#yes he's only partially failing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shotmrmiller · 1 month

Text

wait though because seriously. the boys share everything with each other.

(smut, be warned. this turned way too long thank @waves-against-a-cliff for this)

they share bedrolls and tents when they're stuck in the freezing cold during a mission.

they share canteens, mre's, cigarettes. (price is smoke snob so simon always carries a cigar or two for him)

they'll share a room in base when simon's not sleeping again due to his ptsd, or johnny's gone and gotten injured again. john slips into kyle's room sometimes just to remind himself that he didn't lose kyle when he fell out of the helo.

they share showers, too. sometimes in a safe house there's not enough hot water to go around 4 individuals, and other times they just need a hand that isn't their own wrapped around their neglected cocks. (simon mewls like a kitten when john fists him from behind, beard scraping on the junction of his shoulder as john gives him a peck or two on the neck)

they go on leave and stay together, too. simon and john are the ones who keep a home-- johnny and kyle sleep at whoever's they please; essentially living there as well.

then john gets a little bird, a sweet (much younger, simon notices) thing who's far too gentle and soft for gruff men like themselves, just a doting, kind girlfriend.

they share you too.

it hadn't really been hard to nudge you their direction, either. john's only ever sung praise of his crew, his boys.

johnny and kyle are the pretty ones-- it's completely normal that your eyes wandered from john to them when they visited. johnny's hand lingered a little too long on the small of your back when he needed to get past, the touch scalding even through your shirt, and kyle's gentle demeanor and warm smiles toward you never failed to get your heart racing. they were easily game.

simon had been a bit more of a challenge.

he'd been jealous of you, at first. of course someone full of life such as yourself would capture his captain's heart. a bright, burning star in comparison to him, a stellar remnant. he'd seethed when johnny had taken a picture of the both you and john asleep on the couch, him partially lying atop of you with his head firmly on your chest. simon can't even have light weight on him as he sleeps, lest he dreams that he's underground again, dirt clogging his mouth and nose as he claws himself back to the world of the living.

but john knows him better than he knows himself, and he'd nipped that issue in the bud-- slinked into simon's room in base and reassured him with a hand curled under his jaw that there is enough of him for everyone, and now you, too.

"what's mine is yours, simon. and that little morsel back home is mine."

john only brought it up the once, and how eager you'd been. so receptive to the idea of treating his boys the way they deserve. they haven't had much good in their life, he'd purred, but you'll be good, won't you?

yes, you'd jerkily nodded, so good, i swear.

they had you watch them first, just to not overwhelm you. meager handjobs and suggestive kisses to flushed skin. whispered promises of what's to come, playful nips to the ear. it went well enough, john observing how you rubbed your thighs together whenever one of them finally peaked over their own stomach.

then you interrupted their session, one day, asking if you could try to give one of them a hand (ha). the last time he came that hard, kyle had touched him under the table in a restaurant, in front of decent company.

he'd even spurted cum all the way up to his collarbone.

it upgraded quickly after that, any self doubt all but gone under their touch. fingers sunk and curled inside your throbbing cunt, squelching with each movement. john sat behind you, keeping you somewhat upright so you could just focus on their attention. johnny's warm mouth laved at your stiff nipple and kyle swallowed all of your moans.

johnny went first, rambunctious man that he was. he flipped you onto your knees and hilted in one smooth stroke. john stood by your side the entire time, his hands brushing away the damp hair that stuck to your forehead. "doin' so good, love." johnny's grip around your waist had been the only thing that kept you from sprawling forward with each heavy thrust.

kyle had gone next, and what you'd thought would've been a sensual missionary ended up being a devastating missionary press. he pushed your knees to your chest, feeling the air rush out of your lungs. when he bottomed out, john had hissed above you. "made a proper mess there, johnny. there's not enough room for kyle when she's stuffed full of you."

"i'm not sorry, sir," was his cheeky reply.

johnny's spend had been forcibly pushed out when kyle pushed in.

his length was in your throat as he took you and he gave you no respite, just a constant drag of his cock along your sensitive nerves. your mind was scrambled, unable to form a single coherent thought. his fingers dug into the soft meat of your thighs when he came.

simon chose to be last, because you'd be warmed up and slick enough to take him without much discomfort.

wrong.

even with him on his back, you choosing how fast or slow the coupling went, it'd stung. it was an invasion, a searing ache in between your legs, inside your core once you sat flush on his thighs.

simon's hands tightened around your hips, and grunted. "alrigh' getter off. she's clearly in pain--"

"no! i'm just sensitive, is all. i just need a little time to get accustomed."

his face showed disbelief, brows furrowed and lips slightly pursed but john was quick to assuage the situation. "you heard her, simon. she can take it." john turned to you and cradled your face in his hands. "can't you, love?"

'course you could. you promised to be good, after all.

kyle came from behind and wrapped his own hands around your waist, canting them forward, simon's length going so much deeper, and a sharp breath escaped you.

"there ya go, doll. much better now, yeah?"

you rolled your hips slowly, testing the waters. underneath the pulse of pain, was pleasure, crawling up your spine, dripping slick down the base of simon's cock.

finally.

leaning forward, you placed your palms on his sweat-slick barrel chest and began to ride him with fervor. john threaded his fingers through simon's hair and tugged harshly, a ragged moan falling from his lips. it hadn't been much longer after, which you are grateful for because you were about to pray to the gods that your hips hold out with how fiercely they burned with effort.

john had kissed your temple in the end, praising how well you did and to not worry about him, this was more than enough.

aftercare had been a long, drawn out process that had your eyes heavy with sleep, and chest warm with affection.

they left you asleep, exhausted, curled up in john's oversized bed and simon was the one to drag them all into the guest bedroom because john hadn't come once tonight.

when he tried to protest, kyle huffed and cut him off with a wave of his hand. "we take care of each other, captain, and now it's your turn."

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod smut #task force 141 #poly!141

1K notes · View notes

first-edition · 2 months

Text

Bent Over

Summary- You may be Bucky’s assistant but your still is pretty wife. When the other board members take a liking to you bucky puts them in their place by showing them exactly who you belong two.

Cw- literally just smut basically, P-in-V, Unprotected, doggystyle, hair pulling, choking kink, Sargent! Authority kink, reader has long hair and wears heels, Afab reader, brief mention of drool, dirt talk, public sex, exhibitionistm kink, dom/sub, Dom!bucky, CEO!bucky, assistant reader, spanking, pet names, brief clit play, bucky fucking you raw over the meeting table with others watch. SLIGHTLY PROOF READ.

A/N this is by far the most….UNHOLY thing I’ve ever written in my 11 years of writing fanfiction and smut so i encourage you to read the content warning above and MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

ENJOY

You've worked for Bucky for hydra company since you were born. You previously worked for your father Alexander Pierce when you turned 14. But when his assistant double crossed him and killed him, that same assistant, James Buchanan Barnes took over the company at 18. At first you hated him having nothing left, not like your father was good. Of course the company should've gone to you..and well it did but at 14 years old it wasn't yours to run.

You two would bicker and often hand in hand fight regardless of being his assistant. Many year later and many fail assanation attempts on him you married him. You've been James's assistant for 11 years, and you've been married to him for 3. Your bickering had ended in a lust induced fight that led to feeling being expressed at gunpoint then a rough night that left you partially, and deliciously crippled the next morning, which prompted Bucky to make you breakfast in bed and draw you a bath.

Your work relationship is far different from home. At home he never lets you only want you whether that's wrapping his arms around you for a cuddle or being balls deep in your cunt.

At work however he's the right amount of distance and so are you. It's become a mutual thing to not let anyone know in the tower that you and the big boss are married.

You walk into the building holding a tray of coffees and an arm full of files. Your hair up in a ponytail, you wear a black knee high pencil skirt with a fairly loose but classy dark blue blouse, your black stockings paired with the jet black louis vuittons red bottoms bucky bought you last week.

“I made the coffee run.” you say setting the tray down in the office room.

Everyone who orders comes scrambling to their order without a thank you as usual.

“You do a lot around her, don't you miss pierce.” you hear an older man's voice speak and you turn to see one of the board members and the other men on his team behind him.

“Welcome Mr Cain you are early..i'll have to let mr barnes know.” you say pursing your lips in slight annoyance.

“Yes well i'm not going to miss a chance at this pretty face now am I?” he says lifting your chin you pull away from him.

“Excuse Me.” you say before turning back and walking down the hall area. They of course unauthorizedly follow close behind you. You stop at bucky's office doors as the desk girl presses the button allowing the doors to open you step in seeing bucky standing over to the window watching the morning view of the city as he shines up his metal hand, which your father gave him after a coup was sent on him he used bucky as a human shield.

“Mr barnes. It appears Mr Cain has arrived early.” you says

“Love the way you say my name sweetheart.” Cain speaks slapping your ass making you jump and wanting you punch the ever living outta him.

“Hmm.” Bucky hums as he turns to see Mr cain.

“Are the others here?” he asks you.

“No sir…they will be arriving at 8. Like you asked.” you say knowing bucky will be pissed off at cain with being early and treating you as such. A small smile forming on your face.

“You're 15 minutes early Cain. Were you offered coffee or bourbon? " Bucky says.

“No james-” Cain begins.

“Good.” Bucky cuts him off. He looks to you and holds out his hands for the files. You walk over to him handing them to your beloved husband. He takes a moment to look through the pages.

“Early Mr Cain but lacking in so many areas, your files aren't in the stock.” he says.

“I had it transferred digitally.” Cain speaks proudly. Bucky tilts his head to the side slightly and nods a bit before handing the files back to you. You walk to the cabinet and bend down to sort them into the right orders. You hear a crash and a grunt knowing Cain is face down on the table and Bucky is holding him there.

“Im old school Cain i like the files printed, i also like to be on time, not early, not late…on. Fucking. Time.” bucky huffs cain struggles against the cold black marble desk.

“Understood?” Bucky asks.

“Y-yes..sir..” Cain gurgles out. Bucky lets him go and stands up fixing his suit.

“Good. I'll see you in um….10 minutes. Office room 8. y/n.” bucky says looking at you as you close the files cabinet.

“Yes sir?” you ask completely unfazed but the situation as Cain picks himself up.

“Send the maid in to clean up the mess and get room 8 ready for the meeting… also escort Mr Cain out and show twords the room.” he says you nod your heels clicking against the tiled floor as you walk out cain following you.

—-------

You stand on the side of the door way welcoming the men of the board into the meeting room one by one they all join in and in some way in their own eye fuck you, or get a touch of you in some way.

They all take their seats and bucky walks in after them. You're about to close the door when he stops you.

“I'll need you for this one doll.” He says he never calls you his personal nickname at work.

“S-sir?” you ask

“Come on love.” he says, taking your hand leading you into the room. He takes a seat at the head of the table as usual and you stand beside him.

“So I realize that we are gathered here for the section rating. How our router facilities are going and what we are going to do about the one that got taken down. Simply kill the one in charge, the router taken down, and forty the rest." Bucky begins.

“In the budget.” someone begins. Bucky holds his hand up.

“The budget is not the problem. The problem is that we have to much money and aren't using it to put more into the structure..but that's not the problem i want to address today no…the harassment and sexualization of my wife is getting out of hand.'' Bucky speaks and stands up pushing his chair back.

“J-james.” you speak quietly.

“I don't know what you men think but i think that the only one here who gets to touch her is me…don't you?” bucky speaks undoing his belt, your knees feel of jello and a shiver goes up your spine.

Bucky pulls you to him and presses his lips to yours deeply he grips a handful of your ass before pushing you back against the table, your back laying against it he pushing up your skirt and rips open the front of your shirt.

“I think you all need a fuckign lesson about who my assistant is and your gonna sit their like good students and fucking watch.” bucky grunts out as your laced bra is exposed he grips your neck pulling you up to him and gently takes out your ponytail letting your hair fall.

“What do you think of these dirty old men touching you honey?” he asks you. You bite your lip making a bucky smile knowing what that does to him.

“Your hands trails down his front to his crotch feeling the bulge already full in his pants straining against the fabric. You pull down the zipper causing him to slip out, you take him in your hand giving his length a few good strokes before he pushes back against the table he moves your panties to the side briefly only to rip them off throwing them in the room. With out warning or prep he enters you roughly you mouth falls open and a moan escapes as he begins to fuck up into you.

“n-ngh..James.” you gasp out in pleasure.

“Come on princess, don't hide those pretty sounds from us.” he says a violent blush fills your face but the arousal going on between your legs blurs out any embarrassment. Your husband is fucking you out silly, on the table of the meeting room infront of the entire board and you are loving every second of it.

“Come on doll you gotta l–let em know who you belong to. You the fuck put tha pretty ring on your finger?” bucky huffs.

“Y-you did ahh. Fu-fuck.. You did.” you maon out in fragments as he pulls you bra down exposing your tits gripping one and continuing to fuck you his thumb brushing over your hardend bud and the stimulation in you cunt is enough for you cum once.

“F-fuck james..ah” you grip his hand as your cunt squeezes around his cock.

“Come on love you cant keep this a secrect you fucking cumming?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“Y-y-yes ah..m-more please.” you ask breathlessly. He pulls out of you for a quick moment before turning you on your stomach and taking you from behind. Your nails claw at the table as he pounds into you.

