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myojinn · 3 days

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You'll Be Safe Here // 2 - Sukuna Ryomen

You'll Be Safe Here ... Part of Cursed Spirit!Reader Series Heian Era!Sukuna Ryomen (JJK) x Cursed Spirit!Reader tags: SO MUCH FLUFF, soft 'Kuna, comfort summary: After seeing you on the brink of death—there was no way you were getting out of his clutches now. How will he protect you if you aren't by his side? a/n: Since the first part got a lot of love, I decided to make a part 2! I'm also thinking about making it a Cursed Spirit!Reader Series, so like full on one shots and drabbles here and there.

First Part | masterlist soon hehe

All he could see was red.

And all he could hear was the agonizing screams for help of those he terrorized. But nothing else really mattered to Sukuna Ryomen after he saw you on the brink of death.

He'd like to believe that he was a level-headed individual—never one to be consumed by trivial things such as emotions. But he knew, at that time, he was driven by pure unadulterated anger...

... anger at the good-for-nothing scum that hurt you.

He never thought he could feel this strongly about anything. But then again, meeting you had opened up his eyes to unpredictable things. And maybe that's why he lo-

"Ryo! Hey!" He let out an annoyed grunt at the disturbance currently seated to his right... on his bed... in his sacred chambers.

"For a woman who almost died you surely are loud," he grumbles. He crosses all 4 arms and turns to look away, closing his eyes once more. He made it clear he wanted peace. But having you around made it impossible. You poked his cheek repeatedly. "Thanks to your reverse cursed technique, I think I can go back to my temple today." He swatted your hand away from his face to which you (convincingly) yelped out in pain. His eyes have never opened so quickly as they did now. A look of concern washed over his face while you (convincingly) pretended to be hurt.

He was about to take your hand to inspect it—heal it even. But before he could do anything, you laughed in his face. The soft gaze transformed into an intense glare. "Oh man... you really do care for me, don't you, Ryo?"

He folded his arms again as he grumbled to himself. You knew just how to piss him off. But even though he seemed irritated, deep down he was glad that you were back to your normal self.

He was fucking relieved to have you by his side again.

His silence piqued your curiosity. Normally, he'd have a quip for every move you made. But he just sat there, arms crossed and taking in every effort you made to rile him up.

You huffed your chest out.

Truthfully, the whole temple raid fiasco already put a massive dent in your ego... and maybe your image in Sukuna's mind. That's what you thought at least. So you made it a point to act as if nothing happened. You weren't planning to soften up and thank him for helping you.

Hell, you don't even remember the last time you uttered an expression of gratefulness.

But he also made you do things you usually would not do.

"Ryo... I'm sorry." He sighs and looks at you. You couldn't tell what he was thinking. Well, you could never tell what the great Sukuna Ryomen was thinking... ever. But your gut told you that this moment was different.

Something had definitely changed within him.

"You don't have to apologize. I've dealt with your craziness for decades now," he says flatly. You slowly shook your head. "I mean... I'm sorry I couldn't protect myself and you had to clean up after my mess." He sighed even louder. He always did that whenever you said something "stupid" as he'd call it. "I told you that it doesn't matter. I am the strongest, aren't I? You should only worry about losing if you were in my position. Say 'thank you' and move on with it." Of course, he didn't exactly mean for that to be affectionate. It was coming from a place of arrogance. But, nevertheless, it made you smile.

"Thanks, Ryo. I owe you big time." He raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk forming on his face. "You owe me, yes." You meant it as a way to emphasize your gratitude, but you didn't really think he'd bank on it. After all, the strongest sorcerer never needed favors from you. He always said you'd come in handy one of these days and maybe today was finally it. "Eh? So... what do you want me to do? I'll do anything just don't take the statue in front of my temple. Do you know how difficult it was to steal that?" His face contorted in confusion. No one in history had ever made him do that face, but you. However, you weren't sure if you should be glad about that fact. But you were sure that you loved that statue to bits. Sure, it was weird, but that's why you love it!

"Don't be ridiculous. I don't want that ugly thing near me." "Hey! I'll have you know it's a significant part of my temple."

"Significantly ugly, yes."

You were about to retort when he placed a finger on your lips, shutting you up. "As I was saying, you owe me—and you can repay me by simply staying here at my temple." You wanted to speak, but he pressed his finger on your plump lips even harder. "And no, you can't refuse." He finally drops his hand. "I can't just leave my temple like that. It was trashed and-" "I have already sent servants to clean it up and restore it." "What about my offerings? What if someone comes up and asks something from me and-" "I also have separate servants stationed there to gather any messages, offerings, whatever—and relay them to you."

"Wha-" He groans in frustration. "Woman, I have taken care of everything if that's what you're worried about. Give it a rest, will you?" You were hesitant at first, but the look of worry on your face quickly changed into a mischievous smile that he (loved) dreaded to see. "My, my, Ryo... if you wanted me to move in so badly you could've just told me. Goodness, was this part of your elaborate plan? Sending sorcerers to attack me so I can live with you?" This ridiculous humor wasn't new to the both of you. He had heard insane things come out of your mouth and he would never bat an eyelid. But after joking about him possibly indirectly hurting you evoked a sickening feeling deep in the pits of his stomach.

"I would never hurt you," he said softly.

The devilish grin on your face was wiped clean and replaced with an apologetic smile. "I know... I just... I was kidding, you know?" "Joke about anything, but not about me hurting you." Thinking about others hurting you was enough to make him feel sick. But you suffering at his own hands? It made him angry. He realized he had gone silent and that you were just staring at him with that same smile from earlier. "What?" he asked coldly.

"You're a strange man. You act so gruff, but you say things like this?" she laughs. "That's why I love ya." He was proud to say that he had never encountered an attack before that would surprise him. But the words you just spoke had taken him aback. He was shook to the core. "Shut up... you're staying here. Got it?" "Heh... say that you love me too first~"

You were annoying, reckless, and incredibly childish at times. You pissed him off beyond belief. But he couldn't imagine his life without all of your insanity. He loved you... maybe. He still didn't know exactly what 'love' meant. But whatever it is that he felt for you... he'd do anything and everything if it meant keeping you by his side.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna x you #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #sukuna ryomen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #fluff #jujustsu kaisen x reader #myoji writes

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ponderingmoonlight · 1 day

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Sanemi Shinazugawa standing up for you

Pairing: Sanemi x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,1k

Synopsis: You are used to no one believing in you, to get picked on by other corps member because you're a girl. Until one of them crosses the line and starts a fights. Until a certain someone stands up for you when no one else does.

Warnings: not proofread bc I have a gym date with my boy (in order to have a biceps as beefy as (y/n)'s lmao), reader gets reduced to being a weak woman when she is anything but that, bad girl energy, Sanemi being a cutie

„I can’t believe they allowed a little girl to participate.”

“Look at her. There’s no way she survived the training of the former sound hashira, the serpent pillar and landed here.”

“Probably nothing but luck. Or she cheated.”

Don’t listen to them, just focus on staying hydrated and eating enough for your upcoming training. It has always been this way. You, a girl in a world of boys against everything. Why is it so hard to believe that you are capable of doing what they do when two female hashira show them how it’s done? You work your ass of day in and out, stayed consistent for your whole life. You’re always the first who appears in the morning and the last of them who falls into bed after practice. Nothing in life is given you for free, especially when it comes to strength. But apparently, they fail to realize this even after being a part of the demon slayer corps for quite some time.

“I bet she slept her way up.”

Your heart drops to the floor, eyes widen in sheer disbelief. You, sleeping your way up?

“Yeah, maybe she aims to be the fourth wife of him or something.”

“So that’s why he’s always going easy on her.”

“I can hear you. Loud and clearly”, you finally speak up.

They are talking about you as if you are nothing but air, as if you wouldn’t share the same air. Anger begins to rush through your veins uncontrollably. All this work only to be called the mistress of a former hashira?

“I couldn’t care less about the existence of a woman who fucked her way up”, one of them spits directly into your face.

“How are your trainees doing?”, the white-haired men questioned while staring into the sunset.

“Most of them are trash. That one though…”

Instantly, Sanemi’s gaze is glued onto Obanai who now sits next to him.

“Really? You’ve got one that has some balls?”

“A girl, to be exact. She seems decently skilled and Actually just transferred to your training”, Obanai clarifies.

“I never heard of a girl getting through Uzui’s basic training until now”, Sanemi replies while rubbing his chin.

A girl, huh? He can’t put a finger on the last time he ever trained one. But if Obanai talks so highly about you, there sure must be something going on.

“She’s got potential. Let’s just hope there’s enough time.”

“Instead of lying around like the loser you are, try training next time. I don’t need to fuck my way up, I’m all good by my own”, you bark back along with straightening your shoulders.

Who does this guy think he is? Talking behind your back like that while you don’t even know who the fuck he is.

“You’re nothing but a weak woman, I’m sure it was way too easy for you to wrap them hashira around your finger.”

You draw closer, his dreadful eyes piercing like arrows through yours. But you couldn’t care less. No, this is enough.

“Bold coming from a guy who obviously never touched a woman in his entire life. To be honest, I could give you one or two reasons for that. But it’s not my job to tell you what kind of loser you are. Now excuse me, the training session with the wind hashira begins soon and you definitely aren’t worth being late to that.”

“Why do I have to waste my time with those losers?”, Sanemi mumbles to himself while walking towards the campsite where all the trainees are located.

Or wait, didn’t Obanai talk about a skilled girl earlier? Maybe she’ll last longer than that bunch of losers. While getting closer, his eyes fall on a crowd of multiple guys cheering and staring of what looks like a sensation in the middle.

“What the hell is going on over there?”

You manage to escape his punch just before he hits your face with full force, so unexpected that your eyes widen. Did he just try to slap you? In your face?

“Are you out of your goddamn mind? We are here to get trained and not to fight each other like animals!”, you roar at him.

Another dash forward, another failed attempt to hit you with full force while everyone around you starts eyeing you up and down. This must be a cruel joke, a nightmare. You joined the demon slayer corps to fight against injustice and to support peace. But in this very moment, you find yourself surrounded by your comrades who definitely try to hurt you.

“You just have to play the smartest one, don’t you? I don’t give a damn about your little game. I will never respect a woman who fucked her way up”, he jeers back at you.

You force yourself not to cry, to not show them how much their fucking words sting. All your life, you were forced to fight against those who wanted to see you suffer, does who didn’t put trust in your abilities. Your neighbors, your friends, even your own family. Never more than a little girl with crazy dreams, never more than average with no one who believes in her.

“You have no i-“

An enormous storm of air swirling around you catches you completely off guard and almost sweeps you off your feet. You aren’t able to see anything anymore, let alone move. Fuck, what is this? Definitely not the power of that jerk from before. Your lungs feel like bursting under the immense pressure, chest so tight that you have to force air in and out. What on earth is this?

“That’s enough. Who do you even think you are?”

When the storm calms down as rapidly as it came, you find yourself landing onto the floor with your knees just in time while everyone around you bumps into the ground head-first.

“S-she attacked me! It was her fault!”

Your eyes widen in sheer horror when you begin to realize who was responsible for this. There he stands with his katana in his hand, his white cloak still flowing in the wind.

And his dreadful orbs are set on you.

You try to scream, try to defend yourself, but all of the sudden you forgot how to speak. This is the wind hashira, Sanemi Shinazugawa. After all those countless sessions with Tengen and Obanai, it was your goal to get here, to impress him.

But now you’re kneeling to his feet while countless men point their fingers at you, claiming you’re the one responsible for this mess.

“So, this was you?”, he questions.

There is no doubt in the fact that his ask is directed towards you. Not when he looks at you so serious with his hand clutched into a tight fist.

“I didn’t mean to cause trouble”, you finally press out.

Defending yourself is a waste of time. With all those men saying you’re the problem, your words mean nothing. All you can do is sit here and hope that you’re able to stay, hope that the wind hashira won’t send you back home like everyone predicted.

