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gfguren · 6 months

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pro hero!bakugou x sidekick!reader | fluff, mutual pining, blatant flirting, bakugou calls reader darlin', bakugou is soft(ish) | cw: injury, mentions of alcohol, name calling (idiot), kisses kisses kisses

-bakugou tends to your injury, pining for you nearly as much as you do for him-

Your arm burns in waves, like kindling fire, the plain between your elbow and wrist a bramble of red and purple. It stings like a million tiny thorns pricking your skin.

"Why'd ya get in the way, idiot!" Bakugou's words are fierce and his brow is drawn, but you see the way his cheeks flush. He's embarrassed, guilt-ridden though it's not his fault. Not really.

You were both too overzealous for your own goods, determined to land the final blow on the villains. But his quirk was bigger, more explosive, harder to stop when your hands inevitably collided. You're just lucky your arm took the brunt of it.

Still, you smile despite the pain and his frown deepens, "What? Ya hit yer head too?"

You take a step forward, then two, crossing the threshold of your front door, reveling in the way his blush travels to his ears. "Did you come all the way here just to nag me?" There's a lilt of amusement in your voice, and he huffs, exasperation on his breath. "Or are you finally gonna give me that?"

You point to the bag dangling from his fingertips, pharmacy label half hidden by his baggy combat trousers. He's still in costume, mask pushed up over his wild, blonde hair, light sheen of sweat dotting his forehead and shoulders.

He's a proper distraction from the pain at least.

His gaze falls to his own hand, as if he'd entirely forgotten. There's a palpable moment of hesitation, and then he grunts, knuckles clenching; he thrusts it against your chest.

"Did'ya sterilize it, at least?"

You're half listening, shuffling through the contents of the bag. "Mhm, rinsed it with water when I got home."

"Yer hopeless, darlin'."

You shrug, "If a little burn could take me out, I wouldn't be much of a hero, now would I?"

He snorts, "If ya were such a good hero, you'd have dodged in the first place."

"You think?" You humor his attitude, heart swelling in your chest when you spot your favorite candy hidden beneath the ointments and bandages. You have half a mind to tease him about it. "Are you gonna help me put this on?"

His arms fold across his chest, half a scowl twisting his face. He leans back, tapping a heavy boot against the floorboards. "And why would I do that?"

He must think he's subtle but you read him like a book, finger the pages, read between the lines. There's worry in his brow, guilt, turmoil, anger directed at his own self.

You figured it would help alleviate his conscience, at least.

"That's fine. I'll get around to it eventually." You turn on your heel, adding a cheeky "probably" to accentuate the wave of your hand, nudge him into action. It works.

Warm fingers encircle your wrist and you bite your tongue, suppress the laugh inching it's way up your throat. Predictable, cute. It takes everything in you not to grin.

Two big hands push you down by the shoulders, cushions folding beneath your thighs. Bakugou holds a palm out expectantly and you place your own atop his, reveling in the way his nose scrunches in frustration.

You don't miss the way he lets it linger - just for a moment - before finally swatting it away with a half-hearted flick of the wrist. "The ointment, idiot."

You relent, handing him the thin white tube. He spreads a stripe down his fingertips, seat dipping beside you; he extends his opposite hand. "Now your hand."

You grin, fingers gently curling around his own. It's not meant to be romantic, the way he draws you forward, presses your knuckles to his chest. He's just trying to get a better look at the wound, head tilting this way and that. But his hand is so warm, and he's so pretty from this angle, and when his eyes rise to meet yours his breath hitches in his throat; and so does yours.

It's intimate, familiar.

It makes you want to break whatever this unspoken 'something' is that the two of you have fostered - this growing affection you're both too proud to admit that wears on you, leaves you yearning to lean just a little closer and finally concede.

Just like all those nights ago, when he got a little too drunk at the hero convention, quickly annoyed by the crowds and reporters, the loud, boasting heroes. His champagne glass was quickly emptied once more, grunting when he pushed back in his chair. You remember leaning closer, close enough to discretely ask if he was alright. His red hot stare followed, burned through your chest and down to your core, left you shifting restlessly in your seat.

The air was thick when he finally careened upward, swaying perilously as he took you by the wrist, led you up and out of the dining hall until it was just the two of you, alone in an empty corridor. You could still hear the echo of stranger's voices, but it didn't bother him, not when he crowded you against the wall, not when his big hand fell to the space beside your head, or when his face dipped to linger just close enough to have your heart beating wildly in your chest.

"What about the party?"

"'as boring." He'd replied, fingers 'round your wrist, lingering on your pulse; he feels it stutter beneath his touch. "Ya scared?"

You would be, should be, if it was anyone else. Big, leering, all rippling muscle and explosive temper - but it was Bakugou, your mentor, your best friend, heart of a hero and handsome as hell. You've loved him as long as you've known him.

"No."

He'd grinned, leaned forward til' his lips found yours, deeper, sweeter than you'd ever imagined, and gods you had, too many times.

"Good."

You're so lost in thought that you miss the way skin meets skin, thin buffer of ointment between you, and it burns - his fingers against your aching forearm. Your cheeky smile twists into a grimace and you can almost taste his guilt.

"Quit bein' a baby." Bakugou's bark holds no bite, touch softening until his rough fingers border featherlight. "Yer a hero, r'member."

You watch as he carefully applies the medicine, touch gentling each time you flinch until he's barely touching you at all.

"You've said that a lot today. 'Hero'." You muse. "It's usually sidekick this, sidekick that."

He shoots you a look before wiping the ointment from his fingers. "Yer my sidekick."

"Yeah?" You tilt your head, leaning forward to rest your chin on your unattended hand. "And what's the difference?"

He could answer you honestly, if he wanted. You're capable, brave, strong in your own right - beautiful to boot. You're the best of the best; Bakugou would never settle for less after all. Not that he was going to admit that.

Instead his lips twist in amusement, curling, lopsided, askew; you realize you won't be getting a straight answer.

"Ya should know by now when t' stay out of my way, is the difference." He pulls a bandage as big as his fist from the bag, pressing one corner to the flat of your palm, working it up and around until it reaches your wrist, and further still. "Was perfectly capable of handlin' it on my own."

"Seemed like you had your hands full with the big guy," you quip back, rubbing your thumb absently over the scratchy bandage. "Was I supposed to watch while the other one pummeled you from behind?"

He quirks a brow, you're not sure if he's annoyed or amused. "Woulda been fine. How d'ya think I made it to the top twenty, 've practically got eyes on the back of my head."

"You sure? Think I recall a time or two you've been whacked upside the head."

His eyes stray for only a moment, simmering up at you beneath dark lashes. "Think we might need t' get yer eyes checked, darlin', seems yer seein' things."

"Guess I need a hearing test too, since I remember you being a total crybaby about it."

He centers the tips of his thumb and pointer just above your brow, fingertips bouncing off your forehead, a tepid flick! and he's resuming his handiwork.

"Hey!" you pout, rubbing the offended area with your unfettered hand. "I'm a patient, you're supposed to be nice to me!"

"And who's fault is that." He grins, light and easy and gone in an instant, with a flash of realization, guilt that reaches his eyes and worries his brow. It's his, still.

You sigh, "Look at me." And he does, begrudgingly as it may be. "It's not your fault. I should have trusted you more. And you should have trusted me. We're both idiots so quit blaming yourself." You lightly flick his forehead in return; he doesn't flinch, eyes never leaving your own. "Finish the wrapping and we'll call it even, yeah?"

He grumbles something lost on you, stretching the last bit of fabric beneath your elbow and tucking it into itself. He turns your arm over in his palm, lightly, carefully inspecting it before leaning back against the cushions. You can feel his guilt dissipate, the stress in his shoulders slowly deflating.

"Ya hurt anywhere else?" His voice is low, quiet. He desperately hopes not.

You think for a moment, read his face, his body language, and then you're rubbing the space above your brow, faking a pout if only to lighten the mood. "Yeah, some brute bruised my forehead earlier, think it needs medical attention."

He crosses his arms, muscles flexing, brow tightening in discontent. "I'm being serious."

You struggle to suppress the laugh bubbling up in your chest. "So am I. What a devastating injury, I fear I won't live long." You dramatically throw yourself over his lap, knuckles laid flat over your brow. There's a conflicting look in his eye; you struggle to read it. "If only a big, handsome hero woul-"

You nearly miss the annoyed huff, the subtle roll of his eyes, too enamored in the way he encircles your wrist with one big hand, guides it to rest against his chest before leaning down and pressing his lips to your forehead.

You're sure there's hearts in your eyes when he straightens his shoulders, hand still idle against his heartbeat; his thumb absently strokes the soft underside of your wrist but his gaze doesn't linger. A hint of a blush creeps up his neck, eyes fixated on the opposite corner of the room. "Done bein' a crybaby?"

You try and fail, miserably so, to hide the delight dancing in your chest and curling your toes. There's a grin splitting your cheeks when you sit up, face an inch from his own. "Mhm."

You can feel his breath, his hesitation, the slippery, fluttering feelings he's struggling to catch, and name, and put into words. He decides it's easier to turn his back to them, to you - again.

It's always the same song and dance, one step forward, two steps back.

He's up in a moment, fidgeting with his tank, his gloves, his mask, anything he can get his hands on. You sigh, pushing off the couch, taking one step, two, arms wrapping snug around his middle. "What're ya doin'?"

"Checking something."

"And what's that?"

"Whether or not you have eyes on the back of your head." He ignores your teasing, so you press a little further, tease a little more. "Either you don't," you squeeze him tighter, closer, smush your cheek against his back. "Or you totally just let me hug you."

He croons his head to stare you down, if looks could kill, you'd be very very toasty right about now. Still you laugh, hide your smile in the shadow of his broad shoulders, tip toe around him when twists around to face you.

Finally he catches you, two big hands clamped down on either shoulder. You wait for him to scold you, tongue between your teeth, bated breath in your lungs. But he only grunts, fingers curling around the base of your neck until he can slant his lips over your own.

You sigh, it's the second time Katsuki Bakugou's lips have been on yours. But they no longer taste of saltines, white wine, impulse or hesitation; it's not some drunken mistake or whimsy he'll pretend to have forgotten by morning. This time he's kissing you because he wants to. Because the feelings he harbors are just the same as yours.

And when he pulls away his red eyes have mellowed, a dull amber, an expectant cinnabar. There's a palpable silence, one beat, two, three - possibly. His impatience gets the better of him. "Well?"

You stifle a laugh, keen up at him, hands absently against his chest. "Well what?"

"What d'ya mean 'well what'?!"

What ever self control you had wavers, the incredulous look in his eyes sending you over the edge until your devolving into a fit of laughter.

"What's so funny, huh?"

"'m sorry." The laughter rattles you, chest like a suitcase too small to pack away the joy that fills you, spills over the brim in fits of laughter. It's infectious; Bakugou grins.

Your hands cup his cheeks. "You're too cute not to tease."

He sucks on his teeth. "Cute huh?" His hand cups your wrist, thumbs the bandage, careful, cute. "I nearly cooked ya and 'm 'cute?'"

You lean forward, bump your nose against his. "Mhm."

"There's somethin' wrong with you."

"Yeah, it's called the guy I like is completely oblivious and won't tell me he likes me."

"I kissed you, twice. If ya didn't take the hint, that's on you."

You're smiling when you press your lips to his - quick, tepid, chaste, and over and over and over again.

He breaks away, eyes full of suspicion. "What was that for?"

"What? Didn't you take the hint?" You slant your mouth over his, linger a little longer this time. "I like you." You kiss him again, again, again.

He snorts, palm falling to the small of your back, big hand heavy on your skin. "Point taken."

He dips his head low, kisses you, soft and slow, fingers flexing against your shirt, dragging you closer when you move to pull back. "I like ya." His breath is hot against your mouth. "Always have."

#bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha x you #mha x you #finally finished the anime #now this blonde menace lives in my head rent free 😩#if anyone was wondering why i disappeared for 3 months its the 6+ bakugou wips in my phone ☠️

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tastesousweet · 5 months

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⭒ the girl with the tattoo (i)

grumpy!matt sturniolo x sunshine!fem oc / reader

summary : matt is a grumpy tattoo artist and y/n books him for her first tattoo.

warnings : needles and pain (not very detailed tho)

mickey speaks : i don't have any tattoos so i actually know nothing ab the procedure lmaooo just guessing but i’ll be writing multiple parts for this. also i am very much self indulging bc i headcannon y/n as poc! but obvi anyone can read there's not much exclusivity ab how i write her, i js wanted to note that for any poc readers <3.

THIS IS PART 1 BTW!!!!

