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solbaby7 · 5 months

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Tripping Over You

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: swearing, some typos, sexual tension, clumsy reader, just fluff

summary: Your lack of situational awareness has a certain Shadowsinger stumbling to maintain his patience.

—

If Azriel was being perfectly truthful, he didn’t like you much.

It wasn’t personal but in the time he’d known you, he found you to have an annoyingly bad habit of being completely unaware of your surroundings; always just barely dodging being flayed by some disaster.

Call it bad luck or just plain carelessness but Azriel fucking hated it.

His fingers twitched when he’d caught you in a pile of your own limbs on the kitchen floor, a knife held loosely in your hand and a sheepish smile on your face as if you hadn’t almost just shoved the sharp blade in your neck because you’d been too preoccupied to clean up the little puddles of water you left around. “Give me that,” He grumbles with a scoff, carefully snatching the blade from your hands.

Unintelligible words drip from his tongue and you watch wide-eyed, slowly rising back to your feet as the shadowsinger quickly finished the sandwich you were attempting to make, slicing it four ways with a huff and sliding it in your direction. “Thanks.”

“You need to be more careful.”

More of that went on for weeks.

Short, snappy comments on your inability to step out of bed without the possibility of breaking a bone, soothed over by Azriel just completing whatever task for you. His behavior should’ve deterred you; the deep scowls and gruff voice, the tension in his shoulders that formed when he noticed you in a room—but at least he always noticed.

Always had a hand curling around your arm when you tripped and was the first one to pull you out of the water after wandering off a little too deep. Water soaks your hair, dripping into your eyes and you’re weightless when he tugs you over to the more shallow area, seaweed sinking in your toes. “Why are you even in the water if you can’t swim?”

“I can swim,” It comes out choppy, cheeks red from all the coughing but Azriel can’t help the feeling that burns in his belly when you peer up at him, eyes glittering and full lips quirking at the corners. “Just didn’t realize how far out I’d gotten.”

He looks positively exasperated by your passiveness, chest rising and falling quickly with each breath and you’re no better than any of the other women who dared stare at the spymaster long enough to take in the true expanse of muscle that lies beneath those leathers. Rippling pectorals, biceps that flexed deliciously as he spoke; he’s more animated than you’d ever anticipated, usually offering nothing but perfect silence—or the occasional sarcastic comment towards his brothers. You’re not really paying attention to what he’s saying, eyes wandering down his form and he abruptly stops talking when he sees the way your eyes catch down his abdomen, mouth pouty and hair dripping down your shoulders. “Are you even fucking listening?”

“Not really.”

“Unbelievable,” The view when he turns is almost as amazing as the front, perfect dips and ridges of his back and broad shoulders enough to have you forcing your eyes away before you drooled enough to fill the lake three times over. Inky hair shines under the sun, hazel eyes snapping to you over his shoulder and shadows slink out to you in seconds. They push at you, urging you forward until your toes sink in dry sand.

Azriel lets you go ahead first, partially because he wasn’t a hundred percent confident you wouldn’t try going back—but mostly he just wants a better look at the bathing suit you’d slipped into. It’s nothing overtly scandalous but attention drawing all the same, skinny ties and bottoms that show enough to have his fingers twitching with want at his sides. “You’re staring,” Rhys informed, a bare elbow nudging into Azriel’s ribs.

“Because, I just don’t get it,” He’s referring to you, tripping twice over nothing on your return to the girls under the shade, your knees scraped from a tumble and a scarred hand reaches to cup the back of his head when Amren swiftly stabilized you. “How come when Amren finally decides to make friends it’s with fucking Bambi of all people?”

“She’s sweet,” Rhys shrugs, violet eyes regarding you no more than a sister but your beauty was undeniable. “So, she’s a little clumsy—big deal.”

“A little clumsy,” Az repeats, sounding genuinely annoyed and the High Lord can’t push back the growing smirk that tugs on the corners of his mouth. “She’s a liability, she’s going to get herself ki—“ The words die on his tongue, a low sound pulling from his chest when Azriel is forced to send a shadow out to stop you from slicing your fingers clean off with the dagger Mor had handed over to pry open the wine bottle. “Mother above.”

The air was fresh, a cool breeze sifting through quickly drying clothes under the sweltering sun and Rhysand could admit he’d seen his brother through many emotions. Anger, grief, disappointment, happiness—but never such mother hen like attentiveness; hazel eyes tracking your every move like a hawk. “Are you interested in her?”

“Are you insane?”

Rhys shrugged, bare shoulders going golden under the suns rays. “That answer varies depending on who you ask but that doesn’t really answer my question.”

“She’s—“ The words get caught in his throat, muscles tensing under the discomfort that grows under his skin because Azriel hadn’t even thought about that. Sure, he’d been slightly more involved than he’d originally planned but you just kept getting yourself into such trouble; he had no choice but to stay close behind to make sure you stayed safe. “There’s no way—“ Heat begins to warm the top of his ears and the shove he gives is less than gentle. “Oh, fuck you.”

Rhysand doesn’t seem phased, a teasing smile on sharp features and Azriel doesn’t miss the way the High Lord keeps trailing his eyes back to Feyre, her fingers raking through your hair until most of it was braided out of your face and decorated in an assortment of little flowers. You’re soft—a little too sweet and that obliviousness Az always grumbled about was a little noticeable in the way you allowed things to just happen around you. Fey deciding to do your hair, Mor topping off your wine before you’d even gotten halfway through, Nesta snatching at the book you’d had tucked in your bag and her eyes widen when she flips to a random page, a red tinge flushing her cheeks.

But the book shuts too quickly for even Az’s shadows to sneak a peek.

“You’re allowed to be happy you know,” Rhysand doesn’t look; doesn’t even let his voice get too loud in fear that his friend would shut down or disappear and never bring up a single personal thing again. “If you like her then just act on it. Mother knows we all could benefit from a little more happiness.”

There’s a pause and Rhys can’t get a good read on what Azriel’s thinking. “I appreciate that but that’s not what this is. She’s just a danger to herself and others—it’s better I keep an eye on her myself.”

A knowing smile on the Lord of Darkness’ face. “Right, of course.”

—

It only gets worse from there and while Azriel doesn’t catch onto it right away—Rhysand was definitely behind it. Conjuring up wisps of darkness to curl around your ankles and trip you up, forcing the shadowsinger to rush to your aid and somewhere along the way he ditches his sneer for just a soft frown. “Sorry,” You sheepishly allow yourself to be steadied, acutely aware of the large hands splayed at your hips. “I think I’m still a little tired.”

“I bet,” Azriel’s quick to retort, hands slipping away entirely too soon and the ghost of where his touch once was yearned for more. “Heard Amren and Mor have been introducing you to Rhys’ liquor collection.”

At the reminder your hand raises to press to your temple, a low grunt sounding under your breath and he finds your crankiness kind of adorable. “Yeah, they’ve been breaking me in.”

He swallows audibly at the word choice, hazel eyes stealing a glance at you from the very corner of his vision but you make no indication that you were intending being flirtatious—it still doesn’t stop the blood from rushing to his cock. Giant wings bristle behind him and Azriel can’t stop staring at your night clothes; a tiny pair of shorts and an oversized shirt that hung off one shoulder. Your legs look soft; bare toes padding against the floor until you’re perched on the stool, eyes still a little hazy with sleep but you don’t make a move to cook anything—not with Azriel around.

He would’ve stopped you if you tried anyway and then he’d start complaining about you not being able to touch the appliances after forgetting to turn the burner off one time—or four.

But, who was really counting?

It’s instinctual the way he grabs for some fruit and a bowl, washing and carefully cutting them; peeling bitter citrus off and leaving the sweet parts before sliding the blow over. “Eat.”

You don’t hesitate though you do sigh softly, feet swinging. “Did Amren hire you to like take care of me or something?”

His brows furrow, confusion growing at the question, at your tone, at the embarrassed expression sinking into such pretty features it makes Azriel’s stomach twist. “No.”

But you only nod, frown still present while you spear at fresh fruit. “Are you sure? I know you’re the High Lords spymaster and Ren told me how you like to keep an eye on things.”

Ren?

Since when did Amren allow nicknames?

“—mentioned how she’s had you look after a few prized possessions for her before.” You seem different to him somehow, more guarded and stern than he’d ever once seen you and it sends a shiver up his spine. Intrigue grows, the picture of you he’d been painting of some scampering baby animal was beginning to seem furthest from the truth with such contained fire behind your tone and suddenly he wonders exactly where Amren even found you.

“I have before, yes.” The kitchen remains silent; probably not for much longer with the steadily rising sun and the smell of hot food beginning to waft in the air as Azriel sauntered about the kitchen—chopping here and adding spices there, cracking an egg or two before cranking the heat up a little higher to cook the potatoes faster. “And no, she didn’t ask me to watch you.”

“Then, why are you here?” You clear your throat, seemingly aware of how it comes off and he can’t resist a smile when you look genuinely confused. “Why are you always here?”

“I’m still not a hundred percent sure about that yet but,” He doesn’t face you when he answers, shoulders stretching out a plain black tee with carefully cut out lines on the back nearly six inches in diameter to make room for the base of his wings. They hover high behind him, flexing and shifting with his arms as he moves and you find yourself a little transfixed—a trained killer preparing you breakfast in his pajamas. “—you looked like you’d been stumbling your way through life for a while,” You’re pleasantly surprised by the amount of care in his voice; hair mussed and pillow lines fading in the left side of his cheek and your eyes catch on the low hang of his sweatpants. “Getting passed off from one hand to the next, just allowing life to happen to you however it came at you and I guess—“ He lets out a deep breath, the words seeming to be a struggle to muster up, to say out loud and you stay quiet in fear of scaring him off. “I suppose I could relate to what that felt like once upon a time and I figured you could benefit from a little support.”

You’re quiet longer than he’d have liked and Az can’t tell if the uptick in your heartbeat is a good thing or not but his shadows urge him to turn—to look. You seem skeptical at first, eyes boring into him so intensely he felt like you were stripping him bare, pulling back his ribs and holding his heart in your hands; judging his character and his choices and the soul that resided somewhere in between.

It’s a struggle to remain calm, the cool disposition that Azriel had thought he’d mastered crumbled to nothing before his very eyes. Scarred hands take their time fixing your plate, piling on the protein and making sure to add the fruit he’d caught you wiggling over the last time.

“No one’s ever said anything like that to me before.” Someone’s awake, you can hear their footsteps against the glossy floors and a steaming piece of bacon is pinched between two fingers when you lean over and press a kiss to Azriel’s cheek; just a gentle pressure an inch or two away from his mouth but you might as well have just punched him right in the gut with the way it takes his breath away. “Thank you.” He’s still reeling when you continue, humming in appreciation over your food and his fate is sealing when you smile brightly at him. “You know, you’re not so bad when you aren’t being a prick.”

“Tolerable enough to let me take you out sometime?”

“I’m surprised you know that’s a thing,” You tease over your food, wisps of cool darkness careening through your hair and resting at your thighs like a napping feline. “—considering you’ve taken to just following me everywhere.” There’s a blush burning on the curve of his ears, shadows ghosting past your ear as a distraction and distantly you wonder if Azriel could feel you the way they could. “Tripping me up with these things just to have an excuse to put your hands on me.”

“Wait, I haven’t—“ There’s a smug cough sounding in his brain and the spymaster’s gaze cuts to the corner of the room. A smirking Rhys still shirtless from the night before just lingering in silence, silently urging, mentally pleading with Az to just take this slice of happiness. He sucks in a soft breath, heart thudding against his chest and his voice is barely above a whisper. “If you knew why didn’t you stop me?”

He can smell your conditioner when you turn to face him, palms braced on the stool beneath you and you lean forward, eyes staring up at him and your toes graze at his knees. “Because, I like your attention.” More rustling and the unmistakable sound of Cassian’s booming laugh and you’re jumping off the stool, food finished and plate dropped off in the sink and Azriel can’t help but think that’s the most balanced he’d ever seen you as your hips swish a little on your way out, words thrown over your shoulder before you disappear. “And yes, I would like to go out with you sometime.”

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar x reader #acotar x you #high lord rhysand #rhys acotar #acotar #azriel acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #acowar #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar azriel #azriel #a court of silver flames #fluff

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melrodrigo · 17 days

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lunch - t.c. drabble

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Summary: You want to recreate Lunch with your girlfriend.

A/n: This was purely for my entertainment. Tell me ur favs from the album?

It was Billie Eilish’s fault.

It definitely wasn’t yours, turning on the new HIT ME HARD AND SOFT album and skipping to Lunch for something to listen to while you watched your own girlfriend make lunch. You’d been more than obsessed with the snippet she let out recently, and Tara had suffered the consequences.

The rays peeked through the window and reflected her brown hair, making it a shiny auburn—a color you adored. Tara in the sun was something you couldn’t believe you were around to witness, almost daily at this point, watching as her dark brown eyes sparkled and shone. The tan skin that would turn olive at the right angle, and lips that brightened with the sun.

You couldn’t lie—the vibrations of the music mixed with Tara’s tied up hair and pink cheeks were enough to have you feeling some type of way.

It definitely didn’t help that she was lip syncing and swaying to the song ever so slightly, smirking a little whenever she looked up and caught your eye.

You make your decision in a split second. It’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done you think, coming up with this stupid plan.

You saunter over to Tara, trying to act nonchalant. She eyes you a little but lets it go when she sees you stop at the head of the kitchen table and sitting down.

“If I could, I would totally eat you for lunch.” You lean over to wrap your hands around your girlfriend and whisper in her ear, trying (and failing) to sound sexy.

“Gee thanks, what a charmer you are.” Tara says and hides the soft smile that comes naturally.

Luckily for her, you could only see one side of her face, the lopsided smile hidden on the either side. You let out an unimpressed huff.

“Okay but for real I totally would.” You try again, snaking your head and letting it rest in the crook of her neck, peppering the tender skin with light kisses.

Tara hums a little and continues cooking, continuing to sway to the music. She’s made up her mind already, but it’s nice to see you beg and grovel a little more.

“I love it when you cook.” You mumble against her, gripping her waist and urging her to turn around.

She gives up on trying to make food a few seconds later when she can tell you aren’t going anywhere.

You draw her in, cheeky smile while you stare at her lips shamelessly. Those perfect lips, tasting to you like how ambrosia would to a mortal; it’s near fatal. She fits right in between your thighs, her small frame easy to maneuver.

Tara was insecure about her height. Something you tried to show time and time again was nothing—in fact, you enjoyed the height difference a little too much to admit—always made Tara moody on a particularly shitty day.

“God, I love you.” You tell her, eyes finally shifting up to her eyes. Her eyes twinkle; you know you’re close to getting her to crack.

“You’re so desperate.” She whispers, leaning into you. It isn’t meant as an insult, and you don’t take it as one.

It was merely the truth; and you hated that she knew it.

“You need a seat? I’ll volunteer.” You sing along, letting go of one of Tara’s hands to point to your face, giggling as Tara rolls her eyes.

The sight of the brunette getting closer is enough to get you to stop.

“Still hungry?” She asks, and you think you might just die. It takes everything in you not to salivate openly. She’s tilting her head, a sign she’s decided she’s won.

So maybe you really owed Billie Eilish a kudos, you think as Tara stands up and drags you out of the room.

“Thank god Jojo Siwa invented gay pop.” You say, laughing a little nervous. It was a bad habit of yours to joke when you got excited.

It seems to fall on deaf ears, the girl in front of you not paying attention to any of the words pouring out your mouth now.

“What-what about lunch?” You gesture to her unfinished cooking wildly, knees buckling against her frame pushing you against her bedroom door.

“Fuck lunch.”

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #billie eilish #melrodrigo

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deadsetromance · 10 months

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IN THE WEE SMALL HOURS OF THE MORNING

(not my gif!)

gerard way x gn!reader

summary: he's your roommate...but maybe he's more than that.

warnings: unedited writing, fluff, no use of [y/n]

note: so sorry i haven't posted in forever! i have a few requests and a few more half-complete drafts, so hopefully those should be up soon <3

you supposed there were worse roommates out there. actually, thinking about it, you realized how lucky you were.

you got along really well with your roommate, gerard. he’d been sharing an apartment for nearly two years now, and you were sure you knew him better than you knew yourself.

you know he forgets to take the coffee pods out of the keurig, and sometimes he leaves the heater running for too long.

you don’t think you’ve ever seen him sleep. sometimes you wonder if he’s a vampire or something, what with the scribbling coming from his room at all hours of the night.

to be fair… you’re hardly any better. you sleep little more than he does, when you do fall asleep it’s usually on the couch, and you leave the television on all the time.

you’re incredibly lucky, you realize. lucky that he’s as sweet as he is, bringing you coffee in the mornings, and stopping by your job on his commute. he’s even slipped a few drawings your way. some are drawings of you, others are silly little doodles he gives you when you’re having a bad day. sometimes, he’ll show you characters for the comics he’s working on, asking for your input.

you realize that you’re lucky that he’s so helpful, that he’s not a creep, that you both get along so well. you’re lucky that you’ve found a friend who will sit and watch television reruns with you when neither of you can fall asleep.

that’s why you slip a record under his door one night. you don’t know if he even likes sinatra, but you give it to him anyway. there’s no special occasion really, you just thought of him when you found in the wee small hours in the record store you visited. you don’t sign your name on the post it you stuck to it. all you write is “from one insomniac to another”. you feel embarrassed for some reason you can’t place, and something slithers in your stomach. maybe you shouldn’t have given it to him…maybe he doesn’t like sinatra. it’s too late now though, it’s already done.

☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎

it’s late one night…or early, depending on how you look at it. you’re tired, whatever movie you were watching forgotten and on mute. you can hear gerard milling around in the kitchen, you can smell the coffee he’s brewing. you’re tired, but you can’t fall asleep.

“thanks for the record” gerard called from the kitchen. “i really liked it”

you smile, one of those hazy tired smiles, the kind you do when you’re between being awake and asleep. “i didn’t know if you liked sinatra, i hope it’s ok”

you miss the way he grins at you, too busy yawning.

“it’s great i actually…” he walked off in the middle of his sentence, a habit you’d noticed he had, only to come back with the disk in his hands. “do you mind?”

it didn’t matter if you said no, he already turned to put it on, smiling back at you as he dropped the needle to the record.

“what are we watching?” he asked, sitting next to you on the couch. close enough to be touching you, but still far enough to give you space. it’s like a paradox, you think, but then you tell yourself to shut up. you’re too tired to know what you’re talking about.

