fervor. A whine is exhaled when your mouths pull apart that is quickly replaced with bliss when his teeth sink into your neck, lapping over your tender pulse point in the way he knows your body responds best. Your nails dig into his biceps, the fabric of his shirt tugging upward. 

This dance is familiar and that makes it that much more exciting, like an inactive muscle being stretched out. He’s pushing you both further into the room, fingertips trailing at your waistband, silently asking as he sucks another mark into your neck. You beat him to it, pulling pants and underwear down in one quick movement, your heart pumping erratically as you fall on the couch, onto the buoy keeping you above the rising tide. He’s moving in tandem, your own shirt falling to your floor in abandon. 

Revealed to you is a pantheon of scars that decorate the lean and lithe muscle of his chest as you settle on the sofa. Some old, faded to the color of his skin, others new, pink and raw. Your fingers are drawn to them, running over the numerous marks that bisected skin, that make constellations against his ribcages.

Atlas stares down at you, deep breaths racking his chest. “What happened to you?” You ask quietly, fingers finding a particularly jagged mark that runs from the right side of his ribcage down to his belly button. Two pale pink scars lining either side of its division— claws. His stomach tenses beneath your touch.

The worry seen in your eyes ignites a heated passion in him, the held suppression that you still care driving him forward once more.

“Later. We can talk about it later.” Invigorated, he leans back down, capturing your lips in another kiss and running his tongue on the curl of them. His hands move on their own accord, long fingers gripping beneath your knees and hiking your legs upward, exposing the wet and slickened part of your sex to the eager grind of his hard length poking through his jeans. Denim meets your sex and the rough fabric pulls a broken moan from your occupied lips as it grinds against the wet of your folds. Rubbing coarsely into your sensitive bud. His fingers find their place there soon after, splitting your seam and gathering enough wetness at your entrance to roll it over your clit, swirling his finger around the pearl in the way he knows you like it best. 

There comes great advantage to being with a man for as long as you were with Kuroo. His expertise ignites the beginning rapture with a speed unlike any other. Fingers playing with your sex in ways that you’ve never been able to replicate on your own, driving your want higher, tightening the coil that burns with delectable heat in your stomach as his tongue licks into your mouth. Your breaths are heavy, lips disconnecting with him as you find yourself distracted in pleasure, a trail of spit stretching between you.

It’s when he slips a long skilled finger inside of you that you throw your head back. He makes quick work, attaching with eagerness to the column of your throat, suckling marks into the juncture of your jaw and neck. He knows where the spot lies, knows how to have your mind fogging up and your mouth opening in stupor. 

And you hate it; You hate that he knows what to do and how to do it to get you so malleable underneath him. You’re putty in his hands and it's the essence of everything that you have been warning yourself of. He could ask you anything, tell you anything, and in the embrace that has been yearned for, it wouldn’t take much for you to do whatever it is that he asked. 

You would do more to stop this were you not locked in the throes of pleasure—but he feeds the beaten dog so well.  

A second finger enters you and you moan.

“That’s it. I wanna hear it, baby.” The huskiness of his voice pants a hot breath against the side of your neck. “Please let me hear it.”

“Tetsurou—” You manage to bite out just as his fingers curl upward, stroking against the spongy spot of your front wall. A dull fuzzy pressure begins to fill your body.

“You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” He asks, his thumb working in tandem with his two pumping fingers to rub hard circles against your clit. “You gonna let me taste it?”

His nose presses into your cheek, lips placing a loving kiss against the surface as you nod, emphatically. He breathes, enamored with the feel of your walls clenching around his fingers, drunk off of the faint smell of your perfume, and the salt of your skin. He knows an orgasm is hardly the way to fixing things, but he’ll be damned if he won’t try. Rising on his unoccupied arm, he hovers himself above you, studying the contortion of your face. Your face, gorgeous as it scrunches in response to his ministrations; Beyond beautiful in all of its existence, when you're smiling, skin pushing on the apples of your cheek; In sleep, resting and relaxed; In your fury, furrowed and gritted as you yell at him, give him your poison and vexation, deliver an acrimony that he can only kneel before— entrenched in all of your holy. 

Your eyes remain closed, sealed in bliss as he strums the familiar crescendo and as satisfying as it is to see, he wants more. Wants to see you. 

He says your name in reverence, “Look at me.”

Blown pupils meet his own and it's the final stretch. Heart escalating, fingers clenching, your thighs closing around his forearm to stave off the impending blow and all of its glory. He doesn’t stop, instead he keeps your gaze, dropping his mouth to your chest and sucking a nipple into it. Laving over the sensitive skin, setting nerves tender as he maintains his steady pace with his fingers.

And it comes; The sharp inhale of breath, the tumbling of his name, the peak of the long awaited happiness. Your fingers find home in gripping his arms, the one beside your head and the other between your thighs, still stroking an even stride through the pulsing of your gummy walls and the gush of wetness from you. 

It's convulsing and dizzying, you almost don’t believe that it's happening as euphoria washes over you. Tetsurou hovers over you, sliding his fingers from you and immediately putting them in his mouth, sucking the taste of you off of the digits. 

Were you not already pulsing with the aftershocks of an orgasm, the sight of his eagerness would have pushed you over the ledge. It's pathetic really how Kuroo does to you what no other person can. Set you aflame with the paradoxical sisters of lust and anger. The emotions of Mars, emboldened in intensity by his doing, are further impassioned as he stands on his knees, stare blown wide as he pushes your thighs apart once more. His gaze transfixed on the mess he’s made of your sex, the length of his cock twitching in arousal the longer that he looks. 

“There she is,” he says to himself, adjusting your knees further up until they’re hitting your chest. His hands grab underneath you, pulling your exposed pussy closer to him. He fists himself, a pearly bead of precum smearing over the red and leaking tip, pushing it forward so that the head of his cock bumps into the sensitive nub of you with each swipe against his length. Shocking you into the desire, building the anticipation once more. “This perfect pussy.”

He’s lost, stuck in the reverie as he stares at you and it eats you alive. To be so desired, so wanted by a man you were convinced hadn’t wanted you anymore.

“Tetsu,” Your voice is ragged and broken, propriety abandoned in the glow of the coital haze. You breathe and he seems reminded of where he is, a glaze in his own eyes. Kuroo leans down after a moment, reminding himself of what he’s meant to do. His lips find yours in a gentle peck as he breathes in your exhale. 

“Tell me. Please.” He swirls the head of his cock at your entrance, gathering your slick on him but waiting. “Tell me what you want. Tell me you want this.”

It feels like you're floating in the waters, no longer drowning or at risk of sinking, but instead light and loose on its surface. No longer made an enemy of its tides but the lover, kissed with each lap of its waves. If you close your eyes you can hear the water crashing against the shore. The waves that crumble the high rise of your stone walls, their wreckage falling into the sea. You can feel that it's Kuroo’s hands underneath you keeping you afloat, holding you still. Can pretend that everything is right once more. 

Your eyes shut in hope, the promise of tomorrow within reach. The words are spoken before you have any sense otherwise. Sober wants and the repressed truth voiced in a split second. 

“I want it so bad. I want you. Please, please—”

It’s all he needs, all he wants. Not the sex, forget the sex, but you—wanting him, asking for him. A revival of the shredded beating threads of a tender heart. He pushes into you, the hefty weight of his member filling you in the ways that are so familiar yet need the most adjustment. The burning stretch, the feeling of being whole as he moves forward, inch by aching inch. Slowly letting you adjust, slowly giving himself the time to fit.

He pauses his movement, a grunt, heavy and man, releases from his mouth. The wet heat of your walls choking him, wrapping around him like a vice that sets every neuron, every pathway alight. He digs his fingers into the soft of you tugging you closer in search of the home he knows, the one that will bring him to his death. In your embrace, it would be kind, long-awaited, the better alternative to the threat that he faces every night on the street.

He stills his hips, letting you acclimate to the feel of him inside of you. Conversely, he tries to catch his breath, tries to not burst at the first feel of your tightness around him. 

Tetsurou looks down at you, his hands smoothing up and down the expanse of your spread thighs as he watches the quick flicks of emotion on your face. Waiting for the signal, the green light to roll into you. 

Your chest heaves with a stuttered breath, your breasts rising and falling and he falls into the impulse to bring his hands to them. Palms cupping the skin, thumbs brushing over peaked and taught nipples. Your skin is dewy with sweat, eyes blown with lust, and hair messy as you lie beneath him. Beautiful, beyond beautiful. He takes a snapshot of you in his mind, folding this image in the file for the late night thoughts, for the reasons to keep living. 

Your face contorts into one of shock, eyes darting to his own, disrupting the image of ecstasy you were once so lost in. He mirrors your surprise with a look of confusion, unsure what happened in the split second to cause such a look from you. 

“What did you say?” You ask, rising onto your elbows, shifting his place inside of you ever so slightly.

He hisses with the movement, hands rushing down to your hips to hold you still. He can’t think with the jolting, the hot lick of pleasure that burns within him at the slightest of shifting from you, but he tries anyway. Recalling the previous couple of seconds, wondering what could have slipped out of his mouth in the few moments that he was gazing down at you, staring in awe as you writhed underneath him.

“I’m so in love with you.” 

It isn’t the most jarring of things to have ever been said by him, this evening alone enough of a reminder of the kinds of outrageous that his occupation can bring, but it’s the breach of a reality. The actualization of something fragile that lies between you two. It is easier to be abhorrently angry at him rather than violently in love with Tetsurou, and yet it remains. 

Like a hidden secret, you kept it locked in you. Tried to stampen it out, snuff it with hands around its throat. But here he is, on his knees, just as victimized by the truth, begging for better days. 

He rolls into you, then. Energized by his own admission, eager at the locking of your eyes. He pumps a steady rhythm, cock bullying against tight walls and rubbing in all the right ways, revitalized at the moans that spill out of you.

“I said I’m in love with you,” Palms release your breasts and find your own hands, intertwining fingers together and leaning close to you. Chest to chest, mouth hovering above your own, chasing the home of sweet release but making sure you’re right in front of him. “So fucking in love with you.”

It happens in quick succession. Pressure erupting, tide pulling you in and under, his voice the only tether to the surface as your orgasm reached you in record time. Brought asunder by the turmoil, the anticipation of him, and then finally having it. You can’t tell if it's because of the ministrations of his hips that know you so well, that know how to bring you forward— thighs pressing into yours, skin clapping at the repeated meeting of him into you, the tightening of the burning coil— or the confession. Spoken just as he has said everything else to you—

With conviction, firmly believing the words he has uttered. Kuroo has never lied to you, he wouldn’t do it now. 

The blooming fire in your core spreads throughout the entirety of you; Your head throws back in a cry and Kuroo takes it as permission to follow you. Drops his head into your neck, thrusting with deep abandon as he finds his own peak. He digs and digs, burying himself to the hilt as he reaches it. His stomach tightening, his body going rigid as the high he seeks renders him still deep within you. A guttural moan leaving his mouth, unintelligible whispers, low muttered honesty that he means for himself. 

He holds you close to him in the wake of the decrescendo, all but collapsing on top of you. Limbs gummy and soft, minds sluggish as he keeps you connected to him, for as long as you’ll let him. 

Time passes like this, held close to him, sweat gluing you back to him in the way it was always meant to be. 

And it's sticky, this mess that you're in, body and mind. Clinging to one another, your hands unthread with his fingers to run through his hair, his lips plant soft kisses to the skin that he can reach, and the fragments of uncertainty between you lay shattered in their great glory on the floor. The tide slowly rises, washing away the scattered pieces, returning it back to its sea, promising to take care of it all with a loving whisper.

You don’t know where to go from here. The abated fear that was put to rest in the heat of his touch slowly inches forward. He knows it must, can probably sense your rising apprehension before you even realize it. Spider senses, and whatnot.

His head rises from laying in the space between the couch and your neck, ambers looking into yours. Honestly, carefully, lovingly.

He brings his hand up, brushing a flyaway from your face. “What are you thinking about?” The quiet plea from before. 

Let me in.

“Are you going to leave when I go to sleep?” You ask, and even if you had the energy to muster a kind of bite to your words, you don’t have the desire to. 

He wonders for a second, voice soft when he finally questions, “Do you want me to?”

Old habits beat the familiar song, and you fear waking up again to an empty apartment after having him so close. No, you don’t want him to leave; But admitting that is jumping four hundred steps ahead in a wasteland now imploded from your coupling with him. Nothing about this is normal, even as you try to grasp some semblances of it. You shouldn’t have slept with your ex-boyfriend, not when you told yourself things needed to be patched up first, not when you were still hurt inside, but falling into the cycle, the old song and dance of before has thrown a wreck into the healthy attempt at boundaries.

It’s just made everything so much worse. Your head hurts, your heart pounds and all you can do is cover your face with your hands. Hiding the frustration before him.

“Hey,” Tetsurou coos, admonishing you gently from your secreting. His hands pull yours away from your face, voice guiding the quieting din in your mind. “I’d like to stay. We can talk all night or not at all. I just want to be next to you. But only if you want me.”

It’s up to you; All of this is up to you, now. 

“And if I say ‘no’?”

“Then I’ll wait until you’re ready. Even if you’re never ready.”

You hum, a means to fill the space. Uncertainty lingering.

He calls your name quietly, the same seriousness that has been following him all evening in his gaze again. The kind that pointedly was not apparent three months ago before the rainy night. “You need to know though, before we start anything, before you make a decision, if it comes down to it—if your safety is on the line—I’ll do it again. I’ll do whatever it takes. And you can’t change my mind on it.”

It’s then that you realize even in the height of your argument, in the consuming of one another, Tetsurou never gave you an apology. Said to your face it wouldn’t fix anything because he wasn’t going to apologize to you. Saying he’s sorry would be a lie, and he doesn’t lie to you. He’ll hurt you both again if he needs to. If it comes to pass, that’s his answer; Wherever you’re concerned, if your safety is at risk, there isn’t much Tetsurou wouldn’t do to protect it—protect you. 

A knowing that you are going to have to accept. And quickly. 

Your eyes see only but the honorable truth in his. Your heart pumps erratically and your mouth craves the taste of his once more. 

“Stay. I want you to stay.”

a/n: its here. two long years later. big thanks to everyone who loves this series and has been interested even after my long ass hiatus. you guys are the reason i kept going through it even through the worst of things. love you all! btw i made a whole ass playlist just for this chapter so let me know if that's something we are interested in

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo smut #kuroo tetsurou smut #kuroo tetsurou angst #hq angst #hq smut #spideroo!

[underdark-dreams]

Hi! I love your Rolan fics so much!! If you’re still accepting ideas, may I request one where Rolan & Tav slow dance together? The two of them just finding their own little corner away from everyone and enjoying a close moment together. Thank you! 😊

Rolan x fem!Tav

Starlight

"Happiness suits you." Sometimes a moment alone is all you need. After the Battle of Baldur's Gate is past and the dust has settled, Rolan and Tav find the steps forward.

Tags: Slow Dance, Fluff, Mutual Pining | Word Count: 3.5k [Read on AO3]

The high society of Baldur's Gate had its own kind of dance, and Rolan found that the steps came quite naturally to him.

He had always been made for nights like these: the main floor of Ramazith’s Tower filled with lords and ladies of the partriar families, a sea of color and chatter and pure power in one room. All of them here at his invitation.

Rolan had scarcely gotten a moment alone the entire evening. He’d expected curiosity about the new Master of the Tower, but the sheer quantity of it took him aback.

For all their influence across Baldur’s Gate and beyond, it had come as a surprise just how little these people knew about Ramazith’s Tower and its various inhabitants. Evidently many wizards were territorial creatures who hoarded their lives and their knowledge far away from prying eyes. His previous master certainly had been—even with his own student. Ramazith’s reputation was even worse somehow.

It was a legacy Rolan had no interest in continuing. Knowledge had its own kind of magic; when shared, it only multiplied. To his mind, it was also a misstep to ignore the influence that came along with the role of archwizard. He had just as much of a role in Baldurian politics as he would have to research and educate in the arcane.

Once the dust settled after the great battle for Baldur’s Gate, Rolan put his plans into action. Tonight was the first step toward change. Gathering the high families, opening up the Tower to those outside the magical arts—it was at least a start.

Yet even Rolan found himself tiring of it all after several hours of introductions and political discussions. He had retreated with wine in hand to watch the fete continue from the upper mezzanine. There was only one person left in the room who he really wished to speak with, and he found it challenging to get the timing right. 

For the umpteenth time this evening, Rolan found himself searching the floor for Tav. Even in this sea of people her figure drew his eyes as if she had him enchanted.

After months of only knowing her dressed for combat, it was unexpectedly charming to see her dressed in finery. It suited her. Her dress was cut in a simple but elegant shape, with a high neckline that flowed all the way down to the hem brushing the tops of her feet. 

The dramatic detail was in the back: a large keyhole opening which displayed a very generous glimpse of skin from her shoulder blades down to the curve of her lower back.

Rolan found himself continuously distracted by that patch of bare flesh. Throughout the evening, occasionally in the middle of conversation with a council member, his eyes had been drawn to Tav from across the room. He felt it every time she turned her back to him, and he wondered whether she had any idea what she was doing.

