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softlymellow · 3 years

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flaws -- B.B

pairing: Bucky Barnes x ! insecure reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: angst and talk about body image, insecurities and a persons flaws.

summary: reader compares herself to Natasha as she see’s her and Bucky getting close. She think’s he doesn’t have feelings for her due to her not being perfect and because of her flaws but Bucky reassures her it’s not.

note: i hope this imagine isn’t taken this wrong way as me trying to romanticise someones insecurities. if i did please dm me or let me know so i can help fix it!! i promise i wasn’t trying to make anyone feel bad or anything and EVERYONE IS SO BEAUTIFUL IN ALL SHAPES AND FORMS and everybody is insecure about something and that’s completely normal but you are loved and you are perfect and you don’t need a man ( or girl! ) to tell you that. hope you guys enjoyyy

You loved being the reason he smiled or laughed.

Not that he would do it often, his face masked from the trauma he experienced. But when you were the reason he was happy, it gave you almost a sense of pride, but it was taken away from you.

There she was, Natasha Romanoff.

Her incredible orange hair that sat on her shoulders was eye-catching, her glowing skin and her full scarlet lips complimented her appearance tremendously.

You couldn't blame her. She was everything you couldn't be and everything you should be. Yet, the lump that rested in the back of your throat was difficult to ignore as you watched Bucky and Natasha interact with each other. A genuine laugh arose from the male, yet you could only wish you were the reason he laughed.

It wasn't as if you weren't friends with him. Hell, it seemed like a lot more to you. Maybe only to you.

You pulled your knees to your chest and hugged them tightly, watching the pair chatter among each other near the dining table as you reside in the comfort of the couch across from them.

Steve sat beside you, busy fixating himself on his new cellphone and playing around with the features.

You drew small circles on your knee to comfort yourself, ignoring the voice that was calling out to you.

"Y/n!" Your head snapped to your right, looking at a semi-concerned Steve. "Almost lost you there," He chuckled while you rubbed your eyes, gaining your full attention.

"How do you change the ringtone?" He innocently asked, poking his phone.

"Just go to settings and search it up." You told him, relocating your gaze to the pair. Steve hummed as he did what you instructed him. You sat quietly before you began to chew on your fingernails, thinking of every possible explanation on why Bucky would choose Natasha over you.

It almost felt as if you were being toyed with, one minute you'd be two peas in a pod, often being teased as one of the only people Bucky began to get close to other than Steve. On the other, he'd be flaunting off to every girl he would see.

"You know you should stop staring before you make it obvious," Steve whispered next to you, jumping at the sudden break in thought and looking over to a smirking man.

"Steve," You hissed, glaring at him, "before making what obvious?" You innocently asked, attempting to cover up the embarrassment you felt.

Steve shot you a knowing look and you felt your cheeks flare-up, "Shut up."

"I didn't say anything," Steve responded with a smug expression. You rolled your eyes jokingly before turning your attention to Bucky.

"You should give it a shot, yknow," Steve whispered.

You shook your head 'no', snapping your gaze to Steve, "Trust me," He said in a hushed tone. Looking back to Natasha, you couldn't help the sickening feeling as you watched the pair flirt with each other.

"What would he see in me that he wouldn't in Nat," You mumbled under your breath, not intending for Steve to hear.

"You wouldn't know," Steve cleared his throat, poking at his phone with a pleased look on his face. You tilted your head as you narrowed your eyes at him. Getting up from the couch, you had decided to leave to wallow in your sadness.

You made your way past the pair and you heard the silence that fell among them, their gaze darting holes in your back as you walked away from the room.

Ignoring the distant mumbling behind you, you made your way towards your bedroom. Locking the door behind you, you hadn't bothered to turn the lights on. You dropped on your bed as you felt a swarm of emotions hit you. Once mostly consisting of jealousy.

You took out your phone and headed straight to Instagram. You scrolled through for what could only be interpreted as hours before you paused on a single post that lied on your feed.

It was a picture of Natasha that was posted only a few hours ago. It was taken during Tony's infamous parties last night, one that you had skipped out on due to feeling ill. She sat on a red velvet couch, and she wore a skin-tight black dress that sparkled in the light. She held a drink to her mouth as her red straightened hair fell over her eye. You had noticed that Bucky liked the picture, and you felt the tears brim your eyes. Your grip holding the phone as if your life depended on it suddenly faltered as it fell beside your head, briefly missing your face.

Getting up towards the large mirror that was framed on the closet door, you noticed every imperfection on your figure. Your hands travelled to your shirt as you pulled it off your body, leaving you only in your bra and your negative thoughts.

Your eyes wandered to every flaw, the extra fat and skin on your stomach. The way your body wasn't the perfect hourglass figure. Your fingers traced over your stretch marks that lied on your hips, feeling the slight dent in your skin. Tears began to fall down your face. Your flabby arms and that your breasts wasn't the ideal type.

Sitting on the ground in front of your mirror, you hugged your legs tightly against your chest as you sobbed.

You couldn't fit the standards that were made. The more you looked and the more you scrolled, just end up bringing newfound insecurities. That was a problem you had faced many times during your life and you began to doubt yourself. You would rather be anybody else, feeling unfit in your own body, one that was especially for you. All you saw was what you should be. A happier person, a prettier girl, and a stronger Avenger.

You threw your shirt back on, making your way towards your bed. Lying your head down, you allowed yourself to think about nothing. Empty thoughts. Thoughts that had no meaning and brought you no use.

A knock on the door brought you back to your reality. Getting up, you brushed away the tears that stained your cheeks as you sniffed. Suddenly feeling exposed, you pulled your sleeves down to hide your arms before opening the door.

Your eyes widened as you saw a concerned Bucky waiting outside. His eyebrows furrowed upon seeing your puffy eyes and your red cheeks.

"Can I come in?" He politely asked, his eyes watching every move you made. You nodded, not trusting your voice.

You stood aside, allowing Bucky to slip into your room as you shut the door behind him.

You leaned against the door, your arms crossed against your chest as you waited for him to say something.

He sighed, not knowing where to start, his hands ruffling his hair. "Are you avoiding me?" He obliviously asked. You could almost laugh at how stupid of a question it was.

Your lips could only quiver as you attempted to respond to him. "What?"

"Doll, I don't know if I did something wrong, but you seemed pretty upset back there." He tilted his head and pressed his lips together.

You shook your head as you bit the insides of your mouth, "No, no, it was nothing." You muttered as you sat on your bed, staring at your palms.

"Doll, I know you well enough to know when something is wrong." He shot you a small smile.

"Do you like her?" You instantly regretted saying that, your insecurities creeping in again.

Bucky was taken back by the sudden question, his eyebrows raised in confusion. "Who?"

"Natasha."

"What, no. Where'd you hear that from?" He enquired.

You looked up at Bucky, tears glossing over your vision. "I've seen the way you look at her, Buck."

"No, Y/n. I've never liked her."

"You don't have to lie for me. I mean, what's there not to like. She has the perfect body, face and hair and-" You were interrupted by his sudden grasp on your hands.

"And you don't have those things?"

"I-I don't." You whispered.

"That's a lie, and you know it." His firm voice alarmed you as if you somehow offended him.

You got up and kept strong eye contact with him. "What are you trying to say, Bucky? Have you seen me?" You scoffed and started to point and poke around your flaws.

"There's nothing wrong with your body, doll." He said in a calmer tone, realising you were insecure about your body image.

"Bucky, you can just stop faking it. Go back to Natasha." You muttered, sniffing as you looked down at your feet.

"I don't love Natasha, Y/n! I love you, doll. I always have." He confessed, slightly panting as he raised his voice.

You stood still, finding it difficult to believe in his words.

"I love you and every part of you." He took your hands in his and planted a small kiss onto your knuckles.

"Then what about-"

"Forget about her, doll. I tried to forget about you through her. Steve told me." He looked up to your eyes, watching your reaction.

You felt the heat creep onto your face as you realised he knows your feelings towards himself.

"Do you really?" You asked, hope in your eyes.

He nodded, still holding your hand and planting small kisses. His kisses travelled up towards your arms as you felt a swarm of butterflies swarm your insides.

"I love your arms," he left a trail of kisses as he went further up.

"Your shoulders," he mumbled against your skin, a tingling sensation was left after every kiss as you felt yourself biting your lip in admiration.

He made his way towards your neck, loving the way you tensed under his touch. "Your neck," he kissed behind your ear as you bit back a moan.

You tilted your head, allowing him to move further, his lips moving alongside your jaw. He finally reached your lips and caught your gaze on his. His lips were mere inches apart from yours, you felt his breath fan over yours.

"Your lips," he whispered, his mouth slowly reaching yours as they gently kissed. Your lips dancing over his, enjoying the moment. His lips were soft against yours and he kissed you as if you were fragile, something to not be tampered with.

He slowly let go of you, his forehead against yours. "I love everything about you, doll. Don't doubt that and don't compare yourself to other women. You're equally if not more beautiful than them." He whispered, pecking you on the cheek.

"You'll realise your worth, Y/n." He kissed you on the forehead.

You felt better after Bucky had come found you that night. Your insecurities didn't go away, instead, you found them as someone else's treasure. And that made you feel better.

-----

a/n: man that last part has me embarrassed.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes imagines #james buchanan barnes #marvel imagines #marvel angst imagines #marvel angst #bucky barnes angst imagines #insecure reader #bucky x insecure reader #bucky imagines #bucky angst #bucky angst imagines #ur mum #i dont think i could ever write smut

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beels-burger-babe · 3 years

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A Little Voice Told Me - Pt.2

Poly! MC Summary: Words hurt and leave their scars. MC learns this the hard way after hearing some not-so-nice whispers about them while on a date with Beel. How are they supposed to be the partner of the seven lords of the Devildom when they just don't measure up? Part 1: HERE, Part 3: HERE ***Good Golly!! Y'all really like the angst, huh? Here you guys go. Cry your hearts out and enjoy! - B*** Beelzebub woke up the rest of his brothers early the next morning. While most of them attempted to flip him off or threaten him at the initial disturbance, all it took was him saying that they needed to talk about you for them to shoot out of bed. In a matter of minutes, all of them, except Levi, were seated around the breakfast table. "If we're talking about MC, why aren't they here?" Satan asked while poking at a piece of fruit. "I don't know about you, but I personally don't feel right talking about them behind their back." Belphie scoffed and laid his head in his arms. "It's not like we're gossiping about them or anything. They were acting off last night, and Beel thought we should discuss what we're gonna do about it." Beel nodded, "They pulled into themself halfway through the night, and was upset but kept brushing me off whenever I tried to talk to them about it." Mammon huffed and crossed his arms. "Maybe they just didn't feel like they could talk to ya about it," he rose to his feet and began to walk towards the door. "I'm the first! I'm sure I can get it out of them, easy peasy! I'll just head in there and-" "Mammon, sit down!" Lucifer hissed. Mammon grumbled under his breath but did as told. Lucifer sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "We've talked about this. Stop bringing up the whole 'first man' thing. MC is in a relationship with all of us. Not just you." The second-born pouted and stabbed an egg with his fork.

Lucifer rolled his eyes at his brother's antics and looked back at Beel. "Something clearly happened during the date. Do you have any ideas at all at what it could've been?" Asmodeus stirred a swirly straw around in his drink. "I mean, I would be pretty upset if I spent three hours of my evening at a barbaric sporting event too," Asmo chuckled and smirked. "The only good thing about sports is that you get to see all those rippling muscles of the athletes in action." Beel scowled at his brother took a bite out of the omelet that was on his plate. "It wasn't because of the game. MC loves coming to my Fangol games and was having a blast with me until halftime. Something had to have happened while I was gone." Asmodeus opened his mouth to counter the statement when Leviathan came rushing into the room carrying his laptop. Lucifer raised an eyebrow at the sight, "What have I told you about devices at the table?" Leviathan shot him an annoyed look as he plopped down in one of the chairs. "This isn't about table etiquette. This is about MC," he looked over at Beel and Belphie. "I think I have an idea on what may have caused them to start distancing themselves." Everyone perked up in interest at the news; each one of them eager to know what was distressing their loved one so much that they felt like they couldn't talk to them. "Well are you going to tell us, or are you just going to sit there?" Satan quipped, his anger beginning to get the better of him as he sat on the edge of his seat. Levi gave him a flat look before he typed a few things on his keyboard. "I was doing a raid last night trying to keep my mind off of what might've happened with MC and decided to ask my party members about it," Leviathan's expression darkened as he began to explain. It was clear to everyone that whatever was said, wasn't taken lightly by the otaku. Rather than reading the conversation out loud, he turned his laptop screen for all his brothers to see. Leviachan: Gaaah! I just can't focus on the game tonight. My partner came back from a date tonight and has been acting kind of sus. There's definitely something bothering them, but they refuse to tell anyone. Ruri-Chans-Husbando: Dude, you're talking about that stupid human right? Why are you even with them? You shouldn't give a Normie like them the time of day. Waifu-Addict: Exactly! Listen, we've all been talking and you need to drop that whore. They're totally just using you and your brothers for your titles and power. The demons read in horror and rage as the chat room filled with messages from the members of Leviathan's party all saying similar garbage about you and degrading you in every way they could think of. Satan stood up and began to pace near the table as he used every inch of his self-control to keep himself from lashing out. "I want names, Levi. Who are they and why do they seem to think it's okay to talk about MC like- like that?!" Satan snarled as he curled his hands into fists. Levi tsked and crossed his arms, as Lucifer took the laptop to look more closely at the messages. "You say that as if I haven't already used my 'title and power' as Grand Admiral to have my men collect and imprison them. They're at the navy base waiting for us to get our hands on them as soon as we sort this whole mess out." Belphie growled, now sitting up and wide awake. "Get our hands on them is right. No one gets away with this shit," Asmodeus glared at the computer as though it had just dyed all of his clothing brown. "Rotten brats. They're all just jealous of stunning MC. Ugh, Diavolo, haters are the worst." Beel pushed his plate away from himself as he frowned deeply. "As disgusting and horrible as this is, what does it have to do with MC getting all quiet during our date?" A low rumble came from Lucifer as he handed the laptop back to Levi. A fiery hatred was burning brightly in his eyes as he gritted his teeth. "If a bunch of anti-social shut-ins are going around talking about our dearest MC like this, I believe Leviathan's point is that others probably are."

"Ouch. I wasn't going to say it l-like that, but yes," Levi winced and continued, "MC probably overheard people saying something about them. I mean, if people said that crap about me I'd probably hide in my room and not come out for months!" Mammon, who had been surprisingly quiet during all of this, had a very serious expression on his face. "Right, and we don't want MC to go through that. For Diavolo's sake, they've left alone to overthink this enough," Mammon stood up and headed towards the door again, Satan hot on his trail. "I'm going up to there to talk with them. Ya'll are welcome to come with, but you ain't stoppin' me." "Actually, Mammon, you're not. We should wait until MC comes to us," Lucifer interrupted. An animalistic snarl tore its way from Satan's throat as what little self-control he had snapped. Wrath incarnate lunged himself at Lucifer, grabbing his older brother by the collar of his cloak. "Are you serious, Lucifer?! You're seriously putting your stupid pride first, now?!? MC needs us!" Lucifer growled and pushed Satan off of him as he stood to size him up. "No. What they need is to not feel pressured to open up when they aren't ready! We can't make them feel like they can't come to us!" Mammon scoffed from where he stood in the back. "Oh, cause that's perfect logic! News flash, oh wise one, They ain't gonna come to us if they're thinkin' they're a burden! But you wouldn't know anything about that would you?!" Lucifer's eyes widen and he took a step back in shock at the statement. "What is that supposed to mean?" Mammon and Satan both opened their mouths to put Lucifer in his place when Beel all of sudden cleared his throat loudly. All three of the angry demons turned to snap at him but froze as they saw you standing in the room behind them. They instantly straightened themselves up gave you their full attention. The air seemed to lay still between you as everyone waited for the other to make the first move. As with almost every situation, it was Mammon who broke the silence. He took a step towards you. "MC, I was just coming to get you actually. There's somethin' we all wanna talk to you about." They could hear your breath catch in your throat as you took a step back. Panic filled your eyes the moment the words left his mouth. "O-Oh. I, um, I was actually just going to grab an apple and then head off to RAD for class. M-Maybe we can talk afterwards?" Satan frowned as you walked past him towards the fruit bowl. "MC, it's the weekend." You stopped mid-step. An uncomfortable tension filled the room as the obvious excuse was exposed. The brothers waited for you to move, to speak, to do something to give them any sort of sign for what you wanted them to do, but you just stood there, still like a statue except for the tremors in your hand. "Come on, Darling," Asmodeus spoke softly. His face clearly showed the hurt and concern that was coursing through him. "Everything's alright, I promise. We just need to talk about a few things." The brothers had thought of a number of ways you could've reacted to them confronting you. Lucifer thought that perhaps you would snap at them and distance yourself further. Mammon, Levi, and Asmo expected a few small tears followed by a cuddle session. Satan imagined a slightly more dramatic telling, like something from one of his novels, that ended him being your hero and massacring all those who dared speak ill about you. Beel thought perhaps you could talk over a bunch of comfort foods that allowed you to remain calm and feel safe. Belphie had hoped that perhaps you hadn't believed what you overheard, and the two of you could laugh at how idiotic even the idea of them not loving you was. But you, breaking down into tears, sobbing the words "I'm sorry" over and over again? None of them had expected, nor were prepared, for that. ***Apparently this is now going to be a three-part series. This part was interesting to write. I fully believe that if the brothers were in a poly relationship with the MC they would definitely bicker and argue about

who knows MC best and who had the better date whenever MC isn't around. Honestly, they probably have a score chart 😅 I hope you guys liked part 2! Keep an eye out for part 3, where MC finally opens up to the boys and we have some hurt/comfort times \uwu/ ***

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sylverstorms · 3 years

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Cassandra x Maiden----Anonymity Ch. 9

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8

'I’ll see you later', she said.

But 'later' never comes.

After the days that have passed, it doesn’t look like it will, either. Your schedule is changed to working the day shift, permanently. When you ask about the change, the Grand Chambermaid tells you it is a direct order from Lady Alcina.

A few months ago, you would consider it a gift from heaven. The morning shift is absolutely safe and maids trip over themselves in happiness to get it for however long. It means the daughters are asleep and the halls are quiet; that there is no danger of blood drawn over the slightest misstep.

But you are not happy. If anything, it feels like there is a thorn lodged in the back of your throat, hurting you from within.

