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random-introverted-blog · 5 months

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Deny Me Not Your Heart [Selunite!Shadowheart x F!Tav]

Intended Audience: Mature and up [Like that stops anyone]

Who be smoochin? : Shadowheart x F!Tav [can't write M!Tav even if you threatened my bloodline and I don't trust myself to maintain Gn!Tav] Really it's Durge but it's like, one singular reference.

Warnings: Remember the drabble idea where I said let them cook in the suffer-sauce for longer than a day and half a minute?, sad angst with a happy ending [I don't read fics to feel sad after either], lots of blood, description of injuries, lots of literal praying...

Word Count: 2,729 baebeee

Up, up and awayyyy

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Just one more day. One more evening and they wouldn't need these tents anymore. No more roughing it in the wilderness. There would be warmth and beds. Tonight was the last night they would need to scavenge or hunt for food.

So why did Shadowheart feel so uneasy?

Tav had become an excellent hunter for the small rogue she was. It had become a point of pride for her, so much so she had denied all offers of help. Again. Gale had offered to prepare a filling meal with the abundant supplies they had left over (their leader was somewhat of a food hoarder), but Tav had refused the offer as well. Insistent that they have a fresh meal to celebrate the occasion. They had survived the long journey to Baldur's Gate after all, and Shadowheart herself had turned her sights to a brighter future. Of course, there was plenty of reason to be excited.

She just wished she could have spent it with some wine and the woman she... cared for. Deeply.

Gods, she was foolish. They had quite the rapport, had been through so much and still she struggled to admit to herself the depth of her feelings. She had devoted so much of her heart to Shar. To the exclusion of all else, and nearly lost Tav because of it. It was a miracle that she accepted her feelings outside the mausoleum that night after the way she had brushed the rogue off for so long... Perhaps when they arrive in the Gate. Or maybe it would be best told after they defeat the brain?

"I don't like this" Wyll abruptly broke the silence, rising from the log they dragged in front of the fire. "It's been too long, she should have returned by now." He said, turning back toward his tent to gather his equipment.

Karlach rose to meet him. "I'll come with. Three eyes are better than one, eh?" Flashing that toothy grin that Wyll couldn't help but smile at.

Shadowheart was about to join them before he held up his hand. "It may be best you wait here in case she comes back, lest she see you missing and charge out after you." With a small smile.

Karlach gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and went for her equipment as well. Then the two disappeared into the darkness. She wrung her fingers and watched the flames lick at the wood before she thought better of herself and left for her tent. Anxiously sitting around did no one any favors, did it?

Time passed painfully slow from that moment on. There was no way something could have happened to Tav. From the way she could playfully sneak up on her in the evenings, her precise aim with her shortbow, that silver tongue, it was hard to fathom a situation their formidable leader couldn't handle. So long as it didn't involve cheese.

For reasons no one was privy to.

However much time has actually passed, she couldn't say. But that wasn't her concern.

The frantic shouting of two familiar voices was.

Karlach came barreling forward from the brush as Shadowheart stepped from her tent, followed by Wyll not long after. Both their eyes darting around camp. As soon as they met her eyes, Karlach set down a blood drenched, barely recognizable Tav on a bedroll Wyll had just laid out. "We found her like this! A wolf was sniffing around, but that was it!" The tiefling panted, stepping away to allow the cleric room to work.

Shadowheart urgently dove to her side and took in the situation. It was difficult to tell with all the blood, there were wounds all long her torso that left her leather armor in tattered ruins, a deep wound that nearly hid itself in her hairline if not for the blood pouring from it. But the most concerning was the dark, almost black looking blood from her waist that was staining the bedroll. "Hells below, what happened to you?" She breathed, hating the shudder in her voice as she easily tore open the now-worthless armor and channeled her magic and eased her hands on the body.

So much colder than she's ever felt it before.

Tav's chest was barely rising, the only indication she was clinging to life, if only by a thread. Somehow. "We tried potions, they just... stalled it." Wyll explained somberly.

"I'm healing what I can, but not fast enough. " Shadowheart hurried the words before shouting over her shoulder "Gale!" She bit her lip and turned back to Tav, finding some semblance of relief when some wounds on her chest finally stopped bleeding.

A figure knelt down beside Tav, opposite Shadowheart. Laying radiant hands on the bloody body as well. "Two healers are better than one, no?"

Her eyes shot up to meet the warm ones of Isobel. Who flashed her a small, reassuring smile and turned her attention to Tav. "Lady Selûne, in your silver light, I beseech your grace. Heal the wounds that afflict Tav, restore strength, and bring solace to their spirit. By your celestial touch, may pain fade, and well-being be renewed. Selûne, guide my hands in this sacred act..." The prayer would normally have made Shadowhearts' blood boil, but gods, she would pray to Shar again if it meant keeping Tav beside her.

She took a deep breath, guiding her own healing along Tav's body, and heaved it from her chest. "Moonw—Selûne, please... Bring her back to me."

Between hers and Isobel's hands, and the somber audience surrounding them, their healing could only go so far before both clerics' hands burned and stung from the magic they funneled well beyond their own limits.

But it had paid off. Tav's heart was beating a steady, though faint, rhythm. They would need bandages to protect some wounds they couldn't quite heal... but Tav was alive.

And unconscious.

With careful arms, Shadowheart lifted the rogue into her arms and gingerly carried her into her own tent. What she said to the others, she can't recall. It wasn't important, anyway. She sat beside her all night, sleepless. Her thumb occasionally tracing around the wound on her head.

Morning came, and Tav showed no signs of waking. She had hardly stirred at all, only her breathing kept Shadowheart's own heart calm. The group decided to wait another day before discussing anything further. It was only when evening came along, when Isobel offered to keep watch over her, that Shadowheart at last departed her lover's tent in search of a meal. As odd as the notion was, to trust a Selûnite...

To keep herself occupied, and to express her... gratitude to Selûne for her grace. Shadowheart took a knife to her hair, coloring it white with some dye she had asked Isobel for.

Compliments the next morning did little to soothe her anxious heart as she set eyes on Tav. Isobel had just changed her bandages when she noticed the former Sharran.

She only had to shake her head.

It took some planning and plenty of coordination, but they had procured a small wooden wagon from a grave tender's shed nearby. And as much as it made Shadowheart grimace seeing her very much alive lover laid on a device that had carried corpses, it was better than leaving her behind.

After the first ten or so odd stares they had gotten from passerby when they wheeled Tav through Baldur's Gate, Shadowheart gave up glaring at them. They had to fend off some shapeshifter from threatening some "blood-kin" she was going off about, narrowly avoided clowns from a nearby circus and she shoo'd off some overly insistent cheese merchant peddling his goods. Shadowheart only spent the last of her energy charming and playing the guard at the drawbridge. Shedding a few tears as she spun the sad tale of her heroic lover. Whether or not they were real, no one could tell. Not even herself.

She had to resist kicking the sodding thing aside once they reached the Elfsong. Wyll and Astarion had taken their turn to persuade the innkeeper to give them a large enough room for them all. The only complaint came from Astarion, unused to the need to beguile people after Tav had been doing it for so long.

Shadowheart ignored it as she lightly brushed Karlach aside and lifted Tav into her own arms... and an ever faint twitch to her features froze the cleric stiff. "You good?" Karlach questioned, tone edged with concern.

For a moment, she just stared down at the small rogue before shaking her head clear. Her weary eyes must be playing tricks on her. "Yes, of course." And she turned away before she could press further her.

Once she had established a room for themselves, she eased Tav onto the bed before stepping outside to gather their things and put them away. She didn't even take her dyed Dark Justiciar armor off before collapsing at her bedside.

Three days. Three godsdamned days without her. And it felt like a whole bloody year. Without her smile. Her laugh. The sound of her voice whispering sweet nothings into her pointed ears at night.

The tears that flowed now were very much real, there was no doubt. Her face leaned against the edge of the bed, careful to avoid wetting her bandages. "Please come back," she pleaded, voice barely above a whisper. "I can't do this without you." Her parents, the Absolute... They had only come so far because of Tav. She had only come so far because of Tav.

She hadn't realized how incredibly daunting all their goals seemed without her. Every goal they had set, every aspiration they had shared, now appeared larger than life without Tav. The enormity of it all struck her like a tidal wave, threatening to consume her in its overwhelming force. The once clear path they had envisioned together now looked like an insurmountable mountain, its peak obscured by clouds of fear and self-doubt. With each passing moment, a sense of helplessness washed over her. She had always been their anchor, their unwavering support, and now, without her, their ambitions seemed to drift aimlessly in a sea of uncertainty.

A hand touched her shoulder, jolting her upright. Isobel's tender eyes met hers. "Your friends are leaving to explore the city. I'm happy to watch over her until you return."

Shadowheart glanced behind her. Of course, she forgot to close the door. A rejection was on the tip of her tongue, but something stopped her. Something she never thought she'd ever ask for. "Could you... pray over her... like before?"

Isobel's features flickered with surprise, but not with judgement or even smugness. "Would it offend you if I said I already have been? While you've been away?" She joked with a wry smile. "I would love to, Shadowheart. May I?" Gesturing to the spot beside her on the floor.

She nodded, scooting toward the head of the bed to give the fellow cleric room beside Tav. Isobel knelt down, carefully taking Shadowheart's hand, and lifting their joined palms gently on Tav's belly before bowing her head, cueing Shadowheart to do the same. "My Lady of Silver, guide this slumbering soul. Illuminate the path through the shadows that bind Tav. In your gentle light, awaken her spirit, bringing clarity and renewed vitality..." Isobel prayed, for a while, in fact.

When at last she departed and left them alone, Shadowheart made a point to close the door behind her, the click of the latch faintly resounding in the room. After removing her armor, she climbed into bed and snuggled up beside Tav, reveling in the warmth of her body. Her fingertips feathered over her arm, just the way she remembers soothed the rogue. She closes her eyes and inhales, savoring the faint scent of vanilla that still lingers on her skin. Her voice quivering she softly whispers, "I love you dearly, you foolish, fragile thing," her eyes stinging anew with tears. "And if you don't wake up soon..." She hesitated, her voice catching in her throat, "...you might just find yourself becoming a reluctant connoisseur of rare, aged cheese..."

"Don't..." rasped a voice she doubted she'd hear again "you dare..."

In a flash, Shadowheart sat up and stared down with wide eyes... into the open, heavy but incredibly beautiful eyes... Open... and locking with hers. "Thank Selûne..." Shadowheart breathed, barely aware of her quivering lip. "Thank you, Selûne..." As she threw her arms around Tav as best she could in this position. Nestling her nose into her neck, placing one soft kiss after another against her skin.

"Who are you, and what did you do with the real Shadowheart?" Tav coughed, but even with how dry her throat was, it was clearly a playful jab.

Shadowheart pulled back, narrowing her eyes for a moment in her own teasing glare, before it broke into a soft laugh. Leaving the bed only to pour Tav a cup of water. "Funny you mention that..." she started as she turned back to the bed and sat on the edge beside her. Helping guide Tav into a semi-upright position and despite handing the cup to her, Shadowheart maintained a hand on it to ensure it didn't slip.

The longer Tav stared at her, the more her brows creased. "How long have I been out? The bed... your hair..."

"Do you like it?" She queried, quickly touching a hand to her dyed white hair.

Tav's touch was tender as she took her hand, placing delicate kisses on each knuckle. "I love it." Lips brushing the back of her hand, holding it as she smiles into her eyes. Shadowheart's breath escaped her lips in an unexpected sigh, releasing the tension she didn't realize she was holding. The only compliment that truly soothed her nerves.

"And I love you too... Deeply." She added, biting her lip and shyly looking away.

Shadowheart paused, blinking. She... heard her?

She loves her back??

She...

She leans down slowly, their noses grazing, then their lips before they slowly press together. It's a sweet kiss at first. Tender, lazy, speaking things to each other that words could never capture. The taste so uniquely her and incredibly intoxicating. More than any wine she'd ever indulged in. She could kiss her forever and want for nothing, if her body would allow it. She's missed her lips so much that the tiniest of noises escapes her as her fingers tangle in the hairs on the nape of Tav's neck. "I've loved you for so long, but dared not allow you into my heart" She whispered against Tav's lips between kisses, "but now I can't imagine a day I'd hesitate to welcome you in it."

Shadowheart smiled a little at the way Tav's breath hitched at the words, their lips only briefly reconnecting before a knock came to the door.

It flung open before she had time to answer. "Shadsy, look what I found! Tav will love it when—!" Karlach gushes as she strides into the room, carrying a stuffed Owlbear toy. Cutting herself off when she realizes what she's walked in on, Shadowheart slowly straightening upright. "TAV, YOU'RE AWAKE." She shouts loud enough the whole tavern probably hears her.

And like that, the moment is shattered as their companions flood into the room. Karlach shoving the gift into Tav's arms, everyone smiling and even occasionally giving the gentlest of hugs to their awakened leader. Even Astarion seems genuinely relieved.

However, Shadowheart feels a pair of eyes directed at her. Casting a glance in its direction, she examines until she finds the source. Connecting with a certain Selûnite standing just outside the door. She responds to Shadowhearts silent confusion with a nod and smile, then turns away.

Shadowheart's lips curved into a gentle smile, illuminating her face with warmth, and returned her attention to Tav. Who she loved. Not so long ago, she believed her heart had only room for shadows, for darkness and loss. It only took nearly losing the love of her life twice to realize how foolish that belief was. Now, her heart warmed, and fluttered like a flame flickering to life. And it craved for so much more than she ever knew it could feel, nevermind hold. It yearned for her.

And Shadowheart would never deny her heart of her again.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate #bg3 #shadowheart #baldurs gate shadowheart #bg3 shadowheart #shadowheartxf!reader #female reader #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #baldurs gate fanfiction #drabble #baldurs gate drabble #shadowheart x tav

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bingoboingobongo · 1 year

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the right thing to do (i)

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley (Call of Duty) x Reader

Type: Fluff

Summary: You’ve become a distraction to Ghost, and so he’s started keeping his distance for the sake of the team. But when a mission goes awry, he finds himself stuck with you.

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: explicit language, mentions of/allusions to sex, brief mention of dacryphilia, brief mention of blowjobs, canon-typical violence, mentions of injury, forced proximity, pining

A/N: hiii, ngl i’m actually really proud of this fic, like deadass this shit had me giggling and kicking my feet in the middle of starbucks. anyways i was thinking of including smut in this but changed my mind bc that shit’s hard to write so it’s pretty pg-13. i plan on making this a bit of a series (with smut hopefully) so while this chapter is gender neutral now (i think, don’t quote me tho) in the future the reader will be written as a girl. as always, likes/reblogs and constructive criticism are always appreciated, enjoy :)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part 2

It wasn’t right for Ghost to be paying you as much attention as he was. It felt right, and he wanted it to be right, but that didn’t mean it was. What was right was what kept the most people safe. What was right was what kept the most people alive. Usually that was what Ghost did. Ghost did what kept most people safe. He did what kept the most people alive. The problem, however, was that doing the right thing and indulging in his feelings for you were two diametrically opposing things. Indulging in his feelings — indulging in you — was wrong.

It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with you; there could never be anything wrong with you in his eyes. How could there be, when he was seeing you through rose colored glasses? Although in his case, he supposed, they were more dark red than rose. Trivialities aside though, the real problem wasn’t anything that you were doing, it was what he wasn’t doing.

He wasn’t peering around every corner anymore. He wasn’t focusing on covering his tracks as well as he should. He wasn’t triple checking every piece of intel the task force got their hands on. He tried to, he really did, but with a thousand thoughts running at a hundred miles per hour — and a large majority of them having to do with you — it was only expected that a few things slip through the cracks.

For the most part, nothing too bad had happened as a result of his carelessness. A few scrapes and maybe one-too-many close calls, but nothing that would have gotten anyone in trouble. Maybe, if he weren’t a lieutenant or if he were in a completely different field, he would’ve been content to let it slide. But as corny as it sounded, he was part of a team, and he wasn’t going to let more people get hurt on his watch. Not again.

So for the safety of the team, Ghost started avoiding you. It always hurt him to push past you in the hallways, ignoring your little attempts at small talk; or to use Gaz as an example for takedown demonstrations, when in reality all he wanted was to be able to savor the warmth of your skin, even if it was with you pinned under him. Although, if he were being honest, he wasn’t opposed to pinning you down in other contexts. But as much as he hurt, he knew he had to do it. It wasn’t fair to you or the rest of the team if he wasn’t at his full capacity at all times.

He had made that decision two weeks ago, and it was already starting to get to him. Sleep was harder to get by, he was snapping at his teammates more, and when he rubbed the eyeblack off, it was only replaced by the sunken shadows under his eyes. He missed you too. Missed the way you would always offer him a bite of your food during dinner even though he would never eat it; missed the way you would always shoulder him to get his attention while you were walking to the training room, your hands in your pockets as you began telling him about something you had read the night before; missed the way you would grip onto his arm and try to goad him into taking off the mask or telling you what he looked like. Always the utilitarian though, he shouldered the problems in stride. They were nothing, he told himself, he had been through worse and he would go through worse. That was just how it was in the military. Besides, Laswell had just told them about a new mission, and a new mission meant new problems and new distractions.

It had gone fine in the beginning, but after a certain point everything started going to shit. On paper, their mission was simple; extract Krasimir Zhelyazkov, an arms and ammunition dealer with the Bulgarian mob who had allegedly dealt with one of Makarov’s right hand men, Demyan Solovev. Zhelyazkov would take them to Solovev, and Solovev would take them to Makarov. Simple. Of course, nothing was ever that simple when it came to war.

For one, Bulgaria in the middle of winter was cold, and with cold came snow and ice and wind. And of course, with snow and ice and wind came slippage and extra gear and low visibility. Ghost had been worried about the weather going into it; while all the members of the 141 had training in multiple environments, it was never easy going into a fight with snowfall as thick as blanks in a lottery.

The other problem was Zhelyazkov. While Ghost and Laswell both confirmed the validity of the intel they had received, there was no guarantee that Zhelyazkov would turn. Makarov was an intimidating man, and the stories of what he did to snitches were not pleasant. Either way, Zhelyazkov was unlikely to make it out alive, Ghost just had to make sure he got the information out of him before he died.

And of course, the other problem — which Ghost admitted was not unique to this mission but was still a problem just the same — was you. Even though he had tried to put distance between the two of you, he couldn’t help himself from stealing a glance in your direction every once in a while, just to admire the way your breath condensed in the frigid air or how you scrunched up your nose as if to make sure it was still there.

Ghost knew about these problems before they happened, and so he prepared for them. Worried about slipping on the snow covered ground? Request boots with better traction. Worried about Zhelyazkov not snitching? Get his family involved; it was unethical, yes, but if it was what it took to get the information then so be it. And you. Ghost knew he couldn’t afford spending anymore time eyeing you in the field, so he only increased the distance between the two of you.

Typically, if a target heard that someone was coming for them, they tucked their tail into their legs and ran — usually to a foreign country or some sort of island. But with Zhelyazkov, there was nothing to tip the 141 that anything was amiss; no sudden airplane rides, no sudden stoppage of shipments, nothing. Zhelyazkov kept living and doing business as he always had, seemingly unaware of the intel the 141 had on him.

Which is why when they approached Zhelyazkov’s compound, they expected it to be an easy takedown. In order to save personnel and to preserve stealth, the task force only sent one team out. For this particular mission, the team included Ghost, Soap, Price, Gaz, and of course, you. Ghost was conflicted about your inclusion on the team; on one hand, you were a valuable asset to the mission, but on the other hand, seeing the way you rubbed your hands together for heat in the cabin of the helicopter filled him with an aching urge to reach out for you and was an obvious distraction that impacted his ability to protect his team. In the end though, he couldn’t hold his inability to focus over you and besides, you had experience from your time before the 141 working in similar conditions, not to mention the general tactical expertise you brought to the table.

The mission had started like any other routine extraction would. A chopper flew the five of you to a forest on the edge of the compound, the thick snowfall helping to cover you. Once on the ground, Price did a quick headcount to make sure everyone had landed alright, before readjusting his rifle and leading the group forward. The five of you traveled in a line, with Price at the head and Ghost at the rear. You were positioned behind Price, but even with Soap and Gaz in front of him, Ghost was still acutely aware of every step you took.

At the moment, it seemed as if there was nothing to worry about. The snowfall was heavy of course, but not too heavy that it hampered the team and besides, it covered their tracks and kept them hidden. At least it should have.

The sudden shower of gunfire actually wasn’t the first thing that tipped Ghost off that something was wrong. It had been their radios. Laswell had told them she would be checking in on them after they landed, but five minutes had already passed with no sign of communication. At this point, they had left the forest and Ghost tried calling in, but to no avail. His radio provided nothing but crackly static, buzzing and impatient. He knew something was wrong and he tried to call for Price, but that was when hell started raining down on them.

The thing about gunfire is that you could actually see the shot happen before you heard it. It had always been an odd phenomenon to Ghost, the slight delay between sight and audio. For a brief moment, Ghost watched the snowy skies in front of him become aglow with a barrage of flashing lights. In a weird sense, it was dreamlike. Mesmerizing. And then the sound hit him. Even with earmuffs on, the gunfire was deafeningly loud. It was like watching a fireworks display, except the pops were louder, harsher, and there would be no delighted children looking up at the air in awe.

He tried screaming at the others to take cover, but the combination of winter winds and cracking bullets was hard to cut through. Somewhere to his right, he heard Price yelling, but his words were constantly interrupted by the enemy’s fire. Ghost tried looking for the others, but suddenly the snow was too thick, the bullets too loud, his teammates too far away. He did the only thing he could: run to the treeline for cover.

Between the sheer magnitude of bullets being aimed at them, the time Ghost spent looking for his team, and the time it took him to get to the treeline, Ghost had taken more than a few hits. Nothing detrimental, thankfully, but he could feel the familiar sting of a bullet that brushed him a little too close than he would have liked. He keeled over against a tree, listening as bullets flew past his face or struck the thick wood behind him. He tried using his radio again but it was no use; he couldn’t get a signal.

He tried to turn around, but the gunfire was too constant. He couldn’t get a clear look. He swallowed down an unceremonious groan as he considered the situation. Returning fire was an option, of course, but not a smart one. Considering his lack of a decent vantage point and the fact that he couldn’t even clearly see where the shots were coming from, even the best sniper on the force — which was him — wouldn’t be able to get a clear shot. Besides, he only had so much ammo on him, and if the attack was coming from Zhelyazkov, which he assumed it was, then he was seriously outmatched in terms of equipment. The man was an ammunition dealer, for Christ’s sake, if he couldn’t shoot Ghost, he could certainly keep him waiting long enough for hypothermia to set in.

“Shit, Ghost!” he heard from his right. He turned to look, and there you were, sitting with your back against a tree and your rifle in your hands. He was overwhelmed with relief at the sight of you, before cursing himself under his breath. He was in the middle of being fired at, why was he letting you distract him? “Where’s everyone else?” you cried, your voice barely carrying over the roar of bullets.

“Safe, hopefully,” he yelled, “I didn’t see where they went.” He watched you shake your head, you were probably cursing to yourself right now.

“Did you see who was with Zhelyazkov?”

“There was someone with Zhelyazkov?”

“Not just someone,” you yelled, looking at him grimly, “Fishers.”

Ghost turned away from you, leaning his head against the tree. “Fucking hell,” he muttered to himself, before turning to look at you again. “You sure?”

You didn’t say anything in response, only giving him a grave nod.

“God damn it,” he muttered. “Well, we don’t have time to worry about that, understand? Right now we just have to get somewhere safe.”

You nodded again, turning back to look at the source of the fire. “Most of the fire is coming from an MG3,” you called out, “they’ll have to change the barrel soon, we can move then.”

Ghost nodded at you, briefly looking back as well. It wasn’t long before the gunfire began to die down and the two of you moved from your positions in the trees, running further into the forest. But whoever was operating the gun was well-trained, and it didn’t take long for them to replace the barrel of the gun and restart the fire. Ghost ducked behind another tree, his eyes watching you do the same as he took a breath.

That was the only way the two of you could move for a long time. Waiting for what felt like painstakingly long minutes for the barrel to have to be changed, just to be able to run maybe a few yards before the spray of bullets picked up again and you had to take cover. It was a painstakingly slow process, and throughout all of it, Ghost couldn’t help but worry that you wouldn’t get to cover in time, and he would have to watch as you died in front of him. He also couldn’t stop worrying about the rest of the team. It concerned him that you were here but Price, Gaz, and Soap weren’t. If they had died when the gunfire started he would have been able to see their blood in the snow, he supposed, as if that thought was supposed to comfort him. It didn’t do much, and he could only hope that the three of them had at least found each other.