“i dunno, i stopped paying attention.” your eyes flit to the movie playing on the television, watching the car chase for a moment before turning your attention back to him. “you’re going to keep yourself up all night drinking coffee this late.” you might have frowned at him if you weren’t too busy beaming.

he knew you were teasing, you could tell by the glint in his eye. “i just need a few finishing touches on my project and then i’m done.”

you didn’t say anything more for a while, taking a moment to take everything in. the record playing softly in the background as you curled closer to gerard. his head resting on yours as you listened to his breathing, memorizing the pace of his heart.

it’s quiet…intimate, and you’re tired. tired and happy.

“you tired?” he questions softly.

“a little,” you don’t know why you’re whispering.

“do you work tomorrow?”

“yeah, i open,” you groan, rubbing your eyes. you think you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head, but you don’t want to get your hopes up.

it’s quiet again, though this time it’s too quiet. you’re left with thoughts of gerard running through your head, and you wish that one of you would say something. you should be ashamed, you scold yourself, thinking of him the way you do when he’s sitting right next to you.

“what are you thinking about?” he prods gently. he’s soft with you, the way he always is, careful not to overstep with his questions.

“nothing really,” you lie, because you’d rather not risk what comfort you have now. “what are you thinking about?”

it seems like he didn’t expect the question to be turned back on him. he hesitates, and the silence is thick…too thick. his face is illuminated by the light from the tv, and he looks nervous. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look quite as terrified as he does now. the lighting shifts, and he’s blanketed in darkness again, but you notice something change in his eyes.

“i think i love you” he whispers against your ear.

you feel like you can’t breathe. you think you heard him wrong. you’re worried this is all a dream, a good dream, the kind that would leave you reeling when you wake up.

you want to hear him say it again.

you lean your head back against his shoulder, and he breathes out with a shudder. you watch the explosions on tv as your hand finds his. “i love you too.”

that’s it then, everything is out in the open. maybe you’re tired, but you sigh gently as he cups your face in his hands. thinking back, you can’t exactly pinpoint when your feelings for him changed, but you suppose it doesn’t matter now. he loves you and you love him. it’s surprisingly simple.

“can i…?” he doesn’t need to finish his question as you lean in closer to him. his breath is warm, and he smells like coffee and sleepless nights, and you’re waiting for him. your eyes are closed as you breathe him in, and they stay that way as he kisses you softly.

he’s…soft, softer than you imagine, and you can’t help but smile.

in the wee small hours of the morning, he is yours, and you are his.

#gerard way x reader #gerard way #reader insert #x reader #my chemical romance #my chem #mcr #mcr fanfiction #mcr fanfic #fanfic #sfw #prtygoth

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tinalbion · 2 months

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Hi!! I am OBSESSED with Rusty Nail atm, so I was wondering how he would react to a wife reader who has really bad anxiety?

Thanks for the amazing content :)

-phantom

Oh you absolutely can!

I apologize for the EXTREME lateness of this, I fell into the void, I got back into art and I just sorta got taken over by drawing, but I've been craving to write again and I am missing my truck driver man, so let's get right back into it! Anytime you need some Rusty, I am here for you!

Rusty Comforting You When You're Dealing with Anxiety ||

𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: None - Comfort, fluff

𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡: 1k

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Rusty tries his best to help you when you're feeling anxious

Rusty wouldn't have picked up on it right away when you two started seeing each other, he just figured that all people have their quirks, and everyone is different, but the more he pays attention to you, the more he's led to believe it's not just a part of your everyday habits. He kept a watchful eye on you after one particular night when you felt yourself slowly spiraling out of control, and you had simply tried to play it off that you were fine. But Rusty knew you weren't, everything he knew about you said otherwise.

Anxiety was fickle and yours acted up in any situation, anything could trigger it, and you despised it. One moment you sat there beside Rusty, your eyes fluttering closed as you drifted off, and then your brain would go into overthinking mode, which made you snap your eyes open and stare ahead as you tried your best to calm down. Rusty wasn't well suited nor capable of dealing with ways to calm you, but he learned over time being married to you.

Whether it was something simple like bringing you a warm cup of whatever beverage you preferred to calm your nerves, or he remembered to pick up one of your favorite snacks from the gas station he stopped in, it was always in the back of his mind to think of things that could make you happy, to ease you into comfort. But most times, he would offer himself.

The large man would always practically wrap around your entire body when he held you, and you clung to him and refused to let go as he would sit there with you, making sure you did some deep breaths in through your nose and out of your mouth. He didn't have many words of wisdom to impart upon you, but who needed them when he would speak to you in that low tone you found so soothing? His large hand would caress your back, making sure he spoke to you calmly about anything and everything.

“Hey now, you're alright, ain't ya?” He would ask you. “You're here, I'm here. I gotchu,” he cooed. “Yer alright, I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“Promise?” “Course I promise.”

His voice was a source of comfort to you, you were always so attracted to his voice, and you had heard the range from anger to softness. No matter the situation, you focused on that and it grounded you for the most part. You’d curl up into his side, and no matter what you were feeling, his warmth, his largeness, it always enveloped you and made you feel tranquility like nothing else. Once you two had bonded, he fully believed that you would be his forever and vice versa, so he took the ‘in sickness and in health’ vow very seriously. He was quick to anger in some situations, but when it came to you, he had all the patience in the world, and he would do his best to walk you through it.

Whenever you had the attention span to sit down and discuss your anxiety with him, you would tell him things that could help you, and coming from him, it would mean the world to you if he could attempt anything to get you to destress.

So that’s what he did, and whatever the reason why you were feeling the way you were that day, he’d guide you by your hand and have you sit down either on the sofa or outside on the porch. He knew fresh air helped most days, or if he was out on the road, he’d immediately find a place to pull over so he could walk you through it. No matter what, he wanted to be your source of safety, and if it meant prolonging a job, he’d do it.

He likes to make sure you’re aware he’s there, whether its placing his massive hand on the small of your back, your thigh, or your knee. He finds it comforting for himself if he physically shows you that he’s there for you. He also hopes that you’re able to understand that this is the way he is when it comes to being there for you. Even if you have to cry to let out your frustrations, he will hold you and let you do whatever it was you needed to do.

Another thing he took notice of is that you like to steal his undershirts. “They smell like you!” you’d say, pouting if he tried to take it. So he’d give you one of his shirts to wear when you were having a particularly bad day. He slowly but surely became aware of your moods and how they could fluctuate, but he found you to be one of the most precious people on the planet. You accepted him and all of his faults, he’d never deny yours, so he vowed to take care of you.

Doesn’t matter what time of day it is, if he deems it necessary, he’s going upstairs, running you a bath, and then he’s making you lay down with him just to relax your muscles. You were always tense, always bouncing your leg, or just trying to find busy work whenever you were unable to perform anything, especially that one time you had forgotten about the food cooking on the stovetop. Thankfully, Rusty was home and not out on the job, he was able to save a few of the side dishes before a fire started, but he didn’t blame you for it. Ever since then, he understood that this was something more and he constantly kept an eye on you, took notice of how you spoke to him, and would easily pick up on tone of voice and body language.

Rusty can understand taking care of someone who offends you, a physical person he can easily dispose of and watch the life drain from their eyes for treating you in such a way. But this? It was a challenge to be sure, but he wasn’t too old of a dog to learn new tricks, and he was trying to make more of an effort since you always went out of your way for him.

#tinalbion writings #rusty nail joyride #rusty nail x reader #rusty nail imagine #rusty nail headcanons #rusty nail x gn!reader #rusty nail x f!reader #rusty nail joy ride 2 #slasher community #slasher headcanons #slasher imagines #slasher x reader #joy ride 2 dead ahead #tina asks #comfort #slight angst #drabble

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adastrael · 1 year

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Cod: mw ii characters and things they collect (pt.1)

Character(s): john "soap" mactavish, simon "ghost" riley, kyle "gaz" garrick, john price, kate laswell

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: mentions of lost teammates

A/N: here's a new series I just couldn't wait to post! Feel free to share your thoughts about it, I would be very happy to talk about the topic even more!

John "Soap" MacTavish

Often, Soap needs something in his hands to tinker with, be it equipment he has on person or something he's snatched during the day. One thing he rarely forgets to wear is a hair tie on his left wrist — so it doesn't get in the way since he is right handed — that he can easily fidget with without drawing too much attention to himself. He tends to take rubber bands he spots for most of the same reason, but also partly because they can be used out in the field too. You never know why and when you might need them, and Soap has a reputation for creating working explosives from the most unrelated objects.

One of the habits he started when he was younger was collecting bottle caps. This is something that stuck with him throughout the years and since it's not harmful in any way, he never really considered stopping. The team often visit pubs and similar places after missions to loosen up or drown their thoughts, and it's not unheard of that Soap keeps some of the caps, taking them home with him. He only ever does this with unique or interesting ones; if they are dull and just like the other ones, he doesn't even consider pocketing them. They aren't significant enough to be displayed or anything such, but he likes to occasionally rummage through the container he puts them in and see what kinds he has. Often, certain ones can remind him of very specific memories, which are fortunately rarely bittersweet or downright bad. Soap keeps the container at base in his quarters — the old ones are back at home of course — since the collection is basically evergrowing.

Back at home, there is a box hidden in his room with an array of concert tickets and wristbands he kept throughout the years. When he was young, he went to a lot of concerts with one company or another, and it was always a habit of his to keep the things that served as an allowance as a good reminder. The tickets used to be pinned to a board on his wall that was facing his bed as a kid, but it wasn't long before he grew up and wanted to join the military. Hence, the board came down, and they were safely tucked into a box along with some other trinkets he had laying around. He pays attention to keep good care of them, although they're not something he looks at constantly or keeps track of (especially since he doesn't have access to them most of the time).

Quite similarly, there are a pack of movie tickets held together with a paperclip stacked into his bedside drawer at home. He liked to visit the cinema often with friends or family both, and it was nice keeping reminders of all the movies he has seen and liked. Sure, there were some that he didn't enjoy all that much, but he still kept the tickets out of habit and by the logic that there was nothing to lose by not throwing them away. Connected to the movies, Soap still has a few posters put away somewhere, although most of them were not even his to begin with. His siblings were always more interested in them than he was, but when there was one he really liked, they were usually understanding and lended some of the posters to him to put up in his room.

Something that's partly because of his enthusiasm for explosions, partly because he likes to fidget with them and the noise they make, is the liking he's taken for the lighters he has in his possession. The interesting thing is, none of them are ever simple and boring; some of them have jokes on them, others are see-through, and most have some kind of pattern on the outside. This is something Ghost has also joined in unintentionally later on, but that's hardly his fault really — it is, but it's not a bad thing so nobody minds.

Possibly, I could also imagine him as someone who collects gum wrappers and little charms, maybe even keychains that make a specific noise. In my mind he has raging ADHD even when he's on his prescribed medication, so there is always something in his hands to absently play with. Also you can't tell me this man wouldn't take those little umbrellas from drinks at bars.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost isn't one to collect things. He doesn't have many personal belongings, a book or old trinket here and there, and he doesn't really see the appeal in such things. Yet, there is no denying how many lighters he has stacked in his bedside drawer at base. It started as a joke really, with Soap gifting him one with a corny joke on the side, swearing Ghost's humor was just the same and he had to buy it for him. From then on, the others also went out their way to find him different lighters they thought he would like, and he didn't stop them. He knows he will never need that many in his life, one works for a month at least, but it feels nice to be remembered by his teammates — although he will never admit that out loud to them.

One thing he does collect though is knives. It's no secret how much Ghost loves weapons with blades, and if you start snooping in his room enough, you will find a whole arsenal carefully tucked away between some gear. Often, cleaning his equipment and keeping everything sharp and ready helps to take his mind off things, especially after missions, so Ghost doesn't see a problem with owning a little more above the amount that's considered normal. They are his favorite weapons to use in combat anyways, and they are much easier to hide and take with him than guns. Besides, it never hurts to be prepared for anything.

In the past, Ghost used to collect different posters as a kid. Movie, music it didn't really matter, he enjoyed putting them up, or just looking through them occasionally. That didn't last long for obvious reasons, but it still lives in the back of his mind as a somewhat pleasant memory.

Of course, we can't forget about the masks either. Obviously they are comfort items — well, most of them — and there are a few he only wears when he has to leave the safety of his apartment during assigned leaves. There are some of them nobody has ever seen (and probably never will), while there are others that the team even shared before (like during the Ghost Team mission). Despite all that, he actually doesn't own a lot of masks, but still more than someone would call a regular amount.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Back in high school, Gaz was what you might consider a theater kid. He wasn't the typical definition of the phrase really; he wasn't in the theater club and didn't take up the acting course at school, and he didn't exactly advertise his love for musicals and acts. Despite that, Kyle had a few things on display that indicated his interest towards those things, and he showed them off openly, not one to hide such about himself in fear of being criticized. One of these were all the different pins he had on his bag, specifically the backpack he only wore to school since it was perfect for his books. The buttons were very diverse: some of them were indeed theater related (his favorite was the Hamilton one), others were connected to sports or music. After finishing high school, Gaz forgot about the bag for a while, but when he found it again he was more than ready to take the pins off. That didn't end up happening though, since he didn't have the heart to ruin something that used to hold so much value to him before. So, the bag is still in the same state it used to be, lost somewhere in the back of his closet.

Something that also ties back to his school years is the stack of old notebooks he has in his room. After a while, he intended to throw them out since there was no need for them anymore, but his sentimental nature didn't allow him to do so. When he's home and remembers to organize and clean his room thoroughly, Gaz finds them sometimes and usually ends up sitting for hours and reading his old notes. It's nice looking back at them and remembering all the stuff he did during those years.

For a while, Gaz was collecting the train tickets he purchased. In the UK you have the opportunity to travel by train quite a lot, and for a time period he had to take a route where it was the easiest form of transport. He doesn't have a reason why he kept them, or at least not any he could figure out by himself, but they are nice reminders of a life he once lived. Sometimes they put a smile on his face and that's enough reason for him to continue keeping them.

It's a well known fact how much Gaz loves wearing baseball caps, even during missions (just like Price with his godforsaken bucket hats, but one would argue his choice is more practical than the Captain's). He doesn't know exactly when he started wearing them so often, but after a while they just became his trademark. There are probably around 4 different ones he keeps at base, in case they get lost or he's not in the mood to wear one specific one, but back at his flat he has a whole bunch of more. Some of them were gifts by friends or family, others are a unique brand or just random caps he spotted somewhere and couldn't leave without.

John Price

The Captain isn't one for trinkets, that much is well known. Sure, he has photographs, mementos and such things just like everyone else, but there isn't anything he outright collects. The others argue that the display of books he has at home is considered a collection already, but he refuses to let them be right. He likes to read in his free time a lot, and getting new books when he has the chance isn't a crime.

There is something even Price himself admits is turning into a habit of collecting though, and it's the amount of pens he has in his possession. At his office, there are probably about ten pens shoved into one of those mesh pencil holders on his desk, although only five or so are likely to be actually working. He has a habit of not throwing the ones that run out of ink away and just putting them back with the rest. He also just can't help but always take those free sample pens whenever they offer them somewhere, swearing it's going to come in handy. He does have to write reports by hand most of the time, that's true, but just a few pens would perfectly suffice.

And naturally, there are the hats. Most of the ones he owns are really similar to each other, the others usually don't even notice when he changes them. He doesn't have a big reason for having them, Price just likes to cover his head with hats and even beanies from time to time. He can and will argue with any member of his team about the fashion aspect of them, defending his choices with vigor.

There are some things he doesn't want to talk about, and they are the dog tags of all of his lost friends and team members that he kept. Price doesn't want to forget about the people he had the chance to meet and get to know, and it would feel disrespectful to get rid of their memory and all that's left of them. There are only a few people who know about this, and he intends to keep it that way; this is something private he wants to carry alone.

Kate Laswell

When it comes to collecting things, Laswell isn't interested in the slightest. Naturally she has a few photos, cards or little gifts that she doesn't want to give away, but she doesn't see the appeal to get a bunch of specific things stacked at home. If anything she does could be considered collecting, it would be those expensive bottles of wines she keeps buying in her basement. There aren't a lot, maybe around ten or fifteen, but she keeps most of them for special occasions, such as anniversaries with her wife or birthdays. Kate isn't that big of a fan actually, but she learned to appreciate the taste of some brands since her wife loves wine.

Back in high school, Laswell was the girl who used different highlighters for her notes. She has never overdone it really, but the titles, names and important information were always emphasized by colorful lines. Often, others wanted to borrow her notes because her handwriting has always been good and readable, but as she grew older, her notes got messier too. Laswell was still organized of course, always has been, but her handwriting gradually became more chaotic — like when you remember how your mother helped you practice letters when you were little, then tried to read her note for the teacher and miserably failed. These days, she just scribbles down whatever she needs really, it doesn't matter too much. Often, signatures are the only valuable thing that need to be readable, the rest of her work is done on the computers.

Now, her wife is a different topic. The living room and bedroom are never missing a scent candle, and there is always a good chance the other rooms in the house will get one too. By extension, she could be considered a collector herself, since there were several times when she bought candles or rearranged them inside the house without giving it a deeper thought. Often she just buys them automatically, not even realizing how many they already have at home.

#call of duty #cod #call of duty: modern warfare ii #cod mwii #modern warfare ii #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost riley #simon riley #kyle gaz garrick #gaz garrick #kyle garrick #john price #captain john price #kate laswell #things they collect #headcanons

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lovingthewildlife · 2 years

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Yautja x Werewolf reader part two.

Part one is here as I resist the urge to make an Electric Boogaloo joke.

The night had veered from unusual to strange and then swiftly into a shift of highly strung emotions within the pace of half an hour. The ooman he had a habit of watching had turned the tables on him. How long had she known that he was watching her? How much of what he had seen was an act to throw him off?

He could feel hot breath on his heels as he ran and his eyes widened as he found himself having to rely on what he could recall of the park as he'd come in earlier. The light was fading to nothing and his biomask provided a heat signature of creatures in the area but not a topographical mapping. So he relied on his wits and reflexes as he ran and leapt over roots. Cursing when his ooman herded him deeper into the forest from her position chasing him at ground level.

He could easily turn around and fight her, but then what would happen? His days and nights had been filled with her before this. He did his bare minimum in hunting when he wasn't bound up in his thoughts of her. He had been treading the line of becoming a Bad Blood, so was this the goddess laughing at him for coming so close? Was this a test?