Keep your head down. Do your job. Map every nook and cranny of the castle. You repeat the same words to yourself to give you a driving force, a sense of purpose… yet it is not escaping that your mind reels right back to.

It’s her.

It’s the way she would pop out of nowhere, going “rah!” just to get your blood pumping, then break into little giggles before gluing her body to yours, to bask in your warmth. The way she would fidget when she couldn’t keep still. Her quiet laughs when something genuinely amused her. Her cool touch. Her voice. Her breathy gasps and hooded eyes in the dark above you.

The time you despised Cassandra seems so distant now it may as well have been a different life. She is —perhaps always will be— many things you should detest. But she hasn’t been any of them around you for so long.

The initial cuts on you turned to scratches, then to simply the drag of her dark-painted nails over your skin. She stopped terrorizing the other maids. Her time in the dungeons below the castle diminished.

There were times when you were laying in bed together that you even considered the playful girl there with you had the potential be someone you could see yourself love.

From what you hear some of the maids whisper… that girl is no more.

At first, you don’t believe it. You don’t want to believe it.

Until you see one of the girls —Valia, if memory serves—downing one painkiller after the other and clutching at her bandaged chest during breakfast. And you make the mistake of asking what happened.

“This is all your fault!” she snaps and swings her hand to hit you, but you stop her and pin the limb down, rattling the table.

All eyes in the room shift to you.

“Calm yourself.” you warn her.

“She wasn’t like this before! What did you do to displease her and have her take it out on us, huh?!” she demands, tears in her eyes.

Then you understand. Cassandra did this to her.

As the older maids come to separate you, taking her away and trying to soothe her, you find your appetite is gone. You take your leave from the room and get to work an hour earlier than you’re supposed to.

It isn’t easy when every glance at a window reminds you of her scream, or when every flying insect that enters your peripheral brings forth the image of her body breaking apart from the cold.

You don’t notice how long you’ve been working for, until your surroundings are positively bathed in shadows. When you look out the nearest window, the sun is nowhere to be found in the sky.

Oh, no. You start to stress. You should have left ages ago.

Hurried steps take you through hallways you know the daughters don’t frequent as much. It is the long way around to your room, but distance is the least of your worries.

A familiar laugh from the other end of the corridor sends every attempt to calm your nerves right into the trash.

You are suddenly overcome with the urge to say her name, to see her, to make sure she’s alright so you can erase the image of her form crumbling from your mind.

But.

There is a reason Alcina had you working the day shift. And Cassandra would have come to see you if she wanted to. It’s not a pretty thought, but reality usually isn’t. You’ve come to terms with that from a very young age.

So you bite your tongue and keep walking, eyes fixed on the carpet. Part of you is relieved to hear Daniela’s giggle follow her sister’s voice. Cassandra can focus on her and pass you by like she does the decorations around –which, considering the past days, is probably all you were worth to her, anyway.

The distance between you gradually diminishes…

You’ve almost passed her by when Cassandra stops. At least you know her well enough to brace for it.

The next instant, nails are digging through the skin of your biceps and your back is pinned, hard, against the wall. You gasp but you’re too proud to cry out. You don’t want to give her the satisfaction.

“I thought mother had you working during the day.”

There’s ice in her voice as she says it, though her eyes have a strange look about them you’d almost describe as melancholy. You know how they light up at the prospect of hunting and killing. This isn’t it.

“Forgive me, Lady Cassandra. I lost track of time.” you reply back. An accusation you can't quite erase is adrift somewhere in your tone.

Her lips twist. She rips your shirt and opens bleeding cuts on your flesh with how harshly her nails pull out of you. The force shoves you sideways, into the faint alcove of a shut window.

Her hand comes to your nape and traps your head there. You can feel her entertain the idea to squeeze harder. Perhaps hurt you enough for everything that ever was between you to completely die. And still your body, the worst traitor of all, welcomes the feel of her breath by your ear when she leans in.

“How come you haven’t used it yet?” she asks. “You know our weakness now, Alexia.”

And she’s right, isn’t she.

How come you haven’t used it to escape? You know it’s below zero degrees outside. Certainly, you could make up an excuse to yourself about the winged monsters lurking around the castle or that you may not make it to the village with that much snow. But that’s all these are. Excuses.

“Come on, the window is right here.” Cassandra hisses and forces your hand to wrap around the handle. “Open it.”

From the corner of your eye, you see Daniela take tiny steps to the side, to avoid the blast of cold should you indeed decide you want them to feel what you feel. “Uhh… Cassandra…?” she says, quietly.

And suddenly you see red for reasons that have nothing to do with the sharp fucking sting on your arms. You can’t contain the anger that bursts out of you like lava from a volcano—

You jerk back with all your strength, actually managing to move her a step away.

“Maybe you get off on it but I sure as hell don’t hurt the people I care about!” Even when they don’t care back.

You’re certainly no stranger to the feeling.

Cassandra freezes up. Daniela’s eyes flit between the two of you like she’s debating calling out for either Bela or her mother for help, before the storm brewing in the air really fucks something up.

Cassandra’s hand shoots forward and closes, tight, around your throat. She presses close, close enough for you to feel the phantom caress of her mouth over yours as she speaks;

“If you don’t want to hurt me, make sure I don’t see you again. Because if bleeding you out is the only way I can be with you… I may take that deal.” Her fingers tremble on your jugular.

Then she’s gone, dragging her sister along with her. You can’t breathe any easier even without her cutting off your airway.

“…so…. does this mean I can have Alexia now?” Daniela’s voice faintly reaches your ears from down the corridor.

Cassandra only grabs her by the nape and pushes her into one of the rooms in response.

Crimson-red travels down your body along with the waterdrops and rolls around the drain in hypnotic swirls. The cuts on your arms would hurt if your heart wasn’t already in pieces.

But who is there but yourself to blame? You knew what you were getting into was no wise idea. You knew you were fucked when it stopped being about your survival. You knew. Yet you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting more with her.

And now every single one of your issues and insecurities rises up like a tsunami ready to sweep you with its force and crush you amidst the wreckage.

It seems to be an inescapable curse in your life that everyone you care for leaves you in shambles, one way or another.

It started with your father, when he abandoned you and your mother for a wealthy woman, never to return. Continued with her bringing you to this superstitious, shitty village and soon after leaving you due to an illness. The first girl you fell for fled one night without telling you a single thing. Only a half-assed letter was dropped behind for you.

And now Cassandra discards you, as well, like a broken toy she cannot stand to see yet stubbornly refuses to let go of. You are left bleeding inside and outside, feeling more and more like how she used to call you;

A plaything.

The word never quite bothered you, but now it makes something inside you boil.

Like everyone else, Cassandra has left.

So why should you be the one to stay?

#cassandra dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x oc #lady dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #fanfiction #writing #in which the babies are hurt #and not coping very well #on an unrelated note why is Daniela so cute I can't--

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monicashipslokius · 3 years

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“Kneel.”

Loki looks at them, these simple mortal beings. So primitive. Like ants, running loose, lost without a queen. But they needn’t fear any longer. Loki is here, and will be their leader now. They will find purpose - glorious purpose - under their rule.

“Kneel!” Loki says again, louder, and finally they fall into line. One after the next, down to their knees, to praise -

“Um. Excuse me. Uh, sorry. This is awkward.” A man steps away from the rest. He’s wearing a dreary brown suit with a tie that needs fixing. Gray hair. Mustache. A typical, everyday Midgardian.

Loki should silence him at once. And yet - they still their hand. There’s something oddly... compelling about this fumbling oaf. Perhaps it’s the way he’s looking at Loki. Not with fear, but with interest. Curiosity. Almost a quiet understanding.

No one ever looks at Loki like that.

The man rubs the back of his neck. “It’s just that. Well. I think I might be your soulmate?”

Someone in the crowd shushes him.

Another asks, “Are you crazy?”

A woman hisses, “Mobius. There’s no way -”

The man - Mobius - glances back at her and shrugs. “So they’re ambitious.”

“They’re going to kill you.”

“Nah.” Mobius turns back to Loki. “Just a little pussycat.”

He starts forward, gently moving through the kneeling crowd, whispering, “Excuse me, pardon me, coming through,” on his way to the front.

Loki tracks his every step, watchful for any sign of trickery, but they can detect no magic on this mortal. The absolute gall of this man, to approach Loki - child of Asgard, god of mischief - as if they are equals.

Loki shouldn’t just silence him, they should scorch him from the whole of the realms.

But then Mobius smiles at Loki, a big, wide thing that twists Loki up inside. Perhaps they will wait to destroy him, if only for a moment, if only to hear him out. Loki considers themself a fair god, after all.

Listening. Then destruction.

“Speak, mortal,” Loki commands. “If that is what you desire. But know your life hangs on your words.”

Mobius looks at Loki, watching for a moment, smile never dimming. “Oh, yeah. You’re definitely the one.”

“I am all things,” Loki says, ever magnanimous.

Mobius points at them. “You’re my soulmate.”

Loki frowns. “I am not.” Then they frown harder. They know lies well, and that felt like a big one.

But that couldn’t be.

“I have no soulmate,” Loki says, ignoring the familiar sting that comes with the words. Words repeated again and again, as all the seers in Asgard looked into their future and saw them standing alone.

Mobius’s smile softens. “Are you sure about that?”

No. Not really. How many years have passed since Loki last had the seers check? Is it possible... perhaps Mobius had been born in that time? He is but a mortal. How old could he be? 40 years? 50? The blink of an eye.

Mobius holds out a hand. “Wouldn’t you like to check?” That suit truly is ridiculous, outdated and well-worn. If they are soulmates, Loki will take him to Asgard at once and buy him -

Loki forces an abrupt stop to their own thoughts. This is deception, meant to shake them from their true purpose.

“Once I discover you are deceiving me, I will purge you from existence.”

“Okay, sure. Whatever you want.” Mobius waves his hand impatiently. “Isn’t worth trying? Then, you know, purge from existence and all that...”

“Mobius,” the same woman whisper-yells from the crowd.

Mobius rolls his eyes. “Work friend. She’s very protective.”

“She has reason to be,” Loki says, looking at that offered hand. At the long, steady fingers, the delicate wrist. Mortals are such fragile things. Beings to be conquered. Not loved.

And yet.

Loki lifts a hand. They rub their thumb and forefinger together. They will attempt a small touch for curiosity’s sake. Then, the promised destruction.

“Aren’t you afraid?” Loki asks.

“No. Excited, maybe. Not everyday you meet your soulmate.”

“You keep saying that.”

“I’m feeling confident.”

Loki swallows hard. Then they reach out. They don’t take Mobius’s hand, not fully. They merely brush the pad of one finger to the edge of his thumb.

It is enough.

Visions flood through their mind. Mobius laughing. Mobius taking Loki’s hand, pressing his lips to their knuckles, one after the next. Mobius leaning in and kissing them on their lips. Mobius pressing Loki against a wall, and Loki letting themself be pressed.

“I love you,” Mobius says under cover of darkness, in the light of day, out in the ocean on the back of some type of motorized water vehicle. “I love you,” again and again, filling the dark depths of Loki’s heart until it overflows, bursting with happiness. With immeasurable love.

Loki snaps back to the present and slowly, so slowly, withdraws their hand.

Mobius’s smile could light the whole city. “I knew it was you.”

Loki opens their mouth to speak, but what comes out is a gasped breath, very near a sob. The love from the vision has vanished, but the phantom feel of it has Loki wanting.

Deception. Has to be. But they are immune to enchantment. And there’s no magic on this man.

To be loved like that. To be held and... cherished. Even now, Mobius looks at them like they hold of all of his hopes and dreams. Loki wonders how they are looking back.

“It’s okay.” Mobius holds up both hands now, like placating a wounded animal. “I know it’s overwhelming.” Mobius takes a small step forward. Loki does too. Mobius is right there. A promise of a life Loki never thought they’d have - right there.

“Mobius,” Loki says, and the name is perfect on their tongue. They could say it a hundred times more, a thousand. They are desperate to. “Mobius.”

“I’m right here.” Mobius steps closer. Loki reaches and grabs his forearm, bunching a handful of that ugly sleeve into their fist. “I’ve got you.”

“You cannot imagine how long -”

“Step away from him,” comes a new, authoritative voice. This one, like Mobius, lacks fear, but unlike Mobius, is decidedly not Loki’s soulmate.

“We’re kind of in the middle of something,” Mobius says over his shoulder, to Captain America. “Could you give us a minute?”

Captain America does not give them a minute. “Release the citizen, Loki.”

“Wow, you are really misreading the situation,” Mobius says.

In the sky, a flying vehicle arms its weapons. Every nerve in Loki’s body stands on end, seeing Mobius in the way of it.

Loki yanks Mobius forward, closer to him, then behind him, shielding him with their body.

“Loki!” Mobius starts.

But its too late. Captain America is moving closer. Loki blocks some of his blows, misses a few others. He’s strong, but not on the level of a god. Not usually. But Loki keeps leaving themself open to protect the vulnerable mortal behind them. Loki doesn’t think Captain America would hurt Mobius, but the risk is too great. The cost is too high for Loki to guess wrong.

The sudden arrival of Tony Stark only makes matters more difficult.

When Loki raises their hands in defeat, Mobius storms around them.

“Mobius,” Loki says in alarm. Mobius is now in the way of far too many weapons. Does he not understand how fragile he is? Or how important?

“I got this, Loki,” Mobius tells them. To the others, “Now everybody hold on a minute.”

“Please move yourself to safety, citizen,” Captain America says.

“I’m perfectly safe right here.”

“Standing right there is how you get a knife in the back,” Tony Stark says.

“Loki won’t hurt me.”

“He must be brainwashed,” Captain America says.

Mobius huffs out a frustrated breath. “You aren’t listening. Loki is my soulmate.”

Tony Stark looks at Captain America. “Definitely brainwashed.” He clears his throat. “But I’ll bite. Who exactly are you?”

“Mobius M. Mobius.”

“Uh, huh. So your parents hated you,” Tony Stark says. Before Mobius can answer, Tony asks, “And what do you do, Mobius M. Mobius?”

“I’m a data analyst for a corporate conglomerate.”

“Right,” Tony Stark says. “Loki of Asgard forever bound to Mobius M. Mobius, the data analyst. Sounds fake, but okay.”

Mobius’s shoulders sink. “You don’t have to be rude about it.”

Annoyance flares hot under Loki’s skin. Mobius is perfect and how dare these simpletons insinuate otherwise. How dare they make him feel anything less than he is.

Loki takes a strong step forward, but Mobius catches sight of them first and places a hand on their chest, stilling them. Loki holds, only for Mobius’s sake.

“It’s no big deal,” Mobius says.

“They cannot speak to you like that. You are the soulmate of a god.”

“I’m not thrilled about it either. Data analysis is a respectable line of work. I’ve saved my company hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

Loki nods along, hoping they look impressed enough to spare Mobius’s feelings, when truly they have no idea what he is talking about. But whatever restores Mobius’s confidence is what they will do.

“Huh,” says Tony Stark. “Pencil pusher just stopped the god of mischief with a touch. You see that?”

“I saw it,” says Captain America. “I don’t think they’re lying.”

Mobius presses his lips together in a hard line before taking a breath and saying, “Loki, you have magic, right? Can you like...” He holds up his hands and waggles his fingers. “Magic us out of here. I think it’s getting a little crowded. Some conversations are supposed to be private.”

Loki likes the idea of... talking, but they had a plan when they came here today.

Loki looks at the scepter. At the people, no longer kneeling. At Captain America and Tony Stark, arguing about Mobius. And then, finally, they look at Mobius himself, with his calm, steady presence, ever-soft smile, and ill-fitting suit.

Loki meant to conquer all of Midgard. And this, being captured, was part of the plan. But. Perhaps. What’s waiting another day? Or two.

They very well can’t let Mobius be captured. To think of it, most of their plans might need changing now.

“Hold onto me,” Loki says.

“Happily.” Mobius goes easily into their arms.

And Loki holds tight as they magic away.

#i wrote this #lokius #loki x mobius #wowki #lokius fanfic #soulmate au #this has been in my drafts all week #i've been trying to figure out how to end it i'm still not sure lol but i think we've reached an okay place?#forgive errors i didn't want to rewatch the whole movie so i might be forgetting important plot points #also forgive any mischaracterization of your faves i tried to be gentle #i had a thought about this that would not leave until it was written

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jordanstrophe · 3 years

Note

Hi, uh, I was wondering if you could do a continuation of your most recent thing, the "Whumpee’s arms were bound behind their back, further than they should be able to go" one? Thanks! :))

Hello! Of course you can, I really enjoyed that one myself (They got masterlist here)

CW: held captive, cruelty restrained, gaging, mild force fed, creepy/kind of nice whumper

Whumpee whimpered through the gag, their arms wrenched behind them burning with agony. Every movement and shift only tore at their shoulders further as a muffled grunt escaped their throat.

How long had they been down here? Whumper said they would be back soon... As if on cue, the door creaked open as Whumpee huffed, quickly using their shoulder to dry their tears.

"Good morning!" Whumper chirped as Whumpee's eyes went wide.

No... No it couldn't be morning already, It couldn't! H-had it really been that long!?

Whumper belted a cruel laugh. "I'm just kidding! Jeez, you should see your face... Awww, have you been crying down here?" They cooed, noticing their red cheeks and glossy eyes.

Their hand went to cup their face as Whumpee huffed with an aggressive flinch, It seemed to make Whumper even more twistedly joyful.

"Oh come now, you're stuck here for as long as I choose, so I might as well have some fun with you, right? I brought you fried rice by the way. Hungry?" They held a neatly folded box, giving it a shake.

Whumpee tried not to make eye contact or look desperate, but they couldn’t help their eyes darting to the box every now and then.

“Yeah, I thought so.” They chuckled, tugging the gag from their lips.

“Please! Please ta-take the ropes o-” Whumper took advantage of their pleas to stuff rice into their mouth. Whumpee started coughing, but managed to choke it down.

“Wha- What is wrong wh-with you!?” They gagged. Whumper gave them a ‘I don’t know’ shrug as they offered another spoonful. They gave them a sad look, before reluctantly parting their lips for another bite. As much as they wanted to beg for their arms to be released, they were more starving than anything.

Whumper quickly went from cruel, to patient again as they slowly fed them.

“C-can... Can you please take the restraints off? Please?” Whumpee begged. Whumper swung their leg crossed, leaning back in their chair. “Would be an awful shame if you ran off.” They muttered.

“I won't! Please, I promise I wont! I can’t take this anymore!” Whumpee made the mistake of thrashing around too much as they felt their bones starting to separate. They quieted down with a whimper.