Finally though, the deafening roar of gunfire began to quiet down, either due to distance or to lack of ammunition, and Ghost felt like he could breathe again. “Are you alright?” he called out to you, quickly scanning over your body.

You nodded, your chest heaving as you gulped in the freezing air. “You?” He nodded. You sighed, rubbing your hand over your face. “What the hell happened back there?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed, stomping to you through the thick snow. “You get hit anywhere?” he asked, his hand reaching tentatively for a scrape on your face.

You reached for your own face, freezing his hand in its tracks. He might have been a weathered war veteran, but even he got nervous in front of people he liked. He watched you wipe the blood off your face and stare at it, “It’s fine,” you told him, “it’s just a scrape. Motherfucker must have clipped me.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t scar.”

“I don’t know, I think I’m pretty enough to pull off a face scar. What do you think?” you asked, the minx-like grin on your face providing a sharp contrast to the sheer gravity of the situation the two of you were in. That was another thing you did that distracted him. Those snarky quips and sly suggestions that made Ghosts stomach flip and his cheeks heat up.

“Stop worrying about appearances,” he chastised, trying to regain his focus, “we don’t have time.”

“You were the one that brought it up!” you cried, throwing your hands up.

“Quiet,” he said, “just because they stopped firing doesn’t mean we’re safe. For all we know they could have men on the ground looking for us.”

You dropped your hands to your side, “So now what do we do?”

He pursed his lips, surveying their surroundings. “We make our way to the secondary location as planned. Look at the tree branches,” he said, gesturing above him, “trees will grow their branches towards the direction that gets the most sun: south. The secondary location was north of the drop site and we’ve been traveling in a relatively straight line. If we keep moving in this direction we should come across it in an hour or so.”

You chewed on your lip, “Do we even know if it’s safe? Fishers was with Zhelyazkov, for all we know we could be walking straight into an ambush.”

“You sure it was Fishers?”

“Yes, it couldn’t have been anyone else.”

“Are you one hundred percent sure?” Ghost asked again, “the snow was thick, I couldn’t even see anything besides Gaz and Johnny.”

“I’m sure,” you insisted, “Me and Price were at the front, we saw the wall of Zhelyazkov’s compound. One of his cronies was up there with Fishers. He was standing next to an MG3 and pointing at us, I know it. I would recognize that stupid cowlick anywhere.”

Ghost groaned. Fishers wasn’t someone Ghost had known very well, so at the very least he was spared the painful feeling of being betrayed by someone he cared about — not that his feelings mattered. The traitor, Colten Fishers, was an American soldier. A veteran to military service, no doubt, but still considered a rookie in special operations. The official report would probably say that Fishers turned in exchange for some quick cash, that he was a cowardly traitor who betrayed them, but that answer didn’t satisfy Ghost.

Honestly, Ghost wasn’t even sure how Fishers had gotten onto the task force in the first place. Compared to the rest of the people on the team, Fishers’ resume was weak, his experience was subpar and his track record was a little too spotty for his liking. The fact that Fishers’ was even in a place to betray them worried him, almost more than the actual betrayal, because if Fishers was able to get on the task force with his lackluster résumé then that meant he had bad friends in high places.

“God damn it,” he muttered, “you have a point, but there’s not much else we can do. The more time we spend out here the more likely we are to get shot.”

“Or get hypothermia,” you said.

“Or get hypothermia,” he added. He reached for his radio, clicking it on only to be met with static again. “Bravo team, this is Bravo 0-7, do you copy?” No response.

“They probably set up signal blockers,” you pointed out, “either that or the storm is so bad it’s messing with our signal.”

He groaned, “Does yours work?” he asked.

“No,” you said, gesturing lamely at the damaged radio next to your chest, “motherfuckers clipped it while I was looking for Price. Scared the shit out of me too, thought they had gotten me right in the chest for a second.”

He walked up to you, bending down as he inspected the broken radio. He could feel you suck in a breath, and for a moment he let himself wonder if he gave you butterflies the same way you did to him. “Yeah,” he said, looking up at you, his mask inches away from your face, “this thing’s been shot to hell, there’s no way it’s gonna get a signal, even without a storm.” He lingered for a split second, captivated by the way your eyes stared up at him, large and round like a marble, before pulling back.

“Let’s get a move on,” he said, adjusting his rifle. “We can’t afford to be stuck out here when night falls.”

Walking in the snow was hard, walking in the snow and feeling you glance over at him every other minute was even harder. He didn’t want to look at you, well that was a lie, he did want to look at you, but he knew he shouldn’t look at you. He needed to put on a brave face, that was his job as a lieutenant. He needed to be serious, to have a plan, to not get hung up on distractions, and he couldn’t do that when he was watching you.

Instead, he tried to think about everything that could go wrong from this point. It seemed pessimistic, he knew, but he needed to be prepared. You had a point about the second location. While Fishers hadn’t been told everything about the mission, he knew enough to severely compromise them. Besides, if he did have one of the higher-ups on his side, there was no telling how much he knew. The secondary location had once been a logger’s cabin; it was small, kitted with only the bare necessities. A bathroom, a small kitchenette, and an empty bedroom they had planned to keep Zhelyazkov in. In other words, it wasn’t an easy place to set up an ambush. But they could’ve rigged the outside, set up tripwires connected to shotguns or planted mines along the perimeter. The forest around it was dense, which once would’ve been helpful to keep them hidden but now only provided a wide array of hiding spots for Zhelyazkov’s men to hide in.

Additionally, there was no telling how many men Zhelyazkov would have waiting for them. Even by himself, Ghost could hold his own and with you, their chances only increased. But Zhelyazkov practically had an army, and it would only take one well-aimed shot before it was all over. Granted, some of his men would likely be looking for the others, and if they also went to the cabin, the five of them could probably hold their own.

But there was no guaranteeing the others were heading to the cabin, let alone breathing. For all Ghost knew, their team of five could’ve been cut down to two long ago. “What are you thinking about?” you asked, pulling Ghost out of his thoughts.

He turned to look at you for the first time since you had started walking. There were snowflakes on your eyelashes and your face was tinged red from the cold. He wanted to be able to cradle your jaw, to warm you up until your face was flushed from something other than the cold weather. He wanted to tell you that he wasn’t going to let anything happen to you, that you would always be safe when you were with him, that he would kill anyone who tried to touch you and would do anything for a chance to hold you. “Just thinking about what you said earlier,” he said instead, “about Zhelyazkov ambushing us.”

You hummed, “Me too. I don’t know how likely that is anymore though.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I mean think about it,” you said, “we flew over the cabin on our way here and everything looked fine, no footprints or anything. And by the time we did that and the time they started shooting, maybe ten minutes had passed. That would mean Zhelyazkov had ten minutes to get his men there, and they wouldn’t have been able to take a direct route or else they would’ve ran into us. Besides, why waste his manpower by setting up an ambush we might not even show up for? I mean, the plan was probably to kill us all right from the beginning, so why plan for us showing up at the cabin if we’re not even supposed to be alive? I mean, who in their right mind would do that?”

“Let’s not assume Zhelyazkov is in his right mind. It’s thinking like that that gets people killed,” he said, harsher than he intended. “Not that you don’t have a point,” he added when he saw you look down in embarrassment. He didn’t mean to hurt you, but he had fallen into that mindset before and he knew how dangerous it was. “For Zhelyazkov to waste his manpower on an ambush would be tactically unwise, you’re right, but we don’t want to go in expecting an empty house and get caught off guard.”

“So then what? We go in expecting to get immediately gunned down by another machine gun? How is that any better? It’s not like there’s anything we can do to prepare for that.”

Ghost grimaced, once again, you had a point. “Still, it’s better to be prepared,” was all he could say. You looked at him as if you wanted to say more, but your mouth stayed shut and your eyes turned to focus ahead of you once again.

The two of you walked in silence, with nothing but the sound of crunching snow to indicate that anyone was even in the forest at all. After what felt like ages, Ghost paused, holding out a hand to stop you too. He felt you looking at him, but he didn’t respond. He was studying your surroundings, scrutinizing the snow on the ground before searching the skies.

“What is it?” you finally asked in a hushed whisper.

“Checking for traps,” he said, his gravelly voice so quiet he could barely hear himself. “The cabin should be just beyond that treeline,” he whispered, pointing. You followed his hand, but you couldn’t see anything behind the dense wall of tree trunks. “Let’s go,” he said, “get your gun out.” You complied, mirroring him as he unshouldered his rifle and held it against his chest. He turned to look at you, your lips pursed into a tight line and your hair sprinkled with snowflakes. He wished you weren’t at risk of walking into an ambush, that way he could capture the way you looked with a camera.

He began slowly stalking towards the cabin, cursing to himself at the snow crunching under his feet. He arrived at the edge of the treeline, coming onto an open clearing with the small wood cabin at the very center. His head swiveled around, constantly checking for the familiar glint of gunmetal hiding in the trees. He turned back to you, “Let’s split up,” he said quietly, his voice muffled by his mask. “I’ll go left, you go right. Meet in the back and then sweep the house.” He watched you nod, and his eyes followed you briefly as you began to move in the opposite direction before he returned his focus to the task at hand.

The perimeter of the clearing wasn’t necessarily large, but it still took him a painfully long time to reach the back. “You see anything?” he asked when you arrived. You shook your head, and he cocked his head towards the cabin. “Let’s go,” he said, turning back to check on you as the two of you made your way towards the front of the house.

There was a small porch on the front, with a pair of steps leading up to it. Ghost skipped them, choosing to step over them and go straight to the porch. You weren’t so smart, and when you put your weight on the first step, it squealed and groaned. Ghost whipped around at the sound, and you rolled your eyes back and cringed, “Shit,” you muttered quietly.

The two of you were frozen for a second, you with your foot still on the step and Ghost with his eyes trained on the door. When nothing happened, you lifted your foot and stepped over the stairs, copying Ghost like you should have before. When you were both on the porch, Ghost gestured for you to open the door. You reached for the doorknob, turning it slowly before swinging it open.

Ghost walked in, his rifle swiveling as he made his way to the bathroom. He could hear you following behind him, the snow on your boots crunching slightly as you went to the bedroom. He swung open the door of the bathroom, only to be met with his own reflection in the mirror above the sink. His helmet was covered in snow, only accentuating the darkness of his eyes. When he had confirmed that the room was empty, he exited, watching as you came out from the bathroom.

“It’s clear,” you said, before he could ask.

“That’s a relief,” he said, letting out a sigh, but he didn’t lower his rifle.

“You think the others will be coming here too?” you asked, looking around the tiny house.

He wanted to say yes, but honestly he had no clue. The forest was huge, and he had no idea where the others might have been. They could be looking for the cabin as well, but there was no guarantee they’d find it.

He took off his helmet and cracked his neck. “Night’s about to fall, get some rest. I’ll take the first watch,” he said instead, reaching into his pack and tossing you a bedroll.

You caught it easily, but made no move to set it down. “It’s fine,” you told him, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep, you deserve the rest.”

“That wasn’t a request,” he said sternly, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah it’s an order, isn’t it? Geez, you sound like Price.”

“Price is right. You need your sleep, a sniper could spot your eyebags from a mile away.”

“Rude,” you shot back, “and by that logic, wouldn’t a sniper be able to see you from, like, two miles away from all of your eyeblack?

“If they see me, they’re already dead.”

“Wow,” you said, rolling your eyes, “I’m so scared.”

“You should be.”

“Whatever,” you sighed, “I’m gonna take a shower then, you got any soap?”

He threw you a small plastic container, “Suave three-in-one? What are you, a high school boy?” you asked, shooting him an incredulous look.

This time it was his turn to roll his eyes, “Beggars can’t be choosers, darling, you want luxury toiletries bring them yourself.”

You were silent for a moment, and Ghost started to feel worry bubble up in his chest. He didn’t mean to say that nickname out loud, it just happened. He was exhausted and paranoid and hungry and he was stuck in a room he could cross in about ten steps and it just slipped out. And if this was how it ended, in this stupid, tiny, suffocating house that could have gone in so many other directions; if he ruined everything because he couldn’t control himself, he would have never forgiven himself.

“You think I’m darling?” you asked with a grin, and Ghost could practically feel a weight being lifted off his shoulders.

“Just go take your shower,” he said, but even he could hear the smile in his voice.

“You sure you don’t want to join me?” you asked, pulling out a towel from your bag. Ghost stilled. He could tell you were just joking, you had to be. But there had to be at least some truth in it, otherwise you wouldn’t have even thought to say that right? Suddenly the house felt uncomfortably warm. It was too small, too cramped, too stuffy. He thought the house’s lack of heating would have been a problem, but for some reason it felt like there were a thousand heaters in this tiny room.

“Geez, Ghost,” you said, giggling, “I was just messing with you. Dang, is it really that easy to get you speechless? Guess I have a new party trick to show the others when we get back.”

He stared at you, trying to come up with something to say. “I’m gonna set up outside,” he said finally, changing the topic, “leave the soap in the shower, will you?”

You hummed, slinging the towel over your back. He watched you step into the bathroom, his eyes lingering on the door as it shut behind you. He could hear the shower turn on, but he made himself leave before he could hear your clothes come off.

The crisp, winter air provided a sharp contrast to the tense atmosphere of the house. The frigid winds nipped at his eyes and he could feel a shiver rack through his chest but he didn’t mind it. It was refreshing, feeling the freezing air fill his lungs and watching his breath condense in front of him. He sat down on the porch steps and reached for his rifle, checking the magazine. He picked out one of the bullets, thumbing it thoughtfully as he stared at the snowstorm in front of him. He put the bullet back and looked back at the house, making sure that you weren’t around before he pulled off his mask. He let out a sigh, thumbing the hard plastic skull in his hands and letting the frosty air kiss at his exposed skin before pulling the soft, black, skull-marked balaclava he wore normally out of his bag and over his face.

Ghost wasn’t the kind of person to let his mind wander. He knew a lot of people did, Soap did, Gaz did, even Price did, but not him. It was just easier that way, he never really had a good place for his mind to wander to anyways. His mind had a tendency to lurk around dark places, and it always left him worse than he started. Once, he had tried to speak to someone about it, and that had only ended up with another dead body to his name. Instead, he distracted himself by focusing on the task in front of him: watching the treeline for enemy soldiers.

Somehow though, you started to linger around the edge of his thoughts, and he didn’t push you away. He kept staring ahead at the snow-covered trees, but in his mind he was seeing you. He was seeing your stupid teasing grin, your fidgeting fingers that never stayed still, that smooth skin on the junction of your neck and your shoulder that he wanted to kiss and lick and bite. He could almost see your lust-drunk face in front of him, starry-eyed and teary, your lips swollen and red from how hard he would kiss you. He could practically hear you under him, all breathy and pitchy, your voice raw from how much he would make you beg for him. God, he knew he needed to stop these thoughts but he needed you more. He needed you pressed against him, your skin warm and soft and supple, he needed to feel you on top of him, to be inside you. He needed to know how it would feel to have your mouth around him, your eyes lidded as you stared up at—

“Hey,” you said, tiredness leaking through your voice. Ghost suppressed the urge to jump, turning to look at you. “You see anything interesting?” you asked, taking a seat beside you.

“Nothing,” he said, hoping you wouldn’t notice the way he had to slightly readjust his pants. You didn’t, thank god, for a special forces operator you surely weren’t the most observant, but he wasn’t complaining. You weren’t wearing much, only a pair of thin pajama pants, a tank top, and a hoodie. He was surprised you weren’t shivering.

He could feel you staring at him, partly because of the way your warm breath fanned over him and partly because you stared at him like he was the most interesting thing in the world. He had to fight the urge to look back at you because he knew if he did, you would be able to see the star-struck in his eyes. “You need something?” he asked, trying to fill the silence.

You turned away from him, your eyes scanning the treeline. “Not really,” you hummed, “but it’s lonely inside, can’t sleep.”

“Lonely?”

“Well— Not lonely, but— I don’t know. It’s just… unsettling, I guess.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” he said, with a slight chuckle.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snorted.

“It means I’ve seen you do things that would make a grown man cry and you're scared of sleeping alone.”

“Uh, that is not it,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I’m not scared, I’d just rather stay out here. Besides, it’s easier to fall asleep in the cold.”

“Is it really?” he asked teasingly, “or do you just like me that much?”

You yawned, letting your head rest on his shoulder. He tensed up at first, but when he realized how nice it was to feel you against him, he relaxed. “You got me pegged, Ghost,” you said tiredly. He had to suppress a groan when he saw the way you looked up at him. Your eyes were large and slightly damp from the yawn, and he could see the smallest speckle of teardrops on your eyelids. Everything about you was just so damn intoxicating, and for what? It wasn’t like he could act on it like he wanted to. He couldn’t push your slightly damp hair out of your face like he wanted to, he couldn’t run his hands up your body and squeeze you in all the right spots like he wanted to, he couldn’t push you down against a table and fuck you until you cried out for him like he wanted to. He wanted to do so much to you and he just couldn’t.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, your voice sweet and tired.

He stared at you, it’s not like he could tell the truth but it hurt him so bad to lie to your face. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re interesting,” you said simply.

“Am I?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, staring back at him, “are you gonna give me an answer?”

“Not tonight. You gonna sleep out here?” he asked, watching as you let out a yawn.

“Do you want me to?” you asked, picking your head up off his shoulder and staring up at him.

Ghost was silent for a moment, “I don’t have a problem with it,” he said finally. You gave him a sleepy smile which made his heart melt before resting your head against his shoulder again. “Aren’t you cold? You’re barely wearing anything and your hair is still wet, you’re gonna catch a cold.”

You groaned, burying your face into his shoulder, “Now you really sound like Price,” you mumbled, voice muffled by his jacket.

“And Price is right, again. You’re gonna get sick or catch hypothermia, go get a blanket,” he said, nudging you off of his shoulder gently. He didn’t want to have to push you away, especially since you looked so comfortable, but he was worried for your health. In this weather and in this line of work, catching a cold could have unforeseen effects, and god forbid you get hypothermia. Slowly, you pulled yourself off of Ghost, shooting him a pointed look as you turned back into the house. He turned back to the treeline, trying to remember the way your head leaned against his shoulder. He could still feel the shadow of your touch against him, the warmth and the weight of it. He wanted it back again, regretting sending you off.

It wasn’t long until you returned though, carrying a large wool blanket. “Happy now?” you asked, quirking your brow up at him as you returned to your spot beside him. “I stole it from the bedroom, figured nobody else would be using it.” You wrapped the blanket around your shoulders, pulling your knees in so you could cover them too. You let your head fall back on his shoulder again. “The stars are beautiful, aren’t they?” you asked, your eyes fixed on the sky.

He looked up, he hadn’t paid much attention to them, but you had a point. The sky was a dark sapphire blue, punctuated by a canyon of stars down the center. Even with the snow falling, the beauty of the stars shone through, their light bright and blinding. He let his eyes wander down to you for a moment, and he could see the night sky reflected in your glassy eyes. Your eyes flickered to his and you grinned, “Like what you see, L.T.?” you asked.

Ghost looked away, “Go to sleep,” he said, missing the way you scrunched your nose in annoyance at him.

Although he wasn’t looking directly at you, he could still see you in his periphery. He could feel you too. Feel the way you nuzzled into his shoulder, one of your arms snaking up to wrap around his like you were a koala clinging onto a branch. Feel the way your chest rose and fell against him as you breathed, small puffs of air condensing in front of you. He could feel the soft flutter of your eyelids on his arm as you buried your face into his shoulder, trying to shield your face from the cold. It wasn’t long before your breaths began to even out next to him, the puffs of condensed air arriving slower and more evenly.

He turned to look at you again, his eyes raking over your body. The blanket pulled tightly around you, your hair which fell slightly in front of your face, your lips which he swore were pulled in the smallest smile, the bridge of your nose, the ends of your eyelashes, that little scrunch in between your eyebrows. You were the most beautiful thing in that moment, stars be damned. He would’ve given anything to be able to snap a photo of you right now, but he couldn’t, so he resorted to tattooing the image of you into his brain. Not that it was hard, looking at you, admiring you, treasuring you, it was the easiest thing he would ever do.

Ghost shouldn’t have been paying so much attention to you, not here, not when you were so vulnerable and he was supposed to be keeping watch, to be protecting you. It wasn’t right. But wasn’t it? Couldn’t it be? It felt right, and he wanted it to be right. He needed it to be right. He had spent so much time focusing on everyone else; what was safe for everyone else, what was healthy for everyone else, what was right for everyone else. But now, just now, couldn’t he just focus on himself for once? Couldn’t he just be selfish for once, to savor and relish in this moment? You were here and you were safe, and he was here and he was safe, and wasn’t that all that mattered in this tiny moment devoid of reason or time or outsiders? This had to be right. This was right. You were right. You always were.

He looked back at the stars again, taking in a deep breath as he savored the smell of you. You smelled like gunmetal and cheap soap. You smelled like him. He let your fragrance continue to fill his nose as he stared up at the sky. He watched in awe as a streak of bright light arced across the vast canvas of dark blue sky: a shooting star. He thought back to what his mother used to tell him in the backyard of their old flat in Manchester. “Look Simon,” she would say, tracing the path of the star’s tail with her finger, “that’s a shooting star. You make a wish, and you don’t tell anyone, and then it comes true.” Back then, he used to wish for allowance, new toys, a pot roast for dinner, one time for his dad to go away. They never came true, and he knew it was because he always told his mom what he wished for.

This time though, this time would be different. He would keep it a secret until the day he died. Another weight for him to carry, but one that would be worth it if it came true. He wouldn’t tell anyone what he wished for that night, with your sleeping form against him, soft and warm and comforting. He wouldn’t tell anyone that he wished you would love him like he loved you.

2K notes · View notes

icarusignite · 7 months

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Hey Autor,

Could you maybe make a Reader Velaryon/Targaryen x Cregan stark?

The reader is the daughter of Rhaenyra and Laenor (the real father is Daemon Targaryen) and the eldest child of Rhaenyra and the heiress of the iron throne.The reader is sent to the Starks at the age of 14 to live with them for some time (no idea what reason there might be). Cregan doesn’t like the reader at first and is mean to her.At some point, the two get closer and fall in love. Maybe just kisses could arise between them no more. After she was with the Starks for some time, one day a lord comes with his daughter maybe Alysanne Blackwood and her father. Because Cregan is engaged to her and should marry her soon,He never told the reader that he was promised to someone else and the reader gets angry. Cregan wants to talk to her but she ignores him. Cregan does not take action against the wedding and marries Alysanne. Alysanne notices that the reader is angry and and provoke her. reader says goodbye to Lord and Lady stark, While Cregan spends time with Alyssane to get to know her. Reader flies home on her dragon because she doesn’t want to be at the wedding. After years, a war in the north has broken out and seems to be lost. Rhaenyra sends the reader and Jace to the north to help the Starks and end the war with their dragons. Cregan has a child with alysanne (but she should still be alive please.) She's still bitter and full of anger. Maybe the two could have a happy ending because Cregan really loved the reader, he didn’t want to hurt her, but it’s called a stark doesn’t break an oath. Of course, the reader does not forgive him directly and makes him feel her anger.

Please a lot of drama, I love big drama.

I am sorry for my English.

Your reader.

Ps: I wrote this request to another author but I don't know if he wants to write it so I wanted to write to you again because I always love your writing 🫶

Cregan Stark x fem! reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 4.6K

Summary: The five times you told Cregan Stark you hated him, and the one time you actually meant it.

A/N: Hey heyyyy, lol I'm finally back. I'm soo soo sorry this took forever to put out, I've been suffering from massive writer's block and I lowkey feel like my house of the dragon hyperfixation was over for a while so I wasn't feeling too motivated to work on related stuff. Anyway, hope you like what I've done with the premise. Lots of drama but I didn't really see there being a happy end where they actually get together lol. As usual, I love your requests and asks so feel free to send in more (I shall try to get them done in a more timely manner T_T)

I hate you I love you

1. At first sight

Being the oldest daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen and future heir to the Iron Throne meant that you were seldom allowed to follow your heart's desire. You were simply a pawn in the grand elaborate game of life, fit to be moved around wherever someone saw fit. You didn't have much of a say when your mother named you her heir, you didn't have a say when she decided that you would be sent to be fostered at Winterfell for a few years for some reason you could not fathom, and you certainly would not have a say when you would be married off to whatever lord would serve the greatest political advantage.