But she was in even higher demand than himself this evening. Unsurprising to anyone who knew her role in saving their city from the precipice of disaster. So far he’d only managed to exchange a few glances with her from across the room, though each time she had offered him a warm smile.

Rolan’s fingers nervously adjusted his own lapel. He’d changed his dress for the evening as well; his new robes were light, fine silk stitched with gold trim. Fitting attire for his new station in life.

It was an odd sensation to finally be free of the metal apprentice’s mantel that used to rest over his shoulders. He felt lighter, less encumbered—and strangely exposed because of it.

“Itchy, right?” 

Cal appeared at his shoulder, tugging on the collar of his own dress tunic. He must have interpreted Rolan’s fussing as discomfort rather than nerves. A misunderstanding Rolan was content to let him continue in.

“Enjoying yourself?” Rolan asked dryly. From Cal’s squirming, he’d already guessed the answer.

“Hardly,” Cal muttered. He gave up with his shirt and took a long drink from his goblet instead. “I barely know any of these people. Well, there’s Alfie, but she told me off for trying to talk to her.”

Rolan glanced to the small platform along the far wall below. Alfira had been almost unbearably gleeful when he’d asked to hire her musical talents for this evening. But to her credit, Rolan had to admit that she was the picture of professionalism where she stood. The gentle stylings of her lute floated to fill the spacious room around them.

“Of course she did,” Rolan told his brother. “Tonight’s important for her too, you know. Rich people always have children who need music lessons.”

Cal let out a sigh. “I guess. It’s just weird having things change so much. Tav’s still okay, though,” he added.

To Rolan’s annoyance, his brother prodded an elbow into his side. “She looks nice, right?”

“Fine. Quit it—” Rolan shooed the arm away with an irritable hand.

“Have you talked to her yet?”

“Too busy,” Rolan replied. It wasn’t quite a lie. Despite himself, he cast another glance around the faces below. Tav’s was currently absent from the crowd—he hoped she hadn’t left for the night.

“Sure,” Cal replied knowingly from beside him. But he only drained the last of his wine and turned to leave. “Just don’t wait too long, yeah? You might be busy forever.”

Rolan didn’t deign that with a response as the younger man made his way back down to the party. Cal was right, and he found there was an anxious buzzing between his ears because of it. With Tav currently nowhere to be found, Rolan decided it may be best to gather his head while he could. 

Quietly enough to not attract attention, he slipped up the stairs and out onto the wide circular balcony. A welcome breeze ruffled through his clothing as he stepped out into the starry evening. Passing through the vaulted doorway was like entering a connected but distinct new realm; the sea of voices behind him faded to a soft hum. Only Alfira’s music carried clearly outdoors and into the night. 

Rolan leaned his free hand on the cool stone railing. The peaceful air soothed his mind—he hadn’t realized that a headache had been steadily building behind his skull from hours in a room full of echoing voices. He let out a sigh of relief.

“Thanks for the invite tonight.”

Just as he’d relaxed, Tav’s voice made Rolan start. He finally caught sight of her leaning against a stone pillar to his right—her dark gown must have camouflaged her. Rolan hoped the low light had made his fluster just as unnoticeable. 

Gathering himself, he lifted his wine in her direction. “I’d be remiss to leave out the hero of Baldur’s Gate from such an event.”

Tav pulled a face at the name, but she approached with her own goblet in hand to join him at the railing. “Don’t you start,” she warned playfully. “I got enough of that inside. Had to come out here for a rest from it.”

“Not much I can do to help on that score, I’m afraid. A lot of people will be grateful to you for a long time.” Rolan watched as she settled beside him, then turned with her to look down at the cityscape below. 

From this height, the lamp flames formed strings of luminous pearls through the streets and alleys of the city. A flock of distant white sails waved in the harbor; trade ships waiting like slumbering giants for the return of first light.

“Nice view,” Tav remarked in approval.

Rolan glanced sideways at her face. For one insane moment, he considered parrying that into a compliment on her appearance. She certainly deserved one tonight. But he maintained his grip on sanity, and resisted.

“So—” Tav tilted her head to meet his eye. “How’s life in the Upper City?”

Rolan knew Tav’s expressions well enough by now to suspect she was teasing a bit. “Busy,” he answered truthfully. “So much more than I expected.”

“Everyone’s certainly curious about you,” she agreed. “If there’s one thing lords and ladies can’t resist, it’s a new face in society. This was genius, by the way—” Tav gestured her wine glass back at the gathering inside.

“Is it?” Rolan was skeptical. “It seems like the obvious move to me.” 

Tav grinned at him. “That’s what makes it so genius.”

The conversation lulled for a moment as they stood looking out over the quiet city. Rolan found that his initial nerves at being alone with her like this were melting away. Speaking with Tav was comfortable; even silence with her was comfortable somehow. Rolan was the first to break it.

“What about you? What will you do now?”

She sighed down at the view below. “Honestly? I don’t know. I’d like to stay in Baldur’s Gate if I can. Too many friends here to think about leaving.”

During the pause that followed, Rolan wondered if she counted him among them. He found it was very important to him that she did. Before he could decide whether to ask, Tav continued.

“I did get a few promising job offers tonight, if you can believe it. Including one from Lord Jannath to join his private council. Or maybe that was a euphemism,” she added.

“He’s a cad,” Rolan said immediately.

“Oh, I’m well aware of Raylen Jannath’s reputation. And I’m sure it’s entirely deserved.” Tav looked over at him with a glint in her eye. “Don’t worry. I’m no wide-eyed babe.”

“No, you’re not,” Rolan agreed. His jaw clenched with annoyance nevertheless. “But you care about doing good. Some people will always try to take advantage of that.”

“I’ll just refer them to my friend the powerful archwizard, shall I?”

Rolan exhaled a sharp breath of laughter and tried to ignore the way his stomach flipped at her choice of words.

“You’re always welcome in this tower,” he told her. “If nothing else, I hope you know that.”

Tav regarded him for a moment. The hand holding her goblet swirled the liquid inside in a thoughtful motion. “You’ve changed a lot, you know.”

He was curious what made her say such a thing. “Have I?”

“Sure you have.” Tav’s eyes still moved pensively over his face. “Back when we first met, you didn’t seem…” She searched for the word. “Well. Interested in most of the others from Elturel. And now look at the community you’ve built. Alfira tonight, helping Dannis and Bex get their teashop funded. Even Dammon says you gave him an open contract for any metalwork anywhere in the whole Tower.” 

“You’ve been talking with Lia too much.” Rolan heard the defensiveness in his own voice, but he couldn’t help it. Something about the way Tav was looking at him made his face warm.

“I’m just saying it’s nice,” she finished with a gentle smile. “I always thought you had a bigger heart than you let on.”

“Yes, yes,” Rolan drawled as he raised his goblet. Tav gave thought to his heart—that revelation required wine.

“Remember that night at the Grove?”

Rolan looked at her over the edge of his cup. “That party at your camp, you mean?”

So casual, so unpracticed—as if he didn’t think of that night often.

“Alfira played this song,” she continued.

Rolan had to pause for a moment to focus on the melody floating out to where they stood. When his ear caught the tune, he shifted on his feet. “Ah.”

He knew where she was going with this, but Tav still went on. “Danis and Bex started pairing people up, and I’d already had far too much wine…so I went on and asked you for a dance. Remember?”

“Yes.” Rolan felt a sudden urge to hang his head. 

Tav’s eyes were shining with amusement. She gestured her glass toward him in an expectant motion, as if giving him his cue. Rolan let out a very reluctant sigh.

“And I told you I wouldn’t be caught dead dancing in such an uncivilized place,” he finished.

“I believe the term you used was ‘common,’” she chuckled. “You always did have a way with words.” But then she glanced down to the drink between her hands. “Actually…it was a bit disappointing at the time.”

Rolan’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

Tav looked back up at him as though he’d grown another pair of horns. “Because I wanted to dance with you, Rolan. Why else?” She shook her head as she turned back to the view. “Wizards, I swear…not everything is a riddle.”

Rolan considered her words, considered Tav where she stood beside him. Before he knew what he was doing, his fingers were reaching for the wine glass in her near hand. She allowed him to pluck it carefully from her grip; her face was a mask of puzzlement as she watched him set their drinks aside on the flat of the stone railing.

Rolan turned back to her. “Let me make it up to you, then.” He extended a hand toward her palm-up.

Tav cocked her head at him. The corners of her mouth twitched as if she thought this might be some kind of joke. For a moment Rolan felt every bit the fool, standing here with his empty hand outstretched. 

Then her fingers raised to brush across his. “Deal.”

He almost certainly had this backwards—weren’t the hands supposed to be the other way around? But there was no time to think about that now. 

Tav took a step closer, her long skirt swinging against his legs. She clasped Rolan’s forearm where it hung at his side, guided it around behind her waist, and then laid her other hand against his shoulder.

The cutout in the back of her dress resulted in Rolan’s skin meeting hers a second time. His mind had somehow neglected to prepare for that; for a few seconds it took all of his concentration to keep his movements smooth and controlled.

Tav began swaying in time with the distant music, just a gentle step side to side and back again. Rolan followed her lead. 

“Is this right?” Tav asked. With her face upturned to him under starlight, she looked somehow younger than her years and experience.

“I don’t know,” Rolan admitted. His head was too full of other things—the softness of Tav’s hand in his, the disorienting curve of her back under his palm, not to mention trying like hells not to step on her. “I’ve honestly never done this before.” 

“Oh, come on.” Tav’s expression relaxed again as they swayed back and forth together. “No sweethearts back in Elturel? I find that hard to believe.”

When was the last time you touched someone like this? Unwelcome, embarrassing, the thought nevertheless sprang to Rolan’s mind. It was certainly longer ago than he cared to admit. Then again, maybe he’d never touched someone quite like this.

“No one like you,” he decided.

At that Tav only chewed the inside of her lip and gave a thoughtful hum. Whether she sensed his discomfort or whether he’d embarrassed her himself, she didn’t ask for details. He was relieved as the subject drifted away, replaced by the distant lute song and the soft rustle of her skirt as they moved. 

After another quiet moment, he felt compelled to speak up again. “You were right before, you know. I have changed.”

“Oh?” Tav looked up at him with curiosity. But she waited patiently for him to continue. Rolan was grateful for it; finding the right words took some thought.

“I suppose I've learned that pride and arrogance aren’t the same thing. Lorroakan taught me to see the difference. As did you,” he added. He swallowed against the discomfort of vulnerability. “I was so damn arrogant then…but I wasn't proud of myself. Not really. You helped me find how to be.”

Tav’s eyes moved back and forth between his as she listened. “Then I’m glad for it. You have a lot to be proud of, Rolan.” 

An odd mixture of feelings rose in his throat; he felt humbled and pleased with himself all at once. It was impossible to put into words. Rolan only bowed his head slightly to her, and the space between them lapsed into a comfortable silence once more.

After a while, the dance relaxed into something more casual. Alfira’s lute had taken up a different tune back in the main hall. Their steps no longer kept time with the music now, drifting along with each other in a new rhythm instead. Her hand had migrated from the side of his shoulder to let her wrist hang limp by his collar. 

As they swayed together in silence, Rolan felt her fingers carding absently through the ends of his hair.

When he caught her eye, Tav’s hand stilled. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he told her. “It’s not unpleasant.”

For some reason that made Tav laugh. “There you go again. ‘Not unpleasant.’ Can’t you just say something’s pleasant and have done with it?”

Though their stance was still a bit awkward, something about having her in his arms made Rolan bold. He looked straight into her face. “Then allow me to try again. You look very beautiful tonight.”

Tav’s lips parted in surprise for a moment. Then she glanced away to the side, and Rolan saw a flush of color rise to her cheek.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “So do you. Handsome, that is,” she added in a rush. “Happiness suits you.”

She had a knack for saying the most perceptive things. Right now, finding himself abruptly launched to the peak of his life’s dream, with the people he cared for safe and provided for, Rolan supposed that he was happy. All the more for the person holding his hand.

“Are you happy, Tav?”

She turned back to him slowly. As she did, her fingers happened to brush against his neck again, sending a shiver up Rolan’s spine that had nothing to do with the evening breeze around them. 

“I am,” she murmured. “Right now…very.”

For the first time tonight, Rolan became aware of just how near her face was. It was tilted slightly up to meet his, and the angle happened to leave a clear path to her mouth. It would take only the smallest movement to close the distance.

And without thinking—just for once in his life—he did. 

As he tilted his head toward her, Rolan felt Tav’s hand curl behind his neck to pull him gently forward. Their lips brushed together soft as a whisper, but the sensation ran through him clear as the ring of a bell. His fingers splayed against the warmth of her lower back, pressing her figure in closer against his own— 

“Rolan, we’ve been looking ev—”

The two of them broke apart as if jolted by electricity. Tav wheeled away, face entirely hidden and one hand clasped up to her mouth. Rolan rounded on the doorway.

“What?” He blurted out.

Cal stood there frozen in place, mouth agape, his eyes flicking back and forth between Rolan and Tav. The air between the three of them was filled with enough raw awkwardness as to make Rolan’s skin crawl.

“Nevermind,” Cal said hoarsely. “It’s—they—nevermind.”

He swiftly turned on his heel and retreated without another word, leaving the two of them standing alone again on their balcony.

But the comfortable atmosphere was gone. Rolan had never felt more uncomfortable in his life. He squeezed eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, allowing a guttural sound to rise straight from the depths of his chest.

“We’ve been alone out here for half an hour—” A few steps away, Tav’s voice was choked with laughter behind her hand. “And the second we even try to—”

Rolan worked his eyes open to glance at her. Her shoulders were shaking with amusement, causing the end of her statement to dissolve helplessly.

“This isn’t funny,” he told her weakly, even as she turned back to him and wiped tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes.

“No,” she said, biting her lip against a fresh burst of laughter. “It’s absolutely hilarious.”

Rolan passed a hand over his face with a groan. “Once, just once, I wanted things to go right with us.”

Something in the phrase quieted Tav’s laughter. Rolan met her eye then, sure she must see how mortified he was—but found a look of delight spreading across her features.

“Us?” She raised her eyebrows at him with a smile.

Rolan could only let out a defeated sigh. “Do I have to say it?”

Tav tried to look like she was seriously considering things, but she couldn’t quite fight back her smile all the way. “Not tonight,” she allowed. “I think you’ve suffered enough.”

“Thank you,” was all Rolan could say. His heart pounded painfully against his ribs from the most confusing swirl of feelings.

They looked at each other for another long moment, communicating a dozen different things without a word.

“Well…” Tav moved forward once more to loop her arm through his. Close beside him, the starlight shone in her eyes. “Shall we go in then, Rolan?”

#sfw #rolan x tav #fluff #rolan bg3 #due to personal reasons i had to turn this into a pining scenario #tav x rolan #bg3 rolan #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction

[hiatuswhore]

Something For Your Mind II — p.a

♕ A/N: Sorry for taking so long to make this, it’s been sitting in my drafts for a while I just wasn’t satisfied with it. I’m still kinda not but I hope y’all like it. Please give me feedback, thanksss.

♕ SUMMARY: Your parents offered a simple explanation- Fremen with the gift of prescience. A secret amongst the sand.

♕ WORD COUNT: 2.5K

♕ WARNING: None

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♕ TAG LIST: @junglxqueen @reallysparklychaos @soliphilia @dontjudgeabookbythecover @melisa-reader @travelingmypassion @julietsecretdiary @hopeful-rhea @jax-the-oregonian @applepie1000 @baconkath @1950schick @coolninjavoid @kittyrob0t @nj452896 @tantan-san @james-bucky-barnackle @theday-dreamer17 @iamaslytherin0 @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive @queenofarrakis @infiniteillusion @constipatedmuse

STILGAR MADE NO ATTEMPT TO CONTINUE THE CONVERSATION OR WAIT FOR YOU. The journey back home was one of silence and brief exchanges. You would occasionally leave your thoughts to look up at your sharp-minded leader. Fools, all of us. You thought to yourself, all of the bickerings with your mother and uncomfortable dinners, for what? Stilgar knew, and you could only wonder who else smiled at you daily, feigning obliviousness.

"(Y/n)," Your mother greets you with a tight hug, her sigh in relief tickling your neck. You say nothing as she pulls away, and your father mimics her actions. Stilgar eyes you carefully, his blank expression masking whatever brews and boils beneath his surface.

"I'm going to lie down," You speak so low that you are confident your parents do not hear you. However, this fact does not stop you from walking away from the watchful eyes. You catch the tail end of your mother asking Stilgar what occurred on your travels. Will he tell them he knows?

He will not, and you know this, but still, the idea plagues your mind with an ever-present curiosity. By nightfall, you lay in the same position, painfully awake in the dead of night. Not a lick of sleep finding you. Stilgar still in your mind. If he knows of your abilities, what more does he know. How far does his knowledge really go, and what does that mean for our people, for my family?