“That bad, huh?” Whumper cooed with a laugh. They circled them for a moment, looking them up and down, cowering in their knees, trembling with pain and fear.

“Five minutes.” Whumper sighed. Before Whumpee could say anything, a hand dug into their hair, wrenching their chin up. “But if you even twitch in a funny way, not only will I make this twice as worse, you won’t see me for a long, long time. Do you understand?” they hissed.

Whumpee flinched into a nod. The ropes binding their arms were cut away as they felt fresh blood finally rush through their veins. Whumpee instantly curled in on themselves, holding their numb arms to their chest as they hid their face between their knees, hiding the tears of relief.

Whumper slumped back down into their chair, checking their watch. They ignored the quiet muffled sobs trying to be hid from them.

“A lot of people are looking for you, you know?” Whumper smiled.

“What?”

“Yeah, the whole city is. Tearing the place apart, in fact. It’s fun to watch them go to the extremes while I walk past, knowing fully well where you are.” Whumper giggled. “Right here, in my basement.” They rasped in their ear.

There was silence between the two for a moment.

“So! You’re behaving so far. Keep it up and maybe I’ll let you pick dinner tomorrow.” They chuckled. Whumpee let out a shaky breath, staying in their submissive pose.

"How long are you going to keep me here?" They asked. Whumper didn't respond, they just stared blankly at their watch. "Why are you doing this? Why are you hurting me?"

"I'm not hurting you." They snapped.

"Yes.. You are." Whumpee mumbled sadly, turning their head away.

Whumper let out a sigh, "Your five minutes are up."

Whumpee bit their lip to hold back a sob as their arms were taken, ropes were wound around their arms. They waited for it to be pulled tight until they could feel muscles tearing, but it never happened. They blinked up with surprise when they were left some slack.

Whumper walked in front of them, holding out the knotted gag to their lips as Whumpee looked up at them pitifully. "Come on now, don't give me those eyes, let's get this over with."

"W-wait! Be-before do that... C-can we ha-have... pizza tomorrow?" They risked a glance as Whumper sighed, wrenching their jaw open and stuffing the gag in. When they turned to leave, before sealing the door they hesitated.

"Pizza sounds good." They shrugged.

The door was gently closed.

Part 1 Part 3

Tag list: @grizzlie70 @alien-octopus @lave-whump @amethysts-sideblog @whump-it-like-its-hot @thingsthatgowhumpinthenight @yet-another-heathen @princessofonward @whatwhumpcomments @ill-eat-you-if-you-cross-me @mascmasochist @hamiltonwhumpdump @shokuhoemisaki @as-a-matter-of-whump

o(^∀^*)o Thank you for reading!

#whump #whumpee #whumper #whumpee held captive #gagged whumpee #restrained whumpee #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #force fed whump #nice whumper #?

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internalsealpanic · 3 years

Text

Monster Monster

I wholeheartedly blame this pic for the existence of this fic. I just wanna hug him and ruffle his hair.

Summary: Parent Teacher Conferences are very scandalous.

a/n: This is actually one of my few fics where reading some of my previous fics will help. I highly recommend reading Of Midnight Smoothies and Murder Mysteries to get a better feel on Dick and Reader’s relationship but anything on the Dick Grayson masterlist works too. Special thanks to @littleredwing89 and @americasmarauders for proofreading. Thanks to @littleredwing89 and @batarella for help with the ending.

warnings: A slur is mentioned but it gets shut down. Also, swearing.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

“Tt, stop staring at me.”

You bite back a smile and what was probably a laugh rising in your throat. “Hmmm, no.” You hum, carding your fingers through Damian’s curls. The corners of your mouth twitch into a frown when you feel an angry bump against your fingers. It’s dry and there seems to be no break in the skin as far as you could tell. You let a little sigh of relief escape you which has the unintended consequence of upsetting the gremlin in front of you.

Damian attempts to swat your hand away, snarling as he did. You grin at him, all sharp teeth and pettiness. You, being childish, do not take your hand away and instead ruffle his hair more. An adorably petulant pout settles on Damian’s mouth making the kid look ten-years-old for once. It takes everything in you not to squeal in delight.

“Unhand me. I do not require your mothering and you would do very well to leave the scolding to Richard or Pennyworth.” You can easily picture Alfred scolding Damian but Dick? You try to picture Dick, hand on his hip, trying his damndest to be mean to the kid but you just couldn’t. Sure, Nightwing can be terrifying, even Batman but Dick? Especially with a kid? Not even feasible. You snort openly, the noise echoing in the deadly silent room. The woman on the other side of the room sitting next to a boy with a faceful of bruises and probably a couple of chipped teeth glares at you. Specifically, the woman scowls at your arm, skin festooned with bangles of coiled serpent tails and glittering blades. You fight the urge to stick your tongue out at her. Instead, you tug a bit at your sleeves, baring the golden lines streaked with old gashes. A low humorless laugh escapes you causing her scowl to deepen.

Damian follows your line of sight. His face folds in utter contempt. The boy next to her flinches. Their size difference made this all the funnier. “[What did he do?]” you ask in what you hope are the correct words in Arabic. Damian crosses his arms not meeting your gaze. His leg kicks out, the restlessness thrumming in his bones. “[Your accent is atrocious.]”

Your mouth twitches uncontrollably, edging into a fond smile. You tamp it down with a click of your tongue lest the little demon tear your head off. “[I’m out of practice, child,]” Damian grabs at a space beside him only for his hand to close on nothing. Something inside you dies when you stop yourself from cackling. Thank goodness, Bruce has--had--the good sense to take the kid’s katana away.

“[Anyway, what did he do?]”

“[How are you so sure he did something?]”

“[Because you’re a brat but not stupid. You are by far the most annoyingly reasonable child I have had the displeasure of conversing with.]” Damian’s eyes widened in surprise. It seems the assumed hatred was mutual. You watch as he folds his face back into a glower, not quite fast enough to evade your attention but certainly fast enough to fool the untrained eye. Unfortunately for him, you’re used to the acrobatics of faces, the chaotic cacophony of microexpression. Most people in your life are, after all, awful at broadcasting their feelings even when it was sorely needed. This is probably why you gravitated to Dick so easily. The man believed in openness, in communication.

Distantly, you can hear the woman across from you tap her foot impatiently against the carpet. A flick of your eye tells you she was sneering at both of you likely eavesdropping (and failing) on your conversation. Why she needs to know what you and a ten-year-old with a stick up his ass were talking about you weren’t sure. Damian turns his head slightly towards you, angling his chin upward to mask the uncertainty in his posture. “[If you must know, he-]”

“Gypsies”

The syllables ring like a loud staccato of gunshots despite how quietly she’d hissed it. You freeze. You can feel Damian stiffen right beside you. Understanding flowed into you molten and bubbling. You feel your throat itch, unkind words coalescing into a lump in your throat. You turn your body to Damian who was now still but you can feel the anger wicking off him. You sling your arm over the head of the chair behind him drawing his attention back to you.

He arches a brow at you, challenging. The expression falters when the next few words leave your mouth.

“[You’re off the hook.]”

Principal Jameson is a nasally man. It isn’t his anything to do with his voice. Though, you would be remiss to say that his voice was pleasant. You’re actually half tempted to turn your bad ear on him, block out the words coming from him but that would negate the point of you coming here. His voice isn’t that unpleasant but his entire demeanor rubbed you the wrong way. You’ve seen jellyfish with more backbone than this man. Then again, this might just be a by-product of your presence. Dick, and several other batbrats, have helpfully informed you that you were in fact pants pissing scary to civilians. You would like to say you couldn’t see it but standing in front of this man it was clear as day.

“Y/n L/n,” you offer congenially. His shoulders ease a fraction but did not offer you a hand. You smother a sigh before offering an additional “I believe Mr.Grayson-Wayne had informed you that I would be coming in his stead to discuss this-” Shit show, your mind supplies but thankfully, your mouth was quick enough to bite it back. “- incident.” Beside you Damian scoffed. You stop yourself from kicking the kid because that really would not do.

“Yes, well, Ma’am your-” Jameson halts frankly unsure of your relationship to Damian because of course, Dick would leave the leg work to your socially allergic ass. You make a mental note to kick him later. “- charge.” you supply, feeling a modicum of sympathy for the drowning man.Your eyes flick to Damian. His face is impassive, ire still directed at the thirteen-year-old sniveling behind his mother. The term is too cold for your taste but as of right now that’s all you were. Maybe you’ve finally found a Robin you wouldn't get attached to.

“Well, ma’am, you see your charge, Damian, he’s punched another student and has yet to even apologize. He even started a full on brawl.”

“Mhmm, I see,” you drawl tilting your head. You feel Damian stiffen at the ease of your response. You don’t have to look at his face to know that he was glaring at you with something in his eyes withering from the betrayal. The woman across from nods agreeably as if you had said something sensible. Jameson for his part nearly sighs with relief. You click your teeth a little irritable from their responses but more fascinated than anything. ‘I see’ is barely an answer but they each filled in the gaps with their own assumptions. “And has that young man over there apologized for what he said to Damian? Or for the lump on Damian’s head? Surely, you sent Damian to the clinic as well.” you voice out looking as scandalized as possible.

The room froze.

Your eyes will probably roll into the back of your head before your meeting is done. Judging from Jameson’s posture, they didn’t. They should have at least checked if the kid had a concussion. A familiar sort of ire rose in you. Oh boy, you’re going to have a field day with these people. You sigh in exasperation before continuing. “Not only did you neglect to send him to the clinic to check on the lump on his head, but you were also planning to let the other boy off the hook?” you accuse, voice rising with some effort. Your voice has a tendency to draw low when your temper is flaring. It’s an intimidation tactic you'd learned from a while ago. It would probably be ill advised to use it on a man who looked like he was a second away from a heart attack.

Jameson leans forward, reaching out appeasingly.“Ma’am, we-”

“From what I recall, Gotham Academy has a strict zero tolerance policy on derogatory language, does it not?” You cut him off, voice suddenly vicious. You shift your body in front of Damian putting yourself between him and everyone else in the room. He bristles at the gesture but you and your habits aren’t exactly concerned with his pride.

“Ma’am I-“

“I rest my case. Please, feel free to contact Mr.Grayson-Wayne if you have more to say.” You settle a hand on Damian’s shoulder. You’re surprised he didn’t fight you or swat your hand away. Taking it as permission, you pull him closer to you as you leave the red faced woman and the paling man gob smacked and silent. Damian himself doesn’t make the sound as you made your way down the hall. You squeeze his shoulder gently hoping it comes across as a reassuring gesture. His posture does not loosen but you do not let him stray from you. You close your eyes as the elevator doors shut.

“I did not require your assistance.”

“I know.” Of course, he doesn’t. He is a Robin and an Al Ghul but that doesn’t mean he isn’t gonna get it. You drum your fingers against the steering wheel, the dull beat only serving to irritate your nerves. You swear the traffic in Gotham was somehow infinitely worse than everywhere else in the world even with working traffic lights. Maybe that’s why there were so many crazy people here. Maybe Bruce should have invested his money on better roads. Maybe-

Your eyes slide towards Damian who is somehow shrinking and pressing into the side door. Still, his face is twisted skeptically and braced for a continuation to your statement. You looked heavenward not even hiding the weariness in your smile. The brat is truly a bat-- suspicion and all. You turn your body towards him, opening up your posture. You fold your leg and rest your chin on your arm. Damian meets your gaze head on, looking imperious as he crosses his arms over his chest. His posture is artificial, probably uncomfortable from the weight of your attention.

You roll your shoulders and reshape your features, reconfiguring yourself from understanding to teasing. “I know. I know but you see, they needed telling off and your tiny gremlin ass isn’t scary enough. And, I promise I won’t tell Dickolas that you defended him so vehemently.” you wink, a conspiratorial grin spreading across your face. Damian straightens, his body is bowed like he was about to spring for your throat but the shape his limbs took on was more natural and seemingly relaxed. The knot in your shoulder loosens. You reach over and ruffle his hair again. He really is still a kid. You stare each other down. Your smile is as unwavering as his glower.

Both of your stomachs grumble. The sound was loud and abrasive in the closed space of the car. You check your watch and hum, shifting back into your seat. Wordlessly, you switch on your signal light.

You leaf through the pages of the thoroughly used book in your hands, eyes skimming through the blocks of texts not really absorbing any of it. You never really found the appeal in fiction. The stories are too neat compared to what you experienced daily. You suppose there is simplicity in them but you find that in nonfiction, the kind of books that explained the mechanics of things. They made sense of the world and were much more useful in your opinion. You’re much more interested in the messy scribbles on the margins, the etchings of a loud mind on yellowing pages. Jason’s notes were written in the same tone of voice he used when he spoke, deceptively layman but upon further inspection was frighteningly insightful. You smile at the little comments and complaints, the snarky little remarks. Remnants of the little boy he had been before. You frowned. You should probably give this back to him once you have the chance and maybe come up with some excuse of why you still have it. Or you can just keep it.

You look up at Damian who is drumming his fingers impatiently against the lacquered table. His posture is artificially relaxed, likely something he learned from the league or maybe all nervous gremlins do it. You look down at the book again. The sight reminds you of Jay. You tip your head, the loud thunk of your skull is felt more than heard since it was your bad ear that is pressed against the glass. The sound startles Damian who was deep in thought. You hold out the book to him. He must be bored waiting for your order. He pointedly ignores you.

"I don't need that childish drivel." He snipes. You click your teeth feeling a little defensive of the book.

You sound exactly like your grandfather, you think but have enough sense to keep it to yourself. No child needs to be compared to Ra's Al Ghul even if he is a brat.

"Not a fan of-" You look at the book's spine and frown. "-Robert Stevenson?" What kind of dork reads Robert Stevenson for fun? Oh wait, it's the same dork that quotes Shakespeare while bashing heads.

"I have no need for such things."

Of course, he didn’t.

"No, I suppose you don't need anything with the actual text but the margins are quite fascinating." You hold out the book to him again. His eyebrows shoot up looking at you skeptically as he reaches for it. There is no actual written indication that it was Jay's and the kid likely hasn't spent enough time with Jay to actually tell from the way it's written. You look out the window to turn your good ear to him, listening for any reactions he might have. Every now and then you hear a huff of amusement. You smother the smile threatening to form on your lips with your hand.

"Well, the person who owned this certainly had a lot to say." Damian says carefully, handing the book back.

"Jay really was a mouthy kid."

Damian looks at you, little face scrunching up in confusion. You suddenly notice just how easily the booth swallows him up. Why is he so tiny? "If this is Todd's, why do you have it?"

You clasp the book in your hands, your thumb tracing over the creases. "He leant me this book shortly before he died. He-- Well, I told him that I wasn't fond of adventure stories. I prefer books about science and culture. They're much more useful, yanno?" Damian gives a slight nod. You relax into your seat with his understanding. "Well, he thought it was just that I've never read a good one so he gave me this one. Never quite finished it though." you admit a little sheepish after realizing just how sentimental you felt. Your eyes trace over Damian's expression. It's clear that the sentimentality bled through your words and some childish part of you winces at the vulnerability of it. Damian says nothing and doesn't even sneer in derision.

You hum, the tune musical but offkey. “Jason, actually did what you did today awhile ago.” Just like that you begin down a rabbit hole telling the little gremlin about all the stupid shit the older bats have gotten into. And oh boy, there’s a lot.

“So do either of you want to explain what happened and why GAs headmaster called me sounding like he was gonna piss himself?”

“Hmmm, probably not ” you say around your spoonful of mahalabia, not even looking up from your book. Hilariously enough, Damian had also elected to leave Dick’s presence unacknowledged and busy with his own mahalabia. Dick scoot into your side of the booth, purposefully squishing you against the wall with a shiteating grin. He loops his arm around you and pulls you closer, planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek. You blanch and push half heartedly at his chest as he laughs. That laugh makes your heart warm and a relenting smile spreads across your features softening them. Your body twitches forward to kiss but you still when Dick freezes instead you plant a kiss on his cheek as well. Dick relaxes at the familiarity of it and you two settle down.

Damian stares at both of you befuddled. A heat creeps up your cheeks realizing that Dick is practically sitting on you. Dick, on the other hand, seems perfectly content with your current lack of personal space, so you leave it alone despite the incredulous look Damian is giving both of you. Dick snatches up your spoon taking a heap from your dessert. You make an offended noise in the back of your throat which he simply answers with another broad smile. Your lip twitches uncontrollably and your shoulders go slack.

“So what happened?”

You and Damian exchange a look. Damian rolls his eyes at you and you shrug at him performatively. “Nothing.” you two say in a chorus of nonchalance. It only succeeds in annoying Dick, so it was partially successful.

Dick pouts taking another bite of your desert. You stare in disbelief as the grownass man sitting next to you attempts to give you the puppy dog eyes as he eats your desert. You sign on exasperation because it's working and the bastard knows it. Richard John Grayson-Wayne is a manipulative asshole and you are a certified sucker.

You turn to Damian pleadingly begging him to please either help you or end you. Instead, he simply looks the two as if searching for an answer to a question forming in his mind. You run your hand over your face ready to concede when something clicks.

"Man-Bat got into GA and Damian fought him off." you say, praying Dick would catch on to the game. For a terrifying moment, he doesn’t. He blinks at you in confusion and your stomach sinks then a smile slowly spreads across his face lighting up every feature. Your heart swells at the sight.

"Bullshit. What was Man-Bat doing in GA?"

"Dunno,maybe bullying students. I don't know what bat creatures get up to." you say grinning. The picture becomes clear from every outlandish story. To your surprise, Damian joins in with a few vague details of his own giving even more details than you'd initially gathered.

Lunch passes pleasantly with outlandish stories and good food.

“NEWS: Dick Grayson-Wayne, New Face of Wayne Enterprises, Caught in a Torrid Love Affair with a Mystery Woman. Who Could this Exotic Beauty Be?”

“NEWS: Young Wayne Heir Being Extorted by Mystery Woman?”

“NEWS: Wayne Heir with Secret Family?”

Dick wants to evaporate somehow. He stares at the headlines mortified beyond what he ever thought possible. Maybe the floor will be merciful and it’ll finally swallow him as Jason reads another headline in a ridiculous newsreel voice.

“No, no wait. This one is fucking priceless!”

“Jason, please, I am begging you. STOP.” Dick whines, his face flattening against his work table. Tim shrugs, an amused smile adorns his face. Dick is going to scream. “Tim, please please please, make him stooop.” Tim ignores Dick in favor of scrolling through his own tablet looking, frankly unsympathetic.