“SHITTT,” you draw out the last syllable at the rumble and screech of your car engine as you continue your attempt to start it.

eventually you throw your head backwards in defeat, annoyed by the unbudging car. this is the actual worst timing. you're supposed to be at the tattoo shop (that is a 12 minute drive from your apartment complex) for an appointment in less than twenty minutes.

you truly want to scream and border on throwing a tantrum but decide it would probably be better to find a solution than complain about the agony further.

you quickly find your roommate's contact, raising your phone to your ear and pinching your eyes shut as the vibrating ring hums through your skull.

"y/n? what's up?" andrea answers confused as you had only just walked out of the door five minutes ago.

"hi drea... so i know you have your own plans right now but is there any way you can give me a ride... please?"

you hear shuffling on the line, "mmm, where to?"

౨ৎ

“thank you again for driving me,” you smile at andrea and squeeze her hand before reaching for the door.

“yes, of course. you can call me when you’re done and i’ll head over here- m’sorry i can’t stay with you.” she replies and exaggerates a frown.

"i'll be fine, i think- i hope..."

"you will be fine. just don't stress or it'll hurt more."

౨ৎ

your arms are crossed tightly over your chest as you make your way into the shop (in its form of an oversized warehouse, fixed up to look stylish and comfortable- something you’d never really seen before). the rickety jingle of a small bell kindly indicates your presence to the rest of the shop.

a few people sitting in a waiting area look up before continuing their conversations (though some continued to stare as you walk by). you see a surprising amount of people crowding in a brightly decorated lounge area, housing many arcade games and a kitchenette.

you reach the receptionist desk and are greeted by a young man dressed casually, humming along to the music playing in the background of the space.

“um, hi. i’m here for my 1:30 appointment.” you state with a smile, you’re suddenly aware of how nervous you truly are.

the brunette looks over to a desktop screen with a soft scrunch of his face, “for y/n, right? huh, that’s crazy…” he rubs his chin, “1:30 was like nine minutes ago,” he looks up at you, almost like he was questioning you; who do you think you are? and why do you think you’re important enough to be late?

as soon as your face begins to morph into fear and embarrassment his own face splits into a large smile as he laughs softly. “i’m sorry- i’m such an ass but i had to- your file said you’re new clientele so i just had to fuck around.”

“you’re sick! i was fully prepared for a fucking lecture on timeliness or something,” you let out a soft laugh.

the boy comes from around the desk holding a paper and clipboard. “yeah, sorry, i’m chris,” he reaches a hand out to which you willingly return and restate your name to him, “‘m not usually up front so you probably talked to asha over the phone when booking.”

you nod and smile at the familiar name, “yeah, she was so helpful over the phone.”

“she’s awesome, i miss her,” he touches each of his shoulders then forehead before kissing his hand and pointing to the sky.

"oh my god? i'm sorry for your loss."

his eyes squint and lips pucker in confusion, "oh, she's not fired she's just on vacation right now."

"so why'd you...?"

chris cuts you off by handing you the clipboard and grabbing a pen from a cluttered mason jar on the desk as he explains, “okay, we’re just gonna have you fill out this quick consultation form; just so you and your artist will be on the same page about things.” you nod in understanding. “keep it brief, matt’s not big on reading large bodies of text,” chris laughs.

“got it,” you smile before turning to find a chair and begin writing. you truly were relieved that chris wasn’t hard on you about being late, for a second you thought you would be lectured and have to carry the guilt of dissapointing someone into a room where you'd be paying to lie in excruciating physical pain. (damn, double homecide)

the sheet had general information to fill before the questions specifically about the tattoo you’d be getting today came.

you go back up to chris once you’re finished.

“cool, follow me we’ll set you up with matt.” he leads the way and your nerves are suddenly back as it's feeling more and more real with each step. you pacify your thoughts by looking around at the many images and messages written in sharpie along the walls of the hallway. there's also plenty of hanging shelves around with vintage trinkets and succulents that compliment the space around.

chris reaches a curtain and dips his head past as if he were checking for something before giving you a chance to see. you notice the small "Matt" embroidered on the black curtain. chris then opens it wide enough for the both of you to walk into the surprisingly large space.

(who you can only assume to be) matt sits comfortably in a wheeled desk chair, legs spread. his elbow rests on the arm of the chair and he holds his head up with two of his fingers, as his middle finger grazes his irritated mouth with a stern look on his face while he scrolls on his phone.

he doesn’t move his position when he looks up at the two of you.

“alright! matt this is y/n,” chris motions between you two. matt hums, placing his phone on the desk and placing his hand out expectantly for the clipboard. chris goes to hand it to him and whispers, “fix your face, jackass,” then turning around to leave you some reassuring words, “good luck y/n, the tat’s gonna look amazing.”

but chris doesn’t see matt exaggerating a large, sarcastic smile from behind him in defense of chris’ words (he immediately drops it though). something that would make you at least giggle if you weren’t so nervous.

“thanks,” your voice is a little hoarse as you haven’t used it in some time. matt watches the boy leave before looking over to you. he rolls the chair closer, reading over your short (as requested) responses.

“you can sit down.” he forms it almost as a question like are you going to sit down or do i have to direct you to do everything?

you sit on the black cushioned bench, lined with a disposable white cloth and begin to fidget with your fingernails as matt goes over your paperwork quietly.

“''kay, so you’re getting a small hello kitty on your lower hip?” he summarizes while checking and signing a few lines on a paper.

“yeah, um, i told asha over the phone that way you could have it sketched already- she told me that’s best and saves time for the both of us.”

his response is a slowed nod and a breathy, “yep,” as he rolls over to his desk and places the clipboard on the surface before opening a drawer and digging through it.

you gaze around the room and wonder if he decorated the space himself or if he wasn’t the type to be bothered enough to add personal things to his work area. almost all the posters are of music artists or tattoos, the most personal things you see are a small picture frame on his desk and a pokémon plushie sat on a chair in the corner of the room. all of which just pose more questions in your working brain.

you notice him switching to a different swivel chair that is lower to the ground and bringing himself (as well as a moving table with already prepared supplies) closer to you.

you’re nervous again. even after your roommate and older brother have both given you advice on first tattoos and the pain expected you’re still finding yourself scared of what to expect. your ear piercings would have nothing on this.

“first tattoo?” matt clarifies, as if he could read your mind. you nod and go to speak but stop when he gestures for you to lay back on the cushion.

you’re sure that he only was searching for a quick confirmation from you and is not too interested in your life or what brings you here but you’ve found that talking relieves your own stress and you absolutely cannot just lay there and only speak when spoken to.

“yeah, i guess m’nervous. i just hope i don’t, like, die from pain or hate the outcome or curse myself in a couple years for the placement- but it's not that i'm doubting that it'd be cute. younger me would be screaming at the fact that i'm even here..." you pause just for a second. "but then again i'm not sure how much forty year old me will appreciate it. so i guess i just don’t know. you know?”

you lean yourself up to get a look at matt, only to realize he has airpods in and simply has not been listening or interested in you (just as you expected). he’s moving his head the smallest amount to the beat as he works on his sketch.

he notices your movement though and takes a headphone out of his ear, “are you okay?” is all he asks.

a pretty broad question. and an anxiety inducing question to ask a girl who's been questioning her decisions as much as you have. you hope you’re okay. will you still be okay when this (mostly) permanent decision is etched into your skin forever? is he okay? will he give you any sense of encouragement or comfort during this process? are tattoo artists typically like this or are you just considered especially needy clientele?

“yeah, i just was- like, curious, i guess.” you mumble a little and internally hate that you feel so insecure in this situation. so out of control.

“was just adjusting my sketch to be a smaller. nothing crazy happening over here.” he shrugs. “you can go ahead and pull your shirt up, though. i’m just gonna clean the area and prep before inking.” he explains to you very straight and to the point.

you fall back into place and obey, inching your shirt up further to expose your lower stomach. you drape your arms over your face to gain composure as you hear matt rip some packaging.

the coolness of the cleaning pad sends your stomach butterflies and you try to not think too hard about the fact that matt’s hands will be on your lower stomach and hip for a good length of time.

eventually matt speaks to you again, “i’m starting so if you’re feeling the need to get the fuck out you gotta do it now or for forever hold your peace.”

you smile a little at his dry joke but when you turn your head to see him fully serious you blink, “no, i’ll be fine. thanks though.”

he just nods his head and goes to put his airpods back in before you’re interrupting again, “wait. whatcha listening to?”

he’s suprised by the question. his clients rarely get too involved in what he’s doing. mostly because he does a great fucking job no matter how few words he may utter over an entire session. there's a mutual understanding there that he's never had to speak up about to anyone. other artists use a strong bond or charisma to secure returning customers but matt finds there’s nothing better to display than his pure talent and passion for his craft. that’s how he keeps clients. they ask and he will always deliver; and that’s how he particularly likes it. no questions and minimal conversation.

the sound of the tattoo gun begins and just for your sake he decides to answer the question without malice, “just some frank ocean instrumental tracks." he places his hands back onto your skin, "don’t start moving.”

you pinch your eyes shut and squeeze your forearms as soon as the initial pain takes over. it’s a feeling you can only describe as a needle poking into you a trillion times at once. which is literally what's happening to you.

you’re not oblivious to matt’s disengagement with your attempts at conversation but you need him to continue to speak to you or else you’ll think too much about the needle actively puncturing you. “oh yeah? i’ve never listened to him before…”

“surprising. he’s pretty big.” matt mumbles slightly, focusing on his work far more than his slight interest in your knowledge of frank ocean.

“mhm. i’ve been meaning to give him a listen. could you share?”

matt’s eyes just move to look up at your face as he tries not to beg you to just be quiet and let him do this so that you both can leave within an hour. “i’m good on that.” he returns to tattooing.

“huh? you can’t share music?”

“i would prefer not to but-” he doesn’t even know why he’s continuing to fuel this anymore.

“what if i add a pretty,” you pause to wince a little as the needle moves lower, “pretty please?”

“i’m almost done,” he mumbles the lie.

“matt?”

he pauses for only a second to glance over to you. he’s met with a face scrunched in pain with an attempted smile that he thinks makes you look more like a doped up hippie than the cute effect you were going for. you plead after his glance, “pretty please?”

he rolls his eyes and sets his tattoo gun down, reluctantly swiveling over to his desk. before you even realize what exactly he’s doing there’s a airy beat of drums and piano playing from a small speaker in the room.

once he's back over to you he can tell you’re smiling even though your face is mostly covered by your arms. “thank you, i needed a distraction or something.”

he mumbles an “mhm” and returns to his work.

౨ৎ

there was generally no talking after that. only a few moments you observed (due to your need to cling on to literally anything going on besides the pinching at your lower side) that were any indication of matt's quiet presence. you noticed when matt would softly hum the lyrics to the instrumentals over the speaker and when you began to tap your fingers out of boredom and nerves, to which he simply placed his hand over them to force them flat while muttering a small “stop.”

when matt was completely finished he asked you if he could take a picture to add to his instagram and you agreed eagerly. he then added a strip of tattoo film over a layer of protective ointment. after he helped you to fully stand he explained how to care for it and how important cleaning is because “that shit will get gunky as fuck.” and you told him that you promise to do everything he said. he also gave you a detailed list on a card for you to follow just in case you forget.

you glance down at your tattoo one last time before you begin to leave the room you’d just spent a lengthy hour of your life in. you assume matt doesn’t want much else from you until he calls your name from his desk. you turn and see him still looking at his phone before glancing up, “uh, what’s your insta handle, so i can tag you in this?”

you don’t know why you’re surprised but you are.

you agree to exchange handles with him before deciding to compliment him once more, “my tattoo is perfect, by the way. i love it so much, thank you.” you want to tell him that you hope you didn’t annoy him too much but you don’t know if that will annoy him more. so you take his nod and hint of a smile as his way of showing appreciation, keeping your own smile bright to mask the crushing feeling of someone seeming so indifferent towards you.

after walking past the curtain and through the trinket-filled hallway you’re back to the main area of the warehouse. you see a different collection of people gathered playing pool and some more huddled on a couch looking at a girl’s phone in awe. chris is busy talking with what seems to be a close friend when you walk up to the reception desk.

when his eyes find your bright expression he’s bouncing back with energy, “hey! i’m assuming it went well?" he asks.

"very well. glad it's over though, i can't lie." you laugh while taking your debit card from your purse.

"yeah, definitely not the best feeling. especially when matt's ugly face is that close to you." chris jokes and takes your card to cash you out.

you laugh along with him but assure him that matt's looks weren't an issue. he raises his eyebrows and has a growing smirk that travels to his eyes when he gives you your card back. you try not the blush at the implication, "i didn't mean it like that."

"right," he nods and chuckles softly, "well hopefully you'll be back for another eventually?" he hands you a receipt.