You move from your bed, walking on the tips of your toes, the silence almost sickening. With one misstep, it seems as though your entire community will hear you. When you reach out to the sand, the night sky greets you with a cool breeze. You sit on the ground, the spice of the desert wafting up, tickling your skin. Out in the distance stretches what appears to be an endless desert, but you know out there are all your answers. The pull you feel makes your vision blur before the earth crashes, and the last tangible thing being the itch of the sand on the back of your neck.

When your eyes open again, you frown. Inside an aircraft, Paul sits with his head hanging. His hands bound behind him, cloth gagging him. Behind you, his mother holds her composure as she watches the Harkonnen men. One pilots the aircraft while the other stands idling behind him.

"Paul," You call out, glancing up. His eyes widen at the sight of you. Your eyebrows furrow at the lack of control. You did not intentionally enter this astral plane, yet all of Paul's mind now sits accessible to you. In this haze, only one thing sticks out to you, clear as day—they will die here.

The feeling of your heart in your throat makes your eyes water. Uncertain of what you can do, Paul's mother signs to him—her eyebrows pinched. After a few minutes, the aircraft comes to an idle, one Harkonnen moving to open the back while the other removes the cloth from Paul's mouth.

"You have to do something," Paul says, earning a look from the Harkonnen. He ignores it, looking directly at you. His mother follows his gaze where you stand to find an open space. You look at the Harkonnen, taking a deep breath, a sudden dizziness overtaking you. A cold feeling greets your skin before you move forward, thumb to his forehead and pointer finger to his temple.

"Sleep," You say, watching his eyes shoot open before all his mind contains floods you. A shudder shoots through your body as his crimes rip through you sharper than the edge of a sword. The sticky feeling of blood on your palms burns into your skin as if his memories are your own. A cry leaves your lips as the astral plane crumbles. Your eyes open, a loud scream leaving from the base of your chest and scratching up your windpipe. Thrashing around, you miss how your father holds you and your mother fails to ease your violent cries.

"You're okay! You're home, baby. You're home," Your mother holds a controlled tone as your father keeps your shaking to a minimum. A sob leaves you as your father plays with your hair rocking you back and forth. Grimacing, your eyes burning with a deep ferocity. You catch the slightest glimpse of Stilgar. He watches you wearing the same blank expression as before. The look you share feels like a secret, a joke of sorts that only the two of you understand.

Your mother brings you to bed, and no one dares to ask what happened. The icy moment of clarity sends a shudder rushing down your spine, so intense you flinch. Mother has been right all along. The confines of your room bring little solace, and the hours mesh together into a tireless loop.

When your mother returns in her hands, she carries hot tea and a slice of bread. You do not acknowledge her presence, so she settles on the edge of your bed instead. Her eyebrows pull as she contemplates her following words, a frown on her lips that does nothing to curb the terse silence.

"What happened?" She asks. The question's fair, but the line has blurred an unclear distinction between the Harkonnens psyche and your own. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing leaves you. How can one explain the Duke's son, his mother, or the aircraft?

It melts into nothing as the Harkonnen's memories sit in your brain, carrying them as your own. Your mother hovers her hand over your shin, and you stare at it with a downcast gaze. Looking up reveals the full scope of your tears, your head throbbing. Your mothers' eyes close for half a second as your arms wrap around her shoulders. She flinches first, her hands later snaking around you. The light squeeze she offers soothes your trembles.

"I—I have never seen such—malice, such disregard for life. Such brutality outside of self-defense," You sob into her shoulder as her hand moves up the base of your neck, supporting your head as if you were still a babe. Shifting down, you rest your head on her lap, and she rubs her hand across the top of your hair.

"I am so sorry you had to experience that, my love," She says. You do not see the confusion on her face as she tries to soothe you. Resembling the moments you would both share long before puberty arrived at your door.

"I'm sorry I did not listen to you, Mom. I just—" You pause at the crack of your voice, the burning sensation creeping up your throat with the watering of your eyes. Shaking your head, a dry chuckle leaves you in a poor attempt to mask your shakiness, "I really wanted my gift to mean something, but what I saw—Mom, I can't help anyone. Not when people like that are out there."

"Nonsense. You are special, my girl. You are destined for something amazing. No man nor Harkonnen is going to take that. Do you hear me?" She leans down by your ear with a warm tone. The small part of you nagging at your core, even in one of your most profound moments, still hiding a piece of yourself away from your mother. Closing your eyes, the room falls into a dark abyss, and your mind draws blanks for the first time in a long time.

When you wake from your dreamless slumber, silence becomes your companion. You make no attempt to move, the calm bringing a sense of solitude. Training with Chani, you silently thank her for not asking questions. The intense girl focuses solely on not allowing you to beat her. Neither of you yields, furthering the sparring match. Both your muscles ache, and you huff. You catch the faint sight of Stilgars suit. He moves so fast you barely see him. The lack of attention on Chani lands you on your back. She sweeps her leg at the floor before immediately aiming at you on the ground. You sigh before yielding. She has you.

Neither of you says a word as she offers her hand to help you from the ground. Jamis rushes by in the same direction as Stilgar, his stillsuit on—sword ready. Chani glances at you before you both rush to put on your stillsuits. You both move covertly as you find many of your people surrounding the Duke's son and his mother.

"—was there when you came to my father's council," Paul explains. Dirt marks his skin, and his mother wears deep bags beneath her eyes. Stilgar mocks Paul as though he did not immediately recognize him as Jamis grows bored of the conversation.

"Why are we waiting. Let's take their water," Jamis says, but Stilgar announces that no one can touch him. You frown at his words as whatever he refers to, you are not privy to the conversation.

"How can he be the Lisan's al-Gaib?"

"He hasn't proven himself."

"They are weaklings," Jamis unsheathes his sword disregarding the others as his eyes focus on Paul and his mother. You frown as your mother voices how she agrees with Jamis, "We cannot trust them, Stilgar."

"Enough!" Stilgar roars silencing your people before his eyes rest back on the remainder of the Atreides family. "That was a brave crossing they made in the path of Shai-Hulud. He does not speak or act like a weakling. Nor did his father."

"My thumper saved his life," Jamis points out, but Paul frowns before speaking. He keeps his tone level as his eyes scan your people, "My friend saved our lives. She is amongst your people."

"Go back to reason, Stilgar. He speaks of an impossible journey undetected by our people. He's not the one," Jamis says. Unaware of your abilities as your people doubt Paul, it eases everything that has worried your mind. Who is aware, and who is pretending? Paul's mother steps forward, voicing their alliance, if your people help them, they will help your people. A relatively simple transaction, in theory.

"What wealth can you offer beyond the water in your flesh?" Stilgar challenges, but you watch how Paul cannot remove his gaze from your father. You resemble him most while taking your mother's personality. "The boy is young. He may learn our ways. He may have sanctuary, but the woman is untrained and too old to learn."

Stilgar's words are clear, and your chest aches at the reality before you. Paul will not allow your people to kill his mother without a fight, and your people will give him that fight. Jamis goes for Lady Jessica; first, she maneuvers his arm away from her as she turns and reaches Stilgar, kicking out his back leg and bringing your leader to his knees. A knife at Stilgars throat, watching as Paul runs to the top of the split rock and aims down at your people. Closing your eyes, you focus on Paul before they open once more.

In the astral plane, you stand behind him as he aims down. Placing your hands on his shoulder, he flinches as you whisper, freeze.

Paul's eyes bounce frantically as he tries to catch sight of what constricts every muscle in his body at once. When you finally move into his view, he can only see your eyes as cloth hides most of your face.

"I am sorry, but my people come first," You whisper, looking down at Lady Jessica, who still holds your leader. Stilgar appears unfazed. He looks up at you without care. He eyes the blank space where no one but Paul can see. Yet Stilgar still finds a way to assert his awareness of your presence. You cannot hear what's said, but you release your hold as Stilgar cuts the top of his wrist, granting them countenance.

"(Y/n)," Paul whispers. Sheathing your knife, you stand, offering him a hand, which he takes. On his feet, Paul's hand lingers in your a second too long. You both freeze before swiftly pulling away.

"Only Stilgar and my parents know of my abilities. If you are to join my people, do know the secret of my capabilities keeps us all alive," You say, walking down the split rock without waiting for a response. Stilgar greets you both at the bottom of the rock. He commends your fast action before he turns to Paul.

"A gift. Give it to me. You will have your own maula pistol when you've earned it. Give it to me," Stilgar says as he places Chani in charge of Paul and Lady Jessica's entry of journeying with your people. You frown but say nothing as your mother joins your side. Jamis grimaces, his gaze unchanging. You take a cautious step toward him.

"Don't." You speak barely above a whisper. Your pointed stare only garners a chillingly calm glare.

Jamis speaks only for your ears. He stands rigid, "The boy clouds your judgment."

"Your anger clouds yours," You stand your ground, the air dry and thin as the attention shifts to the two of you.

"I will not have them," Jamis looks past you with a cold glare. One could mistake his stare for stoicism if not for the disdain that outlines his tone. He wants blood.

"Jamis, I have spoken. Be still," Stilgar's slow and gruff tone carries an authority you never dare to question. You look from Stilgar to Paul, uncertainty binding you both—bound by a nature beyond you.

"You talk like a leader. But the strongest leads, she bested you," Jamis speaks with a confidence you have only known Stilgar carry. You take a cautious step away from your mentor, your eyes locked on Stilgar. Stilgar does not move, his calm demeanor blanketing him, his ease clashing against the tension of Jamis's defiance. You can never grasp it, the pull that lingers around Stilgar, compelling all around him to listen. It's far more than his strength. You all know it, "I invoke the amtal."

Your eyes grow wide. Looking at Jamis, you open your mouth, but nothing leaves you. Stilgar's words do not reach you, the thumping in your chest ringing in your ears. Shifting your weight between your feet, you frown, the light trembling in your hand drawing your attention. None of it makes sense. Someone dies here today. You look down at your hand to find it still, yet a tremble still plagues you. Crossing your arms, you stand straight, wincing at the radiating pinch up your side as your body tenses.

You maintain a neutral stare, a glaze covering your eyes. A wall between your emotions and the others around you. The next few seconds blend in a disorienting haze. Paul shall be his mother's champion. You step back as he stares down at your mentor. The tremble of your hand still prevalent though your hand remains stagnant, heart beating in your ears at the speed of a sandworm though your chest reveals a steady rhythm.

"Poor thing, he looks terrified," Your father mutters, placing a hand on your shoulder. Your mother speaks with Jamis, insisting he revoke his challenge. A useless act, the challenge has been set—someone must die.

"Why do you say that?" You ask, looking at Paul, and your father speaks casually, "His eyes are glassy and cold while he keeps bouncing on the balls of his feet, heart probably racing. Then look at his hand. It's trembling."

#paul atreides #paul atreides x reader #paul atreides imagine #dune #dune imagine #dune x reader #dune au #timothée chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet imagine #timothée imagine #Duke Leto #Duke Leto imagine #oscar isaac #oscar isaac imagine #chani dune #chani imagine #zendaya #zendaya imagine #paul and chani imagine #duncan idaho #duncan idaho dune #Duncan Idaho imagine

[phantomgrimalkin]

@moonwatermicrofics May 29 Prompt: Books

Rating: G, words: 708 (so I initially wrote 'e' thinking video game 'e for everyone' and I apologize to anyone I disappointed) Contains loose reference to child abuse (Walburga) and anxiety.

-

Remus used black. Regulus used blue. 

Remus had started it. With his secondhand books that were scuffed up and well loved before they touched his fingers, he had no difficulty writing all over them, marking them. Underlining, circling, starring, jotting notes on the sides. 

Regulus had grown up getting his knuckles bruised for turning the pages wrong on priceless tomes. Ancient books, many one of a kind. Every book in the Black home was expensive and, in his parents’ eyes, worth considerably more than their child's comfort.

There was no space for Regulus’s thoughts in the Black library.

The first time that Regulus borrowed a book from Remus, he had been horrified. It had been marked to pieces, wrecked, defiled, graffitied, dog eared. His hands ached and he winced at the thought of what his mother would have done to him for such acts.

This thoroughly distracted him from the sheer audacity of Regulus Arcturus Black reading a book by a muggle author, and he had cast ink erasure spells on the entire thing in an attempt to ‘save' the book. Only to find out that muggle printing presses couldn't stand up to spells, and Regulus had to sheepishly explain why Remus’s copy of The Hobbit was now blank. 

Remus handled it with amused kindness, the way he handled most things, and explained why he wrote in the books and that he didn't consider them ruined. Then he handed Regulus a copy of Frankenstein and a muggle pen, encouraging Regulus to try it.

The sight of Remus’s marks still filled Regulus with a sharp anxiety, but he did his best to ignore them and focus on the words. 

A few dozen pages in, the panic settled and he was able to start appreciating it. He'd linger on the passages that Remus felt worth circling, then start considering the notes he added. He could hear them in Remus’s voice, soft and smooth, could imagine the way he'd rub his finger over his lip thoughtfully while he murmured to himself.

The first time Regulus Black intentionally marked a book was in response to one of Remus’s notes. The man had noted a dry ‘idiot’ at some of Victor's missteps, and Regulus had made a little check mark to show his agreement. It was a silly little motion, something that might have been unnoticed, except the ink was different. The pen Remus had given him was blue.

The flash of color showed up brightly on the black and white page. Remus’s words were the same color as the text, like they belonged there. Regulus’s mark stood out.

Panic filled him again- was this a test? Was he fucking it up? A lifetime of punishments for unknown transgressions reared up.

It was Remus, though. Who had been more patient than Regulus deserved and never seemed to get angry.  

He chewed his lip. It was probably no big deal. Remus had said it was okay. Regulus could buy him a new book if it wasn't. 

–

It had been an accident, that Remus had given Regulus a blue pen.

Remus didn't use them, but sometimes the store only had mixed packs of the cheap ballpoints and he'd end up with blue pens in his bag and had gotten in the habit of, whenever someone borrowed a pen, he handed them a blue one he didn't want.

If he'd been paying more attention, maybe he would have made sure to give Regulus a black one– but he was too amused by rifling through the pristinely blank pages that had once detailed Bilbo's adventures as a burglar while the pureblood had explained that he had panicked when he saw it was written in and didn't realize that spell erased muggle text.

Which was a very good thing. Because when Remus rifled through Frankenstein, curious, he found that the blue stood out. He could instantly tell which pages had been written on. From the first, hesitant little check more than halfway through, growing slowly more bold, until the final chapter was awash with azure marks, Regulus’s response to the emotional climax of the tragedy. 

Remus smiled to himself, and made sure to always hand Regulus a blue pen when the man borrowed his books.

#THEY ARE SO SWEET I LOVE THEM SO MUCH #established moonwater #moonwater #moonseeker #regulus black #remus x regulus #regulus x remus #remus lupin #moonwatermicrofics

[kittenofdoomage]

In case you missed it...

I'm currently posting a fic a day over on Ao3 for my Tropetober A-Z event on Patreon last year. It's a different character every day from different fandoms, mostly smutty (you know me). All red underlined links lead to AO3, please read the warnings on individual stories 😘

The fics:

A: Alpha/Beta/Omega - Winter Nights

(Geralt Of Rivia x fem!reader) You’re an Omega who lives at Kaer Morhen, unmated but belonging, almost like a pack Omega to the Alpha Witchers; Geralt, Coen, Lambert and Vesemir, though the elder Witcher is long past any need for you. Geralt is close to rut when he returns, and seeks you out.

B: Bodyswap - Worth The Wait

(John Winchester x fem!reader) Some supernatural beings don’t want to hurt anyone, they just want to prove a point.

C: Character Death - The One Good Thing

(Negan x fem!reader) You waited so long to have him back, and he’s waited so long to get back to you, now you can be happy again… right?

D: Dark fic - On Our Terms

(Geralt Of Rivia x fem!reader) A sorcerer out for revenge leaves you in a dangerous position, and you’re not sure you’re going to make it out of this one.

E: Enemies To Lovers - Trapped

(Bucky Barnes x fem!reader) An incident on a mission leaves you and Bucky trapped in a vault. Being sealed in a relatively small space is a problem on its own, but you’re faced with another dilemma; you absolutely hate Bucky Barnes.

F: Fake Dating - Keeping Up Appearances

(John Winchester x fem!reader) You haven’t heard from John in three months, after he abandoned you, but now he needs your help on a case. Are you willing to ignore your feelings to help him?

G: Glad To Be Alive - All Is Not Lost

(Negan x fem!reader) A sequel to "The One Good Thing" which was letter C of Tropetober.

H: High School Sweethearts - Bittersweet

(Steve Rogers x fem!reader) In any time or place, she'd love him.

I: I Don't Want To Ruin Our Friendship - Mistakes

(Bucky Barnes x fem!reader) She took a chance and it broke her heart - can Bucky fix the mistake he made?

J: Just Friends - Nightcap

(John Winchester x fem!reader) She’s sick of correcting everyone, and alcohol loosens the tongue.

K: Kiss Of Life - Near Miss

(Geralt Of Rivia x fem!reader) Geralt saves your life, then reminds you to never nearly die again.