He didn't want that. As much as he should relish a chance to challenge himself, he didn't want his hunt to be focused on her. He wanted his heart to beat for her in a new way.

And the fact that she was chasing him now, sharp fangs barely getting close enough to nick his heels had his head spinning. His heart reeling even as he wasn’t given a moment to consider what would happen next. She was driving him before her, forcing them both to act on instinct. He didn’t think that any of the oomans on earth could be like this and he wanted to get himself to a vantage point and trap her so he could question her. He needed to catch his breath, steady himself as he ran and start to honesty pay attention.

Because really, he had been behaving like a juvenile almost the entire time he had been preying on her in the way he did. He had come close to the line of being a bad blood and the only thing that saved him was the fact that he didn’t draw blood at any point. He had let his lust lead him and didn’t consider the fact that oomans could be dangerous simply because he hadn’t witnessed her behaving aggressively at any point.

He felt hot breath against his thigh and sped up, snarling as he move around a tree and jumped to the side in an effort to get better distance while getting higher into the trees. Sharp claws dug into the tree that he landed on and when they raked downward it shook the trunk so hard that it nearly dislodged him. His mandibles clenched down as he leapt through the trees, aware that there was a bit of rustling coming from the sides now and he dared a look down to see what had happened.

For a split second he had worried that some human had come upon their chase and they would interrupt the glory of the run. But as his eyes adjusted to the shapes that were coming in from the sides, his heart squeezed when he saw that they were more that were shaped like his ooman. Canine and too large to be feral dogs, they fell into line alongside his ooman and made him pause as he watched the subtle body language before one of them leapt on the trunk of the tree he was up in, snarling at him.

It wasn’t just his ooman that could see him up here, it was the others with her that shared this canine form. One was dark as night and when he took his eyes off her, he swore that she disappeared. The other was a dark brown, while his ooman had a furred form that was a dark grey. All adaptable to the environment, able to blend with the scenery or even just with the night itself.

Tilting his head curiously, he looked at them before pushing off from the branch and continuing onwards, this time making sure that he was heading back into the woods. He didn’t know the area that well, but all he had to do was take a brief look at the pack that had formed to chase him and he saw the way that they were attempting to get him to go. Subtly, he followed their lead, slowly going to lower branches and thrilling in the fact that their howls and barks got louder and faster the closer they got to him. A time or two they leapt up as he jumped and he just barely managed to be missed being bitten. Or were they just taunting him with how close they could get?

He wanted to know. He didn’t want to fight, but he wanted to know how they hunted and how they fought. Jumping down from the lowest branch, he hit the ground and rolled with the momentum. There was a skid of paws to his left and right and a soft flurry of leaves around them but the canine oomans were not coming close enough even though he gave a brief pause.

Emboldened, he turned around and braced himself. His transformed ooman was still racing towards him and he lifted his chin when he saw that she had no intention of stopping. He could practically feel the fangs at his throat, but the two at his side were only barking, as if cheering him or her onward. He barely had time to consider that before the large paws were slamming into his chest, making him hit the ground.

The wind knocked out of him, he opened his eyes to see his ooman sitting on him. She had a feral look on her face. Eyes a dark gold and teeth more like fangs than not. Her hair wild and long, shaggy in a way that almost hid the fact that her ears were pointed now. Her hands weren’t quite human, the fingers longer and something more animalistic in them. Her nails long and black, looking more like claws than anything. And her body had more muscle than he remembered ever seeing on her when he peeked through her window. Her mass kept him pinned and his cock twitched as she moved her weight so her hands were at his shoulders now, making sure he couldn’t get up without a fight.

Sharp teeth snapped at him and he let his mandibles spread wide, did his best to angle his head to show his throat to her. She sneak attacked him, more or less. He would yield for the night.

#yautja x reader #yautja #predator #mun writes #mun writing

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aliskzoo · 10 months

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To Atone for your Sins

“Well darling, all we want to do is help you. Don’t you think they deserve it?”

Homicidal outbreaks, drug littered streets and more menacing people than ever are starting to leak through the cracks of the city walls. And you don’t want a single bite of it. So, when one of your new found friends gets himself caught up in trouble, will you pick up old habits to help, or will you crawl back into hiding?

This story will include scenes of violence and graphic themes, some instances of stalking, and other themes that some viewers may find uncomfortable. I will always specific what is in each chapter, but this is just an overall warning for the rest of this story.

Genre: Action, angst, mature.

Pairing: Ateez, some skz members as well cause why not~

Chapter One: Fuck Fate

900+ words

Warnings// swearing, alcohol, men being weird, kinda talk about religion but not really. Don’t think I’m missing anything. And yes this is based in a strip club.

Authors note: hiiiii, so this is the first chapter for my first series ha. Any and all feedback is very much appreciated. Also the chapters will get larger in terms of words and length, this first chapter is just kinda an introduction to the oc. Enjoy :)

I don’t remember much before this.

Well, that’s a lie. But for the sake of my own sanity, and new identity I ignore it.

All the nightmares, the anxiety…. the guilt.

One person shouldn’t have to go through so much. But I guess fate had other plans for me.

You know what, fuck fate. It landed me here, surrounded by old rich men, willing to spend all their life savings on one night of mediocre pleasure. Around other girls, who are either incurable alcoholics, walking drug mules or are too innocent for their own good. So yeah, fuck fate, or fuck whatever God that runs this absolute shit show of a world.

The girls are ok though, as much as I judge them, they’re all nice. But this place just seems to suck the life out of people, drowning all the bearable moments in copious amounts of average liquor.

This bar seems to either only use the money they get on more alcohol, like we need anymore, or the god damn lights that are blinding me on this rickety old stage. At least my set is nearly over for the night, maybe I should go check on Chuck, he’s always got more money to give me. And maybe I should check on-

“Lucy!”

Shit, I’m just standing here aren’t I. Dammit, now I’m gonna look like an-

“Lucy!”

I did it again didn’t I?

“I’m comin’ Mary, don’t get those lace panties in a twist.” I say as I come off the stage, instantly feeling the temperature difference as I move away from the lights.

“Don’t come at me with that attitude honey, you were just standing there for a whole minute! If anything you should be thanking me for saving your ass-“

“Don’t you have a set to start Mary?”

“Oh shit!”

Oh Mary, if anything she’s just as bad as me when it comes to rambling on. Except I seem to enjoy doing it in my own head, on stage, in front of an audience of paying customers, embarrassing the absolute shit out of myself. But hey, the more I do that, the more pity money I get so I can’t really complain.

As I walk from backstage onto the floor, I spot one of my favourite regulars sitting at the end of the bar, sipping his usual gin tonic. “Why is he one of your favourite customers?” you may ask. Well, because he gives me his money and DOESN’T except me to suck him off. Crazy right?

“Look who’s here on his only night off!” patting his shoulder and letting it linger there juust a little, circling around him to the other side of the bar and picking up the liquor to give him a refill.

“To see my favourite girl of course!” He yells, drawing attention from the greedy men in the audience, some of which who HAVE asked me to suck them off.

“Now now Jisung, no need to get all possessive of me”

“I can’t help it Lucy, you’re a gorgeous girl, and sweet let me tell ya. These greedy fuckers don’t deserve a single second of your time!” God, he really knows how to flatter a girl doesn’t he?

The conversation slowly went into Jisung explaining his day as I cleaned up behind the bar. Every now and then looking up to see him in his own little bubble, explaining his day with his whole body. God he really should be some kind of performer, maybe I should ask if he wants another job? Although he’d probably say no to stripping.

“-I swear Lucy, this guy was HUGE!” He continued, stretching out his arms like he was trying to show me how big the dude really was. He has a thing for over exaggerating.

“Well there’s no chance he’s bigger then you.” That’s probably the worst thing I’ve ever said, but it still makes the tips of Jisung’s ears turn pink.

“Ha, uhh- I mean, obviously! Just look at these guns-“ this is probably the 100th time he’s flexed his arms to me in the last hour, but I gotta say he is quite the looker.

The night from then is kinda boring, I had to go back and forth from the stage and the bar. Had a couple private sessions, which jisung wasn’t too happy with, but besides that it was pretty quiet, typical for a Tuesday night.

And finally, I’m clocking out and leaving this shit hole for a whole 10 hours. The last thing I wanna do right now though is think about the long shift I have tomorrow. Walking out of the ridiculously hot bar and into the crispy air of the night is a feeling I will never get over. A breathe of fresh air, literally. God I can’t wait to pass out when I get home, just wanna block out the rest of the wor-

“LuCy! Lucy!”

Oh for fucks sake!

“Yeah Craig, why aren’t you onto the next bar? We closed an hour ag-“

“Help me- help me please, Lucy I’m begging you”

“Craig seriously, I’m not in the mood for this bullshit again”

“No I’m serious! Lucy please, I need a place to sta-“

“NO! Nope, not happening”

“Bu-“

“Go home to your wife and kids Craig.”

And with that, he was off. Running through the alleyway, stumbling over garbage cans and his own feet towards the street and out of sight.

Why do customers seriously think that the pity party they throw is gonna get them in to our beds. It ain’t our fault their wives find out their spending every penny on strippers and alcohol. God I hope I don’t wake up in the morning, I don’t wanna deal with Craig’s whining bullshit at the asscrack of midday about how I should’ve let him come home with me. We’ll see what happens, I guess.

#ateez fanfic #ateez #kpop au #kpop scenarios #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san angst #song mingi #wooyoung #jongho #skz scenarios #bang chan #skz jisung #changbin #lee minho #ateez angst #skz angst

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genericaccount · 9 months

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sometimes I think I need to pay more attention to what I eat in a day and how that effects ADHD medication and overall mood-emotion-feeling

I haven't eaten at all today which is terrible, I know, but I kept forgetting or telling myself I had to do X, Y, Z first or I had to be up/dressed/teeth brushed first or I would realize I'd waited too long then wanted to have lunch instead of breakfast but then tell myself it would be better to have lunch at X time or after X task.

I know I'm not avoiding eating (although really bad dry mouth symptom from current mystery illness does put me off food) and I know its not because I'm trying to "prove" I don't have to eat/rely on eating (that's a whole other odd past story) but I keep getting stuck in my own bad habit cycle? Like I can't break my own rountine (ex. I have to X before Y) which then has gotten me stuck in this "anti-routine" of waking up before 9-9:30 (this is good, this took me a while) but still end up stuck lying in bed, usually on my phone, till 11-12-or almost 2pm

Sure, time blindness doesn't help, but I know how much Better I feel when I have to be somewhere in the morning and it forces me to be up & dress & (ideally) had breakfast and Outside

More than half the time I usually end up wandering around and have these weird little "oh yeah its kinda nice leaving the house" moments that I ignore/forget later (And yeah going outside in the city means spending money which I really should not be doing right now but)

And yet here I am still internally and quietly telling myself that if I just had the "Perfect Morning Rountine" (because of course its all-or-nothing thinking) that everything would fall into place and I'll feel better (Not in the sense it would solve all problems, I'm still anxious about a work meeting and about a uncomfortable possibly ending friendship situation) But that I will feel more me - more human - like when you finally take a shower that you know you should've taken already and how Clean and Scrubbed you feel after in a very good and minituate rebirth kind of way

But I know logically that it doesn't work that way, not with ADHD and chronic illness and a deficient in self confidence and in accidental social semi-isolation. That my psychiatrist is right when she says that the intial steps are important, like with finally establishing a mostly sucessful wake up time and that maybe I need to find a way to comfortably leave the house that doesn't involve showering so I can fix my hair (wave-curl 2b-2c-3a ish that feels much more unmanageable than it used to be). I used to be comfortable with how I looked, and how I looked when I woke up, but now? I feel ugly. I do. I know I'm exagerating this in my mind and my own perception but yesterday I realized: I hadn't taken a picture of myself in almost a year, I now struggle to put outfits together because I've barely left the house since April so I keep wearing "home clothes", I can see how my eyes are more droopy and sad looking (partially assume its related to consistent lack of enough sleep) and that I hate how I look in photos other people take of me because I no longer know how to smile in pictures without thinking I look sad in every picture.

I know I'm not this person, heck I've managed to do/achieve some pretty cool things and I'm about to start a new path for one of them (its not quite what I was hoping for but it should help me get to where I want to be in a year). I used to be so creative, I used to be more interested in writing and art and just creating. I feel like I've slipped into this near-ghost of myself.

I wish I could say its all social media's fault. That I spent and maybe wasted too many hours on doomscrolling in various apps. But though that is true, I know its not the cause. A distraction, maybe. A draw away from creating rather than consuming, sure. I don't simply "blame myself" (though negative thinking sure tries to) but its not that I'm folding in on myself, but I find myself more often slipping into wanting to exist in couch-tv-vegetable state, wanting to simply zone out to a myriad of media.

Maybe this has all been cumalative burn out? I don't know.

But I'm tired of feeling like this, I say for the thousandth time, I want to start moving forward again. I still don't think this is depression, it feels too other and I don't feel like I'm numb or sinking or any of the ways I hear it described. I think I just feel stuck.

I guess I'll see how tomorrow morning goes.

I'm going to go take a shower.

#thoughts #journal entry #diary entry

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fang-wife · 3 years

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»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

voyeur | m. izuku

➳ tags ;; sub!izuku, dom!reader, watching hentai together?, reader is mean and nice </3, quirkless college au!izuku, corruption kink/religious guilt, unprotected sex/creampies, established relationship, afab reader

➳ wc ;; 2.1k

➳ a /n ;; @/sems-diarie made a post abt this a while ago n my brain wouldn’t let it be so. here we are </3

➳ plot ;; izuku didn’t sneak you into your dorm to watch.. this with you. but he has a habit of letting you do what you like.

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

This is embarassing.

He knows this is embarassing - more embarassing than he really cares to admit to. He should really know better by now then to let you do as you please. You’re always stringing him along with your schemes and plans and he loses sight of his morals. His standards.

Then again, he doesn’t have any at this point. The point of him paying for this single dorm was so that he could have space to focus. It wasn’t to sneak you in when his R.A. wasnt looking. Even more then that, it wasn’t to do.. whatever this was.

It’d be one thing if he was having sex. That’s a normal thing to do in college, to sneak your partner in and smash. But you’re you, and all you ever seem to have planned for him are hair-brained schemes. It’s what this feels like - when you sit on his twin size bed and pat the empty space next to you. The distrust in his expression makes you laugh.. He sighs and does what you’ve asked.

“What’re you doing?”

He sounds exasperated. You laugh - too pleasantly for him to be comfortable. You type something into the search bar. Green eyes widen, skin warm and blushing.

“Wh-what’re you doing?”

You laugh as you prop the computer on the bed. You grin at him, tucking yourself under his arm. The website mocks him, all black background and animated women with huge tits covering the screen edge to edge.

“You know something, after you’re done using incognito mode - you’re supposed to switch out to regular search, you know,” you explain. Your hand rests on his thigh. Deku freezes.

The sound of your voice has always been something of a vice. It gets a little raspy like this - sultry in a way that has him squirming. He doesn’t know what to do. He can feel the heat of your body.

“Would you know my surprise when I borrow your phone to look up when the convience store closes,” you inch closer, press further “only to see..”

He knows what you saw before you announce it. His skin feels like it’s on fire, tuning out whatever description you’ve been giving of what he chose to watch.

Maybe it was the way he was raised - but he always had such a specific sort of guilt towards pornography. Always told himself he shouldn’t watch things like that, shouldn’t touch himself. Izuku had always been a good, well-behaved boy. Done the right thing even when it was hard.

Meeting you had changed that, changed him. He found his body craving you when he couldn’t control it and he ended up here - watching porn and jerking off with his shirt in his mouth. It’s all come back to haunt him, really.

“I’m not mad, y’know,” ― and your tone goes soft - it’s assuring enough that Izuku can whimper out an okay, but you’re not done ― “I’m just curious. Can’t we watch it together?,”

“That’s ― !”

You flutter your lashes him.

“That’s?”

He has a million words that he can say. That he should say. Bad, wrong, immoral. Words that belong at the end of the sentence to describe what he’s doing with you and what he’s considering.

None of that comes out.

“That’s.. too much”

You grin at him.

“Do you not want too?”

“..I didn’t say that, it’s just -”

Your hand squeezes his thigh until your stiletto's dig into them. Your mouth trails his jaw with hot, open mouth kisses until your turning his head to face you. A hand splayed on his face, tongue deep in his mouth. French kissing makes him pant - hands twitching eagerly to touch you. He watches, dazed - the spit trail of saliva that stretches between you two.

He’s so easy, it’s cute. You press forward with a chaste kiss.

“Show me what you were watching, Izuku,”

His hand trembles as he leans forward. He remembers the title - doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. Within seconds, it shows up and he clicks. You lean forward too, observing the tags with a small smile on your face.

“Milf, NTR, Gangbang,”

“S-stop reading them!”

You giggle.

Without warning - you press play. Izuku finds himself frantic. Worried about the sound, the time, all of it - but you don’t seem to care. The AD comes on and you skip that too. It’s on. A familiar arousal blooms in his chest, the memory of what he’d seen appearing. You settle between his legs, your back pressed to his chest. You bring his hands around your waist.

“Let’s watch ~”

Izuku face twists with displeasure. The plot nothing to ride home about - a lonely housewife goes out to a club and finds someone to take care of her needs. At first it’s just one stranger at the club - then two, then she’s surrounded and its too much.

Izuku assumes you’re gonna find him disgusting, but when he looks at your face - you’re smiling, heart-beating in your chest. His eyes blow wide when you take his hand between your legs. You’re wet and you’re letting him touch you and he’s trying his hardest not to show how much he’s shaking.

A little sigh of pleasure leaves your mouth when Izuku very carefully rubs your clit. It throbs under the pressure of big fingers - you hold his wrist and moan. He can hear the porn in the background but it doesn’t serve to distract him from you.

“You want me to go n’ get fucked by a bunch of strangers, ‘zuku?”

He shakes his head furiously.

“Then you just like watching depraved shit, huh?”

Unable to argue with you or with the the way his cock twitches and jumps in his jeans, he opts to whine. You can feel his it against your lower-back, the little wet-spot that presses to your thin tshirt. He’s too turned onto think properly - watching the way your body jerks and twitches.

The woman on screen is stuffed to the brim with cock - it’s all over exaggerated he knows, but he thinks that’s why he likes it. Maybe he just likes the idea of fucking someone that stuffed fulled of cum, how it leaks and pours onto every surface and the way her cunt just seems to take it. And Izuku is such a good, well behaved boy - it’s never crossed his mind to think about doing it to you.

