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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 9 months

Text

FOLIE Á DEUX ─── jonathan crane ✧

ೃ⁀➷ “Not all love is gentle. Sometimes it's gritty and dirty and possessive, sometimes it's not supposed to be careful or soft at all. Sometimes it feels like teeth.” - Azra T.

pairing. professor!jonathan crane x stalker!reader

summary. you’ve been stalking your professor for 8 months, keeping track of his movements with your diary. one day, said professor informs that you left something of yours behind in his office…

warnings. swearing, choking, p in v, dacryphilia, oral sex (f), dubcon (if u squint), stalking, breeding, orgasm delay/denial, unprotected sex, hair pulling, student-teacher relationship, SMUT UNDER THE CUT

word count. 4.5k

a/n. this is my first ever smut, so if it sucks i really do apologize. also, im kinda unsure where the plot on this one went, but whatever! lastly, i do try to keep all my fics gender-neutral, but seeing as this is smut, i had to choose, and the reader is afab.

“Miss [Name], please stay behind after class. I need just a moment's worth of your time.” Your professor said absently, not looking at you, when he handed back your essay on the human id.

You hummed, nodding your head carefully. “Yes, Professor Crane.”

Inwardly, you swooned at his choice of words: “I need just a moment's worth of your time.” He’d highlighted the existence of both you and him in the sentence, as if coexisting together, with one another, was plausible.

Later, when class ended, you’d packed up all your things, and walked into Professor Crane’s office off to the side, where he was tidying up.

“You asked me to stay behind, sir?”

“Yes,” Crane acknowledged your presence, looking at you squarely. “You forgot something in my office during our last tutoring session.”

Your eyes widened slightly, both at the fact you’d left one of your items behind, and that your Professor had seen the item, and knew it belonged to you. He hadn’t mistaken it as his own, or anyone else's - he knew it was yours.

“Oh!” You said, a beat later. “Thank you for telling me. Where is it, exactly?”

“Before we get to that matter - do take a seat - I believe we need to have a, ah, talk.” He gestured to the seat in front of his office desk, the same seat you sat on every Wednesday at 6:30 for the past few months.

“A talk, sir?” You pried, but sat down anyway, reveling in the one-on-one time you were experiencing with your favorite professor.

That was the main motivator for getting tutored by the man - you adored going in, having an entire hour of him all to yourself.

Prior, you pretended not to get some of his lessons, let your grade in his psychology class slip to a pitiful mark so low he couldn’t ignore it. You’d started the semester with a stellar grade, so he took it upon himself to offer tutoring - he knew you could understand his method of teaching, and theorized that you hadn’t been able to pay attention in class because of the sheer size of people attending.

In actuality, however, you understood everything completely - it was merely your obsessive attraction following him like the sound of thunder trailing behind lightning.

Crane scrubbed his face when you sat, thinking intently on what he wanted to say. “I need you to understand, Miss [Name], that a student-teacher relationship is completely taboo. Such a thing can never - should never, occur.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and suddenly, you were reminded how you hadn’t seen that book in a while, you hadn’t read it when you woke up, when you went for lunch, you hadn’t even written anything about him for the day—

Your professor slid open one of his desk drawers, and pulled out the familiar pocket notebook you kept with yourself at all times.

“I’m telling you about rules, Miss [Name], because you forgot this.” He said, voice low. “And, pardon my intrusion, but the stuff you have written here is quite… intriguing.”

Your heart began racing in your chest, a cold sweat trailing down your back. “Professor, I- whatever you read in there—“ You began, but froze when he opened the notebook, thumbing through the pages.

Crane cleared his throat, looking intently at the words. His expression changed several times as his eyes flitted over your writing, and you felt your body burn with shame.

“January 26th. Professor's gloves were found in the nook of his podium. I was looking for the green apple he’d forgo from finishing, his teeth tracks fresh on the alabaster flesh, but found his winter wear instead. Gloves were brought home - I imagined he’d come over to mine, undressed his biting winter clothing, and forgot his sweet mittens here.” Your professor read your diary out loud. Crane looked like he enjoyed your shame being laid out bare, but you were too absorbed in a whirlwind of emotion to notice.

“P—Professor, please, I - I can explain, I didn’t mean anything—“

“April 17th. Professor came down with a flu, like I expected. I saw him walking in last week’s evening downpour and waited for what day this week he’d call in. Later, he bought cough syrup and aspirin at the convenience store. I watched him struggle to care for himself, covered head to toe in blankets, missing meals, barely able to keep upright. I wish professor knew how well I could care for him, how I fulfill his every request and need. I saw how touchy he was, how he fidgeted, that feverish want — I could satiate him like no-one else.”

His lips enunciated every word, and the longer he went on reading, the dizzier you felt; your professor, your darling, had found out - he had found out - he had found fucking out -

“Be honest with me, Miss [Name]. Do you stalk me?” Your professor said, slipping off his wire-framed glasses. The man leaned in closer now, elbows resting on the wooden desk.

Your eyes darted away from him, looking anywhere but forwards. You felt like you had been stripped away, so bare your professor could count how many ribs you had, how many minor hairline fractures your tattered bones had collected over the years. You tried to analyze the man’s reaction through your peripheral, but it was to no avail - he was as cold as he had been during class, during your entire time knowing the professor.

You breathed, in and out, analyzing the situation tenfold, precisely, trying to find a way out of this place alive, dignity intact. Then, you found it.

This man had ensnared you, entranced you with his delicious charm and carefully spoken words. You repeat inwardly to yourself: Crane knew all the right words, all the right places to touch. If he dared press charges, you would tell the world he hurt you first.

“Yes, Professor Crane.” You nodded, unabashed after deciding how to deal with everything. He can’t touch me with this. I’ll just go first: please, he took advantage of me! I needed to pass his class… and he offered a solution to me. He’s lying! Lying to you all. He just wants to destroy me… and hide his sin.

“The human body knows when someone’s watching them, but you haven’t noticed, not once in the 8 months I’ve watched you. You didn’t notice, even when I followed you home, even to Arkham. Every obscure outing you’ve had, I’ve been there.”

“I’m quite alarmed by this information, Miss [Name]. Moreso by the absence of your remorse.” Crane said, but mere seconds later a low laugh was drawn out of him, looking more amused than alarmed if anything.

Crane’s tone was husky, nearing a purr, and he clasped his large, calloused hands together contemplatively. “What were you going to do to me, Miss [Name]? Or were you just going to watch, standby my life?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, unable to respond to his provocations. You didn’t want to alarm him further, tell him you’d been planning to finally have him, once and for all, as soon as you got a hold of his house keys and got the chance to replicate your own pair. You didn’t tell him that you were barely restraining yourself from knocking him out during your tutoring sessions, wanting your darling all for yourself for more than an hour a week.

“Are you not afraid, Miss [Name]? What I can do to your life with this information? How I can ruin you, paint you mad enough to be admitted to Arkham?” he continued, closer than ever before and whispering in your ear. His plush lips brushed past the shell of your ear, making your heart skip a beat.

You winced, both from the feeling of him near you and his sweet voice spewing poison in your ear, but quickly composed yourself, for you knew things he didn’t know you knew.

Then - you weren’t quite sure what possessed you, but - your hand came up to his hair, tugging so he could hear you, “Professor - or, should I say… Scarecrow, what would you do, if I told the police what Gotham University’s psychology professor did in his spare time?”

“What would you do, if I plastered pictures of the renowned Doctor Jonathan Crane wearing the familiar burlap sack mask all over Gotham - especially in places the Batman frequented?”

“I can destroy you, sir.” Your voice was quiet, but dangerous, a terribly alluring thing, like a melody Crane heard a long time ago and remembered every time he smelt the must of an old piano. “Don’t push me.”

This time, Crane stilled, turning to face you fully. His gaze had darkened, looking at you through his long lashes. “My dear, you should’ve just told me how bad you wanted to find out how this fear-toxin of mine can break you.” He whispered, so quiet you had to strain yourself to hear.

With your professor's warm breath fanning on the nape of your neck, you couldn’t help how you squirmed, clenched your thighs together - especially when you had been dreaming of something like this for the past eight months. You couldn’t count how many times you found yourself with your hands down your pants at the thought of your darling professor having his way with you… controlling you completely.

You didn’t answer the man for a moment, gulping down the dryness in your throat. “Would you, sir? Would you let fear dominate me like those tortured souls in the Narrows?”

Crane’s eyes trailed across your face, then he pulled back, leaning in his chair, a grin all teeth and no tongue spreading across his lips. There was something there, you realized, something he noticed in the intone of your voice - had he noticed the neediness, the warble as your thoughts went elsewhere? The arch in your back, your body desperate to be as close to him as possible?

“Can I tell you what I think?” said Crane, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “I think you want me to. I think you want me to see you tremble… shake in fear… you want me to hear you beg. I think you want to be utterly consumed by me.”

The deep timbre of his voice, the suggestion in his words, how he stared you down with each syllable, sent electric shivers down your spine. You took in a sharp breath, leaning your head back to look at the ceiling, compose yourself, when—

Crane’s rough hand gripped at your throat, thumb caressing the little notch at the center, and your heart fluttered, jumping at his touch.

“Fear is an addicting, beautiful thing, is it not? You’re afraid of me, but you can’t help how fucking needy you are.” Your professor spoke, pressing down further on your neck. He had noticed.

His touch made your skin feel like it was on fire, the rough pads of his fingertips digging bruises into your delicate skin. It was the most delicious thing you had ever felt, and you leaned into it, despite the connotations of death by asphyxiation looming over your shoulder.

Your professor manhandled you, dragging your weak body over to his side of the desk, hand still curved neatly around your throat. You were growing dizzy, a fearful, pleasure-filled fog slowly clouding your mind, and you couldn’t speak. All you could do was let out little squeaks of surprise & pleasure, a moan rumbling out of you as he pressed down further.

Crane was saying something, but you couldn’t tell under the pressure. His facial expression was all you needed, however; his eyes were bloodshot, lustful, so laser-focused that, if looks could kill, you’d have been long gone, while a feral grin replaced his emotionless facade. Crane’s usually well-kept appearance had dissolved, and his hair was askew, tie loose, buttons haphazardly undone.

Suddenly, the man pressed himself flush against you, pressing his face into your hair, your neck - losing himself in you. His tongue flicked out, dragging a long stripe down the side of your neck, and you jumped, a startled whine tearing out of your choked-up throat.

His grip on you tightened. “What? I’m just having a taste. Is that so wrong?” At your wide eyes, and silent response, he let out a fitful laugh. “You’re coated in shame, darling. You’re sour.”

You squirmed - not because you didn’t enjoy it - you just couldn’t breathe, but Crane didn’t care. His fingernails were sharp, maybe even drawing some of your blood.

“Plea— sir, I can’t breathe,” you stuttered out raspily. His face remained unchanged while listening to your pathetic pleas, before he leaned in close.

“Beg for it. Beg like you’re terrified for your life. You might as well be,” he said, and he began pressing his thumb into the center of your throat, choking you fully now.

You nodded - as much as the allowance between his hand and your head allowed, anyway. “Professor, please,” you said breathily, “please let me go. I’ll do any- anything, just puh— please stop.”

“Ah, there it is,” Your professor cooed, eyes shutting at the sweet intone of your pleaing, distressed voice. He was losing himself in your words. “Keep going… and don’t forget the crying. It's my favorite part.”

“Let - me go! Please,” you whimpered helplessly, mustering thick, heavy tears to form at the corners of your eyes as you saw black spots dotting your vision.

A lump formed in your throat, choking your words. “Please… stop! Let me - breathe,” You said, leaning delightedly into his touch. His other hand was now digging painfully into your hip, as if the professor were focussing intensely on holding back.

“Look at you go,” Crane clicked his tongue, eyes opening and gazing deep into you. He pulled you in closer to him, letting go of your abused throat.

You finally breathed, taking in such large bouts of air you might’ve choked and keeled over right there. But then, Crane’s hands at your side crawed carefully to your rear, while the other hand came up to the crown of your head to pet you.

He whispered into the top of your head, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” You said raspily, your face pressed flat against his bandy chest.

His hand found the swell of your ass, fingers grabbing hold and squeezing so tight you were sure there’d be a bruise later, “About doing anything. For me.”

You nodded, still not looking at him. This answer didn’t please him, however, and the hand that had been petting you tangled through your hair and roughly pulled you away, to look up at him. “In words.”

“Y— yes. I’ll do anything for you.” You rattled off, prickling pain twisting in your scalp.

“You’ll be a good girl for me?”

“The best.”

A grin twisted his pink, plush lips, and he promptly pushed you face down flat against his cold, wooden desk. It was rough, and sudden, pain blooming in your side. But there was a tug in your lower stomach at the way he handled you, all selfish and touchy and focused solely on chasing after his own pleasure.

Crane’s hands roamed all over your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. His touch was insatiable, rubbing and petting and kneading at every part of your body.

His hands found your thighs, squeezing at the flesh, before hiking up your skirt and inspecting your panties. “Oh, you’re fucking soaked,” Crane rumbled out, voice like gravel. “You liked it, didn’t you? When I said I’d admit you to Arkham.”

Then, you heard him kneel down, and begin to press sloppy, wet kisses on your legs. “Be honest,” he said between kisses, “you want me to admit you, have you all to myself in isolation.”

You didn’t respond, instead whimpering and bucking forward when you could feel Crane’s sharp teeth brush over your sensitive skin. He noticed the effect he had on you, and you felt him smile against you.

“Please,” you keened out, not dissimilar to how you begged him just moments ago, “stop teasing, Professor.”

You felt Crane’s hot breath fan over your clothed mound, pausing for a moment to catch his breath. “Stop teasing, how?” he said at last, before suddenly pushing your panties to the side and licking a stripe up your cunt. He lapped at your lips, collecting your wetness on his tongue, but he didn’t go further.

“Pro - Professor,” you whined, grounding out a low moan. It wasn’t enough, and he knew it. He liked playing with you, making you squirm and shake and beg for more.

“What? This not enough for you?” He pulled away, and you hissed at the cold that hit you. Then, he tugged, hard, pulling both your underwear and your skirt down to your knees.

“You want me to eat you out till you’re a trembling fucking mess, don’t you?” He buried himself between your legs, “I knew you were a horny little slut.”

Finally, his tongue found you once more, and pushed deep into your folds. Crane’s tongue ran across every rivet your pussy had, before darting out to your clit, suckling at the velvet bundle of nerves. His touch drew out a high-pitched keen, your back arching.

You couldn’t see him, face still pressed against the wooden desk, but you could hear him, the filthy squelching of your pussy and his tongue making your knees buckle.

“Fuck, Jonathan,” you choked out, when he went deeper into your quivering hole, your body tingling like nothing you’d ever felt before. At your reaction, his name curling around your pretty little lips, he went faster, wet mouth brushing against you, licking you up and down, animalistic, following his instinct to a tee.

“Please, wait -“ You said, feeling the knot in your insides grow tighter, the heat washing over you like a steaming shower, toes curling in your flats.

“What?” He growled out beneath you, not letting up his assault on your cunt.

“I don’t - don’t wanna come on your tongue…” You said, shaking your head weakly against the desk. “Wanna - wanna feel you in me.”

Jonathan snorted, and continued to lap up your insides, “D’you think you have a fucking choice? Huh? I know you’re a whore, you could do this all day. I’ll just make you come again on my cock.”

Before you could protest, or even just whine at his words, you shut your eyes, feeling yourself come undone, your legs barely able to keep you upright. His hands had reached away from your thighs, rough fingers toying with your fleshy button, maximizing the climax washing over you tenfold.

“Jonathan, Jonathan!” You practically screamed out, heat in your stomach pulsing rapidly.

“Ugh, fuck,” You heard him say, “you’re creaming all over my fucking face.”

You were a complete mess by the time he pulled away from you, your high washing away as Crane wiped the come and wetness off his face.

“You came that hard, just on my tongue?” He mocked, fingers spreading your lips and observing your swollen pussy as you laid flat, weakly gripping the edge of the desk so you’d stay standing.

“Well,” he said, reaching down to his pants and undoing his belt buckle and fly, “M’not done with this sweet little cunt just yet.”

Your eyes widened, “I’m - I’m still sensitive, wait-“

Jonathan didn’t listen, however, letting his pants and boxers pool at his feet, stroking himself in the artificial light of his office, which smelt like sweat and sex.

He spat on his hand, first coating his cock in it, then your parted lips (which you theorized was just because he wanted to feel you up again), before lining up his thick head at your entrance. “God,” he groaned, “you’re so fucking wet.”

You keened at the intrusion you felt between your legs, “Jonathan, please, jus’ - give me a sec to rest —“ You were interrupted however, by the shock of how big he felt.

You hadn’t gotten a look at him, but as he let himself slowly enter you, you could tell it was bigger than anything you’d ever taken before. “You’re - you’re too big!” you squeaked out, “You won’t fit.”

He laughed, hands resting on your hips as he held you upright. “I’ll make it fit,” he said, before roughly pounding the rest of himself into you, stretching out your inexperienced cunt.

You choked, his fat cock pushing you wider than you’d ever been before, the pain biting at you, a burning feeling spreading within your lower body. “Jon- Jonathan,” was all you could say, as he slowly pulled out, pure relief written on your face, until he sank right back into you, somehow deeper than before.

Tears welled in your eyes, as he gripped harshly on the flesh of your hips, making you pound back and forth on him. His cock was hard, and thick, and he was forcing the thing deep within you at an excruciatingly quick pace. Your sensitivity was the cherry on top to this whole situation - you were trembling, body weak, shallow breaths and teary moans tearing out of you at the overstimulation.

Soon, however, the pain slowly dissolved into a filthy, exquisite pleasure that echoed throughout your entire body. The rhythm your professor had gotten to was downright perfect, filling you completely and making you clench in all the right places. Crane made your brain go foggy, focussing solely on the sound of your skin slapping against each other in the quiet, after-hours office, his taller frame encapsulating you completely.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he cooed, hands moving to splay across your ass and spread you open further. “How many cocks have taken this sweet pussy, huh?”

You gulped. “Just,” you started, but then your eyes rolled to the back of your head, stopping you mid-sentence as his length brushed up to your most sensitive spot.

“How,” he gripped you tighter, “many,” slipped out, “cocks!” then thrust into you roughly, rougher than before and making the desk screech forward a few inches.

“Just one!” You said at last, words choked up as his long cock pierced you.

“Just one, huh?” He said and began pounding in and out of you faster, rougher, needier, “I bet you didn’t even fucking come, you’re so tight. This pretty pussy of yours is practically virgin.”

“Uh-huh,” you said incoherently, thoughts blending together. “Jus’ a - a fucking virgin for you,” you babbled out, losing yourself in the fast-paced pleasure he was serving on a silver platter.

“That you are,” Jonathan growled, “you’re just my horny virgin. Mine.” Every thrust he plunged into you brushed up against that plush spot deep within you, making you drool, body going slack.

“Oh, jesus, you’re so fucked out,” he murmured, looking down at your limp, trembling form. “Drunk on my thick fucking cock.”

The ecstasy was becoming too much for you now, controlling you completely, like if he stopped fucking you right now you’d be so fucking needy, going slowly insane until he touched you again. You knew you wouldn’t be able to fuck anyone else and feel the same; he made you feel fucking feral, instinctual, your id going into drive and controlling you instead of logic. Your darling was the only one you wanted to offer yourself up completely to. He could do anything he fucking wanted to you, and you’d take it in stride.

“Jonathan,” you keened, feeling your walls clench around him tighter, “m’close.”

“No, you’re not,” he said, voice deep and dangerous, “keep that orgasm in, whore, till I tell you to.”

Your cheeks burned, distraught at the denial of your release, especially when his cock slipped out of you as he flipped you over. Quickly, however, he rammed his cock back into you. You were facing each other now, and you could see how hot and bothered he looked, despite how confident and careless his words had been as he fucked you.

His lips were bitten between his teeth, hair sticking to the sweat on his face, cheeks flushed. He was focussed entirely on getting back that rhythm, and you let him, watching how his gorgeous features contorted as your hot cunt sucked him in.

Your arms reached around his neck, and he promptly lifted your legs up to hook around his back, making him fill you even further.

“Fuck me!” You squealed, his shaft reaching places you didn’t know could be reached. It was getting harder to stop your impending orgasm, and your felt fucking sick at how sweetly he was stretching you, how you knew you couldn’t let go no matter what despite the delicious pleasure.

“Already am, baby,” he grumbled, rutting in and out of you at a dizzying pace. You felt his pace stutter, slightly, and you heard his small, revealing whines of pleasure as his head was nestled in the nook of your neck, and you knew he was close.

The thought of him coming in you made you tighten and tense, and he felt it, your back lifting off the desk in an arch.

“Fuck, how’d you get even tighter?” he said shakily, before sliding out of you so far he almost pulled out completely, then let his cock thrust into you so hard you saw stars dancing across your vision.

You merely mewled back at him in response.

“Come,” he said breathily, “come all over my thick— ugh, fuuuck, just like that, yes,” his sentence was cut off as you let go, letting the waves of pleasure surge through your body like electricity.

Your body shook, your knees trembled, and an animalistic whine slipped out of your bruise throat as he thrust into you jerkily. Just as quickly as you camez, he did too, and you felt Jonathan’s load shoot straight up into your worn-out cunt, not impeded by a condom of any sorts. Crane’s head cocked back as he did so, jaw clenching as he released his sweet and sticky liquid deep within you, warm and coating your walls completely.