L: Love Potion - A Wee Favor

(Dean Winchester x fem!reader x Sam Winchester) Dreams can come true.

M: Mates - Crossed Paths

(Alpha!Geralt Of Rivia x Omega!fem!reader) Destiny put them in each other's way for a reason.

N: New Old Flame - Always Yes

(John Winchester x fem!reader) They came so close to something special, only to have it torn away; is there any hope left for them now?

O: One True Love - Backseat Lover

(Dean Winchester x fem!reader) He's been keeping a secret from her, and when they're stranded alone for hours, he finally has to come clean.

P: Please Don't Leave Me - Vigil

(Bucky Barnes x fem!reader) He's halfway through a mission when something he can't fight happens.

Q: Queen Size Bed - Never Have I Ever

(John Winchester x fem!reader x Dean Winchester) Drinking can lead to all sorts of decisions, luckily, these are good ones.

R: Roommates - Sleepless

(Bucky Barnes x fem!reader) Turns out, the solution to the problem was there all along.

S: Soulmates - Runaway

(Geralt Of Rivia x fem!reader) You run away from the life your parents want for you, and finally find your soulmate in the most unlikely of places.

T: Time Travel - Time Breaks All Things

(John Winchester x fem!reader) - A misstep on a case puts them somewhere they didn't expect to be, and they're not sure if there's a way home again.

U: Unresolved Sexual Tension - Seize The Sam

(Sam Winchester x fem!reader) Dean "Matchmaker" Winchester strikes again.

V: Virgin - Life Lessons

(Geralt Of Rivia x fem!reader) The night that Geralt learned his most valuable life lessons…

W: Werewolf - The Wolf Moon

(Henry Cavill x fem!reader) A night of camping leads her right into the arms of fate.

X: Xenafication - Rough

(Geralt Of Rivia x fem!reader) Something changes you, and Geralt isn't sure it's a good thing.

Y: You Can't Fight Fate - Ships In The Night

(Dean Winchester x fem!reader) She keeps running to avoid heartbreak but she's breaking all the same.

Z: Zombies - Full

(Negan Smith x fem!reader) She knows she shouldn't, but the problem is, she wants to, real bad.

If you do check any of the fics out, please let me know what you think 😊

#tropetober #fanfiction #ao3 links

[lucysstoryworld]

The Final Act | Azriel x Reader

So, I got this idea the other day and just had to get it out! I hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: Character death, blood, violence, angst.

Crushed. Empty. Void.

They seemed to be the only things Azriel could feel. Never in all his many years living had he ever felt pain akin to this. Pain so raw, so guttural that it made his past woes pale in comparison. He would take the pain of his hands being set alight over this any day. Take the pain of pining after Mor for centuries over this any day. Take the pain of his brothers nearly dying over this any day. This feeling, it was only something you would understand until you experienced it yourself. There were tales of it, stories of it.

But no word-of-mouth could ever fully encapsulate the way one’s soul withered and died.

It had been mere hours following the battle. Azriel sat on his bed, staring down at his palms as though he was willing his mind to feel the scorch of flames again to distract himself. A deathly silence permeated throughout the townhouse. Not even the floorboards dared to creak. He still couldn’t quite believe what had happened. What you had done. Feyre had frantically attempted to explain to everyone what your motives were. The penny dropped for everyone else, it seemed. Yet for Azriel, the emptiness was at the forefront. It had started with an excruciating snap, lasted for eons and seconds all at once. Then, it ebbed into a crushing, dull ache. A pain that felt alive. Like it was deliberately weaving its way throughout his body. It didn’t make sense to him. You couldn’t be gone. A constant. You were a constant in the inner circle’s life, in Azriel’s life.

Yet, it felt like you had already been gone for millennia.

* * *

The war with Hybern raged on, finally clashing on the battlefield. Looking to your left, you locked eyes with your mate. A simple nod and smile was enough to assure Azriel that all would end well.

A seer. That was what you were, and a powerful one at that.

You had seen the outcome of this day. Seen all possible events to take place and manipulated them like pawns on a chessboard, for the greater good. It would soon be time to manipulate the King and Queen.

With the first line of soldiers being turned to mist at Rhys’ command, the battle began. The clang of sword versus sword, squelching of arrows hitting their mark, shouts and screams of warriors meeting their maker. It was truly an assault on the senses.

Yet, you remained deathly calm, slicing through Hybern’s forces. Movements were fluid, cutting through the ranks to get where you needed to be. Your mind was trained of Feyre and Rhysand, keeping them within your peripherals at all time. The sequence of events was a very delicate thing. One wrong move or a misstep in your visions, would set you down a path of cataclysmic scale. Halfway through the front, you sent a wave of unrelenting love and support through the bond before you clamped down on your mental shields.

Focus.

It was difficult to watch as your opponents seemed to cut through Prythian’s armies as though they were butter. The thud of bodies hitting the ground reverberated on the turf. It was even harder to ignore your allies suffering at your feet as you cleared a path near the bay.

For the greater good.

You weren’t sure the Mother would forgive you for allowing this to happen.

To Hell with it now.

You could feel the despair of Prythian behind you. Hope dwindling quickly as brother lost brother.

Any minute now.

Cutting through as many Hybern soldiers as you could, you moved on. It would have to do. Relief filled you as the tips of masts began to poke over the horizon.

The tables would soon turn.

Feyre’s father and Drakon’s armada sailed fast toward the battle, the ship almost teeming with intent to kill. Within minutes, their forces joined the battle in the small patch you had cleared for them.

With no time to dwell, you moved fast. The final act was fast approaching. A nauseating whir filled the air, the Cauldron was charging and the metallic taste of its magic coated your tongue. It was readying itself for a fatal attack. Time stood still for a moment, the sheer power sucking the air from everyone’s breath. Waiting for the moment the Cauldron would end their very existence.

The power it unleashed was primal and ancient. The Illyrians took the brunt of the blow. One second they were standing, the next they were dead. Being in the presence of such awful magic sent your heart beating erratically.

This was it.

Your eyes found their mark quickly, watching as Feyre and Amren raced toward the source of the attack. Following hot on their tails, you positioned yourself. It had been you that encouraged them to attempt to null the power of the cauldron. Fruitless, you knew and not what Amren intended to do.

But everything happened for a reason.

You had seen this exact moment countless times, seen the terror dawn upon Feyre as Amren’s true motives were revealed. Seen how Amren tipped herself into the murky Cauldron water and emerged in her true form, bursting through the rough of the tent.

All of your visions could not account for the real thing.

Nor for sickening taste of metal when the Cauldron split.

Feyre turned to you, eyes frantic, “What do I do?!”

The Final Act.

Hyperventilating, Feyre paced. You could see the inner conflict she was having. Go out, help the others and leave this mess, or try to contain the ooze of nothingness seeping from the Cauldron. You approached her slowly and placed your hands on her shoulders. With a stern tone, filled with the seriousness of the situation, “Get Rhys here now.”

Within moments, your High Lord stood in front of his mate, assessing the situation. If your visions were correct, Feyre was now communicating with him about how they were to mend the Cauldron together. Once again, you met her eyes. She semed to be asking you if it were the right thing to do. A slow, sure nod was your reply.

As Feyre and Rhys came together, their power connecting with an unbridled force. You held your breath as the Cauldron began to piece back together. You sent your prayers to the Goddess of Foresight that all your planning had been correct. Not so much as a second later, you could see Rhys begin to weaken, shoulders hunching in as nature began to take its course. Feyre was so focused on her task that she could not stop and think about how Rhys was leaning into her more and more.

And finally, the last crack was sealed.

Her breaths came out in quick succession, a light smile playing at her lips at her accomplishment. She angled her body toward Rhys, wanting to celebrate their victory. However, panic quickly washed over her as her mate dropped to the floor. It was a sight that you’d never get used to. Your High Lord lying upon the tarp of the tent, eyes unseeing and pointed to the hole Amren left in the roof. Though fae were unmoving , nothing could imitate the stillness of death.

You drowned out Feyre’s panicked screams, desperately crying for Rhys to wake up. Her hands shook, tears unending as she glanced at you, pleading with you to help.

“Please, (F/n), help-,” She stopped herself mid sentence. Realisation dawned upon her that you had seen this happen. Seen the events of this day before they took place. Feyre’s hands stopped shaking and her eyes hardened with a rage that sent all the hairs on your body standing on end. Yet, you remained still and silent. “You knew!” She screeched. “You killed him!”

Before you had a chance to think, you felt Feyre begin to claw at your mental shields, ripping them to shreds with ease. Your body locked up, feeling her invasion crash through you at full force.

This is it.

Closing your eyes, you bid farewells to your family silently. You wished Cassian well, knowing he had a tough few months ahead of him with Nesta. You thought of Nesta, who would have a long journey of finding herself in this new world. Elain, whom would have to decide whether she preferred Fate or independence. Mor, your best friend, who would drink herself into oblivion for the next few months at your loss. Amren, you knew she would be resentful that you had managed to outsmart and manipulate her. Feyre, who would undoubtedly struggle with the outcome of her actions even though she will know the importance of them. Rhysand, your old friend, whose responsibility it was to hold the family together.

Azriel. Your sweet, loving mate. This would be the biggest obstacle he would face in his years. All you could hope for was that the family would support him. That they would not allow him to go in on himself. To support him with open arms, even though he will make it nearly impossible. Azriel, your strong, caring mate. You hoped that one day, far from now that he would meet you once again in the afterlife.

As Feyre ripped away the remainder of your shield, you unleashed all of your visions upon her. Every single thing that had happened to date and every vision you had experienced on what was to come. You knew she was too blinded by her rage that it would not make sense to her yet, not for another few moments. Blood began pouring from your nose, then your ears, then your eyes. Pain rippled across your body as Feyre held you in her mental grip.

Only when blood spurted from your mouth, did you enact the final action of your vision. You smiled a pained yet gentle smile. Feyre faltered on her assault for only a moment. And in those mere few seconds, you whispered, “You know what to do now.” A single tear drop fell from your eye and Feyre watched as your body crumpled to the ground next to her mate.

* * *

The war was over. All of the inner circle were collecting themselves, patching up any injuries they had sustained. Azriel was soothing Nesta and Elain when he felt it. The pain brought the warrior to his knees in an instant, hand clawing at his chest incessently. Cassian rushed to Azriel, questioning him on where he had been hit. Through deep, laboured breaths Azriel wheezed, “The bond.”

As if his own words shocked him, Azriel shot to his feet and made a beeline for the tent. Where he had last felt your presence. Cassian was quick on his tail. Azriel’s sprinting even caught Morrigon’s eye who was patching her wounds up. None of them could keep up with Azriel as he sprinted to the tent, tripping on bodies as he ran. His heart raced, every instinct screaming at him that you were gone. He had to prove himself wrong. There was no way.

Yet when he entered the tent, he beheld Rhys, Feyre and the other High Lords kneeling around something. Someone. Around you. Feyre looked at Azriel, body convulsing with sobs, “Azriel…” She whispered.

“No…” He breathed, falling by your body and scooping you into his arms.

“Azriel, I’m so sorry!” Feyre cried, and grabbed your limp hand. Her whole body curled around it as her wails only heightened.

“No, no, no!” Azriel shouted, breaths becoming more and more erratic. “(F/n), please don’t do this! Please wake up!” Azriel’s tears dripped from his eyes onto your face where they mixed with the blood. He rocked your body back and forth, as though he was trying to lull you awake.

“She’s-,” Rhysand spoke, his own demeanour cracking, “She’s gone, brother.”

“Don’t say that!” He snapped and weeped at the same time.

“Az…” Mor spoke softly, in floods of her own tears. She kneeled beside Azriel, and looked at you. Placing a hand on your still warm cheek, she leaned down and kissed your forehead. Mor looked to Azriel again, yet his eyes remained solely focused on your face as his sobs continued to grow. Mor lifted her hands to his cheeks and angled his face towards her. Morrigan had no words, nothing in her vocabulary to explain to Azriel that his mate, his equal was dead. So instead, she shook her head gently. Azriel ripped his face from her hands and began bawling into your chest. He cried like he had never cried before. He screamed incoherently for you to come back to him, for his friends to bring help. The inner circle was crushed. Each of them crying at the sight of Azriel, their brother and friend, weeping over your corpse. Yet, they knew Azriel needed to be alone with you. They allowed him solitude to mourn.

Azriel cried until his voice was horse and there were no tears left in his body. He cried until his body began shuddering with exhausted and his eyes became pink and swollen. When the crying stopped, he merely sat in the tent. He sat with your body in his arms, staring blankly at your face, committing everything to memory. By the time the inner circle returned, Azriel had not moved an inch even though the sun had began to dip below the horizon.

“Brother, we have to take her now,” Cassian spoke, placing a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. Azriel did not respond, nor even acknowledge their presence. They weren’t even sure that he heard them. Rhysand moved beside Azriel, and went to take you from his arms.

The snarl that left Azriel’s mouth was almost inhuman as he jerked your body from his brother and threw a wing around you as a makeshift shield, “Don’t you touch her!”

Rhysand looked to the rest of his family and nodded. Mor and Feyre hugged Azriel as Cassian hunched down on his other side. Rhysand spoke again, looking Azriel in the eyes, “We will look after her, I promise.” That seemed to break through whatever trance Azriel was in and his arms loosened slightly from your body and he pulled his wing back. Slowly, Cassian and Rhys began to lift your body from your mate.

Azriel began to panic once again, reaching out for you and a fresh set of tears starting to fall. This time, however, Feyre and Mor held him back. They wrapped their arms around him as he struggled to get to you, his mind trying to piece back together the remains of the bond. Mor and Feyre cried as Azriel weakly tried to pull away from them, his movements slow and lethargic. The battle and the grief rendering him useless against them.

The last of Azriel’s resolve broke when Rhys and Cassian placed you on a makeshift bed and covered your body with a white blanket.

* * *

Coming back to the townhouse had been a blur. Azriel couldn’t remember even walking to his room. It felt otherworldly, walking into this room instead of into his shared home with you. Yet, he did not complain when Rhys winnowed him here. Azriel wasn’t sure he would ever be able to go back into that house.

Frustrated, Azriel banged his fist on the bedside table. Things flew off and an envelope fluttered to the ground. He picked it up, brows furrowing when it was not addressed to anyone. As he opened it, his heart stopped when he saw your writing. He would recognise your beautiful sprawl anywhere. The paper began to quiver as shudders racked Azriel. He knew what this was. Slowly, he began to read,

My dearest Azriel,

I know this is not the way you wanted this to end. It is not the way I wished it to either. If I had it my way, I would stay with you until the end of time. We would settle down and have a child or two. We wouldn’t grow old like the humans do, but I’m sure we would mellow in our old age.

I do not know what to say other than I am deeply sorry I have put you through this. Just know, that if there was any other option I would have gone with it. I have seen this coming for many years. Before I even met you. I have gone through every possibility where I could stay with you, but they did not end well for Prythian. I know you won’t forgive me for it, but perhaps in years to come you will find it in yourself to understand.

The coming years will be difficult, my love. They will test you more than ever. But please, accept the help of our family. They will always want what is best for you, even when that motive remains unclear to you. I have no right to ask anything of you, I know, but just know it will put my soul at ease.

I want to thank you for the many years of love and happiness you gave me. Meeting you is easily the best thing to ever happen to me. You gave me the strength to fulfil my purpose. But more importantly, you gave me the strength to allow myself to be loved even when I knew it would be cut short. You are the greatest male I have ever known and I love you more than life itself.

We will see each other again. Perhaps in the after life after you’ve lived your life to the fullest. Or maybe in another life, where we won’t be plagued by awful circumstances. Regardless, I know that it will happen.

I love you Azriel, my dearest mate.

With all the love I could possibly give,

Your mate,

(F/n).

* * *

The remainder of the inner circle sat in the living room over a glass of whiskey. Despite their victory, no one could celebrate. Not when the sole reason for their success had sacrificed herself for it. Not when her mate was down the hall in a stupor of grief.

Not when Feyre had revealed to each of them that this is what you had intended to happen from the beginning. Feyre had shown each of them what she had seen. Everyone of them was filled with even more sadness at the fact you had known that this would happen yet you could not say it. Because it would have changed the sequence of events and they all would have died at the hands of Hybern.

With this in mind, Mor, your closest friend looked to the group and raised her glass. Through her wobbly, exhausted voice, she whispered, “To (F/n).”

While they drank a toast in your honour, each of them silently vowed to serve Prythian with the same unyielding loyalty you had. And to care for your grieving mate with the same care and compassion that they knew you needed them to.

In unison, each of them spoke, “To (F/n).”

