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utterlyazriel · 15 days

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whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: here we go honeys. when me and aly (<3!) tossed this idea around months ago, this was the big question; how to do the reveal and what comes after. naturally it was as angsty as possible tehe <3 cw: canon typical violence

word count: 4.2k

synopsis: Azriel mourns a mistake that will haunt him for eternity as he races back to you. You play the leading role in one of your nightmares, but you can't seem to wake up.

CHAPTER SEVEN :: MATES

It's too loud and he can't think— that's the only coherent thing that Azriel can seem to grasp as he stumbles forward in the snow.

His shadows burst into a wild frenzy as he staggers towards the cabin door. It's not snowing here but the wind current is fast and wicked, tunnelling over the hilltop. His breath locks in his chest and even as he gasps, he can't seem to catch it.

It's too loud, too much— every single thought and feeling within him is just climbing over one another, overlapping, melding into each other so he can't tell where one ends and another begins.

Sadness, misery, torment, upset, anger. His emotions are thrown together with yours, a thousand afflictions all battling for his attention and he can't fucking think.

He shoves the cabin door open, falls through it, and it slams shut behind him.

Like a puppet getting its strings cut, all at once the noise... stops.

As though the very action of closing the door had managed to silence the bond between you and Azriel.

A different, very real fear suddenly burrows deep in his heart.

Still gasping for air, he shoves a hand against his chest and searches within himself desperately for that tether, his eyes crushing shut. For a moment, his heart hangs in the balance, teetering on the edge of agony.

And then— there.

Golden and rooted in his very soul, the bond that connects him to you. Only once he's found it does he release the breath captured in his lungs. He breathes an audible sigh of relief and shudders lightly, his knees giving out slightly.

He lets himself slump back against the cabin door as his scarred hand slips from his chest, his wings curling forward around himself. His head swims with the overload of new information, the first dregs of it only just sinking in.

You... were not the person you said you were.

...Was that such a bad thing?

Still breathing hard, Azriel's gaze turns to stare hard at his hands, their delicate scarring paining him nearly as much as the memory does. He thinks back to their origin.

Thinks back to a space too small for a growing boy, thinks of the darkness. He thinks of the never-ending misery that seemed to torment his life in a way he feared he would never escape.

It had taken a very long time for that fear to diminish in size; or perhaps, Azriel had just learned to grow around it.

But the cruelty of those mountains and the Fae that resided there was something he was intimately familiar with. The world up there, between the pines, was kill or be killed. Rise to the top of the food chain or spend every waking moment trying to figure out how to survive.

Isn't that what you had done? Learnt how to endure the conditions, to withstand the brute force of the winter and the merciless Illyrian way?

And wasn't that what he had done, all those years ago? Perhaps, the two of you weren't so different.

But his mind keeps snagging: liar, liar, liar.

Some vicious, prideful voice in his head makes a different point— he did it the right way. He didn't deceive anyone.

He fought for all he had, trained harder than any of his camp-mates to overcome every wretched obstacle in his way, earned his place at the top of the Blood Rite by being better, by working harder and winning.

Even with his... set back with learning to fly, he had still conquered it. He'd earned his place.

But… no, that wasn't right, was it?

He'd earned it, yes, but only because there was no other choice.

He had been kicked down at every possible chance, stalked for being born from a father who detested him and none of it was his fault. He'd earned his title as warrior but he had done nothing to reap every extra hurdle to get there.

Azriel had endured a great many terrible things in his life—and it took effort to recall that it wasn't fair. That it was an injustice he shouldn't have had to bear.

Sometimes, he hated how deeply ingrained the Illyrian way was within him. How it had changed him in the most unsavoury of ways, giving him an Illyrian pride that overtook his rationale at the worst of times.

It echoed out in the most unfamiliar of ways, like a hidden piece of himself he'd forgotten about— forgotten the person he'd needed to become to survive those camps.

So when Azriel thinks of the lie you've been hiding it, protecting yourself, the forgiveness is already there. It always was there. He could never had truly held it against you.

You had lied, yes, but as if there was any other way to survive. As if he could fault you for picking the option that let you fight, let you grow strong, let you keep your wings.

He remembers your words suddenly.

Please, I- I just wanted to keep my wings.

A sinister horror creeps up his throat and Azriel lurches forward, his forearms slamming against the cabin floor as his body forcibly retches. His stomach clenches tightly and bile floods his mouth but nothing comes out but his ragged breath.

How young had you been?

He knows to make your lie feasible it had to have been too young. Nine years old? Eight? He tries to recall the age that Lord Mylind said you started turning up trouble but it only succeeds in fueling the harrowing feeling that was running through his veins.

Azriel sags forward, his eyes drawing closed as he presses his forehead to the cool wood of the ground, trying to contain his growing dread. Still curled around himself, his wings quiver in the wake of his revelation. His shadows try soothe him, whirling down the planes of his neck.

You were pleading with him.

And... he had left you.

His stomach heaves once more, his breath a mixture of raspy pants.

It's impossible not to recount every single interaction you've had over the months, turning over every memory and seeing the other side of it with startling clarity.

The lone cabin, the outlier to the group. The tenseness in your shoulders when asked about the Blood Rite or your absences from training that Lord Mylind had spoken so crudely about.

Your drive to train and learn; the utter disappointment at the inadequacy of your tonics.

You had so much on the line, so much more than he ever could have imagined.

Azriel bites his cheek meanly as he recalls the conversation in which he asked why you hadn't completed in the Blood Rite. It makes perfect sense now; the exposure of the challenge was far too big of a risk and as a bastard, you would automatically be a target.

Even if you managed to succeed, which he had no doubt you could, the tattoos... removing your shirt...

All dead giveaways.

Your voice echoes in his mind.

Azriel, please, you have to understand—

You had begged him and he left you, he left you.

His body gives another awful retch, the horror of what he had done beginning to truly settle in. Gods, in a thousand ways you had been more trusting and vulnerable that he had ever known. Allowing him into your shelter, into your life...

Letting him get close to you, knowing that the closer he got, the more your secret threatened to reveal. And you let him anyway.

Azriel lurches to his feet, swaying for only a moment, his head reaching a clarity he so desperately lacked earlier.

He needs to go back. He should have fucking never left.

Somewhere between his ribs, there's an wallowing ache on the bond. A jolt of sharp pain.

Hand flying to his chest, Azriel stares at it and desperately prays to every god he can think of that he isn't too late to fix this. His eyes flick over to the Siphon on the back of hand, dim and lifeless. Drained.

Fuck. He snarls in his frustration. He can't even winnow back to you.

Turning and pressing back out the door, his boots smash through the snow outside for only a few steps— til he beats his mighty wings and takes to the skies.

Whether the bond had snapped for you or not, it didn't stop him from gripping that thread tightly and pouring every sincere intention down it. I'm sorry. I’m coming back. I’m sorry. I never should have left. I'm so fucking sorry.

He could only hope that you somewhere on the other side, connected to the same red string of fate, you could feel him coming back to you.

—

He's taking too long.

It's the thought that's stuck on loop, like a record that keeps skipping, repeating the same part over and over again. He's going as fast as he can and still, he knows he's taking too damn long.

As his wings strain from the long journey, the endless labyrinth of trees whirring past beneath him too fast to see, Azriel glimpses down at the siphons atop his hands.

They're still gleaming in that lacklustre way but there's more of a shine to them now. He can feel it too, the well refilling with a slow drip, the build up of his power.

His keen eyes scour the landscape, narrowed as he analyses the distance between here and Exordor. It's still far— it will stretch the reserve of magic that's barely begun to replenish but Azriel doesn't care. He'll do anything to reach you.

