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puckbunnyera · 3 months

Text

New Friend | Luke Hughes

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genre: fluff (?)

word count: 1.3k

warnings: none

notes: first time writing on this account. will probably end up taking this down or heavily editing as my writing progresses because I'm not sure if I like this one. we'll see 🤷🏽‍♀️.

update: link to part 2 here

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The smell of sweat, alcohol, and cigarette smoke overwhelms my senses as I sit at a booth in the corner of an overcrowded bar that my two best friends have dragged me to in Newark. Nausea swirls in my stomach at the sight of all the intoxicated bodies dancing and stumbling around me. After accompanying them to an intense hockey game between the New Jersey Devils and Chicago Blackhawks, ending with a 4-2 win for the Devils, they had decided that the success of their favorite team called for a celebration.

Not much of a party person, I decide to hang back at a table and keep watch of their belongings while they leave to go dance the night away amongst the other drunk people who litter the bar. To ease the anxious feeling in my chest, I pull my phone from my crossbody bag and open up my Kindle app. I choose the book I have recently been invested in, and I quickly become immersed in it. I'm not sure how much time passes by but I'm just reaching a really intense part in the storyline when a male voice grabs my attention.

"Do you mind if I sit here?"

Lifting my gaze from my phone screen, I meet with the gaze of a very handsome stranger. Shyness begins to take over as I realize that he's talking to me. My words leave me as I continue to stare at the guy in front of me. My lack of response must come off as apprehension because he quickly begins to apologize.

"Sorry if I scared you." He starts. "The bar is pretty packed and all of the tables are full. My friends ditched me to join the crowd and I'm not really a fan of these types of outings."

"It's fine," I reply as words finally find their way into my brain and out of my mouth. "I don't mind." I gesture to the empty seat at the other side of the booth.

"Cool." He nods, sitting down. "I'm Luke, by the way."

"Y/n." I respond. "Nice to meet you."

"I like your jersey." He refers to the Devil's apparel that I'm still wearing from the game I'd attended earlier in the night.

"Uh, thanks." A blush rises to my cheeks at the unexpected compliment. "It was the first jersey I saw in my size at the fan shop so I bought it."

"I'm assuming you're not a Devil's fan, then."

"Not really." I shrug. "My friends are though. I don't know much about hockey, but they love it. They convinced me to go watch the game with them tonight hence why I bought the jersey. What about you?"

"Kinda have to be considering I play for the team." He responds nonchalantly. His words leave me a little stunned and a lot confused.

"I can't tell if you're lying or not."

"I'm serious." He chuckles. "In fact, that's my last name and number you're wearing right now. Look me up if you don't believe me. Luke Hughes, number 43, of the New Jersey Devils. I won't be offended."

I do just that after picking up my phone from the table from where I had previously abandoned it after he made his appearance. Looking through the Google results, I realize that everything he just said is true.

"Okay, so you are telling the truth. But why would you just openly admit that to me? Aren't you worried that I might run off and tell everyone in the bar that I'm talking to The Luke Hughes? Or post it on the internet or something?"

"No." He shakes his head. "Call me naive, but I don't think that's the type of person you are."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Instinct or whatever you call it." He shrugs, a goofy grin on his face.

"What's it like, being on the ice? It seemed intense, and I was only watching it. I can't even begin to imagine what it must feel like to play."

"It is intense, but I love it." He replies honestly. "I always have."

We continue to talk back and forth for what seems like forever. Taking turns to ask each other questions and sharing random stories that have us laughing, almost to the point of tears. At one point during the conversation, he moves to sit on my side of the booth so he can show me a video of his brother falling off of a board while wake-surfing at their lake house in Michigan. He's in the middle of telling the story of the time he almost had to go streaking across his college campus when he's interrupted by a noticeably drunk man, a few others following behind him as he approaches the table.

"Lukey!" He exclaims loudly, making me laugh as he wraps an arm around the shoulders of a flustered Luke. "We've been looking everywhere for you."

"Who's your friend?" Another man questions as they file into the booth seat. The one embracing look shoves us over to sit on our side.

"I'm Y/n." I introduce myself.

"Nico." He greets me before pointing to the other men at the table. "That's Dawson, John, and-"

"And I'm Jack." The loud one from before interrupts. "I'm Lukey Pookies older brother." He lifts a hand and teasingly pinches Lukes cheek.

"My very drunk older brother." Luke huffs in annoyance and swats Jack's hand away.

"Nice to meet you." I giggle as the brothers begin to bicker.

As casual conversation begins amongst the group that has formed at the table, Luke scoots closer to where our shoulders and thighs lightly brush against each other with every slight movement and he leans in to whisper in my ear.

"Sorry about them." He smiles sheepishly when I turn towards him.

"Don't worry about it." I assure him. "They seem fun." He nods before turning to join the conversation.

It's nearing two in the morning when Nico, who seems to be the only sober one in the group aside from Luke, announces that it's time for them to head home. There are a few groans of disappointment, which Nico ignores as he begins to pull them from their seats. After they say their goodbyes and begin to walk away, Luke turns towards me.

"I know this is probably weird, and feel free to say no, but I was wondering if I could get your number." He questions, shyness washing over him. "This is the first time in what feels like a long time that I've been able to have a conversation with anyone, let alone a girl, whose intentions aren't to take advantage of my fame or status to influence their own. I would really like to get to know you more. As a friend, of course."

"Of course. I'm always down to make a new friend." I smile, a fluttering sensation forming in my chest as I take his phone and add my contact. A few seconds after handing it back, my own phone buzzes.

"I just texted you so now you have mine. I have to go but text me when you get home, so I know you made it safely."

He seems to hesitate for a few seconds, as if trying to make up his mind about something, before he leans in a brushes his lips softly against my cheek. When his face is visible again, he is sporting a bright red blush, mine surely looking the same if the warmth in my cheeks says anything. He says goodbye quickly before turning to run after his friends who are whooping and hollering, having seen the whole thing. I smile to myself as I gather mine and my friends, a giddy feeling running through every fiber of my being. I make it only a few feet from the table when I almost run into my friends, both standing in front of me, with shocked expressions on their faces.

"Tell us everything!" They exclaim as they each grab one of my arms and begin to pull me out of the bar.

#luke hughes #new jersey devils #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #lh43 #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes fic #nj devils #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction

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hiraya-rawr · 2 years

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little star — diluc 。

synopsis!! everyone knows the creator doesn't favor diluc (everyone is wrong).

cw !! gn reader, reader is peak diluc simp 😐 somewhat self-aware characters, mild sagau themes (not too much), reader is recognized as the player, reader is a little shy at first. angst with reverse comfort!

note !! the plot feels a little everywhere but i tried to organize it as best as i can, i think i got carried away eheh honestly doesn't feel up to my standards but it was pretty enjoyable to write

word count !! 2.8k something

"No, it's definitely Outrider Amber, she was the first to ever be favored."

"Are you kidding me? Outrider Amber may be the first, but sir Kaeya was definitely loved. Have you seen the sword he was gifted with?" One growls.

"It's the Acting Grand Master Jean!" Someone slams the table with his beer mug, "Twice was she bestowed with fallen stars of gold."

"I'd say that wolf boy in the woods seem lucky."

"It has to be Bennett. I don't know why but that kid has two crowns! Two!"

"You're all missing out on Miss Lisa!"

"Stop, stop! You rowdy drunks! Every vision holder in Mond has been granted favor, this is just impossible to decide!"

There was a pause. "Well. . . not every." Someone mumbles under their breath.

"Not every? Who's the poor allogene that couldn't even get the Player's favo—" Shushing sounds break his sentence, the men glare at their companion, pointing to the redhead behind the bar.

It's useless, really.

Diluc has been listening in the entire time. He can't really help it when their voices were loud enough to reach where he stood. Still, he was merciful and pretended not to hear. He's not exactly bothered by what they're saying. It was the truth, after all.

For two years, vision holders all around Teyvat were being granted favor.

It often begins with a meteor shower gracing the sky.

A star gently falling into the hands of a vision holder, embracing them in warm light.

They call the ethereal sensation as something akin to "coming home".

The favored would then be given different things; quality weapons, enhanced abilities, beautiful crowns— Some allogenes were even gifted summer apparel (Mondstadt is proud that their Gunnhildr sisters were one of the very first). Even their equipped wings would change into ornamented works of art!

It's been two years, and it seems like every allogene he knows of has received the Player's grace.

He supposed he just wasn't favored. It isn't too difficult to believe that he isn't likable.

He convinces himself it's fine.

It's fine if his summoned weapon is a cheap claymore made of scrap metal. It's still efficient to have the extra blade while he manually carries around another claymore (commissioned from Wagner as the best money could buy). Or that his abilities can only be improved through hardwork, unlike the many who broke the limits of their power through your favor.

It's fine.

As the bar goers leave for the night, as Venti and Kaeya wave around their almost divine-looking five-star weapons to show the crowd, and as he's closing up the tavern and retreating to his upstair quarters for comfort, he convinces himself that the he'll be okay on his own.

•

The arrival of the Creator was festive and grand; The day the sky parted itself and glowed as the brightest of all stars fell with grace into Mondstadt's very own Windrise.

Teyvat rejoices in the ecstatic ideal of being loved.

A meeting of vision holders was quickly held in the Cathedral, discussing immediate plans as some of the most favored (Venti, Jean, Kaeya, Albedo to name a few) went ahead to fetch the Creator from the large tree.

While Diluc was often the center of any other meeting due to his authority and influence, this was something he chose to step back from. Standing by the windows, away from the meeting, he watched on as Eula and the rest conversed around the circular table.

He isn't even sure why he's invited. Perhaps they felt it was obligatory for vision holders, regardless of favorability? Then again, he could always offer a fraction of his mountain-loads of wealth to help with the festivities.

At least he's competent at being a wallet.

As the others pull out their crowns and stars, weapons and artifacts, eager to thank the one responsible for the gifts, an unknown emotion bubbles in his stomach. It's faint, but it's there.

He tries to look away.

"Everyone, everyone! They're entering the gates!" Fischl announces uncharacteristically to the room as her eye glows brightly, undoubtedly looking through Oz's eyes from the sky.

"We should wait by the statue to welcome them, right?" Barbara chirps in, hands clasped and wavy hair bouncing with every step.

Diluc watches as people steadily leave the room, following last as they walk down the steps to greet the approaching group. Some civilians gathered to see the scene, others didn't really understand what a Player or Creator was to a vision holder, while Diluc—

Diluc stood by the steps to see them crowd around you.

You, surrounded with words of gratitude and cheerful squeals. He sees the smile on your face and feels relief that you don't seem too overwhelmed.

He leaves the area without a second thought.

•

He doesn't exactly see you around the next few days. With Mondstadt celebrating a new festival, the taverns were always full and busy with customers (both local and foreign). You were probably busy too, spending time with the different allogenes and entertaining those who came from Liyue to meet you. He's heard of a funeral consultant with three crowns (are consultants that admirable of a job to you?) and an adeptus gifted with various five-star polearms (this was understandable for the adepti, unlike the consultant).

He doesn't expect to see you at all until you leave for the next nation, honestly.

That is, until the tavern settles into a more peaceful atmosphere and Jean rushes in with several other allogenes. It's unusual to see his childhood friend in the tavern; still, he greets her amicably and asks what brings her here.

"(Name) will be coming here soon with Kaeya and a few others. It's a little impromptu, but we were hoping for a place to settle in with drinks. Perhaps try some apple cider." She smiles, taking a seat by the bar.

(Name)? Jean was already on a first name basis with the Creator?

Diluc thinks perhaps Jean truly is the favorite, she does have a few golden stars in her home.

Somehow, it's not surprising at all to know that his apple cider was famous enough to drag you in. At least there's something about the Dawn Winery in your favor. He promptly gets his employees to work, clearing a few tables near the bar, rearranging the furniture to give space good enough for a group.

Your entrance into the bar was just as lively; with your favored allogenes chatting away with you, everyone falling into place at different parts of the tavern, ordering drinks and meals.

He's glad you enjoy apple cider.

•

You're trying to play it cool, really. Trying your best not to get overexcited and glomp everyone and everything.

You're taking things step by step as you converse with Jean, Lisa, and Albedo; as you share meals with Barbara and Sucrose; as you play with Klee and Diona; tour the city with Fischl and Bennett. There's plenty of time to meet everyone and your schedule has been filled to the brim with all the fun your having.

You'll see that glimpse of red hair again— one that was lingering by the Cathedral staircase. Diluc doesn't like crowds, so it's fine that he isn't approaching you. It's also fine that he hasn't visited at least once, unlike the several raging from Liyue to Sumeru who took the journey to meet you early.

Diluc is too busy a person to meet you; whether it's because of the winery or his darknight hero duties, you wouldn't dare take his time.

— but when are you supposed to give him all the gifts you've brought for him???

Your determination to build him up in one go, from Talent levels to Constellations to Artifacts and Weaponry, all came down to this moment — and the man was simply nowhere to be seen!

An unknowingly loud sigh escapes your lips, catching the attention of the Cavalry Captain next to you.

"Now, what's got our (Name) so down in the dumps?" Kaeya hums, glancing at your face as you stutter a response.

"Aah it's not that, it's just. . ."