#azriel x reader #acotar azriel #azriel #azriel angst #azriel x you #acotar angst #azriel shadowsinger #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #acotar #azriel x reader angst #cassian acotar #morrigan acotar #rhys x feyre #amren acotar

[bumble-punch]

OK GUYS LISTEN IM GOING FULLY MASK OFF ABOUT CHIP X JASMINE DRAKE I LOVE THIS SHIP AND HOW IT INFLUENCES THE DEVELOPMENT OF FISH AND CHIPS

LISTEN TO MY UNHINGED RANTINGS ABOUT WHY ITS GOOD AND MAKES SENSE

(THIS IS MOSTLY ANOTHER CHIP INTERNALISED HOMOPHOBIA CHARACTER ANALYSIS I'LL BE HONEST)

(ALSO I HAVENT FINISHED RIPTIDE YET SO IF JASMINE TURNS OUT TO BE EVIL WHOOPS I TAKE BACK EVERYTHING I JUST SAID)

OK LISTEN so Chip has internalised homophobia, as I have previously established. I also, like many, ascribe to the popular interpretation that he has not-straight feelings towards Gillion. And it's really interesting how we can track how these feelings develop as the series progesses.

Chip starts off by freaking out the merest implication of something gay, but he gradually starts getting more comfortable around Gillion, and these reactions decrease. There starts to be more descriptions from Bizly of Chip being physically affectionate towards Gillion, putting his arm around him, leaning on him ect.

Which leads to their encounter with Jasmine... (from here on out we enter the realm of intense headcannoning and nebulous connection to canoncial events, just warning you)

What's SO AWESOME AND INTERESTING AND EXCITING about Chip's interactions with Jazz is that HE DOESNT FREAK OUT when Jazz flirts with him in an extremely forward way, and Chip almost seems surprised by how unbothered his own reactions are. It's like he's had all this time to gradually become accustomed to the potentiality of something gay possibly existing between him and Gillion. In a way, his relationship with Gillion was a safe avenue through which to explore his feelings, since Gillion never made any moves on him, and therefore, never made Chip feel threatened or under pressure to make a decision about how he felt. Chip had all that time to basically think "ok, OBVIOUSLY IM NOT GAY FOR GILLION THATS RIDICULOUS HAHA. what if I was though. What would happen. Would everyone hate me and i would die" and gradually explore the possibilty at his own pace.

Which leads to meeting Jazz, and suddenly being confronted with something extremely gay and explicitly directed at him, and.... he finds it's actually not that bad. It's ok. It’s not scary. He doesn’t feel threatened. What would have elicited a violent reaction from him before he met Gillion is no longer scary, because he's had time to think about it and come to terms with it before that point.

So I like to imagine that Chip ends up having a fling with Jazz, because he decides he's got to figure out how he really feels once and for all, one way or another. And unlike with Gillion, who he deeply cares about and loves as a friend and is terrified of misstepping with, Jazz is just some guy who thinks he's hot and is dtf, so Chip isn't as scared of experimenting with Jazz, since the worst outcome if things go catastrophically wrong is Chip has to jump out the nearest window and run away and just make sure to avoid the Jazz Pirates for the rest of his life.

After this fling, he pretty much is able to come to the decision that "ok. maybe i do like men. in which case oh my god these feelings for Gillion are actually a real thing that I have to deal with and can't just ignore" and he starts gradually, very slowly, expressing his feelings for Gillion more honestly, which leads to the iconic "babygirl/babyboy" moment in Zero, which was Chip extremely awkwardly trying to establish new ground in their relationship (though it's uncertain how effective it was considering Gillion's lack of understanding of Overseas culture. Oh well. Our boy tried.)

#jrwi riptide #jrwi chip #chip bastard #chip lastname #fish and chips #jrwi fnc #Jrwi jasmine drake #jasmine drake #Chip x jasmine drake #Chip x jazz #chip jrwi #fnc

[plzfeedmebread]

🍞 i have come to request for jake + breeding 😔🙏make it spicy and soft please

word count: 2900

Pairing: Jake Sully x Female! Navi! Reader Tags/Warnings: smut, nsfw, p in v, swearing, breeding, smooching, a little fluff, R18 - MINORS DNI Author's Notes: Sorry this took so long! I hope it is to your liking :)

SCORCHING

It starts with an itch. A tickle, perhaps, at the back of his throat. Insignificant enough to easily ignore. His hands start sweating more than usual, a general warmth follows him, encasing him. He tells himself it’s fine, Pandora must be going through its version of summer. He becomes a little more worried when his senses become far sharper than before; but strangely, he notices, it is only attuned to you.

The twitch of your tail, a tsk on your tongue, the pop of a joint; every sound you make rings in his ears. Stronger still is the smell. Your scent invades him, controls him. Everything your hands merely glide over, becomes drenched in your scent. He can’t remember ever feeling like this; he feels almost drunk off of it. And God forbid should you be even the slightest bit aroused. One whiff and he’s as good as gone.

That is when he knows something is not right with his person. This level of unbridled arousal is astonishing. If he stares at you for too long, he’s as hard as if you had spent hours teasing him with no release. If he thinks about you for too long, he’s hard. If he smells your intoxicating scent to much, he’s hard. It drives him insane. He can’t control himself, and it frustrates him. He’s sure he’s never been this horny; not even as a teenager. One misstep and he has to excuse himself; desperately pumping his aching cock to your visage.

He’s fucked you every night for the past two weeks. Not that you complain, bless you. Never do you rebuff his advances, always eager to accept his love. It is only after he’s worn himself out in your wet heat that he finally feels some level of reprieve. The relief is so overwhelming, he’s asleep in minutes.

It all comes crashing down on him one morning though. He wakes up late; you left early to join a morning hunt. He would have joined you of course, but he felt far too groggy the night before.

His entire body aches. Every muscle in his body protests even the slowest of movements. He’s drenched in sweat. Jake rolls over to try and be more comfortable, but is immediately assaulted by your lingering scent. His hand is on his cock without a second thought, rough calloused hands bringing him to full attention with little to no effort.

He cums with a desperate moan all over his hand.

But his hand doesn’t stop pumping. He squeezes himself tighter, anything to relieve the burning ache nestled deep within his core. He cums again within minutes. But it does little to alleviate his need. He doesn’t understand; how can he still be hard after that? Fear ripples through him at this sudden unknown state of being.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He hopes you come home soon.

---

The sun is well passed its zenith by the time your party returns to village. It was a successful hunt, and your body aches deliciously with the strenuous activity. You return your ever faithful ikran to her beloved mate’s side. Bob’s excited trills puts a smile on your face, and you watch their cute little greeting with a soft giggle.

You stop at a nearby river to wash away the layer of sweat covering your skin. Not a proper bathing, but will suffice for now. The cool water soothes you, and you dive into its shallow depths for good measure. You do not linger long; wanting to get back to Jake as soon as possible. You hope that whatever illness that plagued him the night prior has since subsided. If not, you’ll be sure to have the Tsahik give him a once over.

You make the climb up to your tree nest. You notice the coverings have not yet been pulled open; the dwelling remains enclosed. Swift and quietly, you pry open one side and make your way in, closing behind you.

---

You're hit by the sudden smell of sex and it catches you off guard, there is a falter in your step. You give everything a quick once over. Your eyes lock onto your mate, still lying right where you left him this morning. He has his back to you, and it looks as though he’s curled in on himself.

Your ears flick forward as you pick up on his laboured breath. His tail flicks annoyedly. In the dim light seeping through the top, you can make out a faint sheen to his back. The stars freckling his body seem brighter than you remember.

Is this…?

“Ma Jake…?” You call for him, his ear flicks to your direction immediately. You move and kneel behind him and place a gentle hand to his shoulder. You pull your hand back almost immediately; he’s scorching hot to the touch.

“Hnnn….” He tries to say your name, but all he manages a pitiful whimper. Tentatively, your hands are on him again and you help him lay on his back.

When you see the state of him, you can’t help the blush that adorns your cheeks and bleeding down your neck.

He’s hard, cock standing at the ready, leaking precum all down the shaft. His abs glisten with the tell-tale sign of spent seed, and you notice a small puddle of release from where he had been laying.

His eyes find yours and without words, he is begging; pleading you for help.

You don’t hesitate, immediately your hand closes around his throbbing member, gripping him as tightly as possible.

He groans deep in the back of his throat, eyes rolling back. You waste no time pumping him with slow, hard thrusts. His hips snap up to meet your downward arch. One hand finds purchase on your thigh, gripping your soft flesh. His other hand goes to his mouth; he bites down hard as if to try and silence the sounds he’s involuntarily making.

You lean down and gently circle the swollen tip of his dick with your tongue. The taste of his prior releases makes your mouth water. Greedily, you take him into your mouth, all the way to the back of your throat.

“Fuck! [Y/N]!”

He cums the moment his dick caresses the soft warmth of your throat; shooting his seed straight down the back. You swallow with practiced ease, letting your throat muscles massage him through his orgasm.

Slowly you lift your head, licking him as he leaves your mouth, cleaning his dick of his cum and your spit.

You’re not surprised when he’s still half hard. But you see clarity has returned to his eyes, somewhat. You touch his cheek with your palm; still hot to the touch. He leans into you, eyes closed, and takes a deep calming breath.

“[Y/N]…What the fuck is wrong with me…? I’ve been horny the whole God damn morning—and it hasn’t fucking stopped…”

He squeezes your hand, seeking reassurance. You wipe the hairs stuck to his brow.

“Oh, muntxatan…I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure if your body was capable of such a thing…”

“What…thing?”

“You’re going through your first rut, ma Jake.”

He stares up at you, brow pinched in confusion.

“Every few months, Na’vi men will go through a period known as a rut. You will become insatiable; your entire world will revolve around mating. The need to breed your mate will become your sole focus. Na’vi women will go through something similar, called a heat. It is when we are, most fertile. Sometimes mated pairs might even have their cycles align with one another. In some cases, when one starts, it triggers the other…”

“Well that’s just fucking perfect…How do I get it to stop…? How long is this gonna last…?”

You suck your teeth, pressing your tongue to your cheek.

“A few days. Maybe even a week.”

Jake groans in frustration.

“Don’t worry ma Jake. I’m here now, I’ll help you through it, yawne.” You lean down and press a soft kiss to the side of his mouth.

He grabs the back of your head and presses you back down to him, kissing you with burning passion. You taste like Heaven on his lips.

You move to straddle him, hands braced upon his chest. As he continues to explore your mouth with his tongue, you slowly start grinding your clothed heat against his hardening member.

You swallow his moan into your mouth, sucking on his tongue.

He's hard almost immediately. The heat radiating off his cock warms your pussy so deliciously, your loin cloth does little to hide your growing arousal. Wetness seeps through, coating him your sweet slickness.

You sit up, wanting to remove the cloth so as to feel him skin to skin.

His hands move to your chest, gently massaging your breasts in each hand. You exhale with a soft hum, the pleasure radiating straight to your loins. His thumbs make soft patterns around your nipples till they perk.

“Jake…” You voice is quiet and breathless as he continues to play with you. His dick twitches when you press your bare cunt to him.

“Please [Y/N]…I need to be inside you so bad it hurts…Please baby,” He begs and moves his hands to your hips, gripping you tightly.

“FUCK--!” His grip on your hips becomes bruising as he cusses loudly. The overwhelming heat and tightness of your pussy causes him to cum immediately.

You smile down at him and nod in understanding. You take him in your hand and lift yourself up, lining him with your center.

Slowly you lower yourself, letting him enter you at an excruciating pace. Once you find the right angle, you let yourself drop, your groin meeting his with a loud slap. You whine at the sudden stretch, a bolt of pleasure pierces through you.

You dare not move, letting him ride his orgasm to focus.

He takes a few calming breathes. You can feel him inside you, hard as ever.

Your eyes meet, and something shifts in his gaze.

Suddenly you’re on back. His hands grab both of your legs behinds the knees as he bends you in half, pushing into you as far as your body will let him.

He starts pounding into you with such force it knocks the air from your lungs. His thrusts are unrelenting, each snap of his hips causing his pelvis to crush against your aching clit, balls slapping against the curve of your ass.

“Ja—Jake~!” You moan his name as you feel your own orgasm approaching without mercy; no doubt the first of many for the night.

“That’s it baby, take my cock like the good little mate that you are.” Tears brim your eyes as the pressure builds and the strain of him folding you in half.

He presses your legs further down with his arms, both his hands cupping your face. His thumbs gently caress the streaks of a few stray tears.

A few more hard thrusts and your cumming around his cock, pleasure exploding from your pussy and spreading down your legs and up your spine. You moan loudly and without restraint as you ride out your orgasm, his dick caressing the spongy centre of your core.

“Fuck yes that’s it [Y/N], cum around my cock. I’m gonna fill you so fucking much baby--!”

One final hard thrust and all movement stops as he spills into you; hot fluid painting your insides.

He barely gives you any time to recover.

Before you know it, he has you flipped into your front. He pulls you both to your knees. He grabs your left arm, bending it behind you securely in his grip. He leans back, forcing you with him, resting your back to his chest. His legs force yours further apart as he pierces you with his dick once more.

Hardened and burning, he fucks you faster than before.

He uses his right hand to spread your folds, exposing your still sensitive clit. His middle finger, coated in your mixed fluids, easily glides over the bud in hurried strokes.

The pleasure is too much too soon, and you can’t help the pathetic whimper that leaves your lips. Tears fall from your eyes from the overwhelming sensation.

“Jake please—it’s too soon! I can’t!” You beg him, and he obliges by moving his hand. He doesn’t stop thrusting.

His hand moves then to wrap around your throat, forcing your head back to rest on his shoulder.

“Yes you can baby, I know you can. Come on give me one more, my good girl,” he whispers in your ear, licking the sensitive appendage.

You whimper, but your mind is becoming a mess. The desire to cum again slowly overriding all else. You move your free hand to play with your nipple, sending jolts of pleasure with each pinch.

As he stares down the planes of your body, your tits bouncing in time with his thrusts, he thinks this is one of his favourite angles in which to bask in your beauty.

The promise of orgasm builds up once more, and you cunt clenches him in anticipation.

“Fuck yes [Y/N], take all my fucking cum baby! Gonna breed you till you can’t even think straight!”

Your walls clench him again at his words and you mewl. He presses a kiss to your check and lets out a breathless chuckle.

“Is that what you want [Y/N]? Wanna be fucked full till I knock you up?”

His hand is on your clit again, and this time you make no move to stop him.

“Yesyesyes! Jake please! Don’t stop! Fuck me more! I want to have your children so bad!”

“Yeah?”

He pushes you down onto your stomach, securing both hands behind your back in one of his own. His other hand holds your head firmly to the floor. He braces himself, using his left leg for leverage on your side.

“Yeeeeees! Jake! Please! Cum in me again! Please!”

Still he pounds into you with reckless abandon. His thrust stretching your aching pussy, the sound of your skin slapping together drowned out by your chocking sobs and moans.

He lets go of your arms to grab at your hips, bringing your cunt back in time with his thrusts.

With a loud throaty growl he’s cumming in you. His hands hold you still, and he rides his pleasure with a few more slow hard thrusts. He’s filled you so much already that it starts to leak from you, dripping down your inner thighs.

His hand moves under you and to your clit, rubbing his spilt seed in fast circles till you’re cumming once again.

“Oh yes, by the Great Mother, YES! JAKE!” Your body shakes as pleasure wracks you. Thankfully he removes his hand when your body tries to jerk away.

He slowly removes himself from you, watching with a satisfied grin as his load spills forth from your abused hole.

“Fuck, [Y/N]…” The sight alone gets him hard again.

He carefully turns you around, laying you on your back. Gently he parts your legs, entering you once more. The slickness of your mixed fluids welcomes him in as he meets no resistance.

He moves one hand behind your back, cradling your head in his hand as he lifts you up slightly.

“The bond.” His voice is low as he asks you to join the two of you together. You grab both your queues and make tsaheylu. Jake curses as your senses invade his. Your hands wrap around his neck, and you pull him down to smash his lips to yours.

You kiss is fervent, nipping at his lips, tongue gliding over his own.

He starts moving again, but this time his pace is slower, his movements more meaningful.

He breaks the kiss to gaze into your eyes. His expression causes a flutter in your heart.

“Nga yawne lu oer,” he whispers, almost too quiet. Your tired eyes beam up at him, and you smile like the luckiest woman on Pandora.

“I love you too, ma Jake.” He returns your smile, quickening his pace, chasing that last orgasm.

“I meant what I said Jake—I want to start a family with you. Please.” Your hands gently play with his hair, massaging the base of his queue. He moans soft at your ministrations.

“Fuck [Y/N], you want me to breed you that badly huh?”

You merely nod, a loving smile adorns your face.

“Alright baby, I got you. I’m gonna full you up till this rut ends. Gonna breed you every. Single. Night.” He times hard thrusts with his last words, cumming in you at the end.

Your walls clench him greedily, still sensitive from before.

He collapses then, careful to lean himself to the side so as to not crush you. His breathing is strenuous, as is yours.

He moves to lay on his side, one arm stretched out. He pulls you with him, making sure his dick is still firmly nestled in your warmth. He pulls your crotch flush with his, draping your leg over his hip.

“Gotta make sure you keep as much as possible in there babe,” he says and presses a kiss to your forehead.

Your arm wraps around his chest, pulling yourself to him, resting your head on his outstretched bicep. His other arm wraps around you, holding you close, his hand rubbing soothing patterns to your back.

“Hey,”

He tucks a hand under your chin, lifting your head to meet his gaze.