For a moment, he laid atop of you, and you both kept silent, the office filled with nothing but your breathing and the sweet smell of come. Then, he pulled away, both of you wincing as his cock left you, his come dripping out of your weeping hole onto his office floors.

He pulled his underwear and pants back on, but revelled in your own crumpled form on his desk, your shirt hiked up, your skirt and panties hanging off your ankles, barely there. It was a shame he couldn’t have explored further up your body, groped those tits he loved seeing bounce during tutoring, but his need to fill your pussy up took precedent.

Jonathan swiped a finger into your cunt, collecting some of your combined liquid, and you flinched at the feeling. Then, he licked at his dirty finger. “Oh, baby,” he heaved, “we taste delectable mixed together.”

You raised a brow, then weakly lifted yourself off the desk, pulling up your panties and skirt (not without adoring the feeling of Jonathan’s fresh, wet come smearing all over your panties and sensitive cunt) before reaching for his hand. He leaned in towards you, and you lapped up the juice on his finger, grinning up at him.

Jonathan looked completely lost in your performance, brows knitted. “Jesus fucking christ,” he whispered under his breath, “where has a perfect little fucktoy like you been hiding from me?”

“Oh,” you said, nonchalant, “just stalking you.”

#jonathan crane x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #batman begins #scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane #scarecrow #jonathan crane smut #cillian murphy smut

3K notes · View notes

tallulah477 · 6 months

Text

Won't Let Anyone Take You From Me

Kinktober Day 23: Biting

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Na’vi!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Neteyam, P in V, Biting with the intention of leaving marks or bruises, Angst, Possessive language/behavior, Desperate ‘you can’t die, I won’t allow it’ sex, Dom reader, Slightly submissive Neteyam, Neteyam gets shot but he’s okay, Mentions of blood, Mentions of reader going on a killing spree, Mentions of war, Mentions of death (not main characters - a person directly next to the reader gets killed), Creampie

Word Count: 2.9K

Summary: Neteyam gets hurt during a raid and you’re having a hard time handling it. You remind him that he’s yours and that nothing, not even death, is allowed to take him from you.

Neteyam won’t look at you. But you can’t take your eyes off him.

He wades through the water, just a little ways away from you, letting it ripple around him and lap at his skin. You watch as he cups some water in his hands and uses it to scrub at the blood and grime still on his upper body. You hear him grunt quietly in pain as the movement stretches the wound on his arm and your heart hurts to hear it, but you still don’t move.

He continues like this for a few more minutes, trying to clean himself of the battle’s reminders. Reminders of the things he’s had to do, the lives he’s had to take to protect his people, the people he’s lost - the memories and fears he keeps that find their way back to him at night as he sleeps.

You know him too well. You can practically hear his thoughts before he even thinks them. And he knows that, so he doesn’t have to say anything - and neither do you.

But your eyes don’t stray from him. They stay firmly on his back, watching as his muscles move underneath his skin. Watching as his tail hangs low underneath the water, and how his braids fall across his shoulders, still neat and held together just like you braided them this morning despite the rough action of battle.

You know he can feel your eyes on him, and he gives up on pretending he doesn’t with a deep sigh.

“Just say what you have to say,” he demands, not even turning around.

The silence stretches on, the only sound coming from the small nearby waterfall as it trickles into the bathing spring. With a heavy breath, you move forward, wading through the water until you're right behind him. Your hand finds a place at the area between his neck and shoulder, gripping it carefully but firmly as you press along his back. Your other hand cups the water and uses it to wash away the dust and dried blood on his back. You try to be gentle, to be considerate at the fact that he’s hurt. That he’s your mate and it’s not his fault. But the anger and frustration that flow through you is hard to ignore, and you find yourself having to stop and calm yourself down multiple times when your cleaning and rinsing turns into scrubbing, as if you could scrub away the harsh reality of your lives from his very skin.

“Y/n,” he tries again, but you cut him off.

“Don’t speak,” You say through gritted teeth. Despite him not looking at you, you know he can hear the way your voice trembles. “Please, Neteyam. Just...just don’t say anything,”

The raids are getting harder and harder to come out of with no casualties.

The RDA is, unfortunately, a formidable enemy and they learn quickly from their mistakes, taking their losses in stride and coming back each time, worse and more of a pain to take out. Like cockroaches, Jake says - whatever that means.

The Omatikaya take losses now, more and more each battle, and there’s barely time to mourn for the dead before the War Party needs to be sent out again in hopes of preventing the Sky Demons from getting more of their supplies and getting stronger.

Just this morning, another train was sent to Bridgehead, filled with enough ammunition and explosives to destroy half of Pandora. The War Party was ready, descending on the train with military precision. Jake Sully is nothing if not a Great War leader and battle strategist.

But the Sky Demons were also ready, metal ikrans guarding the train as it flew through the jungle, and they were quick to attack at the first sight of an Omatikayan warrior dressed in war paint.

Your ikran’s large heart pounded in time with yours as you soared over the battle ground. Her wings hugged close to her body as you dove down, one of the enemy's metal machines in your sights as you notched and pulled an arrow tight. It cut through the air with precision, bursting through the protective glass shield and hitting the human directly in the chest before he could even register you coming at him. The human’s body slumped in his seat, the machine dropping towards the ground without the Sky Demon to fly it, and smashed against the forest floor in an explosion of fire and debris.

You drop more humans than you can count. Each raid only increases the number of lives you’ve taken although you’ll never know for sure what that number is anymore.

But it seems like for every one that you kill, one of your own is plummeting to their death, bodies littered with demon made bullets that shouldn’t even exist on your planet.

The warrior flying next to you was another victim. The bullets fly at top speed, multiple rounds tearing into both him and his ikran in seconds, and they were both gone and with Eywa before they even start to fall. You were quick to avenge them with a sharp war cry and a well aimed arrow.

And then, as if that wasn’t scarring enough to witness, you saw it happen with your own eyes. Neteyam, your Neteyam, getting hit with a bullet and you swear, in that moment, you watched it go directly through his chest.

The sob that rips out of your throat is so uncharacteristic for you that Neteyam freezes. You feel him tense under your hold and you know he doesn’t know what to do when you press your face against his back and completely break down.

In all the years you’ve known each other, you’ve always been his rock. When he was struggling with trying to corral his siblings and taking the blame for their mess ups, you were there to be his ear for his rants. When he felt undeserving of the future Olo’eyktan title, feeling like he would only disappoint his father and the rest of the clan, you were there to knock some sense into him. When he finally confessed his feelings for you, voice shaking and nervous to tell you he wanted to be more than friends but determined to do it anyway, he told you the only thing that gave him the confidence to say the words was you - that you were his safe place and that he would be honored to live out the rest of his life with you by his side.

You weren’t the type to let your emotions take a hold of you. You felt them and processed them but it was always with the knowledge that you knew yourself and would always do what was best for you. You always had a plan, always thought logically. You were a fixer.

But you don’t know how to fix this.

Neteyam turns around and cups your cheek with his good hand, mindful to not move his injured arm too much.

“I’m okay,” he says, catching your eyes and gently brushing away your tears with his thumb. “Do you hear me, y/n? I’m okay,”

He’s staring at you with those gorgeous eyes, eyes that you might have never been able to see again had the bullet actually hit him in the chest instead of his bicep. Just a few more inches to the left and it would have been game over for him, and you both know it.

You reach up and cradle his face with both of your hands, leaning your forehead against his, needing to be closer, needing to breathe his air. Anything to help remind yourself that he’s still here.

“I’m alive,” he whispers. He knows how badly you need to hear him say it. “I’m here. Here with you. Always.”

“You better be,” You whisper back, and press your lips to his.

Your lips move together carefully at first, just a slow glide against each other as you both try to calm the nervous energy still running through your veins. He’s here, you try to remind yourself. Here, alive, and with you right now. His mouth against your own is real, the taste of him on your tongue as you run it along his bottom lip isn’t something your brain can replicate this perfect. The feeling of his hand clutching the back of your neck and keeping you close to him is supposed to be grounding - but it’s not. It's not close enough. And it only serves to make you more desperate.

You press your mouth harder against his, hands leaving his cheeks so your arms can wind around his neck, holding him against you. He grunts appreciatively, hands gripping at your waist and sliding down to cup the curves of your ass. You press your body against his tightly, one of your legs lifting up to curl around his calf. Heat courses through your body the more he touches you, his hardening cock pressing between both of your bodies and you need him inside of you, need him so bad, need to be as close to him as you can possibly be.

He seems to agree, kissing you passionately as he palms at your ass and thighs. He adjusts his grip on you, panting into your mouth as his hands splay on the backs of your thighs. He tries to lift you up and your legs just barely make it around his waist before he’s dropping you back down with a pained grunt.

The sound cuts through your desirous haze and you immediately back up to inspect the damage. The thick bandage wrapped around his arm is still white, no signs of blood seeping through which means he didn’t rip open his stitches.

“I’m fine--”

“Damn it, Teyam!” You hiss angrily, smacking his good shoulder. “Why did you have to go and get hurt?”

He knows you're not saying that just for his wound unintentionally cockblocking you. He’s your mate, your person - neither of you ever want to see the other hurt. He knows how stressed you are, how terrified you were today for him. Which is probably why he chooses that moment to make the world's most unhelpful joke.

“I mean, the most important part of me isn’t hurt?”

You scoff and cross your arms across your chest, looking away from him. Then you immediately look back.

...Okay, maybe it helped a little.

“Get on the bank, Neteyam,”

Neteyam grins at you, goofy and smug, like he knows he’s getting something that he shouldn’t. “Yes, ma’am,”

He steps out onto the shore and settles down there, body mostly out of the water with only the gentle ripples lapping at his legs. He lounges there like a cat, stretched out along the bank, good arm raised above his head showing off his toned and muscled body as if he were trying to tempt you into touching him.

He doesn’t have to work very hard to do it, and you’re on him in a second, straddling his waist and kissing him until you're both breathless. His cock slides between your wet folds and you rock against it, letting the thick mushroom tip of it rub against your clit with each pass. His hands reach up to grip your hips, helping guide your movements. Hands, as in both of them, and you growl against his lips, grabbing the wrist of his injured arm and pressing it into the ground next to you.

“Your arm doesn’t move,” You demand. “Got it?”

Neteyam whines, pupils wide with desire. “Yes. I got it. Y/n, please,”

His cock throbs against you as you lift yourself up, angling your hips so the head nudges against your entrance before lowering yourself onto him roughly. You intended to go slow, but you can’t. Your body and mind are screaming at you to take him, claim him as hard and fast as you can because it’s by the sheer grace of Eywa that he’s even still here right now. The stretch is glorious, the dull pain a perfect reminder that it's him stretching you open. No one else could ever fill you up as good as he can.

He curses as your tight heat envelopes his length, good hand clenching tightly at your hip to keep himself from moving. You’re both too worked up, minds too filled up with intense want and the horrible feeling of desperation. You both aren’t going to last very long.

So you ride him, hard.

Your hand grips under his jaw, tilting his head up and nibbling on his neck as he groans underneath you. Your hips set a rough pace, bouncing in his lap relentlessly and feeling as he tries to match you, hips snapping into you with reckless abandon.

Your lips find the space between his neck and shoulder. You tongue the spot, loving the way his taste explodes on your tastebuds, before biting down, canines bearing down on the skin and leaving twin drops of blood in their wake. If you were going to have to see blood on him, you were going to be the one who put it there.

“F-fuck! Y/n,” he whimpers, but his head falls back to give you more space.

When you're satisfied with your mark, your lips trail over his collarbone and down his chest before your teeth bite down again onto the skin just next to his nipple.

He groans, arching into your teeth, and this time when you let go, leaving behind a bright purple mark, his eyes are dazed and just a bit teary.

And the look makes you so desperate.

“You’re fucking mine,” You growl, lips brushing against his. “All mine. No one else gets to lay a hand on you, sexual or not. Got it?” Your fingers gently graze the bandage covering his bullet wound. “No one else gets to leave marks on you but me.”

Your words send a flash of heat through both of you, making your movements even more frantic. The possessiveness is hot, it always has been - you both have always made it clear that you belong to each other and no one else. But this time it’s also so so so real.

Your desperation at almost seeing him die today is real.

Your horrified screech at seeing him get hit and then his ikran taking a nosedive immediately after was real.

Your loud war cry and the renewed need to kill, maime, absolutely fucking obliterate every single enemy from the RDA who set foot on your planet after you watched him get control and level out his flight was real.

And he’s real. Still right here in front of you, panting and moaning and groaning out your name as you clench around his cock. He’s alive.

“You’re mine. You’re fucking mine,” You say again, just to make sure he completely understands. “You’re not allowed to die. Ever. You hear me?”

“Yes,” he grunts, eyes wild. His injured arm shifts as he tries to grip your waist, but you grab it again, holding it against the ground.

“Yes, what, Neteyam?”

“Yes, I fucking hear you!” He says through gritted teeth.

Your head drops again, teeth scraping along his chest and down his ribs, biting mark after possessive mark all over his body. Neteyam leans into the pain, pleasure coursing through him at the thought of your marks and how they’re going to adorn his body for weeks. How they’re going to hurt so good when his cummerbund presses into the bruises, reminding him of you and your love for him. He’ll display your work for all to see and wear your marks proudly.

His good arm reaches out, fingers carding through your wet hair before grabbing a fist full of your braids and pulling you off of your most recent mark on his sternum. His hips continue to snap up into you and your clit drags along his pubic bone with each thrust. Your stomach tightens as he pulls you close, the coil in your belly threatening to snap as he rubs his cheek against yours, spreading his scent on you and marking you as his.

“I fucking love you,” he moans, lips brushing the curve of your ear. “Love you so much.”

The words are what do it for you, and you cum around Neteyam’s cock, hole clenching and spasming around his thick length as you cry out into his neck. You can feel him pulse inside of you a moment before you feel him cum too, burying his face in your hair as he shoots his release inside of you, coating your walls in white.

You collapse against each other, both physically and emotionally exhausted. He’s still inside you as you lay there, cuddling up against each other and trying to catch your breath.

“I love you,” You whisper, nudging your nose gently against his.

Your hand spreads out over his heart, the stabilizing heartbeat grounding you and finally allowing you to feel some peace.

The silence stretches on until you’ve both caught your breath and you’re trying to think of something to say, anything that will make things feel like they can go back to before Neteyam got hurt. Neteyam beats you to it.

“Same goes for you, too, you know,” He says, voice low. “You can’t die either. I can’t live without you. There’d be no point to a life without you in it.”

You want to tell him not to talk like that. That should anything ever happen to you, he should go on and live a happy life surrounded by the people that care about him. But you can’t, it wouldn’t be fair. Not when you’re in the same exact position as him.

Because what’s the point of doing anything anymore if you can’t come home to Neteyam’s stupid adorable grin every evening.

You look up at him, amber eyes meeting in the slowly darkening Pandora forest.

“Then we’re both just gonna have to not die then,”

**Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!

Taglist: @eywaite @loaksulluyswife @erenjaegerwifee

#lunaskinktober2023 #neteyam x reader #neteyam smut #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x female reader #taliewrites

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wistfulcynic · 6 months

Text

a non-izzy-centric reading of the events of season two

i didn't really want to get into this because it's so, so tiresome and i'd rather talk about the things i loved about this season. Poison, positivity, etc. But.

reading this post about people doubting their own judgement due to the overwhelming noise from Izzy stans along with a rewatch of season two from start to finish made me realise that i too had been influenced by a year and a half of being intensely frustrated by people insisting so loudly that OFMD was in fact the Izzy Hands Show. My initial issues with S2 mostly stemmed from overcompensating for that by resenting any development of Izzy on the screen because i did not want it to feed those people. Which meant that i also was centring Izzy in a way that he should not be centred! i was letting their noise lead me to read him as far more important than he actually is.

So i looked back at several points from the season that had me feeling uncomfortable and which, from a cursory browse through the Izzy tag i've concluded his stans see as a contradiction or a betrayal or something and re-evaluated them from the perspective of Izzy not being a main fucking character.

point one: "He's our dick."

When Archie (a newcomer and therefore a fairly effective audience stand-in for anyone not balls deep in fandom bullshit) asks Jim why they're going to so much trouble for Izzy, who she has immediately clocked as "kind of a dick", Jim gives this response. Which, if you think Izzy is important, may read as an expression of reluctant fondness. But then, Jim continues: "There was a time when life meant something on this ship. When we lived for each other, not just to survive." These lines are punctuated by a flashback to the famous Revenge crew found-family Renaissance-painting moment. Jim is nostalgic for the "good old days" of the Revenge under Stede's people-positive management style. It is out of respect for that (seemingly) lost way of life that they take the trouble for Izzy, not for Izzy himself. They'd have done the same for anyone, because they desperately want life to matter again. Izzy, as the person whose gamy leg is a direct result of his threatening Ed and bringing the kraken era down on all of them, is simply the one whose life happens to be on the line.

(honestly, i love this from Jim, who was one of Stede's boldest detractors in season one and still the crew member most likely to call him out on his bullshit. That's your "reluctant fondness" moment right there.)

point two: the new unicorn

apparently Izzy stans see the gift of the unicorn leg prosthetic as a symbol of deep love and respect from the crew to Izzy. Which is an absolutely wild reading when you look at what led up to it.

There's tension on the ship. Divisions. Lucius is chain-smoking and jump-scared by his own shadow. Jim, Archie, Frenchie, and Fang are overcome by guilt over their mutiny and frantically scrubbing nonexistent blood from the deck in what is a fantastically darkly funny Lady Macbeth moment for them. Izzy is sloppy drunk and yelling nonsensical abuse at the unicorn masthead. Roach, Pete, Oluwande, and Wee John make a well-intentioned but ill-conceived attempt to bring everyone back together (i say "everyone" but Izzy, significantly, is not included) which leads to them all being at each other's throats in the sort of mutually-assured-destruction configuration that starts world wars. It's a great scene. Izzy is not a part of it.

until he interrupts them, throws the unicorn legs at them and in his drunken clumsiness breaks his prosthetic. He then pointedly refuses their offers of assistance and drags himself away along the floor by his arms.

my friends. This is peak pathos. The crew do not respect Izzy in this moment, they feel sorry for him. They realise that he's worse off than any of the rest of them and that knowledge brings them back together. Making the unicorn prosthetic is barely about Izzy at all. It's about the crew coming together, repairing the rifts in their found family and as a bonus helping out their grumpy second cousin who doesn't really want to be there but has nowhere else to go. It's also a very generous offer of a new place on the ship--as the new unicorn--and a fresh start. Because that's what life on the Revenge is. For everyone.

point three: la vie en rose

much has been made of Izzy putting on drag makeup and singing at the Calypso birthday party, and fair enough. That's a big character development point for him. i don't hate it, though i wish there'd been more build-up to it, a longer conversation between Izzy and Wee John at least (insert obligatory "fuck Max" here) but regardless, if we accept Izzy's amputated leg as cutting off his old self and replacing it with the unicorn then we can arrive at a place where he's able to participate in a drag performance without too much cognitive gymnastics.

i've written before about the curious choice to have Izzy sing La Vie En Rose in French (after he initially sang it in English) at the very moment when Ed and Stede are having sex for the first time. On first watch i felt viscerally troubled by it, it felt like a validation of the obsessive psychosexual reading of Izzy's feelings for Ed. Looking at the season as a whole, it feels more like a (cringy, creepy, waaaay over the line) attempt on his part to signal approval for Ed and Stede's relationship. Especially when taken in conjunction with his (super creepy, like wtf who greenlit this) interruption of their breakfast in bed the next morning to make a ham-fisted innuendo. Weird but okay i guess, it's not like Izzy and social niceties have ever gone hand in hand.

many people point to the drag scene as the crew embracing Izzy and welcoming him as one of them. Again, i don't disagree. But, also again, this is not specific to Izzy. This is just what they do. They also embraced Archie with her snake-cult stories, they re-embraced Ed (who yes, they do love, refutations of arguments that they don't love Ed are a whole other essay though) and later they embrace Zheng and Auntie and also Jackie who once stole their savings jar and threatened to cut off their noses. That's what they do! They embrace people! That's what the show is about!

point four: the death scene

i have to be honest, i still hate this. i don't hate that Izzy died, i hate that he died in Ed's arms with Ed calling him his only family. That still feels unearned to me, and alas was probably another victim of the shortened season. But even with this extremely kind and forgiving death scene, the stans are not satisfied! They feel that the entire crew should have been gathered round, assuring Izzy of their profound love for him. There should have been weeping at the funeral, wailing and gnashing of teeth, rending of garments etc. It's what he deserves as such a beloved member of the crew!

except he wasn't beloved. He was accepted, yes. Welcomed, even. But acceptance is a far cry from love. Cheering as someone sings a song at a party does not mean you feel ready to weep at their deathbed or proclaim your undying affection for them.

yet even so, the crew are visibly distraught at his death scene. There are tears in many eyes! But effusive declarations of feeling from any one of them other than Ed would have felt (to anyone not convinced Izzy is the main character) completely wrong and very weird. You can headcanon what you like to fill the gaps in canon but on screen we have seen very few meaningful interactions between Izzy and any of the existing crew aside from Fang and Lucius and to a lesser extent Wee John. Izzy's primary relationship with another character is with Ed and so, as much as i still don't like it, Ed is the only one who has any real reason to be at Izzy's side as he dies.

as for the brevity of the funeral and the fact that they went straight from it to Pete and Lucius's wedding instead of having, idk, a prolonged wake at which everyone speaks at length about how important Izzy was to them, i mean. Obviously that wasn't going to happen. More than enough screen time had already been given to a side character who spent most of it either being miserable himself or making others so. It was time for the rest of them to find some moments of joy. As Izzy himself said, not moving on is worse.

in conclusion, i'd like to address the people saying that Izzy should have lived so he could continue his arc of self-discovery and sure, that would have been great--on the Izzy Hands Show. But OFMD is about Ed and Stede and Izzy had served his purpose in their story. i feel certain there will be copious fanfics to soothe anyone who feels Izzy was shortchanged.

on the show, though, he was treated in a very logical and foreseeable way as the antagonist who was able to see the light at the end but not necessarily to thrive in such a well-lit environment. Literature (by which i mean also films and tv) abounds with examples of this sort of character. They see the error of their ways but they are too stuck in them, shaped by them, to exist comfortably in any other way. They help bring about change to benefit others and not for themselves, that is the bittersweet beauty of their endings.