And no, he doesn’t really want to see you get fucked by so many men but if there were more than one of him he’d be more than inclined to let you. His chest feels tight forgetting to breath.

He thinks maybe you’re some kind of witch because you always seem to know what he wants before he does. The right way to push all of his buttons.

“Oh, I see’ ― and he’s afraid of whatever words come out of your mouth next ― “you wanna fuck me full of your cum, Izuku? Wanna know how it feels raw?”

He moans - loud and shameless and needy against your ear. A breathless laugh leaves your mouth because that’s exactly what he wants. He wants to fuck you full of cum, just picturing how good it might feel.

You sit up on your knees and bend over a little - pulling short-shorts beneath the curve of your ass and thickest parts of your thigh. Your panties are drenched, clinging to your folds. He inhales sharply, frozen till as you lean forward - pulling them to one side.

“Take your cock out ‘n fuck me then, baby” ― you challenge, dark and dangerous. Everything about you is so sinful and too tempting for him to ignore. His cock aches ― “Do your best”

His body moves before he has a proper chance to feel shame. Whatever devils been whispering in his ear (read: you) has won whatever leftover dignity he has left. Without a proper word, his cock stands to attention. His hands are fidgety but they mange to settle on your waist. He guides you down on his dick, bottom lipped pulled between his teeth hard enough to draw blood.

“Oh, fuck”

He’s going to cum right away if he doesn’t take a breather. This is the first time he’s feeling you, and it feels so much better than he could understand. The lingering thoughts of the dangerous act silence by how tight and how wet and how willing your pussy is for him. The way your walls twitch - ache shamelessly around his cock. He’s fucking sliding in and out of you - it feels like a special privilege he’s done nothing to earn.

He’s shivering, over and over. When he looks down, he’s not all the way in. He’s not sure if he’s praying to god for the right reason - for forgiveness. All he can think about is how good it feels to be inside and how he absolutely doesn’t want to do anything else.

“How’s it feel, Izuku?”

He groans at the sound of your voice, the way you clench down on him and stretch so tightly around his shaft. He’s too wrapped up in the feeling of your cunt - like heaven and silk.

“F-feels so, so good”

Part of you thinks you should ride him, but another part of you is more interested in seeing how he fucks you. You snap the laptop closed and push it to the other side of the bed, before flipping around and laying on your back. His cock slips out and he snaps into reality - the way you have your legs in the air and your arms out.

“I’ll let you fuck me as many times as you want today,” ― your legs reach and wrap around his waist, easily forcing his cock back inside ― “go on,”

Izuku is a mess, really. His pants are only half-way pulled down and he’s wearing a nerdy graphic t-shirt. He’s borderline in hysterics over how good your pussy feels and can’t do anything other than thank you repeatedly and fuck you with an animalistic need. It’s clumsy like you’d expect, but he makes up for it with sheer enthusiasm.

His cock is long and pretty - hits every spot you need it too. Izuku fucks you with shallow, sloppy thrusts - so needy and chasing his orgasm. Selfish and inexperienced. Every time he pushes forward, you can feel he’s throbbing. Aching to cum inside and unload.

You reach a hand between the two of you to finish on your own time - planning on cumming before him. He doesn’t seem to care.

“Ngh, ohh my god, feel’s’good”

“Yeah? Gonna cum inside me, handsome? Makin’ such a pretty face for me”

His stomach churns at the way you call him pretty. It sounds so sweet and adoring - but he knows that you’re a bully. He knows that about but fucks you with all his strength anyways - overly frustrated and fucked out of his mind by the feeling. Like a drug. He likes you so much he feels stupid over it.

“Yeah, yeah ‘m gonna”

Your own orgasm washes over you in a pleasant wave, squeezing his cock with force. He gasp and goes faster - all the thoughts washed away from his head. He needs to finish more than he needs anything. More than he needs to sleep for his 6am work-out and 8am class. More than he needs to be quiet because the walls of his dorm are paper thin. More than he needs to exercise self-control, he needs to cum so fuckin bad.

“Look at me,”

He follows your command, like always - and you look amused and fucked out just like he is. And Izuku has really never been this into anyone before so seeing you evokes feelings he can’t understand.

“Oh, fuuck“

Briefly he understands that he really just came by looking at you, but nothing really makes sense to him. His eyes are heavy and he’s drooling onto your shoulder, spasming and clinging to your body with the most needy little whimpers. It’s so lewd, how he can feel his cum spurt out and coat your insides and his cock. It’s all so sinful but it feels so good, he can’t bring himself to care.

“So,” ― you smile, full of mischief ― “if you want to be like that, we’ve got a few rounds to go”

Izuku splutters at your comment and you laugh. He knows you’re not joking and he whines. You really are a bad influence on him. But with the way his cock is twitching to life again..

He might not be any better.

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

#deku x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #deku x y/n #deku x you #gonna post first w/o tags then add them in #knk ;; [ unprotected ]#sub!bnha #sub!izuku #knk ;; [ corruption ]

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yesimwriting · 3 years

Text

BloodRoots in the Suburbs - chapter two

Chapter Two: Kill Habits, Not people

prologue

Chapter One: The Babysitter

*pls let me know if you prefer longer chapters with longer times between updates or shorter chapters that are up faster,, i’m trying to work out a writing schedule lol

a/n yall i just woke up and the amount of support this fic has gotten has made my heart feel so warm!! love yall!! and if you like it so far just wait until we get to the chapters i need to listen to taylor swift to write lmao

...also off topic but they’re putting harry styles in the mcu?? yeah they did that for me i love it

Series Summary: Bloodroots are such a strange flower--white and innocent looking yet undeniably poisonous. It has no place in the safest neighborhood in CA. Then again, neither do you. The suburbs are killing you, and no one understands that...at least you think no one does. I see that in the way you roll your eyes when your sister presses the issue of when you’re going to get back on your feet. I see that restlessness when you’re in the small plot of land that you’ve actually managed to turn into some type of garden. I see you; I understand you. And if it wasn’t for the confines I bear to protect my son, I’d let you know that. But for now, I settle for knowing that the two of us are equally trapped, and I take some solace in that. I feel bad about it, I do, considering that from what I’ve gathered you spent most of your life being considered the perfect, ideal golden girl that was nothing but potential. And now you’re no longer the gifted child, the one that’s first to raise their tiny hand in class, the one that knows everything. But that’s okay--because I’ll make my selfishness up to you.

Chapter Summary: What’s a cup of coffee between two neighbors? Nothing, until Joe realizes that people die a lot easier than habits do.

Joe’s POV

Who the fuck is Ashton?

Your sister is texting you to not come home for awhile in case he’s on the way to her house. Your house.

Maybe the person calling you is more of a problem than I thought. I want to help you, I really do, but I’m not sure I can justify it yet. I’m not alone anymore, I have a son to think about, and with how impulsive Love is, I need to keep myself under control. Henry can’t grow up with two murderers as parents, he’ll end up in the system and I know what that does to a child.

But I won’t let anyone hurt you, either. I promise.

You come back with no warning. “Hey, have you seen my phone? I thought it was in my back pocket, but--”

I turn the screen of your phone off. “Just found it.”

You don’t even look at me oddly before taking it. You’re not suspicious at all. Are you always this trusting? The kind of trusting people like Ashton have no problem taking advantage of? Your home screen turns on--another text? From your sister or the source of the problem? You frown, your eyebrows faintly drawing together.

“Something wrong?”

This isn’t about confirming what I know. What I’m really trying to figure out is how much you trust me, how much you’re willing to tell me. You shrug off your concern, shoving your phone into the back pocket of your jeans as you look back at me. “Worried older sisters, a tale as old as time.”

Worried older sisters? Are you really this dismissive about the issue, or are you putting up a brave front for the neighbor you don’t really know yet? I thought we already had more than that.

“...And ex-boyfriend’s tend to exasperate that instinct.”

So there is more of a connection here than just a distant, neighborly politeness. You let me know that it’s not all in my head, and I’m thankful for that. I’m also thankful that I know what Ashton is. Ex-boyfriend. An ex-boyfriend so bad you still feel the need to downplay everything he’s done to you, but you can’t hide all of it. Not from anyone that takes the time to note the look behind your eyes. Not from anyone that cares to pay attention. The rest of the world might be ignoring you, willing to let you fend for yourself, but not me, y/n. You’re not alone.

I wish there was a way to let you know that. But I can’t say it to you, not yet. “A boyfriend from New York?”

Your frown makes me regret me regret mentioning where you’re from. The fact that you’re from New York and that you left the city in less than amicable circumstances is no secret. I understand needing to disappear and having limited options, but you picked a hell of place for privacy.

“Yeah.” You wipe your hands on your jeans. “He’s from New York.”

I can save this, there has to be something I can say to get you to stop looking like a kicked puppy. It might have been too soon to test the waters around the New York subject. You’re resigned, tired about the inevitable conversation that forces you to relive what you believe are mistakes.

“And you need a break from New York?” An obvious question, I know, but I need to hear you say it. Maybe you don’t belong there anymore. I’m not deluded enough to think that you could ever belong here, but there must be somewhere...not LA, not again. Maybe you belong somewhere like DC now, the Washington Post would be lucky to have you, and there are a lot of bookstores there, old bookstores that could--

No. No. There’s no way for me to insert myself into your future. I can’t...I’m not supposed to try to. I hold Henry a little tighter, trying to remind myself why I have to be careful. “From him--I don’t need a break, I need an early retirement with a...401K.” You’re funnier than I realized, I’ll never doubt you again. “From New York, I don’t know. I can’t live with my sister forever, but I--sometimes I feel like I need the city, which is a weird thing to feel.”

You’re meant for more than the mundane, of course being surrounded by it makes you feel like you’re disappearing. I understand that; I understand you. “It’s not.”

Your eyes soften. You’re not used to being seen without someone asking for something in return. In New York, you thought people were seeing the real you when you wrote, but the moment the editors saw your talent, they exploited it. They squandered you, and you’re just starting to see it.

“There are other cities.” You have a talent for knowing when you’re treading on serious grounds. I can feel you turning away, maneuvering your feelings in a way that has to be practiced. “News never ends in Washington.”

I smile more than I should. Already, we’re on the same wave length. Like we’re meant to be, like I was always supposed to find you. Find you here, not in New York where you believed that you ran the world and I believed that my one was Guinevere Beck. Here--where I need you and you need me.

“I think DC’s worthwhile.” I’m trying to let you go, I really am. “But I...I don’t know much about it.”

You nod once, no sign of rejection on your face. “Neither do I, to be honest.” I want to tell you that we can learn about it together. I want you to picture a world in which we’re together. I want--I want you. “Well, thank you for letting me watch Henry, I should go before I overstay my welcome.” Like you could ever do that. “You must be tired from work.”

Do you really think I don’t want you here? And what about the text your sister sent you? Are you going to dismiss it? Maybe when you brushed it off as your sister being overprotective, you weren’t trying to appear together in front of a stranger. Is that how you actually feel? Your sister seemed to be scared of him. She said he was crazy enough to get on a plane and come here. He knows you don’t want to talk to him, he could be dangerous. For all we know, he wants to hurt you, y/n.

Your phone rings. I know you want to hide the way you’re feeling, but I see it. The way your body tenses. “Not too tired.” You nod once, so distracted you’re not questioning why I don’t ask about the phone call. “Do you want me to walk you back?”

You almost smile. I can feel what you almost say: it’s just across the street. “I um...I think I’m going to go to that coffee place at the end of main street before I go back.” At least you’re listening to your sister. “My sister doesn’t keep it in the house anymore, I think a part of her believes that if it’s in her cupboards the toxins will leak into everything and somehow make it into her uterus.” The moment the words are out of your mouth, you cringe, shutting your mouth. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud. I sound like a sucky person and I just said the word ‘uterus’ to you.” You grimace again. “And now I’ve said it twice.” You shake your head, apologetic. “I’m just gonna go before I say something else dum--”

“No, no.” It’s nowhere near the worst I’ve heard. Love felt comfortable expressing all of her pregnancy. “I um...I could actually go for some coffee.” I shouldn’t be doing this. I--I have to do this. Someone could be after you. “And Henry needs his daily walk.” Too definitive, I need to ease off. “If it’s not an imposition. You know, if you want your alone time, I totally get it, after dealing with--”

“No.” Your chin tilts less than an inch upwards. You want me to go with you. “I like company, but definitely don’t feel like you have to.”

“I definitely don’t feel like I have to.”

You smile. The look erases all of my hesitation. “Okay...then let’s go.”

With Henry in his stroller, we walk outside. I try to casually watch your sister’s house--there’s no new car in the drive way, and there’s nothing to indicate that someone that’s not supposed to be there is inside.

As we pass the houses down the street, you stay at what you consider a safe distance...but it wouldn’t take much for me to get our hands to touch. You want me to have the option to brush our fingers together, the option to hold your hand.

All of us walking together to get a mid afternoon coffee. It feels natural. Like we’re supposed to be one family. You feel it the way you felt our connection in your front yard. You still don’t have a name for this feeling, and it’s starting to pull at you, but you’re not as uncomfortable as you were the first time you felt it. That’s how we’ll be--you’ll see that there’s nothing scary about being seen as long as I’m the one looking.

I’m going to let you go. I let out a breath, doing all I can to focus on what’s directly in front of me. Henry is calm in his stroller, but his presence is enough to remind me what I’m holding myself back for. I’ll do anything for my son, which means I need to stay with Love, which means there’s no guarantee I can protect you from her.

“You’re going to be disappointed in my coffee order.” The comment comes with no warning, and neither does your sudden lightness.

“Disappointed?” I know you have to hear the smile in my voice, but there’s no point in trying to hide how your good humor makes everything feel right. This is how it’s supposed to be.

You nod, turning your head slightly to watch me as you walk. “My coffee order is painfully un-enigmatic.”

Un-enigmatic? I laugh. Okay, I’ll give you that one. “One, you’re implying that a coffee order is a worthy indicator of whether one is or isn’t an enigma. Two, un-enigmatic isn’t a word.”

“Is to.”

“Is not.”

Your eyebrows draw together sharply and your lips press together into a line I have no choice but to describe as obstinate, but the corner of your mouth betrays you, tilting upwards and letting me know that you’re fighting a smile. Our argument is nothing more than a way to pass time, but your expression just makes me want to give in. It makes me want to give in on anything. You can be right about everything forever.

“I used it in an article once, multiple editors read it, and none crossed it out.”

The warmth that returned to you is beginning to fade. You’re thinking of The New York Times again, of what they did to you. Of what that asshole editor accused you of so that he could get away with the way he harasses female writers. “Yeah, and since when is the New York Times known for their judgement?” You smile, but it’s nothing like the one before. This one is for my sake. “Not since they let you go, that’s for sure.”

Your grin isn’t exactly happy, but it’s not sad either. I’ll take it for now. “Thanks.”

“I’m serious, the idiot that fired you is going to regret it.”

You tilt your head slightly to get a better look at me. “The ‘idiot that fired me’ has two Pulitzer Prizes.”

“So?” How could he be better than you? You’re half his age and already working directly beneath him. He probably used that scandal as an excuse to get rid of you before you could lap him. “One day, you’ll have three.”

You drop your head when you think I’m not looking so that I can’t see the way you’re trying to fight a real smile. I’m not exaggerating, y/n. Look at how far you’ve come with no one particularly looking out for you. Imagine how successful you could be if I was there for you. “And you’ll be able to say you knew me when.”

We’re only a few steps away from the coffee shop. “That I will.”

I try to open the door for you, but you beat me to it, holding it open so that I can push the stroller through the entrance. When the door falls shut, you don’t hesitate to wander towards the back of the coffee shop. You stop at a table that’s tucked far away enough from the window that people walking by won’t immediately notice you, but not so far that you’re distant from sunlight. Your life must revolve around that--wanting to be in the sun, but being afraid of the window.

We sit across from each other, Henry’s stroller tucked out of the way, between a wall and our table. “So what is your un-enigmatic coffee order?”

You place your hands on the table, leaning towards me in a way that makes the collar of your shirt lower itself slightly, hinting at just a little more cleavage than what would be considered polite. Are you being more than friendly? “Caramel iced latte, extra cold foam.”

...At least you’re honest.

“Don’t laugh.”

I tried not to, y/n. “I am--I’m not laughing.” Your eyebrows draw together, skeptical. “I am just appreciating your honesty.”

The way you glare at me makes it even harder to keep a straight face. “Appreciating my honesty? Really?”

“Yes.” You don’t believe me and I can’t even blame you for it. “Your coffee order isn’t funny.” You raise an eyebrow. “It’s not, it’s the--it’s the way you presented it. Who describes a coffee order as a way to determine whether someone is or isn’t an enigma?”

You blink, a hint of doubt on your face. “What’s your coffee order?”

A change of topic, I’ll let you have it. “Half a packet of cream.”

Your eyebrows draw together, frowning in surprise. “That’s it? That’s your whole order?” I nod once, you frown in a way that makes it hard to keep my smile in check. “That is so not fair.”

Okay, you can’t get mad at me for laughing at that. “How?”

“Because that’s the kind of coffee order that’s like...full of intrigue, and mystery and--” You sigh, grinning, “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

I wish I could. “Save your debate for when I get back with our coffees.”

You turn as I stand. “I can get my coffee--”

“No, no, you stay here with Henry.” You’re not convinced, you’re not used to people doing things for you the way you do things for them. I turn away before you can say anything else. You’ll get used to people doing things for you.

I walk up to the counter, ordering the coffee and paying for it as the barista makes it. When I come back, you’re looking at your phone. Do you look worried, or is that in my head? You smile when you see me, pocketing your phone as I sit down across from you.

“Your unremarkable, un-mysterious coffee.”

You like that I’m joking, that we can have banter. “Thank you.” You take the cup from me, the tips of our fingers brushing. Could that have been on purpose? “How much do I owe you for the coffee.”

“Nothing.” It’s the truth--after all you’ve given me, what’s the cost of a five dollar cup of coffee?

You don’t seem to see it my way, that’s why you’re glaring in a way I think you imagine is intimidating. “Joe.”

I take a sip of coffee. “Y/n.” I use the same sharp tone that you used. “Hey, I still owe you money from babysitting.”

“I told you, you don’t--”

“And I told you, you’re getting paid whether you want to be or not.”

You hold your hands up in mock defense, easing into your seat. “Fine, but this better come out of that.”

I mean this with only love, y/n, but that’s never happening. “Okay, I concede.” Your eyebrows draw together, you’re still suspicious. I need to change the subject. “So how was Henry?”