“Thank you…It feels like forever since my mind was this clear.” You smile, grabbing his hand and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

“Of course, ma Jake. You are my mate, my love, my future. I would do anything for you. And know, when it is my turn, I will be far more needy than you.”

His eyes widen at the prospect and it makes you laugh.

“Don’t worry, all will be well, I promise. But you must rest, this moment of reprieve will last for only so long. Tomorrow your body will return with renewed vigour.”

He kisses you then, long enough to steal your breath. It feels almost too soon when he pulls away.

“Then you go to sleep too [Y/N]. Because come tomorrow, I’m not lettin’ you outta my sight. Gonna keep my promise, and breed you till you can’t think straight,” he gives you one teasing thrust, causing you to yip in surprise.

Jake laughs at your reaction, before snuggling his face into your hair. He breathes deep of your scent, letting the warmth of your body pressed to his calm him.

You in turn snuggle yourself into his neck, pressing a soft kiss there.

“I love you, Jake.”

“I love you too baby.”

Sleep takes you, and your dreams are filled with the laughter of children.

#jake sully x reader #jake sully x na'vi reader #jake sully smut #jake sully x fem!reader #jake sully x you #jake sully fluff #avatar way of water #avatar fanfiction #jake sully avatar #na'vi reader #navi reader #female reader #jake sully x y/n #jake x reader smut #reader insert #afab reader #avatar smut #jake sully #jake sully x reader smut

[qedart]

Time Warp AU - #14 Well this update just didn't want to come together. But finally it's done (all 8K+ of it 😬) and I'm actually rather happy with how it turned out. So I hope you all enjoy this offering of Pete emotional H/C with a side of parental Icemav.

Honestly, Pete had never really got the big deal about birthdays. Sure, when he was little they seemed important. They’re supposed to, when you’re young. But he wasn’t a child anymore. 

He’d learned a long time ago that simply managing to make it through the year wasn’t exactly cause for celebration. A few rounds of people forgetting, ignoring, or scoffing at him for waiting for some kind of acknowledgment of the date had made it all very clear to him - nobody gives a damn about stuff like that, and you look pathetic if anybody catches on that you might. 

So he didn’t. Doesn’t. 

For the longest time now, the only real significance that that day held for him was as a marker of his being one year closer to independence. Living with Mav and Ice, even that didn’t provide the same spiteful satisfaction that it once had. 

These days, he didn’t count down the months until he was free of the people he found himself in the midst of. Quite the opposite really. Ice, Maverick, Tom, the Daggers, the uncles… they were good people. Good, kind, safe people - and they actually seemed to like Pete being around. 

Nothing lasts forever though, of course. He knew that. He was well aware that he was one big screw up away from blemishing whatever image they all had of him, one proper misstep from sending the whole house of cards he’d built around himself from falling to the ground in one way or another. And he was well overdue for one of those mistakes. Unfortunately, it was an inevitability. The sky is blue. Water is wet. Pete Mitchell messes up nice things. 

He tried not to let it bother him too much. 

It was better to just live in the moment, and at this particular moment he had far bigger concerns than inevitabilities or the fact that he was turning 17 in a week. The chief among them - Maverick was turning 60. 

Unlike Pete’s birthday, that was something significant. That was important. That was worthy of celebration. 

Up until this whole time-warp fiasco went down, Pete would have put money on him (any version of him) not making it past 30. 60 was double that! It demanded celebration, even if Mav himself had developed a habit of referring to the subject of his age merely as ‘the situation’.

So when Ice suggested a little lunchtime get-together by the Hard Deck the coming Saturday ‘for the birthday we’ve got coming up’, he agreed that it was a fantastic idea. 

“Penny’s got a barbecue there that we could use I’m pretty sure,” Tom chipped in over his cereal. 

“Nice. I’ll be there if there’s food,” Pete grinned as he made a bowl for himself. 

Tom rolled his eyes. 

“You were going to be there anyway, numb-skull.”

“Boys, please,” Ice sighed, before Pete could return fire. “I’ve not had my coffee yet, let’s just hold off on the bickering for a little while longer.”

Pete sniffed when Tom promptly shot him an exceedingly smug smirk. 

“I’d get drinking if I were you.”

“Pete.”

“Fine,” Pete huffed, before turning back to Ice. “The beach sounds great though. Want us to bring anything?”

“Just yourselves,” Ice replied, shaking his head. “Mav and I will sort out the logistics.”

And that was that. Party at the beach to celebrate Mav’s 60th, be there at 12. Sorted. 

The rest of the week went by like normal, for the most part. He was asked if he was excited about the party a bit more often than he expected he would be, but he figured it was just people making conversation. He and Tom spent most of Thursday trying to find the old man a fitting birthday present. 

“You’ve seen the hanger! How are we supposed to top that?!”

“I think we should probably start by setting our sights a little lower.”

In the end they decided to both go in on a new camera, figuring it was the most affordable of Mav’s hobbies to tap into. 

When the day itself eventually did roll around, Pete was up and out of bed by dawn. Not due to excitement, and not due to any additional birthday gestures like he’d been contemplating (a fry up was always a good start to the day, after all), no - due to Tom. 

“We’re going for a ride and you’re going to enjoy it,” he announced the second Pete woke (with a start, thanks to the other boy dropping his riding jacket and boots on top of him). “Up and at ‘em.” 

“But what about Mav’s-?”

“We’ll see him at the party, I’ve left a note,” Tom announced, grabbing the end of Pete’s quilt and dragging it out of the room with him. “Mush.”

“I hate you!”

“Hate me on the move. There is breakfast with our name on it somewhere.” 

“Ugh!” 

The ride, annoyingly, was fantastic. The roads were mostly clear, and riding with Tom was always a blast. Tom even bought him breakfast and a couple of pastries for after (“It’s your birthday, idiot. Of course I’m shouting”). It was… well, nice. Pete didn’t care about birthdays, he really didn’t, but even still… it was just nice. Sitting at the look out, munching on the food his best friend had bought for him, he found himself feeling genuinely content with life and how it was turning out. A year ago, he wouldn’t have been able to bring himself to even imagine that. It was a moment he resolved to savour. 

“You feel any different?” Tom asked, smirking as he dusted the icing sugar from his Pączki off his fingers. 

Pete scoffed at the question, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh yeah,” he replied, nodding seriously. “I feel like I’ve levelled up, you know? Way more mature now. I feel like I’ve really grown as a person.”

“And yet not an inch vertically? Life’s not fair, is it-?”

“Fuck you!”

Tom snickered, ducking out of the way of the hand Pete swung at the back of his head, before holding his own up in surrender. 

“Seriously though, happy birthday,” he said, shooting Pete a warm smile that made his stomach do that fluttering thing he’d noticed it doing more and more often lately. 

Smiling himself and ducking his head, Pete shrugged. 

“Thanks,” he said. “It’s not really a big deal.”

“Well as somebody with a vested interest in your being born, I reckon it is,” Tom retorted, rolling his eyes. 

Pete scoffed, a teasing grin tugging at his lips as he folded his arms over his knees. 

“A vested interest, huh?”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Nawww, you do like me,” Pete snickered. 

“You’re letting it get to your head.” 

“Is that why you brought me out here, to confess your undying love?” 

“In. your. dreams,” Tom scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Bringing you out here was my present to both you and Mav.” 

“How is me going to go for a ride and being bought breakfast a present for Maverick? 

“You going for a ride and being bought breakfast means both you and I are here, not at home. Which means Mav and Ice have the whole place to themselves, all morning. And there’s no chance of either of us overhearing anything and being scarred for life.” 

Pete blinked at that, before pulling a face at the thought of Mav’s birthday ride and announcing, utterly serious, “You’re the best friend a guy could ever ask for.”

“I know,” Tom drawled, before shrugging as he tucked the rubbish from his breakfast into his backpack. “And maybe I wanted to get in first with the birthday wishes.” 

“Always a competition with you, isn’t it?” Pete scoffed, ignoring the other boy’s derisive snort as he jumped back to his feet. “Race you back to the Hard Deck!” 

“Absolutely not!” Tom snapped, hurrying to his feet all the same as Pete bounded over to the bikes. “That flies entirely in the face of the contract!” 

“I laugh in the face of the contract!”

“Yes! That’s why it took so long to draft! Pete!” 

They didn’t end up racing back, much to Tom’s relief. As a result, by the time they pulled up, pretty much everybody had arrived at the beach. Bradely, Hangman, and Phoenix were still by the Bronco though, pulling the last of their stuff out the back.

“Ah, the birthday boy has arrived,” Hangman cried as they wandered over.

“Ha ha,” Pete scoffed, rolling his eyes before turning to Rooster. “Hey, can we dump our helmets and stuff in your car?”

“Sure, the back seat should be free,” he replied as he hefted the cooler from the trunk. “But really, happy birthday, Pete.”

“Ah, thanks?” Pete replied, a confused smile tugging at his lips as he stepped out of the way for Tom to stow his stuff away as well. That’s two times today. Weird. 

“What’s with the face?” Phoenix asked, laughing. “17 is a big deal.”

Pete laughed. 

“Yeah right,” he replied, stooping to grab one of the bags from their pile. “16’s supposed to be a big deal, and 18 definitely is. 17’s just there.”

“Agree to disagree. But, that raises a good question,” replied Jake, a mischievous grin spread across his face. “What sort of Sweet 16 fiasco are we competing with today?” 

Pete arched a brow at the question, but figured it made sense. Out of all the milestone birthdays, 16 was the only relevant one he and Mav had an overlap on. Though he wasn’t sure how much “I spent most of it in the ER with a broken arm’ would help with gauging the temperature for how this one was going.

Instead he just shrugged. 

“Nothing really special. I’m sure this’ll be way better.”

“That’s what we’re aiming for,” Jake replied with a grin, ruffling Pete’s hair (and then, far more amusingly, Tom’s), before leading the way over to the sand. 

Pete blinked as they drew closer. A lot of people had turned up. All of the daggers were here, pitching up chairs and umbrellas or tossing a football (actually, two footballs) around while almost all the uncles and even Viper milled about among them. Mav, Ice, Slider, and Penny were getting the barbecue started, chatting with Warlock and Cyclone (which was weird, but probably Ice’s doing). He even spotted Amelia and Theo slip out of the Hard Deck, deep in conversation with Hondo (about something nerdy and interesting no doubt) to join the group. 

“Damn, Mav sure invited a lot of people for someone who pulls faces whenever anybody utters the number 60 around him,” he laughed as he hefted the bag further up his shoulder. “Or are you all gatecrashing just to torment him?”

Jake snorted at that, rolling his eyes. 

“Nah. Though he is being a baby about it, so if we did it would be his own fault,” he replied. 

“He actually ordered us not to mention ‘the situation’ the other day,” Bradley scoffed, shaking his head.

“In fairness, Roo - you and Bagman were having a lot of fun at his expense,” said Phoenix as they all dropped their bags on the sand and set about making camp. She grinned at Pete and Tom. “There have been lots of fossil jokes. These two even smuggled a walker on base and swapped it with his lectern before debrief. He had to walk it to the side of the classroom.”

“Cruel,” Tom snickered from beside him. “Funny, but cruel.”

“You know it,” Jake cackled, dropping his bags down on the sand before stretching his arms over his head. “But nah, he’s opted out of a group celebration. Don’t know why. But I’m afraid that means you’re flying solo today, baby bro.”

Pete blinked again. 

“...I’m what?”

“You’ve got the spotlight pretty much to yourself today,” Bradley replied, shrugging like it was the simplest thing. “Apparently he’s got some day-trip planned with Ice tomorrow, so he’s sorted. That just leaves you with all of the attention. Reckon you can handle that?”

…Shit. 

Shit, shit shit - he had not prepared for this. He’d not expected this. What the hell even was this?! He’s turning 17. Who gives a shit?! Why the hell would all of these people come out here, some of them a hell of a long way, just for him?! They wouldn’t. Had they not been told it was just for him? Did Mav wriggle out of this at the last second and now he had 20+ people who’d pretty much written off half their weekend for no reason on his hands? 

“Pete, you alright?” Tom asked, shaking his shoulder, a worried expression on his face. 

Pete grimaced, before glancing around at the others and finding them all looking at him with concern. 

He pulled on a wide grin and laughed. 

“Me? Yeah, of course!” he replied cheerily, mind racing all the while. He needed a minute to himself. To come up with a plan. To fix this. 

Quickly turning back to the others, slapping his forehead as he did, he said, “You know what? I think I left my phone on my bike. Just gonna go grab that, can’t lose another one. Are you guys good here for a sec?”

“I mean, yeah,” Tom said slowly, frowning. 

“Great!” Pete cheered (perhaps a bit too overzealously, but whatever) before spinning around and, with a quick “Back in a moment!” taking off back up the beach. 

Right, step one, calm the hell down. He had to get a hold of himself and he had to do it now. 

Alright, it was a surprise. Alright, there were probably going to be some irritated people down there. So what? He could deal with irritated people. He could deal with people that actively wanted to kick his ass, irritated is nothing. Why the hell was he freaking out so much? Less than a year of being treated nicely and he’d gone completely soft, seriously?

He shook his head roughly. 

He was fine. This was fine. He’d make it work somehow. He just needed to stop acting like a baby and come up with a plan of action. 

He could direct attention back to Maverick. The old man can try and wriggle out of it all he likes but two can play this game. He’ll stick around for an hour, direct as much attention to Mav as possible, whip Jake and Bradely up into enough of a frenzy to keep the momentum going and then make a classy exit. Nobody will even remember he was here and they’ll forget all about this misunderstanding. That’s good. That’ll work. 

…Unless Mav launches a counter-attack. Which he would. 

Shit!

“Pete?” 

Pete whirled around and found Mav and Ice approaching, both looking concerned and not all that surprised to see him up here. Goddamnit, Tom, the snitch!!

“What’s going on, kiddo?” Mav asked, cocking his head to the side. 

“I mean, that’s a pretty good question man,” Pete replied, running a hand through his hair anxiously as he glanced down at the beach once more before turning his attention (and frustration) back to the older man. “I get that you’ve got some sort of three quarter life crisis going on about turning 60, but seriously, throwing me under the bus so you can avoid that is a dick move.” 

Mav, the bastard, looked more confused than chastened at the rebuke, exchanging a bemused glance with Ice. 

“You’re going to have to spell this one out for us, buddy.”

Pete groaned, folding his hands on top of his head. 

“First, explain it to me, guys,” he replied. “What was the plan? Trick everyone here by saying it’s a party for Mav and then hope people aren’t too put out when it turns out it was for the other Mitchell? Jeez guys, I mean, what the hell? Why the hell?! Nobody gives a damn it’s my birthday. I don’t give a damn it’s my birthday. Now it looks like I do, and now I get to look like the stupid little moron who needed people tricked here to pad things out!”

“Pete,” Ice said slowly, holding his hands out like he was trying to calm down some wounded animal. Like Pete was being irrational about this. “You do know this party is for you, right?”

“Yes,” Pete replied with every ounce of patience he possessed. “I’m aware of that. That’s exactly my point”

“No. He means it was always intended to be just for you,” Mav weighed in. 

Pete sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried his very best to channel Ice and remain as diplomatic as he possibly could (it did not help, mind you, that Ice was joining in on this nonsense. But he tried nevertheless). 

“Look,” he said with forced calm, “I see what you’re trying to do, and it’s a nice thought. I appreciate that you guys care and want to make a fuss, I do. But you can’t just expect to trick people into writing off half their weekend for one thing, and then bait and switch with a discount offer at the last second. Wood and Wolf flew in from Texas for this, guys. Please. I’ll see if I can get the Daggers to lay off the fossil jokes, but- …what’s this?”

“Read it,” Ice replied, holding his phone out to Pete until he took it and did as he was told. 