Izzy let Ed go. He embraced the softer parts of himself. He died surrounded by people who may not have loved him but at least accepted him as one of their own and felt genuine sorrow about his passing. That is a satisfying narrative end for a reformed antagonist! If you truly feel that he was shortchanged by it then you have forgotten what show you're watching and what sort of character he was.

Izzy Hands: not the main character, still an interesting one, absolute nightmare, what a guy.

#our flag means death #ofmd meta #ofmd season two #izzy critical #the izcourse #izzy hands meta #sorry not sorry to people who are going to hate this post but writing it has been therapeutic for me #i'm tired of hating a character on a show i love so much so i shall go back to thinking of him as the nasty rat man and focusing on faves #saira has Thoughts

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 8 months

Text

Rev. 22:20 - Chapter Three: Pray

Warnings: Talk of religion, angst, sexually suggestive language. Word count: ~2.5k

Summary: The novice deals with Aemond's presence in the sept.

Main series masterlist.

Author's note: I do not have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications to be updated when I post a fic. Community labels are for cops.

She cries all the way to King’s Landing, the words of her father echoing in her mind.

“Be grateful your fate does not lie with the Silent Sisters.”

Keeping her tongue in her head is a small mercy. She’ll be stripped of her House name, her status, her possessions, everything she has ever known is being taken away, all for a life in service of the Seven.

Her family aren’t even particularly pious, they just don’t know what else to do with her. Not now, anyway.

She sobs, head bowed as her father delivers the news with a withering sigh. She feels as though she is being treated as a matter that must be dealt with, a task to be struck from a list.

“I am your daughter!” She wants to scream. Instead she says nothing, helpless to the dissolution of her familial ties, forced to watch as the foundation of everything that makes her her crumbles away to nothing.

The Septa that is there to greet her upon her arrival is cold and stony faced. She spares but a mere glance around the vastness of the city that sprawls out around her, her senses jarringly alight from the sights, sounds and smells that are so different from home, before she is ushered inside.

The modest building hosts a series of simple, sparsely furnished rooms, which house the Septas not in service of noble families. Each room has a narrow single bed with a Seven Pointed Star above it, nothing more, no space for personal effects, not even a window to the outside world. This is home now, and it feels desolate.

She is stripped of the clothes she has travelled in, they are taken away and she never sees them again, the final remnants of her identity cast away, much like she has been.

Her hair is washed and her skin scrubbed raw, an act that feels as though it is as much to punish her as it is to cleanse her. She is grateful at least that the robes she is given to wear aren’t scratchy, though much more drab than what she is used to. She is not given the seven coloured cord to tie around her waist, or a pendant. It will be a year until she earns those.

Training begins in earnest. Gone are the days of lazy mornings breaking her fast on lemon cakes and honeyed wine. She is woken before the sun has yet to rise, forced into prayer, before being given a watery looking bowl of what she assumes was once oats.

She is tutored on every matter of the Seven. Considering she has never been especially religious, she learns fast, the rod that the Septa brings down upon her knuckles each time she falters or makes a mistake ensures that. By the end of the first week their names irreversibly etched into her brain, the throbbing in her hands serves as a harsh reminder.

Maiden, Mother, Crone. Father, Warrior, Smith. Stranger.

She is allowed nowhere near the Sept for the first six months of her training. The work she is given is back breaking and mind numbing. Washing robes, sweeping floors, preparing food, by the time evening prayer arrives each day she is too exhausted to think. She wonders if the reason that Septas are so devout in their beliefs is because they have been broken down to be too tired to ponder anything else.

Though she adapts quickly to her new way of life, she clings to her anger like a lifeline. It is the only thing she has left that is truly hers, it stokes the fire within her that means she is able to face the monotony of each day. It prickles at her insides as she spoons the tasteless broth of her evening meal into her mouth, resentful of the fact that at the same time her family are hundreds of miles away feasting on roasted meats and freshly baked bread.

Over time, thoughts of her old life fade, but her anger remains the same. When she bows her head in prayer she does not offer up thanks to the Seven, but questions why they have allowed her life to come to this.

She is taken aback by the sense of gratitude she feels when she is finally permitted to enter the Grand Sept. She feels wonder at the way the sunshine streams through the windows, the shadows the icons cast from its light are long and imposing. The vastness of the expansive, echoey space offers a sense of freedom that the confines of the sleeping quarters do not.

It is with quick realisation that she finds it is simply appreciation of the change of scenery, her relief short lived as she is put to work once more sweeping floors, replacing spent candles and tidying up after people that have come to worship.

She is tasked with the duty of taking daily confession, an important stepping stone in her training towards becoming a Septa. There is a part of her that swells with pride at taking on the additional responsibility, it is tangible proof of the fact that she is advancing, recognition of her hard work and ability to memorise and apply the prayers and scripture she has been taught.

It is not until she is actually inside the box that she realises that this is simply further torment. If she is lucky, she will sit through the mild mannered, yet inane ramblings of smallfolk with nothing better to do. If she is unlucky, and frequently she is, it will be someone who leans too close against the partition, the stench of stale ale upon their breath making her wish they’d thought to chew some sage before entering.

The rules for while she is in the Sept are strict. She must never venture beneath, it is where the dragons nest and is out of bounds to her. She must never speak to those that come to worship, unless they speak to her first.

She is told that the Queen enjoys visiting once a week. On the days of her visit, she must not stare, or disturb her prayers and remain silent unless asked a question.

The first time she is ever present for Queen Alicent’s weekly prayers, she does exactly as she’s told. She keeps to herself, moving about the chancel, replacing the spent candles with fresh ones.

She can feel herself being watched and tries her best to ignore it, though in her periphery she sees the tall, silver haired figure dressed in black, knelt beside his mother. She can tell from the patch that covers his eye that it is Prince Aemond.

She wonders why he stares at her so intently, feeling herself grow hot and uncomfortable beneath the intensity of it. Is she doing something wrong? Could she expect a scolding from one of the Septas later regarding some perceived slight?

It annoys her that if she is not permitted to stare, the same rules don’t apply to him. She is not in a position to challenge it, however, so simply continues her duties under the weight of his scrutiny.

When they finally finish their prayers and turn to leave, she chances a glance upwards in their direction. Her breath catches in her throat when she meets the piercing gaze of the One Eyed Prince. She feels like an animal caught in a snare with how he looks at her, yet she finds herself unable to look away.

Lingering beneath the hunger of his gaze is something else, she recognises it, she has seen it in herself. There is anger, white hot and tempestuous, it stirs unrest within her. Unable to bear it any longer, she finally looks away. And then he’s gone.

She pushes Aemond from her mind for the rest of the week. A spoiled Prince is the least of her worries, especially when getting to the end of each day feels like such a colossal effort. Yet each night as she drifts to sleep, her dreams are haunted by the intent behind his unwavering stare. It frightens and excites her and she awakens with a pounding heart and stickiness between her legs.

The following week, the morning of the Queen’s usual visit, she is plucked from her usual duties by a Septa who tells her she is to meet with the Queen. When she’d usually be sweeping the stone floor of the Sept, she is being scrubbed with the same intensity she was upon first arriving in the capital.

There is no time to think of who will be checking and replacing the candles, as she’s guided towards the Queen. Kind brown eyes and a warm smile greet her, though it is clear that this is a conversation that will be about her, rather than one she’ll be included in.

She stands very much on the sidelines while the Septa and the Queen discuss her various attributes, she simply nods and smiles, feeling like she is livestock being displayed at a market.

A shiver runs down her spine when the feeling of being watched returns and when she bows her head, sparing a glance to the side, he’s there again watching her. He hovers by a pillar, his posture rigid, eye fixed upon her unblinkingly.

His gaze is more heated than before, and she’d feel frightened were it not for the two women standing beside her. He looks as though he wants to devour her, and his mere presence renders her unable to concentrate on the rest of the conversation between the Septa and Alicent.

She’s grateful when the Queen takes her leave, assuming Aemond will have gone with her, yet the feeling of unease never fully leaves her. She can still feel his presence, it’s like an apparition that shrouds her every movement.

When it is time for afternoon confession, her fluttering nerves have quieted somewhat, replaced by the feeling of obstinate boredom that accompanies listening to the trivialities of the smallfolk.

She settles into the booth, a shadow passing over the partition as someone seats themselves beside her.

“Blessings be upon thee,” she greets them, “are you here to confess?”

They draw in a hesitant, nervous breath. “Y-yes, I am here to confess.”

His voice unnerves her, it is soft and saccharine, yet there is a sinister edge to it, like being coaxed to one’s death on the dulcet notes of a lullaby. She pushes the thought from her mind, trying her best to remain calm.

She has been trained for this. It is not uncommon for people to feel shame or apprehension when making a confession. She does her best to encourage the man, keeping her tone soft. “Then unburden yourself to me, and be cleansed of your sins.”

Another pause. She allows him a moment to collect his thoughts.

“I-I covet what my brother has, and I am resentful that as first born he is given everything and squanders it.”

Not particularly scandalous, she offers up simple advice, hoping it will be enough to sate the man seated on the other side of the partition. “You must pray to The Smith for the strength to overcome your jealous nature.”

She is surprised that he doesn’t immediately get up and leave. Most usually give thanks and make a swift exit, believing themselves to be absolved of their sins. He remains seated, and she hears him speak again.

“I harbour ill intent towards my nephew. I have never forgiven him for taking my eye. I wish for his in exchange.”

She cannot help it, but she gasps. There is only one man in all of Westeros whose eye has been taken by his nephew - it is a tale told in hushed tones in every feasting hall from Oldtown, all the way to White Harbor.

Prince Aemond sits beside her, the same man that has gazed upon her with hunger in his seeing eye. A partition is all that separates her from him.

Is this a test? Will she get into trouble if she does not treat him as she does everyone else?

“Pray…pray to the Father for the wisdom to accept the justice you will never receive, and to the Warrior to have the valour to forgive such a slight.”

Why won’t he leave?

“I have been having lustful thoughts…about a woman, a novice from this very Sept.”

She swallows thickly, her heart hammering wildly against her ribcage, closing her eyes as she draws in a steading breath.

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

“I imagine taking her virtue on the very altar to which the people of King’s Landing offer up their prayers, I think about how she’d feel writhing beneath me as I rut into her, I–”

Her breath escapes her in a whine, fear and exhilaration heating her blood, causing her pulse to race. She feels trapped, this isn’t fair.

“P-please…” Her voice is trembling, her breathing ragged.

She startles slightly when, abruptly, he stands and leaves without a word. She feels bewildered, dizzy, unable to comprehend what she has heard. Was he playing a cruel joke on her?

She has little time to ponder on it as another person steps into the confession booth not long after Aemond has departed.

The rest of the day passes in a daze, it feels surreal. Perhaps she imagined it? She has grown used to a life of monotony, perhaps this is her mind’s way of creating excitement.

For another week, Prince Aemond plagues her dreams. This time it is more than just his stare she sees. His words come to her, clear as day, “I have been having lustful thoughts”, yet when she turns to look, his words are coming from a looking glass, and it is only herself she sees.

She is quietly surprised and, deep down, a little disappointed, when the day of the Queen’s visit arrives and this time it is not Aemond that accompanies her. A young, fair haired woman with a dreamy look about her hovers by Alicent’s side, her posture slouched. Alicent’s daughter, Princess Helaena, she assumes. She wonders where her younger brother is today.

There is quiet relief to be found in the absence of his oppressive gaze, yet she cannot help the sense of dread that settles into her gut, there is something foreboding about the lack of his presence.

She has a feeling, something in her bones, that tells her he’ll appear to her today, she just isn’t sure when. As the day presses on, impatience takes over her, a restlessness guides her actions as she goes about her daily tasks, a feeling of yearning, fear, anticipation.

Hope has all but left her when she retires to bed that night, changed out of her robes and into her nightgown, settled beneath her blanket. She is about to snuff out the candle when a flash of silver hair shifting in the shadows of her doorway catches her eye.

“I knew you’d come,” she whispers quietly.

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mystic-writings · 4 days

Text

just a twisted ankle | newt

PAIRING – newt x fem!reader

REQUEST – @heliads - hi monty!! saw you wanted some newt requests so i simply could not hold back. could i please request a newt x reader fic in which newt and reader are both track-hoes and obviously in love with each other but pining in silence? alby and minho are doing their best to get them together but they're both excruciatingly oblivious lmao. thank you so much!!

SUMMARY – you and an overly protective newt are in love. the only problem seems to be that everyone but you and him are aware of it.

WARNINGS – weird behavior, obliviousness, fluff, semi-crack?, friends to lovers, minor injury

WORD COUNT – 3,031

NOTES – AAAA this has been in my requests for forever and i’m just now writing it?? i absolutely loved writing this and a big big thanks to @shmaptainwrites for being my lovely beta reader!

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There were very few downsides to being a Track-hoe. You enjoyed being outdoors all day, breathing in the fresh air and the amazing smell of fresh plants, chatting with your fellow track-hoes and generally enjoying yourself.

The main issue you had was the dirt.

Sure, it was essential to your job, but it was the worst possible thing about it. You didn’t even mind the sweat and aching muscles most of the time, because that just meant a job well done. But the dirt? If you could plant and grow things without it, you would. The way it stuck to your clothes, your skin. How it buried itself into your pores and underneath your fingernails and took forever to scrub off your skin.

The biggest upside, however, was Newt.

You’d been here almost 2 years, and he was quite possibly your favorite person in the Glade. He was the first person besides Alby to reach out and connect with you, not really caring or fearing the fact that you were, and still are, the only girl. Minho was the second person to do the same.

Newt, over time, had become your biggest confidant about almost everything. You spent pretty much all of your spare time with him, and he with you. After long days, you’d take the time after dinner to walk around the Glade. Sometimes you’d talk, and sometimes you’d just enjoy one another’s presence. Everyone knew not to mess with you, and the Greenies that didn’t usually learned their lesson pretty quickly.

You liked to call him your protector with a smile, mostly because he’d always flush bright red at the compliment.

It’d been a few days since the box came up, and the newest Greenie, Jason, was still getting his bearings around the Glade. He’d only learned his name yesterday, and that was after he threw up watching Winston show him how the slicers do their jobs. Today, he was with you and the other Track-hoes.

He’d been mostly hovering near Zart and Newt, who were showing him the ropes. You, however, caught him glancing over at you a few too many times. It was normal for a Greenie, and for you, since you were the only girl. But it didn’t stop you from feeling slightly uncomfortable.

Jason had been staring at you — as Zart was showing him how to de-weed the vegetables — until Newt clapped him on the shoulder. Faintly, you could hear them talking.

“Stop staring, mate. Focus on the job.” Newt said, his tone laced with that all-too-familiar protectiveness. It made you smile, the way his eyes pierced into Jason’s and struck him with a fear he seemed to make all the Greenies feel when it came to you.

After a while, you felt Jason resume his staring, even after Newt’s ‘warning’. You knew that he’d learn sooner or later, you just hoped it was the latter. While you were digging up some carrots, knowing it would take you forever to clean under your fingernails before dinner, Newt’s shadow blocked your view of the sun, forcing you to look up at him.

“Come on,” he nodded to the deadheads. “Zart said we need more fertilizer.”

Extending a hand upward, Newt pulled you to your feet before handing you the second bucket. As you departed from the gardens, you swung the empty bucket and sighed. “I don’t know why he never just sends one of us. There’s no way this is a two person job.”

“I’ve stopped questioning Zart,” Newt shrugged. “He’s the Keeper, what he says, goes. That’s all.”

Contemplating Newt’s words, you looked up at the leaves for a moment and tripped on a root. Newt barely caught you as you lurched forward, both buckets landing on the forest floor. “Besides, I think if you tried to do this yourself, you’d trip and break your neck.”

“Well,” you exaggerated a sigh, “can’t have that, can we?”

Newt shook his head, grabbing the buckets. “No, we can’t.”

After making it to the fertilizer pile and back with no further injury, the day carried on as normal. Newt and Zart continued training and carefully watching the Greenie to see if he was exactly up for the job of Track-hoe.

By the time the dinner bell rang, you were exhausted. You felt like this most days, but today you had to devote more energy than usual on making sure the Greenie wasn’t staring at you as if you’d solve all of his problems just by talking to him.

You and Newt took off at the same time, chatting about the Greenie and whether he was good for the Track-hoes or not. “I hope not,” you groaned. “He keeps staring at me. He’d spend more time looking at me than doing his actual job if he got put with us.”

“I know,” Newt chuckled. “I spent the day with the poor shank. You have no idea how many times I had to divert his attention back to his work, it was unbelievable.”

You shook your head. “Trust me, I know. I could feel him staring at me all damn day.”

The dining hall was already pretty full of Gladers, milling about or grabbing food or sitting down. Quickly, you could smell Frypan’s beef stew wafting from the pots on the table. Your stomach suddenly felt empty, and you couldn’t wait to pour yourself a bowl. You and Newt moved in tandem, pouring out soups into your own bowls from ladles hooked on the edge of the metal pots and grabbing cups of water from the table beside you.

Minho was already sitting at your usual table, peacefully eating his soup amid the usual chaos. Joining him, you and Newt sat across from him, digging into your food. Minho usually ate in silence, with the exception of joking around when the others got to the table, so you didn’t mind listening to the din of the conversations happening around you for a little while.

Soon, Frypan joined Minho’s side of the table, already boasting about how well received the stew was. Just as he was about to ask how everyone liked it, and as you were spooning more into your mouth, Jason approached your and Minho’s end of the table.

“Hi.” He said, entire body stiff, as if unclenching his muscles would make him disappear.

“...Hello?” You replied. “Is there something you need, Greenie?”

Jason laughed, but it sounded more like he was choking. “No, no. I just— I, um, I was wondering—”

“Cool it, slinthead,” Minho interrupted. “You’re not going to get anywhere with Y/n, here. She and Newt are practically married, even if they don’t know they are.”

With a disgruntled air around him, Jason admitted defeat and left the table to go find somewhere to eat his dinner.

You furrowed your brows at Minho. “Me and Newt aren’t married, what the shuck was that all about?”

As if things couldn’t get worse, Gally stepped up to the table on Newt’s other side. “Are we talking about you and Newt? Have you finally gotten your clunk together and started dating? Because I’ve been waiting for this for almost two years.”

“Nah,” Frypan said. “They’re too scared to admit something like that, Gally. You know that.”

“Yeah, and it’s getting on all of our nerves.” Minho said. “It irritates me more than the Newbies do.”

“Could you stop talking about us like we’re not here?” Newt snapped. “It’s really annoying.”

The group exchanged looks and you couldn’t help but smile. The rest of the dinner passed, and soon Alby joined you at Frypan’s side. The conversation flowed, as per usual, and you were able to let go of the pain your joints carried as you went back for a second helping and relaxed with your friends until sundown.

It was no surprise that Newt left when you did in order to walk you back to your room in the Homestead, where he bid you goodnight and headed to his own just down the hall. Just as he reached the door, though, he turned back and walked over to you.

“Just letting you know,” he began, “The Greenie’s staying on as a track-hoe tomorrow. Alby doesn’t want him doing a trial as a Medjack just yet. But I won’t be there either. Me and Gally have to be in the council hall tomorrow to talk with some of the other Keepers about scheduling. Stay safe, please.”

You giggled. “Don’t worry, Newt, I’ll be just fine. The most that Greenie’s gonna do is stare at me, and I can’t die from something like that. Plus, I’ll have Zart and the other Track-hoes with me for the day.”

He sighed, almost reluctant to go most of the day without you. “I’ll see you at breakfast then?”

“Yes, you will.” You nodded. “And dinner. Now go to sleep, Newt.”

With another goodnight, you and Newt headed into your respective rooms to settle in and go to bed, an unusual day ahead of you.

Despite waking up and starting your day with Newt as you usually would, it felt odd to split from him after Frypan served breakfast. It felt odd to not turn to him for casual conversation as you de-weeded the tomatoes and harvested carrots for tonight’s dinner — some sort of fried rice, you remember Frypan telling you at dinner last night.

Your day passed in relative silence aside from occasional chatter with the track-hoes or receiving orders from Zart. You avoided Jason as best as you could, and it seemed his embarrassment from last night still lingered as he was determined to stay on the opposite side of the field, despite still staring at you when he got the chance.

Sometime near the end of the day, you’d run out of fertilizer, and as usual Zart had sent you with both buckets to refill them. The trek was definitely boring without Newt to talk to, but you managed to fill both buckets and head most of the way back without incident, injury, or going crazy in the silence of the deadheads.

However, your luck was bound to run out at some point.

Just as the rays of sunshine were poking out from the field ahead, you tripped on a particularly large tree root sticking out of the ground. Both buckets flung from your hands as you stuck them out, attempting to break your own fall. Pain radiated from your ankle, palms, and wrists as you landed harshly on the ground, staining your clothes and skin with dirt.