He squeezes his eyes shut, brow furrowing, and folds the fabric once more. The world spins as he pushes through the fabric of it, feeling the strain in his bones. The snowy entrance to your shelter comes into view.

He lands with a sickening crack, his knees bending to catch himself as he touches down, one heavy motion into the snow which spins up in a flurry. It's raining heavily, the drops coming down with a vehemence, creating a thunderous applause against the frozen ground.

Around him, the trees groan and shudder as they bow to the powerful energy. Birds take flight, cawing as they do. In the distance, there's a loud snap, carried with the wind.

Azriel stares right into the cabin.

His stomach threatens to lurch again at the sight. The door to your shelter is wide open.

His mate, where is his mate?

Stretching out the doorway, there are obvious signs of a struggle. The muddy snow has been kicked around, the boards nailed to the inside of the door are fresh with splinters, and... and...

The blood. Crimson, scarlet, fucking red blood coats the floorboards, a ghoulish splatter of it leading from your bed out the door, turning the slurry of melted snow a soft pink. He knows from the pull in his chest that you're not here.

This isn't just some attack. They haven't just ambushed you, they've... found out.

Where before he had felt terribly ill, bile rising, there is only icy and raging fury. In the distance, another snap sounds and his shadows beg him to pay attention to it, their whispers kissing at his cheeks. Water soaks his dark hair, stray raindrops rolling down his face.

Azriel ignores them and stumbles forward one, two steps and stops, his heart soaking in the reality of what had happened.

He had left you and they had taken you.

They found out and they hadn't killed you, they had— they had—

The snap in the distance. This time when it sounds, it yanks Azriel's attention, his head whipping towards where it's coming from. It's towards camp. Dread curdles up in his gut, latching onto each notch in his spine and burrowing deep.

Every instinct in his body roars into overdrive as he realises what it is he can hear in the distance — the crack of a whip against skin.

—

One of your nightmares has come to life, dragging from the murkiest parts of your mind and taking the treacherous form of Brudam.

You keep begging yourself to wake the fuck up.

It can’t be real— this can’t actually be happening, you think desperately, none of this was ever supposed to happen- you had- it was- you secret was something you guarded with your life.

"Wake up," You plead to yourself deliriously. Your wrists are already feeling chafed from where they're bound against the wooden pole, the steel that binds them cold as ice. The rain has soaked you to the bone.

"Wake up," You all but sob, trying futilely to pull against the restraints on your wrists.

It only succeeds in tugging on the stakes driven through your wings, a searing, fiery type of pain the ripples along every nerve in them. A sob scrapes up your throat, answering the pain's call. It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts in a way you haven't known before — everything, every cell in your body, is being tortured.

A shredding deep in your gut as though you've taken a fistful of claws to the stomach makes you seize, your vision flashing wildly. Even now, your cycle continues its bloody rampage. You can't stop crying, can't stop your body from convulsing in pure agony.

Somewhere behind you, your ear pick up the shifting in the mud, Brudam preparing to strike again.

Even sobbing, you tense up, unable to stop yourself—instinct drives you to hastily try tuck your wings, trying to pull them from their spread position. They catch on the stakes pinned through them meanly, the delicate flesh tearing with a sickening squelch and sending rivers of pain up into your body.

You cry out a strangled gasp, your head bowing further forward, trying to escape what's to come.

The blow rains down onto your unprotected wings all the same.

It's pure fire. Like they've doused the membranous skin of your wings with oil and set them ablaze, fiery hot pain licking at the tendons, tracing all the way up to your bare back. Your teeth grit to contain your scream. Tears streak down your face, lost in the thrum of the rain.

"Wake. Up." You demand to yourself again, panting heavily now.

You can't take much more pain or you'll be unconscious soon and some awful part of you knows, that's when they'll take your wings. You'll wake up midway to the worst nightmare of them all; the splintering sound of them cutting them off your body.

There's a boot pressed suddenly to your lower back, pressing meanly.

"Oh no, this isn't a dream," Brudam taunts as he leans down, all too happily. His tone shifts to something harder with his next words, nearly spitting the words. "I knew there was something off about you, you mutt."

His voice climbs to a shout, addressing the crowd gathered around you. "I always knew you were a FUCKING TRAITOR!"

There's a roar from the crowd, lead by the antsy group of warriors you've grown up and trained beside. All of them are eager to see justice delivered for your lies. None of them are pleased to have been duped, much less by a female.

They know, everyone knows. There's no coming back from this. Even if it weren't from the scent of blood from your cycle, your bound chest—revealed through your cut away armor— is proof enough.

Another convulsion rocks your body, the pain from your cycle making itself known. You're burning hot from every laceration on your skin and freezing cold from being bare in the icy rain. Your defence gets swallowed up in your pitiful whimper.

The mud behind you shifts again, Brudam no doubt winding up for his next hit.

You hold your breath, capturing the next sob in your throat. Your wings tug inwards, despite how you beg them not to, and your wrists ache as you try to wrench them free fruitlessly.

A sense of finality sinks in. You're going to die here.

A part of you feels like maybe you'd always known it would end like this, one way or the other. It's tired. So fucking tired of living in your intricate lie and spending each and every moment of your miserable existence on alert. On defence. Waiting for a break that never seems to come.

It's that part that can't, in any capacity, be truly upset at Azriel.

You can't resent him for leaving when you're the one who lied.

You can't regret him finding out, without regretting ever meeting him—and that means... regretting all the happiness you've truly felt.

But there's also an anger swirling within you, a rage that is as icy as it is hungry for vengeance.

Inexplicably, it feels unknown. Not your own. It starts somewhere in your chest and it only feels like it's getting bigger, growing in size, glowing hotter.

In the drone of the rain, blackness swims before your tired eyes as they begin to slip shut— only, no, they haven't closed.

The darkness is real and in front of you. It's surrounding you, curling up from under your captured arms. Despite the loud protests from your anguished body, you lift your head shakily. You're still quivering, quiet hiccups pushing out your lips.

"What are you doing, witch?" Brudam snarls from behind you, his boot on your back digging in harder. You wince, the motion dragging your wings against the splinters of the stakes. You shake your head, unable to form words.

It isn't me, you want to say.

But you're not entirely sure that's true either. The black plume is only around you, rising as though it is coming from you. Protecting you.

"Brudam!" A loud voice cuts across the rustling, nervous crowd, cutting through the din of the rain clear as night and sounding as deadly as venom. The courtyard falls into silence.

Your heart lurches up your throat. You know that voice.

Something within you cleaves in half, torn by opposite forces. On one side, there the mountainous evidence of your miserable life, of every thing that's worked against you time and time again. Of the fact that things don't work out for you, they never have. You're a fool to believe that would change now.

The other side... is a terrible, feeble hope.

Because he came back.

"Shadowsinger," Brudam greets with a sneer. The boot on your back shifts and then retreats, the warrior turning away from you. Agony tears through your body again and you hold your breath, shuddering through the silent pain with gritted teeth. A dangerous hope starts to cling to your heart.

"One chance," Azriel growls. The hair on the back of your neck rises at the promise of violence in his voice.

"Let her go."

Brudam snorts unattractively, forcing a bitter sounding laugh out. You focus on trying not to throw up as the pain fogs your brain, bile filling your mouth.

"Not fucking likely."

"Walk away." Azriel snarls his demand, sounding angrier than you've ever heard him.

"Over my dead body, bastard," Brudam spits back, the mud shifting as he digs his feet in, preparing to fight. His hand tightens around the whip in his hand.

