#and I refuse to look at anything that could prove my - very well thought out and cultured - thought wrong

[yxami]

A clingy, not very innocent idol who refuses to confess despite his actions already seeming like those of a boyfriend.

desc: yandere innocent idol x gn manager reader, lots of nsfw near the end, manipulation, possessiveness, and general asshole behaviors from a yandere. I really didn’t intend to right this much, oopsies.

You’ve been managing an idol for a bit of time now, a very short and stressful time. All your hard work pays off when you can go home and relax without a worry about how Akol is going to act in the general public.

He’s pulled too many stunts, some even making you believe that his career was done for, but he proved toy wrong when all he had to do was write a sweet and short tweet of how sorry he is and the fans were back to loving him.

Not that they hated him in the first place anyways, they were always going to love him, always. Why else would he preform for losers who could commit to him no matter what he did?

“Manager! I think I lost my phone in here” He knocks, louder once he starts growing impatient that you’re not hastily opening the door to see him like how he thought you would. He wants to be admired, he wants you to see how he put himself together before coming over.

“I’m comin!” You inhale as much as your lungs can let you before letting out a tired sigh, opening the door to see your precious idol looking up at you with his doe eyes, shadowed by his long lashes. If you looked any harder you’d be able to see his pupils widen when you entered the frame.

“Geez you need to start answering quicker, what if I was in a hurry or getting chased by paparazzi?” He smoothly delivers feigned worries with a whiny tone, inviting himself inside like he always does.

The sneaky minx of an idol even managed to convince you to hold up the couch while he purposefully bent over and pressed himself against you without you being able to view the not so innocent faces he made at your grunts from the weight of the furniture and his teasing.

“I just can’t find it, oh well” He slumps against the couch before you even fully set it down. You open your phone and go to call him, and as you’re doing so he stands up, wanting to look at what you were doing. He hears you dialing for someone, who on gods green earth was more important for you to be calling while he’s right infront of you??

“Who ya calling? Someone I know? Have I met them?” His questions go unanswered as he seems to stiffen when the two of you can both hear vibrating emitting from his pocket.

“Oh! It’s in my pocket, silly me” He wobbly smiles, he was so focused on you that he had forgotten to hide it somewhere. “Well, I guess my search is over, do you wanna watch a mov—“

“I’m okay, I was planning to enjoy my time off.. alone, you have a couple of brand posts you need to do, so I won’t keep you waiting ” You start walking to the door, to which he does not follow.

“No, I can do them later, let’s just watch a movie!” He insists, patting the space next to him, trying to bite back his frown. Did you not want to hangout with him? Was he being annoying? Ugh, so what if he was being annoying, you should entertaining it!!

“Akol—“

“Please? I just wanted to hang out with you today… without work n’ stuff” He mumbles, demeanor completely different from what was going through his mind. His hands are clasped in his lap as he squirms, looking down like a kicked puppy.

“Alright..” You quietly sigh, making sure your front door was locked before coming back to the couch, somehow immediately having your pretty little idol in your lap. He’s becoming more shameless by the minute.

He whispers a few thank you’s while facing you, wrapping his arms behind your neck as he sneaks his face between your shoulder and neck. He’s inhaling your scent, growing more aroused by the minute but he won’t dare to do anything. “Not yet” He repeats in his mind, but he breaks and can’t help but grind his lower half against yours.

“Manager…?” He says a little too breathlessly, capturing your attention away from the movie and at him, you pat his back, rubbing it softly as if he was a sick critter. “Yeah?”

“Can you help me, please? It’s so hot and.. I-I can’t focus, you’re too distracting” He whispers, lips almost touching your left ear, as he lifts his head to look at you, his eyes are clouded with lust, pupils almost in hearts.

His grinding only quickens when he notices that you’re trying to focus on the movie, he’s jealous, rightfully so, why aren’t you focusing on him? He’s perfectly playing his usual sweet idol act, it should work on you!

“I can’t do that. I’m not someone who should be touching you like that” You shake your head, placing your hands on his hips, making him shiver as if he was cold despite his body feeling on fire from your fingers pressing into his skin. You’re stimulating him with it but your words just make him want to bash his head.

“I don’t care if you should or shouldn’t be..! I trust you” A throaty whine leaves from his throat, lips quivering as he hardly needs time to get his eyes to water at the perfect moment. “It’s okay see?” He moves your hand on his chest, lifting his shirt so you could touch him bare. He cups your hand, making it squeeze around his perky nipple.

He growing more and more pathetic, and he knows it, he could care less. He doesn’t even care about what his fans would say if they found out about his crush on you, fuck his fans, he only wants you! He’d leave all of them if it meant that he could have you.

“You’re very sweet Akol, but you know I can’t, I would do it to help you but this is just going to start a bad habit” You sighs, taking your hand away much to his dismay, he’s about to reach for your hand again before you move him off your lap. Fuck. no, you’re supposed to be saying yes, you have to.

He internally panicked for a few moments, eyes flickering with worry before smashing his lips against yours, making it soft and passionate once you don’t try to pull away, his kisses are needy and insistent, just like him. He sneaks his hands under your shirt, hands squeezing your chest, slowly rubbing your sensitive nipples between his thumb and pointer.

“I won’t ask you for anything more? Just please entertain me this one time?” His voice is rough and raw, nothing alike compared to the chipper and sweet idol you usually witnessed, this was real.

“I promise I won’t ask again” His lies coax you to help the poor idol you deemed to be in need, despite never needing saving from his lust for you, if anything you were the one who needed it after he milks you dry.

#yxami’s yam #yandere #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #male yandere #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #tsundere yandere #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere idol #yandere idol x reader #yandere innocent idol

[taeyongdoyoung]

summary: your best friend brags complains that he can't get laid due to his huge dick posing a threat to random girls at parties, so you offer to fix his little big problem pairing: soobin x reader genre: smut, best friends to lovers warnings: explicit language, big dick soobin (canon event), size kink, foreplay, eating out, blowjob, hugging, fingering, size training, creampie, consensual intercourse, kissing, aftercare, allusions to death in a sexual context, lowkey possessive soobin at the end author's note: the killa is on my mind 24/7 and im down bad for soobin 25/8 🥵 so i had to get it out of my system somehow 🤷 word count: 2k

“You’re kidding, right?” you ask your best friend when he makes a rather shocking confession as the two of you are sitting in his bedroom after one of your usual anime marathons.

“I wish I was. But I would never lie to you,” Soobin responds truthfully. His big moist eyes look a 100% genuine but it still sounds so...bizarre.

“Let me get this straight…Every time you try to hook up with a girl at one of those parties Yeonjun keep dragging you to, you go to a room, eat them out like the generous, selfless guy you are, and then after you take off your pants, they get scared by your gigantic cock and refuse to have sex, running away in horror?”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to explain for the past 10 minutes, yeah,” Soobin confirms with a very adorable pout on his stupid face.

You shake your head in utter disbelief.

“I’m sorry but this is just ridiculous. Any girl would be happy to hook up with a guy that has a huge dick.”

“Well, I guess not any girl ‘cause this shit has happened three times already and I’m at my limit. Why can’t I just get laid?” Soobin bemoans his tragic destiny.

“No, I don’t get it. The least they could do is give you a quickie or something to return the favour. It’s so rude to just sprint away. I can’t believe your cock is that terrifying.”

“Ugh, please stop saying that. It’s so embarrassing,” Soobin covers his face behind his big hands. Hold on a minute…

“If what you’re saying is true, then I think it’s pretty hot. Those girls are surely missing out.”

“Or maybe they’re just looking after themselves. Like…I’m not mad at them for being spooked out, I just wish I could finally get some, you know?” Soobin sighs.

“Death by dick does seem appealing,” you shrug.

“Y/N!” he exclaims.

“Listen, what if I make you an offer? You prove to me that you weren’t exaggerating about your size and I promise I won’t run away and will take care of your…frustrations.”

“Are you seriously suggesting this?” Soobin freaks out. “This could ruin our friendship.”

“I won’t be weird about it, I swear. What do you say?”

“Fuck it. I’m so horny that this actually sounds like a good idea,” Soobin admits. “Can I eat you out first?”

“Erm, if you insist,” you reply, suddenly feeling nervous.

“I just wanna take care of you, make sure you’re all nice and wet for me,” Soobin explains patiently.

“You really don’t have to,” you reassure him.

“I know but it’d be awkward for me to just whip it out. Please?”

“Oh…okay,” you really can’t imagine saying no when he’s asking you so sweetly. God, what did you get yourself into?

Soobin takes off your leggings and panties in one swift movement and pushes you down gently on the bed so you are in a lying position. He spreads your thighs apart and looks at your pussy, already glistening with wetness caused by the conversation you’ve been having. Soobin smirks but doesn’t say anything about it. You’re grateful for that as he dives in, licking and kissing all over you. Fucking hell, if his tongue is capable of making you feel this way, you are slightly unnerved to find out what his cock can achieve. But unlike those girls at the parties, you are determined to never run away from your best friend.

Soon enough, you reach your high, overwhelmed by Soobin’s insane tongue movements and his big hands gripping your thighs. You need a few moments to gather your thoughts and when you are finally able to speak, those are the first words that leave your mouth:

“I think they fleed because you eat pussy like a starved animal. Seriously, what the hell was that?”

Soobin chuckles nervously and runs his fingers through his black hair, pushing it back and exposing his forehead for a bit.

“Trust me, it’s not that.”

“Prove it,” you challenge him even though you are fairly certain he’s telling the truth. Your best friend has never lied to you, so why start now?

Soobin takes off his pants, his hands are shaking and you immediately feel bad. You put your hand on his in an attempt to calm him down.

“Hey, you don’t have to if you feel uncomfortable.”

“I do want this, but after so many failed attempts, I’m so anxious…”

“I’m not going anywhere, Soobin,” you insist and squeeze his hand reassuringly.

His skin complexion looks slightly less pale and your words seem to give him the confidence he so desperately needs. Moment of truth. Soobin takes off his boxers and…Oh damn, he was not exaggerating. He’s not just big, he’s so huge a part of you wonders how is it humanly possible to carry such a weapon around and maintain the gentle, humble composure with which Soobin carries himself.

“You’re not running yet,” he jokes.

“Soob?”

“Y-yeah?” his voice cracks, he is obviously terrified of what you’re going to say.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, I finally get why these girls ran away.”

“Oh,” he sounds a little dejected, as if already expecting you to go back on your offer.

“But! That’s not gonna stop me. Just tell me what you want first and I’ll try my best to make you happy.”

“Huh?” Soobin is too flustered to process your words.

“My hands, my mouth, or my pussy, what do you want first?”

“You mean…you’re willing to give me all of them?” he blinks in shock.

This poor, precious boy. Did he really face disappointment so many times that he is now looking a gift horse in the mouth with such uncertainty?

“Just pick, Soobie, I promise I’ll give you anything you need.”

“Um…can you suck me off? Please?”

Gosh, he’s so adorable you want to eat him.

You nod a little too enthusiastically and go down on your knees, taking as much of his cock as you can. It’s a tight fit but what you can’t put inside your mouth you make up for by wrapping your hands around him. You suck and lick and touch him, eager to give him as much pleasure as he did you. Your beloved best friend has obviously been frustrated for a while now because it doesn’t take him long to cum inside your mouth. There is so much you can’t manage to swallow it all despite your valiant efforts and you see some of it falling down your cheeks. You wipe it off with a finger, sticking it into your mouth, grinning widely at Soobin.

“Fuck, you’re incredible. What…how…are you okay?”

He presses his big palm against your cheek and it takes a lot of self-control for you to not melt right there and then.

“I’m great. Did…did it feel good for you?” you ask sheepishly.

You’re not particularly confident about your skills but you genuinely did your best for him.

“Are you crazy? It felt insanely good,” Soobin takes your hand, lifting you up and wrapping his arms around you in a hug.

“I’m glad,” you respond, feeling safer and warmer than ever before in your life.

“Do…you still want to…you know?” Soobin asks.

“If you’re asking whether you can put your cock inside my pussy, then yeah, go for it. As long as it’s something you want, of course.”

You keep reminding him to only do things he’s completely okay with, because you would hate to put your best friend in a situation he doesn’t enjoy just because of your greed.

“I want you so bad, you have no idea. But I think I’ll need to stretch you out a bit, yeah?”

“O-okay,” you quickly agree and in no time, Soobin’s long fingers are inside of your pussy, going deeper than your own have ever been and making you feel things you never even dreamed about.

“How does it feel?” Soobin asks in concern.

“Heavenly,” you admit and just as you’re about to reach your second orgasm, Soobin’s fingers leave you.

“N-no, why’d you do that?” you whine frustratedly.

“Wanna feel you come around my cock.”

As it turns out, you'd like this just as much so you quickly forgive him for ruining your orgasm.

“I think I have a condom in my-“ Soobin starts but you cut him off.

“I’m taking a pill. And I believe we’re both clean, so…”

“You gon’ let me fuck you raw?” Soobin inquires, not wanting to make assumptions.

“Yeah, I trust you,” you reply with conviction.

“You’re a dream,” Soobin chuckles and nudges the head of his cock against your moist entrance. You brace yourself for some level of discomfort and are surprised that it doesn’t come right away. Soobin takes his sweet time getting inside you, making sure you’re okay.

“Fuck, Soob, you're so big,” you moan, already feeling overstimulated.

“This is just the tip, baby,” he explains shyly, which makes you lose your mind.

Soobin goes deeper very slowly, making you feel every inch, stretching you out bit by bit.

“How much more?” you ask somewhat impatiently.

“Just a little bit. Can’t help it that your pussy is so tiny,” he teases you.

“Not my fault your dick is so gigantic,” you bite right back.

“I promise, I'll try my best not to split you in half,” Soobin jokes, which does little to ease your worries, but at the same time only makes you wetter.

“Keep talking to me,” you plead for him.

“Does it hurt?” he wants to know, as he keeps entering you further.

“It’s a good kind of hurt,” you explain, wincing slightly.

Once you’ve gotten used to it, you signal to Soobin that he can start moving and he does just that, fucking into you with an impressive speed. You try to meet him halfway, lifting your hips up for him, melting into one.

“You’re taking it so well, my darling best friend,” Soobin praises you relentlessly.

“Anything for you, Soobie,” you cry out in sweet bliss.

“I’m close,” Soobin confesses soon enough.

“Fill me up,” you beg him, almost in a daze, deeply affected by his overpowering presence.

He doesn’t need to be asked twice and spills his seed inside of you. It feels so good that you cum with him, walls clenching around his enormous dick. Soobin leans down to kiss you, further blurring the lines between friendship and…whatever this is.

Then, he takes his cock out and you realize something far more terrifying than his intimidating size - you are falling in love with your best friend.

Soobin quickly brings a towel and a bottle of water, taking care of you like no one else before. You want to cry, touched by his sweetness and falling even further.

“How do you feel?” Soobin brushes a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I feel…like I'm on another planet,” you confess shakily.

Soobin chuckles, visibly relieved to hear that.

“You’re so cute,” he murmurs, enveloping you in a hug. His large frame towers over you and if it was anyone else, you’d probably feel slightly threatened. But this is Soobin, and even though he just fucked your brains out, you feel completely safe and protected. Safe enough to be honest about how you feel.

“I know I promised not to be weird about it but…I don’t think I can go back to being friends.”

Soobin pales for a moment, scared of losing you.

“Why not?” he blinks, barely restraining his tears.

“I wanna belong to you,” you try to ease his worries by openly saying what your heart and soul desire.

“Oh…But baby, you already do,” Soobin suddenly beams with excitement. “And I belong to you, too.”

“I think you killed me a little,” you laugh. “Killed my pussy with your big cock and ruined me for other men.”

Soobin raises an eyebrow.

“Bold of you to assume that I’d let other men near your pussy. You’re all mine now.”

The End

#txt #soobin #txt smut #txt hard thoughts #txt hard hours #size k!nk #soobin x reader #soobin smut #soobin hard thoughts #soobin hard hours #txt imagines #soobin imagines #writing

[junowritings]

What about romanced Astarion reacting to the normally goody-goody Tav revealing that they stole the special potion from Araj before they left. He discovers this because Tav gives it to him as soon as they are out of sight from the blood merchant.

Oh I absolutely love this idea. Though writing this made me realize I need to put Astarion in my party more often. Went off on a bit of a tangent but I do hope you enjoy~!

=======

♡ Oh, the things we do for love, ey?

♡ Astarion plays nice with others in the interest of survival, and he’s made no attempts to hide that fact from you since you had really begun to bond. You on the other hand are akin to a bleeding heart, all too often going out of your way to do what you thought was right even if it meant putting yourself in harm's way as a result. At the beginning that attitude seemed pitiful - he figured it would simply end up getting you killed later down the line. And yet you’d rise, time and time again making an example of the morals that you set and surviving every encounter stronger than before. Even if your morals didn’t always align, he respected that tenacity.

♡ Even after you’d managed to worm your way into his very heart, the pair of you have butted heads more than once on the matter; at the high and mighty goody two shoes act that you face the world with. All of the reminders about doing good deeds for the sake of being good, not stealing from just anyone nor going behind others backs rummaging through personal effects for answers or loot. Not to mention all of that time spent helping others and listening to their plights as though they were your own. Honestly, darling, you really do make things harder on yourself by playing into other people’s sob stories. 

♡ Astarion never suspected that the encounter at Moonrise tower could have changed anything.

♡ He’s uncharacteristically quiet as you leave the room together after dealing with Araj, but that’s because inside Astarion is absolutely seething. A familiar feeling of disgust he’d longed hoped to quash down burns a hole deep within his chest, opening old mental wounds as though freshly torn asunder upon his flesh. He’s mad at that damned drow; the way she looked down upon him, using honeyed words that he knew were a damn farce because for fucks sake he’d been using the same tactics for well over a century. That look, that calculated appraisal as Araj gauged what the vampire spawn could offer her in exchange for her potion made his skin crawl, all too familiar with the look that spoke volumes of his value - as a means to serve her own whims and not an actual person.

♡ And then, when he’d shown reluctance, she’d turned to you, as though you’d reign him in and get him to bend to your will like some fanged pet you kept on a tight leash. Far from the truth, of course, but the lack of autonomy that Astarion felt watching the pair of you converse about him as if he wasn’t even there had him clenching his teeth hard enough that the ache in his jaw persists long afterwards.

♡ There had been a swell of satisfaction when you put your foot down on the matter, nipping her demand in the bud with a firm reminder that he had already refused her request - there was no more to discuss. The drow had gotten bored after that, uninterested in further discussion with her own desires now off the table, and Astarion was all too happy to be out of there as you trailed a few paces behind.

♡ Astarion stands by his choice, but another part of him kicks himself for turning down the reward. A moment of discomfort, to give up a piece of himself for a potion that could prove invaluable was all it could have taken. He had done it before - done it for centuries to placate that vile beast he once served - why would this be any different? A transactional relationship, one that could have given you a leg up in the battles ahead, and he’d refused. 

♡ He’s still stewing in these thoughts when a nudge breaks him from his reverie, a gentle brush of your fingers against his hand as you move into step beside your partner. Your touch is warm yet he prickles as though he’s been burned, pupils akin to pinpricks as he looks at you from the corner of his eye. He’s measuring you, for a moment. Takes in the brow furrowed and questioning eyes - not pity, concern - trying to gauge how he’s feeling. It’s a discussion for later, so Astarion dons that usual placating smile and turns to you, fully prepared to pull a spiel about that whole conversation being a waste of your perfectly good time. And then he notices.

♡ His ears perk up at a noise, the gentle slosh of something moving. Crimson eyes dart down to the source, to the hand you’d touch him with. It’s not empty - no, fingers curl tight around the corded neck of a familiar glass green bottle, and your nudge this time is more insistent as you press the bottle into the palm of his hand, urging him to take it. You relinquish the bottle to his hold, pale hands taking the glass and stirring up the liquid inside as he brings it up to get a better look. Surely this isn’t…

♡ But then sure enough you smile, a mischievous twinkle in your eye that makes his own widen as you shrug.

♡ “For you. Figured she didn’t need it anymore; since she just left it lying out in the open and all.”.

♡ The laugh comes before Astarion can stop himself - loud and unabashed from the sheer absurdity of it all. You? Actually stealing something? And for him no less! And they say that romance is dead, yet here you are wooing him one stolen novelty at a time. 