“You have to be fucking kidding me”, he mutters with low voice.

It’s over. This is it, your final time at the hashira training. Even giving your best wasn’t enough, apparently. Not when nobody believes in you except yourself. You should have kept quiet, should have ignored their stupid sayings. You furrow your eyebrows, wild eyes going hard.

No. You did everything right. No one is allowed to talk to you in such a manner, to say all those nasty things about you. It was the only right thing to defend your honor. There is nothing to regret.

“Are you really trying to make her responsible for this when I heard your dumb ass talking shit about her? You have some fucking nerve, lying into the face of a hashira.”

Time stands still, you don’t dare to make a move while the crowd around you goes silent. Did the wind hashira really just…Stand up for you?

“Now get lost, all of you brats. If you’d be as good at fighting as in talking shit, we would have beaten all demons already.”

He doesn’t have to tell them twice. In the matter of seconds, the usual crowded area is deadly silent with only you and the white-haired man remaining. Your heart almost beats out of your chest, eyes now fixated on his back. Why would he even stand up for a stranger, especially a girl? It’s probably best if you get away from here as well-

“No, not you. You definitely stay”, he instructs you after you take one single step forward.

You freeze right in your tracks. What now? Will he kick you out, send you back to your family? What if he didn’t mean those words he said earlier, what if he’s not convinced that you are in fact innocent?

“Listen, I’m sorry about t-“

“You really have some balls, dealing with a bunch of guys like that. My honest respect for that.”

“What?”, you blurt out.

And there it is. The most breath-taking smile you’ve ever seen, a smile that makes your heart and stomach flutter, that leaves you standing there like an idiot. You never actually believed in love, let alone to fall for someone. But the wind hashira, standing in front of you with his katana casually placed over his shoulders and his hand on his hip while smiling at you…

You’re lost. Deeply, completely, utterly lost.

“It’s clear that you’re working hard and I admire that. They have no right to talk to you this disrespectfully. I’m the only one who’s allowed to do that”, he replies with his charismatic low voice.

“Thank you for standing up for me. For a second, I was pretty sure you’ll send me back home”, you admit while avoiding his gaze.

Maybe you’re still able to prove them all wrong, maybe you will make it after all. The hashira training is your chance to finally show your true self. You grab the handle of your katana tightly. And you will do everything you can to use that chance.

“Why would I send someone like you home when you’re one of the best corps members? These guys don’t know shit about you and it’s clear that they’re jealous. Don’t listen to those people and keep up the hard work.”

The man in front of you definitely isn’t the monster you’ve heard of. The rough and loud wind hashira who has zero control over his emotions, who rejected his own brother. The man who means nothing but violence, nothing but trouble. No, that man in front of you is smiling at you, teasing you in order to become better. And you’ll do everything to thank him for believing in you.

-one week later-

“You can’t keep her for yourself any longer. Apart from Kamado, she’s one of the greatest chances the demon slayer corps have. It’s Gyomei’s turn to train her”, Shinobu explains calmly, earning one of the deadliest looks ever from the wind hashira.

Truth is, he doesn’t want to let you go. He wants to see you every day, wants to train with you as often as he can, wants to talk with you into the night. What is left when you’re not around except the effect you had on him, the admiration he holds for you in his heart? Sanemi thought he’d never be able to find love again, that no other woman would ever catch his heart. But there you are with your determination made of stone and heart made of gold.

“She’s better off with me”, he mumbles with a pout, not daring to look into the insect pillar’s eyes.

It’s clear that he’s acting ridiculous. When it comes to gaining more strength and abilities, you’re definitely not better off by his side only. He can’t just gatekeep you for his own will.

“Don’t tell me you started liking her”, Obanai comments dryly.

“Sanemi, is it possible, that…that…”

“Don’t you dare saying that”, he warns the pink-haired girl opposite of him.

“ARE YOU IN LOVE WITH (Y/N)!?”

“SHUT UP, I NEVER SAID THAT!”

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO SAY IT, I CAN SEE IT IN YOUR EYES!”

“WHY? BECAUSE THEY’RE BLOODSHOT!?”

Him, in love with a woman? How ridiculous…

Right?

He huffs to himself. Yeah, there is no denying in the fact that he fell a little too hard.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls (your fic will be next) @barbuse @sunshine7queen

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thinkingotherwise · 3 days

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can i request umemiya and reader that they are a couple and since he is like the guys big brother she would be like his big sister? ugh, umemiya is so handsome, gentle, sexy, i love him, i fell in love, i need more content about our number 1.

Umemiya making our expectations for partners way too high. The man seems too perfect.

Hajime Umemiya and his girlfriend being the older siblings or maybe something else to Bofurin members

I think that some Bofurin members give off the youngest sibling energy. Guess who?

You loved Hajime, not only because he was smokin' hot and very charming, even though you loved it as well, but also because of his kindness, the playfulness he showed to everybody, and the attentiveness to, as well as, care about others. He just seemed so perfect and you always told him how lucky you felt to be with him.

As time passed and you spent more and more of it with your ideal man and Bofurin, you also got used to them and the unique relationship they shared. They even started calling you their big sister, as Hajime would usually name himself the big bro, and what other name could they call the girlfriend of their leader?

Honestly, you'd need to be the harsher of you two because your boyfriend was just too soft and playful. He'd pamper the "kids", as he did with the first years, and encourage them to use their youth however they want. You, at the same time, were the voice of reason, trying to keep the Bofurin members under control, as the chaos they could sometimes create was a little too much.

When there was trouble and Bofruin was involved, however, Hajime would become a very protective and firm "older brother". A person you can depend on and leave all your troubles to, and you, as his partner, were responsible for keeping him at bay and not letting him get too much hurt.

The family-like relationship between you, your boyfriend, and other members of the school members didn't prevent you from the arguments that arose, thankfully, very rarely. While you were having a heated conversation with Hajime, the present Bofurin members, who observed it would try to ease you up. The best ones at that were the first years, because of their awkward, yet playful comments that just made you stop and look at them not believing the words that left their mouths.

"You two always argue like an old married couple." Suou commented loud enough so you could hear him and stop your argument. It did work and you turned to him but he was far from done and continued with a wide grin on his face. "Do you plan to adopt all of us in the future, I think some wouldn't mind it." "The parents are arguing again, what shall we do?" Kiryu joined in on the fun.

You felt your heart beating faster at their teasing getting easily flustered. In the hopes of stopping that, your gaze moved to Hajime who wore a matching grin like the first years, already forgetting about the argument he had with you. "Well, I wouldn't mind marrying her one day. I'm sure (Y/n) would make a great wife." He commented smiling lovingly at you already imagining the life he could have with you. "You're getting married?!" Sakura asked loudly getting the attention of other Bofurin members nearby.

That included Hiiragi, who the moment those words left the first year's mouth bent in half feeling the ache in his stomach coming back. He had enough of their shenanigans and slowly walked away to sit somewhere else and calm down. As well as, Sugeshita, who turned with wide eyes to look at the leader in betrayal. How could he not tell him that he was getting married, before telling Sakura ?

The whole misunderstanding made you embarrassed and when you saw how much joy it brought Hajime you smacked his arm repeatedly trying to unload the feeling on him. He just laughed loudly and embraced you keeping you close to him. "Stop it, it's not funny. Sakura, Kiryuu, and Suou you're in so much trouble when I get you!" You called to them trying to push away from the tight embrace but it was impossible. "Well, hopefully, one day she'll be Umemiya." Hajime said and looked at you with his big loving eyes and you just couldn't take it. You scrunched your face before hiding it in his shoulder and slapping his biceps twice. You gave in to your fate letting him hug you and shower in love.

Tags: @misticbullet

#wind breaker (satoru nii)#wind breaker (satoru nii) x reader #wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #hajime umemiya x reader

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icarryitin · 2 days

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Help Me?

spencer reid/gn!reader

i love being in this guy’s brain there is just something so Character about him🧡 and happy birthday to you anon!!🥳

masterlist

word count: 4.5k // warnings: injury description (dislocated shoulder), mentions of injections and pills for pain relief, poor and inaccurate medical knowledge, non-sexual undressing, would you believe me if i told you the sexual tension in the second half of this was accidental? for those reasons this is 18+

“Try it, see what happens.”

You appear out of the shadows ahead of them, the gun in your hands aimed carefully at the Unsub’s back, like a goddamn guardian angel.

The guy isn’t going to give up without a fight, even with three federal agents to contend with, that much is obvious. His grip on his weapon is far shakier than any of yours, fingers twitching ever closer to the trigger. You’ve made the split second decision to launch yourself at him before he has the chance to fire off a shot.

Which means Spencer has a front row seat to the sickening thud of your side against the ground when you tackle the Unsub. He’s grateful that he and Hotch aren’t staring down the barrel of a gun anymore, but less grateful that it’s come at the price of the grimace clear on your face. You’ll be bruised for sure, going down as hard as you do.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asks you as he hauls the Unsub up by his cuffed wrists. You take a moment to check yourself over, mentally inventory every joint and nerve, before you nod. Spencer holds a hand out towards you, which is taken without hesitation and you start pulling yourself up off the ground.

The crack of your shoulder as it pops out of the socket is so loud that the vibration of it tingles through your interlaced fingers and all the way up to his own.

A sharp yelp, followed by a weak whimper that makes his stomach flip, and he drops your hand like it’s scalding hot. You pull it into your chest with your good arm, palm cradling your elbow to give yourself a little support. Maybe you’d hit the ground a little harder than you meant to. It’s definitely dislocated. He can’t help but feel like it’s his fault.

Maybe that’s why he’s manoeuvring around you, where you sit pouting in a dusty heap. It’s what he tells himself anyway, as he slips large hands underneath your FBI vest – fingers pressed snugly against your ribs, separated by only a thin shirt, and he carefully helps you to your feet. The action has his face dangerously close to yours, so close that he’s terrified you’ll be able to hear how shallow his breaths are. But you seem to be far too focused on your own breathing to really register his proximity. Hotch is ahead already, Unsub in tow, but you’re the only thing Spencer is worried about right now. Someone else can collect the abandoned firearm from the ground, he has more important things to do. Like getting you into the care of a professional instead of his clumsy hands.

“Can you walk?”

A rhetorical question if he’s ever asked one. It’s your arm he’s pulled out of the socket, not a leg. You nod anyway, gently, but you don’t pull away from him. Instead your voice is soft, unsure.

“Help me?”

Of course he does, as if he’d be able to do anything else.

Does he really need to keep a hold on you, help you across the warehouse floor and out to an ambulance? Probably not. Does he do it anyway? Absolutely. You don’t seem to mind the closeness, judging by the way you lean into the solidity of him as the two of you shuffle towards the open door. He relishes in it, just a little. Because for all the camaraderie and familiarity that has built your friendship over the past few years, touches like this are so rare. Rare and usually instigated by you, when a case has hit him a little too close to home. It’s precious. To have you in his arms the way he’s wanted, wished for, literally dreamed about. There’s an irony in his earlier misplaced attempt to help you up, somewhere. Why can he only have you this close when one of you is hurting?

Raised eyebrows from the rest of the team be damned, he’ll carry you to the ambulance if he has to. He doesn’t but he’d try if you asked.

Spencer has seen all manner of terrible things. He’s seen them happen to strangers, friends, he’s been the one under the spotlight more than once. But he finds himself wholly unprepared to watch you wince as you hop up onto the back of the ambulance, legs dangling over the edge, arm still cradled protectively close to your chest. You flinch almost violently when the paramedic approaches you with outstretched hands which, in turn, only makes you hiss in pain. Your apology is small, quiet, sheepish. Everything he knows you not to be, which only makes him feel that much worse about being the reason you’re in this position in the first place. He’s not, the little logical voice in his brain tells him it was the fall you took, but he’s the one who offered to help you up. Can’t take that back.