After you processed what happened and pulled yourself up, you first inspected your palms. Wiping away the dirt, several scrapes and cuts revealed themselves, accompanied by irritated and angry skin surrounding them. Taking a moment to catch your breath, you tried your best to stand, but crumbled when you put weight on your right foot.

Hissing, you pulled up your pant leg and tried to touch around the area, only bringing yourself more pain as you did so. Figuring out how to get out of here was going to be difficult, especially without abandoning the buckets of fertilizer. After some time, you managed to find a particularly large stick to support the weight you would’ve put on your injured foot, hooked one bucket handle on the crook of your elbow, and took the other in your free hand.

As best as you could manage, you brought the fertilizer to Zart, who quickly took notice of your condition.

“What the shuck happened to you?!” He exclaimed as you shifted your weight.

Looking down at your foot, you sighed. “A large tree root got the jump on me, Zart. Now will you please help me to the Medjacks so I don’t have to use this shucking stick anymore?”

Almost jumping into action, Zart wrapped an arm around your torso and pulled your right one around his neck, helping you along to the other side of the Glade. You were beginning to see now why he usually sent Newt with you.

Upon reaching the Medjack hut, Clint and Jeff took over for Zart, ushering him away to get back to work. You were grateful for the Medjacks and the care they seemed to take with you. They made sure it was relatively painless for you as Clint examined your ankle and Jeff cleaned the cuts on your palms, keeping casual conversation with you as they did so.

It was only as Clint was wrapping your ankle — Jeff already having done so with the heels of your palms — that Newt came barrelling into the room.

“We were wondering where you were,” Jeff quipped as he put away the roll of gauze he’d just used.

Newt ignored the other two people in the room and came to sit on the edge of your bed. “What the bloody hell happened to you?”

“It’s not like I almost died, Newt.” You told him, but let him take your hands into his to look at. “I was getting the fertilizer from the deadheads and tripped on a root. It’s nothing more than a twisted ankle, I promise.”

“You promised you’d be fine today without me.” Newt corrected you, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“And I was. I just lost my footing to a root. I’ll be back up and running in a few days. Right, Clint?”

The boy at the end of the bed nodded, taping the tensor bandages into place. “Exactly. After three days of no work and constant elevation, you’ll be just fine.”

Newt looked back at the boy. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am.” Clint said. “I’ll even have Jeff come check up on her twice a day to make sure her foot heals. Okay?”

Newt considered Clint’s words for a moment before nodding. “Alright.”

Soon enough, the Medjack’s left you and Newt alone in the treatment room. It was silent, and Newt still held your bandaged hands in his, not daring to say a word.

“Are you okay?” You asked eventually, feeling that you’d studied the boy’s face enough to gather that he was still deeply upset and in thought.

Newt’s eyes snapped from your hands to make eye contact with you, and you could see the emotion pooling in his dark irises. “I dunno. I know it’s stupid, you’ll be fine, but�� you were hurt. On the one day I wasn’t there with you.”

Turning your hands over in his, you grabbed his palms and squeezed. “But I’ll be fine, Newt. Look, I’m still healthy, aren’t I? Breathing, talking. That’s what matters. And it’s not your fault, it was just a silly accident.”

“I know, I just… the thought of you getting hurt makes me want to go crazy.” Newt admitted. “You being safe is all I care about.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest as your face warmed. “I… I didn’t know it meant that much to you.”

“You do.” Newt stated. “You mean that much to me.”

“Newt…” you whispered. “I think those slintheads were right.”

His face scrunched up. “What d’you mean?”

“I think… I think I like you. A lot more than I realized.” You gathered more courage with every word you spoke. “Newt… I think I’m in love with you.”

You watched his eyes widen as you spoke, hands still interlocked. Newt seemed to be stunned by your impromptu confession, and even you were surprised by it. Up until ten seconds ago, you were unaware of how big your feelings for Newt were, but now that they were out in the open, it was easy to see as you looked back on things. Your thoughts ran at a hundred miles a second, flashing with the memories you made with Newt and how close you’d gotten over the past few years.

It took you a second to pull away from the memories and realize that Newt had yet to respond.

“Newt?” You called out, trying to get his attention. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Look, we don’t have to do anything about it, we can forget it ever happened—”

“No.” Newt interrupted. “I don’t want to do that.” He adjusted his grip on your hands, stroking your knuckles with his thumbs. “I… I love you, too. I think I have from the moment I met you.”

Your lips stretched into a wide, blissful smile, and Newt’s expression soon matched yours. Slowly, he leaned in closer to you, shortening the distance until his lips were inches from yours.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered.

“I’d like nothing more,” you told him, and in seconds, his lips were on yours and your hand was touching the back of his neck and you were both in a state of bliss you could only dream of until now.

You spent the next few hours with Newt, who sat next to you on the bed with an arm around your shoulders, talking mostly about how you both failed to notice your feelings toward each other for so long, occasionally disrupted by mini-makeouts. When the dinner bell rang, Newt promised to explain your injury to your friends and bring dinner for you both to eat in the Medjack hut.

When Newt came back, two steaming bowls of chicken rice in hand, the blush on his face was unmistakable.

“What happened?” You laughed as he passed you the bowl and sat on the bed. “What did they say to you?”’

“They didn’t say anything.” Newt corrected you. “They heard about my hauling ass across the Glade to get here from the council hall, that’s what. And they basically figured us out.”

“Really?” You fake gasped. “It’s like they’ve been trying to tell us about this for the past two years or something.”

“Ha, ha,” Newt rolled his eyes. “Eat your rice. After you’re finished, I’ve got to take you to the Homestead.”

“My hero,” you smiled, and Newt couldn’t help but to kiss you once more before you both dug into your meals.

Once your ankle was healed, it was no surprise the uproar your friends caused when you were finally able to walk to breakfast hand in hand with Newt. After all, they had been waiting years for this.

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wildemaven · 10 months

Text

Sweet Creature: Chapter Eight

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

WC: 4643

Warnings: 18+ Blog; Talks of failed relationships, Bi!Dieter, Fingering (public, F receiving), food and drinks, fluff fluff fluff, handy in the car, praise kink if you squint, oral (semi-ish public; F receiving), reader’s nickname is Poppy- zero physical description, these two hot dogs are just trying to make up for lost time, if I missed something let me know

A/N: Uhh, this chapter ran away from me. But it worked out cause now these two get some lovin’ and we get an extra chapter! Thanks so much @gnpwdrnwhiskey for being the sweetest beta reader as always— I appreciate you and your eyes so much!!

Series Masterlist / Playlist / Main Masterlist

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“You don’t think she’ll be mad?”

“No Dieter, I don’t think she’ll be mad. Poppy’s totally going to understand, she loves you and will support whatever you do.”

Diem had always been able to reassure him when he needed it most, especially when it came to you— the one good thing in his life he refused to mess up.

“Please don’t mention anything, I want to be able to do it in person— I’ll probably just tell her tonight.”

“Oh, shoot— I was just going to text her right now, ‘Hey Poppy! I wanted to tell you before Dieter did…’” Diem’s voice dripping in sarcasm, acting like she’s typing out a message on her phone. “Of course I won’t tell her— My lips are sealed!” Pretending to lock her lips and tossing an invisible key over her shoulder, laughing at his annoyance with her.

“I can’t with you.” He sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face.

Dieter paces around the kitchen, not really sure what to do with himself, ready far sooner than he anticipated— nerves buzzing with excitement knowing he would be seeing you in 30 minutes— to pick you up for your date.

First official date.

You had both laughed at how backwards it felt. Your first kiss. Your first time together. Your first ‘I love you’.— all done before you had even managed to go on an actual date.

Finding a Friday that worked with your busy schedule, but that also led into a weekend where you could spend it together uninterrupted— no plans, just together.

Dieter wanted to, as he put it, wine and dine you. He made reservations for 7 at a somewhat fancy Italian restaurant, only telling you to get dressed up in your favorite dress and that he’d pick you up at 6:30.

He can’t remember the last time he had put this much effort into a date, probably due to the fact he hadn’t really ever been on one in years.

Sure, there were a handful of women and men on his arm at many times in his life, accompanying him to five star restaurants across the greater Los Angeles area, pictures of them stumbling into the streets plastered across the tabloids the next day.

‘Dieter Bravo & Mystery Woman Dining at Hollywood Hot Spot: Is She the One to Tame this Bad Boy?’

‘Dieter Bravo Seen Dancing with New Beau at Packed Nightclub’

Many were a lame attempt at a PR stunt, to draw attention to his upcoming movies he’d be starring in— but most of them were also meant to keep his name in the positive spotlight, distract from the shit show of his life behind the scenes.

There were a few that felt like a little more than weekend arm candy, only to find out he was the one catching feelings, while they were looking to catch a free ride to stardom.

There was the model he met on the set of a cologne campaign, also a sweet bubbly aspiring actress. The whirlwind fling seemed to move at lightning speed, and against his better judgment and the concerns of his people, she moved in after only a few short months of them seeing each other. Their relationship had been one of his many attempts at getting sober, wanting to give his best to her, but things became increasingly tempestuous as Dieter pulled away from the wild parties and she went out with friends, only to come home as the sun was coming up— leaving Dieter bored and alone. When Dieter caught word of her affair with his closest friend and fellow actor, he kicked her out of his house and began to spiral back into his old ways.

Then there was the time with ‘what’s his face’, Dieter vaguely recalls what he looked like— let alone what his name was, gallivanting around Europe taking in its beautiful countryside, experiencing the food and the touristy atmosphere. When time came for them to head home, Dieter needing to prepare for a new role, he found himself flying back alone— leaving ‘what’s his face’ in Mallorca to continue on his soul-searching journey, which included some business opportunities with someone by the name of Lucas Gutierrez.

The last relationship, if you could even call it that, was a drugged out daze where he almost married the receptionist of a high end hotel, Dieter had been convinced her hospitality meant she was in love with him. A weeks stay turned into a hazy mess of pleading for her to have sex with him while he was high as a kite, and by the end of the week she was saving his life and he was even more sure she was his forever— until his publicist and crisis manager had to step in and tell him he was not of sound mind to make such life altering decisions.

Dieter had written off relationships or anything that resembled some sort of courtship, especially while in treatment— wanting to get himself right before even thinking about getting involved with someone.

And then a year later, you came out of left field and had him seeing what love could feel like.

A knock at the front door pulls him from his head, glancing over to where Diem is eating dinner with Wren and getting a shrug of ‘I’m not expecting anyone’, he goes to answer it.

Opening the door, he wasn’t expecting to see you, stunned into silence as his eyes slowly roamed over your body— completely done up, no semblance of your innocent teacher-look in sight.

You take his reserved demeanor, no real expression except for wide eyes and a slack jaw, as if there was something wrong with how you looked.

“What is it? Is the dress too much?” You say looking downward, smoothing out the fabric of your silky black dress and matching heels. You had given yourself a once over in the mirror before heading over, thinking everything was in place and really feeling the look— but maybe you had missed something.

“N-no— No! You look fine— I mean you look beautiful.” Dieter stammers over his words, the way your dress hugs every inch of you has his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. “Wow!”

“Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself there, handsome.” Biting your bottom lip as you adjust the wonky lapel on his navy suit, giggling at how you both can’t seem to stop staring at each other.

“You’re early!” The realization hit him, looking over the clock on the oven to see he still had another 25 minutes before he even needed to leave.

“I know. But I’ve been ready for the last hour and I was getting bored sitting on my couch waiting— plus there’s only so many songs on one side of a record and I got tired of getting up to flip it. So, I figured I’d walk here, kill some time.”

“Poppy, it’s like a five minute walk from your house.” He laughs, but his chest swells at the thought of you being so excited for the evening.

“Actually, it’s a good 8, maybe 10 minutes in these heels— which by the way, are made for sitting not walking, so the sooner I can sit the better.” You mention as you shift your body from side to side, trying to relieve the tension that’s already settling into the balls of your feet.

“Let’s go then.”

He runs back to the counter to grab his phone and his keys, stopping to give Wren a kiss on her head and a good night to both her and Diem.

“You kids behave yourselves!” Diem quips with a smirk.

“Uncle Dieter and Poppy aren’t kids mama! You adults behave!! Are they going to get in trouble?!” Wren confused, trying to wrap her head around the whole thought of her uncle and Poppy not behaving.

Thankfully it’s a short walk, his hand securely on the small of your back as he guides you from the front door to his car, mindful of your slow calculated steps.

A machine-like beep echoes out into the night as he unlocks the door, you start to bend down slightly to reach for the door handle, but Dieter grabs your wrist, carefully pulling you to him— your chest colliding with his.

“You look beautiful, Poppy.” He breathes against your mouth, his nose gently nudging at yours before his lips seal over your awaiting lips.

You can’t help the small whine that escapes your throat the moment his tongue slowly invades your mouth, eliciting a lustful moan of his own as he deepens the kiss.

With his hands firmly grabbing onto the globes of your ass, pulling your lower half as close to him as possible, he shuffles your bodies around before pressing your back into the side of his car, the cold metal hitting your bare back sends a shiver down your spine, his feet tapping against yours signaling you to widen your stance as much as your dress will allow.

The way his lips continue to move over yours paired with the slight grind of his hips, a prominent bulge rutting up against the ache that has begun to settle between your legs, your appetite grows for something a little stronger and involving less clothes— is it too late to cancel reservations?

Goosebumps scatter across your skin as the sensation of his fingers gliding over your thigh, breaching the slit in your dress and settling at your unclothed and heated core— no panties were a risky move with how high the slit of your dress went, but the choice was paying off earlier than you had expected.

Your fingers digging into the back of his arms to help keep you upright, fearing your legs might give out at any moment.

“Can you be quiet for me?” He asks against your swollen lips— grateful you opted for a gloss over a stain of color, knowing this might have been on the menu for the evening.

You can only manage a nod as a jolt of pleasure hits you the minute his fingers push into your dripping pussy.

Dieter covers your mouth with his other hand, quieting the tiny sounds that you can’t help making with how his fingers move so intently against your velvety walls, tripping the tiny live wires that have you electrified and pulsing around his digits.

“Fuck Poppy, I can feel you’re already there. What’s got you so worked up already?” Dieter’s words muffled against your warm ear, his husky voice aiding in the chase for your release.

He moves his hand from your mouth, your lips parting as you take a few quick breaths, your mind actively trying to string together a few coherent words.

“Y-you.” Your response is airy, as you start to feel the building pressure of your climax.

“Me?” He asks, removing himself from where he had settled against your neck, giving you a mocking puzzled look, playing stupid—he wants to hear you say it.

“Yes— ah! You! Y-you look s-so— oh fuck! So fucking pretty! Oh god, Dieter— don’t stop please!”

His hand moves to rest behind your neck, holding your head up so he can watch the way your face looks the second he sends you into a euphoric state.

It’s a subtle swipe of his thumb over your throbbing clit, that has you catapulting into a blinding nirvana.

Dieter presses his lips in a leisurely haphazard manner to your fiery skin as you come down from your peak, slowly removing his fingers from your spent cunt.

You manage to catch his hand the moment it leaves the underside of your dress, locking your eyes with his as you bring the two fingers, now glistening under the moonlight, that worked earnestly to satisfy you up to your watery mouth. You wrap your lips around them, tasting your tangy sweet arousal, releasing his hand and wiping the corners of your mouth— Dieter practically coming in his suit pants at the sight

“Fuck, Poppy! You teach kids with that mouth of yours?” Eyebrows raised in question as he jokes at the lewd, yet arousing, gesture.

“I knew you’d be a dessert before dinner kinda guy—” You reply, pressing a kiss to his cheek then whispering into his ear, “Hmm, plus, that’s not the only thing it can do.”

You lightly push him off of you, giving him a sultry smile and a wink, adjusting your dress before opening the door to the car and getting in.

“Fuck me!” He breathes out into the crisp evening air.

The restaurant was the perfect backdrop for the evening— an outside table tucked in the corner of their patio with dim overhead lighting, candles glowing between table settings, a heavy card-stock menu listing their elaborate dishes and expensive wines.

You had told Dieter on the ride over that you would have been more than fine with the local pizzeria or even stayed in and cooked together— he said the latter would be added on to the list of options for next time.

Dieter had opted to sit next to you as opposed to sitting across the table— you didn’t argue, agreeing that it felt more intimate having him closer. It also allowed Dieter to rest his hand on your exposed thigh the entire evening, running his fingers along the seam where your leg crossed over the other— at times your hand resting over his, lighting caressing the top of his or changing it up and interlocking your fingers together.

The conversation flowed nicely once you were both satisfied with the order for the evening, sharing of childhood stories and funny life moments kept you both engaged and connected throughout the night.

“What made you want to be a teacher?” Dieter asks, munching on a crunchy piece of garlic bread, his hand still resting on your leg while his thumb caresses over your knee.

You finish your bite, wiping the pasta sauce from your mouth.

“Actually, my mom is a teacher— she was my sixth grade teacher too. When I was in college trying to figure out my path, I remembered the joy she got out of being with her students and how much she had helped kids in my class. I knew it was something I wanted to do too. I guess we’re kind of alike in a way, following our parent’s footsteps.” Giving his hand a brief squeeze at the realization, your eyes beaming as you look at him.

He smiles at the coincidence, he likes listening to you share these parts of your life with him.

“What did you want to be as a kid?” He asks before taking a sip of his ice water.

“Oh no!” Laughing softly at his question. “You’re going to laugh at me!”

“Well, now I need to know!” Trying to picture what a younger version of you would have dreamed of being in your adult life.

“I don’t want to hear a single thing when I tell you, you understand me Bravo!” Jokingly point a finger at him as you prepare to reveal your childhood dream.

He draws an X over his chest as a promise, encouraging you to continue.

“I wanted to be an actress.” You reveal in a low hushed tone.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” He’s fighting back his laugh, tilting an ear in your direction as if he didn’t hear what you said.

“I wanted to be an actress!” Your face scrunches up with embarrassment as you repeat yourself.

“Would have never guessed!�� It’s the smallest laugh that escapes, shaking his head in amusement. “What made you change your mind?”

“Fifth grade— I was the female lead in our class play, it was a musical. I was sure this was going to be the thing that proved how much I wanted to act, convince my mom to put me in acting classes— I secretly hoped that maybe I could make it big, then move to be with my Dad and I don’t know, prove to that I could be something to him.”

You take a sip of your white wine. When ordering earlier, you had told Dieter you would be fine with just water since he wasn’t drinking, but he had insisted it was fine— and you had to admit it paired well with your dish.

“I practiced nonstop, to the point I think mother was counting down the days until opening night so she didn’t have to hear me belting out my solo song in my room. Opening night came, and my part was about half through the play— I was so excited. Once it was my scene, I walked out on stage, saw all the faces staring back at me and I just froze. I couldn’t even say my lines, let alone sing.”

“What did you do?”

“I ran out of there so fast. Begged my mom to switch schools so I wouldn’t have to face my class again. My dreams of becoming a big star faded instantly and I realized also that wasn’t going to fix anything with my Dad. Could you imagine though? Me, an actress— that would be a fucking sight.”

You both laugh uncontrollably at the thought of you being a Hollywood star and how different your life had become, agreeing that you ended up where you were meant to be.

“When do I get to meet her?”

“My mom?”

“Yeah, I feel like I should meet the mother of my girlfriend— hopefully sooner than later.”

Girlfriend.

You both hadn’t really discussed labels, and you were perfectly fine with letting things happen organically being this was all still new for you both. But also acknowledging this was something more than just casually dating someone you didn’t know.

“Well, she’ll fly in next Thursday and will be at the gallery for my exhibit on Friday, so you can meet her then.” You’re giddy at the thought of your Mom meeting Dieter, having spent so many hours on the phone with her talking about him.

His face morphs into a look of panic at the mention of your gallery showing, deciding that now would be the perfect time to tell you the thing that’s been weighing on him the last few days.

“What?”

“Poppy, about your showing. I got a call the other morning— they bumped up pre-production and I’ll be leaving sooner than originally planned.”

“When do you leave?”

“This Monday. I’ve been trying to figure things out, find some way to still be able to make it, but they aren’t really working with me— as of now, it’s looking like I’m going to miss it.” Now that it’s out in the open, he doesn’t feel any better now that you know, he knows how much this means to you and wants to be there for you.

“Dieter— hey, it’s okay!”

You can see the anguish looming over him, hating that he was nervous to tell you.

“You’re not upset with me?”

“No! Why would I be upset? I mean, sure I’m a little bummed out, but this job is important to you.”

“But your art is just as important.”

“I appreciate you thinking that, but there will be others I’m sure. Maybe not at that gallery, but I’m sure I’ll find another place and I’ll convince them to let me show off my work there too.”

“Thank you, for being understanding.”

“Of course, Dieter… You’ll just have to make it up to me in other ways I guess.”

As the date progressed, you’re both completely satiated, barely able to take a single taste of the dessert you had ordered.

Dieter shared more about his love for acting growing up, fun stories from movie sets and his favorite roles to date— you didn’t want him to stop sharing, the way his eyes lit up you could tell how passionate he was about his work, it made you fall for him even more.

“Does it still make you happy?” You ask him, your elbow propped up on the table, hand under your chin, the answer seemed so obvious to you but you wanted to hear him say it.

He laughs at your question, leaning against the chair back, taking a minute to collect his thoughts.

“What’s so funny?”

“Driving Birdie to school one morning, she asked me the same question. Just funny I’m being asked again after being here for a few months now.” He explains, rolling the edge of his napkin between his fingers, knowing you’re going to want him to answer it truthfully.

