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occamstfs · 1 month

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Terracotta Turmoil

Another muscle growth racial TF! I went with phonetic Chinese rather than using Chinese characters as it feels hotter to me to be able to read the phonetics! Hope y'all enjoy! -Occam

Chase was beyond excited for the opportunity that his museum has recently secured. It didn’t seem possible, and perhaps the provenance isn’t exactly strictly clear or legal, but some donors have ensured that an exhibition is soon to begin. Before that though Chase simply had to sneak a look and wandered into the exhibit’s worksite to closely observe the artifact.

Upon seeing it Chase is less than impressed with the artistry and history of the object instead thinking of what a score they have wrung from whatever schmuck had it. Chase begins counting dollar signs in his head as he approaches the statue, getting close enough to touch it when he sees a flash in the statue’s lifeless eyes. Keeping his mind ever focused on financial gain his eyes race to meet those of the terracotta statue in front of him where he finds naught but the cold rage-filled gaze of a warrior.

He rolls his eyes and begins to step away to plan the promotions for the exhibit when suddenly he hears a voice in his head, in a language he cannot understand, “Rúguǒ nǐ yào bǎ nǐ de yìzhì qiángjiā gěi wǒ. Ránhòu wǒ huì bǎ wǒ de qiángjiā gěi nǐ” (If you shall impose thine will upon me. Then I shall force mine upon you.)

Chase suddenly scans the room for whatever coworker must be pranking him, though he is sure that none of them know Chinese anywhere near the fluency of his voice. His eyes flicker to the door as it slowly creaks closed with a click, the lock turning by itself. Chase turns with a suspicious look to the statue. His concentration flickers as he once again sees a glint in the statue’s impenetrable eyes. Chase is not a superstitious type but something unnatural was occurring and he wasn’t to be caught on the back foot.

He is mousy and short but tries to stand tall and puff his chest up at the statue as he starts to engage, “Your, uh yìzhì?”(Will?) Wh-” Despite his meager attempt at bravado he immediately falls back in shock finding himself speaking in a tongue that he never even had a passing desire to know. He stumbles back away from the statue, still facing it. The lights dim in the room and the glitter of the statue’s eyes begin to glow outright, “Wǒ bù xǐhuān shǐyòng nǐ de shēntǐ, nǐ zhège chètóuchèwěi de shǎguā. Dàn nǐ jiāng chéngwéi wǒ líkāi zhèlǐ de ménpiào." (I take no delight in using your body, you utter fool. But you will be my ticket out of here.)

Chase is compelled to make eye-contact with the merciless eyes as they burn a hole into his mind. He is immediately beyond confused and dizzy, no longer sure of anything in the world besides the fact that his condition is only to rapidly deteriorate even further. He feels himself lose control of his mouth as drool begins to pool within it. Little loss though as he is rapidly losing the ability to form any thoughts in English anyway.

He falls to his hands and knees, mouth agape as he spits up onto the floor. The floor shines like a mirror reflecting the light above as a spotlight onto him and making evident the sinister shine of the statue’s eyes as they continue to burn. He stares at his hands clenched on the floor struggling to latch his mind on any thought that remains. As he struggles suddenly a thought appears through the fog as if it were the most evident thing in the world, Diāoxiàng bù shǔyú zhèlǐ (The statue doesn’t belong here.)

Chase isn’t even taken aback as his mind starts to return, now using a language he’s never learned. If his thoughts are all in Chinese there is no conceivable explanation beyond that it is the language that he was raised in, but he was gweilo(western) no? He brings his eyes to look at his reflection in the recently waxed floor to see something immediately jarring. His mouth is still ajar, still slightly leaking drool, but his reflection looking back at him has an unmistakable scowl and smirk.

He recoils, though staying on the ground, as he notices that his short messy hair is starting to grow and straighten. His sandy blonde locks swiftly begin to darken as they lengthen into something far more fashionable. He feels his face respond to the unconscious worry in his mind at seeing his appearance change. In response his reflection bares its teeth as the scowl becomes crueler, the eyes beginning to glow just as the statue’s did.

He forces his eyes shut to avoid them being penetrated by the burning gaze once more. He is no longer able to open them as he feels his eyelids throb and tighten. Chase grunts and clenches his teeth as pain surges through his face before he forces his eyes back open and is once more greeted with unfamiliarity in his reflection. Impossible to miss were the epicanthic folds that now hang over his blue eyes. He continues to stare at them, seeing his skin begin to pale and smooth as his hair turns black to the roots and his eyes begin to darken, slowly turning brown.

Chase stares at his own irises as they almost move beyond brown to instead be as pitch black as his hair. At the same time a laugh that Chase still recognizes as his own rings through the exhibition hall, though each echo as it returns back to his ears is deeper than the one that came before. He clutches at his hóujié (adam’s apple) feeling it throb larger into his hand. He gasps sharply, feeling more air rush into his lungs as he takes a breath deeper and more labored than ever before.

Now with only one hand keeping him from falling to the ground Chase watches as the eyes of his reflection glow with a rage centuries old, challenging him to not fall on his face as he feels the force of gravity upon him ever-more difficult to ignore. Just before totally collapsing he wrenches his hand from his neck to catch his fall. Struggling against the weight of his body as it feels heavier by the moment, Chase feels his arms begin to strain the sleeves of his dress shirt. Sweat drips from his hair to stain his reflection as his biceps force themselves larger than his shirt could possibly hold.

Drawing off all the remaining will, or yìzhì rather, he has to resist. He pushes himself higher from the ground rising further than his arms should be able to push him. His biceps burst with power as they grow to the size of a lesser man’s thighs. Sweat drips down his massive arms trailing from thin but present black hair now filling his pits. Chase looks towards his chest and no wonder his breaths were suddenly nigh-impossible, the buttons had already burst from his dress shirt as pecs had forced themselves from his chest and below them abs defined as those you see on only the most prodigious bodybuilders.

Chase smirks to himself seeing how he has grown. He knew he simply could not let himself fall, his people were zhànshì (warriors) after all. His proud smirk is now truly mirroring his smug reflection. Chase flexes every muscle he can in his more powerful body, feeling the strain of his strength as he tests the limit of each newly formed muscle group. His whole body convulses in pleasure as he becomes acquainted with the power now within him. He feels his hitherto ignored cock grow firm as he feels nothing but pride for his body and his homeland.

He pushes himself fully off the ground to land on his ass as it too grows to break past the limit of his pants. No longer looking at his reflection Chase feels his thighs tear through his jeans and his feet grow large enough to make finding any replacement shoes impossible. His briefs struggle to hold his still growing erection as he continues to bask in his body and power as he finds himself once more sitting in front of the terracotta soldier.

Rather than seeing it as the financial boon that he intended to when he walked in. Chase now sees it as a testament to the artistry and history that his home country deserves. He feels a fire burn in his chest as rage begins to fill him at seeing such an extraordinary artifact of his culture being subjected to this tourist trap of a museum. His eyes twitch as the last attachments to his old life fade beyond even his subconscious as he remembers the life and history of his real identity.

Chen was not going to sit around and let this relic of Chinese opulence and power be disgraced by this sorry show. He looks down towards his reflection one last time and sees his face now perfectly mirrors the proud smirk that it has displayed since he first saw it. Chen laughs the same laugh he has always known, one deep and slow, as he stands to prepare his repatriation of this terracotta soldier. First things first though, he’ll need a few new friendly faces, a few new countrymen. He makes for the door whispering to himself as he feels his cock surge in his pants, “Dàodǐ shéi lái zǔzhǐ wǒ” (After all, who is going to stop me.)

#male tf #mental change #racial change #muscle tf #race change

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dystopianam · 2 months

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Tips on how to avoid and reduce the Pink Flashing - "Masterpost"

Look here for other masterposts!

⚠️ THIS IS NOT A COMPLETE ""GUIDE"". I won't be updating this post and I've explained why here. In this post I only wrote some advice, so you won't find an entire research on Pink Flashing. Please read other REAL guides if you are interested in that. Unfortunately, deleting the post wouldn't make sense since the reblogs would remain.

What is the Pink Flashing?

The Pink flashing, also called Pink Soup, is a graphical error that occurs when the game thinks it has reached the limit of its memory capacity to read the game's textures even if your PC is much more powerful and the configurations made to the game itself are very high and can hold much much more.

When this arrives, gradually an object or sim will start flashing pink and purple or even EVERYTHING will start flashing pink.

This type of error can occur both in game and on Bodyshop, and as many people mistakenly think, it is NOT a symptom of corruption. And it's not even a hardware problem of your PC. It's not your PC's fault, it's not dying, it's simply the game that's unstable.

What should I do when this occurs?

First of all, DON'T PANIC, it's nothing serious. The only thing you need to do is save the game before it crashes (because yes, it usually crashes after the pink flashing occurs), close the game and reopen it. When you reboot it, the pink flashing will be gone.

AND don't worry if some previews of your sims remain pink. They will update as you play (the fastest way to update them is to have your sim change clothes or change their appearance in the mirror)

@2fingerswhiskeysims added that another method is to minimize the game, leave the PC to rest for a few hours and then reopen the game. The pink flashing should then go away on its own (I would just recommend saving before doing so, because it's not a method that works for everyone. For example it often crashes immediately after the pink flashing appears or even just minimizing it makes it crash if it's like my game that even if you look to it by mistake it crashes)

Is there a way to increase the graphics capabilities of my game?

Yes, there is, and you should do it regardless of the pink flashing, to make your game more stable. This will NOT eliminate the risk of pink flashing, but will reduce it and make the game crash after hours and hours of play rather than after a few minutes or half an hour as happens to some.

What you need to do is make your own graphic rules that adapt the game to your video card and install the 4GB patch. This guide from Pleasantsim explains how to install both (as well as providing other tips for stability and improving graphics)

Another tip that many give is to use the Sims2RPC Launcher by LazyDuchess, as many say it has made their game more stable, while others say it has increased their Pink Flashing, so I think it's very subjective whether using this launcher is better or worse.

Is there a way to eliminate it or avoid it?

There is no fix for this problem and there is no way to eliminate it, although LazyDuchess is doing some research to see if it can be done. BUT I can give you some advice on how to avoid it for as long as possible (it will still appear after a few hours, but I can tell you what to do to be able to play safely for as long as possible)

From my personal experience, I understand that pink flashing occurs when the game needs to read a lot of thumbnails (of hairs and clothes expecially) and when you visit too many lots in the same game session or you visit a single huge lot full of objects. So, what you need to do is:

Save before changing your sims appearance (whether it's a change of hair or clothes) because the game almost always tends to crash after a long or sometimes even short makeover session. (It depens on how many ccs you have)

Avoid changing your sims hair if you don't have to. One of the causes of pink flashing is reading all the thumbnails of the hair in the game, especially if you have a lot of cc hair and getting to the last page or halfway through is very tiring for you and for your game that have to read all the thumbnails. It doesn't matter if the game already has them cached, pink flashing doesn't care.

Avoid changing your sims clothes if you don't have to change them (so avoid needlessly looking at all the clothes you have, in your wardrobe or in shop mode as if it were your closet at home). Just like with hair, pink flashing is triggered by reading too many thumbnails, especially if you have a lot of cc clothes. As with hair, it doesn't matter if the game has already cached thumbnails of all the clothes you have. Pink Flashing doesn't care. BUT unlike hair, for clothes I found a solution (which I hope is not a coincidence that only works for me). Unfortunately this took away the pleasure of going to the shops to buy clothes, but it avoided crashes and Pink Flashing. Basically, I discovered (and I don't know why) that if I use Pescado Clothing Tool, for some mystical reason the game doesn't crash and doesn't trigger pink flashing (I can even spend hours scrolling through all my many ccs and it doesn't annoys my game at all)

Last but not least, pink flashing can also be caused by reading too many thumbnails in buy mode or visiting too many lots during the same gaming session. Unfortunately there isn't much to do here, my only advice is to save very often when you edit lots, and to avoid visiting different lots too much if you don't need to (don't worry, your sims don't suffer from claustrophobia and can stay in their homes very well). If you have to edit a lot of lots, use a game session ONLY for that, because changing lots and scrolling through the buy mode there will be a lot of pink flashing very soon, at some point. At least you will have the knowledge that it will arrive any moment and you won't have to stress while you are in live mode.

To summarize, pink flashing is triggered by:

Scroll too much hair pages in "edit appearance" mode.

Scroll too much clothes pages in "change clothing" mode.

Scroll too much furnitures in "buy/build mode"

Open/go in many different lots in the same game session.

Use very big lots with a lots of objects.

Apartment lots (these ones are a hell for PF)

AND the snow. Yes, when the terrain change in "snowy" mode, this trigger the PF a lot. You can disable the snow with mods if you want or simply save the game before the terrain changes and hope that it will not happen.

@brandinotbroke added that the shaders trigger Pink Soup. But when it comes to shaders this time it also depends a lot on the hardware capacity of your PC, and it's not just a game problem. Both the game's shaders themselves, additional shaders and default replacement shaders downloaded from the internet could cause problems. If you think this is the problem, the solution is to use the "userShader off" cheat. BUT this doesn't always mean that your computer can't handle that particular shader. Often some shaders need to be downloaded in their version to be compatible with other shaders. So try to differentiate the difference between an unsupported shader and a shader that is not compatible with another, always read the description of the creator's post carefully. (For example: the "Better Night Life" shader conflicts with Voielle's water shaders and for this reason there is a BNL shader compatible with Voielle's water. IF you used the normal shader instead of the compatible one, any object that works with BNL shaders will be affected by Pink Soup.)

@goingsimcrazy added that many hood deco, high quality setting, high DOF and lot impostors can trigger pink flashing. However, this is a mix between "your PC's hardware capabilities" and basically...player luck. Sometimes players with latest generation gaming PCs cannot handle the hood decos and players who play with toasters play surrounded by hood decos, so here isn't very clear how The Sims 2... decides its capacity and compatibility criteria. But anyway, if you think that your hood deco, lot impostors, high graphics qualities and DOF (distance of field) are TOO MUCH and that your PC cannot support them, simply deactivate and lower the graphics settings from the settings!