“Do you have to?” You’re arguing with the paramedic when his brain checks back in to the conversation.

A sling has been placed by the open medical bag beside you, but it’s the object next to it that has your eyes wider than dinner plates. A needle, carefully sealed in its little package, ready and waiting to give you the pain relief that all three of you know you’re in desperate need of. There’s no way your shoulder can be reset here without it.

“You look at dead bodies all day, and you’re telling me you’re afraid of this?” The paramedic means well, he knows she does, but the grating sound of the sterile packaging being ripped open only serves to shrink you away from it even further.

“Phobias are rarely rational. In fact, the dictionary definition refers to one as being an extreme or irrational fear of, or aversion to, something. Phobias relating to medical procedures are pretty common actually.”

The barely hidden eye roll he gets from the paramedic would suggest he’s not helping the situation, but it’s the look that you give him. The one he gets across coroner slabs and conference tables and crime scenes, that tells him he is.

“I wouldn’t be offended if you didn’t want to, considering this is kind of my fault,” Spencer holds his hand up between you, wiggling his fingers in front of a sad little smile, “But squeeze away.”

“I don’t know, I might break it.” You’re going for a light-hearted joke, but your gritted teeth pay you no favours.

“Then we’ll call it even.”

You take his hand, and he wonders if he’ll need to ask the paramedic to break out the defibrillator next – judging by the way his heart stutters in his chest.

And, to your credit, you only almost break it. The first squeeze is tight, muscles in your forearm trembling as the needle plunges deep into your shoulder. It won’t be enough to completely numb you, the paramedic confirms, but it’ll go a fair way towards dulling the pain. You should really go to a hospital, a bodge job in the back of an ambulance isn’t exactly Bureau protocol, but he knows that isn’t happening. God forbid you ever get shot, he’s sure that getting you treated properly for something like that would be more traumatic for you than any injury.

The second squeeze isn’t something he’s prepared for. You hang onto his hand as though your life depends on it once the paramedic has decided the painkillers have kicked in enough, though her fingers on your shoulder still have you tensing. She tells you to relax, uselessly. Instead, you turn your head away, bury it into Spencer’s shoulder, and dig your nails into the back of his hand. His knuckles crack under the pressure, synchronised popping absolutely miniscule compared to the thunderous pop your shoulder gives when the paramedic manipulates it back into place. Tears seep through his shirt as they dampen his shoulder, the tension in your jaw gives away the sob you’re biting back. You swallow it before you pull your face from the security of his warmth – brave face, as always – and dutifully allow the paramedic to tug the Kevlar vest over your head to make way for the sling she’s prepared.

You’re too on edge to really pay attention to the instructions she’s giving you, too preoccupied on slowing your heart rate to hear about the over the counter pain meds you should take, how long you need to keep the sling on. So, Spencer listens. He remembers, as he always does. He nods and tells her he’ll make sure you do everything by the book, because he knows you won’t be on your way to the doctor’s office in a hurry if your recovery doesn’t go to plan.

JJ popping up in your field of vision seems to lighten your mood, the stiffness falls away and you choke out a laugh alongside a sarcastic comment about heroics being above your paygrade. It’s fake, the laughter. Your spine is still rigid, smile a little too tight to be true. But nobody else seems to notice. They’re just glad you’re alright. Something about your rapid mood change scratches an itch in his brain, the smallest part of it that’s just a little smug. Because you don’t let on about your fear to the others. Just him.

Spencer piles into the back of the second SUV after you, behind Rossi and Emily, and takes it upon himself to make sure you’re strapped in. Admittedly, you could manage it yourself, but he doesn’t want you to. There are eyes on the back of his head when he leans over to carefully pull the seatbelt across you, when he makes sure to steer clear of your sling, but they’re easy to ignore when you’re watching him the way you are. Your quiet affirming hum follows the click of the seat belt plug when you meet his questioning gaze, calming the pounding in his chest and he doesn’t pull back right away. Involuntarily, his eyes drop to your lips for the barest of moments.

He could kiss you.

Right here, right now. In the back of the SUV, with your arm in a sling, and your colleagues watching on. He could do it. But he doesn’t.

He knows what he wants your first kiss to be like – a little pocket of his brain is dedicated to it, plays scenario after scenario in the moments before he settles down to sleep every night. Silly little bedtime stories.

Except they’re not silly, because somewhere along the way he stumbled out of his harmless little crush and into something much more serious. He knows what it is, he won’t put a name to it. Instead, he daydreams. It’s not always the same, the location varies - sometimes you’re at work, in the bullpen or the conference room, or obscured from the rest of the team by the metallic bulk of an SUV. Sometimes you’re in his apartment, in the kitchen, by the window in the living room, in the doorway of his bedroom. Sometimes it’s just a street corner, at night, at midday, dawn, dusk. But you, you’re always the same. You always look at him with a smile that could light the entire city, and he just tells you.

Spills his guts out all over the floor, every part of him left raw and vulnerable, as he tells you he loves you - has always loved you. Maybe even before he met you. He tells you how his heart stopped in his chest that first morning you walked into the BAU office, how he nearly spilled his coffee down his shirt, how his glasses steamed up with the heat from his cheeks. How Derek, JJ, Garcia, the entire team has been teasing him for literal years. How sometimes he thinks he catches you looking at him, but that’d be just too good to be true wouldn’t it?

And then your smile grows, and you take a step further into his space until there’s scarcely any room between you. That’s when you tell him you do look at him, you look at him all the time. Because you love him, just as hopelessly and desperately and effortlessly as he loves you. That’s when he kisses you. When he grasps your face in his hands and takes a deep breath of you before crashing into you with a bruising force. You take it, of course you do, just as eagerly as he pours himself into it. The kiss of a lifetime. That’s how he’d do it.

But he can’t do any of that, not now.

So, he pulls back, plugs his own seatbelt in, and lets himself wallow in the post-case stillness that settles in the car. Punctuated by Penelope’s voice through the speaker on your phone though it may be. She’s relieved, a little mad that you’d put yourself in harm’s way, but ultimately glad you’re safe. He smiles to himself at that, he can’t help but agree.

Quantico’s parking garage is dark this time of night, of course it would be, but the chill of the concrete seeps into his bones. You shiver beside him as he helps you slide out of the SUV. Goodbyes are short, sweet, exhausted. Each member of the team wandering towards their own vehicles, leaving you and Spencer standing alone under the fluorescent lights.

“Let’s get you home, superhero.” He grins at you as his hand settles gently on the small of your back, guiding you towards the street exit.

It’s not far to the train station, the streets are still busy even at this time of night. Tourists and businessmen and politicians all alike. But you don’t get jostled in the slightest, he makes sure of it - carefully weaving through the throngs to get you safely to your platform. It’s only as he steps onto the train with you that you realise his own home is in the complete opposite direction. It’s borderline unfair how fuzzy he feels at your concern for his own journey.

“I said I was getting you home, not getting you to the station.” He can’t help the fond smile that settles on his features as you look up at him from your seat. He’s chosen to stand, partially in front of you, as a sort of makeshift barrier between your injured arm and any potential commuters who might stumble into you. He holds his hand out to you expectantly and it takes you another moment to fish your keys out of your bag. They’re placed softly in his palm, your fingers barely brushing his. The touch is so gentle compared to the way you almost squeezed that same hand to death only a couple of hours earlier. He just about manages to suppress the shudder that threatens to buckle his knees, and he counts his lucky stars that your building is only a block away from the train’s destination.

The thought only occurs to Spencer when he’s halfway over the threshold of your apartment, too preoccupied with getting you back safely to realise he’s actually never been in your home before. Organised chaos is the term he’d use. The open plan kitchen and living area is tidy but cluttered, books of every genre piled on shelves with no real strategy, a haphazard stack of second hand vinyls that are mostly Tom Waits sit atop an old record player, a small collection of cacti in mismatched terracotta pots are lined up on your little kitchen windowsill. The cupboards are a deep green, which should really be at odds with the peach tinged wash on the walls, but the combination is just soft enough to work. It’s very you.

“I can take care of myself, you don’t have to stay.”

Your name leaves his lips in the same tone it usually does before he can stop it, the same heavy sigh that wraps around the letters more often than not. God, you know exactly how to push his buttons, even when you don’t mean to. You’re missing the point entirely – he wants to take care of you. It’s so rare that you let him.

“Nice try,” He says as he sets your work bag down on one of the chairs at the round kitchen table, “Get changed, I’ll fix up some dinner.”

“You will?” The teasing grin on your face is either because you don’t think he can cook, or because you can’t. He’s leaning towards the former.

“Hey, I’m a man of many talents.”

You stand there for another long few seconds, just watching him. It’s not dissimilar to the look you gave him at the ambulance, in the SUV, on the train home. Like there’s something you’re desperate to say to him; only, you’re not sure how to say it. So you turn on your heel and close the bedroom door behind you.

Spencer physically has to shake off the weight of your gaze before he can move again, even after you’re gone. His own bag finds its place beside yours, jacket folded and draped neatly over the back of the metal chair. It’s the kind of dining set he’d expect to see outside a Parisian cafe, as opposed to being tucked in the corner of a DC apartment. Chipped white metalwork and all, probably originally a garden set, but it fits the eclectic thrift store vibe you’ve curated throughout the space. He finds himself drifting towards your overstuffed bookshelf, to the beat up record player and the pile of albums - the protective sleeve of each one shabbier than the last. He’d been right at first glance, the collection is mostly second-hand Tom Waits albums - with a little Queen, The Magnetic Fields, and Fleetwood Mac in the mix. The album on top is the most dog-eared, and he doesn’t have to employ a single one of his profiling skills to know this one is the most loved, most played, and he’s sure you’ll appreciate the comfort of some background noise. So he’s concentrating on sliding the record out of the sleeve, carefully placing it onto the turntable, and setting the needle down.

The bluesy first bars of Tom Waits’ Heartattack and Vine fill the room at the same time you open the bedroom door, looking more than a little sorry for yourself. And, to his credit, Spencer does a pretty good job of not laughing at the picture of you in the open doorway.

You’ve got yourself tangled up, all wrinkled shirtsleeves and oozing embarrassment - one sleeve dangles empty by your side where the other is still firmly encased by the sling, your sole free arm pokes out of the bottom of your sweater. Your eyebrows are drawn as you look everywhere but at him.

“Can you…?” You trail off. A breath pushes its way out of your lungs, half-sigh and half-helpless laugh.

“Come on.” He erases the distance between you in two strides, hands turning you at the waist before he can even really think about what he’s doing. You shuffle into the room ahead of him, soft rug shielding your socked feet from the cold of the wooden floor. He’s pleased to find the same decorative tastes extend through to your bedroom.

Another bookshelf, also stuffed to the brim with enough material to start your own bookstore. A little wooden desk by the window paired with a chair that doesn’t match, the wall to the right of it is plastered in multicoloured post it notes - a few of them catch his eye, reminders and ideas and shopping lists. Your bedspread is the same dark green as your kitchen cabinets, although it’s mostly obscured by a mess of patchwork blankets and jewel toned decorative pillows. Your sunshine plush has pride of place balanced against the left-hand bedpost on top of the headboard. Even without an eidetic memory, he’d remember the look on your face when he won it for you. Undercover at a travelling carnival in Oregon, the job at hand was to lure out an Unsub whose tastes fit you to a T, but he’d been uncharacteristically powerless to resist at least trying to get something for you. Your cover was a couple, anyway. He’d only been in character. Not only do you still have it, but it has pride of place, and something about it has his pride rearing its head.

You’re fussing with your pyjamas, a threadbare hoodie and garishly patterned sweatpants, when he turns his attention back to you. The reality of the situation seems to hit you both in the same moment.

Spencer is going to have to undress you.