“Is your answer still the same?”

“Well, Birdie said I need to listen to my heart.”

“And what does your heart say now?” You ask as you lean forward, pressing your palm over his chest, feeling the steady strum of his heart as he looks at you with the most loving gaze.

Adjusting himself forward in his seat, angling his body closer to you, wrapping his large hand over yours and pressing them both close to his chest, the up turn of his lopsided grin slowly growing.

“It says that I am happy. Happy to be alive and sober. Happy to be home— making up for lost time with Diem and Wren. Happy to have this opportunity to discover the joy I have for a simpler life. And more importantly, it says I am happy to have you.”

Tears began to shimmer in your eyes, hearing him say how happy he was, was an indescribable feeling— he was so deserving of not only happiness, but love and you were so grateful he was feeling it.

“I love you, Dieter.” Trying to sniffle back your tears, your hand cradles the back of his head, closing the gap between you as his lips settle against yours.

He can taste the few tears that do manage to escape, their wet briney sweetness coating the ardent kiss.

“I love you so much, Poppy.”

The ride home was a comfortable silence, no real need for conversation, just being in the presence of each was enough for the drive back to your place.

It was peaceful— your hand resting on his leg, your gaze focused on the way the houses and trees blurred together in passing.

“What are you smiling about over there?” Catching the slight grin on your face as you look out the window, wanting to know what thoughts were the cause for it.

You hum in response, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth as your mind replays a loop of the entire evening thus far.

“I had fun tonight— thank you.” Your head still resting against the seat, watching the way Dieter’s hands grip around the steering wheel, the muscles of his neck taut and flexed as he checks the mirrors.

Acutely aware of the dampness that’s been lingering between your legs all evening, watching him right now you can feel your arousal beginning to pool and slowly drip down your thighs— grateful for your dress acting as a barrier between you and the car’s leather seats.

The car jerks slightly as Dieter pulls it into your driveway, shifting into park and killing the engine, turning his attention to you, mirroring your position.

“I had a great time too. Pretty sure I earned myself a second date, maybe even a little kiss goodnight.”

His enthusiasm and lack of humbleness about his odds have you reeling, but it's his signature wink that hits you like a freight train that has you moving before your brain can register what’s happening.

“I think you earned yourself a little more than that.” Your words are honeyed and laced in a seductive sugariness.

A dual clicking, triggers the release of your seat-buckles, the snap back of the retracting belts reverberates through the car.

A soft sliding of fabric against an oiled leather seat merely tickles your ears, trying to shift your body upward, your knee finally finding purchase to hold steady.

A myriad of soft sounds expelled from Dieter’s side of the car. The rigid unzipping of his pants. The shuffling and pulling of excessive fabrics. A string of mumbled fuckshitohgodpoppyplease tumble from Dieter’s mouth as he watches the way your hand works itself over his hard cock.

He’s putty in your hands, breathing ragged and tight with each swipe of your thumb over the head of his shaft. Gathering every glassy drop of pre-cum to help your hand slide effortlessly, pausing at the base of his cock for a moment— your firm grip producing another string of sounds from Dieter, mostly heady opaque moans.

“Pop-Poppy! fuckfuckfuck! I-hnnnngh!! I’m gonna come if you— shit! If you keep that up!”

“That’s the point Babe, I want you to feel good. Show my boyfriend how much he means to me.”

You can feel the way he tenses in pleasure at you calling him your boyfriend, the way he throbs in your hand as you resume your movements.

“I’m going to miss you so much Dieter. Miss your stupid handsome face while you’re out doing what you love most. Letting everyone see how amazing and perfect you are.“ Your soft voice fanning across his ear.

“N-no Poppy— You- fuck! I love you, the most.” His jaw is tight as he grits out his words.

“I love you Dieter. It’s okay, let go— for me.”

And he does.

Warm spurts of cum coat the top of your hand and his dark navy button down shirt— a painting of white Rorschach blots of arousal.

“I’m going to miss you too, Poppy.” He manages to say, his throat raspy and dry.

You find yourself flush against your front door, purse dangling from your arm, intoxicated by the way Dieter is kissing you fervently.

“Dieter, babe! My feet are killin’ me! I’ve got to get these shoes off asap!” Taking a moment to catch your breath and search for your keys.

Sifting through the mess of your purse, you miss Dieter kneeling down, his hand cupping the back of your calf as he attempts to undo the strap of your heels with the other, it doesn’t take long for you to feel your shoe being removed, the pressure instantly dissipating. His hands begin to work at your other shoe when you find your ring of keys, relief again as he removes the shoe and gently places your bare foot on your tiled porch.

“God, that feels so much better! Thank— ah! Dieter!”

Your skin feels soft under his touch, dropping a few kisses up the length of your exposed leg, stopping when he gets to the peak of your dress's slit, looking up at you to see nothing but want swimming in your eyes.

He presses his hands on your hips, shifting the fabric of your dress just enough so the slit allows him access to your cunt.

A few bold licks through your wet folds has your knees buckling, his grip on you tightening to keep you from slipping, you’re so keyed up already that you know this is going to be a quick completion.

But Dieter takes his time with you, and it’s worth it the minute your orgasm hits— a mixture of tingling excitement and hot lips between your legs.

Your head lulls back against the door, as you wait for the sensation to come back to your legs.

Dieter standing to his full height, shifting your dress back to its proper position.

“I’ll have you know, I’m a dessert anytime kinda guy.” Devilishly smirking, his lips damp with your arousal as he presses them to yours.

“Stay. I’m not ready for you to leave me yet. Stay the weekend with me, please.”

You’re practically begging him, and he finds it incredibly hard to tell you no— but sees no reason why he should.

“I’m yours, Poppy. Show me where the bedroom is.”

#sweet creature series #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo #dieter x poppy #pedro pascal #wildemaven writes

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gay-slime · 4 months

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Goodbye post :]

Hello & also - goodbye!

This is a formal post to mark this account as an archive - aka I’m just gonna be logging out & not deleting it for sentimentality reasons (also technically my main and other sides, granted they’re all tied together)

Thank you all for the support, there have been a lot of times in these past 7 years where I wouldn’t have been nearly as safe if it wasn’t for yalls help. Doing commissions & getting donos ocassionally through this account has saved me on multiple occasions; ranging from homelessness, feeding my cats, textbook/college tuition, and other situations I don’t know how I would have fared in if I had no income at the time. I seriously can’t explain how much this blog and all of you meant for me during such a painful & dangerous period of my life.

If for whatever reason you would like to get in contact; be it for commissions or anything else - my old art insta @CartoonyEyes will be the only way to reach me after tomorrow.

More context for my leaving below for the sake of getting it off my chest, but content warning for general mentions of abuse.

When I first made this account in highschool, I was going through some pretty horrific abuse at home, and I wasn’t ever really in a good state of mind during its prime. This blog was a form of escapism that made me feel seen, appreciated, and happy at a time in my life where I wasn’t getting that anywhere else. Because of that & my general naivety due to active grooming at the time, I also made a lot of ignorant shitty decisions, and had a lot of wild overreactions on here. Unfortunately, every post has a memory behind it, and despite the fact that I’ve done my best to scrub this blog of those old behaviors and posts- I still know at one point they existed. I can’t expect myself to comb through 7+ years of untagged posts, but I also don’t want to lose everything I posted here - it was such an important moment in my life. I have since left the shitty home situation, and I’m in MUCH better circumstances and spirits these days - but I still find myself not wanting to post because I’m anxious of possibly having some cringe ass behavior brought back up from a time where I should have known better, but didn’t.

That all being said, I will be remaking a new tumblr and a new side minecraft blog - I just won’t be directly associating it back to this account. Fresh slate kinda thing, even though there’s really no such thing on the internet. It’s just a little more distance between me and a period of my life I’d rather not have reminding of every time I look at my notifications. If you notice a new blog might be me? No u don’t!

Thank you, and toodles!

-Oli

#oli speaks

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ms-fandomgirl · 5 months

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BBHG: Tonkatsu (Ch. 4)

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Words: 5,291

Summary: A chance encounter in the Shibuya Train Station leaves you with a sore shoulder and a mysterious bento box. You’re willing to write the incident off and move on, otherwise preoccupied with navigating a new city and a new job, but a bombastic blond, meddling friend, and fate itself seem to have other plans.

Genre: Pro Hero AU, fluff, strangers to lovers, medical setting

Links: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist | Cross-posted on Ao3!

Tonkatsu - A Japanese dish consisting of a breaded, deep-fried pork cutlet. It is often served as a set meal with shredded cabbage, rice, miso soup, and pickles.

A crescendo of loud voices and heavy footfalls crested over you as you neared your destination. You grimaced, wanting to turn around and go back home, although that wasn’t an option here. Unfortunately, you weren’t in the train station. Those people you could handle. These were a different breed all together, and one you would rather die than face. In front of you, surrounding the main entrance to the hospital, was a sea of overly-eager reporters.

News of where Red Riot and Chargebolt were staying must have gotten leaked to the general public, although it also wouldn’t have been too difficult to figure out. Your hospital was the biggest one in the area, and it was also closest to where the attack had occurred. You tried to sneak around the outskirts of the mob attempting to get in, but your blue scrubs gave you away.

“Excuse me, do you work here?” one reporter asked, a young woman with pointed glasses and even pointier eyebrows drawn onto her face. You nodded quickly and tried to continue on your path, but it was too late. The crowd descended.

“Do you work with Red Riot and Chargebolt?”

“What are the conditions of the heroes?”

“Would you be willing to offer up a tour of the facility for an exclusive interview with our team?”

“When will the heroes be released from the hospital?”

They were most likely accosting you simply because you worked at the hospital. They had no reason to know that you did in fact work with Red Riot and Chargebolt. Still, you began to sweat at the thought that they had somehow figured it out, that they were targeting you specifically, and that they wouldn’t let you go until they had wrung every last detail from your body.

“I can’t answer your questions right now! I’m just trying to get to work,” you responded, trying to push your way through. This, however, was the wrong thing to say. You thought your answer was neutral, but the reporters latched on to your statement like a dog sinking its teeth into a prime cut of steak.

“So you confirm that you have information on the heroes Red Riot and Chargebolt?”

“If not now, then when would we be able to set up an interview with you?”

“What is it like to play nurse for two of the top ten? Are they still as charmingly handsome while infirmed? Hero Heartthrob wants to know.”

The last comment made your memory flash to a serene-looking Chargebolt, in a coma for the foreseeable future, and your blood began to boil. Who even were these people, to demand such things from you or anyone else for that matter?

“Don’t you have something better to do than harassing any poor medical personnel who enters these doors? What about reporting on the families of the injured civilians, or the manhunt for the villain? Go do your actual job and leave me alone to do mine.”

The reporters quieted in shock, and you braced yourself for the flurry of backlash that was sure to be unleashed your way. But it never came. Instead, their gazes morphed into something close to fear as the silenced stretched on. You failed to suppress a small smirk in victory, happy that even if you didn’t have their respect, as you doubted they ever respected anyone, you at least had their attention.

However, as they continued to stare at you, you began to feel a little uneasy, since they weren’t clearing a path for you either. You looked at the girl with pointy glasses who you now realized wasn’t staring at you, but at something directly behind your ear. You turned to look, but a deep voice boomed from behind, freezing you in place.

“You heard her. Scram.”

It was amazing to see how quickly the reporters could move when pressured. They parted cleanly down the middle, fleeing like beetles who had their dark log overturned and exposed to the sunlight. You finally turned to face one very ticked-off Bakugou, complete in full hero costume with a backpack slung over his shoulder, his arms crossed over his chest and a frown dipping the edges of his lips.

Despite his expression, you couldn’t help your small smile of gratitude. Playfully rolling your eyes, you motioned to the door, holding it open for him to enter. “You know, I thought that the reporters were actually scared of me for a second there. It felt nice.”

He chucked low in his chest, refusing your offer until you went in first. “It was quite a sight to walk up on: seeing some random nurse mouth off to a bunch of reporters like that. It was almost impressive, if you had upped your intimidation factor more.”

You huffed in frustration. “Would it kill you to give an actual compliment?”

“Yes.”

His words were harsh, but there was a slight bounce to his step that indicated he wasn’t completely serious. However, as the two of you made your way to the special ICU wing, his footfall became heavy, and all mirth slipped from his body replaced with a somber resignation. The change in atmosphere dampened your mood as well, and even more so as you heard raised voices coming from room 3307.

“I just don’t understand why I wasn’t informed of this decision until right now,” Gia said, her piercing voice echoing off the walls. She was standing in the center of the room, her arms crossed as she was facing Dr. Hiyashi with thinly veiled contempt.

For his part, Dr. Hiyashi looked surprisingly calm, although very weary from yesterday’s events. “The decision was made by myself and other nursing administrators. I appreciate your concern for these two top priority patients, but overall the hospital needs your talents of Diagnosis with the larger multitude of other patients.”

“But I could ensure that they are provided with whatever care they might need. Much more accurately than she could.”

Her attention had turned to you, standing awkwardly at the entrance of the doorway. You weren’t sure whether you were allowed to enter during this conversation, but it seemed now that the choice had been made for you. You opened your mouth to respond, but then closed it. She might have been throwing a fit, but you couldn’t help but feel there was some truth to her words. It was a concern that had kept you up last night, when you had been replaying the day in your mind, and it surfaced once again, trying to drag you down into the depths of uncertainty.

“Oh yeah? What’s she doing wrong, then? If my friends aren’t being taken care of, I want to know.” Bakugou took this chance to make his presence known, stepping out from behind you. Gia’s eyes, which had previously been glaring at you, widened in surprise at his appearance. She at least had the good sense to look chagrined by her previous statement, now knowing that she had an audience.

She blinked, regaining her composure before giving Bakugou her most practiced smile. “I was just implying that if something did go wrong, my quirk Diagnosis would be much better suited for caring for them.”

She had dodged his question, and Bakugou didn’t appreciate it in the slightest. “She’s already been taking care of them for a full day now. If something’s wrong with them, then you should be able to tell, right? Use your quirk to see.”

She looked over at Dr. Hiyashi, who simply shrugged. It was obvious he wanted this conversation over with. She sauntered over to Red Riot first, reaching out to touch his shoulder. The tell-tale green glow that emanated from her hand signaled that her quirk was in use. After several seconds, she retracted her hand, making a show of staring intensely staring at his monitors. She did the same to Chargebolt, walking back to the center of the room with a hand on her chin. The average onlooker would think she was troubled by something, but you knew that look to be one of calculation. A pit formed in your stomach as you realized she was planning something.

“Well?” Bakugou demanded, his full force directed at Gia. He stepped closer to her, not enough to be in her personal space, but enough that she had to look up to meet his gaze. “Stop the scheming and give me an answer. I don’t have all day.”

Your eyebrows raised and so did hers, shocked at being caught. She swallowed, attempting to clear her throat before answering. “Chargebolt is in perfectly fine condition right now, and so is Red Riot.”

“Then what are you still doing here?” He pointed back to you. “She can obviously handle things by herself.”

“But if something happened unexpectedly-”

“I’m sure could also handle it because that’s literally her job. Just like it’s your job to work somewhere else. I don’t get what’s so confusing about this.”

Gia was the first to break eye contact, glancing down to the side. You almost felt bad for her. Being on the receiving end of Bakugou’s bluntness looked like an absolute nightmare. Then again, with the number of times she had made your life miserable, you mainly felt a sense of second-hand victory.

“We can continue this conversation elsewhere,” she said, turning to Dr. Hiyashi. While she couldn’t bring herself to admit defeat, she did exit the room as fast as she could, not even sparing you a glance as you left. Your gaze landed on Bakugou, who had a smirk plastered on his face as he watched her leave.

Dr. Hiyashi coughed into his hand, drawing the attention back on him. “While I might agree with the sentiments you spoke out about, I must ask you to refrain from speaking to any staff under my care in that manner again.”

You thought Bakugou might try to pick a fight with him as well, but it seemed as though even he could put on a filter when necessary. He gave a quick bow of his head in apology to the man. “I understand, Doc. As long as she doesn’t come in here and try to start running things again, we won’t have a problem.”

‘So close,’ you thought, watching Dr. Hiyashi’s shoulders sag. He rubbed his temple, pushing up the hair on his forehead. You swore you heard the words “it’s too early for this” mumbled from his lips. Nonetheless, he turned to face you, holding out a clipboard.

“We’re still doing some blood work on them, but for right now, things continue to remain the same. We’re also still trying to determine the exact composition of the toxins flowing through their system. I’ll let you know when more results come back. For now, you’ve been doing a good job at keeping things stable.”

You nodded, and he left as well, eager to be out of the room. Now only you and Bakugou remained. Despite the tap of his foot, he did seem to relax a little once it was just the two of you. His shoulders loosened, and he stretched his arms high above his head before wandering over to the side of both of his friends’ beds, inspecting their faces closely before sitting on the couch.

“Thank you.”

You broke the silence with a low bow to the man on the couch. It was perhaps a little humiliating, but after the stunt he just pulled against Gia, you thought it might be okay to stroke his ego, just this once.

He grinned in response. “Believe me when I say that it was my pleasure. She seemed like a pain, and I definitely would rather deal with you over her.”

“Of course…” you trailed off. You’re not sure whether to be flattered by the statement.

To take your mind off of the enigma that was Bakugou, you look down at the clipboard in your hands. The blood tests that had come back already showed no other symptoms or new areas of concern, which you considered a win. However, the toxin seemed to keep them in this comatose state, with no progress made toward uncovering its nature or cure. You adjusted the IVs according to the doctor’s notes, in hopes of flushing out the toxins from Chargebolt’s body.

You had zoned in on your work, focusing only on Chargebolt and momentarily forgetting the other person in the room. However, as you turned away from your patient’s bed, you were met with Bakugou’s garnet gaze, focused completely on you as you worked. You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling slightly nervous, and he seemed to snap out of whatever thoughts he was buried in.

“Do you eat lunch here?”

The question threw you off guard, and you scrambled for the right words. “Like, as in here here? No. But as in the hospital here? Most of the time, although I didn’t have enough time to make a lunch last night, so I’ll have to stop by a convenience store.”

He squinted his eyes, appearing to weigh the options of his next words in his head. “Don’t.”

“Huh?” you asked intelligently. “I need to eat, Bakugou.”

He rolled his eyes. “I know that. Eat with me, dumbass. It’s my turn anyways.”

With that, he reached into his backpack, pulling out a bento wrapped in pale orange cloth. Your heart stuttered in your chest before beating with increasing intensity. He had cooked for you, again. And not only had he cooked for you, but now he wanted to eat with you too?

“What’s on the menu?” you joked, trying to take your mind off of the glaring implications of eating lunch with Bakugou.

He gave you a cutting smile in response. “You’ll just have to come back and see, but I promise it’ll be the best damn thing you ever ate.”

His words were extremely cocky, but you couldn’t help but believe him. They rattled around in your mind for the rest of your shift like loose coins in a dryer, incessant words that resurfaced right when you were beginning to think you were over them. Of course, it didn’t help that you had told Hina about the whole interaction, and she now shot you suggestive eyebrow raises and winks every time you looked in her direction.

Just as your luck would have it, you were incredibly busy. You counted down as the minutes ticked by, first in anticipation, and then in dread once your lunch break hit but you were still on your feet. You tried to finish your tasks as quickly as you could, but between chatty patients and an influx of visitors, you bitterly watched your lunch break slip away until a meager 15 minutes remained.

You all but sprinted to the special wing of the hospital in the time you had left, needing a moment to compose yourself before entering room 3307. Bakugou was right where you left him, leaning forward on his elbows and lost in thought as he examined a mess of papers he had spread out on the coffee table. Upon your entrance, he looked up, his trance broken. He flashed a grin before beginning to shove the papers into a manila folder.

“Almost thought you ditched me,” he said, motioning you to sit in the chair closest to him.

You complied, fighting the urge to wring your hands. “I got caught up in my shift, unfortunately. It felt like everyone had something to say to me today, which isn’t awful, but you know, definitely puts me behind. I’m sorry to make you wait.”

He shrugged, passing you the pale orange bento box before fishing around in his backpack. After a second of digging, he was successful, pulling out a sage green bento with small, smiling hand grenades decorating the fabric. He flinched as you couldn’t contain the laugh bubbling from your throat at the sight.

“It was a gag gift from Shitty Hair over there, after he noticed I kept bringing my lunches wrapped up in that orange one. Said it was ‘manly’ or some shit.”

He rolled his eyes as he said it, but you noticed that once unwrapped, he folded the fabric into a neat square before setting it beside him, away from the food. His gaze turned to you, and you realized he was waiting for you to open the box still clasped in your hands. You unwrapped it with care. Taking in a deep breath, a broad smile crossed your face as you hummed in satisfaction.

Neatly cut and almost professionally presented in the bento was the best looking tonkatsu you had ever seen. The pork cutlet was fried to perfection, with small flecks of red in the otherwise golden batter denoting a hint of something spicy. Next to it was a bed of shredded cabbage with thinly sliced pickles on top. On the second layer, furikake rice took up the majority of the space, with blanched greens and a sliced tomato occupying the left corner in lieu of the traditional miso.

You licked your lips in anticipation, muttering a quick blessing of thanks before eagerly picking up your chopsticks. You loved the taste of fried food, but you hated the act of actually frying it. That’s part of the reason you were so impressed with the tonkatsu. Then again, with a quirk that literally creates explosions, you supposed a little hot oil wouldn’t be an issue. The other reason you were so impressed with the tonkatsu, was because, well -

“This is amazing,” you mumbled, mouth full of food.