There's a moment of silence, the wind carrying a whistle, the trees swaying as if leaning closer to listen in, two warriors sizing each other up in the pouring rain. Your ears strain for Azriel's response.

"Gladly."

And then the courtyard is doused in pure shadow.

—

Azriel moves without hesitation.

Illyrian warriors are fiercely trained to fight through every type of conditions, battling in the harshest of all seasons. Snow, sleet, rain, shine. They're disciplined to go days without sleep, to fight and win, even with one arm pinned behind their back.

But what defence is there against losing your sight?

Azriel hadn't even known his shadows were capable of such a thing. Their usual whirling expands in a blink of an eye, spreading out into a storm-cloud of blackness that drapes itself across the landscape. People murmur and bleat in fright as it creeps out deathly fast, snuffing senses and blinding everyone in the courtyard except him.

Like Rhys' own cloak of darkness, of midnight — but no, it's not night, it's shadow.

Azriel doesn't dwell on it, doesn't hesitate. Not when there's still territory, still enemies, in the space between him and you.

There's a ripple of unease from the warriors but Azriel's already advancing, the shadows beneath his boots silencing the shift of his feet. Through the darkness, Brudam gives himself away with an animalistic snarl and leads Azriel exactly to his his target.

He swings powerfully and Heartstriker does what it does best—aims true.

The bones in Brudam's shoulder makes a horrible sinking crack as the blade pierces it through, the brute giving a fiendish cry of pain.

Azriel drives it all the way through, his anger aiding his strength as he swipes out Brudam's feet. Heartstriker buries itself deep into the mud, driven by the weight of Brudam's body as it hits the ground.

All Azriel can think is that he should fucking gut him, should skin him alive. He should pull that blade and drag it forward, force it through all the muscle and shatter every bone on the way, until it pierces his awful heart.

The mating bond within him roars at him to do so, every inch of his body, of his soul, enraged at the state he'd found you in, the agonising hurt bestowed on you by this male—but it's not his kill. Azriel knows that.

So instead, he draws the Truth Teller with deft, deadly accuracy and then sinks it in deep into Brudam's groin, til the tip reaches mud on the other side.

Brudam howls, his whole body twitching as it tries to curl up against either blade unsuccessfully. Between the rain and the shadows, he's too incapacitated to do anything except wail.

Azriel doesn't waste a second, already moving. There's a warrior approaching on every side but between the gift of sight and silence in the shadow, he's devastatingly lethal.

One goes down with a slice across his throat, crimson soaking his front. The next crumbles after too many jabs of Azriel's dagger land in his torso, too slow to block them when he can't see them coming. The next, his head cut from his shoulders in one mighty swing.

Their cries join the thunder of the storm but somehow, through it all, all he can hear is the softness of your weak breath. Wounded. Fading.

Azriel's vision goes red. He moves expertly, his kills efficient until the burning rage in him gets too much and then he's slashing with pure malice, teeth gritted in hate, as he cuts down any warrior who stood by and watched. All he can feel is the thread between you and him, nearly torn from how much they've hurt you.

When the clashing of steel stops, the last foe dead, only the din of the rain remains.

Like a vacuum has opened somewhere in the sky, the inky cover of his shadow is sucked away, leaving only his sluggish moving shadows and exposing the bleak day. Carnage lies all around him. Bodies upon bodies of warriors.

Azriel can only see you.

You're still strapped to that torturous pole, your beautiful wings forcibly spread out and pinned, like you're being laid out for dissection. Across the flesh of your wings is a sickening number of thin, scarlet lines, gently bleeding.

Beneath you, in the mud, is the remains of your armor and Azriel can trace the scar that'll be left on your back from where it was cut off. The binding on your chest remains, now stained with blood.

You aren't moving.

He sprints without thought, without reason, following the bond. He finds the thread within his chest, grasps it tight, and tugs desperately. You don't even flinch.

A fear mounts inside him, more heart-wrenching than he's ever felt before. A glance down at his siphons reveals their still dull appearance—fucking useless to him.

Azriel staggers to his knees as he reaches you, his scarred hands reaching up to pry off the steel that binds your wrist to the wooden pole—ripping out chunks of the wood at the same time with his rapid, panicked motion. Your hands fall limply to your sides. He feels sick again.

"Y/n?"

He's scared to touch you, scared to do more damage that he's already caused, so so frightened that he just found you and you might already be gone.

He doesn't know what he'll do if you die. He can't—the thought is suffocating in itself, like a black hole that opens and starts pulling in his entire world— you can't die or he'll— he'll- nothing will matter anymore.

RHYS. He throws the plea out desperately, nearly delirious at the sight of your unmoving body. The words sound like a sob, even in his own mind. You have to help me.

Where are you? Rhys' voice fills his mind in an instant.

Then... a haggard breath sounds, like drawing through a mouthful of blood. You cough lightly, barely audible, and murmur, "...Azriel...?"

Something explodes inside Azriel, a burst of pure energy that fills him with relief so overwhelmingly he could cry.

Exordor. He barely manages to think properly, to even respond, beyond the staggering emotion. Come immediately. Please. I need you to- she needs—you have to help her. Please.

I'm on my way.

[NEXT PART: STRANGERS (AGAIN)]

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@coffeebeforewater @kalulakunundrum @marina468 @moonbirde (i'm so sorry! u asked me to tag u right at the beginning and i've forgotten this whole time! forgive me pls <3)

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araneapeixes · 3 months

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POV you are a some kind of demon or perhaps cambion

#this was meant to be a trans wyll art but i got a bit carried away lighting wise. so u can barely see the top surgery scars #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #wyll ravengard #wyll #this is also part of a double feature with a younger wyll pic #for the Juxtaposition #but god knows when ill finish that one #bg3 fanart #teehee tell me what u think abt this one...constructive criticism welcome

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basketobread · 5 months

Note

How does Lunara feel about... Lolth

not good lol

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sapp0w0 · 18 days

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Drops this and runs

#i havent gave two shits abt mha since middle school (back then there were 3 or 4 seasons out #tell me how tf did this fuck ass kid Rody got me intruiged from a tt i saw n THEN get me to watch a whole damn movie what #oh AND THEN after i finish the movie n think “haha Rody n Izuku are cute together” for the funnies #i read ONE (a good one at that matter) fic n it got me fucking sold #getting into mha again wasnt AT ALL on my 2024 bingo card #trust me when i say this is as much of a suprise to u as it is to me #rody soul #izuku midoriya #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha deku #izurody #rodydeku

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adrinktostopyourthirst · 30 days

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Bucky Barnes | Series | Loose

Part two of the Rebellion Series

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Plot: You and Bucky have no idea whether you can trust each other. There is an understanding, but you're not sure of what that understanding is and why it seems to run so deep.

Warning: Angst, violence and fluff (?)

Words: 4,1OO

It is hard enough already for Bucky to fall asleep at night. Yes, it has gotten better in recent years, but there will always be that part of him – awake and aware – that registers every sound and movement, even when he should be knocked out. Though he wouldn’t admit it, that part of him sat more alert ever since you had joined the building. Perhaps because Bucky still wasn’t so confident in your allegiance.

He can’t stop overthinking it. He has seen what you’re capable of. Would you be capable of even more if people cornered you? If you felt like you had no other choice but to manipulate and kill your way out? After all, wasn’t it possible that you felt like you had moved from one prison to the next?