It’s not how he imagined it would be - and that is definitely not something he needs to think about right now. He could keep his eyes closed? Although not being able to see where he should put his hands is arguably more dangerous than it would be to pay attention. He has to clear his throat before he can find his voice.

“I’m going to have to take this off,” He gestures to the sling, hoping he sounds less noticeably wrecked to you than he does to himself, “But we’ll go slow, okay?”

It’s cruel, is what it is, to watch you nod your agreement, to witness your unshakeable trust that he won’t hurt you so closely. Ultimately, it’s not overly different to the way he checks over your protective vest. There’s a strategy, a system to it just the same as the task that lies ahead, and he’ll follow it step by scientific step.

The sling is first, straps carefully undone and the support sliding off your arm - you both support it, your elbow in his palm where yours settles under your wrist. The one free hand you have between you, Spencer’s, works your shirt up over your uninjured shoulder and tugs it over your head. His eyes never drift beyond what you’ve asked of him, though it isn’t for lack of temptation. He slides the remaining sleeve off of your injured arm with a touch so light that neither of you wouldn’t know it was there if not for the skim of his fingers over your bare skin. Your hoodie replaces your work shirt just as carefully, in reverse. Injured arm first, head, uninjured arm. His tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth absentmindedly as he concentrates on looping the sling over the thick cotton, securing your arm tight to your chest again. Job done, and without too much embarrassment. He’d call that a success.

“Would you mind-” You struggle for a moment, “The clasp is fiddly.”

Spencer doesn’t know what you mean at first, and then it clicks - and it’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room. You need him to undo your trousers. He can do that, he can do it. He might feel like he’s about to spontaneously combust over the request, but he can do it.

There’s not a whole lot he wouldn’t do for you, to tell the truth.

It takes him longer than it should to slip the hook out of its clasp, usually nimble fingers fumbling under the weight of both of your gazes. But he doesn’t stop there. Because his usually brilliant mind is buzzing with static and his hands are moving of their own accord and the teeth of the zip on your trousers as he pulls it down is loud.

Spencer pulls back like he’s been shocked, while your eyes remain firmly glued to his hands. Hands that now wring themselves with anxiety as he quietly asks if you can manage the rest. You don’t respond verbally - it takes another long second, but you start shimmying the trousers off of your hips with your free hand. The slightest glimpse of bare thigh has him spinning on his heel and marching towards the kitchen in search of food.

He’s not thinking about the soft material of your sweatpants being pulled carefully over your legs in the other room, as he roots around in your kitchen cupboards. He’s not. A can of chopped tomatoes, a handful of half-empty spice jars, just about enough dry spaghetti for two. It’ll do. A pot of water is set on the stove to boil, the noise is enough of a distraction when the bedroom door opens again behind him. You shuffle about for a few minutes, digging around your shelves and Tom Waits’ gravelly tone cuts off abruptly to be replaced by the softer voice of Stevie Nicks instead. The volume ticks down a couple of notches before you join Spencer in the kitchen as he warms the tomatoes and spices alongside the boiling noodles, moving around him with the same ease you do in the office. You pull out two bowls that don’t match - one is shallower and wider and glazed a sunshine yellow, there’s a chip in the lip of it. The other one is smaller, deeper, glazed navy blue instead and with a cheeky face etched into the pottery. Its nose protrudes slightly, rounded out on one side. He can’t help his smile when he dishes out two equal portions and the red sauce drips down onto the bowl’s nose. He swipes at the mess with his thumb before handing you the bowl.

“Thank you.” You search out his gaze this time, urging him to look you in the eye. For cooking, or what he’s sure is your favourite bowl, or staying. He’s not sure. He wants to tell you that you don’t have to thank him, he’d drop anything and everything at any moment if you needed him to. But something in your eyes has stolen his voice, a flicker of something he’s far too terrified to acknowledge. So he only smiles, takes the yellow dish in his hands, and follows you to the comfort of your vintage floral couch.

It’s not a table dinner kind of evening, you seem to have decided. Although the precarious balance of the bowl on your knees suggests otherwise, as you try to eat one handed. Spencer leans forward to pull the cushion from behind his back, his own dinner temporarily abandoned on the floor in front of him, and he picks up your bowl to slide the cushion across your lap in lieu of a tray. Your laugh is quiet, you don’t look at him, but whatever tension had built in the bedroom dissipates with the sound.

Even so, he shoots off a text to Penelope while you’re preoccupied with your spaghetti, asks if she can lend you a helping hand for the next few days if you need one. You shouldn’t need the sling for more than a week anyway. She responds with a smiley face and a kiss almost immediately. It’s not the first time in his life he’s thanked whatever mystical force is responsible for Penelope Garcia.

Spencer will corral you to the doctor’s office for a checkup in a few days, he’ll make sure you do your stretches, he’ll set alarms for your painkillers. And, ultimately, he’ll come back if you ask him to. He’ll help you in and out of your pyjamas if that’s what you want, of course he will.

Regardless of the way it sets his insides aflame. He’ll do it for you.

yes i know reader inserts are blank slates yes this apartment is basically just my own flat no i don’t care thank u🧡🧡

#acts of service as a love language is so underrated he just wants to hELP YOU!!!!#AAUUGGGHHHHHH anyway #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #the canyouniverse #lou writes

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i-yap · 2 days

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Literally loving ur writing so far Bestie 🥺💙would I be able to req how the batboy would react to a fwb/situationship vibe with reader? Like they have feelings but reader is scared of commitment

Thank youuu! Im gonna be really honest, I don't think a lot of the batboys would be okay with a situationship sort of deal.. and I don't write romantic damian( at least not yet) .

Batboys x reader- Situationship headcanons

Dick grayson-

I can see a teammate or someone he works close with as a detective turns into a night of passion and now both of them cant go back to normal situation .

He says he is okay with it, and prolly keeps up that act for 4-5 months?

I think you would end the situationship. Dick is a really sought-after guy and one night he Is just upset with you about something. So when another girl flirts with him rather than his usual " I'm sorry there's someone else I'm into" line he flirts back. You see red

you either walk away angry/upset or pull him away. He follows you to an alley or a secluded area of the party.

"why are you even upset, you are the one who doesn't want us to be official?" "well that's not because I don't want you, that's because I'm scared of intimacy"

He would be really understanding once you explain your issues and fear of commitment. You guys come up with a better set of guidelines for your arrangement and he sticks to it.

if you want an open relationship, he is down. if you want to be exclusive but not yet in a relationship relationship he would be okay.

But dick does want to get married someday and have kids. So this arrangement wont last for long. he will try his hardest to help you overcome that fear of commitment but if you cant then its gonna end someday. And he makes that clear to you from the start. all cards are on the table always and communication is key and he makes sure no one gets hurt( or at least tries avoiding it as much as he can)

Jason todd

wont do it

maybe a bestfriend turned situationship scenario

you are his sanctuary , his home a safe place to come back to. and after everything he has been through he struggles with so many insecurities and he deserves a domestic life.

the moment he sees you with another guy, even if it just flirting, he is out the door. He already believes no one loves him and now you don't even want to commit to him? is he not enough?

he gets that you have issues and no one understands issues better than him. But he is in so much pain already that its best for the both of you to not get together at all.

even the fact that you from the very start didn't want to commit makes him get all in his head and even if you get ready to commit later on , he wont be able to forget that fact and will keep thinking you'll leave him or he isn't the one

he also reads a lot of classic literature and romance in books is what he wants. the concept of a situationship doesn't make sense to him and he just needs some good old domestic loving.

Tim drake

best at it

you guys are young, he is so busy. he is totally cool with a teenage dirtbagy relationship

lets meet under the bridge , get high and makeout type of shit,

Partners in crime / bestfriends that hookup

he loves it, its perfect for him

there are no expectations no responsibilities, you guys are just what the other needs . no stupid anniversaries and big fancy dinners

tim gives very "eat the rich" vibes so this situationship is another way for him to be a little rebellious .

Very very teenage dirtbag- going to grocery shops at 2am and sitting on the dirty floor trying all 20 types of slushies

spray painting the really big asshole companies buildings, going to huge rallies without having any idea what you are rallying for.

stealing the batmobile and then crashing it

the adrenaline makes you hot and bothered and it leads to more. and once its over you go to a shady Chinese place and tip 200 on a 40 dollar meal.

he gets you, you get him and you don't need labels to show your love to each other. and who needs someone else when you have everything you could want within each other? and then someday when you're ready and if you are ready, you can always make it official. its all up to you two , fuck the labels

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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 2 days

Text

Forgive and Forget

Dean Winchester & daughter!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: Dean says something he shouldn’t to you, and now he has to make up for it.

“I’m going to my room.”

“Hold on!” Your dad’s hand gripped your shoulder, and your retreat was halted. “You’re not gonna just ignore what happened.”

“Really? Because I was planning on doing just that,” you huffed, pulling your arm from Dean’s hand.

“Y/N, sit down.”

There was no arguing with your father when he used that tone. With as much attitude as you thought you could get away with, you yanked out a chair and plopped down on it, crossing your arms and staring up at your father.

“You deliberately disobeyed my orders!” Dean thundered. “You could’ve gotten killed! What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that you needed help!”

“Help? Help what, getting you killed?” Dean scoffed.

You grit your teeth.

“If you didn’t think I could help, why was I there?”

“It’s not like there’s anything else I can do with you!”

Your mouth was half-open for a retort when his words really hit you.

He didn’t want you there.

He thought you were useless. Helpless, even.

“You almost got killed!”

“It’s not like there’s anything else I can do with you!”

He brought you along—heck, maybe he only kept you—because he had no choice. You weren’t wanted, and you never had been.

When your mom had kicked you out, you’d seen it coming—she never even pretended to want you.

But Dean did.

You didn’t give your dad a chance to see how his words affected you. You jumped up from the chair and sidestepped him, almost running to your room despite his protests.

…

Dean was screwed. He knew it the moment the words had left his lips, but he hadn’t been able to stop you from leaving. He tried to go after you, but Sam stopped him—Dean hadn’t even known Sam was listening.

“Don’t,” Sam said, grabbing Dean’s arm. “That…she’s gonna need a little bit after that.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Dean said.

“I know you didn’t.”

“You know how I get when she…”

Sam was patient. “I know. But she doesn’t. You’re gonna have to make up for this one.”

…

Dean was trying to make up for it, he really was. He’d brought food to your room every night, since you refused to come out, but you left it untouched every time. He’d tried apologies through your closed door, notes slid under your door, little gifts—he’d even offered to let you drive Baby.

Nothing was working, and Dean was running out of options.

…

“You’re gonna have to talk to him again at some point,” Sam said.

You had joined your uncle on a run that morning, trying to spend as much time out of the bunker as possible so your dad couldn’t track you down.

“I’m not gonna make him talk to me,” you huffed, speeding up just to spite Sam. It didn’t work, and with his insanely long legs, he matched your pace easily.

“Make him? Have you not seen him this past week? Dean’s doing everything he can to get one minute of time with you.”

“He’s just doing that because he feels bad.” Your attempt to remain stoic throughout this conversation was getting harder as your words hit you. You’d been thinking these things for a week, but saying them out loud felt different.

“Hey.” Sam slowed to a stop, and his hand on your arm had you stopping right beside him. “Come on, that’s not true.”

“He didn’t want me on that hunt, and he doesn’t want me here.” You wish you could say that your face was only glistening with sweat. “But there’s nowhere else he can put me, so here I am. I’m not gonna make this any harder for him.”

“Where are you getting all of this?” Sam asked, his brows drawn together in concern.

“Dad said—“

“Your dad said something stupid after a bad hunt.” Sam sighed. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want you. If I believed everything my dad said to me after a bad hunt…” Sam shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. Point is, Dean didn’t mean that he doesn’t want you here. I’ve never seen him happier than he’s been since you moved in. But I do know that he didn’t want you on that hunt. He knew it’d be dangerous, and…” Sam leaned down to stare into your eyes, making sure he had your full attention. “Look, your dad should be the one telling you this, but I’m gonna do it anyway. He doesn’t want you on hunts because he doesn’t want you in danger, because he doesn’t know what he’d do if something happened to you. Neither do I.”

