#this is canon and I won't hear a word otherwise

[reidmotif]

Coffee and Consequences

Summary: Reader joins the BAU, and Spencer seems insistent on being a problem for her.

Request: pls i am such a sucker for angst/smut, can you do one where spencer is closed off and cold to a new recruit, and it upsets her, so she tries to get him to like her, which leads to an argument and confession, with soft smut?

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut/Light Angst (Happy Ending)

Content Warning: Reader POV, little shit Spencer, oral sex (f recieveing), gunshot wound/typical canon violence, unprotected sex

Word Count: 6.1k

Upon starting at the BAU, I believed there was no question about me, especially when it came to my skills and ability to perform my job. From stellar recommendations from my superiors at the Academy, to general demeanor and tact, there was no question about whether or not my success was imminent. Most of the team were more than elated to welcome me to the small family they’d built over the years, despite my younger age than most of them, which I was eternally grateful for. 

Most, being the keyword in that sentence. Since I’d begun, there’d been one thorn in my roses, the bane of my existence, you might say. Spencer fucking Reid. I’m aware of the fact that not everyone could like me, that was a given. I'm an FBI agent, for god’s sake. To expect warmth and friendship from everyone would be naive and lead to disappointment in any given scenario. 

But Jesus Christ, this was getting absolutely ridiculous. 

I consistently replayed the events of our first meeting. In an attempt to make a good first impression, (which seems stupid, in hindsight) I brought coffee to each of my new co-workers, hoping to establish myself as a friendly, non-threatening presence in their lives. I’d covertly asked Emily for help, as within the interviews and background checks required to even be considered for a position in the BAU, there was a certain camaraderie and friendship forged through the continued exposure to each other. 

Emily advised me carefully, understanding the intentions behind the act, and being more than happy to help.  “JJ likes vanilla lattes, nothing too fancy. Rossi is a little simpler, a Caffe Americano.” I spoke, and continued to go through my team’s regular orders, until there was hesitation on a somewhat infamous name, one that I myself was already intrigued by. “Spencer’s an easy order to remember, but you have to make sure you get it right.” 

I found myself nodding, the seriousness of Emily’s words striking me- momentarily finding myself forgetting that they were speaking about something as mundane as coffee. "Emily spoke slowly, as if I was advising a child. 'Reid likes black coffee, but you have to make sure to add extra sugar.'" I nodded quickly, "Alright, black coffee with extra sugar, got it-" Emily interrupted me abruptly. "No, no. You're not hearing me, extra sugar. I mean a lot, okay? Otherwise, he quite literally won't drink it."

I found myself chuckling a little bit, thinking about the image of Spencer Reid I’d built up in my head before I’d even met him. I knew he had been framed and had endured a considerable time in prison. I was also aware of his intelligence, a natural by-product of all the papers he’d written, and how many of his own techniques in geographic profiling were referenced during my time in the Academy. Working with him seemed like a dream come true. The idea of a grown man needing as much sugar in his coffee as Emily made it seem added just a bit of charm to the already positive perception I’d had of him. 

In the coffee shop, I carefully recited the orders of my new teammates, taking extra caution in advising the barista that the black coffee needed extra sugar. I could tell the patrons behind me were definitely annoyed, but it didn’t matter. First impressions matter more. Even after my incessant requests about sugar, I took the time to open the lid of the steaming black coffee to add in 3 extra packets of brown sugar provided at the customization station in the back of the coffee shop. I could tell the barista was boring holes into the back of my head, and I honestly wasn’t surprised or could blame her. At this point, the sugar had to be more than the coffee itself. I gave a satisfied grin to myself, knowing I’d followed Emily’s directions and the possibility of friendship with someone I’d already come to admire wasn’t something far-off to wish for. 

God, was I wrong. 

I approached the bullpen cautiously, being greeted by an assortment of new faces. I quickly matched names to descriptors that had been given to me from Emily. I then noticed one face that hadn’t greeted me yet, sat alone in the back with his nose in a book. I couldn’t discern the title, which I quickly figured was due to the fact that the book appeared to be some European language I’d most likely never even heard of. The man had a mess of brown hair on his head, and even from across the room I could tell it was curling softly near the nape of his neck. He was handsome. More handsome than I had pegged him for. I knew almost immediately that this had to have been the infamous Spencer Reid, and I cautiously approached him, flashing a small smile. 

He heard me a mile away, looking up quickly and putting away his book. His eyes seemed to size me up, and he didn’t seem to return my smile. I knew better than to shake hands with him, being predisposed to his germaphobe nature and instead held out the coffee, almost as if it was a peace offering. 

“Hi, uh. I’m the new recruit, I believe Emily warned you all about me and I just wanted to introduce myself. (Y/N). That’s my name. It’s nice to meet you.” I said, a little dumbly, still holding the coffee out. I quickly realized I hadn’t explained the reasoning behind the coffee cup and quickly added, “Coffee. I asked Emily about how you liked it. And brought it. So, yeah.” I said. I was aware of how awkward this conversation was becoming, considering I was still holding out the cup, like an idiot, and he hadn’t said a word to me yet. He nodded, taking the coffee cup from me and placing it on his desk. “Dr Reid. Welcome.” His greeting was short, but I tried not to let it bother me. Perhaps he wasn’t as forthcoming to strangers, nevermind that. The coffee was enough. I smiled, again, hoping to make my intentions clear. “Nice to meet you, Dr Reid.” 

I turned back, feeling satisfied. I’d done what I’d come there to do. Except a sound from behind me alerted me that maybe I was a bit early to assume that, because when I’d turned around, an incredibly displeased Dr Reid was throwing away his coffee- the coffee I had brought! That I’d waited for in a morning rush for, that I’d taken the time to add even more sugar to- that coffee! In the trash! His eyes met mine as he dropped it into the trashcan near his desk, shuddering a bit as he did so. He didn’t even look apologetic. 

I approached him, a bit upset and sad, but there was caution in my tone, not wanting to offend him before he even had a chance to know me. “Dr Reid, I’m sorry was the coffee-” Dr Reid quickly interrupted me. “Did Emily not tell you my order?” He asked, a little bit of sharpness to his tone. 

Okay, so this guy took his coffee seriously. Emily was not kidding around. 

“Um, yes-” He interrupted again. “Yes? Are you sure?” He said, a bit of condescension in his tone. Okay, holy shit. All this over coffee? “Very sure.” I responded, confidently. “Black, with extra sugar- I even put extra at the counter.” I added this, trying to convey that while I was sorry it wasn’t to his liking, it’s not like I didn’t try. That had to count for something, right? 

Wrong. Spencer Reid did not seem like the type of man who cared about trying. He retorted with, “Well, it wasn’t enough.” And with that, he shuffled to the breakroom, seemingly to make his own coffee. 

It seemed like from there, things only got worse. In one of my first cases, I quickly made a quip about the statistics on suburban murders, hoping to add some valuable information to the conversation. I tried hard not to overpower anyone and stay in my lane as the resident newbie, but Spencer seemed to take personal offense to it, going out of his way to argue that it meant nothing. I fired back, hoping to affront my point but Reid quickly cut me off.

 “You’re new, alright? And young. It’s granted that you should be clueless when it comes to some of these things.” His words, although somewhat true, were accompanied by a harsh tone and a coldness in his voice. What could’ve been well-meaning advice from a senior agent on the team was clearly not that at all. All signs pointed to one thing: He absolutely hated me. 

For all I tried, it seemed like he only disliked me more. It wasn’t unnoticed by my teammates, how he’d dismiss me. I was aware of my newness, of my inexperience, how this team had had years to grow around each other before I was ever even considered for this position, but it seemed with the more time I spent at the BAU, Spencer’s disdain only increased. He seemed to go out of his way to not sit by me on the jet, or how he seemed absolutely uninterested in anything involving me. I understood that not everyone would like me, but a bit of respect would be nice. I didn’t need friendship, just his tolerance, and even that seemed out of reach for Dr Spencer Reid. 

Eventually, this led to the dynamic  we harbored now. A year into the BAU, and instead of a friendship, or even acquaintanceship, it was constant bickering. It’s not like I wanted to argue- he just made it impossible for me to find footing within the BAU. I obviously stood up for myself, but was met with resistance from the doctor, and so the cycle continued. 

Still, despite the obvious dislike Reid harbored for me, it wasn’t like that magically made him dumb, or any less attractive to me. His intelligence was as impressive as I’d expected it to be, if not even moreso. I watched in real-time as the cogs in his mind turned, his slender fingers finding a point on the side of his mouth to tap, before stopping and sharing what he’d just thought of. He was brilliant, and no one could take that away from him

 However, in this particular case we were currently dealing with, it seemed that brilliance simply didn’t matter, because how could someone like him be so absolutely stupid? 

The hostage situation we were dealing with was tricky, to say the least. Multiple civilians, and a trigger happy unsub. Any experienced agent would be at a loss when handling something like this, but Spencer seemed confident. He’d been pushing to storm the building, citing that more people would get hurt the longer they allowed the unsub to continue making demands. I found myself  wholeheartedly disagreeing, attempting to put my foot down and be heard. I found that perhaps, through negotiations, we could not only save the civilians, but walk away with zero people hurt. Naturally, this caused commotion between the senior agent and myself. 

“Reid, I’ve told you for the millionth time that this unsub can’t be approached like this!” I whisper-yelled, clearly fed up with Spencer by this point. He questioned every decision of mine, and it's gotten to me. 

“(Y/N), you’ve dealt with maybe 3 hostage situations in your life. This isn’t something for you to take point on. We have civilians in there, and it’s more important we save them.” He responded, in his own hiss. 

“You’re being ridiculous!” I retorted. 

“You’re naive!” He shot back. 

We’d clearly reached a head when it came to this. Spencer huffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m using my seniority here. We’re going to give the go-ahead to SWAT and make our way into the building.” 

I found myself returning the gesture. “Spencer- '' I began, only to be interrupted.

 “Dr Reid.” He corrected, venom in his voice. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I replied, furrowing my brows. 

“What?” He countered, seeming calm, but his eyes gave away simply how determined he was to win this. 

“This is a terrible idea.” I said, firmly. “Someone’s going to get hurt.” 

“Oh, and how do you know that?” Spencer quipped. “Is it your years of experience in the field? Or your time spent as an FBI agent?” He said, sarcastically. 

“I understand I don’t have as much experience as you, but-” I started, but I found myself cut off by him again. Bastard. He never let me finish my sentences. “Exactly.” He responded, calmly. “You don’t have as much experience. I know what I’m doing. Let’s go.” And with that, he walked, leaving me to simply follow. God, I fucking hated that guy. Forget the intelligence, none of that mattered when he was such a dick. 

As they entered the warehouse doors behind SWAT, I  knew that it was wrong. Something was off. We’d profiled this unsub as the dominant type, and an egotistical personality that wouldn’t allow for a partner. It was a part of the profile that they were sure of. It was part of the reason why Spencer was so confident of going in. 

Upon entering though, the SWAT team had a clear shot of the unsub, but in a split second, there were shots heard from an entirely different part of the warehouse. From the direction in which Spencer was directly in line of. 

It wasn’t like I thought about it, maybe if I had, I wouldn’t have done it. It was based on pure instinct. I found myself in front of Spencer Reid, the man who’d questioned my every decision since I’d begun my job, taking a bullet for him. Maybe he was right, maybe I was an idiot. 

I heard the gunshot first, then felt the cold floor pressing into my cheek where I’d been knocked down. Then a tight pressure in my arm. I finally looked down, seeing a bloom of red appear under my dress shirt where a bullet had struck, away from the vest I wore to prevent this sort of thing. I took in a sharp breath of air, eyes widening as my breathing began to quicken. I rolled onto my back, only to be met with Spencer’s concerned and frightened expression above me. I heard ins and outs of his speech into his receiver, as I faded in and out of consciousness. 

“Yes! We have an agent down. We need medic, now!” He yelled. I watched him in fascination, his face currently seeming to be the only thing I could focus on besides the overwhelming burning that I felt. I heard him speak to me, calmly. “Y/N? Stay with me, okay? You need to stay conscious. Okay?” He spoke to me calmly, but the waver in his voice was unmistakable. I found my eyelids growing heavier as I nodded. 

It wasn’t long until I came to, groggily opening my eyes to see Spencer’s concerned face looking back at me. I heard his voice, soft and distant. 

“(Y/N)..?” Spencer said, cautiously. 

“Dr Reid?” was my response. I was still a bit dizzy, and a bit confused about my whereabouts. 

“You were shot.” He replied, immediately. “In your arm.” He added, as if that wasn’t already obvious. 

I found myself chuckling, “Yeah, I can tell.” I said, my eyes meeting his. His expression was a bit unreadable, a mix between sternness and apprehension. I watched him, as his gaze shifted and he bit his lip. “You took it for me.” He said, suddenly. “The bullet, I mean.” He continued. “It would’ve hit me if you hadn’t gotten in the way.” 

“Gotten in the way?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow. 

“Gotten in the way.” He repeated back to me, his face hard. 

“Are you upset I took a bullet for you?” I said, furrowing my brows, my lips parting in shock. Was this guy serious? 

“Yes.” He said, his voice angry. “What were you thinking?” His voice wavered with anger and another emotion I couldn’t quite discern in that moment. 

“I wasn’t thinking, I just-” 

“Exactly.” He responded, harshly. “You weren’t thinking.” He said, his voice reaching a volume I’d never heard before, granted, it was still collected, but I’d never seen this side of him. 

I contemplated how to respond to this, actually not being able to believe that he could be mad at me for something like this. Yes, it was brash but- he didn’t get shot! Isn’t that a plus? His voice broke my thoughts, now a bit more shaky, softer. “Do you have any idea what that would mean? If you’d been hurt worse, what that would mean for me?” He said, looking right at my face, into my eyes with a blaze. “What you mean to me?” 

I found myself unable to respond, still not being able to grapple with what he was saying. What he was implying. “Sorry?” I asked, softly. 

“(Y/N)..” He said, softly. His own expression mirrored my confusion mixed with longing I’d never seen before on him. Especially when he looked at me. His hand brushed across my face, moving some hair that had drifted near my eye. I held my breath as he did so, watching as his tongue slipped out to wet his bottom lip, still watching intently. I felt my lips slightly part as he came closer, unsure what was going to happen in this moment, but regardless, my gaze was intently trained on his. 

In a split second though, the sounds of the rest of the BAU filtered into the hospital room. They jumped away from each other, Spencer now 4 feet away from me. Emily came up to my bedside, looking at the wound. 

The typical chastisement came, and the general choruses of appreciation that I was still alive. The diagnosis revealed that (Y/N) would be just fine, given I remembered to clean my wound liberally and change the bandages.

In about a week, I found myself discharged. I was given about 2 more weeks to rest at my apartment. I assumed the time would be enough to forget the strange moment I’d had in the hospital room. At some points, if I tried hard enough, I could convince myself it hadn’t happened at all. The tenderness in his eyes, the way his gaze drifted to my lips, so subtle it could’ve as easily been a figment of imagination. I shook my head, as if I could rid myself of all the feelings I’d harbored about that specific moment. I made my way to the kitchen, grabbing a fresh-set of bandages to apply on the recovering wound, wincing as I peeled away the layers of gauze to reveal the injury. As I began to apply the anti-septic, I began to wrap the gauze, until I heard a knock at my apartment door. 

I put down the gauze, looking through the peephole and being surprised to see the senior agent that had been haunting my thoughts for the past few weeks. I opened the door quickly, meeting his pensive gaze. 

“Can I come in?” He said, quickly, almost if he didn’t say the words fast enough, he’d bolt the other direction. I sensed the confusion about his own actions, and opened the door wider, allowing him to push past me into my apartment. He noticed the gauze, and the open wound, and raised an eyebrow. 

“I was changing the gauze, sorry.” I said, explaining the sight on my kitchen table. He immediately took a step towards the table, picking up the bandages. “Let me help.” He said, quietly, motioning for me to sit down. 

I found myself sitting, out of pure habit of obeying him, but still shook my head. 

 “Dr Reid, no, it’s fine.” He quickly shook his head, mirroring my previous actions,  already beginning to take my arm, his light touches on my bare skin shooting a shiver up my spine. This was noticeable to him, him immediately retracting his hand. 

“Sorry, did I hurt you?” He asked, softly. 

I found myself shaking my head. “No, no. Sorry. Just. Continue.” I said, trying to get the words out without looking at him. I suddenly remembered the strangeness of this situation, and forced myself to calm down as he began to carefully wrap the bandages around my injury, swallowing and looking up. 

“Dr Reid, why are you here?” I asked, carefully. I made sure that my tone was neutral, not trying to express displeasement, but still a bit confused about his intentions here. 

“You took a bullet for me.” He replied, simply, as if that explained why he was in my apartment, looming over me as he tenderly wrapped gauze over my arm, looking at me with the gentlest gaze I’d ever seen on him. I sighed, locking eyes with him. “I know, but-” He interrupted. “No, (Y/N), you don’t know.” 

Immediately, the rage returned to my eyes, the months of dismissal I’d faced from him flooding back in a moment, and those emotions came to full light in that moment. my brows furrowed, my face turning sour. “Oh, I don’t know, Spencer?” I said, sneering at him. “Am I too young, too stupid, too inexperienced for you?” I question, sarcastically. “Am I so dumb, that I wasn’t aware of what I was doing when I stepped in front of you?!” I say, my voice practically yelling at him now. 

“Yes.” He whispered, dangerously close. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Yes. You weren’t aware.” He says, repeats, softer this time. “It’s the only way any of this makes sense. That.. that you were so unaware, so blinded that you weren’t thinking when you stepped in front of me.” He said, quietly, remaining just as close as before. 

“I wasn’t.” I said, firmly, my brows still furrowed but the tension slowly left my face, being replaced with a softness. 