BUT @goingsimcrazy also pointed out a detail that I wanted to add too but forgot. Basically, deleting the thumbnails cache is of no use, it doesn't solve the pink flashing problem, in fact it makes it worse. I won't give you a computer lesson but in simple terms I'll explain it to you like this: caches are used to store information so that when you open a software, the software takes information from the cache file and speeds up its reading capacity. If you delete the thumbnails cache every two days what you are doing is practically punching yourself, because not only are you slowing down the game, but by doing so you force it to regenerate the thumbnails every single time, thus causing crashes and pink flashing. Delete the thumbnails ONLY if you have changed a huge number of default replacements and need to update the previews OR press CTRL + right click of the mouse on the individual preview you want to refresh.

@fireflowersims also added this, that it's very important, please read!

Small clarification to finish:

Sometimes pink flashing is also caused by very long gaming sessions (so even if you don't do any of the things listed, at some point it will still happen, but I'm talking about more than 4/5 hours of gaming).

Many of the things listed may be stupid and already known, many of you will be reading and thinking "the genius has arrived", but I have seen many people suffer from pink flashing, not understanding what trigghed it and doing A LOT of the things that trigghed it the most. (I watched a lot of gameplay on YouTube where this happened).

So...I hope I helped someone and if someone know other things that trigger PF let me know, I'll add it to this post!

#the sims 2 #the sims 2 pink flashing #pink flashing #masterpost

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vanwritesfan-fiction · 5 months

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I literally love your work you’re so talented I can reread it for days and never get bored. Can you write some fluff where maybe reader and Travis have been super busy and they grow a little distant and fight about it and then Travis realizes he messed up when one of his kids asks if he’s moving out or something and he makes it up to reader

All Of Me

"Laylah is finally asleep." Travis whispered as he slipped through the open crack of your bedroom door, quietly closing it behind him. He threw himself down on his side of the bed, closing his eyes as he let out a sigh of pure exhaustion.

"Thanks." You gave him a small smile, continuing your nighttime routine from your side of the bed. You felt Travis' fingers graze down the path of your spine, making you tense up. You rolled your shoulders back, still feeling a tinge of annoyance from earlier tonight. You had gotten into it with Travis over some careless scheduling conflicts on his part, and while you agreed to drop it so you weren't fighting in front of the kids, you'd be lying if you said you weren't still upset.

Travis retracted his arm at your rejection. "I thought we were okay." He hated fighting with you, and would do anything to avoid it. It made him sick to think you were upset, especially at his hand. You shut your nightstand drawer harder than you intended before turning off the light. "If by okay, you mean we're not fighting with each other. Then yes, we're okay, but I'm still pissed with you, Travis." You shifted to lay down in bed, turning your back to him.

"Baby, I said I was sorry. I wasn't thinking when I said yes to the appearance. I would have never agreed to it if I knew it was the same day as Savannah's party." Travis blinked into the darkness, resisting the urge to reach out to you again. He knew it would only set you off.

"Don't you get tired of apologizing? I know you didn't do it on purpose, but it feels like sometimes we're an afterthought to you." You bundled the comforter in your fist, feeling yourself grow angry all over again. The fight was rearing its ugly head again whether you wanted it to or not.

"That's not fair." Travis shot out, his voice louder than he anticipated, emotion building in his chest. "I'm always thinking about you and the kids. But I'm not gonna pretend like the work I do isn't important. Sometimes it has to come first. I have fans, people who count on me." He groaned, realizing that was not what he wanted to say, but it was too late to take it back. The damage was done.

"If you wanna go, Travis, go. No one is stopping you, but you can explain to your daughter while you won't be at her birthday party. I'm done covering for you." All of the consoling you had to do, tears streaming down your kids faces when Travis couldn't make it to a little league game or a school performance was wearing on you too. You listened briefly to make sure that none of the kids had woken due to your arguing. Realizing the house was still calm, you allowed yourself to let out a deep breath. "I'm done talking about this."

****

The next morning, Travis dropped the kids off at school before heading to practice for the day. The girls were in the back, singing their favorite Disney songs, and usually Alex would vocalize his objections, begging Travis to change to another song, but today, he was noticeably quiet, leaning his head against the window. Travis noticed, but didn't want to push the issue. Maybe Alex was just more tired than usual this morning.

"Daddy?" Savannah called out to Travis. "Yes, baby?" He glanced at her through the rear view mirror. "For my party on Saturday, can I have a strawberry cake?" She eagerly clasped her hands together. "Wait, is it your birthday on Saturday? I had no idea!" Travis chuckled, messing with her. "Daddy! I'm turning 5!" She held up five fingers. "Well then, we need to get you a strawberry cake to celebrate." Both Savannah and Laylah cheered. Travis looked at Alex, who was still tight lipped, his gaze focused on the scenery out the window.

"Alex, what's going on, bud?" Travis had dropped the girls off at preschool, leaving him alone with his eldest in the car while he headed to the elementary school.

"Nothing", Alex grumbled out, pulling at his sweatshirt. "Did something happen at school? You know you can tell me." Alex shook his head no, not offering Travis anything else to go on. "Are you excited for your game tomorrow? Mama says you've been hitting well. Can't wait to see you play."

"Are you coming to my games still?" Alex's face perked up, but riddled with anxiety instead of happiness. "Of course, Bubba. Why wouldn't I?" Alex shifted in his seat uncomfortably, flexing his fingers. It was something he did when he was nervous, a trait he had gotten from Travis. "What's going on, Bub?"

"I heard you and mama fighting last night, and she said that you could go if you wanted to. Are you moving out? I don't want you to leave dad." Alex had a very basic understanding of divorce, one of his friends' parents were going through a nasty separation, and Travis could only imagine what was going through his head after hearing the two of you fighting. He found a spot to pull over on the side of the road.

"Alex, bud", Travis shifted in his seat to look back at his son. Alex's cheeks were stained with tears, his sweatshirt sleeve damp. "Your mama and I argued about something silly that Dad did, okay? But I would never leave you or your sisters or your mama. I love you all too much. You have nothing to worry about, and I'm sorry if we scared you." Travis had been so busy trying to defend himself, that he didn't even realize all of this could have been avoided if he had just put his family first. He knew he owed you an apology, and needed to make this up to you. "I just need to figure out a way to get your mom to forgive me."

"Dad, maybe you can get her some flowers. She always likes when we get her flowers for Mama's Day." Alex suggested, making Travis chuckle. "I don't think flowers will be enough this time, Bubba."

****

After practice, Travis found you in your office. You were confirming some last minute details for Savannah's party, stress weighing your shoulders down. You were finding it difficult to focus on anything but your fight with your husband, guilt for trying to push him out making your stomach turn.

"Hey", you turned to see Travis leaning in the doorway, his hair still wet from his shower. You let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding in. Even when you were fighting with Travis, he was still your calm and peace. It didn't feel right not touching and holding him. You were so quick to your feet, throwing your arms around Travis' neck, it startled him, making him stumble back. He held you impossibly close, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "I hate fighting with you", Travis mumbled against your skin.

You pulled away, cupping his face in your hands. "I'm sorry, I never should have pushed you. I know you wouldn't miss anything on purpose. Its just, sometimes its really hard doing this without you."

"C'mere." Travis led you back to your chair, pulling another over to you so you were sitting close. He grabbed at your hands, gently massaging at your fingers. "I'm so sorry, baby. I never should have made you second guess how important you were to me. You and the kids, they come before anything else. Every time."

You gave him a soft smile. "I never should have said that, T. I don't think that at all. I can't imagine the pressure on you to be present here and in football. It can't be easy. I need- no I want to be more understanding of how much you have to do."

"About that. I canceled all of my appearances. I told my team that if its not absolutely necessary, I don't want to commit to anything. At least until you feel supported again, however long that is." Travis pulled you into his lap, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

"I don't want you to do that Travis. That's not fair to you or your career." You appreciated the gesture, but it seemed so extreme, especially after a silly fight.

"You deserve all of me, baby. Not half, or only sometimes. I never want to make you feel like you have to compromise on my attention." Travis felt no remorse at taking a step back from his commitments. It felt like the right thing to do. You opened your mouth to object, but Travis distracted you with a kiss, gentle as your lips met.

"Did you get the strawberry cake for Nannah?" Travis questioned, barely broken away from the kiss. "Strawberry? What strawberry cake?" Travis backed away, his eyes wide. You enjoyed his panic for a second before giggling. "Just kidding. Everything is taken care of." You lifted off of his lap, pulling him to his feet.

"Good." He gave you a few more pecks, a smile in his tone." You almost gave me a heart attack. I can't let my little girl down on her birthday."

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wh1sp3rr · 1 year

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𑊡˚+₊🕯️✦ — show & tell + bkg; drabble

cw: nsfw, aged up, fluff, established relationship, fingering, dialogue driven, afab! reader, softdom! bkg!

-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-

“like this?”

you pull your lip in at the slight discomfort of bakugo’s fingers mushing around in you jabbing rhythmlessly. you try to feel your way into the pleasure, raise and angle your hips in every which way but now it’s just starting to hurt rather than be simply discomforting.

you grab his wrist and the skin between bakugo’s brows crease at your face’s contortion.

“no wait, katsuki— stop,” you whine, and his fingers slip out of you with prunes from how long they’ve been stuck inside.

“am i doing it wrong?” he questions.

“no…yes?” you pull your underwear up, “i don’t know, it just doesn’t feel good. it, like, literally feels like your fingers are inside me.”

“ain’t that the point?” he says with genuine confusion.

“well, yeah,” you nod, “but like, it feels objective, like it’s a fact that they’re inside and there’s no intangible feeling or like, i don’t know, sensuality.” he leans against his arm as you say this, face squishing against the bone of his palm.

you mirror his action and huff another ‘i don’t know.’ katsuki’s still got a hard on, you can tell from how cheaply he tries to pinch his legs together, obviously not trying to make you feel bad. you express mirth at his concern.

“what?” he smiles back, sharp canines appearing in the stretch of his mouth.

you sigh, “you’re obviously still horny.”

bakugo falls into the bed, face pressed into the duvet, and elongates a; “yes, cuz you’re still sitting there looking so pretty,” and he jokingly presses his palms into prayer hands.

“get the fuck out of here,” you play coy, shoving his face away with a hand that he manages to kiss the palm of. he sits upright and starts combing your hair out of your face repeatedly with a handsome statement in mind.

“why don’t you show me?” you blush at his boldness. though he was a proud figure of confidence and wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, you two were still new to your relationship, not having gone all the way yet. “show me instead of telling me. here, grab my hand and guide me, baby.”

your eyes are watchful as he places his hand in yours, so keen and intent on ensuring your pleasure and not just his own. “baby, come on.” he shakes you out of your daydream to which your face remains in a similar countenance of watchfulness as you comply with his suggestion.

slowly do you guide his hand back down to your lacy thong, slipping underneath with shyness. you play puppeteer with his fingers and let them press into your folds, teasing the outside first.

lustful circles going round and round and, then up and down back to ellipsing again. your mouth falls agape as your throat croaks newfound pleasure. katsuki kisses your cheek lovingly looking down at the lewd motion, “there you go,” your nose wrinkles with a smile at this.

“i like it on the outside first,” your words are overshadowed with arousal, almost too quiet to hear, but bakugo can just make out your sentence, what with how close he is to your lips.

“mhm,” he hums, “i can see that,” boyish chuckles charming the observation. his eyes are narrowed in on the slip and slide of your sandwiched fingers and how your head rocks back and forth accordingly. the sight is an eyesore, “fuck,” he breathes out, kissing your open mouth.

you messily kiss back, tongue swishing over his lips wantonly. “inside now,” you moan and bakugo looks down again, moaning with you when his fingers are sucked in so welcomely.

“fuck baby, you have no idea how sexy you look right now,” his lips pop against your neck as you lean into him, humming in agreement, “so fucking sexy,” he says in a hushed tone, almost to himself.

“kat,” you struggle with cracks of whines coming through.

“yes?”

you moan higher, signalling to your impending climax. “i know baby, i know,” and his mouth is gaped in absolute awe and complete groan when he starts plunging into you himself, the control now his as he applies his newly taught lesson into practice.

your plushy walls stretch against him as his fingers melt against you in deliberately sedate motions, driving you further to your release. wetness up to his knuckles as he continues his leisurely pattern until you muster up the coherence of his name, “katsuki,” you drawl out the final syllable.

“i’m just teasing, baby.” and he pecks your cheek like before till he finally expedites his fun with you until your hand claws at his nape and your thighs become taut as you ride out against his fingers still deep in you.

katsuki’s fingers remain in you when you both laugh and he swipes away your sweat slicked hair from your forehead twice to see more of your pretty face. “you happy now?” he taunts, head titling with his playful question.

“stop it,” you giggle, and you both kiss with a loud ‘mwah,’ “no that was really good.”

“yeah?” katsuki cheeses with pride.

“yeah, like really really good,” you overlap his response with glee and he’s clearly happy to hear that, his shiny fingers a trophy to him.

“show me what you want more often, okay?” his voice is sincere and you can’t help but pull in a downward smile, tiny dimples evident in this.

“okay, katsuki.”