The tears were flowing freely now, and you didn’t try to stop them.

“How do I know you’re right?” You sniffled.

“You just gotta trust me. And trust your dad.”

“That’s—that’s not—“ you took a deep breath, trying not to choke on your tears. “That’s not easy for me.”

“Hey…” Sam pulled you into his arms, his hold secure. “I know it isn’t. And I know what you’ve been through. But me and your dad, we’re not like that. We’re your family, your real family. Your mom, she didn’t earn that. But we—me and you’re dad—we’re trying to earn it.”

Your grip tightened on your uncle.

“You did—you have,” you assured him.

“Ok then.” Sam was grinning when he pulled away. “You’re our family too, kid. And that’s more than just blood. We’d do anything for you, and don’t you ever doubt it.”

You and Sam were silent on the way back to the bunker, and when you reached it Sam retreated to his room after looking at you and nodding towards Dean.

Dean jumped to his feet when he saw you, and he seemed pleasantly surprised when you didn’t try to escape to your room.

“Hey,” Dean said once you were alone. “I…how’ve you been?”

“I’m…” you sighed. “I’ve been a jerk.”

Dean chuckled, relaxing slightly.

“I don’t know about that. I mean, I deserved it.”

“You didn’t.” You couldn’t meet your dad’s eye as you spoke. “I-I should’ve known you didn’t mean it, I just…after my mom…”

“I never should’ve said that to you. I didn’t mean it,” Dean said. “I want you here. Always. I don’t know what I’d do without you, that’s why…I guess that’s why I got so scared.” Dean’s gentle hand on your chin had you finally meeting his eye. “I need you to know that I love you. I need you to know how much I love you.”

You all but jumped into your dad’s arms, and he accepted the hug willingly.

“I do know,” you said. “I love you too.”

Dean smiled. “So, we’re good?”

“I don’t know…” you sighed. “I might need another week or so of you sucking up.”

Dean scoffed. “Oh, now you’re just being a brat.”

You squealed when Dean started pinching your sides, giggling as you tried to escape his hold.

“Nuh uh, you’re not getting away that easily.” Dean laughed. “I’ve spent a whole week trying to get close to you, I’m not letting go now.”

“Da-had, stop it!” You laughed, and after one last dig into your side, Dean finally relented.

“Alright, squirt.” Dean grinned. “Let’s go for a drive, get some food.”

“You sure you want me to be there?” You asked. Dean turned suddenly, looking at you with alarm. That is, until he saw the grin on your face.

“Alright, you little smart mouth.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Get in the car.”

You laughed.

“Yes sir.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl

#dean winchester #the winchesters #dean and sam #dean winchester x reader #supernatural dean #dean winchester x you #winchesters x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam and dean #dean winchester x daughter!reader #dean x you #dean x reader #sam winchester x niece!reader #sam winchester x you

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sugary-strawberry-shortcake · 1 day

Text

Nightmares

anon: felt like hurting myself with this instead of practising for my math exam.....

JJK Spoiler Warning!!

You always had very abnormal and detailed dreams.

One example was the one Satoru woke you up from.

“Y/N, open your eyes.”

You startled awake and stared with wide, teary eyes at your lover. He had already engulfed you in his arms, worry evident on his face. Whenever he saw you in distress, he felt it even more intensely. “What’s wrong?”

“I just—” you swallowed again, “I had a dream.” His fingers continued stroking your hair, encouraging you to continue. “You fought against Sukuna and died. Then, instead of being buried, your body was taken by Yuta. He risked his life by taking over your body and fighting Sukuna with your power.”

Some seconds passed.

Satoru’s hearty laughter filled the room, and you pulled away, offended by his audacity to laugh at your fear.

“Babe,” he said, seeing your expression and stopping his laughter, though a slight smirk remained. “You have the wildest fantasies, even in your unconsciousness. Seriously, no one could make something like this up. It’s too bizarre even for sci-fi movie makers. Saying that, maybe you should become a wri—”

He was interrupted by a pillow being slammed into his face.

Luckily for you, he didn’t have his infinity on.

“Stop making fun of my fears.” You crossed your arms and leaned back from his touch.

Satoru pouted, alarmed at your reaction. He took your face in his hands, caressing it gently. “Mochi, I’m not. Believe me, I’m just kidding, but I do think you have a cool mind. You should be proud of it.”

Damn him. He knew how to sweet-talk you. Your still-concerned eyes looked up at him. The dream felt too real not to be scary.

“You promise you won’t die and let your body be misused by other people?”

“I promise.”

He couldn’t hide a smirk. “You know you’re dating the strongest. There’s no one I would lose to in a battle.” A kiss followed on your forehead.

“I could never leave you alone.”

_______

It feels like you were trapped in a nightmare, perhaps one orchestrated by Satoru himself.

Seeing your boyfriend dead and split in half on the table just moments ago was horrifying. But seeing his body now, standing in full glory and ready to fight against Sukuna, was even worse. This wasn’t the man you loved; it was Yuta, the small boy your lover adored. You felt betrayed not only by Satoru for breaking his promise but also by everyone else—your friends and his friends.

The only one who could slightly relate to your emotional state was Yuji. Neither of you were aware of the plan when it was made, nor were you able to stop it from happening.

To preserve the honor of Gojo Satoru and the love you felt for him, you desperately wished he would wake you from this nightmare and embrace you again.

#yandere #gojo satoru #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk spoilers #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #angst #gojo angst #choso kamo #satosugu #yuta okkotsu #yandere gojo #mha #jjk fanart #yuji itadori #sukuna

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visenyaism · 2 days

Note

if you could write and direct eloise's season so she ends up with whoever you want her to be with, what would you do?

Eloise somehow convinces her mom and brother to let her see the world a bit before returning for one final season in society. she spends the summer studying abroad in Lesbos before the season begins and comes back and is like hey guys you’re never gonna believe what I found out about over there. everyone else is like girl if you ever read lady whistledown instead of just calling it lame you would literally already know about having a gay affair but whatever.

she is now locked in 100% for the lesbian spinster lifestyle, but being a spinster and living in her brothers house is kind of lame. her family annoys her a bit she needs to chart her own path and get her own house. What she needs is to bag a rich widow. if we’re keeping it close to the books it’s just gonna be marina crane, who instead of dying in childbirth is fine and her husband just slipped on a banana peel and died or something. or maybe cressida they’re fine. haven’t thought that far ahead. but you see the vision. spends the season milf hunting and like her brothers slowly realizing she has to actually like women and not just want to have sex with them in order to form a stable lifelong partnership. and also that she doesn’t hate the romantic shit like flowers and poetry when she is the one doing it for someone else.

the b plot is that benedict is involved in the plot of the movie challengers with another regency twink and an evil countess who makes them play badminton (typical bridgerton anachronism) and kiss a lot. this will not be coming up again,

#bridgerton #this is why they won’t let me direct it

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 day

Text

Candy Girl 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: as you’re about to take the next step with your boyfriend, doubts begin to arise. (short!plus!reader)

Characters: Thor (boyfriend’s dad/silverfox)

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself. <3

Your alarm startles you from a heavy slumber. All those carbs have your stomach roaring. Magni too. You can hear his rumbling snoring coming from his bedroom. You sit up and try to shake off the cobwebs. Ugh, you should know better by now that you should have that brownie cake.

You roll your shoulders as a crick tweaks in your neck. You groan and look down at yourself. Oh yeah. You stand, sifting through consciousness as it slowly blooms, eyes squinting as your head remains foggy. You pull of the borrowed shirt and search for your own, holding it across your front to hid your chest.

As you reach for your bra, you hear a yawn that settles to a ‘morning.’

You gasp, thinking you were the only one awake, and glance over at Mr. Odinson as he reaches to grip the doorframe, leaning inside it. His own eyes go wide as he sees you and you hug his shirt close across your chest, only pushing your cleavage higher in your effort to hide.

“I’m sorry,” you spin your back to him and snatch up your bra and shirt, “did my alarm wake you?”

You hurry across the room, bouncing too much for comfort. You try not to notice that he's still shirtless himself. He's your boyfriend's father! Neither of you should be looking at each other.

“Uh... no, no, I was making coffee and thought to offer some...” he takes a breath, “it’s a Norwegian blend.”

“Sorry, I...” you scramble down the hall and quickly hide in the bathroom.

Oh god. You can’t believe you did that. You should’ve known better than to just strip down out in the front room. You just assumed you would hear a man that big prowling around. Prowling? It is his home.

You glance at yourself in the mirror. Oh, you really hope he didn’t see all that. Surely the shirt must have shifted in your flight. You cringe and toss the shirt, quickly hooking your bra in place and squeezing back into your uniform.

You rinse out your mouth and splash water over your face, preparing to face your shame. You fold Mr. Odinson’s shirt and emerge quietly. Maybe he’ll be kind enough to have retreated somewhere else with his coffee. He’s standing by the couch, looking at your phone as it lights up on the arm of the couch.

“Oh, shoot,” you rush over, “that better not be Karl.”

“Mom,” Mr. Odinson reads and backs away.

“Uh, oh, okay,” you frown and hold out his shirt, “here, I should answer.”

“Thank you,” he accepts the shirt and bows his head, backing away as he shows his palm.

He turns and marches into the kitchen as you untether the phone from the charging cord and answer it tentatively. As you put the speaker to your ear, your father’s holler sounds in the background of your mother’s clucking.

“I’ve been calling all night!” She chirps, “where are you?”

“Mom, I told you...”

“You told me nothing,” she accuses, as always. “Your father is livid.”

“What? Why?”

“Don’t act so innocent,” she snaps then the phone jostles and she squawks again before a snarlish snort sounds into it.

“Listen here, you little whore,” your father barks, “I won’t have this under my roof. I won’t.”

“I don’t understand, dad,” you squeak, “I didn’t do anything. I left money on the fridge. Didn’t you get it?”

“SheVibe,” he sneers and you hear something clatter. No. He opened your package. It said discreet packaging but that doesn’t matter with them. “Fucking slut.”

“Dad, I--” your voice piques and catches in your throat.

You were only curious. Magni’s been so eager and you still feel so unready so you thought if you figure yourself out first, it might not be so bad. You sniffle, barely holding back tears as your father descends into a tirade, working in every slur he can think of.

You listen silently, your eyes fixated on the wall paint. Not like that at home, no holes or scuffs, and the air doesn’t smell of cigarettes and garbage. Your father’s hateful ramble turns to a dull drone in your ears as you just stare, fighting back the hot gloss in your eyes.

Finally, he finishes. He’s breathless from his anger. You don’t have a chance to apologise again before you hear the phone fly and the call ends. He must have thrown it. You lower your arm and just stand there.

You move cautiously and look over the tidy room. You put your phone on the small table and go to the couch to tidy up the pillows and blanket. You live in a mess but you don’t want to leave one in someone else’s home. Especially one as nice as this.

It always hurts a little to see how nicely Magni lives. It fills you with doubt. Would he be with you if he saw your home?

“Everything okay? Bit early to be calling?” Mr. Odinson surprises you as the scent of coffee wafts in with him.

You flinch, stung by the snap back to reality. You nod and sniff, forcing a smile. You’ve honed the mask since childhood. And when the teachers noticed the way you winced at the grazing of a bruise, you just shrugged it off and kept your smile beaming.

“Yeah, yeah,” you assure him with a rocky chuckle. You won’t mention your parents are on a bender. “My mom couldn’t find something. Turns out I borrowed it and left it in my locker at work.”

“Ah,” he nods though there is a hint of cynicism in the single syllable, “I’m sure it’s nothing. So, coffee before you go?”

