#which if you know me i hate both motherfucking sites
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well hello void - i’m here with the update nobody has been waiting for - shockingly fucker did remember my birthday - 1 day early.
#sent him a friend request on facebook and instagram#which if you know me i hate both motherfucking sites#did this when i was fucking sure his ass was in a psych ward and wanted to see if he had access to his phone#it’s been over a week now with no response but his profile picture has changed so i would say the fucker does have access to his phone#and for some reason is screening me?#like wtf dude - i don’t care if you’re in indiana but don’t fucking lie to me about returning here if you are just staying there to hang out#with your old high school buddies 🤷♀️#especially when you have led me to believe you’ve had a mental breakdown#but don’t you worry jackass your day of reckoning is coming in a form on an angry lesbian#cause if you want your goddamn scripts your ass is gonna have to come to my fucking apartment
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my oh my: sim jaeyun
| pairing: sim jaeyun x reader
| genre: enemies to lovers
| warnings: angst, minors dni
| word count: 1.2k
| stefy's note: this is a collaboration between me and @chericherilvr , we found this fanfic writing site and well decided to have some fun, so enjoy :)
[ BACK TO MASTERLIST ]
You never liked working so that's when you decided to apply for a more risque job that hired people with no experience. Perfect job, right?
Well it seems to be perfect until you met Jake, your worst nightmare. He barely showed up to work and was always bullying you. It's like he hated you, but you barely knew each other. Maybe it was the wat you smiled at him or his annoying grin. You couldn't figure it out and when you actualluy thought you did, you didn't.
One day, your boss decided to make you do the unwanted, pairing you up with Jake. Why him? You thought to yourself. All he did was care about his work and ignore the other colleagues. It was infuriating you to say the least, but you had to do it. Even if you wouldn't want to be anywhere near him. He was trouble and not the kind of trouble you wanted to be involved with.
Time couldn't go slower, maybe this was Crono's way of making you suffer after not getting his name right on last night's trivia game. Spinning a pencil around, staring at your project partner, counting to ten over and over again to not punch Jake in the face. His stupid, smiling, beautiful face.
"You don't get paid to stare at me, sweetheart." The pencil almost snaps when he decides to smirk, "but i mean, if you go out with me i'll do both of our jobs." Jake winks at you, his smirk only growing and licking his lower lip once he sees your glaring eyes. It's the moment when you have to remind yourself about professionalism.
4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10...
"Thank you, but i'll have to reject the kind of offer." Your voice dipped with poison and sarcasm behind your smile. "How instead you stop calling me that."
He shakes his hand, leaning forward closer to your desk. "Okay, how about, darling?"
1, 2, 3, 4...
"No? Okay, how about..." He pauses for a brief moment, leaning a bit away before holding his head between his hands.
5, 6, 7, 8...
"Babe? My love? My world? Princess? Honey?"
9, 10, 1, 2...
"Stop!" Your hands point towards all of Jake. "Flirting, stop this, whatever it is."
The motherfucker Jake decides to chuckle at your cringing face. "Sorry, babe, old habits die hard." 3, 4, 5, 6. You stop counting when you hear the pencil finally snap in between your fingers. "I don't know what you're trying to do here, but whatever it is, it needs to stop." You say annoyed, being fed up with all his flirty comments.
"Haven't you heard of magic, darling?" His voice dripping with sarcasm. "If you think going out with me will end up in me being a serial killer, don't worry. I'm not interested in killing you anytime soon, only with my charm." The moment you heard his flirty voice, you lost it. All the counting from your head starting again just so you could focus on what you're actually supposed to do.
"Let's focus now on the actual work, which is actually about magical rituals." Both of you looked at the document in front of you, filled with several photos of corpses that have been mutilated or decomposed. This sent chills down your spine. "There's a killer on the loose. Name. Yang Jungwon. Burned down his orphanage, killed his classmates and roommate." You say, giving him more information about the several murders and the killer. "And he has a temper." You whisper to Jake's ear, almost in a mocking way, knowing that when it comes to people that don't deal greatly with anger.
"I can handle him, sweetheart. You won't escape me if that's what you wish for." He says in a cheeky grin, pushing his body closer to yours. He was close. Too close. The only thing between the two of you was the desk, which he could easily move with his hands. Those hands that drove you crazy even if you hated him, you couldn't deny that he was attractive.
Suddenly you hear you boss voice. "What about Y/n and Jake?" Both of you turned your head around, forgetting about the trivia game for a second.
You sit back down on your chair, fixing your hair. Nothing's going on, everything's ok. You nod to yourself. Jake decides to answer for both of you, smiling at your silence. "Orphanages and magic rituals? Is he trying to summon something?" You mumble trying to not roll your eyes.
"Yes, a dick you can suck on." Your boss nods at Jakes words and starts giving hypothesis while talking with the rest of the teams. Lost in thought looking at the files, you don't catch Jake leaning over the desk and whispering in your ear. "Sure you won't like it to be that? Or better, him summoning my hands seeing as you have a big liking towards them?"
You flinch at his voice, a shiver running down your back at the thought. "We don't even know if he's summoning something." You try to bite back and move away from him.
"Do we now, darling?" Jake's words linger on your mind for the reat of the day. The last words, you swear to yourself, not the hand thoughts. Music plays softly and wind comes in through your car window while driving. "Wait! I haven't opened a window?" You shift to look at your left, where the air is coming from, and slam the breaks once you see someone sitting next to you.
Everything stops for a couple of seconds, adrenaline melting in your body mixed with the relief of stopping in an empty road. Your hands fumble with the seat belt after regaining conciusness. There was no one next to you when you left driving for work 13 minutes ago. Just ignore the chuckle and run for your life. But after opening the door your body is pushed back against your car.
"Sweetheart, why would you run away from me?" Your eyes widen at his words, at his voice. Bracing yourself to look at him, where you expected to find Jake's brown eyes and a scar stare back at you.
"Oh, sorry." The man you knew as the killer you're hunting down transforms his body into the same person that's working with you to end him. Jake smiles at you, and traces your face. "Surprise." He cheers , before chuckling at your confused face. He runs his hands down to rub your arm, soothing your trembling body. "I wished you would've found another way, but I couldn't risk your pretty brain to catch me out first." He laughs, almost giggling.
"What...What is.." Your voice barely a whisper.
"It's ok, babe. I won't harm you." He tries to flash a comforting smile, showing his sharp teeth in the process. Fuck, this now made sense, he wasn't trying to summon anything. He wanted blood. He needed blood. Because he is a vampire and now you're his next prey, one way or another.
Your morals were all wrong when you felt his lips on yours. He tasted sweet. Bloody sweet. All the bodies that you found drained out of blood. It was him. He was intoxicating. Jake wanted to do this ever since he saw you walk in the office, with that damn short skirt, that was too short for you. He imagined himself between your legs. Without thinking, he wrapped his veiny hand around you neck, holding you in place. You were his now. His to love. His to corrupt.
© V3LV3TSIN ⎯ do not translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.
#Spotify#enhypen#enhypen x reader#enhypen hard thoughts#enhypen hard hours#sim jaeyun#sim jaeyun x reader#sim jaeyun smut#sim jake x you#enhypen jaeyun#jaeyun x reader#jake hard thoughts#jake hard hours#jaeyun drabble#enhypen drabbles#enhypen jake#enhypen jake smut#sim jake#kpop smut#enha#sim jake x reader
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Okay, I’m gonna start with Freddie. Now... when the spoilers first dropped and I heard them without watching the episode, I was actually fully expecting to feel as bad for Freddie as I do for Marwa. But then I watched the episode and was like... you know, very few people would deserve what happened to Freddie here but I think he might be one of them. lmao
(Full disclosure before I start, I did go to a fairly prestigious school for many of the exact same subjects that Freddie seems to have studied. I also talk about Genji Monogatari and the Palatine Hill for fun. So I am in a very unique position to hate Freddie specifically because I went to school with so many douchebags just like him. But I will freely admit that I might be projecting.)
So, other than repeatedly just calling him “That ‘Elgin’ Marbles-Fucker” to my friends over the past week, what do I think about Freddie?
Hmm... I think Freddie’s character can actually be summed up very well by the list of activities he showed the screen. That crazy motherfucker wanted to go see The Met, The Whitney, and the Chelsea galleries in the same fucking day. That sounds like the action of an art lover until you realize that means that he’s not taking enough time to actually look at anything.
Freddie, I think, is the type to race through a gallery simply for the experience of it -- and not fully appreciate a single thing he saw there. The kind to have a conversation about an archaeological site without actually saying a damn thing. The kind to have a boyfriend without ever putting in the work to learn who he actually is.
I very strongly get the impression that Freddie grew up fairly rich and privileged and probably got a lot of things handed to him over the course of his life. He strikes me as narcissistic and self-involved while being very willing to let Guillermo shoulder a lot of the emotional load of their relationship alone, as well as being the kind of person that will flit from interest to interest without a lot of care for price or fallout because he’s always been able to.
I do think that some of this may be the writers just writing the most British character alive and some American writers just always associating British people with poshness but... yeah, there were a lot of markers for privilege in him, from his job to his attitude to the way he carries himself that I think are difficult to overlook.
The narcissism is pretty self-explanatory, tbh. Nandor used hypnosis to make both Freddies be cool with the fact that they were cloned, but he didn’t make them get along with each other. He certainly didn’t make Freddie 1 cheat on Guillermo with Freddie 2. So we’re already working with a character here who’d rather spend time with himself than any other person, is perfectly happy to have academic conversations where he just goes in circles with a person word-for-word agreeing with him (which would be literal hell for me, but I digress), and who doesn’t mind cheating on his partner at least once, arguably twice.
Freddie is oddly like Nandor, in a way... I don’t think that Freddie ever set out to hurt Guillermo in this episode. He just... didn’t think about how his actions would affect anyone but himself. Nandor treated Freddie like a shiny, but Freddie treated Guillermo like one, too. He moved on from Guillermo and cheated on him and really ignored his feelings for the whole episode because he didn’t think it would be a big deal. Freddie just approaches everything in his life with this surface-level interest that he never actually commits to. It’s a happiness without true satiation and a sort of bland niceness without kindness.
He just kind of... alights on things like a butterfly. He seems nice enough and people like him and he’s happy enough to be there, but he’s ultimately going to fly away because at heart, that butterfly does not give a fuck about you.
I’m also fascinated by the way that Freddie approached this whole trip. While it was ostensibly a trip to go visit his boyfriend, he really made it about what he wanted to do 90% of the time and it’s not even really made clear if he spent any intimate alone time with Guillermo whatsoever. (And I’m not even talking about sex -- I mean genuinely any quiet time where he actually got to enjoy Guillermo’s presence without distractions.)
He was just as happy to do his list of NYC stuff with someone else, he was okay ditching Guillermo to hang out with other people (including himself), and he showed a remarkable lack of interest in Guillermo’s feelings, worries, or even his hobbies. Like... it really felt more like this was him gallivanting halfway across the world for a NYC vacation than it was ever actually about Guillermo. Which makes me so sad for him, tbh.
And I’ll get into this more in another essay but just... it didn’t seem like he was that invested in Guillermo. He never seemed that intimate with him, never really listened to what he was saying (hello, showing up at someone’s house without warning them??), and dropped him like he was nothing the second a new shiny showed up. It makes sense that he’d use Guillermo as an excuse to visit NYC, but why even carry on this relationship for all these months in the first place...?
My theory is that Guillermo was a very convenient person for Freddie to be around. He spends a lot of his time talking him up, he’s always learning about Freddie’s interests, and because he’s lying to him for the entirety of their relationship, he never really asks Freddie to do any emotional heavy lifting. So I do think that Freddie likes Guillermo. He has affection for him. But Freddie is also on a fundamental level okay with a surface-level relationship that flatters him while not actually asking anything of him. This relationship was always innately casual to him.
I think it says a lot that by far the most successful relationship Freddie has is with himself. Not only does this feed into his narcissistic tendencies, it is also the easiest possible relationship you could ever have. There are no arguments. You don’t have to learn about the other person. You don’t have to care about someone else’s feelings. You never have to do anything you don’t want to do. You can just have these boring, surface-level conversations where the two of you speak in circles without actually saying a damn thing.
Honestly, I just think that Freddie is one of those selfish douchebags who seems nice until you realize they’re not actually talking to you specifically. They’re just... talking. And saying vaguely nice things. This kind of person is not remotely dependable; they have all the trappings of niceness without actually caring about you. You are basically the same as talking about the weather to them. They’re happier if it’s a sunny day, but it’s not exactly a make or break situation for them either way.
Freddie never actually cared about Guillermo. He didn’t care about Nandor, either. He didn’t even really care about traveling the world studying art; he sure gave that up quickly enough and he wasn’t exactly studying the art in NYC to start with. He really just cared about himself and living an easy and unexamined life that allows him to go from interest to interest without actually demanding anything from him.
And some of that is probably that he was designed to be a plot device, but some of that is just... Freddie. That “Elgin” Marbles-Fucking Douchebag. lmao.
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i was checking back on the other enstars polls and saw you on the lightbrush one— actually wataei sweeped succesfully against pearlxbismuth but a ton of discourse happened in round two.
being someone who was campaigning that poll non stop, apparently they brought the drama over from twt which made both sides very heated but especially the other fandom.
personally speaking a lot of the propaganda at the start was how the other side kept saying "anime men sucks" so I refuted that when it happened, and I did acknowledge the other propaganda (although some were still using the same argument)
though yeah it was bad, i do think it was the other side's responsibility to help other people learn more about their fandom instead of saying that it was inconsiderate that we didn't know much about it alongside the propaganda for their ship.
Really sorry for the ramble here, i just have a lot of thoughts about incidents like this.
i agree with everything you just said, and i was planning to wax poetic about this, but 1) enstars grind 2) a sudden wave of drowsiness, so ill just ramble.
this poll is an outlet for fans of any of the works involved to talk endlessly about not just the ship, but the narrative, the work itself. after all, when a ship is "basically canon," its got its fucking claws deep into the themes of the story.
i think thats what we (and probably other fandoms too) have done pretty well! compiled screenshots of dialogue and imagery and all that as evidence! the passion shows, and you know the propaganda worked when one of my mutuals (who has never touched enstars btw) submitted an ask to me wondering how to get into the series' story!!! the propaganda fucking worked! my screams of agony in the reblogs fucking worked!!!
this made me appreciate the community here even more, because we were respectful, we were so fucking happy to talk about a work we enjoy so fucking much! and now im interested in the other works too! like wtf do the motherfuckers over at night the museum have going on? i dont watch any movies, but im interested in giving this series a try.
THIS is how you engage with other fandoms if you have to. it is simply just a killjoy to convert your passion into vitriol/hate for the other party. if anything, itd push people away from what you love because you left a bad impression on them! that is just not the right way to go about things!! be constructive, not destructive!
and i love how people say anime men suck, but theres literally the orv ship, soriku, narumitsu, and others that i dont remember off the top of my head. its their opinions at the end of the day, but if they draw the line at wataei, they should do the same to those other "anime men" ships too. and here i thought cringe was dead in this site.
overall, let us as a fandom be the better people here. practice some sportsmanship, spread the enstars love, and have fun!
(and we've already done that in the jedtavius and narumitsu rounds, even though we've lost! im so proud of you all. <3)
#boots asks#zako's hashtag hater era#reeeeko#i said it was “just a ramble”#but man this was longer than i thought it would be#i hope this was coherent LOOOL
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STMPD Recommends Bubblegum Crisis Fanfiction: Ryan Xavier's A Killer's Heart
I keep putting off reviewing Yours Truly, 2032 because I have such goddamn mixed feelings about it, and yet here I am writing about a fanfic I also have really mixed feelings about? Classic STMPD. Whatta guy.
Anyway! A Killer's Heart! 5 parts, with the first 4 parts available on the ol' Usenet mirror here, and all the parts available on a still-active Tripod over here, on a site Ryan eventually retrofitted to be all about Shinji x Rei in Evangelion.
It's a hard fanfic to recommend. But recommend it I will, because although it starts off really really really uneven, it gets better. Which is a recommendation I hate to hear from people regarding anime, but I guess that goes to show how much of a BGC superfan I am, eh? That I'm rereading this fic and powering the fuck through the cringe to the based.
Ultimately, how tolerable A Killer's Heart is highly dependent on the state of its arguable main character, Jason McCormick / Nicholas Brady. He's your typical Badass Male OC, for the most part, a Sexaroid rigged up as a mass-murder combat model with hypno-eyes and other Sexaroid gizmos hinted at in the RPG and OVA 5. So he's got a trenchcoat and a shortsword and a handcannon that fires motherfucking HEAT rounds and sunglasses and smokes like a chimney to keep the pheromones off of people. And that's the crux of what makes A Killer's Heart's first part so unbearable - Nick Brady is a massive prick in a favorable situation to be a massive prick.
So the whole story is an AU, okay? Wherein Brady is sort of 'unlocked' by Largo for reasons unclear to us, so he saves Meg and Lou (two of the dead Sexaroids from Moonlight Rambler. They're terrified of him. He enjoys that. They go to Earth, Brady becomes a merc-slash-Boomer-repair-guy, and ends up with Sylvie's corpse delivered to him. Throughout all of this, he is, as I said, an annoyingly massive prick. And it doesn't help that the author's commentary at the beginning also comes off as massively salty too. Take a look at this opening set of notes for Part 1:
"This is my first BGC fanfic, but I'm not making excuses. I put my all into this one. Anyway, the part of the series that I liked the most was the part about Sylvie and Anri; intelligent machines fascinate me. More importantly, Sylvie had a really hot ass. I thought it sucked when they died, so I did something about it (whoops, there goes the plot, NOT). In case you're wondering, most of this story (from the fourth section on) takes place some time after BGC #8. Feel free to criticize the timeline if you want. I'll be happy to ignor...uh...read your criticism."
"I have seen AD Police Files, as well as Bubblegum Crash!. After about a microsecond's consideration, I decided to forget that both series were ever made. So you can basically assume the events detailed in those series NEVER HAPPENED. If you see any cues from those series, forgive me; it seemed like a good idea at the time."
"OK, I have a few succinct rules about the characters in BGC : 1. If they are a boomer, or their name starts with an "L" or ends with "Stingray," they are cool (go on, admit it : even Mackie has his moments). If they are a screen-hogging, red-eyed singing bitch who should have died back in episode #1, they are most decidedly not cool. These opinions may or may not be reflected in the story."
So you sort of know what to expect, at least in Part 1 out of five very long parts. Here's Priss sulking around trying to figure Brady out; Here's Brady butchering and decapitating Boomers and occasionally vampirizing a human or two; here's Priss being tsundere for Leon (ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh); here's Brady bullying Meg and Lou for no good reason. Xavier does have Nene and Mackie finally hooking up and Nene living in Sylia's (Silia is how he spells it, which is somehow even worse) apartment, so that's okay, but on the whole the first part and the first chunk of part 1 is just so, so, so uneven. (It also doesn't help that Part 2's author note also insists in kinda salty terms that Priss isn't a 'lesbo', soooo... yeah. That's your prerogative, Xavier.)