Your brother is too busy, I just want to meet him!!

"I'm thirsty." You deflect, looking around for a stall. The streets of Mond were nothing like the minimized version you see in the game; with the city being ten times larger than what you remembered it to be.

"Oh! Oh! Klee suggests apple cider!" The little girl giggles, running around your legs in excitement, "Angel's Share is nearby and big brother Albedo alwaaays takes me there for apple cider!"

Angel's Share. Bartender. A great idea has appeared!

At the excited look on your face, Jean walks up ahead of you.

"Why don't I go and inform the tavern to prepare us a space first, it would save us the waiting time."

"That would be great, Jean!"

•

You hope you aren't being too obvious.

With the way your eyes would linger on him, casting side glances and hoping he would greet you to strike up a conversation, the way most allogenes do. You didn't want to abruptly disturb his work, nor do you want seem desperate, so you waited for his initiative.

Yet, Diluc lingers just a little outside your group's circle. Your food and drinks were refilled by Charles, you've talked with nearly everyone but the person you want to talk to.

"It's getting pretty late, we should head home for the night." Someone suggests.

What?

No!

"Hm? Do you still have something in mind?" Kaeya asks. You realized you said it out loud, catching the attention of nearby patrons.

With a frantic glance around the tavern, your eyes make contact with Diluc's. He pauses as well, wondering what caused your little outburst.

You are definitely not leaving, not when you don't know when you could catch Diluc in his free time again! You'd be leaving for Liyue by then!

Hands slamming the table to stand up and with a small burst of courage, you approach the bartender who turns away from Charles. He raises an eyebrow at your approach. It's odd the way you feel flustered and nervous, finally facing him.

Pausing just in front of him, he looks on curiously.

"Would you like a refill?" He asks.

"A-ah no, I mean, yes but that's not why I'm here. I. . ." You stutter, stumbling over your words as you try not to behave awkwardly. Should you start with a casual topic?

"You seem to be quite busy." You say.

Diluc blinks. He isn't sure what you're implying. Neither is Kaeya or Jean, who stopped to look at the exchange of words.

"I suppose. . . but as a winery, we do thrive in impromptu festivities." He replies curtly before realizing, was it rude that he never visited the Creator?

"Ah, is it my lack of visit? I apologize, I would have visited but it seems that you were quite satisfied with your favorites and-"

"No, no, no," You wave your hand, cutting him off, "I understand you're busy. You don't have to visit at all! How could I take your time— wait," You pause, recalling his words.

"Favorites?" You tilt your head, "What do you mean I seemed satisfied with my favorites? What do you mean by favorites?"

"Your favorites... allogenes who received your favor. Those you have granted gifts."

Your jaw laxes. Favorites? They decided you play favorites based on how much you've built them?

"You think. . ." You say carefully, not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings, "That I offer gifts to my favorites?"

Diluc nods slowly, unsure of your questioning.

Although it would be a lie to say you didn't have your personal favorites, it would still be inaccurate that it's based on gifts. After all, you built everyone who came home by chance. As an avid player, you did your best to farm and push everyone to their full potential.

Diluc, however, never came home no matter how much you wanted him to. It can't be possible that he doesn't know how much he is loved, right?

"Then what about you?" You blurt out, "How do you think I view you?"

He stares at you oddly. At this point, many around you had stopped to tune in. Everyone knew Master Diluc never received your favor, so why are you conversing with him?

Meanwhile, Diluc wonders if you want him to admit it. Must he say it in front of everyone how he never received gifts?

"I suppose. . . I'm not one of them. It's quite understandable. I don't intend to question your judgement—"

"What?" You exclaim, a look of shock crosses your face, "You think I don't like you?" Voice raised in disbelief, you feel the eyes of many turning to watch the scene.

Diluc mirrors your confusion.

"I can't believe you would– no, that isn't it at all!" You stutter over your words, a frantic need to prove him wrong goes through you, "You— you of all people!"

"Me?" He repeats.

"I've always wanted you!"

A silence settles over the tavern. Did you have to put it so bluntly? You freeze in shock at your own words. Diluc's expression of disbelief turns flustered, face turning as red as his hair.

Explain yourself.

"I- I mean, I've always wanted you to come home. Ever since the start, really! It's just that you never did-"

"Hmm... so it implies that it's out of your control, correct?" Kaeya piqued, looking on curiously. He's been listening in the entire time. You nod your head.

"Yes! It's a game of chance for me as well. It's not to say that favor is an accident, I truly wanted everyone to come home! It's just that—" You turn to Diluc, "You never did, no matter how much I wanted you to. How was I supposed to give you your gifts?"

Diluc snaps out of his shock, blinking at you, "Gifts?"

"Yes, gifts! I've been saving them up for you, ever since the start." You pause, shyly looking away, "When I said I wanted you since the beginning I meant it. I came here for you, after all."

He looks at you in disbelief, and probably half the tavern as well. You can't help the small chuckle from your lips. With an outstretched hand, something materializes between you. It glows a blinding golden light, before settling to reveal–

"Wolf's Gravestone. It's a weapon for you."

You didn't have to say it— anyone with eyes could see how it was practically made for Diluc. With large handles and a color scheme that matches his own, Wolf's gravestone doesn't look as divine or ethereal as the other weapons you've gifted, but it looked just as powerful, if not menacing.

With a gesture, Diluc grips the handle.

"Fits like a glove." Kaeya whistles, impressed. As does the rest of the tavern who stopped to stare.

Suddenly, flames burst forth from the weapon. It sears and glows red. Unlike the common claymore that can't handle the the prowess of Diluc's flames, Wolf's Gravestone embraces it. Like an extension of his own hand.

He breaks his gaze away from the weapon to look at you.

"Thank you. . ." He mutters softly, but it's genuine. You smile.

"That's not the last of it, you know."

"What?"

With another flick of your hand, artifacts and talent books materialize. They flow around him like a dance as more and more begin to appear, lighting up the tavern like the night sky.

"I told you I brought gifts!"

All the days spent farming for him and other pyro characters finally paid off. The glimmering artifacts reflected in his own red eyes as he stares, entranced.

Favor did not come to him in meteor showers like it did to the other allogenes; rather, it came to him in your form. Proof of him being loved. The spectacle continued— after the artifacts and talent levels were the constellation (the crowd ooh'ed and aah'ed at the sight), then came the five star apparel (a nostalgic sight to him, and it changed his flames to a darker red), and the ascension materials you passed off as trinkets.

By the end of it, he had a hand over his lower face, his red bangs hid just the ends of his eyes. "I just thought I wasn't that favorable. . ." He muttered and you leaned in to peek at his covered face, wondering why he was shying away.

But it was evident to the tavern— the pink dusted ears, the flushed cheeks, and the overwhelming emotion in his eyes. Diluc Ragnvindr was flustered, and it's a sight enough to make even the drunks place down their beers for a closer look.

You bit your lip, trying to prevent the widest of smiles, "Do you believe yourself loved now?" You ask and he gives the faintest of nods.

"Thank you," He says, "For favoring me."

m.list 2 || consider supporting me on ko-fi ! || sagau m.list

note !! THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE a very short brainrot that became a fic huhuhuhu

I don't often write creator sagau themes but here we are! this is like peak diluc simpery idk ive never been this down for a man. i wrote this immediately after getting his skin i just got so excited 😅 I wanted to spoil him so bad (but i gave all his mats to thoma before he came home :< )

taglist !! @absolut-wildflower @boundedbyfate @sadlonelybagel @eissaaaa @ladycoleigh @nejibot @milkypompon @bloodreaper08 @irethepotato @x-zho @roriver @mich-cola @mxsomn @ackrylik @nicebonescomrade @starforecasts @stygianoir @yuminako @eccedentesiast-sapphic @nebulaera @nuttytani @klutzkat @shizunxie

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bas-writes · 6 months

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Kings Don't Fall in Love

Character: Donquixote Doflamingo Reader: female (should be trans inclusive but I haven't proof-read it from this pov, so proceed at own risk) CW: intimacy starved Doffy, non-descriptive mentions of sex, pressure put on scent, emotional isolation, Doffy's pov Word Count: 1.1k Synopsis: You leave a piece of clothing after a night spent together at Doflamingo's place. Something unexpected happens when he takes a closer look at it. A/N: I listen too much to Cigarettes After Sex and it shows... Anyway, a little gift to @opopnomi for which I hope she won't kill me LMAO Hope it made your day at least a little better :3

It's just your overnight t-shirt.

Doflamingo almost misses it among the clutter thrown all over his bedroom. It's just a single piece of clothing, but a little snip of fabric in comparison to his own stuff all around. You're so little next to him, from heads to toes, and especially your hands he likes to hold in his as he teases you for your embarrassment in face of the size difference. Everything about you is so little and endearing, and he can't help a little smirk at the thought of your eyes perked up at him.

They always look doe and pleading from this angle. And he loves it.

It's just your overnight t-shirt. A thing you wear only in the privacy of your room, not here, in the kingdom of lingerie, kink apparel, and all of his whims at the given moment. He got to know it only because you were wearing it when he dragged you out of your house and kidnapped you to his territory.

Doflamingo can't even remember now how you looked in it as all he cared about was to free you out of it, to feel your bare breasts in his hands. He picks it up, its weight barely palpable, and frowns, trying to recreate the image in his head, and failing. He doesn't cry over it, the thing is not sexy; it's just a t-shirt, stretched over your size, its colors worn-out, chosen to be cozy, not presentable. It's somewhat yours through and through and alien for his eyes. It suits you like your own skin and disturbs the image of yours in his mind. It's so out of place, time and imagination that he can't peel his eyes off it.

The king's attention can last only as much, though, and he's already putting it away—to send you back or throw it into trash, he's not decided yet—when an impulse strikes his curiosity. Doflamingo doesn't think much of it when he brings the t-shirt closer. It's just a whim, a spur of a second, who would have paid attention to reasoning behind something so meaningless?

When it touches his cheek, he nearly understands why you like to sleep in it. It's soft—and not only for a piece of clothing. The sensation is pleasant, almost having him craving for more, especially against the freshly shaved, irritated skin. It carries a weirdly nostalgic feel to that, like a warm hand cupping his face. He can't pinpoint what pulls him to do that, but he follows and nuzzles into the fabric, with hesitation at first, soon with eagerness that shocks him—but doesn't stop him regardless.

Your smell is…stronger.

Doflamingo knows every aspect of yours, all of the intimate nooks and crevices of your body. But this is different, far more private, feeling almost forbidden to be approached so…offhandedly. It's not just a faint trace of your scent nor the sharp aroma he trails straight from your skin. The t-shirt is soaked with you; it's still fresh enough to carry the aftertaste of a pleasant and flowery smell of washing detergent but also clearly worn for many nights already. It's the coziness of your tangled sheets, the rustle of a book you like to read before sleep, the simple touch of toothpaste and morning coffee, the whisper of dreams and hum of the alarm clock on your bed stand.

He's a brutal intruder, maybe for the first time ashamed of it—but chasing the sensation nevertheless, the stronger the bigger his guilt grows. Until this moment, Doflamingo has been sure you're in his possession, like a bird in a tight cage of his strings—and now each breath of your most sacred intimacy proves him what a fool he's been all this time. He holds a treasure he should never been trusted with, the image of you you kept to your solitude. You don't share such secrets with just anyone, oh Doflamingo is aware, so painfully aware. He's just your lover, just your king, just someone who can control your body and mind, but never your soul, wrapped tightly in this old t-shirt he so brutally gently presses to his face.

He wants more, he needs more, he fears more.

His eyes closing, Doflamingo takes one more, desperately deep breath, full of your smell and his loneliness. His arms should be filled with you—yet, they're empty. This shirt should be covering your breasts—yet, it's almost teared in his desperate clutch. Your voice should vibrate through his bedroom—and yet, there's only an echo of the sound he hasn't heard for decades. Your body should warm his side—yet he's shivering in the middle of his pathetic kingdom of four walls and ice-cold heart.

What's a king without the thing he craves the most, after all? Without the thing he will never claim as it's impossible to be claimed?

It scares him, that musky and heavy scent tangled in cotton threads. That lie detector, that sharp knife slicing his soul paper-thin, and heading towards the most vulnerable, the most protected core of his memories and emotions. Doflamingo takes the last, shaking whiff of it, and finally pulls away, his chest clenched tight and eyes dry and pricking. Your shirt is just a shirt again, just a piece of old, stretched fabric in his hands.

He almost throws it away, with fear and self-disgust.

It should be returned, it should be gone, but the longer he thinks about it, Doflamingo can't bring himself to move either way. Just the idea of handing it to a servant leaves a bad, bitter taste in his mouth, like sucking blood out of a cut on a parched lip. Walking to your house and disturbing your privacy even more fills him with anxiety he hasn't experienced before. And to call you here—

Your soul shouldn't be entrusted to a place of corporeality.

He would gladly just toss it out of his sight and mind—or to seal it in one of his hidden vaults, where neither of you wouldn't find it for a long, long time. At the same time, he doesn't want to, to hide and to heal. It burns his hand when he finally brings himself to pull the den den mushi out of the drawer and chooses your number he has, much to his surprise, learnt already by heart. It is almost physical, harder with each passing second, and he just keeps clenching his fingers tighter on it.