"i mean how could i not with such a sweet receptionist asking me? i'm sure you get everyone to come back," you joke.

chris shrugs with a cocky grin, "somethin' like that."

౨ৎ

"oh my god it's fucking adorable, what?!" andrea exclaims with a spoonful of frozen yogurt still in her mouth.

she initally begged to see it as soon as she picked you up but you dramatically told her you had just experienced the worst pain of your life and you'd need a sweet treat if you were planning to not sleep the rest of the day away. so she just rolled her eyes and demanded you show her once you both arrive at your favorite frozen yogurt shop (conveniently down the street from your apartment complex).

"i knowww," you respond and quickly pull the lower part of your shirt down with a smile, taking a seat across from drea.

"how'd it go, though? i'm curious. i've only been to warehouse 79 like once, and it was for an event."

"it was good, they were all generally kind and my guy did exactly what i wanted. i'm pretty happy."

"'my guy,' oh okayy?" she takes a bite and smirks.

"not what i meant! i should have just said matt. like, the guy who did my tattoo-"

"mhmm."

"stop.” you smirk, “i mean he was not ugly by any means but he seemed to not care to get to know me at all. which is fine, he's not paid to care about me. but i doubt i'll ever see him again." you shrug taking another bite of frozen yogurt.

꩜⋆ ˚｡⋆🎱˚

#this took way too long #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets fan fiction #sturniolo triplets smut #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #tattoo matt n yn

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dr3c0mix · 1 year

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Hi, I just started reading your works and they are fantastic! I saw on your request page that you do teratophilia, but I don't fully know if you do orc, so I wanted to know before I sent in a proper request. If you don't do orc I'll probably request something with a minotaur instead.

Little Duckling

Yandere!Orc x Gn Reader

cw: nsfw, kidnapping, stalking

⚔️ Valeth was a warrior, a dangerous, bloodthirsty orc. One who had the blood of hundreds in his hands. A scar-ridden man whose company consisted of the vile and ruthless, thieves and murderers.

⚔️ So why the hell were you in here??

⚔️ You looked so small, so weak. A tiny creature possibly from a far land from the look of your wide-eyed, innocent face.

⚔️ He stared at you from across the tavern as you happily scribbled on a notebook with a small glass of some sweet drink you ordered.

⚔️ He could hear the laughs and jeers of the other patrons, some giving you less than decent stares at your body, it made him sick.

⚔️ But why? Why is he suddenly so protective of a tiny, weak, small, soft, cute, adorable, fragile doll of a person like you?

⚔️ ...

⚔️ Shit...

⚔️ He pinches the bridge of his nose and gets up from his seat and walks over to where you're sitting.

⚔️ "You better get out of here before you get hurt Duckling."

⚔️ You look at him startled with the cutest eyes, fuuuuckk

⚔️ You ask why with the voice of an angel; the orc bit the inside of his cheek to stop him from smiling.

⚔️ "You new in Phenonia?" He crossed his arms, glancing at the others in the tavern, all of them looking away from you after meeting his gaze.

⚔️ You tell him you're a traveler in search of adventure. He lets out a laugh, giving you a tusk-filled smile.

⚔️ He offers you a walk back to your inn and you happily agree, skipping and rambling about your travels the whole way. Normally he would tune out someone as talkative as you, words he didn't understand going one ear and out the other, but you, you managed to hook him with your explanations of distant lands and the discoveries you made there. He even asked questions and gave you tips and advice for your future adventures in Phenonia.

⚔️ You reach your inn and you bid the large orc goodnight, shaking his calloused hand and heading inside.

⚔️ He stood there for a minute, looking at the hand that touched yours. He felt his face heat up a bit before he shakes his head, trying to get the image of your bubbly smile out of his head. He heads to his home to get some rest but all he can think about is you in the bed next to him. Its not weird is it? god what's wrong with me????

⚔️ You two ran into each other a few more times, Valeth always using the nickname he gave you; Duckling. He says it's because you remind of a little duckling always waddling and smiling at everyone all the time.

⚔️ He helped you out sometimes whenever someone gave you a hard time. It's like he would magically show up to protect you like a big green guard dog. You would always give him that damn smile and treat him to a meal.

⚔️ When you two weren't together, he would be watching you go about your day in a busy street or from behind a merchant cart or crate. He knew your set schedule like the back of his hand, where you'd go for breakfast, your favorite place to rest after a long day, the spot you would always draw at. He would pay friends of his to keep tabs on you to make sure you're safe.

⚔️ You left a scarf once and he found it with an adorable pin that was for favorite bug made from jewels of your favorite colors. He wanted to give it back to you, but he couldn't bring himself to part with it. he found himself taking in the scent of you from it. He imagined you actually there with him as he stroked his cock while moaning into your scarf.

⚔️ Eventually he had enough of merely watching you and quick hand touches, he wanted to know your touch, he wanted to know your taste, he wanted to know the sound of your moans under him.

⚔️One night after an exhausting day of trying to sketch a bird that kept flying away, you see Valeth waiting by your inn. You smile weakly at him and wave, but he just sighs and walks over to you.

⚔️ You start to get a bit uneasy and ask what's wrong but he reaches in his coat and pulls out a cloth.

⚔️ "Sorry for this Duckling.." He mutters to you before pulling you to him, covering your mouth with the cloth. You black out before you could even scream for help.

⚔️ You wake up in a bed full of warm pelts with someone lying next to you. You gasp, remembering what happened and kicked yourself off the bed.

⚔️ Valeth jolts awake and sees you scrambling to your feet on the floor next to the bed. He gets up and quickly pulls you close as you try to wriggle out of his hold.

⚔️ He tries to calm you down, whispering comforting things to you. You fight the tears threatening to run down your face as you feel his breath on your neck.

⚔️ His hands feel you up and down, rubbing you in order to comfort you, but it only serves as a way to scare you even more.

⚔️ He kisses your neck, licking your sweet spots, his tusks ghosting across your skin like a dull blade.

⚔️ "It's alright Duckling, you're safe, it's going to be okay. But you're gonna stay here with me now alright? I'll keep you safe, I promise."

⚔️ He reaches in the drawer next to you two and pulls out your scarf, he puts it on you, crying your teary face with the soft fabric. You hold the scarf close to you, but you still turn away from him.

⚔️ He sighs and puts his hand at the back of your head, bringing your forehead to his.

⚔️ "You'll understand soon enough Duckie...you'll understand how much I love you.."

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

⚔️ Valeth kept you locked in his home after that, always leaving to keep up appearances that nothing happened. Whenever someone asked where you've gone, he said you just left in search of more adventure as you do.

⚔️ He was as tough and stoic as ever when he went out but as soon as he comes back home to his modest house in the edges of the kingdom and sees you, he becomes a giant cuddle bug.

⚔️ This big battle-scared orc turns to putty when he hugs your small form.

⚔️ He still locks the doors and windows from the outside in fear of you leaving him, but it's ok! You can still write about your travels and such! He brings home things he thinks you'd like. Weird stones, leaves, trinkets, anything.

⚔️ He would do anything for you, and you're reminded every day when he cuddles you close, taking in your sweet smell. Everything. Except being let go of course.

⚔️ Sometimes you refuse to eat in hopes of ticking him off but he just laughs and holds you in his arms like a stubborn baby and spoon-feeds you.

⚔️ No matter how much you kick and scream, he's always stronger than you, always shutting down your tantrums as easy as placing his hand over your mouth.

⚔️ Eventually you learn to live with him and his affections, the pile of junk he brought home is rummaged through and actually paid attention to by you, meals are eaten, albeit with you staring daggers into him, but he couldn't be happier.

⚔️ He never forced you to do anything lewd you didn't want to do, but he would sneak off out of bed to watch you, sometimes touch himself to the thought of the day he finally gets permission to bed you.

⚔️ But now, he's satisfied with you just sleeping with him in his arms, his face buried in your hair.

⚔️ "You're mine little Duckling...only mine..."

Thnkank uouyu anon <3 <3 <3

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sameschmidtdiffname · 4 months

Text

Sweet Delights

Peeta Mellark x AFAB!Reader

Summery: It's a slow work day in District 12. With rain pouring down outside, who can blame you for wanting to indulge a little? Everything's fine so long as no one walks in... right?

Tags: Pre-established relationship, no use of y/n, pet names, reader has AFAB body/female pronouns, switch!Peeta, switch!Reader, edging, female fingering, teasing, count down, orgasm denial, blow job, face fucking, public sex, someone walks in, dirty talk, Peeta's a freak but he's sweet about it, praise kink if you squint, mentions of eating out, cum swallowing, cursing, post-Mockingjay but that's not really relevant, no reader orgasm this time around. Once again, I'm probably forgetting something.

Notes: I have to say, I did not expect Peeta to win the poll! And not to worry for everyone else, I'll get to all those characters eventually. (Derek girlies, I see you and I love you.) Thank you for your support on the last one, I hope you like this one too! Bon ABBA teeth.

•°《▪︎♡▪︎》°•

Peeta loves surprises.

Giving them, receiving them. If it's unexpected, Peeta is practically bouncing off his chair to figure out what to do with it.

It made everyday life sweeter. Slipping a note into his apron pocket when he wasn't looking for him to discover, finding a million more hidden in my apron. Little drawings hidden amongst everyday things, like the wildflowes Peeta likes to draw and place next to my powders and perfumes. But best of all surprises were the little pastries we would make when the days were slow and the other was watching the front of the bakery. Usually using scraps, because Peeta detests wasting food, but always delicious nonetheless.

The best innocent surprise, I should say.

Today was an especially slow day. Rain pounding down in District 12, making the roads thick with mud. It's a blessing for the hot ovens that fight against the cold seeping through the front windows. Although they're helping me more than Peeta, who's up front perched at the counter, insistent as always that someone needs to be watching the shop. "We won't hear the bell over the rain," he'd said.

I knew better than that. There were tells when Peeta wanted a surprise. He'd never just ask for something, always fearing rejection. Of course the minute I opened my mouth he was ready to do whatever I had even intrusively dreamed of so long as it meant love and praise. But to ask for himself? It's a whole different matter. So when he is insistent I work alone in the back, I understand that this is his own silent way of asking for some sort of surprise. And with the way his broad shoulders look in that pale yellow knit sweater, who am I to deny him?

I'm not one to deny him anything, quite frankly.

The best surprises of all are when we sneak up behind the other, always starting so innocently. Maybe while one of us is baking, maybe while one of us is simply dressing. With the quick slip of a hand, it doesn't take long before the other is panting and begging for release. Not that we always give it to each other.

Peeta liked sneaking up on me in private. Usually when I was in the back baking.

"What are you working on?" He'd usually ask.

"Custom order," I may answer with a smile. He liked my smiles, always said so.

"What are the details?" He'd ask. He'd put his hands on my lower back, rubbing soft enough to not disturb me while still working out some knots.

Then I'd prattle off details. This one is for so-and-so down on whatever-street-or-corner, they'd like a cake.

"For the Harvest Festival?" He'd ask. I'd nod, still focused on my task. "How many orders do we have for the Festival?"

"A good bit, it's our busiest time," I'd always say with a bright, soft tone to my voice. He'd chuckle, placing a small kiss on the back of my neck and pressing his hips against mine from behind, usually revealing his hard on.

"So, how many orders this year?" He'd ask. His hands would work at a knot, his breath hot on my neck, and his hips would roll ever so slowly against mine, taking his time to build both of us up.

"Ah, I think- I think 12?" I'd say, trying to focus on both him and whatever I was making. Cake. Right. Stir.

"12?" He'd ask. His cock would be deliciously hard, grinding against my clothed cunt just a bit harder as his hands would return to my hips, steadying me against him. "That's pretty good."

"Double digits," I'd say brightly, my voice breathy as I struggle more to focus. Cake. Stir. Hands, not hips.

But I'd always do hips instead, leaning back and tilting my head ever so slightly so he can see my enjoyment.

"You need to stir," Peeta would gently guide in my ear. My back would press against his front, his chin now resting on my shoulder.

"I know," I'd say softly. I didn't know shit.

He'd chuckle, one hand slipping to my front to cup one of my breasts.

"Need to get those orders out," he'd remind me. "You always seem so stressed about being on time."

"One of us has to be," I'd say. His hand on my hip would find the band of my pants, slipping past them and teasing me, sliding his fingers against my wet folds.

"Pick up the whisk," he'd instruct. My hands would shake as they obeyed, moving from being splayed across the marble counter to resume my task.

"Stir slowly," he'd say. His large fingers would slip over my entrance, coating himself in the thick lube now dripping from me. "You want to make sure the texture's correct."

It took such mental energy to balance the two things. Especially when he would finally sink in his middle finger, always going knuckle deep and twirling it around inside of me, making sure to leave no spot untouched. His other hand would pinch and pull at my breast, giving special care to make his fingers replicate the feeling of his soft lips wrapped around my sensitive nipples.