And then things start happening. In order to reactivate Sylvie's brain, Nick ends up briefly fusing with Sylvie's personality, and this, uh, it mellows him out some. Lo and behold, Nick Brady starts to grow a goddamn conscience, starts to back down on being an absolute sadist. Sylvie takes on some of his personality traits, and by part 3 or 4 they're basically a bickering Rumiko Takahashi couple, which is... actually somewhat amusing. Things just keep on happening, even if there isn't a whole lot of good old-fashioned hardsuit action until part 4, the character dynamics are interesting enough to keep me relatively engaged. It's weird, it's not a very action-heavy story, but there's still enough going on, especially once Largo resurrects (so much for not taking from Crash, huh?), to keep someone like me engaged.
Maybe it's just that however basic Brady's arc from sadist to sad sack is - as he begins to die due to various Boomer-related complications - incredibly compelling. For example, he vampirizes a guy and hates himself for doing it, then quickly externalizes those feelings of loathing onto Sylvie, claims it's all her fault, which feels - natural? Like something an emotionally stunted murderer faced with his own mortality would do. By the time he's kidnapped Sylia at the end of part 5 for Largo, it's clear he's incredibly desperate, broken down, and because of who he was at the start - so much of a boring-ass OPMC type - it's satisfying to see that Xavier can drag the story in a different direction than other fanfics of the same era.
Alas, it's unfinished! Has been since 2001. One more part, Xavier said, and he never put that one more part out. But what's there, you know, the 5/6ths of the story that is present, is solid, solid stuff. Shit, even the fight scene in Part 4 is one of the more awesome things I've seen in BGC fanfic, even if Xavier sees fit to mangle the shit out of poor Nene in a weirdly brutal way.
In the end, A Killer's Heart is a good fanfic. Read it, skim the first chunk as quickly as you can, enjoy silly scenes like Sylvie unzipping her riding suit and causing car crashes, cute things like that. Have fun, folks. It's hard to do that sometimes.
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harmless (vi)
Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)
Warnings: cursing, existential crisis, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, lil bit of angst, clint barton being a lil shit
Word count: 1.9k
A/N: BUCKY BARNES IS BACK AND HAS A CONFIRMED PERSONALITY
also omg everyone who’s been sending me ideas- ur the lomls.
if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! i might actually end up using them
here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333
Previous Part || Series Masterlist
Your place or mine? ;)
He stares at the text.
The right answer is mine. See you at the lair.
“Y’all are dating now?” Clint peeks over his shoulder.
“Fuck no,” Bucky says indignantly. “God forbid.”
“Okay, man,” he retracts, giving Bucky space to turn around and face him. “What do you want to call your mini dates then?”
“Missions,” Bucky corrects him.
“No one wants to go on a mission. You volunteered to go back there.”
“It’s for the good of the tristate area.”
“I bet.” The snort he lets out contradicts his words. “Whole world is depending on you, Barnes. Go save them from the treachery of your crush.”
“Enemy.”
“Girlfriend.”
“Mortal nemesis.” Bucky narrows his eyes at him. “Go further, I dare you.”
“What are you gonna do? Choke me? Punch me with your metal arm?” Clint cranes his neck. “Bring it, big boy. I’m not scared of some kinky shit.”
He hates living here.
The door is left open for him.
This time, even though the lair is still illuminated by the green light out in the front, there’s a minor change. Sunlight streams in through a skylight in the roof.
There’s a ladder there, leaning against the rim. It gives him an entrance to the roof, which, judging by the lack of any other presence in the lab, is where he’s supposed to go.
As he gets closer he notices there’s a note on one of the rungs.
‘Evil’ with an arrow pointing upwards.
He rolls his eyes, discarding it on the floor before swiftly scaling the steps.
“Ah, Mr. Barnes,” he hears your voice call out even before his head pops up above the surface. “We’ve been expecting you.”
He pauses, looking around. “Who’s with you?”
Because other than the gigantic machine pointed up towards the sky, there’s only you with a visor and sunglasses. The best way he can describe its design was that it was shaped like a pine cone, had a large antenna pointed towards the sky, two handlebars near its base to manoeuvre it with a large button in between them.
“Just imagine I have my henchmen with me,” you urge. “I’m on a budget, man, I can’t afford them yet. Maybe when my cloning machine finally works-”
He doesn’t answer.
“It’s a James Bond reference,” you add when he doesn’t show any signs of answering.
“Haven’t watched it yet.” Bucky shrugs. “We’re doing Star Trek right now.”
“You’re done with Star Wars?” you, receiving a nod in confirmation. “Nice. You’d find the spy shit ridiculous anyway, it’s way below your level.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He makes a mental note to add the Bond movies to the list.
“Speaking of stars,” you begin, gesturing to the machine. “I’m going to harness the power of the sun.”
“For what?” He doesn’t bother asking how, he already knows you’ve figured out something.
“There’s a science exhibition and my team’s stupid solar car experiment isn’t working and I need it for them to win.”
“So build a better one.”
“No, ours is the best and if Jeff and his stupid baking soda volcano beat us then we’re going to have a murder on our hands.”
“Your hands,” he emphasises. He has nothing to do with this.
“I said what I said, boy.” You glare at him. “This is our problem now.”
“How much power are you taking?” If it’s insignificant enough, it wouldn’t matter much. He thinks.
“The whole thing.”
He laughs. He stops when you don’t.
“You’re taking all the energy of the sun to power your shitty science model.”
“Your face is a shitty science model,” you mimic him in a higher pitched voice. “I will do anything to win.”
He wonders which grade kid you stole that insult from was in. There’s no way they were anything older than 13. He could use it on Steve, maybe.
“Everyone on Earth will die.” He feels the need to remind you, even though there was no way it was actually going to take place. Eat shit, Clint. This superseded the tristate area.
“Not for eight minutes.” You look at your watch. “And, if Jeff dies then I win by default.”
“You’ll die too,” he points out.
“I’ll die a winner.” You nod seriously as if that makes it better.
He’s not that worried. Experience tells him that you’re not a mass murderer willingly.
“You’ll die an idiot.”
“Only if you don’t stop me.” Your lips curve into a smile. “And how will you when I do this?”
You yank the machine to point towards him and slam the button. His hand reflectively pulls in front of him to defend himself. Something hits him with enough force to send him skidding backwards slightly.
He removes his hand carefully from in front of him, looking at you.
Something feels off.
“You just-”
The knives strapped to his thighs suddenly feel heavier.
“Took your powers?” you finish his thought. “Yeah.”
He feels his body tip towards his left. He’s suddenly very aware of the weight of the arm. Had it been this heavy all this while?
“You’ve barely changed,” you noted, “You’re just regular Bucky but like, 20% less beef.”
After all, he was a boxer when he was a teen. One of the best men the Howling Commandos had even before the serum.
His shoulder feels heavier though. And somehow he thinks he’s sensing things a little less. He can’t really hear the faint buzzing of the generator downstairs anymore.
“Yep, that’s real muscle.” He turns when you poke at his shoulder. He doesn’t know when you got there. “You’re like a modern day Schwarzenegger. Grade A beefcake.”
He can’t see the construction site near the horizon as clearly as he used to.
Something about this situation makes him feel like he’s going to have a midlife crisis, even though he’s overshot the age by a huge number. No one has a midlife crisis at 106.
“Now that we’ve established that this works,” you say, back near the machine again. When did you walk there? “Let’s show this bitch that I’m the brightest star allowed in this solar system.”
He shakes his head to jolt himself awake, shoves aside his mental dysfunction and breaks out into a sprint when you pull the device down to aim it at the sky.
He latches onto the side, using his left hand to pull himself up, straddling the machine.
“Excuse me,” you exclaim like it’s a minor inconvenience and he feels the machine sway wildly under him. “You’re weighing it down, get off my inator.”
You’re shooting recklessly, trying to shake him off. It’s not dissimilar to the mechanical bull Natasha made him ride during a mission down south so she could win money off placing bets on him. They had lobster that night.
He reaches down to its side, hoping to feel maybe a panel he can rip off. He finds nothing.
He hopes none of the rays are actually hitting anything. It’s a little harder to stay on than he’d imagined it would be, and he thinks that maybe this wasn’t the best plan.
He changes his mind in a split second, swinging himself over so that he can climb the underside of the machine like a monkey bar. He feels like a fucking insect. How was Peter not mortally embarrassed?
He factors in the fact that his hands are getting clammier and his grip is slipping faster than usual. Also, he can taste his lunch at the back of his throat.
“Motherfucker,” Bucky curses when his hand slips, leaving him to hold on only by his metal arm.
“You okay?” you call out, not giving him a second to recover unless he really needed it.
He lets out a grunt, swinging his arm up and catching hold of the antenna, yanking it down and towards the machine itself. He pulls himself up so that he’s straddling the machine again.
One more shot and-
“Very smart, Barnes,” you say dryly, letting go of the handles.
He sends you a sly grin before sliding down the barrel, kicking the large button with his heel right before he jumps off.
The beam shoots out, instantly meeting with metal. The device automatically gives a mechanical groan before powering down, turning off altogether.
“I hate you,” you huff, before noting his paleness. “D’you want some water? An IV maybe?”
He dismisses it with a wave of his hand, inhaling heavily to catch his breath.
He’s tired, more so than he would have been under any normal circumstance. He feels a little dizzy, a little disoriented.
“Don’t worry, your magic powers will be back in a few minutes or so.” You examine the bent antenna, pressing the button and sighing when it stands there lifelessly. “Once Jeff wins, I’ll send the dry cleaning receipt to you. You can pay to get the tear stains out of the kids’ outfits.”
“Your tears or theirs?” He’s relieved about the powers returning, he thinks.
“Both, bitch.” Your eyebrow quirks at his retort. Clearly, he had more energy in him than people realised; his brain seemed to be working fine. He was stronger than you thought. Good for him.
“You’re smart. You’ll figure something out.” He lets out a final exhale before standing up a little straighter.
“Thanks. It’d be better if you asked your billionaire tech genius to send us something, but okay.”
“It’s a middle school science exhibition. Make a potato battery or something.”
You tsk-tsk. “No points for creativity, Mr. Barnes.”
It creeps into his mind without warning. He wonders if he actually wanted the powers back. Wonders what his life could be if he maybe retired, settled down. For the brief time he feels like his pre-war self, he starts to think like his pre-war self.
“I’m not the one who’s about to lose to a baking soda volcano,” he finds time to respond, however.
“Your face is a baking soda volcano.” You narrow your eyes at him. “I will not lose.”
“You’re running out of time. Chop chop.”
But the thought hits him. Who is Bucky without his super soldier serum? If he doesn’t have his powers then he can’t think of what use he is to the Avengers.
Who the hell is Bucky if he can’t provide a service to others? How else does he make up for being himself?
His, what he’s now deemed, afterlife crisis is starting to look more apparent.
He compartmentalises and stores it away in a box. He’ll bring it up with his therapist later.
“I’m going to win and then you’ll be sorry you weren’t a part of it because you didn’t let me steal the sun.”
“If you win, I’ll still be glad I didn’t let you.” He climbs back down the ladder, feeling the ache in his muscles reduce with every passing minute.
True to your word, his powers do return a while later.
And while he’s watching Avatar: The Last Airbender with Peter in the living room two days later, his phone beeps with a text.
It’s a picture of a blue first place ribbon next to a toy car that looks like it’s powered by a potato battery. Beside it is an out of focus middle finger that is aimed at him.
Congratulations, he texts back. Told you potato batteries always win.
Your face always wins, he receives in return. He can’t tell if you’re insulting or flirting with him.
He just shuts his phone off and goes back to watching the show.
Next part
#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#mcu fic#bucky fic#bucky barnes fic#bucky fluff#bucky barnes fluff#bucky angst#bucky barnes angst#harmless fic#winter soldier x reader#Winter Soldier#bucky barnes#bucky
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my only exception
(i don’t own this gif or any of the characters in this fic)
summary: you and nat are separated when in the Red Room. you both are reunited. after holding onto a couple things to give her for a couple years you both realize love is well and alive.
warnings: violence, abuse, swearing, lil angst, fluff
pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader
word count: nearly 1.8k
a/n: omg i don’t know what to say! thank you for all the support on the stuff i’ve released so far. it’s super crazy seeing some of my favorite writers following me. thank you so so much for 30 followers! much love 💕💕
(italics in dialogue mean the person is speaking russian)
sorry for any mistakes i wrote this at 3am and have to get up for school at 6 😪 no bueno
It was a cold and stormy night as the power in the Red Room continuously flickered on and off even with the help of a high powered generator.
You and Natalia had been waiting for an event like this to occur so you could break out. Even though both herself and you lived only a small bit of life outside in the real world before you were taken in and trained to become a weapon, both of your humanly morals knew right from wrong. The Red Room’s treatment definitely being a wrong.
Madame B and the other monstrous staff at this facility put all you girls to bed roughly an hour ago. Nat and yourself undid your cuffs connecting your wrist to the metal bedframe so you could pack the few things you both owned before you made your escape. Both of you had talked this plan over through and through so you both were on the same page as soon as you saw that flicker of a power outage surge though the site.
At the moment you both were eighteen years old meaning both of you had proven yourselves worthy enough to hone a spot at this academy and had graduated a couple months prior.
GAME PLAN
Some information you had gathered which the staff weren’t aware of was every time the power flickered off, it disarmed and unlocked the exit door/s for nearly five seconds. The weather has been dry but cold lately not making this discovery too useful. The plan was to sneak over to uncuff yourselves in the middle of the night when these brief power outages were occurring, pack your items, and as you were about to escape bang on the wall of the large room where the girls kept at the academy would sleep to create enough of a distraction before you were out and free for good. Easy right? How wrong you’d be.
When it was time for the distraction, Nat stood by the door waiting for the next surge of lightning of whatever broke the electricities stability as you walked to the far side of the sleeping quarters where you were sure you’d have enough time to bang on the walls and sprint out of that door.
You heard a crash of thunder so you knew your escape chance would be soon. As you were about to start banging on the walls you see a door knob parallel to Nat but far away none the less start turning.
BAM
Lightning strikes, what seems to be right outside of the building. You sprint for the door only to have your arm caught by one of Madame B’s henchmen.
Just like that the power flickers.
five.
Without much thought you break away from the man’s grasp lunge at Natalia who happened to be at the door.
four.
“We’ll meet again Natalia.” you speak softly
three.
You shove her out of the door with all of your might.
two.
You use all of your remaining strength that you can muster up to slam the heavy metal door closed.
one.
Click
The door locks once again.
“You stupid little bitch. Get over here NOW!” the man practically growls.
You slowly and steadily walk over to the man as he gruesomely pummels and kicks you.
Sure the beatings, mind torture and manipulation hurt, but you’ve never experienced any kind of pain on the same caliber to what being separated from Natalia feels like.
Madame B is more than disappointed, enraged and annoyed with one of her ‘star students’. You receive daily beatings and long, tiresome training hours for helping Natalia escape. Although everyone is ‘replaceable’ in the minds of the staff as well as Madame B, they just lost Natalia so they couldn’t afford to lose you as well.
Months later the beatings finally slow down to a couple a week which you are able to endure. Madame’s mission now is to make a monster out of you by pushing you to and past your limits when training.
One night you finally drift off to sleep. You hate sleeping. It’s a constant replay of your last night with Nat. Only hoping that she made it to civilization safe and sound and is living a normal teens life. However, tonight’s dream is different. In this dream you see yourself shoving your packed-escape bag between your mattress and bedframe as you are bleeding out on the ground from the beatings. You wake up in a cold sweat and manage to kneel on the ground and slowly lift up your mattress only to find that same, small bag filled with the few, but important belongings of yours and Nat’s. You open up the bag forgetting all about what you both had packed. The most important items you see is a picture of Natalia as a toddler with alongside her mother and father, a small metal ring which you had made for her after stealing a small teaspoon at dinner, banging it against the concrete floor with a rock to flatten it out as you’d continuously bend it back and fourth so only the thinnest part is of the spoon is left which you bend into a ring before surprising Nat with it after you know she had a pretty rough day training, and lastly Nat’s papers containing important info about her such as her full name, birthplace, parents names, and birthdate.
November 22, 1984
November 22, 1984
November 22, 1984
November 22, 1984
You make sure you have this date burned into your head, latching onto any important information about her you can learn.
You hang onto those three items keeping them hidden.
Two and a half years later...
It’s late at night when you hear gunshots and fights breaking out throughout the facility. You quickly get up out of bed (once again undoing your cuffs) and grab those three items from under your mattress. You place them in your pocket getting ready to make a break for the outside world. As you reach for the door you turn back taking one last look at the place you’ve been living for pretty much the entirety of your life, only before a man in a funny red, white, and blue costume enters your view.
You bring your hands up ready for a fight.
“Look kid, I’m not here to fight you. We are breaking you out.” the man ensures
“Who even are you?” you sternly question
“Steve Rogers. But the public calls me Captain America.” his gaze settles on your figure, “Mind telling me who you are?” he pushes
“Names y/n, but look I’ve got places to be ma-“ you are cut off when Captain America’s jaw drops.
“No, we both know you don’t. But, you ARE coming with me.” you know there isn’t much room for protest but that won’t stop you from trying. You lunge at him and push him to the ground as you wave a small goodbye and sprint towards the door only for your body to fall on the ground limp. Realizing you’ve been stunned by something temporarily.
“YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” you shriek, he only chuckles.
“God, Nat was right about you.” she shakes he head with a small grin on his face.
“N-nat?” you whisper as you vision fades black.
You regain consciousness and look around only to find yourself in a weird windowy, loud vehicle type thing. You see a group of people standing around you but you see one particular familiar face hovering directly over yours lightly combing through your hair with one one hand and gently outlining your jawline with the other.
“NAT!” you screech, your brain is feeling too many emotions to comprehend at the moment.
Once she sees and hears you are awake she pulls you into a bone crushing hug.
“Y/n/n I’m so sorry I left you and you had to stay in that hellhole for so long alone I don’t know how I would’ve help up it if that-“ you cut her off
“Natalia, all that matters is I’m here with you right now.” you reason.
After getting off of what you learned is a ‘plane’ you and Nat spend hours together clinging onto one another as if, as soon as you separate you will be absent in her life for another couple years, vice versa.
Months pass by. Even though you and Nat have yet to label yourselves as a couple your hearts belong to one another after being attached to the hip to one another for pretty much every activity or mission you both do. In this time you were also recruited as an Avenger due to your skillful hand to hand combat and your masterful types of fighting you have nearly perfected from your time in the room.
The date just happens to be November 22. You are pretty sure no one in the compound is aware of Natalia’s birthday, hell, you aren’t even sure if she’s aware.
Today is the day you decide to return the missing items from her bag that you recover after she left.
You wake up next to her and wake her up with a long, graceful, soft kiss on her lips to which she responds shortly after by kissing you back as you feel as tiny smirk against your own lips.
“Hey, what was that for?” she asks playfully
“Ohhh nothing. Just maybe it’s for my favorite girl’s special day today.” Nat blushes.
“H-how’d you know?”
“Oh honey, I know e v e r y t h i n g.” you reply
Before she can respond you pull her to sit up on your shared bed and hand her an envelope containing her papers as well as he one and only photo of herself and her family.
As soon as she sees both items she sobs into your chest. (more because of the picture, you really only included her papers so she too would know all the most crucial parts of her life pre-red room era.
“Uh, uh, uh’” you tut,”One more thing.” you reach for her hand slowly and tell her to shut her eyes. You slowly slide the makeshift ring on her finger.