You first met the dark-haired boy that was Cregan Stark at the impressionable young age of fourteen, and you were quite intimidated. There was something in his eyes, their steely grey reminding you of an icy winter storm. His uncle, Lord Bennard, currently ruled the north as regent and you could tell that relations were tense between the two of them.

Lord Brennard had led you into the Great Hall, where the fire roared in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls. There, standing near the hearth, was a young man of sixteen, with a stony expression, his eyes fixed on the flames. Lord Brennard cleared his throat, and the young man turned to look at them.

"Princess, may I introduce you to my nephew, Cregan Stark," Lord Brennard said with a polite smile.

Cregan regarded you with a cold, distant gaze, his demeanour as frosty as the land outside. He didn't extend a hand or offer a greeting. Instead, he simply nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line, making it clear that he would rather be anywhere else but there.

If you were unhappy with his offputting behaviour, you made no show of it. Your mother had schooled you in the proper etiquette of being a gracious young lady and you extended your hand gracefully.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, my lord."

Cregan's response was curt, "Likewise."

He then turned his attention back to the fire, seemingly disinterested in your presence.

Lord Brennard, ever the diplomat, tried to initiate conversation.

"Cregan, the princess has travelled a long way to be here. Perhaps you could show her around Winterfell, and introduce her to some of your companions?"

Cregan sighed audibly and finally tore his gaze away from the flames, "Do I have to, Uncle?"

Lord Brennard's expression tightened slightly, but he remained patient, "It would be a kind gesture, Cregan. She's a guest in our home."

You smiled politely, doing your best to break through the young lord's cold exterior, "I would appreciate it greatly. I've heard so much about Winterfell, and I'd love to get to know the people who live here."

Cregan rolled his eyes but eventually relented with a reluctant nod.

"Fine, I'll show you around, but don't expect me to be your tour guide."

"Thank you. I promise not to be a bother," you grinned now, willing him to at least return some of your warmth.

Cregan's tour of Winterfell was far from what you had imagined. He led you through the castle's corridors and courtyards with long, determined strides, leaving you to struggle to keep up. Your gown, designed for the elegant strolls through the castles of the Red Keep and Dragonstone, was ill-suited for the rugged terrain and brisk pace Cregan set.

"My lord, please, may we slow down?" you called out, your voice slightly breathless. Your soft leather shoes were ill-equipped for the uneven stone floors, and your dress hampered your every step.

Cregan barely spared you a glance, his impatience evident in his voice, "We don't have all day, Princess. You wanted a tour, didn't you?"

You pressed on, determined not to let Cregan's demeanour ruin your first day at Winterfell. You struggled to maintain your composure, but your frustration was building.

"Yes, but I didn't expect it to be a race. Could you at least wait for me?"

Cregan halted abruptly, turning to face you with a roll of his eyes, "Didn't you promise not to be a bother?"

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and frustration. You had hoped for a warmer welcome, but it seemed Cregan was determined to make you feel like an unwanted guest.

"I did, but I didn't realize being polite was such a bother."

Cregan let out an exasperated sigh, and for a moment, you thought he might storm off and leave you behind. Instead, he begrudgingly slowed his pace, allowing you to catch up.

"Fine, let's get on with it."

As you continued the tour, Cregan pointed out various parts of Winterfell with curt explanations, still making no effort to engage in polite conversation. You did your best to show interest and appreciation for the castle's history and architecture, but it was clear that Cregan was not interested in your company.

Later that evening, the dinner at Winterfell was a formal affair, and despite the grandeur of the feast laid out, Cregan continued to be rude and dismissive towards you. He barely acknowledged your presence, and when you attempted to engage in conversation with other members of the Stark household, he would interrupt with snide comments or pointedly change the subject. The tension in the room was palpable, and you could feel the disapproving glances of some of the Stark bannermen who were clearly not pleased with the arrangement. You couldn't blame them though; you were an outsider, and Cregan's hostility toward you only made matters worse.

Eventually, you had had enough. After the meal, when you found yourselves alone in the corridor leading to your chambers, you turned to him, frustration boiling over after hours of having kept it simmering under your skin.

"My lord, may I ask you something?"

Cregan raised an eyebrow, his icy demeanour unchanged, "I don't suppose you'd desist if I refused?"

That was it. Your final breaking point.

"Why are you determined to be so fucking impolite to me?" your voice exploded, echoing in the empty corridor.

Cregan's eyes widened, surprised at your use of profanities no doubt.

Without stopping for a breath, you continued your torrent of complaints, "I understand that you didn't want me here, but have you perhaps considered that I didn't want to leave my home either? I didn't have a say in this, just like you, so if I can muster up the courage to try and hold on to a shred of hopefulness about this whole situation, can't you at least try to be civil to me? You're older than me, after all. Or do you not have the emotional maturity to not be a fucking menace to people you've judged in your head before even getting to know them."

Cregan regarded your outburst with his usual cold indifference, and you felt yourself deflate. Perhaps you had gone too far. Insulting a lord in his home was not proper behaviour befitting a young lady but you would be lying if you said that it didn't bring you a little satisfaction to see the slight cracks in Cregan's composure. There was a glimmer of something else in his eyes as well—a flicker of respect, perhaps. After a long, uncomfortable silence, he finally let out a sigh, seemingly relenting and his eyes softened, almost too imperceptibly.

"Fine," he said grudgingly, his tone suggesting that he was far from genuine. "I apologize if my behaviour has offended you, Princess."

He tacked on the Princess at the end of his sentence, almost as an afterthought and the mockery in it only made the fire in your eyes blaze brighter. You opened your mouth to say something else but Cregan raised his hands placatingly.

"No, no. I am truly sorry for my behaviour. I had my reasons but I will not give you excuses," he chuckled. "Although I must admit, I did not expect you capable...of that."

Your ears flushed crimson and you ducked your head in embarrassment.

"I hate you Cregan Stark," you mumbled under your breath but when you looked up to see his arrogantly cocked eyebrow and knowing smirk, you realized you did not quite mean it with the intensity he deserved.

2. Deep in the godswood

One crisp, sunny morning, the two of you found yourselves in the godswood of Winterfell, surrounded by the ancient trees with their solemn faces carved into the bark. You had decided to engage in a rare moment of playfulness, and the game you had chosen was a simple one—tag.

Cregan, always quick and agile, took the first turn as the pursuer. He sprinted after you, his laughter echoing through the godswood. After a few months at Winterfell, you were no longer the delicate princess you once were, and you ran with surprising grace.

As you weaved between the towering trees, the thrill of the chase engulfed you. You darted around a tree, hoping to outmaneuver Cregan, but he was relentless. With a burst of speed, he lunged forward and tagged you, causing you to stumble.

Your foot caught on a root, and you tumbled to the ground with a cry of surprise. You had landed on the soft moss beneath the tree, your dress stained with mud and leaves. You scowled and glanced up at Cregan, who stood over you, victorious and unapologetic.

"You cheated," you accused your voice a mix of irritation and laughter.

Cregan grinned mischievously, "All's fair in love and war, Princess."

You couldn't help but chuckle despite your fall. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, your gaze meeting Cregan's.

"Well, we must be at war then, my lord, for I see no love here in this godswood."

"Oh is that so?" Cregan's eyes twinkled and he watched you in a way that made your ears flush again.

"I fucking hate you!" you declared, trying to force a scowl on your face.

Cregan's expression softened, and he reached out his hand to help you up. As you looked into his eyes, something shifted within you. You realized that your declaration of hatred was no longer true if it ever had been.

You accepted Cregan's hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet and into him. Your gaze met his, and there was a brief moment where something bright and electric sparked between the two of you.

Cregan smiled and winked, breaking the soft moment.

"Let's watch our language, Princess. And don't try to lie to me, I know you better than that."

"Oh, you know nothing at all, my lord."

3. Once upon a fairytale

The ball at Winterfell was a rare and enchanting event, one that had not been held in years. The Great Hall had been transformed into a dazzling spectacle, with chandeliers glittering from the ceiling and banners of House Stark adorning the walls. The air in Winterfell had been doing you wonders and you had grown even more radiant in the past year. Your presence drew the attention of many young lords from noble houses across the North.

You were quickly approached by eager suitors the moment you stepped into the hall, and they approached you with polished manners and flattering words, hoping for a chance to dance with a royal princess. Cregan, watching from the shadows, felt a pang of jealousy as he saw one lord after another try their luck with you, often stumbling over their words in their haste.

In response to their requests, you smiled politely and declined each invitation with a gracious nod. Your eyes, however, never strayed far from Cregan, who it seemed had taken up a dance with another lady—a striking brunette with a winsome smile.

Finally, when the music shifted to a slower, more intimate melody, Cregan finished his dance and made his way towards you. He extended his hand with a charming smile.

"Princess, may I have this dance?"

Your response was less than warm. You raised an eyebrow and looked at him with mock annoyance.

"Oh, my lord, how kind of you to finally grace me with your presence. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me."

Cregan's smirk was mischievous as he took your hand, "Forgotten about you? Never, my lady."

As you began to dance, the tension between the two of you was palpable. Your voice was hushed as you spoke, your irritation clear.

"You've been dancing with other ladies all night. I thought you weren't interested in me."

Cregan leaned in closer, his breath ghosting across your throat, "Jealous, are we?"

Your cheeks flushed.

"No," you replied, trying to remain nonchalant, but your tone betrayed your true feelings. "I just thought you were ignoring me."

"Sounds like jealousy to me."

You rolled your eyes, "I hate you, Cregan Stark."

Cregan's eyes twinkled with amusement as he spun you gracefully across the floor, "You don't."

You opened your mouth to protest, but Cregan brought your hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, and your breath immediately caught in your throat, rendering you speechless.

Cregan held your gaze, his eyes filled with a fierce intensity.

"No, you don't," he repeated softly as if daring you to deny it.

4. Slowly, and then all at once

Throughout the next grand feast, Cregan couldn't resist cracking teasing jokes at your expense, each one playful but not cruel, designed only to elicit merriment. His quips were met with laughter and amusement from the other lords and ladies, you felt annoyed being his topic of discussion that evening.

After the dinner finally concluded, you could take no more. You caught Cregan by the arm as he was about to leave the hall and dragged him away to an isolated hallway. Your eyes flashed with anger as you turned to face him and although the expression on your face was a serious one, he couldn't help but be mesmerized by the fieriness of it. It was the same expression you had worn the first time you confronted him about his behaviour and unbeknownst to you, that was when he had first started to feel that aching pull toward you.

"What was that all about, Cregan?" you demanded, your voice sharp.

Cregan's response was unexpected. He didn't offer an apology or a defence of his actions. Instead, he took a step closer to you, his expression intense. Before you could react or voice your pent-up frustration, he kissed you.

It was a passionate, intense kiss that left you momentarily breathless. Your protests were silenced as your lips met his, and your anger dissolved into a mixture of surprise and desire. Cregan's lips were firm against yours, his hands gentle but insistent on your waist.

When he finally pulled away, you were left looking quite dazed and disoriented. Your cheeks flushed, and your heart raced in your chest. Cregan smirked at you, his eyes filled with a blend of amusement and affection.

"Princess," he said softly, "Don't you dare say that you hate me again. It's abundantly clear that you don't."

You tried to form a coherent response, but your thoughts were still scattered from the unexpected kiss. You found yourself at a loss for words, your feelings for the young lord more complex than ever before.

Cregan's thumb brushed gently against your cheek, and he leaned in to kiss your forehead tenderly.

"Let's not waste any more time pretending, my lady," he whispered. "We both know how we truly feel."

5. I wish I could hate you

The arrival of Lady Alysanne Blackwood and her father brought a flurry of activity to Winterfell. Lady Alysanne was a beautiful and vivacious woman, and her presence seemed to light up every room she entered. As the daughter of an important house, she was greeted with warmth and enthusiasm by Lord Brennard Stark and the other members of House Stark.

You couldn't help but notice the stark contrast in Cregan's behaviour towards Lady Alysanne compared to his demeanour with you when you first arrived. He greeted the Blackwoods with a genuine smile, engaged in polite conversation, and even offered to show Lady Alysanne around Winterfell himself. It was a stark departure from the cold and aloof Cregan you had known at first.

You tried to push aside the feelings of hurt and jealousy that welled up within you. It had been some time since Cregan had treated you with such indifference, and you knew you should let bygones be bygones. After all, you reasoned, Cregan had every right to make new acquaintances and friends. You were still the one he shared kisses with and spoke whispered promises to.

However, as the days passed, you couldn't shake the feeling of being left behind. Cregan seemed to spend more and more time in the company of Lady Alysanne, showing her the beauty of Winterfell, introducing her to the people of the North, and sharing tales of their homeland.

One evening, as you watched Cregan and Lady Alysanne from across the courtyard, a sense of loneliness and abandonment washed over you. Then came the announcement that turned your blood cold. There was talk around the castle of preparations for a grand wedding. At first, this confused you. Cregan was the only member of the Starks of marriageable age, but he had never discussed something like this with you. And then you realized why, when passing the kitchens late one night, you overheard the scullery maids talking about how lovely a bride Lady Alysanne would make.

One day, as you walked alone in the quiet gardens of Winterfell, your steps slow and contemplative, Lady Alysanne approached you. You had been lost in your thoughts, unaware of Alysanne's presence until she spoke.

"I must admit, I wanted to see for myself the woman rumoured to be close to my future husband," she said with a smirk.

Your heart sank at the cruel tone in Alysanne's voice, and your voice trembled as you replied, "Your future husband?"

Alysanne nodded, her expression filled with mockery.

"Yes, Princess. Cregan and I have been promised to each other since birth. It's a marriage that our families have long arranged, for the good of both our houses."

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you turned away to hide your emotions. You felt a crushing weight on your chest, the realization that the man you had grown to care for deeply was bound by duty to another.

Your voice was barely a whisper as you asked, "How long have you known about this?"

Alysanne's tone was sharp and cutting as she replied, "I've known for a while, but I wanted to meet you before the wedding. I wanted to see the foolish girl who thought she could steal Cregan away from his duty."

Your heart ached with a mixture of sadness and resignation. You had to accept the reality of the situation, no matter how much it hurt.

Alysanne reached out with a mocking smile, but her touch was far from comforting as she placed her hand on your shoulder.

"I know this must be difficult for you, Princess, as you are probably used to having whatever your heart desires. But you should have known better. Cregan was never yours to have."

Later that very same day, when the sun had begun to set over Winterfell, casting long shadows across the castle grounds, you were sitting alone on a stone bench, your thoughts consumed by the hurtful encounter with Lady Alysanne. You had been lost in your own misery when Cregan approached, his expression filled with concern.

"Princess, I heard about what happened with Lady Alysanne," Cregan began, his voice gentle. "I wanted to make sure you're all right."

Your heart ached at the sound of his voice, but you tried to ignore him, focusing on the setting sun instead. You couldn't bear to look at him, not now, not after everything that had transpired.

Cregan, undeterred by your silence, took a step closer, "Please, let me explain."

Your emotions, raw and uncontainable, finally burst forth. You turned to face him, eyes filled with tears, and voice trembling with pain.

"Explain? You don't deserve to give me an explanation now, Cregan. Not after all that has happened between us."

Cregan's expression was one of genuine regret as he reached out to touch your arm, "Listen, please, just hear me out."

You couldn't bear to listen any longer. The words that had been building up inside you for so long spilled out in a rush.

"You should have told me, Cregan. You should have told me that you were promised to another, that you could never belong to me. You should have told me before you kissed me under the stars, before you spun me around in gilded ballrooms. Before you made me hope for something that wasn't real."

Tears streamed down your face, and your voice broke as you continued.

"I hate you, Cregan."

For a moment, there was silence between the two of you, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the air. Cregan's face showed a mix of pain and sadness, but he said nothing in response. You yearned for him to tell you that you were wrong. To tell you that you didn't hate him and that he certainly did not hate you and that he would be yours after all.

He opened his mouth but no words came out.

I love you.

The words were just on the tip of his tongue but he could not force them out. He could not be selfish enough to give you hope when he was bound by duty.

There never lived a Stark who broke an oath.

That was what Cregan's father had always told him, and he wasn't about to be the first stark to do so. And so Cregan chose to remain silent and eventually, he walked away, leaving you surrounded by the shards of your broken heart. Your hands came up to muffle the broken sobs that escaped your lips and the tears that streaked down your face were a testimony to your lie. You could claim to hate him all you want but one did not mourn this much for someone they hated.

You left the very next morning, after a hasty goodbye to the few people you had gotten to know during your stay at Winterfell and with a heavy heart, you directed your dragon toward your true home. You didn't think you could bear to watch him marry Lady Alysanne and it was better for you to leave now with at least some of your dignity intact.

~ I hate you and I mean it.

Several years had passed since the painful encounter with Cregan in the gardens of Winterfell. In the intervening years, much had changed. Your mother had taken the throne after the passing of your grandfather, King Viserys and you had been named her official heir. When news of a great war in the North reached the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Rhaenyra Targaryen, she saw an opportunity to strengthen her alliances and sent her two eldest children, you and Jace, to aid House Stark in the battle, accompanied by their dragons.

With the might of dragons at your side, the two of you made quick work of the war, helping to secure a decisive victory for the Starks. The sight of dragons soaring through the northern skies struck fear into the hearts of their enemies, and soon, the war was won.

In celebration of their triumph, House Stark held a grand feast in honour of the Targaryen siblings. The Great Hall of Winterfell was adorned with banners, and tables groaned under the weight of a sumptuous feast. Nobles from across the North had gathered to pay their respects to the Dragonriders.

You couldn't help but feel a strange mixture of emotions as you walked the familiar halls of Winterfell once more. The memories of your time here, both the joyful moments and the painful ones, flooded back to you. You had changed so much since then, and the scars of the past had faded but not entirely disappeared.

As you and Jace were introduced to the Northern lords and ladies, the atmosphere was one of jubilation and gratitude. The Starks were effusive in their praise, grateful for the Targaryens' aid in securing their victory.

You couldn't help but notice that Cregan was among those present, his gaze fixed on you. There was a tension in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the past and the wounds that still lingered. You had returned to Winterfell as a powerful figure, a dragon rider and an heir to the throne, but the history between you and Cregan remained.

The feast was a boisterous affair, with music and revelry filling the Great Hall. You watched as Cregan hovered about his wife almost constantly, his hand gentle on her protruding abdomen as he guided her about the room.

As the feast at Winterfell continued, your shock deepened when you noticed a young boy running towards Cregan with gleeful abandon. The boy called out, "Father!" with pure excitement, and Cregan, with a warm smile, hoisted the child onto his shoulders. They paraded around the room, making their way through the nobles who cheered and greeted them.

You watched in disbelief as Cregan introduced the boy to the gathered lords and ladies, his paternal pride evident in every gesture. The sight of Cregan with the child sent a pang of bitterness and resentment through you. You knew that Cregan's marriage to Lady Alysanne had likely produced offspring, but seeing it firsthand was a painful reminder of what could never be between the two of you.

Finally, the little boy and Cregan reached you and Jace. The child's dark, pale freckled skin and dark curls were identical to Alysanne's, but it was his eyes that caught your attention. They were the very same stormy grey eyes that you had noticed on Cregan the first time you had met him.

Cregan introduced the boy with a proud smile.

"This is my son, Rickon."

Cregan caught your eye and you caught a brief flash of regret pass through him before he schooled his expression into a pleasant grin. He turned back to his son, his face softening entirely as he gazed at him with adoration so tender that it speared right through your heart.

I hate you, Cregen Stark. I hate you for finding happiness without me. I hate you for not fighting for me. I hate you for your stupid oaths and your stupid loyalties. I hate you.

You were wise enough to keep your angry thoughts to yourself, but for the first time in your life, you found that you actually meant them. perhaps that made you a cruel and callous monster but you did not care. You hated Cregan Stark more than anything else and wondered, not for the first time, if you should have advised your mother against sending you to help out in the war. Still, you were your mother's daughter and if there was one person you loved with your entire heart, it was her. If helping the Starks win their war secured their support for your mother, then you would bury your heavy heart and do it for her.

As the evening wore on, you found it increasingly difficult to focus on the festivities. The bitter taste of jealousy and regret lingered in your mouth, a constant reminder of the life that could have been but was now forever out of reach. Whatever Cregan thought of Alysanne, it was clear that he loved their children and very soon there would be even more to cherish if Alysanne's laboured breaths and swollen belly said anything. You couldn't escape the feeling that you were a stranger in a place that had once held such significance in your life. The years had changed you, and Winterfell had changed as well. There was no longer any room for you and you couldn't wait to return home.

A/N: reblog and comment please, it really motivates me and I love reading yalls thoughts <3

#cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #cregan fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #jacaerys targaryen #hotd #hbo house of the dragon #cregan stark x reader #house of the dragon #house targaryen #house of the dragon headcanon #house of the dragon aemond #rhaenyra targaryen #hotd headcanon #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader #icarus ignite writes

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mandiemegatron · 9 months

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𝔽𝕦𝕔𝕜 𝕌𝕡 𝕄𝕪 𝕄𝕒𝕜𝕖𝕦𝕡

Nsfw/nsft ficlet for @swampstew 💖👀

Eustass Kid x Y/N

𝟷𝟾+ 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢, 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 💖

Rough sex, fingering, name calling, Eustass being a bastard as always ✨️✨️✨️

A/N: I hope you enjoy Raven!! It was honestly super fun writing Kid so who knows, maybe I'll write him again in the future 👀 I hope this puts a cute lil grin on ur cute lil face ! ✨️✨️✨️✨️💖💖💖 he gon smooch it 😎

Enjoy!! 💋💋💋💋

"So when are we gunna fuck?"

You coughed on your drink, wide eyes looking up at the red-headed menace you called your friend. You knew you liked each other; the way his eyes always undressed you when he thought you didn't notice, or the way his laugh echoed inside your body like an addictive drug...

But never had he been so bold as to ask you something like that directly to your face.

"I uh, that's incredibly ballsy of you, Eustass."

The man grinned and barked out a laugh as his fleshy hand landed over his heart.

"Ugh, I love it when you say my name - you should definitely scream it for me later."

Your cheeks burned bright red, your eyes still wide as the words ran laps in your head over over. He had flirted with you before, but nothing to this extent.

"...Are you drunk?"

Your words pierced him, but he hid the pang of bitterness with an almost sneer as he replied with a bite,

"I don't need to be drunk to tell you I want to fuck you."

You were silent for a moment, eyes finally wandering his body until they landed back on his face. His eyes always told the truth, and he was not lying about this. One of your eyebrows ticked up, a small smirk washing over your lips as you finally replied,

"Well then, why don't you show me just how sober you are?"

It was a blur, the next few moments. He had picked you up so easily, throwing you over a shoulder as your surprised and dark red face met the few crew still awake and watching with amused expressions.

"Get 'er, Captain, you fuckin' dog!" Someone cheered out, your face burning worse as Kid's metal hand came up to slap you on the ass, hard enough to pull a sound from you.

He gave a rumbling chuckle before quite literally barking out,

"Woof."

He literally kicked the door open down to the rooms, his long legs taking every two steps as you bounced on his shoulder. Your hands were firm against his back to try and minimize the shock but it wasn't doing much, a deep frown etched into your face as you bit back pained grunts.

When he finally hit the last step, he made quick work to get to his room, throwing the door open and tossing you roughly onto his bed. Your back hit the mattress and your breath left you, having to struggle to take a breath for a moment. You gave him a low glare when you finally caught it, slowly sitting up as your gaze changed as he ripped off his clothes, staring you down with hungry eyes.

"Good God," you murmured out, your eyes widening as you took him in in all his shamelessness. Your face burned terribly when your lower peripheral caught his lower region a little too well, trying very hard not to actually look further down.

"Careful princess, you keep looking at me like that and I'll ruin you."

Your eyes snapped up to his and your entire body ached, his gaze eating you from the inside out; that stupid, shit eating grin he always wore plastered across his face.

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

The words left your mouth before your brain had even registered that you spoke, a sudden look of shock crossing your own face when he cackled loudly.

"Both, obviously."

The teasing tone sent a shiver up your spine, and before you could say anything in return, your back hit the mattress once more, your wrists locked in a metal and fleshy grasp pinned above your head. Sharp, red eyes met yours as his face came above yours, and you swore your heart stopped, the thrill of being under Kid and his gaze feeling almost overwhelming.