“Why did you do it then?” He said, dropping his gaze as he began to focus more on the bandages. “I haven’t been very forthcoming with you since you’ve begun your time at the BAU.” 

“Ah, so you’ve noticed.” I said, trying to make humor of the situation, but it came out a bit more breathless and dry. I was aware of the intimacy of the situation, and it seemed my body was catching up. I could physically feel the way my cheeks were heating up, and how they were close enough that I could see every breath that exhaled from his lips. How, despite everything, I still desperately wanted to kiss him at that moment. 

I couldn’t be crazy, when he secured the bandages and slowly trailed his eyes over my figure, sitting in front of him. I saw the same desire I felt, reflected in his eyes, and I found myself biting my lip. What the fuck was going on?

“So why’d you do it?” He repeated, still looking at me. 

“It felt natural, I..” I trailed off, trying to find the words to explain what I had felt in that split-second, but instead went with the simplest retelling my brain could manage, considering how close he was. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.” I said, looking at him. “I.. I care about you.” 

I felt stupidly vulnerable. His breath fanned over my face, and I bit my lip. I waited for him to say something, anything, staring anxiously at his face. 

“I’m a good profiler, you know.” He says, softly. 

I  chuckle a little at this, moving away so the tension can be relieved. “Trust me, I’m reminded of that every day.” I said, feeling like the distance between them was now more manageable, allowing me to talk.

But in a moment, he closed that distance to its predecessor, just as close as they were a moment ago. “You learn a lot about body language. Not just by learning to profile, but through years of experience. It just comes naturally, reading people. You can’t really turn it off. It’s like trying to forget how to breathe.” I hung onto his every word, and found my breath hitching when he directed his monologue to me. 

He gently inquires, “Do you understand?” 

I nod, looking up at him, as he inches closer. 

“So I hope you’ll understand and not take offense when I say I’ve been profiling you.” He pauses.  “Would you like to know what I’ve found out?” He says, looking right into my eyes at this point. 

My brain is screaming at me to say no, to not take the bait that he was dangling right in front of me, and to not cross that line tonight. Because, surely, that’s where this was going. I had a sneaking suspicion that the man in front of me was going to ruin me, if I let him. 

Instead, I ignore the instinct and intuition I normally rely on, and nod. “What did you find out, Dr Reid?” I responded, a bit shakier than I wanted to sound. 

“Your pupils dilate when I come near you. It’s an involuntary response, but I notice it every time. I’ve seen it in low and heavy lighting, the only commonality in both those situations being that we were in some proximity to each other.” His voice was low, and seductive, something I’d never heard from him before. 

“Your heart rate.” He murmurs, slowly picking up my wrist and pressing a thumb to the pulse point. “This isn’t exactly the best way to measure heart rate.” He explains, “My thumb. It carries its own pulse that can make it hard to distinguish between mine and yours. But right now, (Y/N)?” He mumbles. “I can tell. Because your pulse is going crazy right now. It’d be hard to miss.”  He said, with a low chuckle.

And he’s right, I can feel my heart getting faster with every second he speaks to me, in that hushed tone that seems to be driving me crazy. 

“It’s not just tonight. I’ve noticed it since the day you walked in.” He whispers, getting closer to my ear, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. “Since you brought that terrible coffee, actually.” 

I pulled back, letting out a noise that was both composed of surprise and amusement. “Oh come on, it was not that bad.” 

“It was, but I can tell you tried.” He said, a small smirk playing on his face. “It was cute.” He said, now taking the time to brush some hair out of my face. It all happened quickly, his gaze tender and soft, before he captured my lips in a swoon-worthy kiss, pressing himself against me. I quickly melted into the kiss, letting out a satisfied sigh as I gripped his forearm, before rising from the chair as he slowly guided me to my couch. I let out a nervous laugh as my knees hit the cushions, tumbling a bit as I fell onto the soft pillows. He immediately pulled back, breathless, looking at me worriedly. 

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He murmured softly, kissing me again, a bit more gentle so I could murmur a soft “no” against his lips. 

“Good.” He growled, positioning himself above me on the couch,  beginning to press hot kisses down my neck, eventually reaching my exposed sternum, and looking up at me through hooded lids for implicit consent to continue, to which I nodded, feverishly. 

“Please.” I whispered, hoarsely. 

He took no time in obliging my request, rising a bit to remove the fabric of my shirt in one, clean swoop and continuing his assault on my chest, leaving open-mouthed kissed, eventually switching to nips and playful bites, as he sucked marks into the swell of my breasts, leaving me letting out delighted sighs and soft moans, which only seemed to encourage him to go lower. I arched my back, screwing my eyes shut, until he felt him stop, and come back to my neck. 

He murmured against me, close to my ear. I could feel his lips slowly brush the sensitive skin between my ear and neck, barely giving me any real stimulation, but it was enough to drive me crazy anyway. 

“Keep your eyes open, baby.” He whispers. “I want to see every part of your pretty face when I do this.” He says, returning lower again, leaving little kisses everywhere he could possibly go with his lips. I opened my eyes on command, watching as he went lower and lower, before finding the button on my jeans, slowly undoing them with nimble fingers and moving them off  my legs. I could imagine them so vividly inside me, expertly guiding me to pleasure in a way that mine couldn’t. But right now, if I wasn’t fucked senseless by him right now, I’d just about lose my mind. 

“Spencer.” I whispered, breathlessly. “I need you.” I breathed out. “Please.” 

“You need me to do what?” He asked, smirking as he already began to undo his own belt. 

“Spencer.” I repeated, firmly, not wanting to say the words. 

“Say it.” He says, in a much more commanding tone. 

“Spencer..” I repeat, breathing out again. “Fuck. I need-” I waver on the words, biting my lip. “I need you to fuck me. Now.” 

His smirk turns into a grin of satisfaction and pride, capturing my lips in yet another passionate kiss. “Mm. Wasn’t so hard, was it?” He says, cockily. I whined against his lips, tacitly begging him to just get on with it and he chuckles, moving off of my mouth. 

“Alright. I get it.” He says, moving his lips downwards again, his lips brushing against my underwear, as he began to remove that fabric as well. He nearly moaned when he saw just how wet I really was. It was a bit embarrassing, just from a few touches and words, but it was hard to care when I felt his tongue right on my core, beginning to lap at the hot flesh, reducing me to moans as I knotted my fingers into his hair, arching my back and bucking my hips to feel more of his ministrations. He seemed to understand, hooking his strong arms under my thighs, firmly planting me to the couch we were currently on, continuing. I could feel his moans against me, sending vibrations that only heightened my arousal in that moment. As if that was even possible. 

And then it was, because I heard him murmur against me.“You taste-” he paused, using his tongue to lap up more of my arousal. “So fucking good.” He finished, beginning to now harshly flick at my clit, which caused an entirely new slew of sensations. I recognized my end was fast approaching, and I tugged on his hair, unable to form the words as the white-hot pleasure overtook me quickly, he seemed to understand this without a word, nursing me through my orgasm as my thighs shook around him and he held my hips down. Even then, he didn’t stop, continuing to flick his tongue, lapping up my arousal until I had to physically push him away with a soft groan. “Spencer.. It’s too much.” Even then, he continued, reducing me to nothing but moans, and I heard him whisper. “Come on. One more. Please.” The words unintentionally caused a flutter in my stomach, and in record time I was being pushed towards my second orgasm in a matter of 5 minutes.

His mouth was clearly so much better at this than arguing. 

I felt him lap up the last bit of my arousal, looking up at me with a glistening chin, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say it was the most erotic sight in the world at that moment. The man that had questioned me at every turn, now in between my legs. He gave a smirk, moving up and giving me a rough kiss, and I didn’t hesitate to moan in his mouth when I could taste myself on his tongue. He smiled as he broke the kiss, caressing my cheek with one of his hands. His thumb moved along the smooth expanse of my cheeks. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, gently, concern in his eyes. 

I couldn’t help but break out into a dazed smile, nodding, a thin cover of sheen over my body, where I was still breathing heavily. “Yeah. I’m good.” 

“Good.” He breathed out. “I’m not stopping.” 

“I don’t want you to stop,” was my response, his shirt coming off before I’d even finished my sentence. 

I watched in fascination as he undid his belt, the very sound of it filling me with anticipation and desire. I could feel myself getting more aroused by the second, despite my previous two orgasms. I wanted him, I wanted this so badly. 

I felt him position himself over me, and feeling the head of his arousal run through my folds. I let out a breathy groan, as I felt him push into me. He let out a moan of his own, shutting his eyes. “You feel.. So fucking good.” 

I whimpered slightly as my body adjusted to him and his size. He was so big, and I’d never felt full like this before. He noticed this and placed a gentle kiss against my lips, watching my face as it contorted in pleasure and pain. As the pain began to subside, I looked up at him nodding. 

“Move, please.” I begged, the desperation evident in my voice.

He took no time in obeying my request, beginning to slowly thrust in and out of me. I moaned, feeling his cock stretch me and fill me up in a way I had never been full before. A pleasant sensation bloomed through my lower abdomen, and I could feel him bury his head into my shoulder as he pushed into me, my walls clenching on his length with every movement he gave. He pressed wet kisses into my neck, and I moaned happily at the feeling. In an instant, I could feel him fucking me desperately, placing both of his hands on either side of my face. I could feel my jaw drop, and no sound came out. I was being hurdled towards my third orgasm of the night and it was all at the behest of the man in front of me, plowing into me like it was his job. 

I moaned loudly, my legs wrapping around his waist in an attempt to keep him buried in my deepest point, feeling my release creeping up on me. 

“Sp-Spencer..” I groaned, attempting to alert him of my impending orgasm, but he simply swooped down, kissing me roughly, which only caused me to moan into his mouth. 

“I know, baby.” He whispered, in a deliciously dark tone. “Come for me, baby. Wanna feel you make a mess all over my cock.” 

It took no more provocation from there, as I felt my hips buck up once more and my thighs shake. I came with a loud moan of his name, my free hand gripping onto him and leaving scratches I knew wouldn’t go away for a while. 

My release seemed to spur him on, the wetness allowing him to fuck into me harder. I watched the man above me lose all control, and it was beautiful. He grunted a bit, and I could feel his hips stutter, chasing after his orgasm. 

“Please, Spencer.” I begged. “Fill me up, I need to feel you come inside me.” I whispered. 

It didn’t take long after that, after a particularly hard thrust, a warmness filled me at my hilt and Spencer nearly collapsed over me. He gave me a kiss, murmuring into the skin of my neck. “So perfect, so fucking perfect for me.” 

I smiled at the praise, biting my lip. I let my hand traverse over his back, drawing figures into the warm skin. I looked at the man laying on my sternum, looking absolutely fucked out despite being the one to give me three orgasms tonight. “Perfect, you say?” I teased. 

He looked up at me, kissing my lips softly, before mumbling against them, “Mm. Perfect.” 

I had a sneaking suspicion the next time we were at work, and he’d have something to say about my work, (because he always did), it wouldn’t take long to have him whispering sweet nothings to me in an instant, just like he was now. At least I could do something right on the first try.

hi!! this is my first fanfiction i've written since i was literally in middle school. spoiler. far from middle school right now. leave a comment, reblog, like, whatever! i had fun writing this. my ask box should be open for more requests? if anyone would like. anyway! hope u enjoyed!! :3

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #smut #request #spencer reid request #criminal minds fanfiction

[lnsfawwi]

bucky is anti-peggy: their relationships with steve and why bucky will always overshadow peggy as love interest

hardly anything novel but I have to get it out of my system. interpretations are strictly in-universe just to be fair. also seb headcanons are canon, I won't hear otherwise!

the difference between stucky and steggy can be summed up by their respective reactions to beefed-up Steve. someone on tumblr points out that these two scenes also serve as analogies of their relationships. steggy would always be about peggy reaching out, their relationship would be under the spotlight, be the center of attention while stucky is the reverse. I just want to add to that.

Peggy was literally dazzled, she tried to touch his naked body, she was eager to see what this body could do (sexually, among other things). that's the first time she saw steve as sexually attractive, the first time she saw steve at all if we are honest, and what she saw was this jacked-up version of him, an icon-to-be, someone whom steve never really accepted as himself. In essence, the first time she really paid attention to steve as the love interest, was the moment steve became someone else.

Bucky, who was tortured for days, if not weeks, still delirious, was confused bc that was not his steve, he probably didn't even think Steve was real at first. Bucky was experimented on, he likely knew there were similar human experiments aimed to enhance, he knew science like that was possible, but whose science? so that's the first question, 'what happened?' Steve joined the army, okay, so this was not forced onto him, probably. then the next thing he asked was, 'did it hurt?' he didn't care how strong it made Steve, he only wanted assurance that Steve was fine. like, what if the process hurt? what could bucky possibly do? nothing. it's not about whether it hurt, it was just bucky simply giving a shit about steve's wellbeing. we don't even need to get into the 'little kid from brooklyn' line.

peggy witnessed a magical transformation and was amazed by the eventual product but bucky saw his best friend who must've gotten through something excruciating. peggy could never fall in love with skinny steve when that's all bucky saw, until the very end (sebastian said bucky probably never got used to big steve).

another contrast would be the final plane crash. sebastian was asked whether Bucky would've gotten on that plane with Steve or stayed behind like Peggy. seb's answer is that Bucky would've tried to get on that plane cuz he felt responsible for steve, and he'd fall again.

the thing is that, had Bucky been on that plane, Steve never would've crashed it. he would've done anything to save Bucky. he didn't have to crash that plane which was canon (pointed out by rhodey). steve could've got out but he didn't. Bucky being there would've given him the motivation to do so. any other person would tbh, but only Bucky would be willing to be on that plane bc Peggy canonly wasn't. in addition to bucky's willingness to follow steve literally into the jaws of death, in this hypothetical scenario, Bucky would be the reason for Steve to live in catfa.

that leads to yet another contrast.

'just go! get out of here!' 'no, not without you!'

steve, who had no idea what he was capable of, jumped through fire for bucky.

'don't do this, there's still time, let me find a way...' 'a lot of people are gonna die if I don't do this, peggy. this's my choice.'

despite peggy's pleading, steve crashed the plane.

the word choice appeared several times in catfa. the first time was when peggy told philip that it was steve's choice (to die trying to save bucky). the second time was when peggy told steve that bucky made a choice (to die fighting with him). and the third time was when steve told peggy it was his choice (to sacrifice himself). it's no coincidence that each and every time the choice was each other, steve echoing the word at the end made it clear that he was doing this for bucky.

a relationship goes both ways. steve and bucky are canonly willing to, and did, die and live for each other. peggy simply doesn't have that level of impact on steve. in fact, steve literally repeatedly chose bucky over her in catfa.

put it simply, bucky and steve care more about each other than themselves, peggy didn't even care about skinny steve in that sense. she also literally couldn't because she only met skinny steve twice. briefly.

plus as I said previously bucky is the only one standing in between a traditional cishet hypermasculine image of steve and the real steve, peggy is the one element that fulfils the false image.

everything bucky is, peggy is the opposite. the differences quite literally result in different interpretations of steve. and who can say honestly that endgame steve is better than cap trilogy steve？

#bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #stevebucky #anti steggy #captain america the first avenger #stucky is in the narrative #captain america #I used SO MANY literally omg #I'm so bad at writing

[viihoff]

How does Astarion and Tav's relationship develop during their romance? A little analysis and a really long post, part 1 of 2, first and second Acts.

Please note that this is an interpretation. Your Tav's relationships with Astarion might evolve in a different way, it's a mix of both canon and headcanon material. I just love analyzing people and writing stuff.

Act 1.

During this time, Astarion's in survival mode. Being thrown into the world, unknowing if he's free of Cazador's will or not, if he's being chased or not, Astarion resorts to the skeleton of his behavioral pattern - manipulation. He cannot trust Tav, both because he's a vampire (and vamps don't have a good rep, of course), and because the centuries he spent in servitude, deprived of any hope and freedom, thought him to rely on himself, only. He's lost, scared, bewildered. Astarion is drunk with the sense of freedom, but he doesn't know when or how it might end, what's out there for him, and what to do. Seeing Tav, he latches on to them, and starts to plan how to get the most out of them.

So, feeling where the wind's blowing, and seeing Tav as a solidified leader of the group, Astarion starts playing his game. He tries to appear charming and flirts with Tav (and sometimes not only them, but also Gale, Wyll, etc, he needs to have his options open) despite not being whatsoever close to them. It might appear, from Tav's perspective, that Astarion's just like that - overly flirty, promiscuous, a down to earth guy who seeks the simple pleasures. And, maybe, genuinely likes them, why not. But, of course, Astarion doesn't. He actively acts on the persona he created, not willing to share his true feelings yet. He might feel sympathy towards certain Tav's behaviors, like being self-serving, but he doesn't trust them. Again, yet. Even during the first and second sex scenes with Astarion, as he confirms in Act 3 if you didn't get his confession, it was only a transaction for him. His body for your loyalty and a faint chance of you being enamored enough not to stab Astarion in his back.

This is the reason why I don't believe that Astarion develops a crush on Tav in the 1st Act. He prayed for 200 years to the gods for him to be saved, of course they won't send an angel now who would magically sort his shit out for him and basically save him from Cazador, will they? It would be really unfair, after all these years, and totally unrealistic. So, everything he does is an act, confirmed to me by the way Petras acts when you meet him in Act 3. Same mannerism, same learned by heart 'honeyed words' Astarion uses on Tav to lure them in. The way he talks, gestures, plays with the pitch of his voice - Tav's constantly bombarded with the best tactics Astarion has developed to lure people in. There's only a number of times when's genuine - when you reject him, and when he's bitching during the cutscenes and over some of your choices. Right now, the only feeling Astarion's is comfortable to share is anger and mild dissatisfaction. All of his pain is saved for later.