“Open.” you instruct
To which she gasps at the sight and just like the day you both were reunited you hugged and kissed for hours on end.
“Nat, will you be my girlfriend?” you ask with a sheepish smile.
“Of course y/n/n, I thought you’d never ask.” she takes a breath,“I know love is for children, but you are my only exception.”
“Ditto.” Natalia chuckles, “That is what the Americans say, right?” you backtrack with flushed cheeks.
She holds you tighter and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.
“Sure.” she breathes out.
#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff x you#natasha romanoff x fem!reader#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanov x reader#black widow x reader#natasha romanoff x y/n
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hawks_littledove.mp3
— You’re an avid listener to NSFW ASMR artist Hawks. It’s just your luck that he’s offered to have phone sex with you.
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pairing: takami keigo (hawks) x fem!reader
warnings: smut, 18+, slight abuse of power/influence, phone sex, masturbation, degradation, praise, nsfw asmr artist!hawks
word count: 5,018
a/n: my keyboard is broken and i could actually cry. but hey, hawks do be sexy even tho I would never trust him with my life. also LOL this might be a call out to a lot of us, do not be offended or I will cry.
kinktober day 14 main kink: phone sex | kinktober masterlist
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Fantasizing about being in relationships with fictional characters was entirely healthy and normal.
That was something you believed to the core. It was fictional; thus, no one but you were to be hurt at the end of the day. The character, being fake, could never have an opinion because you must be real in order to have an opinion. So when you were between boyfriends, you discovered a new anime, and before you could stop yourself, you fell hard for a character.
It started as a mild obsession.
You had looked up fanart via google images, your heart warming when you saw the plethora of different fanart. The anime itself had been in circulation for a few years now, the manga for much longer, so the content was endless. Then google images wasn’t enough, and you began crossing into Twitter and Tumblr.
The fanart became better, more engrossing, and definitely much more NSFW. And then, one night during your endless rabbit hole down Tumblr after your daily search on Twitter, you stilled when seeing a new type of content.
⇒ grey fullbuster x reader
The obsession grew worse.
So much so that you had followed nearly five hundred self insert writers and artists on Tumblr, and maybe seven hundred artists, meta writers, and thread makers on twitter. But three months into consuming all the content you could find, you came across a new name that made you tilt your head.
Hawks Fierce Wings
It was a name that was being repeated and heavily talked about on both sites. It was an ASMR artist, apparently, and you frowned at the thought. You didn’t have anything against ASMR videos, but you weren’t exactly sure how to handle an anime ASMR artist. Were they cosplaying while making all those weird ASMR sounds? You really didn’t have any idea, but due to the immense boredom of your lazy day in, you decided to hell with it and tried out his most popular video.
It was simply entitled: Hawks is Jealous.
Did you have any idea as to who Hawks was? God, no, you didn’t. But if it was just some random cosplay he was going to do, you didn’t think it was going to matter. So as the only slightly educated ASMR listener, you never truly became invested when it was a thing; you slipped on your earbuds and pressed play.
The introduction screen faded into an illustrated picture of a slightly handsome man, and some calming yet tense music played in the background. You shifted, eyebrows drew as you waited for the ASMR session to begin, and when it did, you were not ready.
“I saw you walking around with that asshole today,” a voice practically growled in your ear, and you froze.
Oh, no.
Oh, no.
Oh, no!
For almost an entire hour, you sat glued to your sofa, your fingers digging into your lap as the jealous, spiteful words of this man named Hawks poured bitterly in your ear. His words were a near aggravated assault on you and definitely something you were beyond uncomfortable hearing from a stranger, but there was something about his voice that kept you there. Maybe it was the tenor of his tone or the way there was this sly, cunning scent to his words that he seemed to hide deep within his throat, but there was something that kept you there.
The second the passionate, heated kissing noises and heavy moans began to spill from his lips, you screeched, slamming your laptop closed as your cheeks pounded heavily.
Oh my god?!
It took a bit, but eventually, you were able to finish the audio and quickly figured out why he was an NSFW artist. You had never, ever heard a man eat a pussy fake or real as eagerly or vigorously as he did. Your hands were gripping the pants of your leggings, and your chest heaved.
Oh, motherfucking shit.
Finding out there were almost seventy other videos for you to still experience sent you scrambling for more, and eventually, you had to confess you were obsessed. Despite the anime fandoms you had discovered him for, Hawks seemed to be more famous for the content he created as himself. His real name was unknown by the looks of it, and he was only addressed as Hawks by his audience, something you caught on to quickly. So only after creating a new profile for his Youtube account, you made quick work of liking and commenting on every single of his already published seventy-eight nearly one hour and thirty-minute videos.
Each one was different.
Each one filled with various roadmaps on how Hawks' scenarios would play out for you — the listener. When he used his own persona, he called the listener his little dove or his chicken nugget, sometimes his KFC thigh, or his shish kabob.
You were glad at the very least he didn’t call you by any of those nicknames when pretending to fuck you at a speed only a “porn-is-my-only-education-on-porn” virgin teenage boy. You knew it wasn’t ideal, usually, but for some reason, it just worked. You commented on everything, read his summaries and thoughts on each video. Eventually, when you found yourself on his final, most recent video, you were ready to go a step further.
The Patreon app on your phone seemed jarringly out of place as you opened the app and subscribed yourself to Hawks' highest tiered option for the price of twenty USD.
And when you got your access to his page, you were immersed in more heavier, better content.
It was a goldmine in a sea of fools gold, and you absolutely went insane.
You weren’t sure if you were insane, needy, or just straight-up idiotic for scrolling to the very first Patreon post and indulging in the content Hawks created.
There was a stark difference between the warnings alone between the Youtube videos and the Patreon posts. While the porn was readily accessible on Youtube, the kinkiest thing that ever happened in a video was a slight implication that Hawks had left the listener on a vibrator and fuckmachine as he went to go talk to the visiting neighbors.
It was a slight, tiny zone out and miss a detail, but one you had clung onto like an obsessed psycho and even commented on in your comment on the post. Of course, Hawks hadn’t responded, not that you had ever expected him to because all things considered, a video that was eight months old and hadn’t done that well, to begin with, didn’t seem like anything he would remember: notifications and all.
But Patreon? Oh good, sweet, ravishing Patreon.
The very first video was of the following:
Stepbrother!Hawks fucks Stepsister!Listener in the stairwell during Christmas Dinner.
After praying and swearing to all the deities of the world that you were merely a person with a voice kink for this man and not, in fact, a perverted pseudo-incest worshiper, you clicked on it and began. It was downright sinful.
There were active voices whispered in the background as Hawks laughed about how fucking slutty you were for letting your brother fuck you like this. In the hallway, like a dog, where anyone in your joint family could walk out into. He laughed that you probably wanted it, how your wet ass pussy was greedily sucking him in, so how could you even begin to deny your lust for your brother.
You had to take a break five times during that audio.
Eventually, you do end up catching up.
Each video he had ever posted to your disposal, and most likely due to the different tier levels, you always commented on the videos. Even if it made you feel awkward for lusting over things months old, even if there were no other comments on the videos, which was much more common than you thought, you always commented and liked. It wasn’t anything ever crazy, you had seen the rarest comments bring a whole essay of analysis on why they loved it or the hating words, but you kept it simple.
Just something to keep Hawks spirits high without draining you even further of energy.
A simple: holy shit, that was hot as fucking hell!!!! you never disappoint me!!!
You never expected anything out of it; as a matter of fact, you had merely thought that you were doing the least by merely appreciating his creations when, one night, a few hours after you had gotten home. Your phone chimed with an alert.
Your mouth formed an ‘o’ in surprise; you hadn’t realized there was going to be a new release after he had just updated four days ago. Still, you popped in your earbuds and began the audio with a simple title.
i fuk ur stupid lil pus until u cri
He wasn’t precisely putting much effort into his titles these days, but his tags were definitely accurate and entirely explicit in what was to come. And in this newest video, the prominent tag was degradation.
You weren’t entirely into degradation, but still, you did what you had to do because you weren’t turned off by it. With the beginning sounds of the music playing in the background, you warped into the situation Hawks carefully carved.
But, oh?
Your face simmered with heat as Hawks dirty words dripped from the earbuds, the wet, squelching noise of your cunt and throat being fucked like some inanimate object made you soak through your panties as his disparaging words burned against your spine like a hot brand. After the thirty-minute audio was finished. Your body trembling with the aftershocks of an orgasm that had come despite the lack of actual stimulation of your clit, and you panted on your bed.
Opening your phone once again, you quickly liked the new audio and typed out your comment.
listen, i know i always comment about how fucking hot this shit is, but i have /never/ fucking soaked through my panties… you just did that and i expect a full refund for these panties 💦
You pressed send and, without so much of a second thought, continued your night. You had dinner, talked with friends, and ended the night curled back on the couch with a wine glass in your hand and a simple sit-com playing on the TV. The familiar sound of the Patreon alert rang in your ear, and you frowned, confused.
Grabbing your phone, you opened up the device and nearly shrieked at the sight of the information the notification that said:
Hawks F.W.:
lets see those panties before i refund anything
A chill ran down your spine as you quickly put together the indications of this message, and you smirked, despite your quivering hands.
Me:
I have a seven inch dick requirement before seeing any of the goods — yes, that includes my panties
And from that very moment, you began a strange arrangement between you and the NSFW ASMR artist Hawks.
.
..
.
Working was the worst part of your life, you would say.
At work, you would sit in your small 4x4 cubicle, your shelves stacked with plenty of papers and items you needed, not to mention the computer that took up the majority of your desk. You weren’t quite sure what your job here was, you sort of sat at your desk and did meaningless assignments when assigned, but you did nothing for the most part.
Before becoming an active Hawks stan, you would spend your time doing nothing playing video games. You had somehow managed to install a VPN onto your hard drive so that your employers wouldn’t be able to see what was on your screen outside of the home screen. They couldn’t trace what you did all day, but they could care less, given you got all your work completed on time and done in an over exceptional way.
But lately, since you had dropped into this… engrossed whore like relationship with Hawks, things changed.
To be honest, it still shocks you to no end when he tells you that he had always been aware of you. Well, with your consistent, ever appearing comments on his posts and overall enthusiasm for everything he posted, it was hard to not be aware. The mental image of your soaked through panties after a long day at his own work had sent him over the edge, and he finally messaged you.
Through the DM’s in Patreon, the two of you grew to become quite the friends with benefits. He would send you countless personalized audio files because you had quickly confessed to your voice kink and how his voice sent your stomach into hormonal knots. In return, you’d send the picture of an occasional soaked panty, and if he was lucky, an audio clip of your pathetic whines back to his audios.
You couldn’t complain about this arrangement.
But as the number of his patrons doubled, and he wanted to entice his subscribers with paying him even more money, Hawks began to offer a bimonthly personalized five minute audios for his $20 tier. The fans poured into that spot, and Hawks and proudly sent you the new number of adoring fans he was getting. On account of growing platforms such as Tiktok, the number of new listeners he got was nearly exponential, as he currently passed one million followers last week.
The cheeky bastard was also making enough money to stop working his regular work hours anymore. Choosing to transition slowly into his Patreon career while recording.
Hawks, however, seemed to have other ideas for your eventual personalized voice audio.
Hawks had simply asked if, by any chance, you were going to be working tomorrow the night before. Groaning loudly in recognition of your work schedule, you had texted him back that you were going to be working. Snidely including the fact that you weren’t rich like him, you needed the tedious old nine to five job.
Hawks:
how utterly boring
anyway u can b free around 2?
Me:
Eh… probably not.
Busy girl w busy schedule, ill be back from lunch so no break
Why?
Hawks:
well, u knw tht uve been amzing & th bst follower so i wanted 2 give u smthing better then the personalized audio
Me:
Oh?
Well, what is it?’
Hawks:
pick up tmrw n find out
He had changed the subject immediately afterward by dodging all of your questions with ease. So you dropped it, and the two of you resumed a night of flirting. But now, sitting in your small cubicle, your eyes flashing to the clock that read 1:57 p.m., sweat began to build on your palm.
You peered down to your phone as you waited for something, anything from Hawks to show up. The fucker was too cheeky, evasive, and quick for his own good. You felt like pouting as you glared at the phone, waiting for the screen to light up.
And you stilled when finally, at precisely 1:59 p.m., your phone gleamed with light. You couldn’t abandon your computer mouse quicker than you did as you grabbed your phone, unlocking it, and reading the message from Hawks.
Hawks:
do u have earbuds?
Me:
Yes?
Hawks:
good put them on n pick up
The moment you had read the first message, you were already pulling out your earbuds, synching them up to your phone, and placing them into your ear. But your jaw dropped when, for the first time, the call feature highlighted onto the screen, the time immediately changing to that of 2:00 p.m. The decline or accept button had never looked as daunting as it did right now.
Despite the call trying to go through, you still saw his follow up.
Hawks:
if u dont pick up u wont get shit
[Accept]
You felt your heart hammering in your chest as both fear, apprehension, and excitement boiled through your veins, the hammering blood pounding in your ears as you waited for some sort of noise on the opposite side of the line.
“Little dove?” Hawks' voices filled your ears, and despite yourself, you smiled softly. The naturalness of his voice sends warm thumps down your spine.
“Hi, Hawks,” you whisper breathlessly, your head already checking to make sure your neighboring cubicle mates didn’t try to look over the divisions to stare at you. For the most part, the office building was quiet except for the phone calls, the clanking of computer keys, and the monotonous music playing softly on the speaker's head.
“Whatcha doing?” he drawled, and you felt your skin heat up when you heard the all too familiar sound of his shoes hitting the top of his desk, the soft whine of his chair as he leaned back onto it. “Are you really at work?”
“What do you mean, am I really at work?” you squeaked, half horrified at the way the lazy, warm heat of lust was infiltrating your body at the sound of his voice, and the annoyance that he thought you had been lying? “Of course I am; it’s two p.m. on a Wednesday!”
“Ah, so little dove-chan is a raging pervert who engages in phone sex to bypass her long hours at work?” Hawks sighed his tone that of understanding and dismissal. You splutter. “You never fail to surprise me.”
“I do not do… that!” you stammer, your face feeling like hot cinders, your fingers and eyes double-checking to make sure that the audio was going to your earbuds and your earbuds only. You also couldn’t help the way your eyes swept around you, trying to make sure you hadn’t accidentally invited unwanted attention. “I said I was busy!”
“But, you picked up my call?”
“You said, or else!”
“Mmm, okay, I think I see,” Hawks tutted, and although you had never seen what you supposed to be his handsome face, you could imagine a lazy, toothy smirk on his face. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind using your little cubicle to talk you into fucking yourself good for me.”
Your jaw drops.
It hits the desk, and the muffled shriek of utter humiliation is only silenced because you bit onto your tongue like a rabid animal.
“Aw, you sound so excited for me already, little dove. I bet you want to know what I’m going to do to you, don’t you? I just know that I’m going to make you feel so... good…”
“Hawks!” you plea in a hushed whisper, your heart hammering where you sat frozen like a deer in headlights. Sure, you had definitely played his audios before to pass the time, but never before in your existence had you had actual phone sex. This was riskier than just listening to his audios; his audios always had a pattern, a way to escape from the madness of his voice when people were closer than you’d like. But this? No, there was no escape. “I’m at work! I c-can’t!”
“But, fuck, I want you so bad,” Hawks' voice dipped into a gravely tone, his voice just perfectly scratchy enough that your shoulders trembled in unspoken, untouched want. “I want to feel your cunt around my cock, baby, your pussy is so hot and I want to be the fucking lucky bastard that gets to fuck you through your bed.”
“O-Oh my god…”
“I’ve been thinking of what your tits look like,” Hawks continues on, his voice continuing in the style you liked the most. It was raw, heavy, and deep. No character impersonations, just him, pure Hawks. “I hope they bounce the way they do when I imagine you riding me. I want to see you moan when I kiss the underside of your tit, I want to see your face when you realize that you’re my girl, nobody's else's, but mine.”
Heat floods your panties at his words, your shallow breaths making him chuckle on the other end.
“You’d be so lucky to be just mine, wouldn’t you, little dove?” Hawks snaps, his voice demanding a response, and you heave.
You look around, no one is near, and you croak out: “I’d be so lucky.”
“Louder.”
“I’d be so lucky.”
“Mm, there we go,” Hawks laughs, and your ears prickle for any noise that may indicate that someone was listening in. “What? Are you getting nervous that your needy ass will be heard by your coworkers right now? Answer me.”
“Mhmm,” you hum loudly, your cunt pulsing with more incredible heat and your hands shaking with a slight fear of being caught.
“Aww, don’t worry, little dove. I’m sure your boss will understand that you’re my newest fucktoy and will let me continue. Maybe they’ll want to join in?”
You whimper softly, shifting in your seat at that thought. You didn’t really want your boss coming anywhere near you, he was old and gross for one, and nothing could take the place of this beautiful man's voice in your ear right now.
“Oh, was that a no? You don’t want other people fucking you, do you, y/n? I bet you only want to have my cock in your tight little pussy, bet you want to watch the way that greedy little thing sucks me in, begging for my seed. Would you want me to cum deep inside you? You would like that little dove; you’d like to be full of my cum.”
“H-Hawks,” you keen as quietly as you can, your hips shifting uncomfortably in your seat, your heart hammering in your throat. The pressing heat in your cunt is growing, your panties growing with wet slick as Hawks' voice whispers down your ear, filling every empty and void space in your brain until you were having trouble focusing on the very much public spot you were in.
Hawks let out a soft, guttural moan, and you froze, face entirely combusting into an inferno as the familiar slick slapping of his fapping cock filled your ear. Immediately, you forgot everything.
“A-Are you—?!” you splutter, unable to find the words or the energy to come up with a way to ask if he was masturbating right now. Your eyes spun, your mind in a complete haze as soft, raunchy moans spilled from his lips, striking against your nerves and soul with each successive sound.
“I’m only trying to help you out here, dove,” Hawks growled, undoubtedly in effect to a rather loud smack of his fist colliding with his thrusting hip. “You’re the little office slut who picked up a phone call to entice in phone sex. I bet you knew exactly what I was going to do, and your pathetic, needy whore self caved to my instructions.”
Your fingers curled into the armrest of your chair.
“I bet this makes your boring ass job tolerable, the perfect distraction to a shit job, then imagining a few minutes of fucking yourself against my hard cock.”
“That’s not true!”
“No?” Hawks laughed, not believing you any more than you did. “So you wouldn’t hate it if I showed up and fucked you into the wall of your cubicle? You wouldn’t mind if I claimed your sweet-smelling pussy against your desk for everyone to hear? I know you can scream like a bitch in heat. I know that pretty little cunt of yours would milk my cock dry. Oh, I just know you would look so fucking sexy with your back arched, eyes closed, and you begging for hours just to cum. You wouldn’t cum without my permission, right?”
You gasped, heart fluttering, hammering in your chest as you shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak.
“I need a verbal answer, little dove.”
The heat in your core was blistering, your thighs shaking with your unadulterated lust and need as you ground into the cushion of your chair. All logic and moral long gone as he snarled and moaned your name in your ear, the slick of his fapping cock echoing like a great bell in your ear. You wanted to hear him cum, wanted to listen to the pithering sound of his echoing moans as he spilled the contents of his balls onto his hand — and how you wished it was your womb.