"What's the next order?" He'd ask. I could feel myself dripping down his hand, and I knew he loved this. Peeta would do whatever he could to make sure I was wet, even when he wouldn't go any further than simple teasing. I think he liked the idea of me always being ready. Not that he would assume. He always started out slow, and if I ever said no it was never a big deal. He'd simply continue talking to me and go on with his day perfectly fine. But if I was willing, he'd always massage or do whatever until he could feel my arousal himself. I think it's why he likes eating out best. Especially when I'd talk him through it, usually promising to cum down his throat while tugging his soft blond hair. His eyes would grow wide and soft at that, his whimpers increasing as he'd fuck me quicker with his tongue, grinding himself against whatever. It was a beautiful mess he'd turn himself into, desperate and begging silently as he clutched my hips.

"The what?" I'd ask breathlessly. I was tight around him, focused on how slow and sweet he was pumping in and out, twirling and wiggling his finger inside of me. His other hand slipping under my shirt, and his lips sucking gently at my neck, careful not to leave bruises.

"The orders, sweetheart," he'd gently remind me. "What's the next one?"

My lips would part, eyes fluttering shut as I tried to remember. His middle finger would pump out and then pump back in with the addition of his pointer finger, tearing a soft moan from my throat.

"Shh," he'd gently whisper. "We're at work."

He liked this little game. Ramping me up, forcing me to behave a certain way so to not tip off customers. If Peeta wouldn't immediately be arrested for it, something tells me he'd simply fuck me in the front room, bent over the register counter during business hours and just act like it's a normal thing. Such a sweet boy.

"I- ah- need to look at the book," I'd say. He'd roll my nipple between his two fingers, his other two fingers pumping slightly faster as his lips suck at the spot just under my ear.

"You have such a good memory though," he'd say. "You can remember. Just think."

That's a lie. I have a horrible memory and we both know it. But if I say I can't, he'll pull away. Sweet and gentle, he'll go get the book and place a million kisses on my cheek before leaving me to my work and dizziness.

Next order. Next order. That's easy. It's a tart with cream on top. Cream. God, I'd like his cock in my mouth right now.

"Next order. Come on, pretty girl. I know you know it," he'd softly encourage.

"I know it," I'd moan, my head tilted back and resting on his shoulder, fucking his fingers instead of working on the cake. He feels so good, so warm and protecting. Simply smelling the traces of dill and cinnamon baked into his skin made my mind shut off, my eyes growing tired from the feeling of safety.

"I know you know it," he'd say so sweetly. "You're smart, pretty. And you've got a delicious cunt I'd love to fuck over and over if I could," he'd say softly, placing warm kisses on my neck between each point. I was panting openly now, squeezing my eyes shut as I tried desperately to remember who ordered what.

His fingers curled inside of me, making rapid 'come hither' motions fast enough to steal a soft, sudden cry fron my lips. Peetas mouth found mine, swallowing my moans and giving me some of his own.

"I may have to count down, sweet girl," he'd warn me. His fingers had found my g spot, hitting and rubbing it at rapid speed. The cuff of his sweater is soaked from me, his hand sticky and coated. I shake my head quickly, moaning and gripping the counter as best I could to keep myself standing.

"I can remember," I whimpered. Peeta laughed softly.

"I know you can, sweet girl. But look at you, you're a total mess." His voice is sweet and kind, his eyes taking in my current state. "I can't have you all dumb back here during work hours."

He's sweet but he's cruel. God, he's cruel!

"I think there's berries in it," I stammered.

"Ten," he's start patiently, his teeth tugging at my earlobe.

"N-no, wait! There's- There's berries and there's..." I'm completely making this up. I have no clue what's next.

"Nine," he continued, knowing this.

"That's not fair, you started low on purpose!" I whined.

"Eight." He wouldn't argue. I was right.

"It's got- got cottage cheese frosting." I'm so close, so awfully close. I can feel myself clenching around him rapidly, my pussy swallowing his fingers quicker and quicker as I climbed closer towards the edge.

"Seven." Oh, God. This motherfucker.

"Six. Come on, good girl. You can do this," he'd encourage sweetly, kissing my cheek and trailing to my collarbone with said kisses.

"They wanted flowers on the top. Violets, I remember that!" That detail is actually true, surprisingly. The candy violets were always easy to remember because I loved them so much.

"Five." His other hand kneeded my breast, admiring the soft flesh and running his thumb over my stiff, aching nipple repeatedly. "Four."

"You're speeding up," I whined. "This isn't fair."

He let out a soft 'aw,' apologizing and speeding his hands to bring me closer to the edge.

"If you can come before one, I'll fuck you right here," he promised. "You can come before one, can't you?"

I nodded stupidly, moaning and panting as I sped up my hips, slamming down on his hand repeatedly. Cake details be damned, this is my mission now.

"Three." I'm so impossibly close.

"Two."

"Wait a minute, slow down-"

"One."

With one final, cruel, hard thrust of his hand he slips away, leaving me to almost crumple to the ground and opening my eyes to blink stupidly, trying to process what just happened.

"You okay?" He asked softly, his dry hand cupping my cheek and looking at me carefully with his sweet, hazel eyes.

A long, soft whine escaped me, batting my lashes as I lean against him and whisper as many 'please's as I can, pressing a dozen kisses all over him. He laughed softly, returning the kisses with whispered 'I love you's.

"Let me go get that book," he'd said. And that was that until that evening when he made up for it like he always did.

Now I was carefully removing a tiny apple pie made from leftovers meant specifically for Peeta. The rain was as bad as ever as I entered the front room, Peeta leaning on the palm of his hand while he struggled not to doze off. His long lashes flutter softly, his lips pressing against each other and his jaw a bit tight.

"Hi sleepyhead," I whisper, sneaking up behind him. He started a little, turning to look at me with the sweetest smile he has.

"Hi," he says cheerily, his voice just a touch gravely. His eyes glance down to the small treat in my hands, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Is that for me?"

"Of course it is," I say, placing it in front of him. "Figured you could use something to warm you up. It's freezing up here."

He chuckles. "It's not that cold," he says as he picks up the fork I'd placed next to the tiny pie and began scooping some up.

"Liar," I teased. "You're shivering."

He shifts in his seat slightly. "Not from that," he says, a small blush growing on his cheeks. He takes the first bite, then another, smiling and leaning his head against my shoulder.

"Thank you, dear," he says softly. He leans in for a kiss to which I happily oblige, cupping his jaw with my left hand. His lips taste sweet, the sticky apple and cinnamon tasting delicious on him. I swipe my tongue across his lips, stealing a soft moan from him as he allows my tongue access to his mouth, melting in my hands. His hand dropped the fork, accidently missing the pan and instead hitting the counter, but neither of us care. His hand comes up to the back of my neck, pulling me closer to silently ask me for more.

My other hand trails down to his lap, finding one of his hands already there, palming his stiff, clothed cock through his pants.

"Is this what you were doing when I came up?" I ask softly, pulling away from the kiss only a bit. He chases me, biting at my bottom lip to drag me back to him. That's a yes, then.

My tongue explores his warm mouth, tasting him while my hand traces the outline of his dick, pressing and flicking against the tip. He whines, bucking softly into my hand, desperate for more.

"Can you stay quiet?" I ask him, pulling away again. This time my hand on the back of his neck grabs his golden locks, holding him still as I look into his eyes. His cheeks are red as well as his lips, kiss swollen and damp. His breathing is heavy, his eyes blown out. Barely touched and already a beautiful mess.

"Huh?" He asks, his voice higher than usual as he tries to focus. His hand grasping my wrist, making sure to keep my hand where he can buck against it.

"If I asked you to, would you stay quiet?" I repeat gently, teasing him with kisses by leaning forward and pulling away. We both liked this.

"Yes," he said quickly. "Anything."

"Anything?" I ask, raising my brows.

"Anything."

Alright.

I press a quick, admittedly sloppy kiss to his lips once more before dropping to my knees and slipping under the counter. His brows furrow in confusion before he realizes what I'm doing.

"You can't!" He whispers frantically. "What if someone walks in?"

"That's why I asked if you could stay quiet," I say patiently. "Can you?"

He bites his lip, obviously unsure. His eyes dart between me and the shop door, thinking.

"We can wait," I offer genuinely. This seems to be the deciding factor.

"I'll be quiet," he promises eagerly. "I've got a pie I can shove in my mouth if I can't, right?" He jokes, his smile crooked and eager as his hands work quickly to begin freeing himself. He's excited alright.

"Right," I say, taking his hands away and undoing the buttons on his pants myself. "Just keep watch of the shop, alright sweet boy?" He nods, placing his arms on the counter and trying to resume his position.

I slip his cock from the confines of his clothes, pressing a soft wet kiss to the underside along a thick vein. A quiet whine escapes him, his hand covering his mouth. I'm not truly worried about him being quiet, no one is going to come in here during such bad weather. It's just an edge to help work him into a frenzy, knowing full well he never stays quiet. I'd thought I was vocal when we started our relationship, but Peeta easily takes the cake.

His cock is warm, half hard against my lips that trail his veins. My tongue slides from his tip to his base, barely any pressure on his skin. Grazing always works best to start out with. When I reach his base I lap at his skin, blowing soft, cold air against the wet spots to make him squirm in his chair. I focus on his base for a while, sucking, licking, blowing. Ever so gently I even bite just the tiniest bit, enough for him to notice the edges of my teeth along his red, pulsing cock. His voice is soft, panting quietly.

My tongue trails slowly up his cock, exploring different ridges and spots that make him whimper quietly, working my way back to his tip which is soaked with thick, warm precum. I wrap my lips around him, swiping the moisture away with my tongue in one round sweep. I relish in the cry it tears from his throat, the dozen little apologies he whimpers immediately after. His hand covers his mouth, and the other trails down to gently cup the back of my head. I smile around him, swirling my spit around his tip as I suck gently, pressing my tongue against the underside of his dick.

His fingers play with my hair, unintentionally tugging it and apologizing as he does. I simply squeeze his thighs and begin lowering myself, taking him until his tip hits the back of my throat, taking deep, even breaths to fight off the gags that threaten to escape me.

It's when my nose buries in his soft, curly hair at his base that the bell of the front door rings.

"Hi!" Peeta says a little too quickly, a little too brightly. "Welcome to Mellarks Bakery. How may we- I help you today?"

I'm frozen, his hand gripping my hair out of anxiety. If I pull away, we'll be done. If I stay here, Peeta may very well have to make good on his promise.

Although, acting has never been a challenge for him, has it?

The customer is describing a custom tart she wants made, then pulling out a long list and prattling about this, that, and the other thing. Her accent clearly shows her as a Capitol transfer, and these orders always take forever given that they still have a hard time releasing the concept of not over indulging. But this time I don't plan on complaining.

My tongue begins to move slowly, rubbing carefully along the bottom of his cock while I watch his face carefully. He's smiling at the woman who's still going down the list, his eyes glancing at me to confirm this is what we're doing. With a small nod from me, his hand casually covers his mouth once more and he resumes focus on the woman, his other hand now guiding my head slowly, carefully.

He pulls me to the tip of his dick, working me back and forth slowly on just that spot. My tongue works quickly, my lips wrapping around him tightly to help create proper suction around him while I suck.

"Do you have pumpkin?" The woman asks.

"W- what?" Peeta asks, clearing his throat. "Oh, pumpkin. I'll admit I'm running a little low, it's been a popular request since we don't grow them locally. I've requested more but I don't know if they'll be in in time, so if you want something that uses it you'll have to get it-" his voice cracks as I deepthroat him again, swallowing around him quickly before returning myself to his tip. He clears his throat. "You'll have to reserve it right now," he finishes. I can see him quickly scoop up some of the pie, shoving it in his mouth and trying to hide his blush. It's lucky for us how oblivious Capitol born citizens are.

His hand guides me faster, focusing on fucking his tip near the back of my throat since we both know full well how hitting the back of my throat isn't an option. We can't risk any noise gagging may cause since it may not be covered up by the soft music playing on the shop speakers, a gift from Beetee for the reopening.

His pace is fast, faster than it should be. He's close, smiling at the woman and acting as though everything is normal. His large vein throbs, precum spilling out of him with each new thrust into my mouth. My hand reaches to press two digits against the soft spot behind his balls, a sensitive spot that makes him cry and squirm.

His jaw tightens as I do this, his eyes darting down daggers quickly. I can hear coins on the counter, Peeta accepting the list and opening the register. With the loud 'clank' springing forth from the older device, he takes the chance to slam my face down fully on his cock, his fingers making the coins loudly shift around as he gives the customer her change. Tears spring to my eyes from the sudden force, swallowing around him as I focus on my breathing to recover. He promises the woman he'll do what he can and wishes her a good day, and she coos sweetly. She reaches across the counter, patting his cheek and calling him a sweet boy before turning and walking out of the bakery, the bell chiming at her exit.