You’d been a delight at dinner two nights ago, but Bucky can’t turn off his brain. This is the part that made you win people over. The way you’d gotten along with Natasha like a house on fire, the way you’d shared stories like you and his team had been friends all along… Yet you had no trouble letting a side of yours slip through the cracks that tantalised Bucky beyond belief. The way you had looked at him, teased him–

The faintest rustle has Bucky shooting back to his current place in time. Lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. He holds his breath in an effort to hear better.

Nothing.

However, something doesn’t sit right. Something is off. He’d learned that hypervigilance was a side effect of his trauma, but he had a hard time believing his intuition would betray him like that. Not when he had relied on it so successfully for years.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” he whispers to the dark ceiling.

“Yes, sergeant Barnes?”

“Is everyone in their respectable rooms?” he tries.

“I cannot divulge that information,” the voice sounds and Bucky sighs. He musters up some strength and swings off his duvet before climbing out of bed.

Yeah, he doesn’t trust you for a second.

…

Your heart is pounding in your throat. This isn’t part of your skillset – the escape and combat. Though perhaps if you do the former correctly, you won’t have to resort to the latter. Escaping the compound had been surprisingly easy, which strangely made your chest hurt. It was way too easy to escape. But it made sense. Steve had told you that you weren’t being held captive and you being here was all in good faith.

Faith you just broke by making your escape.

You probably should have been more patient. Winning their trust a bit more and then making an escape, make sure they really don’t see it coming. But the dinner had made you antsy and impatient. You had to get out.

If you’re entirely honest with yourself, you know that getting attached to a new group of people and deciding to escape then – or worse, leading them into their demise later – would be worse than getting away now that no one has attached themselves to you. Or you to them…

Breaching the edge of the surrounding forest, you finally let go of the breath you’ve been holding. You did it. Out of sight, out of mind. You’re free. No more captivity, no more expectations. All you need to do now is leave the country, change your name and possibly dye your hair. Sounds easy enough. A bit dramatic, but not impossible.

That is, until you get dragged backwards by a hand over your mouth and you lose your footing. The hard body behind you is the only thing keeping you from tumbling to the muddy forest grounds. Your breathing is ragged as your hands both fly to grab the forearm attached to the hand covering your yelp.

The metal forearm.

“Rule number one of making your escape: never assume you’re in the clear,” Bucky’s voice rumbles through the night air, his mouth so very close to your ear. “Shouldn’t have dropped your guard when you reached the edge of the forest.”

His gloved hand removes itself from your mouth, but you know better than to make a run for it, or to scream. He twists you by your shoulders and you muster some playful guilt to your face, masking your disappointment. Disappointment… but you feel strangely relieved. Maybe the largeness of finally being free felt somewhat overwhelming. Move to another country and change your name? It’s ridiculous. And that, when the people here have been so patient and kind to you…

You let out a soft laugh, “Worth a shot, no?”

Bucky studies you intently and something in your gut stirs at it. Not even Natasha seems to have as good of a read on you as Bucky does. It makes you feel naked. Makes you feel like all of your carefully crafted plans are flimsy and no good. Makes you feel like you have to stay far, far away from Bucky. Like you need to run. Now.

And how the hell did he manage to figure out you were making your escape?

You wait for him to tell you off, preach against your indolence and call in backup to shove you into something more similar to a prison cell. But Bucky sighs, disappointed and tired.

He seems so, so tired.

“Let’s go back inside,” he says and you furrow your brows at him.

His defeat has your chest clenching tightly. You want him to punish you, scold you. At least show that he cares. Why? You’re not sure. Maybe you need to know that the relief you felt from being caught is somewhat mutual in a sense. That the people here don’t just see you as a weapon, despite the burden, but that you’re someone worth saving. Worth keeping around.

Worth healing.

“That’s it?” you ask. “No scolding or punishment?”

Bucky scoffs humourlessly. “You get a kick out of punishment, darling?”

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.”

“I’m not your fucking baby sitter,” he mutters and starts walking back to the building, rightfully assuming you’ll follow. “If you want, I can ask Steve to tell you off in the morning. He’s better at that sort of thing anyway.”

Some pathetic part of you wants to sulk at his response like an ill-tempered child. “Then why come after me?”

It stays quiet for a second as you cross the field towards the compound. “I couldn’t let a poor escape plan be successful.”

You can’t help but snort at that answer and decide that fine, you’d play along for now. But you wonder if the curious Bucky you’d seen a few days ago had completely vanished since that dinner.

…

The next morning, Bucky gets cornered by you after breakfast. He looks down his nose at your defiant face.

“You didn’t tell anyone about last night?” you ask him and he raises his brows, unimpressed.

It had surprised you that no one at breakfast mentioned anything or gave you even so much as a dirty look. Clearly, none of them are aware that you tried to make your escape last night. And you cannot for the life of you figure out why Bucky is taking it easy on you. Is he smart enough to assume that your own guilt will do more damage than he ever could? Is this part of some bigger scheme of his? Perhaps he is actually as tired and unbothered as he looked when you saw him in those woods.

“What happened last night?” he asks with a telling smirk. The current look on your face is worth the lack of sleep he had tonight. It’s too easy to rattle you. You roll your eyes and Bucky smirks even wider at that. Is he… flirting?

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” you try again.

Bucky remains quiet and fights to keep a straight face. He did expect your question, but why didn’t he tell anyone? Because he thought you and him would get along after those tiny moments during that first dinner. Because the team would have let you walk away. Because Bucky doesn’t want you to go. Because he thinks he can help. Help the world. Help you. He thinks he can help you. And you can help him. And–

“Want me to tell them now?” he says instead.

He barely notices the flash of panic in your eyes before you cover it with an annoyed scoff and turn on your heel to walk away. He watches you. Every step until you are out of sight.

“You said she trusts you,” Steve’s voice sounds from behind him and Bucky schools his face back to bland interest before he turns to Steve. “That doesn’t look like she trusts you.”

“It’s a work in progress.”

Steve frowns pensively. “Well, speed up the process. We have an important mission and we need her for it.”

“What?” Bucky almost loses his restraint, his body flaring in alarm. “Steve, she hasn’t had any training. She was locked up for months. It’s too big of a risk–”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate, Buck,” Steve tells him regretfully, but instantly notices that Bucky isn’t buying it. “This is the thing we needed her for.”

“She isn’t some kind of weapon!” Bucky exclaims and he notices Natasha turning away from her conversation in the nearest common room to see what the commotion is about. He gives her a warning look, then lowers his voice. “Steve. This could’ve been me,” Bucky breathes. And there it is. Recognition flickers in Steve’s eyes. “We can’t use her like this. She’s all alone.”

Steve looks past Bucky’s shoulder as if you’re still walking away from him. Angry frown, uptilted chin and swaying hips– Bucky almost looks. Then Steve sighs and looks back at his friend. “Take all the time you need. If she’s ready, I’ll explain the mission to her. I think she might want to help.”

…

Bucky reads over the file until his eyes turn bleary. Steve was right, you will want to help.

He thinks you can handle it, but… what if you encounter a trigger on the way? What if it all becomes too much? Bucky realises he isn’t nearly close enough to care this much, and he doesn’t, but who else but him is going to care whether you live or die? Sometimes Bucky wonders if even you care whether you live or die. What would have happened to Bucky if everyone had given up on him? He knows damn well that he’d be long dead if not so many people found him useful.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Bucky never had a choice. So he finds himself knocking at your door at 10pm with the file in hand.

After opening the door, you barely manage to get a word out before Bucky extends the folder towards you. “Steve needs your help on this. It should be fine, but the choice is up to you.”