“Amazing, you may have the world’s greatest baby.”

“He was putting on a show for you.”

You laugh slightly between sips of your drink. “Sarah told me you guys were new here.”

“We moved for Henry, you can’t beat the schools.” You nod, even though school districts have nothing to do with your world. You want to understand me. “I lived in LA for awhile, but I’m from Brooklyn.”

The corner of your mouth turns upwards. The city, something in your wheelhouse, something you know how to understand. “Brooklyn?” I nod. “Do you ever miss New York?”

Oh, this conversation. There’s only so much I can tell you about New York. “Sometimes, but sometimes you have to know when it’s time to let something go.” Like this--I need to take my own advice and let you go. Henry coos, reminding me of the permanent link I have to the unstable monster that would kill you if she ever even suspected I’ve thought about you.

“You’re right.” You nod, trying not to frown. You’re thinking of what happened to you, of what you’ve lost. “But sometimes that’s easier said than done.”

I know exactly how you feel. “If letting go was easy, there’d be less screwed up people in the world.”

You tilt your head to the side, something warm outshining the shadows of your past. See, y/n, I can help you. “That’s fair.” You take a sip of coffee, a bit of foam lingering above your top lip.

“You um...you’ve got some...” You look down, embarrassed as you wipe at the spot right next to the patch of foam.

“Did I get it?”

“Um.” You’re watching me carefully...or is it expectantly? I move my hand slowly, giving you every opportunity to stop me that I know you won’t take. My thumb brushes against the top of your lip, the rest of my fingers gently pressing beneath your jaw. The foam isn’t there anymore, but my thumb still is.

I can’t move away. I don’t want--I can’t let you go. There has to be a way for things to work out...don’t I owe it to us to try? You’re my one, y/n, I know it. I’ve always believed in the concept, the one person you’re meant for, your one soulmate. Candace wasn’t committed, Beck was a child that kept choosing ways to hurt herself, Natalie only saw me as entertainment, and Love...she’s unstable. But you--you’re worth fighting for. It might be messy, but there has to be a way, love always finds a way. I don’t have to be some kind of handcuff, maybe there’s a way for us to have everything. Maybe there’s a way for us to have Washington together.

I’ve felt sure that I found the one before, but this...it’s different. I know it is.

I brush my thumb along the slope of your lips, feeling your warmth, your softness. You hold still, your eyes are wide, like a deer caught in headlights.

You want this too, you feel our connection and it scares you for so many reasons. You’re not the type to go after a married man, much less a married neighbor with an infant son. And after what happened in New York, you’re in no state to take risks. You’re also just generally scared of being known and cared for--probably because of Ashton, who--if your sister’s texts are to be believed--probably a stalker.

All of these things are reasons for you to back away, but you don’t. If anything, you lean closer as much as you dare, just angling your head slightly. Your lips part and I hold my breath. What are you going to say?

A ringing sound forces reality to crash around us. You pull back completely, muttering a quick--and awkward--thank you, before checking your phone. If I didn’t have it out for Ashton before, I really do now.

You frown--are you upset that we were interrupted or is something else wrong? “Anything important?”

“No,” the response comes a little too fast, and you can’t quite look me in the eye. That’s okay--I’m affected by the moment we just shared too. I can be patient, I can put in the work that I need to so that you can feel comfortable being cared for. “I um--loose ends in New York.”

Loose ends that fly out because you won’t answer their obsessive phone calls? “Oh.”

“Nothing bad,” you assure me with one quick nod. “Editors keep reaching out.”

Oh, a tale as old as the social media age. You may not have benefited from a post #metoo world, but they still want you to be apart of it. They want to make you the latest of the club of petty, scorned women. They’ll have you work on a book a ghostwriter helps you with so that it can published before the news cycle can get bored of you and then they’ll send you to onto one of those talk shows where women yell at other women in the name of empowerment. They want you to take an injustice and re-market it into something viral--it’s a brutal blow to feminism, but as far as career strategies go, it’s not the worst.

But you don’t want that. You don’t really know what you want, that’s why you came here...into a town that could have come from that universe in A Wrinkle in Time. “Oh, should I expect a tell-all?”

You look away from your phone screen, wrinkling your nose. The look tells me I was right about you. You find the idea of exploiting what you’ve gone through nauseating. Maybe one day you’ll be able to talk about it, write about it even, and make the asshole that decided his dick was worth more than your career suffer, but you need time. You need someone to help you heal. “No, I can’t even write a cohesive email about what happened let alone--” You cut yourself off, reaching for your cup even though most of what’s left is ice. You don’t want to talk about this, especially not with me yet. I’m still a little more than a nice stranger, someone to be polished around. I can wait until I’m not, so I let it go. “At this point they’d take anything, but...”

Anything? Now that’s different--don’t get me wrong, it’s still an exploitation of what you went through so that some publishing house can get money, but at least they’re letting you pick the format. “But?”

You tap your nails on the counter. You’re nervous now. “I’ve always wanted to write a book, but like this...it feels like--god, this is going to sound stupid.”

How could anything causing you so much stress be stupid? “You’ve told me your coffee order, I doubt it’s worse than that.”

You look up again, almost smiling. You appreciate the joke. “It feels like cheating.” I don’t react because I know from the way that you blurted out the words like you were ripping off the world’s most adhesive bandaid, there’s more. “If I write a book, and it gets attention and everything I’ve ever wanted works out...and it’s because agents and publishers were interested in me because of what he did--it feels like cheating. It feels like my entire career will be his, and that’s exactly what he said.” Your eyes are wider now, practically glazed over. Please don’t cry over him--I don’t know what I’ll do if I see you cry over him. I don’t know if I have the self control to not search up flights to New York the second you walk away if you start crying because of him. “Forget I said anything--I told you it was stupid. And it’s not like I’ve really been able to write anything since...”

It was worse than the papers said. I don’t know how anyone could talk to you about it and not see it. He did more than just offer you something...he really hurt you. The man’s name had been kept out of several articles, but I know he wouldn’t be hard to find. He wouldn’t be hard to get rid of. You weren’t the first young writer he said he wanted to work with, you’re just the first to say something. There are no doubt more victims who were silenced, who settled in court but got nothing. It wouldn’t make me a bad person to get rid of him. I know I don’t want to do things that could make me a bad parent, but I don’t think this would. I mean, I don’t want to raise my son in a world in which men like the one that hurt women like you get away with it with no consequences.

“Y/n, there is no world, no universe, even, in which he gets credit for anything you do.” You nod, your expression softening slightly but not exactly relaxing. I don’t blame you, you’ve probably been told that by every person that you’ve told that to. I watch you carefully, desperate for any clue on how to help. How can I take your hurt away, y/n? Tell me and I’ll do it, please. “Do you want him dead?”

Shit--I shouldn’t have said that. You’ve known me for less than 48, you don’t have any background on my sense of humor yet, maybe I can play it off as a joke? Shit, you’re still looking at me like that.

“What?”

“I kind of exaggerated, a little, but I was just trying to see how angry you are. Not that you’d kill him, or that anyone would, but there’s this saying about anger and sadness and how most anger is just sadness...but that’s bullshit, because you should be angry--but not murderously angry, it’s--”

You save me from myself with a laugh. An almost teary, awkward laugh. “Relax, I didn’t think you meant it literally.” Thank god. “I don’t know how angry I am--it comes and goes, and--sometimes I think I wouldn’t mind pulling off a kind of The Count of Monte Cristo-esque situation.” Are you joking? Do you want him gone? “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“At least it’s the murder that involves the least violence.”

You don’t quite smile, but at least you’re relaxed again. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

You shrug before relaxing further into your seat. You’re trying to shrink away from me, from what you feel. “The company, the coffee, not making me feel crazy.”

“Anytime.” You nod, finally smiling again. “No I mean it--literally ‘any time’, my only options for friends here are men that virtual reality their porn, and spend a lot of time in the wilderness for no reason other than that they can, and men that make me drink caviar flavored, zero calorie energy drinks.” You laugh, the sound so genuine all of my bad thoughts are forgotten.

“The wives are nice,” your defense is weak and you know it, “if you actively try to block out most of their gossiping.” So that’s why you’ve buried yourself away, confining yourself to your backyard, and only bearing the real world out of necessity. “Natalie seemed the nicest, but that might just be because she wanted a friend.” Of course you liked Natalie. “It’s terrible, what happened to her.”

“Yeah, it really is.”

“Did you know her well?”

Outside of our almost-affair and then covering up her murder? No, not really. “She was right next door, I saw her but we didn’t talk often. Had a glass of wine with her once, around the time I moved in...but I didn’t know her well enough to be able to talk about her too much now without feeling...” How do I word this in order to get you to stop asking questions I can’t let you ask?

“I get it. Grieving someone you barely knew because they suffered a tragedy feels weird and kind of wrong if you do it openly.” ...Yeah, not quite, but let’s go with that. “I’m glad you’re honest.”

Ah, so you’ve met Sherry and you know about the way she twisted Natalie’s interference as a tool to gain more followers. You don’t know it, but this is just proof of how good you are--you won’t even turn your own pain into profit for no reason other than financial. You want to wait until you’re no longer hurt so that you can be tactful, I respect that.

“I am honest,” I agree, “and I meant it when I said we should do this again.”

You hesitate because you’re not sure if my offer is out of pity. The way your eyebrows draw together tell me you can’t stand pity. “I’d like that. I’d like to be friends.”

Friends. If that’s what we need to be for now, I’ll take it. I’ll be patient. And if I want there to be a chance of this working out, I need to be tactful. Which means I can’t let myself get lost in our moments together. Love will be back soon. “Well, friend, I’m ready to go if you are.”

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

We walk out together...a little slower than the pace we used to walk here. You’re more at ease now. You’re getting used to talking to me. You ask about my job, what I did before this...I lie as little as possible. You let me get in a few questions. By the time we’re rounding the block, I know that you’re the youngest of three. Your sister is two months shy of being ten years older than you and your brother is four years older than her. You’ve felt like the forgotten child more than you’d ever admit to yourself, but you’re not bitter about it. At least not towards your siblings. Your mother is a mystery...you speak about her like she’s an expensive vase you’ve never been allowed to touch. You never mention a father. You do mention a few good friends: an old roommate waiting for you in New York named Sicily--and you don’t let me get away with laughing at the pretentiousness of naming a child Sicily--and two girls that you used to go to NYU with, Camille and Charlie.

We’re only a few feet away from your house and I’m sadder than I should be. I’ll see you soon...and if Ashton’s there, waiting for you--

There’s a car in the driveway that wasn’t there before. That doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s him. The car is nice, it could belong to your brother-in-law--maybe he just got back from work. Or--

“Oh my god...” You stop walking, I tighten my grip on Henry’s stroller. Is it him? What kind of unstable person would follow you from New York?

The driver’s door is opened, both of us stay still as someone comes out of the car. Their back straightens as they shut the car door. It’s...

“Colin!” Your enthusiasm isn’t making me feel any better. “You’re here!”

The guy--who is honestly, way too tall for you--walks around the car. You take off, running to hug the stranger. Colin. He didn’t come up today when we were walking back to the coffee shop.

You pull away from the hug first, but Colin seems to try to make it linger. “Colin, you’re here.”

“You didn’t think I’d leave you here by yourself forever.” Maybe you did, considering that he didn’t. help you in New York.

“No, not forever.” Your tight smile tells me you’re thinking what I was thinking. It’s easy for anyone to come in like the good guy after the aftermath of an incident, but he didn’t jump into the burning building to save. “Please tell me you’re not here on behalf of the agency. I’d hate to have to kick you out.“

He works at an agency? He doesn’t care about you, y/n--he wants to use you the same way everyone else does. Why else would he show up now? If he cared, he would have been there for you before. “One, you can’t kick me out I’m staying in a hotel.” Doesn’t mean she has to let you hang around. “And two, don’t be so cynical--I missed you, babe.” Babe? Don’t be so cynical? Is this really your type, y/n? Sleazy men that are genetically pre-dispositioned to dismiss every emotion a woman feels? “And who’s this...”

"Oh, this is Joe...and his son, Henry--they live across the street.” How comforting, you didn’t completely forget my existence the moment you saw this guy park his escalade and step out in a suit that’s way too tight for a man his age. Note the sarcasm.

“Joe.” He doesn’t like me. I know it the moment he looks me in the eye--I can see it, the silent ‘thanks for watching her until I decided I was done being busy, but back off now’. “And Henry.” He waves, i have to bite back to urge to tell him to not look at my son. I’m holding it together for you. “Nice to you meet you guys.”

“Yeah, good to meet you too, man.” I can be polite for now. For your sake. I need to know who he is. I need to know how large of an obstacle has just been thrown into our already difficult path, and I can’t exactly find out in front of you. “I had fun getting coffee, but if I don’t get Henry back for his nap, his entire schedule will be off. Do you mind if I drop off the baby sitting money off later?”

“Oh, no--I don’t mind at all, do what you need to do for Henry, and I’ll see you two later.” And I’ll be seeing you first.

I wave a goodbye to Colin, because I’m holding onto the performance I need to give for you. After I turn around, I hear him whisper a sharply skeptical, “Babysitting?” To which you reply with a terribly giggly, “shut up.”

Who is this loafer wearing, neatly trimmed stubbled asshole? I don’t know, but I know I’m going to find out, because despite all the wrong things you said...you were right about one of them: I’ll see you later.

Taglist: @maggiecc @im-sidney @eveieforeve02 @caitlyn-s-bitch @darkened-writer @qardansngan @a-dorkier-book-keeper @littlebrowngirl @kittykylax @everday-imfangirling

#joe goldberg #joe goldberg x reader #joe goldberg you #joe goldberg imagine #joe goldberg x you #you netflix #you #love quinn x reader #love quinn #you show x reader #you show imagine #you imagine #penn badgley

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bunny-xoxo · 3 years

Text

Their Favorite Place to Kiss You

warning(s): none

a/n: I just feel like they needed something sweet damnit :( i love them that’s all - my inbox is always open :)

characters: mikasa, armin, levi, hange, eren, connie, sasha, jean, zeke, & reiner

Mikasa

Your eyelids

Mikasa has always been on the more soft spoken side when it comes to intimacy, sometimes she finds it’s even hard to reach out and hold your hand. She often opts for brushing her knuckles against yours and just hopes you get the gist. But when you’re asleep it’s different. She gets to reach out and run her fingertips delicately across your face and it gives her the perfect opportunity to lean in and press feather light kisses to your closed eyes, and she always hopes her love is strong enough that her affection communicates into your dreams. Please give this shy angel all the love :,(((

Armin

Your cheek

It’s just the purest way for him to show you he’s listening and cares really :(! You’ll be on a date and he’s holding your hand and he’ll just lean on over and place a little smooch there while he’s got this little smile going on, before he tells you to continue with your story, “I’m listening sweetie.” It was also the way he hyped himself up to be more physical with you as the relationship progressed. Baby boy was a little nervous for your first kiss so he worked himself up to it by acting all sly and leaving the gentlest of gentlest kisses on your soft skin. He also loves kissing any birth marks or freckles you may have on your face, they just draw his attention so much and he finds them so cute he has to leave some sort of appreciation for them. And now, kissing your cheek/face has just become his favorite place to leave hellos and goodbyes. It’s even better when he can feel your cheeks get plump from the way you smile when he leaves a kiss.

Levi

Your hands

He has a nasty habit of overworking himself and pushing his body to the limits physically. Staying up late and depriving himself of sleep, hunching over a desk and straining his eyes from all the reading and work, getting frequent headaches from how strong his focus has been - usually meaning he’s forgotten to drink enough water that day. It all takes toll in his tired eyes and the sore muscles in his body, the ones most tense in his upper back. The only good that comes from this is how easy it makes it to strip him away from work if need be. Just running your hands up his back to knead at the muscle between his shoulders and neck has him sighing and closing his eyes, reaching a hand up to grab onto one of yours and place thankful kisses along your knuckles. Now you’ve successfully convinced him to lay in bed while you softly run your hands over his face and body, only stopping when he grabs them to place more kisses. He hopes it’s good enough at showing you how grateful he is for you in his life <3

Hange

Your forehead

They call you their little stroke of genius always and this just kind of seals the deal for them teehee. Whenever they get any kind of idea - good, bad, small, big, dangerous, you name it - they’re placing a kiss on your forehead and hollering before they run off to execute said idea. You have an idea and they’re praising you on how smart you are while they kiss you repeatedly there, kind of like they’re your older, invasive relative or something. It’s also their favorite way to greet you whether it’s them coming home or waking you up first thing in the morning. It’s just always the perfect blank space for them to lay their love on you and get your attention. And if you have a big forehead they’ll mention how it gives them more space to love up on hehehehehe <3

Eren

Your neck

Cuddly boy, cuddly boy! He loves bothering you and trying to get your attention, and he finds it’s the easiest when he has his face buried in your neck and leaving wet kisses there. He also finds it’s such a versatile place for affection. If he’s feeling clingy, he can come up from behind and wrap his arms around you while he whines into the crook of your neck demanding you pay attention to him by kissing or blowing raspberries there until you’re giggling and giving in. When he’s sleepy and cuddling he can stretch his face up to whisper into your neck about heading to bed and finalizing his wish with a soft peck - barely even a kiss. If he’s in a mood it’s certainly an easy place to convince you to join him. And if he’s just feeling soft - which is almost always - he has no problem in smiling into that spot between your neck and shoulder and giving little love bites or any form of attention there. He’s just a clingy boy and it’s the easiest way to get what he wants - and hide how red his face can get from you.

Connie

The top of your head

It’s a funny thing he’s started doing in passing moments that’s just made his days so much brighter. You two will be bustling about in the kitchen cooking dinner and when you pass by him he just has to grab the sides of your face and reach over to kiss the top of your head with an obnoxious mwah to top it off. Or if he’s dropping you off he obviously has to reach over the middle console to pull your head aggressively towards him to leave another silly kiss - he likes it even more when you act “annoyed” with him over it. But it isn’t always silly, he finds it a really good way to let you know he hasn’t forgotten about how sweet you are to him. You’ll be laying in his chest while you two watch a movie and he’ll lean down to leave a long and quiet kiss into your hair, reminding you of his fondness.