"So?"

Your eyes narrowed at his question.

"So... what?"

He rolled his eyes with a huff and snarked back with a twitch of his hips,

"SO, when are we gunna fuck? You never answered me."

Your annoyed look softed at his words, realizing the mighty Eustass Kid was asking for consent.

"And they say chivalry is dead," you joked with a laugh before moving your head up as much as you could, your nose just brushing against his as you grinned up at him.

"Just fuck me already, Eustass."

It was like a switch had turned on in him. His lips devoured yours, his metal hand overtaking both your hands in his one, his other hand making its way down to rip off your shirt and your skirt, a delighted sound leaving his throat as he realized you had a cute, thin red thong on.

You groaned in annoyance as he ripped those off too.

You pulled away from the kiss to bite out,

"That was my favorite combo, you asshat! Do you know how much I spent on that fucking shirt?!"

His flesh hand grasped the bottom of your face harshly, pulling you back into a rough kiss, his tongue overtaking your mouth until he finally pulled away, leaving you breathless and moaning gently.

"Shut up, I'll buy you whatever the fuck you want later. I'll even help you out with your garbage style," he laughed out mockingly, his hand moving away from your face to travel back down to your now naked core. Your eyes rolled back as he shoved two digits in, giving you no time to get used to the intrusion as he immediately began thrusting into you. He had a snarking grin on his face as he watched yours, basking in how your body moved and begged for him.

"Yeah, just like that,"

His voice was suddenly so close, not realizing your eyes had shut as your hips ground against his hand. His breath tickled over your ear as he chuckled.

"I told you, I'm going to ruin you."

You whined as his fingers left you, his body slotting itself between your shaking legs. You gasped as he lined himself up, his tip already stretching you as he tested the waters. He groaned at how wet you were, feeling you pull him in as you rolled your hips onto him, his cock sliding in little by little until his hips finally met yours. You both stayed quiet for a moment, you both heavily breathing bring the only sound in the room. It was quiet enough that you could hear the party still continuing upstairs but neither of you paid it any mind.

The kiss he gave you was a little more gentle, still as demanding but more caring than hungry. He stared you down, almost as if waiting for you to say or do anything. When you tightened around him, his breath hitched and he chuckled lowly, biting down on your bottom lip hard enough to make your groan.

"Good girl."

His pace was intense, rough and almost painful if not for the incredible amount of extacy running through your entire body. Your fingers and palms ached under the metal grasp, your back arching into Kids chest as he fulfilled his promise and threat, his eyes falling shut as he bent his head to bite down on a breast, groaning around the flesh now covered in lipstick.

His grunts and groans made your stomach twist and heart flutter, a feeling of pride washing over you as you reveled in being the one to make him fall apart and lose control.

His lips suddenly met yours again for just a moment, his warm hand moving from gripping your hip to rub across your lips, barking out a laugh as he commented,

"You fucked up my makeup, slut. There's punishment for that."

Your eyes rolled back as his mouth met your throat, biting down every once in a while as he thrusted into you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. His name fell from your lips over and over, feeling his lips grin into your throat as he shifted his hips slightly, his tip hitting a spot you didn't even know existed. You saw stars and came hard, clenching around him to the point his hips faltered, your name tumbling from him like a prayer as he followed you, filling you with a burning warmth that just added to the overwhelming sensations Kid just put you through.

He finally lifted his head after a few minutes, his forehead resting against yours as you stared at each other. Your breath mingled for a moment before his bent a bit to capture your lips, his metal hand finally releasing your hands from its cage. Your hands went to his body and his hair, pulling him as close as possible as your legs wrapped around his waist.

"What took you so long?"

He pulled back enough to look down at you with a overly shocked face, almost angry at your words.

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?!"

You laughed breathlessly, rolling your eyes mockingly as you replied,

"It means, what took you so long to ask to fuck me?"

He was quiet for a minute before replying honestly,

"I didn't think ya liked me like that. Didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

Your heart melted at how uncomfortable he himself looked, his eyes looking everywhere but you. You clenched around his somehow still semi hard cock and he grunted, glared down at you.

"Do I look uncomfortable? Because I can promise you that I'm not. In fact, I feel the safest I've ever felt."

His eyes softed slightly before he kissed you again, a cheeky grin on his face as he chuckled out,

"Aw, don't make me blush, princess."

In a flash, he pressed you back down to the mattress, his hips slowly beginning their assault once more. Your one hand tightened in his hair as his mouth met your neck once more, teeth grazing and nipping your flesh as you slowly fall apart under him once again.

"Eustass..."

"I hope you have no plans tomorrow, because we're going all... night... long..."

A/N: WEEEEEE !! wow that was SO much fun to write, what a snarky lil bastard !! I love him !! I spent about 2 and a half hours on this so if you saw any mistakes, no you did not ! 🥰💖

I hope you all enjoyed but I hope you enjoyed this the most @swampstew !!! I know it's not much but it's from the heart (and Kids bed lmaaoo 👀) so I hope it cheered you up just an ittle bittle! You're awesome, keep your chin up 💖✨️

Be good ! Love you my lil tangerines!🍊🍊🍊💋💋💋💋💋

#ok to rb #mandies mumbles ; fanfics #Eustass Kid #one piece #overtoasted ; nsft #eustass kid x reader #eustasscaptainkid #eustass kid #eustass x reader #one piece x y/n #op eustass kid #HEEHEHEEHHEHEHEHEH 🙈🙈🙈🙈🙈🙈

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rinriya · 8 months

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BG3 ending (spoilers)

I finished BG3. And I.. I'm so devastated right now. Not in terms of relief or "oh, such a good game has come to an end, idk what to do next", I just don't understand what happened. I am disappointed. I need to speak out. Otherwise I feel like I can burst into tears because of indignation.

And I beg DON'T READ THE POST FURTHER if you haven't reached the end. There will be plenty spoilers. DON'T READ IF YOU HAVEN'T FINISHED THE GAME.

So. Is this really the end? Is this… what we've been so actively waiting for 3 years? Maybe there will be DLCs no less than another full-fledged act? Otherwise, I cannot understand what was the point MC to do all of this?

I.. damn, this is hard. I waited so long for this game, but now I criticize it. Okay, phew. I'll get myself under control. Phew. Sorry.

We were promised different outcomes, different endings, many choices. But what did we actually get? You either save Orpheus (the Emperor becomes an enemy), or help the Emperor (Orpheus dies), or you/your companion turns into an illithid. And like.. who cares if you continued to refuse the powers. It's unavoidable in any case. You cannot form an alliance, you cannot win without a tadpole. You are linear in your final choice.

Your companions?

Wyll leaves to Avernus. Karlach returns to Avernus. Astarion can no longer stay in the sun, he begins to burn and therefore runs away. That moment… it broke my heart. My MC romanced him, couldn't he followed Star? Was it not possible to add some extra scenes? It doesn't matter to anyone. He ran away? Well meh who cares. Only Shadowheart says something like "oh, how sad, he can no longer walk in the sun."

I wanted to help him damn it! Both him and Karlach. And Lae'zel too, but game not allowed me to do so, forcing to choose: either the giths fate, or your ally. Choose.

I wanted my friends to live happily even without tadpoles! Why the hell I was saving the world, if my companions can't be happy? For the sake of a good ending, I should have let Stari to perform the terrible dark ritual? Or turn Karlach into a squid? Minsc and Jaheira are just fanservice for old fans. More or less good end has Gale (still with bomb inside him), Shadowheart and the Emperor himself.

And what about all my decisions? Where are their consequences? What happened to the vampire spawns? With a grove? With the forest? With Hell, where we killed a mighty devil?! With the Ironhand clan, who now have a new leader? Larian Studios, was it really so hard to write at least in text about everything that happened? Like in DOS2 at least? Or about our companions future life. At least about them!

It feels like even if I decided to play as pure evil.. there would be no difference, because I just don't know what my actions led to. But I can't play evil, I just can't hurt anyone. Yes, I'm boring person who loves happy endings and when everyone doing great.

BG3 received its fame, glory, attention. Obviously will receive a bunch of awards, because its ratings beat all records, but inside me.. there is just emptiness. I can headcanon a happy ending with Astarion, truly free Lae'zel, who will be no longer chased by Vlaakith's servants and Karlach with repaired heart. But it will all be in my head. Not in the game. Baldur's Gate 3.. is like a beautiful (really beautiful) wrapper, but the candy inside turned out to be simple and not very different from the others.

I'm sad. Very sad. And I'm sorry for this flow of words. I had to speak out. Now I feel a bit better. I really want to hear your opinion, because now I'm mentally hurt. I obviously triggered the high expectations for this game and get a painful kick for that.

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drconstellation · 6 months

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All The Colours of the GO Rainbow

Updated 11 Nov 2023

Edit note: I've done quite a big update on Red, Green and Blue, so if you read this before 11 Nov 2023 it might be worth reading it again.

I'm writing this meta about colours in the Good Omens AU in preparation for some future metas I'm planning, where colour will be important. And yes, I'm going to use "colour" as the spelling, as I'm an Australian and I use the UK English as my usual go-to version of English (that is what I was taught at school,) even though I am finding myself flicking between US and UK English here on Tumblr, leaving out u's here and there and putting in z's where I would normally put s's.

I also think its worth having another discussion about it as there are some colours I've have seen discussed here and there, but not at length, and some not at all that I think are important, and I just want to bring them all to one place.

I'm also going to be referring to @cobragardens excellent meta The Colors of Crowley quite a bit in this meta at various points, so you might want to pause and go read that first, then come back.

BLACK

Most people's initial reaction would be to class black as a colour of Hell. Crowley wears a lot of black, and usually a hidden accent of red (aaand something else. I'll discuss that at the end.) But the other demons are actually quite colourful when you get them into the light. They may tend towards the darker shades but there is quite a range of colours seen. Dagon, for example, is a very dark blue, as their avatar is a marine fish. Normally blue is associated with Heaven in GO. But this fits better if we think of black as being the colour of shadow, where the light does not reach, and the place of hidden things, of mystery

And it's worth noting that Aziraphale wears some black when he is trying to perform a magic show. He also wears white and gold at the same time but normally he does not wear these colours, unless he is performing human magic (see S1E1, Warlock's 11th birthday party, and the 1941 minisode S2E4) This should be striking enough for you to sit up and take note. You could say when Aziraphale dons black it is an expression of his act of "mysteriosity."

RED

Again, red is not necessarily a demonic colour, although we tend to associate it with demons, as Lord Beelzebub and Lord Dagon both wear red sashes as a mark of their rank in Hell. Think of it more as the colour of passion and romance in GO. Ooh, got you there! Makes you wonder what Shax is really up to (I know some of you have.) Perhaps they are just passionate about doing their job, or climbing their way to the top of the demonic ranking ladder?

Edit: After writing up a couple of other metas and some more reading maybe a better description is "devotional passion." Shax is devoted to climbing the power ladder in Hell (her red is usually a darker shade of red than Crowley's,) and the Red Team in the paintball fight at Tadfield Manor in S1E2 is devoted to following the rules of Management. Crowley is devoted to Aziraphale, of course.

In Christianity red has an association with the left-hand side, or the sinister side. In GO we tend to call this the "demon side" as there is a lot of shot blocking for shoulder-angels and shoulder-demons. Crowley is typically on Aziraphale's LHS because of this, so when he isn't, we take note. Actually you should take note of all the shot-blocking in GO because who is on the shoulder-right and who is on the shoulder-left of shot tells you so much about their moral stance in that scene! Anyway, in religious iconography it will often be Michael robed in red, with a sword, on the left of Jesus, representing the eccentric, the strange, the excessive, fire - and goats. (Hey, goats are a whole other meta, we are here to talk colour!)

Special mention to the 1941 minisode in S2E4 that is just soaked in red, everywhere you turn: in the sparks flying off the burning buildings as the sparks of love begin to fly, the inside of the book shop where Crowley encourages Aziraphale to think like a professional, the magic shop where danger and chaos lurks in every corner but magic is Aziraphale's personal passion, and the Windmill Theater where he finally gets to perform his magic passion on the stage. Several ops see this as a special memory of Aziraphale's so he colours it with the red of romance. We've got big hopes of seeing a third part to 1941 in S3. Some of this red is also used as a metaphor for flames and fire (there always seems to be something burning after a gun is fired) - we are fanning the flames of passion again!

GOLD

Gold is one the colours of Heaven. Nearly all the angels have some form of gold on them at some point. A gold ring, gold embroidery on their clothes, a golden brooch, gold on their face, Aziraphale's gold watch fob (he has a ring, too). We also see multiple golden lions in various places, which appear to have a connection to Heaven and Jesus. (I'm still planning to write a meta on the lions in the future, but I've got to find them all first! They keep turning up in surprising places...) The lions have a royal connection, one of two royal mentions in this meta, in that they represent the connection Jesus has to the Royal house of Judah, and are a symbol of his return in the Second Coming.

YELLOW

Yellow in GO is probably the hardest colour to interpret. We see a lot of it, because Aziraphale is so fond of it, being the colour of Crowley's eyes. The walls of the book shop are painted yellow, he gives Jimbriel a yellow feather duster to use and he turns the Bentley yellow on the trip up to Edinburgh, much to Crowley's disgust. (To be fair, Crowley's Mayfair flat in S1 was colour-coded to Aziraphale's eyes in return, in greys and subtle blues, but that's another discussion.)

But I think the important thing to emphasis here is that yellow is NOT the same as gold, and we shouldn't blend the two colours together.

While some point out that yellow can be seen as an imperial or royal colour, as it is the colour of the Sun, when you put this colour in context in the GO AU, it more clearly points to being the colour of fear, as Cobragarden's explains in The Colours of Crowley. I would expand on their words, and say that is why Crowley doesn't wear his sunglasses in front of Jimbriel when looking after him in the book shop - its a measure of how afraid he is that the the real Gabriel might reappear at any moment. And back in S1 when Crowley is trying to work out how to escape the burning Odegra sigil he inadvertently created Hastur appears in the front seat of the Bentley in pursuit of him and reaches out to remove his sunglasses. The shock on Crowley's face in the moment is palpable, because he realises he's in the shit unless he thinks quickly - which he bravely does!

GREEN

Green is the colour of chaos.

Originally I wrote that Green was Hell, but on after writing this and going on to write further metas (I think I’ve mentioned this elsewhere, and this is an evolving meta) and a brief discussion in the Notes at the bottom with noneorother, I decided I would re-write this for a better fit.

It still fits Hell, however, as Hell is chaos compared to Heaven. It’s overcrowded, its clogged with bundled paperwork that hasn’t been filed, there is old furniture everywhere. It’s still the overgrown suffocating swamp of decay, with the leaking pipes and the light struggling to find its way down through the mess. It’s still Furfur, with plans to unexpectedly disrupt our hero’s magic act. It’s still the colour of the fog outside the bookshop during the Eldritch Ball, signalling that things are not going to plan. Demons love chaos, its their purpose. It’s the opposite to Heaven, which is rigid and structured.

A recent post from @noneorother highlights that the intense green used for Hell in S2 is influenced by the the Powell & Pressburger movie The Tales of Hoffmann. They say:

Whenever something evil happens in "The automaton ball" sequence, the light changes to this sickly green. Colour is THE important symbolism in Hoffmann, so now we know green is evil.

But they wanted to add that evil is not necessarily Hell. And we would have to agree. Because Aziraphale also has a lot of green associated with him, and he has nothing to do with Hell - he's more an agent of chaos, if anything. He's unpredictable. Let us address this in it's own section below.

Veridian/Teal/Aquamarine

This is a special section to discuss the blue-green hues that Aziraphale wears. Heaven mixed with Hell. Lawful mixed with Chaos. He is one unique angel. The first sight of these colours is in 1601, when we find out that the Arrangement first proposed by Crowley in 537 is now in full swing, where he has some teal strips in his Elizabethan costume.

While I'm told its traditional to have a darker colour on the back panel of waistcoats, it's notable that the back of Aziraphale's waistcoat is a distinctly dark viridian green. Why not dark blue? Or a shade of brown to go with the other shades of brown and beige the angels tend to wear? But what's the meta-writer's motto in GO? There are no accidents...

He also wears a pale aquamarine shirt in the present day. (wearecrowley has posted a nice set of GIFs that highlight it here) No white for him since 1941 at least, although his 1821 shirt also looks green to me, but its hard to tell in the dim candlelight of night time Edinburgh (unless he is performing magic, then he is in white, gold, and mysterious black or being discorporated, then he is colourless white - back to his "native" state, like Muriel in her Earthly Inspector uniform.) The cape he wears in the 1941 minisode is also a fascinating colour. I am having trouble pinning down exactly what it would be called - Teal? A darker aquamarine? Perhaps turquoise. It's certainly part of his colour palette, and still indicating a lawful-chaos mix. A "dark horse" indeed!

[Edit: So i saw someone describe Heaven and Hell as Lawfulness and Chaos, and I thought that was a perfect fit for Aziraphale here with his blue-greens. Remember Crowley described him as "unpredictable" to Nina? Yeah...]

[Edit 2: I've made some changes above because I re-wrote the section on Green. This is an evolving meta!]

BLUE

Blue is a signal of Heaven, the colour of the sky, and a colour traditionally associated with the archangels Gabriel and Michael. We see it in a number of places, in both S1 and S2, where it is used with deliberate care.

Usually a primary shade of blue, this represents the rigid lawfulness and rules of Heaven, as compared to the chaos associated with Hell. In Christian iconography blue is what Gabriel wears as the right-hand-side shoulder angel to Jesus. It represents the Law, mercy, protection, water, sheep(!) and foundation. The "good" shoulder angel is always on the right shoulder in shot-blocking in the show.

Below are some examples of where we see it:

The blue paint on the back of Aziraphale's coat when he gets hit by a paintball at Tadfield Manor in S1E2.

The colour of Newt's car, Dick Turpin (which actually presents an interesting juxtaposition, as Newt is a Crowley parallel.)

The colour of the external walls of the coffee shop in S2, and some of the inside, which is also the same as the take-away cups, such as the one the Metatron offers to Aziraphale.

The colour of the gecko Jemima asks to be turned into in the Job minisode.

The colour of the suit Jimbriel wears at the eldritch ball, and the glorious ostrich feather jacket he dons when he exits the book shop to give himself up to the demons.

PURPLE

Purple has long been the colour of royalty, since ancient days. This was for good reason - there was only one natural source of the rich purple dye. That came from a small marine snail that was found on the coast of modern day Lebanon, near Tyre, and they held the monopoly on this trade for centuries. Only kings and emperor's could afford to have cloth dyed in this colour, known as Tyrian purple. It wasn't until the first synthetic purple dye was created in 1856 that the common man could afford to wear it as well.

In Good Omens we see Gabriel, the Prince of Heaven, wearing this colour in his ties, and also showing it in his irises in both S1 and S2. But only when he is Gabriel, not as Jim.

[Edit: So I only just found out that the colour he wears is lilac and is modeled after Elizabeth Taylor's famous eyes. But hey, she was a queen of the screen - movie royalty! And you still need to explain all the other purple below. Also, she was only born around 100 years ago and Gabriel has theoretically been around for...a lot longer, so I'd say Gabriel came first.]

There are a couple of other places we see it used. One is when angel Crowley starts up his nebula. The plume of miracle energy emanating from the book shop after the 25 lazurii miracle is also this colour.

Archangel Saraqael's chair is purple when she is on Earth. And Saraqael and Muriel both have purple in their tartan when in Heaven.

WHITE

White is the colour of the angels. It is the colour of Aziraphale's wings and the colour of his robes during ancient times from the Beginning up to Rome. Once the Arrangement starts, the white starts to be replaced with other colours, and the shades of teal and other blue-greens start to appear.

By the present day he has virtually lost all trace of white, except for his hair. He then only appears in all white when discorporated.

Muriel turns up in a conspicuously bright white police uniform on Earth, and the other angels all have some form of white on them.

Crowley sometimes has small accents of white as well. They can be easily missed, such as the white shirt cuff protruding from his sleek black Elizabethan costume in 1601. Remember they are discussing the Arrangement here - so they are both showing signs of taking on each other's colours at this point. On the other hand, I know quite a few people have commented on the white in his 1941 garb, on his tie, and his pocket handkerchief (and remember, he wears a grey shirt, not black, because he doesn't want to be mistaken for a black-shirted fascist during the war years.)

SILVER/GRAY

There are two colours I keep seeing that I'm going to group together as one, and that is silver and gray.

The senior archangels are notably dressed in what I've seen described as dove-gray, but an article on the costumes calls it pearl-gray, and it was meant to look a bit shimmery. I sometimes refer to this group of angels as the Archangels with the capital A, or the seraphim, the closest angels to God. This includes Gabriel, our current Prince of Heaven, Michael, Uriel. And I'm going to include Crowley in his trademark Tactical Turtleneck master spy disguise when he infiltrated Heaven with Muriel in S2E6. Hey, he could have worn white!

So where does this colour come from?

I've spent a bit of time banging on in the past about "traditional colours" of the archangels, in particular Gabriel and Michael's being blue, and the missing Raphael's being green. Part of the problem is, though, if you go looking online for who's colour is whose, you get a big variation in answers. Michael nearly always comes out with being associated with blue, and Raphael with green, so no problem there, but all the other traditionally named seraphim seem to get other colours put against them. For Gabriel, though, a commonly associated colour does appear to be white or silver.

Now my guess would be that sparkly silver would be too naff a look for the angels. I mean, look at what Crowley manifests as a blending-in "bees" disguise, a slightly shiny grayish suit, which kind of mocks the other Archangels (and you're overdoing the gold hints there a bit, Crowley) but it is curiously the same style as Saraqael's garb, and they did supposedly work together on the Horsehead Nebula. Hmmm. The Archangel's pearl-gray suits look very corporate and business-like, echoing a large soul-crushing business entity.

But this is not the only time Crowley wears this upper echelon colour; he has quite a habit of wearing it, particularly once the Arrangement kicks in.

The problem is, he nearly always wears near-solid black (unless he is trying not to get killed, like in 1793 Paris - Cobragarden's meta on the context why here - or 1941 London - see above,) so it stands out. I find this a far more interesting than the red accents, and should note that we don't always see it on him; its not there in 1967, for example.

One colour that is noticeably missing in the full GO rainbow is orange. We don't get it handed to us on a plate as much as the other colours do. Perhaps one exception is the sign for The Resurrectionist pub in Edinburgh, where Jesus is wearing an orange robe under a blue cloth. [Edit: It must be my screen colour, its been mentioned to me that the under-robe is actually crimson red.]

So now we have run through all the colours, it can be interesting to look at them in combination.

Bonus points for noticing the white mugs for the S2 coffee shop (six-shots of espresso,) to go with the blue take-away cups. The shop is blue-white-gold themed. Truly meant to be a place where Heaven is obtainable on Earth! It also kind of reminds me of the sky - blue sky overhead, white clouds, and a golden Sun shining down (from the brass lamps.) [Edit: There is a paler green inside the coffee shop - its easy to miss, we are too busy watching the characters!]

The book shop also has a combination of colours - predominately red and yellow. Yellow for fear, and red for passion and romance. Ouch, what a combination!

Aziraphales's white, gold and black combination for performing magic also has me intrigued. It's not just the black, but so much golden colour in the form of a golden vest. And we get it both times in both 1941 and 2019. An angel from Heaven trying to hide what he really is.

I've added an extra section below as part of a reblog on the angel off-whites and shades of brown that also appear, as I realised I missed them, and do a character analysis of the Metatron, so make sure you read that as well.

If you are interested in my analysis on the tartan in GO I've one here at: What the Tartan Tells Us

For further meta reading on colour in GO try the following:

If you haven't read it yet, do go and read Cobragardens The Colours of Crowley, Red and Yellow can hurt a fellow: Colour Symbolism in 1941 Part 1 and Part 2 as it makes the colours more character specific, whereas I've tried to give the colours a more over-arching theme here.