Quick. Brief. He’s just the messenger and the decision is all yours. Bucky turns and makes to walk away – before you can spot all of the thoughts crossing his mind – but your voice stops him.

“Will you be there?”

The question takes him by surprise. Turning back towards you and slowly walking to the doorframe you’re standing under, he creases his brows together. “You need me to come along?”

You shrug abashedly. “Will you?”

Bucky studies your face intently. “Yes,” he lies. He’ll figure something out with Steve.

“What if I can’t do what you need me to do?” There it is again. He doesn’t get why this vulnerable side of you keeps surprising him so much.

“You’ll be useful,” are his terrible words of comfort. He wants to palm himself in the face.

The suppressed smile you give him heats his face and he’s sure you’ll call him out on his horrible people skills, but you stay quiet. The silence grows and grows and Bucky starts to shift nonchalantly, wondering if he should walk off and let you read the file in private.

“Okay,” you say softly.

“You’re coming?”

“Yes,” you affirm and look up at him, handing the file back. “Do you not want me to go?”

“It’s your choice,” he tells you and gently takes the folder.

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

Some wall snaps up inside of him at that tone – at that hopeful look in your eyes. “You could use the mission to make your escape,” he says with a shrug and makes to turn away from you again. “I won’t stop you this time.”

He walks away, leaving you to gape at his retreating form.

…

The mission was simple enough.

Sam, Natasha, Bucky and you would be attending a gala. Supposedly, there is a certain divide between the guests in attendance. Your job is mainly to feel out just who will be willing to join your cause. What goes unsaid is that you’re also required to butter them up to spring into action when your team would deem it necessary.

The party is in full swing and everyone is finally losing their mask of formality and enjoying their evening. You just hit the sweet spot of their susceptibility and you sweep into casual conversation about politics. Seeing who keeps quiet, who isn’t scared to speak up, whose faces harden at the prospect of change, etcetera. All of your antennas are on and when you know people have stopped paying attention to you, that’s when you dare a glance across the room where you know Bucky is standing.

All dapper and handsome, wearing a very expensive suit.

All of you have taken thorough action to look exceptional and to blend in perfectly with the high class crowd. Being charming is easy enough, looking it was a necessity – yet, all of it does still feel very far removed from yourself. Like a betrayal to the woman who was locked up mere weeks ago. However, being a true professional, you don’t allow your thoughts to linger too much and channel back to the matter at hand.

Then you feel it.

The searing heat that starts at your legs and spreads all the way up to your chest and cheeks. Like a virus burning over your skin. And you know what it is – know who it is. So you look back in the direction of Bucky, if only to catch him in the act.

But he’s unbothered. Brooding and observing from the bar in the shadow of the room, somehow alone and undiscovered by most of the crowd (a skill you assume he has acquired over the years). And his eyes are still on you. They glide down and back up for even more emphasis and you swallow away the dryness in your throat.

Gliding a sensual hand over the arm of the man next to you, you excuse yourself with a warm smile and slowly stride over to the culprit. Bucky waits patiently, and you swear you see a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as you walk over. He hands you a spare glass of champagne and turns his back to the room when you’re close enough to hear him.

“It’s working,” he says and you swear he sounds slightly impressed.

“Did you assume I’d fuck up?” you taunt and lean over the bar, sipping at the glass flute between your fingers. Bucky turns to you and his eyes sweep over the curve of your partly exposed back, the hollow of your spine and the curve of your ass. Then he holds his breath for a moment.

“Wouldn’t be mad if you did,” he tells you and his tone sounds gentle. You know that’s why he’s here, even though neither of you said it out loud, you know he’s here to stick up for you if you can’t get it done yet. If you’re not ready to be that person again.

Just like he probably knows that you’re here because the guilt of trying to escape from your saviours was eating you alive. And you didn’t want to prove Bucky right by escaping. You had glanced at the exits a few times and debated it, yes, but then looked at your team and thought against it. Looked at Bucky and–

“We’ll leave in five minutes,” Bucky murmurs as he finishes his glass. “I noted down all the people you signed as potential allies and who definitely isn’t.”

“There’s a few we can convince to help,” you cut in.

“What? The woman who runs that capitalist shitshow?” Bucky frowns. “Nah, she’s only motivated by money.”

You smile at him knowingly. “Money is a great motivator and our movement could benefit her greatly, so you just have to nudge her in the right direction.”

Bucky studies your face then and you might have found it less penetrating when he looked at your body with that stare. That intrigue. “And you already have a plan to tip her over to our side,” he concludes.

“You chose me for this for a reason, did you not?” you ask.

His eyes drop to your mouth. “I like a woman who takes her job seriously.”

You have no idea where that came from, but decide to go along with it anyway. You smirk and empty your flute, gently setting it down on the bar after. “Here I was, thinking you didn’t like anyone,” you purr and saunter off to find your other teammates and round up today’s mission.

You turn around when you hear Bucky yelling out your name, but then the room spins and debris flies everywhere. You’d cry out if the wind didn’t whoosh from your body and your ears don’t hollow out. You want to voice your discovery, as futile as it is, but the scream dies in your throat.

Someone just blew up the building.

…

It feels like there’s ash in your mouth. And throat. Your body bleats in pain, but nothing too severely. Maybe you’re in shock. Maybe you can’t feel a limb that’s no longer there. Maybe–

The room is dark except for an orange hue that travels over the ceiling and walls every few seconds. You’re slumped in a velvet chair and your fingers pluck softly at the fabric. One by one, your senses weave together and you hear the soft sounds of someone working on something. Paper ruffling, some gentle work, someone who’s trying to be quiet. You rasp in a raw breath and see a shadow at the bottom of your vision. But your body is relaxed. Or… Well, as relaxed as it can be.

There was an explosion.

“Have some water,” Bucky offers from his kneeling position between your legs and nudges his chin to the glass at the small table next to your chair. His voice is soft, raw. And when you squint at him while you blindly reach for the glass, you see soot on his face, dust on his suit.

“Are you alright?” you ask and your voice reminds you to take the drink. The water feels like heaven in your throat and you nearly gulp down the whole glass.

Bucky pauses at your question and surely he didn’t expect that to be your first question. “I’m fine,” he grumbles and focuses on the task at hand. Which, you quickly realise, is cleaning up the wound on your thigh.

Next to him, there’s a small container with small shards of glass in there and a used pair of tweezers. You feel the prickle of the wound at your thigh and observe closely as he presses some gauze to the puncture wounds. His hands are firm and steady as he wraps a bandage around your thigh to secure the gauze. His calluses scrape against your soft skin and you almost swear he takes more time than he should securing the bandage.

You heave a deep sigh and straighten up in the chair. “Natasha and Sam?”

“Natasha was sent to hunt down the ones responsible and needed an aerial patrol, so she took Sam.” Bucky clenches his jaw and you have a feeling it took some convincing to get Bucky to not go after the bastards himself, to let Natasha handle it instead. “There were deaths, lots of wounded.”

You flinch at that.

Bucky notices it. The glaze over your eyes and the tightening of your fingers into the soft fabric of the chair. He barely allows himself to hesitate and he cover your left hand with his right one, taking your fingers and stroking his thumb over your knuckles. “We got out as many as we could, no one saw the explosion coming,” he explains and hopes the information brings you some peace. He’s desperate to take that haunted look off your face, but doesn’t know how.

He gives you time then. Allows you to sort through your memories and shush them. He strokes his thumb gently and squeezes your fingers every once in a while to anchor you to here, to being safe. Your breaths go from shallow to deep as they slow. He hears your heartbeat steady and watches clarity fill your eyes again.