I'm confident to say that spending the night with Tav was a 'duty' of Astarion's, as he himself believed, and he didn't get any initial pleasure in doing it. Of course, he did it willingly (and it was good sex, otherwise Tav wouldn't have been screaming Astarion's name into the night for everyone to hear, lol). However, it was no more than a type of physical labor one performs, totally mechanized.

Act 2.

This is when the immediate danger of being turned into a mindflayer is not a real life threat anymore and being 100% reliant on the good will of Tav isn't a survival strategy.

Genuine friendship starts to develop due to the time spent together and the good things Tav is ready to do for Astarion without asking anything in return. Everyone who's upset over not being able to start as friends with Astarion before initiating the romance - rejoice, I really believe it happens this way in the game. No matter the approval, Astarion begins to warm up to Tav and other companions only in Act 2, feeling comfortable and experiencing true camaraderie for the first time in his life. I say that because I believe that most of the bonding is happening behind the scenes, and the only thing we see is the byproduct. You cease to be a group of survivals in Act 2 and become a real team.

Thus, Astarion begins to feel safe. Not only thanks to Tav being compassionate towards him UNCONDITIONALLY, but because everyone else in your band is ready to protect him and one another. Astarion finds true safety, and, thanks to that, survival mode is finally off.

His mental capacities are finally free to start not only caring about his immediate survival (because he's surrounded by friends, and I don't care how apathetic companions act towards Astarion in his spawn ending, this shit is the result of time crunch, not the way the band would really behave, I'm sure of it), but observe. He sees the person before him, Tav, who does things and doesn't ask shit in return from him, who's genuinely compassionate and kind, and he finally stops viewing this as a weakness. Why? Because it was proven to him by Tav's actions that being a good person is a real life strategy and doesn't always leave you weaker than you were before, but stronger, with more allies and resources than before.

By observing Tav, Astarion sees and understands that there are people who can care for him, and they don't get crashed by the big bad world which is cruel and actively acts against you.

No, the world is indifferent, and shit happens because people choose to act like that. Cazador was a cruel monster to Astarion because he chose to, and Tav cares for him and stands for him because they chose to. There are people who he can trust.

This is the point when Astarion cracks. I believe that he falls for Tav not for their looks or certain temperament (this is the reason why you can romance him as a gnome who he is racist towards, lmao), but they way Tav treats him. He falls for Tav's protecting and kind nature towards him, and after that, I think, he starts seeing beauty in the looks, certain character quirks and stuff like that.

After you helped him decipher his scars and/or protected him from the blood merchant, all of his walls are down. He's a cup full of sheer admiration and gratitude, and, when he confesses, he still doesn't understand that he's in love. He thanks Tav for being there for him, and although he doesn't know what he feels or wants, he enjoys having Tav around him. Being with Tav gave him the strength to believe that good things can happen to him, too. Despite still being in danger from Cazador, he's finally hopeful enough to desire something beyond being away from his master.

He wants revenge. He wants to finally stop pretending. He wants closure. He wants to move on. And he wants Tav.

He wants to treat them the same way they treat him. He finally has the capacity to give back the kindness, because he was given enough of it for him to spare.

And then we move to Act 3, but I will do this part some next time, because this post is already ungodly long. I will also write about the way Astarion's relationship with Durge evolves and how it is a bit different from a standard romance.

Cheers, vampire lovers.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #astarion x tav #text post #next time I will also include some Durge analysis #cause the relationship there is a bit different #you're more of on an equal footing there #I must have made so many mistakes writing this #sorry English is not my first language

[manjiroscum]

pregnancy diaries: pancakes

summary: the journey of motherhood is never easy from the first morning sickness to when the water suddenly breaks. such precious yet arduous nine months deserve to be recorded for memories.

character/s: bonten!kakucho hitto

warnings: f!reader, mature language, pregnancy, pregnant sex, implied lactation kink, breeding kink, established relationship, mentions of canon-typical violence, mention of blackmail, mentions of adoption, lots of fluff, use of guns/firearms, and use of pet names. Minors do not interact.

masterlist

wc: 5.3k

note: this entry is dedicated to kaku's 1#, bby dawn @lalunanymph 💖

MONTH 0: WEEK 2

Dear duckie, 

How lucky are we to be blessed with you? Your father wouldn’t admit it, but I was pretty sure he shed some tears when I broke the news to him. I’ll admit though that I cried more than he did. Your older brother won't stop asking about you and when you will arrive. He even gave you your little nickname. Your family is super happy to have you, darling.

We all can't wait to meet you, baby duckie.

Kakucho’s steady gaze landed on the five-year-old boy sitting by the coffee table. Aoki was unusually silent as if he was scared to death to make a sound as he played with the toy duck he wouldn't let go of since the day you two brought him home from the orphanage. You had a hunch it was because of the new baby. Normally, he would be running around or asking for sweets. Yet, at the announcement of him becoming an older brother, your son barely made a sound. Your husband must’ve had the same idea since he couldn’t stand the silence, approaching the boy in earnest.

“Aoki,” Kakucho spoke in a gentle tone, his hand gesturing for the boy to come hither. Heart slightly pounding, you watched from the kitchen counter, hands frozen. Your gaze is on the scene unfolding in front of you. Ever since Aoki entered both of your lives, you never wondered what would occur if another addition was added to your little family. It was always three tables in the dining room and you thought it would be that way forever—until the trip to the clinic said otherwise. Surprising as it was, you and Kakucho were ecstatic. However, the slight doubt of Aoki accepting this sudden change was looming above your head along with the joy you felt at that moment.

Luckily, Kakucho was there to ease it away by pressing a kiss on top of the boy’s head. “Aoki, can I ask you a question?” Upon hearing his dad’s words, your son then nodded softly. You found yourself holding your breath as your husband continued. “Are you… scared that the new baby will replace you?”

S-so blunt!

You bit your lower lip, hands resuming cleaning the cabbage as you relied on your sense of hearing. Aoki was probably stunned at his father’s question, yet dared not to make a sound other than to hesitantly nod his head. Kakucho then sighed and reached up to rub his head affectionately. “Why? There’s nothing to be scared of,” he said with a small smile, never ceasing his actions to comfort his son. “There’s no way your mom and I will replace you—you’re our son, our Aoki. That will never change. The new baby is your sibling and will be a part of us, too. And we will love you and the baby the same way. We’re family, remember?”

Perhaps Kakucho’s trait of being straightforward and using a direct way of asking had helped your son in some way because Aoki was nodding eagerly now at what he had just said, and the smile returned to his adorable face. 

“Okay… Can we name the baby ‘duckie’, Papa?” The surprise on both of your faces disappeared as soon as Aoki hugged his toy and adorably grinned. “Duckies are cute, and the baby must be cute. Right?”

Kakucho chuckled and patted his head, nodding along. “Of course. You both are.” Kakucho then took the chance to tickle the boy, hoping it would make the rest of his doubts disappear. Much to your satisfaction, laughter graced the house once more and all was well.

MONTH 1: WEEK 4

Dear tiny duckie, 

Your brother is often asking about you. I can’t wait to take photos of you two together. Your papa and I also can’t keep our excitement from showing. My stomach is slightly bloating now, which reminds me that I must buy new clothes. I feel emotional sometimes whenever I think about you growing inside me. I guess this is how pregnancy can mess with hormones, but it’s alright. Please grow healthy and sound, duckie.

We love you to the moon and back, my little duckie!

“Mama, I can’t hear anything,” Aoki whispered with his ear against your stomach. “Is duckie alright?” You couldn’t help but let out a giggle at his eagerness. Your answer was about to slip past your lips until your gaze landed on the ticking clock on the wall telling you that it was late. Kakucho was still not home. Worry etched your features at the thought of him fighting or possibly doing something risky. While the figures he earned from dirtying his hands in Bonten were enough to sustain your family, there were times when you wished your husband had a different job.

Aoki followed your line of sight and then frowned. It was already ten in the evening. Typically, his father would be home at this hour or earlier to tuck him in. However, Kakucho wasn't.

“Mama, I don’t wanna sleep yet. Wanna wait for Papa.”

At the boy’s statement, you sighed prior to pinching his cheek gently. Knowing this would happen, you shook your head. “No, Aoki. You know you have to wake up early tomorrow because you have school.” He pouted in defiance, still not wanting to yield and go to bed. Holding your ground, you stayed quiet. After a staring contest that lasted only a minute, Aoki gave up and got off the couch. Following suit, you headed to his bedroom right after turning a few lights off. Despite his protests earlier, your son was yawning as soon as his back hit the mattress.

“I know you want Papa to tuck you in, but he’s busy with work. How about I read you a bedtime story, mhm?” You sat on the edge of his bed, eyes scanning the picture books by the nightstand. “How does that sound?”

“Yes, Mama,” Aoki responded softly. His hands pulled up the blanket up to his nose, eyes sparkling as he waited for you to begin. With a fond smile, you grabbed the book entitled Kintaro’s Adventures and flipped to the first page. A few pages later, Aoki was now fast asleep. You set the book down and pressed a kiss on his forehead, about to leave when the bedroom door creaked open. In came Kakucho, his dual-colored eyes scanning the area until his sight landed on you and the sleeping boy.

“Sorry I’m late,” Kakucho mumbled after he closed the distance between you both. You shook your head dismissively, offering him a kiss on the cheek. Your husband chased after your lips which earned him a stifled giggle. “I’ll make sure to be early tomorrow and tuck him in.”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re home, love.”

MONTH 2: WEEK 7

Dear baby duckie,

Mama is feeling more tired lately. I could definitely say I am pregnant now. Morning sickness is worst than ever and I could feel the changes. But I am happy to hear from the doctor that you’re doing fine. I don’t care what happens to my body as long as you’re healthy. Your papa and I are happy to hear that at this stage, your heart has formed. We can’t wait to hear it.

Continue to grow well, my baby duckie.

Manjiro’s sleepy eyes fell on your form, brow raised at your presence. You stood up and gave him a short bow in acknowledgment. He wasn’t expecting you to be here, sitting in the office lobby. Kakucho was just finishing his meeting in the other room, leaving you all by yourself. This did not sit well with Bonten’s leader, especially since he knew you were pregnant. The organization’s headquarters may be a symbol of fear to those who knew, yet within, betrayal could occur anytime. Manjiro would be caught dead rather than leave his pregnant wife all alone. What was his third-in-command thinking?

“What… are you doing here?” he asked, perplexed on whether to head for his meeting or to accompany you until Kakucho comes. Maybe Sanzu can entertain those bastards while he waits with you. “It’s not safe to be here all on your own. I was sure Kakucho knew that.” 

“Don’t worry, Mikey. Kakucho is almost done. He and I are going to pick up our son from kindergarten, you see.” Taking a seat once again, you sheepishly gestured down the hall. “I’m fine on my own, honest. I don’t want to inconvenience you…” you trailed off when Manjiro took the seat beside you. Perhaps the rumors of the great Sano Manjiro only caring for himself held no truth at all. Then again, if that were true, his wife wouldn’t be gushing about him all the time during parties.

“I can wait. As I said, it isn’t safe.”

But damn, you found it so hard to fill in the awkward silence that enveloped the lobby. To count on Mikey to lead the conversation was a hopeless cause for he did not know what else to say. Thankfully, Kakucho was now walking towards you. His stoic face morphed into one of surprise with a mixture of shame. He did not expect his leader to accompany his wife, let alone play bodyguard. The Haitani brothers will never live this down if they would find out. Quick to be by your side, Kakucho’s stonehard facade fell as he regarded his boss with a sheepish look.

“Mikey, I’m sorry—”

“No need for an apology, Kakucho.” Manjiro stood up from the couch, hands in his pockets. “Just be careful next time. Can’t have meaningless trouble.” With that said, Bonten’s leader sauntered off. The two of you stood there for a moment, unsure of what just occurred. You were the first to break the silence, giggling as you poked your husband’s side. Kakucho exhaled aloud, his hand over his heart. Then, his lips broke into a relaxed grin.

“Were you scared, love?”

“Of Mikey? Of course not. It’s just that, for a second there I thought he was gonna fuckin’ berate me,” Kakucho muttered. His hand was placed behind your back as you two headed for the elevator. “He’s been… acting weird since his wife gave birth. But maybe I deserve it. I shouldn’t have really left you in the lobby, safe or not.”

“Why? I was fine on my own,” you reasoned and leaned against him. The warmth he exudes is comforting. “Besides, I think Mikey was just looking out for us.” For emphasis, you rubbed your stomach. Your husband saw and understood what you meant, earning a small laugh from him. 

“I guess so. That's typical of him.”

MONTH 3: WEEK 9

My baby duckie,

Your uncles are so sweet. Maybe a little too much that your papa ends up saying the strangest things. I hope you will understand once you're grown up that him being protective is just his way of saying he loves you. The doctor said you're about the size of a strawberry now. You're so tiny, duckie. I wish I could hold you in my arms and make memories soon. 

Papa and Mama love you so much, our sweet duckie. 

If Kakucho were to be asked back then what he thought of Sanzu Haruchiyo, the word annoying would always be a staple term. Not only was the man cockblocking him, but Bonten’s number two had the nerve to be snoring away on the couch like it was his own home. Today was supposed to be a rest day, one where Kakucho could relax and spend time with his family—perhaps even have alone time with you, granted that Aoki was in school. However, the presence of Sanzu in the house put a halt to that wish of his. Fate just had to tease Kakucho because out of all days, you were in the mood and ready to jump him if given the chance. But of course, you couldn't due to Sanzu's surprising visit.

What was the man doing here again? Kakucho couldn't remember. His attention was solely on his phone, hoping that Ran or Rindou could pick up the drunk Sanzu Haruchiyo and take him home. If Sanzu continues to let out loud snores for another minute, Kakucho fears he’s going to lose his mind. 

Thankfully, after thirty minutes of waiting, the Haitani brothers finally arrived to take Sanzu off of Kakucho's hands. You got out of the bedroom, a silk robe around your pajama-clad form. Silently, you watched as Rindou nudged the pink-haired man awake. Ran clicked his tongue at the scene and folded his arms across his chest. Sanzu, despite snoring so much, wasn't a heavy sleeper and woke up without a hitch. He staggered as he stood up, rubbing his eyes before glaring at the sunlight that flooded the living room.

“Mornin’ already?”

Ran couldn't help but roll his eyes while helping Sanzu stand up. “See, this is why your wife kicked you out of your own home, Sanzu. You keep getting blackout drunk.” Rindou snickered at his brother’s remark as he aided the other. “You should stop challenging Koko in that rigged drinking contest and go straight home to your family. You’re so fucking pathetic right now. If I were your wife, I’d divorce your ass if you keep doing this.”

Sanzu managed to scoff, “No need to fear. I won’t marry your high-maintenance ass, Ran. Even if Mikey pays me to do it, I’d rather shoot myself.” Those clear blue eyes that were usually sharp and calculating landed on you, his lips breaking into a silly grin. “The lady here could probably say the same thing.”

Ignoring Ran’s irritated quips, Kakucho turned to give you an apologetic look which you dismissed with a shrug. You excused yourself and left for the bedroom, feeling a bit dizzy. Everything went smoothly up to the point where the brothers got past the front door. Apparently, Sanzu hasn’t thanked Kakucho and you for your hospitality. Well, forced hospitality was the more definite term, Kakucho thought. Yet, instead of feeling some sort of relief that the annoyance was gone, your husband returned to your side with furrowed brows. Your lips were about to form a question when he knelt and kissed the bump on your stomach, veiny hands caressing the skin there. 

“That bastard,” Kakucho grumbled to himself while stroking your tummy. If you didn’t know any better, your husband was slightly stressed out at what occurred. You stayed silent for a moment, waiting to hear what caused it. “There’s no way I’m letting that fucking happen. I’d shoot him and the Haitanis twice before I let them inside here again.”

Now alarmed, you sat up straight. “What happened?” you inquired and then winced at the scenario brewing in your mind. “Don’t tell me… Sanzu vomited all over the entrance?”

Kakucho exhaled. “Worst. Ran was on his usual tirade when Sanzu commented on how he will thank us. I told him all was fine, but he just had to say he will have his son marry our baby if it turns out to be a daughter. The brothers, of course, did not back down and did the same.” His eyes shot up in an accusatory way when you burst out laughing. “Love, it isn’t funny. Can you believe them? If my baby is indeed a girl, there’s no way I’m letting that happen! She hasn’t even gotten out of the womb and now she’s getting marriage proposals. Of all the fucking things…”

MONTH 4: WEEK 15

My duckie,

We got a new sonogram today. Can you believe it? We’re getting a baby girl? Your papa is so excited. He could barely sleep a wink these past few days. Your uncles are even buying toys and clothes for you now. Your big brother couldn’t contain his joy as well. He hopes you’ll start kicking soon. Personally, I’m a bit afraid once that happens. The doctor did assure me it wouldn’t hurt as much as I was told. But if it means that you’re healthy and active, I won’t mind. Kick all you want, darling.

To our baby girl, duckie, we love you.

The warm bathwater was lulling you to sleep, but as soon as Kakucho entered the bath, he went straight to keep you busy. His sturdy arms kept you caged in, scared you might fall backward and hit your head as you bounced on his cock. The soapy water sloshed around with each rapid movement. Holding your breasts, you relied on nothing but biting on your lips to prevent moans from slipping past them. Aoki’s bedroom was far away, yet you shouldn’t get carried away. The last thing you wanted was for the poor child to hear you or Kakucho cursing.

“Love, c-cum inside, please,” you whined softly. Reaching your hand down to caress his face, you leaned closer to kiss his scar. Kakucho was certain he could knock you up again with another child. With a low grunt, he thrust his hips up to meet you halfway. Moaning out his name, you held onto him tightly as you chased your high. Your husband sunk his teeth into your left shoulder to muffle his groans. His cock twitched inside you before it spurted a huge load of hot milky semen into your creamy pussy.