♡Hells he hadn’t even noticed that you’d swiped the damned thing - had it been when you’d turned the blood merchant down? Or back when she’d had her sights set on him? He doesn’t care for the answer, not really. He’s more impressed that you pulled it off, but Astarion certainly doesn’t miss the irony of it all. His lovely partner, casting aside your usual goody nature in favor of stealing something and getting one up on the woman who’d disrespected your lover. As if he wasn’t fond enough of you already - this was just another lovely little reminder of the lengths you’d go for him.

♡ His smile for a moment is all teeth, shoulders still shaking with the last dregs of laughter - which damn if he didn’t need - as he brings his free arm to curl around your side. The kiss pressed to your cheek is quick, vibrating with the appreciative hum that passes the spawn’s lips when you lean a little into him. Once he pulls away Astarion keeps his free hand looped around your side, the other holding the bottle up and giving the contents a dramatic little shake to show off.

♡ Perhaps he’ll keep this as a little secret; or maybe he’ll spend the rest of that night flaunting this potion teasing you for your first act of casual thievery. Whatever the outcome it’s worth the grin he flashes you as he gives a conspiratory wink and declares.

♡ “Oh my dear. We’ll make a fine miscreant of you yet!”

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3 astarion #astarion #tav x astarion #astarion x reader #request #anon

[shebreathedherlast]

Daughter of the Sea

Part I

Done For

Luke Castellan x f!reader

Summary: You wanted glory but Luke already had it. You have no option but to take it from him.

Word Count 1.3k

TW: Violence, weapons, blood

. .・゜゜・・゜゜・．. ･ﾟﾟ･｡. .・゜゜・・゜゜・．. ･ﾟﾟ･｡. .・゜゜・.

Tearing through the forest your legs carried you as fast as you could go. This was the day. You needed this win. The wind flew through your hair as you ran. You were in enemy territory now, and that meant you had to be on high alert.

As an unclaimed half-blood you needed a way, anyway to prove your worth. And since camp offered glory you figured you might as well take it. You would've long ago if it wasn’t for Camp Half Blood’s designated golden boy, Luke Castellan. In your mind, he could be labelled by anything besides “the golden boy.” Luke was overwhelmingly competitive. He fought hard to earn the place of the “best swordsman at camp.” But even harder to keep it.

Living in close quarters with him for a little over a year, you had learned Luke’s best and worst qualities, and he did have many bad qualities.

For one Mr. Golden Boy, all but self-assumed the role of head counsellor. He just saw an opportunity for power and took it without question. When you thought about it, it did make sense. Luke wanted control because being a half-blood, a tool for the gods was all but a freeing life. You never had any say, no control, no power.

Luke might have enjoyed power, but you craved it in your very soul.

. .・゜゜・・゜゜・．. ･ﾟﾟ･｡. .・゜゜・・゜゜・．. ･ﾟﾟ･｡. .・゜゜・.

Your sword rang out with a clang when it met your opponent’s blade. You would earn glory, even if you had to claw it from between the fist of Luke himself.

With another swift blow, your opponent was down. Sprawled on the ground, trying to regain his breath. The boy, Chris, was supporting his body weight by placing his elbows on the ground beneath him. You had disarmed him and now you were holding your knife against his throat.

“They should call you the wraith, with the way you sneak up on people.” Chris said, a chuckle muffed by his inhale of breath.

“That sounds so extra.” You shiver, “Not my style.”

A voice flitted through the air behind you, “That sound’s like it’s exactly your style, Chaos.”

You groaned in annoyance. “I was supposed to hunt you down, Castellan, you took all the fun out of this.”

Luke rolled his eyes at you. He contended with a raise of his brows, “Well, it looks like I was the one who caught you by surprise.”

You laughed at that. Did Luke really believe he could sneak up on you? “I could hear you coming from a mile away with your loud footsteps. You’re about as subtle as an elephant, Castellan.”

By now Chris was shifting his weight to get up. Noticing this, you pulled a knife from your boot and threw it in his direction. Chris froze, knife pinning his shirt to the ground.

“Stay down Chris.” Was all you said before turning your attention back to the boy in front of you. Christ obeyed, not moving an inch, in fear that your patience would wear thin. After all Luke could handle himself right? It wasn’t a hidden fact that for the better part of an entire year, you had been on the hunt for glory… specifically, the same glory that made Luke Castellan the camp-proclaimed “Golden Boy.”

“I’m going to enjoy humbling you, chaos.”

You scoffed, “In your dreams Castellan.”

And with that, your weapons clashed. Metal against metal, blade against blade. You had sparred with Luke many times before, he claimed you were the only one who could actually “put up a fight.” Every other time Luke had bested you. Your fights would last hours on end, each of you refusing to let the other assume victory. But, he always had this ability to fight without emotion. Anger never made him sloppy. You on the other hand. You used your anguish and pain to fuel you. It was both a blessing and a curse. You had the drive to fight till the end, but your rage could make you careless. Not today. You would keep your head on this time. You would win glory, one way or another.

He had his sword pointed to your chest, in response you raised your knives to push against his blade. You spun out of his reach and delivered a kick from behind. Luke stumbled forward as he tried to regain his stance. You wasted no time in lightly sinking your blade into his bicep. He hissed in pain.

“Chaos,” Luke groaned at the painful contact of your knife.

You snickered, “Ready to give up Castellan?”

He faced you head-on this time, “Never.”

Luke brought down his sword with such force, you thought the ground might have trembled. You held your daggers against his sword, preventing the weapon from piercing your skin. But he was stronger than you. Your arms weakened and he saw this as an opportunity to push down harder. Realizing this, you attempted to evade the sword, tumbling to your side, but the blade cut the flesh of your shoulder. Blood seeped out from the wound, coating your orange camp shirt in a deep crimson.

You drew a sharp breath, instinctively pressing your hand to the injury.

“That was way deeper than the nick I gave you.” You said through gritted teeth.

A brief look of concern filled Luke’s eyes before they glassed over with a dim look. His eyes darkened when he remembered that you wanted his glory.

“Get up and fight me, Chaos. Don’t you want my glory?” He taunted.

Your hand slid from your wound, readjusting the blades in your hands. “I will have your glory, Castellan, even if I have to kill myself trying.”

Luke’s eyes drank in your appearance. Eyes wild, hair falling from your ponytail. Knives in your grasp. And the determination radiating off you. This time was different from almost every other. You were determined to beat him, and loss wasn’t even a possibility. You and Luke always fought, both with blades and with words. And though he tried, he couldn’t deny that he started to find your anger increasingly more…attractive.

You swept his legs from under him, fighting for dominance as you straddled his waist. He wrested you off his frame as you grabbed his arm with the sword. You shifted your weight on his body as you reached for Luke’s sword. And at this, you could’ve sworn you had heard him inhale sharply.

Luke finally managed to push you off of him. He stood, holding his sword to your throat. The prospect of glory was fleeing from you and you would not accept it. You needed it, you craved it. With one last effort, you dropped your weapons, placing your hands on the belly and top of the sword. Luke stood fixed, too bewildered to calculate his next movements. The metal dug into your palms as you twisted your arms, disarming Luke in his confusion. You elbowed him in the shoulder, hearing a pristine popping noise before tackling him to the ground and pressing your forearm to his throat.

“Yield.” You spoke, breathlessly.

Luke simply nodded, seeing as he was defenceless and now his limbs were rendered useless.

A victorious smile reached your lips. You lifted your body off of his and reached the blue flag. Taking it in your bloody hands you ran to the boarder of the teams, firmly placing it on the soil of the read team.

Your fellow teammates let out a victorious yell. Even the conceited ares champion, Clarisse gave you a nod of approval. Near the lake a halo blue tridant appeared over your head, claiming you as Poseidon's child. You had achieved much more than glory. You had been seen by your father. After over a year of trying to earn your godly parent's favor, you had finally given your father something to be proud of.

As Luke and Chris walked back from their assigned station, they could see the glorious smirk that painted your features.

Yes, after that encounter Luke Castellan was definitely done for.

----

A/n This will become a series.

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #pjo #pjo tv show #percy jackon and the olympians #percy series #luke castellan smut #percyjackson #rick riordan #charlie bushnell #walker scobell #x reader #reader insert #pjo series #f!reader #daughter of the sea

[undiscovered-horizon]

Return to sender - Kaz Brekker x Reader

[graphic descriptions of violence/injury]

SUMMARY: Someone from your past keeps sending you unambiguously romantic letters. While you think of them as nothing beyond an inconvenience, Kaz has a different opinion.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.9k

A/N: I'm going through the first editorial correction for my novel and as it turns out, I can't speak my own mother tongue lmao

Kaz has an eye for details. Whether it’s a pattern or an overlooked design, he always notices. That set of skills, either he learned them or was born with them, made it painfully obvious to him that your foul mood coincided with correspondence he never saw you actually read. The letter usually ends up in the nearest fireplace, its secrets never uncovered and you maunder around the club looking for a fight or a strong drink. A much bigger problem, however, was the fact that if you were in a sour mood, Kaz would become exceptionally chippy without an apparent cause. ‘Care for my investment’ he calls it, which makes a rather amusing euphemism.

In any event, he knows that the letter should arrive today. Exactly seven weeks had passed since the last time some mysterious correspondence pissed you off and the sender, as far as Kaz has noticed, is like clockwork. Strangely enough, he can’t recall a day when the letter should arrive that you’d come to the club already annoyed as though he has become privy to a rather obvious pattern that you remain oblivious to. If so, he has even more advantage - he can solve this inconvenience behind your back, in case you’d try to dismiss him. He wouldn’t listen anyway, of course. Not when it comes to you.

Knowing very well that you have a habit of arriving shortly after Inej, he’s quick to find the thief before you even get a chance of catching wind of his scheme. She’s fixing her clothes when she spots him hastily limping towards her with his face turned nearly into a snarl. A hand brushes through his hair. He’s agitated. But Inej knows better than to make the first move against the unmovable mountain. Kaz sought her out, after all, and if he means business, he won’t waste time.

And he does just as she thought. Speaking in a low tone, Kaz makes her part of his conspiracy: “Inej, I need you to do something but no one else can know. Someone will deliver a letter today. Follow them and find out as much as you can,” his voice is stern, not accepting refusal. The matter appears urgent, of utter importance.

Her keen gaze studies his face for a moment, looking for any way even the slightest tick of muscles could reveal a further piece of the mystery she isn’t yet privy to. “Is this about the new job we’re doing?” She elegantly manoeuvres around the subject.

Kaz knows what she’s trying to do. He clenches his jaw and gives her a blank, although somewhat impatient, look before slowly answering: “It’s rather loosely related.”

This is enough to put her curiosity on hold - for now, at least. The unmovable mountain remains, well, unmovable. Inej nods. “I’m on it.”

The moment she ends her sentence, the door to the club opens with a creek echoing through the otherwise empty venue, immediately earning the undivided attention of Kaz and Inej. The sound of heels against the wooden floor is unmistakable as is the fitting, rather short, coat. Inej smiles, stifling laughter as she notices Kaz immediately straightening his back when he sees you.

There’s a certain spring to your step, one that Kaz has learned to associate with complacency. Although this joyous aura is making his mind turn into quicksand swallowing anything coherent, he’s got enough grip on his thoughts to render his theory proved - you really do not have any idea that the letters come regularly. 

With a triumphant grin, you wave a scroll in his face. “I had a hunch and did some browsing at the city archives. You’re going to love it.”

Inej is gone and the only thing Kaz can do at the moment is wait along with trying his best not to think about this mail fiasco. But considering you’ll spend the entire day a mere inch or two away from him, he’s hardly going to do much thinking anyway. 

“Let’s see it then,” Kaz interposes before turning around and walking back to his office. 

Making his way to Brekker’s office, Jesper examined the expensive stationery from every side and angle. No matter the perspective, the cursive letters on the front still spell out your name. Truthfully, he does that every time you receive mail, mainly because of how little you talk about the possible sender. There’s always a huff, an eye-roll and the envelope ends up turned into ashes, without any further explanation. You become short-tempered for the rest of the day and go ballistic on anyone trying to inquire about the mysterious correspondence. As much entertainment as it usually brings Jesper, he’s smart enough to know when to stop poking the bear.

Jesper knocks on the door but opens them right after - announcing his arrival rather than asking for permission to enter. 

“...smuggling through the sewers.” He hears you finishing your sentence.

Both you and Kaz simultaneously tear away your gaze from the maps scattered on the table and bore your eyes into Jesper with anticipation. He lifts the letter, wriggling his wrist slightly, and immediately your expression falls. You clench your fist. A contemptuous grimace creeps onto your face.

“Letter for you,” he announces.

“By the Saints, not this again,” you whisper and roll your eyes.

“What do you mean again?” Jesper asks casually, half expecting you to break his hand and half hoping for an answer. Today, as it turns out, is his lucky day.

“A friend once convinced me to go to some socialite high tea with her. I met someone there, we wrote to each other a few times and then he started to be obnoxious, the whole ‘woe is me’ lark.” The memory must still be vivid to you as you let out an annoyed sigh. “He claimed he can’t live without me while never spelling my name correctly. But since I value myself a little too much to waste my time on pity parties, I simply stopped replying. The last letter I sent him, I don’t know, three years ago? And he just keeps coming back.” You clench your jaw, clearly stopping yourself from a string of profanities considered obscene even in this company.

Jesper puts on a playful grin. “You know, you never struck me as someone who’d have a secret admirer.”

Your irritated gaze makes him equally amused and nervous. “He’s not exactly secret, is he? More of a returning cockroach infestation. Worry not, boys, I’ll just burn this one like the rest and we can all forget about this little perplexity.”

“Come on, you’re not even a little bit curious about what’s inside?” Jesper coaxes as he hands you the letter.

“Believe me when I tell you that I don’t give a rat’s bald ass about this man and his pathetic wax poetic.” You snatch the envelope, all the while looking at your friend with squinted, piercing eyes. Considering who you are, a complete lack of curiosity whatsoever might as well be a symptom of a lethal disease.

In that short moment, when the stationery goes from Jesper’s hand into yours, Kaz watches the letter as closely as he can. Smooth paper, probably expensive. Careful lettering, written with patience and thoughtfulness. An aroma of mint and tobacco lingers on the parchment. The stamp has the current date on it and the postal code is only a few numbers away from the club’s - whoever sent it is in Ketterdam and quite close by.

Kaz makes those little observations just in time because you throw the letter into the fireplace behind him, without even glancing at the paper. The flames grow for a few seconds, devouring the dry stationery. Soon, there’s no evidence that any mail has been delivered to you on this day.

“Now, where were we?” You clap your hands. “Ah, sewers.” Jesper takes the change of subject as his cue to leave but you stop him right when he pushes down the door handle. “Oh, and Jesper? If you tell Inej, I’m ripping your arm off and beating you to death with it.”

He looks at you over his shoulder, a newfound sense of anxiety turning his vivid amusement into somewhat tame courtesy, leaving his smile unfaltering but tearing away the genuine joy behind it. “I will keep this enlightening piece of advice in mind, thank you.”

The door clicks as Jesper closes it behind himself. Returning to your previous engagement, you stumble upon Brekker’s stern gaze of disapproval. 

“Do not maim my investments.” Although it’s supposed to be a scolding or a threat, it comes out with a certain note of disinterest.

“Don’t try playing all nice, Kaz. You and I both know you’d watch for like ten minutes before stepping in.”

His gloved finger taps the map. “Sewers.” 

You mumble something along the lines of ‘yes, sir’ and pick up the single-handed divider again. Kaz examines your face out of the corner of his eye. Judging by your casual demeanour, the palm’s length between your heads is of no bother to you. Maybe you’re just too busy counting the segments with the divider. When you’re done, you reach for the other side of the desk, for a moment leaving broody Kaz to the, surprisingly cold, lukewarm air filling the room.

This day just can’t seem to end for Burr Lowther. First, he had to take his regular trip into the filth of the Barrel, he shudders at the memory, only to then spend another ten hours at the sewing workshop. Being a foreman pays exceptionally well and perhaps this is the only reason he’s still putting up with those lazy needlewomen. 

Putting his well-kept coat on the hanger by the front door, Burr lets out a sigh of relief - compared to the factory, his house is a quiet oasis. He remembers to take out a pouch and a box of expensive cigars from his coat. Without much thinking, he opens the small bag and puts another leaf of mint between his teeth. What started first as an addition to his personal hygiene, has quickly become a habit impossible to kill. Now used to the strong, chilly sensation on his tongue, he’s grown to like it. 

The house is drowning in darkness. Dim, yellow light from the streetlamps crawling in through the windows is barely enough to let him make his way around the furniture. Foreman Lowther is yet to start the fire in his living room but he needs to be quick - if he stalls too long his joints will begin to hurt. Even with laudanum, the ache is bound to keep him up for hours and that’s something he can’t afford. But first, he needs some light to be able to get the necessary things.

Chewing on the herb, Burr walks to the table across the room from the fireplace. He puts the new box of cigars down and begins looking for something to light the oil lamp. Once he blindly finds a box of matches, his muscle memory does most of the job - he’s lit up the lamp far too many times to think about the actions. In swift, mechanical motions, Burr takes off the chimney, lights the wick and puts the glass part back on. The fire brightens the rest of the table, reminding the foreman that he forgot to put away the made-to-order McKinnon & Co. stationery. He pushes the paper farther away from the lamp, just in case.

Burr’s knees make a cracking noise when he crouches in front of the fireplace. Carefully, he lights a match and puts it between logs and old newspapers. The fire smoulders for a moment, balancing between starting and being put out, before a bigger flame begins gnawing at the dry wood and paper. 

Foreman Lowther is about to stand up when something hits the side of his head, making his face clash with the seat of a nearby armchair. Scurrying and turning around, he sees an outline of a man, looking more like a feverish mare of the night than a real human. He’s thin and tall, dressed rather elegantly. The model crow on his cane glistens in the newly started fire.

“Who are you?” Burr’s voice cracks, giving away his panic.

“A scorned businessman, Burr Lowther,” Kaz explains slowly.

The foreman climbs backwards into the armchair. It’s difficult to look imposing while sitting beside a fireplace but his fear is far too severe to let the man stand on his own two feet.

“I’ve no business with you!” he yells. A few droplets of spit fly out of his mouth. “Get out!” Burr’s shaky hand points vaguely in the direction of the front door but Kaz, as it seems, is not going anywhere just yet.

In slow steps, Kaz gets closer to Burr, the difference in height painting him even more menacing. Lowther’s hand falls limp on a small table meant for trays with food.

“Perhaps you don’t. But I have plenty with you.”

Before foreman Lowther can ask another question, Brekker drives a sharp blade through the man’s palm, pinning it to the wooden counter. A howl of pain cuts through the night, scaring away the birds sitting outside the windows. Thick, crimson blood spills from the wound, falling to the floor in long drops. The fireplace’s flame glistens in the growing puddle, the reflection dances in morbid anticipation.

Kaz walks over to the table with the oil lamp. The first thing that catches his eye is the ivory paper. Somehow, he stifles the visceral reaction it elicits from him. Grabbing the wad of stationery, he folds it a few times and puts it in the inner pocket of his coat. Then his gaze trails towards the wooden box of cigars. The name of the company, Starling, is burned in cursive lettering on the front. In a swift movement, Kaz slides the package open, knowing exactly what he’s going to find inside - a cigar cutter. For people who can afford Starling tobacco products, it definitely doesn’t befit to chew off the end.

Firelight cascades off the metal cutter when Kaz turns back towards Burr. The man’s eyes widen in panic, recognizing the sharp device put against him.

“No, sir,” Burr begs with a frantic shake of his head. “Oh, Saints, please, no! Don’t! I’m begging you, sir! Please, please! No, please!”

Brekker’s face doesn’t change its indifferent expression. The pleading is not putting him off, never faltering his already-made decision. Perhaps, if it isn’t too morbid to consider, he’s enjoying having someone at his mercy. The cigar cutter clicks quietly as Kaz closes it a few times to check the state of the mechanism.

Kaz makes his way back to the foreman. Casually, he puts his cane against the table but away from the nailed palm, careful not to get it dirty. Then, he snatches Burr’s other hand, the swiftness diminishing all doubts that he’s inexperienced in bringing suffering.