Fuck him. Those eyes.

“Tomorrow, we go over your list and see what we can do. Let’s get some rest for now.” He pushes to a stand and moves to remove his hand from yours, but you hold onto him.

“I’m sorry for trying to escape,” you rasp and Bucky tenses at that. He did not expect that confession. Didn’t expect an apology either – he didn’t think one was warranted.

You slowly push to a stand and Bucky’s heartbeat spikes as you wobble on your legs before you steady yourself. His eyes search your face frantically and he tries not to linger at your lips for too long. You gently stroke a hand down his arm before brushing past him in thanks, and Bucky has to take a deep breath. A flash of you doing the same thing to one of tonight’s guests comes to him and jealousy hits him, a little too viciously. Just like it did when he saw it earlier tonight.

He turns around and watches as you walk up the small bag he packed for an instance like this. You pull out some clothes and Bucky shamelessly stares while you do it. He almost sighs as the sight of that orange hue travelling over your form, most of the sleek dress still intact and definitely still doing its job of making you look good enough to eat.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” he blurts. But he stands still as he watches you freeze. You slowly turn to him and tilt your head at him curiously.

Then, a slow smirk spreads over your face and your brows raise playfully. Bucky frowns as he tries to read the expression on your face, even if the lightness of it makes him want to drop to his knees in relief. This is much, much better than that haunted look that was there mere minutes ago.

Until one of your hands lifts from the bag, a small scrap of lace dangling from your fingers. “I am never letting you pack our getaway bag again.”

Bucky matches your smirk and strides over to you, close enough that you have to tip your chin up to remain eye contact. “You can choose not to wear it,” he shrugs and the nonchalant gesture makes your legs weak. Slowly, he starts unbuttoning his own pants and shirt, stripping himself of his clothes and tempting you to break that eye contact. “But we’re sharing a bed, so you decide what is less tempting for me to look at.”

It takes everything inside of you not to balk at this… flirtation. But it’s nice – so fucking nice to deflate that balloon of tension after a mission like the one you had tonight. To have banter and humour and perhaps a little friendship.

“I better not catch you looking at all,” you snipe, but have a hard time keeping the smile off your face.

Bucky smiles too then and gives you a wink powerful enough to set your clothes aflame. “Too bad. You can’t ask that of me and look like that.”

That does render you a bit speechless and Bucky takes his win as he strips himself to his boxers. Climbing under the sheets, Bucky’s powerful body shifts and ripples with movement.

This is going to be a long night.

#ok this is NOT worth the wait #but its here which is a HUGE win for me #i hope you like it #not me being way too impatient to write a slow burn #the upcoming smut better be good too #pls tell me what u think i have obviouslty not forgotten about you guys #<3 #rebellion series #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #writing #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes oneshot #oneshot #series

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speakofcompersion · 1 month

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Still Shining - Taemin

#i love how he extends his dancing into his hands and feet. i mean i know that's what dancing is lol but he's very lyrical with it #not many people are as aware of how ppl see them as he is. he gives so much attention to it you can tell he thinks deeply about it <3 #love my little artist guy~#also i am Attempting something with the colour changing...but she's a half formed idea. Maybe i'll pull it off better in the future heh~ :)#shinee #taemin #mygifs #speakofgifs #kpop #lee taemin #shinee taemin #STILL SHINING - taemin video #TAEMIN teaser #stillshiningvid #analook #goodnesss~ pls don't thank me for tagging you i feel like i should be thanking you for letting me tag u haha!! <3 (thank u)

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witchspeka · 11 months

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I dont think Mob is naive as much as he's socially unaware, like the reason why he trusts Reigen so blindly is a bit more complex than just him being naive

Cause Mob reached out to Reigen because he was desperate to find someone like him, someone who understood his psychic specific issues, someone that could truly know what he's feeling and going through and give him guidance and support

Post incident Mob's thinking process was something along the lines of my powers hurt people -> my powers are bad -> my powers (my emotions, my instincts, myself) cannot be trusted

So he lost all confidence and trust in his own actions, resigning to being as passive as possible to avoid any further damage to anyone else, thus he started doubting his own perception of reality too

He's a kid already struggling with being ostracised for being socially inept, who just got traumatised and all of his insecurity increased by the tenfold, he doesn't know how to process what he's going through. He needs help.

And here comes Reigen, seemingly reliable, a responsible adult in a child's eyes, someone who claims he can understand him

Even tho Reigen doesnt. But it doesn't matter, because Mob finds comfort in his words and takes them to heart

Even if Reigen doesn't fully get it, even if he doesn't see the bigger picture, even if his advice isn't always the best

Eventually, Mob grows up, realises Reigen isn't as honest as he seemed through his 11 year old perspective, but like most things, he refuses to acknowledge it on a deeper level

Mob knows, but never tells Reigen, never thinks about what all those lies mean to him (ofc until he forces himself to face those doubts regarding Reigen, to properly acknowledge both of their flaws and accept them as they are, I should scream into the void about Confession Arc more God)

Due to his lack of trust in himself, Mob has relied on Reigen for years now to shape his moral compass, his thoughts, his decisions

Because well, Reigen lies, sure, but he isnt a bad person. When he hurts Mob, it isn't intentional or with ill intent, he still wants the best for him, what's the issue?

Except that it stunts Mob's growth. He doesn't develop as a person, doesn't have goals or wishes or ambitions, can't make choices on his own, he doesn't even let himself acknowledge his own emotions, he refuses to let himself exist

But Mob realises in time that he wants more than that, he wants to become better and be independent and feel again

Still, he puts the acknowledgement of the lies on hold for as long as he can, unwilling to question the way things are

This can make him feel a little naive, he constantly relies on Reigen and trusts his decisions and raises questions rarely until separation arc when he finally puts his foot down

And I do think that moment is the most resounding proof we have that Mob knows and allows himself to be used by Reigen, not wanting to shake the status quo, until he gets fed up

I mentioned the social ineptitude at the beggining but idk if I should even elaborate on that, you've watched the show, you know what I mean

He's blunt and can't read social cues or tonality that well and can't speak in front of crowds and is overall pretty awkward and I do think some people conflate that with naivety

Mob is still a child, he doesnt fully understand how the world works at the ripe age of 14 years old, but some folks take that as him being inherently naive/innocent/whatever which I don't find true

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strawberrybabydog · 2 years

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i really wish nonpsychotics understood that psychosis, specifically delusions, impact your entire world. saying that we live in a different Reality is usually pretty accurate

so when you ask us to try anti-psychotic medication you’re literally asking us to change our entire world. for you. would you change the colour of the sky, for me? would you move houses, for me? would you let your pets die, for me?

no? then you shouldn’t ask people to uproot their entire lives just so you feel less creeped out when we stare into a corner.

the only reason a person should be on anti-psychotics is if they help that person. it’s a decision between the psychotic person themselves and their healthcare provider(s.) pressuring psychotic people into taking anti-psychotics, especially when they’ve specifically said they do not want to, is an attempt at removing another person’s bodily autonomy. it’s wrong.

#these are accurate comparisons btw #when im on antipsychotic my companions literally die lol #literally #they are dead #as in when i pick them up i am picking up a corpse #like what if u started taking new medication and ur entire family just. died.#that is what it is like. literally.#so i just think its really telling that nonpsychotics will be like #eww when YOU have delusions it creeps ME out....#please please pleeeaasse change your entire life for me <3 #no wtf

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lomltrentarnold · 10 months

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my number one — trent alexander-arnold ₊˚ෆ

summary : the boys tried to surprise y/n with her celebrity crush but it didn't go as planned.

warnings : long fic kind of, half written, half smau, fem!reader, yeah just ignore anything that doesn't make sense okay babes <3 awkwardness, um yeah <3

🍓hana’s notes : okay!!!! it’s finally done!!!! im very happy how this turned out <3 let me know what you think and if you want something like this more cause i really enjoyed making it :))))) | MAIN MASTERLIST

( BETA SQUAD : GUESS THE FOOTBALLER FT TRENT ALEXANDER-ARNOLD )

“Turn right.”