“Love you,” Kakucho whispered against your skin and pressed a chaste kiss on the area where he bit. “And thank you… for giving me another one to love. You’re so amazing.” You lifted his head by the chin and pressed your foreheads together while humming in contentment. The bathwater had turned lukewarm. It was a sign to move this to the bedroom and continue from there. 

“I love you, too. Always.”

MONTH 5: WEEK 18

My darlin’ duckie,

I, somehow, felt you move inside my tummy. It almost felt like I had butterflies in my stomach. There are times when I get too dizzy, but for you, I can handle anything. Your big brother made cute drawings of us while he was in school. I’m going to hang some of them in your room once your papa is finished with the furnishing. 

Four more months my duckie! We’ll see you soon.

“You doing okay, love?”

Kakucho looked more out of breath than you are. He did run all the way from the kitchen up to your shared bedroom when you suddenly called out his name out of fear that you couldn’t breathe properly. Shortness of breath was considered normal when you’re pregnant. Your beloved husband was quick to assist you out of bed, gently aiding you to the bathroom when you vocalized your urge to pee. Now, sitting on the toilet, you scratched your arm sheepishly at Kakucho never leaving your side. What you did gave him quite a scare.

“I’m alright, love. Honest.”

“Just tell me whenever you feel some sort of pain, ‘kay?” Kakucho let out a long exhale and leaned against the doorway. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that things of the unexpected will become frequent in the following months to come. Kakucho was a worrywart despite denying this fact. Although it was normal to worry, his way was on a whole other level. Once you did your business and washed your hands, he was quick to be on your side while you descended the stairs. His strong and ever-present arm either wrapped around your waist or shoulder.

“I said I’m fine, Kaku.” you insisted for the fourth time today. Your husband shook his head and sat down next to you on the couch. At this hour, he would be off to where Bonten needed him. It would not come off as a surprise if his phone will start blowing up due to endless calls from his colleagues, hoping to know where he is. The television was playing a commercial for powdered milk for babies, your attention elsewhere, when Kakucho laid his head down on your lap. 

“Wake me up if you ever need anything, love. Okay?”

Shooting him a glance and an assuring smile, you focused on the drama now playing on the screen. Your husband couldn’t help but snort playfully. Just as you were about to let out a disappointed remark at the drama’s sudden plot twist, you caught yourself from making a huge noise for Kakucho was indeed fast asleep on your lap. Silently, you pressed two of your fingers onto your lips and then pressed them against Kakucho’s.

MONTH 6: WEEK 23

Baby duckie,

I hope you are doing well inside my tummy as I’m writing this. There is no denying that you are indeed your father’s daughter. You’re so active, always kicking during the evening that I get surprised. I supposed that’s just your way of saying you’re here or that you don’t like the meal I just ate. Sorry dear, but we can’t be picky with our food. We can’t always eat pancakes every morning no matter how delicious your papa makes them.

I hope you learn to like vegetables, my precious girl.

A groan escaped your mouth while fixing your shirt, making sure there wasn’t any stain on sight or any incriminating evidence that your nipples were toyed and sucked on. The culprit, Kakucho, emerged from the bathroom, the corners of his lips curled up at what occurred seconds ago in the privacy of your bedroom. Your innocent son was babbling Rindou’s ear off in the living room, too focused on the children’s show playing on the television to see Ran wiggle his brows as soon as the two of you joined them. Who knew your husband could go feral upon finding out that your breasts have begun to produce milk for the baby? In fact, it should only be for the baby. Kakucho never fails to surprise you when you least expect it. You just hope he won’t get any funny ideas of doing it again once the baby is out.

The baby needs her milk too…

“Isn’t it too early to be having fun?” Ran joked. Your husband rolled his eyes at the older Haitani’s attempt. You, on the other hand, paid no mind to it. Instead, you shifted your full attention to Aoki. Ran’s second attempt to get a laugh got cut short due to the stuffed toy Rindou threw at his face. Aoki saw this and giggled. Whether he was planning on getting back at Rindou or not, Ran sat up straight as soon as he saw Kakucho shoot him a pointed stare.

“Are you guys gonna eat breakfast or not?” Kakucho inquired before grabbing an empty plate to place pancakes on. The Haitanis weren’t here to merely visit your family or to play with Aoki. Contrary to what they told your son, the brothers were here to pick up your husband for an important meeting with the entire higher-ups of their organization. And that they wanted to eat pancakes made by Kakucho, stating that they missed the taste of it.

While the brothers and your son sat at the dining table, you watched over the other pancakes still on the pan. Your mouth watering at the sight of the leftover mixture in the bowl, tempted to swipe it and finish the batter if your husband wasn’t looking. Kakucho must have sensed your craving as he immediately grabbed the bowl and poured the last of its contents into the pan. Lips in a pout, you flipped the other pancakes whereas Kakucho took out those that were cooked.

Making sure Aoki and the troublesome Haitanis were caught up on something else, Kakucho leaned forward to press a kiss against the side of your head. Caught off guard for a second, you then playfully narrowed your eyes at him. Your free hand instinctively covers your breasts from his view like he was some starved beast just waiting to bite them. With one brow raised, your husband was seconds away from asking why you were maintaining distance when Ran let out a childish cry unfit for a thirty-year-old man.

“Uwah! Mommy and Daddy, I’m hungry! Stop flirting already,” he whined in the most high-pitched tone he could reach. Rindou and Aoki wore the same expression of disbelief, yet the former had a combination of shame. If Rindou could dig a hole and bury himself, now was the perfect time after what his older brother just pulled off. Thankfully and much to Haitani Ran’s lucky stars, Aoki just laughed afterward. Judging by the unamused look on Kakucho’s handsome face, he was ready to drag Ran’s sorry butt out of the house.

He had to take the burnt months ago when Aoki got curious about how babies were made. He didn’t want that to happen again.

Above committing any form of violence in front of his son, Kakucho resulted in leaning down to whisper into Ran’s ear with a false smile on his face, “Better behave or you’re not eating anything except my fist.”

MONTH 7: WEEK 26

My precious duckie,

One day, you will learn about your papa’s job. Although it is complicated, I hope you shall learn to understand it once you’re older. Days where it seems like everything will go wrong pop out of nowhere once in a while. Your papa and I promise to keep you and your big brother safe. Safe and sound, out of harm’s way. That is what we will always prioritize.

I love you so much, duckie. You and your brother mean the whole world to me.

To step into danger or defend himself against it has been Kakucho’s bread and butter. He didn’t exactly choose this life. It was just how it was for him ever since his parents died and someone admirable took him in when no one else would. No matter how many times he has fallen, Kakucho never failed to stand up again and face the hurdles the universe has in store for him—whether he liked it or not.

As a father and someone who has a family to protect, being a high-ranking member of Bonten had more cons than the perks it had to offer. There were days he mulled over the thought of quitting. But of course, that option was never there, to begin with. To quit was to kill that part of himself, one he has known all his life. Plus, multiple enemies would have his head if he didn’t choose a side. It doesn’t mean he wasn’t growing tired of the numerous endeavors of his enemies trying to have his head on a silver platter. They have grown more creative this time and decided to send a death threat by calling the telephone situated in the living room.

Kakucho thought he was going to burst a vein that night when he took the telephone from Aoki. Thank goodness the boy wasn’t able to speak into it or your husband would be out tonight, ready to find the fuckers. Still, Kakucho was not pleased with what transpired. Soon, the small closet that was filled with old newspapers and knickknacks became the hiding spot of his firearms.

“S-shouldn’t we move?” you asked him one night, unable to sleep due to your feet cramping. Kakucho’s hands may be busy with alleviating your pain, but his mind was racing with countless ideas on what he shall do to the careless idiots who dared to call through that telephone. Kokonoi does have him on speed dial. The sooner Koko and Rindou trace them, the better. He didn’t want you to be worrying like this, especially when a baby was on the way.

“No, don’t get your pretty head all worked up on this, love,” he reassured you with a squeeze to the thigh, offering you his best comforting smile. “Those bastards should’ve known better than to threaten me. They won’t know what I’m capable of until they wake up with their asses in the fuckin’ air.”

MONTH 8: WEEK 29

Sweet little duckie,

A couple more weeks to go and you’ll be here. Everyone is excited that it feels like it’s Christmas day. Your papa finished your room a few days ago. All that’s missing is a bubbly baby girl. Your papa felt you kick multiple times last night yet he couldn’t get used to it. He even said that once you grow up, he’ll have you take judo lessons alongside your big brother. The doctor told me to cut back on sugar. I’ve been craving a lot of things lately that it scares your papa sometimes. However, the doctor did say you’re very healthy so I’ll gladly stir away from sweets to keep it that way.

Looking forward to holding and kissing you, my love.

The movie was over and the credits roll on the screen. Aoki was fast asleep on the sleeping mat laid out on the floor. The bowl of popcorn is empty save for the kernels that failed to pop while in the microwave. The homey atmosphere was too lulling for you or Kakucho to get off the couch and turn the television off. His strong arms were around you, hands caressing your round stomach. Your head rested against the crook of his neck, eyes closed. Saturday nights were usually like this—the whole family in the living room to watch a film you all take turns in choosing. Tonight, it was Kakucho’s turn and of course, he picked a film that was packed with action and adventure. Aoki, despite saying he will finish the movie, ended up falling asleep before the story reached its climax. You, on the other hand, opted to sit on Kakucho’s lap for no reason.

“She’s kicked a lot, huh?” Kakucho couldn’t help but chuckle at his active daughter. Your response was a small groan. It was no joke that your feet hurt, especially now that they were red and swollen. Your baby was getting heavier, a sign that her due date was drawing nearer and nearer. The task of taking care of a baby may be daunting to some, but nothing could make your heart rest easy than the thought of delivering your daughter safely. Stretchmarks, late-night feedings, and healing stitches be damned.

“She’s your daughter alright,” you mumbled in an amused tone. Kakucho’s hand stopped stroking your belly to laugh at the statement. “I won’t be surprised if she turns out to be rowdier than Aoki.”

“Fine by me,” he replied and then gave your head a kiss. “I can take care of rowdy children. Besides, that stage of their life won’t last long. Kids grow too fast these days, you know. Too fast.” After saying that last line, Kakucho patted your tummy. “Might as well enjoy it, love.”

“Are you… being sentimental right now, Kaku?”

MONTH 9: WEEK 38

Our baby duckie,

I love you, my baby. No amount of joy could be put into words in some cases. According to the doctor, you may come out in a few days. I’m not going to lie… I’m a bit afraid. Mothers whom I’ve met at the clinic seem to express the same feeling when asked about giving birth. I promise to be strong, stronger than I’ve ever been, for you. For our family.

All the unconditional love from us, duckie.

“See? I told you, love, you’re stronger than me. She’s so beautiful, as beautiful as you.”

“She is. She has your eyes, Kaku…”

Kakucho shed a tear or two as the nurse handed him his newborn daughter whom she swaddled in pink cloth. Your daughter ceased fussing the second she was in his arms, perhaps knowing it was her papa holding her now. Your lips should be hurting after smiling so much at the precious scene unfolding in front of you, yet there was no pain present. There was only happiness. Kakucho looked so soft as he cradled his daughter, sitting himself down to pull out his phone and call Ran. While waiting for the older Haitani to pick up, you could just picture Aoki at home, bouncing in elation. The image of your son and daughter growing up together made your heart full, especially with your loving husband by your side.

taglist: @bunnyjiros @chronic-claire-universe @wakaslut @ranilingus @eroscastle @tobidabio @zuuki @chloee0x0 @leavemealonebutinpink @kamisoria @keijisprettygirl @r-oronoa @marism @stffychn @riszu @tokyometronetwork @festive @renxnana @kurumi-4

#pat.✍️fics #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tokrev x y/n #tokrev x reader #tokrev x you #tokrev smut #tr smut #tr x reader #tr x y/n #tr x you #kakucho x y/n #kakucho x you #kakucho x reader #kakucho smut #tw.pregnancy #tw.pregnantsex

[corazondebeskar-reads]

live to rise - chapter four

live to rise series

four: where the light won't find you

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

gladiator!Din Djarin x f!reader

word count: 4.3k

summary: After the Mandalorian is removed from your barrack and you are given a new assignment, you see him fight for the first time.

chapter warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, implied rape/non-con (NOT involving reader or Din), implied physical abuse, near-death encounter, mando fic tropes galore

Please heed the series and chapter warnings.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Reassigned. Not terminated. Reassigned. Your hand rests on your heaving chest as you try to settle from the surprise of it all. 

The Mandalorian’s been sponsored. 

You hadn’t thought it possible; his price was supposedly astronomical. This person must be obscenely rich. 

And then your heart drops further. This is why you shouldn’t have gotten so close. Yes, you’d rather have him leave your barracks alive than dead, but you can’t help the wave of sorrow that crests. You had enjoyed his company immensely, even dismissing the feelings you weren’t acknowledging. 

It’s not like you didn’t treat each parting as potentially permanent anyway, but sometimes, with your long-term residents, you got a little too comfortable. 

You pack up the bedding hastily and head toward Cresh. You know he won’t still be there, you tell yourself, you’re just going to get the cell turned over as soon as possible. 

It hurts a little to find it empty, anyway. 

Cresh goes through three more C-5s before you hear about the Mandalorian again.

“How did you deal with him?” Hali asks you one night after the attendants have shared the day’s news. 

“With who?” you ask, even though there’s no one else she could mean.

“That Mandalorian. He was so gruff and rude. I’m the fifth attendant he’s rejected, and it’s making everyone on edge. Like there’s something wrong with us .”

You shrug it off. “He’s just guarded. He probably doesn’t want someone in his space.” 

“Yeah, well,” she grumbles. “It’s not like we want to be in his space.”

“Has anyone explained that to him?”

“I tried to,” she says. “But it’s like he wouldn’t even listen to me.”

Cold clarity finds you with your lips parted and eyes wide. You can’t tell her. But your stomach sinks. The design of those cells puts him at the back of the chamber. If they’re being quiet, from fear or otherwise, he can’t hear them. 

They come for you the next day. Two guards. The fear when they beckon you is almost enough to bring you to your knees. 

The only reason you don’t panic completely is because they don’t bind you. They just march you between them to the upper levels. 

When you reach the lounge, they shove you through the door, and you stumble a little. 

“This is the girl, as requested, Madame, but we really can’t spare her from her duties,” says one of the commanders. You don’t know his name; the officers never come downstairs. 

“If she’s the only attendant he’ll accept, you don’t have a choice. Or am I paying these frankly extortionary caretaking fees for nothing?”

You stiffen, all nerves sparking on high alert. 

The commander stammers a little, losing his composure when he realizes credits are on the line.  

“I can handle both, Commander, I swear," you say, immediately wishing you hadn't.

The Mandalorian's sponsor turns slowly, a thin eyebrow arched. You figure you’re already in for it for speaking out of turn, so you clench your jaw and meet her eyes.

She’s petite, but there’s an undeniable aura of danger pouring from her. Her dark eyes are cold, and her plum lips narrowed. Her clothing is intricate and expensive in the way of the truly wealthy—it’s not dripping with jewels or gold; it’s quality fabric tailored immaculately, with delicate embroidery creating striking and flattering designs. She does wear jewelry, but it’s subtle and almost assuredly custom. 

“Why you?” she says.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I was his barrack caretaker.” 

She hums and blatantly looks you up and down, circling you like a nexu. You keep your head up and force yourself not to follow her with your eyes. To let her prowl and remain uncowed. 

It’s unbecoming of a servant, you know. But you want her to know you can handle him, that you won’t be intimated and manipulated by the infamous Mandalorian.

When she comes back around, she has a pleased, sharp grin. Turning to the commander, she crosses her arms. 

“Make it happen, or I’ll withdraw my sponsorship.” 

“Yes, Madame,” he says. 

You don’t want to leave the barracks. Not Cresh and not the servant’s quarters. It doesn’t really hit you until you hug Eli and realize you’ll barely see him anymore. 

“Shut up,” he grumbles when you say as much. “You’re going to come by and report, right?”

You nod, sniffling into his tunic. “I will.”

He puts his hands on your shoulders. “This is a good thing. You’ll have better… everything. And you said you trust him, right?”

“I think so,” you say. 

“C’mon, I’ll walk with you,” he says. 

You shove his shoulder. “You just want to see what it’s like inside.”

“Well, duh,” he shoves you back. 

He only gets to peek in, of course. But he still plays it up to get a smile from you. “This is kriffing wizard,” he teases. “You get your own fresher? Practically Canto Bight.”

But you’re not really seeing it through the same lens. Because your new quarters are in the Mandalorian’s cell. There’s a barred gate between you, but your cot is still behind the solid durasteel door, same as his. 

Eli sees the fear on your face. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s not locked for you. Your badge will always open it.”

He sets your bag down on the small cot and hugs you again. “You know where to find me.”

“I will,” you say. You don’t catch the look he gives Mando over your shoulder. 

You sit down on the cot when Eli leaves, more unmoored here than you’ve been in years. You let it sit, ugly and misshapen in your chest, before steeling your focus. 

“Do you have everything you need?” you say. 

“I think so,” he says. 

“Okay,” you say, and silence resettles. It’s strange to feel so uncertain around him again. “I’ll go retrieve your dinner.” 

“Do you eat here as well?” he asks. 

“If you wish,” you say. Your hands are folded together and wrapped up in the top apron layer of your skirts. 

“I don’t want to disrupt your routine,” he says. 

“I’m here to attend to you,” you remind him, feeling a little frustrated by all the things unsaid. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s—it’s nothing,” you say and sigh. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

He’s almost relieved when you only bring one tray. Everything about this has been chaotic and messy. But it’s a sacrifice that has to be made. 