“You have laid your hands on something that isn’t yours, Lowther,” Brekker explains as he forces one of the man’s fingers through the cutter’s opening. “Now you must pay for it.”

A muscle in his face ticks as he presses the cigar cutter. Burr howls in agony, tears streaming down his face. The finger falls to the floor with a wet slap as blood begins to pour. The white tip of the bone sticks out from the pulsating flesh, glistening in the warm, dim light of the burning fireplace.

In a feverish delirium, Lowther mumbles something under his nose, the string of incomprehensible words sometimes interrupted by sobs. Kaz can understand only two things from the ramblings of a madman: ‘wench’ and ‘reply’. Scarce information but he hardly needs more.

“Wench?” he repeats in a low voice.

With a snap of his wrist, Kaz twists the knife still residing in the man’s hand. A bone cracks. But there’s no scream this time - not an ounce of strength left in the victim. Lonely tears stream down his grey face, mixing with cold sweat as he blankly stares ahead. A gloved hand yanks his head back by the hair, forcing delirious Burr to look into Brekker’s eyes. They look darker than they should, clouded with something far too horrible to be considered human.

“Not only did you lay your filthy hands on something of mine,” Kaz’s voice is low enough to resemble a growl as though something carnal inside him has finally woken from its slumber, “but you also dare insult her.”

Burr makes a strange guttural noise, something between a gag reflex and a murmur, as another one of his fingers is cut off. Considering his vacant expression, it’s hard to say whether his consciousness even registered the loss.

Kaz tosses away the cigar cutter. It clutters and clicks falling in the largely unknown corner of the room. Reaching inside his coat, he pulls out the folded stationery. Pressing tightly on Burr’s cheeks, he forces the man’s mouth open.

“I don’t think you will be needing this anymore.”

Even if foreman Lowther was in his right mind at the moment, there wouldn’t be much he could do to prevent Kaz from shoving the dry paper down his throat. A match, a spark, a smoulder - the ivory stationery is burning inside Burr’s mouth.

Leaving Burr Lowther to his own devices, Kaz Brekker leaves the house, joining the otherwise grey and indifferent citizens of Ketterdam. The sunrise is just a few hours away. He’s making his way back to the club, uninterrupted and unbothered, to enjoy another day of your hardly divided attention.

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker fanfiction #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker imagine #six of crows #shadow and bone #six of crows x reader #six of crows x you #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone x you #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone imagine #six of crows fanfiction #six of crows fanfic #six of crows imagine

[lazycats-stuff]

PLEASEEEE DO A PART TWO TO THE ORPHAN READER MAYBE THEY GET COMFY WITH THE FAM AND THERES TIMES WHERE THEY SHOW IT?? and their reactions too? And at the end they accidentally says they're the best robin and the bat bros + bruce tease them!! if u can do this tysm!! (Sorry 4 caps i just loved that story!)

I was planning a part 2, no worries. All right, time to get to writing. Famous last word of the author who will procrastinate... Oops. Also, people who didn't read the first part, they can read it here: PART 1

Summary: (Y/N) is slowly getting more comfortable with his new family. The others are happy.

Warnings: fluff, (Y/N) thinking about his new life, teasing.

Quick note, this GIF is too adorable to not put here...

It has been a month since (Y/N) came to live with the Waynes. It was a difficult adjustment for (Y/N). After spending years on the Gotham streets, it wasn't easy to adjust to a warm room, a comfortable bed or 3 regular meals a day.

He also didn't like that he had to go to school. He preferred to learn on his own, it was much more better. But Bruce left him no choice. Bruce used his suit as leverage, using the threat of taking it.

(Y/N) disliked him even more due to the threat.

(Y/N) sighed as he walked down the school corridors, adjusting the straps of his bag. He was really going to escape one day. He thought about escaping often, but Bruce made sure that the house was secure like Pentagon. No out.

He was walking to his biology class, just ready to end the day. And he was hoping that he would avoid Damian, who disliked him. Even after a month of living with them, Damian still didn't tolerate him and would be set off by anything that (Y/N) did.

(Y/N) could only hope that he didn't have biology with Damian. He would rather shoot himself then sharing this class. He was avoiding Damian in school like a plague.

For a moment he thought about the other members of the family. Tim was the only one that (Y/N) could come to talk to. If one had a question, they would go ask another one. But he was still iffy around Tim, not knowing if he can trust him just yet.

Dick? Well, (Y/N) found him annoying with how much he was trying to welcome him into the family and into the home. But at least Dick was trying.

Jason was not welcoming towards (Y/N), but didn't fight with him like Damian. He just stayed out of (Y/N)'s way.

And Bruce? Well, he tried his best to get closer to (Y/N), but (Y/N) refused to open up to him. He can't expect (Y/N) to open up when Bruce adopted him by force.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Damian, but he ignored him, turning his head completely.

" (Y/N) can you come and help me? " Tim asked him, popping his head into his room. (Y/N) lifted his head from his sketch book, sketching a new version of his bites.

" With what? " (Y/N) asked from the bed.

" It's a case, I'm just stumped. " Tim explained, scratching the back of his neck, clearly not wanting to admit the defeat.

" Sure, why not. " (Y/N) said, putting the sketchbook down and standing from the bed. He followed Tim to the cave. It seems like Tim was tired from the case itself.

" What is the case about? " (Y/N) asked.

" It's a murder case, my guess Professor Pyg, but I can't prove it. It's just... This case is so annoying. " Tim said, entering the cave.

(Y/N) didn't like the cave very much. It brought the memory of being brought here and (Y/N) didn't want to remember the night that changed his life. For the better or for worse? He still didn't know.

Tim pulled two chairs and (Y/N) sat down next to him, looking up at the big screen of the computer. Tim pulled up everything he had.

" So what is bothering you about this? " (Y/N) asked.

" Well, Professor Pyg was in Arkham, but he escaped, but there was a string of murders before hand. It seems like he was in Arkham and killing in the city at the same time. " Tim explained.

" Okay, well, it seems like he has a helper. Did you look into who spends the most time with him in Arkham? " (Y/N) asked Tim, now realizing that the others were in the cave too.

Shit.

" I didn't, but I will look into it. Thanks. Oh wait, I figured out the problem with the bites you said you had. " Tim said, giving him a few pieces of paper.

" You did? Thanks. " (Y/N) thanked Tim, moving to walk back upstairs, passing right past the others without a word. Bruce watched him walk off. He had a plan to get closer to (Y/N).

" I think that (Y/N) might be right about this. " Tim said, biting his nail.

" Good. " Bruce said, moving closer to the screen.

" Did you talk to (Y/N) about the internship at Wayne Enterprises? " Tim asked Bruce, looking at him.

" I will talk to him tonight after dinner before we go to patrol tonight. "

Tim nodded, turning his head back to look at the screen.

And after dinner, after (Y/N) went upstairs to his room, Bruce went after him, knocking on the door. He opened the door after her heard a faint come in.

Bruce entered the room, closing the door behind himself. (Y/N) was sitting at his desk, books open all over the desk.

" Are you busy? " Bruce asked, trying to ease the tension.

" At the moment no. " (Y/N) said dryly, turning in his chair to face Bruce. Bruce noticed how tense (Y/N) was and he hoped that this idea would work. He wanted (Y/N) to be comfortable with him and he knew that it would take time.

" So, I have an idea and you can say yes or no to it. " Bruce started, sitting down at (Y/N)'s bed. " I know you love to work on your suit, but I feel like there is more to your intelligence, so I talked to Lucius Fox, one of my trusted friends. He is the one who is responsible for making our suits. " Bruce stopped for a moment, watching (Y/N)'s reaction. He is interested, good.

" I talked to him about you helping him out as an intern. And you will be paid for your work. " Bruce said, making (Y/N) stand up from the chair in excitement.

" Really?! " (Y/N) asked, just shaking with excitement.

" Yes. I thought about you going everyday after school, but for a few hours. I can't forget about your school. " Bruce said and (Y/N) just flew into his arms into a hug.

When (Y/N) stopped hugging Bruce, already composed. He always dreamt of working in such a lab.

" And the money would be mine? " (Y/N) asked, liking the idea of earning his own money.

" Yes, you would have your own account and that is just yours. " Bruce said, happy to see that (Y/N) was happy.

" Thank you Bruce. " (Y/N) said, moving to sit back at the chair.

" No need to thank me. I saw how you don't really like being in school and the fact that you don't go out on patrol anymore, I thought that it would be nice to let you get out sometime. " Bruce said, suppressing a smile.

Everyone in the house could see the change in (Y/N)'s demeanor. He was happier since he started his internship and more so, he got more comfortable with Bruce. And Lucius was an amazing teacher and a mentor. And Bruce was definitely happier knowing that (Y/N) was more comfortable with him.

While (Y/N) was more comfortable with Bruce and Tim, the other three weren't so lucky. They didn't want to look like they didn't want (Y/N) here, but still, there was still some resentment towards him for taking their missions.

Jason came home from patrol, stressed out from the criminals and the lack of leads for a case. He had a plan. Take a shower and go on the roof to smoke.

Important note, be alone.

Jason took a quick shower then took his pack of cigarettes. He opened the window and climbed onto the roof. Jason shared a wall with (Y/N)'s room so he was and wasn't shocked when he saw (Y/N) sitting on the roof.

Jason noticed how tense he got when he saw him and simply put his cigarette in his mouth to raise his hands, to show that there is nothing to be tense about.

" Don't worry, I just came to smoke here. I had a rough night. " Jason said, taking a lighter and lighting up his cigarette. He took a long drag before letting the smoke out.

" What is bothering you? " He asked, letting the smoke out.

" It's nothing. " (Y/N) said, waving Jason off.

" Are you sure? I know we aren't close, but you can tell me. I won't tell Bruce. " Jason said, shocking himself with his statement. Since when did he care?

" Promise me that you won't tell Bruce? " (Y/N) asked.

" Promise. " Jason said. " You smoke? "

" No, I don't. " (Y/N) said, taking a deep breath.

" I just miss going out on patrol and I just miss my old life. " (Y/N) admitted to Jason, who nodded.

" I mean, it's nice to have 3 meals a day and a home, but all I knew all my life are the streets of Gotham. It's difficult to just switch your mindset. "

Jason took a drag, before letting his smoke out. " You know, I had the same problem when I first came here. I didn't really live on the streets, but I was close to. Bruce saved me and it was difficult for me to adjust too. " Jason admitted to (Y/N).

(Y/N) just raised his brow, maybe shocked to hear Jason's confession. But it felt nice knowing that he wasn't the only one who has felt the way he has. After going back into his room, Jason smiled at himself. (Y/N) got more comfortable with him...

Alfred asked Dick to pick up (Y/N) from his internship, since he couldn't make it. Dick didn't mind picking up his younger brother, in fact it meant that they could spend more time together. Usually Bruce would drop him off at home when he was done with work, but he had more work today.

Dick parked his car just when (Y/N) came out of the building. He waived him over and (Y/N) sped up to the car. He sat in the front, putting his bag down onto the car floor and putting his seatbelt on.

" How was your day? " Dick asked, driving to a cafe that he knew (Y/N) would love.

" It was fine. " (Y/N) said.

" What did you work on today? "

" Just some minor improvements for the suits and something for the company, just to keep up the façade. " (Y/N) said vaguely.

" That's nice. "

" Where are we going? " (Y/N) asked, noticing that they weren't going to the manor.

" You and I are going to hang out today. " Dick said, with a far too much of a cheerful voice than (Y/N) would have liked.

" Great. " (Y/N) said dryly, clearly not happy with the idea.

" Don't be so negative Jinx. We are going to go to a cafe to get some drinks. "

(Y/N) didn't know why they would do that, but he has no choice. he doesn't want to walk back home.

" Don't be so negative about it. You will like it. " Dick said, finding a spot. He turned off the car and both of them stepped out. Dick led them into the quiet cafe and they both order coffees. They sat down, waiting for their drinks.

" I heard a rumor that you miss going on patrol. " Dick said, taking a sip of his coffee.

(Y/N) remembered the talk with Jason. Did he spill? " Who told you that? " (Y/N) asked, tilting his head.

" Nobody, I'm just messing with you. I can see it in your eyes. " Dick admitted, seeing the relief in his eyes. Jason definitely told Dick, but threatened his if he told anything to (Y/N) about his involement.

" I do miss it... It was way more free than now. "

" What if I tell you that Bruce wants you to go? " Dick said, bringing his mug to his lips.

" What? " (Y/N) asked, now completely shocked. What is Dick talking about?

" He told me that he is sure that you will like to be back on patrol. He saw how you miss it and since you have been here long enough for Bruce to trust you, then he said you are allowed to go. " Dick said, reaching for his pocket. There was the USB he handed out to (Y/N).

" I know you were working on a case when we... Took you in. So, I took it upon myself to investigate it. Here is everything I have collected. " Dick said, nodding to (Y/N) who was hesitant to take it.

" I know you are still hesitant, but I just want you too feel comfortable with me. " Dick said, watching (Y/N) sip his coffee.

" Well, it's not easy to get comfortable with the people that forced this on you. " (Y/N) said, tapping his fingers against the wooden table.

" I know, but it's better than you living on the streets. " Dick said, fixing his jacket.

" You are right about that, but I had fun on the streets. There wasn't a set of rules... "

" But there was a struggle. " Dick said, saving themselves an argument.

" Yeah, but still. " (Y/N) said, shrugging his shoulders.

And that same night, Jinx was officially back on the Gotham scene. It was obvious to all of them that patrol was something to bring out the old (Y/N) and not the new withdrawn (Y/N).

Bruce had to say, (Y/N) listened to them and let them know where he was and he listened to the orders and plans. He was paired with Damian. On tonight's agenda was destroying Penguin's weapons cache.

" Alright everyone, lets go. Watch out for the henchmen. " Batman said through the comms.

Everyone let out noises of agreement and on they went. Robin and Jinx moved swiftly and quietly, taking everyone out quietly. They didn't talk, they just moved around like shadows.

After a while, they met in the center of the building, looking at the weapons piled up here. There was enough to start a civil war in the city and probably the tristate area.

" Okay, even I don't need this much weapons. " Jason said, looking at the caches, whistling afterwards.

" Lets just destroy it and go home. " Jinx said, looking into his belt for explosives.

" Hang on, if we can put them into those vaults and in the process destroy the money..." Dick started, pointing at the vaults with his baton.

" That's not a bad idea. " Batman said, ready to push, but the doors closed and locked.

It was Penguin sending his goons in to kill them. All of them jumped into fight mode, each of them holding their own. During the fight, Jinx saw a goon pulling out a gun. It was pointed and Damian and Jinx didn't think before jumping in front of it, protecting Damian from the shot.

Damian was shocked to find that (Y/N) was shot because he was protecting him. None the less, they finished fighting and went straight to the cave. Bruce drove like a maniac, every single second precious to them when it came to being shot. They had notified Alfred to get the medical wing ready.

After coming to the cave and Alfred taking over the medical for (Y/N), everyone was silent. Damian didn't know what to say. It was weird and incomprehensible to him why would (Y/N) do that for him. They changed into their pajamas, just waiting for Alfred to come out with good news.

After what seemed like an eternity, Alfred came out, giving them those good news.

" He is going to be fine gentlemen. I will spend the night here just in case. You can go up and sleep it off. "

That same day, more precisely morning, they all came into the medical wing of the cave, waiting for (Y/N) to wake up. They were all anxious, watching like hawks.

After a while, (Y/N)'s eyes opened and everyone was silent. " Look, it's the best Robin. " (Y/N) giggled, pointing at Damian. Jason had to step out to let out a laugh. Bruce looked up to at the ceiling, wondering why did he adopt him.

Dick coughed, covering the snort that came out. (Y/N) is going to get teased relentlessly for the next couple of months.

Tim was shocked that it wasn't him. He felt slightly betrayed.

And Damian was outright shocked, which doesn't happen often. Holy shit. He was going to use this piece of information at every opportunity possible.

(Y/N) giggled and got quiet again. (Y/N) was okay and he was going to fit in with them.

#dc x male reader #dc comics #x male reader #batfamily #bruce wayne x male reader #jason todd x male reader #damian x male reader #batkids #dick grayson x male reader #tim drake x male reader

[mafesti]

In sickness and in health, remember?

Pairing(s): John Price x GN! Reader Summary: Your husband gets sick and he doesn't want to admit it. Luckily, you're there to help him, even though he's being stubborn about it. Word Count: 5158 (?) Warning(s): None, pure fluff A/N: I'm sorry if it's bad or short, or anything else in the matter :( I'm still new to this fan fiction stuff (as in my first blown one-shot that I didn't abandon), and English isn't my first language too. But please enjoy! I'm sorry once again if there's potentially any other fanfics like this, I have no means to copy them. 🫶

⋆ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

You and your dear husband, John, have been married together for 4 years, and it has been a truly beautiful relationship for both of you. Although you have always noticed that John tends to get sick from time to time, especially when he's getting older (don't say that to him though, or he'll be terribly mad at you).

But this time was different.

You noticed that he was hiding something from you, most likely because he didn't want to worry you (even though you were already worried and soon-to-be developing a mild heart attack for him whenever he was out for deployment anyways).

You walked into your shared room, deciding not to knock, just this once. Noticing your presence, he looks up from his stack of never ending paperwork that was on his table.

"Love, what did I say to you about knocking?" He tried to answer you in his typical, gruff voice, but you knew him well enough to notice a hint of exhaustion behind those words.

His face was pale, and his breath seemed shallow. You could tell something was wrong.

"John, are you alright?" You ask with a frown on your face.

"No, I'm perfectly fine!" he said, refusing to admit anything. "I'm just a little tired, that's all," he added, hoping you'd let it go.

But you knew him too well even before marriage, and you knew something was seriously wrong with him.

"No, John, you look like you're about to pass out. You look sick since when? Yesterday? You're way beyond 'just tired," you argued back.

"I'm fine, really, it's nothing serious at all!" he tried to convince you, but you were having none of it.

"John, you're pale and sweating, and you've potentially got a fever. You're not 'fine."

He huffed a bit, but then admitted, "Alright, maybe I am a little under the weather, but it's really nothing serious. Just a small cold, nothing I can't deal with."

You let out a very desperate sigh (which shows your current condition with Price) while shaking your head. 𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘯. You thought to yourself. You got behind him and placed your hands on his shoulder, and he immediately got the memo of what you were going to do.

"Sweetheart, you really don't have to.." He sighed, but you ignored him. You began massaging his shoulders, pressing the knots out while chastising him.

"John, c'mon, let's not pretend this is a small cold." You chastised him gently.

He lets out a groan and gave in into the soothing feeling, dropping everything that he was doing earlier. 𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘥. He thought with a small sigh leaving his lips.

"Okay, okay.. maybe you're right." He admitted. "But I'll just lie down for a bit and I'll be as good as new."

You knew it was for the best, even if he was being stubborn and tried to protest. You led him over to the bed, helping him lie down as he gave a few soft murmurs of thanks. You checked his temperature, which came up at 39-40 degrees celcius, a moderate grade fever.

"See," You showed him the thermometer.

"It's clear you're way beyond this 'small cold' you've been claiming," you scolded him with a satisfied look on your face after you've proved him wrong. He muttered something under his breath, but eventually conceded that he needed some rest.

You carefully drape the blanket over his chest, making sure to keep him warm and comfortable. You left him alone for a bit and came back with a bucket of water with a small towel in it. You then took the damp towel and gently placed it on his forehead, trying to lower his fever as much as possible.

"Now rest, and let me get some soup for you," you instructed him. He grumbled something yet again, but finally nodded and did as you said.

You did as you promised, returning to the kitchen shortly after to make a soup that would be sure to help his recovery. You also added some hot tea with honey and lemon juice, a classic remedy for whenever someone is sick.

You returned to the bedroom with the soup and tea on a tray. Seeing the tray full of supposedly filled medicine, John slowly sat up and leaned his back to the headboard, getting into a comfortable position. You made sure John kept drinking and eating it, and when he was done you put the tray on the nightstand beside the bed.

Slowly but surely, his fever dropped and his color returned. After a short while, he began to fall asleep from exhaustion.

You were just about to head out of the room, but John gently grabbed your wrist with the last ounce of strength he had left, mumbling a quiet "Stay."

Even though you knew he needed his rest, your heart melted at the way he held your wrist so gently. For a moment you hesitated, but if it meant him getting the rest he needed, you'll happily stay with him till' he gets better.