“I told you it would be the best.” Bakugou preened at your compliment, almost glaring at you accusingly for your lack of faith.

You held your hands up in mock surrender. “And I believed you! I had my doubts from the curry, but ever since the mapo tofu and now this, I have full faith in your cooking.”

At that, he let out a small choke, swallowing his rice hastily before replying, “Hey, what’s wrong with my curry?”

“You know what’s wrong with your curry!” you stressed. “It was too spicy. Plus, you used squash, which is a questionable choice to be sure.”

“What, you can’t eat your veggies?” he mocked.

You gave him an unimpressed look, making a show of shoveling the largest bite of cabbage and pickles you could get into your mouth. You chewed without breaking eye contact, smiling as you swallowed. “No, I like almost all vegetables, thank you very much. Just not squash.”

Your mind began to wander, the talk of vegetables reminding you of the myriad of plant life you have back at your apartment, courtesy of Shiozaki. “I’ve been experimenting with some different spices lately too. Ever since I moved, I have an abundance of them at my disposal.”

“You’re new here?”

“Moved to the city for my rotationals, although I hope to end up here one day. It’s definitely been a big change though.” You trailed off as you thought about your time in the city, with all of its challenges so far.

“I hope I can make it,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Bakugou, but he heard you easily in the otherwise silent room.

“Aren’t you making it right now?” He gave you a quizzical look, and you averted your eyes before responding.

“Yes, but I’m still in school right now. It’s all structured. Once I graduate, I’ll be out on my own, and I’ll need to figure out a job, and friends, and my life, and-”

“And you will.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the finality in his tone. At your worry, he had tensed up once again, leaning forward on his elbows towards you with his eyebrows furrowed. You thought he would have joked about your rambling, but the glint in his eye was nothing but sincere.

“And how can you be so confident about that, hm?” You tried to draw out your question, make it sound more like a joke, but the words fell flat. You smiled, but you were certain that the underlying current of uncertainty made it look more like a grimace.

“Because it’s true, if you have enough guts.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, hoping for more of an explanation than simply “guts,” but the tinny boom of a thousand tiny explosions rang throughout the room as his cellphone went off. You hid your laugh behind your hand as he answered. He seemed deeply pissed to be disturbed by whoever was on the other line, but surprisingly obedient. After what you would consider minimal grousing on his part, he ended the call, sighing as he began to pack up his backpack.

“Sorry, but the boss called. I have to go in for an emergency meeting,” he grumbled. He was frowning as he said it, and it almost seemed like he wanted to stay a little bit longer due to his slow movements. He reached for your bento box out of instinct, but you leaned away, clutching the empty box to your chest.

“It’s my turn to cook now,” you grinned, shaking your head and holding the box as far away from him as you could.

He could have easily gotten it from you, but he quickly gave up, zipping up his backpack instead. “I guess it is. Better make me something good.”

You scoffed, gaining the courage to tease. “Don’t I always?”

At this, he fully laughed. “Yeah, you do.”

You beamed at the compliment, and Bakugou quickly looked away, fiddling with the straps of his backpack before standing up in a rush.

You thought nothing of it, walking with him out of the room and down the twisting hallways until you arrived at the entrance of the ICU wing. After giving one more heartfelt thanks for the meal, you watched him leave before returning to your regular duties, feeling time tick by just a little bit slower.

The rest of your afternoon was excruciatingly painful, not because you injured yourself, but because you were stuck behind the desk of the visitor’s check-in due to a nurse calling in sick last-minute. It wasn’t that you necessarily hated visitors. Most of them were just concerned family members, and you couldn’t fault them if they were a little weepy or frazzled. However, it seemed as though the majority of visits had occurred in the morning, and the waiting room was left unnaturally empty.

While the quiet was welcome, it was rather boring after a while, so you began to busy yourself with updating patient files within the system. It wasn’t the most fun work, and it was normally handed off to an intern or other assistant, but it was better than sitting there doing nothing. You had finally gotten into the flow when a soft cough sounded above you, ripping your focus away from the screen.

You looked up, coming face-to-face with a humongous bouquet, all different varieties of flowers but all in some shade of vibrant red. The arrangement was beautiful, but it was so large that the person holding it was completely lost behind the florals.

“How can I help you?” you asked.

The flowers rustled before a timid voice spoke from behind them. You had to lean forward in order to even hear it. “Uh, I’m here to see Red Riot, if I can?”

Your shoulders dropped at the comment, happy that your exasperated expression was obscured by the gift. The agencies of both Red Riot and Chargebolt had released an official statement telling the public that all gifts for the heroes should be directed to them for both safety and privacy reasons. However, it seemed like this fan didn’t seem to get the memo. You were mildly surprised that they had even narrowed it down to your wing of the hospital specifically, but you figured that if the ravenous news reporters could figure it out, a devoted fan could as well.

Nonetheless, you pasted on your best customer service face before answering. “I’m sorry! As officially announced by the Fatgum Agency, you need to direct all cards and gifts to them instead of us. I cannot accept this.”

The vase shook with more agitation, and a couple of lily petals scattered to the ground in the disturbance. “Oh, uh, you don’t understand! I’m not a fan of Kiri’s. I mean, I am a fan, but not just a fan. Um, I’m here to see how he’s doing and to drop this off on behalf of the Fatgum agency.”

After a moment of hesitation, during which more petals were dislodged, the vase was quickly set on the ground out of your view. The stranger stood up to properly introduce himself, but you were already gaping at him, heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment. You were an idiot, a complete and utter idiot. You resisted the incredible urge to bang your head on the desk in front of you in frustration. How many times had you heard that voice before? Only every other lunch break. Hina would never let you hear the end of this.

Standing before you, hands fiddling with the strings of his indigo hoodie, was none other than the Number 12 Pro-Hero Suneater.

“Of-of course. I’m so sorry about the confusion.” This time it was your turn to trip over words.

“No, no it’s really my bad. I should have introduced myself properly. I’m sure you’ve gotten some excited fans already. Sorry,” he replied, looking down at the floor.

You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault at all, and that you were the one who was in the wrong, but you knew the conversation would go on interminably. Previous interviews proved that to be the case. Instead, you shook your head, your air of customer service being replaced by a genuine smile.

“While I’d like to disagree with you about that, let’s just say it’s both of our faults and call it a truce, okay?”

He nodded in approval, giving up as you continued your spiel. “For protocol, do you have a valid form of identification on you? I just need to see it before you can go back and see Red Riot.”

His eyes widened in surprise, as though he had forgotten about this step. He began to rummage through his pockets, muttering apologies as he did so. You brushed them off with a chuckle, watching as he dug through the pockets of his pants, hoodie, and finally the jean jacket he was wearing on top if it. You had to admit, he might not have been your type on page, but in-person, he was pretty cute. Hina had a point.

‘Hina-’ you mused. ‘What she wouldn’t give to be here right now…’

“Here you go,” Suneater said, breaking your train of thought by finally producing his license to you. You took it from him quickly, looking at both sides just to be safe before returning it. Of course it was the real thing, because of course, this was the real Suneater before you. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

You stood up from your chair, walking over to the intercom on the wall. You coughed once, clearing your voice before pressing the button.

“Nurse Hina, please come to the visitor’s desk. Repeat: Nurse Hina, please come to the visitor’s desk. Special request. Over.”

You returned to your seat before glancing up at Suneater, who seemed rather alarmed by your actions. You tried to don a mask of cool professionalism, but you’re pretty sure the corner of your mouth twitched upward as you began to explain the situation to him.

“Nurse Hina has been placed with the specific task of caring for Red Riot during his stay. Both he and Chargebolt are being kept in a special access wing, so she will escort you to their room.”

Suneater relaxed at this statement, not noticing how your eyes sparkled with mischief. Sure, you had access to the same wing that Hina did, and yes, you were currently on duty for visitor requests specifically, but Suneater didn’t know that. If things went according to plan, he never would.

The sound of footsteps were rapidly approaching behind you, and you turned in your chair to see a flustered Hina.

“What’s happened? What’s wrong?” she gasped out.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Nurse Hina. A special request has come in to visit Red Riot, and as the presiding nurse in charge of his care, you will be escorting this visitor there.”

Hina looked at you with complete and utter confusion, and you silently begged her to play along. Your eyes darted back and forth to the visitor area where Suneater stood, and she had the good sense to follow your gaze before saying anything first.

You knew the exact moment she registered who was behind the window. Her spine instantly straightened, and her eyes grew wide until the whites were clearly visible. You subtly bumped her shoulder as you passed her to open the door, attempting to break her out of her stupor. It worked, and she followed you out of the door to properly greet Suneater, although she still looked like she was in a daze.

“Nurse Hina, this is Suneater. He’s come on behalf of the Fatgum agency to deliver this bouquet and to check on Red Riot. Suneater, this is Nurse Hina. She will be taking you to Red Riot’s room, and she is here to answer any questions you might have about him.”

The two bowed politely to each other, muttering basic formalities before Suneater bent over to pick up the absurdly large bouquet of flowers once again. He nearly dropped the vase a couple of times, clearly preoccupied as his gaze remained fixated on Hina instead of the object in his hands. He eventually used his quirk to provide extra stability so he could hold the flowers with one hand against his hip while still keeping his face uncovered. You swore Hina squeaked when she saw the tentacles come out.

At this point, it felt as though both people had completely forgotten your presence, but it didn’t bother you in the slightest. You watched the scene unfolding in front of you with unbridled glee.

“The flowers are beautiful. I’m sure he’ll love them once he wakes up,” Hina commented as she held the door open for him. You slipped in after them, going back to the desk as they continued down the hallway.

“I’m glad you think so. Fatgum made me pick them out. I don’t have much experience with doing that type of thing, but I know he likes the color red, and so I just chose some that seemed to work together,” Suneater mumbled, but Hina had caught every word he said.

She nodded enthusiastically. “And they do! I especially love the tiger lilies. They’re my favorite.”

Suneater latched on to the statement, giving her the first genuine smile you had seen from him all day. “Oh really? Mine too!”

Their voices faded as they walked down the hallway, and you squealed the second you were sure they were out of earshot. You didn’t hear from Hina for the rest of your shift, but if anything, you took that as an extremely good sign. The rest of the afternoon was uneventful in comparison, but it hardly mattered.

All you could think about was that, without a doubt, this was the most eventful day of your life. That, and you were officially the best friend ever in the whole entire world.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this chapter! It was supposed to be a short one, but it ended up being the longest yet. Since it ended up so long and I traveled for the holiday season, I am unfortunately pushing the release of chapter 5 back to Dec. 8th (unless I miraculously write it in like 4 days). Sorry about that! I'm hoping that the extra time will be able to give me back the buffer I had built up before. Thanks so much for your understanding!

As always, reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated, but please do not repost here or on other platforms. However, fan arts, edits, or anything like that are beyond amazing and totally welcome! If you have a question about it, just ask me.

Tag List: @lavender99, @gold24fish, @bqkuho3, @satorulicious, @cringeycookies, @summrwalkr, @nyxmania, @poopoobuttsy, @st1rvoid, @kitzusune, @nindevorak, @stxrrielle, @cax-per, @kisskissshutmydoor

If you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments! Also, if the tag list DIDN'T work, please let me know as well.

#ms fandomgirl writes #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katuski #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bbhg #bakugou fanfiction

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italiansteebie · 11 months

Text

I think I've kept y'all waiting long enough. Part 2 of this

"we? sorry Eddie, but I think it was you who fucked up this time. we see the way you look at him man, and. if you say he's changed then. I dunno. I guess I believe you."

It's Gareth who says it.

Gareth who's Eddie's main man, his confidant, the robin to well... his Steve.

and that's what makes it worse because he knows the disdain Gareth has for the guy, and here he is, telling Eddie he fucked up by letting him go.

"What do I do?" he asks, voice at a whisper, like he's scared of the answer. "You stop fucking around and make our stupid ass babysitter smile again," and that could only be, Eddie turns, looking for the source of the voice. Yep. Mike wheeler.

Dustin stomps over to him, "dude. we've been over this. Steve likes you. not as a friend, okay? I know you like him too, hell. even max can see it and she's fucking blind!"

"true." and there's max and Lucas, slowly making their way down steve's basement stairs, hands tightly gripping the railing. and now he knows he's got no choice. He's in Steve's basement, with his brats, and the rest of hellfire staring at him wait for him to move, and he knows he can't put this whole thing off like he wants to.

because if he's being honest, he wants to cancel hellfire, send everyone who, make max get up from the seat she just settled in, and run back to the trailer and hide from the world.

but now he's got an audience of people, people who weren't even sure about the guy two seconds ago, who were willing to berate Eddie on his behalf.

so he's got to go make it right. (and maybe he's got to get over the humiliating fact that he too, has become absolutely enamored with Steve Harrington. and he shakes that thought away because it's not humiliating. the guys a real catch, Wayne loves him, and so do his friends apparently, and he's just down right, nice. which Eddie was not expecting).

so he huffs, looking around the room, even max's cloudy eyes are pointed in his direction, waiting. and he bounds up the stairs.

"Steve!" He calls,

"Steve, I need to talk to you,"

and Steve rounds the corner, looking tired, "Eddie, I swear I'll stay out of your hair, you don't have to leave. I- I know you don't like me but, I- I want to prove it to you that I've changed. I-"

Eddie cut him off, "Steve, Steve. you don't need to prove anything I- I was being an asshole. I was embarrassed to have a crush on you,"

"not helping your case, Eddie,"

"I know, I know, ugh! Im not-" he pauses to scrub a hand down his face. "Im not good at this so im just gonna come out and say it. You are- too good for me. you're so fucking nice. I don't get it, and here you are listening to me, and you don't have to! I hurt you and you let me play my stupid game in your basement! you apologized to me. and so. I was scared , okay? because im not stupid, I could see that you liked me, and I- I was so scared that I didn't deserve you that I got mean, and you don't deserve that, not from me, not from anyone and I- I'm just. I can't tell you how sorry, and stupid I feel,"

"ed-"

"no, Steve. let me grovel, okay?"

"Eddie, you don't need to. I- I forgive you."

"You do?"

"Yeah. On one condition,"

"whatever you want, Stevie."

"ask me on a date."

"wh- okay." Eddie breathed out nervously, wiping his palms on his chest, "Steve, would you do me the great honor, of going on a date, with- with me?"

he saw the shaking of steves shoulders, oh god, did he make him cry again? Jesus, what was wrong with him? he was about to open his mouth to apologize, "yes, Eddie," Steve laughed, cutting him off, "I'll go on a date with you," there was a twinkle in his eye, and Eddie almost cried at the thought that he was the one who caused it.

there was an eruption of noise behind him, turns out his audience had followed him, waiting to see the ending. "Kiss!" Dustin called, "Kiss! kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!" Oh god they were chanting now, and Steve had an expectant look on his face. "Well?"

and there it was, the fairy tale ending.

Eddie pulled Steve in for a sweet kiss, only pulling him closer to deepen it. there were hoops and hollers from the crowd behind him, and once they pulled away from each other, Eddie looked at his friends and even caught a smile on none other than mike wheeler's, king of teen angst, face.

and who knew it would turn out like this? (I did. we all need a happy ending).

Tags: @hyperfixationgoddess

@vhelt @i-have-three-feelings. @queerdeerling @sunfloweringstories

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coff33notforme · 1 year

Note

Okay okay okay- I had this idea for ROTTMNT for so long and have wanted someone to write it and I’m curious how you’d take it-

Okay so I have a dog named Leo, and I ironically didn’t name it after one of the ninja turtles-

What do you think the main turtles reactions would be to a s/o (or friend if you only do platonic) who has a dog that’s named the same thing as them but were met before meeting the turtles?

Feel free to ignore if you don’t wan for write it ^^

A/n: ANON, I LOVE THIS REQUEST SM. I underestimated how long it would take to write for four characters though so this took longer than anticipated. Thanks for being patient!

Pairing: Donnie and gn reader, Leo and gn reader, Mikey and gn reader, and Raph and gn reader (can be read as Romantic or platonic, all separate by the way!)

Mikey

Would be ecstatic, hes flipping out as soon as he find out

You have a dog named after him? He feels so honored

Feels his chest fill with pride at the fact that your dog has the same name as him

But as soon as you explain how your dog wasn’t named after him exactly, and how you just liked the name, he feels a little sting of disappointment

But he soon perks back up when realizing that you actually like his name, his face will brighten up, a smile stretching across his face as he turns to you his eyes sparkling

“You like my name?!”

“Yes Mikey.”

He is full of a lot of energy after that

No matter if your dog is named after him or not, he still very much enjoys playing and spending time with your dog

Sometimes they get confused when you call their name

“Mikey!”

They both perk up and turn to look at you with hopeful eyes

“I, uh, meant the dog, Mikey.”

Sometimes it gets confusing, so when Mikeys around you call your dog by a nickname like, pup, puppy, bud, etc

“I mean we're practically the same!” Mikey quipped, holding your dog's fluffy face in his green hands as he looked deep into his thoughtless eyes as if searching for something. You rolled your eyes, a light hearted grin spreading across your face, as you finished plopping the wet dog food into Mikeys blue bowl, placing it next to the turtle and dog sitting next to each other on your spotless kitchen floor.

“Sure, Mikey. But do you mind releasing my dog so he can eat?” you giggled, Mikey removed his hands from the small dog's tangled fur as he scampered cheerfully to his bowl of food. You turned back around to the counter, turning on the faucet as you scrubbed your hands down, before drying them down with the wash cloth laying next to the sink.

“I mean we both love food, we're both super friendly, and we both love art!” you let out a snort, turning to the young turtle.

“I didn’t know my dog had such refined taste.” you teased taking a seat on the floor next to Mikey

“Well, I’ll have you know little M and I are both on the same wavelength when it comes to art.” he spoke, lifting his head in the air as he crossed his arms smugly. You smiled warmly as your dog came racing back, making himself comfortable in your lap.

“Well I’m just glad my two boys get along.”

Leo

Smug bitch

Seriously thinks you named a whole dog after him, and he is not letting it go

He’s not very subtle about it either

“Leo! Come here boy, y’know I’ve always thought Leo was a very pretty name.”

You simply roll your eye to his endless banter, you knew that he was just fishing for compliments

But that did not stop him from trying

When it comes to your actual dog though, Leo and him get along pretty well, he’s definitely not as enthusiastic as Mikey but the spirit is there

He’ll play and pet your dog but that’s about as far as it goes

Is what Leo told you, but one day when you stumbled into your dark apartment after a late shift to find Leo and your pup snuggled up on the couch fast asleep watching some sort of Cable show

You made sure to get as many pictures as possible to show Leo later, and the look on his face was so worth it

“Awe, it’s fine if you two wanna cuddle instead, I get it, I’m definitely not as soft.” you teased, Leo’s face bursting into a crimson red, you never saw the blue turtle this distraught, he never paused or fumbled over his words like this, and over a dog, nonetheless.

“Would you just let that go, I’m not going to cuddle your dog.” he huffed, playfully rolling his eyes as he plopped down next to you on your gray couch, seeping into the cushions, this however seemed to alert your puppy as he turned his head excitedly, sprinting over to the couch before jumping up onto the sofa and burying his head in Leos lap as if on instinct. You snickered as Leo stuttered trying to find a way to justify the situation.

“Okay Leo, I get it you love my dog more than me, no need to shove it in my face.” you exclaimed, pressing a hand over your chest dramatically. Leo scoffed.

“Maybe I do love him more. At least he doesn’t take pictures of me while I sleep. Don’t you, boy? You wouldn’t do that to me would you?” Leo murmured warmly to the dog now covering his face with loving kisses, you gasped, shoving Leo lightly with a grin across your face.

“Whatever you dork, you know you love me.” Leo turned back to you, throwing an arm around you bringing you closer to kiss your cheek.

Donnie

Bro has beef with your dog for some reason

Like as soon as they met Donnie had a clear look of disgust written across his face

“Y/n, while I’m pleased to know that you love my name so much to name your dog after me, this creature is no Donnie. It would be much appreciated if you could rename your dog asap.”

He was not kidding, and was not amused when you laughed at his little monologue

“Wait, you're serious?”

“One-hundred-percent.”

“Donnie, I’m not going to rename my dog for you!”

Is super moody whenever he comes over, he side eye your dog

Very distraught whenever you shower your dog with attention when he trying to talk to you

Is incredibly salty about it

“I just don’t get it. Why don’t you like Don?” you wondered aloud, as you continued to play with your dog, pulling gently on the knotted rope that your dog jostled around, shaking his head around as an attempt to yank the toy from your hands. You chuckled lightly, and to this you could hear Donnie groan, you could practically feel him rolling his eyes.

“I just don’t see the appeal.” he muttered bitterly, an idea popped into your head to his response, a smug smile stretching across your face from ear to ear.

“Or maybe you're just jealous that Don’s getting more of my attention.” you cooed, you had struck a nerve, because as soon as you had spoken Donnie had shot up from the couch abandoning the machine he had been tinkering with on your coffee table, as he marched off to you, a scowl present on his face.

“If I pet your dog to prove I’m not jealous will you please drop it?” you hummed as if thinking hard about his little truce, Donnie let out another exasperated groan.

“Oh come on, please y/n?” you shrugged

“Sure, why not.” to this Donnie let out a sigh. You picked up your dog, handing the puppy to Donnie as flinched, his body tensing. Slowly he became less tense as he began to pet the small animal, his look of discomfort melting away.

“Not so bad huh?”