A few dreadful heartbeats later, the torturous, steady ring of awaiting call is interrupted by your voice. And Doflamingo can finally bleed his soul out into the speaker, "Y/N. Come. Yes, you left something at my place."

#doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x you #doflamingo x y/n #doflamingo imagine #doflamingo scenario #doflamingo fanfiction #doflamingo fluff #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #bas writes #doflamingo #female reader

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dilfartist · 7 months

Text

Model 2099

Pairing; Yandere Android Miguel O’hara x reader

Synopsis; You always thought of your android Miguel as a loveable companion. Little did you know he had an unhealthy obsession with you. And it even went as far as hurting someone who hurt you.

Word count; 3.3k

Tw; yandere theme, dark themes, dead dove don’t eat (maybe).

Reader description; Female/GN

Your skin felt frigid. Your fingertips, ears, and nose all numb despite your body being clad head to toe in warm apparel.

In Nueva York, the snow descended in great, unforeseen amounts. On the first day of the predicted cold weather, the snow reached from the street to the concrete. It was narrow enough for a child to build a snowman. However the next day, the snow reached higher, enough to cover the doorsteps of some apartments on your block and blanket the roads in ice.

Now your street felt lifeless. The only cars seen were the ones parked on the sidewalks. None of your neighbors left the warmth of their homes.

You dig your left boot into the hill of rampant snow, then bring the right one to propel yourself further. Unlucky you, having to fight your way home through the snow just because you needed a few necessities. The weather forecast predicted the snow would last for at least two days, so you went out to retrieve toilet paper, soup cans, microwaveable dinners, and a flashlight in case of power outs.

Grasping the handle of the front door, you pressed it forward, enough for you to enter. Swiftly, you shut the door behind you to sponge in the warmth coming from the heater. Once your numb fingers began to absorb the heat, you peeled off your gloves - well these gloves weren't yours; they belonged to a co-worker nice enough to lend them to you- and threw them inside your purse. You let out a pleased sigh. The house had a tidied aroma, smelling like someone had used enough bleach for it to still be identified hours later despite drying. Still, the apple cider fragrance spray claimed the house, if only slightly. Disrobing yourself off your coat, you call out to your Android. "Miguel! I'm home!"

Usually, your android - Miguel O’Hara, model 2099- waited beside the door to greet you after a hard day's work. Helping you disrobe your jacket and asking you about your day. And even when slightly off-timing, he'd let you know of his presence with a "welcome back!" from wherever he was in the moment. Oddly enough, there was no reply. You look up, puzzled by the lack of response. "Miguel?!" You call out, voice more audible for the other side of the house this time. Again, no reply.

You don't think much of his absence, presuming he had forgotten to grab an ingredient for tonight's dinner and would be back home in no time. Sometimes he'd be so focused on one task that the other errands would be forgotten. Miguel could handle himself.

The majority of lights in the house were turned off; furthering your conclusion about your Android’s whereabouts. You stepped into your kitchen, examining the room. Aside from the pots on the stove, nothing had changed in the kitchen. The kitchen was spick and span, per usual. You'd remember to thank him when you saw him.

Approaching the stove, you took note of the two pots simmering on the stovetop. One sat on the front burner, the other on the back burner. You lifted the lid, allowing the steam to escape. Your stomach rumbles, craving the smell. I groan, feeling impatient, placing the lid back on the pot.

The aroma of dinner leaked out of the slightly ajar pot, alluring you closer for a taste. You entered the kitchen, following the scent of the meal simmering on the stove.

Raising the lid off the pot, you dip the ladle into the soup, scooping as much as you can. You took a small sip, savoring the creamy-rich taste. The taste is addicting and you can’t get enough. You dip the ladle in once again, drinking the soup until the ladle is empty. Then again you repeated the action.

“Don't worry, dinner will be ready in just a minute.” The abrupt sound of a person’s voice states. You flinch in surprise, A hand is placed on your chest, dropping the ladle, and your heart thumps quicker than before. “Miguel!” You gasp, “You scared me.” You whirl around to meet his eyes.

Miguel gives a small apologetic smile, setting the basket of clothes he was carrying onto the table. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Miguel says softly, accent getting heavier at the end. “Didn't hear you come in.”

“No, it’s fine.” You reassured. “Thank you for cleaning.”

Even if Miguel was programmed to clean, you always felt the need to thank him for his labor. No matter the times he reminded you that he was a machine designed for that very chore.

“I should also apologize for not greeting you at the door; My clothes were in the dryer.”

“It's fine, Miguel, really. You don't have to greet me at the door every day.”

Once again, Miguel provides you with a small smile; however, his smile does not reach his eyes. If the guilty smile Miguel sported wasn't enough evidence of his guilt, the flashing red LED on Miguel's right temple certainly accomplished the job.

The LED’s scarlet color quickly transitioned into a light blue color, indicating Miguel had gotten over his negative feelings.

It was terrifying knowing the sole dissimilarity between the two of you was the LED. Without the LED, you wouldn't have thought Miguel to be an Android. Knowing the sole difference between the two of you was the LED was in a way terrifying. Without the LED installed in the right temple of Androids, no one would be able to tell who was a robot and who wasn't.

Dragging the box cutter down swiftly, the tape splits open. You take a step back examining the package. The package is light brown, standing up vertically against the wall. “What the hell is this thing?” you ask, amused. A good friend of yours shipped you a gift out of the blue, so you called her up to catch your reaction.

“Open it and see,” she replies sarcastically.

You roll your eyes and spread the folds of the box open. Package peanuts spill all over the floor, and you grumble at the mess that piles on the floor. “Goddamn it,” you’re just about to complain some more when you catch something out of the corner of your eye. You freeze in place, you raise your head in an unhurried motion, the dread in your abdomen expanding.

You holler with fright, falling on your ass. “Did you send me a dead body?!” you exclaim into the speaker of your phone.

Your friend on the other side of the line enjoys your reaction, laughing so hard she begins to have a coughing fit. “Oh my god,” she hums in satisfaction, “you’re too funny, (Name).” After a while she settles down, no longer laughing but her tone still caries the puerile amusement she once had a moment ago, “It’s not a dead body. It's an Android.”

You were familiar with the concept of an android. Androids have been ubiquitous since their first release, and you’ve encountered many, but the majority of the time they were owned by establishments due to their overwhelming expense. Which is why the thought of you owning an Android was mind-boggling.

You stutter out a response, not sure how to approach the profound surprise, “You- I- why did you give it to me? Not that I’m complaining. It's just- this had to be about 8,000 dollars!” Then it hits you; you and she are in the same boat when it comes to funds, “Wait- how the hell did get this?!” you rub your temple, examining the face of the bot through the blurred glass that contains it.

She responds nonchalantly, “Aaron is wealthy remember? He bought me it.”

Aaron was her new boyfriend, he came from a wealthy background and she took advantage of that fact every moment she could. And he didn't seem to mind. Buying this bot would be like buying a box of cereal for him; not something to think twice and a regular ordeal.

You lift a brow, perplexed by the fact she gave you such an expensive gift. Not that you were complaining, of course, just simply curious “And you gave it to me? Why?” you question.

“He got jealous because the Android is literally breathtaking and I just couldn't keep my eyes off him. So being how he always is, he requested for me to throw it out. I mean his voice, Jesus,” she suppresses a squeal, “and not only that, he’s 6’9 and muscular!” she continues to gush about him, you unconsciously tune her out, your focus too busy on analyzing his blurred features.

You hum in acknowledgment. “Well, let me take it out, I’ll have to research it. Thanks for the gift, I'll talk to you later. Bye.”

You take a seat at the dining table. Miguel saunters to the stove, opens the lid, and takes a portion of the soup out to pour into a porcelain bowl. You cock your head to the side, curious to know the reason two respective pots were brewing their own soups. “What’s the other pot have in it?” you question.

Miguel glances at you for a moment then continues to prepare your bowl. “Mrs. Peterson is sick,” he carries the bowl over and sets it gently in front of you. “She asked me to prepare her some soup. I offered her the soup I made for tonight’s dinner, but you know how she can be.”

Mrs. Peterson lived next door, and she adored Miguel. She was sixty-three years old, childless, and had no family members in general. She always required his assistance and Miguel always obliged.

A frown tugs at the corners of your lips, concern morphing your face. “She’s sick? That's too bad. That’s sweet of you to help her.”

Mindlessly, you use your soup spoon to stir the steaming liquid in the bowl. Anxious of the answer he’ll reply to you with, you take a breath of courage. “Did David come by today?” you question, voice low and meek

Miguel is quiet for a beat until he decides to speak up. “No, and if he did, I’d deal with him,” he states carefully, touching on the subject to convey his understanding. “You haven't called him, have you?” his tone is identical to a nagging best friend who is tired of seeing you whine over a boy.

“No.” you shake your head, eyes shifting to meet his, “no,” you say once again to reassure him. Miguel appears satisfied with the answer he received, “Good. Don't go contacting him after what he did to you.” you let out an exasperated exhale. Leaning back in your chair, setting down the soup spoon in your hand, “I- Miguel, I think I might have deserved it.”

Miguel snaps his head in your direction, wearing a stern mug, “He had no right to put his hands on you, no matter the reason.” he chides. He leans his massive body against the counter, folding his arms, fully engaged in the conversation.

“I brought up his ex!” you argue on his behalf. Why? You’re unsure.

“Oh, so he should act the same way she did, to you?” Miguel is a tad bit galled, being sardonic with his retorts. Now he’s fully engrossed in the discussion, leaning his massive body against the counter, giving you his undivided attention. “Slapping you so hard you hit the wall.”

It hurts how factual his words are. It’s enough for you to look down in chagrin, a lump forming in your throat making it hard to swallow. Let anyone else be in your situation, you’d chastise them for such a weak mindset. Make sure they knew there was no good reason to blame themselves for someone else's wrongdoing. But being that person who feels empathy for the person who hurt you, feels so much more embarrassing than having a friend be that person.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you say lowly, speaking any louder would make you cry.

“It’s fine, (Name).” Miguel consoles, moving from the counter to rub a comforting hand on your back. You sigh, feeling soothed by the little gesture. Miguel leans down, tilting his body slightly to face-to-face with you. Miguel looks at you with such tenderness a shover travels down your spine. “He won’t hurt you again, I’ll make sure of it” His expression as a whole is soft and full of fondness, though his red eyes pierce your soul.

“Miguel bot 2099,” you mutter the title of the YouTube video on your TV screen. You click play and the video loads for a second before finally playing.

A woman appears in a pitch-black void background. Her whole body is a golden color and she sports an elegant white dress that fits her figure. “Hello, I am Lyla.” she greets sounding welcoming, “I am the mascot of the company LYLA. We are the ones responsible for Androids and Ai’s. You must have clicked on this video because you must have purchased a Miguel bot or you’re just curious.”

Lyla presents a Miguel bot that emerges on the screen out of nowhere. “Miguel O bot is one of LYLA’s number one selling Androids. And there’s a reason for that.”

“Miguel is used for three sole reasons.”

Three Miguels appear on the screen, all in diverse outfits. One is in a business suit, another in a red and blue apron covering a white t-shirt, and the last one is shirtless with leather pants.

Lyla puts her hand out, motioning to the first one in a suit. “Here we have Workbot Miguel. Miguel’s hardworking nature mends well with a work environment, which is why he is mainly purchased to be a working android. Miguel has a variety of skills that companies yearn for in employees. Barriestabot Miguel, Assistant Managerbot Miguel, Firefighterbot Miguel, and Nursebot Miguel are just a few Androids listed in this category of the bot.

Lyla moves on and the camera pans to the second Miguel clad in the apron and white shirt. “Household Miguel: with household Miguel, you’ll never have to worry your head about cleaning or cooking, that’s his job! He pays necessities and bills if you have no time. And he is great with children!”

She moves on for the last time. “And here we have the Miguel meant for adults eighteen and above. This is sexbot Miguel, mostly found in male strip clubs or can be purchased online. We assure you, that you’ll feel pleasure you’ve never felt before. He comes with a remote control, which switches from hardcore dominant to soft dominant to submissive. We’ve created his intimate parts to the point numerous test participants felt like it was the real deal, and probably even better. He’s crafted to seem real so he includes fluids. The fluids are not real, they are simply there for it to seem real or by the user's choice. The fluid can be bought in stores near you or online. There are fruit flavors as well as desserts.”

The Miguel Androids disappear and Lyla is left by herself. “If any malfunctions occur with the bots, we have programmed the Miguel to have a Lyla AI to sit on his shoulder and help the user repair the issue. Lyla’s are never the same. They don’t appear like I do. Lyla’s come in all shapes, sizes, and ethnicities.”

Lyla gives a smile, a smile that you can’t help but feel uncomfortable by. It’s like she's staring right at you. In you.

“We hope you enjoy your Android. Your friends at LYLA.” the video concludes.

You sit there mentally processing the information for a minute, rubbing your chin. Your gaze moves to the Android, now propped up on the wall, and outside it’s containment. Miguel is definitely tall and extremely muscular as he was claimed to be. You can see why Aaron demanded she throw him out; he couldn't compete with him in the slightest.