"I'll be right back, love," you whispered softly, giving his hand one last lingering squeeze.

You closed the curtain and turned off the lights, creating a comfortable and low-lit atmosphere. Then you gently climbed into bed with him, finding a cozy spot and wrapping a blanket around the two of you. You leaned close to him, nuzzling against his shoulder and pulling him into you, feeling his presence and feeling comfortable and safe.

Finally, you both closed your eyes and rested as you slowly fell asleep together.

#call of duty #cod #john price #john price cod #captain john price #captain jonathan price #john price x male reader #john price x female reader #john price x reader #john price x you #x reader #gn reader #fluff #I was in need for fluff #so I wrote this #god i love him #more coming soon #i promise #shellwrites

[screeblees]

Yandere Manipulating Boyfriend x Kidnapped Reader Headcannons

Yandere Manipulating Boyfriend is Male and Kidnapped Reader is Gender Neutral

Been a bit since I've posted! I was in a bit of a slump and got hit with creative juices - definitely wrote way more than usual!

I hope this isn't too long, I kinda love this idea if you can't tell :3

Find my Masterlist here !

Please enjoy!!<33

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who pretends to be in a normal relationship.

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who stalked you for months after his attention was captured, taking photos and videos all for blackmail (among other things…)

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who broke in and drugged you with some sleeping pills, he knew you hadn’t been sleeping well after all! 

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who took most of your belongings with him once he kidnapped you, mixing everything with his home’s own décor to make it look like you’d lived there for months, ensuring details such as two toothbrushes, your hygiene products being in a similar place to where they were in your own home, two sets of dishes in the sink, any work documents or notes being scattered about the desk, any little detail he could think of to make it look like you had went about your day just the night prior.

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who knew you wouldn’t believe it, but at the very least you would doubt your own mind, which was exactly what he wanted.

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who assured he removed all sharp (or potential escape) objects from your shared bedroom, the windows are locked and tinted and you are laid in your bed while he cuddles you, waiting on you waking up.

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who acted confused and worried from the moment you woke up, he really had no idea why you didn’t remember your loving boyfriend, you had been living with him for months! 

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who would restrain you if you fight him, explaining it away by him being scared of you in your “amnesic” state and not wanting you to hurt yourself or go outside and get lost since you seemingly don’t remember anything about the largest part of your life.

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who has written an entire book’s worth of stories to fully flesh out your relationship; how you met, how you kept bumping into one another, your first, second, third and-so-on dates, moving in together, the list goes on!

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who tells quite detailed (made up) stories of your time together, all taken from his previous writings which proving immensely helpful in avoiding contradicting himself and explaining why he knows everything about you!

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who crushes any pesky stray thoughts that may lead you to doubt him swiftly and completely. (“The lack of pictures? Oh, well, I’m pretty self conscious so I prefer taking pictures of you! My favourites are the candid ones, you just look so peaceful!”) You end the conversation glad that you asked, not realising that he had technically completely avoided the question and he later returns with a few pictures of important anniversaries which he commissioned from a very talented photoshopper.

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who confiscates your phone, citing that you shouldn’t be on social media while recovering, all that negativity may impact your health! He may message your friends, family and workplace, just to let them know you’ll be unreachable for the time being, that’s all! (and then if you have a few people less in your contacts and a few more in your blocked list then who’s to say what happened?)

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who spoon-feeds you, refusing to let you do more than sit in bed, rest, and talk to him. For the time being he’s keeping you to soft foods; soup, porridge, mashed potatoes, pasta, scrambled eggs, applesauce, yoghurt and pudding for a treat! (It’s nobody’s business if he’s adding some medicine to make you hazy and docile to make you feel better and make you weaker since you seem to be getting sick).

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who slowly allows you to get better you to do more for yourself, although he still encourages you to stay in bed and enjoys feeding you himself, he’s allowed to be a little selfish - after all, he’s still worried for you!

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who begins the heavy guilt-tripping (as if he hadn’t already) once you start insisting on getting out of bed and doing things on your own; “I just want the best for you, why won’t you let me help you?” “Are you trying to hurt yourself? Straining yourself will only put you back, I know you don’t know me but can’t you see that I only want what’s best for you?” “I know you don’t remember me but I love you, can’t you at least appreciate my love for you if you can’t love me back?” 

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who is always cheerful and sweet (sickeningly so) and suffocatingly affectionate, no matter how you resist his efforts the most upset he’ll get is a pitying or disappointed look. Anything he really doesn’t like is simply ignored, you didn’t mean to say that - obviously - so he just won’t hear it in the first place!

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who’s reactions grow twitchier the more you insist and fight against him, he’s extremely good at keeping his charming smile from slipping but he must admit it grows more and more difficult every day as you barrage him with your range of pleads and reasoning to demands and yelling - the former only causing him to say “Oh, honey…” in a pitiful manner and take you in his arms, rocking and shushing you like a parent would for a crying child - and the latter only receives a disappointed yet strict “I’ll leave you to calm down.” and a firmly shut door.

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who’s patience has grown thin and his tolerance is reached as they are exhausted by the same song and dance every day, the same ungrateful tone, never thanking, only asking for more. 

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who finally snaps.

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who screams at you “WHY CAN’T YOU JUST BE HAPPY?! WHY CAN’T YOU JUST APPRECIATE ME?!” 

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who’s eyes are wide and bloodshot, his usually put-together appearance has been thrown to the wind, dishevelled clothes and messy hair taking its place. One hand grips the side of the bed frame above your bed as he leans over you. The silence is searing in the seconds after, you both stay frozen still, neither of you expected the outburst and neither know how to react or proceed.

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who clears his throat and takes several steps back, unable to make eye contact as mutters an apology for his outburst and leaves with the excuse of making dinner, no matter your reaction. He’ll feel guilt in his throat for days to come but will never address what happened - and will shut you down with a loud and obvious change in subject if you ever try to - instead bringing you gifts such as stuffed toys, blankets, soothing drinks and a little more sugary food than he had previously given you (it doesn’t matter if you don’t like them, although he’ll adapt to your tastes, the nature of the gifts will remain the same).

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who restrains again you if you start being physical with him, clearly your amnesia has seriously affected you to make you act like this. 

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who allows you to work from home if your (previous) job accommodates it, of course you don’t need to work (really, he’d be able to support you without you lifting a finger) but he thinks it’ll give you something to do and keep your mind from wandering into dangerous territory (with limits, naturally).

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who still dotes like the day you woke up, still spoon-feeding and even carrying you from room to room (especially when you are not yet trusted, instead you are placed in your chair to have dinner together and are expected not to get up until you are carried back to your room afterwards) and even just having you sit on his lap as he plays with your hair. 

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who sometimes uses a baby-voice when talking to you, especially when you’re trying to have a serious conversation. (“Aww is someone’s feelings acting up? I think someone needs a cuddle and a nap, huh?”)

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who takes a very, very long time to really trust you (or rather, trust his manipulation and gaslighting have taken effect, maybe with a touch of stockholm syndrome) and when he does, expect to not have a moment without supervision. Once he lets you out of your room into the rest of your apartment, naturally there’s cameras covering every corner, sensors on all the doors and windows and a ring doorbell so you don’t interact with anyone when he’s not there. And maybe, if you’re really moved by his tactics, taking up the role of a loving partner, then you may be rewarded with rare dates - outside of your shared home - to places like the aquarium or zoo, an activity to keep your mind occupied.

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who claims to only want what's best for you, to help you in your recovery and to settle into your new normal.

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who spoils you, although dates outside the apartment are few and far between - even once you earn his trust - he tries to have a romantic evening at least once a week. Of course, he cooks almost every night - your boyfriend should be able to tend every need - but he puts in special effort on these date nights, maybe a more expensive meat (if that’s your preference, he’ll adapt for whatever your dietary habits are) the dish will be made with spices and oils to enhance the rich flavours of the dish to a mouth-watering extent - and naturally candles will surround where you eat and several vases of a mix of flowers all relating to the love he has for you, most of which in shades of red such as roses, chrysanthemums, carnations with the rare white alyssum or bergenia mixed into the array of bouquets around your home.

❥ Yandere Boyfriend who loves you unlike anyone else ever could…

#cw yandere #cw kidnapping #cw manipulation #amnesia #yandere #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere boyfriend #yandere manipulating boyfriend #yandere manipulating boyfriend x reader #x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x gn reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #yandere x reader headcanons #yandere hcs #yandere drabble #yandere drabbles #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere writing #obsessive yandere #obsessive love #screeblees writing #12

[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 11: Pet Play

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 5711

Warnings: Afab!reader, coercion, abuse of power, exploitative dynamic, pet play/puppy play, vaginal fingering, humiliation/degradation, dubcon, use of ‘good girl’ and other gendered language

A/N: Sorry this one is late, I physically could not keep my eyes open to do the editing 😭

⭐

“This is an abuse of power, I hope you know that.” 

Looking up at the low hiss, Al-Haitham casually moves his book aside to peer down at where you’re knelt on the floor. You can feel his eyes burning into you but refuse to actually bring your head up and look at him, far too embarrassed to meet his gaze. Just glimpsing the shift in your peripheral is almost enough to crumble your resolve and send you running from the room but you had an objective here. A goal you refused to back down from no matter to what frustrating lengths he went just to stonewall you so you fiercely maintain your position, even when your arms shudder and threaten to give out. 

You couldn’t believe him. The nerve he had, putting you into this kind of situation! Not only was it a major abuse of power but also a punishable offense in the Akademiya’s code of conduct that would have escalated into quite a buzzing scandal were it not for the fact you had no one to turn to about it. Even if you did try to file a complaint it would just end up on his desk by the next morning and you would be worse off than you’d started. 

You’d always thought the Grand Sage held far too much sway and authority over the Akademiya’s internal affairs with nothing to keep them in check, and Al-Haitham was just further solidifying that belief. 

A long moment of terse silence settles over the still office, and you really don’t expect him to even dignify that assertion with a response when the only reason he was entertaining this in the first place was to prove a point. But then, to your dull surprise, he eventually draws an apathetic breath. 

“No one is forcing you to do this, least of all myself. You’re welcome to gather up your belongings and leave at any time. It’s not like I’m holding you hostage or anything.” 

You bark out a humorless laugh, bitter and strained. That was certainly easy for him to say when he was the one with all the control here. If the roles had been reversed, you were sure he would have been squirming too. 

Well … maybe not. This was Al-Haitham you were talking about but that was hardly the point! 

“I’m not leaving,” You grit, trying very hard to keep the tremor out of your voice. “Not until you sign that paper!” 

Shrugging as if he really could care less, Al-Haitham returns to his book without a second thought to the matter. You curse him under your breath, rather creatively too, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear it. Completely unperturbed and eternally at ease, he just sits there in his high backed chair with one ankle crossed over the opposite leg while he reads — you steal a quick, harried glance at the title on the cover. The Compendious Book on Calculation by Completion and Balancing? Was that seriously what his mind was focused on right now? 

Stamping down the urge to seethe through your teeth, you stiffly readjust the placement of your hands on the floor and try to distribute your weight more evenly. You probably shouldn’t have been surprised to end up in this situation after bursting into his office against your better judgment and prostrating yourself at his feet, begging for his signature and promising to do anything he asked in return. You’d expected, perhaps, monetary favors, personal debt, indentured servitude or maybe even transactional sex but this went far beyond what you could have ever anticipated. 

He’d simply told you to stay like that. Nothing else and no further instructions. At first you’d thought this was just a bizarre precursor to an inappropriate sexual liaison with the Acting Grand Sage, that he was just far more perverted than you’d initially thought and he got off on having women kneel at his feet like some kind of brute. So you’d stayed like that, on hand and bended knee, but it was fast approaching an hour now and still he’d barely even looked at you, never mind made any kind of advance. 

You were furious with him as much as yourself. But pride could be a funny thing and you were a bit too stubborn to give up now when you’d already stooped this low. Even if he stayed here all night reading his stupid book in perpetual silence you weren’t leaving until you got him to sign off on that damned budget request! 

Unfortunately you were quickly losing strength in your arms and you gingerly rock back to settle more squarely on your knees, attempting to lessen some of the pressure. You grimace at the deep ache that throbs through your limbs as you try to discreetly roll some of the tension out with slow rotations of your wrists but it does little in the way of good, and you give a small hiss.  

“You’re getting tired.” It’s a statement, not a question, and you nearly jolt right up off the floor in your surprise. 

“I’m not!” Stubbornly, you return to your original position even when it makes the screaming tendons in your limbs cry out in protest. You couldn’t let him win. If you gave up now he’d just send you packing and that paper would never get signed. “Your book must be pretty dull if you’re still focused on me though. Maybe you should stop playing this silly game already and just give me what I came here for.” 

Al-Haitham lowers his book to look at you again. “I’m playing a silly game?” Quietly scoffing, he lowers his arm altogether to let it rest across his bent knee with the book dangling towards the floor now. “Look, I don’t say this to discourage you but I’m really not sure what you think this is going to accomplish. I didn’t agree to anything nor did I make a bargain with you. You’re the one who decided to camp out here under the assumption that your obstinance would net you the result you wanted. Honestly I’m a bit surprised at how stubborn you’re being about this.” 

“I need that budget sign off!” 

“You might need it but that doesn’t mean you’re going to get it.” 

You can’t quite stop yourself from snapping your attention up to gape at him. He couldn’t be serious! “How dare you talk to me like a child …” 

With a slow, deliberate blink of his eyes, Al-Haitham tips his head to one side, looking for all the world like an observant predatory bird regarding its prey. ���How else am I supposed to treat you when you’re acting like one?” 

An affronted burst of sound comes out of you, but when you draw a sharp breath to snap at him nothing comes out. You’re just left with your mouth hanging open like a fool, so you slowly close it again and try to rein in your temper. You couldn’t let him get under your skin like this. The sooner he turned your own emotions against you the sooner you’d be sent from his office empty handed. Maintaining a level head even in the face of his infuriating attitude was likely the only thing that would see you through this standoff and, steeling your resolve, you narrow your eyes up at him. 

“I’m not leaving until you give me your signature.” 

“Do you really think you can outlast me?” 

“If that’s what it takes, yes.” 

A quiet beat passes over the room while he seems to consider that in his mind. Not that his typically unreadable expression told you much of anything, but he hadn’t returned to his book yet and his viridescent eyes had taken on a distant quality that would seem to suggest deep thought. You aren’t sure what he’s going to come back at you with — grudging acquiescence, just to get you out of his office, or a call for the guards to come and take you away by force — but it’s certainly not for him to sedately uncross his legs and lean forward, elbows bracing on his knees. 

You go ramrod stiff, so shocked you can’t even find the wherewithal to properly react when he slouches down to look you square in the face and you abruptly realize just how close you really are. You’d never seen him from only a scant few inches away like this, the strong cut of his jaw and handsome brow catching you completely off guard. How had you never noticed how striking he was?

“Fine.” He intones, surprising you so much you have to do a double take.

“What?” 

“I said fine. Since you want to play this game so badly, I suppose I’d be willing to meet you somewhere in the middle. Unless, of course, your precious budget isn’t worth the gamble?” 

You realize what he’s doing immediately. It would have been a little hard not to when he was staring at you with those deeply impertinent eyes, just daring you to take the bait and see who came out on top. This wasn’t a compromise, it was a flat out challenge! He was so damn confident he could best you that the notion of having to actually sign off on your paper clearly wasn’t even a concern in his mind. You hated him for it, handsome or not, and you don’t try to hide it as you harden your expression. 

“You’ve got yourself a deal, you bastard.” 

“Alright.” Straightening up, Al-Haitham snaps the book in his hand shut to finally give you his full attention. “Take off your clothes.” 

Your heart sputters and nearly extinguishes. “Excuse me?” 

He actually has the audacity to quirk a brow at you, like you were the one with the problem, and you run even hotter than before. The nerve of him! But if that was how he wanted to be then fine, you would simply meet him head on and see who could really outlast who. 

Teeth gnashing, you jerk your body upright and viciously tear at your robe to get it pulled up over your head before he can say anything else about it. You were so mad, so incredibly pissed at him that you nearly knock yourself off balance and tip over from how hard you yank your own clothes off. He wasn’t going to win, though. You would sooner jump into the endless ocean without a life preserver before ever admitting defeat to the likes of him! 

Irritably tossing everything aside, you gradually work your way down to the bottommost layer but you don’t stop long enough to let it give you pause. Your silk chemise comes off with a snarl and then you’re tugging soft bloomers down so you can inelegantly kick your way out of them as well. Finally, you find yourself kneeling in the Grand Sage’s office, completely naked and chest heaving uncontrollably as you glare daggers at him still sat comfortably in his seat. But he just impassively looks at you as if he wasn’t in any way moved, neither impressed by your nudity or all that interested by the looks of it. Just another factor to humiliate you with. 

“You forgot your shoes.” He says at last, and your blood pressure spikes so hard and so fast that you momentarily forget how to breathe. 

Twisting around, you rip off one of your slippers so you can cock it back with every intention of sending it flying right at his smug face. But you barely have enough time to get your arm up before he suddenly grabs you by the wrist, halting the motion before you can follow through. Choking on your anger as much as your surprise, you watch him slowly rise from his seat so he can lean over you and put his face close to yours again. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He tells you in such a bland, unconcerned tone that for a split second you’re not even sure if he’s actually being sincere or not. But then he expectantly holds up his unoccupied hand and you whither under that inscrutable gaze. “Give me the shoe.” 

You desperately try to keep hold of your fiery rage but it sputters out quickly enough under his cool, mild temperament and you suddenly feel a bit silly — it was hard not to when Al-Haitham looked at you like that — and you obediently hand it over to him when he lets up his hold on your wrist. Feeling appropriately cowed, you ease back to sit on your haunches while he straightens up to his full, towering height to speculatively regard your shoe for a moment. Listless, you reach back and shove the other one off your foot without a care to where it may fall. 

Finally, he looks at you again. “Back into position.”

A short beat of confusion marches through your mind before you realize what he wants, and your face quickly starts to heat up again. He was certainly pushing his luck today. And although you may not have had your anger to cling to anymore you still had your resolve, and it doesn’t abandon you even now. Grudgingly, you comply. 

Shifting forward to brace on your hands and knees again, you settle into place before him even when it only seems to highlight your stark nudity. Your breasts sway softly with the motion, nipples puckered tight in the decidedly cool office, but you try your best to ignore it. Instead, you bring your head up, ready to snap at him — but his hand coming to rest on top of your head abruptly stops you in your tracks. 

“Good girl.” 

Your stomach lurches. What the hell did he think he was doing? 

“Y - you — I don’t —“ You choke and stammer, unable to get so much as a single coherent sentence out, but he just … pets you. Idly rubs his (frustratingly) large hand over your head for a brief moment before pulling away without even a hint of shame to show for it. As if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be doing and not incredibly, deeply belittling. 

But if he recognizes the look of affronted disbelief on your face he certainly doesn’t show it and merely shifts back to settle his weight to one side. With your slipper still clutched in his fingers, you bitterly note. 

“Now that we’ve established you can follow directions, here's how this is going to work. I’ll give you an hour of my time since you wasted one of yours hoping I’d change my mind about the budget paper. I don’t usually negotiate or give in to demands like this, but if you can show me you have the resolve to back up your beliefs with meaningful action then I’ll give you my sign off. Your field holds a great deal of potential but that was no small sum you asked for. I want to know if you can actually back it up or not.” 

“And how am I supposed to do that?” You growl, feeling your temper start to spike again. 

Without missing a beat the hand at his side shifts, gesturing towards the spot next to him with a quick snap of his fingers. “Come here.” 

Your body gives a subconscious, angry little jerk at the sound but you bite your tongue, knowing if you allowed yourself to speak now you’d just flush everything down the toilet. It’s exceptionally hard to do when you knew too well what he was actually asking you to do, but you try to remind yourself what was on the line. Why you were even doing this in the first place. Any humiliation suffered would be well worth it once you got your hands on that budget and you could always deal with him later, after the next Grand Sage had been officially chosen. 

Resigned, you silently rock forward and crawl the few paces across the floor, keeping your head down while making a valiant effort not to think about how ridiculous you must look in that moment. But he doesn’t react when you shuffle up to him, his expression as unreadable as ever when you chance a quick look. You almost ask what else he wants you to do and then a blood curdling thought occurs to you. He was rather blatantly treating you like a dog now, so did that mean he wanted you to come to heel? 