“Come on honey gotta show em your gorgeous face dont yah.” he pulls you up you back against him his left hand around your neck making your eyes roll back in pleasure and happiness on the dominance he has over you. While his other hand reaches down to your clit rubbing and playing perfectly.

“Ah! AH” you moan out a broken gasp as your knees merge in over stimulation.

“Come on… take it like a good girl.” Bucky groans into your ear knowing that the other men can absolutely hear him.

Your arms reach about your head holding onto bucky as best as you can, your tits bouncing freely, men both looking away and can't take their eyes off the display right in front of them.

“Come one baby you gonna fucking cum for me again huh?” bucky grunts.

“Y-yes ah fuck yes.. Please i- i want it so b-bad. Please im your..ah please sargent” you beg. Bucky knowing full well he has you in the palm of his hand now with how cock drunk he's easily gotten you.

His hold around your neck loosens and he lets you back onto the table pressing his hand onto the small of your back feeling the arch making him groan.

“Such a good fucking girl for me huh? For everyone here being so fucking obedient.” bucky barks out sending a harsh slap on your ass for you only making you clench around his cock. Surging pleasure though him. Skin slapping against skin as he fucks you out.

“Fuck.” he huffs. He grips your hair pulling your head back, your drunken expression facing all the men drool dripping as your tongue hangs out. The pleasurable tears stinging the sides of your eyes blurring your vision.

“I- im gonna c-cum ah- fuck.. Please please ah..” you messily beg.

“Come on doll cum.” he demands out from you a few more thrusts later he has you cumming for the second time. His thrusts become weaker and sloppy as he curses with a rough few thrusts in you emptying his load into your pussy filling you up. He pushes his hair back as he pulls out of you. Bucky gives you a quick kiss on the cheek before lifting you up against him your fucked you dazed happy expression is glowing for the others in the room.

“obedience..is taught gentleman respect is earned. Any of you flaccid fucking shit faces touch her again or dare to question my authority with USLESS BOARD MEETINGS… Ill send someone to each and everyone of you and put a bullet or two right between your fucking eyes. Is that Understood?” Bucky speaks.

“Yes sir.” they all say in broken unison.

“Get the fuck out.” Bucky says they scramble out gathering their things and falling out the door before it's just the two of you left. You giggle out a tired giggle.

Bucky tucks himself back into his pants, setting you down gently and brings his chair over.

“Come here doll. You alright?” he asks you nod looking at him with lust filled eyes.

A smile fills his face as his thumb brushes against your cheek. He sits you down in his chair.

He takes off his jacket, placing it around you. “Come on honey imma take you home i don't think you can work today or tomorrow.” he smiles before kissing your lips.

“W-we should do this again then yeah?” you ask as he picks you up bridal style.

“Id be happy to fuck you infront of the presedent next week.” he chuckles. Making you laugh.

—-my requests are open—-

#Smut #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky smut #Avengers smut #ceobucky #ceo bucky barnes #CEO Bucky Barnes smut #bucky x reader #bucky barnes one shot #Bucky barnes x reader smut #ceo

756 notes · View notes

bottle-of-harpoons · 3 months

Text

More uncle submas and nephew Drayton (featuring Blanc) because I love their dynamic.

Slight headcannon but I imagine being partially raised by pokemon is a pretty common thing. With the amount of protags only having one parental figure, I imagine sometimes they'd need some help taking care of the kids. Since pokemon can be pretty intelligent and some of them have been partner pokemon with the parent since childhood, so they're pretty trusted.

So basically, Drayton can go around saying "oh that's my spider mum" at Blueberry academy and it would be a normal sentence.

Also fun fact, Drayton can't tell the twins apart out of uniform. I personally imagine Ingo and Emmet have very different fashion tastes out of uniform but sometimes they like to dress the same to test their loved ones. Drayton fails every time. Don't judge him, I'm an adult and sometimes I can't tell my twin dad and uncle apart.

Also, yeh, Blanc would adopt Kieran if she could. That boy needs some help and it's coming in the form of a clingy mum spider. She'll treat him right. Why is she at Blueberry academy? I imagine the twins would visit Drayton sometimes. They're good uncles.

It took a while for the joltiks to warm up to Drayton. Until they realised he's just a giant joltik and accepted him as their own.

Also, yes, if you could translate what Emmets joltik are saying, they would all speak in train lingo. They don't understand it fully but it's all they know.

#pokemon #submas #fanart #ingo #joltik #subway boss kudari #subway boss nobori #ingo and emmet #pokemon drayton #pokemon kieran #pokemon indigo disk #galvantula

768 notes · View notes

dreadsuitsamus · 2 months

Text

nsfw, fem!reader, breeding and ozai being ozai

Guarding the former Fire Lord, even with his inability to bend anymore, is daunting. Though a prisoner, Ozai is still intimidating and dangerous, those muscles not simply for display. There aren't many guards willing to take on the task of keeping a watchful eye on him for even a single shift, let alone during all of their working hours. Your bravery and resilience is rewarded with handsome payment, though by now, you'd do it for free! There are certain... benefits that have come with your position.

"Ah, ah— Mm! My Lord, oh, yes...!" You throw your head back onto Ozai's pillows, his time spent as a political advisor to his son having offered him a nicer cell than a typical prisoner would have, thanks to the leverage he still holds over the young man. Ozai has your limber legs spread wide against the mattress, your toes touching the headboard as the man above you plows into you with vigor, his cock reaching places inside of you that you never knew existed before fate brought you directly to him.

Ozai hisses, his grip tightening around your ankles. "That's it... Take it. Take my cock, my power, my all. You'll give me a new heir, one that will be perfect, one that won't fail me like the others! You'll do this for your King, without fail!" He spits out, the excited luster of his ideals getting him off as much as the way your slickened walls grip his shaft and beg to be filled once again, as he has every night for several months now. Whether you're on duty or sneaking into his chamber, you take your Lord's seed and humbly await the night you'll fall pregnant and kick his plans into gear. He cannot bend fire anymore, but his theory rests on your firebending abilities and his genetics to create a child that can bend, and be the very best.

Zuko was a failure from the very beginning, and Azula's demise must surely stem from her mother, a woman never loyal to the Fire Nation and Ozai himself. This heir will be the one to make him proud.

"Breed me, my Lord! It is my duty, my destiny to bear your child! Together, we shall restore your honor, your legacy, with our children."

Ozai grin is maniacal, his laugh sinister as he lowers himself to speak directly into your ear. "You're getting ahead of yourself, aren't you? You've yet to give me one heir, let alone multiple!"

"The solstice is nearly upon us." You pant, a mewling whimper breaking your concentration as your Lord twists your nipples that will one day feed his child and help him to become strong.

"And...?" Ozai's strong fingers squeeze the sensitive buds harder, grinning at how pleasurable you find his pain to be.

"T-There will be no better time to fall pregnant, my King. Our child will be strong, guided by the stars to take back what is yours!"

"Oh, really? So do you suggest I'm wasting my time now then?" Ozai begins to pull away, only slipping out a mere fraction of his slick-coated dick before your fingers, small and soft and so breakable like the rest of you, are threading into his hair. Amused, Ozai pauses with a raised brow and cocky smirk on his lips. "What's this, hm?"

"My Lord— My love." You breathe out, sneaky legs snaking around his trim waist to summon him back into his fully-seated position. "Please..."

"Please what?" He hisses, those strong arms slipping around your waist tightly in what's nearly a darling embrace, though he still remains only partially inside of your cunt. "Are you simply here tonight as my whore?"

"For you, I am anything." Your chest heaves, beads of sweat prickling you from head to toe. "The mother of your proper heir, the one that sees to your exemplary care... Your courtesan, your lover... Your wife, if you'd have me."

Ozai's large hand, one you'd still not fear even with his power intact, comes to rest at the side of your face. "Provide me a firstborn son that can firebend, and then we'll discuss a permanent relationship."

Your much smaller hand covers his, hopeful tears welling in your eyes. "I won't let you down, Phoenix King Ozai."

"See to it that you don't." Ozai's lips capture yours in a rare kiss, and he again rocks his hips to yours, soon filling you to the brim with seed that takes, settling deep into your womb to create the child that will swell your belly with his pride.

#ozai x reader #fire lord ozai x reader #ozai x you #fire lord ozai x you #atla ozai #x reader #reader insert #fic #something i thought up that wouldn't go away!#ngl i'd let him breed me

300 notes · View notes

no-less-than-a-god · 23 days

Text

“May I ask a question?” The Lamb’s voice carries easily through the Afterlife, and if The One Who Waits hadn’t just watched them die (an attack that they were too weakened to dodge, an arrow piercing their chest), he would have startled at how it echoes around them; Aym and Baal didn’t have such foresight, and both of them jerked, ears flicking and tails fluffing up for only a moment before calming.

“I have told you, Vessel,” The One Who Waits answers, as the Lamb grows close. “You are free to ask anything of your god.”

“Who are these two?” the Lamb asks, and gestures to the disciples on either side of the god. Having been directly referenced, both of their ears prick up, and they stand as straight as they can, alert and curious.

“They’re my disciples,” The One Who Waits replies, “gifted upon me as kits.”

He does not mention his sibling’s name, or the fact he knows it was them. It hurts to think about it, even now.

“Do they have names?”

The god makes a motion with his chained wrist, and addresses his keepers. “Speak freely, and introduce yourself to the Lamb.”

“Baal.”

“Aym.”

“Are you two brothers?”

“Yes,” it was Baal who replies, his brother’s head tilting as he answers. “Twins.”

“Who’s older?”

There is a pause. Both disciples look upon each other silently, before turning back to the Lamb they towered over.

“I think,” it was Aym who speaks this time, as he points his staff towards Baal, “he’s older.”

“Huh…” the Lamb trails off then, before speaking up again. “Who’s better at fighting?”

“I am,” both of them reply simultaneously, and then shoot each other a look.

“I beat you last time we sparred,” Aym says.

“But I had beaten you thrice before that,” Baal counters.

“Twice,” Aym corrects.

“Thrice,” Baal insists.

In a sudden move, Aym pounces on his brother, staff brandished. “I’ll show you who’s a better fighter!” he yells, and the two throw themselves off to the side, bickering and fighting.

Both the Lamb and The One Who Waits watches the brothers for a few moments, before the Lamb looks up at their god.

“Apologies, I seem to have caused that,” they say.

“They fight, it happens,” the god replies. He does not stop his disciples, or reprimand them from fighting in front of his vessel. Instead, he watches with amusement.

“It’s entertaining, most of the time,” he adds. “I’ve been keeping track of who wins.”

“Who’s winning, then?”

Beneath the veil, The One Who Waits begins to smile, and he turns back to the Lamb.

“They’re tied.”

-------------------------------------

“May I ask what happens to the offerings I give you?”

“My disciples eat the fish.”

“You don’t?”

“I cannot.”

“Would you like me to send other things, then?”

“The fish is adequate, Vessel. You do not have to.”

“Do you know what fish they prefer, then?”

“Aym prefers swordfish; Baal prefers tuna.”

“And you?”

“...It’s been too long for me to remember the tastes, but I remember being partial to salmon the most.”

-------------------------------------

“Does it hurt?” they ask, sitting among the ethereal ground. The One Who Waits watches them, as they peer up at him.

They look so small.

“Does what hurt?” he asks in return, although he has a speculation.

“The shackles, the chains. Being bound.”

The One Who Waits remains silent, contemplating, before he speaks honestly. “They have pained me for so long, I take no further notice. I have been forced to grow used to the unbearable agony; it no longer affects me as greatly as it once did. Is there a reason you ask, Vessel?”

The Lamb, The One Who Waits surprisingly finds, is silent. They’ve looked away from him, and suddenly, they’re standing up.

“I’m ready to go back,” they claim, and there’s a tremble at the end of their voice.

Ignoring that they failed to answer his own question, Narinder raises his bony arm, chainlinks clinking together, as he resurrects them.

Later, watching through the crown, he sees the Lamb descend upon the stone statue of Heket with their oversized hammer, smashing it to pieces.

Even as it rebuilds itself, the hammer brings it all down in a fit of rage, until the Lamb is doubled over with fatigue, panting and sweating.

Eligos brings their demise two days later, and neither god nor vessel speak as the Lamb looks upon The One Who Waits.

Thank you, he wants to say, for your rage. For caring. You did not have to do that, but you did.

But he says nothing.

-------------------------------------

“Do you know how to play knucklebones?”

“I’ve watched the rat play it, many times. And I’ve watched you play it, many times more.”

“But do you know how to play?”

“I do not.”

“Can I teach you?

“With what dice, Vessel?”

“I have some in the crown. I can teach Aym and Baal too, if they want.”

“I’m sure they’ll enjoy it.”

-------------------------------------

“Have you always had a veil?” the Lamb asks, resting in their god’s hand. They had requested to lay down, after a painful and quite literal run-in with an explosive fiend. They sit up, a curious tilt to their head.

“I acquired one not long after my ascension to a Bishop,” The One Who Waits replies. Nearby, the sound of staff clacking together continues as the twins spar. “There were complaints of my gaze being uncomfortable. Unnerving.”