“I won’t cum w-without your permission!” you whispered, your skin shivering with your fear of being caught.
“God, you sound like such a dirty fucking bitch. I bet your pussy is fucking soaked already. Bet you really want to run that slutty embarrassed finger against your clit but don’t want to be caught by your perverted coworkers,” Hawks hissed, his breaths turning into steady, heavy hot pants. You mewl softly, confirming his spoken thoughts, and he huffs out a laugh. “How many fingers do you normally shove up that pretty cunt of yours, little dove?”
“T-Three!” you gasp, your forehead pressing to the cool of your desk, your eyes glazed over and looking at the entrance of your cubicle, fervently wishing that no one tries to check on you as you grind against your stable chair. “O-Only three fit.”
“Fuck, you really do have a tight cunt, don’t you,” Hawks snaps, the wet sounds of his fisting hand around his cock a beautiful melody in your ear that makes you whine at the back of your throat. “Bet you can’t even fit cocks up your cunt without lube, huh. You gotta stay on top, or else you’ll get hurt with how thick and long my cock will be up that baby pussy of yours.”
“H-Hawks!” you grit out, the friction of grinding on the seat no longer working.
“Go to the bathroom, now,” Hawks commands, the small gasps on his voice from his approaching orgasm more than enough ammo for you to do as told.
You sprint to the bathroom, the slick of your cunt hot, and evident to you as you sped to the bathroom. Your phone clenched in your hand as you locked the door behind you, glad the room was empty. Barely managing to get yourself into the stall, the toilet paper placed on the seat as you raised your legs up, already prepared. The skirt you wore was bunched above your ass, and the panties you wore, stretching out around your knees.
“Sounds like you’re ready to start fucking that pussy for me,” Hawks laughs, but there's no humor, just bite. “Put in three fingers, now.”
Without even arguing or caring, three fingers slip into your cunt, and you cry at the feeling of your fingers completely stretching you out. The smell of sex and slick filling your nose as your fingers slick up, fucking your tight cunt as you moan louder and louder for Hawks.
“God, your fucking pussy is so fucking wet, I can hear it from here!” Hawks moans, the frantic sound of his drilling hips gaining speed and momentum.
“I want it to be you!” you moan, your face burning in your humiliation. “I want it to be you fucking my pussy, claiming me in this bathroom. I need you, Hawks, I want your cock so badly!”
“Fuck,” Hawks gasps, something tumbling in the background. “Such sweet words for a fucking dirty ass cumslut,” he growls, and your legs shake, your clit and cunt thrumming with your increasing arousal and pit of tightness in your core.
“HAWKS, FUCK!” you sob as your hips try to start a merciless speed against your fingers, your body trying to match the speed in which Hawks was fucking his own hand.
“Keep screaming my name, whore.” Hawks gasps, his noises of pleasure beginning to grow louder and louder, your eyes crossing in satisfaction. “Screaming my name like the fucking slutty mess you are. All this shit just to get me to fuck you? God, you’re so fucking pathetic y/n. Begging for me, begging for more? I think you’re my favorite little dove ever, gonna make you mine whenever I get to fuck that pussy.”
“Hawks!” you wail his name again, your arms and pussy throbbing with the energy it takes to keep up with his inhumane speeds. Your vision seeing stars as you tremble more and more, your legs slipping from the toilet seat, yet. “I am your whore, your little dove. Please let me come, please! You fuck me so well, fucking hell, please, I needa cum, I needa cum!”
“Cum with me,” he snaps, his voice so deep, so dangerously smooth. It was precisely what you needed, the voice kink you had for his tenor exactly fulfilled entirely with that simple, last command. And just like that, your jaw slackens, head slamming backward, and pleasurable waves crash through you.
Your fingers still rock at your clit, and your vice gripped walls, your toes curling within your shoes as you soundlessly scream. Hawks, on the other end, is practically snarling, voice deep and altogether dangerous as grunt after grunt leaves him, and you can imagine the milk-white cum splattered all over his chest and hand. A beautiful, perfect sight that you wish you could see for yourself.
Exhaustion settles in your bones as you sit on the toilet, still entirely exhausted as you heave for air.
“I think that was the best fucking orgasm I ever had,” you mumble, your eyes closed, not ready to stand up and move. “Thank you.”
“I’m good at what I… at what I do,” Hawks stumbles, husky exhaustion ringing in his own voice. “Now, little dove, finish up work, and I promise there’ll be a surprise waiting for you when you’re done.”
Not entirely agreeing, but not disagreeing with his command to go finish you last… two and a half hours at work, you begrudgingly said goodbye to Hawks before washing your hands and exiting the bathroom.
When five o’clock came, you watched as your phone screen lit up, and your face flushed as you read the DM from Hawks.
Hawks:
this is my fav audio now
↳ hawks_littledove.mp3
but you surprised me today, so in case u ever want to have more fun sometime
call me 03-9183-2495 ;)
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Avatar: The Last Airbender Critique
There are already a million of posts like this one, and I might be saying things that’ve already been said a million times but I’ve recently become reheated about the ATLA ending and wanted to let it out -_- No one asked, this is true, and this may or may not be a way to stall from this final project I still have to complete, but here’s 10 things I didn't like and/or would change about the show that likely shouldn’t need changing because they should have been done in the first place.
1. Katara should have apologized to Sokka after TSR
It should have happened and it didn't. In my canon-avoiding mind, Katara and Sokka have a heartfelt conversation where she apologizes for the awful things she said, Sokka says he forgives her and he's sorry if he wasn't as there for her as much as he should have been, which he follows up with "but I'm happy you listened to Aang and took his advice," leading into my next point
2. Katara should have said that not killing Yon Rha was her choice
And thats why it was the right one. Not because Aang already said it was wrong. No no. It was the right choice because that's what she chose. I love my mom to death and can't imagine losing her in any way, let alone the way Katara did. And I can't say for sure that if I was in her shoes that I know what I would have done f that yes I do I would have killed that motherfucker. But I also know that if Katara decided not to kill him, then that was one of two correct choices because they were Katara's choices to make. Not Aang's or anyone else's and this should have been clarified. I know it's a kids show but I said what I said. Next point.
3. Katara should have said more after telling Aang she was unsure at the Ember Island Players
Katara hasn't had any trouble saying how she feels, especially when it comes to helping others and making them feel better, whether she was right or wrong. But she holds back or overly softens blows and seems to even shrivel up at times when it comes to Aang. And me no likey. I had a boyfriend who I adored and admired and just genuinely looked up to. I'm also a shy and anxious person who hates confrontation, but because I loved him, I never refrained from telling him when he was wrong. I might have been a little shaky about it but I did it tho because when you want to be with someone you walk through the grass and stomp through the mud. And I personally feel like either in that moment or later on in an added scene that Katara should have voiced to Aang how unheard and disrespected she felt about his words before TSR and his actions on the balcony. I hate being uncomfortable and my secondhand embarrassment is toxic but I would love to see a scene of this. I always imagined Katara saying stuff like "But I'm not you Aang, and I'm not an Air Nomad," or "Zuko could understand why I needed to go, and I'd hoped you would too," or...I'm out of ideas but you get the idea. And you know what, I know I'm a hard Zutara shipper, but them having this conversation would honestly make me respect their relationship a whole lot more should it be believably written to end on a good note (I don't see how it could be but hey I'm an open minded person and I did think they were cute together once upon a time). Basically, all I'm saying is that Katara is no small voice and she should have been written that way when with Aang. Boyfriends can make you shy but should never make you weak. Period. Next point.
4. No rock! ONLY GROWTH!!!!!!!!!!!
I still squint my eyes whenever I remember that rock that unblocked Aang's chakra. What even was that? The laziest writing possible in my opinion. That's what. And Aang deserved better. What should have happened should have been that Aang started to lose to Ozai. And then as Ozai's about to deliver the finishing blow, Aang has flashbacks of everyone he's trying to save and honor, ending with a very prominent flashback of Katara with the guru's disembodied voice reminding Aang to let go of his attachments to become all he needs to be...then BOOM! Baby boy is back on his feet, chakra unblocked, he kicks Ozai's ass, I'm crying hysterically on the floor, as are the rest of us, and he wins. Then at the end of the series, instead of a kiss, he gives Katara an apology. She accepts, everyone else comes to join them on the balcony, cinematic group hug, camera pan into the sun. I don't know lol. Basically what I'm saying is that Aang did not deserve some deus ex machina. He deserved to grow and become his best self like everyone else got to.
5. Aang should have heard differently in The Storm
Katara is a very fate-minded person and this is when I saw potential for her to become a toxic character in regards to Aang. When he admits that he ran away from home 100 years ago, Katara tells him that that was basically a good thing because he was meant to be here and now. Like...no? What Aang did, though understandable for someone so young, was still wrong. Yes he would have maybe been killed but I'm like 10000000% sure they had a plan to protect and evacuate the literal avatar. And what was technically "meant to be" was a new avatar. But hey, what's done is done and kicking Aang while he's down is a no-no in this household. But that doesn't change the fact that Aang needed and deserved honesty. Maybe the fisherman could have said this, I don't know, but I feel like Aang should have been told by someone that although running away was wrong, it's a blessing he and Appa were able to survive and be able to help save the world now with his amazing friends found-family. Maybe this is too harsh, and maybe even outright wrong, but I felt like Aang deserved a truer answer here to support and comfort him.
6. MAILEE!!!!
Do I even need to go into detail?
7. Spiritual sigh*
Don't make me go into detail -_- I will say though that although Aang and Katara are both amazing individuals capable of earth shattering things, they were not a healthy fit for one another. This is evident in the original series and especially in their children from LOK. They both deserved the best but better than one another.
8. ZUTARAAAAAAA
This is a Zutara blog you KNEW this was coming, as it should. There's just too much. There's too damn much. I would give a real paragraph to this too, but, I mean, there's already so much proving that this was the pair. Fics, metas, rants, this site. Scroll through my blog or any of the ATLA related blogs I follow and...dude. These two were meant to be together and I'll mourn the narrative brilliance WASTED for no good reason every day for the rest of my life. No reason these two shouldn't be married with three kids. sob. I will take this part to say thank you to the amazing fic writers that gave Katara, Zuko, Mai, and Aang what they deserved that the writers didn't have the guts to give them themselves. Next point tho.
9. AANG AND ONJI
Good God almighty. Why not this? WHY NOT THIS? I'm putting on my bullet proof vest and I'm going to say this; Aanji is cuter than Zutara. Now before you scorn me or whatever, let me explain. Zutara for me is like steak. No. Chicken parmesan. I like chicken parmesan better. The point though is that Zutara is savory. You know? I don't see them as cute, I see them as Obviously. Aanji on the other hand is like a bag of my favorite candy. They are like a brownie. A cookie. Girl Scout Samoas!...I don't know what words are anymore. This post got way out of hand. I guess what I'm saying is that for Zutara, I scream, but for Aanji, I squeal. I hope that makes sense. But here's the main point I want to make. Onji never knew who Aang really was. And Aang was always, at his core, himself. She very obviously had a crush on Aang for his personality and that was crazy cute and frankly preferable to Katara's "I...guess he is." (you know exactly what I'm talking about) Anyway, I kept wanting more of them together. I wish all the time that we'd gotten to see her again, with a more fleshed out character and all. And in the way that I imagine the show should have gone, she could have been the perfect love interest for Aang, during this episode or way later, even in the comics! Another WASTED opportunity for greatness and I will, again, never recover T-T
10. Iroh get your ass back here
Maybe this is a misguided critique but I hated that Iroh just left Zuko alone in the fire nation at the end of the series. Baby was in trouble in every sense of the word and Iroh was just like "See ya! You got this nephew." I'm expected to believe that? I'm expected to accept that? No no no. He should have at least stayed for a few years to help Zuko stay upright and, you know, alive. And by "upright" I don't mean "good." I just mean been there to support him because Lord knows he needed it, at least in the beginning of his reign. It was cute that Iroh was able to settle down with his own teashop after all those years of violence and mourning and running and this and that. I was more than happy for him for being able to have that peace finally. But I still think it could have waited a little while longer so he could support Zuko.
That's it I guess. I know not everything I've said makes the most sense in one way or another, but I enjoyed putting it together all the same. Thank you for reading and have a great day. I'll go finish my final now.
(Edited for a typo)
#zutara#katara#aang#aanji#avatar the last airbender#uncle iroh#onji#on ji#Im wasting more time with these tags#avatar the last airbender critique#avatar critique#mai#avatar mai#ty lee#avatar ty lee#tylee#avatar tylee#the southern raiders
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Pokemon That Look Like Perverts
Here’s a post I’ve wanted to make for a long time. Actually I originally wanted to do it as a Twitter thread, but never got around to it. In part because I hate that blue website even worse than this blue website. But I have strong opinions about this. This isn’t about what Pokemon I like or don’t like, or which designs I think are good are not. It’s just about which Pokemon are, at the end of the day, into some creepy shit probably. I’ve tried to be as objective as I can but of course, true objectivity is impossible. First, some ground rules:
1) Though there is some overlap, being furry bait does not a pervert make. It’s not Lopunny’s fault she looks like that and people are weird about it.
2) I do not accept criticism.
That being said, here’s the list:
Gloom
Looks like a Redditor. At least he grows out of it.
Machoke
His name has “choke” in it and he is in prime thrusting position. You could make an argument about Machamp too but I’ll believe Machamp is a hard-working himbo over this motherfucker.
Cloyster
You ever heard of the movie “Teeth”?
Drowzee & Hypno
I mean Hypno is WAY worse but they’re both definitely Up To Something and I do not trust them.
Lickitung
I shouldn’t have to explain this.
I know you’re expecting Mr. Mime but no. Mr. Mime is creepy, but not a pervert. Don’t come at me about how Mr. Mime canonically fucks, I don’t want to hear it! I’m not here to kinkshame Ash’s mom! However, I’ll be checking back in with you later.
Jynx
Now Jynx on the other hand absolutely is a pervert. And racist.
Magmar
This one pains me because I had a shiny Magmar in my first playthrough of Crystal, but he has an ass on his face, he’s leering at you, and his original name is “Boober.”
Miltank
Now I know what you’re thinking. “Why Miltank? Like she’s annoying to fight but she’s just a cow!” She also drinks her own milk right in front of you. Think about it.
Slaking
He’s grabbing his right tit and leering at you while doing the full Jeff Goldblum sidelean. Of course he’s a pervert.
Ambipom
Now I didn't put Aipom on the list but something about Ambipom makes me uncomfortable but I can't quite put my finger on it. Ambipom could, though. And would.
Toxicroak
I don’t have an argument for this but look at it.
I’m actually not going to put Lickitung’s evolution Lickilicky on here. Yeah I know it’s twice the licking but like look at him. He looks like a big doofus doing the world’s largest blep. Lickitung looks like he’s going to lick my ear on a crowded subway.
Timburr, Gurdurr, Conkeldurr
Oh god oh christ they’re so veiny. Stop looking at me.
Scraggy & Scrafty
The only Pokemon expressly designed to be ready to flash you.
Cofagrigus
Keep your hands to yourself.
Greninja
Jesus H. Mackenzie Christ
Diggersby
While I will lay down my life in Lopunny’s defense, Diggersby on the other hand looks like he’d wolf whistle at me while passing a construction site.
“Jack why haven’t you put Inceneroar when you put Machoke on here?” Because he’s not conspicuously wearing underpants despite being a battle pet. And because he’s my best friend, shut up!!!
Salazzle
I love the BDSM lizard as much as the next person but look at her? Look at her. Yeah I said “it’s not enough to be furry bait” but this magnificent bitch is not an innocent bystander.
Guzzlord
Almost all of the Ultra Beasts could potentially qualify for the list but I just want to highlight Vore Incarnate here.
Inteleon
This lizard is an incel. What happened to our sweet boy Sobble? Where did we go wrong as parents?
Cramorant
CRAMORANT IS THE ONLY POKEMON THAT CANONICALLY VORES ANOTHER POKEMON.
Grimmsnarl
Grimmsnarl is the Pokemon that inspired me to make this list. I watched my Morgrem ascend into this hair-covered creep in horror. I said, out loud, “oh no, he looks like a pervert” and I knew what dark work lay ahead of me.
Obstagoon
Look this guy's based on the guys from KISS and I know all those old bastards are perverts.
Mr. Rime
Remember when I said Mr. Mime isn’t a pervert but I’ll get back to you?
Anyway, that’s my list. Again I accept no criticism but I may adjust this later. Thank you.
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Types of Paywall Abuse --- A post...
I think it’s time to tackle a topic that might make a few simmers uncomfortable, but we need to talk about it, because in addition to seeing a lot of people complain about it in general, I’ve also been getting some anons in my inbox talking about it. So let’s discuss this.
Now, first of all, I would like to clarify a couple of things:
When I speak of PAYWALLS here, I am talking about custom content that can ONLY be accessed by paying, or viewing an ad through a virus filled ad shortener link (which is just as bad). Pure early access content, where you pay for it and get it earlier than everyone else who gets it for free IS NOT PAYWALLED CONTENT.
This is why it is called a pay “WALL” because the wall portion indicates that you cannot access it without paying a fee/toll.
Second of all, I would like to remind the public at large that this is not hate, it is a critical commentary. I am not going to go for these creators personally, nor do I want to. I, as a member of the community who plays the sims 4, and downloads/uses CC, would like to simply hold some of these creators accountable for actions that are unethical and unsatisfactory to the community in which they serve. That is it. No more, no less. I simply believe they CAN do better and BE better than this.
Now, let’s get into the meat of this.
The main type of abuse that I have focused on has been what I call Permapaywalls.
Permapaywalls:
Content that cannot be accessed ANY other way than either paying a certain amount via patreon or another service, OR viewing a link through a virus-filled ad that puts your computer at risk.
There are many creators who are well known permapaywall creators, with at least 80% or more of their content being locked behind these permapaywalls. Sometimes they may release a few items for free, but this is very similar to being allowed to test drive a car before buying it. It’s to entice the user/viewer into liking the brand, and then buying in.
I’m not going to delve into this too much because I’ve already expounded on this topic a bit. So let’s go further.
The next type of abuse is what I like to call “Exclusive Loopholes”.
Exclusive Loopholes: Creators who try to “get around” EA’s early access policy by offering a majority of their content as early access, but holding back certain items only to those who “subscribe” to their “patreon exclusive” content.
There are some who are okay with this, thinking of this as a neat “bonus” for those who subscribe and support. However, the sims team made it clear:
Folks who have a Patreon page are welcome to provide folks with "early access" incentives for their content but it should be made available to the general public within 2-3 weeks of it being given to folks early.
- Simguru Drake, The Sims Forum
Notice nowhere in this answer does it say anything about BONUS CC incentives. Nowhere. This is just a method that certain creators try to use to keep people from decrying them as “big bad paywall creators”. This way they can say “oh look, we do early access, we’re following EA’s rules~!” while still holding content hostage.
If you want to offer your patreons some exclusives, here’s some ideas:
* Share pictures of your process, or work in progress content coming up.
* Allow them to have input into your process via polls and questions.
* Have an exclusive discord community just for your patreons where they can talk to you easier and share excitement and input about your content with you and each other.
* Have exclusive streams where only you and your patreons have the link to see you go live making content.