Jake has named the group chat: Big Effing Deal Jake: First of all, how. dare. you? Nat: Seconded! Both for leaving us out and forcing me to agree with Bagman. Jake: Look what you’ve brought us too!!!  Nat: I feel physically sick.  Jake: Ditto. Bradley: Wow, you guys really are in sync today.  Nat: You take that back!!! Ice: Could somebody please explain what we’re being accused of here.  Jake: Betrayal!!!  Coyote: Dude - you’ve been hitting the expresso machine again, haven’t you? Mav: Guys. BOB: Rooster mentioned you are having a get together for Pete’s birthday on Saturday and we’re all handling the rejection differently. Fanboy: How could you, Mav? Mav: Well first, there’s no rejection for anybody to handle. We floated the idea of a beach party this morning and he seemed alright with it. So if you guys are free and want to come along, you’re more than welcome to.  Jake: Was that so hard?!!!! Mav: If you’d waited a few more hours I’d have invited you in person at work tomorrow. Jake: But Roo gets his invite right away??? :(  Ice: Rooster was over during the day, so yes, he heard first. Rooster: Remember how you were supposed to help me fix their gate today?  Jake: Nope. Poorly communicated on your part.  Jake: Moving swiftly on - we need times. And gift ideas. Nat: What a crappy brother. I got my present for him weeks ago.  Payback: Burn.  Payback: Also, same. Jake: You’re a pair of goody-goodies, I’m not surprised in the slightest.  Jake: Besides it doesn’t matter how early you got it. It’s how good it is. Nat: Got you beat there too Bagman.  Jake: Bullshit. Pete and I have a connection.  Payback: Is that what we’re calling you being a terrible influence now? Coyote: Just before these three properly kick off - is this a joint birthday bash? Or Pete-specific? Mav: Pete specific.  Mav: I’ve already got plans for mine.  Ice: And by that he means I have already made plans for him.  Ice: They’re on Sunday though, so we’ll be there regardless.  Mav: And people think I’m the competitive one. My point is, I’m covered, so don’t go worrying about that. Coyote: Roger that!  Fanboy: This is going to be great!! I can bake a cake if you like!!! Lil bro likes chocolate, right? Payback: Guys - take him up on the offer!  Phoenix: This! ^^^^^ Ice: That would be lovely, Fanboy, thank you. And yes, chocolate would be well received I expect.  Fanboy: Yeeeeeesssss!!  Mav: Right, we’re just going to leave you guys to this.  Rooster: Oh, actually, just before you go… Bradley’s added Sly-Guy, Chip_P, E!News, Full_M00ning…  Mav: Oh you little shit stirrer.  Sli-Guy: First of all, how dare you?! 

Pete blinked, utterly mystified, as he scrolled through the group chat (which seemed to go on for quite a bit) before eventually turning back to Ice and Mav. 

“I… I don’t understand,” he uttered. 

“Join the club, kiddo,” Mav replied, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“You helped plan this,” Ice pointed out, a baffled expression on his ordinarily nonplussed face. “I specifically asked you if you would like a party at the Hard Deck?” 

“I thought you were asking for my input for Mav’s party,” Pete muttered, his cheeks blazing with embarrassment as he realised just how stupid he apparently was. 

“The daggers have been talking to you about it all week?” Mav pointed out, equally confused. “Bob asked you what snacks you’d like him to bring.” 

“I thought they were coming to me because they couldn’t get anything out of you!” Pete snapped back hotly. 

Ice held up a hand, cutting that line of conversation off before it could get too heated. Taking a deep, exceedingly put upon breath, he sighed “Once again, it appears that this family’s outstanding communication skills have come back to bite us all in the ass.”

He turned back to Pete.  

“If it’s any consolation, it wasn’t meant to be a surprise party,” he said.

Pete scoffed softly, in spite of himself, but soon enough the begrudging amusement gave way to confusion once more. 

“I still don’t understand,” he said. “Why would all of them come out if they knew it was just for me?” 

“How’s it any different from them coming out for me?” Maverick asked with a frown.

Pete shrugged. 

“They’re your family,” he replied simply. “They’re supposed to show up for you.” 

“They’re your family too,” Maverick argued, his frown deepening. 

“You do know that, don’t you?” Ice said slowly, eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

“Yeah. Course,” Pete muttered, cutting a quick glance to the group in question. Nobody seemed to have noticed they were gone yet, thank goodness. Somehow Pete felt like he’d find himself even more outnumbered if they did. He had to bury this quick though, if he wanted to avoid that fate. 

Unfortunately, when he turned back to the oldtimers, Ice had his signature ‘so you’re just going to lie to my face now?’ expression in place. Never a good sign. Also almost never directed at Pete he realised with a dull pain. 

“You know, you pull that face every time this topic of conversation comes up.”

“What face?” 

“The ‘well if it makes them happy’ face,” Ice replied, folding his arms over his chest. “Be honest with us, Pete. What’s going on here?”

Pete shrunk back a little at that, feeling very much under a spotlight all of a sudden and not entirely sure why. 

“N-nothing. Nothing’s going on.”

“Well clearly something is. And just to be clear, do you honestly believe that we’d have all been fine throwing a party for Maverick and doing absolutely nothing for you?” the older man asked, arching a brow pointedly. 

“I… I mean… I… I’d get it,” Pete stuttered, heart pounding in his chest. What the hell was going on? What did he even do? He took a step back, giving into the instinct to at least be out of arm's length, only to knock into the back of Ice’s Jeep when he tried. Crap. He was trapped. And he was in trouble. And he didn’t know why. 

His alarm must have shown on his face too, because soon enough Ice was taking a step back himself, hands held up disarmingly. 

“Pete, I’m not angry with you,” he said, calmly and far gentler than before. “I’m sorry.”

Pete swallowed thickly, but nodded all the same as he tried to rein himself in, to calm down for goodness sake. He was being so damn stupid!!

“I just don’t understand,” Ice continued. “You know everybody here loves you, don’t you? We haven’t dropped the ball that much I hope.” 

Embarrassment and shame twisted sickeningly in the pit of Pete’s belly. Because he did know that. He knew how hard everybody had tried to make him and Tom feel welcome. And not just as novelty extensions of Mav and Ice either, but as their own, separate people. They’d all tried so hard to bring them into the family and make them feel like they belonged in it, Pete knew it. He saw it each day. For the most time, he felt it too, but there was just this part of him that wouldn’t allow him to accept it fully. Wouldn’t allow him to trust it. To trust them. 

“I’m sorry,” he uttered weakly, staring down at the tips of his boots. “I… I know it doesn’t make sense. It’s not anything you guys have done, or haven’t done. I know how much you’ve all tried to be welcoming. And you have, truly. I love it here… so much. But… but every time I try to… it’s just in the back of my mind I’m always… I…” 

He flinched sharply when something touched his arm, but it was just Ice reaching out to him. All of a sudden, that contact, that offer of reassurance was all he wanted. Sighing heavily he stepped forward and leaned against the old man’s chest, dragging in a deep, calming breath as Ice’s arms wrapped around him, squeezed him in a tight. 

“I love it here,” he uttered. “And everybody here… and I know they- you all care - about me and Tom. But I just know…” 

He sighed deeply. 

“It’s just… self-preservation, I guess. I know it’s going to really hurt, so much, when I mess up.  I didn’t care, when it was just some other home I was stuck in longer than usual, but now… now it’s probably too late already. When I mess up and have to go-”

“Hey, who said anything about you going anywhere,” Ice said with a frown, holding him closer. “We told you, you have a place in this family for life. Nothing will change that.”

Pete sighed sadly, shaking his head where it was pressed to Ice’s sternum. They didn’t get it. They felt that way now, but it wouldn’t last. 

“No matter how hard you try, you’re going to end up alone.” 

Both Pete and Ice froze at that, before turning to face Maverick, who looked all the world like he’d just commented on the weather rather than putting one of Pete’s deepest, most painful fears to words. And he wasn’t done. 

“We’re going realise just how messed up you really are. How much damage has been done. How much of it can’t be undone. And, most importantly, how much of it you probably deserved. And sooner or later we’ll change our mind about you. It’s all well and good to say we’ll always want you in the family if we haven’t seen the full picture yet, because let’s face it, you’re on the good behaviour streak of a lifetime right now. But sooner or later, you’re going to mess up, because that’s what you do. And then we’ll see the real you. The screw up. The waste of space. The guy everybody else can see clearly. Eventually the rose-coloured glasses will come off and  we’ll really see you for what you are. We’ll get tired of trying to bring somebody into a family who doesn’t deserve to be in it and clearly is meant to be on their own. It’ll be better for everyone to just stop trying. We probably won’t kick you out, to be fair - but when you head off to college or the academy… the calls and emails will peter out. Tom will probably find his own people too, when he’s got other options. He’ll stop spending time with you too. It’ll probably be pretty amicable really. But everybody will just go on with their life and there will be no room for you in them. That will be that. Better to just accept it now, try not to get too attached to how things are, so when it happens, at least you won’t look like you were blindsided by it all. It’s a bit less pathetic if you at least saw it coming.” 

Pete’s stomach sunk so fast through the blacktop it felt like he was pulling negative G’s. Mav knew. Mav saw how this was going to play out just as clearly as he did. The first card in his little house was beginning to wobble. 

To his horror he felt his face beginning to heat up and his eyes beginning to sting. He dragged in a deep, shuddering breath, squeezing them shut tight. He wasn’t a baby. This wasn’t a surprise. He wasn’t going to start crying in the middle of the car park where everybody could see him like some child. 

He jumped as an arm wrapped around his shoulders and looked up to find Ice, holding him close again, and leading them to the space between his jeep and Bradley’s Bronco - more or less out of sight from the rest of the group.

“Sit down and take a few deep breaths for me, kiddo,” he murmured, manoeuvring Pete until he was sitting down on the gravel, back pressed against the rubber of the Bronco’s tyre. Biting his lip, he folded his arms tight over his chest, knees drawing up as Ice kneeled down beside him and wrapped an arm back around his shoulders, rubbing up and down his arm soothingly all the while.. “In and out. Just like that. What the hell, Mav?” 

“Just trying to work out what we’re dealing with here,” Maverick replied, sounding tired and sad now. “Pete, can you look at me?”

Pete really didn’t want to. This was all humiliating and painful enough without risking bursting into tears the second he made eye contact with the old man as well. But, at the same time, this was the reality of the situation, and closing his eyes and hiding from it wasn’t going to change anything either, except to make him look even more childish. So whether he wanted to or not, he didn’t have much of a choice. 

Clenching his jaw tight and breathing in deeply through his nose, he (as resolutely as he could manage) lifted his head and met Mav’s eye. He wasn’t expecting to be met with a sympathetic expression. How could Mav see him so clearly, and still look at him like that. 

“Does that about sum it up?” the old man asked, cocking his head to the side. “What’s going on in that head of yours.”

Scrubbing roughly at his face, Pete nodded his head. 

“M-more or less.” 

Mav hummed thoughtfully, pausing a moment, before smiling and sitting down properly across from them. 

“You know,” he said, leaning back on his hands. “The first time I met Carole, she scared that absolute crap out of me.” 

Pete blinked, confused at the strange turn their conversation had taken, but interested all the same. Mav wasn’t shy with talking about Goose or Carole, but he’d never heard that. 

A fond smile tugged at the edges of the old man’s mouth as he looked up wistfully at the sky. 

“People underestimated her. She was so loud and joyous all the time, most people figured she was probably a bit dim. But they had no idea. Sure she was smart enough, but her real strength was with people. She had this way of looking at a person, just looking at them, and seeing past all the bullshit.”

He shook his head. 

“The first shore leave after Goose and I became a team, Goose insisted that I come home with him. He hadn’t realised until we were literally docking that I didn’t have anywhere to go, so the second he put the pieces together it was, ‘Come on, you have to, Mav! It’ll be great. You can meet Carole. You guys will get on like a house on fire, I know it’. And I, for the life of me, couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse to convince him otherwise. I think I was a bit blindsided that he was offering to spend more time together at all.” 

He scoffed. 

“Either way, the pressure was dialled up to 11,” he drawled. “Not only would I have to stay on my best behaviour for even longer, to keep Goose on side - and I’d been on a 6 month streak at that point and felt the end looming. But I also had to become best friends with his wife, immediately. Otherwise he’d wonder how he got that one so wrong. Then he’d look closer, and he’d see everything he’d somehow missed about me before. See exactly where I was lacking. Me getting to keep the one person in the navy, hell, the one person in the world that gave a damn about me - depended on this month going well.”

Rubbing at his scratchy eyes, Pete leaned a little more into Ice’s side, before asking. “You managed to pull that off?”

“Hell no, I lasted less than a week,” Mav scoffed, shaking his head. “And it only lasted that long because Goose and Carole had the patience of saints.”

Pete frowned. That didn’t make sense. He might not know this story but he knew a hell of a lot of the others that came later. He knew Mav stayed friends with Goose, and Carole as well, for years after when this would have happened. How could it not have worked? How did he screw up that badly and still manage to keep them around? 

He shot Ice a confused glance, receiving a ‘just roll with it’ shrug in response. 

“Carole was living in this tiny town in the middle of nowhere Texas at the time. Her aunt needed help moving or something. Unfortunately that meant I had had about six hours of travelling to work myself up and come up with a game plan for how I was going to make it all work. Going in with a charm offensive wouldn’t have done it, Goose would feel like making moves on his wife, Carole would feel like I was a creep, and I’d be stuck with both of them feeling like that for a month. I couldn’t risk being myself, for reasons already discussed. So I decided on the red carpet treatment. From the second I got out of Goose’s truck to the second we got back in it to head back to the airport, Carole Bradshaw would be shown a level of respect and deference that no admiral had or has ever received from me. The queen of England could have come around and found it excessive. But it was the best I had.

“I addressed her as ma’am, I stood when she walked into the room or got up from the table, I tried to help out around the house as much as I possibly could. A big part of the plan was also trying to give her and Goose as much space and time to themselves as possible. I wasn’t supposed to be there, and the absolute last thing I wanted is for them to miss out on time together because Goose felt obliged to bring me along with him. On paper, I thought it worked. Be respectful and stay out of the way. Unfortunately, in practice it went more along the lines of me actively avoiding everybody like it was my job and, whenever I couldn’t, making the situation so awkward it was uncomfortable for everybody. And it was uncomfortable. My god. Goose and Carole, they tried so hard to get me to relax, come out of my shell, do the exact opposite of what I was trying to do essentially. It was not going well,” Mav laughed, rubbing the back of his neck and shaking his head at the memory. 

“Goose knew I was acting off, which was putting me even more on edge. And I knew I was quickly moving past that ‘meeting new people is awkward sometimes’ grace period straight into ‘this little twerp I’ve known for a few months has got a problem with the love of my life’ territory. So not ideal. And Carol… Carol knew from the beginning that I was putting up a front, which made settling around her pretty much impossible.”

Pete grimaced sympathetically at the thought of it all. 

“At least you stuck it out,” he muttered. “I would have just left at that point.”

“Oh, I did,” Mav replied without missing a beat. “About five days in everything finally bubbled over. Goose tried to coax me into telling him what was wrong for about the millionth time and… well, after days of constantly being on red alert, barely sleeping from the stress, just second guessing every single move or sound I made while knowing, in spite of trying my best, it was all going to hell - I sort of lost it on him. Told him he could take whatever friendship he thought we had and shove it where the sun don’t shine because I sure as hell didn’t need it or him. That I'd been on my own for over half my life and I didn’t need anybody, thank you very much, least of all some hapless, sheltered country-boy who clearly didn’t know what was good for him if it smacked him in the face. Then I grabbed my bag and went straight to the train station.”

Pete blinked owlishly at that, confused to say the least. 

“But I thought Goose was your best friend,” he said. 

“He was,” Mav replied. 

“Even after that?!” 

“I know, I was surprised too.” 

Pete frowned, puzzling it over as Mav laughed softly and shook his head.. 

“This being the tiny town it was, the train didn’t run very often, and I’d missed the one for that day - which was just the cherry on the top really. I figured I’d just spend the night on the platform. Didn’t want to risk missing the next one, and I was feeling pretty sorry for myself at the time so it seemed fitting. Which was exactly where Carole found me three hours later.”

Ice scoffed softly beside Pete, shaking his head with a fond smile of his own. 

“Mother Goose sent in the big guns then,” he drawled. 

“I honestly have no idea if Goose even knew,” Mav replied, smiling reminiscently himself. “I think she just figured she’d given us both enough time to sulk and decided enough was enough.” 

He chuckled, tilting his head back as he recalled the encounter. 

“She came over and sat down on the ground beside me,” he said, looking around them, the corner of his lips twitching a fraction higher. “Sorta like we are right now.”

Pete smiled weakly at that. 

“She sat with me for the longest time, didn’t say a word, just waited me out, until she could tell I was ready to actually listen to her. Then she took my hand and said, “You know what, honey? If you were half as rotten as you’re afraid you are, you wouldn’t care nearly as much as you do”.”

Pete ducked his head as, all at once, tears started welling up once again. God he wanted that to be true. With every fibre of his being he did. He bit his lip as he felt Ice pull him a little tighter against his side, and heard Mav scoot closer himself, reaching out and rubbing his arm himself. 

“Do you think she was right about that,” he uttered, voice crackling with the strain of keeping himself together. 

Mav smiled, squeezing Pete’s arm gently as he inclined his head. 

“Honestly, I always had my doubts,” he confessed. “But these days… I think she probably was.” 

Before he could stop them, a couple of the tears Pete had been battling against broke free and rolled down his cheeks. 

“Oh, buddy,” Mav sighed, reaching up to rub the moisture away. “I’m so sorry. Sometimes I forget how much all of that stuff hurt.” 

Pete leaned into the contact, the corner of his mouth twitching a little as he did so.

“Actually pretty good to hear that from my perspective,” he murmured, drawing soft scoffs from the oldtimers. 

Shaking his head fondly, Mav patted Pete’s arm one last time before folding them over his crossed legs. 

“I’m telling you this for two reasons,” he said, ducking his head to meet Pete’s eye once again. “First, and I really am sorry for this but, unfortunately, this is just one of those cards that you and I got dealt. This is something that you were always going to have to work through. Being on your own for so long, and getting told so many times and in so many ways that nobody wants you, and nobody will ever want you - it leaves a mark. That doesn’t mean you’re broken. It's just a hurdle that we get that some people don’t. Everyone’s got their own set. For us - it’s being very, very aware of just how much other people can hurt you, while at the same time knowing how much the alternative hurts too.”