Peeta looks down at me, smiling brightly. "Hi," he says with a newfound excitement.

I moan around his cock. He gets it.

"You okay?" He asks, his hands moving to cup my cheeks. I make an affirming noise, trying to smile. "I wasn't too rough, was I?" He asks, his thumbs swiping away the small tears dangling from my bottom lashes. I shake my head, swallowing around him. He moans softly, his grip tightening.

"Yeah, I kinda forgot you like it when I am, don't you?" He asks, beginning to slowly pump his dick in and out of the back of my throat. I moan happily, taking him as easily as I can.

"You know how hard it was not coming down your throat with that lady in here?" He asks. "I had to edge myself so that it wouldn't become known how much I like fucking your throat."

My cunt throbs at his words, his closeness making him willing to be more rough. He starts fucking my face in earnest, tearing noises from both of our throats as he loses himself.

"Can't do that again," he pants. "Next time I'm just taking you. I don't care who walks in." He's moaning openly now, his cock abusing me. I can feel him throbbing, twitching. There's enough precum it's all I can do to focus on swallowing and breathing.

"Show this whole District how much I love you," he babbles. "I'll eat you out on this fucking counter, I don't give a fuck."

I press my heel against my clit, grinding into it to relieve some friction as my hands steady my body against his thighs. The chair underneath of him creeks horribly. If anyone walked in now, I don't even think we'd have a small second to hide what we're doing.

"I love your fucking pussy," he rambles, his eyes beginning to flutter shut. "Love your fucking mouth. You take me so well. So eagerly."

I moan around him, spit dribbling from my mouth, hair stuck to my face. His balls slam against my chin, his wet curls pressing against my nose as he face fucks me like a rabid animal.

"I'm gonna cum down your throat," he announces. "Then you're gonna cum down mine. Again," thrust. "And again," thrust. "Until we don't even have to make dinner from how full we'll be." Goddamn, he's close.

His hands are rough, gripping my face. "Rub your tongue harder," he commands. I do, putting as much pressure as I can on his throbbing vein. He moans loudly, leaning forward and clutching my head.

"I'm coming," he pants, his voice high and tired. "Fuck, I'm coming-!"

His warm, thick load shoots down my throat, filling my mouth so much I cant breathe if I want to swallow it all.

"Such a sweet girl," he praises. "So sweet and good, eager to make me cum." His face is pressed against the cool counter, his chest heaving as he recovers his breath. His thumbs stroke my cheeks at different paces, small whimpers escaping him as I milk him dry with my mouth, making sure not a drop is left behind. When he's fully softened, I place a small kiss on his tip before tucking him back in, rebuttoning his clothes and patting his thighs one more time.

It takes a moment for me to rise, my joints stiff and my mind scrambled from the abuse it had just suffered. I stumble a little as I stand, Peeta's weak arms collecting my body and bringing me into a warm embrace.

"You're wonderful," he whispers, resting his head against my chest. I chuckle softly, placing a soft kiss on the top of his messy hair.

"So are you," I say.

He looks up at me, flushed and smiling at me with the most wonderful, lazy look on his face.

"Your turn," he says, finding a new wave of surprising strength and placing me on the counter.

"Peeta, we're still open," I giggle, batting his hands away.

"I know," he says. "Did you think I was joking?"

He stares at me, smiling and eager as he begins to part my legs.

This is going to be a long night.

•《♡》•

Whoever gets second place on the poll is who I'm writing next. Feel free to send in requests for characters/scenarios! See you next time, you degenerates <3

Masterlist

#josh hutcherson #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark smut #the hunger games peeta #peeta mellark #thg peeta #peeta x reader #peeta x you #peeta x y/n #peeta smut #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson x reader #jhutch

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donaweasley · 1 month

Text

Promises to Keep

Pairing: Geralt x Fem!Reader

Plot:

Geralt is tasked with protecting a princess but his feelings keep poking at him, urging him to shed his tough armour and give in to his heart. But the witcher is a righteous man. He won’t succumb to his feelings so easily. Will he?

Some pining, some fluff that will lead to a “part 2” of this story.

Warnings: A bit of m.at.ure stuff. K.i.d.s better stay away!

Read time: ~15 mins

Note: This story has been based in a timeline before the fall of Cintra, and so, Geralt has not yet started his quest for Ciri. Oh, and he doesn’t fall in love with Yennefer. 😉

Prologue:

Geralt of Rivia has been tasked with many a difficult missions but the hardest of them all was probably not killing but protecting a person. That person was a princess whose parents had specifically called for Geralt to take their daughter under his wing as Nilfgaard marched towards their doorstep.

The princess could fight; she had been in battles but Nilfgaard had morphed into something entirely different from what the Continent had previously seen. It was as though Hell itself had poured into their army, leaving a trail of ash and blood wherever it went.

And so, turning all cries and protests from the said princess to deaf ears, her parents sent her away, in return of an assurance from her that, should their kingdom fall, she would come back and restore it to its glory, flying their banners from every nook and corner.

They knew she could, they had said.

The journey with Geralt had not been easy, moving from camp to camp, from inn to inn, not to mention the complications of his profession. But time gradually made things easier for them both, eventually bringing them to a point where they could comfortably pose as husband and wife so as to protect her identity, and avail a temporary shelter in a village.

And even though they were living a lie of being a married pair, their hearts often wished to forget reality, and enjoy the bliss of domestic life with one another. To be with each other unconditionally, forgetting all rules and boundaries.

But Geralt was a man of ethics, and she did not want him to bear the burden of guilt just because her stupid heart could not stop fluttering for this kind, brave gentleman with a heart of gold!

And thus, neither, for fear of straining what they already had, could ever utter their feelings to each other. After all, they had promises to keep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few months ago:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She hurt herself on the thick leather armour as she flung her arms around his neck. But she did not care. That was a pain she would happily endure if it meant seeing Geralt at her doorstep safe and sound.

He smelled of sweat and blood and the swamp. He probably tasted like it, too. Alright, so what? The man returned after three weeks from the edge of the Continent. And perhaps from the edge of life. She couldn't care less about what he smelled or tasted like. But did he really…? She was very close to confirming her assumption - almost there - when Geralt suddenly remembered his place: the protector of the princess, a mere witcher.

“Princess,” the rich baritone vibrating in her ear woke her up from her purple dream. She could not help but lean back when she found her “husband” doing the same.

Geralt spread his arms slightly, and smiled with that usual softness in his eyes that came to the forefront only when she was around. “Safe and sound. Just like I had promised.”

“I am honoured!” She jested, and stepped inside, making room for Geralt to do the same.

“Give me a minute. I'll draw a bath for you. And once you have cleaned that mess off you, you'll have a warm dinner waiting,” she smiled and turned to make her way to the bath when Geralt gently but firmly held her wrist.

Neither could deny the spark that coursed through their veins at the contact. But neither would confess. Involuntarily, the witcher’s thumb made faint circles over her veins. Once he realised what he was doing, he slowly released her but their fingers lingered over the other’s before finally making some room between them.

Geralt pleaded with her to stop fussing over it all but the woman was ecstatic! Who could stop her from doing everything she could for the man she was falling in love with! Not even the strongest witcher.

And so, she hopped away to prepare a warm bath for him while he busied himself with the relieving task of removing his armour and weapons.

Geralt lay in the bath, pondering over the unsaid things that have been passing between the princess and him. Especially the ones that happened that evening. They had never been this close before, and it only made his breath shallower every time he thought about it. His mind wandered away unleashed every time his drunken heart slipped into fantasies of what could have happened had he not pulled away from her embrace…or what might happen if he allowed himself a bit more liberty with his feelings…

A gentle knock on the door startled him, bringing him back to the reality of the small room lit by two candles, back to the fact that the woman living under the same roof with him was his mission, not his real wife, as the villagers knew her to be. There was no way a witcher could dream of having a wife and a family, let alone with a princess!

“Need anything?” The voice was gentle, happy…it was caring. It made Geralt smile to think that someone cared so deeply for him, that he was actually having a domestic life, even though a fake one.

“Your company would be nice,” he quipped.

Geralt grinned wickedly. He did not need to see her to know the blush creeping up her ears and cheek.

Over the months their relationship - real or fake, whatever that was - had built into a strong bond, one that was made of cares, banters, challenges, huffs (and not just from the witcher), puns of all kinds and fluttering heartbeats. And though neither backed down during the banters or the puns, either one of them definitely ended up with blood rushing up their cheeks.

(Y/N) bit her lip and rolled her eyes. Two could play this game. Taking a deep breath, she cracked the door open. It startled Geralt, and she could tell it without seeing his wide eyes and parted lips.

“I believe you have a lot to talk about from your adventure?” She slowly walked in, eyes straining to look anywhere but at him.

She did not receive an immediate response. How could she! Geralt was spellbound by the boldness of this woman! It was inspired by his own recent boldness, perhaps, he wondered.

He cleared his throat, “Indeed.”

She picked up a small wooden stool, and sat with her back to him. “You were saying?”

“I would detail everything but are you sure you can stomach all that? And before dinner?”

Glimpses from his previous tales crept back, and she gulped at the gory imaginations that his words had painted in her head. Perhaps she could not. But would she confess? No!

“I’m tougher than you think, witcher.”

This was their usual way of addressing each other: “Witcher”, with a sarcastic stress in the middle of the word, and “Princess”, with a vanity enveloping the word.

When they had set out for their journey, she had requested him not to call her “princess”. “I have a name, and I would like to be addressed by it,” she had insisted. But Geralt had decided on maintaining his propriety.

When asked whether he would like to be addressed as Geralt or Witcher, he had simply mumbled, “Whatever you like, Princess.”

“Witcher it is then.”

And that has ever been going on, until recently when some rare moments witnessed them addressing each other by their names, and not what they were to the world.

In the small bathroom now, she heard a slosh behind her, signalling the rise of the large man from his bath. She tried her best to stop her shameless mind from picturing his wet body, dripping with water as he stood and stepped out of the tub, as he reached for the towel nearby and dried himself with it before wrapping it low around his waist. But the quiet of the night made sure that every little sound and movement reached her ears, leaving her a slave to her unabashed imagination.

Geralt grunted, the sound coming from right above her head.

“I know you can’t take it…Princess,” the last word was practically breathed on the shell of her ear.

Leaving her a total mess, Geralt sauntered out of the bathroom with a promise to indulge her in his stories after dinner.

That night, in the faint light of the moon, nimble fingers traced the contours of the witcher’s face as he slept - brows slightly arched, lips parted, face as serene as a dawn in Spring. She watched him breathe peacefully, devoid of the cares of the world, until a small smile cracked at a corner of his mouth. With eyes still closed, he placed a hand on hers and brought it to his lips. A chaste kiss was all it was, and yet it had her heart thundering. He had never - ever - shown any affection other than soft looks and gentle smiles.

“Sleep princess,” he rasped in a sleepy voice.

He opened his eyes once, to watch her smile at him, before holding her hand snuggly and drifting back to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present day:

The sound of the door cracking open brought her back to the present. Quickly slipping a little more below the soapy water, she gripped the hilt of her sword.

It was Geralt. The moment he set one foot inside, his eyes went wide. It took him hardly a second to swing on his heels, to look away, but the sinful image had planted itself in his head. Probably for eternity.

“Pardon me. I…I did not know… I thought you were done. I just returned from outside; I did not notice that you were not anywhere else. I…”

“Geralt!” His name. She spoke his name! That, along with her soothing tone put an abrupt end to his string of stammering apologies. “It’s alright. I know you had no ill intentions.”

Shifting uncomfortably on his feet for a couple of seconds, he asked, “Do you need anything?”

Her lips stretched into a smirk as she recalled an old conversation that had occurred under very similar circumstances.

“Your company would be nice,” she quipped, just like Geralt had a few months ago.

The witcher recognised the joke immediately. A small smile escaped his usual serious features.

“I believe you have a lot to talk about your first kill,” he jested just like she had back then.

The sigh that filled the room made Geralt wonder if he had said something uncalled for. She was shaken by the incident but if she was making jokes now, she must be recovering. Right?

“(Y/N),” Geralt called without looking at her, “are you alright?”

“No, if truth be told,” came the confession.

He understood. Keeping his gaze focused on the floor, he took a few large steps until he was standing near the foot of the tub. In one smooth move, he was sitting on the floor with his back to her.

There was something about Geralt that made her feel protected all the time. Even in her most exposed and vulnerable state, she felt safe and comfortable with him around. And it was not just the love she felt for him. It was something else. It was something…very “Geralt”.