You retrieve his tray when you return from dining with the others, but this time, you come back to him after. The lights are out, and you think he might be asleep already, so you duck into the fresher from your side of the bars and wash up for the night. 

You settle onto your cot, almost grateful that it’s not any more comfortable than your old one. It’s strange, without the shuffling and snoring of your peers. 

And then it starts. A horribly unmistakable sound from the cell next door. You hope you’re wrong. You pray you’re wrong. 

You’re not. 

You sit up, fingers digging into your knees, and eyes on the ground. 

You can’t see into the cells around you, but you can certainly hear your neighboring attendant’s screams and cries. 

They’re begging and pleading, but no one will help them. It’s the champion’s right. The attendants must serve every request unless it goes against arena rules. 

Very few things do. 

It’s not that you’re afraid of the Mandalorian. It’s more like you’re just afraid. But he’s done nothing to lose your trust, so you try not to flinch when he comes near the bars between his cell and your chamber. 

While you manage not to, you do flinch each time the noises intensify or change. The sound of skin against skin is constant, but some are more obviously violent, emphasized by the nauseating responses. 

“Hey,” he says. “Come here.”

You’re trembling a little, but you tense and try to hold steady as you stand and approach him. The gate is not locked. It only locks when you access the main door, so that you may come and go without releasing him. 

If you’re inside? All he has to do is push. 

But he doesn’t. “Don’t listen,” he says. “Cover your ears if you have to.”

“I’m fine,” you say. 

He doesn’t quite catch it, but he can wager a solid guess from your expression. He sighs. “You can look at me, you know,” he says. “You’ll see me eventually.”

“I might be able to avoid it,” you say. 

“I appreciate it,” he says. “But this is all going to be easier if you don’t have to be trying so hard.” 

“It’s okay. I don’t want to take anything from you.”

“I’m asking you to. I don’t want the first time you see my face to be in the arena.” 

You bite your lip. It makes sense. “You’re sure?”

“I am.” 

And you can’t really argue. Not because you’re supposed to do what he says but because you get it. He’s right; you will see him in the arena. But he can control how it happens this way. It doesn’t have to be another thing they just take. 

So you look. 

Your eyes scan his face like they always do when you see one of your fighters for the first time. Searing it in so you can find it later in the pigments. 

You won’t paint him, though. Not like this.

He holds steady eye contact. You feel like he’s waiting for a reaction, but nothing comes. He’s beautiful, but that’s not yours to say. 

“I’m sorry,” you say instead.

“Thank you.” He pauses. “Worked, though, didn’t it?”

You blink at him for a moment. 

The smallest shadow of a crooked smile flickers but doesn’t ignite. “Distracted you.” 

The hall is quiet. You hadn’t realized, but the horrors next door had wound down. Stars, you hope they’re okay. Sleeping or tending their wounds. Not… well. Not forcibly silenced. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, drawing your eyes back to him. His fingers wrap around a bar near yours. Not touching, but inviting. 

“Okay.” You’re not really sure what else to say. You’ve heard it before. Some mean it, some don’t. You think he’s genuine, that he’s safe, but that caution is like a little burn that never heals, leaving you to flinch away. 

Your fingers twitch, and he thinks you’re about to touch his. 

But you wince when the main door of the neighboring cell opens. His eyes bear a plea he won’t voice, but you only hesitate for a moment before pressing your badge to the scanner. His gate clicks and the door whooshes open. 

They’re already ducking into the medbay when you catch up, so you stick your hand in front of the sensor to force the doors back open. 

It’s the girl whose name you couldn’t remember on the Mandalorian’s first night. Sessa. She startles and whirls around when she hears you, hand pressed to her chest. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you," you say quietly.

She looks at you for a moment, something hauntingly empty in her eyes before she seems to recognize you. She covers her face with her hands. 

“Please,” you whisper. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I—” her voice breaks, and you step closer, offering an embrace she folds into. 

You don’t say anything. What could you? That you’re sorry? She knows. That it’ll be okay? It won’t. It’s horrible, she doesn’t deserve it, it’s inhumane, but none of those things will help her. She knows. 

She doesn’t even really cry. It aches, but the tears don’t come, just the soft prickle of numbness. She’ll survive this, you think. She shouldn’t have to, but she will. 

When the time for softness has faded, you let her pull back, and she lets you assess her. She sits on the counter with an ice pack to her cheek and drinks the tea you press into her hand. Her nose wrinkles at the bitter taste, but the tincture within is worth it. A reassurance. Nothing will come of this that she can’t bear. 

When she leaves, she hugs you again, and you stay behind in the dark room, leaning against the counter with your arms folded over your chest. 

It wasn’t a secret, what happened here. It didn’t always; a lot of the fighters are honorable people. But sometimes… sometimes this life warps the psyche beyond repair. Sometimes, desperate people do desperate things. Become something terrible to survive. 

You just hadn’t been witness to the cruelty before. 

When you go back, Mando is still awake. Waiting, you think. 

“Is she—” he hesitates. He doesn’t want to ask if she’s okay, because the answer is no. It’s not really what he’s asking, anyway.

You nod, lips pursed tight. She’ll live, your silence says. And it’ll have to be enough.

It’s strange. Waking in his cell but rising to follow your old habits anyway. He gets served first, and then you take breakfast down to Cresh as if nothing has changed. Except you can’t linger, you can’t chat and learn of them as you used to. You have to return to the Mandalorian.

It’s strange for the both of you. Your time is usually spent busy or with the other servants. His time is usually spent alone. He doesn’t have a fight that first day and so you are forced to learn to navigate one another.

The gate between you remains closed. 

He does push-ups while you fold laundry, executes a series of jumps that cycle between laying on the floor and springing to his feet that exhaust you just to see from the corner of your eye while you clean, and balances on his hands—one and both—while you flip through the agenda on your datapad and try not to be caught impressed.

It’s quiet, this life, with neither of you inclined to interrupt the other. You let him know when you phase in and out to attend to your duties and his needs. Otherwise, you don’t really speak until nightfall.

“I’m sorry,” he says in the safety of the dark. “I didn’t know it would create more of a burden for you. I just… couldn’t trust anyone else.”

“It’s not a burden, just a change. I understand,” you say softly. 

He sighs, an edge of frustration biting. “I disrupted your routine.”

You snort. “So?”

“I separated you from your friends.”

You sigh. “Will it make you feel better if I pretend to be mad?”

“Why aren’t you?”

You sit up on your cot. “Nothing about this life is fair, and it’s all temporary. Everyone leaves, one way or another. Everything shifts. This is just another phase of my time here, and there’s no point in being upset about it.”

He lets it sit for a minute. “How long have you been here?”

“Three years. I have just under two left.”

The weight of the time is not lost on him, and you can see the hint of a grim smile. “You haven’t let it break you.”

You return the smile. “Not yet.”

He reclines against the wall, legs sprawled and dangling over the side of his bed. “For what it’s worth, I truly am sorry. It was a selfish thing for me to ask of you.”

“I’m glad you’re not alone.” You mean it. It may have disrupted what you knew before, but getting moved here did the same for him. And it took away his opportunity to talk to others. “I’m glad you trust me with this.”

He sighs, bittersweet. “Me too.” 

Something shifts, then, that you’re grateful for. The guilt and awkwardness dissipate and leave behind that budding comradery you had started to forge together. A sense of peace. 

It’s one of the better nights of sleep you’ve had in a long time.

You’ve never been in the stands before, let alone in the box. Though it’s exposed to the open sun, the vents wash it in cool air, unlike the curved benches where the crowds jeer and hiss. 

No, up here in the sponsor box, surrounded by the important and the rich, you’re considered fortunate. The Mandalorian’s sponsor is late, but you’re in place. While he waits for battle, your services shift to her.

“You’re still here,” the Madame says as she approaches her seat. 

You stand to the side, stiff and silent, until she draws near. “Yes, Madame.” 

She gives you an appraising once-over. “Good.” Her voice is as sharp as her eyes, and she settles to watch. 

You don’t really know the protocol here. Your days serving in the lounge were passed silently, circling the room with a loaded tray. Here, you’re meant to cater to her alone. 

She doesn’t speak to you, though. Doesn’t acknowledge you. She lounges, coiled and elegant, like a tree viper. 

You don’t want to watch the fights. You don’t. But you know, now, that you must. You owe it to the barrack caretakers; you can’t leave this responsibility to the other attendants alone. You all bear the burden together.

When the first fight ends in a double loss, both fighters fatally wounded, you know you’re not strong enough for this. The nausea rises until all you smell is blood, a phantom sense as the sand turns red beneath each pair’s feet. You’re shaking and all you can think is how glad you are not to have to hold a tray of glasses. 

And then it’s time.

The Madame sits up, focused, and you know. Teeth dig into the soft flesh of your cheek to hold your breath steady and shallow. Quiet as possible, as if you need to strain to hear what’s playing out in front of you.

And you think, he should not be caged, for he is power and beauty and ferociousness. You can see why his people followed him to death. He is death. 

His opponent lands exactly one strike, and you almost think the Mandalorian allowed it. Like he was gauging the strength and will. He prowls, teeth bloodied and bared, a snarl natural in the set of his lips. You think it’s laid in beskar steel, a scar you can’t smooth out into the soft curve of a smile. 

No, that’s been stolen from him, too. 

He asks his opponent’s name, and you think he’s carving it into his ribcage, so each time he breathes, it impresses upon his lungs. 

When he moves, it’s calculated. Like the arena is a map he’s plotting, each strike or dodge choreographed and steadfast. There are no weapons today, just fists, and though his opponent has the advantage of razor-sharp teeth, they never even come close to slicing him open. 

And then it’s over. The Mandalorian’s broad hands dwarf the other fighter’s jaw as he secures his grip and snaps. The body falls limp and the Mandalorian sneers at the crowd before he looks up.

There’s no way he can see you, but it feels like it. It feels like he sees you there, and doesn’t find what he was afraid of. 

He’s not in the room when you get back down, and you pre-set his towels and clean clothes, so you won’t need to go hunting them down if he wants to shower. It’s still mid-afternoon, and you’re buzzing with the leftover cocktail of adrenaline and cortisol when he comes back. 

Neither of you speaks at first as he goes into his half of the cell and cracks his knuckles, sighing deeply once the main doors are shut.

“Are you okay?” he says.

You’re surprised until you realize you shouldn’t be. He knows how weak you are. “Yeah,” you say. 

“Are you afraid of me now?” he says quietly, not looking at you. 

Oh. You get up and come closer to the gate. “No. I’m not.” 

He meets your eyes and must find the truth in them, nodding grimly. “So what did you think?”

“Why do they have you fight with a shirt on?”

His eyes widen. “What?”

“Well, it’s just, they usually—um.”

“What?”

“They usually make the more attractive fighters wear as little as possible. You know. To appeal to the crowds.”

Huh. He thought it was a choice made by the few he’d seen showing skin. And then he can’t help it. You won’t look him in the eye, and he can’t resist. “You think I’m one of the more attractive fighters?” he teases. 

Your cheeks burn, and you look very seriously at the ground. “I—I mean like, um, objectively—“

He spares you. “It’s because of my tattoos. They don’t want me out there covered in Mandalorian symbology.”

“Oh,” you say, imagination kicking off. “Can I—I’m sorry, that’s so inappropriate of me. I just… like… art.” It sounds so stupid and crude, but you mean it. 

“I’ll show you when I’m clean,” he says with a shrug. 

He always seems to understand. It’s a comfort you’ve never known before.

When he gets out of the fresher, though, you realize you have severely overestimated yourself. Because your first thought when he steps into his room is fuck. He’s big. You know he’s big. And broad. But without a shirt on? Stars. And he’s still a little wet, his crumpled curls dripping down his shoulders. 

You have got to get yourself under control. You’re pretty sure you’ve already been busted, though, because he’s suddenly looking at you, something a little dark in the lines of his face, and you feel flayed under his disapproval.

Your brain reboots in time to recover, though, as you really do take in the way his skin is bathed in black ink. A lot of it is abstract, sharp angles and curving arcs intertwining with constellations and letters in a language you don’t recognize. Some of it almost looks like smears of paint, the ink laid across his body in a manner so akin to brushstrokes that the craftsmanship is breathtaking. 

But there are a few pieces that differ, ones that stand out against the intricate patterns. You realize you’ve stepped up to the gate once he does the same. 

“These are incredible,” you say. “How long did this take?” You nod at the swirl of ink on his bicep that wouldn’t look out of place in your own work. 

“A very long time,” he says. 

“I’ve never seen anything like it. What was your first one?” 

He turns around, and you’re struck by the mythosaur skull that takes up most of his back. It’s almost shimmering. 

“The ink…” you start. 

He turns back around. “It’s imbued with beskar.” 

Your jaw drops. “It’s what?”

“It’s—I’m going to be honest, I don’t fully understand the process. But we use a small amount of molten beskar in the ink for certain tattoos. These have it, too.” He indicates the two on his front that had stood out from the rest.

“Do you mind if I ask what they are? Why they’re the ones that use beskar?”

“No,” he says casually. “They’re things that I should never be without, parts of my armor that can never be fully taken. This,” he taps the diamond-esque design on his chest, “is a beskar’ta. Every Mandalorian has one. It’s the heart.” 

You’re staring, unashamed, as he indicates the other glimmering mark on his shoulder. 

“This is a mudhorn, the symbol of my clan. Someday, my son will have the same one. He’s too young. Or, well. He’s…” he pauses like he can’t decide if he wants to get into this. “He’s not ready yet.” 

“So… so you always have it with you. Your armor. The beskar.” 

“Yes. Not everyone gets them, but many do.”

“That’s beautiful.” You’re a little speechless. Not just from the beauty of the art but the sheer idea. “That’s…” 

“You can see why Gideon doesn’t want them to be seen.”

“Yeah,” you say, a small scoff slipping out. “No kidding.” 

You step back, and he tugs on his shirt, ruffling his still-damp hair like nothing world-shattering has happened. And yet, the room seems to have tilted and knocked you to the side, the shift undeniable. 

You don’t realize why until you remember the look on his face when he caught you staring the first time. It wasn’t discomfort. It was hunger. 

It’s not a tension, exactly, that settles between you. It’s more like an acknowledgment. Something is going to change. It’s just a matter of when. And it lingers in the air for weeks. 

It happens, like almost all things here, in the wake of fear. 

You return to the cell before him, having fled the box as soon as his narrowest victory was called. Not that it gave you much of a head start, but you had time to grab a medpack and fresh clothes before they brought him in.

He never uses the arena freshers anymore, not even just to wash away the sticky, fresh blood. No, he’s still quite coated in it when the door snicks shut behind him, his face gaunt and haunted.

You think, at first, that he was afraid to die. 

Who moves first is irrelevant. Your only focal point in the galaxy is the way he feels pressed right against you, fingers digging into your soft flesh like he’s trying to pull you into his ribcage as you embrace.

You’re not being much gentler, clinging on as you shake with unshed tears. 

He lets go of your waist to clutch your face in his bloody hands. “Promise me you won’t watch.”

“What?” you say, rearing your head back to look at his furrowed brows and pouted lips. 

“Don’t watch. When it happens. I don’t want you to have to see.”

Oh. “Stop,” you whisper, but he’s shaking his head. 

“It’s all I could think about. Look away, and don’t find out what they do with my body. Promise me, kar’talyc.”

All that comes out is a sob when you try to argue. 

His hand cups the back of your head, and he pulls you against his still-soaked chest. 

Once you’ve settled a little, he pulls back but leaves his hands on your shoulders. “Promise.” 

“Mando—“

“Din.”

You blink at him for a moment. “What?”

“My name is Din.”

next chapter

*Din calls her kar'talyc, which basically means "bleeding heart" (from kar'ta, meaning "heart," and talyc, meaning "bloody.") He's been calling her that in his head since the last chapter.

*tattooed Din and his mythosaur were inspired by this art by @xxlumos

*title from "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" by Tears for Fears, but I listened to the Lorde version while writing this and highly recommend it for the vibes. The original is quite a different mood lol.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #mando x you #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian fic #gladiator!din djarin #fic: live to rise

[emocl0wnpp]

Finally i had time to write the LJ headcanon post..or well my "LJ rewrite"...so here it is!

My LJ rewrite/headcanons!!

( I'll try to leave my oc x canon stuff out of here as much as i can)

🎪

Basics:

Name: Laughing Jack or LJ (or Jackie if you're very close with him)

Age: probably over 200,but in human years honestly no idea-

Gender: AGENDER/GENDERLESS LJ PROPAGANDA!! (He presents as male and refers to himself as one,but technically he can be anything)

Pronouns: honest to god he doesn't care,but since Issac called him a boy,he uses he/him,but otherwise he don't give a fuck

Sexuality: bisexual

Height: 225cm/ 7"3

Twins with Laughing Jill(he's younger by like 10 minutes,Jill treats that as 10 years)

Idk how to list this but he's british🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧

🎪

Personality:

Honest to god i don't remember his canon personality💀💀

Basically,he's a jerk. A little dipshit who will cause trouble with his tricks and pranks,especially if he doesn't like you. At first glance he's quite mean and sarcastic,buuut if he finds you cool enough/gets attached he's a whole different person(totally not projecting onto him rn)

Once he actually likes someone enough to consider them a friend,he's much kinder and sweeter.