* Host a workshop on how to make CC using your process. (I see all of you who steal meshes from other sites sweating over this. ;D)
* Pause billing for a month and say “you know what, since you guys have been loyal and supported me, have a month of patreon on me!”
* Anything that honestly doesn’t involve only giving those patreons CC and not releasing it to the public.
Let’s talk about another type, and oh my lanta, this type has had some anons messaging me ALL up in arms. I like to call this type “The Donation Disaster”.
Donation Disaster: Someone who CONSTANTLY uses the “downs” in the up/downs of life as excuses to not release content on time, or delay it while still collecting payment from patreons. Bonus “you’re a jerk” points if they then try to use those misfortunate circumstances to beg for even more money from their patreons on multiple occasions.
Look, we all have junk that goes on in our lives. But when that junk is used as an excuse for you continually delaying content while still charging your patreons (and not using the pause feature), it makes them feel cheated.
In addition, when you then ask for donations to help you during your difficult time, and turn to your patreons instead of the support networks that are around you (ex: friends, family, religious communities, etc.), that can be VERY off-putting. You might be able to get away with it once, maybe twice, without a large chunk of your community turning against you.
But the more regular it becomes, and the more they hear about how strapped for cash you are and how you’re asking them to give more than their pledge, and you’ll soon find yourself being called a scammer. Regardless of your intent, or if your problems are reality, you’ll find people’s empathy for your situation will be lacking.
I’ve had a few anons in my inbox talking about different patreon creators that always seem to have an excuse for why updates aren’t coming just yet, or why x is broken, and with their excuse comes a plea for help with bills, and a link to a paypal or venmo.
Everyone has junk, don’t get me wrong. And it sucks to go through the junk we have in life, but if you’re reaching out to random people on the internet as your first method of support, you might need to be looking someplace else for support first before you come to the people who are already paying you for content you make. A one time “hey I’m in a bind, I need some help” donation thing might not be a bad thing, but when it becomes a constant pattern on your patreon....people aren’t going to take it well...at all.
And last, but not least, I’d like to talk about the last kind of patreon abuse, which frankly, is really upsetting to me. I don’t even really have a name for it, because it’s literally so much of a “what?” thing in my head. I don’t even understand why it goes on.
Now, this practice involves the black/POC community, and frankly, as a white girl, I don’t feel I should be speaking over the community and what they have to say. Thankfully @xmiramira spoke on it, all the way back in 2019. Here’s an excerpt from her fantastic POST:
Even new creators who JUST joined the community sliding up in TBS with locs and braids talking about Patreon only. GTFOH. I’m not okay with creators doing Patreon only CC PERIOD, but my main discussion is focused on NON BLACK simmers making CC catered to US, and making it PATREON EXCLUSIVE IN AN ATTEMPT TO FORCE US TO PLEDGE, and how people are ASSUMING that I’m OKAY WITH THIS, and ASSUMING that I’m letting it FLY in my community. Just because I don’t go off about shit as frequent as I used to doesn’t mean I cannot see and I am not doing what I can to keep the fuckery OUT.“Oh but your friend has a Patreon” I don’t have an issue with what @ebonixsims is doing because it’s all early release. It gets released to the public a few weeks later. It’s not being kept behind Patreon, forcing people to pledge to her. Despite this, she’s still doing really good with it.
So don’t get it twisted, I’m not on social media arguing with folks so people just assumed I’m okay with this shit, I’m really not. I’m actually two seconds off dropping Patreon share folders. (That also have my shit in it)
Supporting people is one thing, but a lot of these motherfuckers are becoming extremely exploitive, and it’s aggravating. It’s like you goofy motherfuckers sit in DMs like “yeah let’s make some CC for the negros and put it on Patreon” Fuck outta here. And it’s not even just hair, it’s skins and even CLOTHING STYLES. Y’all are really wilding the hell out. African necklaces, black girl magic chains, Juicy Couture sweatsuits. Who the fuck do you think you’re fooling? IM TIRED! Next time someone asks me where I got something and it’s Patreon exclusive I’m dropping a SFS link. FUCK OUTTA HERE!
Here’s the deal. The black community has been fighting for a while to be able to feel represented in this game. Here’s two articles (ONE, TWO) talking about this issue.
But the thing that has me upset is the fact that SO many creators of content that is AIMED at Black/POC simmers are locking that content (or a good majority of it) behind paywalls. And what’s even more shameful is some of those creators are POC themselves! They understand what it’s like to feel that they cannot make themselves or have sims that look like them in this game, yet they still lock their content away and expect people not just in the SIMS community, but in the POC community to pay through the nose for it.
The fact that this is STILL going on, two freaking years after she made this post, and that both NON POC creators and POC creators are engaging in this behavior is honestly disappointing and shameful. I believe black/POC creators should be supported, BUT they should be supported without depriving their OWN community of representation and access. And frankly, if you’re a NON POC creator and you’re specifically targeting this group to make money off of them with paywalls, I have only one thing to say to you:
I’d speak on it more, but frankly, I’d rather let the people who are actually in the black/POC community speak on it, so if any of you want to let loose in the comments about this problem, go wild. I’m happy to sit back and listen, and I suggest others do the same.
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'Till Death Do Us Part
Part 3 out of 13
When Alex has to bring Philip to work, he and Thomas discover that they both have something in common: they lost their love. They form an unexpected bond and connection about this that grows into something more.
A medium burn with parental feelings about Philip and flowers.
On AO3.
Ships: Jamilton
Warnings: grief and mentions of unhealthy coping, terminal illness and death.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 3: Virginian Spiderwort Means ‘Momentary Happiness’
“Eat lunch,” a sandwich along with a muffin and coffee was dropped on Alex’s desk, who jumped slightly in his seat and looked up.
“What?” he asked dumbly.
Thomas rolled his eyes: “You’ve been at it since six, I don’t even know why you were in that early that’s ridiculous, who comes in that early on a Thursday? And I haven’t seen you leave once. You need to eat, so eat, dumbass.”
“How do you know I started at six?”Alex asked.
“I didn’t, you send me an email around then, so I made a guess and you just confirmed it,” Thomas shrugged, ignoring Alex’s squawk, “Now eat.”
Alex picked up the lunch and started eating, while Thomas dropped into the chair opposite of him and watched him, sipping his own coffee.
“You’re just gonna sit there and watch me the entire time? Where is your lunch?”
“Already ate it and yes,” Thomas answered, “I know how this goes, you’ll come up with a good sentence and stop eating to write it down and then it’s a few hours later.”
Alex looked guilty and chastised, so he closed his laptop, which he had been staring at, and focused on Thomas: “So, how have you been?”
“That’s so awkward, I feel bad for us both,” Thomas cringed.
“Well, I’m sorry that I am not a great conversationalist,” Alex threw up his hands in defeat.
“According to Angie you are,” Thomas immediately regretted it, he didn’t want Alex to know he and Angelica talked about him.
“Yeah, but most of the time people I’m talking to aren’t you.” Fuck, was that too revealing? Did Thomas know he was struggling, because of stupid feelings?
“I’m sorry my face upsets you,” Thomas rolled his eyes, misinterpretingthe comment“Anyway, how did you get in so at six, I’m pretty sure schools don’t start that early. Where did you put Philip?”
“Oh, Pip is with Eliza and Maria for the week,” he said, “Eliza is so busy after the opening of the orphanage and they thought having a kid comfortable with them there would help the others get out of their shell and Pip had missed his Aunties. He’s staying till Wednesday.”
“And you decided that working abnormal amounts was smart when you got a bit of a break from your usual responsibilities?” Thomas judged, not so silently.
Alex grinned sheepishly and shrugged: “It’s what I do best, but I’m not being a complete dumbass, I leave a a somewhat normal time, I swear.”
“Hmmh.”
“I’m serious, I promised Angie I’d leave each day before six and she checks, it’s terrifying,” Alex shuddered and Thomas laughed: “Hear, hear.”
After that Alex quickly ate his lunch while they talked about the latest meeting, which lead to Alex complaining about Lee and Adams and how they could go fuck themselves.
When his lunch had completely disappeared, Thomas got up to leave. Before he could, however, Alex called out: “Hey, Thomas?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks again. For, you know, checking up on me,” he said awkwardly, “If you, like, ever need help or something, call me, okay?”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Thomas promised, not thinking the day he would take Alex up on it would come anytime soon.
He was wrong in that assessment, because that Monday he called Alex, hands shaking and eyes blurry.
“Thomas? What is it? I’m already at work.” Of course he was, it was only 6:15 in the morning, who wouldn’t be at work at that time.
“Can you-” a shuddery sigh that he hated, “Can you tell Wash- Washington that I’m not coming- coming in today?” he asked.
“God, Thomas, are you alright?” the worry was evident in Alex’s tone.
“Not really,” Thomas sounded small, “I didn’t want to bother you, but Jemmy is away and I normally can handle this stuff, but it was all unexpected and now I’m here on my fucking kitchen floor calling you. Fuck.”
“I’m coming to you.” Alex said.
“You don’t need to-”
“Yes, I do. Come on, I’m not leaving you like that. You’re getting a motherfucking patented Hamilton hug, live with it,” Alex told him, “I’ll be there as soon as I can, hang in there.”
“…Okay,” the line went dead.
Alex hurried to Washington’s office, for once grateful that the man liked to come in early on Monday’s to ‘kick off the week right’ or whatever.
“Come in.”
“Sir, I’m taking the day off,” Alex burst in, “Thomas is not coming in either, he just called me. I thought, I’d let you know.”
Washington looked surprised: “You and Thomas…?” he trailed off curiously.
“Nothing like that, sir,” sadly enough, he added mentally, “He helped me out in a rough spot and I’m returning the favor. We found we had something in common.”
“Well, then go. An honest man always returns his favors, son,” Washington shooed him out of the office.
“Not your son and thank you, sir,” Alex said gratefully, before rushing off.
The drive to Thomas’s, admittedly very impressive, house took about thirty minutes and Alex was out the car and on the driveway immediately as he practically ran to the door and knocked: “Hey, hey, Thomas. It’s me, open up.”
After a moment the door swung open, revealing a Thomas Alex had never seen before.
He was in sweatpants and a loose tank top, his eyes were red-rimmed and his hair a mess. But above all, he looked small, hunched in on himself and lacking the confidence and arrogance that usually clung to him like a second skin.
Alex didn’t waste a second gathering him up into his arms. It wasn’t as comforting as it could have been because Thomas was a fucking giant and therefore could not fit into Alex’s arms completely, but that didn’t stop him from trying.
Thomas clung to him tightly, chocked off sobs being ripped out of his chest as he cried.
They just stood there in the door opening. Alex couldn't really move Thomas around like the other had done him, so he just had to wait.
“Sorry,” Thomas said after a while, his voice raw as he broke away.
“No sorry, not today, okay?” Alex told him, “Now, why don’t we set you down on the couch, yeah? It’s more comfy and definitely better than the porch.”
“Yeah, sounds good,” Thomas agreed and numbly walked over to a living room, Alex trailing behind him.
Thomas collapsed on the couch, looking like a miserable heap and Alex had to pause and think of a plan of attack. He’d been a Lieutenant Colonel, he could do this. First, he needed to know the situation.
He sat down next to Thomas: “Hey, dude, can you tell me what happened? You said it was unexpected, what hit you out of nowhere?”
“Phone,” Thomas gestured vaguely to the kitchen, then didn’t elaborate beyond a, “Got an email.”
Okay, not much information, but a lead.
Alex went to the kitchen, there was an uneaten bowl of soggy cereal on the counter and a phone on the floor. He threw the cereal away and toasted some bread before he picked up the phone and read the start of the email:
My dearest, Thomas
I hope the future finds you well. Yes, the future! I found this site in which you can write emails that will be send 10 years later, so I do hope you’re still using the same email address or this will be awkward.
You may be wondering why today? It’s not a particular date for us, but I’m writing you this email because I know I won’t be there when you read it.
I had another attack today, but you know that of course, though maybe you’ve forgotten all the attacks through the years. We’ve been doing this for over three years already and I know I have not been writing the dates down.
But none of that now, this was supposed to be a pick-you-up, because I love you, dearest.
Alex stopped reading, this was not for his eyes. He quickly did the math. Thomas had said she’d died seven years ago, this was written ten years ago, so they still had three years together at this point.
God, he couldn't imagine what it was like to know your lover was dying and you could do nothing to stop it, just prepare for the inevitable.
The toast popped out the toaster and Alex locked the phone, before putting the toast on a plate and getting a glass of water. He walked back to the living room and handed Thomas the food as he gently said: “Come on, you can’t be sad on an empty stomach.”
That got a small amused huff from the Virginian, which Alex counted as a win.
He ate slowly and in silence and Alex just waited for him to gather himself. This was not a date on where you expected the missing to hit, there were no fun rituals – like on a birthday – to keep or something to celebrate or commemorate.
Just sadness.
Sudden sadness.
Alex looked at Thomas, who softly chewed on his toast. He didn’t think dragging Thomas outside today would be good for him. He needed time to process the message, to think of what his late wife wanted him to know for when she wasn’t there.
He now regretted not reading the rest of the message, just so that he could have a grip on Thomas’s thoughts, but he knew it had been the right thing to do.
When the plate was empty and the glass gone, Alex announced: “Okay, we’re having a sad couch day, but you need to tell me how to operate your TV and where you keep blankets, because you need a blanket nest to be sad in, alright.”
Thomas blinked at him owlishly for a moment, then shook his head with muted amusement and whispered: “TV is just normal and there is a guestroom, second door upstairs, I keep the blankets there.”
“Good,” Alex got up, “Are you alright for a moment?”
The other only nodded. Alex didn’t like how quiet Thomas was. He might not be the loudest person, but there would always be a presence hanging around him that made him feel like the loudest person in the room and that was now completely gone.
Alex rushed through the house, dropping of the plate and glass in the kitchen and putting on the kettle, before taking the stairs two steps at a time.
At times like these he was happy he had top surgery, because catching your breath with a binder on fucking sucked and running overall was a bad idea.
The guest room was less extravagant than he’d expected. It was decked out for comfort and stylish, but it wasn’t over the top. Actually the whole house was more stylish than expensive just for the sake of being expensive, something Alex hadn’t realized before.
Of course, the only befores there had been were company parties that Thomas had offered to host wherein he showed off on purpose.
Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen pictures during those parties either.
He grabbed the blankets and some pillows from the guest room and went back downstairs carefully, he didn’t want to trip or drop the blankets, but he also just wanted to be nosy.
The walls were still void of pictures.
It tugged at Alex’s heart, his own walls had been bare before he’d met John and all his other friends and they’d filled it up over the years of happy moments, but Thomas had nothing. Though he didn’t have time to dwell on it now, he had more important matters to attend to.
Thomas was still in the same position he’d left him in, staring at the still turned off TV. Alex dropped the blankets on the floor, only scooping one out of the pile to drape over Thomas’s shoulders, before finishing the tea.
How strange, he mused as he made the tea, me and Thomas are neither tea drinkers, except on days like these, except with each other.
He walked back to Thomas and handed him the mug, relieved when the other took it gratefully and let the steam warm his face as he burrowed into the blanket slightly.
Alex was still concerned about the hunched over position, which was rich coming from him, he knew, but getting lost in work and fucking up your posture was different than getting lost in grief and fucking up your posture.
So, he gently pushed Thomas back into the pillow of the couch and Thomas went easily. For all the man could fight him on every little thing at work, he wasn’t putting up a fight now and Alex was glad for that fact, even if it was slightly disturbing.
Taking the blankets, he draped them over Thomas and himself after he’d grabbed the remote and put on a nature documentary.
Thomas gave him a bemused look and Alex was never more relieved that Thomas was judging him, anything was better than that empty look in those usually lively eyes.
“It’s soothing,” he shrugged, “and low effort.”
“Fair,” Thomas nodded, his voice hoarse and raw, making Alex regret not putting honey into his tea, because it sounded like it hurt.
They sat in silence as they watched a frog hop over a leaf while the narrator told them slightly horrifying facts about the creature in a monotone voice.
After about an hour of animal facts and nature relations, Thomas spoke up: “She asked me if I had any kids yet.”
Alex looked up, but didn’t speak, just let Thomas figure it out.
“We wanted kids, I think maybe me more than her to be honest, though she loved being an aunt,” he went on, “But with her condition, well, pregnancy was just too risky and when we knew just how serious it was… Neither of us wanted to make an adopted child go through losing a parent again, so we never had kids.”
He took a shuddery breath: “And then she asked if I had them, she hoped I found that and I don’t know-”
Tears were falling again and without thinking Alex pulled Thomas into his side and Thomas didn’t protest as he burrowed his head closer. He whispered: “I always knew she wanted me to move on from her, live a good life, but hearing it again after having time to process her being gone. It’s- it’s different.”
Alex just ran a soothing hand over Thomas’s back as he thought about that. After a second he slowly said: “Knowing and accepting are different things and sometimes one is harder than the other.”
Thomas mulled over his words, then said: “Well, I hate accepting.”
He didn’t tell Thomas that moving on was good, that it was healthy. Both of them knew that well enough, they must have heard it a thousand times from concerned friends. It was always meant well, but sometimes you just didn’t want to hear it, not in moments like these.
“She told me she had something to say to me, but she didn’t know what just yet and that she had to think about it and tell me when she figured it out, because she still had time,” Thomas broke the silence again.
“That- that must be hard to read,” Alex told him.
The other nodded into his side, then said: “I think I know what it is though…”
“Do you want to share?” Alex asked.
“Yeah, she- I never realized this, but she started telling me how I would do great things and I better have a picture of her with me so that she could see it. I keep her in my wallet. I always thought she meant in the world. Big responsibility to have on my shoulders, but I tried. For her.”
Thomas fiddled with the blanket, he wasn’t looking at Alex, but he seemed content to curl up in the shorter man’s side.
“But I’m suddenly startingto think that’s not what she meant,” the words sounded small and Alex’s chest constricted painfully. He didn’t know how he would react if something he’d believed about John for years would be ripped out from under him one day without warning.
“What do you think she meant?” he asked, trying to keep Thomas talking, maybe if he said it out loud it would make more sense than when it swirled around in his head.
“I- I think she meant that I would- ugh- it’s- you had to-”
“Take your time.”
“She was always telling me about the great things in life, but she loved The Lord of the Rings, those books and movieskept her company throughout all the hospital visits. Her favorite quote was: ‘Saruman believes it is only great power that can hold evil in check, but that’s not what I found. I found it is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folks that keep the darkness at bay’,” he explained.
There was a moment of silence in which Thomas hesitated.
“It might be stupid, but I think she subconsciously absorbed that. That for her the great things were the small things,” Thomas said, “I once took her on a simple picnic and she said it was the greatest day of her life.”
Alex nodded along, he could already see where this was going, but he let Thomas set the pace of the conversation.
“I think she meant that I would get to do all the little things that made life great, have all the milestones we never got to have, but she phrased it in her own Martha-esque way,” there was a smile in his voice as he said that.
“Did she always have her own way of saying things?” Alex asked, hoping to keep whatever was bringing that smile to Thomas’s face going.
“Yeah,” a success, “she read a lot and she listened to a lot of music. She played guitar, wrote her own lyrics too. She was great with words, much better than me. I think she just consumed so many ways people expressed themselves through words that she had her own dialect. It was completely English, but just slightly different. It’s hard to explain.”