Sasha

Your lips

It’s such a simple but sweet place to kiss! Nothing makes her happier than leaning in and giving a quick peck before she’s off to her busy day, her nose usually bumping into yours cause she’s being a little too quick about it, but it never fails to make you all giddy when you feel her smile against your lips. It’s also her favorite time to kiss you after you’ve had something sweet. First she just wiped the corner of your mouth with her thumb to collect the sticky syrup that collected there from your breakfast a few minutes prior, sucking the sweetness from the finger and humming to herself. Next it was replaced with a simple kiss to the corner of your mouth or wherever you had yet to clean up a crumb - sometimes her tongue would innocently dart out to get a better taste. Finally it became just a regular sweet kiss, even happier than before, when she could still taste the honey in your mouth from the biscuits you’d made for lunch.

Jean

Your shoulders

He adores running his hands up and down your arms and it just goes so well with leaving a few light kisses at the top of your shoulders. He also feels like it’s such an intimate part of the body in that for him to place a kiss there means he’s physically close to you in a way he treasures immensely. Like when he embraces you in a long, warm hug for whatever reason, getting to bend down and leave a long sensual kiss placed there feels so serious to him, even if you’re ticklish and it has you giggling. There’s just something so serene for him when he’s able to feel that calm and close with you that he always finds himself compelled to lean over and even crane his neck to remind you how special you are to him with a shoulder kiss. What can I say, he just loves em!

Zeke

Your thighs

It seems like he’s ALWAYS passed out with his head in your lap. He says it’s not his fault but yours because you’re the one who always lets him rest his head there when he’s home from work, running your fingers through his hair. How is he supposed to stay awake when you’re doing that? And don’t get him started on how you run your thumb over his brow bone and down the bridge of his nose before going back up and starting again. It’s like you want him to take a nap on your thighs! Which you kinda do cause it’s the only time you get to see this mf relaxed and quiet in your presence if he’s not reading or doing some other nerd shit. He always makes sure to press sweet kisses to the tops of them when he wakes up, along with chuckling and tickling you with his scruff. He also likes to give you massages when you’re laying in bed which always somehow leads to him rubbing your calf’s while he closes his eyes and gently kisses the soft skin on your inner thighs. He’s just a sucker for em and you can’t tell me otherwise!

Reiner

Your back

Oh this guy :( He’s a chronic big spoon, no matter your size. It’s just always so soothing for you to be in his arms with his hands resting at your tummy, sometimes absentmindedly kneading the soft skin there as he falls asleep. But he never stays that way, he ends up naturally scooting down throughout the night so when he wakes up his face is nuzzled into the middle of your back with his arms wrapped even tighter around your midsection. You can always tell when he wakes up by the soft flutter of his eyelashes against your skin and the tightening squeeze on your torso, followed by soft open mouth kisses up your spine and all over your shoulder blades. Of course the way he whispers, “hi”, into your ear once he’s reached the top let’s you know, too.

this made me so unbelievably soft omfg. I just felt like we needed some soft content and I’ve been missing them :((( if you guys like this and would want it I can make a pt.2 with some characters I didnt include in this one :)! Jus lemme know if it’s something you guys would want! Anyways I hope you enjoy, I love talking to you in my inbox, and if you’d like to be on a taglist jus lemme know and I’ll happily oblige :)

requests are open

-🐇out

taglist: @plutowrites @armins-futon @peachysimp @sofi-yeager

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summercourtship · 3 years

Note

Hi, could you write a nsfw oneshot or something for the Cenobite with a shy and modest fem survivor reader? Possibly include some fingering and using his hands. Thanks if you do!

I'm sorry this took so long, I obviously got a bit carried away. I have such a bad habit of needing SO MUCH exposition even for tiny one shots (or at least what are supposed to be tiny) but I’m not going to stop. I’m also not sure how well I fulfilled the idea of a “shy, modest” reader, but I think I managed to have elements of it without it becoming a stereotypical mess of stuttering and blushing.

summons [nsfw, 18+]

Pinhead (The Cenobite) x Reader | warnings: NSFW, reader could be interpreted as being a virgin but it’s not explicitly stated, I somehow made the Lament Configuration solving erotic (it’s what Clive Barker would want) | 3121 words

It was always unnerving to realize that a killer remembered you. To notice that shift in their expression as they placed your face to a memory, to an action that had made you stick out in their mind. Some killers seemed to remember everyone while others only recognized a select few. Some didn’t seem cognizant of doing either.

Luckily, you had always managed to fly under their radar. Even the killers that had memorized every survivor regarded you with an air of disinterest, preferring to go after the overtly obnoxious survivors (which was probably part of those survivors’ plans- Nea really hated fixing gens). Some could say that it was because you were boring, at least in the way of prey. You didn’t necessarily agree, but if killers thinking you were boring kept you alive you wouldn’t argue about it.

However.

There was one killer who seemed… overly interested in you because of this. Somehow your reserved nature was more intriguing to him than that of the unafraid or blatantly uncaring survivors. You didn’t understand it, but you also didn’t want to.

You didn’t want anything to do with it.

The Cenobite was an oddity among oddities- barely even touching the survivors and treating your suffering with a cold grace. In the few moments you’d been able to observe him, he seemed unaffected by anything, continuing his hunt seemingly without a care in the world.

When you were one of his designated playthings for a trial, you avoided the Box, even if it meant your continued survival. You couldn’t handle the thought of possibly summoning him, bringing the being you knew was somehow fascinated with you directly to your location.

You just did your damnedest to finish repairing gens and move on to the next trial with the usual indifferent killers, taking extra care to stealth when you knew he was coming. Because if he caught sight of you, he wouldn’t stop pursuing you throughout the trial, preferring to torment you than spread the pressure amongst your teammates.

But, despite your efforts, not every trial with him could work out this way, as was the case for the trial you found yourself in now. You had been just barely surviving through your stealth tactics when it seemed that the survivors were rapidly downed, one quickly falling after the other.

You rushed to pull them off hooks or patch them up enough to stand, only briefly hesitating when you felt your own safety was in danger. You pushed it aside, putting your team’s survival over your own sense of sanity. They would eventually pay you back in kind, and the cycle would continue.

But it seemed that luck was not on your side.

One, two, three survivors were all hooked for the last time, their cut off screams piercing the night air.

And suddenly, you were the only one left.

Somewhere, both too close and impossibly far away, a bell tolls.

You’re frozen in place, too on edge to even contemplate searching for the Hatch. You’d been in similar situations before, but this time felt different- it was as if the air was electrified from your nervous anticipation.

And never before had you been left alone with him.

Before long, the consequence of your hesitation becomes clear- the chains that he summons from nothing have started seeking you out, the few that reach you embedding their hooks in your skin. You hiss, jerking back into life and unhooking yourself, trying to be as careful as possible to not rip your skin off.

It would not be the worst pain you have felt in this place.

You set off, struggling through the terrain of the Macmillan Estate until you reach one of the smattering of brick walls that litter the Entity’s realms. Here, at least you would have some protection from the chains, giving you time to figure out what you were going to do next.

Find Hatch or wait by the Exit Gate, hoping he closes the Hatch with enough time for you to slip out? You’re debating the two options in your head, knowing full well it’s not the best use of your time but feeling unable to make a decision and get your feet moving.

You’d just mentally circled back around to the option of booking it for Hatch that you realize you were being observed. And he wasn’t even hiding like some of the others would, no crouching behind the brick or staying by the tree line. He’s simply standing there, as if waiting for you to realize he was there.

You look up at him, wondering how you hadn’t noticed his presence before. He blocks the only other exit from your shelter that isn’t a window, something you note with a growing sense of dread. No prey likes feeling cornered.

But he hasn’t moved to attack, just standing and staring at you. You take a moment to observe him back, noting the impassive expression on his face. He doesn’t move, even once you’d been made aware of him. You narrow your eyes and glare at him, ignoring the thwacking of the chains hitting the ground and walls behind you, already tired of whatever game he is playing, not in the mood to be toyed with.

“What do you want?” You ask, willing your voice to stop wavering. For once, you wanted to seem like the brave, outgoing survivor, willing to stand up to the killer for nothing more than the satisfaction of having done so.

A beat of silence, and you almost think he won’t answer. But he does, and his response is more confusing than clarifying.

“You.”

“I- I don’t understand.”

More silence.

Then, a crackling draws your attention downwards, to the small, unassuming box that lay on the ground in the space between you. The very box you had done your best to avoid touching, even looking at. You wonder, briefly, if it had been there the entire time.

“Solve it.” His voice is commanding yet gentle, coaxing yet sinister. There’s power behind it, a power that isn’t being utilized at the moment.

“No.” It’s an easy answer for you. There are few things you are sure of in the Fog, but not touching anything that belongs to a killer is one of them.

“Aren’t you curious?”

That was not what you had been expecting him to say. Suddenly, you were no longer sure about the subject of your conversation. The Box still lay between you, ready for your willing hands to run along its smooth surface, finding the small grooves that would lead you to further unlocking its mystery. But while you had been focusing on the Box, his eyes had never left you.

Because he knew that ultimately, yes. You were curious, and always had been. About everything, but you’d always been too shy, too afraid of other’s thoughts about you to try anything even mildly risky. Better to stay on the safe side and hear about other’s exploits instead of experiencing your own.

“Yes.” It comes out as a whisper.

“Then…” With a long fingered hand, he gestures to the Box.

Your hands shook as you reached down to pick it up, finding its smooth surface both warm and cool at the same time, its weight heavier than you had anticipated.

You looked back up at the Cenobite, ignoring the faint tinkling of a music box’s tune that you could now hear coming from the Box.

“What do I do?”

You were sure it couldn’t be but so difficult- less intelligent survivors had completed its puzzle under significantly more stressing circumstances than you. But you couldn’t bring your mind to command your hands to begin, some invisible wire holding your muscles back from taking action.

Maybe it was because he was standing in front of you, watching you intently.

He moved closer and you barely resisted the urge to move backwards, your grip on the Box tightening as if afraid he would take it from you. He stopped just before you and reached out, not to take the Box but to guide your hands. But instead of placing his hands over yours as you had anticipated, they hovered barely a centimeter above your skin.

“There is a force in this realm that makes solving the Lament Configuration child’s play.”

You look up at him, wondering if he had just delivered a thinly veiled insult. If he, in saying that solving it should be easy, was implying that you were too unintelligent to figure it out. You open your mouth to begin defending yourself.

“I-“

“You’ve refused it,” He continues as if you’d never started speaking, “even when it is to your detriment. But the Configuration is meant for those who seek to heighten their senses, for sensations that the earthly world cannot provide. Opening it is not supposed to be easy.”

You look down at your hands, at his.

“For those who summon us must be sure that it is what they want, for once we are summoned we cannot leave without a charge. It cannot be helped.”

He places his hands over yours now, guiding them along the edges of the Box (the Configuration, you correct yourself). Your hands are seemingly electrified from where his skin meets yours, though a sizable portion of his hand is covered in leather.

“Here it seems that, although alone, I work under different rules. The Box was made simpler and perverted into a means to assist in feeding this Entity.”

With his guidance, you are able to find the minuscule lines in the surface of the box, pushing and shifting the pieces until they form a completely new shape. But before you are able to push the final piece into place, thus completing the puzzle, he releases his hands and steps back.

“There is no need to finish it.”

You blink, feeling like you’d just woken from a hazy waking dream.

“But why did I do it in the first place?”

“I won’t have to hunt you down the next time we find ourselves facing each other. It is very tiresome when you hide from me constantly.”

He turns around like he’s about to go, either to finally kill you or let you scamper off to find the Hatch, but you aren’t ready for him to leave yet.

“Is that it?” You blurt out and almost take it back when he turns his head, indicating that you have his attention once more. But you swallow your fear and continue on, holding your chin higher. “You just wanted me to solve this box? To what? Prove to myself that I can, so that you don’t have to do as much work the next time you’re going to kill me?”

He whirls around, but there is barely any change in his expression from before. He was near impossible to read, you were quickly learning.

“I don’t get it- if you’re summoned for those who want pleasure or pain or whatever, why are you so interested in me? I don’t want any of that.”

“You don’t want pleasure?”

Your face heats up, any bravery you had felt in delivering your speech gone. You look down at your hands, still holding the almost solved Lament Configuration.

“The rules of this place may be different, but I am still obliged to answer the summons.” His words, at first, make no sense.

And then you realize what he is implying, and your face must be on fire for how hot it feels. If he was summoned for those who want whatever version of pleasure or pain he provided, then you solving the Configuration meant that he could…

Ohhhkay.

You turn from him, fully intending to put the box down and sprint for the Hatch and think about this encounter later at the campfire, but the quiet, nagging voice in the back of your head stops you.

Aren’t you curious?

Before you can rationalize and deny the urge, you act on impulse for once and press the final piece into place on the Box, the tinkling music stopping abruptly.

While you’ve had your back turned, he must’ve crept up closer on you, because you suddenly feel his hand on your shoulder.

You gasp, both from surprise and the sensation of his touch once again on you. He slowly ran his hand down your body, from your shoulder down your arm, before making its way to your front. Your breathing was picking up, hitching in the back of your throat when his other hand snuck around and plucked the box from your grasp. It’s gone when you turn your head to look at it, and you’re too focused on his touch to really ponder what happened to it.

You reach out and press your own hand against the brick wall in front of you, using the rough texture to ground yourself in reality, as much as you could in the hellish purgatory that you were trapped in. But the reality of this moment was that he was touching you in such a simple way, barely vulgar at all, but you felt as if you were being lit on fire with the way his touch seared your skin, even over the layers of your clothes.

His fingers dance over the hem of your pants, toying with the button. You’d always liked that the Entity put you in pants most of the time, their practicality better for your environment than the potential fashion statements you could’ve been making in something else. But now you wish that the Entity had decided to put you in one of the nonsensical outfits the others occasionally donned, if just for the easy access a skirt provides.

Nonetheless, he deftly undid the button and continued his journey down your body, not bothering to even pull your pants down. He completely ignored your underwear, apparently not in the mood to tease you over the fabric. You weren’t complaining, wanting whatever he was going to give you as quickly as possible.

It was now that you fully realized how cold his hands were, which only made you more aware of every centimeter of your skin that he ran his fingers along. Down over your stomach, a feather light touch that was approaching where you needed it the most.

The Cenobite found his way in between your legs with little fanfare, finally exploring the part of your body that, unbeknownst to you, he had thought of whenever he saw you in a trial. He toyed briefly with just running his touch up and down your slit, causing you to shudder and drop your head. But before long, he ended up at that sensitive bundle of nerves, flicking it just to hear you moan. His finger circled around your clit, applying just enough pressure for it to register in your mind but not enough to really scratch the itch that had been building since he’d placed his hands over yours to solve the box.

He was silent behind you, but you didn’t think he wasn’t actively enjoying what he was doing to you, if the way his teasing touches would briefly speed up when you let the little sounds building up behind your lips escape was any indication. Or the way his breathing, though quiet and low, would hitch when you would whimper, groan, hiss.

He finally moved lower, teasing at your entrance. You whimper again, closing your eyes. But he didn’t do anything aside from dipping his fingers in, for barely a second, giving you just a taste of the pleasure you needed. He teased more than you would have expected, but you also wouldn’t have expected him to want to fuck you.

“Please,” your whisper is broken, your mind hazy and unable to compose a more elegant plea. You curse under your breath when he does it again, moving back up to your clit to circle it a couple more times.

“You can do better than that,” He says, and you, in your fuzzy mind, think you detect a hint of humor in his voice.

“Fuck- please.” You roll your hips, as if to entice him to finally get to it. But he holds fast, your (pathetic) attempt to seduce him into giving in to your whims failing. He pauses in his movements.

“Fine! Please, please, please, please fuck me, put your fingers in me, I don’t care just please make me cum!”

You wonder, briefly, in the back of your mind, if the Entity is watching.

Two of his fingers finally slip into you, and you barely hold back a curse, forgetting whatever inane thought you had before. All you could focus on was the fact that he was finally giving you what you wanted, that he was finally done teasing.

He thrusts his fingers in and out of your pussy, dragging them along your walls and hitting every sensitive spot that you didn’t even realize existed within you.

“For such a shy woman, you make delightful sounds,” He mutters, almost too quiet for you to hear over the heartbeat pounding in your ears. Whether it’s yours or his, you cannot tell.

Quickly, much too quickly, you feel your climax approaching, and any sense of the amount of time you’ve spent at his mercy is lost to you. All you know is that he is touching you in a way that makes you feel like no one has ever made you feel and that you want to reach your peak now.

As it builds, you release a litany of pleas, begging with broken words and fragmented sentences.

You finally finish with a sharp, drawn out and shuddering gasp, his fingers curling into the spot that makes your toes curl, sharply punctuating every ripple of pleasure that your body rides.

And then, just as quickly as it started, it is over.

Taking a moment to catch your breath, you turn to face the Cenobite, who looks as unaffected as he had before. He examines his glistening fingers not even looking at you when he tells you to find the Hatch. If you’re stung by his sudden disinterest in you, you don’t show it, opting to add it to the growing mental list of things to think about later.

On shaky legs, you comply with his demand, stealing one last glance back at him as you leave him. You had no idea if this would be a one off occurrence, or if he would regularly find his own way to answer your summons, if he would make good on his statement that he is summoned for those who wish for pleasure and pain.

The only way to find out would be to summon him.