“Oh a tryst!”

“Jason, you are making it sound so much worse.”

“Dunno, big bird, some of these make it sound like you fucked her over a table in the restaurant.” Jason watches in absolute delight as his older brother attempts to merge with the work bench, the tanned skin of his neck and ears burning a bright shade of crimson. Tim snickers, unhelpfully. Dick loved that his younger brothers were getting along for once. He just hated that for some reason they just had to be united against him. “All I did was kiss her on the cheek and eat her food.”

Jason gasps theatrically, feigning fainting. “Premarital kissing?! Dick, how could you? What’s next? Premarital hand holding? Think of the children.” Jason exclaims, dramatically pointing to Damian who at this point had been ignoring the ruckus Jason was causing.

“Jason, you’re awful and you’re being extremely dramatic.”

“Dick, you don’t exactly have any room to talk in that department.”

“Yeah, Mr. Pretty Man Down, Baby Bird has a point.” Jason says smugly as he offers Tim a fist bump which Tim reciprocates by shaking Jason's fist, a joking smile on his face. Jason snorts as if getting the joke or whatever movie reference this was from.

Tim's face folds into a barely held back smile. The laughter bubbling in the back of his throat straining his features. “I will say it is really funny that they didn’t recognize Damian.”

“You know how they are. They probably came up with something like the whole Damian being Bruce’s kid was actually just a cover up for Dick.” Somewhere in the background Damian makes a very displeased noise but Dick can't be bothered to lift his head to check.

“Please no. That doesn’t even-”

“Here’s one, NEWS: Dick Grayson-Wayne’s Baby Mama? Who is this mysterious woman?” Tim reads out flatly.

“The PR team is going to kill me. No, wait. Y/n is going to kill me first.”

“She won’t. She probably finds this hilarious.”

“How would she even find this funny?”

“Well, she does enjoy your suffering- Oh shit. This one might piss her off.” Jason clears his throat, sliding back into the newsreel voice. “DICK GRAYSON, HANDSOME PLAYBOY - WITH YET ANOTHER GIRLFRIEND - WILL HE EVER SETTLE DOWN?”

Dick is half tempted to throw his own tablet at the wall. What did he do to deserve this? You certainly don’t.

“Hey, at least, they called you handsome.” Tim laughs placatingly. It doesn’t work, of course.

Dick looks up at his little brother ruefully. “Oh yeah because the stuff about my looks was definitely the issue.”

“Well considering your morning routine...”

“I haven’t even been on a date so who are these other girlfriends?!”

“Well, me and Jason thought the same thing.” Tim shoots down sneering. When did his sweet baby brother turn to the dark side? Likely, Jason’s influence but deep down he knows Tim has always been capable of evil. Jason is cackling proudly.

“I don't see why you're concerning yourself with this drivel.” Damian says, swiping the tablet right in front of Dick forcing him to look up. Dick smiles at him wearily. “Dami, it’s a little hard when a photo of me kissing y/n on the cheek is plastered everywhere with weird headlines.” Damian tilts his head considering it but he shakes his head muttering something about pointlessness.

“Goddammit, Disco Stick!” The sound of your voice ringing out into the bunker sends their banter crashing to a halt. Dick feels his heart jump to his throat. He-- This was how he was going to die and for once he wasn’t sure he deserved it or not. You stand at the doorway haloed in bright light. At least, his angel of death would be the prettiest one, he thinks-- all the oxygen leaving his lungs.

Crumpled in your fist was a newspaper. Dick can feel his brothers take a step back as you draw near. Your footfalls were as steady as a pulse which made Dick’s own heart rate ratchet up. Your face is carefully impassive the way it always is when your anger was dosed with something else. Dick is sincerely hoping Jason is right about you being amused by the headlines.

You stop in front of him, eyes narrowed and jaw tight. You glower down at him frankly looking murderous before you snort and your face breaks into a smile. The thick tension in the air dissipates and the room releases its collective breath. The smile on your face grows even brighter. Nope, this is how Dick dies, his breath catching in his lungs as his mind fizzes out from the sight of your smile.

“I’m sorry?” Dick lifts himself off the table just barely, still bracing for any sudden wave of anger that will, justifiably, roll over you at some point.

You lean your body on to the spot next to him, letting the table support your weight. Straightening the newspaper in your hands, you frown. “I look terrible in this.”

“You look beautiful.” Dick blurts out. You raise your brow at him incredulously. Jason folds over trying to hold back laughter, his shoulders trembling. Tim just shrinks from second hand embarrassment.

“No, she is correct. She looks repulsive.” Damian says flatly as he snatches the paper from you.

You let out a breathy laugh. “To be fair, anyone would look repulsive next to professional pretty boy Dickie Wayne.” There was no sharpness in your teasing. You look at the photo over Damian’s shoulder. It was a cute photo actually. Dick’s arm loops around your shoulder as he gives you a kiss on your cheek as Damian blanches at Dick’s very public display of affection. It was hilariously easy to see where they got the idea that you two were a couple. You weren’t. You haven’t been for awhile. The thought wrenches something a dull ache inside you. You flatten your lips preventing the edges from dipping into a frown.

A look crosses between Jason and Tim. Tim leans over, asking in a hushed whisper, “I thought they were back together.”

“Dunno they act like it.” Jason shrugs watching your movement. As if to prove his point, you and Dick lean into each other’s space as you bicker about the merits of Gothamite photographers. Jason is half tempted to shove you two together.

“What are you two talking about?” You ask, finally leaning away from Dick.

“Nothing-”

“They were pondering the state of your relationship. I myself have been pondering it.”

For a moment, your eyes meet. For a moment, you are back in a drab hotel in Moscow. For a moment, you are crying your heart out in his arms trying to push him away.

You click your teeth and stare Damian in the eyes not entirely sure what kind of emotions they were betraying. “We were a thing.” Damian’s brow shoots up. You hear someone’s hand slap against their forehead.

You flush wanting to disappear but hold your stance. You hear Dick chuckle beside you as he stands shoulder to shoulder with you. Something in you eases with the closeness, like a gap being filled. “We used to be a couple.” Dick supplies, saving you from your flailing. You tap your finger against the back of his hand as a silent thank you. He taps yours twice in reciprocation. You look down trying to hide a smile.

Jason and Tim look at each other again and nod.

“We should probably go.” Jason says carrying Damian under his arm.

“Todd, unhand me! We are not done here!”

“We’ll see you two later.” Tim waves giving Dick a knowing smile. Dick’s heart jumps up to his throat while his stomach drops to the floor. Is this really the time for his brother’s to play cupid?

You lean in, letting your body press into Dick’s side as you listen to their footsteps fade away. Your head settling on his shoulder hand bracing you against the workbench. You let the stillness settle and make everything around you more solid.

Dick shifts a bit, his fingers lacing in with yours. The gesture makes your heart twinge, the chasm in your chest yawning with longing. You swallow. The air is thick with unspoken words like smoke clogging up your lungs. You think that if you could just pluck the right one out of thin air, you could clear the air.

‘I love you’ itches in the back of your throat but what right did you have to say that to him even after all this time.

Beside you, Dick is smiling and relishing your presence. The silver glint of your earring winking at him from beneath your hair. He had gotten you that on your first date, a little souvenir you got to commemorate the occasion.

Dick pivots in front of you making your breath catch. His free hand brushing your hair behind your ear revealing the silver robin on your ear. Silver robins. You had at the time laughed at the absurdity of it but here they were years later. Dick’s hands settle on either side of you boxing you in against the table. Even when he’s got you trapped like this, you feel at ease knowing Dick would never hurt you. Dick leans his forehead against yours, his fingers still intertwined with yours. Your pulse is loud in your ears. You lean your forehead against his, eyes sliding close soaking up the contact.

“It’s always been you.” Dick says breathlessly. The words do not register, too dreamlike in their conception. You always hoped and wished that you could take it back, that you had never left, that he would love you the same way he did before but you were never foolish enough to hold on to things like that with both hands. Yet here Dick was whispering things that you only let yourself dream of.

“It’s always been you.” He repeats as if the repetition could make it more real. You swallow the lump in your throat trying to find your voice but you’re afraid that once you speak, the room would catch fire and the dream would dissolve into harsh reality.

Dick gently cups your face and for a moment you let yourself be lost in the sea of blue. The stinging in your eyes makes you blink even if you don’t want to. You lick your lips as if somewhere on them were the right words.

You can’t even fathom the combination of words that could encapsulate the cocktail of longing and love you felt for him.

Your tongue darts out, wetting your bottom lip as your eyes focus on his lips. You swallow again your throat feeling thick even as you lean into his space, pushing off the work bench. Your nose rubbing against his, his long lashes fluttering against your cheek and tickling your skin. Dick leans in, his lips on yours, the pressure barely enough to make contact. You twitch forward, lips melting against his. The world around you stills and disintegrates leaving only him in its wake.

The kiss is all tender softness, a promise of love and loyalty quietly exchanged between you. A delicate push and pull. Undemanding yet uncompromising in its gentle intensity.

You both pull back, only barely. Your skins still thrum with hunger for contact. Dick leans in again, his lips brushing against yours making them tingle at the sensation. Murmured breaths exchanged between you. This time you both find the right words.

Dick turning to reader seeing the familiar glint of her earing

“I still love you.”

--------------------

I was thinking it was just them in the cave standing next to each others fingers twining with each other leaning into each other's space

he brushes the strands of her hair away

After brushing her hair away he presses his forehead against hers and he just kind of comes out with it

like he'd been holding back on saying it but couldn't anymore

Why not have the reader do something like this?

What if she nudges her nose against his? Or rubs her nose against his, like an Eskimo kiss? And it’s silent, her eyelashes flutter against his cheek. They say in Inuit, when you feel eyelashes stroke on your skin like that, it’s a way of saying “I love you” without actually saying it.

And maybe Dick knows that? Without her actually saying the words and he just smiled and captures her lips in a delicate kiss. And when they pull back, they both say it at the same time against each other’s lip, all hushed and murmured?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading!

Taglist: @batarella , @anothertimdrakestan , @lucy-roo , @multifandomgirl-us , @idkmanicantenglish ,@birdy-bat-writes , @boosyboo9206 , @americasmarauders , @l-inkage , @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay , @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #dick grayson x you #dick grayson imagine #Damian Wayne #batboys x reader #batfamily x reader #damian wayne x sister!reader #dc x reader #dc reader insert #merc!reader

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flocholate-chip · 3 years

Note

imagine comforting floch after he has a nightmare n petting his hair while he clings onto you im going to be ill i love him sm

Omfg literally imagine though. It’s late and the window is slightly cracked and the room is chilly, and you have the blanket pulled up over your shoulder on the verge of sleep. The door startled you when you hear a soft bang, and then you realize somebody is knocking on the wood. They sound so hesitant and unsure. You’ve been at the yeagarist base as a ‘prisoner’ for about a week now. I put parentheses on prisoner because you aren’t even sure if you can consider yourself one. You’re given almost full reign of the base, simply because for reasons you can’t understand, the devoted charismatic ginger is so so desperate that you see his point and join his side. He could care less if the others agree with them, he’ll mow them down, and yet for some reason it’s so important to him that you agree with him. You don’t get it, but what can you really do?

And then you find yourself laying there questioning which buttfuck yeagarist is knocking on your door so late. It surely isn’t an emergency. There would be more shouting outside, or the knocks would be more urgent at least. The knocks seem so light the person might as well not even be trying to wake you up, which defeated the whole purpose of wrapping their knuckles on the wooden door in the first place.

None the less you find yourself getting up, pulling on your robe as you adjust the silk of the outfit you’re wearing. (Depending on your gender preference that could be a nightgown or maybe you’re just a really classy homie rocking a silk button down. You know? Feel yourself.)

You don’t even bother tying the thick fluffy robe completely around your waist, as you don’t feel you have time. By the time your bare feet had hit the floor to make their way to your door the knocking had already slowed. And by the time you were at the door, adjusting the silk of your sleepwear to make sure you were presentable, the knocking had completely stoppped.

Your hand brushes against the cold metal of the handle, tainted by the chilled air, and you shiver slightly before pushing down on it and pulling open the door to the sight of....

Nothing....

You stare for a moment in shock and confusion at the empty doorway, blinking a couple of times before clearing your throat, muttering a soft

“What the fuck...?” Under your breath as you barely stepped out into the hallway, looking down both ways. If you saw no one... you were going to assume you were being fucked with, or this place was haunted as fuck.

You looked left and the hallway was empty... so you looked right,

Just in time to catch a sliver of ginger hair attempting to quickly disappear around the corner.

So you stepped out just a little further into the hall, squinting slightly in the dark before stepping out after the person. You just needed to get close enough to see who was fucking with you and then-

Your hand hit their shoulder, whipping them around quickly, which they didn’t seem to like, as they quickly flinched away. You weren’t sure how you’d moved fast enough to catch up with them already but, god speed you know?

None the less, when you saw the face of the person standing before you, you were left momentarily shocked, trying to piece together what the fuck was happening.

“Forster???”

He grimaced and looked away. You stood there for a moment, mouth opening and closing confusedly like a fish out of water. You caught your breath then, and took in a gasp of air, preparing to use it to go off on him and ask him why he was playing such a cheap prank as ding dong ditching. Didn’t he have better things to do???

But then- you stopped yourself, one finger pointed out in front of your face and mouth hanging open as if you were about to begin to make a statement but... you couldn’t. You were caught off guard by something else.

Maybe you had just connected that he flinched when you first touched him. Or maybe you were finally questioning why his cheeks were so red. His eyes were puffy.... nose just as red as his flushed cheeks. He was biting his lower lip slightly, brows furrowed. Both of his fists were clenched at his sides tightly. His ken doll cut of ginger hair was... messy. It was parted at an odd direction to the left, part of it sticking up at an odd angle as if he’d just rolled out of bed.

The closer you looked... come to think of it. His green military jacket looked hastily thrown on.... the uniform underneath softer than usual.... sleep where? Were his shoulders shaking???

Your hand dropped slowly back to your side as you watched his face. He refused to seem to want to meet your gaze. So, for a moment you both just stood there in silence before you finally softly muttered,

“Floch??” You tried to be careful with your tone. You weren’t sure what state the self appointed captain was in.

He took in a deep breath, and then suddenly blurred out.

“So do you hate me? Or what??”

You stared in absolute awe for a second as you tried to process the word vomit that had just been thrown at you. Finally, squinting slightly in confusion you murmured,

“What? No- i don’t hate you floch... what are you doing though it’s late? Surely you’re not outside my door at three in the morning to ask me if i am fond of you or not.”

“So you don’t hate me?” He dodged your question.

“Why won’t you listen to me then? Nothing is working out right now- these battles are going to shit and it seems like we’re loosing and-“

You’d never seen him like this.

“These people are relying on me!” He continued,

“They’re relying on me to be eren’s voice! And I’m only trying to do what’s right for the sake of Eldia and i really can’t keep fighting this hard without-“

“Floch- what the hell are you-“

“I need you!” He spat.

“All you do is deny me but i need you, don’t you get that?”

You found yourself silent again, standing there staring at the ginger in shock, you had no idea how to process what you were hearing.

“I need you like you were there for me four years ago....” he whispered. And finally he made eye contact with you, and you noticed the fresh glaze of liquid on his lower lids. The way it made his golden brown eyes glisten in the moonlight coming from the small hall window. His lip was trembling, his voice cracked.

“I lost everyone... y/n.... and you were the ONLY one that was there for me? Why- i don’t know, you had so many other things to do and you chose to stick by me.... i need you like that again.... please... tell me you’ll stand by me again.”

“Floch...” you were quiet for a moment, trying to find your words, and then you spoke.

“You’re one of my closest comrades-“ at the word ‘comrade’ you watched the light leave his eyes a little bit, and you stumbled to reword your sentence, not quite sure where you went wrong.

“You know I’ll always stand by you- even if i don’t support what you-“

“I need you more than i needed you then-“ he interrupted you.

��I wanted you more then... but.... i need you more now.”

“Floch- what in the world are you talking ab-“ you could barely get a word in with the ginger being as worked up as he was.

“I need you more now! I need you in a different way!”

“Floch!” You whisper hissed, reaching out and slapping a hand over his mouth. He let out a muffled shout, which you aggressively shushed.

“What has gotten into you, do you want to wake up everyone in this base?!?” You hissed. He was quiet for a moment, glancing back and forth from your hand to your eyes. You cleared your throat and then in a calmer tone, very gently whispered.

“I don’t know what you mean by a different way, Floch i need you to really explain to me what you need from me because i can’t help you if you don’t explain to me what the fuck is running through that muddled little mind of yours....”

“Y/n....” he whimpered slightly, looking desperate if not almost hopeless.

“You’ve been my only real friend for years.... always sticking around me and staying with me when things were at their worst. Defending me.... caring for me... you’d have to understand where i get off wanting more out of this relationship.”

“I mean... maybe?” You muttered.

“But- I’m not sure I’m following. You’re ranting frantically and By the walls you’re shaking like a leaf.... why don’t we get you some tea and then you can explain to me what-“

You were cut off by something warm pressed against your lips, and you fought for a moment before realizing it was the ginger’s desperate... and awkward attempt at kissing you. It wasn’t... the best kiss you’d ever had in regards to technique but... something about it still set your body on fire. Within seconds, without even thinking you’d thrown your arms around his neck, gently pulling him closer. His whole body shuttered at your welcoming invite his romantic advance and he tilted his head slightly to deepen the sloppy kiss. He was simply desperate to feel you on his skin. You weren’t pushing him off... after weeks of your avoidant behavior you weren’t pushing him off. You weren’t telling him to get the fuck away from you. He felt his knees buckle slightly, but he didn’t think it was that big of a deal until you’d gasped. He only then realized his lips weren’t on yours anymore, and he was leaned into you awkwardly, topped over on his knees in front of you.

“Floch....” you muttered softly, slipping a hand around to gently support him before he fell completely over.

“Woah woah.... you never explained why you’d been crying. What’s going on... are you okay?”

He cleared his throat, tiredly resting his head against your stomach as he tried to grab his bearings again, grunting out in embarrassment,

“Sorry i just.... i.... i had a nightmare is all... it’s not that big of a deal... listen... um.”

With this new found fuck up he was having to face, he was quickly considering the option of just retreating and not having to face the fact that he just kissed you and collapsed.

“Maybe i should just go back to my room and we can talk about this tomorrow over tea? I-“

“Floch.... no.” You sighed quietly, slipping a hand gently around his torso.