The Lamb pauses, before they softly ask, “May I see?”

“The veil?”

“Your face.”

A century ago, a request as such would have given him pause. He would have declined, and sent the Lamb away.

Instead, he slowly brings his arm up, and leans down. The Lamb ducks under the veil, and for the first time, the god and vessel make true eye contact.

Red meets white. The One Who Waits looks, unblinking, as the Lamb stares back into his eyes.

Something touches his nose, and it twitches involuntarily at the unfamiliar sensation. It takes the god a few seconds to realize it’s the Lamb’s hand.

The Lamb smiles, gently. “Your eyes. They’re a pretty red.”

The One Who Waits’ ear flicks.

“Like camellias. Or fresh blood. It’s nice.”

“Vessel,” the god whispers, because they’re so close. “I ask you to stop talking.”

The Lamb leans against The One Who Waits’ nose, and all he can smell is them. “And I ask,” they reply, their smile growing, “is that I can continue praising my god’s bea-”

“Lamb-” The One Who Waits interrupts, and it comes out soft. Something warm curls in his chest, around his unbeating heart.

“What shall become of me, if I don’t stop talking?” the Lamb asks in a whisper.

A purr threatens to rip itself from the god’s chest.

“I’ll send you back to your followers,” The One Who Waits replies.

The threat is empty, and both of them know it.

-------------------------------------

“Was Kallamar your elder or younger brother?”

“Elder.”

“And Heket was younger. Does that mean you were the middle sibling?”

“Yes, I was in the middle. Two came before, and two after.”

“May I ask what it was like, having siblings?”

“I assure you, Vessel, my experience with siblinghood is most definitely different from the norm.”

“I rephrase: May I ask what it was like for you, having siblings? May I know more of my god’s past?”

“Draw close, Lamb, and I shall tell you.”

-------------------------------------

“Shamura spoke to me.”

The One Who Waits flicks his ear, half because of hearing his sibling’s name on his lamb's tongue, half because they sound nervous.

The Lamb continues speaking. “They told me something. A name.”

The god freezes. He stills so suddenly, not even his chains clink. It's silent.

He knows what name Shamura had spoken. He wasn't watching the Lamb during their crusade, but he knows.

He remembers, faintly, his name uttered in vain, in fear and disgust. In hatred, or indifference.

“Were they telling the truth?” the Lamb asks. “Is your name Narinder?”

Reverence. How long ago did someone last say his name with such reverence?

“It is,” he replies, and he pretends his voice doesn’t tremble at the end.

“Can I call you that?”

The answer comes at once, without thought or hesitation, “Yes.”

“Much easier to say than your title,” the Lamb smiles a little, “right, Narinder?”

His own purr surprises him, and he watches as the Lamb’s smile grows into something soft, something fond.

Off to the side, Baal and Aym shoot their master a strange look.

-------------------------------------

“What do you plan to do, once you’re free?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve been trapped for almost a millennium, Narinder, surely you’ve thought of something?”

“I’ve had ideas in the past, but they’ve changed. Now, I’m unsure.”

“I can help you think of something, if you want.”

-------------------------------------

Narinder, The One Who Waits, has dreamed of freedom for centuries. All he’s wished for, as time passed in his eternal prison, is that he could be set free.

The Lamb’s arrival to him, covered in chains and looking ragged, had filled him with ecstatic bloodlust.

They were it, his key. With them as his final sacrifice, he’d be free.

That thought would keep him gleeful, a comfort. With their death, he’ll find his freedom.

But something changed.

Now, the thought fills him with dread.

With their death, he’ll be free.

For the first time since he was shackled, his dreams aren’t filled with revenge, with tearing himself free and escaping.

For the first time, he becomes weary of his own domain.

He doesn’t want the Lamb to die.

He doesn’t want the Lamb to die to free him.

He wants them alive. He wants them to stay, sleeping against his claw and chest, saying his name, peering under his veil.

He doesn’t want the Lamb to die.

Which is why, when they bow to him, his crown in their hands, he cannot find the words he’s dreamed of saying for centuries, the words he’s supposed to say.

It’s why, fists clenching, he says, “No.”

Good afternoon, I woke up and chose violence today! More specifically, I decided today I would write short fragments of interaction between narinder and the lamb during their vessel years

also. lore :)

anyways if anyone's curious I listened to "Home" by Pinkshift while writing this

#loredump #fickle thing #narilamb #cult of the lamb #cotl

216 notes · View notes

inbarfink · 6 months

Text

Okay, so, for the longest time the Tallests’ behavior toward Zim in ‘Battle of the Planets’ has always struck me as… odd.

I mean, of course the idea that they mock him publicly behind his back makes sense in general. That is a very Tallests Thing to Do. But the specific ways they mock him…

I dunno...maybe the intention is supposed to be like 'haha you're saying 'unstoppable death machine like it's a good thing but it's not!!' or something but... with the delivery and the general characterization of the Irken army it comes off as more of 'haha! it's funny because he's NOT an unstoppable death machine hahaha" and...

Like, yes. Zim is correct. He is, in fact, an ‘unstoppable death machine’. That is absolutely an accurate statement to be taken seriously. The only problem was that he’s an unstoppable death machine that’s too uncontrollable to prevent him from Death Machining his own people as well. That’s literally why you banished him, remember?

But then I took a moment to think about that.... It does actually makes sense that the Tallests, despite getting literal first-class seats to his rampage of destruction - might still have a problem with actually internalizing why Zim is so Bad.

Because Zim is basically the Irkenest Irken to ever Irk. He might be considered ‘Defective’, yes, but all of his defects manifest as the logical extremes of Irken ideology. He has, on paper, all of the skills and personality traits and ideals that the Irken Empire value - just exaggerated and twisted in a way that makes him the biggest milestone around the Empire's neck.

Zim is a pretty good fighter, infiltrator, pilot and scientist. Remember, he’s a Fast-Food Drone Play-Acting Alien Invasion to get him out of the Armada’s antennas now, but he was a legitimate actual Invader back during ‘Impending Doom 1’. And that’s with all the social barriers and prejudice that a short Irken like him is going to face. I’m guessing a lot of the selection process for Invaders is done by automated systems or extremely-detached Control Brains. And only looking at, like, Zim’s practice or test results - he should be an exceptional Invader on-par with Skoodge.

But we all know the truth is more complicated then that. Zim’s talents and training are hampered by his own massive ego, absolute inability to accurately assess threats and his impulsive desires for destruction and death. He’s unable to judge when he’s punching above his weight or tackling an endeavor beyond his abilities. He cannot admit when he has made an error, even just to fix or improve an invention/plan. And he always allocates his resources in the dumbest way possible.

And that’s all, like, emergent from Irken Ideology - or at least from Zim’s logical extreme of it. Confidence and selfishness are rewarded on Irk - Zim is mostly unusual in terms of sheer volume (or maybe he’s too Short to be allowed to have such a high opinion of himself.)

His inability to proportionally handle threats is emergent from the Empire’s ideals of Irken Supremacy. Zim is supposed to see all other species in the universe as stupid and inferior and worthy only of servitude and so logically they can’t be a serious threat to him, an Elite Irken Soldier. But he also needs to internally justify why all of these Clearly Inferior Beings are even a problem to the Irken Empire in general and for him in specific. Especially when he fails to conquer them as easily as a ‘Superior Being’ is supposed to. And so his ego and his insistence on Irkens being Superior has to elevate them into fearsome enemies.

That Speciesism is also why his disguise is so bad! We directly see it in the first episode. He had the option of picking a more realistic human disguises but he just found it too gross. And that actually seems to be a trend, considering every Actual Invader we see on the show has a disguise that is just as bad if not worse.

And Zim’s tendency towards delusions is also born, at least partially, from his devotion to Irken Ideology. Not just from the obvious insistence of the superiority of himself and his Empire despite his constant failures. But also… how do you balance out the Irken values of selfishness with the also-Irken values of loyalty and absolute obedience to the Empire and the Tallests? For Zim, the obvious answer seems to be ‘delude himself into believing whatever selfish personal whim he has is actually for the good of the Empire and the true will of the Tallest’. That’s how he can break All of the Rules All of the Time and still act like he’s just another obedient and loyal vessel of the Tallest.

And then there’s the value of destruction and cruelty. This is absolutely not a Zim-only thing - that is a value he got from Irken society in general. After all, it’s pretty clear they don’t even have, like, a token excuse for their universe-conquering aspirations. They’re just doing this shit because destroying and subjecting the universe seems Fun and Cool. I mean, ‘Battle of the Planets’ demonstrates that better than anything.

The Tallests have no idea of what to do with the planets they conquer. They don’t need them for anything. They decided Blorch's new purpose as a spur-of-the-moment decision and it was a Parking Structure Planet. Most of Irk’s single-use planets are pretty silly but this one especially so. Parking Structures only have value based on them being near a Place People Want to Go To, so a whole planet of them really defeats the whole idea. The Tallests only conquered Blorch and wiped out the Rat People because they want to conquer planets and wipe out sapient species.

And that is… exactly the same sort of meaningless cruelty Zim demonstrates. I mean… What Zim did with Prisoner 777 is literally just a smaller-scale recreation of what the whole Irken Empire did to the Vortians. And honestly, Zim actually has a slightly-better track record of actually getting ‘his’ Vortian to do what he wants. While the Irken Empire in general has basically shot themselves in the foot and assured all of their best technology is going to come with some sort of Stupid Hidden Flaw and all because they wanted to be the Conquerors rather than ‘just’ allies.

The difference is really just that Zim values destruction so much he has problem processing that directing the destruction at his own people is still a very bad thing in the eyes of the empire.

And that’s… kind of the ideological blind spot the Tallests fall into during ‘Battle of the Planets’, I think. They should know that Zim is very much an Unstoppable Death Machine, just one that they can’t control and thus should be kept as far away from the Empire and Operation Impending Doom 2 as possible. But in their little Irken-Ideology-Poisoned minds - being an “Unstoppable Death Machine” is a Good Thing and Zim is obviously Bad - so, obviously logically he cannot be an Unstoppable Death Machine.

And throughout this entire episode, the Tallest mock the idea that Zim is even capable of… not just achieving his and the Empire’s goals (obviously, yeah, he is incapable of doing that), but that he's even capable of properly causing destruction? Which they should know he is very capable of. And this is probably the closest he ever came in the show to legitimately destroying the human race. Only being foiled due to a huge stroke of luck on Dib’s part that nobody saw coming. And yet the Tallests were so certain that Zim, of all the Irkens in the galaxy, is somehow incapable of destroying a planet???

And at the end, Zim does prove himself as an Unstoppable Death Machine by, once again, managing to kill a fuckload of his own people while the Tallests laugh about how inaccurate that descriptor is for him.

This is extra ironic with the Tallests throwing that one guy out of the airlock at the start of the episode

They punish others just for not remembering Zim’s rampage, but they clearly have not internalized what it Means themselves.

The fact that a guy like that even managed to reach the most prestigious not-height-based position in the Irken military in the first place should be a cause of some serious introspection of how Irken Military training and evaluation is handled. Especially when you consider much more competent would-be-Invaders like Tak got dismissed and punished for things totally outside of their control.

But… It seems like the only lesson anyone in the Irken Empire learned was just “Zim is awful”. Which is true, but isn’t really getting to the root of the matter.

You can see another example of that mindset from the Tallests in ‘Hobo 13’. Because those two were so sure Zim was going to lose, and lose painfully. Because he is Incompetent, obviously that means he can’t do it. Totally forgetting that Zim actually totally has the athletic, combat and - most importantly, technological skills and out-of-the-box thinking that allowed him to survive and thrive.

I mean, yeah, that means he cheated and threw his entire squad to the dogs for his own personal gain and petty sadistic amusement but… that is absolutely not something the Irken Empire frowns upon. The Tallests especially love to torment and even kill off their subordinates for the pettiest of reasons. Skoodge, featured in both of these episodes, is a great example.

And like, ‘being bad leaders and tormenting their own underlings’ is basically what the Tallests spend the entirety of that episode doing.

That Sergeant had ideological problems with Zim being such a horrible and callous leader, but that’s clearly not a representation of the Irken Empire’s stance. Quite the opposite really. Zim might be a disgrace to Hobo 13, but he was an exemplary Irken. The only reason why him winning was a problem is because he’s Zim and they all hate him.

And speaking of the Tallests’ own behavior reflecting Zim’s… let’s talk a bit about ‘Enter the Florpus’.

Because the downfall of the Irken Armada in that story is not just Zim’s fault. I mean, it is partly Zim’s fault. Without him there wouldn’t be a Florpus in the first place. But the narrative makes it constantly very very clear that this is Not Actually a Threat for the Armada… if not for the Tallests adamantly and childishly refusing to change course.

The Tallests hate Zim, and they make it clear at every possible opportunity. And they hate him because he’s so damn incompetent and such a threat to the Empire’s safety. And yet they constantly demonstrate they possess the exact same core personality issues as Zim - they’re just slightly better having, like, a veneer of reasonability and being able to perceive reality (and also they are tall, which helps them get away with more.) And nowhere is it more obvious than ‘Enter the Florpus’...