#whispers fairytales ౨ৎ #wh1sp3rr #bakugo x reader #bakugo smut #bakugo x y/n #bakugo fluff #katsuki bakugo smut #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo imagine #katsuki fluff #bakugo drabble #bakugo oneshot

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buckets-and-trees · 6 months

Text

Warm Shadows - Let All Light Go (2/4)

Fandom: MCU Collection: Warm Shadows Title: Let All Light Go Characters/Pairings: Alpha!Steve x f!Omega!Reader, existing Alpha!Bucky x f!Omega!Reader Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: Now that he's claimed you, Captain Hydra takes you back to his new base of operations, his little omega bait for the Soldat. But the bond between an alpha and an omega is a powerful thing that shouldn't be trifled with. [sequel to When You Fall On Me Like Night]

Content Warnings: DARK, a/b/o dynamics, explicit smut, DUBIOUS CONSENT/omega heat, oral - female receiving, vaginal fingering, breast play, vaginal intercourse

Logistical Notes: We've got a dose of pride for @nickfowlerrr's Seven Deadly Sins + Seven Holy Virtues writing event. Now this second part is too late for the Horror Movie Hoe-a-thon, but I had most of it written before the challenge closed, and so I had plucked another dialogue prompt from her list, so I still want to give @witchywithwhiskey credit where it's due, and you'll find the prompt in bold and italics when it appears.

Additional Notes: I had no intention of making this three times as long as the original, but Steve had other plans. So many other plans. Thanks to @biteofcherry for letting me suss out a couple of the things I had questions on plot-wise. Title from Hozier's De Selby (Part 2).

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Steve doesn’t smile anymore. He hasn’t smiled in weeks. And yet the frown on his face is more than the non-smile stoicism that had taken over his demeanor since the ambush outside of Turin. He exhales deeply, washing away the frown as he straps your limp body into the jump seat of the stealth jet. Unconscious and sedated, your head falls forward though your torso is held back by the chest harness of the safety belt. Steve angles your head back against the headrest because if you got a crick in your neck, it will be a problem he doesn’t want to hear you try and complain about later.

He had achieved his objective in coming to Wakanda. Though the operation had played out with slight differences from what he had anticipated, it had gone as close as he could have logically projected in almost every aspect. He knew Bucky. No. The Winter soldier, he corrects. And he knew you. As players in this piece of the plan, you had both been reliably predictable.

As a super soldier Steve knew the strengths, the weaknesses, the limitations, and what Barnes would be susceptible to. That’s why he had been so prepared in laying his trap and incapacitating the asset.

Overpowering you had been easy.

Claiming you had split a slow but building tremor to his system. It had changed what he’d intended to do.

A few hours later as he approaches the remote Hydra base, that disconcerting feeling in his brain that he is working to tamp down still smolders with something unsettled that makes him flick his eyes up to the mirror that allows the pilot to check the interior behind him to see that you’re still in the same state of sedation.

His new conditioning will help him to control this irritating itch.

After touching down and rolling into the hangar, Steve unbuckles you from the seat and slings your unconscious body over his shoulder. He doesn’t stop walking but proceeds to give his brief mission report to the ranking officer on base who was waiting to meet him at the base of the small jet’s cargo ramp as he exits. This man is not his handler but his liaison for the time being. He’s competent enough that Steve if rarely frustrated with him. The power dynamics are something Steve is constantly aware of. Hydra wants to know they are in control and yet learned with the Winter Soldier that an asset stripped of complete autonomy was more inflexible to work with – and impossible to pull back when he broke free. They don’t want to make the same mistake with him, but they give him no illusion over who his allegiance is to now. It’s not a leash, but an unmistakable tether that they will let him tenuously control as long as he ultimately complies.

It's why he has tolerable and private living quarters where he deposits you on top the large bed. He leaves a bottle of water next to you and then leaves. The door to his quarters is controlled by a fingerprint recognition, allowing Steve a fair amount of control over who can come in and out, and he has no intention of giving you access.

He goes to the mess to get food. No one approaches him while he eats. He collects two of the meal boxes that are ready to go – one marked for lunch, one marked for dinner – and brings them back for you.

You’re still asleep when he returns. He takes the time to order routine meal delivery to his quarters for you long term as well as a supply of standard issue clothes and laundry service. This base is a hub for research and development, so the standard of living is functional and minimalistic, which suits him fine, and that is all you will require as his omega.

It's mid afternoon before you finally wake, and he can sense the moment you resume consciousness – his heightened senses heard the change in your breathing, but there’s also an innate sense about it. He wasn’t expecting that.

He shifts slightly where he sits in a boxy armchair reading over some new intelligence reports on his tablet to watch you. You slowly sit up causing the water bottle he set on the mattress next to you to roll against your body, and you frown, then look around and see him almost immediately. Fear and anger show immediately in your face, exactly as he expected.

“Your food is on the counter,” he says flatly.

“I don’t want it.”

“You will,” he responds.

You look away from him, scan the single-room quarters, and then look down to the water bottle again. He hears your small sigh before you pick it up, unscrew the top to take a few sips, then close it and shift to one side of the bed and lay back down, curling up, facing away from him. There’s an east-facing window on that side of the room.

None of this behavior is unexpected, and it’s of no matter to him. He has you here, he’s keeping you here as long as necessary. You’re hurt, you will hold onto your pride at the offense for a long while yet, and he expects it. He’s not offended. It will wear away.

He has a few projects he planned to touch base with various research and development teams on the base, and so now that he knows you’re alert and fine, he has no problem resuming his operations and routines.

The single declaration over the food is all you say to him for the first few days.

Not that he is there much either. He has missions, projects, agendas – his own and Hydra’s, and certainly doesn’t exist to coddle his omega.

An omega, he reminds himself.

There is only one bed, and he doesn’t say one word about it to you. The first night when he returns, you are curled in on yourself on the edge of the bed much as you had been earlier when he left (though he notes you had eaten the roll from the dinner box, so you had moved at some point). He wordlessly changes into his sleepwear and slides beneath the sheets. He figures if it bothers you enough, you can choose to sleep on the small couch or the floor, but he isn’t going to give up the bed to accommodate you.

On the third day, you rise when he does. The small bathroom is the only private part of the living quarters, so he is closed off from you while he showers, but as he eats breakfast and finishes the rest of his morning routine, you sit in the armchair, legs curled up, and watch him with a cool storm in your eyes.

When he returns on the fourth night, you smell different. You wear the same clothes, but you’ve clearly showered, and you must have done what you could to clean your clothes in the sink because you're wearing them and not the base-issued garments. You’re already curled up on your side of the bed, still on top of the bedding, barefoot, but not sleeping yet.

Your state of unrest is burdening his thoughts. It’s an imposition he can’t have.

The way you bleed into his consciousness was the only thing he had stupidly forgotten to even account for in this maneuver to draw out the Soldat. Part of it was because he hadn’t been entirely sure he could successfully make the claiming bond – he knew he could get the bite, but it had been a gamble on whether it would work.

It had.

Though it hadn’t been like a clap of lightning but more like an invisible string threaded between the two of you. He had used it to manipulate the situation that night, but the reality of it had also shifted what his original plan for you had been.

Having never bonded with an omega, he had heard varying reports of how the connections could develop between an alpha and an omega. Some said it was strong enough to reach a degree of non-verbal communication, but this seemed to be developing as more of a constant, pressing awareness as the string wove further through him as the days passed, but an awareness that he was learning to read and decipher.

That cool storm that brewed in your eyes any of the few times you looked at him had to be tamed. He didn’t expect it to go away, but he could not have the rage brewing, growing, and pulsing from you to him. He can’t afford the distraction.

In an operations meeting one of the analysts sits down to the table with two unnecessary books in the stack of things they’ve brought with them, and he remembers that you loved to read.

He deposits a linen tote bag with a stack of books on your bedside table that night, returning after you’re already asleep.

He leaves for a mission across the globe before you wake the next morning.

When he returns three days later, it’s mid-afternoon, and he goes to his quarters after the mission debriefing. You’re sitting almost comfortably on the couch with one of the books. You still regard him with cold, guarded eyes, but you’re wearing the base-issued clothing. It’s plain, utilitarian, slate grey.

He remains with you the rest of the evening, the two of you eating dinner together at the small table in one corner of the room when meals are delivered. You don’t look at him, and he doesn’t watch you too much. He thought he had been focused on the mission. He thinks now the focus had come easily again because you were less angry, an icy ache rather than the rampant and enflamed rage that was only further agitated without anything to do.

The next day is unremarkable with this new development. You read, you wear different clothes from the base again, and he is back to his standard on-base routine, returning to his quarters after dinner but before dark. It’s the same the day after, and then the day after that. The only thing that changes at the end of one more day, is that once you’re settled to sleep and he slides into bed a quarter of an hour later, he’s about to drop off to sleep when he hears you take a deep breath.

His own heart stills. What are you about to do?

“Can I have normal clothes?” you ask softly.

One request could lead to another request, and another.

But if they’re as simple as this, easy enough to appease, he could say yes until he needs to refuse you something he’s not willing to entertain.

“I’ll see it done.”

“Oh,” your response is small, surprised.

“Now sleep,” he says, not a command.

Mid-morning he has a break between consultations, and he pulls one of the base caretakers aside and charges them with accommodating your request.

He returns to you before dinner that night. He simply finished his work earlier than usual that day, it’s nothing more than that. You’re in jeans and a lightweight crewneck sweatshirt. Eating dinner is another quiet affair, but the easiest it’s been out of the few times you’ve shared any meals in this place.

Over the next week he eats breakfast with you and most of his dinners. There’s a sadness that’s growing, but he is also melting the glacier of your guarded hostility.

While eating dinner one evening, you ask, “Where are we?”

“A Hydra research and development facility.”

You give it another moment, and then you press further, “And where’s this facility located?”

He looks up at you across the table and gives a dark, wry smirk. “Europe.” His tone is clipped. He can see you know that’s the end of the information he’s going to give you on the matter.

“How are your books?” he ventures after a few minutes. He had gone to the bookshop in the town to purchase a second stock of books for you earlier in the week.

“I appreciate them,” you answer. Without looking back up at him, you say, “The old you liked to read.”

He glowers at you, but he can see there’s almost a warmth in your eyes. It does something to him, so he drops his eyes back to his plate.

He stands abruptly and takes his plate to the counter by the sink, then he leaves. He won’t entertain that line of conversation with you. He paces through the facility for an hour before he returns. When he sees you seem to have been waiting for him, there’s a small warmth in his chest. You just nod at him, and he nods in return. No more words are exchanged between you that night.

When you both finally retire to bed, he doesn’t say a word or give any sign of reacting to you pulling the covers back on your side of the bed for the first time in this space and climbing into them, he simply does the same on his side. You still stay rigidly still and curled up, nearly on the edge of the mattress, but it’s more than he ever expected from you. The nights following, you maintain this step forward in proximity.

He notices your hand going to your bonding mark from Bucky over the following days, and it happens more and more frequently. He almost says something, but as he scrutinizes your actions, he sees you do it without seeming to think about it. It bothers him, but when he sees it’s not intentional, it’s not jealousy or rage that eats at him, it’s something else.

Because why hasn’t the Soldat come for you yet?

That was the object of the game, after all.

He was sure he hadn’t underestimated the Soldat’s skills or Bucky’s devotion to you. Bucky had, in fact, been spotted close enough in the region that the whole base had been on red alert for three days, certain the Winter Soldier would strike, but he hadn’t. Then the reports were he’d gone further north and left Italy altogether, so the alert had gone down from red to orange, and now sat at yellow - standard caution and operating procedures.

It was bothering him further because you were supposed to be Bucky’s beloved omega. How could he abandon you this long? Work so carelessly? Soldat should be desperate and raising hell at this point.

Because at this point?

It’s why Steve decides to embark on one more mission. He doesn’t tell you where he is going. He didn’t tell you even that he is going. He could already feel your unease growing, the questions and uncertainty. He doesn’t need his omega further agitated.

His mission is quick and successful.

As he returns, there is a sudden spike of fear and adrenaline when he is about an hour out from the base. It burns through his system, and he hasn’t felt any emotions overpower him this strongly in weeks and weeks, but after less than a minute it’s snuffs out almost as quickly as it had flared.

Twenty minutes from landing, a call buzzes in over his comms.

“Captain, our base has been attacked, but we are clear from intruders and in active recovery mode now,” his liaison’s voice relays.

“Intruders?” he growls.

“Full report forthcoming and will be ready by the time you arrive. You are cleared for landing but divert to the machine storage facility rather than our standard hangar, we’ve sustained damage there. End communication.”

Steve slams his fist against the arm rest of the seat – the place he knew could sustain the brunt of his impatience – and it breaks off, smashed away completely.

His landing approach gives him a view of the obvious devastation to the base, the entire northwest quadrant still in flames, but with crews working quickly to extinguish the fire.

His liaison is waiting in a truck to drive from the storage on the outskirts back to the main base.

“Twenty-two casualties, six injured, two hundred on evacuation disbursement orders. Only beta essential personnel and the damage control teams remain, prime essential personnel were evacuated as soon as the intruder was reported.”

Steve frowns. “Identity?”

“Confirmed as the Soldat.”

Steve nods. “You said intruders when you contacted me on approach.”

“We’ve since confirmed it was the Winter Soldier and only him.”

He nods again. That news wasn’t surprising. Had he known I would be gone? He was certainly cutting it close, waiting until almost the eleventh hour to come for his omega.

“Status of the omega?”

“We sedated and moved the omega to our facility outside of Geneva.”

Steve’s entire chest seizes in rage – not only moving his omega without consulting him, but to sedate her without any thought? It doesn’t matter that it’s standard protocol for prisoners, you’re his omega. However, every alarm in his head rings immediately that he can not show any ripple of emotion or he may very well never see his omega again. He won’t make the same mistake again – not for a third time.

“Geneva will be the next center of operations for current projects?” he asks.

“Correct. Early calculations project that this base can be functional again in four to five months, and we’ll evaluate whether projects will move back, or continue in Geneva and other bases in the region and clear the way for new initiatives here. We thought you would want to see evidence and damages yourself here first, which is why I didn’t redirect you once we had entered the first recovery stages after clearing all immediate threats, Captain.”

“The logical call,” he agrees.

Four and a half hours later, he touches down in Geneva, but it’s another two hours before he can escape all the protocol and regrouping strategy conversations. Within ten minutes after that, he’s in the new living quarters assigned to him on the Swiss base.