He's pretty caring actually

He will hold back on his mean and sarcastic comments..unless you're into that

He tries ANYTHING to keep his friends close,literally anything. Magic tricks,jokes,drowning them with candy and affection,tieing them up in his circus so they can't leave,the usual things

He has trouble understanding emotions in general,especially other people's,and has trouble managing his own,ESPECIALLY his anger and saddness

Terrible,horrible abandonment and attachment issues

He's very impulsive,he usually does/says things without thinking them through first(again totally not projecting)

I'll dare to say that my version of LJ has Borderline personality disorder

Idk if this counts to personality or no but my man is touch starved. Touch him once and he won't let go of you

🎪

Other important stuff idk how to categorize:

Scratches himself a lot,especially when he's uncomfortable or nervous...and since he has sharp claws they leave marks(that's why his arms and stomach are wrapped up)

Used to be ashamed of his freckles so he covered them up with makeup(not anymore tho :3)

His favourite candies are lollipops

Dark humor is his favourite thing in the world

my man can stretch his limbs as long as possible,comes in handy when he's lazy to get up to grab something

His british accent comes out when he talks too fast

Throws around medival knight words for fun/to annoy others

He has a circus :^D

And in that circus he has little ghost kids running around(he won't admit but he's kinda like a father figure to them)

He has a little doll collection at his circus

He mostly kills kids between the ages of 10 and above,unless the kid is like extra annoying or something

Like i mentioned before,he's terrified of abandonment

Claustrophobia. Specifically he's terrified of small spaces(thanks to being locked in a small box for god knows how long)

Also fight me but he has a small fear of the dark,mostly in small spaces

🎪

Design/looks:

CONFETTI FRECKLES!!!

Like a lot of them all over his face and body

He has a little mole under his left eye

Scars on his stomach and arms(mentioned above)

His nose can bend (and it goes limp when he's sad/j)

His tongue is long af and is striped

Now that i mentioned stripes he has some on his arms

Used to wear his hair in a low ponytail,but after some time he just stopped caring about his hair..and himself in general

Okay this one involves a bit of oc x canon but hear me out, he was very lanky and skinny,but after meeting Claws he got a bit thicker and more muscular

Small matching tattoo with Claws!!

(For those who find this post before any of my other posts Claws is my creepypasta oc-)

I'll add more pictures of my design for him but i don't have much yet--

Aaaand I can't add any backstory related stuff cuz haven't really changed anything yet-

But i'll edit this post if anything else comes to mind!!

#creepypasta #art #laughing jack #creepypasta fanart #creepypasta laughing jack #laughing jack fanart #laughing jack headcanons #creepypasta headcanon #headcanon #headcanon post #character headcanons #character rewrite

[bonefall]

BB!Bumble

If Bumble has millions of fans I am one of them. If Bumble has ten fans I am one of them. If Bumble has only one fan that's me. If Bumble has no fans, that means I'm dead. If the world is against the Bumble, I am against the world.

[ID: Bumble from WC on a purple, pink, and blue background. She is a fat tortoiseshell cat with a white chest and paws and bright orange dapples. She has two pawprint-shaped marks on her face and a torn ear.]

Need an animation-friendly version? Go here!

I won't get into a rant here, but go ahead and review the scene where Bumble gets exiled if you wanna get mad. Fair warning that I do not like Canon DOTC and I'm not 'nice' towards it.

BB!Bumble is the mate of Turtle Heart, and eventually ThunderClan's greatest asset. She cracks open diplomacy for the underdog Clan, allowing them to speak with cats for whom there would otherwise be a serious language barrier.

Her personality is self-confident, outgoing, and compassionate. She loves funny idioms and turns-of-phrase, and is always down to hear a good story. Of course, she also LOVES a good meal, and sees the incalculable value in a long nap before a hard decision.

After her death, Bumble becomes the ancient patron of Speech and Communication. When love makes you tongue-tied, when you hear the perfect phrase and it echoes in your head for hours after, when you need to find the right words to express a complicated idea, that is a moment to invoke Bumble.

(Full outline below!)

When Turtle Heart fled Tom and his violence, Bumble came a few weeks later and was accepted into the Clan as long as Turtle was there to vouch for her. Her membership was always tenuous though, completely dependent on her mate hunting for her.

Disaster struck when Tom stole their children, and Turtle Heart died trying to retrieve them. With Bright Storm as their godmother, Tall Shadow saw no reason to keep the "useless outsider" Bumble as part of the Clan. Bright Storm, blinded by love she still had for Clear Sky, did not fight for her and concluded it was a hard choice but the right one.

Around this time, Thunder Storm had come to reject Clear Sky and his brutal Clan. After Sunlit Frost was exiled for being unable to hunt with an infected wound, they decided to return to Shadow's Clan together. Upon finding Bumble exiled, Thunder Storm roared at the cruelty and injustice of what he found.

When Bright Storm tried to calm him, Thunder snapped, "I didn't think I would come home to find a second Clear Sky!"

Rallying his small group of supporters, Lightning Cry, Acorn Swoop, and Sunlit Frost, he charged off to go find her. They found Bumble just in time to see Clear Sky "warning" her by ripping her ear off, and Thunder Storm launched himself at his father. The brawl became ferocious, a SkyClan patrol barreling in to defend their leader.

Just as it seemed like Thunder Storm was pinned and bested, from the undergrowth it's BRIGHT STORM WITH THE STEEL CHAIR

And several reinforcements! The words stuck with her and made her realize what she'd been doing, and understand that now was the time to fight against what she was becoming. The fighting reached a crescendo. Thunder's followers were still outnumbered but holding a stalemate, and then, at that moment, a tree creaked and groaned.

The cats disentangled at just the right moment to leap away from a falling ash tree, splitting the groups in two. Thunder Storm leapt up on top of the trunk, a wayward sunbeam making his fur shine tiger-orange. Bloodied and seeing a sign from their ancestors, Clear Sky's defeated warriors ran home.

Clear Sky himself lingered for a moment longer, meeting the blaze in his son's amber eyes, catching Bright Storm's scorn, and then turning away without a single word.

This is the start of ThunderClan.

Bumble quickly becomes one of its most important members. She is able to speak to the River Kingdom to the west and the Wind Coalition to the north, earning them allies when they might not have had any. ThunderClan's early fate is to roam around the Forest as needed, trying to avoid too many skirmishes and remaining close to whoever their current ally is.

But before then, ThunderClan's first order of action is to retrieve Bumble's kits from ShadowClan.

But that's a story for another time.

#BB!DOTC #BB!Bumble #Character Summary #Better Bones AU

[elysiumarchieve]

could you write a one shot or head canon of al haitham or diluc reacting to you taking off your ring during a fight? it could be a wedding ring or promise ring! i wanna feel my heart get ripped out from angst but end it with fluff <3 love u

ly2 <33 and it's someone else than scaramouche ALAS, not that i mind i love everyone sm

i only did alhaitham because i feel like i can't write diluc😭

taking off your ring during a fight

warning: you two fight, kaveh is mentioned like twice i think?? alhaitham can't read the damn room

✧ alhaitham deals with any situation thrown at him with logic - personal feelings aside, it's more important what must be done and not really how others might feel about it

✧ he's always been more of a loner with his personality not being the,, kindest, so to speak. rather, instead of calling him rude, he's just blatantly honest and somewhat ignorant to how others might feel about the things he says (including you at times)

✧ this argument was a testimony of his ignorance. actually, both of you had no idea how quickly it escalated and why exactly you two have been fighting for hours

✧ however, there is something that alhaitham does whenever he feels like an argument is dragging itself into nowhere - he simply ignores whatever comes from your mouth, regardless of how harsh it might be and pretends to not hear you anymore the moment he picks up any random book

✧ he even had the nerve to tell you to finally tone it down as he wanted to continue reading his book that he had found, something that made your blood boil at his sheer audacity

✧ were arguments with him always like this? sometimes

✧ depending on what it was about, alhaitham reacted differently to the things you said or how he would continue talking to you (if at all)

✧ a fight or argument about different viewpoints? surely, he's open to hear you out. in fact, he loves nothing more but to hear you talk about your opinions as long as it was based on actual facts and logic (he'd probably even discuss the probability of the boogeyman existing with you if he wants to)

✧ however, petty arguments (the ones he already has enough with kaveh) are below his usual standard and he is not really afraid to let you see just how annoyed he is at your bickering. and that's also the point alhaitham would suddenly not respond anymore, simply sitting down across the room with a book in his hand and asking you to calm down, otherwise he won't talk to you until your normal again (his words)

✧ he isn't doing anything wrong in his eyes, in fact he believes that this is far more beneficial for either of you. you can simply calm down and do whatever you just did five minutes ago and he doesn't have to argue about petty stuff. it sounds so good in his mind, but the execution is always poor for whatever reason

✧ that day was no different. you knew what you got yourself into when you married alhaitham and you knew how narrow minded he could be, but there were moments in which his behaviour actually hurt

✧ talking to a wall at this point would be far more effective than to say anything to him, so with a loud groan you decided to leave the room for the time being and go outside for a long and well deserved break from your own husband. however, what you missed was alhaitham glancing above his book to watch you taking off your ring and he just,, raised an eyebrow

✧ are you serious? over this?

✧ for a few minutes, he would just watch silently. are you angry at him? so angry that you take off your wedding ring? he can't find any logical explanation to explain your sudden outburst other than the fact that you might disagree with him (obviously)

✧ alhaitham has somewhat troubles to read a room correctly and at first, he really wants to believe you're just overexaggerating this entire ordeal - what he didn't see was that this behavior of his had bothered you for quite some time and not only this time

✧ you can't tell that he's almost overanalysing your every move, and his book is suddenly closed and disregarded on the small coffee table next to his seat - if you would've noticed him, you would've jumped from the sheer intensity in his eyes

✧ "i'm leaving. i don't know when i'm coming back."

✧ it was only then when you were almost ready to leave and you still made no move to put it back on that alhaitham would finally get up with a strange look in his eyes, waltzing over to you with such intensity that it almost caused the ground to vibrate from his heavy steps

✧ at first you're confused by his sudden action and you almost snapped at him for sneaking up on you like this, but one glance down to his hand revealed that he was holding the small golden ring in his other palm, his hand from his wrist slowly sliding down to take your hand into his own

✧ "don't leave. i'm sorry."

✧ and yet, despite the usual coolness to his tone, you could tell he was somewhat distressed about this (much to your shock). considering you even received an apology from him was enough for eyes to grow softer at the sight of alhaitham

✧ whatever anger had been left in your body dissipated within seconds upon seeing how gently he placed the ring back onto your ring finger, a relieved sigh leaving him after you explained to him that you actually only took it off to wash your hands before heading outside

✧ he merely sighs at that and minutes later you're in his arms, reading his book until you eventually fall asleep on his chest (you didn't even bother trying to understand whatever was written in that book, but as long as it made him happy...)

✧ he silently curses you knowing very well that kaveh will waltz in in about half an hour and complain about the two of you - he might as well just move out if he's bothered by that

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin #headcanons #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham best actor 3.2

[honestmagpie]

SOME MORE RAZ THOUGHTS. (Based on my headcanons so don't @ me about things not being confirmed in canon, this is partially about him as an adult anyway so nyeh)

Raz is a perpetual immigrant.

Like, this boy never had a passport, he probably never even had a birth certificate. He's a kid born to a family of "Circus freaks" (a phrase thrown at them that they've adopted with pride, if only to keep the kids from letting it get them down).

Raz's Campster profile set his origin as Lithuania, which was likely just 'where he was born', probably not terribly far from what's left of Grulovia. (I headcanon that Grulovia is little more than a puddle now, but what remained of the land was absorbed by neighboring countries).

Grulovian immigrants scattered after Vallermo, and no-one really wanted to talk about it. It's 'the old country' and 'the dead country'.

After Psychonauts 2, Raz ESPECIALLY doesn't want to talk about it. Not only was his family refugees from Grulovia-- his Nona was the cause of it. (And sure, she's his great-aunt, not actually his grandmother, but that won't make him stop calling her his Nona. Nothing has changed, except that thinking about the home country hurts a little, now. For different reasons.)

Raz was always a wanderer. It comes with the circus background. He travels light, carries just the essentials. A house isn't a home, but it is a place to put stuff for storage, he supposes.

He's spoken English most of his life. Nobody notices the accent unless he's talking about his Nona winning at Gruloky, or how she makes a true Grulovian Herring Bread better than anyone he's ever seen. (nobody he talks to has heard of that, but he swears it's traditional.)

But every now and then, when he goes on missions, his partners hear interesting things.

A language that Lithuanians think is Latvian, Lavtians think is Lithuanian. Raz always claims to be from one or the other when identified as non-American. Otherwise, as far as they're concerned, Raz is just a local from a little hamlet they haven't heard of.

He speaks German in the office with Sasha and Otto. On one memorable occasion he spoke fluent Russian for a mission, and shrugged it off saying it was 'safest that way'. He claimed to be second-generation Russian with family from a nearby country, because he could tell they saw 'foreigner' but wanted to make sure he wasn't seen as 'too foreign'.

He knows a smattering of a bunch of other slavic languages, using several at a time for one sentence, simply because he learned the words but didn't stay in any one place long enough for a whole language to stick, so they got jumbled together.

"How did your Dialect get so strange?"

He spins tall tales that have nothing to do with the truth, of a parent who had a dozen mistresses or a funny anecdote about a language guidebook that had multiple languages without saying which translations went to which language. Anything but the truth.

It's not that he's ashamed of his family, far from it! He loves them, he's proud of them.

But there's nothing quite like admitting to someone that your Nona is a war criminal, or that you come from a family of 'circus freaks' and traveled a lot. He's seen how people treat immigrants. As far as they're concerned, he's a tourist. He's a local. He's from the neighboring region visiting family. he's second-generation.

But when he's at home, in the circus or in Psychonauts HQ, he's Raz. He doesn't have to figure out what accent to put on, or what he has to say to stay safe. He's just a kid (A twenty-something, but a kid nonetheless).

At least the Psychonauts gave him a passport.

#psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #Razputin Aquato #I just feel like we don't think about how much of a traveler Raz has always been #So I wanted to have some thoughts about it #He's learned some of the languages for spy work #but sometimes he just kinda picked them up from travel

[mandibuzz-unsolved]

Welcome to Mandibuzz Unsolved! Where I, Bianca (she/her), and my co-host Blue (she/they/he), talk about the spookiest and bizarre unsolved mysteries on the internet.

While I'm a believer of all the paranormal and strange- some of you have to be lying, Giratina isn't real.

... my partner isn't.

These mysteries can range from chatting about mythical Pokémon that may or may not exist to unsolved murder mysteries.

This blog will contain potentially disturbing content. Subjects like death, descriptions of violence, kidnapping and abuse, will come up on this blog. Please block tags accordingly!

Pkmn Unsolved Dire (graphic deaths, gore)

Pkmn Unsolved High (kidnapping, odd deaths, stalking)

Pkmn Unsolved Medium (disappearances, distressing situations)

There's bound to be overlap between the given examples; they're broad so people can tag block if they wish to see only more lighthearted stuff! We will still be using warning tags as per usual.

Sometimes we'll just by talking about legends behind certain Pokémon and tall tales, won't be all gloom! But view discretion is otherwise advised.

If there's any case you'd like to see us discuss, please send us an ask! We'd love to gather up information.

(OOC CUT)

Hey! While this blog is running as if there's two people, there is currently just one adult mod (24). I'm open to adding another mod 🙏

Blog will be primarily in Bianca's words, but anything in blue text is... well, Blue! Bianca and Blue have zero relation to canon rivals.

Please try to keep with the fun with the blog! If Blue says Mew isn't real and you say "you're an idiot, here's a picture of my pet mew" I'm probably going to ignore you. "Mew is totally real I saw it when I was five" on the other hand is fine.

Other than all that, please feel free to send me fake cases for me to make things up about! You're also free to go "Did you hear about this theory?" And add onto things :D

You can also just question Bianca and Blue as characters.

#pokemon #pokeblogging #pkmn irl

[my-mt-heart]

NYCC 23 Thoughts

I know Caryl fans are more than ready to celebrate. I am too for what it's worth. Believe me, I'm so ready, but I also have concerns that some may not want or need to hear right now. And I get it. Fandom is supposed to provide a space for us to enjoy our favorite shows and characters without real life obstacles bleeding into it. My blog has really pushed those boundaries over the past year and half, so if that's not what you're looking for, feel free to scroll on by or block. If for some reason my rants are of any use to you, however, then here goes another one. Ahem.

Four middle-aged white men walk onto a stage...

…And proceed to make complete asses of themselves.

This is my biggest gripe with TWDU right now. It perpetuates the same tired, limited perspective of the upper class, middle-aged white man in not one, but all of the new spinoffs. TOWL is supposed to be about Rick and Michonne, but it's no secret Gimple favors Rick. Dead City is supposed to be about Negan and Maggie, but the showrunner only goes on and on and on about Negan/JDM in his interviews. S2 of le spinoff is supposed to be about Daryl and Carol, but...well, I'll get to that. My point is, representation offscreen matters because it affects what we see onscreen and which viewers will be drawn to watch. Personally, I didn’t feel drawn to anything during that panel, not because Melissa finally being announced isn’t exciting, but because the people speaking on her behalf always find ways to ruin the moment.

If Gimple wasn't going to talk about his show, I don't understand why he needed to be there. If it was a tradeoff, I would've rather seen Melissa up there and hear what she had to say about her own return and her own character in her own voice. If that still wasn't possible, I fully respect that, but there has to be some other way to deliver news besides constantly relying on male EPs who don't understand what her fans value about her. I worry this is how it's going to feel when I'm watching S2. I want Carol, but not a misrepresentation of her. Greg Nicotero is directing the premiere. Okay...and what about the other two blocks? Any women/POC directors? Anyone who's going to honor Carol the way she deserves instead of treating her like an extension of Daryl's story?

So, yeah. About that title. First of all, “The Book of Carol” is an odd choice in itself. The biblical allusions are annoying because they don't speak to who Carol is as a character. I’m not mad that it implies we’re getting Carol’s POV—quite the opposite—but I don’t like the confusion it’s causing either. Let’s be clear, Carol is not a short chapter in Daryl's story. She is Daryl’s story. Calling Melissa a "series regular" is extremely poor wording, and a sincere fuck you to whoever approved it for the announcement. She is a lead with EP credit and creative input. I am so sick of AMC leaving it up to the fans to debate her worth. Tell us she’s vital to the show, tell us it’s her show, and use clear language. Stop giving her haters more ammo they don't need and stop giving her fans more anxiety they really don't need.