Where the Tallests prove that they can be just as childish and single-minded -

And just as destruction-hungry -

And just as quick to deny reality -

And just as disrespectful of their underlings.

This recurring bit with the navigator is especially striking to me, because more than anything it makes me remember… Operation Impending Doom 1.

Two times the Irken Empire has been brought to the brink of collapse. And both of these times it is because a powerful high-ranking Irken (one time an Invader, the other time the Tallests themselves), refused to listen to the warnings and concerns of a lower-ranking expert Navigator - continuing with a course of destruction for their own people.

You could say the Irken Empire was doomed from the start because of their own philosophy of cruelty and selfishness. Eventually, it was bound to create someone like Zim - who takes the Irken Ideology to its logical extreme in the most destructive way possible. Or you can say the Irken Empire was doomed from the start because of their asinine height-based class system. Which basically inevitably assures that at some point the reigns of the Empire will be at the hands of someone buffoonish and incompetent enough to drag the whole Empire down with them. And both of these viewpoints are true in their own way but also…

The Irken Empire was also doomed from the start cause, whatever this is a result of a culture that highly values obedience to your superiors over common sense, or because punishments for disobedience are just so terribly severe - these two Navigators continued to push those knobs and drive that ship even as they knew their commanders were mad and their actions were just driving their own Empire towards oblivion.

Perhaps the Irken Military could use some sort of protocol of what to do when your superior is being clearly unreasonable and endangering not only the mission but literally the fate of your entire civilization? No, of course not. Yet another lesson not learned from Zim’s actions in ‘Impending Doom 1’. The only important lesson Irk needed to learn from that was just ‘Fuck This One Guy in Particular’.

Zim’s whole existence is like a twisted parody of the Irken Empire and all of its values. It’s really no wonder that the Tallest never got the joke.

#invader zim #iz #zim #zim iz #iz zim #zim invader zim #tallest purple #tallest red #almighty tallest #invader zim tallest #enter the florpus #etf #iz etf #invader zim enter the florpus #invader zim etf #iz enter the florpus

516 notes · View notes

overthinkinglotr · 1 year

Text

I was watching LOTR with friends the other day and someone pointed out that a major reason film!Elrond is upset about Arwen being in love with Aragorn is because of Elrond's own broken relationship with Isildur.

In the films Isildur and Elrond are kind of set up as....a broken failed parallel to Aragorn and Arwen?

Arwen reassures Aragorn that "he is Isildur's heir, not Isildur himself," and "is not bound to his fate"-- but Elrond disagrees, confident that Aragorn will be just like Isildur.

Film!Elrond is so certain that trusting in mankind is a mistake that will only lead Arwen to misery because he once trusted in mankind, and the man he trusted ended up failing him. His ally from the line of Elendil ended up falling to the power of the Ring and dying; he believes Aragorn may do the same thing. He doesn't just want to save Arwen's life and keep his daughter by his side; he wants to prevent Arwen from experiencing the same betrayal/heartbreak he experienced. Film!Elrond is very stoic and unsentimental, but there are all these hints at Elrond and Isildur's past relationship throughout the series. Everyone likes to make the joke "why didn't Elrond just toss Isildur into the fire?" but to me the answer is, partially, because he cared about Isildur. They were allies who fought side-by-side. After describing what happened in Mount Doom all those years ago, Elrond tells Gandalf that "It should've ended that day, but evil was allowed to endure." And I think it's interesting that he goes into passive voice for a moment, instead of saying that Isildur specifically allowed to evil to endure--because he's also blaming himself for allowing evil to endure, blaming his own failure to be harsh with Isildur and take the Ring from him by force. He's regretting that he was merciful and didn't "just toss Isildur into the fire."

youtube

His complicated emotions about Isildur also appear again in the Two Towers. After insisting that Arwen needs to give up Aragorn as a lost cause and travel into the West, Elrond has a conversation with Galadriel where she guilt-trips him for abandoning Middle Earth/mankind. When she asks him "do we let them stand alone?" Elrond walks into the study, and spends a long moment looking at his mural of Isildur.

He then, in the film's canon, agrees to send military support to one of Isildur's descendants."I don't care about Isildur anymore, men are weak," Elrond says, standing in front of his elaborate mural of Isildur and his shrine dedicated to Isildur's sword.

And yes this is all, again, a drastic departure from his characterization in the book-- most of the Aragorn-Arwen-Elrond stuff in the films is a drastic departure from the book. The films radically alter their dynamics, including eliminating stuff like Elrond being Aragorn's adopted father and all the "their bloodlines are related" stuff and etc etc etc etc etc. But honestly, now that I see it, this interpretation makes the film!Elrond-Arwen dynamic engaging in a way I hadn't recognized before? In some ways it puts Isildur into the role that Elrond's mortal brother Elros played for him in the books, because Elros is cut from the films entirely. Isildur is the reason film!Elrond knows what it's like to have some kind of close relationship with a mortal and then watch them die. When Elrond angrily speaks about the folly of trusting men, or insists to Arwen that Aragorn "is not coming back" so she should just get over him, he's speaking from experience--he's projecting his own weird failed broken betrayal-ridden Thing with Isildur onto Arwen and Aragorn. And in this context, his hopeless monologue about how Arwen will regret staying by Aragorn's side also feels like it's partially from his own experience. "If Sauron is defeated, and Aragorn is made king, and all that you hope for comes true, you will still have to taste the bitterness of mortality." When he fought three thousand years ago Sauron was defeated, and Isildur did become King, and yet... TL;DR : Film!Elrond had a nasty kind-of breakup with a mortal man 3000 years ago and instead of dealing with it he decided "Men Are trash Weak" and began projecting all of his drama onto Arwen

#overthinkinglotr #lotr #XD #I like book!Elrond better in theory #but to understand elrond better id have to reread the s*lmarillion #sorry #no #X #also Im so glad the films cut all stuff about Aragorn/Arwen/Elrond being related #and all the Elrond being Aragorn's foster father stuff #I don't like it #hot take unpopular opinoin #alskdjfsdf #there are some things i wish the films hadn't cut but those aren't them #Youtube

1K notes · View notes

iovetecchou · 7 months

Text

Hanging On By A Thread ⧸ Bram Stoker.𖥔 ݁ ˖

༞ Contains...! smut and partial fluff, blushy!bram, hypersensitive!bram, heavy petting, consent! handjob, fingering, unprotected sex, (please don't do this irl, this is simply fiction!), praise, begging, breeding kink, creampie, lots and lots of cum (mans has been pent up for centuries!)

Bram uses "mo chroí" as a term of endearment for the reader, which essentially translates to "my heart"

༞ AFAB Reader.

༞ 1,911 words.

kinktober masterlist!

Bram was confused, to say the least, the first time you told him you were going to take a bath.

"A bath? But, Aya told me baths are a formality taken by kings nowadays." No, she didn't, he has it all twisted...

He tilted his head in confusion as you began giggling from his unfamiliarity before enlightening him.

Once it clicked, his eyebrows darted up, eyes blown wide before he slowly asked, "Would you be so gracious as to bathe me, mo chroí? Perhaps, you could... join me? Only if you desire, of course."

Your heart damn near exploded at his request.

You made sure to make Bram's first bath experience as enjoyable as you could. Filling the tub with bubbles— making sure washcloths, soap, and a rinsing cup were in proximity.

After helping Bram strip off the articles of clothing he adorned, you ushered him into the tub. Bram like the gentleman he is, sealed his eyes shut as you undressed. Only drawing them back open when he felt you sink in beside him.

"Is the water warm enough for you, Bram?" You reached for the soap and a washcloth. Pouring a small amount of the body wash onto the towel before bringing it up to Bram's exposed chest.

"Yes... this is quite pleasant." Bram averted his gaze, a blush adorning his pale cheeks as you washed his upper body. Your touch was gentle; pure. But his bodily reactions were far from that. You lathered his collarbones, then his chest— Bram took in a shaky breath as the cloth swiped over his nipples, before your hand trailed lower. Ducking underneath the bubbly water, beyond Bram's— and your vision.

You hummed to yourself as you continued to wash him. Failing to realize that Bram was growing hard as the seconds ticked by. Your gaze flickered up to his face as you felt his body twitch underneath your touch. "Love, is something wrong?"

Your eyebrows knit together in concern as you awaited his response. Your hand stilled against his lean torso, allowing your palm to rest atop his limber thigh. This caused Bram to jolt even worse than before as he refused to meet your gaze.

"Mo chroí... I apologize. It seems I have become aroused— sexually. I am ashamed to admit it, but ever since my entire body was restored... It's been hard to suppress these desires when you touch me."

You felt heat swirl in your core from his words, resisting the urge to rub your thighs together from beneath the water. However, curiosity got the best of you. Your hand, which still rested on Bram's thigh began to wander. You gasped when your fingers grazed over his length. He was painfully hard, you noted, as your hands mapped out the stretch of his shaft.

You watched his face scrunch up in pleasure as you felt his cock twitch beneath your featherlight touches. "You don't need to apologize, my love. You should have told me sooner! I would have gladly helped you with... this." Your nimble digits wrapped around his achey length, accentuating your words.

Bram's eyes flickered shut, taking a sharp breath through his nostrils from the electrifying touch. Each time Bram got hard since that bothersome sword was removed and his body was restored, he refused to tend to his needs. Feeling all too shameful for having such impure thoughts about you. But receiving even the tiniest morsel of pleasure, not to mention that it was coming from the subject of his desires, was pleasantly overwhelming.

"As long as you don't mi-mind, mo chroí. I would be honored to receive your assistance in this little p-problem." Bram croaked as you experimentally rubbed your thumb over his tip. "I would hardly call this a small problem." You muttered, more so to yourself, as you slowly began moving your hand in a steady rhythm.

Your eyes were glued to Bram's ethereal visage. Reveling in the way his eyes roll back in pleasure as deep groans slip past his lips the more you continue to stroke his cock. He was twitching and throbbing wildly beneath your grasp. You tried to swat the bubbles away with your free hand; in hopes of seeing his lengh for yourself.

"You're so g-good at this... mo chroí. I long for more, please." Your eyes met his as Bram peeled them open. His crimson orbs pooled with lust, half-lidded and hungry for more. Your movements around his length stilled as you asked, "Could you lift your hand up for me, my love?"

Without hesitation, he did just that. Bringing his hand up to your view and tilting his head in confusion as he deadpanned, "What's the meaning of this?" You examined his elegant fingers, a sight that was still relatively new to you. You sighed as your gaze fixated on his pointed black fingernails. "Yeah... that's not happening..." You muttered to yourself, causing Bram's confusion to skyrocket.

"It's just... it's nothing! I'll give you more, my love, I promise. Could you be patient for me?" You beamed up at him, bringing your free hand up to caress his scarred cheek. Tucking an unruly slate piece of hair behind his pointed ear. Your other hand, that was still clamped around Bram's cock eased up. You opted for slipping your fingers between your legs instead.

"With pleasure, mo chroí. I'd wait an eternity for you." Your heart thumbed at his comforting words, causing your smile to brighten as you toyed with your entrance. Slowly, you slipped a finger into your awaiting heat. Bram watched you intently as your face began to soften, your eyebrows relaxed; jaw falling slack as you added a second finger. "What are you doing?" Bram questioned, allowing his hand to explore underneath the water. His breath hitched as he realized what exactly you were up to.

"So this is why you requested to observe my hands?" You wordlessly nodded yes as you continued to stretch yourself out to accomidate his length. All Bram could do was watch in fascination, bringing his hands down to grasp your waist from beneath the soapy water. This went on for a few beats before you muttered, "O-Okay... I think that's enough."

Before Bram could question you further, you were on him. Slotting yourself atop his lap, thighs straddling his as you reached down for his needy cock. His grip on your waist tightened as you spoke up. "I'm gonna put it in now, yeah?" Bram's eyes widened as he felt you seize his length once more, letting out a hiss as you rubbed his ruddy head through your slick folds.

"Please... I beg of you, mo chroí— I need to be one with you." With that, you lined his cock up to your heat; reveling in the whine that slipped past your lover's lips as the tip of his length pushed past the tight ring of your pussy. You brought both hands up to his shoulders, bracing yourself as you took him; inch by inch.

"Feels better than I envisioned, ah— y-you are perfection." Bram's grip on your waist tightened as you took him to the hilt. You let little whines slip past your lips as you felt him throb inside you, clenching and unclenching around his long cock as you adjusted to the fullness. "Fuck, Bram— you're so b-big!" You cried out, scoring your bottom lip with your teeth.

"I apologize, mo chroí. The last thing I want is to bring you any discomfort." Bram blushed profusely, averting his gaze from you once more. A small chuckle coming from your lips pulled him out of his stupor as you deadpanned, "Bram, my love, that's a good— hah... g-good thing! You feel so fucking amazing..." You smirked up at him as you felt him twitch inside you from your words.

"Oh, I see... Wait- what are you—" Bram managed to croak out before you lifted your hips, ramming yourself back down on his cock. Bram let out a breathy whine as you repeated this action over and over and over again. You rode his cock like your life depended on it, drinking in the sounds he emitted. Bram could not take his eyes off you; he was mesmerized. Tuning out the sound of water as it sloshed out of the bathtub, only focusing on you— and you alone.