Pete sighed softly, but nodded all the same. That point wasn’t exactly news to him, but it still sucked hearing it all the same. 

“And second,” Mav said, reaching out and brushing Pete’s hair back from his face with a small, reassuring smile. “Even though it doesn’t always feel like it, and that feeling will flare up from time to time unfortunately, some people really do stay.”

Pete lifted his head to look at the old man properly, something like hope fluttering weakly in the pit of his belly. 

“They stick by you as long as they possibly can, through more crap than you could possibly imagine. I know it’s hard to really let yourself believe that right now. I know it feels like the second you do it’ll all fall apart around you, like a house of cards. But that will fade with time and with evidence. You’re just going to have to trust me until then. You’re not meant to be alone. There’s nothing fundamentally wrong or bad about you. The people who are worth a damn, they stay - you just have to let them in in the first place.”

The older man leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially, “Just be careful, because once you do, it’s all bets off. I had one moment of weakness around Slider 36 years ago and now I’m stuck with him.” 

Pete laughed wetly at that, smiling back as Mav practically beamed at him. 

“I hope you’re right,” he uttered, rubbing again at his face. 

“I am,” Mav replied, nodding firmly. “And look, I’m not going to lie to you and promise forever. Nobody knows what’s around the corner. Hell, a tsunami could take us all out right now.” 

Pete scoffed softly, rolling his eyes as Maverick ruffled his hair teasingly. 

“But the stuff you’re worried about, the mistakes you’re worried about making, I’m sorry but they’re just not gonna cut it.” 

Ice nodded at that. 

“Unfortunately, to shake us at this point you’d have to do things that you’re simply not capable of. And they certainly wouldn’t be accidental.” 

Pete frowned slightly, glancing between the two of them. 

“...Could you give me a clue?” he asked. “You know, to be safe.”

Ice scoffed softly, before cocking his head to the side thoughtfully.

“Alright. We’re talking about doing things that would deliberately traumatise others. Not accidents, like a car crash or getting in a really bad fight, though we’d all rather you avoided that too. Stuff that’s just evil. Things specifically done to make somebody else feel afraid or humiliated or less than” Ice replied calmly, brow rising pointedly. “Do you feel that avoiding that sort of behaviour would be a struggle for you?”

“Fuck, no,” Pete replied, nose wrinkling at the thought of doing anything along those lines.

Ice  nodded. 

“There you go. There’s the bar,” he replied simply. “Anything above that? Worst case scenario, you’re the pain in the ass of the week. And that’s a title we’ve all held at one point or another.”

“Even you?”

“Unjustly,” he sniffed. 

“Ask Uncle Sli about it some time,” Mav replied without missing a beat, before turning back to Pete before Ice could retort. “Honestly kiddo, do you really think Bradely was an angel growing up?” 

“Well… yeah?”

“Think again,” Ice drawled. 

Mav hummed, nodding seriously. 

“Off the top of my head, there was that time he threw a party with his baseball team while we were out of town and trashed the house.”

“The bike he borrowed without asking, rode unlicensed, and totalled - on a dare.” 

“The kitchen he nearly burned down because ‘guys - you can’t pause online games, how many times do I have to tell you?’ and ‘I want bacon’ turned out to be a bad mix.”

“The spy-phase that ended with him trying to sneak onto a military base, ours that is, and then refusing to answer any questions or co-operate after getting caught.” 

“I maintain that that was mostly Hollywood’s fault for taking him to watch True Lies.” 

Pete blinked, stunned by the antics of, by far, one of the more mature ‘big brothers’ he had. 

Ice scoffed, rolling his eyes with a fond smile. 

“And we still love the kid. Did back then when it happened and through much less amusing run-ins too,” he said, before squeezing Pete a little tighter to his side. “So try not to worry so much. You’re a kid, you’re supposed to do stupid things. Mav does stupid things every other day and we still keep him around. And that’s these days. He was an absolute menace when I first met him. And six years older than you are now. You’re a dream in comparison.”

Mav huffed. 

“You are a delight,” he said, patting Pete on the shoulder, before shooting his husband a pointed look. “But I think some people are forgetting which one of us introduced himself by immediately talking shit.”

“We were competing and the fact that you still bring it up almost 40 years later just further emphasises what a sound psychological victory that introduction was for me.”

“I mean I wanted to kick your ass all the more afterwards, so I’m not sure how much of a victory it was.”

“Well you never did, so a big one I would say.”

“Bullshit I never did-!”

“Go-ddddddd,” Pete groaned, though he couldn’t help but grin at the bickering, which, in the span of 10 months, had somehow become the comforting soundtrack of home for him (which probably said a lot about Ice and Maverick, but who cares). “Wher’es Tom when you need him?”

“Our point,” Ice said pointedly, shooting Mav a look that said quite clearly ‘we’re supposed to be a united front, genius (also, you know I’m right), “Is that you’re going to make mistakes. Everybody does. You’re going to do stupid things, things that we don’t approve of. And, because we’re here to help you become the best person you can be, we’ll call you out on it. At one point or another, we’ll disagree, we’ll argue, feelings will probably get hurt, egos will get bruised. And then, we’re going to be here anyway. Because you’re a member of this family and that’s not going to change.” 

“And we’ll remind you of that however many times you need,” Mav replied, smiling warmly at him, before slapping his own knees and leaning back. “Now, how would you like to proceed from here? Are you alright breaking the Birthday Drought today or would you like to go home and we can just have a nice family dinner tonight. Which would you rather?”

Pete bit his lip, fiddling with a loose thread on the hem of his t-shirt. 

“I guess I… I wouldn’t mind staying,” he replied, his heart and stomach fluttering again at the thought of all these people, his family, turning up just for him. But this time, he found his emotions leaning more on the side of nervous excitement rather than all-consuming dread. “I mean, It’s been a minute.” 

“You’re sure?” Ice asked seriously, rubbing Pete’s back reassuringly. “Don’t feel like you have to if you don’t want to.” 

Pete ducked his head, a small smile spreading across his face as, for the first time since this whole miscommunication came to light, and before that really, something seemed to settle inside of him. Some knot of tension that had been there for so long that he’d just learned to live with it, seemed to ease just the littlest bit. He did not doubt, for a second, that if he decided to leave now, Ice and Mav (and Tom) would cover for him, would back him up and stand in his corner. Whether they needed to or not, and Pete suspected things would probably topple in the direction of ‘not’ because the others would understand.

Drawing in a deep, calming breath (like Ice had been teaching him) he lifted his head a smiled a little wide. 

“I want to,” he said. “Seriously, if I ever say no to chocolate cake I want you to assume that somebody’s stolen my face and is impersonating me.” 

“Mark that down for both of us,” Mav replied, nodding empathetically. 

“Noted,” Ice scoffed, smiling as the three of them got back to their feet. “In that case, we should probably get back. Tom said he’d try to keep them all in one place to give us a moment alone but the fact that he seems to have managed it is making me nervous.” 

Pete snickered as Mav shot him an amused grin, before they both followed Ice back to the beach. It turned out the old man may have been right to worry. 

“In my defence,” Tom drawled as he jogged over to meet them. “I didn’t expect them all to lose their minds.” 

Pete felt like that was a pretty accurate description for the mayhem they’d just walked into. Almost all the daggers and a few of the flyboys were shouting, waving their arms about, jabbing fingers in faces or, in Fanboy’s case, cackling rather manically. And those that weren’t seemed content to either enjoy the show or stoke the fires all the more. It was pandemonium. 

“What did you do?” Ice sighed as they drew closer. 

Tom shrugged. 

“I casually mentioned that Pete and I watched Die Hard for the first time, and asked what other Christmas movies we should watch. And, well...” 

“IT’S SET ON CHRISTMAS EVE, BAGMAN!!! HOW MUCH MORE OBVIOUS DO YOU NEED IT?!” 

“THAT’S ALL YOU’VE GOT! IT’S AN ACTION MOVIE-”

“ON CHRISTMAS EVE!” 

“OH MY GOD! SO WHAT?! SO WHAT?!!” 

“Well, it did distract them,” Ice replied, arching a brow as he took it all in. “They’re going to go full Lord of the Flies any moment now, but it worked.” 

Tom grinned, before slinging an arm around Pete’s shoulders and drawling, “Wanna make it worse?”

“You’ve been a terrible influence on him,” Ice sighed, shooting Mav a despairing glance as Pete laughed softly and shrugged. 

“Sure.”

Tom winked before calling over the noise, “Alright, maybe Die Hard can go one way or the other-”

“NO IT CAN’T,” Jake and Nat hollered in unison, before immediately shooting each other disgusted glares. 

“But surely we can all agree that Nightmare before Christmas-” 

And they were off again, with renewed vigour and with previous alliances suddenly shattered. 

Pete laughed as he took it all in. Tom’s arm around his shoulders; Mav and Ice squeezing his arm and ruffling his hair respectively as they walked by to try and reign in the chaos; Rooster and Hangman each elbowing their way through the crowd, hollering for him to back them up. 

The fears were still there, bubbling away beneath the surface. Pete felt that they probably always would. Allowing himself to stay this attached, to actually believe that maybe this time, just this once, things truly would turn out different… it was risky. Frankly it was downright dangerous. 

“Right, enough of this!!” Rooster hollered over the noise. “Let’s settle this properly.” 

“Agreed,” Jake replied, nodding firmly. “Dogfight football. I bags the babies.” 

“What?!” 

“You can’t take both of them!”

“Can. Did. Pete, Tom, come on.” 

Sometimes, the risks were worth taking. And, well, he’d always liked to think he was a little dangerous.

#icemav #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #time warp au #art

[generalluxun]

Hey. Asking about how Chloe was abused. My knowldge of abuse is fairly limited to general pop knowledge so I'm curious as to what abuse was done to her.

Okay caveats first:

I am not a medical professional, I am simply someone with a vested interest in the topic who has done more research than the average person.

There are many definitions of abuse. Legal definitions are rarely useful, as they are limited to concrete, provable, gross violations. Just as you can inflict a lot of pain on someone without leaving the marks to prove assault, you can do a lot of damage to a child without it being legally 'provable'. Medical definitions are much more helpful for discussions.

Lastly some level of extrapolation is required as it is a show. We take what we are shown. For example:We actually only have Felix's word that he was ever abused, and his first character traits sre being deceitful and manipulative. We still take his word though, because it's a show. (And also we should give weight to victim accounts!)

So both parents are guilty in different ways. We will start with Audrey, the simpler one. There's clear verbal and emotional abuse demonstrated on screen. Mis-naming your child is a form of abuse:please ask the trans community about the impact of deadnaming even in full grown adults.

Beyond that she is constantly dismissive and belittling of her child- to the exclusion of all else. Style Queen/Queen Wasp is rife with examples. There is also the clear behavior shift in Chloé. The wheeling, approval seeking, hunched posture expecting rejection. This is a *pattern* not a one off. Audrey may live in NY, but no fashion movil would be away from Paris for 13yrs straight. We are simply seeing the most recent interaction. This culminates im a child having to ask 'Why don't you love me mother?' and the response is telling

Audrey barely chokes out the strange word when trying to contradict the question. It takes Marinette literally making them both mad at her to get a bare minimum of interaction on Audrey's part. It doesn't last though. Audrey falls back into her negation behaviors and is now present to inflict them more regularly on Chloé, while also being a constant target for/model of behavior for Chloé. (Seriously it was such a misstep to write Marinette reuniting a victim with an abuser) We know the show itself considers Audrey'ss care as a bad thing because the original script had André divorcing her and takin Zoé because Zoé 'doesn't deserve you' so Chloé being in an abusive parenting situation in Representation is supposed to be 'punishment'(ewww)

André is not off the hook either. People look at him 'spoiling' her and leave it at that. Well, 'spoiling' can in fact be abusive too. Let's look at what we see:

André has been her primary caregiver for 14 years now, so he has had the most responsibility in molding what we see for good or bad(mostly bad). She does learn from him too. Darkblade she proudly announces she learned everything about winning elections from watching her father. He's also excessively arrogant (I'm the symbol of Paris!) and quite willing to abuse his power for his own ends(having Roger round up protestors etc) which explains where Chloé learned where power is to be abused.

André is also extremely neglectful as a parent, extreeeeemely. Let's hit a bunch of points in the order they come to me.

Chloé lives *alone* in a hotel suite. There's no shared space, no family area. It's not even really her room. It's commercial, sterile. Where sre her hobbies? Posters? Even her *colors*? She is so used to being ignored at home that the girl who is loud as heck everywhere else doesn't make a single mark on her living space.

A hotel employee seems to think he needs to step in to raise Chloé. Let that sink in. An employee can see how bad it is and tried to make some kind of change, (he's working against a lifetime of ingrained behavior and is not very good at it himself). He doesn't even think to you know... Get Andre in to do this.

André was unaware or didn't care his daughter hasn't done schoolwork since Sabrina *learned to write*(5/6 yrs old) that is a shocking level of disinterest in your child. 6yr olds aren't criminal masterminds.

Andre supplants actual attention and affection with *stuff* he gives material possessions in *place* of parenting. This is somewhat similar to spoiling but not the same. André's method denies the child something vital. You see- things aren't a substitute for affection/attention, developmentally. And so while they may delight they never satisfy the need. They never validate the emotional attachment. So after the shine wears off, the hole is still there. So, like someone with an addiction, the child needs more, and more, and more. Since the needs are never met, it is never enough. And this is what the child views as *normal* this is simply *how it is*. They rarely know they are being given inadequate care because it's just life to them. Seeing something different in a one off doesn't make a dent vs a whole life.

This sort of thing makes a potent cocktail when mixed with the abandonment issues from her mother too. See- if her mother left, and daddy doesn't pay attention, anyone can leave. This leads to a cycle of pushing/demanding/hurting. The child expects to be left and let down, so they both try to reassure themselves it won't happen, and *make* it happen on their own terms (because they believe deep down it will) so more outrageous demands, because when those demands are met, it shows that you are still 'loved' and when they are not met, then there you go, you are not loved and they will leave you. It's a self-destructive spiral.

You see it play out with her interactions with her classmates and Sabrina specifically. How does she express affection? Gifts. What does she do? Push. Push and push and find the breaking point because if she can make Sabrina actually leave then it shows that she herself is worthless and her mother was right to leave her and her father is right to ignore her. Pretty messed up right? Yeah. Child abuse does horrible things to kids.

We're not done with André yet. Some people might say 'he expresses love for Chloé!' and to that I say- performatively.

André likes the idea of being a father. It's what respectable people do. It looks good on camera. It's someone to love him unconditionally. It's an ally against his wife.(broken home dynamics are horrible too) André just doesn't like having to parent for more than a snapshot.

We can see his interactions with Zoé highlight this too. He's delighted she's here!(a potential person on his side vs his wife and daughter) what's his first parenting advice? 'lock your dreams away and get on with life' A+ André.

What's he do in Queen Banana? He uses his power to let Chloé manipulate the movie *kicking Zoé out of it* This is the guy who is supposed to be supporting her? He only draws the line when it comes to sending Zoé away... Why? He doesn't want to lose an 'ally'. It's power dynamics. Not parenting. Where was he when Zoé was stuck in boarding school? He was going to keep Zoé in the divorce so clearly Mr Lee isn't in the picture, Audrey probably forgot Zoé existed, why didn't André bring Zoé to France and let the sisters grow up together? Oh, right, that might be work.

André likes Zoé because she comes pre-raised(boarding school was probably better than either parent) he doesn't have to put in work and he gets a free good kid to make him look like a father. She's his 'do over' as he throws the one he raised in the trash.

André shows his true colors when he's lamenting to Gabe about his corruption and abuse and blames ot on his 'heartless daughter' you know... The child he raised. The grown man is actually shoving his own corruption and misdeeds onto his child. You really don't need much more than that.

So, via neglect, verbal abuse, and emotional abuse the Bourgeois parents raised an incredibly messed up child. Chloé is not a 'good victim' like Adrien, she doesn't sulk quietly under abuse. She lashes out. She is hurt and angry and she passes the pain on. This is why they call it the cycle of abuse.

The end of Revolution illustrates this perfectly. Audrey throws verbal abuse at her on the plane. Angry that Chloé embarrassed her(not that she did wrong, Audrey loved the power grab) and calls her a loser by implication. You *see* it hit, the physical cringe. Then Chloé immedietely goes to try and pass on the pain. She is hurt and making someone else hurt is the only way to lessen it. She calls Marinette. Marinette breaks the cycle though, and good for her. But the show seems to have forgotten there's still one hurt child in this scene, and it doesn't seem to care.

I'm going to stop here for now. I probably left a bunch out, but I do have other things I need to do. Feel free to ask more questions. Thanks for taking the time to seek answers.

#ask #chloé bourgeois #child abuse is never okay #child abuse is not justice #andre bourgeois #audrey bourgeois #zoe lee #miraculous ladybug