Your motions are stiff with annoyance as you carefully readjust your position and spin around until your upper body is perfectly lined up with his legs, your hand resting a scant few millimeters from his boot. To your simmering annoyance, he once again bends down to give your head a rather condescending, if not impartial, pat. 

“Good girl. Now sit.” 

You shoot him a quick, dangerous look but still ease back to sit on your calves. That doesn’t quite seem to be enough for him though and, jaw clenched tight, you slowly straighten out of your hunched position to sit up, blushing red hot when it effectively presents your tits to the room. 

Al-Haitham’s hand finds your head again and he murmurs another soft ‘good girl’ that makes you feel a million abstract emotions all at once. You can’t quite decide if you hate him it or not, and try to pull away with a half choked sound of annoyance. Luckily, (for you or him, you couldn't decide) he lets you twist from him without comment and you have to bite back the whimper that rises in your throat when he slowly straightens up to tower over you again. Alright, so this was perhaps even more deviant than making you kneel at his feet all day, and you feel the hot stab of embarrassment at that deep in your chest, but surely this was going a bit far, even for him? 

“You don’t have to keep doing that …” You grumble, pointedly looking anywhere else in the room. 

“Oh? And how else am I supposed to reinforce good behavior then?” 

Your cheeks grow even hotter. “I am not a dog, Acting Grand Sage. Nothing needs to be reinforced!” 

“I disagree. The way you burst in here was bad enough but then you took it upon yourself to try and force my hand when I wouldn’t give you what you wanted. That’s not how sensible adults behave. Clearly you lack training.” 

Is that what this was? Correctional action? It was so absurd you almost laugh. You might have been out of line in coming here to try and strongarm him, but then what did the current situation say about his behavior? He had you naked, following his commands like a pet, and he didn’t see anything wrong with that? You’d never before known someone more absurd or audacious.

“Even if that were true, do you really think it’s your place to do the training?” 

“For the next fifty-five minutes? Yes, it is.” Ignoring the incensed noise you make to that, Al-Haitham pivots his body to stand in front of you now, effectively swapping your starting positions. He’s so close you have to crane your neck back to look up at him but his expression remains as passive and disinterested as ever. “It’s a shame I didn’t have time to prepare anything for you beforehand.” He murmurs, more to himself than to you. “I think you’d look perfect wearing a nice collar and leash. Maybe something pink with a bow? I could probably even find a tail for you in a backroom of the bazaar somewhere.” 

His words have their intended effect of making you squirm in place, flushing hot with shame at the mental image he’s instilled in you. For someone who didn’t even look all that invested in the first place, he sure was letting his imagination run wild. “In your dreams, you creep.” 

He gives you another of those long, deliberately slow blinks. “Then let’s teach you a new trick. You’ll like that, I’m sure.” Lifting his hand just short of chest level, Al-Haitham gives his fingers another snap. “Beg, pretty girl.” 

So gradually it feels like your skin is crawling, every single hair on your body stands on end until you feel vaguely like a puffed up, incensed cat. Your mouth works but nothing comes out around the simmering rock now lodged in your throat. Of all the upsetting things he’s said and done to you, this was somehow the worst yet — and the addition of ‘pretty girl’ certainly wasn’t making it any better. 

“You - -!” 

“Ah, ah. Not like that. Dogs can’t ask for things or yell at their owners, can they? Do it without using your voice.”

Another snap of his fingers has you seeing red. You didn’t understand how you were supposed to do this in a way that would satisfy him … and more to be cute than anything else, you stiffly bring your hands up and curl them into loose fists. To your surprise he nods once but doesn’t lean down to pet you or call you a good girl so you take that to mean he wasn’t quite satisfied with it yet. You had no idea what else he expected of you though. Trying to sit up a little straighter, jutting your tits out in the process, likewise doesn’t earn you his acknowledgement though and you soon start to panic. If you weren’t able to meet his expectations — whatever they were — he was just going to send you away. You had to think of something, quick! 

“W - woof?” You try hopefully, genuine surprise washing over you when he allows himself the briefest smile. 

“You’re getting there, but not quite. You just need to fix your position.” 

Fix it? Fix it how! 

It takes a long moment for it to sink in, the full weight of what he’s asking you to do, and you outright grimace at the thought that finally comes to mind. You couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing but, seeing what little choice you actually had, you carefully get your legs under you and then push up to balance on your feet in a leapfrog position. Still, though, that’s not enough to please him, and you start to feel well and truly like you might cry out of frustration. This was impossible. Considering who you were dealing with you probably should have anticipated as much but …

Al-Haitham abruptly shifts forward then and it makes you give a subconscious little twitch. To your wary confusion, though, all he does is lower himself down to crouch in front of you on the balls of his feet. “Like this. You need to straighten your spine, and sit nice and tall for me. You want to get my attention don’t you?”

Your face feels like it’s going to catch fire at any given moment. He sounded far too reasonable for someone making you debase yourself like this but even for as obtuse and arrogant as he was, you still trusted his word. Geniuses were usually a bit eccentric in one way or another but Al-Haitham, at least, was a man who didn’t misspeak (whenever he bothered to speak at all) so if he said this would  get your paper signed you believed him. 

You have to pause to steady your nerves before you do it but, at length, you finally push up to center your balance on the balls of your feet as well and then straighten your back. For good measure, you lift your hands to your chest and curl them into loose fists again, pinning him with a flustered yet plaintive look even when every fiber of your being was screaming at you to cover yourself. You can feel the air in the room waft against your bare cunt, acutely aware of how this humiliating position spreads your pussy lips slightly and bares you to his steady gaze, but you try very hard not to think about that right now. 

“Good girl.” He finally relents, his usually bland tone softening almost imperceptibly, but it still stabs you in the gut as if he’d taken a knife to you. 

Wavering, you force your legs to steady under your weight when he reaches out, heart pounding a wild, erratic beat inside your chest as you track the motion of his hand. A soft whimper bubbles up in your throat at the casual way he slips those long fingers between your spread thighs and ever so softly brushes them over your cunt. The slight nudge against your clit forces you to draw a steadying breath, so hot and jittery with nerves you start to feel faint. Although you’d half expected him to ask for sexual favors when you first forced your way in here, this was not quite what you’d had in mind … 

It’s something far, far worse than what your imagination could have ever come up with, but you let him pet at you with unhurried strokes of his fingers, teasing over creases and folds as if to map out the feel of you through touch alone. His fingertips are blunt and surprisingly rough for a scribe, and it catches you off guard how your skin clings to him because of it. Your clit, especially, feels incredibly soft and pliant under his hand, and the periodic nudge against it makes your legs twitch with the urge to squeeze them shut. 

“See? I knew you could follow directions …” Trailing off, Al-Haitham studies your face for a long beat with that perpetually unreadable expression of his. Like he was deliberating over what to embarrass you with next. 

Shyly, you try to divert your gaze elsewhere so you won’t have to look directly at him but he’s knelt much too close. He takes up almost all of your field of vision no matter what you do, and your mouth drops open when he suddenly reaches further back to prod at your entrance. 

“Now speak.” 

Lightheaded and more than just a little dizzy now, you try to work out what he wants you to say — and then it hits you. Whining low in your throat, unable to hold it back, you shift to steady your faltering balance and subtly angle your cunt from him. “Wh - woof … woof, woof …” 

Unhesitatingly, his fingers follow you and press up, just dipping into your body. You go stock still and shudder so hard you almost tip over, struggling to make sense of what’s even happening anymore. But true to nature Al-Haitham has no time or patience to waste on explanations, and he breaches your cunt at a tortuously slow pace that leaves you gasping for breath. The stretch that comes with his two fingers brings tears to your eyes, threatening to spill over when he finds slick waiting for him inside. 

“Good girl. You’re being so well behaved for me now. Much better than your earlier foolishness,” Pausing at the first joint, he takes a moment to simply feel around and wriggle his fingertips, encouraging your pussy to open up for him and relax around the intrusion. The motion draws a soft, wet click from your body, and you all but whither right there in front of him. “You can ask for things without being such a brat about it. Good behavior will net you far better results anyway, and it will keep you out of trouble too. The next time you think about strong arming someone into giving you what you want, I hope you remember this … and if you ever need a refresher I’d be happy to give it to you.” 

You don’t quite get the chance to fully process what he’s saying. His fingers angle further up, using the natural lubrication of your cunt to slide in a little deeper, and you throw your head back to seethe at the ceiling. He’s gentle about it but insistent and demanding at the same time, and your cunt slowly relents under the stilted pressure. The second joint stretches you open and then — he’s inside you, straight down to the knuckles. Swaying, your legs start to shake from maintaining this position when you wanted nothing more than to scuttle away from him as much as from the onslaught of sensation that comes with it. You felt faint. Delirious. 

How were you possibly supposed to rationalize that the Acting Grand Sage was buried deep inside your pussy and your squeezing guts were actively trying to milk him dry? 

“Beg, pretty girl. Let me hear you.” 

Struggling just to breathe, you awkwardly shift on your feet and readjust the demeaning position of your hands where they’d started to droop. “Nnghn … w - woof woof … woof wo — oof!” 

The startled sound punches out of you when Al-Haitham curls his fingers at such a hard, unrelenting angle it nearly pulls you off balance. Up towards your belly button, he briefly massages along the inner sleeve of your shuddering body until he finds the spongy nerve cluster he’s looking for. The pressure he exerts on it sends you to the very tips of your toes, a futile effort to escape the demanding attention, but he remains ever one track minded. Now that he's found it, he attacks the spot with merciless focus and the constant barrage makes your whole body twitch and tingle like you were a lit firecracker just waiting to explode. You hated it, the way he was turning your body against you like this, but there was no denying the innate reaction you were experiencing. 

Your pussy practically floods around his fingers and the sticky suction rapidly increases under his ministrations until the attention grabbing click coming from between your legs seems to dominate the room. It even threatens to drown out your gasping, heaving moans as you helplessly rock on your feet, doing everything in your power just to stay upright. It’s a true test of willpower when your muscles were so taxed and aching, and the rapidly swelling pressure in your cunt certainly wasn’t helping either. But still, your stubborn pride won’t let you give up and, still, you were determined to beat him at his own game. 

So you keep barking even when your breath is robbed from you, what was once hushed and begrudging noises meant only to signal your compliance quickly devolving into tiny little yips and pleasured groans. You couldn’t have stopped it even if you’d wanted to, and you no longer had the wherewithal to even keep up the pretense of not enjoying this on some level. It felt good, much to your horror and shame. You hated it as much as you hated him, but your baser instincts had effectively taken over and it sweeps you up in its current with a raging vengeance. 

“That’s it. Cum for me, good girl.” He says, evidently recognizing the stricken look on your face for what it is. You think — in a far off, distant kind of way — that he must be out of his mind. That he was sorely mistaken if he thought you were going to climax for him, just like that. 

But then he reaches up with his unoccupied hand and pinches one of your nipples, giving it a possessive little tweak, and you feel the tension in you become that much more unbearable. Reeling and gasping, you sensitively rock forward on your toes and try to angle your cunt away but it’s no use. He’s completely unrelenting, and your eyes start to roll back in your head as the tremors tear through you faster than you can even comprehend. 

“Oh - oooh!”

“Archons, you’re soaking my fingers. If I’d known all you needed was some discipline, I would have done this much sooner.” 

A little piece of your ego seems to chip away and dissolve when your quaking hips give a stiff jerk at that, and your pussy clamps down around him so fiercely it almost hurts. And just like that the pressure tips. You fall over the edge into an uncontrollable fit of spasms, your orgasm rocking you straight down to your core. But even in the throes of your wild release you’re still acutely — horrifically aware of the moment your cunt gives under the pressure and squirts slick all over his hand and wrist. 

Suddenly your pleasure is ripped from you, instantly replaced with a suffocating, reeling sense of shock and disbelief even as you helplessly judder through the remainder of your orgasm. Tipping your head down to take a numb look at the space between your legs, hardly even daring to believe it, you feel a chill rush over you at the wet stains you see on the lush carpet. There was no way … 

Gradually, Al-Haitham eases up on his fingers when you start to go still, just eyeing your face with that inscrutable look for a long, quiet moment that’s interspersed only by your labored breathing. He doesn’t say anything at all as he slowly withdraws them from your body, ignoring the way you grimace and seethe at the resulting sticky slurp, but he does manage to take you by surprise when he reaches up to help steady you by the shoulders. You reluctantly accept his help, a little too shell shocked to maintain your attitude when it seemed like all you could do just to keep yourself together. And to your great relief he carefully helps you sink down to sit on the floor, which you do with nothing short of immense, overwhelming relief. 

It felt like your legs would never work properly again after crouching like that for so long, and that was to say absolutely nothing of your pride. What was even left of it. 

“You did well.” He suddenly says, prompting you to bring your head up to look at him. 

Despite your reservations, you allow yourself a slow, hopeful smile. “Does this mean you’ll sign off on my request now?” You venture to ask in a thin, trembling voice. 

“No. Not yet. You’ve still got another thirty minutes, I’m afraid.” 

Groaning, you drop your head and try not to scream. How you hated this man!

⭐

Crossposted: here

#genshin impact #al haitham #al haitam x reader #self insert bullshit

[oopspeter]

We'll never have sex

SUMMARY: Returning from a year long mission should be a relief, but the terrors from those hard months have followed you back home. Struggling to find comfort in your old ways, a certain co-worker introduces you to his own salvation-- distraction.

WARNINGS: 16+ rating for mature themes, blood, allusions to torture, foul language, minor to medium injury descriptions, weapons and violence.

WC: 3.6K

NOTES: First fic! Please let me know what you think-- it hasn't been proofread very well.

"Are you taller than the last time I saw you?" You tease, in awe of his largely built physique.

"I guess everything finally loosened after being off of the ice for so long," Bucky says rather non-chalant.

"Has the giant stick finally fallen out of your ass then?" You quip with a cheeky grin.

"Never," he shakes his head with an equally matched smile.

"And decided to evolve from that 'lord and saviour' haircut?" You motion to his new trim.

"I've decided that look only suits the holiest of men, which of course I don't qualify for," he instinctively runs his fingers through the chopped locks.

The sound of a heavy heel echoes on the polished concrete, a grand entrance for the one and only Tony Stark.

"Hermit and the recluse!" His hands spread out like an awful gesture of welcome.

"I thought you were too old for modern hip-hop references, Anthony," you push your lips into a thin line, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

"Puh-lease, as if gramps here even knows what I'm yapping about," Tony points his thumb over his shoulder at Bucky as he walks past.

Even though he was totally right, Bucky also refrained from producing any sort of a reaction.

"Here to spread anything useful or are you just trying to be a dick?" Your current distaste for the playboy was evident in your tone, but it was nothing new. Deep down inside you did feel a sense of protectiveness towards him, as did he to you.

Opening the large, stainless steel refrigerator that looked like it could hold at least six months worth of food at a single time, he snatched a bottle of lemon water before slamming the door shut again.

"Since you're back, Banner wants to do a few procedural run throughs just to check up on your health," he flicks the cap off of the bottle which goes flying into the bin. "Oh, and the Star Spangled Banner would like to see you as well-- not the Bruce Banner, but the Star Spangled one."

"You can just say Steve, you know that right?" You squint at him as he daintily sips from the mouthpiece of the bottle.

"Just proving my vocabulary has extended further than the most generic white-man name in America," he shrugs coolly, and you kinda' wanna punch him in his smug face.

The ex-soldier stands as still as stone beside you during your exchange with Tony, if you couldn't see the gentle rise and fall of his chest you'd think he was dead with the lack of noise emitting. Choosing to ignore him, the man takes the cue to leave the room, still feverishly sipping the bottle of lemony water. Once the sound of his heavy heels disappeared out of the kitchen and down the hallway, you noticed how Bucky's shoulders relax.

"Bet you're dreading being back, huh?" You allow to corner of your mouth to turn upwards slightly.

"I could say the same thing to you."

There's an unspoken tension in the air, something far from awkward but not any nearer to comfortable either. Had it been a year and a half since you last saw him? On his six month mission to Angola, at the fourth month you had been sent off on a mission of your own in the Pacific islands to track down an old HYDRA associate who had formulated a plan to obliterate the entire planet from his tiny laboratory in the middle of bum-fuck no where.. no biggie, right?

The seemingly short mission of yours turned into a solo, twelve month exhibition trying to chase a man who was half the size of yourself and almost as clever. Eventually when you caught up to him and the few friends he had made along the way, the year job was over in thirty seconds. Underwhelming.

Sure, you’d escaped death a few times, but not by the man who you’d been hunting. Turns out there were a few other undesirables along your path that you just couldn’t miss the opportunity to lock up. Maybe that was a bit of a roadblock, too.

“I don’t want to keep Bruce waiting, I’ll uh.. see you later?” It was a hopeful question.

“Certainly,” he nods his head in reply, and your heart skips a beat or two.

You blame the heart issues on being so emotionally disconnected from anyone for the past twelve months.

The appointment with Bruce was swift, you chat for more of the time than you did actually doing the check up. He prescribed you with a few pain meds, re-dressed some wounds you’d brought back with you and altered your fitness plan to better accommodate your new injuries. Bruce had a way when it came to making people feel safe, despite the fact any moment a big green monster could jump out and crush you.

There were the usual questions like, how has your diet been-- have you been getting enough sleep-- are the night terrors still occurring-- any unusual pains-- are you sexually active?

The answer has always been something along the lines of nutritious, not at all, all of the time, plenty and no.

It's hard to maintain a sex life being away all the time and locking yourself in your room when you are around, even harder trying to manage a relationship. Sure, you've dated before, dabbled in a love life or two before inevitably deciding it wasn't for you. It never will be for you.

It's far past nightfall by the time you actually decide to leave your room, walking barefoot through the long, cold halls of the tower before finding yourself in the kitchen. Your stomach growls to protest your hunger, throat scratchy and dry as symptoms of your thirst. The automatic lights flicker on the moment you walk through the threshold into the kitchen. A pristine, clean kitchen soon to become the next victim of your horrific cooking skills.

First of all you grab a glass from it's respective cabinet, running the water from the tap to fill it up. Your lips meet the mouth of the glass and you drink, quenching your thirst with a relieved sigh. The water here is refreshing, hygienic, in great contrast to what you've been drinking for the past year. Feeling the coolness in your palms you go to take another sip.

It's metallic, tastes like you've drunk straight from a muddy puddle. The water they have just thrown on your face definitely mixed with the blood dripping from your nose and clinging to your lips. Coughing up a mix of flehm and mucky water, you thrash around in the flimsy wooden chair you've been restrained to.

The room smells of mildew, wet dog fur, and something that is heavily rotting. You can blame the stink of decomposition on whatever is beneath that blue tarp tucked away in the far corner of the room. There's no light aside from a single bulb eerily hanging above your head like some old, cliché horror movie.

Your wrists hurt more than usual and this time you can't blame it on early on-set arthritis, but instead the finger-marks imprinted in a purplish green and the thick rope that rubs against them. The silhouette hiding in the dark approaches you in the light, the indistinguishable appearance morphing into that of a tall man with a mask that hid his face and resembled a smiling monkey. It would be the least menacing thing in the room if he wasn't wielding a knife as large as your forearm.

It's silent aside from the obnoxious drip from the ceiling on the tarp. Drip. Drip. Drip. The face of the knife shines in your eye, reflecting from the light of the bulb hanging from the ceiling. His feet drag along the crusty floor, it's evident he has a limp by the way he carries himself towards you. If you had a free leg or two you'd drive your foot straight into his knee to completely eliminate that problem for him, forever; but how tightly they had bound you prevented even a nudge of movement.

The masked man is close enough for your knees to touch, taking the tip of the sharp knife and dragging it across your cheek to leave a light mark that brings blood in it's wake. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of even a slight whimper which evidentially leaves him unsatisfied, because the knife leaves your face and dives into your--

"Hey, are you okay?"

The glass in your hand shatters completely, hundreds of shards diving and piercing the skin on your palm, the water that was left now drenching your socks. Were you holding it so tightly that the sudden fright made it break?