And there you are. Haphazardly deposited on the bed, but there all the same. He lets out a breath as he closes the door behind him. It locks automatically. He drops his pack on the couch and then makes his way to you. He rights your body, laying you fully across the bed and straightening your limbs. He removes your shoes and tucks a pillow beneath your head. He could smell you immediately on entering the quarters, but handling your body now confirms you’re dangerously close to breaking into your heat a day earlier than you were supposed to. He has no doubt it’s due to the distress of the day. That spike of fear and adrenaline he felt earlier had to have been you moments before you were sedated for transport.

He examines your neck, but sees no evidence of an injection, which leaves sedation by inhalation. In a situation where they needed efficiency and couldn’t chance a miscalculation of precision, it was the logical move. It also narrows things down to one of two compounds currently in use for inhaled sedation, which he appreciates.

Then he sees the bloom of a bruise forming already on your arm just above the elbow, and his brow furrows. He will review the footage and he will find out who did this to you.

Satisfied in general over your state – even breathing and no other visible injuries – he turns his attention to the new living quarters. It’s still a studio set up, but moderately larger than the Turin facility. There he’d been assigned quarters for an individual, and this is clearly one of the units designed for Hydra personnel with a partner. A marked difference here is an area that is sectioned off as a study with a desk and a bookshelf. There are already some books there, but empty shelves that can be filled as well.

There’s a decently sized case on the table in the kitchenette area. Inside is a selection of personal effects transported here from Turin, likely collected after the initial evacuation of personnel, but delivered here in those first two hours while he was in the strategy meetings upon arrival. There are a few items of his clothing, a modest selection of the wardrobe he’d arranged for you, toiletries, and even your small accumulation of books.

He has just finished unpacking the case when he can sense you stirring on the bed. A moment later he feels the spike of unease and tension as you register the new surroundings, sitting up on the bed, but he’s already approaching you.

He can feel the diminution of your nerves when your eyes land on him, but he sees the initial wave of relief in your eyes that you also try and stamp away in an instant.

He sits cautiously but with no apology on the edge of the bed next to you.

“Where are we?”

“A new facility.”

Your eyes study him for a moment. He knows you’re assessing that his answer means he won’t give you details. “Still in Europe?”

He nods.

“How long since the former facility was compromised?” you ask.

He smirks. You were always intelligent – not that it would have been difficult to figure out, but he’s proud of how quickly your mind works.

You huff at his hesitation and roll your eyes. “If you think I’ll use the information to try and figure out where we might be, I don’t know where we started, so it won’t be of any use to me, I’m just hungry and want to know how much time I’ve lost.”

“It’s been somewhere between seven to eight hours.”

He reaches for his communications tablet and quickly orders a standard meal for each of you to be delivered as he hasn’t eaten much either.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” you break the silence again. “Bucky found me.”

He hadn’t planned to tell you, but he won’t lie to you. “Yes”

“He’ll find me again. He said that wherever I went, he would find me.”

“Oh, I know.” His stare is back on you. “That’s the entire point. I need the Soldat.”

The silence that builds between you two is full of anger on your side. There’s nothing else for him to explain, but he’s curious to see how long you’ll keep this moment stretching on before ending it or saying something else.

But it grows more and more uncomfortable, and you try not to fidget. You’ve never been one to fidget, and certainly not over these past few weeks at any point around him. Then he notices the beads of perspiration gathering on your brow.

“Your heat, Omega.”

“My heat, not yours.”

“Sure,” he laughs cruelly. He reaches out to touch your cheek, somewhat patronizingly.

“Don’t touch me!” you snarl and snap your jaws at him, causing him to withdraw his hand immediately. “I don’t need you.”

“Fine.” He stands and retreats, not because he fears you in the slightest, but because he won’t fight your petulance, not when he has better things he can do at least for now. “Face your heat alone, Omega.”

He leaves, hearing you let out another impatient huff just as the door closes behind him.

He leaves you in pursuit of one of the data analysis rooms. If you’re going to be difficult and refuse him, he can do better things with his time until you’re ready to bend and keen for him. Once there, he logs into the system and pulls up the footage from Turin. He watches every frame of the Winter Soldier’s attack on the facility. It was shown earlier when he was meeting with the Hydra officers in debriefing the attack, but now he can study it alone in its entirety, moving from camera to camera outside, and then through each hallway and room without commentary from anyone else, able to slow down and rewind each moment as he sees fit.

It’s masterful.

And he looks directly at cameras after many of the kills. Twenty-two casualties and only six injuries? That’s intentional. He knows the Soldat could have executed this more quietly, and that’s evident in how he exits when he realizes you’ve been moved. From that point, his exit strategy has him engaging with almost no one, but setting fires and explosions, leaving enough damage in his wake to send his message.

It’s effective.

Steve narrows the block of time from the incident on the base and watches additional footage from the same ten-minute period. It’s every frame of the footage related to your acquisition, sedation, and transport from the base. He is interested in discovering just how the Soldat knew when to retreat, and he leaves notes in his log and in addition to drafting and sending a memo with some of his theories and observations to his primary liaison and a few of the officers on the taskforce. But his primary objective was to figure out who handled you so roughly, and he does. They will be dealt with later. He can’t expose such a personally driven need to deal out punishment.

While he’s been gone he’s felt the tenor of your emotions tugging at him – not tugging insistently, and with how tightly you’ve tried to control and suppress your emotions over the past few weeks, this must mean you’re battling to keep things at bay, pushed beneath the surface. As soon as he enters, he clocks the spiking fluctuations of your hormones. Since returning with you from Wakanda, he’s read extensively over the heat cycles, and this situation gives all the signs that you’re vacillating precaiously between falling into either a standard heat or a dry heat. You’re trying to stave off the heat as long as possible, but it will come, and if you fight it too hard, it will be a dry heat, which will be physically and mentally painful for you and difficult for him to navigate with you. He needs to edge you carefully from that tipping point of the dry heat.

You’re sitting at the table, having polished off one of the meals already and eating the last bits of the other one. It looks like they were boxes with sandwiches, fruit, and vegetables. You’ve left the celery from both servings. He smirks, but he’s glad you’ve eaten. That’s a good sign.

In another attempt at normalcy, desperate to keep things at bay, you push the chair out across the table from you with your foot, nodding for him to sit. You try and engage him in completely normal lines of conversation. He knows what you’re doing. He’ll entertain it for at least a little while so he can assess more of your state and how he should handle it.

He’s more concerned with watching you than listening to what you’re saying. You stand to refill your cup with water, and he follows you to the sink. He reaches into the cupboard and gets a glass of his own, encroaching somewhat into your space very casually. It doesn’t put you on edge, so he eases even closer, as you continue to talk. He puts a hand on your shoulder and leans in to fill his cup with the tap. There’s a slight hitch in your breathing at his proximity. He pushes the teasing of his closeness even more, moving his hand down your arm and resting it on the counter next to yours.

“I know what you need, Omega,” he whispers against the shell of your ear.

He can feel you do everything you can to remain still.

But then you turn your head ever so slightly toward him. “The last time you touched me, you humiliated me.” Your voice is flat.

He doesn’t respond, but he also doesn’t move.

Finally, you ask, “What did they do to you?” your voice barely above a whisper.

The dangerous question comes out of nowhere, and the surge of emotion it evokes in him is immediate. He growls, whipping away, not even thinking before he slams his fists on the table. It splits in two clean pieces. He grabs one before it even falls to the floor and throws it against the wall, smashing it, splinters flying.

He turns back, advancing on you, and you’re already trembling. He doesn’t relent, forcing you up against the wall, caging you in. He pounds his fist into the wall right above your head, and you close your eyes, afraid to move. He can smell the fear in your scent now, but there can be no confusion here.

“No, Omega,” he speaks low, and his other hand moves lightning fast to grip your chin. He can feel your pulse racing beneath his fingers. “Look at me.” You open your eyes. “We aren’t doing that.”

He leaves a beat of silence between you.

“Do you understand?”

You nod.

He drops your chin, then grips the neck of your shirt and yanks, ripping the fabric down the front and jerking you forward, making you bump into his chest. He picks you up and hauls you across the room with a few furious strides to drop you onto one of the armchairs.

You right yourself in the seat as he steps back, but only an arm’s length away. He doesn’t have to use his alpha voice or say the words. He knows the look he gives you communicates his instruction: stay put, don’t move.

He slowly undresses, unfastening, unbuckling, unzipping. He places each article of his dark tactical suit in an orderly pile on the coffee table. It’s purposeful, this tactic. The onset of your heat is only a moment away. You’ve been doing everything in your power to stave it off. Part of him clocks this enormous show of strength and sees it for more than stubbornness, recognizing the discipline and power within you. But this has gone on long enough, he needs you to finally tumble over the edge, and he will push you if he must.

He watches you watching him as he reveals each expanse of naked flesh – arms and torso, legs, and finally his loins when he slips off his boxer briefs. He’s hard for you, of course he is, the pheromones have been flooding out of you, and he wasn’t tempted to touch you in Turin, but now it’s all he can think about. He wants your body supple and pliant, submissive beneath him. He stands above you, looming, imposing – he knows he is, and he wants you to feel that he can do this – and pumps his cock slowly with his own fist.

He does it a few more times, watching you watch him. He sees the small ripple of a shudder you can’t suppress when your breath hitches.

“Undress,” he commands.

Your jaw ticks up. He knows you don’t like it – he felt it the first time he gave you an alpha command, and he hasn’t again until this moment. You look down as you reach behind your back to unclasp your bra and slide it off, dropping it to the floor. You stubbornly refuse to meet his eye since he’s making you do this – he knows it. You hook your thumbs into your waistband, and you push your leggings and underwear down in a slight huff.

“Spread your legs,” he issues another command.

You do, still refusing to meet his eye. Part of it is the irritation over the commands, but he knows part of it is also the trepidation still pulsing through you. He doesn’t want to make this easy for you, but he doesn’t want you to suffer the agony of a dry heat where you’ll be agitated, devoid of slick, in pain, and distressed.

He sinks to his knees between your parted thighs, but now you can’t help but look at him staking his claim there so close to your exposed core. He can see you have a million questions in your eyes, it’s the most you’ve allowed him to glimpse of you – the real you – these past weeks.

He lowers his head, keeping his eyes on yours, and licks a slow, broad stripe from the side of your knee along the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He can feel you tense and hold your breath. And he stops inches from your warm cunt, pulling back and kneeling back on his heels.

You whimper.

He knows he has you now.

“Touch yourself, Omega,” he doles out the third command. He knows how he wants this to play out.

“Don’t make me,” you plead, but your hands are already slowly moving to your center.

“Do it,” he barks, and you flinch.

There’s a little bit of slick between your pussy lips, and he watches you trace a finger slowly over your folds, up and down. You drop your head down and to the side, refusing once more to look at him.

“Omega, have you ever experienced the pain of a dry heat?”

You huff.

“Is that what you want?”

“I want him!” you blurt, and you certainly must not have meant to say it out loud because your hands immediately fly to cover your mouth and your eyes flash to him in fear. And anger. Both are there.

He growls and surges forward to claim your clit between his lips, clamping his hands at the juncture of your thighs to keep your legs open. He sucks hard and flicks his tongue angrily over the little bundle of nerves, drawing a cry from you immediately. Your hands push at his head, but there’s no match for his strength, and he holds your pelvis firmly to his face.

“No, no, no,” you murmur, starting to cry.

He keeps up the furious sucking and flicking, and it’s less than a minute before he feels your whole body seize up, frozen as the first orgasm crashes down on you. Slick begins to seep out in abundance, and he hums in approval, but he doesn’t relent, only changes his tactics. He flattens his tongue and laps at your cunt, letting his tongue slip between your folds and into your hole every two or three licks. It’s less frenzied, but no less insistent, and he rips a second orgasm from you easily. He hums in approval as this time that blissful wave forces you to throw your head and shoulders back, and you land against the back of the armchair, clutching at the rim of it next to your head.

But he won’t relent yet.

He reaches up to cup one of your breasts in his hand, and you moan and push your chest forward for him, head still thrown back, and he imagines your eyes must be shut. He squeezes your breast, then tweaks your nipple, and your breath hitches. He presses his mouth back to your folds and works his lips over your puffy, engorged clit, working slowly this time. He draws his hand away from your breast, and then he slides the fingers that just tweaked your nipple into your tight heat. He pumps slowly, and your hand moves to the back of his head, applying insistent pressure there. He crooks the fingers and strokes along your front wall, and he knows he finds the spot of your undoing when your legs abruptly shift, the left lengthening out, and your right hitching up over his shoulder to press into his back. He doesn’t change a thing now, sucking, pressing. He knows you’re on your way, but he will not hasten this. He wants you to feel every drawn out moment of this – some but not enough of what you need.

Paying attention to every breath above him, every movement of your body, and especially the way your muscles start to squeeze around the fingers he has inside you, he stops just short of your third orgasm.

You whine in protest, but he pushes himself up to stand above you. He grabs your waist and hauls you easily with his preternatural strength up and over his shoulder. You claw at his back, but it’s only a few quick steps for him to be able to throw you down onto the bed.

Your fear from his outburst is long gone, and the face you turn up at him is angry, and you snarl, quickly kneeling up on the bed.

He grasps your chin in his slick-covered hand and looks into your face. “You will beg for me, and only then will I consider whether or not I will touch you again or let you suffer.”

He drops your chin and is already turning away, but you’re lightning fast in reaching for his wrist.

He stops and only inclines his head part of the way to look back at you.

“Take me,” you plead, voice stronger than he expected.

He furrows his brow.

“Please,” you implore.

He turns fully back to you. Perhaps he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is. You’d always been adaptable and clever, and rarely stubborn to your own detriment. You had been stubbornly trying to hold the heat at bay, dangerously so to tempt the dry heat, but he knows this is an extreme circumstance for you, and with the tide turned yet again, he was almost impressed that you had so quickly determined it was worth it to take what you needed.