And for the importance of the yellow colour Vavavoom! which is used on the book shop walls, (and matches Crowley's eyes) see Vidavalors post on The Vavoom: Or, when the show's hinting Crowley & Aziraphale first kissed

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dearest-painter · 10 months

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I didn’t do anything wrong! PT.2

Summary: Y/N was just living their best life or as best as it can get as spider-man/women. Y/N misses their old friends but understands that they must be busy but once they go to a place that is filled with people wanting them as their child but also to write their story they get pissed off

TW/CW:Yandere behavior, unhealthy behavior, unhealthy relationship,abusive behavior,abusive relationship,Reader is Miles morals,Reader is tired and trying their best,very out of character characters,this is a series,Reader needs therapy,Reader will be forced into the spider society,I fuck up the movie a lot just so I can make this a bit more sense,Reader is forced to visit Spider society and be away from their actual family,Reader is paranoid and worried all the time now,this doesn’t completely go with the plot as it’ll be a bit different,Reader is mentioned to have selfed harmed because I wanna represent that more as I wanna show that everyone has had tough times even in wrong ways as I’ve selfed harmed in the past so this does mean a lot to me,Reader is basically forced to be around people they don’t want to be around,lots of this comes from me and @ablobwhowrites conversation about this AU, like the blob Bird and a future romantic relationship, I added the fact Reader plays soccer and was 6 years old to make Miguel feel bad, I want ANGST, people might be out of character,tell me if I need to add more

PT.1

You and Jessica finally went to the cafeteria area, you held her hand breathing very anxiously…everyone is scaring you. You don’t even trust Jessica your just pretend you do for your own safety! “Mrs.Drew I’m not hungry anymore, we can go back” “Look Y/N I know your scared but you need to eat so let’s go” “Please Mrs.Drew! I can eat later! Please!” Jessica sighed, she knew you were on the verge of crying but you were hungry and her child so she can’t let you go hungry.

She kept walking while holding your hand, no amount of pleading stopped her. Luckily..no one was there which calmed you a bit but you were still scared. She quickly got you food then sent you off to Therapist Spider-Man to hide. Knocking on his door you carefully went in, he looked up and wasn’t surprised to see you. “Jessica told me you’d be here. You can hide anywhere..don’t worry I won’t tell the others.” You nodded your head as you hid in a spot. You were eating but you still had tears in your eyes…why won’t they let you go home!? Why can’t you see your parents!?

Soon you finished your food and decided to take a nap, therapist spider-man seemed like a chill guy…maybe he can help you. You closed your eyes to tired to notice you were crying again as you drifted off. Therapist Spider-man sighed as he walked over to you and covered you with a dark colored blanket but also wiped your tears, he felt bad for you and knew you wanted to go home…he knows that feeling all to well. He sighed as he went back to his desk mumbling. “I should help that kid…their parents is what they need…not this fucking place or people, they need their real family….” That’s what he finally decided, to help you.

Miguel was pissed as no one could find you or Jessica until now as she was pulling up. “Did you find them!?” “No, I looked everywhere” Miguel could tell she was hiding something from him, if she was hiding where you were out he was going to be extra pissed. How dare she hide HIS child! He didn’t mean to body you when he first met you and he wants to apologize! “Jessica, tell me the damn truth…DID. YOU. FIND. THEM!?” Jessica has never seen Miguel so pissed and he wants to know where her darling child is kinda pisses her off! “I didn’t!” “If I find out your lying I’m going to make your life a living hell!”

Miguel let a annoyed yell as he kept looking for you, he needed to apologize to you. He needed to show that he’s a good dad, he needed his family back together. He met you before…he accidentally time traveled to when you were 6 which was Gabriella’s age. You were the sweetest thing, even showed him your bird that was basically a blob that you found at the laundry place.

He was crouching to your height. “Here you go mister! Your my friend now so have this sticker!” You or 6 year old you placed a cartoon spider sticker on his suit giggling, he smiled a bit. He felt so bad for harming you now that he sees the true you…you were wearing soccer gear that matched Gabriella’s own soccer team so that must mean that her old team exists here. “You play soccer?” “Mhm! Mama and Papa say I’m the best! I like being the goalie because I get to kick the ball away!” “Yeah, goalie seems like the best spot. Do you go out and kick the ball or are you just a goalie?” “I go out and kick the ball sometimes! I’m not that good at protecting the ball but Mama says it’s okay!” He ruffled your hair making you giggle even more…it sounded so cute. “Your mama’s right, your still learning and it’s okay” “Y/N! COME ON! WE GOTTA GO!”

“OKAY MAMA! Bye mister! I have to go to my soccer game! Have a nice day!” Six year old you waved goodbye as you ran towards your mother, Miguel watched. He felt empty again…he needed you as his child. He was a better dad by far, it was obvious your parents didn’t teach you stranger danger if you were so willing to talk to him! Miguel shook his head out of the flashback…he remembers why he’s looking for guy again, to be the dad you need.

#yandere #please don’t do this #obession #unhealthy #gn reader #yandere platonic #platonic yandere #I didn’t do anything wrong series #x gn reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere x gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral reader #yandere spiderverse #yandere spider man across the spider verse #romantic yandere #part 2 of many #miles!reader

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pacifymebby · 1 year

Note

Hello! Can i request a peaky blinders x terminally ill reader. Like, they don’t want to fall in love with her because it’s like falling in love with a ticking time bomb that’s gonna leave them devastated, but she’s just so lovely they can’t help them self

So cause I'm not terminally ill and therefore can't write a totally honest view of what this would be like, im going to try. Some of them might not be 100% how u asked so sorry in advance.

Tommy

🌿 He can tell you're hiding something from him and the rest of the world from the moment he meets you, he can tell its something dark and sad, but he thinks that makes you just like him and so, if anything, it only draws him in closer to you.

🌿 He thinks you're beautiful, he likes to listen to you singing while you work down the market. He can sense that whatever your secrets are, they mean he should stay away, but even before he really falls for you he can't. You just drew him in.

🌿 I think in the case of tommy it would be you trying to keep your distance from him, putting up walls and trying not to let him too close. You don't want to hurt him, and you don't want to hurt yourself by dangling a future you know you can't have in front of yourself.

🌿 But one day Tommy gets fed up with all your defenses and kind of snaps, calmly, but still, he lets his frustration get to him all "Whyre you doing this eh darlin, its like I'm trying really, really bloody hard to get to know you but theres all these doors you keep lockin right in front of me fuckin face, every time i try to talk to you, another wall going up and up and up... Whyre you doin that? Puttin up walls eh?" he'd say it all so intensely, and so calm and soft by the end of it, so that you can see the affection and need in his eyes abd it breaks your heart...

🌿 And when you tell him whats really going on you expect him to leave but he doesn't

🌿 Because this is Tommy isn't it. So narcissistically obsessed with his own doom that if he'd really thought about it for a second he could have guessed that he was going to lose him. That any chance of happiness he had with you would be the temporary, doomed kind.

🌿 He kind of embraces the pain and punishes himself with it every day, but is also determined that you don't deserve this. Maybe he thinks he deserves to lose the love of his life as penance for his sins but you do not deserve to lose your life because some ugly man from Birmingham did some terrible things. So he'd be defiant about it, he'd love you anyway despite knowing he perhaps should try not to. He'd love you like pressing on a bruise, embracing the pain he's in whilst doing everything in his power to give youba good and happy life.

🌿 He won't leave you. He'll tell you he's not going to leave you, he'll make sure you're completely certain of that. "Its important to me darlin, that you know that right, I'm not gonna leave you, I love you and I won't stop just because of some fuckin illness yeah, i won't..."

🌿 Actually he'll straight up marry you. Even if you think thats pointless because you won't be around for very long, he'll insist that it happens. He loves you, he wants to marry you whilst youve the chance.

🌿 Blames himself for the illness, even though you were ill before you met him. In his head its like this... If you were fated to be the love of his life, then that is what doomed you to a premature death, because he needs to be punished for his sins. He thinks you were sent to punish him for his sins.

🌿 He won't tell you what he's doing but he'll keep searching for ways to heal you, things that could save your life. Even if he doesn't find any, he won't give up. He'll start fuckin praying again. He'll go sit in a church and break down, beg for your life to be spared and his taken instead.

🌿 But he won't let anyone see or know his desperation. On the outside he will mostly remain stoic.

🌿 And he'll want to take care of you every step of the way, when you're in your last days he probably won't want anyone else around, just you and him, him doting on your every need, holding you when you sleep. Always scared you won't wake up. Telling you he loves you, but more importantly showing you he loves you with every little thing he does for you.

🌿 You might try to make him promise you he'll find someone else and fall in love and have a family and all that without you and he won't mean it when he promises you that he will. But he'll promise you anything, say anything to keep you calm and content in your last days.

🌿 He won't let you see him crying, he won't be "weak" in front of you. He'll be so brave and determined even though his heart is breaking because he won't want to upset you. He'd want to preserve your happiness and comfort for as long as possible.

🌿 Rather than getting teary upset i feel like he'd express his emotions through frustration and take them out on other people. He'd probably be a lot less patient with other people, snapping at them and making rash careless decisions. His brothers would have to work extra hard to keep him "sane" and make sure he doesn't do too much damage.

Alfie

🐻 Is an "old man" well aware of his own mortality and of life, suffering and death. You're not the first terminally ill person he's met and he knows exactly what he's getting himself into by getting close to you

🐻 His friends warn him maybe once, maybe they ask him if he really thinks its a good idea, getting so close to someone who won't be around forever... But one look from alfie, one quick and cutting sentence is enough to warn them off ever asking again.

🐻 "Oh an i suppose you think you will be around forever do you Ollie?"

🐻 He's not naive, he knows its going to hurt but he's also not naive enough to believe then that it won't be worth it.

🐻 Because he adores you, your gentle ways, your soft beauty, your kindness, how sweet you are, all he ever wants to do when he sees you is hold your waist in his hands and draw you in close to him. Hold onto you and have you all to himself.

🐻 He loves you, to put it simply, and you, to put it even more simply, deserve love. Being ill, dying doesnt make you any less deserving of that love. And he has so much love for you.

🐻 "If I can't have you for as long as I live right darlin, gonna make sure you have me for as long as you live yeah, reckon that makes sense doesn't it, makes perfect sense to me poppet, yeah makes perfect sense to me..."

🐻 He'd be completely devoted to you. He'd spoil you rotten, he'd want to make sure you got to do everything you wanted to, see everything you wanted to whilst you were still able to. He'd piss everyone at the bakery off by taking all this time away, practically throwing his business away so that he could spend time with you.

🐻 Basically puts Tommy in this frustrating and stupid position where tommys no choice but to mind the bakery whilst Alfie is off with you

🐻 And then when you're really sick and getting weaker every day Alfie is by your bedside doing as much for you as he can. He doesnt want some nurse you dont know attending to you, he doesnt want you to feel alone... He only trusts himself to be able to take care of you and he probably does everyone else's head in telling them exactly how you like to be washed/dressed, exactly how to cook your food.

🐻 Much like Tommy he'd be desperately sad about whats happening to you, he'd feel his heart break a little more each day but he probably won't cry in front of you, he'll probably try to be brave for you.

🐻 Very short tempered with everyone else. He will cry but only when he's alone, honestly maybe in front of Tommy and only for a second before he composes himself again.

🐻 Writes a whole fucking opera about you as a coping mechanism.

🐻 Always wants to be holding you or touching you somehow, like hes scared to forget how it feels. Always holding your hand in his.

🐻 Likes reading you to sleep, putting records on for you. Writing music for you.

Arthur

🍂 Is devestated, can't put his feelings into words at all, can't cope with the idea of losing you.

🍂 Everyone warns him about falling for you but their warnings come too late because he already has and he adores you. He wants to spend his whole life with you and when it becomes apparent that thats never going to happen he is distraught.

🍂 He doesn't want you to live he NEEDS you to live, he can't accept things the way they are, has to believe you can survive even though deep down he knows you can't.

🍂 He gets so angry and bitter, not with you or at you but at the world and with everything else. He's angry at the illness for taking you from him, he's angry at the world for being such a cruel and unfair place.

🍂 Tries to turn to god, tries to pray, thinks that perhaps if he repents for all the bad things hes done or, if he begs god enough, he can trade with you, he can die so that you don't have to. Because "its fucked up isnt it darlin, that someone so fucking kind and good and pure can have to deal with this, whilst the rotten likes of me just go on living an fillin the world up with bad things"

🍂 Arthur doesn't have the self control his brother has, he won't hold back in front of you even if sometimes it would be kinder for him to do so. There are probably things you don't really need to hear about how cruel the world is, how unfair everything is, but he doesn't have a filter and sometimes when his emotions get the better of him he just spills it all.

🍂 He will cry in front of you, you'll hold him whilst he sobs into your chest and breaks down. Then apologises because "you shouldn't have to be dealin with this, I should be being the fuckin strong one.."

🍂 Takes a lot of his emotions out in the ring and they probably have to try and stop him from going there because the damage he will do with all these enotions coursing through him could be deadly.

🍂 He would get more and more unstable the more ill you got, unable to cope with whats happening. But he'd so desperately want to be a good husband to you. He'd beg Polly and his sister for help, asking them for advice. Polly would probably be his rock here, giving him advice, giving him a hug when he needs one, a slap and a shake when he needs to snap out of it and be there for you.

🍂 She'd help him take care of you, teach him how to look after you, how to be gentle when he's taking care of you.

🍂 At the point that you're too weak to get out of bed he'd lie with you or sit with you whenever he could, he wont give you peace talking to you about everything thats been happening, nervous talking too because he doesnt like the silence. But you like listening to him ramble about everything.

🍂 You also like the fact that no ones worried about talking of peaky business in front of you so you get all of the gossip.

🍂 He won't be particularly articulate but he'll tell you he loves you constantly.

🍂 Brings you little gifts of food and sweet treats all the time. Makes you food his mam woulda made him when he was sick as a child.

John

🌼 John seems so happy go lucky, laidback, still such a child at heart and you're drawn to him because of that. Admiring him from afar, falling in love with his laughter and that cheeky grin. Torturing yourself because hes something you just cant have.

🌼 You don't want to let yourself near him because you don't want to take that carefree nature away from him or taint him with the side effects of your illness, the stress anxiety and torment which seems to taint everyone you get close to these days.

🌼 But John has been in love with you since the second he laid eyes on you and he's determined to ignore your warnings about staying away from him.

🌼 As far as he's concerned you deserve to be loved, whether or not you have the potential to break his heart or not. Technically - and this is an argument he comes up with all the time - technically, everyone has the potential to break everyones heart, he could get shot and killed tomorrow before anythings even really happened to you. He could fall in love with some other lass and she could get hit by a car or die in some sudden accident. "Just because you're really ill flower, doesn't mean I shouldn't love you. Doesn't make you not worth loving... If anything it means you should be loved twice as hard now... I've got a whole lifetimes worth of love to give you so better not to keep stalling... "

🌼 His family think hes impulsive but he marries you almost imediately. Youre the love of his life and he wants to spend as much time as he possibly can being your husband.

🌼 He would want you to have the best possible life you could, even if it was only short so he'd take you travelling to see all the places you wanted to see. He'd help you do all the things you wanted to do before you died.

🌼 He'd do his best to keep up his usual ray of sunshine persona, still being boyish and charming, always teasing you, always trying to make you smile. Out of all the peaky men John is the one who treats you least like you're terminally ill. He isn't quite so obsessed with being careful with you or treating you like you're delicate. He lets you make the "I'm going to die anyway" joke sometimes when it comes to you doing unwise things like drinking/smoking or going for a ride.

🌼 He wants to keep you laughing and smiling for as long as he possibly can

🌼 When you get more sick and you begin to grow weaker he does struggle more, he doesnt like seeing you look so unwell, so in pain. He wants to be with you all the time but he doesn't want you to see him get upset.

🌼 He goes to Ada for support and she lets him hug it out or cry to her. She'd give him the love actually advice of "cheer up, no ones gonna shag you if you cry all the time" type of joking advice which is exactly what he needs to keep his head up and stay strong for you.

🌼 He too would want to be there for you and help care for you everyday even if he doesn't really know what hes doing. If he couldn't help he'd hold your hand and reassure you.

Bonnie

🍀 He's heartbroken when he finds out, naturally, no one wants the person they love to suffer, however

🍀 Rather than get too caught up in how long you have left together, Bonnie feels blessed just to have you at all and he's determined to love you for as long as he can.

🍀When he tells you this, "I love you little dove, all this love aint goin anywhere just cause you are, I'll love you my whole life I know I will..." "But you shouldn't Bon its going to hurt you so much, I'm gonna cause you so much sufferin an you don't deserve that..." "You don't deserve to be alone though do ye? And I'm tough dove, I can survive," he'd make a show of flexing his biceps to prove how strong he is and try to make you laugh.

🍀 Like John he's determined to keep you happy and smiling for as long as he can. He'll make jokes, he'll tell you how beautiful you are, how loved you are. He'll keep telling you all these things even when your light does begin to fade.

🍀 He spends as much time with you as he possibly can. Being a hopeless romantic he'll definitely want to marry you.

🍀His own mother died when he was young and his father's already been through this, Aberama would be a little torn, he'd want his son to be happy and so he wouldn't want him devoting his life to a woman who's going to leave him so soon, but he'd also want his son to be happy which means letting him devote his life to you.

🍀 Bonnie would try to be brave, he would try not to cry in front of you, and though he might not shed any actual tears, you can tell when he does want to cry, when he's upset his jaw tenses and he gets this far away misty look in his eyes.

🍀He wants to give you everything in the whole wide world but he doesn't have the time, he wants to make you proud of him so he's extra determined to win all his fights and train hard... But sometimes he also just, can't see the point? What does fighting matter, what does being the champion of the world matter when the love of his life is going to have to leave him so soon.

🍀When you get restless he wraps you up warm and takes you off on horseback to the middle of nowhere where the two of you can get some peace. He helps you bathe in the creeks and rivers, lies with you wrapped in blankets under the redwood trees.

🍀When you're ill he wants to be the one to take care of you, to nurse you, to help feed and bathe you. He won't leave your side for a second and he'll really piss Tommy Shelby off by refusing fights and refusing to work. He doesnt care if his life or future is threatened. Nothings getting between him and you now.

🍀 Sings for you whenever you ask, tries to make up little stories for you. Is still determined to make you laugh/smile whenever he can, even when you're very weak.

🍀 Always bringing you flowers and pretty things he finds for you outside when you're too weak to go exploring with him.

🍀 Holds you every night when you're going to sleep, lies awake listening to you breathing determined that you'll wake up again in the morning. Kisses your hair/forehead/temple and hands all the time.

Isaiah

🐀He loves you before he knows youre terminally ill and you're affraid to tell him because you don't want him to leave.

🐀Everyone can see him falling for you, he's not exactly subtle about it - and that fact alone means he must be falling really hard for you. He asks after you all the time, he's always abandoning his friends when he's out if he sees you, choosing to waste his time talking to you instead.

🐀And regretfully it's Michael who ends up telling him about your condition. When he finds out he does get scared. He panics and doesn't know what to do.

🐀He doesn't want to lose you, but he doesn't want to get too close... The problem is he already has feelings for you and he can't just turn them off. In fact he knows full well that even if he'd known from the second he saw you at the Garrison he wouldn't have been able to stop himself falling in love with you because you're perfect. You're his perfect girl and he would never have been able to ignore you.

🐀So he backs away a little, he tries to fall out of love but he struggles and, just as he was expecting he fails. If anything trying to pull away from you only makes him more certain of his adoration for you. He loves you. He's so sure of that now.

🐀You aren't stupid, you notice him pulling away and trying to seperate from you and though it makes you sad you're not surprised and you can't say you dont completely understand.

🐀 So you try to tell him that, you try to speak to him gently, try to tell him exactly whats wrong with you, roughly how long you have left. And he listens and tries not to get upset and does quite a good job, then when you say "it's alright Isaiah i understand... If you dont want to stay I understand..." thats when he gets upset

🐀 He gets angry, upset with you for not valuing yourself more, for accepting that someone might not want to love you. But mostly he's angry at himself because even this little argument is wasted time he could have spent holding you, kissing you, telling you how much he adores you.

🐀"No don't you dare say that, don't you dare pretend that this is fuckin fine or that you understand, I've been so fucking selfish love, you deserve to be loved and I don't fuckin deserve you because for a second I was too busy thinkin bout me fuckin self to think about you and what you need!"

🐀And from there on out hes unshakable and so stubborn about loving you, he spends as much time with you as he possibly can. He tells you he loves you like a hundred times a day.

🐀Michael and his friends can't understand whats gotten into him, he asks him one day if he doesn't think he's "wasting" his time and Isaiah has to try not to get angry. Because thats a cruel way of putting it even if thats not how it was intended to be.

🐀"Course I'm not wasting my time, she's the only good use of my time... This is the only important thing i think I've ever done with me life, you know... Loving her like... If it were you in my position you'd understand, it'd be the same for you..." "but you coulda... You know chose not to be in your position..." "nah" says Isaiah, "i couldnt have chosen anything, s'not a choice mate, i just love her and always have..."

Michael

☘️ He definitely experiences "love at first sight" which is something he didn't really believe in before. But when he sees you he's swept away by your beauty and he knows, just knows, youre the girl hes supposed to fall in love with.

☘️ He tries to pursue you and you don't really take him very seriously because he's michael gray and hes got a reputation about him when it comes to the ladies. You think he just wants a one night stand and so you flirt back and laugh him off and tease him until he ends up confessing everything to you in a desperate attempt at getting you to take him seriously.

☘️ But then he's confessed everything to you, so now you have to tell him something too, thats you've an incurable illness. At first he doesn't understand and you have to spell it out to him. "It means I'm going to die Michael... And much sooner than you will..."

☘️ His first instinct is anger, he feels upset and betrayed that you didn't tell him straight away but this quickly subsides because he isn't really angry, hes heartbroken.

☘️ "If you were to ask my advice I'd say you should go off and find yourself a different girl," you smirk, youre only joking and actually if he were to follow that advice you'd be heartbroken, and pissed off too.

☘️ But Michael is two things : a gentleman and desperately in love with you.

☘️ So he just smirks and shakes his head, "forgive me love but i dont think you give very good advice..."

☘️ He knows how much its going to hurt but he keeps telling himself he's been through worse. He hasnt but he deludes himself with this notion so that he can stay strong for you.

☘️ He won't show you how upset he is about it unless really pushed to, perhaps nearer the end he'll break down, unable to hold it in and stay strong... But for the most part he is determined not to show weakness or to let you feel sad or despairing. He wants to reassure you all the time that everything will be alright and you don't need to be scared.

☘️Cries a lot in secret. Cries to his mother about it. Pol tries her best to support the both of you but its difficult watching her son have his heart ripped out. Difficult too watching you have yours ripped out.

☘️ Sometimes you wish you hadn't fallen in love because knowing what you're going to leave behind now makes the thought so much more painful. When you talk to Michael about it though he puts on his brave face and offers you all the reassurance in the world. Tells you you'll meet eachother again one day. Jokes he might not even be that far behind you. You hate it when he jokes like that though and he often does it just to wind you up, just to get you to play hit him and lighten your mood.

☘️ He'd organise the best private care for you, go with you to all your doctors appointments and try to keep as much of it under control as possible. He'd want you to try any cure they threw at you and there probably would be arguments about it if you didn't want to try something. In the end though he'd always put your wants above his own and listen to you.

☘️ Michaels quite a serious and sullen lad but he doesn't want you to feel serious or sullen so he often has to force himself out of his over thinking moods and into a more lighthearted one. All he wants to do is keep you smiling and hopeful.

#peaky blinders headcanon #bonnie gold x reader #peaky blinders imagines #tommy shelby x reader #arthur shelby x reader #john shelby x reader #alfie solomons x reader #peaky blinders imagine #michael gray x reader #isaiah jesus x reader

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freesia-writes · 8 months

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If you're okay with taking requests at this time, could you write something hurt/comfort with a fem!reader x Wrecker? Maybe they are on a mission and the reader gets hurt pretty bad and Wrecker has to get her to safety and treat her injuries. (I haven't seen many fics where Wrecker is the one having to save and provide aid for the reader....which is confusing bc I'd assume he would have had the same training that the rest of them did and Tech probably would have taught him some extra stuff too!) I really loved your most recent chapter of the Hunter x Vel fic and it's got me wanting some more hurt/comfort/medical stuff from you!

Hiiiii! First of all... (to all of you out there)... Thank you for being so patient and gracious with asks! I've been so much busier and also in a total writing funk, so I didn't want to force it and give you any less than my best! That being said... there are some really sweet and fun asks in there, and I'm excited to get to them! <3

SO... for this sweet Wrecker piece... I wanted to give you a lil somethin extra (I may have a few more of these up my sleeve for future works)... You'll see some words that are *hyperlinked*. Go ahead and click it if you want to hear Wrecker actually say them! :D

Wrecker x GN!Reader Word Count: 1.4k Content Warnings: wartime violence, reader injury, pain described, not too graphic (shot in the leg and hurting ribs).