“Come on.... come sleep in my bed.... it’s okay.”

He was still for a moment, contemplating, before nodding.

Your room was still cool, but he found comfort in the chilly air even after he took off his jacket, exposing his arms to the cold. Sliding into the bed against your warm body seemed to ease every ounce of cold in the room, and he welcomed the offer to gently nuzzle his face into your plush chest, soothed by the sound of your heart beat.

“So this is why you’ve been so intent on keeping me around, huh?” You joked softly as you gently brought a hand up to card through his hair.

“Because you love me?”

Your smile dropped from smug to adoring, however, when he softly responded with only a sleepy,

“Mhm.... i... love you.” Into your chest, muffled by your skin. Gently, you curled yourself around him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as you wrapped your leg around his torso to pull him closer.

“I love you too flochy....” you whispered softly as you carded your fingers through the ginger’s soft locks, stopping to gently toy with his adorable bangs.

“Get some sleep...” you sighed as you shut your eyes, feeling him hug you tighter.

“And you’ll still be here when i wake up?” He questioned hesitantly, to which you softly replied,

“Promise....”

And when sunrise came, you were, face still buried in his hair, breathing softly. He needed you more than you expected, but you still had no problem coming in clutch. After all, it wasn’t always easy to love him, but for him it was worth it.

((WHY DOES IT ALWAYS BECOME A WHOLE FIC. WHY CAN’T I RESPOND TO ASKS NORMALLY.))

#attack on titan #aot #floch forster #floch x reader #shingeki no kyojin #snk #floch #aot season 4 #floch aot #aot floch #armin arlert

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jaminjims · 3 years

Text

「BRAIN GO BRR」

anon request: Heyyy! Could I request for an imagine for prompt 83? An ot7 platonic bts 8th reader crack / fluff? Like they’re playing around and it gets a wee bit competitive? 😅

prompt: “if you want me, come and get me, motherfuckers.”

pairing: platonic!bts ot7 x gender neutral!reader

genre: crack >:), fluff

warnings: strong language?? should that be a warning?

words: 1.3k

~**~

You looked seriously into Taehyung’s eyes, determined that you would get it right no matter what he did. The stakes were high as your team was only one point away from winning.

Tae meowed.

“Monkey!”

There was a brief pause before several different things happened at once.

“Monkey?! I meow and the first animal you think of is monkey, oh my god. Can I hit you?” Taehyung looked at Jin for permission, “Can I hit Y/n?”

“Yah! I can’t help it if you sound like a monkey all the time; you never evolved past caveman! That’s natural selection Tae! Aish, why couldn’t you just evolve past caveman brain.” You whined and messed with your hair in frustration. Jimin and Jungkook looked on in despair as now the Hyung team was a point closer to winning the game and now the two teams were tied. Hoseok and Jin did all they could not to pass out from laughter while Yoongi just nodded to your exclamation like it was universal knowledge that most people, indeed, did not evolve past caveman brain. Namjoon looked like he would like to end his suffering and was contemplating if it was too late to resign as leader. He should let Yeontan take up the mantle. Or maybe get a lizard. Lizards are patient and wise, right?

Ah yes, the elegance that was animal association; where you make an animal noise and if your partner gets it right then the team gets a point. If your partner gets it wrong, then the other team gets the point. Simple really.

Well, unless it came to you, apparently. There was really a 50/50 chance with you.

It was your birthday and you were all gathered in the dorm living room, having a mini party to celebrate while v-living the event. It seemed like the mass lack of IQ you had spread and lowered the general intelligence of everyone in your vicinity though, as Taehyung exclaimed;

“You never evolved past tadpole brain!” He pointed back at you and you had half a mind to bite his finger.

Before you could act on your biting instincts, Jimin laid a hand on your shoulder with a grim expression on his face. “Even I knew it was a cat, Y/n-ah.”

There was obviously something missing in their brain functions because no, that was definitely a monkey. You lunged for the phone to consult ARMY in the decision but Namjoon had enough sense to pull it away from you before you did something rash. Coincidently, you tripped trying to get up to get it back from the leader, and he just looked down at you with something akin to utter misery for this game in his eyes. Or maybe it was war flashbacks. Probably war flashbacks.

Hoseok couldn’t help it; he was basically wheezing he was laughing so hard and Jin went to help you up, though, he was laughing too and almost fell on you in the process. Yoongi was trying his best not to laugh but he kinda looked like the embodiment of the 👁👄👁 face to you.

“Hey! We can still win this, team! They can still get the next one wrong!” Jungkook exclaimed with determination in his eyes. Jimin nodded along with him as you four sat off to the side and the four eldest got together. It was Jin and Yoongi’s turn and Jin thought of an animal that they haven’t done yet.

He hissed.

There was a tense few seconds before Yoongi, quite confidently, replied with “Hedgehog.”

Jin’s eyes widened as he smiled, that caused Hoseok to whoop in victory because if Jin was acting like that then Yoongi had obviously gotten it right. “Aish, you’re so smart.” Jin complimented. Yoongi smiled and looked at the younger ones with smug victory in his eyes. Namjoon sighed like the long suffering parent he was.

It only goes downhill from here.

Your poor brain struggled to make sense of it. “Hedgehog?! What the fuck?! Do hedgehog’s even hiss!?”

This time Hoseok, Jin, and Yoongi started laughing and celebrating their victory while your other three team members looked at you.

You met Jungkook’s cold stare first, “I am going to defenestrate you.” Then they all lunged at you. You yelled and bolted up, grabbing one of those sticky, stretching rubber hand things you can throw at walls to get them to stick there. (if you know, you know) You had insisted you have them as party favors.

You ran around the couch so there was something between you and the other three maknaes. “But we live on the fourth floor!”

“Exactly!” Jimin added, “Maybe if you hit your head hard enough you can gain some brain function back!” Tae continued.

They ran around one way as you ran around the other. You used your sticky hand to hit them in the face when you could while the Hyung line stood a respectful distance away from the chaos and got it on camera.

“Pause!” You yelled and you all froze. You pointed at them while they pointed back at you. Hoseok started laughing again because it reminded him of the one cartoon spider-man meme.

You smirked at them, “If you want me, come and get me, motherfuckers!” Then you bolted away and the poor hyungs didn’t realize you were running to them before it was too late. You hid behind Namjoon as Jimin, Jungkook, and Tae came at you.

You growled and barked at them like the rapid animal you were and it spoked Namjoon enough to almost drop the phone (that was still running the v-live, by the way).

“Did you just bark?” Yoongi said in disbelief while Hobi and Jin also had a look of confusion mixed with concern mixed with slight horror directed at you. Namjoon quickly moved out of the way so he didn’t contract whatever brain cell eating illness you had. You moved to get behind him again before the other young ones could get to you.

He would would have poked you back with a stick if he had one, “Back! Stay back I say!”

You paled when you realized that you had no cover and bolted down the hallway, Jimin hot on your feet and the other two not to far behind.

The hyung’s followed to wherever you were going to make sure everyone made it out somewhat still intact.

You ran into your room and only paused momentarily when you saw that, huh, when did you open the window?, before regaining your senses and dodgeing the three others as they came barreling into the room.

So, the scene looked like this. You on one side, closest to your closet and desk, while Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung were across from you, backs facing the weirdly opened window. The four oldest were watching on with non concealed laughter and amusement (well three of them were, Namjoon looked a little bit like he wanted a nap.)

With nothing between you and your attackers, you did the last thing you could do; which was throw the sticky green hand at them.

You missed and you all watched as it went falling out the window.

There was a few seconds of nothing before you all jumped at the sound of Hoseok’s phone. He looked at it and then back at the other members.

“It’s Sejin Hyung.” He answered the call and put it on speaker.

“Hoseok-ah, would you like to explain the sticky, green, ... hand thing that just flew out your dorm window and into Y/n’s cake?” That was Bang PD’s voice. Which only meant one thing; their boss was with their manager and they had just witnessed you throwing something out the window and landing in your cake.

Wait, it landed in your cake?!

“Wah! It landed in my cake?!” You whined in misery as Hoseok couldn’t help the incredulous giggle that escaped him. It was quiet on both sides before you heard your manager laugh from the other line.

After that it was a domino effect and you all started laughing, even Bang PD himself. While laughing you still couldn’t help the little whines that escaped you.

“But what about my cake??”

[end]

~**~

end note: PLEASE, i live for crack fics you guys. along with writing angst (which i seem to write the most, for whatever reason) crack is one of my favorite things to write. i feel like i get to really just let my already deteriorating mental stability go and write whatever comes to mind with prompts like these so i had sooo much fun! thank you so so so much for the request anonie! i loved it so much and i hope you like it as much as i did 💜

masterlist

request something!

taglist: @boba-tea1206

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farplane · 3 years

Text

DAY 5: [EXTRA CREDIT]

There was no hero’s welcome as they passed through the White Aisle’s gates; only a greeting from the younger gate guard to Arenvald, and a wary look from the older at Fordola. The former was easily returned, and the latter easily ignored—both commonplace enough for any old homecoming.

“Here’s what I don’t get,” said Arenvald as they walked, taking their usual path to the palace.

“We haven’t got all night,” Fordola replied. “I have to be back in the barracks by sundown.”

“Very funny. No, but, like—if he’s an insect, yeah, what’s with the whole… battle-worship eternal war philosophy? Aren’t insects all about collaboration?”

“They’re the beastmen’s gods. They’re not supposed to make sense.”

“Aye, perhaps,” Arenvald said, clearly unsatisfied with the response. “Suppose if I had four arms myself I’d make the most of it with… four arms to match.” He nudged Fordola’s elbow. “Arms. Swords. Get it?”

Fordola made a sound of disgust and picked up her pace to distance himself from him.

“Come on!” Arenvald called after her. “That was a good one!”

As he jogged to catch up, Fordola stopped dead just short of turning a corner, and pressed her back to the nearest wall. She’d gone ash-pale, a choked gasp caught in her throat, and Arenvald could see her chest heaving with suppressed breath.

“Are you all right? What’s going on?”

Fordola just shook her head. Arenvald reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, then decided against it; he knew her enough, by now, to be sure she would just shrug him off. So he took just one step past her and peered around the corner, heedless of Fordola hissing his name—and saw the cause of her shock.

It wasn’t right, that he should recognize Fordola’s mother from her memories, but it was the way of things. And maybe it was right enough because they were equals in it; likely she had seen his mother in his memories, too—more than once, knowing the strength of her Echo and the ragged hole his mother had left inside him.

“What’s her name?”

Fordola bit hard on the inside of her cheek. “As—Astrid.”

That knocked something loose inside Arenvald, if only for an instant. It was his mother’s name, too. But he swallowed hard, and pulled his focus back to Fordola.

“Do you want me to stop her while you catch your breath?” he asked quietly. “So you can say hello?”

Again, Fordola shook her head—this time, almost frantically. “I can’t,” she said, so vulnerable it ached. “I can’t, I can’t let her see what I’ve—”

—become, something in Arenvald’s mind whispered when she couldn’t finish. Not the Echo, but something. He could only look between Fordola and her mother’s retreating back, fearing he might lose her in the crowd.

“But all the things she must’ve heard…” he said. “Doesn’t she deserve to know you’re all right?”

“I can’t,” Fordola snapped, her voice hard with grief.

“It doesn’t have to be you,” Arenvald said, and decidedly turned the corner. Maybe Fordola hissed his name; maybe she said don’t; maybe she said please.

He hurried down the street, dipping a hand into his pocket for a coin. It was an old trick, one he’d used for drastically different purposes, but it would work for this, too.

“Excuse me, Astrid,” he called, and crouched down as though to pick up the coin already in his hand as Astrid turned. She looked tired and not a little wretched, carrying a basket on her hip as though it weighed a tonze. Arenvald held out the coin in his palm. “You dropped this.”

The hard wariness around her eyes reminded him of Fordola, in a way, but maybe even sadder. “Thank you,” she said, carefully taking the coin; her eyes never left Arenvald’s face. “Do I know you?”

“Er, no. I’m sorry,” Arenvald said. He pointed to himself. “My name is Arenvald. I’m an adventurer, with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn,” and Twelve, that always felt so reassuring to say. “I’ve been working with the Resistance. With your daughter.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Astrid said immediately, and made to walk away. She hid her flinch well when he touched her arm.

“Wait, no, it’s—I don’t mean any ill by it.” He held both hands up. And he wished he’d thought it through, worked out what he was going to say beforehand instead of just opening his big mouth and babbling. “I just wanted you to know she’s doing well. I’ve been… I haven’t been assigned to do it, really, but I’ve been looking after her, sort of. We’re of an age, you see, and we’re— alike.”

Astrid said nothing; she just let him talk. But something settled on her face as emotion overtook her glare: something Arenvald didn’t know how to name. It wasn’t relief, really, or acceptance. Nor even appreciation of what it was saying. But it was something, and it almost made him waver.

“She did bad things, but so have I. Hurt people. But everything I’ve been doing for—for years, it’s always been just to be better. And I think she feels the same. It won’t erase what she’s done, but I think she deserves to try, if there’s goodness ahead of her. Don’t you think?”

“What do you want me to say?” Astrid asked tremulously.

“I— I don’t know.”

Arenvald’s lips parted without sound.

Astrid hoisted the basket higher on her hip, her other fist clenched tight around Arenvald’s coin. “Then I can say nothing to you,” she said. And for a moment, all he could do was just watch her leave.

“She’s saved countless lives, you know,” Arenvald said to her back, not wanting to raise his voice too loud. The stones in Ala Mhigo always heard too much. “Just in the past few moons. The imperials did something unspeakable to her and she’s been using it to save people. One of them was a father, and that’s one that I know of— all because she knew that somewhere, there was a little girl who needed him.”

He swallowed hard again, unsure of why his throat was so tight. “I don’t care who she was; only that that’s who she is now. And so should you.”

Astrid had slowed her steps to listen, at least; Arenvald saw a tremor in her shoulders, running down the line of her back, but it was gone in an instant as she straightened and went on her way. Still pressed to the wall, Fordola was listening, too: a hand clamped over her mouth, the other a shaking fist, as tears streamed incessantly down her cheeks.

She was wiping at her eyes with the heel of her gloved hand as Arenvald returned, feeling battered and drained in ways that had little to do with their earlier confrontation with a primal. But he had meant everything he said, and he hoped Fordola knew that. Not that there was much he could do to lie to her from the inside.

And neither could she lie to him; not with her face a blotchy red around the nose and eyes, and her cheeks still pale. Arenvald wanted nothing more than to wrap her up in his arms and force her to let herself be a person, but she would just push at him and maybe even bite.

“It’s all right,” he said gently, without touching her. Fordola’s mouth was pinched tight, and she wouldn’t look him in the eye—and even though he’d just stopped himself from reaching out, all the reasons why he shouldn’t seemed pointless and stupid.

So he pulled Fordola into a hug, right there in the middle of the bloody street.

“Don’t,” Fordola said, muffled by his chest. She didn’t shove at him; she just stood there, her body ice against his, and all at once she was clinging to the back of his shirt and gritting her teeth so hard he felt the muscles of her jaw harden against his shoulder.

There was nothing he could say to her, really. He didn’t know if his own mother was alive: he hadn’t dared to ask around, because he didn’t know what he would do with the answer. But if she was still somewhere, he did hope she could make some peace with the suffering she’d endured at the hands of the Empire now that they were free to rebuild their lives.

It didn’t mean he knew whether he would want to stand in front of her again, or be brave enough for it after all the fear he’d felt, at the end.

Maybe one day Fordola could return the favour—tell his mum that he was doing all right, too. And maybe she’d even hug him when he was a mess, after.

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2021 #fordola rem lupis #arenvald lentinus #f:xiv

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ragingpancake · 3 years

Text

Lietuenant Colonel Idiot And The Kastat Root Part 2

Part 1

The first thing John is aware of when he starts to come to is the quiet beeping of machines. He knows that that’s never a good sign but he feels floaty and warm so he has a hard time caring about what exactly landed him in the infirmary this time. He opens his eyes slowly, blinking against the overhead light, dim as it was in the moment but he doesn’t realize he’s made a noise until Teyla and Ronon quickly come into his line of vision. “Hi,” he manages, voice hoarse with disuse, and you know, probably from the tube they’d shoved down his throat to anesthetize him when Carson had cut him back open to clean him up a little. “Where’s… what happened?” He has a vague memory of a stomachache and of screaming but the pain meds they have him on makes it hard to think. It also makes it hard to sleep, so when Teyla tells him gently that he should go back to sleep and they’ll fill him in later, he doesn’t argue. He just closes his eyes and lets the darkness return.