“The monsters we kill haunt our minds till long after. You never get used to it no matter how many kills you have made,” he sighed.

(Y/N) listened quietly. He was a man of few words, and at most times it seemed as though he was not even listening. But he always understood every single unexpressed emotion, every single unsaid word that she carried within her.

“Every time I close my eyes or every time I hear something, fear grips me,” she shivered at the thought. “You are right. I'm haunted by its memory, and … I cannot seem to shake the thoughts off. No matter how hard I try! I cannot even be courageous enough to convince myself that it is all in my head!” She slapped the water in frustration.

Unlike the witcher, killing monsters was not her profession nor did she volunteer for it. But what she did volunteer for was accompanying Geralt to a trip to the river caves for some herbs. Despite the witcher’s efforts to shield her inside the safety of their home, she managed to argue her way out of the proverbial safety net. Which is what led to the unforeseen event of her first close encounter with one of the many monsters that had become part of Geralt’s life. It also led her to, for the first time, being at the receiving end of Geralt’s fury for risking her life .

‘You were very courageous back there,” Geralt smiled at the memory of her driving her sword through the neck of the drowner, thus saving his own neck in the process.

“I had to be! Couldn’t just stand there and watch my favourite grumpy fellow die!” She jested about it but a shiver ran up her spine as she spoke. “It was disgusting, you know? I can still feel all the blood and slime on my skin.”

��It was also very brave. You saved my life!”

He had thought that his statement would make her proud but he was met with silence.

She spoke after a while. “You do know that I shall not be able to live anymore if something happens to you, don’t you? I shall only survive.”

Geralt’s heart suddenly felt very heavy in his chest. What she said was known information to him. Somewhere in his soul, he knew that she loved him. But to hear it aloud was totally unexpected.

“I shall be fine, princess,” he used his most assuring voice. “Do not worry about me.”

Unseen by him, a smile formed on her countenance. “I know, witcher.”

“Maybe we could talk about something else?” He suggested. “Take your mind off the monster?”

“Hmm… How is Jaskier?” She suddenly asked.

Geralt almost turned his head towards her in surprise. Almost. She was naked, having a bath, and the first “something else” that came to her mind was the bard??

“Jaskier?” He asked. “You wish to talk about Jaskier now?”

“Well, you wanted to talk about something else!”

Was that jealousy that she was sensing in his huffs? She hoped it was.

“He must be fine. I do not know.” He ended the topic as quickly as it had begun.

“Hmm.”

The princess laid her head back on the tub and closed her eyes. There was a comfortable silence. So comfortable that she did want to leave, did not want to do anything that might disturb the moment. Even though it was getting late. Even though Geralt still had to wash himself.

Geralt still has to wash himself! Shit! He must be hungry!

Her eyes shot open. “I’m sorry, I forgot you have to wash up, too! I shall be quick.”

The sudden splash of water pulled Geralt out of his own reverie, inadvertently causing him to turn around so as to ask her not to hurry. But the sight before him left him speechless. It was fortunate that she was too busy to see him else he would never have been able to face her in shame. Geralt turned back and shut his eyes as soon as he snapped out of his trance. But that did nothing to erase the image imprinted in his mind. Not that he wanted to.

She had pulled herself up slightly, as she tried to reach for the towel on the nearby stool. In the light of the candles, her body glowed golden as water cascaded off every curve of her body… down the side of her neck, her shoulders, two perfect globes that highlighted particularly well in the candlelight, perky nipples that had hardened in the water, the beginning of a lustful waist…

He did not hear her step out of the tub, did not hear the rustle of clothes as she got dressed, no. His mind was replaying the same thing over and over again. There was an evident twitch somewhere down his body. He faintly heard something about dinner and changing the water. The creak of the door pulled him back.

“I shall…” His voice was hoarse. “I shall change the water. You may leave.”

The change in his mannerism surprised her but then both his voice and attitude were gravelly most of the time. With a small “alright”, she exited, leaving him to his thoughts.

Dinner was quiet as Geralt tried to suppress the feelings bubbling inside him. He wanted to look at her and lose himself in her eyes. He wanted to tell her how he felt. Wanted to show her what it meant to unleash months of bridled love that he had been carrying within his entire being. He wanted to…

Gods! There were so many things that he wanted to do. But every time he talked himself into taking one step forward, his reality made him take two steps back.

And so, once again, he retired to bed without telling her anything at all about the whirlwind in his heart.

Geralt woke up sometime in the middle of the night, sensing some movements near him. Once sleep stopped fogging his senses, he realised that it was (Y/N) tossing and turning beside him in her sleep. Not only was she being restless, she was mumbling something incoherent that only got louder with her movements. It hardly took him a couple of seconds to realise that she was having a nightmare!

Geralt tried to wake her up: called her name, shook her. But she was trapped deep in her own head. He thought he heard something like his name but could not be sure. Seeing his efforts go in vain, he took her face in both hands and shouted her name while shaking her once more. He wasn’t sure if it would work but luckily, it did. With wild eyes she stared at him, as if trying to figure out where she was, trying to put up a wall between her horrid imagination and sweet reality. When she finally came around, she threw her arms around Geralt’s neck, causing him to tumble to the mattress with her below. Once again, he fought with himself as a wave of relief washed over him, eventually crashing into a strong desire to keep her encased in his arms and caress her for the remainder of the night.

“I dreamt that you were…” she almost sobbed. “That I had…” She couldn’t bring those bitter words to her tongue.

Geralt understood.

“You will never lose me. I shall always be by your side. I promise.”

In the dark veil of the night, in those weak moments, he made her a promise that even he did not know how he would keep, for she would be married to some royalty some day; she would have to go away, leaving him with his solitude and monsters. He could not keep her to himself nor could he watch her be with somebody else.

But that was a worry for another day. Right then, she was in his arms, and no one else’s. Even if for a moment, she was his. He lay on his side and pulled her to his chest. A hand cradled her head, drawing soothing lines through her hair, until her warm breath on his skin had become stable.

Geralt never seeked help or answers from the gods; he did not believe in them. But as he kissed the crown of her head that night, his lips prayed for her safety and happiness, and if possible, for her to be bound to him for eternity.

He knew he was being selfish. He did not know who heard his prayers or even if there was someone who might hear them. But he whispered them anyway, believing that it was the only way to make his wishes come true.

***

#geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #the witcher #the witcher netflix #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #geralt x you #geralt x y/n #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x y/n #the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #the witcher x y/n

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seat-safety-switch · 5 months

Text

Knowing how things work is great. When something breaks, you can figure out the part that doesn't work, yank it out, and replace it. Knowing how things really work is even better. Then, you can yank out that part and just hit it on the desk a few times to dislodge the dirt, then shove it back in. No money necessary. It's almost enough to make up for the fact that fully understanding what's going on is a quick route to being driven insane.

I'm sure this has happened to you before, if you're the kind of person who isn't happy with "it's fixed." Every single answer you suffer for only reveals more questions. Eventually, you have to throw in the towel. You gotta give up, otherwise you'll spend the rest of your life having become the person who knows a whole lot about the 1976 Sony FX-300 "Jackal" portable television set, and basically nothing else. This is not so bad in and of itself, but if you're like me, you probably have a lot of other junk to get around to fixing as well. Draw a line under it. Call it a day.

The question is, where's the balance? Once you get it working, the only person you're impressing is yourself, and maybe the only other pervert on the planet who is interested in this exact same machine. This competition can be its own motivation: it's oddly stirring to spend dozens of hours figuring out how to crush the single person who understands your struggle with a slight improvement or correction on their knowledge. Then they'll turn around and do it right back to you. Our species is pretty good at obsessing over things primarily out of spite, and my personal theory is that this is the only reason we created anything at all. That asshole thinks he knows how to grow crops? I'll show him good. I'll figure out how to cook this wheat.

Still, even if I tell you to leave it alone, you won't be able to resist figuring it out for yourself. That's just how we're wired. Speaking of wiring, have you taken a look at why my TV keeps lighting on fire after I repaired it?

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qqueenofhades · 2 months

Note

I'm having a bit of a rough mood from seeing that the judge in the Georgia case dismissed some of the orange motherfucker's charges.

Can I get some your ever-insightful perspective on this, and if there's still hope for prison time for something? Anything at all?

I can offer a few pieces of context on this, yes. First, the judge did dismiss a few of the less-substantiated and secondary charges against Trump in the Georgia election interference case. However, these charges were primarily related to "soliciting others to make false statements," i.e. how he enlisted others in the purpose of overturning the GA election results, and do not contest or impact upon the actual fact of election subversion (which is at the core of the prosecution). The judge also openly invited the prosecutorial team to re-submit the dismissed charges with more substantiated evidence and clearer testimony, so this wasn't a from-the-bench hack job like the ones Aileen Cannon keeps running in the Mar-a-Lago classified documents case (seriously, when can we appeal to the 11th Circuit to get her taken off? WHEN???) Which, considering that this is a Republican judge appointed by a Republican governor (Brian Kemp) is a good sign.

In short, this wasn't the judge saying "all these charges are bogus and inadmissible," it was the judge saying "I'll dismiss a few of these for not being as well substantiated as the others, but please resubmit with revisions/improvements and I will be happy to consider them again." And while I am not a lawyer, it is my understanding that prosecutors typically bring a multiplicity of charges, including some that might not ultimately stick, in case of this exact circumstance where some of them get dismissed/required to undergo judicial review/are otherwise ancillary to the central indictment. Which, in this case, is still intact. So no, Trump is 100% not "getting entirely off the hook" or "no longer under investigation in Georgia" or whatever else. I'm sure the GOP will try to spin it as such, but ignore them. The Trump "find me 11,780 votes" phone call to Raffensperger and the rest of his Georgia election interference has not been dismissed, and the RICO case still largely exists as first filed.

This is also a good sign that the judge won't order Fani Willis dismissed and the case completely shut down, as the Georgia Republicans have been trying to do with their hit-job inquiry into her personal life. If the judge was leaning toward dismissing Willis/the case entirely, this could have been a lot more sweeping intervention, but it doesn't look like he's going to do that, and in fact offered them an invitation to re-submit and make the case stronger. So that actually bodes better for the chances of eventually securing a conviction in the Georgia case, if the prosecutors have to go back to the drawing board and make sure everything is airtight. It's probably helpful to see all this in the above light and to understand that all legal cases drag on for years, with forward progress and setbacks. Especially this one, which is unprecedented in all ways.

However, I need to warn people again about thinking that Trump will be tried, convicted, and imprisoned before the election, and that this will spare us from having to vote against him or otherwise electorally dispose of him. SCOTUS, to nobody's surprise but still our disappointment, agreed to hear the Trump immunity case in late April (instead of just accepting the DC Circuit's opinion), and while they're likely to rule against him, that still creates another months-long delay. Importantly, though, the Department of Justice has announced that the "no legal proceedings 60 days before the election" rule does NOT apply to Trump, as he has already been indicted and the cases are currently being litigated. If they had decided that the 60-day rule applied, all trial proceedings would have to be frozen in the first week of September, but since not, they can continue into October and November. If the 60-day rule had been upheld, it would have drastically increased the odds of Trump avoiding trial entirely before the election, as few prosecutors would have wanted to proceed when they knew that there was an automatic kill switch built in. But if the DOJ holds to this, Trump could literally be on trial on Election Day itself. Which is good, obviously, but still: it will not be the magic solution. We still have to vote for Biden.

As I have said before, the stakes in 2024 are simple. The criminal trials will not get rid of Trump before the election. There will be another election that is Trump vs. Biden and therefore one of them will win the presidency. If Biden wins and Trump loses, Trump will be out of delay options and will go to prison almost 100% as all his criminal chickens come home to roost. If he wins, we will be fucked for generations to come. Vote accordingly.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts #the giant orange monster

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ofrolysdogs · 6 months

Text

jax boyfriend headcanons

me when i make a headcanon post every blue moon... anyways, i watched the amazing digital circus and its safe to say... i love me some jax lol, also, i usually do nsfw headcanons as well however i decided to keep this sfw until i get some inspo on what to do with him spicy wise ;)

now this won't be as detailed as my feitan one (if you like hxh and especially if you're a feitan enthusiast then you definitely might want to check this out!) also, if you're looking forward to comissioning me to write (or draw) anything, dm me for now (i'll link my prices here when i get the chance)

warnings: tadc spoilers obviously but overall none so far??? jax just being jax and a bit of angst at the end, abstracting and all, you knew it was coming.