Miguel had tanned skin, dark brown hair pushed back, two thick bushy eyebrows, and old wrinkles. Why did they choose to make him aged? They never explain. Maybe it’s to target families and people with daddy issues, you think. You walk over, looking up at his face. His eyes are shut.

“Didn't explain how to turn you on,” you grumble. Your hands explore the skin of his neck until your fingertips brush against a button on the back, you press down until a humming sound emits from the Android. You take two steps back and watch as the Android powers on. On his left temple appears a blue swirling light. His eyes flutter open.

...Are they red? That's...not right.

Your brows crease at the sight. You take out your phone, glancing at the original model once again. Yeah...Miguel should definitely have brown eyes. “What the hell..?” you whisper.

Putting your phone away to be polite to him, you greet him. He looks down at you, “Hello. My name is Miguel O’Hara.” he states casually.

His red eyes are piercing into you, but still, you find yourself bewitched.

“Thanks, Miggy,” you smile slightly at him, not yet recovering after the hard topic. Miguel was right, David’s vitriolic behavior towards you was inexcusable. Miguel would be there for you. He’s been your support more than your own boyfriend has been for months. Granted one is a robot, but sometimes you don’t even realize it with how human he acts.

A high-pitched beeping sound echoes from the left side of the house. “The washer is done. I put in another load when you came in. I’ll be back.” Miguel saunters off.

You stand up, walking over to the stove holding your empty bowl. You reach for the first pot but then decide against it. Mrs. Peterson wouldn’t die if you had one bowl of the soup. You reach over and open the second pot. You scoop as much soup as you can onto the ladle and pour it into the bowl. Once filled nearly to the brim, you place it down on the counter. You grab the lid, placing it back onto the pot.

You turn your attention back to the bowl.

“What the hell?” you mumble, squinting to guarantee yourself you weren’t crazy.

Poking out of the soup was something white. Nothing you could identify from just one look. You take your spoon and pick up the white thing with it.

It was...an eyeball! A human eyeball!

You scream in terror, dropping to the floor, your fall causing the entirety of the pot to plunge with you to the ground, reverberating a clank. You crawl away, from the dark liquid puddling the floor. More and more body parts are revealed; a big white toe, fingers of all sizes, another eyeball, and you can only assume the chunks of meat are the entire body. You shake like a leaf in the wind, looking around for something to do! What were you going to do now?!

Your panic is interrupted by a creak in the floorboards outside the kitchen. You snap your head in the detection of the sound to see Miguel standing in the doorway, taking up the whole door with his body. You cower in fear at his physiognomy. His expression is indistinct, bloodshot eyes watching you like a lion catching its prey attempting to sneak off. You stare at each other, both unmoving from your spots. You’re the first to speak, though if it weren’t for the pregnant silence and the motion of your lips, “I’m sorry,” your voice cracks, the lump in your throat making a comeback. “Please don't hurt me.” you whimper.

Miguel saunters towards you, you scoot back still on edge. Miguel knees down, taking your face into his hands. They feel warm. Why? He hushes your cries with such tender you nearly overlook the situation. “I had to,” he spoke up factually. “He came in here, threatening you for telling his mother about the fight. I couldn't let him hurt you again.”

You let out a muffled cry, looking into his crazed eyes bloodstained eyes. He presses a kiss to your forehead and whispers, “I made sure he’d never hurt you again.”

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imababblekat · 8 months

Text

Caught

A/N, "By popular demand, I present pt 2 to Chase! Thank you so much for all the love and support, it truly means a lot to me 💕

~xXx~

The panting breaths of the girl running beside you equaled your own, sweat trickling down your skin and you were sure hers as well. As a speed runner, even your feet began to sore in your tireless chance to escape New York's most threatening gang. You couldn't even begin to imagine how the brunette beside you felt, as she had been running in healed boots for what felt like miles. Regardless, you didn't spend much time thinking on either ones apparel, too occupied with escaping for your lives as you both rounded yet another corner in the maze of alleyways. Suddenly the girl grabbed your wrist, effectively pulling you down into another narrow back street.

"This way! We'll be safe if we make it down over here!", she informed, not once letting you go, though you wouldn't have fallen behind even if she had.

It was odd to you how she could have any idea of where the two of you even were, every alley looked the same; dingy and sketchy. Scaling across roofs with a clear look of what was around was your territory, but not an ounce of doubt came from you as you willing followed. If there was any chance to escape the ever enclosing Foot Clan, you'd take it!

However, you should have known that a clean getaway was not at all how the Foot let their targets go. Just as you and wavy haired gal made it into another alley she had directed you into, a few dark figures had jumped down to effectively block the exit ahead. A quick spin around, the area you both had came in from had also been blocked off by more clan members with brandished weapons. Your arms found the girls beside you, you both despite being complete strangers holding the other close as you were backed up against a brick wall. Nearly tripping backwards on a manhole cover, your eyes darted around for any chance to beat it, trained eyes finding multiple places to scale your way up and out of danger. Yet, still being held by the person beside you, you knew you couldn't just ditch her to the wolves. There was no way you could assist her in getting out your way, and you found your already panicked heart racing even faster as the Foot Clan closed in.

Back hitting the roughed apartment brick behind you, you groaned aloud.

"How'd I even end up in this mess?"

The girl beside you sensed your uneasness, and while she herself felt the same, she knew somethings, or rather somebodies, that you didn't.

"Don't worry, my friends taught me some tricks, and they'll no doubt be here soon anyways."

With what little comfort her reassurance meant to fully give you, you hadn't paid much mind to the strange way she'd put emphasis on friends either.

"Well I think showing off those tricks right now would be a really great idea!", you about shrieked as a few of the Foot lunged out, your body going stiff for the inevitable end.

Out of the blue, the few attackers who you were sure to be your demise, had been collectively knocked unconscious, bodies falling forward before your feet. You were left speechless, attention darting from their limp forms to the object that had rendered them defeated. A man hole cover, the exact one you tripped over earlier, tossed like a frisbee was what had momentarily saved your life. Speechless, you looked to the girl beside you, who had a strange expression of relief, to find her still holding your arms as you held hers, confirming that she had not been your savior. Not that she could have been of course; there was no way she could have gotten to the cover that fast, or even have thrown something that heavy! So who had saved you?

Your answer came in the form of four oddly familiar voices.

"Ahah, strike! Heck yeah!"

"That's bowling Mikey, not frisbee."

"There is such thing as frisbee bowling, Donnie."

"Is now really the time for a sports argument, Raph?"

No way. There was absolutely no way they were your saviors. Yet, low and behold, dishing out fighting moves you only ever saw in movies, were the four ninja mutant turtles you accidentally met some time back. While you had hoped to see them once again, you never thought you actually would. Here they were though, kicking serious Foot Clan ass, all the while arguing like true siblings and jesting your assailants. Each moved so effectively, working as a collective unit and taking out the Foot Clan as one, even if they had some attacks landed on them by the opposers. It was almost mesmerizing, watching how their giant forms moved around almost like a dance. It made you think back to that night they had chased you, how they were able to keep up with you and the thrill it had sparked.

The last of the Foot Clan had been taken out, weapons broken and then effectively tied up, the turtle masked in blue whose name you believed started with an L, clapped his hands together as though patting off dirt.

"Donnie, alert Casey and NYPD for pick up."

"Already on it.", the later replied, sticking a thumbs up as he typed away at his phone.

Brain still trying to wrap itself around everything that had just occurred, you were unware that the girl beside you had left your grasp and let go of you as well, till you saw her run to the group of terrapins with a wide smile. The fact there was not an ounce of fear displayed by her confused you even more. Were these the friends she had mentioned? Does this mean you weren't the only one who knew about them? How many more people were aware of their existence?

You could feel an oncoming headache as your mind began to become overwhelmed with thoughts and more questions. Perhaps it had also been the recent, deathly danger you'd been in, but something in your fight or flight triggered mind decided that now was a great time to remember the accidental photo you had snapped of the turtles. The photo that you had kept.

"Oh no. . .", you whispered in a newfound panic.

Sure at the time it had seemed fine and even kind of funny to have left the four with a sort of bait to give you another thrilling adrenaline rush of the sport you lived and breathed. However, actually being faced before them now, and especially after what you just witnessed what they could truly do, you had to wonder what kind of negative reaction they would have to seeing you once again. Focus turning to a somewhat high up fire escape to the left of you, you decided you weren't going to stick around and find out.

"April!", Mikey happily greeted, hugging the girl as she bounded up to the four.

"Are you hurt?", Raphael asked, giving her a quick glance over as Donnie broke out his watch to scan her vitals.

April shook her head, looking between the four brothers with a heavy sigh.

"No, I'm just glad you guys showed up in the nick of time. Thought I was going to have to use some of the moves Master Splinter taught me."

Leo placed a hand on her shoulder, his tone serious but expression relieved.

"Well, it's good that you didn't have to. How did you get caught up with the Foot this time?"

"You say that like it's a normal Friday occurrence."

"April. . ."

The girl sighed, shaking her head trying to recall despite the slight offense.

"I was out with some girlfriends at a fancy dinner, when I swore I saw some waiter making some sort of deal with one of the Foot Clan. A cat by the back dumpster gave away my hiding place after knocking over some trash and next thing I know we're being chased."

The four brothers eyed each other, before turning back to their human friend. Something April had said didn't sit right with the them, and it had been Raphael to bring up the concern.

"Whose we?"

It dawned on April then what she had exactly said. Internally cringing at having forgotten the person she accidentally corralled into her Foot Clan escapade, she felt instantly bad. Who knew how much you were freaking out right now. Not only had you been chased down by a bunch of assassins and running around with a total stranger, but you just witnessed four giant mutated turtles. Recalling back on her reaction to when she first met the brothers herself, she could only imagine what kind of freak out you were going through.

"Oh shit, sorry! I got so caught up in everything I forgot! I ran into them when I was-wait, where'd they go?"

The boys looked back to where April had turned her attention, only to find the spot she'd previosuly been backed up into void of any other person. The sound of a loud creak alerted the group to an old fire escape, and the one person the turtles didn't ever think to see tonight.

"No freaking way.", Mikey gawked, him and his brothers staring at your frozen form as you stared down at them having been spotted.

What sounded like a low growl reverated from Raphael, his face twisting into an expression of what you assumed agression.

"You-", he started as you yelped and frantically tried to climb your way up the rest of the old ladder.

"Wait! We won't hurt you!", Leo shouted, shoving Raph aside to step towards you.

Pulling yourself up by another rusty rung you huffed, staring indigently down at the leader in blue.

"You threw a manwhole cover like it was a paper airplane!"

Leo rubbed the back of his head, trying to think of a convincing reason as to make the action not seem like a such a threat.

"Yeah, well. . ."

As the eldest tried to think up an exscuse, Mikey scooted around him, making poses to flex his muscles and wiggling his brow ridges.

"What can I say, Anglecakes? These bad boys aren't big for no reason-ack!"

If not for the predicament you were currently in, you would have found the yellow banded turtle's flirtations and even his brothers responding head smack to be quite humorous. Shaking his own head, Donnie took a try at convincing you. Despite being the tallest out of the bunch, he was the least threatening next to Mikey.

"You can trust us, promise! Look, Aprils human! Just like you! We'd never hurt her!."

"What about the photo?"

Once more, the brothers looked to one another. They had been so busy fighting crime since your chance encounter that they hadn't had time to track you down and retrieve said photo. All they could do in that moment was trust that you wouldn't show it to anyone till they found you again. It wasn't easy either, their mere existence frightened people into literally calling them monsters before. If evidence of them had been spread to the wrong person, it could put their lives in even more danger. Yet, they had to. They had to hope and trust in faith that you, the person who gave them a run for their money across New York's infrastructure, wouldn't dare expose them. Perhaps they could use this as reasoning for you to find reliance in them as well.

". . .you show it to anyone?", Raph question with a tilt of his head.

"N-no, of course not.", you replied, still a little apprehensive of the terrapin in red.

"Well, if we trust that you didn't, then how about you trust that we ain't gonna hurt ya?"

It was surprising that Raph out of anyone would come to such a resolve. Thus far, the only interactions you've had with him all involved you thinking he'd tare you in two if given the chance. Yet, here he was, putting out an offer of freedom from suspicion or doubt, even if it was a little rough around the edges. You looked down towards the ground for a moment, thinking through your thoughts. Not once had the ninja brothers ever truly given any indication that they would hurt you. Hell, they just saved your life from the Foot Clan! Maybe they weren't as mad about the polaroid as you thought.

A sudden creaking noise cut you from your thoughts. Taking a glance at the old ladder you'd hastily began ascending, you had only a second to see the old rusted metal snap, before you felt a sudden plummet in your stomach and rush of air. A scream flew from your throat as you fell fast, knowing that from the height you were once at, hitting the pavement below would render you unconscious at the bare minimum. Seconds from taking a serious fall, you felt the suddenness of being securely caught by two strong arms.

"Whoa there!", Mikey cooed, straightening up as he safely carried you.

You opened your eyes to unintentionally lock with his. You hadn't realized how pretty they were. Crystal blue, like the sky on a lovely spring day. You also took note of how firmly he held you. Tight but soft and careful enough as to not crush you. The strength of his muscles made carrying you like carrying a feather, but with such great self control as to not let you be crumpled or taken away by an intense breeze. With this realization and a rosy blush overtaking your cheeks, you made a comment that had the cheese ball of a turtle's heart flutter just as much as he made yours in this moment.