Swinging around with a crimson hand you find an equally shocked Bucky, lips slightly ajar as a physical indication of his surprise. Not even a moment later he's rushing over with a dishtowel to wrap around your bleeding hand, the white terry cloth quickly becoming stained. You can tell he's panicked by the rise and fall of his shoulders, yet you are struggling to even breathe.

The rotting and mildew is replaced by lemon disinfectant and lingering cooked onion. A dark, dank room now replaced by a pristine, white kitchen. The man in front of you is not a man who wears the mask of a monkey, but instead the one and only Bucky Barnes.

"Fuck, fuck," he has the towel wrapped so tightly around your palm. "We need Banner--"

"No!" You interrupt him, finally finding your own voice. "I don't want to wake him, please don't disturb him."

"Then what do I do?" You can tell he is trying his best to keep his composure and not snap at you for being so stubborn like he has so many times before.

"Get the kit from under the sink, wait for the bleeding to calm and I can take the remaining shards out of my hand," you instruct.

"I will take the remaining shards out of your hand," he corrects. "Keep pressure on it please."

His callous hand places your other hand on top of the towel, pushing the back of it down to apply the same pressure he was before. He's rushing to grab the kit from beneath the kitchen sink, taking his hand to shove all of the bleach bottles aside instead of carefully rummaging through.

You've already made your way to the island, taking a seat at the bar stool and leaning your elbow against the marble. It fucking stings. You have no idea how you transported all the way back into the room after shoving the memory so far down to the depths where you thought it could never recover.

You take in his evening look, those baggy grey sweatpants a signature at-home look of his. The creased t-shirt a dark navy and border lining a compression tee from the way it hugs his torso and biceps so tightly. There are bags under his eyes like there always is, and his brows are pulled tightly together in deep concern.

Your heart does that concerning thing again. Perhaps the bloodloss?

He stands beside you at the end of the counter, the fine marble a slight barrier between your bodies. He unzips the kit with such force you're surprised the entire thing hasn't ripped. He's panicked, you can tell.

"Hey," your uninjured hand reaches out to lightly touch your wrist. "Breathe, it's okay, I'm not dying."

Bucky pauses, and he isn't breathing-- until he does. His tense shoulders drop and his face finally relaxes, then he moves your hand back to apply pressure to the towel.

The silence between you is intense and lasts for what feels like forever. You can tell there's a question on the tip of his tongue that he's too afraid to ask, and you've got a feeling you're not quite sure how to answer it either why. You're not sure why you broke the glass, or why you became absent for so long, or why you were back in that room again.

"Why are you awake?" He interrupts your escape into your own head.

"I couldn't sleep," you answer honestly. "Neither could you?"

Bucky shakes his head in reply. "No, I couldn't."

"Never can." You both say in unison.

There's a pause.

"I'm sorry for scaring you," he doesn't look you in the eyes, instead stares at the red cloth covering your hand.

"You didn't mean to," you shake your head with reassurance, offering a small smile to show that you aren't upset with him at all.

"What if I did?" The corner of his lip upturns.

"Then we'd have a bit of a problem, wouldn't we?" Your tone is playful.

"How about we leave the sparring for after, when all of the glass is out of your hand y'know," he shrugs jokingly.

"Right," you nod your head in agreeance, pulling the towel back to reveal the palm of your hand.

It's definitely not the prettiest thing you've ever seen, but not the worst either. There's only one significantly deep cut but the rest just brushed the surface few layers of skin. Bucky is quick to get to work with the tweezers, disinfectant and plasters.

As he works on mending your hand you can't help but look at his face.

Compared to the last time you saw him there's a scar or two more on his right cheekbone, a significant healed slash across the bridge of his nose, a few extra wrinkles in the corner of his eyes. The stubble on his jaw, chin and upper lip is well maintained and lacks intensity on his neck. The cropped look suits him, hints of grey coming through as a reminder of his aging body now that he has been off the all the chemicals and the ice.

Your eyes trace his side profile, from his hairline to his forehead, eyebrows to the tip of his nose, nose to his lips, lips to his chin and then back to his lips. They're pursed as a habit of concentration, blue eyes trained on the task at hand (literally).

Though it stings, it's practically painless with the way he leans into the counter to reach you. Your heart is skipping again, but this time you think you know why.

"Done," he claps his hands together. "I definitely recommend seeing Banner tomorrow though, even though I spend my weekends fixing myself up I sure as hell ain't a doctor."

"You did a mighty fine job anyways, Mr Barnes," you admire his handy work, though you definitely need that deeper cut a proper look at tomorrow. It'll definitely stop the bleeding and keep it all together for the meantime.

The tension resumes it's place between you, it's palpable.

Your stomach growls in the quiet room.

"Are you hungry?" He quirks a brow.

"Yeah, I was initially in here to cook," you nod your head and rub your forearm with your uninjured hand sheepishly. "Kinda' foiled now." You wave your now bandaged hand.

"Can I take you somewhere?" He's polite, and looks at you like an expectant puppy. You can't help but grin.

"Sure."

It’s a stones throw, or two, from the tower before you finally arrive at your destination. The roaring of his motorbike falls to silence as he uses his heel to push out the kickstand, leaning the bike on it and throwing his leg over to hop off. Reaching his hand out he offers to help you down, which you gracefully accept, placing your hand in the palm of his own and jumping out of your seat.

Dinner was gorgeous. Some little, family owned, Thai place hidden in Brooklyn, where the women knew Bucky’s name and the men shook his hand. They presented you both with a free entrée. It sure as hell made you forget about that little episode in the kitchen. The second the food met your tongue you practically melted into your seat, and Bucky laughed as if to say ‘I know, right!’

Conversation flowed easily, any moment of silent was just a cause of food being stuffed into your mouths. He didn’t ask why you couldn’t sleep, or why you were in such a state and broke the glass. Bucky knew you’d tell him when you were ready.

A shared plate of Khao Niew Ma Maung and a more than generous tip later, you find yourself standing outside of the door to your room. Laughter echoes down the empty, dimly lit hall as you keep at least a foot between you— not daring to even brush arms. His strong featured are illuminated by the shadows, and that funny feeling rests heavily in your chest.

There’s a blanket of silence that falls between you two, not wanting this quiet moment to end. You can see the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and if the super soldier hearing was true he’d definitely be able to hear the heavy beat of your heart.

“Thank you,” you break the silence. “I— tonight was lovely.”

Bucky hums. “It was.”

Neither of you move a muscle, an invitation lingering on the tip of your tongue.

You open your mouth to speak. “Do you—”

“Yes, please.”

Inside your room is sweet, the bed is made with the cosiest of sheets, books stack shelves accompanied by little trinkets you display proudly. Flicking a match you ignite your pumpkin-scented candle for a source of light, the blinds already automatically pulled down on the floor-to-ceiling windows. If the crisp, untouched sheets were not enough of a sign that you couldn’t find rest, perhaps the growing bags under your eyes were.

Respectfully he kicks his shoes off at the door before stepping on your plush carpet, shrugging off his own jacket and neatly placing it on the back of your desk chair. He’s never been in your room, no one has besides Banner who stumbled in panicked to find you a shaking mess on the floor. That’s a story for another time.

You lay on top the bedspread and rest your head on the plush pillow, hands intertwining on your stomach as you stare at the ceiling. Letting out a gentle sigh you feel the mattress dip to the right of your feet.

“You can lay with me, don’t be shy.”

He’s hesitant to do so, but you can feel the warmth of his body as he lays parallel to yourself. You can smell his cologne and it’s much nicer than your expensive candle.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” he motions with his hand that you can see in your peripherals.

“You thought I’d be happy with the Stark furniture they so kindly gifted us all when we first moved in?” You put a certain emphasis on the word, which causes him to chuckle. The bed shakes under his weight, and the butterflies flutter.

“I think I broke the bed frame on the third day,” he shuffles beside you, you can tell there’s a smile on his face that matches yours.

“Holy shit, who did you do?”

“No— no— not from that!” He’s quick to jump in and defend himself, evidently flustered. “Turns out the billionaire couldn’t spare the few extra dollars to buy something that could hold 260lbs.”

“So what, you were just sleeping and it collapsed beneath you?” You turn your head slightly to glance at his face.

“I mean I kinda’ face planted on it after I got home from a frustrating mission, and it just splintered beneath me.”

“Oh god,” you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle a giggle. “I would’ve paid to see that.”

“I was pissed,” he shakes his head, turning it slightly to look into your eyes. “I stormed through the complex and kicked open Stark’s door.”

“Did you get a new bed frame?”

“No, my mattress is still on the floor.”

“I think you need to make another complaint to head office then.”

“You bet,” he shakes his head with a heavy sigh, but the upturn of his mouth tells you that it’s the least of his worries right now.

There’s a certain tension in the air as his cerulean eyes drown in your own, nothing but the crackling of the candle wick and your combined breaths filling the void.

“Thank you, for taking me out tonight,” your eyes trace his jaw to his lips before flicking back to his own. “I—I wasn’t doing too well.”

“I know,” he nods his head in understanding. “I should be thanking you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mrs Nguyen so happy to see me walk through that door with someone other than myself.”

“Is that why she’d check on our table every five minutes despite the fact we were the only people dining there?”

He chuckles, running his hand through his chopped hair. “Seems so.”

For the first time in a very long time, you feel your lids getting heavy as your body sinks further into the mattress. There’s a warmth rather than that awful cool you feel so often, and it’s starting to become a challenge to keep your eyes open.

After what feels like an eternity of struggle you lift your head slightly to notice how Bucky’s lashes now rest on his cheeks, lips parted to let out quiet breaths. And suddenly in this moment you are safe, and everything is okay.

Your lips meet his forehead in a soft, gentle kiss. “Thank you.” Before you rest your head a little closer to his own and fall into a sleep you’d been praying for.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barns x y/n #bucky barns imagine #bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier #captain america #the winter soldier #steven grant rogers #tony stark #fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #steve rogers #catws #fatws #fatws bucky #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #the avengers #marvel fanfiction

[pastanest]

if you’re wondering why I’m having to repost this, or why you were perhaps previously following me but no longer are, please refer to this post. I was able to retrieve this thanks to the very lovely friends who have relentlessly sifted through tumblr archives to recover them, thank you all so much!! ♡

Legolas & Aragorn - You Give Him The Silent Treatment

Legolas

- emotional cues are a little difficult for elves

- at first, Legolas doesnt even register that he’s done something to upset you. he assumes that for whatever reason, you want your own space for a while, and he doesnt mind that

- the tension between the two of you in passing is utterly lost to him, he genuinely doesnt even feel it because he’s an oblivious boy

- it’s only when his father, King Thranduil, alerts him of the situation that Legolas begins to understand

“The two of you had a disagreement and you refused to look at her while you were watching the hills, is this true?”

“Yes.”

“My son, when you talk to your love with eyes that linger anywhere but her, it will raise doubts from the grave that then torment her mind.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.”

- Legolas went on a mission to find you after that, and it didnt take him long

- you were sitting under a tree, reading a book of spells

- Legolas sat down in front of you

“Melamin(My love), are you alright?”

- you hummed in response, refusing to lift your gaze from the book

- Legolas sighed

“I am deeply sorry for the pain I have caused by being so oblivious to your feelings, it was not my intent. Human emotion is a subject I am yet to master, but I am sure that verbal communication could resolve this, so what do you say?”

- you didnt say anything. you slammed your book shut, stood up and walked away from him

- alarm bells rang inside the young elf’s head, this was far worse than he anticipated

- he ran after you and grabbed your wrist with determination, but enough sense to be gentle in his gesture

“Please, do not part with me when the storm still follows you.”

- it was your turn to sigh

“What is there to say? You thought you resolved the issue of ignoring me in sight by ignoring me in every other sense.”

- Legolas finally understood, you felt neglected

“Lirimaer(Lovely one), I have been a dreadful partner to you in allowing you to believe such falsehoods. There is no existence I treasure more than yours! I swear on my mother’s last breath, I will do everything to show my adoration in further ways that you understand.”

- you turned to face him, your eyes finally meeting his for the first time in a week

- you smiled, and his heart sang songs of pure bliss as he pulled you into his arms

“Will you give me the opportunity to prove that I am worthy of caring for your heart?”

“Legolas, proving that would be fruitless; my heart is yours for eternity regardless of your actions.”

“Then I will do well to make that a blessing rather than a burden.”

Aragorn

- your relationship with Aragorn remained a secret during the time spent with the Fellowship

- you didnt want to be recognised as a distraction to Aragorn or a tag-along, you wanted to be treated as an equal member of the team

- but in keeping your relationship a secret, Aragorn was a free man to any woman’s eyes, including Éowyn

- considering the circumstances, you had no right to be angry at her advances, but they boiled the blood in your veins to a heat even that Balrog couldnt stand

- the final straw came when your beloved drank from a goblet presented to him by Éowyn, and once he had gone, her uncle congratulated her on establishing a romance with Aragorn

- you stormed out of the bar and Aragorn ran after you, the streets of Rohan were quiet while every voice that resided there was hollering in the bar, meaning there was no reason to hide

- Aragorn ran in front of you and stopped, holding your shoulders and trying to read your countenance as you avoided his eyes

“My love, what vengeance is it that fuels you this night?”

- you just shook your head and tried to break free from his grasp, Aragorn frowned

“You wish to escape me, am I the source of your rage?”

- you scoffed and lifted your gaze to look at him with fire in your eyes

“Your ‘love’ is among the sea of voices concealed by those walls, is she not? The fair maiden who stole your heart, may the skies bless the happy couple! It is not my business to interfere with a man who is spoken for, I beg your forgiveness and part with sweet sorrows!”

- with that, Aragorn released you and you hid yourself away at the inn

- Aragorn was shaken, he could not believe how careless he had been with your feelings

- in keeping your relationship a secret, he had broken his promise of protecting you from harm, and he was to blame for your anguish

- he visited the door of your room at the inn every single day, bringing you flowers and fruits he had picked himself, but you never answered the door

- on the seventh day, there was a gentle tap on the window that awoke you from a restless sleep

- you tried to fall back into your slumber, but another tap on the window disturbed you

- rubbing your eyes tiredly, you stepped out of bed and shuffled over to the window in your nightdress

- you frowned as you remembered you were on the second floor, nobody could reach you from the window, could they?

- pushing open the small wooden doors, you were greeted by the early morning sun, and the view of Aragorn standing on the grass below you, a collection of pebbles in his hand

- he grinned as he saw you, clearing his throat before he began to dramatically shout up at you

“And there she is! My sweet angel, the only mortal fairer than any elf could dream of being! The keeper of my heart, my sun, my sea, my skies - who need not bless the happy couple, because the happy couple is blessed enough to be!”

- a crowd began to gather around Aragorn as he drew attention to himself with his monologue, the Fellowship joined him at his sides, all of them appearing unsurprised by his confession, Pip and Merry even exchanging food in the form of a bet, had they known all this time?

- Éowyn watched on from a few feet away, appearing happy and also unsurprised, had Aragorn spoken to her about this?

- Aragorn looked at the ground in disdain

“But I have wronged her, scorned her, brought tears to the delicate flower I promised to protect! I am a fool, not of a Took, but of a man!”

- he lifted his head to smile at you again

“It is I, who must beg your forgiveness, and I will do so in a way that reveals my heart’s devotions.”

- with that, Aragorn lowered himself to his knees, everyone in the crowd gasping, your eyes widening as you covered your mouth with your hands

- Aragorn raised his hands to you in a prayer position

“Will you give a beggar one last kiss?”

- you grinned and ran from the window, out of the door to your room, down the stairs and out of the inn, directly into the (still kneeling) Aragorn, who immediately wrapped his arms around you

- you kissed him with passion that was perhaps inappropriate given the number of witnesses, but neither of you seemed to care

- when you pulled away from each other, you were breathless, and Aragorn grinned

“Was that the last kiss?”

- you shook your head

“The first of many.”

#aragorn #legolas #aragorn x reader #legolas x readeer #aragorn imagine #legolas imagine #x reader #lord of the rings #lotr #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction

[bangtanficsforyou]

Home Sweet Home (JJK)

Pairing: (Bunny hybrid) Jungkook x Reader.

Genre: floof

Word count: 1.5K

Warnings: curse words ig?

Au: established relationship au.

Based on this request.

If you enjoy my writing consider supporting my patreon!

You're oddly surprised when a warm body doesn't collide with yours upon your arrival. Looking around the living room you find no trace of the man that regularly greets you with a wide bunny grin and warm bear hugs. 

He must be asleep, you deduce and decide to head over to his room. 

When you swing the door open, your previous thought is proved right when you notice him peacefully sleeping with blankets wrapped all around him. 

You walk inside the room without making a sound and for a few moments, silently observe his features. He looks so cute and precious sleeping like this, without a worry about the world. You only wish to keep him this content as long as he will allow you to. 

Without even realising what you're doing, your hand gently brushes a few strands of his hair from his face. However, when the body moves suddenly to cover their head with the blanket, you're taken by surprise and yelp, not having expected the sudden movement. 

Is he not asleep? 

"Jungkook?" You call his name out and recieve a grunt in response, confirming your suspicions. "Hey baby, are you not feeling well?" 

Jungkook doesn't answer and only tightens the blanket around him, which makes you frown in concern. 

"Baby, are you okay?" When he still refuses to answer, you shake his body softly urging him to respond. 

Jungkook grunts once again to show his displeasure. "You do not have to worry about me. You can stay at office all you want."

Your hands pause when you register his words. So this is what it is about. He hasn't been asleep at all. If anything, he had probably made his way to bed when he had heard your foot steps approaching. 

You snicker silently at the thought of him doing that to show his protest. Just when you think he cannot get any cuter. 

"The very least you could do is to not laugh," Jungkook's muffled voice greets your ears, immediately halting your laughter. 

Sometimes, you tend to forget that he's a hybrid which means he can hear even the slightest of sounds, your silent laughter not being an exception. 

"I'm sorry," you apologise, genuinely feeling bad for laughing. "What can I do to earn your forgiveness?" 

Jungkook remains quiet for a few moments and maybe you know him a little too well to know that he isn't actually mad, he never actually is, when it comes to you. He only ever decides to be a little bit dramatic when he feels like you haven't been giving him enough attention. 

"Kookieee," whining his name you tickle him over the blankets. Despite the thick layer of protection, Jungkook squirms and soon scoots away from you. 

You huff. "Fine, I will sit here as long as you don't talk to me."

Saying so you take a seat on the now empty side of bed. 

A few moments later a pair of hands make their way out and he peeks at you with only his eyes and the messy mop of his curls visible. 

"You can make up to me by getting under the blanket, right now," he grumbles cutely. 

Fighting off the urge to smile, you remove your jacket and get rid of your belt to be more comfortable. Jungkook loosens the blanket enough so that you can get in and the moment you do, you're instantly pulled closer by a pair of limbs. 

"Much better," he whispers, his nose skimming gently across your cheek. 

You chuckle at his actions and wrap your arm around his torso. "I'm still in my work clothes."

Jungkook looks at you for a second before breaking into a wide grin, no longer pretending to be angry. "I couldn't care less about anything with you in my arms like this."

"Such a drama king you are," you mumble softly, placing a small kiss at the juncture of his neck. 

"Sometimes you gotta be like that if the love of your life isn't giving you enough attention," whining cutely, he complains and places several kisses on any expanse of skin he has access to. 

You giggle and squirm at the tickling sensation but it only causes Jungkook to hold you tighter. 

"Stop squirming," he nibbles at your neck causing you to laugh even more. 

"I can't help it, it tickles."

His actions slow down and he simply buries his face in the crook of your neck, "this feels nice."

"I know," you hum. "I'm sorry I have been busy lately and that we have barely got any time to spend."

You feel him softly smile against your skin. "It's okay. I missed you but now that you're here, it's all okay."

You're aware that Jungkook knows how heavy the workload has recently been. You're grateful that he understands and is always so willing to do whatever it is to make things easier for you. But you won't lie, sometimes you too wish you could work from home like Jungkook does and be in his presence more. Admittedly, these feelings only ever occur to you when your work simply doesn't allow you to make time for anyone or anything else, like the last few days. 

"I missed you too," you mumble into his hair, the soft smell of his shampoo enveloping you in immense amounts of comfort. 

"Lies," he scoffs. "If you had missed me, you'd have smothered me with kisses by now to express exactly how much you missed me."

You scoff right back at him. "You know you can just ask if you want me to kiss you."

"But where's the fun in that?" 