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

how you first met

well for starters, jax will treat you just like he does everyone else, he's kind of an asshole and you may not like him at first, his cheeky and sometimes insulting remarks kind of either catch you off guard or rub you the wrong way, you get used to this behavior when the two of you confirm the relationship.

realizing he likes you

he is very conflicted with his feeling about this, he can't lie, the more he hangs around you, gets used to your personality, he doesn't know exactly what to do, he hasn't really felt any romantic attraction towards anyone since he came in from the real world, but something about you caught his attention, the others point out how weird he acts when they mention you, or better yet, when you're around, he's less... well, himself! after some time he kind of treats you a bit different from everyone else, he doesn't realize it but everyone spots it big time! he isn't as rude with you as he is towards everyone else, he might even give you a cheesy little nickname depending on what you are or what you look like (if you're shorter than him he might just call you shorty or tiny, if you're taller he'll probably call you skyscraper or giant.)

eventually, he confesses...

on a very special day, jax had eventually gotten tired of hiding his feelings, he had truly came to the realization that he liked you, like, a lot, one day he would go on to find you, and pull you to the side, and tell you... vaguely, that he liked you, you weren't exactly getting the hint, until he spat it out: "i think you're cute, and i want you to be my (partner), alright!?"

he was surprised that you said yes, knowing at first, you weren't exactly a fan of him, you said yes, you wanted to go out with him.. he didn't show how flabbergasted he was, always with his cool, composed expression, that smile and all. "a deals a deal."

you're his lover... now what?

so, pretty much everyone knows that the two of you are a thing, and he confident enough to make it clear that he loves you, enough time has passed for him to tell you that he loves and adores you, very much so.

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

miscellaneous things

jealousy

when it comes to him being jealous, or more accurately; territorial, he'll get quiet, scarily quiet, his face is blank as he watches the person flirt with you, when you're not around, or on that day he feels particularly playful, he'll pick on them, and not in the usual way, straight up insults masked as a joke, don't forget, he also holds grudges, sometimes..

you abstracting

that day came, one of his biggest fears came true, you abstracted, he stared in disbelief as he watched, you looked at him with those eyes, you were not the same, and it was hard to come to terms with that, when cane puts you in the cellar, he can't help but shed tears, he doesn't wail (he saves that for later when he's alone) but it's something new for the others to experience.

#the amazing digital circus #jax tadc #jax x reader #tadc x reader #x reader #jax headcanons #jax fanfics

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firegirl888101 · 7 months

Note

how would the harbingers react to a reader who's good at drawing? like, they like to draw the harbingers or other things

Good at drawing?

I'm shit at drawing so I'm not really sure what to say, that's why I didn't reply to this for awhile. But, I eventually got a couple things when my friend was sketching some stuff in front of me.

Sorry that the current Insatiable Madness chapter is taking so long, I've been studying a lot these past couple of days.

I also got another ask where it asked about Halloween. I don't really celebrate Halloween, because I never grew up with it. I've always been too shy to trick-or-treat and I didn't have many friends (and still don't) who'd want to go with me. Quite sad actually, but it's alright. I don't think I missed out on much.

Is anyone expecting me to make a Halloween special? I don't mind doing it, but I'll need inspiration as I wouldn't know where to start 💀

Actually, the more I think about it, I do have one fun idea. (Harbingers going trick-or-treating??? Halloween party if that even exists? Idk, I'll have to do some research.)

|You can take this with Yandere and without - some will probably lean towards yan though.|

So, to begin with:

Pierro wouldn't be too bothered. I feel if Y/N had a skill they were confident in, and wanted to show it, he'd let his curiousity get the better of him and check it out. But, if it's something like drawing he'll probably leave a comment then leave. Whether it's positive or negative, you be the judge. This man is like a slate slab. No personality I'm sorry 😭😭 (When I see more of his character, maybe I'll like him more?)

If you were to draw this man, he'd be humbled. A Grandpa who received his very first present from his grandchild. Would definitely frame the damn thing in his office (which originally was your parent's) he'd put it on the desk. It's his office now, don't argue for it back.

Capitano would show interest. Not too much since he's the main captain of the Fatui, but still interested. If he's bored, or deems the 'fort' (the house) safe, he'll sit down with you and watch what you're doing. Occasionally asking you if he could doodle with you - but I think that would be very rare. His main objective in his mind is guarding you when your own is low whilst you're having fun, doodling or drawing something.

Would 100% deny the picture of him at first. He'd think, that looks like me, but it can't be. Yes, it's him, you'd reassure. Eventually he does take it and folds it in his coat. After that, he'd probably leave the room in embarrassment. Since then on, he'd definitely keep all drawings you've made of him in his pocket. There's too many? Let's put it in the second pocket. That's full too? Looks like he's buying a new coat. Oh? There's room in his military coat he hasn't worn in two years? That'll do just nicely.

Dottore would be intrigued if he saw you practice anatomy - or if you drew more of a gorey scene. I think he'd be even more interested if you liked to draw the human body with extra things (such as arms, legs, eyes or even got rid of a few), and question you on your design choices and if it already exists somewhere. (He's not fooling you, he's obviously taking inspirations for a new experiment). If he didn't know, or wasn't good, he'd probably ask for tips on how to sketch ideas like yours. He reassures you it's not for any experimentation but once again, he's not fooling you at all.

If you were to draw him he'd treat it like glass. Nobody has ever given him a sketch before - bonus points if you draw him injured whilst you're angry with him. He'd treat it as if you drew him with love, and not as if you'd stab him in the heart if you ever got the chance. What do you mean he shouldn't like it this much? It's a work of art! He'd be very quick to correct the drawing if you got anything wrong. Who knows what this man has in his body at this point.

Columbina would join you in your drawing activities. Maybe add some glitter if you have any. The second you complain about cleaning up, however, she has somehow disappeared and has become very forgetful about the events upstairs. 'How curious!~' She would hum to herself with her usual smile. Is definitely the type to ask if you could draw her. Who are you to refuse? Especially when she gives you that look of daunt hope and kindness which makes you drop your pen in fear. Before you can give her an answer, you've already picked up your pencil and began to sketch her beautiful headpiece.

When Columbina receives her multiple sketches, she's overjoyed. Oh, look how you drew this part! How you drew her clothes! She's quick to kiss you on the cheek as a thank you and runs off somewhere. Huh, you feel like you've just been used.

Arlecchino will roll her eyes at first. She's seen many children in the hearth draw for her. Her initial thoughts were vague, she didn't really see much of your hobby. That was until she actually saw what you were drawing. She would stare as you worked, your pencil delicately brushing against the paper you most likely bought the other day. It soon will become a habit to watch you work, becoming a therapeutic source for her. She sometimes questions why you're drawing... certain things, but she wouldn't actually stop your creative mind from working.

Handing Arlecchino the drawing you drew of her would make her blood rise to her cheeks slightly. Sure, she's received a lot of gifts in this sense before. But from you? What an honour! She'll accept it with a soft smile she'd usually show the kids, and pat your head treating you like one. Little do you know she's trying so hard to control her cute agression response by not tearing the paper.

Pulcinella would react very similarly to Pierro. However, he'd have more experience with complimenting and encouraging 'a child' in a hobby they're having fun with. If he saw your skill, he'd probably compliment it whole-heartedly with a chuffed smile. Massaging his mustache like some aristocrat, in the 1940s... Anyway, he'd be very pleased when he watches you draw more and more. He's happy that you're spending your time doing something you like under the tense situation his coworkers (and him, but he doesn't like to admit it) have brought upon you.

I do not see you drawing this man at all. He's a short, dobby, old, looking as man. I don't see him as the type to ask either, at all. He's minding his own business in your house and plans to keep it that way until the situation is resolved.

Scaramouche really doesn't care. We've all got our own likes and dislikes, but he's not bothered about yours. Will most likely purposefully pass by you working on a piece and insult it just to get attention. He'd never actually mean it though - he just never tells you that important fact. As time progresses he'll sneak into your room just to look at more sketches or finished drawings you've done, and assess your progress from each year if you've been practicing for a long time-period.

Now, here's where things get interesting. If you were to draw him and never show it to him, said puppet finding it for himself in one of your drawers, he'd first feel angry. Why wouldn't you show him this? It's of him! ...But then he'd quickly realise it's because of the way he treated you when you were working (oops). If you actually handed it to him and let him keep it, he'd be delighted. You actually drew him? He didn't even have to manipu-- he means 'ask' you to draw him? This is a good step forward to where he wants to be in your heart.

Sandrone would be delighted to know that she's finally found a use for you in her head. She never thought that purposefully walking past you one evening would lead to her shuffling through all the sketches and designs you've done with awe. Where did you get this idea from? How can she recreate it? Would you be happier and more devoted to her if she were to make your dreams true? She digresses. Watching your creative little mind draw your ideas to life inspires her also, and makes her want to recruit you as a special exception to the 'no non-artificial beings' allowed in her workshop. Thinking of all the monstrosities you could design with her help sends pleasurable shivers up her spine.

Drawing her, however? This was rather unprecedented. Out of all the things-- no, people you could have drawn... and you decide on her? And ooh! You even drew her slave she likes to travel around on, how thoughtful, you're already expressing your adoration for her works! Trust me, don't draw her. You'll give her daydreams that will never happen.

Signora, like most of the harbingers, wouldn't care at first. She hates your house and hates your world, why in Teyvat's name would she be interested in what you're doing? That's what she used to think, until her arrogant slick eyes caught sight of what exactly you were drawing. In my opinion, there's only a couple things that would interest Signora. Drawing dresses, if you were interested in fashion designing, would definitely be the main one. Viewing your designs after you finished them would soon become a small hobby for her, and soon, she'd eventually ask you to draw her in one of your designs.

You'd say yes, of course. An excuse to draw a drop-dead gorgeous woman in one of your designs for free? No way you were going to pass this opportunity! For her hard work in modeling, you'd definitely pay back twice and give her a drawing of her in her harbinger uniform too - which I think would flatter her a bit too much.

Pantalone wouldn't care, and would never become interested. He's a very rich and successful banker, not any ordinary man. As soon as he sees you drawing somewhere in the house, he'll shrug and go the opposite way. He knows what it's like to be interrupted through a thoughtful process, and he doesn't feel like getting an earful from you if he interrupts it. What he does think about, however, is if you're making money from it. Maybe an online business. He asks, and receives a very disappointing answer. No? What do you mean no? These are good, he'd pay for a portrait! Well, if Mora was a usable currency here. Ugh, the thought of being a poor man in this world makes him disgusted.

Drawing him would result in lots of praise. He'd be very happy you used your own time to draw him. He didn't even have to pay for it, it was gift! You even said so yourself. Immediately taken from your hands and framed somewhere. You can't seem to find the drawing though... Pantalone insists it's still in the house, but no matter where you look you just can't find it! Oh well, it's probably better you didn't know where it went. (You would have never been able to find it, he hid the location so well after all.) Pantalone told you he'd give something back to you as a thank you, but you're not holding him to his word.

Tartaglia would be interested the second he sees you doing something he hasn't seen you do before. That looks interesting, let him give drawing a try! He'd boast how his siblings love his drawings he creates, but you knew he was lying to set a cheery mood. Your understanding was backed when you actually saw his 'Amazing Drawing'... It was embarrassing to say the least. He would heed all your little tips and eventually get good at drawing from your guidance! I can see him as the type to use these skills later for his siblings, and as the type to continue drawing even if you begin to get bored of it... He's skilled with his fingers after all-- okay I'm sorry I'm done.

Drawing him can go one in two ways. I see him as someone who will whine about being drawn. He'll say: 'Have you drawn me yet?' in one of the most annoying voices he cna muster. He knows and understands you find it annoying when he asks you to draw him, so he's found a loophole. Just keep asking questions related to it until you get the hint! ...You got the hint weeks ago, but you're refusing to do it. Well, you're refusing to show him your drawings you've already finished and hid out of sight. Showing him these drawings would make him really happy! Would fold his favourite and carry it around with him everywhere like some of the other harbingers. His next commission he's planned to ask you is of a drawing of Capitano. You eagerly declined, not wishing to impose on the Captain's privacy.

#genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #fatui harbingers #yandere harbingers #genshin #pierro #capitano #il dottore #columbina #arlecchino #pulcinella #scaramouche #sandrone #la signora #pantalone #tartaglia #childe #fatui #genshin fatui

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starberry-cupcake · 26 days

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I've been reading, but didn't have time to sit down and do this, so you're getting a bit of a mess in this one, sorry about that!