Honestly, it would’ve been easier to accept if S2 was formally called TWD: Book of Carol. The problem is "The Book of Carol" is not the title. It's a subtitle of a (sub)title, and it's bullshit. It feels like a scam, another way to try to convince us we're getting what we want when we're not really getting much of anything. I don’t know if they're worried about false advertising since S2 won't be a Daryl and Carol story—more like a Carol story which, again, I’m not mad about as long as it leads to a reunion and canon by the end. Or maybe they’re stubbornly clinging to the belief that Daryl’s name is what sells despite the atrocious ratings suggesting otherwise. Daryl AND Carol do sell though, so why not lean all the way into it? Why risk turning the show into a laughing stock with obnoxious titles? These characters don’t deserve that.

Another thing that worries me is how it'll be promoted. As "The Book of Carol" or Daryl Dixon S2? Is it going to vary based on who AMC is trying to placate? Is "The Book of Carol" going to be smaller than Daryl Dixon on all the key art? Including Carol in the title was supposed to show that Daryl and Carol are equals. That way, Norman and Melissa would also be treated as equals by viewers and by co-workers. This doesn't look very equal to me...

Why —why 😩— do they need to keep rehashing the filming location's origin story, and by rehashing, I mean lying about it and dragging Melissa and her fans through the mud when all we want to do is move the fuck on? I don't like that Gimple (savagely) threw Norman under the bus, and I don't like that Norman, whatever his intentions were, threw Melissa under the bus. Again, this is why we need to hear Melissa's thoughts on the show, specifically what Carol's (and Caryl's) journey will entail not just plot-wise, but emotionally. It's not fair to put all that responsibility on her to make everybody else look good, and I hope it won't come to that, but the people on that panel yesterday really weren't doing themselves or the show any favors. I was pretty unsettled by the number of times I heard the phrases "I wanted this" or "we wanted that." Has anyone ever taken the time to understand what their audience wants? Or has the show really just been a vanity project all along?

I was wary about Zabel pretty much from the start, but finally getting to hear him talk about Daryl cemented how poorly he understands who he is and more importantly what he means to fans. A man being torn between his former way of life and his new one is nothing groundbreaking. It's actually a pretty standard formula that can fit a lot of conventional heroes, but it does not work for Daryl Dixon. Daryl Dixon is not a conventional hero. Daryl Dixon is the most loyal character in TWD history, and it's been well established his loyalty is to his found family of over a decade--Rick, Michonne, Maggie, and especially Carol. We will never buy that Daryl could be torn between them and people he's only known for weeks/months. Someone who tries to force that should not be showrunning. Period. I am terrified to learn more about how Zabel views Carol because so far, it sounds like he doesn't think much of her at all. If he did, maybe he would've written something more substantial for her in the finale.

We'll see what happens on Sunday. Hopefully they'll release the S2 teaser. Hopefully it’ll provide more reassurance. Hopefully something will. At the moment it just doesn't seem like AMC is capitalizing on Melissa's return as much as they could, and they're definitely not capitalizing on Caryl yet. That being said, and I can’t stress this enough, I do trust Melissa’s judgment. If she chose to come back—and she did—it’s for good reason. The wait is going to be difficult, but next year we’ll have six full episodes of Carol trying to find her soulmate. Nobody is taking that away from us no matter how many times the men put their foot in their mouths.

#caryl #carol peletier #melissa mcbride #caryl spinoff #darylneedscarol #the book of carol

[nothinggold13]

I said in the tags of my recent screencaps of Nick and Daisy dancing, "do you ever think. that all daisy really needed was a friend?" and apparently those tags resonated with more people than I thought they would. Now I think they call for a little elaboration.

On their first meeting in the book, it is established that Nick neither attended Daisy's wedding nor met her baby (who is 3 years old). Daisy says herself, "We don't know each other very well, Nick. Even if we are cousins." And yet in this same scene Daisy says that his arrival has her "paralyzed with happiness" and refers to him as "an absolute rose." She speaks of him and to him as if they are dearly close despite her own admittance that they hardly know each other at all. (Of course, this is easily explained when Nick says, "[She looked] up into my face, promising that there was no one in the world she so much wanted to see. That was a way she had." Daisy has a way of drawing people in, and making them feel important. I'm sure people make different things of this, some positive and some negative, but I won't dwell on it.)

But, perhaps more telling than the way she talks to Nick, is the fact that the first thing Daisy does when she has a moment alone with him is to confide in him. She says, "We don't know each other very well," and then, moments later, begins a story asking, "Would you like to hear?" She says she's grown cynical. She says she felt abandoned. She says — famously — "That's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool."

And then she laughs it off.

Nick himself calls it insincere, "[...]as though the whole evening had been a trick of some sort to exact a contributory emotion from me."

But... I don't know. I've been a Daisy defender since high school, and that's never gone away; Nick's perspective may communicate a lot of truth that we wouldn't know otherwise, but he is not infallible. And, personally, when it comes to the depths of what's going on with Daisy, I think he's rather blind.

Daisy has a philandering husband who a) physically abuses his mistress and b) canonically bruised Daisy in a way she brushes off carelessly but confesses, again, within her first meeting with Nick, so I don't believe it's a big jump to say he's likely been physically abusive towards her, too. And with that in mind, I think it's strange to expect anything Daisy does to be perfectly and infallibly sincere, when, at her core, she is always in a fight for survival.

(It's the same reason I believe she stays with Tom at the end, and lets Gatsby take the blame. Tom is the only security she knows. Gatsby hangs in the balance. She can't run away with him, now.)

So, to get back to my point, I don't think Daisy was being dishonest in her confessions to Nick. I think she was being painfully honest— so painful, in fact, that she had to cover it up with that cynical mask she's gotten so good at wearing. Daisy is not a beautiful little fool; she only wishes she was.

And then Nick appears, and they're not close, but they could be, and she jumps to trust him: to tell him everything she's scared to say aloud: to have him listen. "Would you like to hear?" she asks. It's more than a question. It's a plea.

I think of Daisy knowing her driver's name, and thinking it important to use it. I think of Daisy knowing Jordan's name when they were younger, when Jordan was two years her junior and admired her desperately. I think of Daisy calling Nick "my dearest one" along with every other kind word she ever said to him. I think of Daisy reaching and reaching and reaching, clinging desperately to anyone who might hold on to her.

And they all let her down.

I guess those who see Daisy as disingenuous at her core wouldn't read it this way at all, but I do. I think Daisy loves desperately, trying to fill a hole that is never filled; I think she's looking for someone to save her, and nobody ever cares enough to listen.

Not Jordan. Not Nick. Not even Gatsby, despite his obsession.

And maybe none of them could have saved her, but they could have listened. They could have cared. They could have asked her about the letter that made her nearly call off her wedding to Tom, instead of dressing her up and pushing her to go through with it. They could've supported her, and not gone out to party with her cheating husband and his mistress. They could've stopped asking for too much and accepted the fact she couldn't give it. They could've done something.

Because all Daisy really needed was a friend. And she never truly had one.

#thanks a lot folks now I'm back in my Daisy feels #the great gatsby #daisy buchanan #nick carraway #jordan baker #jay gatsby #tom buchanan #I just think that Daisy and Nick's friendship could've been something #that he could've offered her something #she never could've gotten from Tom or Gatsby #and my heart hurts about it #shoutout to the girl in my english class who accused me of rooting for the villains because I felt for daisy #tom literally exists but yeah let's blame the victim

[erzsebetrosztoczy]

saw your requests are open. If its not ignore this .

can u do AC Valhalla hytham x reader ? Maybe reader is evior sibling? And hytham is falling for them but is shy to confess . They fall in love and basim is like :

Amongst hidden ruins

I am so sorry for the long wait I was havig life and death situation with uni I didn't consider that would be there but I hope I can make it up to you by offering a 3 part slow burn?? Ya girl is trying I promise🙈🙉🙊

Pairing: Hytham x reader

Word count: ~16k

Genre: fluff, awkward fluff, idiots in love

Warnings: none, except if you count me not knowing what im doing???

Note: Shy Hytham is canon to me, let he be nervous and giddy with his crush🤌❤️. Also, Basim with his wolf dad energy 100% supports his adopted son like "i teach you how to be an assassin, now i teach you how to rizz, boy" and Eivor finally can live through what Sigurd needed to, aka being the older sibling and they will quickly find out why Siggy has eyebags lmfaoo

Being related to the leaders of the Raven Clan was not easy. Especially when it came to two battle-hardened brothers. From the dawn of your life, you had to have someone by your side to keep you from being "hurt." First came the cautionary orders of your father Styrbjörn, which you cannot remember unless it is from Tekla's evening stories. Taking in and raising a newborn baby with two troublemaker squirrels aged a lot on your fathers, even during the early winters of your lives. Then, as you were growing, Prince Sigurd's sense of duty began to surface, and who else could he begin directing, rebuking, and protecting than his youngest sibling. Most of your childhood thus consisted of tramping in your eldest brother's heels, holding his hand, and obeying when he forbade you something. And just when you thought your troubled years would cease to exist as you grew up, Eivor's pestration began.

"I'm just saying it doesn't hurt to call Randvi next time. More eyes see more, more blades cut more." Eivor continued as he dodged those who came across him, trying to catch up with you, who was trying to get rid of his brother with wide steps. You rolled your eyes grumbling as you picked up a bucket from the riverbank, heading towards the stables.

"Eivor, last time, I just went riding for an hour. To the neighboring fields. If you climbed up the top of the Longhouse you would have seen it!" You patted it over your shoulder as you trampled up the path of the settlement.

"Yes, but Tove reported that Saxon bandits are passing nearby lately and-" "Eivor, I don't need a nanny! I can defend myself. I might as well show you how good I am." You raised your voice a little harder than you wanted as you spun back, defiantly shouting into his face. Eivor backed up with wide open eyes, raising his arms to the surrender. 

"Hey, hey, you have no reason to yell at your brother, little one. I just want the best for you." Eivor's voice sounded suspiciously metallic, sarcastic. You knew he was almost certainly  taking your words half-heartedly.

"And if you want any good for yourself, you'd better shut your mouth before I stuff it with Gunnar's footcloth!" Your fingers and fists almost turned white from the effort you used to hold the bucket close to your chest – you had to concentrate very hard not to hit your brother's head with it.

"You talk like you have a chance to beat me." Eivor chuckled to himself in a pitiful grin.

"Listen here, you smartass, Sigurd entrusted you with the leadership of the Clan, not that some blister-headed—"

"I think it will be enough of spreading curses for today. Otherwise, Valka won't be able to make enough talismans for all of us if you keep going like this." In your big arguments, you didn't even notice that Randvi walked next to you. She looked at the two of you with a raised eyebrow. "Maybe a retreat would be good.”

"But Randvi, don't you hear that Eivor runs to me at the slightest crack of a stick to see if I'm still alive? Can't you see that even though I've had the same training as him in our childhood, he acts like I'm a defenseless baby? " You turned to Randvi in desperation, not even paying attention to the water, whether it would stay in your bucket or not.

Your sister in law looked back at you with a pursed mouth. Please, be the more mature one. Reflected in her gaze.

Why do you always have to take the shortcut, for the sake of peace?

You nodded with an annoyed sigh.

"Alright." You grunted in agreement turning back to Eivor, but your flaming stare could have almost scorched him. "Next time I'll tell someone to come with me when I leave home. Okay?"

Eivor's face softened, his eyes sparkling with joy as he grinned in satisfaction.

"Perfect, little sister." He almost sang it as he straightened his back and walked off as if he had done his job well.

"I'll drown him in Tekla's beer one day, you'll see." You fumed at Randvi as you watched with narrowed eyes your brother’s leave.

Randvi laughed hearing this, and patted your shoulder. "Don't be so angry with him, he really only wants good for you." She said apologetically, voice full with kindness.

"His desire for good crushes me. He suffocates me with his fear. No one could live that way." You answered defiantly, speaking from your heart. When will the moment finally come when you can live your life for yourself and no one else?

You sighed dejectedly, then lifted the wooden bucket to your side again. "..I'd better reload this." You muttered, then waved goodbye to Randvi and turned back towards the water.

It seemed to be a long day ahead of you. 

That night you felt like all the joy had been drained from you. Despite the feast, time passed grimly. Despite the music, singing and celebration, you couldn't cheer up - the meat felt tasteless in your mouth.

Since what happened in the morning, you didn't even want to see your brother, specifically for that reason you went to the other side of the longhouse, where you won't even accidentally come under Eivor's watchful eye.

You wondered what you should do to make your brother's overbearing subside.

"Is this seat up to take?" A question came to you behind your back. At first it crossed your mind that it could just be Eivor, that he can't even leave you alone while eating, but then you realized that the voice asking the question sounded much softer than your brother's thunderous one. 

You turned around and found yourself facing Hytham's slender figure. ​He wore his usual white caftan, but now the hood did not cover his lush brown curls. In the darkness, the light of the fire showed a deep brown iris of warm honey, his skin golden from the dancing embers.

It was as if the summer night itself was standing before you.

"For you I am gladly saying yes." You smiled with relief, motioning for him to take the seat beside you.

With a chuckle Hytham took a seat beside you and as he was settling, his shoulder and elbow rubbed against yours.

"Oh, sorry!" He gasped in fright, immediately pulling away from you, offering a decent distance.

"Ah, don't even  worry about it." You waved it away, turning to him. "And what's new in the office? Have you found anything recently with… Eivor, that would advance your research?" You asked, leaning on your elbows.

Hytham shone a timid smile towards you, shaking his head.

"I'm afraid I can't give you exciting news, there haven't been any new leads for weeks. Eivor has been too busy lately, taking care of the clan's affairs with the surrounding allies, to be thinking about that right now."

Pursing your lips, you pondered; your attention falling on the beer mug in your hand, you didn't even have time to notice the warm, longing look with which Hytham stole a glance at you. 

You couldn't notice it - but Basim did; from across, beside the fire. 

"And if I helped instead of Eivor? Trust me, I'm just as good at tracking as he is!" It came out of your mouth suddenly. The thought that you could finally break away from the prohibitions of your brother, from the small life of the settlement, had an invigorating effect on your soul.

"Uh…well…I don't know." Hytham was suddenly speechless, fidgeting shyly, glancing around the hall. "I don't think your brother would be happy if I took you."

"Eivor would only be happy if I was sitting on the shelf in his room until Ragnarök." You rolled your eyes, poking at your brother in annoyance. "Please Hytham! I promise I'll be of use to you!" Leaning closer to him, you betted your eyelashes so sweetly, gazing up at him in the hope that his heart softens for your request. 

But Hytham's heart no longer needed cunning tricks to seduce him.

An indescribable force has drawn him to you since his arrival in the North. The man stood mesmerized by your beauty and as the months went by, as he got to know your pure soul, bright mind, and sharp tongue more and more, he grew a great passion for your person.

Young fierce love or it was a heart-wrenching, bittersweet yearning;  he didn't know yet – Hytham was only certain of this: that your nearness filled him with hope and happiness.

And that was enough for him.

"I— I can  Basim when he might not need my help, and if he releases me, we can go…if you really want to, of course." He agreed with a warm smile on his face.

Sheepishness filled you under his penetrating gaze –  your heart pounded, and slowly the heat of the fire seemed cold compared to the warmth of your skin, as you could only look at your mug while blushing.

When did the young man from the far east start to interest you? When did you notice his charming smile and delightful gaze? How many times have you melted by his eloquence, gentle speech, patience or care? Why did you feel you could never tell Hytham this, because of Eivor? That your brother would definitely stand in your way, even if only for a spark of happiness.

Perhaps better at rest; to live unchanged; as in shame and regret.

"So be it, Hytham." You agreed, now in a much more subdued tone. "If you have come to an agreement with Basim, please tell me immediately!" You promised him as he bowed in agreement.

Maybe you were given a chance for a way out after all. Maybe you'll finally manage to break free from your brother's wings. Maybe if you start on this unknown path, you can find yourself in someone else's arms.

#ac valhalla #assassin's creed #assassin's creed valhalla #ac hytham #ac valhalla hytham #hytham #hytham x reader #ac hytham x reader #ac valhalla imagine #ac valhalla fanfic #my writing #i need someone to sedate me

[fluentmoviequoter]

I See You in My Nightmares, or Not At All

Summary: When you dream, you travel to a dark realm. The nightmares are the only place you feel loved, but the boy in the dark tells you to stop visiting. When you argue, he makes you stop.

Warnings: angst, references possible character death, torture, canon divergent descriptions of the Further, takes place after The Red Door (spoilers present!). 1.3k+ words.

If any of these topics bother you, please do not read! I included all of these warnings, even if they are only hinted at, to ensure you know what you're about to read. This fic gets a little dark/intense, so I completely understand if you want to skip this one.

A/N: This is probably the most angst I've ever written, but I was in the mood to hurt my own feelings. The song that this is inspired by is linked at the bottom (bc I couldn't figure out how to make it smaller lol)! I have a few ideas for a continuation of this one if anyone is interested! Please let me know what you think! :)

The darkness is silent and lonely, yet you crave it more than anything. You have wounds that are impossible to heal, but the siren song of the dark leads you to believe otherwise. With a pull like a strong current, the darkness drowns you in your fears, the cost of keeping him alive. If only in your nightmares.

The woman on YouTube called the place in your dreams the Further, an internet psychic called it the astral plane, and some believe it to simply be a bad dream. For you, it’s home.

Some people claim they dream of their soulmate before meeting, but the only time you feel love while sleeping is in your nightmares.