“I get it,” Alex assured him, “She sounds wonderful.”
“Oh, you would have liked her,” Thomas said, sounding strangely proud of that fact, “She took the time to make fun of my magenta suits in her email to me,” Alex snorted at that, “And you both take no shit and it’s easy to talk to you.”
Alex was shocked at that, no one told him he was easy to talk to. He had opinions and would let you know immediately, making you debate if you disagreed with him. Sure, he could be charming, but he made you think when you talked. It wasn’t easy.
He said nothing.
“Apparently she wrote it while I was next to her,” Thomas suddenly said.
“Really?”
“Yeah, I was asleep in a chair. It was after one of her attacks, I think I remember this one, because it suddenly got way more serious after that, it was the heaviest we had in months,” his voice trailed off into a whisper, “We’d thought she was doing better.”
God, Alex couldn't imagine and that voice felt like a punch in the gut, his arm reflectively tightening around Thomas.
“Fuck, in the email she said she still has time,” Thomas breathed, “I know it was still a while after that before she- she died, but- God, it fucking hurts, Alex. We knew we didn’t have forever, but reaching thirty would have been fucking nice.”
There was that all familiar anger at what could have been if faith hadn’t decided to be so cruel. Alex knew it oh so well and just watched as Thomas clenched his fist, but didn’t get up. The anger drained out of him almost as quickly as it had come and his heaving breaths turned into sobs.
And if that wasn’t familiar as well.
Alex quickly brought up the other arm and pulled Thomas into a hug. They were cocooned in blankets and cuddling on the couch and it should be weird, but it just wasn’t.
It seemed Thomas was done talking now, because he stayed silent as the time dragged on. Once Alex realized he wasn’t going to talk, he started humming. Alex had never done well with quiet, though he didn’t mind that much, but he more thought it would nice for Thomas to have something other than his thoughts to focus on.
They sat there until their stomachs decided it really was time for lunch. Alex offered to make it so that Thomas could stay seated, but while Thomas gratefully accepted his offer to make lunch, he followed him into his kitchen and sat at the table.
His eyes fell on the phone that Alex had left on the counter when he had made them tea. His fingers twitched, but he didn’t move any further than that, conflicted look on his face. Alex let him figure it out on his own and just focused on making French toast.
In the end he picked up the phone and stared at it for a moment, before putting it down on the table, screen down.
He pushed the French toast around his plate for a while, Alex didn’t say a thing, just watched him patiently. If Thomas didn’t want to eat that would be bad, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world for just a day.
It might be bad for Alex to let Thomas indulge in bad habits, but he promised himself he would make sure it was a one of thing. He managed to make sure Philip ate and slept enough despite his own inability to take care of himself, he could do the same for Thomas.
Thomas ate a few bites, it was hard to pretend to care about food right now, but Alex had tried and he knew Martha would hate him neglecting himself.
God, Martha and her stupid- No, he couldn't think that, she meant so well, but it just hurt. She should have told him.
Though that might have been worse.
He looked at his phone again, uncertainty creeping in. Would Alex think it was a bad idea to read the email again? He just wanted to know if he hadn’t imagined it. He hadn’t really committed it to his memory like all her other writings through the tears, but he doubted he would be able to read it without crying all over again.
An idea suddenly came to mind. It was a stupid idea, but Alex had seen him suggest multiple stupid ideas so it wasn’t anything new.
“Can you read it to me?” the words were out before he even realized.
“What?”
“The email,” he clarified, “Can you read it to me?”
“You’d want that?” Alex seemed unsure and Thomas could feel the doubt creeping in.
He shook it off, he’d made up his mind: “Yes, I just want to know the whole thing, but I can’t really read it, because I’ll start crying, so you have to.”
Alex hesitated for a moment: “Alright, if you’re sure…”
“I am.” Thomas unlocked the phone and handed it to Alex, trying to ignore how his hand shook slightly.
After a deep breath, Alex started:
“My dearest, Thomas
I hope the future finds you well. Yes, the future! I found this site in which you can write emails that will be send 10 years later, so I do hope you’re still using the same email address or this will be awkward.
You may be wondering why today? It’s not a particular date for us, but I’m writing you this email because I know I won’t be there when you read it.
I had another attack today, but you know that of course, though maybe you’ve forgotten all the attacks through the years. We’ve been doing this for over three years already and I know I have not been writing the dates down.
But none of that now, this was supposed to be a pick-you-up, because I love you, dearest.
I know I tell you all the time, but maybe you haven’t heard this in a while by now, so I’m telling you again. I love you so incredibly much and you deserve all the love in the world and I hope you have someone to remind you.
It might seem strange for your wife to hope you have found love again, but I truly do hope you went on to live a happy life with people who love you and make you happy.
God, maybe you’ll have kids.
If you do, tell them that their Aunt Martha is watching over them from the stars. I promise to guide their little feet home to you safely and sing them lullabies when they’re having a nightmare, just a song between them and the moon.
I don’t want my passing to be the end for you. I have seen your soul and I know there is so much in store for you, I just can’t place my finger on what, but I still have time to figure it out and I’ll tell you when I do.
Now that I’m writing this, I honestly don’t know what to tell you. I thought I would have a hundred pages ready for you, but I don’t.
You know that moment when you have dinner with someone, but you’ve been with each other the whole day, so you can’t ask them how their day has been? It’s kind of like that.
I have seen you the entire day today and if I hadn’t I can tell you in person in a bit, but by the time you’re reading this, you’ve had time to make new memories without me and you can only tell them to my grave or my picture.
This is so morbid. Sorry, dearest.
I could take more time to think about what I want to write you, but I have this strong urge to finish it now. It’s almost like I’m running out of time. I am, in a way. But I still have tomorrow, the doctors said I’ll make it through the night with no problem and I’ll be discharged tomorrow. They say I have a good chance at a few more years and by God I hope they’re right.
It’s ironic how you’re asleep in an uncomfortable hospital chair by my side as I’m writing this.
You stress too much. It makes you look old. I know I’ve always joked about you being an old man, but you don’t have to make it a reality by aging from the stress.
I hope the creases by your eyes become more pronounced than the ones on your forehead. I hope so many things for you and I hate that I can never give you all the care you’ve given me.
You’re a good man, Thomas. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
I know you worry. You worry too much, just like the stress. Just promise me you won’t give in to all the doubt you create for yourself. Appearances aren’t everything, I know you care about style (the magenta suits are really taking it a bit too far, you are lucky I love you, you ridiculous man), but try comfort every once in a while as well, okay?
Now, I’m sounding like my mother, God this whole email has gotten out of hand…
Not that I had much of a plan to start with. I saw this and just had to write to you, to tell you how worthy you are and how much I wanted to have a forever with you.
It feels rude in a way to write you like this, you might have moved on, created a new life and I’m disrupting it from beyond, but I know you, Thomas, I know you so well that it hurts sometimes and I also know that you have a hard time letting go.
I hope you have that life we could never have.
I hope you’ve found a job that makes you happy, with a spouse that cares for you and a picket white fence that America tries to sell in every movie with a happy ending.
But I fear that you got stuck on us, on me.
And while I am flattered if that is the case (and not bitter if it isn’t, God I’m so happy for you if I’m wrong, dearest), then I want you to know it’s okay to move on, it’s okay to live.
God, this is one depressing sappy mess.
But we’re both kind of sappy depressing messes, aren’t we? You brought me flowers to the hospital today, you remembered my favorites are Virginian Spiderworts. Did you know they mean ‘momentary happiness’?
Momentary happiness, like I said: depressingly sappy.
I don’t know if I told you the meaning, but it is an interesting bouquet to bring to a hospital bed of someone terminally ill, you know? And I love you for it. Never change, Thomas, never change. Stay my sweet little dork, I beg you. If someone tries to change you, tell em no or I will come beat them up for you.
I will forever protect you, I promise.
I think this is good and if it isn’t you won’t really get to leave a review, so I’ll be safe either way. So, this is it, this is goodbye, for now at least. I still have the luxury of giving you a hug when you wake up and I’m gonna keep doing that till the end.
Stay strong, I love you,
Martha, your beloved wife”
In the end they were both crying and Alex was impressed with himself that he had managed to make it to the end. The email gave him more questions about Thomas, but he it wasn’t really the time to ask about his late wife’s protectiveness.
He cleared his throat after a moment and said: “Martha was amazing.”
That got him a surprised chuckle as Thomas’s breathing started to become more regular. He swallowed and agreed: “God, she was.”
“Tell me more about her,” Alex requested. He remembered how nice it had been to tell Thomas about John and he found himself curious about the woman that had enchanted Thomas.
“She was the most intelligent woman I’ve ever met, and I know Angelica,” Thomas started, Alex let out a small amused huff, “Martha- Martha was the kind of person you had to look at, you know? When she walked into a room, it got brighter.”
Thomas perked up considerably when talking about Martha. He was still slightly curled into himself on the kitchen chair, but he was at least making eye contact with Alex.
“I used to be overly anxious – still am, but I’m managing – and she was always there for me when I needed it. She was a spitfire, she talked when I couldn’t and stood up for me,” Thomas confessed, “I try to embody her when I need to make a presentation.”
Alex was taken aback by it: “I didn’t know you got anxious.”
“It’s better when arguing with you, I have to think too hard on how to counter you to think about stressing,” Thomas tossed out casually, immediately hoping that wasn’t too revealing, he’d already compared the man with Martha once today.
But Alex just smiled happily, though it seemed unconscious to Thomas’s eye.
“Martha never argued with me like you do, though,” Thomas mused trying to save himself, “She would just roll her eyes at me whenever I did something she found unnecessary.”
“Like what?” Alex raised a brow with amusement.
There was probably too much glee in the man’s eyes for the question to be innocent, but Thomas didn’t care: “Well there was one time a lady stopped me on the street and she asked if I did a lot of desk work, which I did, so I said yes. Then she asked me if it made my back hurt-”
“Naturally also yes,” Alex nodded.
“Indeed, so then she asked me if she could touch me and at this point I’m scared, but too far in to say no,” Thomas tells him, “So she just put her hand on my back and starts praying.”
“She blessed you?” Alex sounded delighted and disbelieving.
“Yes and I did not want to be there. So, I was sending Martha ‘come help me, please’-looks, but she just shook her head and watched me. I think she would have stepped in, if she didn’t think it hilarious,” Thomas rolled his eyes fondly, “She always asked me if I felt blessed whenever we visited a church afterwards.”
“That is hilarious,” Alex giggled at the story and Thomas felt a strange sort of pride that he made Alex giggle like that. He’d heard the other laugh before, but never giggle. It was a light sound that eased some of the pain in Thomas’s chest.
He smiled at Alex and admitted: “Maybe in hindsight it was.”
There was a natural pause in their conversation, until Alex asked: “How are you feeling?”
Thomas thought about it for a moment. The ache he’d felt in his chest when he had seen the email that morning had dulled. It was still sharper than on most days, but it didn’t feel as overwhelming and never ending as it had done.
“Better,” he answered honestly.
“That’s good to hear,” Alex said, “Do you want to go back to the couch and watch a movie? This time I’ll even let you pick.”
“Sure,” Thomas agreed easily.
“Great, do you have popcorn or something?” Alex asked, already moving around in his kitchen to check the cabinets, not even waiting for an answer.
“Upper left,” Thomas said after a while of watching Alex struggle to find it.
Alex looked up to the shelf, then back at Thomas, before he huffed: “This is just discrimination against short people.”
Thomas laughed, before getting up to grab the popcorn.
They stayed on the couch for the rest of the day, Thomas leaning into Alex’s side, neither of them caring.
For dinner Thomas made Mac-’N-Cheese and they ate while having a passionate discussion about whether the characters in the horror movie they’d watched had made the right decisions.
When Alex said he was going home, Thomas felt kind of sad about it.
“Goodbye, Alex. I- Thank you. For coming. You didn’t have to do that, but it was nice, so thanks,” he said awkwardly.
“Hey, anytime,” Alex smiled, “Besides, it was the least I could after what you did for me and-” he hesitated, “and you’re actually not that bad of a company now I know you better, so-” he shrugged, “did it with pleasure.”
Thomas smiled, it was genuine and crinkled his eyes in the way Martha had adored. He didn’t know Alex melted at the sight too.
“You’re not that bad either, Alex,” he said softly.
“Well, I see you at work,” Alex cleared his throat and stepped away then he looked back and added, “Don’t come in if you’re feeling shitty tomorrow, okay.”
“I won’t,” and Thomas found it wasn’t a lie.
Again, this is not a guide on how to deal with grief, for the love of god don’t take advise from fics. I have tried my best to make it not shit and somewhat accurate, but I can promise nothing.
I debated posting the letter separate of the fic, but it’s important to the fic and the chapter title, so I kept it like this even if it’s a bit clunky. I only decided here to make the flowers important and I thought it very descriptive of their realtions, since both knew it would end sooner than later, no matter how happy they got to be during their time together.
Also, the blessing thing actually happened to me, slightly different, but it happened. And no, I do not feel blessed and yes it was awkward and none of my friends came to my rescue.
#RR writing#tw: grief#Hamilton#Hamilton AU#alexander hamilton#thomas jefferson#george washington#Martha Wayles Jefferson mentioned#Jamilton#'Till Death Do Us Part#'Till Death Do Us Part Part 3#'Till Death Do Us Part AU
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tdbk hurt/comfort?
writing this just made me think about my long-running theory that principal nezu is a mastermind villain who is taking out his grudge on humanity via slowly destroying the next generation of heroes bc how ELSE can you explain the amount of personal injury-lawsuits-that-never-were within UA’s supervision
anyways i would have made this w shouto injured but i feel like IGFTD already has enough of bakugou babysitting him so *reverse uno*
(definitely not at all thinking abt the latest updates of the manga aha..ha)
it’s hardly the first time shouto has seen bakugou get his ass beat. he doesn’t have midoriya’s abysmal track record, but midoriya mostly destroys himself; bakugou tends to get battered by external forces. now that he’s thinking about it he can’t think of another classmate with worse luck, except maybe mineta, but that’s more punitive justice than anything.
habit is a great deadener, or so he’s read. that may be true on a day-to-day basis, but it does nothing to diminish the gut-punch of worry when bakugou’s explosions stutter to a halt so abruptly that it makes him look up just in time to see him plummeting out of the sky, jagged shard of rock protruding through his chest.
midoriya is yelling from somewhere, panicked cry of ‘kacchan!’ turning into a furious scream midway, and shouto is skating upwards on instinct, ice solidifying beneath his feet, arms extending and pulse thudding with memories of ‘how sad, todoroki shouto’ echoing through his mind.
not so slow, this time. bakugou knocks right into him, gauntlets and all, heavy enough to knock them both off the ice; it shifts and reforms beneath them as he grapples for a better hold. somewhere above them a berserk midoriya is exploding into green light, blows breaking through the villain’s crumbling shell as the mountainside continues to fall apart; shouto’s hands are slick with what he can only hope is sweat as he rides the ice to safety.
they land roughly between the trees, rumbling from above muffled through the foliage just enough that he can hear bakugou cussing, which he has rarely been so happy to hear.
“get your damn hands off me, icyhot,” bakugou snaps, as shouto’s heartbeat slows incrementally. when their eyes meet his are uncharacteristically hazy, sweat and grime sticking his hair to his face.
shouto’s eyes lower, and his gut clenches.
“stop that,” bakugou demands, as shouto’s ears buzz. the rock has embedded itself in his abdomen, and all around it red is soaking through even the dark materials of his suit, torso slick with blood.
“bakugou...”
“i’m fine,” bakugou grits out, with unconvincing anger. somewhere distant there is a final sounding boom, and then the ground starts to shake. “worry about the damn- earthquake.”
“shit,” shouto says, under his breath, mind racing. earthquake, and mountain, and- landslide. and bakugou, with a poisoned piece of stone stuck right through him.
he rises to his knees. when he moves bakugou recoils, smacking his hands away with an alarming lack of violence.
“bakugou,” shouto says. “i’m not going to leave you behind.”
“worry about your damn self!” bakugou retorts, though his gaze flickers to the mountain above. “you’re not carrying me out of here.”
for a second, panicked frustration overwhelms him; he inhales deeply, stands.
“fine. come on. get going.”
it’s cruel, really; bakugou’s face twists, and then he’s stumbling to his feet, leaking blood as he does. he barely makes it two steps before he’s swaying violently, face gone sheet-white under the mask.
silently, shouto hoists an arm under his shoulder. bakugou, jaw clenched tight, looks away. it’s as much of a concession as he’ll get.
ice carries them upwards, over the trees, and he glances backwards to find bakugou’s warnings prescient: the mountain top has deteriorated, great chunks of rock sent spiralling downwards with increasing speed. midoriya and the others are fine, he tells himself. he can’t focus on two things at once.
what he can’t stop himself from focusing on, as they make rapid progress overhead, is the way that bakugou is sagging into his hold, dampness spreading through his suit; the pallor of his cheek and the rasping quality of his breaths. he feels faintly nauseous.
bakugou isn’t dying. not now. what a stupid, ridiculous way to die this would be- three years into UA, having survived every other ridiculous thing life has thrown their way. dying at the hands of some elemental villain, for the price of diverting his attention from his exhausted classmates.
fuck, why does this always happen to him? his fingers closing on air as dabi whisks bakugou away- his father in his grip as shigaraki pierces through bakugou right above him- it’s always like this, in his face, like fate derives some personal enjoyment out of his helplessly witnessing bakugou’s near-death experiences.
he doesn’t realise how tight his grip is getting until bakugou hisses in unwilling pain; he relaxes it a fraction, guilt sickening, as he lowers them towards the rocks. there’s enough height and distance that the landslide won’t reach them- or won’t reach them fast enough to disrupt the process, anyways.
bakugou all-but crumples as soon as they’re on firm ground, folding inwards like a house of cards, and shouto is on his knees besides him instantly, hands fumbling for his medical kit.
he’s a third year; he shouldn’t be so shaky when it comes to rescues, but his fingers are unsteady.
“i’m going to have to take that out.”
“rule one of on-site aid,” bakugou rasps. his eyes are half-lidded, torso jerking irregularly as he watches shouto move.
never remove the knife from the stab wound. “i know. but you’ve seen what these rocks do. it’s hurting you worse than the blood loss can.”
“came first on the medical test, but who’s counting,” bakugou mutters. he keeps spasming, face tight with pain, and shouto remembers his brushes with the stone- like having fire ants crawling over your skin, red-hot and vicious. to have that inside of you-
ten minutes, if you’re lucky, aizawa had said.
“i’m taking it out,” he repeats, redundantly, and wills his hands to stop shaking, ice spreading around the shard as bakugou gasps and flinches.
“fucking- get off me, you bastard, get-”
he’s freezing around the stone now, forces himself not to react to the wet sounds of ice sliding through blood and organ to wrap itself around the intruding shard. bakugou’s cursing has turned to incoherent noise, and he can’t bring himself to look up, own breathing heavy to his ears as he coils the ice like a hook, tugs softly then harder.