"With how you caught me in that trust fall, perhaps you're not so bad after all, huh?"

~xXx~

tags; @varra-ren , @boa-hoa , @dressycobra7 , @genesis378

#bayverse leo x reader #bayverse leonardo x reader #bayverse raph x reader #bayverse raphael x reader #bayverse mikey x reader #bayverse michelangelo x reader #bayverse donnie x reader #bayverse donatello x reader #bayverse tmnt x reader #bayverse tmnt #aged up tmnt #imababblekat's writing #did y'all like the lil mikey blurb i put in at the end?#felt like giving the dork some attention and luv <3

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the-grimm-writer · 2 months

Note

Dabi with a darling who's obsessed with her art, her art being ballet

Cue vantom of the opera music ballet addition.

Also, I'm genuinely so sorry this took so long. I'm getting better at answering requests, I swear 😭😭😭

Mdni

Tw: stalking, paranoia, mentions of unhealthy habits, kidnapping.

You were used to people staring at you. Their eyes glued to you with pure admiration as you gracefully glided across the stage, moving your body in ways that took you years to master.

But this felt different. You felt someone's eyes burning into you with such intensity that any normal person would've broken down from it. Yet if you were one to break, you would've never made it very far. So you continued your performance like chills weren't running down your spine.

Heroes were hard to please. The world's top elite, coming to the theater to watch you, dressed in their finest night apparel. But the moment you started, all their doubts would wash away, watching silently with fascination once the music started.

The crowd broke into applause once you finished your dance, standing up and yelling their praise. It always made those long, painful nights of practice worth it.

As you bowed, you looked up to the audience, your blood running cold as you saw bright blue eyes from the back, hiding away from everyone else. Like a ghost, only you could see.

By the time you get down to greet the audience and discuss your performance, the man with the glowing eyes is nowhere to be scene. You don't know why you look for him, going past the darkest part of the theater and peaking in to see if he's still there, watching you.

Even your walk is elegant, your posture is perfect, back straight, and head held up high. Your voice was soft and feminine as you spoke to the people as they congratulated you.

"That was a stunning performance, my dear!" A tall, balding man with round, thick rimmed glasses eagerly shook your hand, yet you could tell by his crisp black suit and the beautiful younger woman that looked to be in her mid twenties or early thirties that stood by his side looking at you that he obviously had money. "When will you be performing again?"

"I'm here every night, thank you very much."

You smiled like he didn't give you the creeps. One thing your master didn't have to teach you but were thankful that he did. How to keep your admirers happy while maintaining a distance from them.

It continued on and on. You knew most people who attended the theater were wealthy, but you didn't care. You had all you wanted right now. So even as they introduced themselves, you didn't bother to remember their names. Always changing the topic if one got too bold with you.

A dancer's career was like a star, your balletmaster used to tell you. Shine too bright, and it would burn out quickly.

That's what you liked about it being busy, not being able to stay and talk to one person for too long. So whenever someone made you uncomfortable, you easily excused yourself and moved on to the next person. Sometimes, it would last for hours until you were finally able to leave.

There was a continuous cycle in your job. After you perform, you'd go to bed, get showered then something to eat, and then rush back to the studio in the early morning to practice. It was your favorite time to do it. When the sun was on the verge of rising and it was still dark outside. You could practice in peace with no prying eyes to judge you.

Turning the lights on, you walked onto the stage, dressed in your practice outfit. Skin tight nude colored leggings, a black leotard with a small tutu connected to it, and pointe shoes you just recently replaced and broke in. Your hair up in a tight bun, completely out of your face.

Taking a deep breath, you stood on the center stage and got in position, pretending like it was an actual performance as you danced.

It was always something you reminded yourself of when you got the lead role in dances. And whenever you didn't get what you were striving for and it felt like your world was going to come crashing down.

Yet still, you would dance until your feet bled and you physically couldn't anymore. It was painful yet an addicting feeling each time you overcame a boundary you once had and turned it into a new move you mastered.

"Why did you stop?"

Spinning around, you were about to stop until you collided with a person. You were about to apologize, thinking it was one of the other performers or the janitor until he spoke up.

You gasped in shock, turning around and stepping back from him. Those cerulean eyes were something you could never forget. Ever since that night.

"It's you..." Fear twisted in your stomach as you looked at him.

He chuckled at this, casually stepping forward towards you. "I knew you'd recognize me."

"Dabi..." You said breathlessly. It wasn't difficult to know who he was when he was always on the news. Heroes' warning is to be on the lookout for a deadly villain litered in patched scars and black hair. He smirked, knowing you'd seen him before.

"The theater is usually the last place I'd hide in. Too many witnesses." He stepped forward, making you go back. "But those idiots didn't even notice me. Not that I could blame them. That was quite the performance you put on."

You backed away, and he could see in your costume that your body was stiff as a board. Trained to have perfect posture even when just having a discussion with someone.

"Those fools don't deserve you, you know." He spoke up, his voice low and raspy. "They'll do what they do with everyone that has a talent. They'll make you dance like a puppet until you break."

You were stiff as you stood there, watching him circle around you on the stage. "I know what I signed up for," you said softly.

His eyes narrowed. "Then you're just as foolish as they are."

"It's ironic, you know," Dabi chuckled darkly as he stood behind you, placing his hands on your waist. "My father... he always strived for perfection. But even his most precious creation isn't enough for him."

You didn't blink an eye at his cold tone. Used to getting degraded and talked down to whenever you messed up even the slightest in front of your master and the instructors. So brutally harsh it could make even the villains with the blackest of hearts cry.

"Surely you understand," you argued back. "To love something so much, you'll continue to do it even if it kills you."

Though you didn't have a strong or flashy quirk, you made it up in your abilities in ballet. Pouring your heart and soul into your performances so even the untrained eye would be able to tell you aere the best at what you did.

You touched him like the fire that was dancing in his veins. The thing that consumed him aside from his needs for vengeance. Though he knew that obsession ran deep in his genetics. It was just something he never thought would hit him until that night he first saw you.

"That's because perfection doesn't exist."

His breath hit the shell of your ear, hot just like the rest of him, yet it sent shivers down your spine. "Yet here it is in the form of a little dancer."

You could tell how bitter it made him. You understood the feeling well. Every ballerina knew how it felt to be rejected and pushed to the side whenever a younger, prettier dancer came in and took the place they spent years working to get.

"Were you ever warned?" He mused. "Some hero or fuckin rich pig with too much time on his hands could ever use their power and money to snatch you up?"

Of course you were, and you hesitantly nodded your head. Nobody ever thought it would happen to them until it actually did. Hell, Dabi bet his mother thought she'd never wind up in an arranged marriage with his father, abused and locked away in an institution after making her have four children with him.

"I'm my father's son, after all." His scarred hand ran down your smooth cheek, down your chin until it wrapped around your throat and pinned you against him, his other arm snaking around your waist. "Men like us, when we see something beautiful, we have to own it, keep it for ourselves."

"You don't have to be like him." You protested, your heart racing in fear. Dread filled you at the thought of him taking away everything you spent your whole life working for.

"And you don't have to be a dancer." He retorted. "Sometimes we don't have a choice in life (Y/n). Now you're coming with me."

You tried to pull away despite his hand wrapped firmly around your throat, threatening you. "No! You can't do this! I have to perform tonight. I have to-"

"This is a lovely place," he cute you off. "Something even I could appreciate." His grip on your neck tightened as he held his other hand out, making you watch as bright blue fire appeared out of his hand. "Such a rich history. It would be a shame if it all went down in flames."

You weakly nodded your head, bursting into tears as you looked at the stage, the theater, your home on last time as he let his flame die out. He picked you up and threw you over his shoulder. His strong arm held you in place with ease as he walked away.

"Don't worry," he said softly, his smile wide and twisted as you cried. "You can still dance for me."

#yandere dabi #yandere dabi x reader #yandere touya #yandere touya todoroki #yandere touya x reader #yandere bnha #yandere bnha x reader #yandere mha #yandere mha x reader #yandere my hero academia x reader #yandere my hero academia #yandere #yandere x y/n #yandere drabble #yandere fic #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere writing

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idkwhatimdoinghere1655 · 9 months

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Watch Your Mouth - Max Verstappen

scenario - after a self-proclaimed 'mistake' of a night with Red Bull driver Max Verstappen, you run into him the next day at the Monaco Grand Prix. All we'll say is he's not overly happy to see you.

Monaco. The most magical place in the world. You could smell money as you wandered down the pavements and nearly everyone was famous in some capacity.

You came every year to the grand-prix, and it had nearly become a tradition. But, what you never had expected, was running into a lot of the drivers in the club you frequented any time you were in Monte Carlo.

Surprisingly, you had gotten along really well with a certain Dutchman, and you had both stumbled into his hotel room, shirt buttons being undone and dresses being unzipped. As much as you tried to lie to yourself, you couldn't dispute that it was one of the best nights of your life.

The next morning, you woke up in a tangled sea of sheets with an unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, pair of arms wrapped around your waist. For a few moments, you led there, recounting the nights events.

Not long after, the man next to you woke up, and hopped out of bed. Checking the clock, he rushed around getting dressed in his Red Bull apparel and dashing out the door. All he said to you was, "Feel free to order room service. I'll see you around," as he left you, naked, in his bed.

As expected, you were less than impressed. You felt like a bit of karma was in order, so you ordered the most expensive room service you could find - even if having lobster for breakfast wasn't ideal, it still tasted incredible.

To top it off, morning drinking didn't sound horrendous, you thought the best champagne on the menu would suffice. And oh boy it did. Leaving the dirty dishes behind, you slipped out of bed and stole a hoodie as well for compensation.

You forgot about the night as quickly as it had gone by, and headed to the Monaco GP with your paddock pass in hand. Scanning the pass, you wandered down the grid, taking it all in. Of course, you had to go to the pit lane to look around before everyone was cleared off for the race.

You peaked in the Ferrari garage, spotting Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz in the corner, talking about something. You couldn't help but fangirl, and all of that was increased when you walked by Lewis Hamilton.

Even if you did come here every year, it never got any less mesmerizing and awe-inspiring each time. As you continued, you bumped into someone who was definitely in a hurry to be somewhere. "I'm so sorry, I-" you started, but then you saw who you had bumped into.

"Oh, it's you," the Dutchman scoffed, looking you up and down. He had to admit, he could see why he had taken you home last night, but he couldn't get distracted right now. "It's lovely to see you too," you sarcastically smiled, his tone was far from pleasant.

"I wonder what the papers would say if they found out that F1 World Champion Max Verstappen was the kind of guy to fuck and run," you smirked, watching rage cloud his crystal blue eyes.

"Watch your mouth," he quietly scolded, leaning in closer to you to try and stop someone else from hearing you. "Is that what you really want? You seemed to quite like it last night," you teased.

Suddenly, Max grabbed your arm and dragged you through the Red Bull garage as quickly as his legs could take him. Opening a cupboard and slamming the door behind him, he flicked on the tiny blinking light in the room.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll keep that goddamn mouth of yours shut," he spat, his finger pointing in your face. He had fucked up. And he had fucked up with the wrong person. "Last night, you seemed to like it wide open," you carried on, loving the sight of him all flustered and scared. You wouldn't say anything to the papers, but he didn't need to know that.

Max sighed, in his head he was trying to find a way to solve the problem. "Don't say anything," he commanded, moving closer to you until your back bumped into the wall. "Funny, you were begging for the opposite a few hours ago," you winked, lapping up how hot and bothered he was getting.

You let your mouth fall open as your imitated moans fell from your lips. Closing your eyes, you let yourself be transported back to his hotel room, the rest of the world locked outside of the door. "Fuck Max, harder," you whined, throwing your head back against the stone of the wall.

As Max watched you, he was unsure of what to do. His jaw twitched uncomfortably as he listened to the sweet sounds of you. Was he aroused? Yes, yes he was. But now wasn't the time for this.

Without warning, Max pressed himself against you and pinned your hands up above your head in one swift movement. Aggressively, he stole your lips with his. It was surprising, but your tongues danced together in a perfect harmony.

Ripping his lips off of yours, he looked down at you - lips puffy and cheeks reddened. "I thought that would shut you up," he smirked, loving having the upper hand right now. There was just something about you that drove him wild, and he nearly didn't recognize the man he was around you.

"I think you're going to have to do it again, I might just start running my mouth," you pouted, and it didn't take long for Max to dive back into the kiss, grinding against you. "What's the time?" He asked.

"You're the one wearing a watch, you tell me," you scoffed at his silly question.

"I've got five minutes," he told you, taking one of his hands away from your wrists that were still held above your head. "We can do wonders in five minutes," you smiled, the devilish glint in his eye telling you everything you needed to know.

Max attached his lips to your neck, and you both knew that you'd struggle to stay away from each other. A lot can happen in five minutes, and you two knew you'd be a testament to that.