Wrecker’s heart was pounding as he saw you fall. You disappeared down the side of the hill, tumbling through brush and ferns. They would have been a beautiful addition to the lush mountainside the team had been forced into, but now they were obstacles that were only increasing your injuries as you crashed through them. A feral roar escaped him as he charged after you, going into BAMF mode as his blaster fired ceaselessly. A few tactically-tossed grenades disabled the closest tank, which he then pushed into the one next to it, crushing both of them against the rocky mountain wall. The rest of the team was closing in, working seamlessly and effectively as always. But this time, he was flushed with more than just the thrill of battle.

You finally came to a halt at the base of a large tree, lying flat on your back with one hip slightly tilted up where it had met the tree trunk that stopped your descent. The pain radiating throughout your chest was suffocating, and every shaky breath you took caused a stabbing sensation throughout your ribcage. The blaster bolt that took you down had hit your thigh hard enough to make you lose your balance, and in the split second before you hit the ground, you cursed yourself for your momentary distraction. And then you were falling. Part of you wished you were still falling, because in your stationary position, it was hard to focus on anything other than your injuries. You tried to pick your head up, immediately feeling dizzy, and flopped it back on the ground, seeing white spots begin to creep in at the edges of your vision.

The clouds were beautiful, at least. Bright orange and yellow against a hazy purple sky. It would have been an enjoyable place to rest and daydream… In fact, that was precisely what you wanted to do. You felt so heavy, and despite the waves of jaw-clenching pain coursing through you, there was an irresistible pull to surrender to the sleepiness that was overtaking you. The last thing you remembered was the sky slowly fading to white, then darkness.

“Where are you… Come on….” Wrecker grumbled, slipping and sliding down the hill with reckless abandon. He ran from tree to tree, using each one to stop himself and allow for a quick scan of the ground. A panic was rising within as he kept moving, convinced that he should have seen you by now. Perhaps he missed you on the way down? No, he had been careful. He just needed to keep a straight mind. He took a deep breath, pulse still racing, and then he caught a glimpse of your robe.

The bushes separating you from him were trampled to smithereens as he came to your side, dropping to his knees with a loud thud. You weren’t… you couldn’t be… He reached for you, pressing two large fingers delicately into the side of your neck. There it was – a pulse. His arms twitched; he was yearning to pull you into his lap, but hesitated, cautious of internal injuries that may not be apparent to the untrained eye. The blossoming red patch on the thigh of your dark green pants caused his eyes to grow round for a split second, and then he was moving. He didn’t have all of Tech’s pouches, and he found himself choking on his own taunts that he’d always flung at his brother as he wished he had more on him at the moment.

The hem of your robe caught his eye, and he muttered a brief apology before carefully pulling out from under you and tearing off the entire bottom of it. He fashioned the thick fabric into a makeshift compress to stop the bleeding and stabilize your leg, then moved up to your face, cupping the side of your cheek with utter tenderness. Your eyes fluttered open, sending a thrill through his chest as he willed with all his might for you to be okay.

“You’re awake,” he said, more of a wish than an observation. Your bleary vision was nothing but shapes and shadows for a moment, then he slowly came into focus.

“Wreck…” you breathed, wincing at the way the sound rattled inside your own head. “I’m–”

“You’re okay. I’m here. Gonna get you back to the ship.” His voice was loud, or maybe it just sounded that way to you, but it definitely had an undeniable alarm to it, beneath his attempted facade of calm focus.

You reached an arm out and tried to sit up again, but the immediate spasm took your breath away. You froze in place, unable to move without wishing you were unconscious. “I can’t…the ribs…” you said through gritted teeth and shallow breaths.

“We’ll figure it out. Take it easy,” Wrecker reassured, wrapping one strong arm around your shoulders so you didn’t have to hold yourself up anymore. He tapped the side of his helmet with the fingers on the other hand, touching base with the rest of the team. They’d finished “cleaning up the mess”, as Crosshair put it, and were en route to the Marauder. Wrecker looked back to you, considering the options in his mind. “Listen… I need to carry you back to the ship…”

Your eyes were tightly shut, tears squeezing out the corners. “It hurts too much,” you whimpered, dizziness threatening to rob you of consciousness again. “Leave me,” you said, not meaning a single word but losing your coherent thoughts by the moment.

"Hey! Hey... Look at me... You're gonna be alright. You hear me? I’ve got you. It’s okay." His words were sharp and urgent, the fear inside him crowding out the softness and affection he felt for you. You gave a small nod, fully expecting to pass out from the pain. Moving with a rapt awareness of your fragility, he slid his other arm beneath your knees, lifting you as he stood up with every attempt to keep your body in the same position. You cried out, the sound of your pain piercing him to the core. He apologized profusely, heading back to the ship as quickly as possible. It felt like hours. The agony washed over you again and again, and by the time he got you onto a bunk on the ship, you were almost delirious. Tech was quick to take off, lurching into hyperspace within minutes.

Wrecker ripped his helmet off with one hand, kneeling on the floor next to your bunk. He was furiously rummaging through the medpack next to him, gathering precisely what he needed with shaky hands. You just wanted it to be over, but his sudden closeness brought a warm feeling that temporarily bloomed throughout your abdomen as he leaned over you with a stimpack, pressing it against your arm. It dispensed with a loud hiss, and after a few seconds, a sweet relief began to spread throughout your limbs.

“Thank you.” Your breathy gratitude softened the intensity in his eyes, and he stroked a large hand down the side of your hair before pressing his forehead to yours with feather-light touch. The cocktail of bacta, painkillers, and anesthesia slowly reached your head, and as you drifted off into sleep again, his whisper soothed away the last vestiges of pain. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

* * *

You woke up a few hours later, discovering as you tried to peek at the clean dressing on your leg that you were immobilized around your middle. You took a tentative breath in, slowly expanding your ribs against the dull ache. The sudden appearance of a round head peering over the edge of the bunk above you made you gasp in surprise, followed by an immediate wince at the discomfort it caused.

“Shoot, sorry,” he muttered, clambering off the bunk to the ground beside you. He took one of your hands in his, resting his elbow on the edge of the mattress. “How do you feel?”

“Like garbage,” you said with a smile, rolling your head to the side to take in the tender affection on his expressive face.

“Well you’re beautiful garbage,” Wrecker chuckled, stroking the back of your hand with a thumb. “I got ya all patched up… For now,” he admitted with a sheepish tone, although you couldn’t discern why.

“You’re amazing,” you said quietly, giving his hand a feeble squeeze. “That’s twice now…”

“Ah, who’s countin?” he murmured, leaning in to kiss your cheek and flushing you with tingles.

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#the bad batch #wrecker #wrecker fluff #bad batch wrecker #tbb wrecker #x reader #reader insert #clone thirsting #the bad batch wrecker

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damagedintellect · 10 months

Text

Nakahara Chuuya x Reader

💌 Would this be considered a social suicide? : Chapter 1 💌

Summary: You knew it was dangerous to take walks at night but hearing the water rushing under the bridge was calming to your nerves. You didn’t imagine you’d ever fall into the river and somehow wake up in your favorite anime. The isekai that I’m sure will come back to haunt me. It’s kept me up all night but I might as well get the brainrot out.

Notes: Reader is Isekai’d into BSD, Slow to start, Chuuya is endgame but there’s a fair bit of reader & Dazai moments too

💌 Word count: 2,348 💌 Available Chapters [You are here] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

You stood over the bridge looking out at the sunset. You would have to return home before it got too dark but the tranquil sound of the rushing water underneath you always calms your nerves after an episode. Things have been pretty rough lately but you’d live. As a writer you were your worst critic. You were almost done with your first big manuscript and you just needed to get past the final hurdle before you could start seeking out publishing companies. At the beginning your novel came easy but as the ending chapters were approaching you started to dread finishing it. The unknown future was a scary thought. Multiple what if’s flooding your mind. The fear that you would have wasted the better of a year and a half writing a story for no actual gain was one of them. It shouldn’t be considered wasted time because writing it helped you in many ways but the ever looming thought that you could have accomplished much more in the same amount of time is a burden that will never leave you alone. If only things could be as easy as the media you consumed. Your recent obsession with a certain anime series wasn’t helping either but it’s captivated your heart and it’s all you think about nowadays. Which is what spurred on the little tiff with your writing. All you’ve done recently is play the Bungo Stray Dogs mobile game trying to pull the rate up Chuuya unit to the point where you were actually no lifing it. While you agree that you might be going overboard just a little, you might actually have formed an addiction to playing marbles. You honestly preferred when you were analyzing and fantasizing about the contrast of the strong bonded characters. Not to mention how much you can see yourself in everyone. The amount of character study is comforting to you and one day you wish to write something that makes others feel the way you do when you read BSD. From your perspective this was just research but to the rest of the world haha whoops just your autism is showing. It’s a limiting belief you weren’t sure how to get rid of either. The need to constantly do and be productive with your time otherwise you fail at society when ultimately success is subjective.

Before you could turn around you were harshly grabbed by the arm. You were pushed against the railing as your assailant threatened you to stay quiet. A knife was brandished against your neck but almost foolishly the wrong side was being pressed against you. The man reeked of alcohol so maybe he wasn’t all there right now. Mustering as much rage and aggression you’ve been bottling up for years you think to yourself that this was now or never. If there was one thing you have been thinking about since childhood it was pulling off a Miss Congeniality. Shouldering him in the gut, stepping on his foot, elbow to the face, and finishing it off with a swift kick to the dick. Panic was starting to kick in. You didn’t think that would work but that doesn’t matter right now you should start running. As you were about to bolt he grabbed your leg and your dumbass clutched onto the railing trying to use your bodyweight to break free and it worked due to the thug letting you go but your momentum was already set in motion. You threw yourself over the railing crashing in the icy water below.

—

“Dazai I swear if this was one of your planed double suicides I’m going to kill you!” a voice rang out. You could still feel the sensations of floating your memory murky.

“I assure you if it was, me and this lovely lady would already be dead but unfortunately Atsushi here ruined that miracle for me.”

You choked, you recognized those voices “D-Dazai?” When your vision came too you were in Atsushi’s lap as Kunikida was shaking his partner. This couldn’t be real.

“Ah so sleeping beauty’s awake. Kunikida as a gentleman you should ask her if she’s alright and stop strangling me.”

Reluctantly the blonde did as he was told and let go, kneeling in front of you “Are you alright my colleague said you were floating in the river?” his eyes were full of concern.

You looked dazed, glancing around to see the familiar riverbank that Atsushi starts at during the very beginning of Bungo Stray Dogs. You looked at your hands. You were still wearing the same clothes you put on this morning, admittedly they were much soggier than you remember but you had no memory of the day or how you ended up in the river. For some reason you knew who these people were and what seemingly happens to them in the future. The most notable thing was you were grossly aware of the fact that this universe belonged to your favorite manga that currently was on its 108th chapter? This had to be a dream. If you played along maybe you’d eventually wake up. You’ve had lucid dreams before, it wasn’t too far fetched but the ache in your heart didn’t want you to wake up. Finally you looked up at Kunikida who was patiently waiting for your answer but before you could give a response your stomach growled. How embarrassing, now you really wanted to die.

Dazai keeled over laughing “I guess introductions can wait till we get something to eat, how about that?” He offered you a hand over his partner's shoulder to help you up. You snapped out of your haze to grab his hand and say “I can’t remember much so I think that’s for the best.”

What have you gotten yourself into?

At dinner Atsushi spent no time at all stuffing his face as Kunikida and Dazai bantered back and forth. Dialogue you remembered from when you watched the show originally. You forgot how furious Kunikida was over the whole ordeal and you felt bad knowing what Atsushi was going to say next. He really needed a hug.

“I came to Yokohama straight from the orphanage. I’ve had nothing to eat and nowhere to sleep since. I thought I’d starve to death.”

“You came from an orphanage?” Dazai questioned. He was sitting across from you casually and despite being hungry you noticed that he didn’t order anything to eat. You had ordered one out of solidarity. You’ve always wanted to try tea on rice but never bothered trying to find a place that makes it in your area. Atsushi was already on his twelfth bowl or so as he continued the conversation.

“I was yes but they kicked me out.”

“Sounds like a real philanthropic organization.” Dazai turned his attention from Atsushi to you “How about you? Remember anything now?” He rested his head on the back of his hands.

You nodded “I think my name is (Y/N), (Y/N) (L/N). Still trying to work out where I came from and how I got in the river but it’s something to start.” Being vague was probably for the best right now. Although you would have to find some way into the Armed Detective Agency eventually. After that you could be a little more bold with your knowledge. Without an ability though, it would be by the skin of your teeth and your memory of the events to come. Not everyone in the agency had an ability or combative skills but they had plot armor, you sadly do not. Being caught up with the manga was great for knowing everything to come but you'd have to remember things you've read and watched months ago. There was no room for error as it stood currently. Your life literally depended on it. You wondered if you could pull it off. If you didn't you could always try the port mafia. It would be more risky and twice as dangerous but at least you could hopefully get a glimpse of a certain redhead before you died. Who knows, could be fun.

“Dazai we’re not a couple of do good-ers going around helping hard luck cases. We’ve got a job to do.” Kunikida nudged the other with his book leading Atsushi to question “That reminds me. You said that your current job involves the military. What kind of work do you do.”

“We’re private investigators” Dazai gave his signature smirk bringing his hand up to rest under his chin. What an absolute dork you loved this waste of bandages.

“Investigators?”

“But we handle more than lost pets and cheating spouses. Our office has uniquely gifted investigators, we’re the Armed Detective Agency.”

You sat upright with Atsushi. While he was having his little monologue you softly muttered “The Armed Detective Agency.” trailing off you made your eyes as wide as you could like you were seeing a vision before you shook your head staring back as Atsushi. “Tiger?” you stated in a hushed tone. Hopefully you were acting strange enough for Dazai to notice, it was the only way your plan was going to work out. You needed a reason to be kept around but not to upstage Atsushi's importance. Not like that could really happen since he is the tiger but still. You needed your bases covered without being too off the wall. The harsh bottom line was this was your only chance because you have no idea if your choices affect the story yet. On top of that you have no money, no friends and no shelter so they were your only option.

“You guys are looking for a tiger.” You stated it as a fact, regaining their attention after Dazai’s little health hanging prank.

Kunikida stopped strangling Dazai as the two exchanged looks. “We never said what the job was, it's not supposed to be a secret or anything but how’d you come to that conclusion?” He pushed up his glasses for emphasis.

You tilted your head for effect. “I don’t know it was just a feeling I got when I looked at Atsushi kinda like a weird deja vu.” you played it off quizzically like you were also figuring things out as they progressed.

Atsushi stared across the table “You’re looking for a tiger?” You could feel him tense.

“Yes, a ferocious man eater who's recently appeared in the city. Well not that we know for sure it's devoured anyone but it’s ransacked warehouses, eaten farm animals and caused general chaos. The authorities have received all kinds of scary reports about it” Dazai sighed, slipping back into his uninterested mood. In Atsushi’s panic he knocked over his chair and a couple of bowls as he tried to crawl away. You watched the scene play out as Kunikida pinned him to the floor and the interrogation started. You sat patiently as Atsushi was then asked if he was free to be bait.

“Forget it no way!”

You laughed at Atsushi’s outburst trying to lighten the mood. “I don’t know Atsushi. If it’s after you I feel like this is the perfect opportunity to get it off your back for good. What if I tagged along? Strength in numbers right?” He stood up and defended himself “That doesn’t make it better! I’m not doing this okay. I know what you’re thinking, you’re planning to use me as bait-”

“There’s a reward you know.”

From there Atsushi’s fate was sealed and you all made your way over to the warehouse. You waited around for hours, everyone keeping to themselves. This was something they didn’t show you in anime but you figured time would pass as normal anyhow. You were laying on one of the crates that was across from Atsushi. You had been staring up at the ceiling after staring at Dazai became boring. He was literally reading his book. You saw his eyes move across the page. You really weren't sure what else you expected. As soon as Atsushi opened his mouth you rolled your eyes.

Finally, show time.

It’s not like you’d actually be of any help, you just needed to make sure you didn’t die or get in the way. Hopefully the groundwork you set prior would be enough. If you were in Dazai's shoes and some girl you've never seen before who has amnesia but happens to know the details of your mission, it would be pretty strange. It's not as strong as Atsushi’s but fingers crossed it was enough. When Atsushi started to turn, you stretched and said “Guess that’s my cue to leave, I’ll let Kunikida and the others know.” Dazai only smirked and continued to monologue to Atsushi who would not remember the speech later. You casually strode out of the warehouse seeing the others already surrounding the building, hearing the ruckus inside. You didn’t speak, only waved them in as you made your way back to Dazai seeing that the dust had already settled and Atsushi was already on the ground. After everyone else got to take a jab at him the brunette finally spoke.

“I’ve already made my decision. We’re going to make them one of us.”

You sighed in relief when he gestured to you as well. You didn't want to be presumptuous and assume he meant "them" as in plural when that's not always the case. Regardless, your personal mission was accomplished. It was enough to be lumped in with Atsushi but you weren’t out of the woods yet. It was enough to get you through the night. If you didn’t wake up from this dream you’d still have the entrance exam to worry about. Then the matter of how much you give away about possibly having an ability and next being able to live the lie you’ve crafted. As a writer it shouldn’t be that hard to craft yourself a solid backstory but there was still no proof of your existence outside waking up at the riverside. You’d have to be careful but you were up for the challenge. After all, what have you got to lose?

Chapter 1 | Next Chapter =>

#BSD isekai au no one asked for #nakahara chuuya x reader #bsd x reader #bsd imagines #chuuya nakahara x reader #don't mind me just playing around with BSD like dolls #xreader #x reader

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sallage · 2 months

Text

The Milkman - NSFW

The Wheel AU

Part 1

Warning: This is an intense tickle fic!

Summary: It had been years since Bakugo had last stepped foot outside of the city. Graduating U.A. at the top of his class, interning and working for The Genious Office, and making a name for himself had been cake once Deku was suspended. The first few months, he'd hardly thought about the nerd. After that, not at all. What he didn't know, was that the life he'd grown acustomed to was about to derail in one of the most sadistic and twisted ways he'd never thought possible.

Pairing: Lee Pro Hero Bakugo, Ler Villain Deku

Words: 10,466

Reading Time: 41 Minutes

A/N: Holyyyyyyyyyy shit. This is the longest fic I have ever written. I had sooooooo much fun writing this and I'm actually kind of proud of it.... just a little(: Please let me know what you think! Enjoy!!

Read more ∘₊✧ Here ✧₊∘

The room was mostly empty.

Bakugo was blindfolded, but he could sense it. He could tell by the way the metallic clang of the chains clamoring around his neck reverberated off of the walls. The bastard had fucked with Bakugo enough for him to learn how sound worked in a small room, which is why his heart was already in his throat when he felt a tug against the icy narrow band, which he’d learned the hard way, meant stop.

So he did.

“Good boy.”

Bakugo growled, a low animalistic noise from deep within his throat. If someone gave him one million attempts to predict his future, he never would have guessed this.

That he would end up a piece of meat for the nerd to fuck with for his own sick, demented pleasure.

When Deku was suspended from U.A., Bakugo's graduation at the top of his class became effortless, with the internship and job at The Genius Office falling into place just as smoothly.

Once Bakugo had turned twenty-five years old, he had developed a high level of renown and respect as a hero. The final arc of his success was right there, literally in the palm of his hands.

Then everything went to shit.

It was supposed to be a simple mission.

Reports of a faceless crime lord monetizing black market drugs and illegal erasure darts on the dark web were far from unknown. However, an anonymous tip had led them to discover a money laundering outpost posing as a trading card store. After years of coming up empty, Bakugo was itching to discover something, anything useful.

All they had to do was monitor the establishment.

Bakugo couldn't see the use of the three men sent to scout with him, especially after the store had closed, so he’d sent them home with a note reviewing the new tracker that had been implanted in their gums. The technology was new and not widely tested yet, plagiarizing elements of skin and bone, so Bakugo was confident that the chip would be missed if he were somehow captured and searched.

He’d spend the next several hours watching.

Maybe he should have gone home after the fifth hour of quiet.

It wasn’t until four in the morning, when a small sliver of activity caught his eye.

A lone person in a black hood quietly exited the dark store.

Bakugo recognized the possibility of a diversion, that the person in the hood was simply meant to draw prying eyes away from the store while other things went on behind the scenes. Bakugo had seen the trick used before.

But he couldn't help but feel… drawn.

So he followed them.

The thought to report an update was fleeting.

The hooded figure remained silent and unperturbed. Bakugo kept a safe distance in the shadows, his soft footfalls masked by the rising pitch of the winding river and bridge ahead. The figure's movements remained consistent and steady as they both crossed, the city now but a shimmering dot in the darkened distance.

They crossed into ghostly, suburban territory.

After around ten minutes, a graffitied public school park looming under a broken flickering street light caught his attention.

A twinge of familiarity ran down his spine.

Distracted, Bakugo didn’t see the hooded figure round the sidewalk. Cursing, he rushed to catch up.

When he’d rounded the corner, they were standing in the center of the street, staring at some old, tragedy stricken apartments with their hands casually slung into their pockets.

Bakugo considered the situation, and his eyes narrowed as he contemplated initiating a confrontation. The very small and mature voice he’d annoyingly developed in his mind told him to think about his endgame. If he rushed the shady bastard now, he would tip off the villain operation and everything they’d learned up to that point would be as useful as dirt. He’d need to have reasonable proof and all he’d had was a stupid feeling.

Bakugo gritted his teeth and growled under his breath. He’d wanted to confront the fucker and kick his ass, but it was too early to have a full picture of what was really going on. The store could simply be that, a store, with nothing more to it.

He rolled his eyes and before he could talk himself out of it, took careful steps away in an attempt to slip back out, then paused. Maybe if he could catch a glimpse of their face…

“My mother still lives here.”

Bakugo's body went completely still. His breath stopped in his throat, and his heartbeat pounded in his chest like a hammer against steel.

The figure lowered their hood, glowing green eyes trained on the apartments.

Bakugo blinked. Everything else fell away from him.

“Everyday I think she’d leave, especially after I destroyed the neighborhood. Do you think she’s still waiting for me?”

He should have left right then and there.

Instead, Bakugo rose from his crouch and slowly walked out onto the street. Each step he’d taken had an undeniable ferocity to it, his eyes like two burning embers that could turn into an inferno at a moment's notice.

It was the fucking high school drop out. And he knew Bakugo was following him. He’d probably known it the second he’d left the store, maybe even before.

“Izuku.”

“Kacchan.”

The familiar nickname wasn't spoken with the same fondness that it had once been uttered with, instead carrying a tone that made it sound more like an insult.

Gone was the silly, quirky, and fun-loving person that was filled with goodness and joy. In his place stood a dangerous, predatory, and threatening presence. In his eyes no longer shined the bright light of his once golden heart, but instead the glimmering of a cold and dangerous predator.

“Don’t do this! Please don’t let them take it, Kacchan!”

Bakugo scowled at him, his palms grew hot.

“Why the hell are you here?”

He should’ve reported the update. Hell, he should’ve called in the entire damn agency.

Deku’s voice was steady, eyes trained on the apartments. “You didn’t like our walk down memory lane?”

Bakugo’s eyes sparked.

The playground, the river, the fucking card store.

Bakugo bristled. He should have known. It was obvious. “Answer the fucking question.”

Black tendrils slowly slithered out of Deku’s back. Bakugo’s palms sizzled.

“No one’s talked to me like that in a long time.”

Without so much as a twitch as a warning, one of the tendrils struck. Bakugo quickly shifted and dodged, failing to realize that Deku had simply struck the ground just next to where the blonde once stood, intentionally pushing him right into a hulking frame standing silently off to the side, who wrapped massive arms around Bakugo’s chest from behind.

His palms crackled and sparked with the orange and red of his quirk, building up and igniting in a devastating explosion that engulfed them both in a calamitous blaze of volatile force.

Somehow, deep in the heat, he felt a sudden and painful sting on the side of his neck.

In an instant, the heat and power from his attack subsided, dissolved by the abrupt numbing sensation that spread through his body and left his hands smoking and twitching. His body tingled, all of his senses numbed and weakened.

“Motherfffuuhh-”

Another sting, and his vision wavered and blurred. He shook his head, fighting against it.