You followed the directions of your phone and turned right into a street. A small box of cupcakes were sat at the passenger seat of your car as it filled the car with its vanilla scent.

Sharky texted you and said to come by at 12 but you felt nice all of a sudden and decided to come by early with the homemade cupcakes accompany you.

The boys didn't give you much information as to what they were doing today, they only said they were filming another Guess The Professional Footballer and that was it. You didn't think about it too much though because whatever the boys are planning its always going to come out a banger.

You arrived at the driveway of the building that they said they would be filming, you parked your car and took your bag — not forgetting the cupcakes too of course.

You opened your phone to look back at the text that Sharky has sent you about how to get in and where to go.

to sharky 🦈🤳

Y/N 💌

sharks, i just arrived at the place 🫣

sharky 🦈🤳

YOU'RE WHAT?!???

Y/N 💌

im at the location u sent 🤨

why you seem surprised???

sharky 🦈🤳

I told you to come at 12

And now its only 9

Y/N 💌

i got bored and wanted to see you lot

and i bought cupcakes <3

sharky 🦈🤳

HOLD UP

CUPCAKES??

YOUR CUPCAKES??

Yeah okay hold on I'll come and get you

Y/N 💌

nah its fine i can get there just wanted to explore for a bit

• • •

You put your phone in your pocket and walked to through the doors. Following Sharky's direction to their spot, you took your time glancing at the venue. It was an open space that leads to multiple football courts, some more bigger than the others and you were hoping the boys got a big venue for the Guess The Footballer video.

When you came close to the set you see a glimpse of someone you recognised and let out a breath of relief, "George!" you yelled out.

George turned his head at the voice and grinned, but for some reason it completely dropped. Now, you're confused. Why is everyone acting weird?

When you got to him you, you gave him a side hug as your other hand held the cupcakes. "Hey." you smiled. "Where are the others?"

George ever the sweetheart took the tray of cupcakes from your hand when he sees you struggling to hold it and answered, "They're getting mic'd up. I think we should wait before going in."

That made you furrow your eyebrows because you always sneak into their recording sessions without a problem but you understood either way.

You nodded your head, "Oh okay, let me put the cupcakes at the food table. Where is it by the way?"

George pointed the way, "Just around the corner. But before you leave—" before you could take back the tray, he sneakily (not really) took one of the sweets, "Thanks, Y/N. You're the absolute best!" he gave you a smile which make you chuckle.

You exchanged smiles with some of the camera and production crew, some were new and some aren't as you introduced yourself to them.

When you were at the table, your phone dinged as Niko's name flashed on the lock screen.

niko 🕶🦒

Y/N where are you?

Y/N 💌

at the snacks table

i'll be with you guys in a few

niko 🕶🦒

Y/N I need you to go to George right now.

Please!!!

Y/N 💌

lmfao why???

you lot are acting so weird today

weirder than normal

niko 🕶🦒

Please!!! It's important!!

Y/N 💌

OKAY OKAY RELAX

i’m going rn 🙄

• • •

You sighed and turned off your phone, not thinking too deep about it but then you suddenly felt someone tap your shoulder.

"Excuse me."

Your head has never turned so fast you think your meck cracked. Cause that voice. That scouse accent. You don't want to be delusional but you know exactly who that sounds like.

There’s no way.

Absolutely no way.

You quickly blinked. Your eyes must me deceiving you because there is no chance that the Trent Alexander-Arnold is right in front of you right now.

"No way." you breathed out.

"Sorry, what?"

You stare at him, mouth agape, "You're Trent Alexander-Arnold."

"That, I am." he nodded, his famous smirk coming into full motion and you can make out his dimples. Yeah, it’s definitely Trent.

Your mouth opened and close like a fish, "Am I dreaming? Is this a dream? Can you pinch me or something?"

Trent looked at you weirdly, and that only fuelled your embarrassment, before a knowing smile made its way to his face, "You must be Y/N, right? The boys told me a lot about you."

"Trent Alexander-Arnold just said my name. What the fuck?"

A deep chuckled rumbled in his chest, “Language.”

Your whole body was on fire. What is going on.

Trent leaned towards you, “May I?” he said, sending you an awkward smile.

“What?” your whole brain was mush. He was too close.

He gestured to the box of sweets, “The cupcakes.”

“Oh! right. Sorry.” you moved aside, eyes flickering all over the room instead of staring at him. But he’s so pretty and he smells nice and— That would be weird! Staring at someone without saying anything? Creep.

“Y/N!”

Multiple voices screamed your name. You turned your head only to be met with five familiar faces.

When you heard the sounds of footsteps running from behind you, you were more than thankful for the intrusion.

“Oh, hey.” you breathed out, still trying to calm your heart beat down knowing that Trent was hovering beside you.

“Damn it.” Chunkz was the first to say after they regained their breaths.

Niko slapped Sharky’s back, making him wince, “We told you to be in charge of her location!”

Sharky’s mouth gaped open, “I was! She suddenly decided to come early!”

“Damn.”

You looked at the boys weirdly, “What’s going on?” taking a few steps towards them, “And why didn’t you tell me your professional footballer was Trent?!” you harshly whispered. There was no need tho, Trent heard everything.

Kenny stepped beside you, “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Surprise!” AJ cheerly exclaimed.

Shaking your head, you sent the boys a small smile, “Thank you, guys.”

Trent was silent the whole time this went down, which made you avert your eyes to him. Only to be surprised when his eyes were already on yours.

“Hi.” you softly muttered, hand shyly waving at him.

“Hey.” Trent sent you shy smile as well, your finished cupcake wrapper in his left hand as he extends his right, “Nice to meet you, I’m Trent.”

You introduced yourself, as your hand went to shake his. You could physically melt when his skin touched yours. This doesn’t feel real.

The boys looked back and forth between you both as they send knowing looks to each other when they noticed your lingering eyes and hands and how it was longer than necessary contact. What’s happening? Maybe this wasn’t a fail after all?

“Alright, then.” Niko cleared his throat, “We need to get filming.”

You nodded your head, deciding to walk beside Sharky and AJ.

“So?” AJ asked, looking at you with a questioning look.

“I am freaking out.” you whispered, hands clasping on Sharky’s hoodie.

They both laughed at your ‘trying to keep cool’ reaction.

You build up the courage to glance at Trent. He was talking to Chunkz, his side profile glowing with his dimples showing and you could feel your face became warm, and your sweaty hands where you both touched.

What the fuck is wrong with you. Stop looking. He’s gonna think you’re weird.

Trent turned his head, when he felt someone was looking at him. Your eyes widen when he looked at you, before swiftly looking away. Cute, Trent thought. Very pretty.

• • •

betasquad just posted!

betasquad Beta Squad FC’s newest signing 😍 plus we made a fan very happy ❤️ Check out our new vid!!!!

view all the comments!

niko You’re welcome @yourusername

⤷ yourusername i dont know who you are

sharky You owe us 😚

⤷ yourusername HELLO?? the surprise was a fail???