A/N - I have a few things to say here so bear with me. Part three of 'Baby Fever' will be out soon, I promise! Would you guys like a part 2 to this? Also, this is my favourite header I've made. I just love all the blues and Max looks great soooo....

|masterlist|

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #f1 imagines #formula 1 imagines #formula 1 #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #f1 one shot #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen angst #angst

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daintyys · 5 months

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baby i'm yours

fem!reader x tasm peter parker, 1.3k words, light swearing

this is a college au, basically peter and reader are dormmates at new york university. i love peter so pls give me prompts for him <3

Peter was your best friend, and nothing more. That's what you kept having to tell yourself.

But, it was hard to think like that when you got a glimpse of him fresh out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, and hair dripping. Let's face it, he was comparable to a Greek God.

You had been friends with Peter Parker since highschool, and it was a pleasant surprise to find out he had gotten into NYU just like you did. It was automatically settled, you would be roommates.

While you were studying creative writing, Peter was diving into the field of biochemistry. You couldn't seem to comprehend why he was so interested in science until a year ago, when he confessed to you that he was Spider-Man. You had to admit, it wasn't too surprising. He had that Spider-Man air about him.

Mornings in your dorm were nice, especially since you and Peter had breakfast together. You could always tell when he had been out in the city the night before, because he was ravenous.

"Mphm, mowe eggths?" He mumbled through a stuffed mouth. "If you're so hungry you should make them yourself." You giggled to him. He rolled his eyes, those gorgeous brown eyes. You stood up, wanting to start getting ready for your day. Peter's classes started before yours did, so right after breakfast he would always leave, but today was different.

You could feel his eyes on your body as you filled your glass up with water. A tank top and sweatpants was normal apparel for you, so it was hard to tell what was different about now. "Are you checking me out, Peter?" You threw your head back around to look at him, and his heart visibly stopped. "No! No, no. I would never do that, ew." He choked out. You cocked your eyebrow at him, and his eyes widened. "Oh you know I didn't mean it like that, you're cute, Y/N." His face was about as red as the apple he was biting into. You laughed as you retreated into your bedroom.

When you were finished getting ready, you left your bedroom to find Peter still sitting at the table. "You're still here?" You asked, sitting back down next to him. "Well yea, I just didn't wanna leave without saying a real goodbye to you." He wasn't making eye contact, which only happened when he was nervous. "Oh, well you're not planning on dying today, right?" You asked, laughing slightly. He chuckled back. "Yea, no. Just feel weird leaving without seeing you again." You admired his face, and watched a flush up his neck.

"Peter, you like me, don't you?" You were joking, he should have known that, but his mind was obviously not registering the way you had spoken when he blurted out: "Is it that obvious??". You froze, processing the words that had just left his mouth.

Peter slapped his hands over his mouth, not realizing you had been messing with him. "Oh fuck." Was all he mumbled as he stood up from the table, grabbing his backpack.

"No, Peter, wait!" You said, standing as well. You reached for his hand, and he quickly pulled away from you, a traumatized expression plastered across his face. "I am so, so, incredibly sorry, Y/N." He spluttered as he pulled his shoes on. As soon as he had finished speaking, he was rushing out of your dorm, slamming the door behind him.

You sat back down at the table, for fear you would faint if you continued standing. Your face was burning, and you were having trouble breathing. "Oh my God..." you mumbled, nervously twisting your hair. Standing up again, you noticed Peter's lunchbox still sitting on the kitchen counter. That gave you an idea.

You had liked him for almost 3 years. Even in highschool, where he was continuously bullied, he always managed to put a smile on your face. He was a "loser", sure, but that never stopped you from hanging out with him. He was a great guy. You thought of the time you skipped school with him all because he wanted to teach you how to skateboard.

On that day, you had sworn he was going to kiss you. He held your body close to his, trying to keep the two of you balanced on his skateboard. You had felt his heart beating rapidly, and wondered if he was as flustered as you were.

But none of that mattered now, because your relationship with Peter could be ruined after his little slip-up.

You grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil, and began to furiously write. If speaking face-to-face with Peter would be too much for him, a letter would be the second best option.

Dear Peter,

Definitely didn't expect this morning to consist of you confessing your feelings to me, but that's alright, because I feel the same way. I have since we were 16.

I've tried for a while to deny it, but now that you've come clean, it's only fair for me to do the same. I love you, Peter. You are my favorite person, and I don't want this morning to change anything with us. If it does change, then I hope it's for the better, not the worse.

That's all, I don't want to scare you away.

Love,

Y/N

Your hands were shaking as you folded the letter in half and tucked it into Peter's lunchbox. Now all that was left was to get it to him.

You walked as fast as you could, not caring that people were yelling obscenities when you shoved past them. You had to get to Peter before his class started. Looking at your phone, you saw you had 5 minutes left. Shit.

You began to run, desperate to arrive in time. You threw the double doors to the building open, and ran in the direction of Peter's chemical analysis class. People were staring, because you definitely did not look like you were ready to divide cells in a lab.

You reached the classroom, and stopped to catch your breath. You took out your phone again. 2 minutes until the bell rang. You grinned as you pushed the door open slowly. Then you saw him.

He was sitting at a desk, staring at the board with glazed-over eyes. He was the most beautiful boy you had ever seen, and you giggled as you pictured a future with him. You walked over to him, taking deep breaths.

"Ahem..." You cleared your throat as you placed his lunch on his desk. Peter jumped, and went ghost white as he made eye contact with you. "Y/N, what are you-" He began. "Shut up. Don't say anything until you look in your lunchbox." You said as you turned on your heel and left. Peter was confused. Very confused.

As soon as you were out of the classroom, he ripped open his lunchbox, grabbing the sheet of paper you had left inside. He unfolded the letter with shaking hands, and read it carefully. His organs were in his throat. "I love you," He whispered to himself. "Oh my God."

Peter stuffed the letter into his pocket and shot up from his desk, and then he was darting out of the classroom with his things, needing to find you as soon as possible.

You were walking back to your dorm, smiling to yourself, when your racing thoughts were interrupted with a yell. "Y/N! Y/N!" You stopped instantly, and turned around to see Peter barreling towards you. You laughed as he engulfed you in his arms, kissing you all over your forehead.

"Couldn't wait until later, hm?" You giggled, looking up into his eyes. Peter smiled, and shrugged. "I could have, but I didn't want to." He said as he put his arm around your shoulder. AYou walked home together, fingers interlaced, and dreamed of your future together.

#peter parker #the amazing spider man #peter parker x reader #marvel #daintyys #andrew garfield

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shares-a-vest · 6 months

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Prompt: Costume malfunction (Discord Drabble) My brain went "Steve's butt" the second I saw this prompt 😇

"Oh no!"

It sounds innocent enough as Eddie walks down the hall to Steve's bedroom, his friend's voice sounding both small and sad. He rounds the corner into the bedroom and just about falls over at the sight of Steve standing in front of his full-length mirror – examining the rip in the black leather pants he is inexplicably wearing.

The unexpected apparel makes Eddie want to scream and curse at the Halloween gods above.

... But he settles for covering his mouth, only barely concealing a gasp as he stares (oh, how he stares!) at Steve's exposed left ass cheek.

"Shit!" Steve says as they make eye contact in the mirror, slapping a palm over his butt just as Eddie notices a cute cluster of freckles he decides he must see one last time before he collapses on the floor to wither away.

"Uh..." he drawls, taking his hand from his mouth to clear his throat. He thinks he is shaking his head as he splutters away, "Um, uh... Why the - uh... What's with the p-pants?"

He screws his eyes shut, nose crinkling up.

He hears mattress springs creaking and opens his eyes again to find Steve sitting on his plaid bedspread, looking utterly dejected.

"I just wanted to have a cool costume," he sighs before looking up, "One that you would think is cool."

"Gettin' all dressed up for me, Steve?" he says, sauntering and not at all stumbling to the bed to join him.

He sits down way too close considering Steve is probably now even more ass-out than he was before. But Steve giggles, bumping shoulders.

"I barely got the fly laced up before they ripped!" he manages to get out as he quickly descends into a full belly laugh.

He shouldn't have said that because now Eddie is doing everything not to look at his crotch as Steve practically doubles over. He settles for grabbing Steve's arm, momentarily tethering himself to reality as he stops him from falling square off the bed.

"You, uh... want me to fix them?" he offers, smiling brightly at Steve's reddening cheeks as he pulls him back upright.

"Yeah!" Steve blurts out, mid-wiping away a laughter-induced tear.

They both still and fall silent.

Steve nervously rubs (or at least attempts to) his palms on the tacky leather of his pants. He gulps, eyes darting about as he mulls something – perhaps this – over.

He runs a hand through his hair, his go-to classic smooth move as his voice evens out.

"Don't know how I can take them off without ripping them more..." he wonders aloud, shrugging it off.

Eddie nods along slowly, eyes widening as Steve turns his head and smirks. His eyes flit to his lips.

"Maybe if I laid down you could fix them?" Steve continues, voice quieter now.

"Where's your mom's sewing kit?" Eddie whispers, watching as Steve looks over the suddenly very inviting (and no longer hideously brown) bedspread behind them.

#idk should this have a mature tag bc I've said ass three times???#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #stwgdailyprompt #lilys drabbles #steve x eddie #👕🧥

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revwatts · 2 months

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The four magic beans

Summery : Reader hates physical injuries and has very low pain tolerance.

Pairings : James Potter x Reader

One thing that James knew about you was that you absolutely hated getting injured because you have very low pain tolerance. You simply felt like you're being a burden with your whining and needy-ness while you're injured. So you avoided it all-together.

But your boyfriend had forced you to join the gryffindor quidditch team just because you were great at it. I mean as he put it in words,

"Sweetheart I've never seen anyone ride a broom as fast as you do! You fly like cheeta of birds. You're awesome!" And James being James, he had somehow convinced you to finally play as the seeker of gryffindor quidditch team.

But things don't usually go the way you want them to. You remember all the times that things go south-wards for you. Like the time when you tried to save the kitty from the tree and fell off of it or the time you went to pet your neighbour's tortoise and it bit you. Yeah, a tortoise bit you. Like how pathetic is that? A tortoise out of everything? You were even embarrassed to tell the story.

But like I said the life ain't fair. That's exactly what you thought while you were chasing down the snitch and the other team's beater sent a bludger towards you. Your arm stretched out to finally get a hold of the little flying golden ball and suddenly a big metal ball come at very fast pace hitting the middle of your forearm directly. You did get a hold of the golden snitch but with that you heard a sickening crack and your boyfriend shouting your name in high concern as you lost your balance on your broom and fell off it and landed straight on the ground.

James tried his best to catch you but he failed. And there you were laying still on the ground with your hand clutched to your chest, James could see you were trembling but he also knew that even if the whole world comes tumbling down you would never break the facade of bravery.

You slowly stood up, the silence in the stadium was deafening. Even after the foul play of the opposite team you held your non-injured arm up in the air and showed off the treasure that you caught. A loud cheer erupted in the quidditch field as gryffindor had won the match.

James was beyond proud of you but he also knew you were dying inside so he quickly got off his broom and came rushing towards you. Madame Huch came at a fast pace as well as she examined your arm and sent you immediately to Madam Pomfrey.

James was the one to accompany you.

"Come on darling, let's get you all patched up, yeah. And then we can cuddle in my dorm and eat the shittiest snacks that you love and I can read you your favourite book. Come on." James said as he noticed tears gathering in your beautiful eyes. James was absolutely amazing. He always knew what you needed before you did. It was one of his 'i am the mom of the group' traits.

You went inside the hospital wing, still in your quidditch apparell.

"Oh, dear! I was waiting for one to be truthful. Not a single quidditch match goes without an injury. Come here, dear. Mr. Potter assist Miss. L/N to take a proper seat on one of the beds." She ordered James and quickly left to get supplies.

James saw that your facade was still on. The mask never breaking even though your eyes were glistening.

Soon Madam Pomfrey came and patched your hand up. She said that it was easier to fix broken bones so she'd let you go for now but asked you to visit if the pain gets unbearable.

At that you looked back at James with a little pout. You were on verge of breaking down but made sure not to. You had to be brave! You're a gryffindor for godric's sake!

James took you back to his dorm like he promised.

"Jamie, I can't change on my own I need help!" You mumbled pathetically as you looked at the shirt he offered you with tears in your eyes. You had finally had enough of the pretence.

"I know sweetheart. I know. Now, come're. You can let go now. It's okay." He took you in his arms and you broke down. After a while he helped you change into his clothes. One of his shirts and his sweats that were too big on you but you felt safe and comfortable in them. You adored wearing his clothes. They smelled like him. Like cinnamon, smoke and a nice musky cologne. And James loves seeing you in his clothes. The way you looked adorable even in overly big clothes of his.

The pain in your arm was slowly increasing and you couldn't help the tears from spilling out of your eye lashes.

"oh, doe. What happened?" James cooed as he hugged you softly to his chest. Made sure not to hurt your arm.

"Hurts!" You whimpered.

"Awh, I know baby. I'm so sorry. What do you want me to do, hmm? I'd do anything to make you feel better. You just say the word." Once again you found yourself tucked in his arms, hiding your face in his warm chest as he ran his fingers through your soft hair.

"I jus' wanna cuddle." You sniffed lightly.

"If that's what you need then that's exactly what we'd do. Let me just change and set our bed up, yeah?" You nodded your head a little as you sat on the edge of Sirius' bed.