It was a fucking trap. Set For him.

He’d known he was going to pass out and these fuckers were going to take him. He’d wanted to fight it with as much defiance and disrespect as he could. Profanities spewed from his lips accompanied by worthless sparks that popped from his numb, useless hands. His eyes seared into Deku, but the villain’s eyes remained locked on the apartments, not even sparing him a sideways glance before whatever drug they injected him with finally overwhelmed his senses.

He’d woken up in the same damn room he’d been staying in for the past week.

Over the course of that week, Bakugo had fought harder than he ever had in his entire life. He’d bitten fingers, head butted anyone within range, and spat. His mouth proved to be as dangerous as his quirk, but three days in the muzzle and firmer restraints taught him to use his talents sparingly.

As expected, they’d missed the tracker during the strip search. He’d woken up with it warm against his tooth, confirmation that someone was indeed looking for him.

So he’d reserved his energy, save for every few minutes or so when he would religiously check if the quirk erasure dart was still active, hoping to catch it before they’d eventually inject him again.

On his first night, blindfolded, cursing and thrashing, they’d shoved him into a chair and bound his legs to it along with his arms to a hanging contraption above his head. It took seven of them to eventually subdue the aggressive pro hero, all of them walking away with some kind of injury.

Deku didn't make an appearance that night, but the orders to his grunts were clear.

Extract any information Bakugo had uncovered about their operations.

Bakugo was expecting to be tortured. He’d mentally prepared himself for it the moment he’d woken up in this shit hole. And he was, just not in the way he was expecting.

Deku didn't want to dignify Bakugo with a formidable excuse for when he eventually gave up. He wanted to humiliate him.

For the first three days, he was brutally and sadistically tickle tortured.

When the method of torture was revealed, to say that Bakugo was flabbergasted would be an understatement. He’d imagined needles under the nails or flaying. Hell, he was even expecting something ironic like being branded or burned alive. So when he was finally forced into the chair, the last of his flailing limbs secured, he braced himself for the kind of pain that would match the reputation Izuku created for himself, only to be startled by harmless and rough fingers and hands, ticklishly squeezing sensitive spots on his body.

The pro hero sneered and taunted the goons, under the impression he was safe for the time being.

But of course, he would be proven wrong.

The grunts took their time and expertly learned his body. They triggered reactions and sounds Bakugo didn't know he could make and tormented spots he didn't even know were ticklish. After hours of meticulous work and charting, they’d put the information they gathered to blindingly effective use. Bakugo learned a few things about himself that night, things he would pay top dollar to forget.

And he’d weathered the torture by the skin of his teeth.

The second day, Deku made a personal appearance, and cracked him in less than an hour. Bakugo answered every single question asked of him, relevant or not.

Still, it wasn't enough for the damn masochist.

Deku didn't just want answers from Bakugo, he wanted him to pay.

So now, in the fourth day of hell, Bakugo has nothing to say or give that would spare him from whatever Deku planned.

Today was purely about revenge.

A hard hand clamped on his shoulder and the blonde blindly stepped forward, letting the hand guide him.

He swallowed his resistance and it slid down his throat like sand.

The hand lifted. He paused.

Then there was light.

Bakugo blinked several times after the blindfold was lifted. The intensity of the dazzling lights in the room made his eyes squint and nose itch. His eyes landed on a tall, colorful object planted in the center of the room.

The Wheel.

Deku had seen fit to inject whimsy into his revenge plot with The Wheel: a colorful 20-slice abomination that would randomly determine how Bakugo would be tickled that day.

A fucking Wheel.

Bakugo sizzled in place. He wanted to rip the bastard’s guts out and make him eat it. He wanted to kill him.

Deku blew Bakugo a kiss and strode towards it.

"Let's see what The Wheel wants us to do today." Deku winked and gave it a spin.

Bakugo's sense of how much time had passed was determined by how many times the wheel had been spun: 5, and this one made 6.

The Kennel

The Carwash

The Gang

The Hog

The Milkman

The wheel began to slow, its revolution enrapturing both Bakugo and Deku...

The dial stopped on The Milkman.

The door suddenly busted open and two grunts walked inside, carrying something that reminded Bakugo of a weird combination of a padded sawhorse and a spanking bench. There were cuffs towards the front where his arms would rest and vise versa where his calves would be placed. Towards the back of the middle cushion that would support his waist and hips, was a custom cut hole that looks like it could fit…

Bakugo’s eyes widened.

The smile that slithered onto Deku’s face was maniacal.

Bakugo clenched his jaw, continuing to stare at the contraption even after Deku smugly faced him and tugged at the leash.

“No.”

Tug

“Fuck. off.”

Deku cocked his head to the side, an amused expression squaring his face, as if Bakugo was a stubborn kid not wanting to get into the bath.

Tug tug tug tug-

“You mother fucking piece of stupid shit. I said no.”

“I don’t care.” Deku slurred, playing with the leash. “You don’t have a choice.”

Bakugo remained still. He wanted to fight. He wanted to scream. But if the past few days had taught him anything, it was that without his quirk, resistance only lead to extreme suffering. The bitter pill? Deku knew his body better than he did. The largest explosion in the world wouldn’t be enough to tamper how he felt about that.

“I could force you,” Deku shrugged, reaching over to open the collar. “That would be easy. But I think it would be more entertaining for me to watch my men do it. And if they have to come in here again, they’re staying.” Deku smiled, encouraged by Bakugo’s visible frustration. “And participating.”

Bakugo’s eye twitched. He knew that no matter what he did, he would end up on that fucking bench. His violent objections in the past had made quick work of him. Just thinking back to that damned tree…

When Deku gestured to the bench, Bakugo reluctantly obeyed.

“Take everything off and get on.”

This was supposed to humiliate him. To make him compliant to his own torture. A sick kick back to those days in high school when he’d scream at anyone who dared to give him orders.

Cursing obscenities the entire time, he stripped off his clothes and laid face down onto the bench, carefully fitting his groin into the cushioned hole.

Deku restrained him accordingly.

Thick, fur lined straps secured his wrists and ankles tightly. Another strap looped around his waist, and an added infinity loop tightly secured his lower thighs right above the bend of his knees, forcing his legs slightly apart and flush against the legs of the modded bench.

Bakugo clenched his jaw and rested his forehead on the cool leather as Deku circled, lingering far too long right behind him.

“You really kept in shape.” Deku whistled.

“Fuck off and get this shit over with.”

“Excited to start?”

Bakugo jerked when he felt something ghosting lightly along both of his flanks, and he instantly knew it was Blackwhip. The touch felt feathery and ethereal, like cool fingers made of harmless, tickly sparklers. He closed his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek, grateful Deku couldn't see his face from this position.

“We have so much to catch up on.”

The ghosting along his sides curved inward, tracing and slithering over his stomach and hips. It slowly dragged back and forth, up and down over the smooth skin, making Bakugo want to claw it off.

The way he was positioned arched his back slightly, so he couldn't close that small gap that gave Deku easy access to those spots. The fucking bastard.

“We don’t have shit to do with nothin’.” Bakugo spat through his teeth, uselessly forcing himself to stay as still as possible. His stomach muscles twitched of their own accord though, instantly snitching on his stoic facade.

“I think we do. I plan to make up for lots of lost time, Kacchan.” He goosed his ribs.

Bakugo flinched and clenched his jaw so tight, he felt the hurt in his neck. “Stop fucking calling me that.”

“Mmm. It never bothered you before. What’s different now?”

Bakugo ground his teeth together. He jumped when he felt more tendrils start teasing the muscles on his back, tracing agonizing patterns and small circles right underneath his shoulder blades. A lone tendril slithered up his spine, slowing down just enough to trigger an involuntary lurching reaction Bakugo did every time he was touched right below the back of his neck.

“You ffffucking-”

“Whats different now?” Deku repeated, sliding two tendrils up his spine this time.

Bakugo tensed his entire body and cringed, waiting for the tendrils to touch down on that stupid spot. Instead, he jumped when he felt them split up and caress over the top of his shoulders, tracing down to the little dip that made up the corners of his armpits. Bakugo’s arms strained, trying to push them back into himself and close the gap.

“I called you Kacchan our entire lives.” More tendrils pushed out from his back, wrapping around each of his ribs, softly vibrating in place, still tracing. Randomly, one would squeeze.

“I don’t think you’ve ever told me to stop.”

Bakugo inhaled sharply when he felt the tendrils at his shoulder blades slither down his back, the slow trek brought a curse to his lips.

Deku didn't speak again until it teased around his lower back and touched down on his ass.

Deku drew long and sensual circles along the soft, toned skin, causing Bakugo to twitch and huff puffs of air through his nose. Discovering his ass was ticklish was one of the things he would die to forget.

Deku’s voice was low. “The question wasn't rhetorical.” A firm squeeze to his ass made him him jump. “Or optional.”

Bakugo snarled. “Fuck off, you piece of shit.”

Deku chuckled and Bakugo seized when all of the tendrils started moving in different directions at once, all of them teasing the fuck out of him. Circles were drawn on either sides of his back, tendrils pressed inward towards his shoulder blades, along his spine, and behind his flanks. Two wafted up and down his stomach in different patterns with two more teasing the edges of his stomach. Two ghosted the rim of his armpits, occasionally dipping in smoothly, making him jump. Two teased his hipbones, occasionally dipping inward towards the inner thighs, tracing the crease right before his thighs became his crotch. The two on his ass stroked abstractly, making him twitch with each pass. He felt two additional tendrils ghost the back of his thighs and the hollows behind his knees.

He was moving around a lot now. Frustrated noises and loud puffs of air through his nose were quiet in comparison to how loud he made the bench squeak with his erratic movements. The occasional gasp left him when the tendrils tracing his ribs moved inward, playing with the sensitive spot right underneath his pecs, or that delicious spot right underneath his underarms. The occasional squeeze anywhere on his body forced him to jump. Regardless of sensitivity, all of his nerves were absolutely on fire.

He bit the inside of his cheek when he felt two new tendrils slowly ghosting down his calves, stopping just over the heels of his feet. The only ones on his body not moving, and he was hyper aware of it.

Deku let Bakugo stew, watching the blonde lose more of his composure with every passing second. Bakugo pushed his head against the cool leather and balled his hands into shaking fists, his body starting to work up a sweat.

This was the kind of tickling he hadn’t experienced yet. It didn't make him hysterical, didn't make him scream until his throat hurt, and didn't make him thrash like his life depended on it, but it made him want to claw his fucking skin off. It tickled so fucking much, but it wasn't nearly intense enough for him to justify letting out any of the building tension through laughter. He couldn't fucking stand it.

For a hot five seconds, he went berserk on the bench. He yanked hard and bucked attempting to kick and thrash. Spittle flew from his clenched teeth and he growled when Deku watched him with a smirk, using the tendrils on the sides of his stomach to dip into a pocket of sensitive nerves right by his flanks.

Bakugo dipped his shoulder inward and to the left, as if he could close off the gap that allowed Deku entrance. He groaned out loud and used his arms to buck once, twice, before being so fed up he couldn't handle it anymore.

“Fucking stop already!” He boomed. “If you’re gonna do it, then fucking get it over with, you pathetic coward!” The slow and methodical sensations were making him so fucking frustrated. He couldn't help the way his back arched, the way his head snapped back when the tendrils behind it slithered too close to his neck, the way his shoulders and arms jerked violently in an attempt shake off the tendrils, or the way his toes flexed and splayed regardless of the threat that ominously loomed inches away.

Deku chuckled again. “You’re so ticklish.”

Bakugo cursed when he felt two tendrils slowly gliding up the insides of his thighs. They traced the sensitive skin right next to his balls, curving up and down, spreading out and caressing the skin under his ass and back again. Bakugo spluttered and yanked hard at the restraints, the ticklish muscles in his arms flexing under the mischievous and ethereal touch of Blackwhip.

“You fucking loser ass villain bah-” The tendrils on his feet twitched. Bakugo’s mouth clamped shut.

“Hm?” Deku hummed, leaning his ear toward the heaving blonde.

“Fucker.” Bakugo cursed. “What the hell is it you want from me?”

“I’ll give you three guesses.” Deku gleefully mocked.

“You’re a goddamn fucking moh-morohon!” Bakugo cursed, busying himself with another bout of frustrated thrashing when more tendrils swirled under his arms. “I’m not playing your backward ass games!”

Deku smirked. Without letting up on Bakugo’s treatment, he grabbed a chair and sat right next to the blonde, who had to tilt and rest his head on his left cheek to look Deku in the eyes.

“You’ll do whatever I want you to do.” He slurred, kicking his foot up on the edge of the bench where Bakugo’s shaking arm rested.

The tendrils around his ribs prodded firmly. Bakugo flinched hard, unable to hold back the gasp that choked him.

“The day I got suspended from U.A.,” Deku’s eyes roamed shamelessly over Bakugo’s trembling body. The blonde straightened his head and closed his eyes, still painfully aware the tendrils on his feet were still as stone. Anxiety bubbled up in his throat. He knew Deku did it just to fuck with him. He fucking knew it.

“I begged you to help me.”

“K-Kacchan? Wait, Kacchan! No! STOP! PLEASE!”

“Grrh! The school hahas rules, dumbass! Not my ff-fuckin’ fault you weh-went and broke ‘em!” Bakugo snapped. The damn tendrils never stopped moving, always switching places and finding new spots on his infinitely ticklish body. He was going to throw an aneurysm if it didn't stop.

Deku’s eyes darkened. “Not your fault, huh?”

Bakugo sneered. He couldn’t focus! “Damn it! If you got somethin’ to say, just fuckin- GAH!”

The tendrils on his heels traced slowly down his foot, spilling down his arch and wiggling slowly like a snake, tracing over his incepts, the sides of his feet, wrapping around to the tops and circling their tips around the balls.

Bakugo released a large puff of air and slammed his forehead against the leather, breathing harshly through his teeth. He yanked hard on his arms, face turning red with titanium effort. He jolted and grimaced when two tendrils slithered under his toes, the others still circling along and around the balls of his feet. Just a ghost of a sensation, but it psyched the fuck out of him.

Two more tendrils, parallel of each other, traced down the sides of his feet, looped around down to the heal, then zipped up to the toes, following the outline of the undersides and back again to repeat. Two other tendrils appeared and started tracing the ticklish spot along where the arch melts into the heal and then two other tendrils outlined his calves and ankles.

Bakugo lifted his forehead just to slammed it again against the leather rest, frustrated agony sizzling at the corners of his mouth.

Deku smirked, reveling in Bakugo’s priceless reactions. “You’re acting like I’m shoving a burning knife through your gut. I bet you would prefer that.”

Bakugo huffed and growled, sweat dripping off his heated skin. “What… do you gohddamn… aaghh- want?!”

“Let’s play a game!” Deku quickly stood, knocking over the chair. All of the tendrils finally, finally stopped and Bakugo shamelessly let his entire body flop onto the bench. He barely took two much needed breaths before Deku whistled. Bakugo heard the door open behind him, but he was too exhausted to attempt to look. That was, until he felt someone crouch underneath the bench. His head jolted up and he was about to speak when he felt something wet squishy and warm envelop his entire manhood. Bakugo jerked up so hard he actually moved the bench slightly.

“What the fuck! What the fuck?!” Bakugo screeched, thrashing heavily again as the person underneath the bench fitted the squishy thing over Bakugo’s penis and balls. The person then stood and pulled two straps around Bakugo’s waist, tying them in a neat little bow above his ass. Bakugo saw a tan hand pass Deku a controller and without a word, whoever it was, left and closed the door behind them.

Deku palmed the controller, observing it as if he were a critic admiring a strokeless painting. Bakugo’s face turned red with anger, embarrassment, and everything in-between.

“What the fuck is that? What did your perverted ass minion put on me?! Answer me, damn it!”

“These are the rules of the game,” Deku started, ignoring Bakugo’s whining. “First, if it’s not obvious, I’ll be tickling any spot of my choosing.”

Bakugo glared at him. “What the fuck is on my dick?!”

Deku smiled. He turned the controller and Bakugo strained to see it. It looked like a TV remote but it only had eight buttons on it. One circle button in the middle with four arrows around it. There were two buttons parallel to each other below it and one button at the top.

Deku rose his pointer finger, and made a show of pressing the top button.

The on button.

Bakugo flinched with a disgusted yelp when the thing around his cock and balls started vibrating. He anchored his back and tried to pull his penis out of the hole but he couldn't lift himself high enough.

“You’re fucking kidding me!” He screamed, a whole new wave of frustration coursing through him. “You have to be fucking kidding me!” Another bout of useless thrashing. He whipped his head towards Deku, sneering at him with all the hate he could muster. “You’re fucking dead! Do you hear me? When I get the fuck out of here, you’re- AHHH!”

Deku yawned and pressed the middle button. The squishy material Bakugo was encased in started moving. It squeezed and pressed and massaged in a sloping downward fashion, simulating a blowjob with winnowing pressure that caressed his entire length. The space that enveloped his balls started gently squeezing them, massaging them softly. Then, around his scrotum, he felt a circular object like thing close tightly, acting like some sort of cock ring.

It felt… amazing.

After almost an entire week of torture, Bakugo almost succumbed to the sensations right there, despite the makeshift ring.

Instead, he bit back his carnal reactions and pressed his forehead onto the head rest. “N- St-stop… Fffuckin’-” He groaned and bit his tongue.

“Enduring the tickling will be something you’ll have to do. What you’ll not have to do will be so much harder. Get it?”

Bakugo growled, trying to think about anything other than what his body wanted to do right now. He felt his manhood instantly get harder, more susceptible and sensitive.

“Why… why the damn-”

“I’m glad you asked.” Deku’s green eyes sparkled. “If you cum while I’m tickling you, you cant cum again on that spot for the rest of the game. If you cum twice on the same spot, you lose. If you win,” Deku shrugged again. “I’ll let you go.”

Bakugo hardly heard anything until those last four words. “What?”

“If you win,” Deku enunciated, punctuating the sentence with a careless gesture. “I’ll let you go.”

A chance. A fucking chance. He knew he couldn't rely on Deku’s word, but it was the only opportunity to present itself in this goddamn nightmare.

“Not like I… have a fuckin’ choice.” Bakugo groaned, using every ounce of energy he had not to lose the game before it could even start.

Deku grinned. “We’ll do two rounds.”

Bakugo assumed once the tickling started, it would be easy not to focus on the thing doubling his vision. It was the only silver lining he could think of, the only hope that he could cling on to.

Funny how he suddenly needed the tickling to overwhelm his pleasure.

“Alright!” Deku clapped his hands together. “Let’s start.”

“Set a.. Grrhh- S-set a fuckin’ timer.”

Deku tapped his temple. “It’s up here.”

Bakugo was about to protest, but closed his mouth when Deku, with a diabolical grin, slowly unsheathed Blackwhip. The blonde watched with disgust as inky tendrils slinked toward him with twitching excitement and intent.

They touched down on his left side first, caressing his flanks and ribs and slipping softly under his arms. He cringed, the pumping sensation on his dick still prevalent. He flinched when a tendril squeezed his hips and ribs at the same time.

“You… fuck… you said ohone damn s-spohot!”

Deku chuckled. “I’m just trying to decide.”

More poking and prodding, more flinching and cursing, then all of the tendrils traveled up and started tracing his shoulders, inner biceps, the lower outline and rim of his armpits.

“Here.” Deku said, joyfully. “Ten minutes starts now.”

Bakugo clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, expecting a burst of insufferable tickles, but the light tracing continued. The makeshift cock ring in the pump gradually released and he felt a rush of dangerous pleasure. With a long groan, the teasing and the tickles were completely obliterated from his mind, hardly able to feel them anymore as the pump expanded and closed in, the massage of his balls deepened causing him to shift around in his restraints, unconsciously grinding his hips to further the sensation.

He was close and was hardly resisting anymore. He teetered on the brink of ecstasy, a welcomed feeling afloat in a sea of agony and shit else. He felt something inside him swell, could have sworn the toy around his shaft pumped faster with excitement. Maybe just one time, just in this spot, wouldn’t be so bad. He could avoid it in the next round.

Yes, he’d decided. Who fucking cares if Deku watched. The sick fuck probably got off on it. Bakugo shoved his previous reservations aside and allowed the bliss to fully envelope him. Fuck everything and everyone else, with one final groan he-

“AHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AHA! WHAHAAAA! DEHEHA- AAHHHHAHAHAHA! FUHUHUHK! DAHAHAMN IT!! YOHOU FUHKING- DAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

Bakugo exploded into a generous mix of curses and laughter, brought on by the four tendrils circling the rims on either sides of his armpits to suddenly close in and undulate into the sensitive flesh. One was squeezing and floating around the ticklish muscle right where the armpit and chest connect. Another was pushing and rotating just above but not quite on that delectably torturous spot above his ribs, and the last two were shamelessly digging right into the center, One stationary, the other circling largely and being sure to not to leave any spot untouched.

Bakugo thrashed. He pressed his chest into the bench and slammed his forehead onto the headrest. His hands clenched and unclenched from their trembling fists and his shoulders bounced up and down from pure mirth. The surprise caught him off guard, although he would kick himself for not expecting it if he had the ability to think at all.

Being denied a peaceful release at the absolute last second made his body tingle with newfound sensitivity. His stomach filled with frustration and his throbbing cock twitched as it was continuously and mercilessly pumped.

Quickly tumbling down from his euphoric high, he cursed and fought. One of the tendrils found a delectable spot at the top left inner muscle, where the edge of his shoulder creased into his armpit. Being caught so grossly off guard by the spike in sensitivity, it easily knocked and bursted through to the most secluded corners of his mind.

“GAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHA! AHAH AAAHHHAH! AAHAHAHA! FFFAAAHAHAHAHA- GGRRRAAAAH! GAHAHAD DAHAHMN IT STAHAHAHAP!”

Deku wore a toothy grin and just hummed to himself.

Bakugo tried to use his momentum to rock himself on the bench, hoping to tip the whole damn thing over but it held steady. Unable to manage anything more then a few stress creaks, Bakugo pushed each of his shoulders in and squished them against the bench, but the tickling never relented. He jolted violently when two random tendrils goosed his ribs.

“ARRRGGHH! GAHAAD DAHAMN YOU DEHEKHU! STAHPFUC- AAHAHAHA! STOP FUCKINGARAHAHOUND!”

Deku chuckled and raised his hands. “Sorry, sorry. I couldn't resist.”

“BAHAHSTAHAHARD! SHIHIHIHT! GAH! NO! NOO!! STAHAHAP!”

Deku feigned innocence as one of his lower tendrils slowly slinked more so towards the bottom of his armpits, causing Bakugo to thrash harder, doing a piss poor job of covering up his panic.

Suddenly, he yelled out when he felt the toy around his manhood start to squeeze. The tendrils under his arms gradually slowed their manic torment, leaving Bakugo huffing and puffing with each sensitive pass. Bakugo rested his sweat riddled forehead against the leather, squeezing his eyes shut in aggravation. The transition from obnoxious tickling pleasure was rough and Bakugo felt his arms shake.

The smile in Deku’s voice was infuriating. “How are we doing?”

He didn't realize it until a surge of pleasure slapped him in the face but Blackwhip was no longer pinching and prodding. Instead, swirling and ghosting. The toy around Bakugo’s length suddenly started pumping, undulating up and down in an unpredictable pattern. Strokes, like a tongue, traveled up his length, the winnowing pressure taking him in deep while it massaged his balls. Although still there, the tickling quickly became secondary.

Bakugo couldn't help the carnal groan that left his tight lips. Everything fell away from him as he openly welcomed the only good sensation he’s felt since being in this shit hole. He wanted this and he didn't care if Deku saw and mocked him. This was only the first round, He’d be able to avoid-

Bakugo yelled out as he released the first drops of ecstasy. The slicked out muscles on his back rippled as he arched into it, riding the whole thing out. The tendrils never stopped teasing his armpits, and he didn't give a shit. He couldn't feel it anymore. Sparks ignited and bloomed across his vision. After a moment of shameful, shattering pleasure, he slumped. Spent and breathless.

Deku whistled.

The toy didn’t slow. He felt something brush across his reddened tip. Bakugo twitched and gasped, pushing his hips back as far as he could.

”Fff-Fuck!”

”That’s one for the armpits.” Deku commented, casually. “If it’s going to be this easy then I think you might be screwed.”

“S-sta- Sh- I’m- I’m gonna-“

“What?” Deku’s eyebrows rose, amused.