“Oh, thanks, Mr. Odinson--”

“Thor,” he corrects you.

“Thor,” you echo, “but I should go. I’ve stayed too long as it is. I’m just going to go say goodbye to Magni.”

“Right, yes, well, you know you’ll never overstay your welcome, not after brownie cake,” he grins.

Your smile is a bit more genuine as his cheeks dimple back at you. You nod and shrug and grab your purse and reach behind the table awkwardly to unplug your charger. You tuck everything into your bag and head down the hall to Magni’s room.

You tap on the door but all you hear from within is his constant rumble. You’ll just kiss his forehead and be on your way. You can text him to let him know what’s up later. He probably won’t wake up until noon at earliest.

You near his bed as he sleeps with no shirt, one long leg hanging over the edge. You ignore the lotion and kleenex close by. It makes you feel bad. You knew what he’d planned but it’s not your fault the night was spoiled. Who are you kidding? You would’ve just chickened out again.

You sit on the side of the bed and steady yourself on his bicep, leaning over him as you whisper, “hey, Mag, I’m just heading out.” You bend and kiss his forehead and feel him squirm, “love y--”

“Ugh! You know I hate being woke up!” He throws his arm out and his elbow hits your boob, nothing too painful but it hurts all the same, “Get out!”

His holler has you on your feet. Your heart is once more pounding as you hear the echo of your father’s voice in his. You blink as your eyes tingle again.

“Sorry, Mag, I was just saying goodbye,” you squeak.

He doesn’t respond as he pulls his pillow over his head and rolls back over. You can’t help the spring of tears that bursts forth. You didn’t do anything, you just wanted to give him a kiss.

You squeal in surprise as someone nudges your shoulder and Thor moves you from behind. Gently as he guides you out of his way before barreling towards the bed. He rips the pillow from Magni’s arm and brings it back down to give him a fluffy blow.

“Oi, I didn’t raise you to yell at a lady like that so you get up and apologise right now, Magni,” he demands and smacks him again with the pillow. It can hardly be much of a punishment.

“Dad, I’m sleep--”

“I do not care. You have all day to lay around. Like every day. So you sit up and say sorry.”

Magni grumbles and pushes himself onto his back. He sits up and scowls between you and his dad. He shows his teeth and huffs, “I’m sorry, okay? I was sleeping and you scared me.”

Thor sighs, “really? I’ve a mind to tell her not to come back. She shouldn’t waste her time.”

“Mr. Odinson, really, I snuck up on him," you say.

“No more excuses. Not for him,” he growls and turns to you, his snarl softening in an instant, “I’ve made you a cup to go. You’ll take it with you and drive safe, won’t you?”

“Uh,” you peer between him and his son. “Sure?”

“A good coffee to get your head straight,” he waves you to the door, “and think about if my son is worth your energy, eh? I often ask myself the same.”

You nod and keep silent. You just need to get out of there, go somewhere you can be alone. Just a few minutes before you face the inevitable. You go ahead of Thor and he follows, slamming the door at his back in a final reprimand to Magni.

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #series #drabble #candy girl #mcu #marvel #avengers #au #silverfox au

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queen-of-the-avengers · 3 days

Text

An Endless Cycle

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: relationship angst, bucky beating and shooting someone, heartbreak

Summary: Reality comes crashing into you like a freight train and you can't stop it. You're stuck in a cycle that you have no idea how to get out of. You love Bucky, but can you bend your morals to be with him? Is he worth the heartbreak? Are you?

Between Love and Hate Masterlist

Squares Filled: last times/farewells (2023) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

Italy had some bumps and bruises but you didn’t let that spoil your good time. Now that you’re back in the States, you’re reminded of your responsibilities like school. Bucky has been more lenient in letting you go to school without Sam or Steve with you since this is your safe space. He doesn’t want to do anything to strip you of this and he’s not going to start now.

“I’ll be back here at three to pick you up.”

“Okay.” You move to get out but Bucky stops you before you can. “What?”

“Get over there.”

Bucky pulls your upper body across the center console and kisses you. Butterflies explode in your stomach at the feel of his lips on yours. This is what you want every day to be like. Just you and Bucky in each other’s arms without the threat of danger to either of you.

“If you keep kissing me, I’m going to be late,” you mutter against his lips.

“Okay. I’m done.”

You pull away but lean in for one more kiss. You get out of the car with a grin before hurrying over to your first class of the day. Your fashion design class is the one you’re looking forward to the most, and Gio smiles when he sees you.

“Hey, you’re back.”

“Yeah. Gio, I am so sorry for bailing on the party. I did want to go.”

“Don’t worry about it. Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah. I went to Italy believe it or not.”

“With Bucky?”

You miss the sour tone in his voice.

“Yes. He can be an ass sometimes. Sorry for how he behaved last time.”

You don’t miss the sour look on Gio’s face.

“My dad knew Bucky.”

“Yeah? Through what?”

“Work.”

You’re not sure why but you don’t like the way he says that word. Work. Bucky kills people for work. That means dangerous people after a dangerous man. Instead of diving deeper into that like you know you should, you turn to the front of the class and pay attention to the professor.

“The partners you had for the last project will be your partners for this project. The first step in designing anything is the artwork of the clothes you want to sell. Both of you will come up with six designs. Make sure to include measurements, fabric style, design style, and who your audience is for the type of clothes. You’ll have the entire lab period to work on your designs. You may begin now.”

Gio is a better artist than you so he works on sketching the designs while you come up with everything else. The dress you two made was kind of your idea so you’ll let him have the say on each of the designs for this project. He doesn’t say much except for the occasional, “What color should this part be?” You’re not going to bother him on a topic you know is probably sensitive, so you don’t stick around at the end of class to talk to him.

You walk to the meeting point where Bucky is supposed to pick you up ten minutes before he says he is going to be here. He’s usually early but maybe there is traffic or he got caught up in something. You take a seat on a bench and open a game on your phone to pass the time. Ten minutes turn into twenty turn into forty and then into an hour. Bucky is never this late, and he didn’t bother to call you. You tried calling him three times but he didn’t answer you.

Looks like you’ll have to walk to the nearest bus station, not that you mind much. It’s weird Bucky didn’t reach out to you. While on your walk, you notice dark clouds rolling in. Can you get to the bus station before it starts to rain? No, but the hope was there. It’s not pouring down like you thought it would but it’s not a light drizzle either. You’re soaked to the bone by the time you reach the town where the bust station is. It’s already there letting passengers on but there is a car you recognize across the street from the station.

Bucky’s sleek black Maserati is parked in front of an older-looking apartment building that has clearly seen better days. You abandon your plan of using the bus and head across the street to his car. Why would he and his men be here? It’s fine if he’s busy and couldn’t pick you up, but to not even call you? That’s when it becomes a problem.

The building doesn’t have a working elevator so you have to climb three stories to get to the top. Most doors that lead into the apartments are locked until you get to the top floor. One of the doors is propped open and sounds of pain are coming from the inside. A man grunts in pain when someone punches him in the face. You can hear the sickening crack of his jaw. Your heart pounds in your chest at what you might see but you know you have to do this.

You peek through the small opening of the door and see a man tied to a chair in the middle of the room. Bucky’s men surround him with guns but they don’t use them. Bucky stands in front of him with his sleeves rolled to his elbows. Bucky pulls his fist back and slams it into the man’s face, causing blood and a tooth to spill from his mouth.

“Spune-mi cine este șeful tău!” Tell me who your fucking boss is! “Unde este lista?” Where is the list?

What list? What is going on? You can’t focus on anything but the way Bucky is being so brutal. You’re brought back to the night you left the first time, and your heart breaks all over again. How can he be so gentle with you but so brutal to everyone else?

“I don’t know,” the man pants. “Please, don’t do this. I have a family.”

Bucky doesn’t hear him. He beats him twice more before taking out a gun and shooting the man in the face. You gasp so loudly that Bucky and his men turn to face you. The look in Bucky’s eyes softens once they see the tears in yours. You can’t keep doing this. You’re stuck in an endless cycle that you can’t seem to escape from.

“Y/N…”

You turn and quickly run back down the stairs. Bucky shouts from above but you’re focused on getting the hell out of here. You’re not a track star or anything but once you start running, you can’t seem to stop. Bucky’s place isn’t far from town since he likes everything to be close to where he lives. You could take the bus but then he might make it home before you do. You could call an Uber but he’d definitely beat you back home. Instead, you run. Your legs feel like they are going to fall off, your lungs burn, and your heart pumps fast but you don’t stop running until you’re back at Bucky’s mansion.

You throw open your bedroom door and stumble inside while panting. You grab a backpack and start throwing shit into it. You should have never gotten caught in the first place. This time, you’ll make sure to disappear for good no matter how much it breaks you to do it. Bucky barges through the front door seconds later and races up the stairs two at a time.

Fuck it. You’ll get all new shit somewhere else. You zip up your backpack and run into the hallway where you run into Bucky’s chest. You shove him away and step around him but he grabs at your elbow to stop you.

“Y/N, wait!”

“I can’t do this anymore,” you cry and yank your elbow away from him. “I can’t be with you knowing you’re out there hurting people like that.”

“This is what I do, Y/N. I am the boss of my mafia. Killing people is how I send a message.”

You flinch not only from his words but his tone. He sighs after realizing the effect his words have on you.

“That man had a family. That man was someone’s father, husband, and son. You just took him from them without blinking.”

“That man had a list of my people his mafia plans to kill one by one. He had intel on everyone on my team. I had to kill him first.”

You sniffle and wipe the tears from your eyes.

“What if it had been you who were tied up? What fi it was your life on the line? What then?”

Bucky walks closer to you with a look made of steel. His voice is cold as ice.

“I am no one’s father, I’m no one’s son, and I’m definitely no one’s husband. You make sure of that,” he glares.

You look up at him as two tears roll down your cheeks.

“And if it had been me who was taken?”

“Don’t.” Bucky immediately cuts you off with such coldness like you’ve never seen before. You scoff and turn to leave but he’s not done with this conversation. “Doll, I am in this life whether you like it or not. I can’t leave it.”

“But I can.” You turn back to him. “I love picking flowers and going to animal shelters just to play with the dogs and cats. If I pass by a baby and a mother in the park, I have to stop just to make the baby laugh. I even stopped traffic once just to help a mother duck and her babies cross the road so they wouldn’t get hit. How do you expect me to react to you brutally killing someone?”

“You were never supposed to see that.”

“Maybe if you answered your damn phone, you might have told me to go straight home! You left me waiting an hour for you at school!”

“I’m sorry,” he sighs.

“Yeah, well, I am, too. I’m going home. My home.”

You turn to leave and see a flash of lightning in the distance followed by thunder. Rain pours down outside, hitting fat drops on the window.

“So, what does this mean for us?”

His words stop you. You can’t look at him or else you’ll break down in tears and never stop crying.

“Are you going to stop hurting people?” He can’t answer because he can’t lie to you. “I have no choice but to leave.”

“Y/N--”

You turn to face Bucky with tears rolling down your face. It kills him to see you in such pain but what can he do? He can’t ever leave this life. He’s in too deep.

“It hurts so much to love you. It hurts knowing you’re doing that when I’m home wishing you were with me instead. It hurts so fucking much, and I can’t do it anymore. I refuse to make myself less than to be by your side.

“Please don’t go.”

Bucky steps closer to you. Lightning strikes again lighting up the dark hallway. You can see pain across Bucky’s face but you need to do this for you.

“Do you love me?”

“You know I do.”

“Would you do anything for me?”

“Yes.”

“Then let me go,” you sob.

“Everything I do is for you!” Bucky yells which makes you flinch but you stand your ground. “Everything I’ve accomplished is for you!”

“Being with you hurts,” you cry. “I can’t give you what you need. You’re not enough anymore. I want more than what you can offer me. I can’t be in love with a murderer.”