“fuck!” bakugou howls, as he grits his teeth and painstakingly pulls back another fragment; a defensive explosion hits him right in the side, and he pulls too hard on instinct, whole shard yanked free as bakugou screams bloody murder.
shouto falls back with a piece of rock the size of his forearm in his lap, covered in blood and tissue and ice, almost gets sick at the feel of it. instead he drops it hastily, slams an arm down over the gushing wound as his free hand grabs for the spray. top of the line hero resources; knits any wound back together, hatsume had promised, and why the hell had he trusted hatsume mei of all people with his tech? if this is one of her misses-
he sprays, blood splattering him in the face when he withdraws long enough to do so, and then keeps spraying so violently that his hand cramps, watching tissue knit itself in a disturbing parody of organs as the bleeding slows.
for a beat he just sits and stares, chest rising and falling. there is still a hole through bakugou, but it’s like it’s been half-sketched in the way it’s supposed to look, veins and muscle and what could be a kidney half-fleshed out within the empty space.
“motherfucker,” bakugou chokes out, tight, and then shoves himself half-upright just in time to throw up off the side of the rock. shouto’s hands have resumed shaking.
bakugou collapses back onto the rock, arms wobbly from the exertion, and for a second he just lies there, shouto’s pulse slowing ever so slightly as he takes in the mess they’re in, blood and guts and ice and some half-mended massacre in bakugou’s abdomen.
more than ten minutes, though. enough to get actual medical care. that has to be enough.
“todoroki,” bakugou says. shouto startles, leans over. his gaze is unfocused, hazily attentive.
“am i dying?”
it’s said matter-of-factly; instinctively his stomach turns.
“no.”
“don’t lie to me.”
“i have never lied to you,” shouto retorts, intent. “you’re not dying.”
bakugou looks at him, brow furrowed deeply with effort as he blinks in frustration. can’t quite muster up the energy to concentrate, shouto assumes. it makes him look oddly like his younger self, all screwed up suspicion.
not dying, shouto tells himself, fiercely. not fucking dying.
he stomps down the emotion, but he’s lost his touch over the past three years because bakugou’s mouth twitches wryly, eyes briefly sharp.
“’f i’m not dying what’s with that look?”
“what look?”
“the fucking- hero’s crisis. failed rescue.”
“shut up,” shouto says, abruptly harsh. “that’s not- shut up. you’re not dying.”
“feel like shit though,” bakugou mutters, eyes drifting shut again.
if the roles were reversed bakugou would have said and you look like it too. but he’s not bakugou, even if he is the only other person in the class that’s as poorly equipped to play nurse; he can’t muster the normalcy to banter. he just keeps replaying bakugou’s screaming, eyes caught on the tear-tracks on his cheeks. he hadn’t even noticed him crying during.
help is coming. help has to be coming. bakugou will last until then. but he’d hate for them to find him like this.
of its own volition, his hand retrieves a sanitary wipe from the medikit. then it’s dabbing at bakugou’s face.
“the fuck are you- get off,” bakugou protests, albeit with more bewilderment than anger. shouto’s hands resolutely do not listen, wiping dutifully ahead, and at some point bakugou gives up, just lies there with confused annoyance in his frown. when his face is clean shouto folds the wipe away, sits back.
“i’m sorry i made you walk earlier.”
bakugou’s eyes flicker open, slanted red. “’s whatever.”
“it was petty of me,” shouto continues, half a sigh. “i was panicking.”
“yeah, well,” bakugou mumbles. “would have kept bitching if you hadn’t, so. for the best.”
not dying, not dying, not dying. “don’t suddenly become reasonable just because you think you’re on your deathbed.”
“fuck you,” bakugou retorts, managing a snort before it turns into a coughing fit that leaves him curled up and sweating, eyes squeezed tight with pained humiliation.
if midoriya were here, shouto thinks- but that’s stupid. he and bakugou are friends too, really. have been for much longer than bakugou would admit. he should be able to do something.
he can’t move him, though. not with the fragile hold hatsume’s gadget has on his internal organs. he’s not exactly going to kiss him better like recovery girl would. and when it comes to conversation, he’s never really had a knack for keeping bakugou placid.
he keeps thinking about all of the times he hadn’t caught him. bakugou out of reach. that sick feeling, worsening every time.
hesitantly, his hand finds bakugou’s.
“what the fuck.”
instinct should make him jerk it back, but stubbornness supersedes the urge. he winds their fingers together as bakugou lifts his head to glare at him.
“get your damn hand off me, half ‘n half.”
“no.”
bakugou tugs, hard and ineffective, falls back with an outraged glower.
“are you fucking kidding me? what is this, a k-drama?”
“i don’t know what else to do to make you feel better,” shouto retorts, nebulously self-conscious but entirely resolute. “so unless you have any better ideas i’m not letting go.”
“it’d make me feel better if you stopped touching me!” bakugou snaps, coughing. shouto ignores him, runs his thumb over his knuckles, vague sense memories of his mother coming to him as he does. had she held his hands, back then? he thinks maybe. he can’t think where else he’d have picked it up.
bakugou has stopped struggling, but has not died. shouto relaxes a fraction.
holding hands is sort of nice. bakugou’s hand is sweaty, which makes sense, but also very hot, and calloused. after a while he sort of forgets the circumstances, just starts absently playing with it, pressing his fingers into the pads of his hand. he thinks he was right about his mother. he can sort of recall the sensation of her hands in his.
“if i don’t die,” bakugou says, after a minute, sort of resigned sounding, “i’m going to kill you.”
“yeah,” shouto says, squeezing his hand. “sure.”
he wonders if bakugou’s parents held his hand a child. he thinks probably yes. he seems like the type whose parents love him a lot in spite of his attitude. that’s mostly how everyone treats him, in the end.
mitsuki bakugou looks a lot like her son. the last time he saw her she was aggressively ruffling his hair into even greater disarray, voice strident as bakugou yelled back obscenities and made no real effort to displace her.
it must be hard, shouto reflects, for a civilian parent. midoriya’s mother certainly has reason to worry. bakugou’s is probably a close second by now.
“stop looking at me like that.”
“sorry.”
“no you’re not!”
“well, if it bothers you...”
“can you just be a normal damn person for once?”
bakugou hits him when he starts messing with his hair, but he doesn’t let go of his hand.
(he also doesn’t kill shouto when he’s released from the hospital, but then shouto had sort of expected that.)
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Becoming A Stark? (12) - Peter Parker x Stark! femReader
Word Count: 4014
Warnings: Mention of needles, swearing
Author Note: Lots of Peter, Tony, and Pepper. All my favorites. Enjoy! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! Next update will be this weekend- after my finals are done hopefully.
Chapter One || Previous Chapter || Master List
Your dad has never seen you do a pump change or a sensor change. Honestly all the supplies live in your room so it’s just easier for you to do it there. But after Peter and him finished in the lab on Friday, Pepper asked Peter if he wanted to stick around for dinner, which then turned into him staying to watch a movie with you, Pepper, and Tony. But in the middle of Labyrinth, which is your favorite movie, your sensor fails. “Goddamn it Wallace.” You mutter looking at your phone screen, displaying the replace sensor now message as Chilly Down plays in the background.
“What’s wrong?” Tony asks you before speaking to FRIDAY. “FRI- pause the movie.” Sarah and all the swamp creatures, if you can call them that stop moving as your dad’s attention is focused on you. “You high? You low? Tell me what’s happening?” He asks.
“Sensor failed. Like five days early too.” You reach under your shirt and pull off the sensor that isn’t doing anything for your now. But your nails trace over where the sensor had been. “But the only good thing is I can scratch the itch that has been driving me bonkers.” You admit.
“So what do you need?” You dad has turned his hyperfocus on, but this isn’t something you can’t handle.
“I just have to grab the stuff to change it. Give me like five minutes and I can change it while we watch the movie.”
“I’ll grab some more drinks for everyone while we do.” Pepper says with a smile. “And maybe make some more popcorn too.”
Walking into your bedroom, you open the drawer that’s filled with all your supplies. You grab the four things you need: the sensor, alcohol wipes, a Skin Tac wipe, and an over patch. Oh shit! Your transmitter was supposed to last through this last sensor, so you’ll have to replace that one too. Picking everything up in your hands you make your way back down towards the living room.
“Got enough stuff kiddo?” Your dad asks as you sit back down.
“You should see what it looks like when I have to do a double site change. So much more trash.” You notice Peter has your old sensor in his hand and is turning it over, looking at it from all the angles.
“Sorry.” He mumbles as he notices you staring at him. “I just found it interesting.”
“It doesn’t bug me. It’s trash now.” You lift it from his hand and snap out the transmitter. “This comes apart, since normally you reuse the transmitter for three months at a time. But that one bit the dust with the sensor failing.” You explain before motioning towards the box with the new one.
“And this whole thing reads your sugars?” You nod.
“That wire there gets inserted under the skin into this tissue or something that my lack of science can’t explain. But it reads your fluids or stuff that’s there and reports that data through the transmitter to my pump and to my phone.”
“Do you feel the wire under your skin?” Peter asks.
“Nope. The most I feel from the whole sensor is if I like lay on it wrong, or if I start reacting to the adhesive. Or if I place it in a spot and a door rips it off. That fucking hurts.” You think back to the last time that a door ripped your sensor off and wince slightly.
“Hold on, go back. You react to the adhesive?” Your dad’s voice is suddenly concerned.
“Well I’m allergic to latex and some other adhesives so every now and then I react to the Dexcom adhesive.” You shrug. “That’s why I use these.” You hold up the over patch and the Skin Tac. “They produce barriers and help it stay on long enough.”
“You’re allergic to your medical device and yet you still wear it?” Your dad voices his concern.
“It’s either that or wake up multiple times a night to check my sugars. I’ll take some hives and blisters over that. I like sleeping.” You say with a shrug. Opening the bag that holds the sensor, you lay out all the things that you need for this sensor change. You wipe down your thigh with the alcohol wipe before taking the transmitter out of the box so you can pair it. While it works on pairing, you take the Skin Tac wipe and wipe down the skin so the adhesive can become tacky. While it’s drying, you break off the safety handle off of the sensor.
“What the fuck kiddo? That needle is like six inches long?” Your dad exclaims, seeing it through the plastic inserter.
“Yeah, it has to be so that it can get deep enough for the sensor to work. But it gets pulled out. I can go in the other room if the needle thing is going to be an issue?” You sometimes forget that other people aren’t as calm around needles as you are after ten years of being a diabetic.
“No it’s fine. Stay where you are. I just thought it was something that you like placed on your skin.”
“But how would the wire get into the tissues?” You ask rhetorically. You pull the papers that are blocking the adhesive and lie it down where you want the sensor to go. You’re not going to say anything to Peter or your dad, because their eyes are already on you, but you actually hate plunging this needle down. Place the sensor in the wrong spot and it hurts badly as it plunges through veins and nerves with no mercy. So instead of showing the fear of hoping you’ve picked a good spot, you take a breath, smile at them and say “Three, two, one,” and slam the needle down. “Motherfucker!” You exclaim as you feel it shoot through a nerve. You pull the needle out and rub at the skin around the sensor. Your dad is by your side in seconds, while Peter jumps up, not sure what is causing you pain, but doesn’t want to be the cause of more pain.
“What can I do, bambina?” Your dad asks. Peter’s arms cross as he watches as one of your eyes scrunches up as you continue to rub the same spot on your thigh. Tony’s arm wraps around you once he knows that he won’t hurt you more.
“Nothing. I picked a shit spot to put it. Hit a nerve.” You explain. You put the transmitter in clicking it in, hearing the double click to be sure. And twist off the end piece of plastic. Lastly you add the overpatch that has roses drawn on it to secure it in place. “I’m good now, I promise.” You look up at your dad, seeing that he doesn’t believe you.
“I hate seeing you in pain.”
“It’s part of diabetes. We deal with a lot of pricks.” You joke, but he doesn’t laugh.
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” His arms wrap around you and you’re pulled into a crushing hug. “If I could take all the pain for you, I would.” You lean into your dad’s arms.
“Who’s to say I want you in pain?”
“It’s my job to protect you kiddo. You’ve had enough pain. If I want to shoulder it, I should be allowed to.” You rub over the overpatch making sure it’s holding as he talks.
“Or neither of us could hurt and we could finish the best movie of all time.” You say as you hit the buttons to start the warm up period.
“What’s your number?” You shrug.
“Takes two hours to warm up. Testing kit is in my room.” Tony reaches for the drawer in the table. “Last I looked I was solid 180s. I’m fine.”
“You start feeling shaky or anything-”
“We’ll both be shocked, but yes I’ll let you know.” You look at Peter. “You going to stand for the rest of the night?” Tony’s just glad he didn’t jump onto the walls or worse the ceiling. That would have blown the whole Spider-Man thing. Instead he stays focused on the feeling of having you in his arms as Chilly Down starts to play again. He’s a little surprised that Labyrinth is your favorite movie, but he’ll take learning anything about you that he can. And this is one of those little moments that Pepper was talking about you sharing with him. So as the puppets dance around the screen, Tony’s arm holds you closer. You don’t even look up as you scoot closer and lean against his shoulder.
As she walks back in from the kitchen, Pepper snaps a picture of you and Tony from behind the couch. The sight of you curled into his arms is something that he will want forever, but this moment, she wants to stay in as well. Seeing Tony as a dad- it makes her love him that much more.
After last night, Peter doesn’t expect to be back at the tower so soon, especially after spending two days in the lab last week with Mr. Stark, but they’re finally making progress on the new webbing solution, and Mr. Stark said “why don’t you come over tomorrow to keep working on it Pete?” And Peter wasn’t going to turn down the chance to work with Mr. Stark, or a chance to get to see you more. But what he wasn’t expecting to see when he entered the tower was you dancing around the kitchen as you cleaned it. Peter was used to doing chores, sure, what teenager wasn’t? But he never would have though Tony Stark one to make his kids clean house to earn their keep. Honestly, he would have thought Tony Stark would have had someone, or even a robot, to clean for him. However you didn’t seem that worried about cleaning.
“Hey Y/N.”
“Hey Parker. You’re practically living here these days.” You look stunning, even though you’re just in weekend clothing of a tie-dyed shirt with the Mystery Machine printed on it that says Scooby Doo underneath, a pair of jean shorts, and your hair pulled up into a ponytail with a blue scrunchy.
“Your dad and I are trying to finish up a project.”
“Must be important for you to be giving up a Saturday to get it done.” You laugh as you pour some powder cleaner on the counter top before running a sponge over top it. You’re not on the wrong path. The new webbing solution is pretty important.
“The paparazzi would lose their mind if they knew Y/N Stark spends her Saturdays doing chores like the rest of us peasants.”
“Celebrities, they’re just like us.” You smirk. “Unless you’re planning on grabbing a sponge and joining in, you should probably head on down to the lab.”
“See you later Y/N.” You smile as Peter heads out of the kitchen, letting the music of your playlist take over as you keep cleaning. Focusing on something other than the essay you don’t want to write for your science class is nice. Also it seems like no one has cleaned the kitchen since the fight between your dad and the rogue Avengers. Pulling the burners grates off the stove, you see grease and crumbs that could have been easier to clean had someone wrapped the grease trap with tin foil. So it’s time for some tender loving care and jamming out to Carry On My Wayward Son.
“Hi Mr. Stark.” Peter says, not wanting to surprise Tony as he walks into the lab.
“Morning Pete.” Tony takes a sip of the coffee cup to his right as he looks over the numbers on his tablet. “Did you manage to get any sleep last night? Karen said you went patrolling after you left here.”
“I got some sleep.” Peter nods. “Did you? I feel like your whole family has been up since I left last night?”
“We all slept. I think Y/N might still be in bed. She was when I came down here.”
“No, she’s up, working on her chores.” Tony turns from the numbers cranking in front of him, to look at Peter with confusion marking his face.
“She doesn’t have chores.”
“Well she’s upstairs cleaning the kitchen. I just thought she was working on chores, but I guess I guessed wrong.”
“We have people that we can call in. I don’t know why she’s cleaning… You mean like with a sponge and wipes and such?” Tony asks, trying to clarify and Peter nods his head. “She must have her reasons. But I’m not making her do it.”
“I believe you.” Tony turns from the datapad or- as Peter had started calling it since Tony had started tracking Y/N’s blood sugar on it as well- his Dad-apad,
“How do you feel about working on one of the cars while these numbers crunch? We can’t continue on the aspects to add until they finish crunching.”
“Sure Mr. Stark.”
“You can call me Tony kid.”
“I know Mr. Stark.” Tony rolls his eyes at that.
“FRI, turn on Tony Stark Can Rot.” Peter is confused at the name of the playlist, but the songs that start playing sound somewhat familiar. From what he had seen in his time working in the lab, Tony wasn’t one to name his playlists, but to name one so angrily towards himself seems unlike Tony. But Tony doesn’t seem to think anything of it as he climbs under the side of his Audi and calls out for some tools. Peter hands him the wrench and falls into the habit of working with Tony until Friday calls out a while later.
“Boss, Y/N just asked Miss Potts where the first aid kit is.” Tony goes still.
“Stay here.” He leaves the lab without more than the two words.
It was an injury that only you were capable of. How does someone get hurt cleaning? And a paper cut, if you could call it that, on tin foil nonetheless. You didn’t want to bother your dad when he was busy on a project with Peter. Pepper was the easier option since you just don't know where bandages are kept. “FRIDAY can you ask Pepper where we keep a first aid kit?”
A moment later, Pepper is coming down the stairs with one in hand. “We keep a few all over the house. This is from the upstairs bathroom. What did you do?”
“Paper-ish cut.” You should her, removing the paper towel you’re holding over the cut that is bleeding still. “The tin foil attacked me.” You explain as she looks at the small cut.
“Why are we needing first aid kits? No one should be getting hurt.” Your dad’s voice comes from the doorway to the lab and you roll your eyes. Of course FRIDAY had told him.
“Tattletale.” You mutter as Pepper wraps the bandage around your finger.
“If people are asking for first aid kits, I want to know.” Tony defends himself.
“I cut myself on tin foil. It was stupid. I’m fine.”
“Ok, then do you want to explain what’s with the deep cleaning? Peter literally thought I gave you chores. Which is not something that I would make you do. Plus you know we have people who can be called in to clean right?”
“That such a spoiled right person thing to say, you know that right?” You say with a roll of your eyes.
“Avoiding the question.”
“Actually I’m avoiding a biology paper. So I figured cleaning would be a good avoidance technique.”
“Next time you’re avoiding SI business, can you take a page out of her book?” Pepper asks Tony in a teasing tone.
“I build things. It’s productive in it’s own way.”
“You destroy things. That’s different.” Pepper points out. “What’s your biology paper about?”
“Some life cycle bullshit or something.” You turn back to scrub the counter. “I’ve dealt with enough of it that I don’t want to do it. But my choice is write a paper or build a model and that’s not my go to.” You choose to not explain that it’s literally over the one lifecycle of yours that doesn’t work.
“You have a choice to build something and you went against that? Pep, we need to get her tested to make sure she’s my kid.”
“Tony, she literally acts and looks like you. I don’t need to test her DNA to know she’s yours.”
“Is everything ok? Someone dying?” Peter’s voice comes.
“No one’s dying. Just my dad overreacting.” You say. “He could have gone back to the lab ages ago.”
“Why don’t you come with?” Tony suggests and both you and Peter look at him in surprise. However only you voice your surprise. Peter is trying to figure out how to hide Spider-Man if you come down to the lab.
“Why?”
“Because there’s plenty of stuff down there to make a- if I say so myself- bitchin’ science project.”
“But I can also just stay up here and write a paper after I avoid it for a few more hours?”