"You're such a brat, you know?" Laughing in disbelief, you run your fingers through his hair.

"Yeah? Want me to teach a lesson or something?" His body shakes with waves of soft laughter and warm puffs of breath hit your skin. 

"Maybe, I should," you say in a thoughtful manner, taking his words into consideration. "Maybe I won't kiss you, that should sure teach you a lesson."

Jungkook's laughter stops immediately and he looks up at you with offence written all over his face. "You do not mean that." 

"Maybe I do," you shrug softly, trying to hold yourself back from smiling. 

Jungkook levels his face with yours and looks at you as if he were a sad kicked puppy. "You really won't kiss me?" 

"Nope," you pop the 'p' and watch in amusement as his face contorts into pure disbelief. 

"Heyyyyyy," he whines and somehow you know this time he isn't being dramatic. He really doesn't like the idea of you not giving him kisses. "This is not fair."

"What isn't?" 

"You not kissing me," he complains. "I was waiting the whole day for you to come back home and this is what I get? No kisses?"

You chew on your bottom lip to hold yourself back from kissing him right at that very moment. Jungkook is adorable, he always is. But there's nothing more tempting to you then when his plump lips protrude to form a pout. 

"Baby, my sweet girl, darling of mine," he presses his lips against your cheek and gradually, almost as if magnetically he inches closer to your lips. Pressing a soft kiss at the corner of your mouth, he retreats. "Kiss me. Please."

You wanted to continue teasing him a little longer. But you should have known better. With Jungkook looking at you like that and with his lips hovering over yours, nothing in the world could stop you from closing the gap. 

The moment your lips meet his, Jungkook sighs in relief. His lips mold against yours and he matches your pace with one of his hands now resting on your hips. 

You place your palm on his face and your fingers gently rub across the skin of his cheek. Jungkook is gentle, soft, sweet and everything nice. You kiss him with a tenderness that is delicate yet one which sets his soul on fire. He isn't sure what is it that you do but everytime you kiss him, his soul feels a little more alive, he feels a little more like himself and he feels love in a way that makes him want to drown in it. 

He spends most of his day in the apartment doing his work on his laptop. It's absurd but to him this place without your presence is just that to him, an apartment. It's only when you are with him, that it feels like home. You're home. You're his home. 

"I love you," he whispers, a little breathless but not from the kissing, rather from the warmth that's flowing through his veins.

"I love you too, baby," you smile and place a small peck on his lips. "Now let me get changed and take a shower."

"Five more minutes," he says and doesn't give you the chance to protest for the next thing you know he's laying with his head on your chest, enjoying the soft thumping of your heartbeat. 

You close your eyes and relax because when have you ever been able to say no to him. 

#jungkook x reader #Jungkook fluff #Jungkook drabble #bunny hybrid koo #Bunny hybrid Jungkook #Established relationship au #Fic: home sweet home #Requests

[mxssingmemories]

It'll be okay.

Pairing: Chris Evans x daughter!reader

Summary: Y/N started a new job and has started getting bad migraines. Chris just wants to be there for his daughter.

Warnings: Migraines, reader breaks down, lots n lots of fluff.

Word count: 615!

A/N: This was requested by the lovely @chrisevansdaughter ! Definitely one of my favorite things I've ever written :) Hope you're having a good day, lovelies!

You were having a very stressful day. Honestly, in your opinion, it was more like a stressful week. You'd just started a new job, and it was..well, one of the most difficult things you've ever done. Your new boss was pretty mean, and even though you knew he'd warm up to you after a while, it was still hard to get through. As a result of this, you were getting less sleep in order to prove yourself to him. In the span of a week, you've gotten about 16 hours of sleep. Almost every minute of your waking hours was spent working on your computer or at the office, and Chris knew it. It was starting to show in the way you acted, spoke, even walking looked slightly concerning to him.

You knew that as his daughter, you didn't even have to work-the money he got from his consistent acting roles was well enough to keep you both afloat for as long as you needed. You'd turned 18 half a year ago, and you just couldn't help feeling that without a job you were just using him.

As a result of the stress and constant lack of sleep, you'd started having really bad migraines. It was something you've had before, but it was never this bad. You'd have at least two a week, and they were unbearable. Your dad was very concerned every time you had one, insisting you quit your job and let him provide for you. Each time you refused, even through tears. You continued to push yourself through everything, and it hurt Chris to know that he couldn't do anything except be there for you when it got bad.

As a result of a particularly bad day, you laid on your bed with a cool cloth over your face to block out the light. When they got this bad, all you could do was take some pain medication and lie down, waiting it out. This was how your dad found you when he got home, and the sight immediately made his heart hurt.

As soon as he realized what was going on, he jogged to the kitchen to grab you some water and a blanket. Coming back into your room with the supplies, he laid the blanket across your shivering body and softly grabbed your hand.

"It's alright, Y/N. I'm here. I've got you." He turned the room light off and closed the blackout curtains, removing the cloth from your eyes so he could see your face. His heart once again felt too heavy;your face held clear pain and he wanted to cry.

"How bad is it this time, baby?" he asked you, making sure his voice was soft. Your eyes filled with tears at the pure love in his eyes, a sob escaping you.

"Oh honey," he whispered, pulling you into his arms. You curled into his chest, letting yourself fall apart for the first time since you started the job.

You cried for what felt like hours, your dad holding you through it. He cradled you tightly, whispering loving encouragement as he rocked you back and forth. Eventually, your sobs ceased to hiccups. Finally relaxing in your dad's loving arms, he planted a kiss on your forehead.

"Please quit the job, my love. It's stressing you out so much. It's so hard to see you like this when I can fix it. Please, baby. I love you, Y/N." he murmured.

Unable to keep resisting, you nodded your head. Sleep threatened to take you right then and there. You finally let it. Your last thought was that your dad was the best person in the whole world.

#chris evans x daughter!reader #chris evans fluff #tw migraines #mcu cast fanfiction #my writing #chrisevansdaughter <3 #chris evans my beloved #hurt/comfort #requested

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

II. of niceties and awkward second meetings.

parts: previously / next plot: bruce makes an offer you actually can refuse... at first. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, bruce wayne is still a masochist, bruce wayne is ALSO reckless :). words: 3.5k. edited: 2/28/24.

After every surgery—good or not so good—when you’re rinsing off and getting patted on the back for a job well done, you elect to feel hope. And then you hurry to lock yourself in your office and try to catch your breath.

The weight of a life on your hands follows you from room to room, from work to bed, from daydreams to night terrors. Even when it’s good, it rarely ever feels good. Questions bloat your brain: what if there’s something you missed? What if, despite it all, it’s not enough? Is the blood on your hands, then? Is the life yours to save or the patient’s to endure?

There was no solid answer. All you could do was wait for full recovery and try not to let it consume you.

Maybe tonight was a night for Thai. Maybe you’d call up your old roommates and get together at your place. Maybe you could finally tell them about the night Batman broke into your house, and how you stitched up his bullet wound, and then fell asleep 20 feet away because you had to meet Bruce fucking Wayne the very next morning and God help you if you embarrassed your boss by being late. So far, the only person who’d heard about it was the old lady who lived in the apartment below you, and all she’d done is pray for you.

You’d assured her you were fine, but she’d insisted on anointing your doors and windows before you left for work. The “demon of Gotham” she’d called him, herald of vengeance. The fact that you’d saved his life meant that you’d be spared in the reckoning... or whatever little old ladies learned in Sunday school.

Whatever she believed, you had no reason to think you’d be struck by lightning twice. Batman would not be returning to your home any time soon.

The thought almost made you sad.

There was no reason for him to return. Batman probably had a team of doctors waiting to tend to him if his arsenal of weaponry was any indicator of wealth. He wasn’t just any ol’ run of the mill vigilante, that was for certain.

You were just a blip. A freak accident. A glitch in the matrix. The chance that you’d been in the right place at the right time when Batman needed you most was just that: chance. And you were no gambler, but you could bet on your license that that man would never darken your doorstep (or window sill) again.

Maybe you’d stop by the liquor store too on your way home.

You’re rounding the corner when you collide with your boss, frantic as usual.

“Oh! Finally, there you are,” he grips your upper arms like a vice, eyes frenzied as they look you over, “why do you look like that?”

You imagine he’s referencing the dew of sweat on your skin and your scrubs out of whack. “I finished an operation fifteen minutes ago.” You answer, unimpressed. “I was just heading back to my office.”

Your attempt to sidestep him—to free yourself of the shackles that were his hands—proves useless. He spins to keep you in his grip, “You can’t! Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“You have a visitor.”

You frown, “A patient? No one’s on my schedule.”

“I’d like you to make an exception for this one.” His voice drops to a whisper. He readjusts your shirt sleeves as if dressing you up, prettying you for the highest bidder, and that sets you on edge, “Just trust me.”

You almost (almost) flinch away when he pushes you to your office door—now, a looming boulder instead of a gateway to your safe haven. Before you can even ask just who is waiting for you on the other side, your boss is rushing off down the hallway to do God knows what.

As if disarming a bomb, you slowly open the door to peek inside.

It scares the both of you, clearly, if the wide-eyed look he gives you says anything.

It’s like it hasn’t been a week since you’d last seen him. Bruce Wayne is wearing what looks like the same suit he’d worn last time, tie and collar stiff, jacket open underneath his billowy coat. But he looks awkward standing in your modest little office. He looks like he’s not supposed to be here, or at least not without his right hand man and the fanfare to follow.

He keeps his hands in front of him to show you he means no harm, “Your boss said it was okay to wait here for you.”

You’re still bracing yourself against the door, trying to figure out what he could possibly be doing in your office, what he’d possibly be waiting around for you for.

You think about the last time you’d seen him, when you’d grabbed him out of nowhere and his companion (Alfred, was it?) looked like he would have no problem breaking your spine if you dared manhandle him again. Oh God, he wasn’t going to sue, was he?

You swallow, “Uh, right. Can I help you?”

Bruce straightens up. His hands fall to his sides. You search his face to predict his next move but you’re puzzled to find that he’s just as clueless as you.

You didn’t know much about Bruce Wayne, that much had been established. What little you did know was some amorphous figure of nobility, the “prince of Gotham” as the press dubbed him.

Yet, standing before you in your simple little office, Bruce Wayne feels less like nobility and more like a stranger in foreign land. He keeps his hands in front of him and you’re able to make out purple dusting his knuckles. Bruised. Not bloody. Not recently. This piques your interest.

“How long have you been a surgeon?” Is his first question.

You slink into the room and debate on shutting the door, deciding to leave it open a crack; whether it is so you can escape or for him to feel unwelcome, you’re not entirely sure. “Four years. Not including the 12 years of school and residency.”

Bruce perks up just a tad to your bewilderment. “Did you study here in Gotham?”

“I did. I considered Metropolis.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Cheaper tuition.”

“Do you like it here in Gotham?”

“I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Wayne,” your voice comes out clipped—nervous—all the same, “I just got out of a surgery and I didn’t even know you’d be here so I haven’t got the faintest clue what you want-”

“I’m sorry.” Bruce apologizes, “I can come back another time.”

Come back? You assess his face once more, double checking for any sign of where this conversation is going, “Come back for what?”

For the first time since you entered the room, Bruce takes a step forward. A few, actually, ‘til he’s standing only a foot away and his whole deer-in-headlights deal is on full display. “A proposition.” Your head swims with big ideas. You’re thankful you’re still standing still. “I’d like to hire you.”

If Em could see you, she’d be laughing her head off at the look on your face. The emotions you're hit with are akin to blunt force trauma.

Bruce catches onto your distress and begins to explain, glancing away from your eyes to give you room to breathe, “Due to the nature of my job and the... events that transpired last November, I’m careful about my position in the public eye. I’ve decided to have a doctor on call, someone I can rely on in the event that something drastic happens again. It would be more menial work, but you would, of course, be greatly compensated: full benefits, triple your salary here. Nothing is out of the question.”

As the last word melts in the air, he finally locks eyes with you. Less deer-in-headlights now, more spotlight. More "I eagerly await your response".

You couldn’t even fathom the price point: triple your salary? You already made good money here, any more would be excessive. And then there’s the reality of the situation. You would be employed, solely, by Bruce Wayne. At his beck and call—perhaps moved into a nicer place within chauffeur distance of Wayne Tower—the support staff of the upper echelon.

Your mom wouldn’t bug you about moving out of Gotham ever again.

This all felt too good to be true. So good that your intuitive pendulum swung violently in warning. Bruce awaits your reply, wringing his hands before him and those glaring purple knuckles catch your attention again. How a CEO had managed those was a question you hesitated to entertain. Something else was going on here.

You knew Gotham was a corrupt city. It festered with crime in every aspect, that much the Riddler had made clear last Halloween. The late mayor, the DA, the police commissioner... and amongst his targets, Bruce Wayne had survived. Something else was definitely going on here.

“...I serve the public, Mr. Wayne. I reserve my skill for the citizens of Gotham without the... ability to seek better. I’m flattered you would consider me and I would be more than happy to point one of my talented colleagues your way in my stead. But I’m sorry, I can’t accept your offer.”

Bruce’s face falls for just a second. After all, if he were to wear his emotions on his face all the time, you doubted he’d be much of a successful businessman.

You’re thankful that he takes a step out of your personal space and doesn’t fuss, doesn’t try to shove a wad of cash at you, doesn’t throw more offers at you until you concede. “I appreciate your consideration, but that won’t be necessary. I should let you return to your work. Thank you for your time.”

You nod a little dumbly, the weight of what has just transpired starting to settle fully on you. Em would be far too angry at you to laugh, now.

With the grace of his pedigree, Bruce Wayne nods silently to you and leaves.

You notice once the muscles in your shoulders stop shaking that there’s something in your office that wasn’t there before. There, on the loveseat where Bruce Wayne had waited for you, was a business card.

You shakily approach the seat and collapse beside it, reaching out to read what adorns the back of the Wayne Enterprises logo.

Bruce Wayne CEO P: 212-XXX-XXXX

It takes the clatter of ceramic to pull you out of your reverie.

Beside you, Em hovers, “And here I thought you weren’t a fan.”

At the puzzled look you give her, Em jerks her head toward where your eyes had been focusing, mindlessly stirring in the events of the afternoon. At some point, the TV’s channel had changed from Days of our Lives to the Gotham News. They were running a story on a charity event downtown. Bruce Wayne was shaking hands on camera, the tagline “Bruce Wayne makes dazzling appearance alongside controversial mayor”. How fitting.

“‘m not,” you grumble, pushing your lunch around in yellowed Tupperware, “just thinking.”

“About?”

You glance at Em. Too little too late, your boss had clambered into your office shortly after Bruce left, pestering you about the conversation you’d had, disappointed when you’d told him you’d turned down the offer. “Imagine the press we’d get, one of our very own working for the CEO of Wayne Enterprises,” he’d argued, “you’ve got to reconsider.”

You hesitated to tell your tale again, fearful that you’d suffer the same reaction, but Em was not your boss. She would never let the topic rest. And it wasn’t like you signed an NDA, a truth that had only hit you hours after the fact, “I got a job offer today.”

Em’s eyebrows shoot up, “From West Mercy? Arkham?”

The very thought of working in Arkham Asylum had you abandoning your lunch altogether, “God, no. It was more like... on-demand. Concierge. A very rich patient wanted to hire me as their private doctor.”

“Wow... was it one of your patients?”

“No, I’ve never examined him in my life.”

“Him?” You recognized that tone of voice. A slew of questions were on the way if you didn’t elaborate fast enough.

Besides yourself and Em huddled in a corner, the break room was relatively empty. One of the ER nurses was napping, another engrossed in a game of Sudoku on their phone. You doubted they would hear even if you raised your voice above a whisper.

Quietly, because you clam up at the thought of saying his name out loud, you fish out his business card and slide it across the table to her.

It takes her but a moment to process. First a deep inhale, then her hand slaps the table (the Sudoku nurse glances up at you both and then changes his mind), then she’s gripping at your scrubs and shaking you violently in your chair, “Shut the front door! Please tell me you said yes!”

You frown, “No, I didn’t.”

“Why the hell not? I know you don’t keep up with the times in this city, but this guy is loaded!”

“I do keep up with the times. I just don’t give a rat’s ass about Bruce Wayne. A crime punishable by death, apparently.”

“But why in the world would you want to keep working here when you could be... having lunch on a terrace? Discussing lab results over Pinot Grigio? Jetting off to the Bahamas to check his vitals on vacation?”

You snort, “Exactly what I told him: I serve the public. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Could always do both.”

You tried to imagine it, for Em’s sake. The terrace lunches, the Pinot Grigio. You imagined the nice apartment from before and the esteem that your boss was sure you could bring the hospital.

And you imagined Bruce Wayne, with a limp. With bruised knuckles. Always looking at you with those big eyes that somehow told you everything and nothing at the same time. Like an open book in a dead language. You thought about the night that Wayne Tower caught fire and the world that had been crumbling down in Gotham had started to feel truly broken. Politicians die all the time, but the uber rich? Even you had watched the sky in horror.

And now that same man had asked you—you, of all people—to be there in case there was a next time.

You thought about the Batman. Would you say yes if he asked you the exact same question?

You hadn’t considered both.

You’re unaware that Em is leaving until her chair scoots loudly across the laminate, “Think on it. Seriously. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.” Her hand brushes your shoulder fleetingly. Then she’s leaving and you’re left to think again.

It was a bit ironic that his next visit took place as you were perusing apartment listings.

You hadn't seen him get inside your home the first time. He’d just been there, as if he’d always been there and you just never noticed. This time, he doesn’t have the urgency to break in. He waits at your window… staring in at you. No knocking. Not even a muffled “Can I come in?”

You don’t know how he expects anyone to invite him inside their home with those kinds of manners. You set your laptop aside and walk over to the curtains, his figure becoming clearer, more menacing as eyes silently follow you. By the time you reach the window, your heart is beating at an unhealthy pace. You had been able to get that adrenaline down before. How did you manage that again?

Batman waits patiently. Your hand presses to the glass, the warmth of it leaving behind a visible print as you push up on the glass, “Don’t tell me,” his head cocks to the side as you begin, “another bullet?”

If he is suffering from a wound like the last, he doesn’t look it. He’s crouched on your fire escape with his cape billowing behind him and the light of your apartment giving off just enough of an ominous glow.

After last time, you’d sneaked some extra supplies back to your place under the paranoia that something might happen again. And, let’s be honest, no one would raise a brow at having everything you need to clean a gunshot wound in this city. You couldn’t say it was entirely just for him, though.

The silence goes on uncomfortably long. You start to wonder if he even heard you, the way he stares you down, unmoving. He resembles a stray caught stealing from a trashcan, seconds from sprinting in the opposite direction to avoid being caught.

Eventually, your heartbeat spikes again. What had he told you last time? To run if someone tried to break in? Maybe he had wanted you to sprint the second you saw a human looming on your fire escape, regardless of their vague bat shape. Was he angry? He kind of always looked angry.

“Have you noticed anyone following you?” His question causes just the briefest alarm.

Living on the not-greatest side of Gotham, you had learned how to keep your head down but your eyes everywhere. If some mugger were looking to jump you as you got out of your car, you’d know. You shake your head, palms beginning to sweat.

Batman assesses you for a bit longer. You can’t tell if he’s reading you for a lie or if his instincts are just telling him otherwise, but eventually, he accepts your answer.

And begins to leave.

“Wait,” you stutter out against your better judgement, when he’s already stood to his full height, one boot positioned on the railing to propel himself below. He looks over his shoulder at you very slowly, “how’s your... side? Wound heal okay?

He looks down to where you’d stitched him, where his armor had been mended. “It’s better.”

You sigh, relieved. “You’ve gotten it looked at, then.”

“Someone looked at it.”

His wording gives you pause. “What about your stitches? Did you get them redone?” He hesitates. “You... did get them redone, right? Better. Preferably by someone who wasn’t worried about you dying on their living room floor.” Your skin prickles when you see his guilty look. “Batman, if you’ve been fighting crime every night for the past week with the same stitches I put in you days ago-”

“I’ve been through worse.”

“So you keep saying.” You really don’t mean to grit your teeth at him, practically stomping your foot because you’d, at the very least, expected him to be a bit smart about a bullet wound.

But, then again, you were talking to a man dressed as a bat.