Bucky can see how much pain he’s putting you through. How can he claim to love you if he’s hurting you at the same time? Bucky stands up straighter and every bit of emotion is wiped from his face.

“Steve will take you home. I’ll have him bring the rest of your things later.”

With that, he turns and leaves you alone in the dark hallway. You must not be enough for him either because he just walked away like it was the easiest fucking decision ever.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes angst #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #marvel fan fic #mcu #marvel fan fiction #marvel fluff #mcu fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fiction

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livelaughlovesubs · 1 day

Note

Nini!! Guess who’s back from hibernation!! :D

Sorry it’s been a while since I’ve interacted on your page, I got busy with stuff :(

Anyways, incubus Fyodor and priest reader! (Yes, ik old request, wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t remember.) punishing Fyodor for becoming cocky bc you were not paying attention to him, he even went as far as threatening to go get fucked by someone else! (He was bluffing. He’s too addicted to your cock at that point) now he has to learn the consequences of his actions when he’s forced to cockwarm you with his mouth while you read the bible, not even sparing him a glance! You even made sure to chastise him so he wouldn’t try anything. Every time he tries even moving at bit, you grab his hair tightly and push in more of your dick, making his eye tear up as he grips onto your thighs desperately. By the time you finish Luke’s gospel, Fyodor is looking up at you pleadingly with drool dripping down his chin for you to finally use him. <3

- 🍮 ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)σ"

Incubus Fyodor 3

Dom!reader x sub!fyodor

Warning: I’ll use dick - interpret it however you want, blow job, cockwarming, hierophilia - (incorrect) religious aspects, hair pulling, choking/ gagging, dacryphilia

🍮 anon!!! I missed you and your fyodor requests! I love that little bastard hehe. Also nope, I did not forget, cuz I freaking loved those ideas.

Normally you were nice enough to satisfy his needs, he needed it to survive after all. But he was an incubus, his sex drive was way higher than what a normal human can handle. One of the reasons why incubi’s never settle down for only one partner. In your case, you forced him to stay here with you, as if he was your personal pet. To be honest, he was just your plaything after all. The pretext of cleansing him of his sins? A dirty thing like him can’t be redeemed, you didn’t believe in such things anyway. Rather, accepting and repenting for one’s sins, and that is something he has to want for himself. The most you could do was prevent him from being even more sinful. That alone would be of great help, since otherwise he would seduce other people and make them succumb to Asmodeus too.

Today you were busy reading when he came up to you. You knew what he wanted, but this time you ignored it, there were other things to take care of. At first he just stood there, staring at you, wondering why you were so carried away. He took a few glances at your book, it was the bible in the Old Testament. No wonder you seemed busy, that one’s difficult to understand. This wont stop him from desiring you though, so he kneeled down and crawled under your table, slowly settling down between your legs.

“Y/nnn~ I’m so hungry, can we please do it?” Fyodor asked, looking up at you with those pretty scarlet eyes. “Not now, maybe later.” That’s weird, normally you always agreed. “Can’t you read that damn book later?” “This is not a ‘damn’ book, I have to concentrate so be quiet please.” You answered him, eyes never leaving the paper in front of you, scanning one line after another. He pouted, furrowing his brows as he thought about what to do. “But I’m really hungry.” The incubi complained again, though to no avail. How stubborn you were. Fine, if that’s what you want. “Never mind, I’ll find someone else then.”

Fyodor turned his head around, about to get up to leave when he felt your hand on his head. Before he got the chance to question you about it, you yanked on his hair and made him arch his back. Now you were towering over him, pulling his head back by his raven black locks. “MhmMM-ahHHNHgG..?!” He moaned out, unable to bite back a smirk. “I wont allow you to defile other innocent souls.” You told him harshly, without an ounce of concern. The gaze you bore was cold, and he felt a shiver run down his spine. It wasn’t due to fear though. His face was red, eyes foggy and expression melting, no matter what you’d do to him he’d take it with no hesitation.

“Haaah…” you sighed, feeling a little annoyed with him, then you commanded, “Go to the drawer there on the left and bring me the box in there.” He looked at you with confusion, but did it anyway. Getting up to get the box you wanted, then returning to his previous position. The demon watched with curiosity as you opened it. There were many sex toys in it, most of them have been used on him already. You reached for the things you needed, afterwards you put the rest away. Fyodor was still kneeling between your legs while you prepared everything, his body filled up with anticipation. He knows exactly what those toys do, god he wanted you to abuse him with them.

First thing you did was take the cockring and bring it to the base of his cock, it was to keep him obedient. You can’t have him squirting around his filthy essence. He squirmed when you grabbed him by the shaft as you used it on him, it looked so romantic~ That was all it took to get him hard. Then you pulled on his hair again, making him face your abdomen and dick. “Keep it in your mouth, you can’t move until I’m done, understood?” Instead of making him cockwarm you with his hole, you wanted him to use his mouth. It’s because he talks too much, you couldn’t think when he keeps babbling nonsense.

Just as you guessed, he happily took all of you inside his throat, gagging a little at the length. Forget about talking, he can barely breath with how deep it was in his throat. A bulge could be seen on his neck, right there where his Adam’s apple is. “Good boy.” You said, now stroking his head gently, as if he was really your pet. How he loved it, chocking on your dick like this, tears were on the verge of spilling. The reason why your fingers were still tangled with his locks was to prevent him from moving, since this was a punishment. That’s why every time he bobbed his head, intentionally or not, you’d force his face down further, until his nose hit your pelvis. Poor boy gagged and choked so prettily whenever you’d die that, letting out sweet moans akin to an angels singing,“guUHH..! Uh-hm,,.mHMmnGH..”

At first he was pretty enthusiastic about it, after ten minutes he got bored and needy. This only continued to the point he started crying. He was so desperate for any friction he could get, since he couldn’t even touch himself. Well, he could, but it’s not like he can cum anyways. Drool was running down his chin while tears rolled down his cheeks, leaving behind a shiny trail. His hands were bawled into fists while his tail wagged around like crazy. The look he had in his eyes were so hot, looking up at you all submissive while his pupils turned into hearts. Internally, fyodor was begging for you to finally pay attention to him, or finish reading that book soon. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out.

This was pure torture, was what he thought after not 30 minutes, but an entire hour passed. His head felt light, and his body twitched everywhere. Just a single touch from you would cause him to yelp that’s how sensitive he became. Quiet sobs could be heard from him while melting expression plagued his features. You weren’t exactly done yet with your reading, but seeing how pitiful he looked, you just had to help him. Putting the bible aside and caressing his ruined face, “you’ve been pretty good for the past hour, want to have your meal now?” As soon as he heard that he started choking on it again, the surprise and excitement caused him to inhale too fast. Only difference was, this time you let him pull his head back. “AhHh..! Cough- uh-urGHh..ahh, ye-yes!! I want it, p- guUHH.. pleaseee..” Suddenly he started sobbing intensely again, he also stuck his tongue out after pleading with you so obediently. Right, such a good boy, it is time for him to get his blessing.

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new-revenant · 2 days

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Alright! Time to share all of what I have of the 4th chapter. It’s not much, but hey, it’s something. Here is the Ao3 link to the other 3 chapters. And unfortunately, the story is on indefinite hiatus because I just. Couldn’t do it ha, got overwhelmed and majorly burnt out. Anyhow, hope you enjoy what I do have. 872 words.

Edit: Opps! Forgot to tag you haha @bianca-hooks123

When Danny woke up, he was surprised at how refreshed he felt. He really hasn’t a good night’s sleep in a while, huh. His body didn’t ache, his left arm finally felt normal, and the bruises he had were gone. If not for still being trapped in his ghost form, he would’ve been having the time of his life!

As he sat up, Danny noticed that his tray of food was unfortunately gone. But, he now had a new tray of food, breakfast edition! It still had the same mix of human and Tamaranean on it, which was nice. His water bottle was refilled, accompanied by a cup of strawberry milk right next to it.

Danny quickly set out to eat all of the food, like eating the dry cereal and then drinking the entirety of the milk right after, as God intended. He didn’t eat as fast as he did last night-er, before he fell asleep. He honestly had no idea what time it was, and couldn’t see a clock nearby. A clock.

Clockwork.

Danny had to stop eating for a moment, trying to calm down the rage that was beginning to simmer. It’ll all be fine, everything back home would be fine, he just needs to pass whatever this test is and punch Clockwork in the face, then he’d be good to go. But what about this universe? Would he be able to go back here? Would he need to? Would he want to?

Danny shook his head, “No time to worry about that,” he muttered to himself, “Just eat your food, and read this note you just noticed was here.”

Danny picked up the note that he must’ve missed because he was too focused on the food. It was not written in English, or had any letters he was familiar with, and he was pretty sure spoken English here was the same as it was in his universe. It was most likely in one of the written languages of Tamaraneans, since everyone-expect Batman-thought he was a Tamaranean.

Danny flipped the note around, hoping for an English translation. The back of the note had more writing, but it was still in Tamaranean. Well that sucked. Now he has to find someone to read the note, and considering the note’s in Tamaranean, it was probably from either Starfire or Nightwing, maybe saying that they were off doing stuff. Even if Danny couldn’t read it, he did have a half-decent intuition!

With a sigh, Danny put the note back down and decided to finish his breakfast. It was so good, definitely better than anything his parents cooked for him. Who would definitely be okay if Nocturn was to be believed. Wait, was Nocturn telling the truth? Danny shook his head again, he had to believe Nocturn, for the sake of his own sanity.

Once Danny finished his food, he got out of the bed, and looked around the infirmary. He noticed three things; one, there was a clock in here and showed that it was 3 o’clock-whether it was AM or PM he didn’t know, two, someone else was in infirmary, and three, there was a box right in front of his bed.

First things first, the person in the bed was someone he hasn’t seen yet, with white, giant wings on their back. They looked they were in pain and was hooked up to something. They were already awake and was looking over at Danny.

“Ah, hello there kid,” they said with a small wave, “I’m Hawkgirl, glad you’re feeling better. Heard you weren’t in such a good state when you came in here.”

“Well, this is the infirmary,” Danny joked, “But I think I just used up too much energy.”

“Didn’t you also fall hundreds of feet from the sky?”

“Wow news spreads fast here huh? I healed pretty quickly from that though.”

“If you count being asleep for two days fast, then yes, you have.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been asleep for how many days?” Danny couldn’t believe it, two days? That means he’s already been gone for…two minutes back home so he probably didn’t need to worry about that.

“You’ve been asleep for two days,” Hawkgirl’s voice held a pinch of sadness as she spoke, “I wish I could convert Earth days to Tamaranean days, but I don’t know the conversion rate. Starfire might, but she’s on-world right now.”

“It’s okay. Also do you um, know how to read this?” Danny showed her his note, “I can’t read.”

Hawkgirl inhaled sharply, with Danny already knowing what she was going to say and he groaned.

“Yeah yeah you don’t know either, it’s fine,” Danny pinched the bridge of his nose, “Uh, newtopicnewtopic…how are you doing? Got injured in a fight?”

“Unfortunately, yes, I have,” Hawkgirl sighed, “This strange, ghost-like creature managed to mess up some of my internal-“

“Wait a minute, er-sorry for interrupting you but did you say ghost? Like the see-through dead guys?”

“I’m unsure, Batman is looking into it. Oh, and he left that box of clothes for you not too long ago.”

“Ah, that’s what the box was for. Well, I’m going to wander around this spaceship-thing until I find a place to change.”