___

ao3 link

#pinhead x reader #pinhead #the cenobite #dead by daylight #hellraiser #lemon tag #request #ask #anon #oneshot #my writing #slasher x reader #I don't consider PH a slasher but eh it's a general label for some #thank you :3 #tumblr keeps trying to correct my spelling to the british spelling and that's Not Correct

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losyashkakus · 2 years

Text

Lysander Alternative life headcanons (Part 1: Long-distance relationships)

!!!ATTENTION: some very very light NSFW things are there!!! I didn't wait for the start... WELL, THAT'S FINE. I`ll write here what I would like to see. I`ll try to continue this, and I`m also really looking forward to your requests about Lysander! Anyway, I can make hc for other favorites (but not about Priya, Rayan and Hyun, sorry, I don't know them too well). Sorry for my english, you know

****** - I mean... It was really hard for them, of course. He hated and feared the fact of a long separation, but stubbornly continued to believe and understand that it wasn`t forever. Yes, four years is a lot, but not the whole life. Yes, they will both change and grow up, they will have different environments, but Lysander has always felt an inexplicable strong bond with Candy and believed in it. - We all know his great forgetfulness, but he didn't even write down the dates of upcoming meetings with Candy: he remembered every little thing discussed. - He didn't really like video communication. Not because he didn't want to see his girlfriend, of course, but because the realization that she was in front of him now, but he couldn't touch her, was exhausting him a little. - I think George passed away almost immediately after Candy moved in. Lysander, without hesitation, immediately moved to the farm (both for the sake of his mother, and, probably, in order to ease his pain). But he and Lei were also thinking of selling farm and moving Josiane to the city to always be together, but they understood that their mother would only get worse because of that. Therefore, Lei and Rosa just visited them as often as possible. - Josiane died about a year later, but it was a long and difficult process, she withered before Lysander's eyes, no matter how hard he tried. - Candy at some point almost didn't give a damn about her studies, constantly coming to him and trying not to leave him alone. Lysander sometimes felt selfish because of all this, and Candy almost furiously tried to convince him that there was nothing selfish about it. She even felt guilty in places because she hadn't figured out how to stay in the city. - Yes, for a while they both felt not very comfortable in this relationship, but not because of each other, but because they were both overthinking about many bad things. But still, confessing to each other about their problems and discussing them, they only strengthened their relationship. - Candy insisted that Lysander start visiting a psychotherapist, realizing that such serious things cannot be fixed with ordinary conversations, a specialist is needed. - Lysander was also saved by monotonous work on the farm. He couldn't leave it all, so for all holidays (from both birthdays to Christmas) Candy managed to come to him. - Yes, Candy had problems with her studies, constant fatigue (she worked a lot in her spare time to save money for tickets), and Lysander helped her as much as he could, trying to pay at least part of it. - When she arrived, they literally couldn't get away from each other. Usually Lysander tried to make some preparations before her arrival in order to work less and lie in bed with her more. And both honestly cried when they had to be separated again. None of them got enough sleep these days (not that they cared). - She knows by heart the names of each of the animals, their habits, she began to understand how to take care of the garden, and this made her happy. - Of course, they chatting and called each other every day, but they also both liked to send each other real letters. Candy's room was filled with his letters, poems, some drawings, and it all smelled of his perfume for a long time. All the letters that Lysander received were with the imprint of her lipstick, with a bunch of hearts, and he was crazy with happiness every time he saw it. He hung letters in his bedroom so that he could always wake up and see it. - For me, Candy is studying to be an illustrator. Initially, Lysander was going to enter the conservatory, and to be honest, he dreams of someday returning to this idea. And he was really interested in what Candy was studying, they often prepared for her exams together on Zoom, he worried about her before each midterms and enjoyed her grades with her. - Lysander became close and friendly with her parents. They also tried to write to him from time to time, ask how things were going, they once even planned to come to visit him all together for Christmas. Unfortunately, it didn't work out, but

the idea is still there. - On his twentieth birthday, Candy tried to make a big family portrait of them, his parents, Lei and Rose. Lysander hung it in a frame in his hall. To be honest, sometimes it was quite hard for him to look at it, but he was very happy and touched by such a gift. - Okay, to be honest, he hung a lot of her various sketches all over the house, her educational drawings too. He just wanted to feel her next to him with all his might, you know... - Lysander saves ALL of Candy's photos in his phone. He even has a separate folder with her erotic photos. He himself, btw, doesn`t really like to take such photos (but there were a couple of times, hehe). - We all know how jealous Lysander is. He had a slight anxiety that Candy would suddenly find someone else, despite their strong bond. With this, he also worked with a psychotherapist. - And yep, through joint efforts, he gradually came to full confidence in their relationship. - By the way, he started keeping a diary of emotions, and sometimes he showed it to Candy. It was, to some extent, a difficult step for him, which he really wanted to overcome. - At some point, Lysander finally gave up singing, and he began to write less poetry. It bothered him and Candy both, and she tried her best to help him. She photographed what seemed to her inspiring, or herself, she wrote a lot of soulful texts, and once she even gave him a ukulele (since now he doesn't have a band). - What gifts did he give her? Well, every time he managed to go to his city, he would definitely go to some art store and buy her various materials. One day he gave her a huge book with works by various artists. Even in difficult creative times, he tried to write poems, dedicated songs to her. And Candy, in my opinion, loves various board games very much. Of course, he gave her that, too. And also, with the support of Rosa and Lei, he once gave her a very cozy and stylish shirt. Of course, Candy almost always sleeps in it. - Yes, according to the canon, their relationship eventually became quite cool, but NO. In my head, they tried their best to keep the relationship in good status. Maybe it's not quite real, mawkish and all that... THAT'S WHAT I WANT, OKAY? *sobbing* - Candy found out that she would continue her studies in her hometown about a couple of months before, and then they both started literally counting down the days until her planned return. *** Once again, I'm sorry if you find inconsistencies and grammatical errors in the text, I should study English thoroughly... Oh, if everyone understood Russian, my headcannons would be much more beautiful and understandable...

#mcl #amour sucre #amor doce #my candy love #cdm #corazón de melón #lysander #mcl lysander #lysandre #mcl alternate life #mcl campus life #mcl headcanon #mcl headcanons #my candy love lysander

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soulmate-game · 3 years

Text

Harley’s Plea for Help: Chapter 2

Chapter 1

“How long do you think it’s gonna take before she decides to sneak out?” Nightwing asked over his comms, lazily leaning against the balcony railing in front of him with his head resting on one hand.

“Dude, I started sneaking out almost twenty minutes ago,” a girl’s voice made Nightwing squeak and turn around, to reveal a teenage girl leaning against the door that led to the balcony he was on. “I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by doing unnecessarily showy gymnastics down from my hotel room’s balcony, no matter how much fun that would be, so I just snuck out one of the hotel’s back exits. Then I looked up to admire the moon and saw you here, staking out what is clearly my suite, and decided to come pay you a visit.”

“How long have you been there? And how did you even get behind me? I hope you didn’t break and enter, that’s an actual lived-in apartment behind us right now,” Nightwing asked, turning around to analyze the daughter of Harley Quinn for the first time in person.

She looked just like in her pictures, of course. Jet black hair like her father’s, except it seemed to have a bluish shine in the light. And her eyes were definitely Harley’s— thank goodness for that —vibrant blue and clearly analyzing him with the same amount of intensity as his did her. He had to bite back a chuckle. In a turn of complete irony, she really did look like a Wayne kid. Fit all of Bruce’s usual criteria to be adopted. But she was tiny, even smaller than Harley’s lithe form. He, Bruce, and Tim were of the hypothesis that the exposure both her parents had to Ace Chemical’s vats of acid likely had an effect on her DNA that stunted her growth. Perhaps there were other effects that they wouldn’t be able to figure out until they got to know her better, too, though it was clear that her skin was a likely one. It wasn’t unnaturally pale like her parent’s after their acid dips but it was paler than normal for sure, just a shade or two shy of being paper white.

And he could see, now, what Harley meant when she referred to Marinette as a powerhouse. It wasn’t very noticeable in pictures, but up close Dick could see the carefully honed muscle of an acrobat curling over her otherwise slim build. Combined with the knowledge that Marinette had been taught at least some serious self defense from a young age, he could see how such a tiny package could be a remarkable threat when necessary.

Marinette grimaced as the other Batfam, who were all nearby staking out her room from different angles, dropped onto the large balcony with them.

“Uh, well. I didn’t break and enter, I rather not get off to a criminal-ly start on my first night in Gotham, you know? But I realized that even though I was able to figure out the exact room you were staking me out from, I realized as soon as I got into the first floor of the building that I had no idea how to actually get to you. So I just climbed the stairs all the way to the roof and scaled my way down to this balcony, and pretended I’ve been here for a while when really I was barely able to hear you ask when I was gonna sneak out. I’m still out of breath, actually,” she put a hand on her chest and sure enough her breathing was still slightly fast. But not enough to be worrying or even all that noticeable. Yet another piece of evidence to show that she was a very active individual and had resistance built up to physical activity.

“Yup,” Robin groused grumpily, crossing his arms. “With all that rambling, you couldn’t be anyone else’s child but Quinzel’s.”

Marinette’s face immediately flushed pink all the way to her ears. “I’m sorry! I’ve been trying so hard to quit that habit, too!” She grumbled a bit to herself, putting her face in her hands. They all chuckled at the display. Red Hood ambled over, draping his arm over her shoulders (he nearly had to bend in half to do it, the height difference was that bad).

“As adorable as your freak out is, why’d you even come up here anyway? There’s no way you’d scale down a ten-story building just to say hello.”

She let out a heavy sigh at that, slowly peeling her face out of her hands. “Yeah, I recognized you guys right away. And honestly, as much as Momma Harley would be super proud of me for managing to give an entire group of vigilantes the slip, she’d also ground me for life if she found out that I saw you guys and still snuck away even though she probably swallowed her pride and asked you guys to babysit me, right? Self preservation. Contrary to popular belief, I do actually have some.”

“Wait,” Red Robin held up a hand, brows clearly furrowed under his cowl. “You expected her to ask for our help?”

“Well,” she made a so-so motion with her hand. “I didn’t think of it beforehand, but it all clicked once I saw Nightwing. I know how much my mom is worried about me, especially since you-know-who broke out a few days ago. She is more than worried enough to ask you guys for help. Even if she does complain about you guys, a lot actually, she also has made it clear that she trusts you guys with the stuff that actually matters.

“‘You know who’?” Batman repeated, arms crossed. If Marinette squinted, she thought there might have been a grin on his lips. “Is that how you always refer to him?”

“What else am I gonna call him?” she asked, face going deadpan. “Sperm donor? Source of a large amount of my self doubt and depreciation? The prime reason I haven’t been able to see my mom in person more often over the years? Oh, I know! How about I just always refer to him as ‘that bastard I wanna punch,’? That sounds good!” she rolled her eyes sarcastically. “Only one person in this world has the right to be considered my father in any capacity, and it sure as hell isn’t him. Genetics notwithstanding.”

Red Hood straight up guffawed at that, landing several rough pats on her back that made the girl stumble a bit. “Yep, I like this one! But as fun as it would be to see you give that jackass a mean left hook, it’s better if he never finds out who you are or knows that you’re here,” the vigilante’s voice got dark and serious very quickly. “He doesn’t forget people he finds interesting easily, and if he ever finds out about the connection you have to him, he’ll be a constant threat in your life.”

“I know,” Marinette agreed with a nod. “And if this conversation was happening two years ago, I’d say that my mom’s concerns aren’t unfounded. That I am too easily emotionally compromised and despite my deep seated issues and hatred for that man, I couldn’t guarantee he would be unable to get to me.”

Batman straightened up, as did all of his sons around him. None of them had missed the ‘if’ there. Batman’s voice went from charmingly deep to it’s usual gruff grumble. “What changed in two years?”

They all watched as Marinette gulped, taking a deep breath as she stalled for time, looking out at the view on the balcony before seeming to steel herself and return her gaze to Batman’s. When she did, it was suddenly full of iron will.

“I didn’t lie when I told Mom that I came to visit her— but that isn’t the whole truth, either. If I just wanted to visit her in Gotham, I would have waited until I was eighteen like we agreed. But I can’t wait, Paris can’t keep going on like this. I entered that contest because it was the fastest way to see you. I didn’t know if I would win, but… I had to take the chance. There was no way I’d be able to get to Gotham behind my mom’s back otherwise.”

“What are you talking about?” Robin hissed, stepping up to his father’s side. “Paris has been silent. If anything were happening, we would have heard about it by now.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Marinette corrected, never losing that ironclad look in her eyes. “Because a combination of magic and politics is keeping it quiet. No news about Paris’ situation is able to leave the city limits. Magic makes any non-native who leaves Paris think that everything they experienced was just a crazy dream. Natives won’t forget, but politics has all of us under very strict NDAs if we leave city boundaries, and all of our local news and social media is blocked from being accessed by anyone outside the city. But, I figured a little breaking of the rules wouldn’t exactly put a stain on my family’s reputation or anything, so,” she dug in her pocket and pulled out a thumb drive, holding it up for all of them to see. She swallowed again, but never stopped her eye contact with Batman. She held out the thumb drive.

“I came to Gotham to ask for your help. This sped things up, I didn’t expect to see you on my first night here, but two years in Hawkmoth’s Paris has really taught me how to roll with the punches. This,” she shook the thumb drive. “Holds videos of every fight since HawkMoth first showed up. It has all the information I’ve gathered over two years, tracks his movements and lists all his targets and— everything. But I’m not a detective, I’m a designer. I make clothes, I spar on the weekends, I am not good at getting evidence to prove that someone is a magic-abusing villain holding an entire city hostage.”

“We’re gonna need some details, Little Q,” Red Hood finally removes his arm from around her shoulders, instead crossing his arms and looking down at her sternly. “If your city has a villain holding it hostage, is anyone fighting him? And if you do have someone fighting him, why don’t you need our help, or why didn’t they call the Justice League? The JLE should be in Paris, right?”

Marinette snorted, face scrunching up in obvious distaste. “I’ll have to answer those a little out of order. First; the JLE was kicked out of Paris. They moved their headquarters to Italy about five years ago, I’m just surprised they apparently kept that secret from you,” she gestured to all of them, who indeed seemed very caught off guard by that tidbit. But Marinette just sighed and continued. “Though that’s a good thing, actually. We do have heroes, it started out as just a pair but it’s grown into a small team out of necessity. They didn’t call the Justice League because the last thing we need is any powered heroes coming in and making it worse— your league doesn’t have the best reputation for letting newer heroes take the lead even on their home turf, you know,” she pointed out, which made Batman shift a bit guiltily. He knew the JL was often a bit… heavy handed in their methods.

“What makes the situation so bad that you don’t want to bring experienced heroes into it?” Red Robin cut in, sounding as if the whole situation was a puzzle he was determined to sort out. Which, really, was exactly what Marinette had been counting on. She shot him a finger gun, grinning.

“That’s exactly the point! Hawkmoth uses a magical artifact, like I said— but this artifact can brainwash anybody who experiences even the slightest negative emotion. Sadness, anger, fear— anything negative. And it gives them powers, but puts them largely under his influence,” her expression twisted again, this time into a wry little grimace. “I guess you can say that my momma’s psychiatry background has secretly come in handy a lot over these past two years. And Hawkmoth is exactly why I try to tell Momma Harley to stop visiting me— I have worked my butt off to keep her from finding out about his attacks or getting Akumatized. Every time she shows up it gives me a heart attack!”

“Akumatized?”

Marinette waved a hand dismissively. “It’s the term used for when someone is turned into a super powered villain because of HawkMoth. The brainwashing— really it’s more similar to a straight up corruption. The person usually lacks their usual moral compass, and just seeks to soothe whatever set off their negative emotion in the first place. Usually, that means they seek a bloody revenge. And if someone who already has extensive training or extremely strong powers gets Akumatized, guess what?” She made jazz hands even though her face was deadpan. “Extra powers, or amplified ones, for the metas or superheroes who are Akumatized. And imagine what someone with, say, Batman’s level of experience could do if he had powers and no moral compass,” the silence that followed her words was deafening. She just nodded, knowing she had gotten her point across. “I’ve been working my butt off to stay positive, because if I’m Akumatized…” her shoulders fell, and she had to swallow a lump in her throat. “... I have no idea what I’d turn into, but if you take into consideration both my training and my family history… it’s really best if we never find out what kind of magic-powered supervillain I’d make.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Nightwing said after another long moment of silence for that to all sink in. He gestured at her with an open palm. “You’ve been dealing with a terrorist for two years who targets emotional vulnerability, you apparently have never been corrupted by this magic at least to present day, but your mother still worries about you being very emotionally fragile. And your heroes are not detectives, which is clearly what you need or you wouldn’t have asked us for our help.”

Marinette nodded. “I used to be very impressionable. At the start of all this, I was a huge people-pleaser. I got attached to new people in a matter of minutes. My mom always said I reminded her too much of herself— but two years of fighting off a guy trying to get into my head—“

“Wait,” Batman nearly barked, taking a step forward. “He’s been targeting you? You specifically?”

Marinette nodded grimly, mouth a straight line. “Not from the beginning, but this past year it’s been painfully obvious. He might be able to sense the strength of people’s emotions, and unfortunately I don’t exactly experience my emotions very… gently. All of my emotions tend to the much more intense side of the spectrum. If that’s true, then he might know that any negative emotion I feel will make an extremely strong Akuma. Either that, or he’s going by process of elimination. All of my friends, except for one, have been Akumatized already. So has my Papan and my grandmother. But it’s obvious when he’s targeting someone, I’ve felt him try to override my will on several occasions. But I can’t just repress all of my negative emotions forever, so consider us working against the clock right now. That thumb drive has all the details you need about our heroes, how exactly Hawkmoth’s powers work, and so on.”

“Do your heroes know you’re asking for our help?” Red Robin asked, gaze burning a figurative hole through Marinette’s face. “Better yet, if this drive has as much information as you say it does, how did you get it?”

Marinette handed the drive over to Batman, who finally took it and tucked it in his belt as she answered.

“Momma Harley might have a lot to say about your detective skills, but you are all still strangers to me. So consider this a test of your abilities— I expect that you will all go to extreme lengths to verify all of the information I gave you anyway. After all, I’m still the daughter of your most hated enemy. Right?” She met each of their gazes, one by one, with a challenging one of her own. “You’ll just have to figure out my connection to the heroes on your own. And how I got the information, too. It shouldn’t be too hard for the so-called world’s greatest detectives. And maybe this can double as a trust exercise. I fully expect you guys to scour through every inch of my past, and dig up everything you can on me. I encourage you to try to find everything you can, so that hopefully you can decide to trust me on your own once you have all the details laid out in front of you. By the way, for your own sanity? I’d start with reading about all of our heroes’ powers and abilities before you watch any footage of past attacks.”

Red hood rocked back on his heels, trading glances with the other vigilantes before they all shared a nod. Apparently having decided their course of action, Red Hood leaned down and hoisted Marinette up into a princess carry. All traces of her previous iron will melted away in favor of the high pitched squeal of surprise she gave, and once more she became an overly flustered teenager.

“Alright, little cutie. Let’s get you to your mom’s place before she and her crazy plant lady fiancé come hunting us down.”

“I can walk! I can freerun on my own! Mon dieu please let me down! Eeeeek!” She squealed again as Robin slapped a domino mask over her eyes and Red Hood wasted no time jumping over the balcony railing with her still in his arms. The fact that they were lowered down by a wire wrapped around Hood’s waist didn’t seem to take away any of the fright that came with a sudden drop over an eighth-story balcony.