"So tight and warm... incredible..." He whispered before capturing your lips with his. Bram kissed you with great force, swirling his tongue along yours. You whined against his mouth as Bram began to lift his hips, sloppily meeting your thrusts. Your eyes rolled back the moment he began fucking up into you. The tip of his cock prodded your sweet spot perfectly each time he plunged deeper.

You could feel the coil within your tummy unravel the more Bram unrelentingly fucked up into you. You were close, and by the way his cock pulsed from deep inside, you knew he wasn't far behind. You pulled away from his lips with a string of saliva still connecting you. "Bram... I'm close— cum with me, please? W-Want you to fill me up..."

Bram felt like he was spinning when you uttered those words. "It would be my pleasure, mo chroí. I thought about this moment— hah, countlessly. Filling you with my seed... having you bear my children— Christ!" The recounting of his thoughts and the feeling of you suffocating his cock, proved to be too much for the demon king. He came inside you without another word. Letting out a cry of your name as he buried himself to the hilt, emptying his load inside your fluttering heat.

"Bram— ah, c-cumming!" You cried out. The feeling of him cumming inside you, paired with his sharp nails digging into your sides, pushed you over the edge. You gushed around his cock, eyes widening as you still felt Bram's seed filling you up. His balls twitched from where they kissed the underside of your pussy. There was so much, you hardly expected him to be carrying such a heavy load.

"S-So full!" You gasped, reeling from the aftershocks of your orgasm as Bram finally finished emptying his cum deep inside your cunt. He groaned as he pulled his hips back down, allowing himself to relax. Suddenly feeling all too aware of how cold the water had become. "Are you alright, mo chroí?" Bram whispered, bringing his hand up to soothe over your face. You leaned into his touch, allowing your eyes to flutter shut.

"More than alright! You must have been really pent-up, huh? It's probably been centuries since you last—" Bram silenced you with a chaste kiss before you could say anything more. Your hands draped around his slender throat, carding through his slate locks as you sighed into the embrace. You only pulled away when your lungs began to scream for air.

"You came so much... you surely got me pregnant, Bram!" You meant it to be playful, but when you felt him harden inside you again almost instantly; your eyes widened. "Don't... please, don't say such crass things, mo chroí. My self-control is hanging on by a thread." You watched as Bram's crimson eyes darkened, slate eyebrows knit in concentration as he tried to compose himself.

"What if I want that thread to snap?" You challenged, grounding your hips down against his stiff cock. "But, before that... let's get out of this tub! I'm freezing!"

682 notes · View notes

ekuudarlin · 1 month

Text

♥︎ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐲/𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠: “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞. 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮.”

♥︎ 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞: reaction

♥︎ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐨𝐛𝐯𝐢 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐜𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦

♥︎ 𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐫: 𝐈’𝐦 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲—𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥

You uttering those words from your pretty lips give him pause. “A-Angel?” he stammers, pulling away from your neck where he had been pressing open mouth kisses prior. He’s staring at you in disbelief, eyes wide like a dear caught in headlights. An all too familiar heat crawls up his chest and setting on cheeks.

Did he hear that right? God, let him have heard you right. Let it not be another daydream playing tricks on him. The words flow too sweetly to only be his imagination. Would he be so cruel to himself to imagine you saying those very words? Yes, he would. He already went so far as to imagine a whole life with you, not much difference in that.

“C-Can you repeat that?” He’s seeking confirmation. His arctic eyes hold a growing intensity that rivals the heat of the blush splashed over his fair cheeks. When you repeat yourself, it’s not at all as confident as the first time—the embarrassment was settling in.

Ren didn’t really feel the same. He was swooning inside despite it not showing on shocked expression yet. His heart felt like it was going to combust in his chest with how over the moon he felt. One blink, his facial expression changes to one you haven’t really seen on him. He’s squinting down at you, a impish twinkle in his eyes and a grin slowly etches onto his face.

You really are an angel—you had to have heard his prayers. You’re giving him what he always wanted—with no restraints. Ren’s trembling as he’s still attempting to hold himself back; it’s too soon for him to drop all his future plans on you right now. So many plans—

“You make me so happy, baby,” he coos, lowering himself to your face. Being this close, you swear you can see hearts in his eyes, “But don’t you worry! I’ll make you feel so much, promise!”

For a fleeting moment—your words fail to capture his attention. Lost in the enchanting image of you, partially naked beneath him, he only snaps back to the conversation when your demeanor shifts to shyness, making him realize he missed a part of what was said.

"Are you okay, rosebud?" he murmurs sweetly, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, placing your well-being above his own needs for the moment. In response, you repeat yourself hastily, your voice resembling a squeak, akin to a mouse caught in a trap.

Truly, there wasn’t a more accurate description. You’re trapped in Damon’s arms, and he gazes at you as if you’re the most exquisite meal he’s ever encountered. Your words shatter the composure he usually maintains for your safety—a concern he takes seriously.

Dealing with this unhealthy, secret obsession for you is difficult on its own—something he constantly has to control, particularly in moments like these to not scare you away. Now, you're indicating that he doesn't need to hold back, but you're unaware of just how misguided that suggestion is for him.

It would be a lie if he claimed not to have dreamed of you uttering similar words, and on those occasions, he seizes the opportunity. In dreams, you're less fragile and more aware of who he truly is. Oh, his poor rosebud.

A desire-filled growl rumbles deep in his chest, and he accompanies it with one of his signature toothy grins. "Careful with your words, love... you're sparking all sorts of ideas in me."

John felt as though he wasn't truly present with you; instead, he felt himself drifting above, observing the interaction unfold like a scene from a romcom he had grown fond of watching. It was during those moments that you were at your most physical.

Though this time isn't much different, your words struck a chord as they flowed from your lips like sweet nectar. He couldn't recall a time when you had ever spoken so provocatively, and he remembers every detail about you...

Things you couldn't bring yourself to confess even to God, that often weighed heavily on your conscience, shrouded in shame. Yet, your web history left a trail of breadcrumbs that John consumed with an unhealthy fervor, imitating them solely for your sake. He was willing to do anything for you.

He's come a long way, enduring every bad end repeatedly so that you could ultimately end up like this, nestled comfortably in his arms, exchanging sweet nothings that meant the world to him and more.

Weakness overcomes him as his focus returns, his eyes filled with adoration fixed on you. There's nothing he can do but express it. "Me too!" he exclaims, his smile resembling a chester's cat, strands of hair cascading across his face. "You can be rough, I'm yours!"

John leans in, planting kisses on your face repeatedly, murmuring, "Forever and ever and ever," before trailing to your neck.

Alan is in the process of burying his face into your clothed stomach when you speak those magic words. A shiver, filled with anticipation and excitement, dances down his spine—naughty and sinful. He pauses, stuck in a trance as he replays the words in his head.

Do you have any idea what you do to him—truly? As if his heightened senses of smell, touch, and even taste weren't sufficient, you further bless him with your teasing words. He silently thanks whoever is out there that he's currently spooning you, or else he would collapse from weakened knees.

He remains silent for a moment longer than expected, leading you to believe he didn't hear you. But he did—he's simply grappling with the shock and contemplating how to translate those words into action. He's thought about it before, of course he has.

Perhaps not to cause physical harm, but to assert his control, guiding you into every imaginable position within minutes, leaving you placid and breathless, entirely for his pleasure.

Alan looks up at you, a feral intensity gleaming in his eyes. You can almost envision him casting heart eyes your way, his gaze a perfect blend of adoration and want. “Mine to do what I want.” He says it more as a promise—a statement more than anything else.

Any ordinary person might raise an eyebrow at your preference for pain, but Jack smiles, perhaps even blushes. He feels honored, particularly by your declaration of love. He belongs to you as well—he's uncertain how many times he needs to affirm it, but he will, without hesitation.

Under no circumstances will he physically harm you—he doesn’t even enjoy choking you, despite your preference for it. The most he'll do is leave painful and long-lasting hickeys on your body or handle you into position a bit roughly. Anything beyond that is off the table. He's a big guy, and hurting you is the furthest thing from his mind.

He’s too preoccupied with making you happy. His little ray of sunshine, the reason he doesn’t linger on the past is because the present with you is so fulfilling. Waking up beside you gives him a sense of happiness and purpose.

Even if that purpose is to consume you whole—sinfully.

He chuckles softly, his eyelids drooping to a dangerously seductive degree, sending a jolt through your core. "I could never harm you," he murmurs, practically purring as he draws you in closer. "You're my sunshine," he says, as though it’s the most obvious truth. And indeed, to him, it is.

"But I'm more than willing to make you cry out in pleasure."

It was difficult for you to even utter the words with his tongue shoved down your throat. You could say he really ate it up—both literally and figuratively. When he finally pulled away to allow you to catch your breath, he was grinning so wide, your cheeks ached just from looking at him.

Peter is thrilled. He knows deep down he's a bit of a freak—the only person unaware of this between the two of you is you. Maybe later after he folds you like a pretzel you'll realize mentioning something like this wasn't the best idea, but for now, he's thrilled. Your confession, or rather demand, came much sooner than he anticipated though. Shocked him just a little.

Originally, he planned to discuss introducing new elements into the bedroom, but this turn of events suits him perfectly. However, he knows he needs to take things slow, even though his mind is already racing ahead, imagining how he wants you to end up—preferably begging. But he's a very patient man.

“You’re so fucking cute… You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for those words.” He murmurs low, slowly trailing kisses down your body with a steady grip on both your thighs.

#yandere #yandere x reader #john doe x reader #sunny day jack x reader #your boyfriend peter x reader #14 days with you x reader #my dear hatchet man x reader #broken colors x reader #br<3ken colors #⊹ 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐮𝐳 𝐮 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐫𝐞𝐧[𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝]#𖥔 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 / 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤 #⊹ 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 / 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐞 #𖥔 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧 / 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 #⊹ 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 & 𝐝𝐨𝐞-𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 / 𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧 #𖥔 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐮𝐩 & 𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 / 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧[𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫]#14dwy ren #my dear hatchet man #something wrong with sunny day jack #yb peter #john doe

216 notes · View notes

nahoney22 · 5 days

Note

Alanah, my sweet, darling friend, congratulations to you on your many, many followers!! 💜💜 You deserve all of them and I'm more than delighted to be one of them!

My request is for Hunter (surprised? 😜) with the following 2 prompts, pretty please!

🫧15: “Smiling is the second best thing you can do with your lips.” (Fluff list)

🫧4: “The truth is I don’t hate you. I…I tolerate you.” / “I thought you were going to say love.” / and if I did?” (Enemies to lovers list)

Little angst wouldn't hurt, leading to something fluffy and nice...I trust you 🥰

I cannot wait!! 😆💜 Love you so much, bestie!!

Fall With Me 🌊

🫧 Pairing: Hunter X Female Reader

word count: 1.4k

prompts:

“The truth is I don’t hate you. I… I tolerate you.” / “I thought you were going to say love.” / “And if I did?”

“Smiling is the second best thing you can do with your lips.”

Summary: When paired up with Hunter for a mission, it takes a near death experience for you to say how you really felt about the Sarge… but you weren’t prepared for how you really felt either.

Warnings: Safe for Work, Little Angst, Fluff, Reader Is Scared of Heights, First Kiss, Mutual Pining, Female Reader. Not Proofread.

Authors note: I love you too bestie! And no, not a surprise at all 😉 Hope this is okay! Enjoy! Love you so much, thanks for always supporting me. 🩶

“And that leaves yourself and Hunter to pair up.”

After Tech outlined the upcoming mission, the realisation of being paired with Sarge left you feeling a tad uneasy. It wasn't due to any discomfort around him or found him horrible; in fact, quite the opposite. However, the thought of potentially failing in his presence was unsettling.

There had been occasions where you'd caught him casting a displeased glance, not directly at you, but in response to mishaps involving you. So, there was a heightened sense of pressure to perform well. But, you took it with a pinch of salt and hoped to prove yourself to him today.

As Hunter nonchalantly announced, 'Alright, let's head out,' you silently appreciated his professionalism in not opting to change partners. With a quick exchange of well-wishes, the team gathered their gear and set off, Hunter leading the way while you followed closely behind.

Navigating the outskirts of a dilapidated settlement teeming with mercenaries and rogues, Hunter paused to comm the others, prompting you to remain vigilant and on lookout. When happy that everyone was in position, he refocused his attention on you as he inquired, “Ready to get up there?”

Your eyes widened beneath your helmet as you nervously asked, “Up where?”

Stepping aside, Hunter revealed a rusty and precarious ladder partially concealed by vines. A surge of apprehension washed over you; it seemed that Wrecker weren't the only one with a fear of heights.

“Oh.” you involuntarily squeaked, hastily composing yourself. However, Hunter picked up on your hesitation.

“Don’t tell me you're afraid of heights too,” he remarked with a sigh, adding to your mounting anxiety about the partnership. Despite your concerns, you hoped he wouldn't view you as a liability. Before you could formulate a response, Hunter secured his backpack and tethered it to both of you, assuring, “There we go. If you fall, I'll catch you.”