“Shut up, y/n”

Raph

This man is absolutely in love with your little dog

He fully believes that your dog is just a tiny version of him

Treats your dog like his son

There be times you feel like its Raphs dog more than yours, sometimes you won’t get your dog back from him for hours at a time

He’ll spoil your dog with treats and toys, it’s a little overwhelming if your being honest

Is upset that he can’t go on walks with your dog because of y’know, his whole situation, but will do everything else he can to spend time with your dog

Bathe them, feed them, play with them, anything and everything!

“Raph, could you please hand me the soap?” you asked, the running water from the bathtub roaring over you as you reached for the faucet turning the hot water off.

“Are you sure we can’t put bubbles in it?” Raph asked, a hint of disappointment in his voice as he looked at your dog with sad eyes.

“I mean, they just look so sad without any bubbles.” you roll your eyes lovingly, as you reach for the bottle of soap yourself.

“Yes Raph, I’m sure. They don’t need bubbles, they just need to be clean.” Raph sighs as he scoots over to you getting on his knees as he begins to rub the soap into your dog's soft fur. You smile.

“See it's not so bad, right?”

“Yeah I guess.” Raph muttered as he stopped, dipping his hands in the water to rinse the soap from your dog's matted fur. Your dog let out a sad whimper, and to this Raph's eyes widened as he immediately babbled out a string of apologies to your dog before you intervened.

“Raph, it’s okay. They just don’t like being washed. You didn’t do anything wrong.” you assured the red turtle, patting his back comfortingly. He gave a sad nod, still not quite convinced. You sighed.

“How about if we finish this, we can all watch a movie together?” The offer seemed to brighten the oldest brother as he nodded, giving you a sharp tooth smile.

This was such a fun request! And to everyone else who has requested I will be working on the others later today!

#rottmnt leo #rottmnt fluff #rottmnt x reader #tmnt headcanons #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt leo #tmnt donnie #tmnt mikey #tmnt raph x reader #rottmnt raph x reader #rottmnt leo x reader #rottmnt donnie x reader #rottmnt mikey x reader #tmnt x reader

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jedi-valkyrie · 1 year

Text

how marvel characters would react to an extensive skin care routine

including: steve rogers, clint barton, natasha romanoff, thor odinson, sam wilson, loki laufeyson

gender neutral!reader and the headcanons can be read as romantic or platonic

warnings: swearing (just from me, nothing bad)

requested by: @weigheddownbyfandoms

a/n: as someone with a long ass skin care routine i feel seen and heard. but this one’s shorter! sorry i’ve been gone so long!!!

steve

i don’t think he’d have any strong opinion

he’d just sorta sit back and observe

he’d probably sit with you while you did it just hover around

his morning routine isnt short either so if you do it then it’s a very big staple of his day

main motivation for getting up is the fact that he can see your face get so focused as you use some weird roller wand

he likes the domesticity of watching your routines; it’s soothing

clint

okay so he’d pretend not to care, he doesn’t see the use in it

very much cold water splash kinda guy i think

but then he sees the fun stuff

the jelly masks and the weird circulation massages

and it becomes a shared activity

yknow those ipsy bags that have those samples of cute makeup things

he’d start buying them for skincare

not for you, obviously

but because he wants the weird bubble mask

bruce

he gets it. he doesn’t mind

he gets very wary of the chemicals though

if he sees a paraben or a sulfate, you can bet your ass it’ll be replaced by tomorrow

“i don’t care that it’s more expensive, it’s worth the extra 10 dollars”

he’s kinda the opposite of clint

he only does the stuff that seems relaxing

you’re telling me that he wouldn’t go to a spa with you? lies, he’d get the cucumbers on the eyes and everything

also he’d do a green face mask and laugh at himself way too hard

natasha

once again, doesn’t really care

she’s used to having to do shit fast so she’ll just kinda bask in the leisure of it all

she’s most like steve but she’d probably get impatient on occasion

she doesn’t see the value in it necessarily but it makes you happy so she doesn’t care

she makes fun of you with all of the little tools that you’d use

“it looks like a fucking dentists office in here”

thor

oh my god he gets so excited

he’s so interested

he’s always glued to your side anyways and the new colorful goop just heightened it

he is with you every step of the way

he’ll watch tutorials, he’ll google different products

he will incorporate every piece of you into his life, even if it means he has to scrub clay out of his eyebrows

he will do it voluntarily and without complaint

sam

sam likes to take his time

he already probably has some sort of routine anyways

but when you suggest that you start sharing the bathroom so getting ready isn’t a full two hour production

he practically leaps at the opportunity; free shared time and free fun products

he likes the relaxing stuff

the soothing washes and the moisturizer

he loves a good self care day

loki

my first thought was: snake, slimy

but no i think he thinks it’s too much.

watching all of the little trinkets probably makes him scoff or something

he’s one of those people (gods) with fucking perfect skin so he doesn’t understand the hydrochloric acid (or whatever you choose to use)

he just doesn’t see the point

but i think on some level he’d rather suffer through your routine then have to sit alone for that long

so he sits and he reads while you do your thing (was he silent? or was he silenced?)

#june bug(s) you #marvel x reader #steve rogers headcanon #steve rogers x gn!reader #clint barton x reader #hawkeye #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff x reader #thor odinson #thor odison imagine #thor odinson x reader #sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson headcanon #loki layfeyson x reader #loki laufeyson headcanon #loki x reader

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mdhwrites · 11 months

Note

Sometimes it really does feel like The Owl House was explicitly designed for cartoon Twitter, down to its lackluster redemption arcs that make sure to scrub away all flaws of the characters quickly so that Twitter folks don't think they're "problematic."

So there's a lot to be said about TOH being fandom bait. The explicit call out to fanfiction early on, the coven system also being the school divisional system that theoretically should have led to more Hexide OCs but for a LOT of reasons didn't, and the fact that a lot of what the show seems to think is clever is stuff you'd find here on Tumblr or on Twitter. Hot takes about tropes like The Chosen One that doesn't actually think about the narrative role of those tropes and why they're tropes in the first place. Just that the idea of a trope is a bad thing. For the character arcs though... I don't know. I've talked admittedly about how much I hate posts that go "Look how far she's come!" while showing Amity from her first appearance and then like S3 Amity who's smiling like she's improved as a character. Changed? Sure but improved? That's... That's a much tougher cookie.

I think the lackluster arcs more have to do with two main elements of the writing (or more so the lack there of): Patience and complexity. Character arcs are incredibly hard to pull off right after all and much harder than character growth. The transformation of a character should be effectively a subplot if you're going to have them have a major shift in who they are. That way the change feels deserved, is understood by the audience and you got the proper drama out of who they were.

This requires a beginning, middle and end to most arcs. Zuko's for example has each volume cover effectively one of these stages. We get his beginning as an angry boy and we explore properly why he is while showing signs that maybe he could change. Book two pinballs back and forth on whether he will continue be an asshole or finally find peace like his uncle wants for him until the dramatic twist of him choosing to work with Azula. And finally we have a proper conclusion to him with his choice that being in the Fire Nation doesn't make him happy. This isn't the honor he wants, something that was always technically there but REALLY needed all this time explain why the character figured out that himself.

For The Collector, Amity and Hunter... TOH skips straight to the Azula betrayal. To the final mistake of the character before the rest of their arc makes them regret and rethink that decision and what they have done for that which they desire. This is why Amity is different than her first two appearances. Why Hunter and the Golden Guard are effectively two different characters. Why a season hop is all it takes for the Collector to not be a childish god but a god-like child.

This is from TOH's lack of patience. It likes its big moments but doesn't like the wandering. The moseying with an element to properly explore it. It's part of why the longer the series goes on, you have two options with how these character develop: It either nags at you the fact that their beginnings were discarded so quickly or you just forget that they had those beginnings at all.

I do want to shout out Lilith here who actually starts in her middle phase actually. Part of the strength of S1 is the question of if Lilith will or won't turn in Eda and that's part of what makes Agony of a Witch so good. It then sours because what happens afterwards sucks and makes little sense to who we saw in S1 but at least the middle IS there.

What about the beginning though? You'd think that be important and TOH agrees! Which is why its lack of complexity is the next problem for it in this: It needs to craft an excuse for the first appearance that also makes it so that the character can continue just being who they are supposed to be at the end of the arc/who they always were depending on how you want to look at it. This is why we get BACKSTORIES! Bad backstories. Backstories that simply blame it that bad behavior on someone else. It wasn't anything they internalized or the like so stop asking. That way you can say Amity was a good hearted child who had that heart clouded by her parents and then those clouds were shined away by Luz and that sounds like a fine enough arc because she was always a good person and so returning to that good person was easy. Hunter gets this the WORST. Theoretically, he should have some sort of theme of being his own person but... His excuse is that he's Caleb. Caleb was a good guy who was into witches so when Luz makes him question for a second, Hunter becomes the same. It's... Bad. Plain and simply.

This cuts out the middle. In a lot of trilogies, one might claim that cutting out the middle doesn't hurt much because not much needs to be resolved. You can't really do this with a character arc though. The middle is the questioning. It's when the character actually examines who they are and starts figuring out the answers that will lead them to wherever their arc is going. Effectively, the middle is the WHY for the arc. The beginning is the foundation and the end is the payoff but neither mean anything if there's no point to the arc and the middle is usually what actually provides that. For Zuko, it was his troop through the Earth Kingdom that taught him what his belief in honor was and fortified it before Ba Sing Se made him properly question that by bringing up the question of what brings someone honor with the tea house. In coming to accept that Iroh was also honorable for his serving of tea, Zuko was able to even open the door to other possibilities for regaining his honor than the biggest or the most obvious.

This is missing from pretty much all of the TOH characters... because it has to. It literally has to. TOH wants an excuse for the first introduction after all before transitioning them into simply the character they are. In that process, the old is discarded. It's like how Eda's history as a criminal becomes much more patchwork in S2 because she's now been replaced with Mama Eda. TOH has no interest in combining the two so it comes up less and less until S1 is ignored in Edge of the World so Eda doesn't trust Hooty to protect the house, despite OBVIOUSLY being capable of it back in S1, and she's nothing but a complete worrywart about effectively every threat posed against her children. There's a medium ground to be had there... But TOH just doesn't even try to explore it or acknowledge it.

Lilith, because she has the most of a middle, is the biggest victim here. S1 never brought up history. S1 never made her blatantly act like an idiot. You could see her enthusiasm in victory but she was okay with failure. She was by all accounts a very functional person who provided a good base for Eda's hijinks but that didn't make her the joke, it made Eda's pranks or teases the joke.

In S2, she IS the joke. She is desperate for attention... Because Belos is effectively her scapegoat. Or her mom. Or just wanting validation in general. I can sympathize with that as someone with Avoidant Personality Disorder... But the show doesn't earn that. Instead she just makes a hard, 90 degree pivot come S2 and doesn't look back.

These arcs don't function like this. Not unless you literally boil them down to "They were mad but now they're glad." Which hilariously enough, doesn't actually even apply to Zuko. Zuko learns to be calmer, but glad? Motherfucker LOSES IT right at the start of the finale and not only is it justified, it's in character still. Because Zuko has the complexity, and the story had the patience, so that when his arc ended, he was the same character we first met but better and with better morals. The Owl House simply can't say that.

#the owl house criticism #toh critical #Character Arcs

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miscfandomwrites · 9 months

Text

Mama: Chapter Seven

A/N: Kinda behind schedule, so I’m already working on the next chapter. Man, seven chapters already? That’s quite a bit. I’m also working on an idea for a new series (which I’ll post about if I have time) School kinda sucks and late nights are now becoming a usual thing. I love this series, and I feel like it will be more angsty than anything. Whoops.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Mom! Avenger! Reader

Warnings:

Words: 1.3k

Tagging: @tyler-t0t

Again. Again. Again.

I hit the bag, again, again, again. Letting the anger dissipate in the only way I knew besides harming others. I didn’t give a shit that my muscles barked in pain, how I was drenched with sweat, my knuckles already hitting through the wrap, bleeding through to the front.

Finally, after some partially hard hits that left blood on the bag, I decided to stop. Which was a bit of a bad idea, considering the fact that as soon as I stopped, my body decided to almost collapse on the floor. I bent over, my breath heaving in and out as I tried to calm my racing heart.

Man, everything hurt.

I looked over to the clock on the wall, and-

“Shit.” I hissed, jogging to the bathrooms. It was past eight, and Lillith was supposed to be in bed. I quickly grabbed the spare clothes I kept in there, and jumped into the shower. Turning it from lukewarm to cold to cool myself without causing shock, I quickly scrubbed down and got out. Putting on deodorant and brushing my hair as quickly as I could without hurting myself, I shoved myself into my clothes. I tossed my used clothes into the laundry chute and headed out to the main area.

I walked out, and noticed it was quiet. There was a movie playing in the living room, but no other music or voices could be heard. I padded to the living room and saw Lillith, curled up in between Bucky and Natasha, in one of my old hoodies, beneath a green blanket. Her hair was wet, and judging the fact that Clint was wearing an entirely different shirt since the last time I saw him, I assumed that he helped her.

Natasha looked up from her phone, glancing at me.

“She missed you.” she said, pulling the blanket closer around my daughter.

“I know.” I spoke softly. I moved around the couch, gently moving the blanket off of Lillith and taking her into my arms. Both Bucky and Natasha rose as I picked her up, hands out as if to steady me.

“Your hands are shaking. And bleeding.” Natasha said as she folded up the blanket.

I didn’t bother to hear her, holding Lillith closer to me as I walked towards the elevators in silence.

Even when I’m exhausted, even when I’ve had the worst of days, I made a promise.

I hummed as I got into the elevator, and just as I was about to push my floor number, Natasha slipped into the elevator, stuffed wolf in hand.

She said nothing as I pushed the button, and the elevator zoomed up to our floor.

The doors opened and I carried Lillith to her room, Natasha in tow.

I laid her down on her bed, putting a pillow under her head and grabbing the covers and covering her up. I tucked some of her hair behind her ear.

I felt a nudge on my left arm, and Natasha held out the stuffled wolf to me. I nodded, before tucking it into Lillith’s arms.

I knelt down beside her bed, resting my head on my arms, staring at Lillith. Monitoring her breathing, every little movement she made.

The promise to take care of her, even when I wanted nothing more than to not exist.

I didn’t hear Natasha leave as I knelt there, staring at my daughter.

My watch beeped, signalling a start of a new hour. I brought my wrist up, and nearly gawked at the time. It was almost ten at night. I forced my stiff body up, forced myself to stretch. Everything hurt in some way.

I walked out of her room, taking one last long look at her sleeping, peaceful face before I shut the door.

I walked towards the kitchen, and nearly slammed into Natasha. She was holding out a glass to me, filled with a green liquid made of god-knows-what.

“What?” I asked her, gently taking the glass from her hand.

“It’s a smoothie. You skipped dinner.”

“Why do you keep giving me food? I can take care of myself.” I told her, sniffing the liquid in the glass.

“Clint told me about your…..habits.”

I stared at her for a long second, not noticing my hand tightening on the glass until it exploded in my hand.

I let out a hiss of displeasure, shaking my hand off above the kitchen island. There shards weren’t everywhere, thank god, but the smoothie sure as hell was.

Natasha had her mouth open in shock, and quickly closed it as she saw the expression on my face. She turned around, grabbing paper towels as she started cleaning up the mess.

“You. Don’t move, I need to check your hands.” she told me, sweeping the glass and goo into the trashcan. I didn’t bother nodding, just kept still.

After she wiped it all off, she grabbed the medkit from the top of the fridge and gently took my hands in hers.

She wiped off the good and blood, picking out the shards and putting them on the table so she could throw them away later.

She hummed gently as she cleaned up the blood from my palms, checking the cuts for remaining glass shards.

She was silent for a long while, before she took a deep breath and spoke.

“....I’m sorry.” she said softly.

“There’s no need to be sorry.” I reassured her.

She wiped off my palms again, before turning my hands over, examining my knuckles.

“Is that how you deal with it?” She asked quietly, dabbing some antibiotic ointment on them.

I nodded, resisting the urge to rip my hands from her soft but firm grip.

“I dance.” She whispered to me, finishing up the ointment on the other hand.

“Better than taking your anger out on others.” I told her.

She nodded as she got a roll of gauze out of the kit.

“Better than numbing yourself.”

I softly smiled at her as she wrapped my hands.

“Mommie?” A voice came from behind Natasha. I leaned to the side of Natasha, seeing Lillith standing there, clutching her stuffed wolf to her chest with one arm and rubbing her eyes with her other hand.

“Hey, Sweetheart.” I said softly, motioning her over with my now-wrapped hand.

She walked over just as Natasha finished my other hand. She swiped all the used items into the trash bin, and clicked the lid of the medkit shut.

She set it atop the fridge as I lifted Lillith on top of the kitchen island.

“Natasha” I called to her as she walked past me. I reached out and grabbed her hand. She turned towards me as I lifted it up to my mouth, ghosting a kiss across the back of it.

“Thank you.” I told her. I could have sworn a faint blush glowed on her cheeks, but she nodded and turned, heading to the elevators.

I smiled softly after her.

“What happened?” Lillith questioned behind me.

I turned towards my little gremlin, who was petting the stuffed wolf in her lap.

“I hurt my hands. Natasha helped me with them.” I told her.

“Was that why you weren’t at dinner?” She asked as I moved behind her, opening a cupboard door.

“Yes. I’m sorry, amor. I needed….time.”

“It’sokaymom.” the words slurred together as she yawned.

“OH!, I almost forgot!” she said as she dug through the main pocket of the hoodie, before producing a handful of lollipops.

“I saw Pepper earlier and she gave me candy! I got these for you!” She said, holding out the handful of candy.

I chucked as I took it from her, unwrapping one of them and popping it into my mouth.

“Thank you, baby. Wanna watch a movie?” I asked her as I helped her off the counter.

She ran into the living room, hoping on the couch in her usual spot.

“It better be about aliens!” She yelled out as I shook my head at my daughter’s antics.

I will uphold that promise until the day my heart stops beating and my lungs stop breathing.

I promise.

#avengers x reader #miscfandomwrites #natasha romanoff #black widow x reader #mama #marvel x reader #natasha x reader #marvel

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lemonluvgirl · 1 year

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The Designation Games (Part 2)

Ya’ll are in luck, I busted my butt this weekend to not only revamp this story, and edit it, but I also wrote another chapter/part. And I added some typical Alpha/Omega smut adjacent behavior! Enjoy, your thirsty babies ;)

The Remake Center was everything Haymitch had warned them it would be and more.

After a long day of being poked, prodded, tested, waxed, plucked, and scrubbed to near death, She, and all the other tributes were released back to their rooms at the training facility. The preps explained it was so they could eat and rest and talk strategy with their mentors until the next morning when they would meet their stylists and receive the results of their genetic testing.

Katniss did her best to remain cooperative when the strange people who made up her ‘prep team’ worked on her body. They were like a trio of colorful birds who flitted about with their strange tools and chirped in their odd Capitol accents. They were all betas and didn’t make one comment about her designation. They were too preoccupied with the sorry state of her nail beds and her split ends.

Things Katniss had never had cause to fuss over in her life before. They complimented her in the end though and said she was a change of pace to work on because she never complained. After she thanked them for their services and they gushed over her. She had a feeling she had made allies of them or at least endeared them to herself. And while she didn’t think they would be of any help when she was in the arena she also acknowledged the fact that acting agreeable could be of some benefit in the week preceding the start of the Games. These were the people in charge of making her look presentable to the Capitol audiences, which in turn helped her garner sponsors. So she took Haymitch’s advice and didn’t fight them, even when they poured hot wax on her legs and yanked out the hairs section by section.

Later, at dinner, with Haymitch, Peeta, and their escort, Effie, she tried to pace herself in between courses.

While the dining on the train had been lavish, here in the tribute center it was even more opulent. The meal was an entire affair, with things like appetizers, and something called hors d'oeuvres, salad, and soup courses. All that before even getting to the main course. Then there was dessert. By the time it was over, she was relieved to not feel sick again like she had the first night on the train.

Everyone made small talk, about the prepping process, and Katniss and Peeta had informed Haymitch that they followed his instructions to the letter.

“Good, because the preps report to the stylists and they can make or break you come time for the interviews. You need to stay on their good sides.” Haymitch cautioned as he placed a hand over the top of his drink when an Avox, a mute demi-human servant, came over to try and refill his glass.

It made Katniss feel slightly better to see Haymitch taking it easy on the drinking, and focusing more on the conversation.

She hoped things would stay that way throughout the next few days while they prepared for the Games.

When Haymitch invited them to the roof for a nightcap, she almost declined out of principle, but Haymitch practically ordered her to accompany him and Peeta. Effie was miffed about being excluded but Haymitch put her off, citing mentor/tribute privilege.

When they finally got up to the roof, it was late and Katniss was disappointed to see that the stars were rendered almost invisible by the brightness of the Capitol lights. The sight made her chest ache with a longing for home so acute that she had to stifle a small whimper. She felt more than heard Peeta shifting closer to her, maybe alerted to something in her scent that signaled distress.

Katniss almost groaned in frustration. She didn’t want him hovering, worrying about her like she was some weak and pathetic creature just because of her designation. But at the same time, something inside her felt pulled towards him and his rich and calming scent, like she was on an invisible string. It was a concerted effort to remain as she was. She didn’t want to shrink in fear, or approach in curiosity. Still, she felt Peeta studying her as if searching for the slightest change in her demeanor.

“Alright, so I figured it was time for us three to have some more honest talk.” Haymitch began, getting her attention as he beckoned them over to a section of the roof that contained a small garden replete with windchimes.