“Then present,” he says simply.

You turn, moving up to the middle of the bed, but close to the headboard, and kneel on all fours.

He climbs up behind you.

You drop down to your elbows, subjecting yourself to him, omega to alpha.

He takes his cock in his hand and rubs the angry red tip up and down your slick folds. You whimper, and he sees the small shiver that runs down your spine. He sinks his thick length into your tight heat, and you both groan as he fills you for the first time. He doesn’t move once his hips are finally flush against your ass. He breathes in and out, in and out, and watches your measured breaths as well.

He did not know it would be like this.

He reaches forward, grips your shoulder, and pulls you up and back towards him. Your hands move to reach out to steady yourself on the headboard. He presses his fingers into that juncture at your neck where he claimed you, and you keen, throwing your head back. He leans forward and while his right hand stays anchored at your hip, his left strokes that bite again, then moves to hold the front of your neck as he leans down and forward over you. You look up at him, he looks down at you. “You’re fucking mine, Omega,” he growls, your eyes locked.

“Yes, Alpha.”

Then he feels you rock your hips back against his. He smooths his hand down your neck, then presses his lips to your forehead. “You’re mine,” he says again, imprinting the words against your skin.

Then he pulls back and thrusts into you. A few thrusts like that, but as you begin to keen for him, begging for more, he has to drop back and grip your hips with both hands to fuck you. You both come twice – once quickly, and once more very slowly – before you’re boneless beneath him, and he forces you down to the mattress, shifting you to your side and drawing you up against his chest. You whine, but he strokes your arm and promises he’ll give you more once you sleep.

While you sleep in his arms, sticky and sweaty, his mind goes to work.

It’s not long before you wake again, and you two truly fuck, carnal bleeding with a few moments that are too tender for either of you to acknowledge. But his stamina outmatches yours and he has you exhausted and sleeping again before long.

He’s never taken care of an omega in heat before, and it’s all-consuming, but he stays focused. When you’re awake, he plies your body with pleasure until you cry, keen, moan, scream aloud and silently, and it goes on and off again between sex and sleep all through the day. He’s prepared for your reluctance during the first high phase of the heat to eat or drink anything, but he slips you bits of fruit and nuts as he can, gets you to greedily gulp water only after he pushes it your way insistently. You want his cock, not hydration or nutrition.

A little before midnight the second night, you stretch and yawn waking from another of your short sleeps, and then you roll out of bed and pad to the bathroom. He’s been rooting through some of the cupboards, taking stock of what’s there, and he finishes quickly and follows you into the bathroom after he hears you flush the toilet and then turn on the showerhead. You’re slipping into the shower when he enters the bathroom, and he’s there in time for you to give the silent invitation for him to join you – the expectation, even.

You’re still in heat, but craving a shower lets him know you’ll have enough of your mind back for what needs to happen now.

Things are tenuous, but there’s no denying that this heat has changed things for both of you. He claimed you in Wakanda, but the two of you have bonded through the first thirty hours of this heat in ways neither of you thought possible.

He takes the lathered-up sponge you place in his hands, and he washes your body carefully. Then you take it back, soap it up again, and run it over his skin with the same kind of attention.

He washes your hair, you rinse away the suds, and then he pulls you flush against him. You take his hardening cock in your hand and pump shamelessly. He groans appreciatively, than pushes your back up against the tiles, moves your hands away, and pulls your leg up around his waist so he can enter you. You clutch at his shoulders for stability and moan. He buries his head into the crook of your neck, but he speaks just loud enough for you to hear, “This is the only place I’m sure no one will hear us, but they also need to have no reason to question what’s happening if they’re monitoring.” He moves his hips back and then pumps slowly into you again. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you moan, “more, Alpha.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly, though he knows you can’t see it. He tongues his bite at your neck, and you whimper. He gives you another thrust, and you keen.

“I won’t have you anywhere near these Hydra personnel anymore. I don’t trust them.”

The surprised noise that escapes your throat is slightly distressed, and so he speeds up his thrusts a little. “My heat,” you whisper.

“The heat cycle is the only time no one expects me to be anywhere or respond to anyone unless there’s complete catastrophe, and I already reported the onset of your heat last night. They won’t disturb us for a few more days, and they will not expect us to attempt to leave our quarters let alone the facility. If we can manage to get out unnoticed, we will have enough of a head start on time to lose them completely.”

You remain quiet.

“Omega?”

“And go where?”

“You don’t need to know that.”

You push his face away from your neck and push at his chest. “I’m still nothing more than your bait?”

He growls and turns you around so your chest and face are pressed up against the wall.

“I’m still your alpha, and yes my end game is still to draw out the Soldat.”

“Why?”

“I need him.”

He nudges your legs apart and enters you from behind, and you groan as he fills you.

He pulls back, about to enter you again, but then you turn your head, and gasp, “Wait,” in a tone that’s different enough that he does, brow furrowing as he meets your eyes.

“Omega?”

“Tell me what happened to Sam, to you, and I promise I’ll go with you willingly.”

He didn’t think you knew Sam had been with him.

You reach for his head and urge him back to the cradle of your neck.

With more than your words and the gentle action, you’re also entreating him through the bond, he can feel it. It’s powerful. And so he tells you. It only takes him two sentences to tell you what you need to know. Tears stream down your face, and he fucks you then, the fucking he needs for him, not you, but you allow him to take.

go immediately to part three: Carving Through the Dark

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

read more from the Dark Forest Fest

#steve rogers x reader #captain hydra x reader #steve rogers smut #dark steve rogers x reader #the seven writing event #nickfowlerrr's writing event #aspen's dark forest fest #omegaverse #marvel omegaverse #aspen wrote something #warm shadows au #tw: dubcon

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myster-roca · 6 months

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Desires and Deception: Full Undercover

"Your assignment: Assume the identity of a high-profile businessman and fitness guru with deep connections to the underworld elite.

Your objective: Infiltrate a high-stakes bodybuilding event where one of the underworld's most influential figures, deeply involved in a clandestine affair, is about to take center stage. A complete physical transformation is your only cover."

On the surface, his existence seems so different from mine. He's deeply entrenched in the world of luxury, surrounded by the glitter and glamour of the upper class.

I lead a life of shadows and secrecy, a chameleon in the backdrop of society. While he basks in the spotlight, I thrive in the darkness.

Yet, as I become more familiar with his life, I realize that beneath the facades, we're not so dissimilar. We both wear masks, albeit of different kinds.

He portrays an image of power and wealth, and I craft identities to delve into the hidden realms of espionage. We're both performers, navigating the stage of our own making, just on opposite sides of the curtain.

Within the covert operations division, our team constituted a rare breed, masters of disguise, each possessing an exceptional talent for the craft of metamorphosis.

We shared an unspoken bond born from the countless secrets we held and the trust we placed in one another.

The intricately crafted muscle suit lay before me like a silent partner in this clandestine masquerade. I'd done this countless times before, but the excitement and tension of the moment never ceased to grip me.

This moment brings a complex blend of emotions to my entire body.

There's the weight of responsibility, knowing that I must seamlessly become another person, thinking, speaking, and moving as they do.

But there's also the thrill of the challenge, the adrenaline rush that comes with immersing myself in a persona utterly distinct from my own.

As I slipped into the suit, the material stretched and molded to my physique. My hands found their way to the attached silicone gloves. The snug fit accentuated every contour, making me look more sculpted than ever.

My team of ingenious innovators had left no stone unturned to make the muscle suit as lifelike as humanly possible. Their unwavering dedication shone through in the meticulous attention to detail.

My pulse quickened with anticipation as the muscles subtly inflated, intensifying the illusion of strength and confidence.

With every stroke, the skilled hands erased my facial hair, and I could almost sense a new identity taking shape.

The skintone had been impeccably matched, with the paintwork skillfully blending the boundary between reality and artifice.

I marveled at their exceptional precision as they carefully placed the snow-white silicone prosthetic skin onto my scalp, deftly concealing the intricate details at the rear.

Each brushstroke they applied infused the blank canvas with a spectrum of shades and tones, gradually merging it with the flesh-colored muscle suit.

The cap clung to my scalp, obscuring any hint of my natural hair. Their unparalleled expertise accomplished an astounding feat, vanquishing visible seams and ensuring a flawless integration with the rest of the suit.

As I rose to my feet, I could feel the muscles discreetly swelling, enhancing my size and making me appear more imposing. Enthralled by this transformation, I locked my gaze onto the mirror, realizing that, except for my own face, the reflection before me resembled that of a complete stranger.

The next phase was even more unsettling. I couldn't help but feel vulnerable, yet excited, as I closed my eyes and immersed myself in embodying the fitness guru's charisma and unwavering drive for power.

Seated before the vanity, I felt the cool touch of silicone on my skin. With each prosthetic piece, I watched myself morph into the figure whose aura and allure I admired and now emulated.

My own features were vanishing, slowly replaced by the chiseled jawline, pronounced cheekbones, and the perfectly shaped nose.

Each adjustment, every little tweak, brought me closer to becoming the fitness influencer I needed to become.

The transformation has reached its halfway point, yet I can't shake the persistent unease that lingers within me. Something feels awry, lacking in authenticity.

This void echoes the emptiness I've felt in past impersonations. The team is well aware of this predicament, which motivated them to develop a new technology aimed at resolving the issue. Although they conducted numerous beta tests, this marks the first field trial.

I stood from my chair and began to don the silicone muscle pants, preparing myself for the next step.

The pants appeared remarkably sophisticated, quite different from the silicone muscle pants I had initially envisioned. Nevertheless, the team assured me that this unique design was intentional, tailored to fulfill its specific purpose.

As I settled into a sleek, state-of-the-art machine, they assured me that it would serve as the catalyst for the forthcoming comprehensive transformation. The team then delved into an explanation of the pants' fabric and the silicone prosthetic pieces they had attached, emphasizing their integration with nanites.

They elaborated on how these minuscule marvels were precisely programmed to discern the unique contours and characteristics of my body, thereby enabling the seamless fusion of the material with my own skin. This intricate process would ensure an astonishingly lifelike and untraceable metamorphosis.

The machine enclosed around my waist with a gentle yet firm embrace. I could feel its mechanisms hum to life as it began its work. A warm, viscous liquid began to flow from the machine's hidden nozzles, gently cascading down my legs and torso.

The sensation was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was as if I were being submerged in a pool of liquid silk. I watched, my heart racing, as the substance encased my legs and torso. It was as if the nanites and the liquid skin were in perfect harmony, dancing a choreography that was breathtaking to experience.

The machine released me, and I fell forward, landing on my hands and knees. The ground was cold and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the heat that surged within me. As I struggled to regain my footing, I realized that I was sweating, my skin tingling with life.

My skin glistened with sweat as the nanites engulfed my whole body. My senses were on fire as the second skin adapted to the shape of my own body, molding itself to me with an almost sentient understanding. I could feel the air against my skin as I breathed deeply, savoring the newfound sensations.

I stood on my feet, and a tidal wave of power surged through my veins—a breathtaking rush of unearthed strength that sent shivers of exhilaration cascading down my spine. I was utterly captivated by the profound transformation I had undergone.

It was as though this second skin had reshaped the core of my existence. It was no longer just a disguise; it had become a part of my own being.

Overwhelmed by curiosity and newfound confidence, I couldn't resist the urge to explore my transformed physique.

As I flexed my thighs, I could feel their utmost solidity, the sensation of unyielding strength resonating through my body. My legs, once unassuming and lean, now bore the weight of sculpted power.

Running my hands across my chest, I felt the hard contours beneath my fingers, swelling with a sense of pride. My pectoral muscles were now pronounced and firm. I couldn't resist running my fingers over the chiseled ridges of my new washboard abs.

With each movement, I admired the pronounced biceps and triceps, each muscle responding to my command. Flexing my forearms, the veins stood out like a roadmap of my uncovered power.

I had truly become the living embodiment of the role I was about to play.

With the transformation complete, I am reborn in the shadows, ready to dance into the abyss of intrigue and danger, playing my part in a game where trust is a currency of uncertainty, and the truth remains veiled forever.

To Be Continued . . .

#male body transformation #male bodysuit #body change #male transformation #male skin #male disguise #male body suit #male form #hot male

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kaylas-world-0 · 6 months

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Bullfrog x h!reader

Summery; You and Bullfrog having some talk on a rooftop.

A/N: Gonna try a different style this time. I can't get enough of this frog.

Warnings: mention of physical fresh wounds and a bit blood, maybe a little bit angsty?

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.2k

Btw does anyone want to be in the tag list?

Rooftop Talks

Your eyes were glued to the building in front of you, you were watching this city that was plunged the appetite of the stars into darkness due to the light population, your attention was not on those around you, they might think that the city did not need the brightness of the stars, but they definitely needed something that could illuminate its somewhat nescient darkness. They couldn't walk around with their eyes closed every day. A sour expression appeared on your face with your aching body, your feet dangling off the rooftop you were sitting on. Your eyes turned to look at the moon, which is casting a gentle beam of light upon you causing a soft smile appear on your lips. You had always loved the quiet of the night, though even as darkness fell it was too early for most of the citizens to be asleep and there was still a distinct amount of noise in the city, but not as much as in the morning... And you still valued it, taking advantage of these quiet moments. You used the silence it could give you as much as possible and relaxed your tired body by taking a deep breath.

“Mon cherie?” You blinked with a familiar accent, easing you to come out of your thoughts, “I'm sorry to interrupt your serenity, but… maybe you should put this on your eye first… umm… before a bruising forms.”

You looked at his hand reaching out to you with a sympathetic expression. He had a can of soda in his hand, obviously cold, “Desole, that was all I could find, mon soleil.”