-- It happens like that a couple of times before John finally, truly, wakes up. He thinks that it’s probably the pain that does it, that pulls him back to the land of the lucid, as Beckett has started weaning him off of the good stuff. He doesn’t remember much from those quick bursts of consciousness, but he does remember that while he’s seen Teyla and Ronon every time, he hasn’t once seen Rodney. Where’s Rodney? “Aye, Colonel,” Carson greets, leaning over as he adjusts John’s nasal cannula, Teyla and Ronon just visible over his shoulder. “Welcome back t’the land of the livin’, lad. How’re ya feelin’ this morning?” “Where’s Rodney?” He doesn’t miss the way Carson’s face shifts, just for a moment, nor does he miss the look shared by Teyla and Ronon. Something sits painfully in his gut at that and for one brief, horrible moment, he’s afraid that something happened to Rodney, something off-world, because Rodney was always here when he woke up, and-- “Settle down now,” Carson admonishes gently, and John is embarrassed to realize that the beeping on his heart rate monitor has sped up. “Rodney’s down in the labs, that’s all. He’s alright. The only one y’need to be worryin’ about now is yourself.” “How much do you remember?” Ronon asks and John can tell by the look on Teyla’s face that she’s not pleased at the question. It had been a routine mission, right? M3-X982, the Plesians, according to the ancient database. Not so routine if you ended up here, his brain reminds him and okay, fair enough. He takes a second and tries to think through the brain fog he always associates with the good drugs. He remembers the almost meatloaf and the bad jokes told by Plesia’s leader, Korom. He remembers the heat--. No. Not heat. The fever and the stomachache and--. Screaming. Hoarse screams, begging them to stop killing him, for Ronon to let him go, for Teyla to help him. And Rodney… Rodney, holding the dagger looking very much on the edge of a panic attack as he sliced through John’s skin, flaying him open. “Your appendix nearly ruptured,” Carson supplies, voice more gentle now. “Rodney recognized the signs fairly quickly but the doctor in Plesia was ill-equipped to operate.” “Doctor McKay very likely saved your life, John,” Teyla says, a fact she’s tried to get through to Rodney since their return. “Aye,” Carson agrees. “We had t’put ya under again to clean up a bit of infection and to right some suturin’, but he did bloody well considerin’ the circumstances.” “Then why… why isn’t he here?” Because no one has actually told him that much, but John can probably guess why. Guilt is a hell of a thing and John knows in an instant that he would’ve never wanted the roles reversed, would’ve never have wanted to have to--. “I need to talk to him,” and he’s not exactly thrilled with how desperate he sounds but he really doesn’t care right. He needs to talk to Rodney, needs to seehim, to tell him he did good. He starts pulling at all the leads and wires and Ronon is there again, a firm hand on his shoulder, urging him back down. “Let me talk to him first,” he says and even Teyla raises an eyebrow at that. Ronon isn’t exactly known for his uh, gentle nature, but when she meets John’s eyes, she gives him the slightest of nods. “Tell him to get his ass in here, or I’m gonna come find him myself,” John warns, but there’s no heat. The slight exertion has left him very nearly panting through a wave of pain. “I’ll be sure to pass on the message,” he says and without anything further, Ronon is gone. -- Rodney McKay isn’t known for his silence. He knows he’s a loud, obnoxious, abrasiveman even on his best day and yet ever since they’d returned from Plesia, he hadn’t been able to muster up the strength to even so much as raise his voice. It’s unnerving his scientists, he knows, but he doesn’t care. Mostly, he keeps to himself and keeps working, stopping only long enough for the occasional power nap and to replenish his supply of power bars. He’s just finished the aforementioned nap when Ronon finds

him, trudging back down to the laps to continue his work on the ancient device they’d found some time ago. He’s hoping that with enough tweaking, it can be used to send a patient into something sort of a temporary stasis, long enough to get them back through the Stargate where an actual fucking medical team can--. “McKay,” Ronon calls, but Rodney doesn’t stop. “Little busy, Chewie,” he calls over his shoulder but it lacks the usual McKay bite. “Sheppard’s awake.” Rodney does stop for that, but he doesn’t turn, shoulders tensing and he has to take a deep breath because he can feel something like panic trying to surge up again. “Is he--?” “Pissed? Yeah. Pissed that you weren’t there with us when he woke up.” “Well I’m sorry that some of us have actual work to do and can’t spend days--.” “You’re bein’ dumb.” Rodney whirls around at that, and he can feel the vein in his forehead throbbing in anger because he’s not--! He’s just--! “Sheppard probably wouldn’t have made it out of surgery without some major problems if we’d waited until the rain stopped. The Doc said so himself. Because of what you did, he’s got about another week of medicine and he’ll be back on his feet.” “I am not that kind of doctor,” Rodney reminds Ronon and he hates how he sounds in that moment, so, so upset. So weak. The weakest on the team, always. “You were the most qualified in that room to do what had to be done,” Ronon says and while that may actually be true, that won’t help when the nightmares come back. “You held it together better than either me or Teyla would’ve.” Rodney highly doubts that. “Listen,” Ronon says and this may be the most words Rodney’s heard him string together ever. “It sucked but it had to be done. You can’t keep beating yourself up for it.” We’ll see about that, Rodney thinks. “Thanks for the pep talk, Conan,” he says as he starts back for the labs. “You’re goin’ the wrong way. Infirmary’s that way.” Rodney doesn’t respond and he half expects Ronon to come after him, to throw him over his shoulder and haul him off to the infirmary, but a moment later, Rodney hears a quiet sigh and heavy footsteps falling away. He’s just not ready yet. -- Rodney might not be ready yet, but John’s never been the most patient person in the world. Especially not when it comes to Rodney. He’s tired, in pain, and annoyedby the time he makes it down to the labs, a trip that should’ve taken him five minutes on a good day but has taken nearly a half an hour for all the breaks he’s had to take to stop and lean against the wall. Carson’s going to have a field day when he comes back from surgery to find that John’s managed to sneak out, but he’ll just have to deal with that later. For now, the only thing he’s concerned about is Rodney. Atlantis takes pity on him and opens the door to the labs the minute she senses him approaching, allowing him to continue to hold on the wall as he slips inside and the minute he sees the slope of those shoulders in that blue shirt, any annoyance John had been feeling faded away. “Listen Teyla,” Rodney says and he sounds exasperated which leads John to believe that the Athosian has been down here plenty while he’s been holed up in the infirmary. He’s glad for that though. Means his people are taking care of each other. “I appreciate y--,” he turns and the words die in his throat. “Hi Rodney,” John greets, maybe a little dumbly and Rodney stands up so quickly that his stool topples backward. John thinks maybe he’s going to haul off and punch him, so he braces for impact, but when Rodney approaches, he grabs John’s arm and hauls it around his shoulder, giving him something else to lean against. “You’re supposed to be in the infirmary, you absolute idiot,” Rodney hisses and when he gets John seated on a stool, he moves to tap the communicator in his ear. “Rodney, wait!” And he reaches for the other, closing his hand around Rodney’s wrist. “Just… gimme a minute, okay?” Rodney hesitates, which is unusual for him. Rodney is always so sure of himself and quick to make

sure everyone knows it. Was this because of what happened on Plesia? “Listen,” John says and that’s about as far as he gets before Rodney is talking over him. “No! You listen, you, you, you irresponsible, stupid—” There’s a half a second that John wants to be offended and starts to respond in kind, but he stops himself because he realizes that Rodney needs this. That he’s been holding this in since they got back from that stupid planet. “You could have died! And not just from your stupid appendix, but your entire body could have gone into shock and you could have died! Because you were too stupid, too, too, too you to just go to the damn infirmary before we ever left!” “I know, Rodney and I’m –” “No! You don’t know. You have no idea!” He’s pacing now, wringing his hands together and John doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so upset. The thought that he’d been the one to cause that— “What if I’d been wrong, Sheppard? What if that had been for nothing? What if I’d—" “Rodney,” John says and he stands then, ignoring the way that the room spins just a little. “Listen to me, okay? I’m fine. You did everything right, and you probably saved me from a really shitty next few weeks, assuming I hadn’t died. I wouldn’t be sitting here right now if it wasn’t for you.” “But--.” “No buts,” John answers. “I’m sorry you had to do that, that I made you have to make that choice. You’re right, it was stupid to go off world without getting checked out first and I’m sorry, alright?” He reaches up, rubbing uncomfortably at the back of his neck. “I just… wanted to, you know, thank you for saving my ass out there. And to tell you that I’m really glad to know that no matter what, you’ve got my back.” And Rodney sags, all of the fight and the anger and maybe a little of the guilt too having gone out of him. “You’re… really alright?” “I’m really alright,” John promises him and this time, Rodney sags against the table, the tension leaving shoulders. “Thank God,” he breathes, and a breath later, “you owe me for this.” “Ah, there he is,” John says and he feigns annoyance, rolling his eyes. “No, no, you don’t understand. You owe me.” “I know, Rodney.” He doesn’t protest as Rodney comes around again, hauling John’s arm over his shoulder and as they begin to make their way from the science lab, back to John’s own quarters, John lets Rodney’s incessant babble wash over him. It felt good to hear it again, he realizes, even if he knows he’s never going to hear the end of this. And honestly? Well. He wouldn’t change that for anything in the world.

#fandom: sga #stargate atlantis #sga #sga fic #john sheppard #rodney mckay #ronon dex #teyla emmagan #hurt!John sheppard #john sheppard whump #teamfic

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littlewitty · 3 years

Text

Bitten

Ship: Leonardo x MC

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Description of blood

I just tagged the people who seemed interested in the story idea.

@entidy13 @niphredil-14 @kisara-16 @lead-ruby-red

It was beautiful in summer. The trees would gently sway in the calming breeze. Nurturing the greenery in his luscious rays, the sun would burn. Lilies, roses, sunflowers and marigolds would all proudly spread their petals out, basking in sultry-filled confidence.

“This is nice,” I hummed into his chest. He was refreshing. One thing I adored and sometimes took advantage of was how vampires were naturally cooler-blooded compared to humans. That meant that leaning on his chest would leave a pleasant burn of tranquil freedom from summer’s passionate heat.

Leonardo’s room was a gratifying wash of warm amber. The sun intruded from the ajar window. The cobwebs were more apparent than ever. I abhorred them but he would only chuckle and say to ‘let them live their lives’. Time-forgotten books scattered. All of them were open on specific pages, held in place with random objects found in the moment: a coffee cup, paper weight (that one made sense), an old lighter and a sleeping Lumiere.

“I guess so.” Leonardo stiffly replied. His eyes reflected something different, as of recent. Ever since I was turned in fact. He seemed further away - in his own world. Perhaps it was because I had abandoned the gift of humanity, turning into the very creature he least preferred. Or maybe the summer heat made him lazier and miss Italy. His body was always raspingly tense; he was on the cusp of rupture. He would second-guess himself around me. I could see it.

“...Cara, you’re a bit close,” he seethed before covering himself up, “Are you trying to initiate something?” He posed. His painfully forced smirk grated itself through his teeth. Overall, he seemed grey and sickly - skin like worn down leather.

“Hey, you can talk to me… come o-”

“Cara, I’m fine.” He panted. The knife-edged tone left no space for questioning and soon my head was perched against his chest, yet again. His breathing had definitely changed. It had once been shallow. I was sure of it. What once had been a peaceful silence had degraded to subtle attempts of panting. Was he ill? Could he even get ill? Maybe thirst?

Now I knew what it was like to be thirsty. I knew of the agony that the residents had to go through. I knew what he went through everyday in our relationship when I was human. Your brain contaminated your morals. Humans turned into blood banks. In your sight, all you can see is their throbbing, pulsating veins carrying their rich, precious life-line. Like swallowing cement, your throat cramps and tenses, contracting around you.

Pushing off my arms, I united his glowing orbs with mine. He desperately tried to avoid all eye contact. He probably would have pushed me off him if he could. Through his separated lips, the sharpness of his fangs protruded.

“Cara Mia, you should leave.” He hissed, like I would have listened. My hand gradually crawled from the silky, cotton sheets to his slick cheek. Guiding his vision to me. I tenderly caressed his jaw. He was aware I knew. The sorry expression that signed itself on his features proved that.

“Shh, you don’t have to say anything.” I hushed. He knew I was a vampire. Yet, he still had this internalised phobia of biting me.

“C-Cara….I-” He barely ushered, losing his resolve until he gave up. One final reassuring smile to say ‘I know and I forgive you’ was all his instincts needed to take over. I was roughly pinned down. Eyes filled with self-betrayal and soon-to-be regret. Right hand enmeshed in my hair, dividing my neck and head. Left hand on the back of my right thigh, lifting my knee up in between his own. He kneeled over me. Burying his face into my neck as much as he could, he nipped. Asking permission maybe? He was going to feel so guilty. The only pacifier I could think of was entangling every limb I had around him. ‘It’s safer in my arms, closer to me heart and soul.’

“Ah! Gentle Leonardo, p-please..” Fangs deeply nested in my neck, he didn’t want to neither stop nor pull away. I knew, now. Instinct was everything. It ran our lives. If you needed blood, you were going to kill for it.

Glorified, gory ecstasy was tempered through my body. Hot pleasure - a comforting warm - a rush of anticipation filled adrenaline with tainting spice boasting the feeling. Soft fatigue, humble and descended you down like falling into a heavy sleep. My darkest, deepest desires ran wild. He engorged himself lightly. Sucking and lapping at my neck, tending to it by licking anything he could get. Flailing limp, he loosened his grasp on my figure. Whether he was personally fulfilled or not, his bloodlust was more than sated.

“You can have more, I feel fine.”

“No, Cara, I can’t.” He exhaled. There was a sleepy, grainy tinge to his voice. Leonardo wouldn’t admit it but he would have found a preserving delight from that.

“Look at me.” I demanded.

“Heh, you’ve been so demanding since your rebirth,” he lifted his head and, even though only slightly, smiled. His whole face had more colour and his skin seemed softer and more delicate. A guilty rose-red tint pasted itself onto his cheeks. Endearingly, he reached up and smoothed my hair out. It definitely needed it. It was odd how much stinging friction my locks had against his hand. That coaxed a laugh out of us. A lovely, peaceful quiet laid itself between us. No words were said, no words were needed. His lips were pale, perhaps that was due to the red stain on the inside of them. In his smile, he bared his, currently, pink teeth and his deeply rouge-dyed mouth. Some smudges around his lips here and there, droplets of blood in the corner of his lips, comfortably resting. But his bloodied tongue soon made quick work of them.

Maybe the vampire in me detecting blood or it could have been the lover seeing him for who he truly is, perhaps a mixture, but he looked more handsome than ever.

“Do I look good Cara Mia? Is that why you’re smiling and stari- hey! Don’t stop,” he pulled me nose-to-nose with him, “It was cute.” A sweet kiss to the tip of my nose and we were back snuggling. Although, this time, reversed-roles. Leonardo’s head rested happily against my breast as I began to stroke his hair softly. He was the most relaxed I had ever seen.

“I’m going to have to learn a completely different side to you, aren’t I Leonardo?” He shifted, meeting my eyes. “Your vampire side.”

#IkeVamp #ikevamp fanfic #ikemen #ikevamp leonardo #IkeVamp Leo #ikemen vampire leonardo #ikemen vampire #ikemen vampire leo

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crown-anon · 3 years

Text

@hearts1ck my beloved

November 1st

CW: explicit; more CWs under the cut

format: one-shot

people: GeorgeNotFound

pronouns: he/him; reader has male anatomy; more specifics under the cut

edited 14 March 2021

anonymous asked

consider. okay. CONSIDER. consider masochist george. okay?? okay. okay LISTEN.

I think I have a problem with gimmicks also. because. because. ever since strawberry milk george, I. I have not stopped thinking about strawberry flavored lube. because! listen okay hear me out.

(this is absolutely 110% a response to discovering that you share a birthday with him. what of it?)

I know everyone likes pillow princess george and. that's okay. that's FINE. these are not mutually exclusive.

george looking up at you with The LookTM wearing some pink strawberry milk lingerie. not even lingerie really! just something cute like that

& him being like. "I know you love me 👉👈 but I need you to fuck me like you don't"

so I was. thinking. that brat george is the exact kind of person to say (playfully & consensually) "but I don't wanna give you head, I just wanna fuck >:(" after you've got him worked up, maybe from teasing him throughout the day, or edging him a little. but you still need some type of lube. so you go to apply the first bottle you see and he's pink when he asks you "😳 is that ... strawberry ... ?" and you're confused like ??? bro you just asked me to fuck you into next week why're you interested in the flavored lube

but. but listen. he would get so enthusiastic about it. at first it's just "maybe I can stand to eat them out just a little bit before ..." and then after you come the first time it devolves really, really quickly into the need to just. take care of you. and it stretches on until you've come three or four times, and you're still shaking, and he's just. completely gone in subspace

hmm ... george climbing up onto your lap when he's done with you, going in to give you a kiss, and he tastes like strawberry. and he ends up moaning right into your mouth because he's been so horny but so? understimulated?? that he outright jumps as soon as his dick grazes your thigh. it would only take a couple stuttery grinds before he's finishing on both of your stomachs

and he's just so cute when comes, or when he bites down on your shoulder to keep himself quiet. and it's your birthdays. so, you decide you'll give him a reason to cry. and he'll finally get put in his place! it's a win-win for both of you!!

istg every time I send you an ask I discover something new about myself. you. you have made a dreamteam simp out of me. I am but a shell of the man I once was. I think I should thank you? [👑]

hearts1ck

i say this nearly every time you send stuff in but...... by god you own my soul. all of it. this – i – first of all, the implications of masochist george losing his fucking mind when you’re rough with him? guhhhfjklgjgf. and ,..d,,f,,, ,, ,, george in pink lingerie. i. i . a... pink satin slip maybe or .... ohghfd; oh my god those. that cat panty/bra set. im ascending im losing my brain as i type this i cannot –

okay im back on earth. he’d get into that rhythm and settle like liquid while he gets to work on you, and his subspace face is so self-satisfied and nearly smug so he’s just having the time of his life,,, and he makes such a loud noise when his dick twitches against your thigh and maybe... JUST MAYBE he whimpers extra watery when you drag his hips to grind against where you’re wet and dripping/your spent cock as if he’s the one who’d get overstimulated by it. when he finally leans away, eyelids heavy, you gently fit your hand over his jaw and ask, “did you even ask? it’s one thing to come without permission, but not even caring to ask? georgie, i might just be offended,” and he whines “green”s against your neck before you even check-in

and because u made it abt both of our birthdays ,,,, spanks for each year we’ve been alive methinks ??? and then the scratch down his ass gets him hard again and he’s so embarrassed by it, ,,, , ,, ,, ,, ,, ,

also thank god you’ve joined the george boat. i’m so proud of myself for hopefully being part of the reason you got dragged over here HJFKDHSKD

#👑 anon #(my beloved) #keep #anon thoughts: george #redsick #SHAWTY WANT THE WHOLE CREW SHAWTY BAD

as soon as you said birthday spanks I decided I had to write more about this. and I was going to leave more snippets in your askbox like the fucking gremlin creature I am, but then my thoughts started. actually having structure? and then I started writing it. and I tried to do homework and write on study breaks only but. I just kept coming back to this. this is the polar opposite of writer's block. I think I'm cursed or something. so here I am rushing to finish this so that I may rest in peace!!

yes I've been writing nonstop since I sent you that ask. what of it. what the fuck of it.

when I said I discover something new about myself every time we interact, I. I'm serious. I think I might be insane or something. I'm way too sadistic. you'll see. what the fuck is this? what the fuck did I just write??

this would have done so much critical psychic damage if I had posted it on November 1st in real life, but mental illness says I can't let my horny thoughts rattle around in my brain for that long. so!! it's you guys's problem now xoxoxo

I'm not fucking proofreading this. love you though 💗

I did end up proofreading actually. oops! looks like posting at 23:00 isn't always a good idea.