He took out a flask and then produced two small tea cups from his coat pockets. He proceeded to unscrew the cap on his flask and tip it into the first cup, filling it midway with some kind of light brown liquid.

“Drink this.” He said, passing the cup to Peeta. Peeta took it gingerly, careful not to spill but he didn’t immediately drink it either. Haymitch didn’t bother repeating his instruction, but went on to pour some liquid into the second cup and then he extended his arm to offer the cup to Katniss.

She automatically shook her head. She felt her skin pimple into goosebumps with awareness like it did whenever she felt danger or risk had entered a situation.

“I don’t want it.” She said in refusal.

Haymitch made an impatient noise and thrust the cup at her, barely managing to not spill the contents.

“Just drink it.” He ordered. She frowned, and opened her mouth to argue, but was cut off.

“We already had wine with dinner, Haymitch.” Peeta protested, seemingly on her behalf. Katniss frowned, formulating a retort in her mind to let Peeta know she didn’t want or need his interference.

“This is the part where you both start trusting your mentor because he knows what the hell he’s doing.” Haymitch asserted in a steely tone and after a moment Katniss reached out and took the cup.

It was lukewarm and only smelled faintly of alcohol.

“What’s in this?” She questioned, unable to help herself.

“Something to calm your nerves. It should help you both concentrate.” Haymitch promised.

She lifted the cup to her nose and underneath the light liquor scent, she detected some familiar notes of herbs and spices. Tea and something else.

“Is it a suppressant?” Peeta asked in a skeptical tone. Katniss’ mind nearly boggled to hear Peeta say the word. Suppressants were illegal, at least in the districts. The Capitol didn’t want their district workforce to have access to anything that could help them hide their Alpha or Omega natures. So no, suppressants were not something brought up in casual conversation.

“Something like that,” Haymitch said before taking a gulp from his own flask. “Don’t worry, it’s perfectly fine here in the Capitol. They give it to us mentors all the time.” He said, then he noticed his tributes’ nervous expressions and he spoke again, “We can speak freely here. The wind and the chimes drown out most listening devices.” Haymitch added.

Katniss breathed in and inhaled the rich and earthy smell of the tea that had been infused with whatever Haymitch kept in his flask. The sharp scent of the middle-aged alpha man in front of her also made its way to her nostrils when she inhaled, plus the deeply distracting but fresh and soothing scent of the young alpha next to her.

The tea itself smelled remarkably similar to the one she remembered her mother brewing at home for her father, in the years before the Capitol found them. Her mother had been a district trained healer before she became an Alpha’s mate. She had a vast knowledge of plants and herbs and the various ways to combine them.

Katniss took a small sip of the tea. Peeta, after seeing her, did the same. Then they all waited. A minute passed by and a slight tingling sensation started on her tongue and made its way down her throat. Then it spread, slowly through her body.

It did make her feel calmer, in a way. The scent of the two Alphas near her became muted and she was able to take deeper breaths. The suppressant in the tea dulled her senses as well, but right now that was what she probably needed. Being in the presence of two alphas was not an everyday occurrence for her. Especially when she felt so out of sorts. She quickly drained her cup dry, diving into the comfort it provided. A few minutes ago she had felt prickly and ready to flee or fight, like her every instinct was heightened and every nerve in her body had been sent on high alert.

But the herbs in the tea helped her to push those clamoring sensations down, and focus. Besides that, the taste reminded her of home.

“What do you know about the different designations?” Their mentor asked, breaking the silence. He was looking at her, not at Peeta. She felt singled out for a moment, but then again, she had been the one who was thrown off the most by her mentor’s discussion of heats and ruts, and the intricacies of Alpha and Omega dynamics.

She looked into his Seam gray eyes and felt placated by the lack of artifice in them.

“I know-” She hesitated, wishing she had paid more attention in her history of designations class when she was in school. She had been too preoccupied with her plans for hunting and foraging. With staying alive.

“I know what everyone knows I guess. What they taught in school. There are three distinct types—alpha, beta, and omega.” She offered.

Haymitch nodded at this but remained silent as if encouraging her to go on. Peeta shifted slightly, turning as if to get a better view of her while she spoke. It almost made her scowl, but she resisted the urge. Determined to ignore it, and answer the question, she focused on Haymitch.

After a moment she resumed.

“Designations were the reason for the catastrophes that destroyed the modern world in the previous era. They caused wars and unrest and the human race tore itself to pieces because alphas and omegas couldn’t suppress their savage natures. The Capitol says that’s why they can’t allow alphas and omegas to live among betas. That’s why they are reaped for the Designation Games. To weed out the unmanageable ones. To keep the beta population safe from violence and savagery.” She says in an almost rote tone, something she memorized to pass an examination, but never took to heart. The words leave a bad taste in her mouth.

Her father was an alpha and he hadn’t been a mindless, violent savage. Neither had her mother been a hapless Omega slave he ordered about. They had been a man and woman, human as any other. Who loved each other and their family.

The fact that others like them were reaped and forced to fight to the death savagely, simply for being born something other than a beta, wasn’t a flaw of designation, it was the error of those who came up with the Games and those who perpetuated them. Anyone would fight to preserve their life. Alpha, omega, or beta alike.

“Did you know that everyone alive today has an alpha or omega in their ancestry? And you don’t even need to go back very far. As little as four generations in most people.” Haymitch asked before taking a sip from his flask.

Katniss blinked at him, startled.

He ignored her look of shock and forged ahead.

“What they don’t teach in the districts is the history of post-cataclysmic genetics, it's not essential for most of the jobs we do. Miners don’t need advanced schooling to break down rocks. But in the Capitol, the history of designations also comes with a genetics class. Everyone who has gone through secondary school there can tell you that alphas and omegas make up an integral part of the population. Something like 60 to 70%.”

“But that’s just not possible,” Peeta said, taking the words right out of her mouth.

“It is actually because it’s not their primary designation. It’s their secondary designation. Their dormant designation.” Haymitch disclosed quietly.

“Wait, what? How can someone have two designations? And how can one of them be what did you say--dormant?” Peeta said in a bewildered tone while Katniss stood in stunned silence.

“After the catastrophe that destroyed North America, the survivors, all the scientists, and leaders did their best to try and correct the problem of designations. They envisioned a world full of betas, without the messiness of alpha and omega instincts. At first, they thought to breed alphas and omegas out of the population entirely, but there weren’t enough people left to successfully eliminate those designations. They needed alphas and omegas, specifically because alphas and omegas are among the most naturally fertile, especially when paired together. So, instead of trying to breed alphas and omegas out, they tried to alter their genetic makeup to bypass their baser instincts. Suppressants only worked as long as alphas and omegas took them and had access to them. Which, in a post-apocalyptic world, that had suffered a major collapse of infrastructure and industry, was not a long-term solution. So the idea was to overwrite alpha and omega DNA with beta DNA and breed a new generation of people who despite their parents’ designations, would never go into heat, or rut, or show signs of being anything other than even-tempered betas.”

“That’s…” Peeta began but trailed off.

“Yes, it's quite the feat of science,” Haymitch said the words with a spiteful sort of sarcasm.

“Wait. How can you tell us all of this? Isn’t it some kind of secret? I mean, why keep it from the people in the district if it's a part of history?” Katniss finally found her voice, and she questioned Haymitch while her eyes narrowed skeptically.

“Well, there are two parts to that answer. Let’s take the easiest one first. It’s not exactly a secret. The information is out there, but not many people are smart enough to connect the dots. I believe they teach something about genetic failure in the school unless things have changed since my day.” Haymitch said arching a brow.

Katniss thought for a moment, she vaguely recalled her monotone history teacher's voice saying something along those lines, and posters in the school hallways encouraging people to make note of their friends and family members’ temperaments in the event of GF.

She nodded, carefully. Beside her, Peeta gave a sound of agreement.

“Right, so, genetic failure occurs when something goes wrong with an individual’s written code. It’s uncontrollable, and it only occurs during the late adolescent stage of development, when a person’s hormones are still fluctuating and unpredictable. That’s why only people between the ages of 16-18 present. There’s a breakdown in the genetic programming that allows the individual’s secondary designation to overcome the beta overlay.” Haymitch explained.

“Oh.” Katniss sat back with a frown. She tried to wrap her mind around the idea that she, and the people like her, her father, mother, Haymitch, and Peeta, had their lives upended and often cut short because of a failure of genetic programming. A failure they had no control over, if what Haymtich was saying was correct.

“So why even have the Games? Why not just round up every person who presents as an alpha or omega and execute them?” She demanded, angrily. Haymitch frowned at her, but after a moment he replied.

“For the same reason that the scientists couldn’t breed alphas and omegas out of the gene pool. We are integral to the population. Without the assistance of alpha and omega fertility, an all-beta population would go extinct within three generations. Society is still recovering from the cataclysms. Our population can only handle so much pruning at this point. We still need alphas and omegas, even those who somehow overcome their genetic programming. They need young alphas and omegas that are bright and capable, smart, and able to curb their instincts as well as utilize them. They need them to win the Games and contribute to the local population.” Haymitch informed.

“Is that why the children of victors are often reaped?” Katniss asked, her voice alight with realization.

“For the most part. Victors tend to have large families, and though the majority of their offspring often turn out beta dominant, there’s always the chance that one or two might present as something else.”

“So that leaves the other half of the question. Why are you telling us this?” Peeta asked.

“All the mentors inform their tributes at some point. Most do it on their first night on the train. Unfortunately, that night I was indisposed.” He paused here, and Katniss is sure they are all recalling how he had gotten so drunk they hadn’t even seen him until the next day.

“But I’m clear-headed enough now, so I thought it best not to beat around the bush any longer.” Haymitch said.

“So all the other tributes will know about dual designations?” Peeta queried in a serious voice.

“Yes. And they’ll be out to play you and your natures against each other. Which is why I want you two to present a united front. This has to look like a team effort, you two are going to be friends, like we talked about. Close friends for the next few days.” Haymitch said in a more commanding tone.

“You want Peeta to put his what where?!” Katniss almost shouted. They had been discussing their strategy for how the two of them would tackle their training session tomorrow.

It would be the first time they met all the other tributes, and Haymitch had some crazy plan that was supposed to create some kind of scent barrier that would keep the other Alphas and Omegas from getting too close.

“Shh.” Haymitch hushed her harshly.

Peeta was already shaking his head.

“I’m not going to do that. That’s—it would be too much, Haymitch!” Peeta replied testily.

Katniss stole a glance at him. The spot of color high on his cheeks told her he was as uncomfortable with this idea as she was.

“You two are the strongest contenders that 12 has produced in years. I can smell how strong you are and I’m old and sloshed more than half the time. Those sharks down there,” Haymitch stopped to point to the floor, and Katniss took his gesture to mean the other tributes who were occupying the floors of the training center below them, “they’ll be able to smell it too. The tributes from the Career districts look for angles to exploit like this. Those with demi-human parentage train at a special academy from the time they’re young. They specifically spend time around other Alphas and Omegas on purpose to prepare for the Games. They desensitize themselves for years until they are basically immune to the opposite gender’s pheromones. And then they volunteer when they turn eighteen. They will single you out, play their little games and force a physical response that will put you at a disadvantage. In the past five years, I’ve had one or both of my tributes sabotaged with premature heat or rut before the gong even sounded. Trust me when I say you don’t want to start off the Games doped up out of your mind on some Capitol concoction to pause a heat or rut, and then be forced to sweat out the meds and wait for your full senses to come back to you. The Careers will get the upper hand and they will hunt you down if you two try to go it alone.” Their mentor told them in a deadly serious tone.

Katniss felt the blood drain from her face as the scenario that Haymitch had just painted sprung to life in her mind. Real terror clawed it's way up her throat.

Peeta appeared beside her, suddenly closer than he had been a second ago, his hand clutching the cup tightly in his grip. A soft growl escaped his lips.

Katniss looked over at him with shock, but he was staring directly at Haymitch, not quite baring his teeth, but it certainly wasn’t a smile that was on his face.

Haymitch merely rolled his eyes, dismissing Peeta’s behavior. Katniss looked down and away from them, fighting the urge to blush. Why did the idea of Peeta growling at Haymitch because of her make her heart race?

“That’s a good start, but save it for training. The wind chimes cover a lot but they don’t cover shouting or fighting. And you better finish drinking your tea boy. No need for all that posturing with me.” Haymitch warned in a half-amused tone.

“Alright, say we believe you about how serious it is that the other tributes will want to sabotage us, what’s to say that Peeta…what did you call it? Scenting me? Won’t do the same thing and trigger a biological response anyway?” Katniss asked, wanting to get off the topic of alpha posturing and back on their strategic planning.

“Because I’ll be here to supervise,” Haymitch replied.

“I don’t know if that makes me feel better or—” Katniss said, uncomfortable with the idea of not only letting Peeta scent her but also with the stipulation that a third party would be present to watch them. It sounded creepy.

“Look, I don’t get off on teenage fumbling if that’s what you’re worried about. Besides, you have all the charm of a dead slug, sweetheart. No, I would be there to make sure you two follow instructions and don’t get carried away. Also, I’d be dosing you two with some light suppressants right before each scenting session so your responses would be mitigated.” Haymitch explained.

Katniss bit back a few choice words, especially after hearing him liken her to a dead slug. But the more she thought about it, the more it made sense.

What possible reason could Haymitch have for instructing his tributes to bond together in such a way? For all his faults he really didn’t appear to be a pervert. And if Peeta was in the same precarious position she was in, didn’t it make sense for the two of them to help each other?

This was just a strategy.

It was all part of playing the Games.

So if that was true, why did it feel like some insane voice in her head was practically purring at the thought of Peeta rubbing his scent all over her?

“Okay,” Katniss said, almost too quickly.

Haymitch looked over towards Peeta.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Peeta asked Haymitch, voice full of concern.

“Much safer than some random Omega stealthing you with her slick on your scent glad when you’re not looking, boy.” Haymitch replied tersely.

Katniss let out a quiet gasp.

Did Omegas really do that???

She couldn’t even imagine…

Ok, no stop it. She told herself, immediately trying to erase the mental image of rubbing her own wet fingers over the raised, puffy gland on Peeta’s neck.

She was suddenly very glad for the tea Haymitch had given her. In fact, she wondered if he had any more on hand.

Katniss cleared her throat, “So what do we have to do?”

They were directed to sit down beside each other. Peeta led her, hand hovering above the small of her back to the small bench in the rooftop garden.

For the first few minutes, they simply sat next to each other and Haymitch asked them to concentrate on each other’s scent and proximity.

Katniss could taste Peeta’s trepidation on the roof of her tongue, and she was sure he could probably taste hers. But underneath that, there was an undercurrent of other notes in his scent.

Skepticism, uncertainty, and faint flickers of…anticipation? Excitement?

She tried to concentrate on his scent but the more she tuned into him, the fuzzier her thoughts became.

That same languid warmth spread through her again, slowly, making her relax and filling her with a strange sort of comfort.

In the quietness of that headspace, Katniss heard the voice that had been swimming in the back of her mind, not quite loud enough to be heard before, but always present, and lurking ever since she went through her fever.

Alpha is strong and kind. He would be a good mate. We must show him our neck. We must be good! Please our Alpha, and he will care for us!

“Oh, my odds! What the hell was that?!” Katniss spoke up, startled.

She heard Haymitch try and stifle a chuckle.

“That, I’d hazard to guess, would be your Omega voice, sweetheart,” Haymitch replied.

“My what?” Katniss asked, bewildered.

“You know, the mental manifestation of your biological imperatives. The little voice that tells you to suck up to any Alpha in the vicinity. She’s an untrustworthy little bitch, but it’s better that you get acquainted with her now and get used to ignoring her bullshit advice than being blindsided during the Games.” Haymitch explained.

“How? How do you know she’s untrustworthy?” Katniss managed to ask after a brief pause.

“Because Alphas have their own stupid little voice. Except it ain’t so little and its twice as stupid. Am I right, boy?” Haymitch asked, looking over at Peeta.

Peeta now had his eyes open and was regarding Haymitch with something like frustration.

But when Katniss turned her attention to him he refocused on her.

“I—um, yeah. I started to hear it after I came out of my fever.” Peeta admitted, one hand scratching the back of his neck self-consciously.

“What does it say to you?” Katniss asked, genuinely curious.

“It’s always barking at me about stupid things. I honestly just try to ignore it, most of the time.” Peeta replied vaguely.

Katniss wanted to press him for more information but Haymitch cleared his throat.

“As much as I love you all’s little sharing fest, it's getting late and you two have to get an early start tomorrow. So, now that you both have been introduced to your hormonal alter egos, I say we get this show on the road.” Haymitch drawled impatiently.

Katniss felt her heart speed up, and the now significantly louder voice inside her head was practically salivating at the idea of letting Peeta scent her.

Peeta for his part look slightly stressed and hesitated to come any closer to her.

“Um, do you want to—?”

“We should just—”

They both began speaking at the same time and behind them, Haymitch let out an exasperated sigh.

“Sometime before my liver gives out on me.” Their mentor needled them.

“Now you’re just outlining the benefits for us to drag this out.” Peeta bit back turning his head to stare down their mentor over his shoulder. His comment was rather acerbic and surprising to Katniss.

But then she giggled. She realized if there was one thing she could get on board with Peeta about, it was serving up some sass to their slightly overbearing mentor.

Peeta’s head whipped back around at the sound of her laugh and his eyes widened. He seemed stunned that he had made her laugh.

Katniss’ eyes crinkled, and she held her smile, willing him to see that it was ok.

His gaze locked on her smiling lips, and he breathed out a relieved breath. Then he gave her a smile that was so genuine and sweet, with just a hint of shyness that it made her inner Omega practically swoon.

Katniss found herself leaning in without thinking, and tilting her head slightly to offer up her neck to him.

Peeta’s pupils grew dilated, and he sucked in a breath. The tip of his tongue poked out of his mouth to wet his soft-looking, plush, and rosy lips. He leaned in, but then pulled back slightly.

Katniss fought a whimper, and the urge to pull his mouth down to her neck.

He reached out and gently took her hand.

“Is this okay?” He asked, blue eyes holding hers until they darted back down to her neck, and the soft patch of skin that was beginning to throb under his scrutiny.

“Yes,” Katniss breathed the word softly, in a voice that she would have been embarrassed to hear coming from her mouth at any other time.

Peeta nodded to himself and leaned in.

She had expected him to start licking immediately. Because that was how Haymitch had explained it. An Alpha’s saliva could create a temporary bond with an Omega if applied directly to her scent gland, and vice versa.

So Katniss was surprised when Peeta’s lips placed a tentative kiss on the side of her neck instead, right above her scent gland.

But still, even with that tiny, almost chase kiss, it felt like her body had erupted with heat.

“Oh,” She exclaimed, involuntarily, in a high and surprised voice and it seemed to trigger something in Peeta, because, in the next moment, he attached his whole mouth to her gland and absolutely covered it in kisses.

And the sensation was unlike anything Katniss had ever felt before.

Her entire body was alive, and thrumming with energy. Her muscles tensed and arched under his touch. She found herself tilting her head back more, inviting him to claim her neck and her scent gland thoroughly.

And he did. He parted his lips and began to suck. An intense ripple of pleasure surged through her, and she bit down on her lip to stifle a cry.

Waves of delicious and forbidden heat spread down to her lower abdomen and then lower still, to a part of her that she had never felt so aware of or preoccupied with before. There was a needfulness rousing inside her, curling and coiling into something splendid or awful, she wasn’t sure which.

The only thing she was sure of was that Peeta’s mouth was magic and she never wanted him to stop—

“Okay, that’s enough.” Came Haymitch’s rude interruption.

Katniss’ eyes blinked open and she was startled to discover their mentor standing just a few feet away. She had forgotten he was there! That he was supervising them! She struggled with an overwhelming sense of aggravation at his interruption and also a small but growing sense of mortification that he had witnessed her wanton behavior, but Peeta it seemed hadn’t even heard him. He was still lavishing her gland with his mouth.

“I mean it, let her go,” Haymitch repeated, and this time Peeta did respond, with a low growl, more intense than any sound she had heard him make before.

It shocked Katniss and scared her a little. But the moment her scent changed from that of a receptive and pleased Omega to one rife with fear and worry, Peeta pulled back and stopped.

“There he is. Thought we lost you for a minute there, boy.” Haymitch said gruffly, approaching them slowly and cautiously, as Peeta leaned back and blinked his eyes slowly, as if trying to blink away a dream.

“Sorry…” Peeta answered, still somewhat out of it. His eyes had the look of a man who had dived too deep and come up too quickly.

“The first time touching an Omega up close can be intoxicating.” Haymitch replied dismissively, almost too casually. But when Katniss looked at his expression she could tell he was unsettled.

But then he gestured for them both to stand up. When they did, Haymitch stepped towards her and cocked his head to the side, inspecting.

Their mentor let out a low whistle.

“He got you good, sweetheart.”

Katniss clamped a hand down over her swollen and tender scent gland and shot Haymitch a murderous glare, but he just laughed.

“I don’t think it’d be a good idea for you to return the favor right now. You two need some time to cool off, so we’ll have you scent him in the morning.” Haymitch instructed.

The rush of endorphins was finally starting to abate and her head was clearing more by the second. And in the wake of her unrestrained behavior, she felt completely shocked and caught off guard at her own response to Peeta’s scenting of her.

So she took Haymitch’s instructions for what they were, a dismissal, and used the opportunity to flee the rooftop as quickly as her feet could carry her.

#everlark fanfiction #everlark #everlark a/b/o #thg #peeta and katniss #lemonluvwrites #The Effect #The Designation Games #tdg #alpha peeta #omega katniss

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