“Which project is it?” Peter asks, trying to figure out who you have for your science this year.
“Never said I was doing the project.”
“No one ever chooses to do the paper when they have the option to do a project instead.”
“There’s always the chance to be the first.”
“But you’ll score higher with a project. At least there’s the chance to anyway, depending on who your teacher is.”
“Shah.”
“Mr. or Mrs.?” Peter asks.
“Why does that make a difference?”
“Because they grade completely differently.” Peter explains. “Mrs does great experiments but is a harsher grader.”
“Well, I have Mr. Shah so what does that mean?”
“It means you better get started on your project. He hates papers.” Peter says with a tight smile.
“Ugh. But writing a paper all about me was going to be a sinch.” Three pairs of eyes fall on you in confusion. “Endocrine system. Explaining how pretending to be one sucks. It was going to be a great paper.”
“Isn’t there a company that’s in the process of trying to make a closed loop system?” Peter asks, which makes you nod hesitantly. “Why not make a project showing the differences between a closed loop system and what you’re currently doing? Explain why a closed loop system would be so much better.”
“Sorry, maybe I’m the only one lost here-” Pepper starts to ask.
“You’re not.” Tony interrupts.
“-But what’s a closed loop system?” Pepper continues.
“It's a system where basically Wallace and Queenie would basically be able to talk to each other. So if I started rising too high Queenie would be able to give me more insulin. Or vice versa, if I go too low, Wallace would tell Queenie and she would stop giving me insulin. It would hopefully prevent me from going too low or too high as often. Or going low enough that I’d need a glucagon again.”
“How far out are they from that being made?” Tony asks.
“Few years at least. The couple companies that are doing this haven’t even made it to human testing yet.”
“I want-” Pepper interrupts him, already knowing where he’s going.
“Tony, no. SI is not-” Tony cuts her off.
“Why not?” Pepper doesn’t have an answer ready and he plows ahead. “It’s for her. And millions of others. I don’t want to see her in the medbay ever again. Not because I had to stab her with a needle due to her sugars being so low she could die. So why can’t we add this to things we’re working on?”
“Well for one thing, we don’t have the technology to do anything diabetes related.”
“Dad, you’re jumping into something you know nothing about.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time. Wallace and Queenie, what are their companies' names?”
“Why are you going to buy them out?”
“I’m going to see about working with them.”
“Dexcom and Tandem.” You knew there was no stopping him once he was in this mindset. SI was going to be joining the insulin supply game. Especially since Pepper didn’t seem to be trying to stop him either. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes I do!” Tony’s voice explodes from him. “Iron Man can do a lot of things. But I can’t keep your blood sugar stable. I can’t keep it from dropping too low or rising too high. I can’t do anything but watch when you’re shaking from not enough sugar or look like you’re going to fall asleep during the day after you’ve been up all night from your sugars keeping you awake all hours of the night. I can’t take away the pain when your sensor hits a nerve and I can’t take away all the times you have to plunge a needle into your skin to draw blood sample after blood sample. I can’t stop any of that. But this? Science related stuff. This is something I can do for you. I can put the best technology on the market. I can help make sure that your devices are the best possible things so that you have the least amount of pain possible. That’s what I can do for you since I can’t do anything else for you.” As his voice rips out of him, voicing all the things he’s never felt like he could say to you, you inch closer to him. You’ve only had him in your life for a few months now, but you know what you’ve been told is true. Tony loves you a lot. He takes a breath, trying to calm down from his explosion of words. Your arms wrap around him, breathing in the smell you’ve started to associate with your dad. “Kiddo, I…”
“I love you.” You breathe in the smell of the motor oil from the cars he probably had been working on with Peter, the smell of the cologne that he must only lightly mist on because it only lingers along his shirt, and the smell of what must be an aftershave from the almost minty scent to it.
“I love you too kiddo. So much.” The words are spoken softly, left on a puff of air into your hair. His own arms wrap around you, getting slightly tangled in your pump tubing, but ignoring it as he holds you close. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Better than Iron Man?” You tease.
“So much better than Iron Man.”
Across the kitchen, Pepper and Peter are watching the interaction. Peter can’t help but whisper the question he can no longer hold back. “Y/N has gone low enough to need a glucagon?” Pepper nods slowly. Peter must have been doing some research about your condition.
“It’s only happened once since she moved in. But it scared him. Worse than anything Iron Man related.”
“From what I was reading, that’s supposed to be a, like, last resort type thing.”
“It was a last resort thing. I wasn’t there when he gave it to her. But from what I heard, she was unconscious, having seizures and very low.”
“Could she have died?” Peter doesn’t want to know the answer, but feels like he needs to know.
“If she had been alone, possibly. But she wasn’t. She was with Steve, Clint, and Natasha, who then called Tony.”
“So this was before…” Peter trails off, knowing that Y/N only knows so much about what happened in Germany. Pepper nods.
“She hasn’t seen them since. But I know they would do anything for her again. If Tony would let them near her.” Peter nods, knowing from spending time with Tony and you that Tony would let the world burn if it saved you. You are his child. Which made the feelings Peter has for you harder to manage, because Tony would murder Spider-Man before letting his daughter near the superhero.
Permanent tag list: @wormonastringonastick
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#peter parker#peter parker fan fic#peter parker fanfic#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker fan fiction#peter parker x stark!reader#peter parker x reader#Tony Stark#tony stark can't be dead if you just don't let yourself believe it#tony stark daughter#tony stark x daughter!reader#tony stark x daughter!you#Pepper Potts#peter parker imagine#imanativeofswlondondahling#becoming a stark?
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Part 2: After the Auction
Alastor wasnt used to losing.
Not in the sense that he would flip over the board of monopoly if someone had stolen Boardwalk and Park Ave. from right under his nose. Though Husk swore that he would never again count cards when playing with Hazbins no matter how hilarious Alastor's face had been when he handed over the last of his colorful paper money to the feline when he landed on the overpriced blue territories.
No, Al wasn't a sore loser.
But this DrAngler44 was a bad winner if he ever saw one.
"Computer offend you again, babe?"
Alastor had gotten into a habit of playing with Angel's laptop while he went through his hour long nighttime ritual of thoroughly bathing himself, drying and dusting his fur and followed by his face routine and ending by brushing his teeth.
The laptop had been a gag gift from Vaggie, who had found it amusing to see the two old men fumble their way trying to figure out how to use it. After figuring out how to set it up, Angel was the first to master searching for things and using helltube. Alastor was more than happy to call it Angel's laptop if it meant he didnt have to continue embarrassing himself trying to figure the damn thing out.
But then Angel, during their nightly cuddles, mentioned finding a funny sounding video on Helltube that one of his fans uploaded recently. It was a haul of his merchandise, both recent and vintage.
And the vintage items certainly caught Alastor's attention. He scrolled down to the comments, smile widening as he figured out how to torment demons in a way that wouldn't upset Charlie. Angel's delighted face as they watched the doe demon unwrap a limited edition trilogy called "Lady Science".
"Holy shit," cried Angel, accidentally jostling Alastor in his excitement, "Sorry, babe."
Alastor rolled over on to his side but kept a hand buried in Angel's fluff, "It's no problem at all, cher. I take that you are fond of this particular installment of your rather impressive repertoire?"
Nodding, Angel turned down the volume but paid careful attention to the goodies that came in the set. "This one was so much fun to do. The director is an incubus, one of Lady Lilliths personal court now, which is a shame cause I loved working with him so much."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, he gave me artistic control and even let me write this one! It did so well that we did two more. You should really listen to the commentary on that one, it's a hoot!"
"Do all of your picture shows have commentary?"
"Some of them, yeah. Well, the fun ones do." Angel glanced down at his thighs where the bruises were covered by his pajama pants, "Mostly the ones Val ain't got his nasty little talons in which, these days, they're few'n between."
After that conversation, Alastor borrowed a few films from Angel's library and, with Husk's reluctant help found the commentary.
"I'd ask why you're watching porn of your boyfriend banging other guys but quite frankly I dont give a fuck," grumbled Husk as he took a seat next to him.
Alastor paused the video and gave the feline a side glance, "Just what do you think you're doing?"
"What? It's not like I'm going to beat off with you here and I know your virgin ass isnt going to get off to this either."
Eyes and smile sharpening, Alastor said, "My good fellow, the implication that you are going to, as you crassly put it beat off did not go unnoticed. I'm not going to let you watch my beau in the throes of ecstasy."
Husk snorted, "Why not, all of hell has."
"They're not my friends, Husker. Now, go away. I'd hate to cut our friendship short because you lust after my darling."
At this, Husk spat out his beer, "I- I don't, you know what, I'm not drunk enough to unpack that one. You enjoy," he squinted at the title, "Angel in The Baby Sitter."
"I intend to, old sport~"
One film had turned into two and three, five, until Alastor watched well over half of the videos in Angel's collection.
Who knew Angel was so beautiful when he was genuinely happy and having fun without the use of drugs. Ah, he did! But it was still refreshing to see him this happy when at work.
It was so endearing that he couldnt help but want to see more. Unfortunately there were only so many films left in Angel's library and the newer stuff had Valentino written all over it. So once again enlisting Husk's help, Alastor learned how to use the laptop to find where to buy Angel's earlier work.
"You know you can always ask him to get you more...fucking addict." The last part was muttered under his breath so Alastor ignored it.
After all it wasn't an addiction and it was, well, there were worse things to be addicted to than wanting to hear Angel's witty comments and joyous laughter.
"Or you can watch the actual porn with him and have him comment irl." Both men turned to see Cherrie grinning at them, "What? The princess said I could visit with my bestie so long it was in the parlour. Bet she didnt know there were a couple of old horny motherfuckers in here already."
Slamming the laptop shut, Alastor picked it up and made his way out, "What you do with your mother is your business. Now if you excuse me, I have things I need to win."
Angel found out because there was no way his sales suddenly boosting both on the Studio's website and on auction sites went unnoticed by Val who asked him to his office and nervously informed him that all future productions were going to be overseen by the incubus director Angel was so fond of.
That had been a few months ago and Alastor usually always had that air of self satisfaction that he usually attributed to an amazing release but Al wasn't one to do that and his self satisfaction came from securing items lesser demons wanted to get their repulsive hands on.
Those nights always resulted in heated make out sessions and some light petting on Alastor's part and ended in cuddled sleep.
Tonight, however, when Angel stepped out of the bathroom, he found Alastor glaring at the computer screen face void of a smile before carefully and slowly typing with his two index fingers.
Angel covered his mouth to hide his endeared smile, "Computer offend you again, babe?"
"Not the computer," muttered Alastor, his brow furrowed in concentration as he continued to type out his message in the chat of the auctioning website he frequented, "Some imbecile is flaunting the lot I wished to procure."
"Aw, I'm sorry, doll." Walking up behind his disgruntled beau, Angle draped his arms around Alastor's shoulders and rested his chin between his fluffy ears, giggling as they twitched in response, "You know I can just go through the Studion Vault and steal ya whatever you want. Not like Val actually keeps track of my older work anyway."
Alastor stopped typing and glanced up at Angel, "You mean you can find me this beautiful photograph of yourself? And the corresponding body pillow?" He pointed at the images DrAngler44 uploaded, "I loathe the idea of this creature having these photos of you but I admit that it is wholly because I had just the spot for them in my office at the radio tower."
When Angel didn't respond, Alastor frowned and spun around on his chair to tug Angel onto his lap, "Mon ange?"
"I haven't seen these in years," replied Angel, still staring at pictures. "Hells, this was the very first time I ever let my stupid feet be photographed. I had to beg Val to destroy most the of the copies and cut the photo off at the feet. You know there are only like 3 of these, right?" Ignoring the sudden burst of static, he counted off who had the other two copies, Vox has one cause, of course he had to have my feet in his possession and Lucifer has the other one cause Lilith thought I looked cute."
The static grew worse behind him and, now that he thought about it, maybe he shouldn't have brought Vox up. Angel felt Alastor tightened his hold on him, "You ok, baby?"
"Can you help me write my message," gritted out Alastor through his smiling teeth. Angel typed it out much quicker and sent it with Alastor's approval.
Alastor got up and carried his beau to bed where he tucked Angel in much to the spider's protest, "What about you?"
"Oh, I'll be back soon, cher. Vox has something I want."
#radiodust#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin hotel angst#im just gonna upload this to ao3#eventually#its become something of a fic#panda writes
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Soulmate Chasers | Jeno
genre: soulmate!au
warnings: lots of swearing
word count: 1.5k
song: Young In Love by Chungha
It wasnt fair, it wasnt fair at all.How are you supposed to go out and live like a normal person when you had “ fuck you” permanently marked on your skin as a soulmark.
What a bastard your soulmate has to be to leave you in a state like this? Your whole life has been filled with people making fun of you and your anxiety was getting bigger with the years which didnt help you either. You tried thousands make up products that could at least make the black mark on your arm less visible but nothing ever worked. You just wanted to find the jerk and blame him for all of your suffering through the years. Your parents werent really pleased when they saw their newborn baby with such a words on your small arm and the thought that your soulmate is gonna curse at you wasnt really fascinating either.
But finding your soulmate wasnt an easy task.You lived in a big city and there were so much people, who knows who of them is the one you were looking for. You often thought what he looked like.Is he tall or short? What colour his hair is? And the most important - what is his personality like? Is he mean? Or is he way too kind?
Questions like this often leave you sleepless and lately you it was getting worse. You were drawing faces of different boys you either have met or you have imagined. Your favourite one was a boy with black hair and deep brown eyes and slim,handsome face. Has he ever thought about you? Was he wondering what his soulmate is like? Was he somehow trying to find you? Your head started to ache of all this overthinking and you finally decide to go to sleep.
“Earth to y/n!!” your friend claped with her hands in front of your face to get you out of the deep thoughts you were dived in.”Are you thinking about him...again” she said with a sarcastic tone and a little pause.
“No, I am not” you answered taking a sip from the hot chocolate which had started to cool down.
“Yes,you are. I can see it in your eyes,y/n. I know you too well” she was and you didnt know if it was bad or good.
“And what if i am thinking about him?”
“ I think you worry too much, Fate’s gonna do her job,right? She put these words on us and all we have to do is wait” this didnt help you much but at least it stopped your thoughts going wild.
“What about you? Have you met somebody?”
Your friend had “you smell nice” on the inside part of her palm and you thought it was cute but she absolutely hated it.
“No, I havent met somebody who appreciates my perfume the way it deservesto be” she winked at you and you laughed.
After you parted with your bestfriend you took your phone and started searching information concerning your essay about “Wuthering Heights”. You were pretty good at writting essays actually, once you were so into writing one essay that you didnt realize that you have written in all caps-lock but in the end your teacher said he was very proud of you and he posted the essay on the offcial school site. Not to lie you were proud of yourself too.
But right now you had to be careful because walking and having your gaze into the phone wasn’t the best idea ever but you did not see something stopping you from doing it.Yeah until you bumped really hard into someone.
‘’Fuck you”
“Oh my God, im so sorry I didn’t see you i..-wait what?’’ you looked up shooked , meeting the cold gaze of the young man in front of you. “excuse me,what did you just say?”
‘’I said fuck you’’ he said anger mixing with impatience in his eyes.
Well he wasn’t the only one who was angry in that moment.You made your hands into fists,trying to calm down.
“Oh! So you are the motherfucker who gave me the worst fucking soulmark ever! Well guess what, I WILL NEVER LET THIS GO, THERE IS NOTHING WORSE THAN HAVING ‘’FUCK YOU’’ PERMANENTLY MARKED ON YOU SKIN’’ you roared in his face although he was towering over you. The sudden change in his face told you that you’ve caught him not ready for a situation like that. He breathed deeply and then he looked at you with stern eyes.
‘’Well, imagine having that fucking essay written on ALL CAPS-LOCK…’’ he rolled up his right sleeve and you saw your very own essay written in all caps-lock and it was your turn to make you speechless.
The next minute was spent on heavy sighs and guilty looks. You really didn’t expected meeting with your soulmate to be …like this. Suddenly all of the anger left you as you weren’t even there like thirty seconds ago. Instead a wave of warm emotions hit you and you realize that the person in front of is your soulmate, the one who you are supposed to spend your whole life with.Eventually you look up and see that he was already looking at you.As you examine his face you see that there were no signs of the previous anger on his face either. He was handsome but like really handsome. And he reminded you of one of your drawings- your favourite one. You slightly smiled on yourself and now that you have checked him out really well you wanted to thank the Fate choosing you such a handsome soulmate. Your desire to get to know him better was growing with every single second.
‘’So I guess we are soulmates” you whispered enough only for him to hear. The small smile on his face made you blush a little, just a little.
‘’Yeah, soulmates.’’ He dived in your eyes,pausing for a second.’’Sorry for snapping at you like this I have been kinda stressed out recently.’’
‘’No need to apologise I literally shouted at you as if we are the only people here’’ your smile refused to leave you and even got wider when he chuckled to himself.
‘’Sorry but I didn’t catch your name” you knew he had the habit of looking deeply into your eyes when he did for a second time as he was asking you.
‘’ Y/n, my name is Y/n’’ you said giving out your right hand for a shake ‘’And you?”
‘’Jeno,my name is Jeno’’ he smiled wildly shaking your hand.
You felt a strong electricity coming from your hand and reaching every single organ in your body especially your heart that started beating like crazy that was the last time you needed – you already knew Jeno was the only one. You have liked other boys before and even you had a boyfriend although it was for a short amount of time. But nobody felt like Jeno, you always felt guilty when you liked someone because you felt that you are kinda cheating on your soulmate who was somewhere but only one single touch of Jeno was enough for you to know that you didn’t need anybody else.
You talked with Jeno for a bit and eventually both of you decided to go for a walk to get to know each other and your essay was long-forgotten and instead the bright person in front of you was what attention was focused on. You both found your similarities and differences and when he invited you to sit down to a random bench with him he aked you something you didn’t expect to be asked so soon.
‘’Y/n do you think you will be able to love me?’’ his mint breath sank into your neck and as you got goosebumps the shivers that you felt down your spine weren’t late either.
Can you love Jeno? You weren’t sure you could answer in that right moment but then you thought about all these little things you felt from the slightest touch of Jeno. How when he smiled his eyes got smaller and how handsome he look when he was listening to you carefully and although you knew him no more than hour you really felt it excluding the fact that he is already your soulmate.
‘’Yes,Jeno, I will. Will you love me?”you asked him back waiting for his answer.
‘’Yes, I will love and take care of you, Y/n”
That was all you wanted to hear. You knew you would need time to fall in love with Jeno but you knew that you love him and he would love you back. Maybe having “fuck you’’ on your name wasn’t that bad considering that you felt really lucky having Jeno as your soulmate. You secretly hoped he also wouldn’t mind your caps-locked essay now that he found you. Now all you were looking forward to was what the Fate held for you and Jeno.
masterlist
#nct soft hours#jaehyun#mark lee#nct 127#nct dream#nct soft edits#lee jeno#lee donghyuck#nct#na jaemin#lee jeno imagines#jeno smut#jeno scenarios#jeno soft hours#jeno angst#jeno drabbles#nct dream scenario#nct imagine#nct dream imagine#nct scenario#nct dream smut#nct mark#nct fluff#nct au#soulmate#nct soulmate au#taeyong nct#nct u
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