November 1st

CW: explicit, anal (kind of vague), bondage (collar + leash), corruption, domspace (I think??), edging, handjob, humiliation, masochism, oral, praise, sadism, spanking, subspace, swearing. I call George a whore and a slut at least once. and also, George calls yellow at one point. this one kind of surprised me so just. Be Careful. I cannot believe I wrote this. I don't know where this came from.

format: one-shot

people: GeorgeNotFound

pronouns: he/him; I use the word "sir;" reader has male anatomy; I use the words "cock," "dick," and "head;" reader can ejaculate

—

dawn shines through drawn curtains, illuminating the tile floor and your robed figure reflecting off it. batter sizzles in the skillet as you flip the last pancake over. this side looks golden brown, like honeycomb or caramelized sugar. that delicious, freshly-baked fragrance mingles with scented candles. it's perfect, you smile. he's going to love it.

you lift the pancake with a spatula, stacking it on top of the others on his plate. you bring it to his seat at the table, along with the butter, the syrup, the honey, the jam…and you go to pour him a drink.

"hey baby," you greet warmly to the sleepyhead rubbing his eyes in the entryway, still clinging to a pillow. his hair's a mess, only wearing socks and a sweatshirt that reaches down past his thighs. you reckon he'd only just crawled out of bed.

"morning…" he yawns, stumbling past you to take his seat.

"milk?" you ask, he only nods. "did you sleep okay?"

he hums affirmatively. "I…can we…"

one track mind, you joke inwardly. but you don't blame him. "of course," you open the fridge.

you hear him pause. "…is it too early for that?"

"no, no!" you give him a lighthearted laugh. "I kind of expected it, to be honest…I want it, too."

he's silent under the noise of you rummaging through the fridge. "I—"

"sorry—it looks like all we have is strawberry milk. is that alright?"

"yeah…yeah, that's alright. I…actually…wanted to try something new." you shut the fridge, he's fidgeting in his seat.

"hit me with it," your expression is gentle. you pass his cup off to him, but he holds his hand over yours a little too long, looking up at you.

"fuck me like you hate me."

you don't know if it's hearing him swear, or the way he said it so calmly, or how he closed his eyes and swallowed hard before his tone could dip down into something lower. but like a match in an torrent of gasoline, suddenly you're burning up.

you only realize you're staring when he bites his lip and looks down. you start to say something, but the words don't form.

he laughs nonthreateningly, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "is that a yes?"

you laugh with him. "I…yes, absolutely yes." you turn back around to make your own stack of pancakes. "you should eat first, though."

"what?" he teases. "will I need the energy?"

you smile. "yeah. I think you will." you can practically feel him open his mouth in protest, but he stays silent after that.

and it stays mostly silent while you cook your pancakes. you hear the clinking of his fork on his plate, but it isn't very disruptive. it sounds like he's hurrying to finish his food.

when you go back to the table with your own platter, he's already done eating. he's red down to his neck, fidgeting with the hem of his sweatshirt, looking at you expectantly. you spot a pair of tassels peeking out from under it, just below his hip bones. is that…

he pulls the hem up just a bit, holding your gaze. he smiles, apparently satisfied watching your face heat up.

"I—you should go…go get ready," you manage. he gets up before you even finish your sentence, only stopping to give you a quick kiss on the cheek.

except it isn't quick, when he slides his hand down to rest firmly on your collar, and leans in to trail kisses down your neck. "a-and leave that on," you stutter.

he pauses, just under your jaw. "leave what on?" he murmurs.

your breath catches, you shut your eyes. "whatever the fuck it is you're wearing under there."

he's hardly grazing your skin, but you can feel how hot he is next to you. it takes all of your willpower not to shiver.

he pulls back quickly, only his hand lingering. "I don't know what you're talking about." and just like that, he disappears into your bedroom.

you reach up a hand tentatively to your collar, hot to the touch. I'm in way too deep, you decide, and force yourself to take a bite of your food despite your nerves.

—

"that," you hiss. "that fucking outfit. that."

"oh, this?" he bites his lip, hooking his thumb in the keyhole. "this's just what I went to bed in last night."

"fuck you. we both know that isn't true."

he tugs gently on his top, pulling it a little to the side. "what's the big deal? can't I wear something special for my birthday?"

"it's special, all right," and you leave it at that, opting instead to slot between his legs where he sits waiting on the edge of the bed. you bring up a hand to cup his jaw, brushing your thumb across his cheek. you'll never get enough of the way he looks at you, like you're intoxicating.

…? you frown.

"is something…missing?" he perks up instantly at "missing."

"what…?" he chooses his words carefully.

"the collar—your collar. where is it?" you turn away to start going through your bedside table, but the way his lips quirk up into a sly smile isn't lost on you.

that's lube…that's a vibrator…where the fuck is it…? "w-what collar?" he stumbles over his words.

your mind jumps to say, the collar that came with that outfit, or I know you know what I'm talking about, but you won't give him the satisfaction. you decide to speak a little darker, only a firm "George." you hear him swallow.

"w-well," his voice is shaky, "you only told me to leave on whatever I was wearing under my shirt. and…I wasn't wearing that collar at breakfast…s-so technically…"

you stop looking immediately. you turn to take him in, legs crossed, stance confident, but expression showing uncertainty. you can see the regret on his face. "get up." he takes a shallow breath. "get up."

"I'm—"

"don't I'm sorry me," you snap. "you look for your fucking collar on your own."

he slips off the bed, looking ashamed, but starts digging through the drawer all the same. "I really am sorry," he murmurs. you take his place sitting on the bed. he finds what he's looking for rather quickly: a simple white leather collar with a bell, and a leash. he hands them off to you shyly. "um, here…"

"good boy," you praise. "kneel."

he shuts his eyes and does as he's told. you can see the bliss wash over his face just at being ordered around. his lips part a little as he lets out a heavy breath. if only I knew what this would do to him, you muse, I'd have done this ages ago.

you fasten the collar, revelling in how he shivers at the gentle sensation of cold leather hanging around his neck. you leave it a little bit loose, but still comfortable, and hook the leash in its place. he sits obediently still on his knees, looking deep in thought.

"Oh, I know what I'm gonna do to you," you bait. "how old are you today?"

"mmm. twenty-five." he looks down.

you smile, holding tight onto the leash. "I'm gonna edge you. twenty-five times."

he flinches away immediately, yet hums in pleasant surprise when the leash snaps taught. the bell jingles stiffly. "no way. that's way too much."

"I think you should've thought about that before you wore that to breakfast," you decide, tugging a little. he's caught off-guard and stumbles forward, stopping himself by leaving a clumsy pair of kisses on the inside of your thigh. the metal and leather feel refreshingly cool against your feverish skin. "we've got all day, baby."

you expect to hear some kind of protest, you're crazy. or a playful taunt, I'm better off doing this by myself. but he knits his brows and openly moans at the thought. "all day…" he repeats.

he looks up at you, almost pleading, and you can hear the resignation in his voice when he whispers "alright."

"get up here," you command. "on top of me." as he climbs up into your lap, a little too eagerly, you add, "and take your dick out."

you shrug your robe off your shoulders while he's working on his panties, and without thinking, you ask, "color?"

he stops, leaving his head poking cutely over the waistband. he looks up at you again. "…what?"

"um…color," you explain. "like, how are you doing? is this okay? I don't actually want to hurt you. uhhh…green means good, yellow means slow down, and red means stop."

he stifles a laugh. "you're such a nerd. I'm okay."

"alright." you blush a little. "we can stop whenever you need to. this is for you…" you think of something horribly unsexy to say. "…birthday boy."

now he's really laughing, with his whole body. you think the way it makes his collar jingle is cute. "oh my god. shut up. just shut up," his expression turns serious, and he drops to a whisper, "and fuck me."

that got you hot again. you pull him by the leash into a kiss, you bite his lip, you eat him up. and you grab the both of you together with your other hand, you moan in tandem. you can feel how you took him by surprise in the way he twitches under your thumb, the way he leans into you with his whole body. you part from the kiss and he leans back on his heels, panting hard, holding on to your shoulders for support. you can feel him shaking a little.

when you move your hand all the way up the first time, you squeeze both of your heads gently, and he practically falls into you. muffled in the crook of your neck, he begs, "god, do that again."

so you do. again. and again. what was a string of stuttered breaths turns into a single broken moan as you jerk the both of you off. when you think you're getting close, you let go of yourself to focus all your attention on him.

"fuck, sir," he whines—hahaha, that sir made your cock leak a little. he shut his eyes tight. "I-I-I think—I think I'm—"

just like that, you stop, and he goes slack, practically laying on you. but he doesn't grind back, or even move to touch himself. that won't last very long.

you let him come back down, knowing edging takes a lot out of you; maybe even more so than actually coming does. slowly but surely, his breathing steadies. you rub between his shoulderblades affectionately, still trying to ground yourself, too.

once you've found your voice again, you question, "are you gonna count for me?"

he makes a sound against your skin, somewhere between excitement and fear. "…o-one." you revel in how fucked-out he sounds already.

"one what?" you prod.

he seems at a loss, like he's forgotten himself, what he said. after a minute or two of pondering, he catches on. "…sir."

it's your turn to moan. your dick jumps at the honorific, still mostly untouched against your stomach. "good boy." and you dive back in. twenty-four to go.

—

it's noon. you're working on nineteen. and your partner's getting much more…expressive. he's started biting his hand to keep himself quiet, but he's still…

"I-I—oh fuck, I'm—fuck, I-I'm—I'm—" he whimpers through his teeth. and he yelps, whole body shaking, bell jingling incessantly, when he comes all over your hand and stomach.

you take your hand off him immediately, and this time he does try to reach down, ride through it, but you grab both his wrists to stop him. he grinds down uselessly against your thigh and your dick. although you're still hard, and only a hairline trigger away from coming yourself, it doesn't stop you from keeping this brat in line. you only bite your lip and close your eyes.

he leans his forehead against yours, moving in to give you a kiss, but you push him away.

"did you never learn how to fucking count?" you growl.

he winces. "I-I-I-I'm…I'm sorry—"

you scowl at your hand, covered in come. "here, slut," you raise it up to his lips. "clean this off for me."

he tears up a little, but takes your fingers into his mouth all the same. pretty quickly, though, he spits them back out.

"it doesn't taste good…" he complains.

"oh? oh, it doesn't?" you mock. "but it felt good, when you came without my permission, like a cheap fucking whore."

a couple of tears spill over, roll down his cheeks, yet he says nothing, only moving back in to lap his come off your hand. you can see it in his expression that he's not very happy about it, but he doesn't protest further.

"is this good enough, sir?" he asks, when it seems that he's gotten it all. it looks clean enough, you agree. you grab him by the chin, hooking your thumb in his mouth. you don't even have to tell him to suck.

"you come without my approval again, and it's over. you can go back to playing minecraft—or what-the-fuck-ever—with your friends for your birthday. do you want to sleep on the couch, Georgie?"

if he wasn't crying before, he's definitely crying now. he doesn't shake his head, but he circles your fingertip with his tongue enthusiastically, as if to say, I'll be good, I'll be good this time, looking up at you doe-eyed.

"bend over for me," you demand. "across my lap."

he does so immediately. he slips a little bit while he's changing positions, you hear the bell ring, and he scrambles to correct himself. he settles with his ankles crossed and his head in his hands, propping himself up on his elbows. you feel a little bad, you admit, but you won't budge; he has a safeword, you trust that he'll use it.

"let's try that again," your tone softens. "I want you to count for me, okay?"

he nods.

you pull his panties to the side, pause briefly, and bring down your hand with a satisfying smack.

"ohhhhhh—" he moans, jolting a little. "—holy shit, did you just spank me?"

your stomach drops, you go to rub him gently where you just hit him. "is that okay—?"

"it's hot, it's so hot, fuck," he shifts in your lap. "um, sorry…one."

seriously, something about hearing him swear awakens something in you, every time. you're fired up. you spank him again.

"mmm—two…" is he…? "three…"

you pause to massage his ass again, and to speak. "you're…you're hard again, aren't you?"

you didn't even spank him yet, but he lets out a moan. "fuck, I—I just. I want you. I want this. so, so much."

you wonder if this is actually the same George who was fidgeting with his pillow in the dining room this morning.

"you're so bad, getting turned on by something like this," you tease. he only moans in response.

"four—five—six—seven…" he chokes out. "it's starting to sting…"

you take a break, kneading the skin where your angry red handprint is starting to take shape.

"eight…nine…but god, it hurts so good…" he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "ten…"

at ten, you linger for a moment, holding a handful of his ass. "does it?"

"yes—yesyesyes," he buries his face in the pillow, and shivers. "fuck, eleven…twelve…"

you pull his panties down to his knees, and switch sides. he lifts his hips up, so I can reach him better, you guess. you don't miss the telltale glint of a butt plug, but you'll get to that later.

"thirteen—fourteen—fifteen—sixteen," he moans between slaps. he's gripping the pillowcase so hard his knuckles are white.

in this new position, the way he jumps with every hit makes his cock brush against yours just right. fuck, you're still hard from earlier. this time you're the one who whimpers.

"seventeen, eighteen," he pauses, breathless. you pull gently on his leash, he arches his back and moans, "n-nineteen." his bell jingles.

he grinds down, just for a moment, and the friction is delicious. you're a little dizzy, you think you might've thrust back. you both sigh at the feeling.

"…t-twenty…see? I-I can count…I'm a good boy…I'm good for you…aren't I?"

"you are," you murmur, but you aren't sure he hears you. "you're so good…"

"twenty-one—twenty-two…I-I feel like I haven't done anything right today…twenty-three…"

"…George…?" you hear a muffled sob.

"twenty-four…" he mumbles.

"George?" you start to get concerned. he just keeps crying. "hey…" you whisper. you gently prompt him to turn him over; the pillow's a little wet. you pull the panties off all the way, and get him out of the bra, which had a little stray come on it. you help him sit up in your lap, and pull him into a hug.

"am I really just a whore…?" he asks brokenly.

"you've been so good for me, baby. you've done everything I've asked." you wipe his tears away with your thumb. "are you okay?"

"but I—" he coughs. "—I came too soon, I came without your permission…"

you kiss his hair, and hold him to your chest. "you've been so patient. I'm proud of you."

he finally wraps his arms around you. "I-I'm sorry."

"nonsense," you reassure. "your comfort takes priority. are you okay? color?"

"I…" he searches for the words. "I dunno. yellow? I…that hurt, I think. being…degraded?"

you comb through his hair with your fingers. "I understand. thank you for telling me. I love you."

—

you stay like that for a minute. you grab him a snack and a drink, but for the most part, you just enjoy each other's company, tangled-up together. you don't bother putting your clothes back on.

it's later in the evening. you're straddling him, peppering his shoulders with kisses, and he's giggling underneath you. he turns over to give you a short and sweet kiss.

"baby?" he says, looking expectantly.

"what is it?" you sit back on your heels.

he hesitates. "…I wanna keep going. from earlier."

you're serious again. "are you sure you're okay?" you grab his hand, bringing it up to kiss his fingertips. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm alright," he assures. "I remember you promising me an all-day thing, though."

you blush, a little surprised by his forwardness. "of course. I think…I…" you laugh. "I wanna fuck you."

"yeah?" he smiles, leaning up close. "show me how much."

you hold his jaw while you kiss him, biting his bottom lip between your teeth. he tastes like the coffee and cream you made him earlier. you feel his breath hitch. he reaches up to hold your shoulders.

you pull back. "hey, blow me first."

"what? why?" he giggled.

"it's been a couple hours, I'm not hard anymore," you coax. "I thought you liked taking orders?"

he cringed. "but come tastes gross!"

you slid off him and hopped off the bed, opening the drawer. "suit yourself. you get to watch me jack off, then."

"fine by me, I think you look good when you masturbate."

"ohhh, I forget, you're too blissed-out to pay attention to how I look when you're getting fucking owned."

"I am not!"

"you are too!" he sticks his tongue out at you.

you open the lid, pouring a little on your hand, a little on your cock. it's translucent pink, seems a little fragrant. you give yourself a couple of strokes with a sigh.

he's quiet for a second, then, shyly, "um…is that…strawberry flavored…?"

you bite your lip. "I thought you weren't gonna give me head?"

"I was just curious." it's a weak lie, but you say nothing.

your eyes are shut, but you can feel him moving around a bit on the bed, you hear his bell ring a couple times. you feel a hand on your thigh, so you decide to peek. and holy shit.

your partner's made his way to the floor, on his knees between your legs, holding his leash in his mouth, his fucking mouth, what the fuck. his thumb's rubbing circles on the inside of your thigh. the half-lidded look he's giving you should be criminal.

"you—I thought you said you wouldn't…" you can't find the words. you reach out and take the leash from his mouth. you see your hand shake in front of you.

"I'm just watching…" he whispers, looking up at you, mesmerized.

you're only able to get a couple of pumps in before he's joining you, hand over yours as you get yourself off. just the extra sensation of somebody else's touch is enough to make you bite back a moan.

"fuck—!" you jolt when he licks a stripe up the underside. he mouths over the head, jerking you off on his own now. you move to grip the sheets in one hand, his leash in the other. and you come without warning. you see it end up on his hand and your stomach before you shut your eyes tight.

he's quiet while you're coming down, just helping you ride it out, giving you kisses on your thighs. when you look back down at him, he's got two of his fingertips in his mouth, licking them clean. he stands up abruptly, it startles you a little. you see his bell ring. and he grabs you by the hips and leans down to your midriff.

"…I don't think I cleaned you off all the way earlier…" he breathes, and he starts to lap up the mess of his and your come that's been on you since this afternoon.

what the fuck. why is this so hot? why is he so hot? all too soon, your spent cock twitches in interest at your lover. he cups it with a hand, smiling against your tummy. you're so sensitive it hurts. you think you mean to say something, but nothing comes out.

"hmm…?" he bites his lip. "you still want some more?" all you can do is whine. at this point, you don't know if it's in protest or invitation.

you don't get the chance to find out either, because fuck, he's really going down on you now. you don't know what the fuck he's doing with his tongue, or where his gag reflex went, but at this rate you're gonna come again.

"George—George, baby, I—slow down, I-I'm—" you plead. his leash slips out of your hand, you tip your head back.

he swallows.

—

the last thing you remember is coming harder than you ever have in your life. you think you held him by his hair. you might've fucked his mouth a little. he's never let you come in his mouth before…fuck…

it's nighttime now. he's riding your thigh, got one of his legs slotted between yours. the friction between his knee and your overstimulated cock feels embarrassingly good. you're so dizzy, all you can articulate is a loud moan. you don't sound at all like you remember. his bell keeps ringing and ringing and ringing as he grinds against you.

he leans down, one arm holding your hip, the other keeping himself propped up. he bites your shoulder, hard, hard enough to bruise. he comes on both of your stomachs.

"George," you beg. you're losing your voice.

"mmmmmmsir," he slurs. "fuck me."