”I’m gonna fffuckin’ k-kill you.” Bakugo panted, his pitch rising and falling in rhythm with the thing around his cock overstaying its welcome.

Deku’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “There’s the Kacchan I knew.”

Bakugo opened his mouth but slammed it shut when Blackwhip started moving.

”After All Might gave me One For All,” Deku started, moving Blackwhip slowly, ever so slowly downward. “He told me to keep it a secret.”

“I’m sorry, young Midoriya. Please hold still.”

Bakugo cringed as he felt the tendrils slowly swoop over his ribs. He felt them expand so they caressed right underneath his chest. Two tendrils on each side teased the ribs that wrapped around his back, while two other sneaky ones still swirled in his armpits. He hissed through his teeth as chills iced down his spine and goosebumps appeared all over his body. He shook his head, as if he could will it all away. To his dismay, the teasing is so much more frustratingly ticklish than before.

He grunted when two guileful tendrils flicked and circled his nipples on either side.

“But I told you about it anyway, and I did it out of respect. Respect you didn’t deserve or appreciate.” Deku continued. “Even after All Might, The hero we both grew up admiring, saw it fit to pass his quirk onto me, you still told me I was worthless. Unworthy of U.A. A psychopathic freak.”

A tendril goosed his upper ribs, another slithered down his stomach, drawing wide circles around his belly button. Two closed in on his hips, pressing into the bone with light pressure. Two teased the skin underneath his ass, two played with the tendons next to his groin, right along the edge of the toy. Another two slinked down his legs and teased his ankles while circling around the heels of his feet. He jumped when an additional pair circled around the balls, occasionally dipping in and tracing the skin right underneath his toes, massaging the stems and teasing the bases.

His heart rate picked up and his breath came fast. His skin tingled as his nerves fired at him with obnoxious sensitivity. He could feel every delicate stroke, every harsh poke, every sensual touch and squeeze, and couldn't help the giggles when they spilled out of his snarling mouth.

The fucking orgasm. It made him even more sensitive.

He was so fucking screwed.

Deku paused, letting the epiphany the other was clearly having, sink in. “I started to believe you.”

All of the tendrils poked their respective spots at once, causing Bakugo to let out an undignified yelp and jolt. Every little movement now started him to the core.

“Funny how a worthless, psychopathic freak now holds the leash to your collar.”

“Is that what this bullshit is about?” Bakugo’s voice boomed with irritation, edgy nervousness punctuating the end of his accusation. “What the hell do you want, damn Deku? A fuckin’ apology or somethin’?”

Deku shook his head. All the humor was void from his face, his voice dark and emotionless. “I’ve never wanted anything from you.”

Bakugo blinked when Deku raised his hand with the remote and pointed it at him. He couldn't see what button he pressed, but he gasped when suddenly the toy started vibrating. Teasing strokes evolved into sensuous pumping. He was hard again in seconds.

The tendrils eased off. All except the ones stationed at his ribs. Three teased the bottom, two on his left, one on his right. Two on each side teased the middle of his ribs, swirling and poking, following the curve of his back, and another two danced across his upper ribs, rubbing back and forth, up and down, ghosting underneath and the sides of his chest.

“I’m sure you can guess which spot is next.” Deku clicked his tongue. “Looks like you might lose before I even start.”

Bakugo’s head snapped up from where it was resting. “Fuck you!” His biceps strained with the titanic effort of trying to lower his arms. He arched his back, pushed himself forward, tried to dip his shoulders and chest hard against the leather, but nothing phased the tendrils determined to take me straight to hell. They encouraged the sort of panic that he felt like he could taste. The toy’s vibrations increased, the flesh of the toy slowly starting to suck, doubling his vision with pleasure.

“There was a spot around here… where was it again?” Blackwhip poked and nudged at his entire rib cage. Bakugo spluttered and hissed through his teeth, body jolting and flinching with every jab.

“Fucker! You, mother fuc-!!” Bakugo spat. “Stop this- Mmgghhm- bulh-bullshit! III’ve fuckin’ had it with y-AH!”

“Mmmm.” Deku mused. Blackwhip paused, pinpointed tendrils vibrating softly right on that dreaded spot. Bakugo froze as well, looking at Deku with the most hateful glare he’d ever given anyone.

“I wonder if-”

Squeeze

Bakugo inhaled so sharply, he choked. “AUGH! Damn it, stop!” He tried to haft and throw himself around on the bench. Deku only smiled, a sadistic glint in his eyes.

Blackwhip softly, softly undulated once more and Bakugo would have hit the ceiling if he wasn't so tightly restrained. “MMGGHH! STOP! Don’t you fucking do it, you fuck!”

The toy around his needy length pumped faster and his attention was quickly averted to the sudden burst of pleasure that wracked through his body and made him shutter. His mouth opened in a silent groan, which transformed into an unrestrained yell as Blackwhip again, teased one of his death spots.

He hafted himself up hard, creaking the bench. “NO!” He cursed, shoving all of the authority in his voice that he could muster. “Just fucking stop this! I swear to FuhuahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAK! SHIHIT!”

The three tendrils teasing the bottom of his ribs dove in, rubbing fast and harshly between and around the bone, the third tendril went rogue and snuck over his quivering stomach and down to his thighs. Bakugo shook his head in delirium and fruitlessly bucked his hips up and down. Even with the torturous tickling rerouting his mind, the pleasure he was feeling from the toy was still very much present. Slowly, he felt himself twitch and glisten with pressing need.

Deku hummed. “Oh, does that tickle?”

“FAHAHAK YOU! GAAGHH! NAAAAHAHAHAHA STAHAHAHAP!”

The tendrils stationed at the middle of his ribs came alive, mimicking the same unpredictable technique as the ones on his lower ribs. Bakugo fought hard, knowing what was next, knowing he couldn't stop it. Two tendrils slowly wrapped around his thighs, goosing and tickling the whole way. Bakugo expected them to attack his thighs again, but unexpectedly, they slipped their teasing tips underneath the sleeve of the toy, now slowly stroking and wrapping around the bare skin of his penis. Aside from dissolving into harsh thrashing and seizing like he touched an exposed cable, something else instantly came over him. In a moment of panicked weakness he opened his mouth.

“AAHHH! GAHH! WAIT! FUKIN’ WAHAITWAIT! WAHT DOYOUWAHAHAHNT?!”

Deku answered simply. “This.”

Two things happened at the same time.

The tendrils resting and teasing his death spot pulled back and dove right in. Viciously rubbing into that incomprehensibly ticklish spot without a shred of mercy. Four more vibrating tendrils latched on, squeezing, rubbing and scratching torturously.

The tendrils that snuck into the toy, wrapped around the entirety of Bakugo’s heat and lightly squeezed, following the rhythm of the toy. It pumped Bakugo excitedly, the two tips reaching his pre-cum soaked tip to swirl and rub, lick and tease. One of the tips pressed underneath the head, flicking under it like like an experienced tongue, while the other teased and stroked the slit.

Torn between two incredibly overwhelming sensations, Bakugo’s voice instantly gave out. For a moment, there was silence. Bakugo’s mouth was open in a silent, lustful, tortured scream, his sweat glistened muscles rippled with the intense single pull he was imposing onto all of his limbs. His toes clenched and his nails bit into his fists. After one sharp intake of breath,

Bakugo fittingly exploded.

“AHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! FAHAHHA! NONONOHOHOHONOOOOO! GAHHH! NAHA- I CAHHAHA- ST- GAHAHAHAHAD OHHOHOH FUCK! OHFUUUUUCK!! DEHEHE- PFFTAHAHAAHAHA!! AHAHAAAASHIHIT! SHITSHITSAHIT!! AHAHAAAAAAAAHAHAH! GGRRAAAAAHHH!!! -AHAHHAHAHAAA————OOOOOPP! STAHAHAHAP STOPSTOPSTOPFUCKINGHELLSTOHOHOHOHP!! AHAHAHA————”

Deku watched Bakugo fall apart, a maniacal, sadistic smile creasing his face. “Found it.”

“AAAAHH! FUCKDEKUSTOOOOOOOOOOOP! FAHAHAK! I CAHAHA- GAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I CAAAAHAHAHAH-”

“What was that?” Deku stuck his tongue into his cheek. “You can’t what?”

Bakugo’s mind was blank. His entire world was encompassed by all of the sensations saturating every recess of his brain. He whipped his head around, slamming it repeatedly against the headrest, the cushioning not even allowing him the relief of pain. He quickly approached the lower level of laughter, where it became mostly screams.

“ICANTTAKEIT! OHFUCKINGSHIT I FUKIN CAHAHAHAHA! AHAHA AHA AHA AHAHAH! ICAHAHAHANT! STOOOOOOOOHOHAAAAAAAAP!”

The toy picked up its pace, encouraging the tendrils wrapped around his dick to follow along. A few new tendrils squeezed his balls, Two flicked and rubbed his nipples, one even licked up the side of his neck, right underneath his jaw. His eyes flew to the back of his head.

“Want me to stop tickling or stop pumping?”

Bakugo’s face was alight with fire, he wasted no time. “TICKLING! STAHAH THE TIHIHIH-TIHIH- FAHAHAHAK! STAHAHAHAP TIHIHAHAHA-!”

“If I stop the tickling, you’ll lose the round. Are you sure you-”

“YES! YEHEHEHS! YESYESYESJUST- SHIHIHIHT!! STAHAHAHAP! FUCKINGHEHEHELL!”

Deku instantly stopped and focused his energy into on the blonde’s dick.

“MMMMPHHHHH FFFFFUUCK!” Bakugo moaned, arching his back and shaking his head, grinding his hips along the bench. “FFFFFFFFUHHHHHK!” Bakugo groaned, lost in a new kind of torment.

He closed his eyes, everything instantly fell away from him when he felt a tendril slip over his tip again. He felt the build up burn in his stomach, felt his penis throbbing, his tip glistening, ready for release. He felt the most powerful orgasm he’d ever had gather, aching in his swollen balls. Despite the need for air, he held his breath as the first drops of-

“GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!”

Bakugo’s voice cracked when everything simply stopped.

The tendrils and the toy fell limp. His body tingled as if all of his limbs fell asleep. Sweat dripped off his chin as he gasped. Opening his mouth to curse, a strangled sound came out instead when everything resumed. He flinched and jolted in his restraints, but the pumping and “licking” resumed, throwing him right back into that agonizing build up. Right when he could see stars, it stopped again.

He jerked his head up and seared his eyes into amused green ones with a guttural growl, only to force his head back down and clench his fists when it all started again.

“You…. You ffffuh- ffucking b-”

“I’m just helping you out.” Deku cocked his head to the side, chuckling. “Trust me, you don’t want to cum again.”

Bakugo closed his eyes, but he couldn't have a moment of rest before the pumping started again. He filled his cheeks with curses and air, releasing them in a flurry when rogue tendrils buried themselves into his ribs, his worst spot spared for now, as he was thrown head first into more ticklish chaos. He couldn't handle this much longer. He couldn't handle this now. He felt his sanity slipping through the cracks, but it didn't matter.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Deku trilled after a few more minutes. “If you beg me to cum, I’ll let you. Then we can move on.”

Beg him to lose the game. Beg him to take away the small change at freedom and hope that he had. Beg him to keep him here and torture him until help eventually came or he went batshit.

No, no he couldn't.

Bakugo snapped out of it. He returned Deku’s wicked glare and sneered. “Fuck. You.”

Deku narrowed his eyes and smirked, as if he was hoping for that exact answer. “Tickling it is then.”

First, there was a moment of silence.

Then pure, unadulterated madness.

Blackwhip attacked every inch of Bakugo’s ribcage. Bakugo screamed, a high pitched uncharacteristic shriek that shocked both of them. Then, he fell into manic, hysterical unrestrained laughter. Laughter that only maddened when his worst spot was finally targeted. Bakugo couldn't feel when the toy started again, couldn't feel the bubbling build up, or the burn of release that taunted him from mere inches away. He couldn't feel any of it, not until the tickling abruptly stopped and he stole greedy breath before countless tendrils converged on the entirety of his tip, sliding and slinking over the crimson peak it while the tendrils wrapped around his dick pumped up and down his length with mouth watering speed. His eyes stung with mirthful tears before he was thrown right back into ticklish oblivion.

Once his death spot was awarded another short break, Bakugo used that opportunity to quickly give up.

“OKAYOKAYOKAHAHAHAHAYE! OKAHAHAHAHAY JUHUSTFUKINGDOHOHOHIT! I GIHIHIVE! IGIVE! JAHAHAAST MAAKEMECUM! DHAHAMNIT!”

“Mmmm,” Deku considered for a moment. “Say please.”

“AAGHHAHAHA!! GAHAHAHDDAHAHMN YOU!” Bakugo was slapping the edge of the leather wrist rest with his hand, trying to physically tap out. “PLEHEHESE! FUCKINPLEHEHESE! JUHUST STOP TIHIHIHCKLING!”

The tickling didn't stop completely, but it was enough. Bakugo was hardly afforded the gift of relief as tendrils immediately pumped and licked, massaged and caressed his entire length. The toy suddenly closed up around the tip and so similar to a warm mouth, he felt licking, swirling and even sucking. The rest of his twitching member was caressed and abused with soft and fast lustful strokes. Spit dribbled out of his mouth and beads of sweat glided down his sides and back as he arched.

He had no idea how many tendrils were pleasuring him now, but every damn spot was zapped with unbelievable, world shattering, sinful pleasure. Tendrils slinked through his toes and circled around the balls of his feet. Others lightly ghosted up his long arches and more teased his heals. New, lustful feelings seared from his feet straight to his dick, which pulsed in tandem with the activity. He didn’t dare start to unpack that.

The tendrils reappeared at his nipples and neck, his eyes once again dug into the back of his head.

He lasted an impressive 50 seconds.

He groaned out loud with his long release, his damp rob and body twitching through each pump of glorious rapture. His orgasm, almost matching the duration of his endurance, forced his twitching toes to curl, the squirming tendrils undeterred by even that. His abs and back muscles flexed, the light reflecting off of each sweaty twitch and convulsion.

He slumped heavily after it was through. He bucked and hissed when the tendrils around his ribs hardly gave him a second before teasingly slinking down, tracing over his twitching sides and pressing into his hips and thighs.

“Two for two.” Deku counted, unapologetically. “I’m not sure I like your odds.”

Bakugo couldn't muster a response. The tendrils around his hips and thighs forced a few half assed curses and poorly held back giggles from him. He arched his back, huffing when they pressed into the soft spaces inward next to his hips, ticklishly stroking down between his thighs. Oh shit.

“Agghh staha- Mmmhh. No mohore.” He murmured. His once silky ash blonde hair was now dark and matted, sticking to his eyes and head. “I-I— God, I fffucking can’t- I can’t d-do this shit anymore.” His body sizzled with heightened sensitivity. Even the breeze across his fucking feet tickled.

Deku looked at him for a moment before shaking his head slowly. “The game isn’t over yet.”

The tendrils found a ticklish tendon underneath and inward along his ass and inner thigh, and pressed into it. Bakugo barked out a surprised laugh and squirmed weakly.

Deku was silent as he teased that spot, longer than the pro hero thought he could tolerate.

“One more spot,” Deku announced, pushing his tendrils down over his thighs, creeping over the back of his ticklish knees, lingering there for a moment before tickling toward his calves. “Then round two starts.”

The tendrils slowly slithered down this calves, forcing him to half groan, half whine and bite his cheek. When they grazed over his Achilles heal and brushed down around the sides of his feet, Bakugo felt a surge of adrenaline course through him, energy he pointlessly wasted by yelling a stream of obscenities and fighting hard as he could. He’d never felt more helpless, he’d never been so tortured, he’d never felt as if he could be reduced to begging, but here he was, those sinful words dancing at the tip of his tongue, tempting him like food tempts a starved man.

All from tickling.

Blackwhip paused and Bakugo knew it was over. His fatigue caught up moments before and he stared at Deku with wide pleading eyes. Deku drank that up like a craved cigarette. He’d gotten exactly what he wanted.

Well, almost.

“Wait! Deku, wai-”

The rest of his plea fizzled and died on his lips.

He felt it everywhere and nowhere. Tendrils raced over and under his flailing toes, some scratched right underneath and along the stems and pads, more circled and scratched the balls of his feet, playing with the plump, overly sensitive pads. Additional ones scratched just at the creases underneath the balls, which at this point hadn’t been touched and absolutely drove him up the metaphorical wall of madness and hysteria. Others stroked up and down and side to side, playing along his creamy arches, paying special attention to the spot where the heel melts into the arch, while more circled and teased his heels. Two tickled and scratched along the sides of each foot, a few, Bakugo couldn't count, even tickled the tops of his feet along with some slowly stroked up and down this claves and two stragglers unfairly burrowing into the back of his knees.

Bakugo couldn't comprehend anything except how much it fucking tickled.

His mouth was wide open in a silent scream, his eyes squeezed shut, saturated with mirthful tears. When additional tendrils started stroking and alternating between the arches and balls of his feet, a switch flipped in him. He started bouncing up and down, moving the bench slightly as he tried to lift and drop his weight, trying to use pure strength to break it or at least flip it over. Aside from a few cracks and creaks, it was silent as he wasted precious, limited energy.

More at the top and sides. Extra in between the toes. Something evil goosed his ribs.

That was all he couldn't handle.

“NOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHO! NONONONAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! FUUUUUCK! AHA AHAHA! AHAHHAHAH! AHAHAHAHAHAHA! STOOOOOOOOOOOP!YOU STUPID FUCKING PIECE OF MOTHERFUCKINGSHIT ILL FUCKING KIHIHIHIHLL YOUDEAAAAD! MMMGGHGHHMHMHMHMMMAAAAAH!! GOD! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!!!”

Pure, tortured belly laughter bellowed out of him like a fog horn. His laughter only evolved, turning pained and high pitched when the thing on his cock started vibrating.

“NOOO!”

The tendrils along his feet started slowing, sensually rubbing and tickling his toes. Electricity flitted through his dick, standing to attention within seconds.

Curses temporarily overwhelmed his laughter when Blackwhip wrapped around and pulled his toes back. The sweat coating Bakugo’s body created enough slip for the tendrils to wreak absolute havoc just along the undersides and stems of his toes, where the sensitive skin had been pulled and crueley exposed. Bakugo thrashed and screamed and spat and heaved, but nothing stopped it. Nothing topped it.

This time, Deku didn't edge, didn't relent, and didn't change the pace. Either Bakugo was going to cum like this, or he wasn't.

“PLEHEHEHEHEHESE! AHAHAHA! OOHGADDAMNITPLEEHEHESE!!”

“What are you begging for?” Deku inquired. Bakugo couldn't care that he was being mocked, couldn’t even take the few seconds of brain power to register or understand it.

“AAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH ST- AHAHAHA! MA-AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! FUCKFUCKFUCK I CAAAAA————”

Silence. Deku furrowed his brows and leaned forward, cupping a hand to his ear. “Hmm?”

“——————PAHA- PH- PLEHE- PLEHEHEHESE! WAHAHAH- WAIHIHIHT! NAHAHA I- I GOHOHAHAH! MMMMMMHHHHHFFFFFAAAGGHHHHH!!!”

The tickling hardly slowed as stars blurred his vision. A loud, animalistic moan burned his raw throat. He came hard, the tendrils slipping and sliding gleefully inside the wet toy.

Even after he was done, it continued for a few more seconds, prompting a loud continuous scream from him that only relented a few moments after everything truly stopped.

He collapsed, breathing so hard and deep that his chest ached.

He only knew one thing; He couldn't fucking handle this anymore.

Deku slow clapped and whistled. “Bet you never thought you could be tickled into an orgasm.”

Bakugo didn't respond, he hardly heard him. He flinched hard when the tendrils teasingly retracted from his reddened and raw feet, traveling up his trembling body once again.

Bakugo moaned. “N-no… Please…Just … please just stop.”

Deku shook his head and beamed. “The game isn’t over yet.”

Bakugo shook his head, entirely defeated. “No more.”

Deku eyes glittered, the emerald hue glowing as though the devil himself had possessed the soul behind them. “Remember,” Tendrils slithered up to his aching ribs. Bakugo gritted his teeth and pulled his arms. Deku’s eyes crinkled. “You cant cum in the same spot twice.”

Tendrils slipped under his arms, waving and stroking like wheat in the wind.

A noise, almost like a disgruntled whine slipped out of Bakugo. “Please. Deku, please just fucking stop this.”

More tendrils. Bakugo inhaled sharply. “I-I know what I di-did wahas fucked a-”

“Is that all it took?” Deku murmured, voice low. “Hours of tickle torture for you to realize that?”

“No!” Bakugo winced as tendrils spilled down his ribs. “Damn it! I’ve known, you fucktard! I- Fuck! I just- SHIHIT! Just- FUCK! Let me goddam taHAHAlk!”

“No.” Deku put a hand up, silencing the quivering blonde. “It might come as a shock to you, but I haven’t thought about what happened in a long time.”

Tracing along the heels of his feet. Bakugo cringed.

“I’ve wanted this for a while. To torture you, and make you beg.” Tendrils slipped into the hollows behind his knees. “To make you answer for each and every horrible thing you did to me, down to every dirty look.” Tendrils teased up his spine again, causing him to lurch forward as much as he could. “I wanted to break you and make you pay. I still do.” Tendrils ghosted down his arms, teasing the skin under his biceps. “Maybe one day, I’ll let you explain it to me. But right now,” Deku stood, straightening his back. All the tendrils lifted themselves from his body, pointing their tips over their respective spots.

“It turns out, I don’t give a shit.”

Tendrils burrowed into his underarms. As if he were being repeatedly tased with a stun gun, he convulsed and seized, immediately dissolving into loud, unrestrained guffaws. His entire being was now just a big ball of overly sensitized, ticklish nerves to which Blackwhip took full advantage of. It dug, scratched, wiggled, pinched and squeezed all over his body, the main event taking place in his armpits. He fell into silent laughter once, twice, three times within the span of a few minutes.

He couldn't fight when the toy started vibrating, when he felt more of Blackwhip dip into the sleeve of the toy, when the tendrils ghosting and tickling his thighs pinched and traced along his ass, and when tendrils teased the newfound egregious zones on his feet. He gave in to the torture, unable to protest when the freedom he had no chance of earning burned out of him for the fourth time.

Everything stopped. His head fell in misery.

Then snapped back up.

He felt it in his armpits, ribs, thighs, groin, feet, knees, calves, arms- everywhere.

Every spot Deku had learned was put to merciless use.

Bakugo’s screams echoed throughout the room, down the hall, and drifted outside, haunting the grounds like loitering ghosts.

He didn't know how long it took for him to finally pass out.

—

His eyes groggily flitted open.

It took a few minutes for his vision to fully come back to him. It took even longer for him to remember where he was. Eyes locked on the water damaged ceiling, his head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls. When his brain started to catch up with his body, he felt it.

Holy shit, he ached.

His throat felt chipped and raw, his head pounded hard at the side of his temples, his fucking ribs and stomach…

He groaned and pushed himself up, stomach muscles screaming as he held his head in his hand. One glance around the room and one more zap from his aching body confirmed that what happened to him wasn’t just a fucked up nightmare.

Catching a glimpse of something in the corner of his eye, he turned his attention to the flimsy nightstand next to his bed. Three bottles of water were placed onto it, along with some dark steaming, floral smelling liquid inside of a beige mug with a spoon sticking out of it. In front of that was a bottle of Advil, a sandwich on a small, circular paper plate, and an envelope. All neatly placed together.

Any reservations he’d possessed about eating and drinking had been thwarted long ago, so he downed the first bottle in seconds as well as half of the second before deciding to swallow three Advils along with the rest. He placed the third bottle underneath the mattress and observed the contents of the mug, deciding it was tea. He took a tentative sip, sighing when the hot liquid velveted down his sore throat, soothing it and warming his stomach. A hint of ginger left a subtle, spicy tang and he could have sworn he tasted a bit of honey. He ate his sandwich as he sipped.

He didn't want to think about who left all of this stuff here for him, much less why. As far as he knew, everyone in this fucking place had access to his room and everyone was a damn scumbag for it.

His gaze turned to the envelope. He finished the tea, pulled the lip open, and pulled out something small and rectangular, wrapped in white tissue paper.

He tore the paper off and his stomach dropped.

“K-Kacchan? Wait, Kacchan! No! STOP! PLEASE!”

It was old and worn. It looked exactly like his.

“PLEASE!”

It was Deku’s All Might trading card.

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