Part 1

@emotionalsupportginger @alysrose-starchild @emistar0 @kibastray @justanotherfanficlovinbitch @alyssadeliv @blackroserelina @blackstarlight-co @readingalldaysleepingallnight @maanae @aespades @jaybird-and-co @fleursroses @probably-a-hologram @misterpianoman (didn’t work sorry)

#dc x mlb #dc x miraculous #maribat #bio!dad au #Bio!mom Harley Quinn #Bio!Dad joker #mlb x dc #ml x dc #Harley’s Plea for Help #platonic brucinette #platonic jasonette #platonic Harley Quinn x Marinette

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

for the prompts: NMJ/JC - Everyone with a functioning brain cell can see that JC just needs someone to tell him he’s doing a good job. And if WWX isn’t stepping up? Well, NMJ definitely will. (Preferably smut and/or fluff) Thank you! ❤️

Compliments - ao3

It started in anger, out of spite.

Traditionally, the world took this to be a bad thing, but in all honesty the vast majority of projects in the Nie sect were started that way – they inherited fiery tempers and spiteful personalities from their ancestors along with their saber cultivation traditions – and it didn’t always turn out badly. There were any number of buildings, techniques, or technological innovations in the Unclean Realm that had started life as a furious fuck you to someone and only turned into something worthwhile about halfway through, once the person involved had calmed down enough to think about what they were doing, realize they were already committed, and then shrug and carry on forward because there was no point in stopping a charge midway.

What Nie Mingjue meant was: there was precedent.

He liked to think it started with Jiang Fengmian, but if Nie Mingjue was being honest with himself, it started back in the Unclean Realm when Nie Huaisang had told him, quite casually over dinner, that he thought that the female cultivator in his class was very pretty and that he’d be happy to marry her.

“Uh,” Nie Mingjue had said, very intelligently. “Huaisang, you’re seven.”

Nie Huaisang had not seen the problem. Instead, he explained very forthrightly that it was only right that he start thinking early on about his marriage, as getting married and having children would be his great contribution to the sect on account of being useless good-for-nothing unfit for anything else –

“Wait,” Nie Mingjue said. “Who told you that?!”

Nie Huaisang claimed he had deduced it.

Nie Mingjue claimed that Nie Huaisang was full of bullshit, and also that he wasn’t good-for-nothing even if he wasn’t good at saber, and anyway even if he was a total good-for-nothing he was still Nie Mingjue’s good-for-nothing and no one had better say a single damn word against him or Nie Mingjue would bite them.

“I meant stab them!” he explained, far too late; Nie Huaisang was already rolling around laughing to the point of tears. “I have a saber. I can stab people! I’m actually very scary, you know!”

Nie Huaisang hadn’t believed him one bit and had carried on, seemingly at peace and forgetting everything, but Nie Mingjue had gone seeking advice from all of his elders and counselors and the more dependable senior disciples of his sect, abruptly terrified that he was permanently damaging Nie Huaisang by raising him the wrong way or something. Didn’t children need encouragement at that age? Weren’t they all young and tender peaches liable to be bruised at the slightest glance or young sprouts that needed to be sheltered from the harsh wind lest they grow up crooked?

Everyone assured him that children were hardier than they appeared, flexible and capable of bouncing back from just about anything. He'd pressed, though, pointing out that even the most flexible wood would eventually form a crack in the face of a vicious hurricane, and in the end they'd admitted that it was better to avoid applying too much pressure at too young an age, that a child squeezed too hard or not hard enough might develop neuroses that would hinder them in the future.

They mostly tried not to look at him when they said that, presumably thinking to themselves that Nie Mingjue was little more than a child himself and had already been subject to the worst pressures possible, which would undoubtedly result in who knows what future issues, but he hadn’t paid that part any mind. As far as he was concerned, his life was already a loss – he had sworn to take revenge for his father, to make that ancient monster Wen Ruohan pay with his life for what he had done and furthermore he'd sworn to pay back the blood debt in full before any of that burden passed to Nie Huaisang.

Letting Nie Huaisang grow up happy – that was what mattered.

Letting him be insulted when Nie Mingjue wasn’t looking played no part in that plan. If Nie Huaisang were going to be insulted, let it be by outsiders who he wouldn’t need to care about! Within their Nie sect, at minimum, he should be doted upon and honored, or else those responsible would have to explain themselves to Nie Mingjue.

Those dark thoughts still lingering in his mind, he had gone to the Lotus Pier for a discussion conference, and that, perhaps, was where it really started.

Rumor had already made the entire cultivation world aware that Jiang Fengmian had found the orphaned son of Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze, and that he had taken him into his home as his ward, allowing him to become a Jiang sect disciple – treating him almost as one of the family, even. That much was known, so it didn’t come as much of a surprise when Jiang Fengmian proudly introduced him or even more proudly showed him off, praising him to the high heavens.

What did come as a surprise was how little he praised his own son standing beside him, despite them being only a few days apart in age. It was as if Jiang Fengmian had simply forgotten that such a creature existed, much less that he had himself contributed to its spawning, and the constant looks of hope – invariably crushed – the child sent him made it clear that the present situation had been going on for some time.

Fuck you, Nie Mingjue thought, seeing red, seeing instead Nie Huaisang in his failed saber classes, struggling so desperately to keep up with the rest even though his body wouldn’t allow for it, being told he was useless and a good-for-nothing and fit for nothing but marriage. Fuck you, Jiang Fengmian.

He couldn’t say that, of course.

So instead he said, “Excellent stance,” to the child, who'd received the courtesy name Wanyin but seemed to be universally called Jiang Cheng. “Do you know the others in the set?”

Jiang Cheng, staring at him, very slowly nodded, and demonstrated them.

“Absolutely perfect,” Nie Mingjue said loudly, drawing attention to himself with his over-loud voice that everyone would automatically forgive on account on him being both a Nie and a young man. “You can see how hard you’ve worked at it, and it has paid off handsomely. You are very lucky in your son, Sect Leader Jiang.”

“…thank you,” Jiang Fengmian said, a little bemused at being interrupted. He’d been talking yet again about Wei Wuxian’s brilliance at picking up the sword again after years of living on the streets without practice, even though at the moment the smiling boy's admittedly impressive skills were still largely wild and undisciplined.

Nie Mingjue nodded, and said: “When exactly did you say the opening festivities would be starting?”

Jiang Fengmian had clearly forgotten about that in his enthusiasm, so he quickly hurried back to the actual subject at hand and the discussion conference was started in earnest.

It was almost enough to allow Nie Mingjue to forget the matter and put it behind him.

Or, it would have been, if only Jiang Fengmian hadn’t continued to insert praise for Wei Wuxian at every possible instance – it was as if he were the man’s first-born son, rather than another person’s child.

Irritated beyond belief, Nie Mingjue started complimenting Jiang Cheng every time Jiang Fengmian said something nice about Wei Wuxian, and he made sure to keep his compliments accurate: he was a hard worker, dedicated and sincere, thoughtful, clever, not overly arrogant…

“Wei Wuxian came up with his own ideas for a sword style already,” Jiang Fengmian claimed at one point. “You can see him on the training ground now, practicing it – take a look!”

Nie Mingjue picked up a stone and flicked it over with his fingers, making Wei Wuxian jump half a chi into the air and nearly fall on his ass.

“Weak foundation, and he over-commits,” he analyzed dryly, because it was true, and because no one else was saying it. He didn't make it any harsher than it had to be: he had nothing against the boy himself, of course; it was only that he knew from experience that it was much easier to be the one being complimented than the one not. “He’s got his head so high in the clouds that his feet are barely touching the ground – the weakest fierce corpse would knock him flat as a pancake with a childish style like that. He’d be better off sticking with orthodox or he’ll end up in real trouble one day.”

“Sect Leader Nie, really,” Jiang Fengmian said disapprovingly. “He’s only nine.”

“Old enough to pick up bad habits,” Nie Mingjue retorted. “Your son’s the same age and he’s as steady as a rock. If Jiang Cheng keeps going as he is, he’ll have a strong enough base to outlast the fiercest storm.”

“A rock has no imagination,” Jiang Fengmian said, and was he actually arguing that his son was inferior? Out loud, in front of outsiders? Did the man have no shame? “Mingjue, you’re young, but you must know that my Jiang sect prizes freedom and creativity as the highest virtue –”

“Would you rather build a house using a firework or a foundation stone?” Nie Mingjue asked, doing his best not to outwardly bristle at the condescendingly intimate use of his name by someone who might be technically his elder but legally his equal. “Tell me, Fengmian, does your Jiang sect’s acclaimed ‘freedom’ only allow for people to be as fluid as the river and not as steady as the earth?”

Jiang Fengmian faltered, clearly not knowing how to answer that.

Nie Mingjue raised his hands in a sarcastic salute: “As the leader of a sect whose style is based on a grounded foundation, I would be very happy if you would educate me in your wisdom. No doubt my peers would benefit as well.”

Perhaps it was at that point that Jiang Fengmian realized that his words could be misinterpreted as an insult to all the sects whose styles were less free-flowing than the Jiang – just about all of them except for maybe the Lan and their subsidiary sects, given their preference for techniques modeled on the wind over the water – and moreover that this was a discussion conference, where every word was political, and that a great deal of people were glaring balefully at him. He hastily moved the conversation onwards, and left the subject of his sons for another day.

Later that evening, Madame Yu came over to where Nie Mingjue was nursing a bowl of very fine wine that he didn’t especially feel like consuming. Before he could start worrying about the Purple Spider’s intentions, she said, voice stiff, “Your words regarding my son are too kind. His skills are still inferior; he has a great deal of progress yet to be made.”

“He’s only nine,” Nie Mingjue said, feeling mortified that she’d noticed his little temper tantrum, which he had belatedly realized was probably extremely obvious. “Anyway, I wasn't lying. He has a good foundation; he’ll be a fearsome cultivator one day, there’s no doubt. I only said what I saw.”

“You didn’t comment about Wei Wuxian,” she said. “You must have noticed his genius.”

“Geniuses don’t need to be praised overmuch,” Nie Mingjue said. He himself had been termed a genius by his teachers, and he’d hated every single moment of it – couldn’t he just be good at things without having people fall all over themselves to compliment him? He’d enjoyed it at the start, but after a while it had started to wear on him; he was expected to be a genius in all things, and being simply ordinary was suddenly seen as failing. “It’s the ones that have to work hard that do, or else they’ll be discouraged…comparing someone to another person’s child works as a spur to a certain extent, but after a while it loses its potency as a tool.”

Your husband is a fucking idiot, he didn’t say. It’s his own son! How could he speak like that about him? Shouldn’t he be holding him in his palms like a gentle flame, protecting him from the wind and rain? How can he bear to scold his son when he hasn't shown that the scolding is meant for his benefit?

“Perhaps,” Madame Yu said, but it was clear on her face that she wasn’t about to start taking parenting advice from a half-grown sprout like Nie Mingjue. “Nevertheless, your words were kind.”

She swept away after that, much to his relief. He shook his head and daydreamed about a magic tool that would make this whole nightmarish experience go by that much quicker.

In the end, it went by at the same speed it always did. It could have ended there, but Nie Mingjue kept up the habit of blatantly complimenting Jiang Cheng in future sect conferences as well, if only because it clearly irritated Jiang Fengmian – less because Nie Mingjue was praising his son and more because it was so obviously meant as an indirect critique of Jiang Fengmian’s skills as a parent or sect leader, and moreover it reminded all the other sects of that unfortunate interchange and made them less inclined to listen to him – and of course, because, well, once you’ve started a charge, you had to finish it even if you came to your senses about halfway through.

He made sure to keep it proportionate, of course, since there was nothing worse than false praise. He didn’t really mean anything by it, other than the half-formed thought that someone ought to be doing it – that the boy should know that someone looked at him and Wei Wuxian and remembered to praise him first. Nie Mingjue praised Wei Wuxian too, of course, since the boy often deserved it; it was only that he made a particular point not to forget about Jiang Cheng, either.

(He also made sure the other sect leaders saw how well the technique could be used to fluster Jiang Fengmian, an intrusion into his personal life that could be masked in perfect politeness, and several of them picked up the same tact, though less consistently than Nie Mingjue – Sect Leaders Jin and Wen, naturally, always looking for a weakness, but interestingly enough also Lan Qiren, who was normally above such petty maneuvers. Possibly he was actually just complimenting Jiang Cheng because he sincerely approved of him.)

He didn’t think much of it.

Nie Mingjue didn’t think much of it during the other discussion conferences, or when he came to the Cloud Recesses to pick up Nie Huaisang, who had – amazingly – actually managed to pass this time, although the expression on Lan Qiren’s face suggested the pass might have more to do with the other sect leader’s desire to never see Nie Huaisang haunt his classroom ever again.

“You know what, don’t tell me. Tell me….hm…how did Jiang Wanyin do?” Nie Mingjue asked, hand over his eyes as if it could forestall the headache. “He’s a bright boy, and knows how to put his mind to something when he wants. Tell me about him instead, it’ll be less depressing.”

“He’s very bright,” Lan Qiren agreed. “Very thoughtful, and very thorough. He sometimes errs towards conservatism out of fear of giving the wrong answer, but that’s just a matter of confidence; his thinking is very good. He’s very clear-sighted as long as the matter is logical, rather than emotional.”

“No surprise,” Nie Mingjue grunted. “He’ll be a sect leader worthy of respect, in his time.”

When he’s rid of that father of his dragging him down, he thought ungraciously, and he saw Lan Qiren bob his head in a sharp nod of unspoken agreement.

“All right,” he said. “I’m adequately fortified now. Tell me about Huaisang.”

Lan Qiren gave him a look of profound sympathy.

It wasn’t until much later, during the Sunshot Campaign, that it was first called to his attention – by Jiang Cheng himself, oddly enough.

“Why do you keep doing that?” he hissed, having stayed behind after one of their meetings.

Nie Mingjue blinked at him. “Doing – what?”

“You – you said – about me…!”

Nie Mingjue tried to recall what he’d said during the meeting just now. “That you – were doing an excellent job while facing much higher level of obstacles than everyone else?” he hazarded, because he had said something like that. “Or was it the bit about how if any of them had needed to rebuild their sect and fight at the same time, we’d all be doomed because they couldn’t multitask for shit?”

Yeah, it was probably that one.

“I didn’t mean any offense by referencing what happened to your sect,” he said, hoping to explain. “It was only –”

“I didn’t take offense,” Jiang Cheng mumbled. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine, but – it happened, everyone knows that it happened, not talking about it isn’t going to make it not have happened. That’s not what I meant…why do you keep saying such nice things about me?”

Nie Mingjue blinked at him. “Because they’re true?”

Jiang Cheng’s cheeks flushed red. “You’ve always said nice things about me. Ever since I was a little kid – every time you saw me, at the discussion conferences, or the Cloud Recesses, or even in your letters to my father…”

He had in fact done that.

“I just want to know why. Is it – my father’s not around, you can’t be doing it just to piss him off, even though I know that was part of it. Why me?”

Nie Mingjue coughed a little, having not realized that Jiang Cheng had noticed. Or possibly even overheard, in regards to the Cloud Recesses. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of the other person’s child,” he said, and Jiang Cheng nodded his head sharply, clearly thinking of Wei Wuxian. “You’re Huaisang’s.”

“Me?” Jiang Cheng seemed unduly vulnerable when he asked. “You compare him – to me?”

“It’s amazing he tolerated you at the Cloud Recesses,” Nie Mingjue said with a sigh. In fact, his brother had all but declared war on Jiang Cheng in absentia on account of all Nie Mingjue’s comments, only for his first letter home from the Cloud Recesses that year to be I see why you like him! He’s cute! A perfect match for you! because he’d apparently decided that Nie Mingjue had a crush on the boy.

Which he certainly hadn’t – at least not when he’d been that age, anyway. Jiang Cheng had grown up to embody every single one of the compliments Nie Mingjue had paid him when he’d been younger, especially with the maturity and natural aura of command that came to him after his personal tragedy.

“But why…you knew Wei Wuxian about as well as you knew me.”

Nie Mingjue snorted. “And that would have helped Huaisang how, exactly? If I wanted to compare him with someone who picked things up the first time they saw it, I wouldn’t need to go outside the Nie sect for that – I was also considered a genius when I was young. It’s no failing to be born without a vast and unending natural talent; Huaisang’s issue has always been his unwillingness to put in the effort.”

Jiang Cheng stared at him.

“Anyway, your father was so blinded by his adoration for Wei Wuxian that he overlooked your merits, which are different but no less impressive,” Nie Mingjue added. “As someone who was trying to figure out how to raise a child, it irritated me; I thought someone ought to make it clear to you that you were seen.”

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng said, his voice strangely hoarse. “Yes, you – you succeeded.”

He paused for a moment, meeting Nie Mingjue’s eyes intently, and then abruptly said, “I’ll be leaving,” and dashed out.

Nie Mingjue wasn’t entirely sure if that meant he should stop or not. Jiang Cheng had said he wasn’t offended…anyway, it was a fixed habit by now. He’d been doing it for over half his life! He couldn’t stop that easily! It would be like trying to stop his temper, or a charge – there was nothing for it.

Jiang Cheng would just have to live with a few compliments.

“Wow, you’re an idiot,” Nie Huaisang said when he told him about the incident, months later while he was lying in bed, recovering from the disaster that had been the end of the war. “I’ll fix this.”

“Fix what?”

“I’m going to tell him you’re dying,” Nie Huaisang decided.

“You’re going to do what?!”

“Stay in bed, da-ge! Doctor’s orders!”

The Nie sect chief doctor was an extremely terrifying person. Nie Mingjue stayed in bed.

Some time later, Jiang Cheng stormed in, face pale.

“Huaisang’s a rotten liar and I’m going to be fine,” Nie Mingjue said at once.

Jiang Cheng stopped mid-storm, and abruptly deflated. “Really?”

“Really. I would’ve stopped him, but I’m stuck in bed for the moment.”

Jiang Cheng took a seat next to him. “That sounds serious. You shouldn’t underestimate war wounds, especially given your sect’s tendency towards qi deviations...”

“Compassionate as well,” Nie Mingjue teased. “I’ll have to add that to the rotation of compliments.”

Jiang Cheng flushed red. “You’re…planning on continuing?”

“For the rest of my life, however short it might be,” Nie Mingjue said, because he was an honest person, even when it was inconvenient. He was going to explain about the habit, and the concept of stopping mid-charge, but he didn’t manage to start before Jiang Cheng grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up into a kiss.

After that, he figured that maybe explaining that part of it wasn’t necessary. He might be slow on the uptake, but he wasn’t actually stupid.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #jiang cheng #jiang fengmian #lan qiren #nie huaisang #my fic #my fics #compliments

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