"George, I…" you don't know what you're saying. the end of your sentence turns into a whimper.

"you need me to get you hard again? you need me to rile you up?" he turns to kiss your jaw, feeling around for your dick. "like this?"

"George," you sound urgent, until he squeezes right around the head, and you forget what you were saying. you're pretty fucking close to forgetting who you are entirely.

he sits up on top of you, grinning. "love the way you say my name, sir."

that name. all it takes is the way he says that fucking name and you're ready to go again. you flip the two of you over, so that you're towering over him instead. "you still didn't. fucking. ask me. if you could come."

he giggles, a little crazed. he hooks his arms around his knees, hugging them to his chest.. "so what? so what? you gonna fuck me 'till I behave?"

"yes," you reach down, "I think I will." and you pull out the butt plug he (probably forgot he) had in all day.

"fuck—" he sobs. you watch his dick bob. precome drips into a pool on his stomach. "—green—green—so fucking green."

you're still sensitive from coming twice—you're pretty sure he is too. you lean down to give him a kiss, you moan into each other's mouths. he tastes like strawberries and his and your come. it is a little gross, you admit. but he's so tight and so fucking cute that you can't bring yourself to care. you part, and there's a line of salvia connecting the two of you.

"wait—" you say, but it comes out like a growl. "roll over."

he gets on his hands and knees, reaching back and spreading himself open for you. fuck.

you fuck him like that, holding the leash tight, loving the way he arches his back into the bed. the bell on his collar jingles incessantly.

you spank him, one last time.

"th-that's twenty-f-five—oh, fuck, sir," he growls, clinging on to the blankets for dear life.

you pin one of his hands in place and reach down to touch him. he starts laughing again.

"mmmmmmay I please come, sir? I—fuck—I'm so close, soclosesoclose," his breath stutters, you can hear the breaks in his voice. he buries his face in the blankets.

I'm close, you think, but the words don't make it out. "you're so good—you're so fucking good—come for me—fuck, come for me."

—

you're a mess. there's some drying solution of come and lube on your stomach. not to mention whatever the fuck's going on with your hair. your robe is discarded haphazardly on the floor. you think you've got a hickey, but you can't remember where.

actually, you're both a mess. he's also covered in come, sweat, and lube. he's got a red ring around his neck where you pulled him by the leash a little too hard. he's just covered in bruises. he clings to your arm, still fast asleep. you both passed out pretty quickly after…whatever that was, but you got back up a couple hours later. it doesn't look like he did, though.

actually, your whole bedroom is a mess. a blanket or two ended up discarded on the floor. there's an empty bottle of edible lube somewhere around here. your kitty lingerie set, still dirty, somehow ended up hanging in the closet. the first time you woke up you were both cuddling with a butt plug that you misplaced in the heat of the moment.

you don't think you've ever seen him like that. you can't even put it into words. you've never spanked him. he's never called you sir. you've never come in his mouth. he's never…begged for you like that before. you've never been so exhausted after coming that you both just, just fainted.

you feel lightheaded, and dead tired. you know you both must have gotten back up and gone at it at least a couple more times, but it's blurry, you can't remember. all you know is your vibrator's missing, and you feel…unusually empty, like you do the morning-after getting railed a little too hard.

last night…what the fuck happened last night?

you contemplate getting up, slipping your arm out of his embrace, pulling the covers back up around him, leaving to make breakfast. you're kind of disgusting, several hours after sex without cleaning up properly. you want to get yourselves some washcloths, maybe take shower together, or run him a bath. you know he's gotta be way more sore than you are.

you catch yourself staring, lost in thought; he just looks too cute when he's very clearly roughed up, but still sleeping soundly. and with the way he wanted…the way he needed you yesterday, you don't think he would want to wake up alone.

maybe it's okay if we sleep in a little longer.

you stroke his hair and whisper, "happy birthday, baby boy."

—

edited 14 March 2021

#limeade-zest #georgenotfound x reader #george x reader #george davidson x reader

107 notes · View notes

shini--chan · 3 years

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Hello there, I honestly love the way you write everyone (especially yandere Prussia) I was wondering what if the reader really underestimated Prussia and Veneziano? As if thinking of them as a weak and a careless nation? Trying to fight and degrade them? Please write about it IF you can love 💕 Take care!

All I can say is: Thank you for sending in this neat ask.

Yandere Hetalia – Obfuscation

Italy

“I don’t think you understand. Your word against mine isn’t enough for black mail”, you voiced your doubts. Reasonable doubts, for somebody so young. A young being that understood as well as knew so little of the workings of the world. He could forgive you for that. Ignorance wasn’t a sin, rather a liability. One that would cost you so much.

Feli chuckled softly and wore a smile to match, as sweet as the cantuccini that he had just been dipping into the bitter rose wine he had ordered. Taking a bite from the alcohol soaked treat, he relished in the bittersweet taste that unfolded. In a way, it mirrored the situation.

“Oh bella. When it hasn’t been sword against sword it has always been word against word. My word is more than enough”, he quipped good naturedly, drumming his fingers against the wooden surface. Your brows furrowed, your features distorting into an expression of incomprehension. Really, it nearly caused him to laugh. However, unlike you, he possessed a decent amount of tact.

Shaking your head, you insisted: “Doesn’t matter how you honey up your words. If it’s your word against mine that’s not enough for decent blackmail. You need evidence.”

You were wise enough to keep your voice down. While you both were in a restaurant on his turf, speaking quietly in quick English, one couldn’t be too careful. Feli knew well enough on how his people loved to gossip and on how reputation mattered so much more than in the Anglosphere. On the other hand, you couldn’t lash out against him without being looked down upon in the aftermath.

“No, I just need to be more convincing than you”, he retaliated. When you shook your head again in denial, he couldn’t help but sigh. Of course, he was holding a Damocles sword over your head, and you just were so unwilling to comprehend. Maybe he would have to make true on some of his threats, just to get a point across. After all, a burnt child dreads the fire.

Italy would be used to people underestimating him. After all, he wouldn’t be much of a soldier, preferring diplomacy over warfare. Everybody has simply forgotten that he once held all the strings. Not that he could blame them; he was very discreet about in the past, always operating from the shadows.

In a way, your behaviour would both infuriate and delight him. Infuriate, because your lack of insight would be cringe-worthy in his eyes and would ask himself how somebody could be so blind. Delight, because that would give him the opportunity to dig a ditch to trap you in without you suspecting a single thing.

He would get it. He wouldn’t come across as having a spin of steel or of having the ambitions that would lead him to cultivating diplomatic expertise. Feli would be quick to spill tears, whether out of genuine emotion or as part of an act, and that is usually seen as a staple for weakness. You would probably underestimate him to such an extreme extent that he could tell you the raw truth and you wouldn’t believe.

Despite any misgivings he would have, he wouldn’t hesitate to back in a corner if you wouldn’t behave – as in slandering your name, using his contacts to have you demoted, rejected, pushed aside, cancelled and so on. He would be your only solace, the only person in the world that could help you. Feliciano would offer your protection and a way to re-establish yourself in society. It would all depend on how much you would love him.

Prussia

Gilbert turned around the corner to find you fiddling with the door, or better said the lock of the door. You were sticking hair pins in it, twisting the upper one this way and that, muttering furiously. The curses that were flying from your mouth were of the grave sort that would make even a potty-mouthed, seasoned-soldier blush. Which Gilbert was.

Taking a few steps forward, he then cleared his throat noisily, making you abruptly turn around. Your eyes were wide blown, like a deer that had decided the best method to deal with the approaching head lights would be to stare them down. However you promptly wiped the sheepish look of your face and straightened your back.

“What are you doing?”, he asked, making sure you make his words sharp. The answer lay at hand but the whole point was to make you feel guilty about what you were doing. Besides that, an entrée was needed.

“I am leaving”, you announced defiantly, a smug grin on your face.

“Not on my watch.”

“Then just look away”, you countered snidely, the most unbearable expression on your visage as you drew out the syllables. “Out of sight, out of mind.”

He nearly flinched. Obviously, he had rubbed off on you a bit and in this case it wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Because of that, he sneered: “Don’t be unbearable. You’re staying, the end.”

“Well, if I am so unbearable, isn’t it high time for me to leave?”

Gilbert rolled his eyes at your antics. Enough was enough and a good talking to about your actions wouldn’t do. Therefor he told you: “Yes, high time to leave your foolish plans and get a proper spanking.”

He stepped forward to grab you, but you danced out of his reach, fists raised in front of your face in a familiar stance. A boxing stance, one that he used often. Shame really, and here he had thought you had been admiring his gorgeous physique whenever you had watched him train.

“I’ll fight you”, you hissed. This caused him to smile, tauntingly.

“Oh really?”

Your answer was to punch forward, aiming for his nose. Unlucky for you, he stepped aside, causing you to overreach and lose your balance. You face-planted the floor in one of the most ungraceful manners he had ever observed. Before you could stand up, he placed a foot on your nape – just enough that it was uncomfortable, but not enough to throttle you.

If anything, Gilbert would find your attempts amusing. He has lived through countless wars, went from sword to musket to gun, fought on nearly every terrain imaginable. And you would seriously think you could stand a chance against him? The only way you would be able to have the upper hand against him, would be if you would catch him off guard when he’d be ill, and that wouldn’t happen.

Your attempts to fight him would give him great fodder to ridicule you. He simply wouldn’t cease reminding you how clumsy you would be. Gilbert would comment that you probably watched far to many Hollywood films to think you could earnestly beat him up. Joke would be on you. Also, he would use it as an excuse to give you a few bruises, self-defence and all.

#yandere hetalia #yandere italy #yandere prussia #x reader #yandere x reader

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imhereforvibesandkneecaps · 3 years

Text

Run and hide

Jock bully Sero x y/n

Inspired by @miggiisdumb (Ily queen❤❤)

Warnings : sex, primal play, blood, overstimulation, drug use +18

MNI DO NOT INTERACT YOU LIL SHITS

you ran, you had to. You didn't know why you agreed to this, you were just sitting on your couch only an hour ago, with your roommate Mina, who dragged you to a party. At the party, the host of it, Bakugo, had the grand idea of playing a game of truth or dare. A pretty stupid idea, you thought to yourself. But he was drunk so that might've been the reason he came up with this dumb idea. A bunch of people sat in a circle, you sitting next to Mina. Bakugo was setting the rules up, and you weren't listening. You had been spacing out for maybe ten minutes, until you noticed Mina elbowing you in the ribs. It jolted you out of your day dream to start paying attention to your surroundings. You noticed that one of bakugo's friends was pointing at you, with a big grin on his face. He had black hair tied up in a small ponytail and a piercing on his eyebrow. He wore a black hair of sweatpants and a jacket he got from being on the basketball team. He had dark eyes, with his scleras red from smoking weed. "Y/n. You got about an hour to avoid me around the campus."

"what?" You ask cluelessly. It was clear you hadn't been paying attention, at all. "And if you find me?" Mina sighed loudly.

"you're not allowed to ask, its his choice. If you had paid attention you would've known. Now go! You got about five minutes to hide!" She squealed happily. She pushed you up and out of the house. You were still dumbfounded. You came to the realization that they might've just kicked you out of the house because you were being boring. You sighed, annoyed and just started walking towards your hoise, because Mina drove you guys here. You started walking, but you felt some sort of anxiety, so you checked your phone to see the time. It was 1:43 am, you left the house two minutes ago by now. You started to walk A little faster, being a bit paranoid. You started to text Mina, embarrassed and angry. 'If you wanted me to leave you could've just asked instead of embarrassing me in front of anyone.' You pressed send and sighed, annoyed. About two minutes later you got a text back 'gurl, you better start running, Sero is about to leave the house to get you.' You scoff and text her back 'haha real funny asshole, just know when I get home I aint helping you with setting up your room anymore.' You check the time again. 1:47 am. You feel even more anxious, and Mina texts back, scaring you a bit. "He just left the house, you got about an hour Y/n good luck!" You almost yell, you're annoyed that she keeps going on with this stupid bit, but you still feel this feeling of unease around you. "Yeah sure, fuck you and your friends. " you put your phone in your pocket and keep walking. You hear a noise behind you and you snap your head back quickly behind you. There was nothing, you sigh and scold yourself for being paranoid. You keep walking to your house until you're maybe a block away from it. You go and text Mina again 'yeah, I don't see your little friend around here. Thanks for making me walk home btw🖕' you shove your phone in your pocket and keep walking. You hear a ding from your phone, she texts back 'you're no fun! And he is, you don't have to believe me until he gets you. Have fun, btw he thinks you're cute so I hope you think he is too.' You sigh and just look at the time. 2:03 am. Whatever, you shouldn't care. You get closer to your house until you hear a sound of footsteps behind you. You look behind you and see nothing, and take a deep breath. "No one is there, dumbass." You mumble to your self

"well now y/n you sound like bakugo right now. Don't know if it fits you chica." You freeze. Holy shit. You turn around to face Sero. He had a grin on his face still, but it seemed to be a bit darker. "Ill count to ten before I start running after you, Mi Amor." He whispers. You were still frozen, your face heating up. "Uno....dos..." He starts counting. You start running past him. He's now on 5, you keep running. Now were in the present, you're still running as fast as you can. You get to your house, but you know you can't make it through the front door, you didn't have a key and the password would waste time. So you go for the backdoor. You go through the fence door to the back yard and to the backdoor. You feel a sense of a relief. Until you see the reflection on you on the glass on the door... And Sero's. Your blood runs cold. You try to open the door but its too late. He grabs you roughly and slams you against the grass of your backyard. "Should've been faster Chica." He says darkly.

"get off of me you Fuck!" You yell. This doesn't stop him, it fuels him more now. He grabs his phone and takes a photo of you and him. You feel humiliated and scared, and slightly.... Aroused?

"no can do Chica. I won, you were too slow, so I get to do what I want now. " he says with a smile. You look at him taking off his jacket, he had a black wife beater on. Fuck he looked good on him. You were just glad that the back porch lights were on. "Relax pretty girl, ill make it enjoyable." He whispers in your ear, sensually. You can feel your breath hitch as he starts to peel off your leggings. You feel yourself getting more aroused. Fuck, this can't be happening. He slid his hands down to your bare thighs. "fuck, so fucking sexy Chica. Can't wait to taste." You heard a ripping noise and felt your wrists being tied up. He sat you up against the backdoor. Your bottom now exposed to this feral looking man. He looked you straight in your eyes and without a warning shove two fingers in your cunt. You let a squeal of surprise " well, I need to prep you darling. " you glare at him "hey don't get mad at me, you lost." He grinned. He started to curl his fingers. You felt yourself tightening against this new feeling, You arch your back as a result. "You're so pretty like this." He coos

"fuck you asshole." You say breathlessly.

"that's the plan sweetheart." He throws your legs over his shoulders out of nowhere. You felt a soft tongue against your clit. You gasped and twitch at the feeling. "Fuck, so fucking good." He murmers something in Spanish that you couldn't understand and starts to suck against your folds. This makes you moan out loud and buck your hips, god why did it have to feel so good? He Slurped and sucked against your cunt, happy you were moaning, knowing it was a sign he was doing it right. You were sopping wet at this point and your eyes were brimming with tears. He kept kissing your cunt. "Good girl, wanna cum? Wanna cum for me, like a pretty little slut?" He asked, shoving his fingers in and out of you. You whine and nod your head vigourusly, you felt so close to coming. You needed to, you needed to cum so badly.

"please, fuck, please Sero." You beg, like a dumb slut. He pulls out his fingers, you were so close, so so so close. You start to cry. "You jerk! I was so fucking close" you cry out, this earns you a harsh slap against the ass. You hiss at the pain. He lays you down and starts to pull down his pants, you felt so hot and airy now.

"calm down chica, you will." He Pulls down his underwear and his cock springs free, slapping against his stomach, it was long and thick. You were worried it wasn't gonna fit. He rubs his hands against your cunt, making you squeal again, and rubs your juices against his cock. He positions himself against your cunt and puts one hand on your face. "This might hurt." He whispers. With no warning he shoves himself in, immediately bottoming out. You short circuit a little as your body clenched around his intrusion. He groans happily and starts chuckling "fuck yeah" he mutters breathlessly. "so fucking tight, Im gonna fucking ruin you, you sweet little bitch." He grabs you by the hair and starts pounding into you, you moan and scream with every thrust. He would bite against your neck and legs and ripped off your shirt like an animal. He dove right for your breasts while still pounding you without even slowing down. He licked and but at your nipples harshly and slapped your ass anytime you cussed. You were covered in hickeys and bite marks, which some of them even bled, which he licked obviously. You felt so close again, you wanted to grab him but your arms were tied up, so you lay your head against his chest.

"please let me cum.." you whisper in his ear, this made him even more feral. He started to pound into you harder. You felt him bite against your shoulder really hard as he pushed into you, he sounded like he was growling almost.

"Wanna fucking cum? Wanna cum like the little slut you are? Ill let you cum pretty girl." You felt him bully your cervix even harder until you squirted everwhere, on his stomach, both of your guy's thighs and the floor. You moan out weakly from your high and you hear him huff. He went back to pounding you though. "wait! S-Sero! I just came I ca-" he silences you with another slap to the ass, that was definitely gonna leave a mark.

"you wanted to fucking cum right, Mi amor? Well your gonna cum until you can't fucking talk and Im gonna cum until Im all out, got it?" You nodded helplessly as he pummels into you relentlessly he made you cum god knows how many times now, and you couldn't talk anymore and everything was hazy. Your body was covered in hand prints, bruises, hickeys and bite marks. Once he finally came, his moan sounded so angelic to your ears. You felt his warmth in you, it was so thick and hot, and you wanted it all in your tummy, which he was planning on doing. He grabs you by the neck and slams into you again, this goes on for god knows how long until you two are finally fucked out. By this point the sun was starting to come up and you could hear Mina's car pull up. You didn't care at this point and you and sero looked at the fence and saw Mina poke her head of the corner and made eye contact with both of tou. You two were both completely naked and she covers her eyes and yells,

"I told you I wasn't lying!" Sero started to chuckle and finally released your hands and rubbed your wrists. "good work MI amor. Next time we do this, try to run faster though, its fun watching you get scared." He then kissed your wrist and put on his sweatpants and brought you inside the house, you still being completely naked and walked past Mina. He brought you to your room and laid you on the bed and kissed your head and whispered loving words to you as you fell asleep. You gotta thank Mina for dragging you to that party after all.

IM FINISHED HELL YEAH!!

Tags : @miggiisdumb

#sero x yn #bnhasmut

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