Though his expression was concealed by his helmet, the gesture provided some reassurance and even added a little flutter in your stomach. You may be scared of failing him but that didn’t make him all the less attractive. As you glanced at the connecting cords and then at the daunting ladder, a knot formed in your stomach. “Do I go first?” you tentatively asked.

“Yes. Now, let's get going.” he instructed, giving you a gentle nudge forward.

As you began the ascent, your heart raced with each rung of the ladder you grasped, your gaze fixed firmly ahead, avoiding the sight of the perilous drop below.

"Keep going, don't look down," you whispered to yourself, your fingers gripping the ladder tightly, praying that each rusted bar would hold.

Halfway up, the realisation of the height hit you with full force. Two hundred meters above ground, you reaffirmed your determination but then, as your hand clasped onto the next bar, it gave way, knocking you off your balance.

With lightning speed, Hunter surged upward, positioning himself behind you and using his body to steady yours, preventing you from falling back. "Are you alright?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

Speech eluded you, your chest heaving as the gravity of the situation sank in. Tears threatened behind your visor as you grappled with the near miss. "Just... give me a moment," you managed to utter, completely overwhelmed.

The sudden realisation of Hunter's close proximity jolted you back to the present. "Let's... let's keep going," you rasped, nodding slightly. Hunter obliged, stepping down but keeping a reassuring hand firmly planted on the small of your back, providing much-needed support until you regain your composure.

When you both finally reached the summit, you had to restrain yourself from collapsing to your knees and kissing the ground beneath you. Your limbs throbbed with exhaustion, and your mind reeled from the harrowing ordeal of nearly meeting your demise.

By then, a feeling of embarrassment washed over you. You watched silently as Hunter detached the cord connecting you both and proceeded to relay updates to the team. However, overwhelmed by a flood of emotions, you found yourself leaning against a nearby wall, sinking to your knees as you removed your helmet, frustration evident in the way your fingers raked through your hair.

As Hunter's voice filtered through the comm, he briefly looked at you and concern crossed his face. “Hold tight until we are able to move forward.” He relays to the others before he abruptly cuts off the transmission, takes off his helmet and approaches you.

"Hey," he said softly, drawing your attention, "are you alright?"

Though you wanted to respond with an affirmative, your throat constricted with unspoken emotions, preventing anything but a shaky denial. Biting your lip to stifle any whimpers, you just shocked your head but found solace in his company.

"Why are you upset?" he inquired, his confusion mirroring yours as you struggled to articulate your feelings.

Sniffling, you released a heavy sigh, avoiding his gaze as you confessed, "I just feel like I always mess up around you, and that I annoy you… and I just nearly died!”

Your words tumbled forth in a torrent of insecurity, your ramblings a desperate attempt to verbalise how you felt. However, Hunter remained patient, allowing you to unload your burdens until you uttered the words that hung heavily in the air.

"What did you just say?" he interjected, genuine confusion etched in his features. "You think I hate you?"

Meeting his gaze, you hesitated, uncertain of how he would react. "I just thought..."

"You thought wrong," he interrupted gently, a small chuckle escaping him. "I don't hate you. I..."

His words trailed off, leaving an unspoken sentiment lingering between you. He seemed in deep thought as he pondered whether or not it was appropriate to express how he really felt.

Perhaps not, and so he held back, his silence speaking volumes as he searched for the right words. But you stared at him, wondering what he was really thinking.

Catching your expectant gaze, he offered a wry smile. "I tolerate you," he quipped, the humour in his tone breaking the tension and eliciting a relieved laugh from you, tears wiped away.

"For a second, I thought you were going to say 'love,'" you blurted out without thinking, only for Hunter to match your unfiltered honesty.

"And if I did?" Hunter's response caught you off guard, his eyes widening slightly, but he didn't retract his words.

Tucking a loose piece of hair behind your ear, you tilted your head at him. "And do you?"

He visibly gulped. "I don't think it's a surprise that I'm not great with talking about how I feel," he admitted nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

Stunned, it took a moment for his words to sink in. "I don't know what to say," you whispered, completely bashful as your cheeks burned.

"You don't have to if you don't want to… I just thought you should know that my strict ways come from a place of me caring about you. A lot. I'm just not good at expressing things," he explained, his quiet vulnerability bringing a smile to your lips, a sight he secretly always adored. "I'm happy to see you smiling again. It suits you."

"Oh yeah?" you teased, mischief gleaming in your eyes as the newfound revelation sank in. "Your smile isn't too bad yourself, Sarge."

He chuckled, placing a hand over yours. The two of you gazed at each other for a moment, the mission completely on hold as you reveled in this new adventure. However, there was no hiding the signs of him looking at your lips and then back to you. "You know," he started, taking a nervous breath, "smiling is the second-best thing you can do with your lips."

Reading the signs and anticipation hanging in the air, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips to his. Time seemed to stand still as the galaxy around you faded away.

He sighs against you, the kiss deepening with a loving desire. Your hands found their way to his face, fingers tangling in his hair as he pulled you closer. Hunter responded eagerly, his arms wrapping around you, holding you in tight as the kiss ignited a fire within both of you.

Lost in the moment, you explored each other's lips with a soft hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface. The kiss was electric, sending waves of happiness through your body, making your heart race and your skin tingle in excitement.

Finally breaking apart, you gazed into each other's eyes. "I've wanted to do that for a long time," Hunter confessed, his voice low and husky.

You smiled, feeling a rush of warmth flood through you. "Me too," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Without another word, Hunter pulled you close once again, his lips finding yours in another searing kiss, revealing all the unspoken words. The mission could wait for a minute or two.

Tags: @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @lamiliani @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia a @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @imalovernotahater @sithstrings @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @yunggoblin @photogirl894 @the-bad-batch-baroness @lulalovez @thiswitchloves9904

#the bad batch Hunter #the bad batch #Hunter the bad batch #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter x you #Hunter x reader #the bad batch Hunter x reader #bad batch hunter x reader #tbb

170 notes · View notes

christinebloodwrittings · 30 days

Text

To hunt or be hunted #5

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader x Lucifer Summary: Bath time has proving itself to be a revealing process, specially when in company of someone else. Warnings: Angsty stuff, fluffy at the end.

Hazbin Taglist: @sakuraluna2468 @boogiemansbitch @mysterypotatoink @sibsteria @cherry-cola-100

Walking around the hallways, now that you could freely do so, helped with your insomnia. You tried to minimize how often you did it, afraid to upset someone with the endless pacing noise.

Mindlessly you ended up in the highest floor. As you turned to walk down the stairs a sound made you stare at the light under one of the doors.

You knocked on it knowing the owner of the room, “Alastor? Are you killing someone or are you in pain?” the demon didn’t answered, worried you opened the door a little, peeked through a small crack as to not interrupt if he was busy.

Your heart raced when you saw the taxidermy hanged on his wall, the warm old ambiance made you feel like you were back to the 1920’s. Just at the end of the room there was this annex, something you didn’t noticed when you dropped his clothes a few months ago.

It was a forest, like the bayou you used to frequent to avoid the police. It had the same swampy smell. The next sound made you jump, it came from the bathroom, like the sound you can make by kicking water.

“Alastor?” your voice caused him such a surprise, that the next you heard was a shriek then a lot of radio static, “I’m not going to open the door, I just…Are you okay?” his shadow creeped out from under the door, pulled you inside the room and closed the main door.

“Yes dear, I’m okay” since you couldn’t exactly tell by his tone, you turned to the shadow, he slowly smiled in return, “Okay, pardon the intrusion” You managed to turn around, but stopped to see the bunch of "No" signs on the door, as if Alastor's shadow didn't want you to leave.

“The stitches got a bit lose” He spoke as the figure on the wall gave you an image of your previous suturing work and how it had come loose and deteriorated, until it was like a badly patched jacket.

“Describe how the wound looks” Alastor made the mistake to move very suddenly, tensing the edges of the scab, he winced before giving you an answer, “Red, it’s mostly scab, but the stitches got lose and teared apart some of the scab”.

“How about you finish there and when you’re a bit decent, I take a look?” the handle loosened allowing the door to move backwards from the frame, “Come in” 'No way! He will be naked in the bathtub, no! But it could be serious, at worst I just keep my eyes on his torso and then turn around' you panicked internally, then took a step forward.

“Don’t be ridiculous, open your eyes, you’re going to hurt yourself!” you had your eyes covered, as you made your way to the bathtub, failing because you knocked your knee against the sink, “You have to remember what kind of upbringing we had; I only saw my ex-husband naked in his entirety” he was embarrassed, but seeing you being in a worse state, kind of reassured him.

Due to the water, parts of his fur stick to the skin and sometimes leave certain marks on the skin visible. In Alastor's case, his cream-colored skin was partially covered with short but spacious scars, since in contrast is a much darker color it made them stand out easier.

The worst thing about those was that they did not have a pattern that could resemble a “professional” torture technique, but it seemed as if they had stoned him, which is something that happened a lot to people whose skin color was darker at the time. The racists used to tie the person to a pole and throw rocks at someone.

A truly sickening activity.

“Oh those are…I didn’t noticed those scars, I’m so sorry” immediately you diverted your eyes, out of respect mostly, “You had seen the…process?” you shook your head, “I used to scare kids that planned it, no one is brave enough when they have an axe against their neck”.

After snapping out of it, you approached him, you thanked him internally for having his knees pressed together and up to the level of his chest, so you wouldn’t see his privates. Two old fashioned mannered persons on a room, or prudes, as Angel would said.

The stitches did got lose, but he was supposed to take them off at a certain time. You assumed you didn’t warned this to him, so that fell on you, “Mmh, I’ll get tweezers and scissors, if I use my claws I might make it worse” mindlessly you pressed your hand near the edge of the wound, it wasn’t hot nor red enough to be an infection.

“Your hand is so warm” he placed his fingers on the top of your hand, “Funny how you don’t shove me away” you were aware of his repulsion of touch, weird enough he was always willing to invade your personal space, like the other day, but he shoved any other person trying to approach him physically, except for Nifty and you.

“I think, if you wanted me dead, I wouldn't have been able to return to the hotel” being playful with life and death matters was a refreshing interaction for you to have with someone, Alastor made it fun.

“Charlie would’ve had my head if you hadn’t” literally.

“You had the chance to kill me three times, if I recall correctly” You had, but that’s not the thing that makes him curious, it lead him to ask an interesting question, “Why didn’t you?”.

“The first time, you were eating someone, it made me gag so I walked away” the image of you being with your axe ready to strike and then waking away repulsed made him laugh, you couldn’t resist a giggle either.

“Down here, when you first arrived, I wanted to level how stupid you were, since you didn’t attacked me, I didn’t either” that was one hell of an intense staring session, in which Alastor walked away first, the implied threat was strong enough, so he moved away from you to continue terrorizing the city.

“And in the rubble, I just wanted to give you a lesson” he made what you could interpret as a pout, twitching his eye and his ear.

“Your hair is dry” You noticed, now that you looked at his ears.

“I haven’t washed it yet” Alastor saw a light in your eyes that meant trouble, leading to a back and forward: “Can I?” “No” “Please?” “No” “Please?” “No” “Please?” “No” “I’ll do whatever you want”.

“Then you’ll join me for my broadcast tomorrow night, you’ve been quite evasive about it”, Since your presence became public knowledge around the hotel, Alastor felt the liberty to approach you more often. The tension from the first interaction dissipated over time. However, he constantly invited you to spend some time in his studio, subject that you’ve been avoiding. Nonetheless, he doesn’t stop asking.

“I´m sorry” you materialized two cotton balls in your hands, then placed them carefully on the insides of his ears, before wetting his hair.

“Have I done something to provoke it?” he was genuinely concerned. He knows himself far too well to know he can be correct and at the same time be offensive, and doesn’t mind the reaction unless it affects him directly.

“No…I keep most of me to myself, force of habit. Also I fear that you may want to talk about past lives” No matter what topic you start the conversation on, he always handles it in such a way that you end up talking about the 1920s and the society or politics of the moment and compare it to the technological advances of the new generation.

It got old very quickly.

“We could talk about other things” it was unusual for you to hear him be genuine, but you weren’t complaining. “Like?” he relaxed once you started massaging the shampoo into his head, “This cotton ball method is genius” his ears rotated as your fingers worked the foam around them, “I had the same issue, until I saw videos of cat owners washing their pets, using cotton balls to protect their ears”.

“Did your husband also enjoyed this kind of attention?” You didn't have saliva to swallow, and even if you did, the knot in your throat wouldn't allow it. “Not with me” he laughed, clearly not reading your clear discomfort, “One of my main victims were men who committed adultery, maybe his body is now rotting in the bayou”.

You decided to swallow your pride and let his unpleasantness pass, “Unlikely, I cracked his skull open” he took your hand off his head and placed a kiss on your knuckles, “Deservedly so” you smiled for a second, before his next statement rose a bitter taste to the back of your mouth.

“Men are often asses, it’s no wonder that woman want them dead. Fortunately, my mother raised me accordingly” you rolled your eyes at his ego, “Remind me to lit a candle for her, she’s most likely in heaven” his heart, as black as it could be, fluttered by the mention of a lovely practice.