You crawl out onto the fire escape, chilly and biting and unforgiving as the night may be, and watch Batman turn halfway toward you. You have to resist the urge to brush your hand against his side, an act far too intimate with Kevlar in the way. You look up at him, “Don’t suppose you’d let me take another look at it?”

The first time, sure, he let you because he was close to dying. With a motto of “I’ve been through worse” at his disposal, you doubted he would let you do it again unless the circumstances were dire.

Sure enough, he moves defensively away from you. You take heart in that it seems less like he distrusts you and more like he’s got a bravado issue. Not great, but better. Easier to fix.

You think of the medical supplies in your apartment and wonder if you’ve got what it takes to coax him inside. “I thought that you might not come again. Guy like you fighting crime every night must have people on hand for stuff like this, right? You’re not just any vigilante. Couldn’t be.” His unsettling glare makes the cold seep into you just a little bit more, “You don’t. Do you?”

He doesn’t answer you. His eyes shift from yours to the cityscape. Looking for a way out, maybe.

But if he wanted to leave, he would leave. Why would he hesitate?

“I just want to look. Make sure it’s not infected. No poking or prodding, I promise.”

“It’s not. I had someone look at it.”

“A doctor?”

“...No.”

“Someone who knows what they’re looking at, at least?”

He looks down at you. There’s something there that he’s keeping close to his chest, too much information for a stranger (even one who’s saved his life). You wait to see what his decision will be. “You work at Gotham General.” Batman states, matter-of-factly.

“...I know you were bleeding to death when I told you, but you’ve got to keep up in this city.” You see a hint of a smile on his mouth that is just as easily written off as a scowl. “What about it?”

Again, that look.

Just as you’re certain that you’re about to break through to something, a siren goes off in the distance. Sure enough, when the both of you look to the sky, his emblem is carved out in the clouds, beckoning him down to the streets once more. Your heart sinks. You were so close.

Batman waits a beat, positioning himself on the railing again. His eyes find yours over his shoulder, cape fluttering with the promise of taking flight, “They’re lucky to have you.”

He leaves. It feels even colder when he does.

taglist: @yikes-buddy​ @alexxavicry​ @moonlightreader649​ @maryx0107  @vainillasmil157​

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne scenarios #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman scenarios #batman imagine #batman fic #the batman #battinson x reader #battinson #dc #mjwrites

[generalhumancloudalmond]

Hello. Hope you are having a good day. Please, can you write about Platonic Yandere! Fukuzawa x Child! Fem! Reader? Thank you.

Thank you for your request! I hope you having a good day too and I also hope that you don't mind that I also added a Rampo to your request 👉👈. I tried to write something with only Fukuzawa, but because of the new series, it turned out to be more complicated than I thought.

...

Melon bun

Platonic!Yandere!Fukuzawa x Child!Fem!Reader x Platonic!Yandere!Rampo

You were in a juvenile prison when Rampo proved your innocence, and the director of the agency took you away, as it turned out later, they were just catching the criminal for whom you were accused. You've been living with them for about a month now and, to be honest, after prison it was like a contrast shower for you. Too loose, easy and noisy. But one thing remained unchanged: you were constantly followed and watched, only now it was mostly the director.

And even so, everything could be fine if you were allowed to see your mother. It turns out that almost immediately after you got out, she was also put in prison. At first you were very upset, but then all you wanted was to meet her. However, it wasn't that easy and your Fukuzawa only made things more complicated.

"I just want to meet my mom! What's wrong with my wish?"

"Nothing, I just don't want you to see that woman."

"But she is my...!"

"Y/n, I said no. End of conversation."

The three of you were sitting at the table eating breakfast when you brought up this topic. During the argument, Rampo was surprisingly quiet and just watched what was happening. After a moment of silence that reigned in the room, Fukuzawa pushed a plate with a melon bun towards you. However, you ignored this gesture.

"Thanks, but I don't want to."

"Well, Y/n! Don't be so offended, but the fact that you refuse a bun, then it's right!"

The detective leaned on you, reaching for your bun, but the director's warning look stopped him. But Rampo didn't stop piling on, on the contrary, he only intruded more into your personal space, putting his head on your lap. Your irritation began to be replaced by resentment and Rampo did not help at all. In the end, you couldn't stand it and a couple of drops fell right on the detective's face. His eyes immediately opened and he instantly jumped up.

"Y/n, what are you doing?! I am... It's not because of me, right?!... Y/n, I'm not on purpose, honestly! The word of a best detective!"

While Rampo was trying to calm you down, which only provoked you more, Fukuzawa got up from the table and sat down next to you. He pressed your head to his chest, even though you tried to resist out of undisguised resentment. Immediately after your head was in his hands, he stopped moving, only occasionally and uncertainly, he patted you on the back.

It was weird. You both didn't know how to talk to each other. He was unemotional and straightforward, and you were just you, just a little child whose childhood was awful and whom he wanted to protect so much, even from your own family.

The director carefully watched how you calm down and uncertainly loosen your grip, but you are in no hurry to pull away. Rampo taps you lightly on the shoulder and you turn around, he holds out his favorite candy and you accept it. Fukuzawa, seeing that everything was fine with you now and you calmed down, gently pushed you away and handed you to Rampo.

"I need to go away for a while. I'll be back in 2 hours. Rampo look after Y/n, please."

"Of course, I will look after her."

Fukuzawa nodded and headed for the door, opening it and leaving the room.

No, he didn't do anything wrong, all this is just to protect you.

#reader #yandere #platonic #platonic yandere #platonic bungou stray dogs #yandere bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs fukuzawa #fukuzawa yukichi #bsd edogawa rampo #rampo edogawa #yandere Rampo #yandere Fukuzawa #platonic Rampo #platonic fukuzawa #platonic yandere Rampo #platonic yandere Fukuzawa #child reader

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

“Love is Better When You Share.”

Y/N, after being sent on a business trip to Helsinki, Finland, has a fated meeting with two men in a hotel bar that would change her life forever.

Bam Margera X Fem!Reader X Ville Valo

(Fluff)

3.2k Words

Warnings: Suggestive content, crude language, smoking, alcohol, descriptions of injuries, flirting, jealousy

An: Wow! I actually started writing this one day before Bam and Ville had their little reunion earlier this week, so about good timing! XD I really tried to create a dichotomy between Bam and Ville in this fic because I think they’re so different but, at the same time, so similar! Aaa I’m in love with both of them heheh anyways I’m getting back to my requests so thank you all for all of them and please keep sending them! :)

If you were stuck in Nowhere, Helsinki for the next week, the least you could do was get drunk. It was funny how business trips always led you to the hotel bar, you thought, nursing the drink in your hand. It was a crowded, dingy place, but you worked with what you could get. Through the dimness of the bar, you could still make out the silhouette of the tall stranger brushing against your arm as he took a seat next to you. A smile played on his delicate, pale features as he looked down at you, thin fingers just barely resting on the darkness of the bar top. He didn’t even have to say anything and you were charmed, but maybe that was the tequila talking.

And before this handsome stranger could open his mouth to say anything, the bartender slid you another drink, wordlessly pointing a thick finger at someone down the bar, presumably the man who bought you said drink. Both of you glanced in the direction he pointed. Of course, you weren’t going to turn it down, but the timing was funny. You heard a snicker before he finally spoke up in a thick accent, “You know, I was about to ask if I could buy you a drink myself.” He took a sip of his beer, grasping the bottle with dark painted nails, “Guess that won’t be a problem anymore.”

You raised an eyebrow, “You speak English?” His words were deep and sweet but very articulate, a contrast to the tight lipped hotel concierges and shop owners you had met thus far. He flashed a sliver of teeth, “You’re an American?” The wit and the speed at which he replied to you was amusing, and you pressed, “How’d you know?” Glancing down the bar, then back to you, he replied nonchalantly, “It’s your accent. Well, that and your assumption that I didn't speak the language.” He seemed more endeared than offended at the cultural misunderstanding, pointing a thin digit down the bar and adding, “You know, I actually have a friend from America with me tonight.”

Oh, it was the guy who bought you that drink. You chuckled, squinting to see if you could make out his face and decide who was the hotter of the two, “What? You two havin’ some contest t’see who could get my number first?” The knowing look on his face told you everything you needed to know. It was immature, sure, but at the same time it was kinda cute. Nonetheless, he justified it, “Well, it was his idea in the first place. He refused to believe that I could get the phone number of the hottest girl at the bar tonight- care to prove him wrong?”

“I think I’d like to. Who are you, by the way?” You didn't show it but god, he was killing you. The words fell off of his tongue low and gentle, like he didn’t want anyone else to hear his musings, “Oh, I’m nobody, darling.” He added hastily after, “My name is Ville. And yours…?” Ville. The name sounded nice in your head, like some kind of European prince. You replied simply, “Y/N.” Ville seemed to smile hearing your name fall from your lips, “What a beautiful name.” He was Prince goddamn Charming. All he needed to do was hand you a glass slipper.

Before you could even start to respond your attention was drawn to a man walking up next to Ville, looking at you. “How’s the drink?” He raised an eyebrow at you from behind a pair of $300 sunglasses- the guy from the end of the bar. “Oh, it’s great! Thanks!” He grinned, one of his sharp canines glinting in the light, “I’m Bam, by the way.” Weird name, you thought, but you brushed it off. Leaning a little closer, his cockiness shone through in the tone of his voice, “Listen baby, I got a lambo out front here. Y’wanna come take it for a spin with me?” From the corner of your eye you caught Ville giving him the side eye of the century. Weighing your options, you made an excuse to save face, “Maybe not tonight- I got work in the morning.” Only then did Bam take a seat next to you, sitting with his back to the bar and his shoulders pulled back. “When’d you get off, then?”

“Around five tomorrow.” Reaching into your pocket, you grabbed two business cards with your number on them and passed them out to the men.

Well, he wasn’t lying about the Lamborghini. The roar from the engine made your stomach get that weird feeling, making every square inch of your body vibrate. Bam really put the speedometer to use, and you were equally as nervous as you were thrilled. It felt a like a roller coaster, zig-zagging up treacherous curved mountain turns as he rested one muscular hand on the steering wheel, the light from the street lamps that dotted the highway glinting off of his silver rings. Your gaze trailing up his forearm, you found your eyes fixated on a multicolored bruise framing a mangled pink mess of a scar, covering most of his elbow in shiny, raised tissue. The car ride itself was wordless, but anything spoken wouldn't have been heard anyway over the heavy metal music blasting through the speakers. Fast music, fast cars, and fast company. God, you felt alive.

“So, what’s this?” Bam glanced over at you as you asked the question, putting the car into park and swinging his legs out of the open door. “The best date of your life.” You couldn’t help but snicker a little at his bravado right out of the gate. Getting out, you noticed that you had left the busy city center a while ago and were instead nestled in the dense thicket of trees that made up the Finnish countryside. A cold, dry breeze blew the scent of spruce trees past you as you followed on his heels.

You two walked into the restaurant and you were seated in the blink of an eye. Bam just shot the Maitre D a look and you had the best table in the house or, at least, you could only assume they were the best from the view you had. Overlooking a cliff, all you could see for miles from your terrace level seats was water the same crystal blue color as his eyes. It was like magic. “Oh my god. How did you get all this?” There must’ve been stars in your eyes as you took in everything around you, but Bam just chuckled, “Well, back in America, I guess you could say I’m pretty damn famous.” Clearly not famous enough, you thought, because you didn’t know him. It took you a few seconds to realize he probably assumed you weren’t American but you still had no clue who he was, so you didn’t stop him.

Taking a sip of the sparkling wine the waiter left, you tilted your head to the side, “So, what do you do?” It almost felt cruel to see the blow that took to his ego but, at the same time, it was fun to watch him scramble, “Well, I’m a skateboarder. A professional one.” You raised an eyebrow, your smile teetering on sinister, “You know, my little cousin does that too. And that pays well?” He seemed to catch onto your game. Glancing to the side, then back at you, he leaned a little bit closer, “I mean, did you see what I drove you here in, Baby? Of course it does!” Bam sat back in his chair, looking up at the waiter as he placed the plates of lobster in front of you two before continuing, “I’ve been in movies, Tv, video games- they make shoes with my name on them for crying out loud.”

As he rambled, your eyes started to drift back to that elbow as it rested on the nice, white tablecloth. Catching you, Bam grinned, holding it up for you to get a better look, “Broke it a week ago. Sixteenth time, actually.” You winced. Maybe he was less of an ego case than you thought. As a breeze blew, swirling his dark curls around, a look of great satisfaction crossed his face when he saw the surprise on yours. “Mmhm. Doctors say if I do it again, the whole ‘things just gonna turn to dust. You can touch it if you wanna.” The rich boy routine didn’t work on you, but this surely did. The injuries made him look grizzled, real rough around the edges. Your curiosity begged you to, so you tentatively reached out a hand and gingerly ran just the tips of your fingers over the raised surface of his skin. Suddenly, Bam drew back his arm, hissing air through his teeth and clutching it dramatically. You hastily began to apologize, “O-oh, I’m so-“ He was laughing.

Bam went on to excitedly show you the raised, earthwormy scars that ran down his arms he acquired from skateboard spills and patches of hair he was missing that made his scalp look like a dog with a bad case of mange. There was a beauty in the fact that he was falling apart, a kind that your fellow diners seemed somewhat disturbed by from the glares they shot at you throught your meal, but you didn’t find yourself caring in the slightest. All you could focus on was your own little world- just you and Bam.

And the end of the night was almost like one of those cute little romance movies, where the guy drops the girl off at her front door under the moonlight and they stare at each other timidly for a while, not sure exactly what to do. “So, uh,” Bam rocked a little on the heels of his chunky skater shoes, his hands in his pockets, “Maybe we can do this again sometime?” As overconfident as he was, it seemed that once things got past the talk, he was a little shy. You smiled, “Sure!” A look of relief crossed his pale face under the golden light of the street lamp, “How’s next week sound?”

“I’m a little busy then. Week after that, maybe?” You didn’t want to tell Bam why, but he already knew.

After you and Ville had dinner together, he said he’d take you to a nightclub. “One of my friends owns this place.” He explained in the taxi ride there, golden light falling on his face, just as quickly fleeing from his features as the car sped through back alley streets towards your destination. “I think you’ll have a spectacular time here tonight, Y/N.” As you pulled up to what could have been an abandoned warehouse, you didn’t really know what to expect, pensively stepping out the door and gazing at the dirty, run down building before you, “You sure this is the place?” He nodded, “Positive, love.”

As walked up to the bouncer, Ville slipped him a 20 euro note and you took the opportunity to give him a good once over in the moonlight. God, he was beautiful, like those paintings of dying Victorian women. His white, just barely toned chest sat beneath a silky black fur coat that hung from his shoulders. You felt a little weird looking at him like that, but it’s not like you could help it. The tight little pair of black leather pants he was wearing weren’t helping your staring problem very much either, especially with how it exposed the tattoo on his lower stomach that he caught you ogling at. Your nervousness seemed to be amusing to him from the way he smiled with only his dark, smoky eyes, the corner of his magenta lips quirking up slightly. He reached out a hand to you and led you in.

It was like you walked through a portal into a whole other word. German techno blasted from giant speakers stacked haphazardly around the club, loud enough to make your ears tickle as you followed closely behind Ville, squeezing through the crowd. Women in latex miniskirts and black corsets would touch him on the shoulder and say lecherous things to him as they passed and seemingly everyone there knew him, offering him high fives and a few ass grabs. It was like he was some celebrity or something. From tall pylons, fire eaters spun flaming rods wrapped in vodka soaked rags and women danced in cages suspended from the ceiling. For you, this was a circus, but for Ville, this was just Saturday night. Sitting down at the bar, he lit himself a cigarette and took a drag, glancing at you, then the red leather stool next to him. You sat.

“First time at this kind of place?” Ville turned toward you with that coy, knowing smile. “Yeah…” From the corner of your eyes, you caught Ville propping his heels up on something dark just out of your line of sight, making you do a double take. Your jaw went slack, “Is- is that a gimp?” He recrossed his ankles, nodding, “Well, my feet were getting tired.” The way he just didn’t seem to give a shit about anything was so entrancing to you. Smiling, he tilted two of his pale fingers towards you, passing you his smoldering, magenta stained cigarette. You took it without a second thought, not even mentioning that you didn’t smoke. Ville smirked at your inexperience as you coughed after you took that first drawl. Sliding off of the stool in one motion, he kicked his feet off of his footrest, “I’m going to hit the men’s.” Nodding, your gaze lingered on his leather clad behind as he walked away from you, pressing the cigarette back to your lips.

Huh, maybe Ville had the right idea with this place. It made you wonder what kind of life he lived to get him into these places. Pondering whether he was a musician or some sort of male stripper, your thoughts were interrupted by an unfamiliar voice behind you, “Hey, baby. What’s a girl like you doin’ in a place like this?” Turning arround, you went to confront the creep hitting on you but were a little taken aback by the fact he was less than a foot away from you, staring you right in the eye and making your words escape you for a moment.

Your speechlessness wasn’t in any way aided, however, when Ville made his very timely return, sliding right between you and the guy. His chest pressed against your body in a way that made you rethink what you were okay with doing on the first date. He slid his knee in between your legs, pinning you to the bar like a butterfly on an insect spreading board. His long, dark hair just barely brushed against your cheekbones as he leaned down to speak to you, so close that you could’ve sworn he got some of his lipstick on you, the warmth from his bare torso radiating onto your body, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah.”

Lingering in front of the hotel, you both were slick with sweat from the steamy night you had, basking in the afterglow. Drinking a little too much, dancing a little too close, and sharing just a few too many things. You couldn’t forget it if you got amnesia. Ville waited in front of you patiently, looking up at you with those deep eyes that just made you melt. “I had a really great time tonight, Y/N.” You nodded back, your heart picking up a little, “Yeah, me too.” He seemed to wait for you to do or say something, but you couldn’t really tell what he was expecting. Reaching a hand out, you brushed a cold palm against his smooth chest, feeling him take a quick breath at your touch. Still not pulling away, you leaned forward just an inch- all that you needed for your lips to meet his cheekbone, his skin soft and warm. From your peripheral, you could see him glance up at you with his nearly black pupils as you slowly pulled away, walking back inside and leaving him on the sidewalk.

You knew what you were doing when you invited the two of them to the bar that night, and you could tell your plan was working. “It’s not fair, dude! You get all the hot chicks!” Bam sneered, beer in hand. You watched as Ville leaned on one elbow, turning to him, “Well, I’m not stopping you from getting any of the ugly ones.” It really was fun to watch them bicker from your spot at the bar like you weren’t even there even though you were sitting directly between the two of them.

It was only about fifteen minutes into their couple’s quarrel that either one of them acknowledged you. “Come on, Y/N.” Bam nudged you, “It’s not like y’called us here to watch us bitch with each other.” A playful smile danced on your lips as you batted your eyelashes, playing coy and running a finger along the rim of your glass, “Well, I was thinking about you two, and I realized something.” You glanced over at Ville, then back at Bam, feigning melancholy, “I just don’t think I can choose between you two.”

Besides how much fun it was to play with their emotions like this, especially when Bam gave you that wide eyed, slack jawed look as you broke his poor little heart, you weren’t entirely lying. Both men, over the course of two dates, made your day to day life of work and dull travel feel magical. Bam, and the excitement and thrill that followed him wherever he went, fulfilled the adrenaline fix you didn’t even know you needed. Ville, on the other hand, with his mystery and sensuality, opened your eyes to this world you couldn't even imagine before meeting him. Though in different ways, you were equally addicted to spending time with each of them. Your little show you were putting on was just you buying time until one of them worked something out.

“You know, I have an idea.” Ville spoke up, breaking the silence, “I think there’s an arrangement where everyone gets what they want here.” You breathed a sigh of relief, your prayers being answered. Still, you were a little skeptical. Bam sighed, shooting him a ‘you’re kidding me’ look. Ville explained, leaning towards you while making half lidded eye contact, “For example, when you want to spend time with me, then you can spend time with me, and if you want to spend time with Bam- well, I wouldn’t judge you- but you could spend time with him.” He took a sip of his drink, getting a little glint in his eye, “And, of course, if you want to spend time with both of us…well, I wouldn’t be one to stop you.” It took you a few seconds to realize what he was implying by ‘spend time with’, your cheeks turning a little rosy as he chuckled, “I mean, love is better when you share, right?”

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