You couldn't help but smile when you saw that he looked upset that he couldn't help you much right now. You rejected his offer without any feedback and gently pushed his hand back, shivering at the touch of the cold soda, it was a cold enough night as it was, not wanting to press it against your body was just another excuse, "Don't apologize for that. Besides, you need it more than I do." You pointed out his obvious state. When he lowered his hand and frowned at your answer, you sighed, “Have you ever looked in the mirror? You may have stopped bleeding, but you're covered in more blood than I am." You'd be lying if you said you weren't too worried about his well-being, but he gave you plenty of assurances that he was fine. You are still unsure if you believe it. You also objected when he offered to get something cold for your eye, which of course wasn't a real offer, he was just trying to be nice, he was going to bring you one and he did. You knew he was tired after the previous events, you didn't want to wear him out any further.

A small smile formed on his lips: "Most of it isn't mine. So, worry not! I do not normally do such a messy job, but... how was I supposed to know you'd suddenly show up? (It's not your fault but still) It's my job to make sure you're okay... and no one should know that I... know you. I will not put you in further danger." Before you could open your mouth to question his concerns and talk about his worries, he suddenly slid in next to you and pressed the cold can over your swollen eye. You pulled back slightly, hissing at the cold and pain you felt. His face turned sour and he immediately uttered words of apology. Exhaling, you tried to relax your body and let him touch the can over your eye again, making you shiver, but this time you didn't pull away.

You almost turned red when you suddenly realized how close your bodies were. His gentle touch always felt nice, and under his soft eyes he observed with great attention as he scanned your facial features for any other injuries. Your face burned, your heart was almost beating out of its place. When you started talking, his honey colored eyes met with yours, "Y-You know I'm fine. You need to stop worrying about me and start taking care of yourself for once.”

He smiled at that, “Look who is talking.” You pouted with his words.

He shrugged, smiling in response to your half-lidded gaze. You two were seemingly ignoring what had happend, neither of you wanting to talk about it right now and ruin the moment. Although you knew that he wouldn't let this issue go easily and that you wouldn't be able to run from it for a long time. But you were still having a hard time with him, your faces were too close to each other, he is still pressing the cold can to your eye so carefully... Yes, you can do it yourself, but you didn't know if you could point it out and save yourself for your sake of mind or if you actually liked it. You know he is in close contact for your own good. You felt like he was getting closer to you with each passing second, you weren't sure if it was intentional or not. You knew he liked warm things, maybe your warmth is what draws him to you? You didn't know.

You tried to glance anywhere else other then him, though it was hard to do with how close he is. You mustered up a bit corage to move a bit backwards and swallowed, you didn't wanted to seem like you are fleeing from him or worse.

He didn't seem to notice or give a much thought about it. But he did lowered his hand a bit from your eye, "You know, Mon amour, I'm glad we met." You didn't expected those words slipping out of his lips, to be honest you were actually expecting for something like a comment about your slight uncomfortableness but it wasn't true you were just nervous. He chuckled lightheartedly at your wide eye expression.

"You are glad that my father hired you?"

"Well, I've never had this much fun before." You blinked with his words. He was being genuine. You softly laughed at that, “Well, I'm glad I met you too. In fact, you're kinder and nicer than most men I've ever encounter..."

Yeah, you know he is an assasin hired by your father. (You learned this far far later of course, when someone tried to hurt you, he was suddenly there?, so you can guess the rest.) And, yes, your father worked for Eden. But then why is Bullfrog helping him? Things were really complicated, even for you. In short, Bullfrog was sent for you. No, not to kill you. To protect you. You learned this not too far after you two met. Of course, your father never mentioned him before. He always followed very close, like your shadow wherever you went, as if he was your guardian angel or something. You didn't know why, but you felt attracted to him in some kind of way. You couldn't explain why you were never afraid of him or why you were so close to him, but you guessed that might be because how gentle he is and kind? Maybe something entirely else. Oh, and why Bullfrog is helping a worker of Eden you may ask? Well, you just find out about it today. It's beacuse he never worked with them to began with! Maybe you should be proud of it. Your father planning his betrayal from the very beginning. And he worked so hard for your life to be as normal and happy as possible. He doesn’t want you to get involve any of his job. And you might just done that today… That’s something you don’t wanna worry about right now.

You two stared into each others eyes without any further word. He didn’t leaned in and neither did you… just observed each other. You gently grabbed his hand, he seemingly sighed with your warmth on top of his. “I think I’ll handle the rest.”

He blinked then smiled, “Whatever you say, miel. Just tell me whenever your pretty hand gets cold I could return back the job.” He sighed as he leave the can to your hold.

“Of course—“ You paused. Did he just called your hand pretty or you misheard it? You nervously pressed the cold can over your eye. His smile growed seeing your flustered expression but it as quickly faded as he saw you shiver with the breeze. He got up to his feet and quickly inform you he will be back quickly and without letting you say anything he was out of your sight with a blink of an eye.

You pouted at that, “He is gone again.” You heaved a sigh and continue pressing the can over your eye. Your flushed cheeks are went back to normal by now. Your eye not hurting anymore, instead it felt numb with the cold.

You flinched when you felt something on your shoulders. You find Bullfrog behind you resting a blanket over your shoulders with a warm smile. He tilted his head with your surprise stare, “How do you feel now, better?” His accent flowing heavily in the air until it reached your ear. Your eyes widen as if you just understand what just happend. You quickly wrapped yourself in the warmth. “Yes! Oh god, thank you!” You happily gasped. You didn’t even question where he get this from, you were too happy and relieved to care at the moment.

He smiled at that and sat next to you, “Well, I am happy you are comfortable, mon cherie. It’s a bit windy up hereeEE!!!—” His sentence abruptly stoped as he yelped when your hands reached and wrapped around his small body, forcefully pulling him in. You wrapped the blanket around both of you and sighed happily as you rested your head over his head. Now it was his time to get flustered.

He cleared his throat mostly to get himself back to shape, you were sure he was about to melt under you along with the warmth, he was trying so hard to not lean back and suck it all in. You rolled your eyes at his tense body, “Come on, don’t be like this, relax. It’s not like I am gonna eat you or anything… Or have I?” You playfully nudge his sides as he sighed at your comment and attempts to cause him to squeal or laugh, “Okay, you are not ticklish, noted.” It wouldn’t be pleasant if he was anyway, so you guess it’s good for his sake. He shoked his head at that and leaned on your body without any words. You could see he was flustered but you didn’t point it out, instead you give him some time to relax. You reached out for the can and press it back on your eye while you were at it, not wanting a black eye. Your mind pondered a bit, while he pressed on your warm body, quite, a bit out of his character.

“Hey, can I ask you something… if that’s okay?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” You chuckled nervously with his answer. “Well, I don’t wanna… uhmm… sound offensive?”

He hummed at that, “I know you won't insult me on purpose, so it's okay, you can ask whatever you're wondering about, I'll try to answer as best as I can.” You felt a bit more on ease with his gentle reassurance. You pressed your lips and laid your head on his, after a little sigh you mustered up your question, “Have you ever… I dunno… croaked before?”

He snorted at that, “R-Really? That was what you were wondering?”

You pressed your flushed face on his head, trying to hide yourself as your arms tighten a bit more around him, “Y-Yes…?” You stuttered out.

His laughter died down as he sucked a deep breath, “To answer your question. Not intentionally but yes. It doesn’t happen often either. You can think them as like hiccups.”

"Oh…"

He patted your cheek affectionately, “Don’t worry, mon amour. I sometimes have questions about humans too, not specifically towards you but yes…”

“Really? Like what?” You were actually surprised with that but you guessed it must be normal.

He pondered a bit, “Well, nothing comes to my mind right now…”

You hummed at the fact that he seemed to be a bit flustered about it but you didn’t pursue his behavior, “Like you said, you can ask me anything whenever you want.” He nodded at that rather quickly like dismissing it.

He smiled at himself and hummed, you notice him pulling out a can of juice. He took out its straw and dipped it into the box, "Want some?"

You breathed out a laugh, "Sure." You leaned in for a sip as he reached it out to you.

After taking a long sip you sighed, now recalling the little issue back at your house, “Hey, I think we need to go shopping tomorrow. There's nothing in the house for us to cook or eat. Nor clothes for me to wear for the winter much.”

He snickered, “You mean for me to cook for you?”

You muttered, glancing away, “Well, I admit you can cook better than me. In fact, I've never had better food than what you cook."

He smiled proudly at that, “Thanks!” He sipped his juice happily.

There was silence, a pause. You grumbled now noticing your empty stomach. "Speaking of your cooking. I think I'm really hungry. I guess I shouldn't be surprised after all that hustle and bustle. I could really use some." Your stomach ached and growled angrily at you causing Bullfrog to smile.

"Let's order something."

"Let's go back to my place then."

#bullfrog #bullfrog x reader #allenwrites #reader #x reader #captain lazerhawk spoilers #captain lazerhawk

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mapoeggplant · 1 month

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skip to loafer chapter 60 analysis and brief character study on shima // spoilers

a light and fun chapter that hides something between the lines: how frankenstein's loneliness and revolt becomes a mirror for shima's feelings

(since the translation is very fresh, very very close to the release of the chapter, i will try to use the raws more. this is a way to make you curious to read the translation and also to support sensei in a way! hope you guys understand)

it's actually funny how much i'm surprised by every skip to loafer chapter. of course, some things i feel were expected to happen, but others appear suddenly and drive me completely crazy — that's the gift of takamatsu, who’s able to have fun with her own characters to the point of unfolding a delicate writing, that's much deeper than it appears to be.

i think it's cute and fun how shima's jealousy starts to be used as a comic relief in the story. it's something very innocent, which doesn't harm either party, but rather makes something new bubble up inside him, a feeling he wasn't familiar with before. he knows how it hurts to see mitsumi with other people and how he wants to be close to her, but he still doesn't have the necessary repertoire to express exactly what he feels.

and then, to add an additional element to the plot, sensei chooses frankenstein as the play for the school festival, shima's second great performance. she chooses a story of loneliness and desire, of a monster made of scraps of other people who tirelessly seeks his space in the world while being denied by his own creator — doesn't that sound a little familiar to you?

shima is, whether we like it or not, a fragment of other people's expectations. he is everything his mother wanted him to be, but also his broken expectations. he’s also made up of all the desires he represses and the times he was used by people as an object to be displayed. shima is a monster made of other people's expectations who seeks in other people's warmth a way to find a cure for his own loneliness.

and this ends up being even more explicit when he shows that he is truly happy and fulfilled when acting in the play. for the first time, he's not doing this for his mother or any adult's validation: he's doing it in the name of himself, his wants and his own way. he is slowly making peace with acting and his complex feelings surrounding it.

but, like it or not, shima still hasn't gotten rid of all his traumas, and this becomes slightly clear when sensei chooses to make a game with the lines of two different characters: shima and his internal monologue versus ujiie, a person who has slowly been causing him some complex feelings.

"i thought to myself it would be nice if i could perform this role better than anyone else" followed by "isn't that the bare minimum?". it's as if ujiie, unintentionally and through no fault of his own, was embodying a mixture of shima's personal ghosts and all the expectations that were thrown at him throughout his life.

isn't that the bare minimum? you've lived your whole life playing the role of someone who wasn't you, of a puppet. so...isn't that the least you could do? facing the scientist who created the monster, wouldn't that be a way of being able to face everything that was built in its place?

i think it's beautiful the way that sensei plays between shima's old feelings and these new ones that he's been discovering little by little. yes, he is finding happiness in acting again, finding his space in the world, but he is also developing a new feeling that he has never felt for anyone before. seeing mitsumi surrounded by so many other people gives him a somewhat irritating itch, which he himself doesn't know how to resolve — after all, he's a teenager, no teenager really knows how to resolve such complex feelings.

this makes him expose his neediness. seeing mitsumi, the girl he likes so much, surrounded by people who aren't him, makes him act like a needy teenager who doesn't know how to ask for attention.

different from what the girls thought at first, i don't think shima tried, in any way, to manipulate mitsumi. i really agree with yasaka on this part and i'll add even more: i believe that even he doesn't really know what he's doing. not even he knows exactly how he feels about mitsumi. but what he feels, at the moment, is an enormous desire to be with her and have her all to himself. he just needs to find a way to express his feelings in a clearer and more rational way (but i think that will take a while). It’s almost like the monster on his journey to find his beloved.

now about the other parts of the chapter: seeing the girls come together to discuss something that mitsumi was so afraid to tell before makes my heart fill with joy. seeing a group of girls so unique, so concerned about each other and so comfortable opening their hearts to each other makes me happy in a surreal way. i love, love, love the way in which sensei develops their friendship and how she always, always tries to show how much the girls are willing to help mitsumi even without knowing exactly how.

reading "yeah, none of us have that much experience with dating" is so cute to me. they are teenagers, they are also, for the first time, facing a wave of new feelings, new challenges — and the great luck is that they have each other to support and seek help.

i'm also very happy how yazaka is, little by little, gaining new friends and opening up more. i confess that in the past i didn't know exactly how to interpret her character, but now i want her to get more and more involved with girls. she deserves to have a group of friends who count on her to express doubts and seek help, just as she also needs that same support system.

well, as the girls said "all we can do is watch over them" and that's exactly all we can do too. i believe that this journey of self-discovery, for both shima and mitsumi, still has a long way to go and i think this is extremely special. this just shows how much they both love each other as people and are willing to try to meet each other halfway so that all their feelings are equalized.

once again, we have an amazing chapter in our hands. sensei keeps getting better and better, surprising us every damn time. i'm just so happy to be able to read such beautiful story and lucky to experience all of this. we're so damn lucky. remember: please support sensei if you can, by buying the chapters (via comic days or the online version of the magazine or the volumes). thank you SO MUCH for reading!! will love to discuss more with you all 💛

#skip to loafer #skip and loafer #skip to loafer chapter 60 #skip to loafer spoiler #skip and loafer spoilers #stl spoilers #A SHIMA CHAPTER IS A ME CHAPTER #I COULD ANALYZE THE SHIT OUT OF HIM FOR DAYS #MY BABY MY SON #I LOVE HIM SM #AND I LOVE FEMALE FRIENDSHIP SO MUCH #TAKAMATSU THE GENIUS YOU ARE #duckmetas

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zephyrine-gale · 8 months

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I recently got into Honkai Star Rail through you art and I was wondering what made you ship Blade and Dan Heng? Hope you have a great day ❤️

they had sprinklings of lore throughout the game and I love that! also the very first dan heng nightmare pv was 👀 that was the first thing that made me curious about their dynamic I'm also a sucker for dynamics that are a little unhinged and plague each other's dreams, gotta have a healthy balance of feral so the more intimate moments hit harder ajfjgkgh it's that friends to lovers to tragedy to enemies pipeline

it's that unrequited connection from someone forced to live because of past consequences, and someone who bears the weight of those sins but desperately wants to disconnect from the past. they're currently at their lowest rn but that just means they can only go up from here, and I'm really interested to see how they interact once they learn more about their past

their backstories are very much intertwined, alongside the high cloud quintet. I'll put some stuff that stands out to me below the cut!