“You knew of her?” You were clearly older than him, he had a small hope you could speak of his mother, “No, but the way you talk about her, that’s proof enough”. It took you a few seconds to remember one of your husband’s so lovely gifts, a cookbook, given the fact that – according to him– your meatloaf was dry every time.

“I think I had her cookbook, Amaya Heartfelt, right?” his microphone made a crowd laughing sound before he spoke, “Ah, that’s why your Jambalaya tasted familiar” funny, you thought you saw a grimace when he ate, now that was the reason.

“I make a decent Jambalaya, accept it” rather than being playful, your voice turned to be a bit brazen, not by accident that is. “More than decent, but my mother wins against you by a landslide” you hummed in utter defeat, “Fair enough, mamma’s boy” he scoffed, but did not correct you.

“If we had met properly, we probably would’ve been best of friends” 'Oh Alastor, you're cute and all, but with your urges and my to-do list, we would have had more than one friction, the friction would have caused a fire, and not the good kind' you almost could imagine yourself being his wife at the time, certainly would’ve been better than your actual ex-husband.

“I don’t dwell in what could’ve been” he made a deer-like sound when you scratched behind his ears, “I mean, what’s the point? You can’t go back to do things different” you poured more water on his head to wash away the foam. “Do you regret something?” he spoke after you removed the cotton balls off his ears.

“Not shooting my parents when I had the chance” he visibly tensed, then turned his head around slightly, “How can you say that?” his brow was so closed together in his frown, that it almost seemed one.

“What do you mean?” his eyes shifted colors, his sclera darkened and the dials were bright red, “What could be reason enough to get rid of the people that raised you? The woman that birthed you? People that kept you safe and loved!” his radio filter turned on and off as he spoke, raising his voice as well in utter disbelief, “I have my reasons” shrugging your shoulders unlocked even more anger in him.

“Your parents must’ve had a hard time raising you” your mind fell silent, “That’s an ungrateful thing to say, no reason can be enough to want to do something like that” as you listened to his rant, your hands turned white against the edge of the bathtub, squeezing it tightly.

“Spoke the cannibal” you sillily thought that would put an end to the conversation, “But I had never disrespected the memory of my mother, nor I could ever” you laughed, anger burned the back of your throat, “You are a man, you don’t understand a thing” the radio static in the air and the tension provoked by the argument, was unbearable, blood would be shed if he didn’t stopped that instant.

But he went too far, “Then illuminate me then, what could’ve been so terrible?” his smile was one of mock, his tone sarcastic and his smile challenging. Something snapped inside of you, a bunch of words trapped inside your mind, now set free to burn everything they touched.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath and allowed the poison escape your body, in the shape of the truth, “My father was addicted to the game, he sold my alcoholic mother, my sister and I to the mafia, to repay his gambling debts” you could still remember your mother screaming ‘BASTARD’ repeatedly, after receiving your father’s call about the situation.

“My mom was the first to shoot herself before the men broke the door, I shot my sister before they could take her, but I failed to it myself” they grabbed you and the gun before you could pull the trigger, last thing you saw was your sister last smile before the light left her eyes.

“You were belittled, sure, but you will never understand what it means to be sold and treated like livestock” your voice trembled and broke. Still with your eyes closed the tears burned the insides and leaked a few down your cheek.

You opened your eyes, looking down at him exactly how you would look at your father if you had him in front of you, “Now, Alastor, I believe my parents didn’t do a thing for me to be grateful for”.

“I…overstepped” he blinked a few times, his eyes normal and the static gone, “Indeed” the ceramic made a cracking sound under your hands as you released it. “Let me make it up to you” Alastor tried to grab your hand, “Don’t bother” you cut him off.

When his hand was close to your wrist, you tapped lightly on his skin, that single tap felt as a full slap. A shiver ran though his spine, his stomach burned painfully, “Y/n” he pleaded, he wanted to chase after you, but he was naked, wet, and the thought ‘I shouldn’t have spoken’ shouted inside his ears.

“Cut the strings on one side and pull gently, then apply antiseptic, do not cut in the middle” you then closed the bathroom door behind you, as well as the main door.

🍎📻

Making your way to the stairs, your steps were heavy as well as your efforts to avoid letting more tears come out. Almost blinded by them, and rage, you accidentally knocked against something, or rather, someone.

“Y/n?” Lucifer turned around, embarrassment rose and showed up on your cheeks, while you cleaned the remaining wetness of your face. “Lovely night, isn’t it?” despite your state he smiled, not making fun of you, nor pointing it out.

“Could I ask you for an embarrassing favor?” he was nervous, you even more so, “I don’t think it’s the time–“ he pulled you by your hand and guided you down the hallway on the opposite direction from Alastor’s room.

“I’m shedding, with six wings it’s a huge bother, specially with the ones closer to my back, I lost the stick I use for those and they really itch, could you lend me a hand?” he had this stare only puppies have when they are asking to god himself for you to give them a rub and a treat.

You were weak to that fucking stare, and if you had seen your daughter grow old, she with no doubt would’ve gotten everything out of you just with that stare.

“Uhm, sure” anything to get you away from more suicidal thoughts, “Thank you, you have no idea how much I appreciate this” he was practically skipping as he walked.

He sat on the middle of the massive bed you put together, tossed his coat, vest, all possible garments away, then extended his wings for you.

15 minutes went by.

“Y/n? Your hands are trembling, is everything okay?” the silver carved brush shook along with you, of course he was going to notice.

You could say you were tormented by the memories of your past, that you blurted out the most horrifying seven years of you life to a man that doesn’t give a single shit about you, that you haven’t slept a proper wink in thirty years. That you feel under-fucked and alone, and could make a deal with any wretch that came your way for a bit of love and sympathy. Overall, you have no purpose, no will to live, nothing except the small praises you hear in the four courses of meals is a reason strong enough to get you out of bed in the mornings.

Sure, you could say that and look more pathetic than you already did. Mind the sarcasm.

“Yes, it’s just…I’m a bit overstimulated” again, understatement.

He didn’t understood that word, but he found you almost ripping your eyes out to stop yourself from crying, your hair frizzled and claws out. He had to give you a distraction, something your mind could be busy with.

“This doesn’t hurt, right?” he heard the concern in your voice, “Not at all, I feel a great relief, lighter even” he noticed how close you were to him, your tail was long enough to go pass his thigh, “Either way, let me know” he absentmindedly took it and worked his fingers against the pointy hairs at the end.

“These scars” the distinguish smell of his blood was clear, his milky-colored skin, pure and beautiful, was accompanied by a golden mantle, as if he had millions of freckles that are actually burns on his shoulders down to the lower back.

“They’re horrible, right? I got burned with hellfire during my fall, Lilith always commented how rough my back felt afterwards–” the sole way the was talking about himself made you want to cry, after a few self-loathing words out, your brain muffled his voice away.

Slowly you felt yourself drift, as well as you leaned forward, gently pressing your cheek on his shoulder. His warmth, the sweet smoked apple scent, even the sound of his heartbeat, overwhelmed you.

“Y/n?” the muffle went away; you heard his curious voice loud and clear though his skin. “The pattern reminds me of a swarm of fireflies dancing above the river” you laughed, painfully removing yourself from him, “I said something weird, didn’t I?” you smiled, but it fell as soon as you heard a sniffle.

“Sir, are you…” you tried looking pass his shoulder, but he composed himself faster than how the Dublin wall fell, not that you knew of that of course. “Sorry, that was beautiful, thank you” his smile, ear to ear, everything about him glowed.

“What do I do with the feathers?” you had collected them inside a pillow case, given the lack of plastic bags around, “I usually trash them” there was a big red one that was beautiful compared to the wilted looking ones, you saved it, sending it away with a smoke.

He noticed you saving one of his feathers, it in fact, sent a pleasant shiver up Lucifer’s heart and got him smiling like a teenager.

“How often do you roam around sleepless?” he folded all the clothing items he dismissed earlier, as he asked. You opened the bathroom’s trash can, poured the feathers down as you thought for an answer, but you just couldn’t lie, at all.

“Four to five times a week” he hummed, “So I gathered, nightmares?” you made your way putting the case back on the pillow you took it from, “Memories” you felt a poke on your back, that made you turn around, when you did, his face was almost at the same level as yours, he muttered “Quid pro quo” before a light went through his eyes.

“I know a spell that can help you, in exchange you become my cuddle buddy” he emphasized every damn word, like he was presenting a big opportunity, you were flabbergasted “Huh?” was the only thing you could utter that wasn’t a mental mess.

“Fun, right? Also you get out of that tomb you call a room” You weren't going to compare him to your friend in life Louanne, but the way the devil himself saw through you better than anyone had tried before was terrifying and yet strangely satisfying.

“Did I guessed?” worst thing is that he was right, he knew it, he knew you knew, and your face couldn’t be funnier to him, “You read me in a way I find distasteful” your annoyance was a delight, “I get that a lot” no he didn’t.

“If you do anything weird–“ he cut you off, “You will be allowed to bite me to a breaking point” oddly enough, Charlie’s attitude towards you was the stinking reflection of his father, you couldn’t have guessed it in a million years. “You and your daughter will be my ruin…Fine” for the sake of finally sleeping , you agreed.

“Any specific area you’d like me to avoid?” he took your hand again, just to have your fingers on his palm, “The ones that are obvious, also inner ears and the base of my tail” a serious tone, a warning, regarding your tail, “Just the base?” he asked, puzzled yet loving that you said yes.

“Well it’s connected to my spine, so it hurts a lot when manhandled” he kissed your hand, “Got it, please get comfortable while I dust off my wings, part of the process I’m afraid” he disappeared around the bathroom wall.

Half a second it took you to process what he said, before asking: “You want to start tonight?” your voice breaking in the middle of your sentence. “Yes, you don’t?” utter disbelief all over again, that man was too straight forward.

“I haven’t slept near anyone for more than a century” walked up to the bathroom door, high voice like when you used to whine about the prices getting too high for everyone’s sake. “Then I’ll try to be gentle, I haven’t slept correctly in seven years, I’m really excited” as fast as he walked in he was out, towel on his hips, wings folded inside somewhere. He then went in the walk in closet, like a diva getting ready for her next show.

“Are you…making fun of me?” that was a strange feeling, you weren’t in control at all, erratic feelings flooded you. “Nope” he made a pop sound, sticked his head out the door and winked with his forked tongue out. How is that the same man that had you nervous for your death in the kitchen the other day?

“I’ll get my nightwear” frustrated already you moved two steps, but he stood in front of you with a bag on his hand, “Already ahead of you, figured a two piece would be more comfortable” your mouth hanged open, speechless.

“You planned this ahead– know what? I don’t wanna know” you took the bag off his hands, in it there was a long sleeved shirt and a pair of shorts, both black with plastic cat images. “Little kittens? How cute, I can keep these right?” he nodded enthusiastically so. “Yes, look! Mine are ducks!” he made a little jump, opening like a starfish, “You look like a child!” you laughed, how long as it been since you did? “Hey don’t be mean, now who’s mocking who?” it was so contagious he ended up laughing too.

After changing, you left your boots and uniform on a chair, then walked to the already tucked in king, sliding down the covers in the space he made for you. You weren’t sure who hugged who, but he answered that for you when he nuzzled under your neck.

“You have a lovely laugh” he purred, hugging your waist, “Thanks, I don’t do it often” the vibration of his voice right in your heart was a weird but delightful thing to have back. Also the warmth of having someone to hug instead of a pillow, which is amazing, “Neither do I, thank you”.

His tail, right you forgot he has one, entwined with yours, that never happened before, but then again it would’ve been weird that your husband had a tail, right? He felt you tense up, so he passed his knee in between yours, then placed a loving kiss on your cheek before nuzzling back in.

“You can stop fighting now” words that worked almost like the spell that poured out of his fingers, “No one will hurt you”, four seconds, knocked out cold for the first time in 30 years.

------------------------------

Stay tuned ;3

Part 6

#alastor x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #radio demon #cursed cat alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel fanart #alastor x lucifer #alastor fanart #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #radioapple #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar #hazbin #hotel hazbin #hazbin hotel

166 notes · View notes

delulujuls · 5 months

Text

emotional support rivals | ls18, sp11

hi! i dont know how to comment on this one, basically i thought that i would try to tame sergio and lance a bit because i know that some people may not like them as much. but they did pretty well here!

anyway, enjoy!

summary: reader is having the worst day of her life aka first day of her period, lance and sergio dont know how to act but they tryna be supportive

warnings: none i think

pairing: lance stroll x fem!mclarendriver x sergio perez

This day was terrible. And that was it.

But you might ask, how could a day be terrible when it hadn't even had a chance to start? Y/N just felt in her bones that this would be the case. She also knew her current schedule of duties, which considering the current jetlag that weighed heavily on her mind, added quite a bit to her already full plate.

Of course, days like these were allowed to exist; balance in life was the norm. Nevertheless, Y/N fervently wished for this one to, as soon as possible, come to an end.

Unfortunately, a quick end was out of the question, as her alarm had just rung. She struggled to open her sleepy eyes and saw the gloomy 6:30 on her phone's display.

She sighed and sat up in bed, feeling an unpleasant sensation in her stomach. She was familiar with this feeling and it signaled one thing and one thing only.