Tonight is no different. You jolt awake, choking on your own tears as your bedroom swallows your strangled scream. Pitch black surrounds you; once the source of your worst nightmares, the dark is now your only comfort.

You try to forget what he said, and the way the sound of the voice pulled you in like a magnet.

“Stop lying to everyone, your heart can’t take much more. It’ll drive you crazy before it kills you,” the boy says, extending a hand toward you.

Reaching out to take his hand, you can nearly feel the spark connecting him to you. Then you wake up, your tears trying to drown you as you panic, wondering what he meant. You haven’t lied to anyone… since your roommate last asked if you were still dreaming of the boy in the dark.

The first few times you managed to get close enough to see and hear him, you told yourself not to. Distancing yourself seemed to be the only way to stay safe, but he is your worst habit; you are unable and unwilling to quit him. If you don't see him in your nightmares, you won't see him at all.

“Are you alright?” Your roommate asks, cracking the door and allowing light into your sanctuary.

“I’m fine,” you answer, wiping your tears before the light reaches you.

“You’re dreaming about him again. Aren’t you?”

You want to say no, but his words haunt you. “Yeah.”

“When you talked about it before, you made it sound like you could stop. Why don’t you?”

No more lies. “It would hurt. He- he makes me feel seen. Loved. And I don’t know how to walk away from that.”

Your roommate nods before sitting at the end of your bed. “But he’s not real.”

“But as soon as I admit that he’ll be gone.”

“I get it. Sort of. It hurts me to see you like this, but I’m here whenever you need me. You know that.”

“I do. Thank you.”

After a tight hug, you are left alone in the dark again. Your pain is more intense than usual, a full-body ache in addition to your heartbreak. With your head on the pillow, you close your eyes, determined to say goodbye.

“You’re back.”

Opening your eyes, you smile when you see him standing over you. He wraps his hand around yours, pulling you to your feet. You’ve never touched him before, and the electricity coursing through your veins makes your mission much harder.

“I know why you’re here; you don’t have to say it.” He strokes his fingers over your cheek, smiling sadly. “You don’t belong here, anyway.”

“Neither do you.”

“You don’t know that things I’ve done,” he says, withdrawing his hands and taking a step back.

“If you didn’t want me here,” you question, “why did you keep reaching out?”

“You were reaching out,” he argues, brows pinched.

“I- I don’t even know how I get here, I couldn’t have. Not voluntarily at least.”

“This place pulls you in. Drags your soul with no regard for what you want. Some people can see it vividly, like us, others just get glimpses.”

“Now what?”

He turns and points. “See that light back there? There is a door under it. I closed it once, but the demon behind it is growing powerful again, that’s why the light is flickering. Pretty soon it will open again, and the fight will start all over.”

“How long has this been happening?”

“Forever.” He laughs humorlessly, his eyes shining as he turns back to you. “My grandfather died fighting it, my dad nearly did too.”

“And you?”

“I’m still fighting it. I don’t know if this will ever end.”

“I can help. If I can see this place, travel here, surely I can do something.”

He grabs your hands again as he shakes his head. “You could have anything you want; this is not the life for you.”

“What if I want to feel you beside me, not just see you sometimes while I’m asleep? Don’t I get a say in how my life goes?”

“You don’t even know my name, let alone what you want. Trust me.”

“Then tell me your name.”

He’s silent, his eyes on your joined hands.

You step closer, angling your head to look into his eyes. “Look at me and tell me you don’t feel something too.”

“Please don’t do something you’ll regret,” he begs in a whisper.

“What’s your name?” you ask again.

You hear a yell just before his head turns, and you wake up. You groan as you wake, your body meeting the floor beside your bed. Crawling across the floor, you reach for your phone in the corner of your room. The screen is shattered, a sign that your night in this realm was just as restless as in the other. Opening the first app you see, you begin typing, only saving a few letters before blood drops onto the keyboard from your thumb. Someone yelled it in the Further, so, despite his protests, you learned his name. The letters D-a-l are illuminated before the blinking cursor, your fingers bleeding from the glass of your keyboard.

“Dalton,” you whisper. “Your name is Dalton.”

▪︎

“Make it stop,” you plead.

Your roommate stands in your doorway, frozen. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No! I have to go back,” you pant. “He needs help.”

“Who?”

“Dalton!”

Walking to the side of your bed, your roommate says, “You know his name? You said you went in and said goodbye.”

Gasping for air, you explain that you tried, but something happened and you couldn't. The gurgling noise that escapes your throat startles your roommate, who disappears out your door.

“Ambulance… trouble breathing and dissociation…” You catch bits and pieces of the hushed conversation, willing your mind and body to work together and get you to Dalton.

“Please,” you whisper, “one more time.”

You close your eyes and wait. A tear runs down the side of your face; the only way you can release the emotions no one will ever understand.

“What are you doing here?”

At the sound of his voice, your eyes snap open.

“I told you not to come back!”

“No, you didn’t. You told me not to do something I’d regret.”

“Then why are you here?” Dalton clenches his jaw as he looks at you, his intense stare fixed on your face.

“You need help.” Dalton tilts his head and opens his mouth, but you cut him off. “Don’t lie to me and say you don’t.”

Dalton closes the distance, close enough that you can feel his breath on your face. “If you die in here, you are trapped here forever. I am not letting that happen; not to you.”

Your heart drops as you ask, “Is that what happened to you?”

The light above the door illuminates fully, drawing your attention. The black paint begins to chip away, red showing in the gaps.

“I tried to stop you from coming, but it obviously didn't work. I’m sorry,” Dalton says, turning to you and grasping your shoulders.

“For what?”

“Do it!” He screams, shoving your shoulders away from him.

You don’t hit the floor before your vision grows blurry and your lungs begin burning.

“Dalton,” you gasp weakly.

“Maybe we can meet in your nightmares, if you ever forgive me,” he says distantly as the darkness envelops you.

#dalton lambert x reader #dalton lambert fic #dalton lambert imagine #dalton lambert angst #dalton lambert #insidious #insidious the red door #requests #angst #Spotify

[enchantedblackrose]

Not Pretty

Gif credit @haileyupstead

Jay Halstead/ Fem Reader Partner, mentions of Kim and Erin.

Summary: You and the other girls from Intelligence are sent to a nightclub, but the bouncer won't let you in.

Warnings: No canon timeline. Some swearing, feelings of not being pretty. A dude calls you ugly. Largely unedited but I'm tired of looking at it.

Author's note: I really thought I had such a good idea. Then I sat down to write this and omg this is just...idek. I'm sorry? It's nothing like I thought it would be. And I'm seriously doubting posting it. Huge thanks to Resa for talking it out with me otherwise I'd still be stuck hahaha

A contribution to @resanoona 's 3k Fiesta bingo! Square filled: Hurt Feelings

Not Pretty

"Not you," dripping with disdain and a sneer while the onlookers snicker, echoes in your mind as you sit on the bench in the locker room at the precinct, momentarily sidetracked from gathering your belongings.

You shouldn't be feeling like this. Sad. Defeated. The sense of utter failure lingering over you. You and the team made the bust. And yet all you hear is that bouncer's voice. 

‐

Of course it's a frigid Chicago night as you stand outside the nightclub with members of your team undercover and underdressed. Your knee high boots help conceal your credentials as well as your backup piece, but your left little toe is already numb with pain and you're positive your heels are going to blister. You tug the bottom of your dress as if that will magically make it grow longer.

Kim playfully swats your hand. "Stop fidgeting."

"This dress is tiny and it's freezing," you stick your tongue out and she laughs at you.

"Yes, well in lieu of making your dress longer or warmer, try to relax," she offers you a tentative smile.

Through your earpiece, your partner's voice rings out, "She's right, y/n. You look...fine. just concentrate on the task." Feeling chastised, you scowl in Jay's general direction. He's somewhere in the crowd of people in line for the club in case there's trouble before you even get in. He somehow manages to catch your eye, before you plaster on the fakest of smiles.You turn to Kim just as Erin bounces up to you both, hooking her arms through Kim's elbow and yours. "Ladies! Let's get this started."

Laughing with each step, feigning flippant attitudes, you and the girls walk past the line, straight to the bouncer by the door. He barely glances up from his clipboard.

"Name?"

"You won't find our names on your list, but-"

"End of the line," he barks.

"Please," Erin pouts.

"He's just doing his job," Kim says. He looks up, appreciating the recognition. "We'll go," but none of you make to move. His eyes rake over your bodies. Erin acts as if she's about to move, but then tilts her head slightly.

"Are you Rob? Because my friend, Cassidy, was here two or three nights ago and she said you had all the right moves," she says, dropping the name of her CI.

He laughs, "You lot know Cass? That girl is wild. You party like her?"

"Harder," you say with a cheeky smile. 

"And longer," Kim winks.

She and Erin giggle. You laugh a little late and very awkwardly. Rob moves finally granting entry. 

You all move to go in, but he stops you.

"Not you," He sneers.  Erin and Kim halt. "You two can go in. She has to wait." They scoff and protest, but he's unwilling. 

"Sorry no uglies." You feel your heart plummet; his words sting no matter how badly you wish they didn't. But even though you're hurt and angry, your face remains neutral. A group of smug girls on the other side of Rob snicker and point in your direction. Another wave of dejection hits you and you shove your emotions down again.

"Rob!" Erin scolds, but he shrugs, unabashed.

"It's fine," you force a smile, not wanting to  waste any more time. "Go and I'll meet you inside." Kim, you can tell, is conflicted. Erin isn't happy. You wink and before you're even walking away, Voight's in your ear, instructing the other two to continue on as planned and for you to wait in line with Jay. You can't help but roll your eyes. Of course you were going to go wait with your partner. There was nothing left for you to do but wait. This whole night was going down as one of your worst.

Jay is towards the back of the line with only a few people behind him so no one is bothered when you take a place by his side.

"Do you want my coat?" His offer is genuine, but you hardly notice.

"No, I'm not cold anymore." It's true. Your anger is enough to warm you. You huff involuntarily.  Jay notices how you don't look him in the eye.

He watches you carefully as to not earn your attention. Your jaw is set tight. Y/e/c eyes unblinking, fixated on up ahead. Your tongue presses to your cheek. Arms fold across your chest. Your order to join him has clearly irritated you.

Minutes pass by with the line never really moving. Jay notes how you look down at your dress. You ran a hand over it to unnecessarily smooth it out. You shift uncomfortably in your boots. Jay starts to think maybe there's more to your bad mood. It wasn't just Voight, but that asshole bouncer, too. Jay's jaw clenches tightly. He starts to put a hand on your shoulder when you both hear the order to move in.

"Chicago PD, you guys need to leave!"

"Get outta here." Together you and Jay clear all civilians before entering the club.

Erin's CI had given incredibly accurate intel. Plenty of arrests and drugs were seized. Lives were no doubt saved.

_

"Hey y/n, we're gonna go to Molly's for celebratory drinks," Kim's voice is extra soft, weary even, sensing your bad mood, but not knowing the best way to approach you. "You coming?"

"I already have plans," you lie with ease and a cheery smile a bit too big to be sincere. "Thanks though!" Kim looks like she wants to press on, but ultimately decides against it.

As she walks away, you sigh. If she and Erin hadn't teamed up with you, if you had attempted to get in the club alone, would the team still have made arrests and confiscated all the drugs? It was unlikely. Moving fast was key and you would have been forced to wait in that line. And while it had been Erin's CI providing some crucial facts, this had been your case. You couldn't even get into the club because you're not pretty. Hot tears prick your eyes. You hastily wipe them away.

Your club dress lays angrily thrown in your bag. Your boots too. Now sporting sweat pants and your PD tee, you remain on the bench, waiting for the laughs and voices of your colleagues to die down. You give extra time even, not wanting to catch any of them in the parking lot. But even when the silence settles in, you don't move. You're alone for five minutes when a voice comes from behind you, startling you.

"What are you doing?"

Your hand flies over your chest. "Jeez, Jay. I thought you left with everyone else." You let out a breath.

"Why aren't you at Molly's?"

"I told Kim. I have plans."

"I don't think you do." He crosses his arms over his chest as he comes to stand closer to you.

Annoyance sets in. You zip shut your go bag before standing up and slamming your locker door close. "Well I do, so if you'll excuse me…"

Jay doesn't budge. "No. Because you're lying and I want to know why."

"I don't appreciate being called a liar."

"I don't appreciate you taking me for an idiot. Your only plans must be a large pizza at home on your couch alone because you don't go out in sweats, except to the gym. And you never go there on Friday nights. So tell me. Why are you letting what some idiot said bother you?"

You're beyond stunned by just how well Jay knows you. It reminds you how much you love him, not only as your partner, or a friend, though you would never, ever,  confess it. Tonight being the perfect reminder, you're not enough. 

But his astute knowledge of you, has left you feeling vulnerable and angry. You need to get away. From him. From work. From your emotions.

"I'm not talking about this with you. Now move."

"No."

"Jay, I swear-"

"What are you going to do?" His frustration with you seems to grow with every second. Those normally light eyes of his are turning dark. His voice is slightly raised.

You've seen Jay mad before, but not with his anger directed at you. It only seems to fuel your temper.  "Why are you being such an ass about this?" You snap. 

"Why are you being so stupid about this?" He shouts.

Your eyes widen in disbelief. "Don't fucking yell at me and do not call me stupid."

"I'm thinking you might be if I'm right and you're all upset because some lowlife bouncer said-"

"Oh for fuck's sake! I'm upset because what he said is true. I'm not pretty. I look nothing like the other girls. It's not like I haven't noticed. This isn't about just one guy. It's about me. I never get hit on when I go out. I never had a lot of dates when I was younger. It's fine. There's so much more to life. It just stirred up some bad feelings. And this sounds silly to you, I'm sure, but there it is, Jay. Your partner isn't pretty. And it almost cost us the case! I almost cost us the case because I'm not pretty," your voice breaks at the end. Tears threaten to spill, But you stiffen your lip instead. You look Jay in the eyes.

He's shaking his head. "You're wrong. You're fucking beautiful, y/n."

You don't think you heard him correctly, "...What?"

"I," he pauses, nervously licking his lips before continuing, "You're my partner and I know it's inappropriate, but I just," he sighs, like he's losing an argument with himself, and then with one step towards you he closes the space between the two of you. His mouth is on yours, tongue begging for yours.

Once you have time to react and reciprocate, he gently pushes you into the lockers, deepening the kiss. His one hand rests on your hip. The other cups your chin, desperate to bring you impossibly closer. Your hands stay at your side, unable to process what is happening. The only thing you're able to do is kiss Jay back.

A moment passes before he pulls away. His kiss has left you breathless and feeling dazed. When you finally manage to look him in the eyes, you see his face is much more relaxed now.

His tone is gentler, too. "It's unfair how beautiful you are. Your face is so soft and lights up every time you smile. Your eyes twinkle after you've been laughing. And you're smart. You're good despite all the bad we see. And you're sexy, y/n. When I saw you dressed for the assignment tonight, I-," he doesn't finish the statement, rather a pink tinge spreads across his cheeks.

"But you never said anything. I didn't know…"

"Now you do. Maybe you'll see it for yourself now." Between his kiss and his words, you can hardly think. Jay takes your silence as an opportunity to apologize.  "I never meant to call you stupid, but I really didn't. It was implied that I thought you were being stupid, and though there's a difference, that wasn't cool either. I honestly couldn't understand you being hurt by someone's words, especially when they were so wrong. I had no idea you had no clue how pretty you truly are or that your feelings about this stem so far back. I didn't get it and I'm sorry y/n."

"It's fine, Jay. I don't exactly go around broadcasting my insecurities."

"I could've been more sensitive."

"Maybe. That kiss helped a bit," you quip, finally feeling more like yourself.

Jay's grin is almost smug. "Oh yeah? Well in that case, since I know you're not doing anything, how about we get a pizza, take it back to my place and then later I'll show you just how beautiful you are to me?"

Wordlessly, almost like you still can't believe what's happening, you nod. Jay takes your bag in one hand, and intertwines your fingers through his with the other. Hand in hand you leave the precinct.

#jay halstead x reader #jay halstead x you #resa.3kfiestabingo #jay halstead x y/n

[marveloustimestwo]

can i ask for something within the universe mama!vampire nat? reader calling natasha mother >for real< for the first time? and natasha not seeming to care but then getting emotional and happy. please 🥺♥️

I love how vampire mama!Nat has become her own character/ universe on this blog. It's canon here now.

Warnings: Yandere themes

You're definitely right in the fact that she wouldn't show much of a reaction when you call her that seriously.

For the most part, Natasha wants to come off as cool with it so that you don't stop calling her that suddenly.

On the surface, she'll just respond to whatever you were talking about. The most you'll see at first is a small smile.

But Natasha definitely sees this as progress.

She was already so hellbent on believing that you were her child, it was really just about getting you to accept that.

And the longer you've fought against it, the happier she'll be once you call her that.

It's like hearing you say your first words or something.

But once you do that, you're really stepping into new territory.

Before, Natasha was almost always stern. She needed to make sure you knew who was the boss around here so you didn't get any funny ideas.

It means that you'll likely get softer treatment. She softens up around you as a whole. She's not always this stern character. Instead, she'll open up a bit more, show more emotions, and talk things out more.

And she's definitely more affectionate. Noticeably so.

Natasha wouldn't be overbearingly affectionate, but she'll give you more hugs, forehead kisses, and the like.

But don't think that you can call her mom with some sort of ulterior motive. You can't call her that just to get some freedom.

She'll know, and she won't appreciate it. You'll get one of those disapproving frowns and a "Drop the attitude," type deal.

It's incredibly hard to trick Natasha using emotional manipulation. She can read you very well and will take great offense to you trying to manipulate her.

But otherwise, once you accept your position, things generally improve.

#yandere #platonic yandere natasha romanoff #yandere natasha romanoff #yandere marvel #yandere mcu