Nowhere to Run lightcone

This isn't the first time he's seen this man. This man had become his own inseparable shadow. No matter how many times he runs this man through with his spear, the man always comes back. He can neither lose to this man, nor truly win. Though he wants to run away, there is nowhere to run.

Dan Heng's char story II

Very sus of u blade to chase after another man through countless planets and still recognize him after he's changed his appearance

Blade's char story II

The black-haired young man shivered violently all over, but still clutched onto the spear in his hands. He had no dragon horns, and his reaction was slightly less mature than he remembered... But he would never forget this spear, these eyes, and how cruelty burst out from beneath the mirror-like emerald calmness. His wounds began to heal. His irises flickered and fixed their gaze at the boy once more. Without hesitation, the boy made another flourish with the spear... "That's it." The one who showed no mercy to enemies - was you. The one who single-handedly buried the beloved - was you. The one who almost led the place called home to its destruction - was also you. He fell down again. The teen pressed his hand against his own wounds and retreated, until he was no longer in the man's sight. "Before I witness your death in person, we will meet again, ███."

the beloved = blade the blacked out name = dan feng/imbibitor lunae it implies they knew each other in the past, but DH doesn't remember. Blade doesn't remember much about his past either, only that his mara strikes are triggered by seeing his xianzhou friends of the past (he most likely doesn't remember them as friends)

They share a pair of bracers!

the entire Passerby of Wandering Cloud set is Blade lore! he's such a tragic character, he's been through quite a lot, you should give it a read if you have the time :'>

this one is the backstory for the dragon bracer:

It seems that pairs of objects have telepathic connections with each other. Though the unnamed only had one bracer in his possession, his fingertips could still faintly feel the temperature from the other. He closed his eyes, trying his best to extract any information about the other bracer from the tenuous connection, be it its location or master. A slender yet strong hand once wore the other bracer. That owner, whose sharp spear glinted with a cold light and flourished like shooting stars, once sparred with the unnamed. That owner also once shared company and drinks with the unnamed, the two of them simply gazing at the moon with no words exchanged. However, in the end, it was also this person who stubbornly adhered to their plans with the unnamed, turned the beloved into a monstrosity, and pushed all into an abyss of eternal hatred and remorse. Pairs of objects are destined for an eventual reunion. The long years of grudges and hatred between them should be savored, like ice-cold aged liquor, one slow sip after another until the bottle of resentment is finally empty. Would the wearer of the other bracer feel the same? The unnamed didn't want to know.

the unnamed = Blade = Yingxing

drinking under the moon together -> in cn this is very ceremonial bond/close relationship-coded. Yingxing and Dan Feng were close

Yingxing, a short life species craftsman

Yingxing has the bracer on his right arm and Dan Feng has the other pair on his left

They also share jade pendants (they look like they'd slot together, forming the head and mouthpiece of a cn lion)

This is a line from a vidyadhara egg, but I find the implications very fitting for them :'>

Yingxing created DH's Cloud-Piercer (as well as the other weapons for the High Cloud Quintet)

Blade's char story IV

He remembered that, decades ago, he came to the Xianzhou with a merchant vessel and was impressed by the superb craftsmanship of this place. The young man was obsessed to the point of forgetting to eat or drink, and spent his inspiration like he was running out of time. He forged hundreds of marvels, four of which were the most famous. ... The black-haired man with dragon horns used his water manipulation abilities to rejuvenate his allies, and in the next moment he bound the water upon his spear and used it to ran his enemies through.

Blade's iris shape is similar to IL's lotus motif. lotuses symbolize resilience and rebirth--fitting for both of them, though one came back wrong :'>

Blade | About Dan Heng:

It's been heavily implied that Dan Feng and Yingxing did something that caused catastrophe and resulted in DF being forced to molting rebirth + banishment, and Blade being cursed with immortality and banished.

Dan Feng trusted Yingxing enough to sneak him into the Scalegorge Waterscape and let him do research--into what? we're not sure yet, but since Yingxing is a craftsman, he's probably creating something from the ambrosial arbor?? or from something relating to the vidyadharas. Perhaps he got cursed with Shuhu's gift here?? or DF somehow gave YX immortality, who knows...

I think their plan may be related to what we learn from Imbibitor Lunae's companion quest

SPOILERS FOR IMBIBITOR LUNAE'S COMPANION QUEST

There's a big focus on vidyadhara's immortality through molting but inability to reproduce, so any casualties in their numbers results in a permanent decrease in their numbers. Dan Feng's sin may be related to changing that (and failing, creating a dragon abomination that they had to fight against instead. although a whole separate vidyadhara was born from the catastrophe--Bailu).

END OF SPOILERS

Big hc delulu hrs now

Maybe being around the High Cloud Quintet made Dan Feng realize he didn't have a legacy to leave behind, unlike them. Every high elder becomes like the former, they lose their own sense of identity. I'd imagine being around a group of friends with their own agency, who also saw DF as a normal person, made him realize he also wanted to break free from the high elder cycle.

Yingxing may have been DF's biggest wake up call just bc he's a short life species who has done so much, who achieved more than anyone could imagine in a fraction of a lifetime of those in the Xianzhou. DF saw a star shine bright and couldn't help but follow and maybe wish he'd never lose sight of it as well.

Maybe it was for the selfish reason that he didn't want to lose these memories of the people who truly cared for him--of the people he truly came to care for--that he committed such a grave sin

He was dehumanized by everyone around him, I wouldn't put it past him to just. Snap one day, break his cold and calm poise, cry of desperation and fear of losing something dear to him

This kinda became a DF thing but personally, while DH himself may want to distance himself from DF, they're still the same person with shared memories (that DH can't remember)

It's similar to how Blade distances himself from Yingxing because he can't fathom his former self becoming the monstrous thing he is now

I'm really looking forward to when they can both reconcile and put their past to rest

#honkai star rail #dan heng #blade #renheng #theres sm about them that's interesting I probably missed stuff #they plague my mind they eat at my brain cells i just keep thinking about them #back to my animatic i need to finish it ajdkkjg #they click smth in my brain cell that a normal fluffy all happy dynamic wouldn't click #vidyadharas are known for their tragedies after all #long post

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unofficial-writing · 1 month

Text

Promise

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Maybe the tiniest ounce of angst, so much fluff I’m sick

Summary: After the battle you two stumble upon the mirror of Erised and now’s a good time as any to propose.

Word count: 856, short and sweet

༺═────────────═༻

You stood back by the doorway, gazing out the slim hole in the stone. Dirt and blood painted your face, likely covering smaller wounds that hadn’t been tended to yet. Even with your current appearance, Fred was completely taken by you.

His lips turned into a smile, allowing his eyes to move drift away from his girl to scan the room. “As surprising as it is, I’ve never been here before.” He announced, his green eyes landing on the object in the center of the room. A tall golden mirror. It shined as if it were new, yet had a weathered look to it at the same time.

“I haven’t either.” You responded, turning on your heels to catch up with Fred, who moved around to the front of the mirror. He fumbled with the ring in his pocket— which was surprisingly still on his person after all that had happened. It seemed so long ago that he was at his desk, engraving “I promise” onto the inside of it.

Fred stood before the mirror, seeing both you and him in horrible shape. You were both bruised, bloody and exhausted. But despite all that, your smile never failed. Smaller but never gone. The sight of it summoned a warm feeling to his chest.

He turned away from the mirror, glancing at you just in time to see your expression completely change. Your mouth fell open, staring at your reflection in awe.

Confused, he followed your eyes and his heart jumped at the picture. It had completely changed. Where you both were looking practically homeless, you now stood completely cleaned up. Fred was in a sleek black suit staring down at you— you. Oh my god, you were breathtaking. You were in a flowing white dress, a vale draped over your h/c hair and the biggest smile he had ever seen.

His lungs failed him. Seeing you in a wedding dress sparked thoughts. Just the thought of getting to marry you made his head spin.

“Are you seeing this?” The real you took his focus back, but he could only nod. “They’re beautiful! Are they ours?” His brows furrowed and your question and he pulled his eyes back down to you.

“Who?”

“Well, probably the little ginger you’re carrying! And the one George has over his shoulder.” You went on describing the scene and it sunk in what you saw. Both of you saw the perfect future together. it made his mind drift to the ring he carried.

He slipped his hand back into his pocket for it, hesitant. You smiled up at him, making up his mind for him. Throwing his big plans out the window, he pulled the ring out gently, as if it could break under his touch. “Y/n.” He started, glancing from the ring to its future wearer.

“This is less extravagant than I had hoped it would be.” He was aware that his tone gave away how nervous he was but you didn’t care. You were shocked and through your face, that was given away too.

“Since we’ve met, we’ve probably been through more than most couples, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. During these past few years, I’ve fallen in love with you in every way possible.” Your smile was brighter than the one in the mirror.

“I want to be yours as long as I’m alive, if you’ll have me.” Fred beamed. “Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n, will you marry me?”

You were pretty much in tears now, which immediately prompted him to copy you. “R-really?” You got out. You didn’t even wait for a response before dropping to your knees with him and throwing your arms around him.

Fred managed to get out an emotional laugh, as your shaking body settled into his arms. You lifted your head to meet his eyes but he interrupted and pressed close to a thousand kisses all over your face, finishing with a sweet kiss to your lips.

To you, this was all you wanted. Whatever Fred’s elaborate plans were didn’t matter at all to you. You were overjoyed to be able to marry him. After all the jokes and teasing, it was finally real.

“Looks like I’m finally going to be a Weasley.” You smiled at your new fiancé, who pulled you back to him, wrapping his arms around you.

He exaggerated a sigh. “We’re gonna have to dye your hair now.”

“Absolutely not.” You replied while Fred slid the ring onto your finger.

“We’ll see, love.” He teased, running his fingers through your hair. You kissed the spot just under his ear and buried your face there.

There were a few moments of silence as both of you processed. Fred breathed deeply, holding you tightly. “I’m yours, Y/n.” He whispered, smiling when you melted into his embrace.

“Forever?” Your voice sounded like music in his ears.

“Forever.” Fred responded, brushing his thumb over the ring, which was now occupied by your delicate finger. “I promise.”

#fred weasley #fred weasly x reader #fred weasely x y/n #fred wealsey fic #harry potter fic #weasley twins #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley x you #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fandom #Weasley twin fic

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loyaltyworn · 2 years

Text

@rgerz || 100 nonverbal prompts || accepting!

∗ 2o﹕ sender lifts receiver's chin , invoking eye contact . + reverse

Bucky’s taken the court ordered punishments and accepted them as if he had a choice in the matter. He’s used to not having choices. Seems that the right for those being taken away in this instance is only fitting. Considering the WHY. Or as the state deems it--STEPS necessarily deemed proper and fitting for a former war criminal to make atonements for his committed sins; for his own good and without a doubt--the country’s best interests. Best to stay on the straight and narrow. Talk about feelings. Talk about his past. Talk about what they want answers to regardless of his determination to give them only what he is willing to. A fact that is never going to change.

It’s all a part of being able to be out in the open. To stop running. Stop hiding. Stop and breathe and belong somewhere that, for once, Steve doesn’t have to commit a string of crimes as long as both their arms just to see him face to face. Long time coming? Barely scratches the surface of how long this has been in the works. Of how overdue it is. Doesn’t mean that it’s settling in his stomach all twisted up every Wednesday and Friday. Or how it leaves him with nightmares worse than when all this shit began. Doesn’t mean that it’s not weighing heavily on the broad shoulders he’s watching from behind. Hunched over with a pen scratching inside a book. He wonders if Steve’s writing. Or drawing. Or scribbling mindlessly to look busy.

Fingertips. Flesh and blood. Warm and bare. Stretch out and touch underneath Steve’s chin. Eyes meet and a small twitch tugs at the edge of Bucky’s mouth before it turns into an encouraging smile. “Penny for your thoughts? Know it’s not much but for nostalgia’s sake.. We’ll keep the cost what we could afford back then, huh?”

#featuring: steve rogers (rgerz)#rgerz #epilogue: objects in this rearview mirror may be different than they appear (closed verse: rgerz)

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izvmimi · 7 months

Text

cw: college au!nrc. sfw.

you've been reciting ancient protective spells under your breath for the past minute, even though these are not within the scope your Defense Magic examination, and rather are just spells malleus has taught you, spells you're not exactly sure you have the power to perform, but trust will protect you in your time of need just as you trust him.

malleus sits across from you - rather, slumbers - head propped up by the palm of his hand. you glance up at him when your timer goes off; it doesn't appear to wake him, and he remains perfectly still like marble, not unlike the gargoyles and grotesques he's so fond of.

"malleus," you whisper.

his eyes snap open at the sound of your voice and he blinks at you, waking up in seconds. you smile, and lean over, tapping his forehead with the feathered end of your quill.

"mm?"

"you fell asleep," you tell him.

"i was not asleep," he denies. you tilt your head.

"so what were you doing with your eyes closed?"