"Oh no, it can't be."

Y/N muttered under her breath and quickly reached for her phone, opening one of the apps. The notification confirmed her worst fear. "Your period may start today!"

"Fantastic, just fucking fantastic."

In a already bad mood, she tossed her phone into the pillows and got up with a symphony of groans, sighs and curses. As soon as she got out of bed she checked the sheets but the snowy white fabric assured her that today would be a one big roulette of waiting for her period to start.

When she showered and got ready to leave, she also packed her emergency kit for days like this. She had to use it partially though, because the pain in her stomach was simply unbearable. And it wasn't the typical stomach ache that everyone thinks of when they hear 'oh no, my stomach hurts' but this stomach pain was the Lance Stroll of all stomach pains. It doesn't seem to hurt too much, but it spoils your whole mood with its terrible nature.

Since talking about Stroll, it happened like that she still had practice laps that day, which she failed to pass while everyone else did. As it turned out, the same task was waiting for Lance, because in the cafeteria, apart from the busy employees, there was him. And that damn Mexican, too.

"What time are you supposed to be on the track?"

Checo asked from behind her when she was grabbing breakfast from one of the swedish tables.

"What happened to 'hi, good morning'? 'Buenos dias,' at least?"

She muttered, pouring syrup on her pancakes.

"Normally you don't talk to me, so I figured there's no point in trying."

He replied, somewhat thrown off by her response.

"Hello Sergio, nice to see you too and yes, it just happens that we're stuck with each other today. I'm on at 10am, you're ahead of me at 9, and that Aston idiot is at 11."

Y/N said sarcastically, putting on the nicest tone she could muster.

Sergio didn't know how to respond, so when she turned to leave for her table, he simply stepped out of her way.

Lance ate in silence, observing the scene quietly. He was watching the McLaren sun, today completely covered by stormy clouds, going away and sitting alone. Inadvertently his gaze met with Checo, who just shook his head and returned to choosing his breakfast.

Y/N sighed heavily, sitting at one of the empty seats. She ate absentmindedly, not used to the absence of Oscar and Lando. They had different things to attend to that day, so it wasn't unlikely that they wouldn't even cross paths. Maybe it was even better for them; each of them would probably receive a monthly dose of sulking. The charms of being the only girl in the company could be really tough at times.

And it's not that Y/N was a pain in the ass only for Oscar and Lando. She got along well with most people she interacted with daily. A few times she even went out with other girls; she wasn't limiting herself to the company of guys only. Unfortunately, Oscar and Lando had happened to take a particular liking to each other, which made the trio basically unseparable.

There were people with whom she didn't have frequent contact, or with whom she only exchanged smiles in passing but she had never had the chance to exchange a word.

It's also known that in life you can't be liked by everyone and not everyone can be liked by you. In this case, there was no magical exception. It just so happened that she would spend today in the company of those people who sat at the other end of the cafeteria, occasionally throwing her stolen glances.

After finishing her meal, the girl got down to her duties, wanting to bring this day to an end as quickly as possible. At the appointed time, she appeared on the track, quickly changing into her racing suit. She put on her helmet and after a brief discussion of notes, she sat in the car. That's when she felt that something was wrong. The worst-case scenario flashed before her eyes.

"Can I quickly go to the bathroom?"

She asked, looking at the technician nearest to her.

"We're a bit behind schedule. Can it wait?"

Y/N resignedly nodded. She knew there was nothing left to salvage.

She adjusted her straps and when she got the signal to leave the garage, she drove outside and headed straight for the track. After the radio test and receiving permission to start, she clenched her fists and roared the engine.

She was angry and as it's known, there's nothing worse than a female rage.

She was angry at this day, at herself, at this damn car. She was angry at the bloodstain on her damn orange suit, even though she hadn't seen it yet.

She was so hormonal that if it weren't for the helmet restricting her movements, she would have screamed at the top of her lungs.

However, female anger was priceless.

"Best lap time, I repeat, best lap time."

She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, not responding to the message.

In moments like this, she didn't care about anything. And it's pretty well known that a person who doesn't care has nothing to lose.

When the session ended and she received the message that she could pull into the pit lane, she complied. Mechanics rolled her into the garage and only then did it dawn on her that her hands were still clenched on the steering wheel. When she managed to free herself from the car, she immediately checked her seat. She cursed under her breath and took off her helmet, placing it aside. Quickly grabbing the nearest rag, she began to wipe away the stain of shame on her seat. The technician, whom she asked about going to the bathroom before the start, when he realized what had happened and what she was doing, just gave her an apologetic look.

She unzipped her suit and slid its top off, covering the stain on her backside. Zac wanted to congratulate her on the result and discuss the outcomes, but she apologized and grabbed her emergency kit, heading straight to the bathroom. She changed into her unstained clothes, guarded against another unpleasant surprise and bundled up the suit, muttering under her breath that a visit to the laundry awaited her later that day.

When she returned to the McLaren garage, Zac, upon seeing her, immediately smiled.

"Young lady, you charmed us today! You literally flew in that car!"

"I guess that's good, I think."

The girl replied, mustering a smile as she glanced at the monitors in front of her.

"Good? It's brilliant!"

Zac replied with a smile and checked his notes.

"After checking the car, I would ask you to put on your suit again for a moment because we need to do a few more laps on different tires."

"I thought that was it for today."

Y/N replied, looking at him.

"Now, you were driving on mediums; it would be good to know what time you can achieve on the hard compound."

The girl tightened her suit under her armpit.

"But—"

She started, but it felt silly, so she lowered her voice and approached him, "My suit is not suitable."

"How so? What happened?"

He frowned and looked at the bundle she was holding.

"I won't be able to drive in it anymore today."

Zac looked confused, so she just said "period" without using any words. He quickly understood and immediately nodded his head.

"Ask someone if we have another suit in stock. It would mean a lot to me if we could finish these tests today."

Y/N nodded and walked away, sighing heavily when she was out of his reach. However, as it turned out, racing suits are not as straightforward as one might think and the only McLaren suit in this garage was hers—rolled up into a ball of shame and unfit for use. One of the women upon hearing her situation only gave her a comforting hug and suggested borrowing a suit from Sergio or Lance, taking advantage of the fact that they were only drivers nearby. The situation was exceptional and it was all about internal measurements.

Disheartened by the fact that she would be forced to confront the men, she left the garage and looked around. Checo and Lance were sitting nearby, chatting in front of the Aston Martin garage. Y/N gathered herself and approached them, causing them to immediately pause their conversation.

"Can I borrow a suit from either of you?"

"You drive for McLaren, not for Aston or Red Bull."

Sergio said, taking a sip from his bottle. The girl involuntarily clenched her fists. Be professional, she thought and took a deep breath.

"If I didn't have to, I wouldn't ask. I need a suit; mine... is not suitable for driving."

"What happened?"

Lance asked, glancing at her. His expression lacked the hint of malice that Sergio currently possessed.

"I just need one; is that not enough?"

"Give a good reason and I might even give you mine."

Pérez said, crossing his arms.

"I just got my period which means my suit is having a fucking bloodstain on my ass and even though I feel like they're cutting me in half completely alive I have to do some extra laps because this fucking fat idiot didn't think about pitstop to change my tyres and let me go straight to the track" Y/N she spoke quietly and calmly, but her voice was dripping with fury "So do me the pleasure and let one of you give me your overalls before something hits me, for fucks sake."

Lance and Sergio stood still. Sergio's face lost its fierce expression and Lance suddenly realized that he had started holding his breath out of stress.

"I'll give you mine, no problem."

Stroll spoke up, starting to unzip his suit.

"Yours is light, you idiot; if something happens again, everything will be visible."

Pérez scolded him and turned his gaze back to the girl.

"Wait a moment; I'll bring you mine right away."

Y/N nodded and watched him leave.

"Do you feel very bad?"

Lance asked, looking at her. He couldn't wrap his head around how the girl standing in front of him, bleeding and all, could endure such a great strain and still set the best lap time.

"It's been better."

She sighed.

Lance, not knowing exactly what to do or how to help, reached out his hand with a bottle in it. Y/N looked at the bottle first and then at his face. Seeing that he was genuinely concerned, she whispered a quiet 'thanks' and took the water from him.

Sergio returned shortly after, handing her his suit.

"I hope it'll fit well for you."

The girl handed back Lance his water and thanked Pérez as well.

"Good luck, tigresa."

Y/N nodded at them one last time and returned to the garage, changing into the borrowed suit and taking her place in the car again.

As she sat there, waiting for permission to leave the pit lane, she noticed that she wasn't angry anymore, at least not as much as she was some time ago. When she drove out and headed towards the track, she passed Lance and Sergio once again, who were giving her thumbs up.

For the first time that day Y/N genuinely smiled and who would have thought it would be thanks to her rivals, who had now become her emotional support ones?

#f1 imagines #f1 one shot #f1 #formula 1 #f1 oneshots #f1 imagine #lance stroll x reader #sergio perez x reader #sp11 #ls18

259 notes · View notes

sukunasdirtylaugh · 2 months

Text

tags: satoru gojo x f!reader, bridgerton!au, reader and gojo are acquaintances, brief mention of satoru's mom passing when he was young. also please don't come at me if I got the garter belt/stocking thing wrong (I did a quick google search) so may not be historically accurate. (this could be a part two to this story that is also bridgerton gojo based).

“my lord,"

"please," he says, "gojo is fine."

"mr. gojo," you say, because frankly gojo feels too personal though it had been the last name his friends, such as lord nanami, have refered to him by. he stands at a respectable distance from you, watching over as you sit on a stone bench around the garden of lord kusakabe's home. your family visit had served to wish him congratulations after recuperating from a terrible cold this past winter. now, lord kusakabe stands as he used to, laughs as he holds a cigar between his lips as guests enjoy tea and play outdoor games.

though a lady like you, having a wardrobe malfunction, thinks it's best to hide behind a maze as you fail to adjust the garter belt that pulls up your warm stockings that keep the cold air from entering your skin. lord gojo stands at a respectable distance, towards your right as he attempts to look over your shoulder. your cling onto your left garter, saving any decency you can maintain.

you had met gojo through the first spring dance of the season, right after you had danced with higuruma. taken aback by his intial comments on how lord higuruma was a terrible choice for a satoru, and by your naivety by speaking your mind (respectably, of course) in front of someone so.... well of. regarded as royalty by even the queen herself. lord gojo did not hold your behavior against you, and to that you were partially thankful of. your honor must remain impeccable as your mother's. everyone has a standard to uphold, no?

what set you apart, nearly three weeks into the season from most, was lady whistledown's kind and praiseful remarks during the ball. it would be later made aware that perhaps you could be the diamond of the season. who knew as meeting the queen was only a week away.

so you had to keep your reputation as clean as possible.

"my lady, are you alright?" your jaw tightened at his words. you guessed perhaps your body tightened as well since the man approaches you carefully, slowly. waiting to see if you put a stop to him.

"yes, quite alright thank you." you laugh nervously, "just... a bit worn out from today's activities." he noticies you hold your leg.

"is your... leg alright?" he asks. you don't know how you do it, but when he suggests to get help, you stop him. it would be far worse for him to get help from others while you're here, with an intimate wardrobe malfunction.

"no! just... leave me be," he eyes you.

"I can assure you, leaving a lady in distress goes against my honor code. tell me, is there anything I can do?"

you hesitantly bite your bottom lip.

"it's... it's a wardrobe, malfunction, my lord." your eyes don't meet his as your cheeks burn under the sun. he looks at your figure, not sensing anything wrong at first glance.

"underneath."

"oh," he remains quiet for several seconds. "may I... may I know what it is?"

"my garter belt."

"what do you need to do?"

"I need to hook the end of the belt to the opening of the stocking, but..." you sigh, "it won't work."

"may I have a glance?" he asks, and you guess he senses the panic in your eyes and silence as he holds his hands up. "I promise I won't do anything, in fact, I'm sure your family might suspect your absence relatively soon if you don't return." but that isn't what worries you.

"I can't have a man that isn't my husband to do something like that," you try your best to not snap, "if anyone were to see or hear about this, my reputation would be ruined."

"not with me it won't." he says, "if you allow me to help, neither one would speak of this, and we can return back to the estate as if nothing happened. I don't wish to ruin the life of someone so...."

"so....?"

"someone honorary," he swallows, "respectable. most women your age enjoy ruining other people's lives, spreading misinformation to cause harm, and do anything as selfish as one can imagine."

"how would you know that?" you question almost bluntly, "you... you don't know me."

"I'm afraid you yourself aren't quite aware of the impression you have made on others, miss." he says as he slowly approaches, getting as far as to his knees to assist. "now please, allow me to assist you."

your lungs paused for what felt like an eternity. you didn't know what was more intimate, either his soft spoken words or his delicate fingers on your belt, causing your heart to beat loudly it would possibly errupt from your chest.

"how do you know how to do this?" you find yourself whispering. the lord looks up at you for what you can finally see up close are mesmerizing blue eyes, bluer than anything you've seen or dreamed of before he says.

"I used to watch my mother dress herself when I was a boy," he clarifies, "she passed before I turned 7."

153 notes · View notes