⤷ user5 babe you still met him 🤣

chunkz She was fangirling hard guys 😂😂

⤷ yourusername HUSH

kingkennytv I’m just happy I got the cupcakes!!

⤷ yourusername ken you’re an angel i love you

ajshabeel she was a make a wish kid guys!! we were nice enough to give her an opportunity of a lifetime 🫶

⤷ yourusername i actually hate you

user1 OH MY GOD

user2 Trent is soo fineee

user3 HOW DID Y/N REACT?????

user65 Y/N’S COMMENTS GOODBYE

user4 Did Y/N freak out?

⤷ user7 you need to watch the vid!! and stay until the end!

⤷ user8 they showed Y/N at the end

user5 the crossbar part was 😳😳😳

user6 Y/N didn’t post anything yet, is she okay????

user9 LMFAO THE END BIT

⤷ user13 IT WAS SO CUTEEEE

⤷ user10 im confused can someone tell me what this means?

⤷ user11 they asked Y/N to say play the trailer with Trent!!!!

⤷ user12 she was so shy 😭😭😭😭 it was so cute

⤷ user13 omg Y/N being shy???? this i have to watch

• • •

betasquadfan just posted!

betasquadfan OKAY before i talk about how good the new vid is can we please acknowledge how the boys tried to surprise Y/N with her celebrity crush but failed 😭😭😭 and how trent kept looking behind ONE SPECIFIC CAMERA THE ENTIRE TIME?!?!! and how her and trent said play the trailer together 🥹🥹 the boys are actually so sweet for that!

view all the comments!

user98 omg i thought i was the only one who noticed!!!!

user76 he was def looking at Y/N which- same Y/N is pretty asf

user09 And the crossbar part 😍😍

⤷ user18 the first thing he looked was AT THAT CAMERA which i am 96% sure Y/N was behind

⤷ user5 bye thats so hotttt

⤷ user16 he was trying to show off 🙄🙄 trying to win our mother over 🙄🙄

user6 Trent is so obvious that you’re in love with Y/N like we are 🤣🤣

user24 Y/N was so shy in the vid PLEASE I HAVE NEVER SEEN HER LIKE THAT

⤷ betasquadfan FR!!!! like babe you’re the baddest bitch around?? but also IT WAS TOO CUTE

⤷ user4 it was weird to see Y/N like that since she’s always so confident but it was also nice to see her smitten 🫶

• • •

yourusername just posted a story!

trentarnold66 replied to your story.

It was nice meeting you ☺️

Your cupcakes were amazing!

Maybe we could meet again for coffee?

As a date? ☺️

reblog to support! <3

#YEAH #TELL ME WHAT U THINK <3 #IM VERYYYY HAPPY WITH THIS #i wasn’t sure how to write the part in the vids so i showed it through the comments!!#hopefully it make sense 🫶#trent alexander arnold x reader #trent arnold x reader #trent alexander x you #trent alexander arnold fic #trent alexander imagines #trent alexander arnold blurbs #trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold fluff #football imagine #football x y/n #football x reader #football x you #beta squad #hana writes!

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harbingersglory · 1 month

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miko is SO REAL for that, two switches fighting over who gets to dom is the best dynamic. if you have time/want to i'd be curious to hear any sub headcanons you have for lisa, ei, ningguang and/or kafka!

this is so incredibly self indulgent because i see ningguang, ei and kafka in the same sentence and explode. everyone pretend i didnt accidentally pick a fav here um

ningguang i already see as a pillow princess more than anything she fits this so well. absolutely adores going slow + worship. treat this woman like royalty and lord you will not regret it. she goes all out to make the night as perfect as possible. will not let you have a hand in any of it sorry!! this is her turf. perfect atmosphere suited to your tastes (tons of candles, if you like that, or just going by moonlight is also her style). incense, taking a few minutes beforehand just to really get settled in the mood (usually by cuddling, but shes not against just taking a moment for some tea or even a game of chess).

you'll also probably need all that extra time to sort through whatever shes bought this time. when i said she goes the whole nine yards i mean it. she has money and she will use it. very expensive lingerie for herself (and you, if thats your thing.) and literally anything you could ever want. it heavily depends on what you both want out of the night but she spares no mora making it the best she can.

the non-sexual intimacy before hand (and especially after) is important to her she takes it very seriously (for the both of you). you'll probably get dragged into taking a long bath afterwards before actually going to bed. hope you arent too tired! because its gonna be a while before you actually sleep.

because this woman has stamina. technically. she's just really pent up and theres no better way to get that stress out then soft sex with her partner. shes not picky about positions really but she has a soft spot for laying on her stomach with a pillow to prop up her hips (really accentuates the pillow princess part, huh /j). if you start massaging her she's gonna wake up the entirety of liyue. she's normally quiet but lord knows she needs it and she cant keep quiet for the life of her.

genuinely just very soft and gentle. she just needs some good pampering after a long day to unwind (preferably with a glass of wine, but thats for later).

ei..is very awkward about it. she probably gets embarrassed if you bring it up but shes not. opposed per se. she's just used to domming that she has no idea what to do. genuinely a mess the first time around but she gets the hang of it quick (shes a quick learner :])

also you just really get to see a side of her you usually never do! she's usually big on topping and shes pretty calm and composed about it (usually). not cold, just..she doesn't outwardly express things often. except when shes subbing. its like a switch flipped

just dont tease her about how visibly flustered and awkward she is about it. because she is. horribly so. shes still pretty quiet but thats just ei, to be fair. its like a cute, nervous puppy. call her a good girl though and she might short circuit so badly the shogun comes out

though i also see ei as someone who prefers giving even when subbing. a dangerous combo considering her body is a puppet and, yknow, cant get tired. you will have to pry this woman off you shes lowkey insatiable when it comes to pleasing you. 100% less of a brat, though. you give her an order shes following through with it before you can blink. efficient!

kafka is similar to miko, imo. maybe yelan too?? she gives off big brat vibes when she subs. she wont use suggestion in bed unless your 100% cool with it and even then its usually when she doms but when she subs? shes a menace. bit of a masochist, to be honest. she'll push your buttons until you crack and decide to punish her but woops, thats just what she wants so she wins anyway!

she cant feel fear but she certainly enjoys a good thrill. specifically sensory deprivation. cover her eyes with a blindfold and keep her guessing. its probably her favorite part, the closest she can get to fear. especially if you add a bit of pain into it.

choking, spanking, bit of blood..this woman is smiling through it all like she's the happiest woman in the world. especially if it makes you frustrated. shes like it desperate and rough.

if thats not your speed, though, she can get that thrill in other ways. semi public sex is her jam so sandwich her against a wall in some random supply closet and make her scream. shes not quiet even in the comfort of whatever room shes booked this time and you'll have to physically shut her up if you dont want to get caught. shes still a brat at heart, though. put your fingers in her mouth and she'll bite. your gonna need the patience of a saint to dom kafka.

#asks #Anonymous #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #minors dni #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #writing tag #ningguang #ei #kafka #honkai star rail smut #hsr smut #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #did i take 3 days 2 answer this ask bc i got distracted playing b@Idurs g@t3?? yeah..censored bc i dont want this post in the actual tags #this will be a reoccurring theme i am not immune 2 it #starts vibrating till i explode #can u tell who i think abt the most is......#i am a simple butch i see pretty femme my brain turns off #everyone pretend 2 be surprised my first main was ningguang lol #shes so pillow princess femme lesbian core it makes me lightheaded #what i wouldnt give to be beidou lord #sorry i am just a simple ningguang lover i see her name in my askbox and i #what was i talking abt #okay enough rambling zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

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