"resting them."

"ah. of course." you chuckle to yourself, then look back at your time which gives you exactly ten more minutes of rest before you return to your books. malleus has perfect scores in this class and thus does not bother studying, but you need him to teach you even though he often teaches you above and beyond what you need to know, and sometimes is hard to follow. lilia, in fact, is a far better teacher, but he is unavailable today, and malleus would have tagged along anyway.

just as a refresher, he says, but you know it's because he likes to be around you.

malleus shifts his positioning then runs his hand through his hair before taking the list of objectives and poring through it again. most of the concepts are checked through at this point, save a couple.

"talismans," he says out loud. you nod.

"can't remember what they were usually made of in the 14th century or what their specific categories are," you murmur. he opens his mouth to start another monologue, but you raise your finger, grinning.

"not now, i have 8 minutes left of relaxation."

he smiles, letting his hand close around your whole hand which surprises you and makes you withdraw, warmth in your cheeks.

he chuckles as you look away at him, then leans in, resting his chin on his hands folded on the table. like this he looks like he's studying you more than any exam subject, and while you're used to him looking at you like some ornate furniture or fine jewelry at times you have to remind him he can't ogle you like that.

"what are you thinking of?" you ask instead.

"i find talismans silly," he says out loud. "simply be more powerful than the ill intention that targets you."

this makes you laugh out loud.

"of course, you'd say this mr. dragonborn," you joke. he looks genuinely surprised now which makes you laugh even harder.

"what do you mean?"

"just because power oozes from you doesn't mean everyone can be as naturally intimidating," you remind him. you lean in as well, mirroring his action, elbows and forearms on the table. "some of us are touchable."

unblinking, he gazes into your eyes.

"you aren't intimidated by me," he reminds you. "plus you're very vulnerable and carry no talismans."

"i am intimidating, but it has nothing to do with magic."

he blinks. "ridiculous. you are the most harmless person i've ever met."

something about this warms you but you try not to let him get to you.

"my tongue is sharp even if i have no power to back it up," you tell him. "it's a different kind of fear i strike in the heart of others."

malleus looks as though he'll ask you to stick out your tongue literally and prove it, but instead he shakes his head.

"you're honest. if you words hurt, perhaps they have some score to settle with themselves."

you pause, letting the words sink in, your heart suddenly light as you breathe in. malleus doesn't intend to flatter you, but you feel validated in a different way. suddenly you are too aware of how close his face is to yours, and you rise up to sit properly.

the timer will go off in twenty more seconds. malleus senses your sudden retreat.

"perhaps the concept of a talisman is not silly."

you've pulled your notebook back in front of you and lifted your textbook, a small barrier against him. there is no spell you can whisper under your breath to defend your heart, you realize, so you attempt to focus on something else.

"you think so?" you ask. you don't mean to sound disinterested, but if he reminds you of the soft parts of yourself again you might forget how to return to your protective shell.

"mm. perhaps in some ways i can be that for you."

you look up at him, and your mouth opens and closes.

"malleus, you are not an object i can carry around with me."

"but if my presence can ward off evil from you, wouldn't that be such a wonderful thing?"

you can feel your shell cracking still. just then, your timer goes off, and you let yourself exhale.

he's still watching you carefully as you turn the page.

defense magic.

how does one guard their heart?

#malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #thoughts: malleus #daydreams: twst #mimi's notes

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mint-yooxgi · 1 year

Text

To Tempt Fate - Yandere!Trickster Deities!Ateez X Reader

Yandere AU & Trickster AU

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst

Pairing: Ateez X Reader (Focus on ??? to start hehehe)

Words: 2,246

Warnings: Implied drugging and kidnapping. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Surprise!!! Here’s to the start of yet another series that I hope you’ll all enjoy!! This one is going to be a bit darker than the other ones in terms of content, but it draws a bit of inspiration from The Hunger Games, and survival horror game in general. I’m really excited for this series since I have quite a bt planned for it, but I'm not sure how updates for it will look. It might just be a short side project I work on every now and then between chapter of Morning Mist and book two of HC, but I shall see! Also, if you have any predictions or theories I'd love to hear them!! Can you guess who is who yet based on the eyes? 👀 Anyways, as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!! I hope you enjoy!!~

Also, gentle reminder that I do not do tag lists.

Mini Masterlist

There’s a ringing in your ears that won’t disappear. A blaring hum that echoes almost periodically beside your head as your brow furrows. Your eyes remained closed, the familiar throb of a headache pounding against you skull. Slowly, you begin to move.

Blinking, your gaze shifts into focus, and you notice that you’re inside an unfamiliar room. The four walls are small, boxing you in on every side as you see random objects scattered around. There’s a small dresser off to the side, and as you push yourself up into a sitting position, you realize that you’ve been laying on a bed of sorts. Directly across from you sits a floor length mirror, your reflection staring back at you with nothing but confusion on your face.

The ringing starts again, and it is then that you realize that it’s your phone.

Odd, considering you always keep it on silent. Cautiously, you reach over and grab the small object from the bed.

The number that appears onscreen is one you do not recognize, and given the sluggish state of both your mind and body, a creeping sense of dread begins to wash over you.

You’ve most likely been drugged, and even worse, kidnapped.

Though, you find it odd that your phone remains, untouched, in your hands.

The call cuts out, the familiar picture of your home screen being displayed before your very eyes. You should probably call someone for help.

Unlocking your phone, you’re quick to open your contacts, clicking on the name of your closest friend. You hear the dial tone sound out before a harsh screeching can be heard on the other end.

Your phone goes black.

A furrow creases your brow as you turn your phone back on, seeing nothing out of the ordinary once more. Though, this time, you notice how the top corner now says ‘no service’ despite having full bars only moments ago.

That’s strange, considering you had just been receiving an incoming call not even two minutes ago.

The sound of your phone ringing once more startles you into nearly dropping it onto the ground. That same, unfamiliar number appears on your screen, practically staring up at you ominously as your heart begins to race inside of your chest.

Your eyes dart to the top corner of your screen.

No service.

Swallowing thickly, you answer the call.

“Hello?” Your voice comes out strained, only now realizing the dryness of your throat as you attempt to speak.

“Hello, Darling,” a male voice drawls out on the other end, practically purring the words out as unknown affection drips from his tongue.

“Who the hell are you, and what do you want?” You frown, sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed. Your one arm is crossed over your chest as you press your phone to your ear, staring straight ahead at your reflection in the mirror.

“My name is not of importance right now, but you are.” A giggle that sends a chill right down your spine is heard through the line. “As for what I want… well… you’ll find out soon enough. For now, I’d like to play a game.”

“I’m not playing any of your sick, twisted games.” You spit, whole body tense as anger begins to course through your veins. “Let me go, and we can pretend like none of this has ever happened.”

“Now, why would I want to do that when the prize is already within my grasp?” He replies smoothly, clearly amused by your sudden harsh tone.

You’ve heard rumours. Mere myths and legends told to you by the townsfolk of people going missing every ten years or so. Eight are usually kidnapped, forced to take part in these insanity games, yet only one ever survives. The one that does is always forever changed, prattling on about eight figures with extraordinary powers. Powers the likes of which you have never seen.

These eight figures force their victims to partake in a ritual sacrifice, disguising it beneath the premise of a game. Nothing they say can be trusted, and as soon as you are in their clutches, you can no longer trust your own mind.

At least, that’s what you’ve been told. Nothing more than a scary bedtime story for parents to tell their children in order to make them behave. A fantasy conjured up to spread fear into a town which had badly been in need of some self-control.

“Don’t let the tricksters get you! They’re always out for blood.”

You shake your head. “You sound so confident in yourself.”

The man hums. “Why wouldn’t I be? I always get what I want.”

“Not this time.” You hiss, promptly hanging up on him.

The phone in your hand gets harshly slammed down on the mattress before you’re fully crossing your arms over your chest. You can hear the familiar ringing echoing throughout the room a moment later, but you ignore it. Only when your head begins to feel fuzzy, the sound literally beginning to bounce around inside your skull, do you snatch the phone back off of the bed beside you.

“What?” You spit, a harsh tug of your brows downwards as you direct your fury filled gaze at your reflection across from you.

“The next time you hang up on me, I won’t be so forgiving.” The man’s voice is somewhat firmer this time around. Darker, in a sense, as you can tell he means every word that he says.

“You sure are putting a lot of thought into this game of yours.” You quip, gaze darting everywhere around the room for a way out.

The door looks like a good place to start.

“Only the best of the best can survive, Darling,” he replies, and there’s a sick tone of what you can only guess to be pride lingering in his voice that has you shuddering instantly. “It’s why we’re putting our faith in you this time around.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” You attempt to turn the knob of the door, only for it to be locked.

“We’ve decided to make an exception this time.” He responds, amusement clear in his voice as he hears you jostle the handle of the locked door a few more times to no avail. “You are the only true contender for the game this year. At least, the one we’re all betting on.”

“Yeah, you said that already,” you reply, gruffly.

Taking a step back, you eye the door cautiously. It appears to be nothing more than a simple wooden slab, but you cannot tell how thick it is. You’ll look around the room first for something to pick the lock with before attempting to break it down.

“That’s not going to work.” His voice singsongs, another spine chilling giggle echoing through your phone.

“You don’t know me, so why the fuck are you doing this?” You start rummaging through the dresser, seeing nothing but clothes that are conveniently your size placed inside. You scowl in disgust.

“Oh, but I do, My Darling,” the way he drawls out your name almost lovingly has a shiver caressing your spine once more. “We all do. Just as you know us.”

Your entire body stiffens, keeping your voice low as you reply, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do you not think we research our chosen candidates before submitting them to our games? Is that not something you also like to do?” The amusement is clear in his tone, though it sounds more condescending than anything.

“Again, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Your own voice is gruff as you manage to find a few pins hidden around the room.

“Don’t act so coy with me, Darling.” You can just hear the grin he wears through the phone. “I know you’ve taken a keen interest in us. Almost as much as we have taken an interest in you.”

You remain silent, working to unlatch the lock on the door with those few pins you found. They might even come in useful later.

“Survive our games, and we will tell you all that pretty little mind of yours wants to know about us.” The male tells you.

You manage to hear the faint click of the lock sliding out of place, and your heart skips a beat in relief. “And if I don’t?”

“Then we will finally claim what has long since been desired before the time is up.” He replies, and you can hear the eagerness that leaks into his tone. The excitement alone that bleeds through causes you to grimace, a wary look in your eyes.

Then, your brow furrows in confusion, the question easily forming on your lips. “And just what could you all have possibly desired for so long?”

You stand back to your feet as you hear him chuckle. “You.”

A chill travels through your entire body as you go still, hand frozen in the air just before the doorknob. Your heart feels as if it has leapt into your throat, breath hitching as you stare straight ahead.

Fear. That’s what you’re feeling right now. Cold, dreadful fear.

“Complete our game, Darling, and we’ll give you everything you could ever want.” His voice lowers, as if he’s standing right behind you and softly caressing your ear with his whispered promises. You tense. “Anything you could ever need or desire, we will always provide for you. You just have to prove you’re worthy of us first.”

“Are you sure it’s me that needs to prove their worth to you?” You scoff, finally coming back to your senses enough to turn the handle of the door and fling it open. “I don’t need your pity.”

“If you think we pity you, you are sadly mistaken.”

“And if you think I’m going to willingly go along with this stupid game of yours, you are sadly mistaken.” You snap, stepping through the threshold and into what appears to be a large garden maze of some sort.

A boisterous laugh reaches your ears through the line. A laugh which has your brows furrowing in confusion.

“Oh, My Darling,” he sighs wistfully. “You already have.”

The sound of the line going dead reaches your ears, and you realize that whoever you’ve been talking to has ended the call. There’s an inkling in the back of your mind as to who it could have been, but you cannot be too sure until you meet him in person. Only their eyes reveal their true selves. Eyes which can never hide their intent, or so you’ve been told.

Each of the eight have a specific colour to their irises that designates their true self. From what you’ve uncovered about them, the colour reveals their age. Though, from what you understand, you’re surprised the eldest isn’t their so called leader.

Yellow. Ice blue. Red. Deep Purple. Light green. A burning orange which appears almost amber in the light. Pure white, to the deepest of blacks. All are signs of the eight tricksters which live for the thrill of the hunt. Signs you must keep alert for at any cost, for if you spot them, that means that you haven’t necessarily found them, but they have found you.

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you step outside. You purse your lips, scanning the area for anything useful or familiar to you, taking in your surroundings all the while.

A stone bench sits off to the left, hidden away almost inside one of the maze’s walls. Staring forward reveals an entrance to said maze, the darkness of its interior spreading out before you. From what you can see, the path splits off to either side, giving you two options to take every time you enter. To your right rests a pure white lattice archway, red roses creeping up the sides delicately.

Turning around reveals the room you had woken up in to be a small shack of some sorts, wood lining its exterior. It appears no bigger on the outside than within, nothing more than a supposed cozy place to rest your head.

Looking up reveals the night sky, stars twinkling brightly above. The only light offered is from the moon, but oddly enough, there seems to be a natural glow surrounding the area. It’s almost as if you’ve suddenly gained the ability to see better in the dark, but you know from what little lore you’ve read about these supposed games that it’s simply a trick of the mind. It’s probably not even nighttime.

Letting out a sigh, you trudge forward. Looks like you should at least begin to explore the maze for now. You’ll need to find some food, and potentially some weapons to start. Who knows what’s lurking in the shadows just beyond your line of sight. Perhaps even a flashlight, or lantern might help.

Besides, you know more about this little game of theirs than you want to admit, and if you run into another competitor, you do not want to be the first one downed. Hopefully, though, you run into people simply wanting to escape like you do, rather than the other alternative these eight tricksters are always so keen on encouraging. You’d rather create allies, rather than enemies to start.

Stepping forward with nothing but the clothes on your back, and a cellphone that has been practically rendered useless in your back pocket, you begin.

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