#danny phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc #ask game #revenant rambles #i still feel bad for not continuing this. But then I remember I am one person with my own life to live and feel a bit better #Danny was going to be wearing an oversized Batman hoodie btw. And in this chapter he was going to hang with Flash and Plasticman #I didn’t remember the part about the ghosts tho. Forgot where I was going with that haha

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drdemonprince · 13 hours

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all the recent talk about not voting has me a bit worried, for lack of a better word.

on one hand, yes so much yes, stop throwing all your time and energy in the insatiable maw of electoral politics, 5/5, no notes.

but on the other hand, where does that time and energy go then? despite lots of talk about mutual aid it doesn't seem to progress much beyond the abstract (at least in the various leftist groups/communities/etc. in my neck of the woods). it's held up as an ideal and great big important thing, but when there's shit that needs doing, it's *crickets*.

maybe it's because so much mutual aid is care work and thus, and i very much disagree with even though i care not for the label, not real activism i guess? like, a while ago a disabled comrade had ran into housing issues because of their illness, so we rustled up some folks to help clean and unfuck their home. which, yet again, were the same (also disabled) people that always show for those things.

coming of four years and counting of pandemic, that's been a consistent pattern. at a time where mutual aid was so needed, such a vacuum left by a state that didn't and/or wanted to do shit, it still fell on the shoulders of disabled people to do all the actual work while the rest just talked about abstract shit. or, to name another thing, diy hrt initiative where it's just a bunch of poor ass trans people scrounging up money to pay for supplies for trans people who have fuck all access, while the rest debates in the abstract about a more better system or whether it's even something they need to concern themselves about.

and like, yes, not pissing away your energy pleading with assholes who don't give a fuck about you is good, but it should only be the start. it sometimes feels like the big plan is: 1) not vote, 2) ???, 3) glorious anarchism/communism/mutual-aidism. i'm not arguing that they need to have it all worked out, but with so much shit that needs doing in the here and now i get a little worried. because that's going to take real work, not talk, and they're not putting in any of it.

I mean, most people won't do (what gets viewed as) "real activism" either. They don't go to protests, smash windows, call jails to check on the status of incarcerated people, cut supply lines, or anything else. And they don't vote either.

We live in a highly individualistic, atomized society filled with people who have been conditioned into an abiding self-interested apathy, and everyone is overworked and broke as shit and juggling a bunch of disabilities while not having any experience with building genuine community and lacking most of the infrastructural and social tools to do so. The number of people who are avowed leftists is vanishingly small, and among them the people who actually walk the talk or have the education and community ties to even be able to is even smaller. Not disagreeing with your read of the situations you're dealing with here, just putting them within the broader context of many very similar problems that I see touch every single aspect of organizing today. even like the most tepid liberal get out the vote kind of organizing is plagued by this, and of course that is by design.

What gives me hope in the present moment is just how many people are completely fucking done with the prevailing system, and how many are refusing to play along with its rules. A lot of the people who aren't voting are not leftists. At least not yet. Just like many of the people who are quiet quitting and half-assing it at work or just vibing on unemployment for as long as they can are not communists. But they do know that the system is bunk and is failing them, and they are refusing to be compliant within it any longer. I believe that a lot of people's better natures do get inspired during a moment of collapse. I also think there is a profound rot at the heart of settler-colonial states that fills them with people who do not recognize themselves as having any responsibility to others. That's all the more reason for such an empire to fall.

I think you're right to worry for the future, though I don't think the reason to be worried is as simple as people not people caring about disabled folks, or any other group. I always wonder who the mythical abled people are who are abnegating their duty in such an understanding of the world. I sure haven't met any of them. I only meet people who are also disabled and don't realize it.

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witchpassing · 18 hours

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interview_3aC

I got into piloting during the Third Generation. For the historically illiterate, that’s before the breakpoint, not after. Summer Offensive, Chelsk Offensive, ‘81, ‘82… All that shit.

When you say pilot now, people get a certain mental image. It wasn’t like that, back then; end of the day, a G3 frame is basically just another kind of tank. Hot like hell inside and full analogue control. You had to think five, six, seven seconds ahead sometimes, because that’s how long it’d take you to string together the inputs for what you were doing next.

I was good. I mean, I’m good at my job now, sure, but… you should’ve fuckin’ seen me then.

... Anyway. Long and short of it is, I got unlucky. Everyone does, sooner or later. Coterie railcannon caved in part of my cockpit, crushed my leg to dogmeat, and that was that. A few years later, they’d have amputated, plugged in a spare, and sent me back in, but this was ‘83, the tech wasn’t there yet. We were hearing about it, you know, shit on the grapevine about the brain-machine barrier, weird tests underground out in Lysk, but I don’t think any of us really believed in it.

I wanna say I knew what was coming, but I didn’t. Nobody did.

So. Cockpit breach. Fucked leg. They did a lot of work, got it to where I could walk on a good day, but it was obvious I wasn’t gonna cut it any more. Took my pension, checked out, spent eight years in the worst dyke bars I could find. Don’t really wanna talk about that part. That’s not what you’re here for, anyway.

So I’m a few years down the line, losing my mind somewhere in Sengrade, and I get a call. It’s this guy I used to know, I never really nailed down what he did, Information maybe, and he’s telling me about this program they’re spinning up over in Lysk, and sure that rings some alarm bells but what am I gonna do, say no? I don’t even need to hear the specifics, he’s trying to tell me it’s the next big jump in frame tech, it’s gonna win us the war, whatever, I’m already halfway onto a train.

The job turned out to be the Fifth Generation. Not only was the brain-machine barrier real, but they’d smashed clean through it. I said a G3 is basically a tank, right? So I was expecting an iteration on the form. Sharper, sleeker sure, but at the end of the day just a prettier-looking tank.

Well, I was dead fuckin’ wrong. Seeing something that size move that way, it’s… I don’t think I can put it into words. Go find a poet or something. Ask them what they think about Gen 5.

… Didn’t come for free, of course. The neural throughput on a machine that size will cook an unprepared brain like a fuckin’ egg. You need to be dosed to the gills on a whole cocktail of ten-syllable shit to take it for more than a few minutes, and the drugs make you weird. Horny, mostly - I’m sure you’ve heard about that - but you’re also looking at impaired impulse control, difficulty with long-term thinking, emotional disregulation, mania… Plus, there’s something in the cocktail or the link or both that is bastard habit-forming. You see them counting the hours between sorties. They adjust to the hyperstimulation, get calibrated to it, and then everything else is just too god-damn quiet.

Think maybe it’s carcinogenic, actually, but you didn’t hear that from me.

So, yeah. Weird. Command doesn’t want weird operating superweaponry. Weird doesn’t make sound tactical decisions. Which means all the shit that makes somebody a functioning soldier - the long-term decision making, the impulse control, the ability to give a fuck about the rules of engagement - it had to be outsourced.

The term they used at first was “special consultant”. Then “special consulting officer”, once we hit field testing. It wasn’t “handler” until later.

The first crop of us - I’m just gonna say handlers, I know how you’re gonna wanna spin this, I get it - were all ex-pilots. G3, mostly; Gen 4 didn’t leave a lot of material to work with. I guess the idea was we were the closest you could get to a G5 candidate’s frame of reference, but it was pretty clear within the first few months that that was bullshit. Some of us took to it, some of us washed out. A lot couldn’t take the wetwork, which I guess I can sympathise with.

Me, I handled it fine. Better than I should’ve, maybe. Being a tanker didn’t do shit for me, but my dad, he was a dog trainer, and… Yeah, well, you get the idea.

… No, no. The other kind of wetwork. You know what I mean.

…

The leg? Ha. Yeah, they offered me a prosthetic. ‘Course they did. But, call me a hypocrite, whatever you want - by that point I was six months in and I knew with total fuckin’ certainty I didn’t want the link. I spend enough of my time helping the military put their shit into peoples’ bodies, you know? I don’t want it walking home with me.

… No, I don’t understand why they keep signing up. Early days, sure, nobody knew what it did to you back then, but there’s been leaks, people’ve talked - hell, I’m talking right now. You can find our burnouts in any dive in the country, or what's fuckin' left of them. The candidates now, they know what we do to people here, and they just keep coming, and coming…

Though, you know… I think sometimes about the first time I saw a Gen 5 machine take off, that first day on the program. The way it moved against the blue-black of the sky, like it weighed nothing at all. And I almost get it.

#empty spaces #mechposting #this one's writing #microfiction

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l0sercat · 2 days

Text

NSFW alphabet with King Baldwin IV

Please note that this is not the historical figure but the movie version. Also MDNI for my sake and yours.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He's a god at aftercare. Literally will get you whatever you need or want. He puts his needs last. When you take care of him he is shy, but very thankful.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He doesn't like his body that much due to his leprosy. He has to admit he was good looking before and during which he loved his hands, but now they're covered in sores. So maybe his eyes. He loves everything about you but more specially your hair. He loves his soft it is and he likes playing with it.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He loves cumming inside you. He wants to get you pregnant so bad, he wants and heir to the throne when he eventually succumbs to his illness. Even if you can't get pregnant he still loves to cum inside you.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He gets hard every time he sees you naked. Even if it's not in a sexual context. Taking a bath. Boner. Get dressed boner. Hell if you give him a kiss and shower him in praise he gets hard. He can't help it just loves you so much.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He is a total virgin. No experience. I mean he's a strict Cristian so obviously no sex before marriage. He is super happy that your taking his first and he gets to experience these pleasures with you.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

He really likes doggy. You can't see his scarred body which is a plus. He also likes how he can hit every angle in this position. He wants to make sure you feel good.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Serious 100% He views this act as sacred and something that your taken care of. Making a joke would just ruin the atmosphere.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Does leprosy affect pubic hair? I personally believe that he would try to keep it tame down there. It's not perfect but he put in the effort and that's all that matters.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He is sweet and a little clumsy but it's his first time so. Your pleasure is always number one. You'll have at least three organs before he has one.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He does not masturbate. He views it as an unholy act. The only way he will cum is by your "hands". Even thinking about masturbating grosses him out.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Praise. Oh my gosh dies he live when you praise him. He feeds off of your praise. He performs better if you praise him. Especially when he cums and you praise him he will go wild.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

The bedroom. He'll only do it there because it's the safest. Why would he fuck you anywhere else?

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

He really wants to get you pregnant, but at the same time he doesn't because he doesn't want his kid to have leprosy. So it's more so that he just really wants to be close to you.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Degradation. To him or you. If you say something degrading he will not stand for it and make you apologize immediately. And he could never degrade you because he thinks your near perfect. It would literally kill him to degrade you.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He wants to give but is afraid he'll be bad at it and it probably might hurt his scarred skin. He doesn't mind receiving but is awkward the whole time. He doesn't know what to do with his hands.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He is slow until he is on the edge and picks up the pace a bit. His leprosy effects him a bit in this department. He can't go to fast or all his stamina will deplete.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

No, he prefers to take you properly. Also quickies just wouldn't be good because y'know he's king and all. He has not time to quickly fuck you.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

No he is comfortable with what y'all have now and that's all he wants.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He has bad stamina because of leprosy, so he can't last long. But he makes sure you'll have many orgasms and feel overwhelmed with pleasure. He always prioritize your pleasure over his.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Toys weren't even invented back then lmfao

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He doesn't tease, much. He'll never deny your orgasm but he'll gently poke fun at the way your face is all red and teary eyed.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He isn't very loud but he doesn't hold back his voice. You'll hear everything that comes out of his mouth.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He likes when your on top and gently take you fingers through his hair and whisper praises. And maybe call his your king or majesty.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He's about 5-6 1/2-inches long and kinda thick. It has a little scaring due to his leprosy but it looks normal. It is not cut but he does clean it well.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

It's not high but not low. He wants to do it more frequently than he does but his body can't handle it. He feels repulsed by himself but seeing you moaning his name makes him feel better.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

After your both cleaned up and taken care of he falls asleep pretty quickly. Your in his arms sleeping and then he falls asleep.

#x reader #gender neutral #gender not specified #gender neutral reader #kingdom of heaven #koh #kingdom of heaven Baldwin #baldwin iv x reader #king baldwin iv #baldwin iv #Baldwin x reader #yandere Baldwin #yandere king Baldwin #yandere Baldwin iv

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