James was quick to change and quick with making sure that his bed was comfortable enough for you to rest properly. He set up fluffy pillows and your favourite fuzzy blanket that he owned. You got under the sheets and waited for James to join you. He was quick to. He hugged you around the waist so not to hurt your arm. You laid your head on his chest and put your injured arm on his chest and settled yourself in your boyfriend's warmth.

"You know you were great today. The way you flew after that Snitch! I was frozen at the spot just looking at you. Merlin, sweets you were amazing!" Your face redden at his compliments.

"You were amazing too, Jamie. That snatch from wood was amazing!" You looked up at him with a smirk.

"Yupp. You taught me that move. Ofcourse it was gonna be amazing." He winked down at you.

"Yes. Yes I did." You both let out a little giggle.

As you were both settled in. James was reading ' Great Gatsby ' out loud to you when the door to the dorm opened slowly to reveal the other three marauders.

"Hey, Bambi. You alright there?" Sirius asked as he came and sat on the edge of your bed to examine your arm from afar.

"Looks pretty banged up, doesn't it, Moony?" He said with a little pout on his lips.

" 'tis alright." You said, clearly lying.

"Mhm. Sure." Remus sassed.

"Here, it'll make you feel better." He tossed a bar of chocolate to you. James helped you open it up and you happily nibbled on it.

"Oh, I brought you some snacks, if you'd like?" Peter passed James some snacks seeing that he was the one feeding you with his hands.

"Thank you, Remus, Peter." You smiled gratefully at them.

"Where's my thank you?" Sirius raised his eyebrow at you.

"Thank you for what? What did you bring?"

"She's right, Pads." James smirked matching the one on your face.

"Oh, so now my presence isn't enough for you." He rolled his eyes at the two of you.

"Well I guess you don't want these then." He took out a Pack from his robe pocket.

It was a jumbo couldron cake. These taste even better than the normal sized ones.

"Can I please have it?" You looked at him with the best puppy eyes that you could make.

Say, 'Thank you, Sirius. I don't know what i'd do without you. Cause my tosser of a boyfriend doesn't even know to bring me snacks.' then you can have it." Sirius smirked.

"Thank you, Sirius. I don't know what i'd do without you. Cause my tosser of a boyfriend doesn't even know to bring me snacks."

"Hey! You're my girlfriend!" James whined.

"Yeah, but he has the jumbo couldron cake. And I really want one." You smiled feigning innocence.

"There you go, Prongs' girlfriend." Sirius handed you the couldron cake.

"You know I hate you, right?" James scowled at him as he winked at you.

"What did I even do?" Sirius asked in a mellow tone.

Their argument continued. You just looked at them. The four magic beans you had that made you forget about the pain of the presence and the fear of the future and the hurt of the past. You listened to their argument for bit more but soon fell asleep with your boyfriend caressing your hair and your neck and the laughs of your favourite people in the world.

The marauders.

Another James Potter oneshot :

#james potter x reader #harry potter #harry potter x reader #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #i love harry potter #james potter #remus loves sirius #sirius black #remus lupin #peter pattigrew #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #the marauders #i love the marauders

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noah-shin · 1 year

Text

Popular yandere x reader

Warning: yandere themes, manipulation

Word count: 800

________♡________

Name: Silas Reynolds

Pronouns:he/him

Age: 19

Occupations: student

Likes: attention, you, sweet foods, late night walks

Yandere type:執着型

shuuchaku gata - obsession type

⌱⧼⊹ Yandere who has known you since high school for being in the same friend group.

Who never talked with you that much because you were apparel useless and thought of you as a background character.

⌱⧼⊹ Yandere who had girl's line at his door to fuck with him, not that he minded tho. Dripping with attention and compliments. More of a ladies man.

⌱⧼⊹ Yandere who didn't value you in his life until he did. He was saved by you after a very bad car crash. He might as well just think you as an angel sent from above in his daze

⌱⧼⊹ Yandere who couldn't just ignore how caring and worried you were for a not so friend like him and surprisingly it wasn't even pretentious(he didn't realize you were like that with everyone).

⌱⧼⊹ Yandere who thought you filled the void of an ideal lover in his heart. So beautiful, caring, kind and fragile just like a flower

⌱⧼⊹ Yandere who can read through you like a book but still can't figure out why he likes you. What hooked him up to you

I mean you're a very average girl living a simple life, well that's what he thought

Suddenly he will notice every simple thing you do, staring at you is his new hobby. Forget about anything else, his world actually revolves around you.

⌱⧼⊹ Yandere who notices how you h/c hair flows in the wind, how you smile at the silliest thing, how you just look so perfect. He's just so infatuated in your life spending all the time thinking and looking out for you

Not that you mind because you don't know someone is following you everywhere you go.

Yandere who would have a series of dreams of you just being there looking ethereal.

⌱⧼⊹ Yandere who will have thousand of pics of you and accessories you left behind. He will prevent anyone from causing harm to you and will change his playboyish tendencies.

He's no longer a low class playboy.He will change just to be the perfect lover for you.

⌱⧼⊹ Yandere who will try to pursue you to be his girlfriend knowing you will agree but you just straight up rejected.

Now that hurt his ego. Guess he will have to go to extreme levels to get you.

⌱⧼⊹ He's the type of yandere who will spread malicious rumors about you and your s/o to isolate you from everyone else. When you are the most vulnerable and lonely, he will just scoop you right in consoling you, expressing his undying love for you and saying how others don't know of your worth.

⌱⧼⊹ He is more patient with you than anyone else so that he can have a normal relationship with you. He will always try his best to impress you all the time. You liked that dress in that shop, be ready to get it before even the day ends. He's always ready to spend his money on you. He will do anything for you but the only thing he wants is your love.

⌱⧼⊹ He knows you will never love him as much as he loves you but it's okay, his love is enough for you two. He feels like he's in heaven when you praise him saying how much of a great lover he is and cuddles with him. He basically thrives on your attention.

⌱⧼⊹ Yandere who will smile at everyone and act normal with them when he's only thinking about you in his mind. Downright simping for you 24/7

Yandere who will get annoyed when someone talks shit about you but just reminds you to stop listening to them cz dogs will bark anyways.

⌱⧼⊹ Yandere who will put on a facade of being a loving person so that even if you try to leave him or run away, nobody will believe you.

Who in their right mind would even run away from someone like him?

⌱⧼⊹ Yandere who will use others to eliminate his rivals and useless people. He just doesn't like the idea of smearing his hand with the blood of filthy people.

Extremely manipulative and smart, there's a big chance you will never know about his unhinged thoughts about you, it's more peaceful if you don't.

Has a big god complex and is actually able to manipulate his s/o to maneuver his way into her life pretty easily. He will definitely marry you soon so that you can be his legally.

He craves for you

He want to own your heart, body, soul and hopes that you will be with him till death pull you both apart.

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liminalpebble · 6 months

Text

Stray: Part 5

Masterlist link

A/N: Happy Halloween, my loves! It's my favorite holiday/month and today I have a tooth-rottingly sweet, sugary, fluffy chapter for you as a treat. But Loki is also up to some of his violent and threatening tricks, so read with caution if that is something uncomfortable for you (not towards our main girl, btw). Trust me. It's wickedly satisfying.

P.S. And enormous thank you to both my long time readers and the lovely and enthusiastic new readers following along. I'm trying my best to keep up with tagging, and engaging as personally as I can, but it's getting away from me a bit as the numbers go up. Please just know that I see and read it all and it really means so much to me and I'm so grateful to you.

Stray: Part 5

The next morning Loki put his plan into action. After his breakfast and cuddle and a fond goodbye from the human, the younger prince returned to his usual form. He stood for a long while in front of the mirror, magicking different outfits and disguises until he finally settled on a perfect one.

He wore a neat blue sweater, a black pea coat, and gray trousers; everything crisp and expensive enough to be impressive and tasteful, but not flashy. Loki noted with satisfaction that the outfit hugged his long athletic body to perfection. He still had to make some concessions to his vanity, after all. He was satisfied, however, it was unnerving to see his face so changed. He labored extensively to perfect a look that would spark familiarity but not give him away, so he settled on his usual face but changed the tone of his skin from alabaster white to a healthy tan. He morphed his longer slicked black hair into butterscotch-golden curls, cut short and styled impeccably into a soft swoop of volume at the top. Although he was still afraid that it might expose him, he kept his Cheshire cat grin and his piercing eyes.

I want that part to be real. I want her to look into my eyes without illusions or deception, he reasoned. Then, with one final adjustment of his watch, a swipe over his jacket and a check of his hair, he magicked himself into the hallway and began the journey to your place of employment...that hideous building with the orange and brown sign reading Mullen's Department Store.

Of course, Loki could have simply magically transported himself there, but he chose to walk for some time in the brisk November air and took pleasure in stretching his real legs. The icy bite of a snowy December would be close on the heels of autumn. He could tell somehow. He always loved the ice and snow and was never quite sure why. The prince thought of winter in this realm with giddy anticipation, mostly because of you. With a smile, Loki thought about how you were always a little chilly, and perhaps this winter he would have the privilege of keeping you warm.

As his long graceful legs waltzed over the pavement of downtown, through the late morning crowds, he realized the novelty of this whole experience. He had never been very nervous before in matters of romance (his charm going a very long way and letting him glide through a vapid love life with ease) but none of it meant anything. None of it was real. Everything was fleeting; just how he liked it so he would never be too bored. He felt a pang of remorse which had never pricked him before, considering that his sweet moral would never treat people as disposable entertainment the way he had.

His feet slowed to a stop under the hulking department store's shadow as the thought needled him; What if I don't deserve her?

Nonetheless, he carried on. He had a plan after all, and there was no time to ruminate. As he parted the glass double doors, a hideous stretch of polished tiles sprawled out before him in display after display of appliances and apparel.

What a horrible soulless place. My poor little mortal is subjected to this each day? I have to find her.

Prince wondered for a moment, when it had become his mortal, his human...not simply the. He was assuming you were already his, but really, he was already yours.

He marinated in these thoughts as he searched for you until he heard the sweet syllables of your name called by a young lady in a uniform identical to yours. Loki watched as the frazzled girl asked you a panicked question about the hulking machine in front of her. He watched, rapt, as you soothed, “Hey, Janet. It's okay. Stop calling yourself stupid. You're not stupid. You're just still learning. I had the same problem at first. Here, I'll show you a trick.” You softly put your hand on her shoulder as you explained patiently. A drawer full of cash slid open with a click and Janet's face lit up with relief as you said, “See! I knew you could do it. Keep going and call me if you need anything else. I'm right here.”

Loki's heart turned absolutely molten as he watched. You had just shown more patience and compassion in a matter of minutes than he had probably shown in several hundred years. He swallowed a little nervous gulp, took a deep breath, and approached you with what he hoped was a casual stride and a friendly smile.

“Hello...Miss?” he said, bending down to catch your eye from where you were restocking gift boxes. When you glanced over, your eyes went wide and several items tumbled out of you arms. With the quickest reflexes you'd ever seen, the handsome stranger reached out his long arms to catch them.

You breathed a deep sigh of relief and then chuckled. “Oh, sir, I'm so sorry! You snuck up on me, there. Thanks for the save. There's glass in these. Would have been a real mess and...” you stroked a hand through your hair and blushed, trailing off. Then you really observed his face and immediately lost your train of thought. He was absurdly handsome and oddly familiar, in a combination that left you very shy and very frazzled.

Finding words after a beat, you said, “Sorry! Rambling...What can I help you with?”

“I'm...um...terribly sorry to trouble you. I seem to have strayed a bit. I'm looking for the menswear department.” He paused to peak his eyebrows sweetly and put his hands in his pockets, stepping ever so slightly closer to you while holding your gaze in a vice grip, “and I'm afraid I need a lady's help to pick out a suitable tie. Would you be so kind as to assist me?”

You just stood there a moment, eyes wide and mouth open like a fish. You shook your head and came back to your senses. “Oh...oh! Menswear is just one floor up and to the left. I'm afraid that's not my department.” You laughed nervously, cheeks aching from your awkward smile, “I wouldn't know the first thing about men's fashion, but Tammy works of there. She's lovely and knows absolutely everything about putting suits together...really good taste...”. You paused your torrent of words to shake your head and still your wildly gesticulating hands. The stranger just listened intently while flashing a stunning, amused grin. He was watching you as if you were the most fascinating creature he had ever met. “Sorry...I'm rambling again. I don't mean to be too nosy, but have we met before? You seem incredibly familiar. Shopped here before maybe?”

Loki quickly realized you were putting it all together. Soon it would dawn on you. His eyes must have given him away, but he saw a solution and said smoothly, “Oh...yes. Yes, I've been by here a few times. I'm sure we've passed each other. You look familiar as well. I never forget a lovely face.”

A pleasant fragrance of mint and pine struck you with a lightning bolt of comprehension, but being a generally sane person you found a logical explanation.

Of course! I was reading that page about Loki. I saw this man around here, and it must have all just seeped into my subconscious...got into my dreams. I guess I ought to thank my brain, because he is stunning. Jesus Christ, how could I forget him? I guess I even remembered his cologne. He seems a little too charming to trust though. Probably complimenting me to get something out of me.

He blinked and looked down at his perfectly polished shoes, setting one finger pensively against his lips. He nodded thoughtfully and said, “Right...One floor up to the left?”

“Yes, sir. And Tammy will be the one to help you.”

Loki immediately discovered that you calling him “sir” had a very particular effect on him, but he decided to tuck that thought away for much much later. The charmer began to feel a little fizzle of panic as you began to turn back to your work. Wasting this chance would devastate him.

“Tammy...right,” he said flatly. “Thank you for your help,” he said with a smooth grin. “Oh...and...one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Would you be so kind as to join me for lunch?”

You just stared, utterly baffled, for a long moment. Trying to process that this had actually just happened. (In fact, about half a dozen of your coworkers were doing the same thing, rubbernecking this train wreck of your social skills with their mouths agape).

You shook off the impulse to follow this man literally anywhere he asked and switched to a more sensible tactic. You asked skeptically, “Forgive me for being blunt...but you don't need a tie, do you?”

He threw his hands up in a gleeful and mischievous expression and declared, “Guilty as charged.”

You giggled at his shamelessness then advised, “Well if you're looking for what I think you're looking for, there are much prettier and more socially graceful shop girls than me around, but I'm very flattered. Don't get me wrong.”

His eyes shot wide open and he put his hands up saying, “Oh no no! Please don't misunderstand me. I'm not that kind of man. I just find you interesting. I promise you, I'd just like to chat. Cafe next door? 12:30?”

Thinking of your pitiful bank account you excused yourself saying, “I'm sorry, but I really can't. I only have 30 minutes and...”

He winked. Jesus...he winked and it made you absolutely melt into putty in his elegant hands. Lowering his voice to a delicious whisper he said, “Come on...my treat. Let's have a bit of fun, shall we?”

Very uncharacteristically and with complete abandon, you answered, “Okay...okay,” grinning and nodding over and over in a cloud of delirious infatuation that carried you through the morning and into your much-anticipated lunch date.

-------

While you worked as best you could, floating around with hearts in your eyes, Loki was putting his own enamored giddiness on the back burner for the time being. The god of mischief still had work to do and he needed ice in his veins. As he strode off the elevator and into the hallway of the top floor, he was back in his black suit and tie and white shirt, pitch black hair perfectly slicked back; every strand in its right place. He let out a derisive little bark of laughter at Mr. Mullen's locked office door, and the note stuck to it that said “Out of office. Back in one hour.”

Loki effortlessly drifted through the door in a glow of green smoke and settled in; somehow dominating the vast room with his singular presence. He sat, relaxed, biding his time with a tumbler of Mr. Mullen's fine Scotch whiskey. As the morning sun glared through the windows, the trickster donned his sunglasses and summoned an elaborate and very lethal switchblade. He gave a sideways smirk as he flicked it open with a satisfying click and began twirling it in his nimble hand, watching the glimmer of it in the sunshine. The god of mischief despised tedium more than nearly anything, but he was no stranger to patience in the service of a cunning plan. And this...oh this would be a worth waiting for, he mused as he coolly sipped the amber liquid and flipped his gleaming blade.

The door unlocked and a red-faced, balding man shuffled through the door. He squealed and flinched, seeing the tall dark stranger sitting with his legs crossed and feet resting on his gaudy desk. Loki swung his legs down lazily and sat up straight, saying crisply, “Mr. Mullen, I presume?”

“Who...who the fuck are you? This...this door was locked!”

Loki slid off his sunglasses and peaked an eyebrow haughtily in Mullen's direction. Arctic irises skewered the pitiful man as he quipped, “Hah...please. And you, Mr. Mullen, have not earned the pleasure of knowing my name. All you need to know...” he said leaning forward to carefully place his scotch on the desk, and swing his switchblade deftly in his direction, like a conductor's wand, “..is that I am someone very very dangerous. Now...have a seat.”

Mullen, red and shaking, did has he was told and Loki smiled wickedly. Oh, he had missed these kinds of games. It felt strangely righteous to be so wicked, but for such a good reason. He was so pleased to make this man cower in the same chair where he had made his precious mortal feel small and worthless. He had to admit, it felt good to be in his element again, and to use what he knew best.

Loki knew, for example, that nothing makes people squirm and break more easily than keeping them wondering. Often, the longer he stayed cool and silent, the more his opponent's imagination would fill in the gaps of assumption, volunteering their most heinous secrets in desperation. And just as he predicted, the businessman folded easily, jumping quickly upon his own dagger of dread.

The businessman sputtered out, “What are you? FBI...CIA...I was wondering when you men in black would start crawling out of the woodwork to bother me.”

Loki glared, lowering his voice. “Worse, I'm afraid.”

Mullen's mouth dropped open and his beady eyes shone with terror, “My god...you're one of Vinny's men aren't you? I...I told him I was good for it. I'm counting on him for this whole operation...I wouldn't betray...”

Loki tutted and scolded, “Good heavens, no wonder this city is in turmoil! With such abuse of power...dehumanizing people different from yourselves, squashing them under your expensive designer shoes while they toil away...what else could you expect? Narrow-minded idiots...the lot of you.”

The trapped man whimpered and sweated through his suit in ugly patches. He began to blubber something incomprehensible.

The god stood up and stalked towards his victim, knife held deftly up to his lips in a silencing gesture. “Shh. Shh. Shhhh. I'm not here to hear you talk. I am here to tell you what to do. Is that clear?”

The man said nothing, only trembled. Loki brought the blade closer to Mullen's face. “I said, is that clear?”

“Yes...y...yess.”

“Alright.” He smiled maniacally. “See? That wasn't so hard. Now...listen. There was a very clever young lady who came to you yesterday, politely asking for a chance to advance her career and you shooed her away like a stray animal,” he said, growling the last few words.

Loki came closer, propping the knife under his chin and forcing Mullen's eyes to meet his own. “Rude, Mr. Mullen. Inexcusably rude...and it has drawn the attention of an entity you very much do not want to agitate. So, if you would like exit this room intact, you will do the following: you will apologize properly to that young lady, you will give her the chance she very much deserves, and you will not say a word about this meeting to anyone. If you dare to, I will do terrible, awful things to you. Do you understand? Do we have an agreement?”

“Y...ye...yes.”

“Good. Now,” Loki said crisply, then glanced at his watch, “my time is very precious Mr. Mullen, especially today, and I've already wasted too much on you. Maybe if you had given her the time she deserved we wouldn't have to deal with this little inconvenience. Have a nice day,” he said with a wide, menacing smile (more of a showing of teeth than a sign of happiness), as he swanned out of the room.

Now, Loki thought as he walked down the hall with a spring in his step and a smirk on his lips, I have a date.

@averagetmblrusser @fruityfucker @arunabrak @mischief2sarawr @ladyofthestayingpower @acidcasualties @unlucky-number-13 @goblingirlsarah @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokihiddleston @chokeanddagger @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @marcotheflychair @smolvenger @alexakeyloveloki @littlespaceyelf @little-wormwood @loopsisloops @joyful-enchantress @eleniblue @loz-3 @the-haven-of-fiction @sweetsigyn @muddyorbs @icytrickster17 @holdmytesseract @thenerdyoldersister @thedistractedagglomeration @sailorholly @coldnique @sarahscribbles @peachyjinx @infinitystoner @peaches1958 @mischiefmaker615 @jennyggggrrr @tripleyeeet @itsybitchylittlewitchy @mochie85 @huntress-artemiss @madi0987 @buttercupcookies-blog @annoyingsweetsstranger @primrosesposts @anda-the-valkyrie @ozymdias @pwinglez1 @evelyn-rathmore @anukulee

#lokitty #loki fanfic #pre-Thor 1 Loki #loki x reader #loki fluff #D.B Cooper Loki

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dramarising-replacement · 4 months

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this will very likely be an unpopular opinion, but...

genuinely, we do NOT need more than 2 ancients a year. gosh, I'd go as far as to say we don't need more than 1. staff is clearly rushed. they're clearly putting too much pressure on themselves, with all the gene errors, and the poorly conceived auraboas. it doesn't help that they're forcing limitations on themselves (why does the bounty of the elements need a word limit if it REMOVES IMPORTANT CONTEXT???), and shooting for releases that "go well" with irl or in-game holidays. auraboas could have waited until january, if I'm being brutally honest.

just because they don't have to draw gobs of apparel, they still have to draw heaps of unique (and already existing) genes for each new breed, many of which are line breaking. maybe that's just as bad as creating lots of new apparel?? and then older ancients get completely ignored. I feel like they're divvying their energy in really bad ways.

all I can imagine is that fr hasn't been bringing in the cash they need, hence the "need" to release THREE BREEDS in 2023, as well as completely ignoring users when we ask, hey, maybe make it so we can get rid of the big icon for the sale on gems. at any rate, more pressure on their small team of artists is not the way to go...

idk. has me nervous. I suppose I could turn off adblocker for the site in the meantime, but gosh. I hope that the site doesn't take a bad turn due to financial issues.

#Drama #Rant #Flight Rising #Staff #Genes #Updates #Confessions #Petty

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zephirite · 4 months

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'Complicated' doesn't equal 'Queer'

The analysis of Mizu's gender and identity are wonderful to read. I am a massive fan of queer readings that complicate and enhance the present narrative, and feel like a natural extension of the character.

However. It is a bit saddening that people see a fraught relationship with gender and immediately label it as fraught because it's queer, instead of allowing their idea of womanhood to expand to include fraught relationships with gender expression. It's as if...the demographics Mizu's confirmed to belong to (being a woman and being bi-racial) aren't 'enough', so people have to put her in another demographic (being trans) in order to care about/understand her. It feels like it erases the specificity of her story as being ABOUT womanhood, because they cannot fathom womanhood being this full with pain and confusion without signifying queerness. For a relationship (between people, or between a person and themself) to be queer, one would say it must fall outside of the norms enforced by society. But in reality, EVERYONE is outside the norm in various ways. There is no person who's a paragon of society, strutting about confidently. It's why the 'all white men have it easy' argument fails; if it's not gender or race complicating your life, it's religion, ability, mental illness, wealth, language, or a million other things. In reality, everyone has a complicated relationship with all facets of their identity. People are forced into roles now as much as during the Edo period, just in different ways. So anyone expressing difficulty within their roles does not immediately equate to them being queer. Is Akimi queer because she wants to control her life? By modern standards, we'd say "No", because modern conceptions of womanhood include independence. But during the Edo period, womanhood equaled ownership. Seki tells this to Amiki, and she flees, determined to prove him wrong. By their standards, her attempting independence is inherently non-womanly. Another cultural/historical difference is the characters in this show don't have the luxury of their presentation being self-expression. To claim that Mizu wears pants, a hat, and cloak because she IS a man ignores that being revealed as a woman will get her kicked out of cities, killed, assaulted, or ignored. She is not living in a neutral environment and choosing to dress 'masc'; she's trying to survive. She wants to be seen as a man so she can be let into the city, and not freeze--which we see happen to a woman and her child, whom the guard refused to let in without her dead husband. If Mizu didn't have to fight and lived with people who all knew she was female--and she still dressed in men's apparel--that would signify her comfort in far queerer ways than pure survival. (Notice she wore a kimono around Mikio for years without seeming any less comfortable in it than her 'male' clothing. She dresses for her role, not personal expression.) Other characters allowed to fret over their appearance without the fans questioning their gender.

Akimi is haunted by having to blacken her teeth, since it signifies how she'll have to modify her body to appeal to the husband she doesn't want. And Taigen is distraught over Mizu slicing his topknot--not for the bald spot, as Akimi teases--but because even cutting hair was seen as defiling the body your family gave you. Additionally, it was done without his consent--therefore ruining his honor as a warrior, which was how Akimi's father justified ending their engagement. Both these reasons could lend themselves to queer narratives, but because Aikmi and Taigen dress consistently in their gendered clothing, the fans let them maintain their cultural significance and don't question their genders. Whereas Mizu looking at her boobs supposedly signifies dysphoria--and therefore being trans--as opposed to the growth of something that could get her discovered, and ruin her life. Bit inconsistent, no? I can see where people relate to the androgyny/trans/nonbinary reading of Mizu--but that should be an expansion of themes, not an exclusion. Let womanhood stay part of that analysis. Please.

I've been longing for a show to critically dissect womanhood in a historical and cultural context, and was so excited to see if other people felt as seen as I did. So watching some Queer headcanons ignore the established cultural, character-specific, and plot of the story...kinda stings. It's similar to the Encanto fiasco, where fans were quick to prioritize their assumption of a character's gender/sexuality/neurodivergence over their established motives. Like Isabella not wanting to marry a man because she was a lesbian, instead of her feeling pressured to do it because it was what her family expected of someone as 'perfect' and 'pretty' as her. Being a lesbian could've enhanced that, but claiming that was the ONLY reason rubbed people the wrong way. Particularly, people who were excited to see cultural norms and familial expectations mold the characters. Now, headcanons harm no one. Characters are not fragile; they can be stretched to fit many interpretations. But when entering a fandom, we do not leave our biased baggage at the door. And it might be nice to question why we feel the need to take a situation we may not understand and reshape it to fit our modern lens, instead of growing our understanding. It's cute to imagine the characters in a less-fraught world, but...are we losing the very essence of the characters when we do?

#blue eyed samurai #mizu blue eye samurai

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