I want to clarify, before starting, that if I ask questions to the void in these posts, or if I wonder very loudly about something, I'm not really looking for answers immediately nor am I doubting that things will be explained later, I promise I trust the process. If something's going to be explained, somewhere in the books, I'll get there eventually, I promise I will. You have probably noticed by now but, if you give me a hint, I'm gonna grab onto it for dear life, so better not give me anything at all. Just leave me here to die, I beg you.

previously, in harrowberry the ninth:

this happened

currently, chapters 17-19:

I'm gonna start by the end, actually

which maybe is fitting for this book

but I'll start by the end because I have a new theory and I feel this one in my bones

(pun intended)

I might be totally off but I'm gonna say it anyway because I'm excited about this one

so much so that you'll get no memes while I explain it

it's about G and P

yes, I know, I'm fixated with that, but hear me out

I think Lyctortus isn't actually called Ortus

I think his name is Gideon

let me explain

at the end of chapter 19 (I'll get there, but I need this off my chest, I really do) harrow asks mercygirl why ortus the first wants her dead

to which mercygirl distractedly answers "who?"

that's the last thing I read so far, but it got my wheels turning so fast I came running to write it down

I thought "wait, what if, just like ortus is replacing gideon in the gideon-less re-telling, the name is also a replacement?"

so I went to the character list and lyctortus's cavalier was called pyrrha

so what if they're G and P

Gideon and Pyrrha the Second

and what if the Gideon in the paper was this guy

so this is not a case of Ortus 1 and 2 but of Gideon 1 and 2

not!dulcinea told our gideon "you're very brave—a bit like another Gideon I used to know. But you're prettier in the eyes"

which is, all things considered, actually funny, because it's a reversal of what mercygirl was saying, that yandere twin and harrow aren't as pretty as their predecessors

I'm gonna risk looking like a fool later and calling this now because I really feel this one

again, let me clarify, I'm not asking you to tell me whether I'm right or wrong or anything at all, I'm just placing my bets with myself

and I know starting by the end isn't really the best way to go about a recap, but I think I'm on to something

MOVING BACK, to chapter 17

harrow starts looking into mercygirl for her new and probably not improved diary, because she knows less things now

augustine the saint of annoyance tells harrow that mercygirl and him are the oldest lyctors in the band and that it took generations for these space planet destroyers to assemble

emperor john silver tells harrow that his stupid nicknames that don't fit were meant to represent the cavaliers and not the necros

of course augustine's brother was patient, he had to put up with augustine

mercygirl is also a body expert

an anatomist, if you will

which will come in handy later/earlier (later in the reading order, earlier in the timeline order)

augustine says that he didn't bother learning that because the only use for it would be to kill lyctors

tbh it'd come in handy right now that I want to kill him, but I digress

here, harrow again mentions that ortus the first (also known as lyctortus, also known as allegedly gideon the first, also known as I'm super super sure of this you guys) wants her dead

CHAPTER 18

we're back on canaan house in the gideon-less version

these are the chapters I'm having the most fun with, which wasn't what I expected

I don't know why, I really like this whole re-written mystery thing

the slasher film vibes have doubled this time

I keep drawing parallels and enjoying my time with these old and new friends

and, talking about old and new friends, judith is dead

remember judith? remember how she died?

it wasn't like this

in this gideon-less version, instead of becoming besties with the sixth, harrow and ortus have become besties with the fifth

because 1) the fifth didn't die and 2) the fifth is in a polycule with ortus

with gideon there, they befriended the sixth because gideon saw camilla fight 5 seconds and was like "she's friend shaped :)"

so, the fifth and the ninth are taking care of judith's corpse

she was shot repeatedly with a carbine rifle

harrow says "it would have been like being set upon by a ghost out of time"

gonna put that in the 3d model

martita is outside and she's the only pseudo witness to this situation

the gideon-less version of the deaths so far is being handled like this

martita says to harrowbean "why am I here?"

she explains that they were doing the two door test thingy and, while she was in the other room, judith was shot

now, here's the thing

I thought the Sleeper that had been mentioned was the construct thing but no, it's not

it's a new thing

I'm picturing sorta this

it very well could be a person though

it's person shaped

huh

it's in a coffin where it sleeps unless it's woken up, but they don't know how it wakes up, because martita went to town kicking and punching the coffin after judith was obliterated and nothing happened

and what keeps it contained, snow white style, isn't plex glass, plex or glass

ortus proceeds to say a eulogy

martita says "Is this really how it happens?" like we've been hearing all this time

harrowbean tries to make her feel better by telling her that, at least judith died quickly

mmm...about that

martita says "No. That's not...Don't know why I thought...No."

martita doesn't know judith died slowly and painfully and wrong about everything btw, she died first, it memory serves

but still, savage

harrow regrets not telling ortus to take the pledge of silence and says "but only a very obedient idiot of a cavalier would have stuck to that"

she's your obedient idiot, though, harrow

so, the rundown is this:

the sleeper can move

the sleeper can pass necromantic wards

the sleeper shouldn't be waken

people don't know what wakes it

it has a rifle

the sleeper is lying on top of sword that's a two-hander

me, having breakfast while reading this

I didn't mention this but

harrow and abby say that judith was killed by a deadly shot and then was subsequently used for target practice and left like a colander without any reason for it

judith disrespected camilla, so

that's what you get, bitch

CHAPTER 19

we travel in time, but in the timeline of the emperor's bolthole

because WHY NOT, AT THIS POINT

we're keeping track anyway *picks back up the timeline I keep discarding and re-using*

this one is 10 months before the emperor johnny boy is ended, so this is before what we've been reading

we are told the following essential info:

harrow has written a letter for yandere twin in case of harrow's death that says: "Get what joy you can from my corpse, you devious bitch"

filed under potential resignation letter drafts

apparently a lyctor can live without food but not without water

so harrowcita is getting herself a sopita

and then lyctortus also known as I'm sure he's gideon the first stabs her

this tiny baby kitten with her sopita

man has no heart

no decency

no decorum

not his real name, according to me

mercygirl helps harrow with a lot of skill (those anatomy skills we talked about) but not much empathy

she tells alleged gideon who goes by ortus, when he says "I do things face-to-face" that "that is what got you into trouble nineteen years ago"

HELLO TIMELINE

nineteen years ago takes us back to the whole leader of the BOE going missing and gideon's mom drifting into space and the person sent with the eggs and all that

well, the eggs thing isn't directly related yet but I'm relating it

especially since there were lies involved and somebody sent to placate another somebody

DUDE CAN YOU IMAGINE

IF HE WAS INVOLVED WITH GIDEON'S MOM IN SOME WAY

AND OUR GIDEON IS NAMED AFTER THIS GIDEON????

LIKE ON PURPOSE????

HELLO?????????

AGAIN, NOBODY TELL ME, I'M ASKING AT THE VOID

YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO LIVE WITH THE IMPULSE OF TELLING ME BUT DON'T DO IT

I'm making up telenovela theories about how this gideon could be involved into our gideon's mom business and our gideon being named after him

and gideon's superpowers of being hercules having something to do with all this

I need to stop before I say too much and then feel embarrassed at my theories

ALSO

gideon ortus wants harrow's sword

harrowbean doesn't want to give it to him

it is at this point when mercygirl says "who?" at harrow's question about "ortus", so we end how we begun, because today it's that kind of day

also, another day without her coming home

I may be late but boy do I have theories. And yeah, nobody tell me any spoilers, please. Let me make a fool of myself.

#luly reacts to tlt #harrow the ninth #harrow the ninth spoilers #tlt spoilers #the locked tomb #long post #gif cw

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nipuni · 7 months

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Doctor Who status report: we finished watching S3, the special, and are half way into S4! The last 7 episodes of S3 were incredible and so far S4 is going strong and we are sure it will get even better as we get closer to the end as all previous seasons did, we have been ranking each episode and special since S1 so I'll probably share that eventually too and you can compare and judge 😆

We are getting more and more anxious as we get closer to the end of this season because we don't want to see David Tennant go 😭 We are confident we are going to love all the next doctors too but also going to miss him so much. We already made a list of movies and series he is in so we can watch those once he gets replaced lmao we are both so smitten!!

I can't wait to have some free time to draw about this show!! it's become our favourite thing really fast and is single handedly sustaining me, I'm the busiest and the most stressed I've been since last year and it will only get worse until January but everyday I look forward to watching it and talking about it with Nicolas and it's such a joy 😭

Oh I also wanted to say I'm so sorry for the lack of art lately! I know apologizing for it is weird but bear with me I still feel bad about it 😆 I've been drawing for work a lot so everything I make is under NDA and the rest of my time I'm spending hosting family and friends that are visiting for the holidays until the end of the year so all I have to share are photos 😫 but I'll try to squeeze in some art and get back to it as soon as I can!I hope you are all doing well! ❤️

#doctor who #personal #waving to the uuhh 5 people here who are still into this show on this day and age hello I wanna be friends!!#DW report

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nothomegal · 6 months

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“Cuddle date”

(Ghostface x GN Reader)

Summary: we all get our blues time to time, and a good cuddle sounds like a fantastic option to mend such awful mood! The man currently clinging to your body definitely thinks so, and you? Not so much...

Warnings: hints to an unhealthy behavoir, obsessive ghosty, non-con touches towards (Y/N).

Word count: 1.5k

Additional info: I'll use Danny Johnson as Ghostface, but not in a DBD context (no trials, entity, etc.)

Fic based on this lil' drawing I made!

—“{Such a shitty week, I swear…”}—

His deep raspy voice grumbled from behind the mask, his grip around (Y/N) tightened as he shifts in place a bit, taking a more comfortable position and nuzzling his masked face against their chest.

—“{It’s all better now, though. Way better.}”— he finished this sentence with a chuckle, which came out way more sinister than it was probably intended.

There were tears forming in (Y/N)‘s eyes again. Their whole body is tense and slightly shivering, their skin feels so hot and cold at the same time under the intruder's warm body and their own cold sweat. Their heartbeat is so loud that it overshadows any additional noises, yet his raspy voice still managed to cut through the loud drums of their panicked heart. They wanted to scream, shout in terror in hopes their roommate hears them, but the duct tape placed on their lips did its job in keeping their mouth shut, only allowing low muffles to come out.

They couldn't even push this stranger off their body, their wrists tightly tied to the bed frame which made their arms stay outstretched over their head, leaving their body even more exposed and unprotected.

The masked man silently sighs as he shifts in place again, tilting his head up a bit.

—"{You're a great listener, dear. Thank you for your time.}"— he says as he suddenly begins to move one of his hands up and down, caressing your body. —"{Usually I restrain myself from waking you up, but today... Ugh, today I just had to rant, you understand that feeling, do you?}"—

The uncalled touches caused (Y/N) to shiver as another muffled noise escaped from them. They wiggle in place, hoping to somehow shake his gloved hand off them but this little struggle seemed to only amuse the intruder judging by another sinister chuckle and the way his grip tightened around them.

—"{Oh love, so shy and unwilling as ever. At any other moment I'd be so fucking pissed with your stubborness... And I actually used to, you used to piss me off so much with your sole existence...}"—

His tone turns significantly more hostile as he speaks, his grip on their hip tightening to at almost painful point, causing (Y/N) to wiggle harder and let out a louder cry when the squeezing became too much. That little noise caused the man to snap out of whatever abnormal episode he was going through, making him quickly realize what he've been doing just seconds ago.

—"{Oh... Sorry, dear.}"— he mutters, his tone apologetic as he gently rubs that spot, as if attempting to soothe the pain. —"{Can get carried away when I think about certain topics...}"—

His gloved hand eventually slides under (Y/N)'s shirt, now running his palm through their bare skin. Judging by the high pitch noises they made they didn't expect or liked that at all. But again, it didn't stop the man from continuing his gentle caresses, action that seemed oddly soothing to him.

—"{It's just, I still don't understand how you managed to do that... You were supposed to be another face in the morning news paper, a simple victim... But here we are.}"—

He pauses, and so does his hand.

—"{You just have no idea how easy it is to end you, on a practical level. But morally...}"—

His fingers dig into their skin as he moves up, his face now being pressed against the crook of (Y/N)'s neck. The sensation of the cold plastic of his mask sending shivers through their entire body, their heart rate quickening, detail that didn't go unnoticed.

—"{So scared...}"— he mutters thoughtfully. —"{It's okay, today you're actually taking my visit way better than other times.}"—

This sentence made (Y/N) freeze in horror, even the shivering paused. Gears began to work inside of their head and place the puzzle pieces together.

They finally realized it.

All these small incidents of their things going missing, the food tasting weird and the unnatural tiredness they've been waking up lately, it all made sense now.

This man, this sick fuck, is the one behind these anomalies... And it seems like he's been doing this for a while.

The mentioned man of course noticed their sudden stillness and probably realizes that (Y/N) is putting the pieces together, but he felt no worry. In fact, he had the audacity to let out an amused laugh.

—"{See you begin to understand... Not bad, detective (L/N).}"—

He slowly slides his hand out of their shirt and moves his body again, climbing up until he's basically on top of (Y/N), now pressing their frozen and helpless form further into the matress with his weight.

—"{Too bad you won't remember anything in the morning.}"— he whispers as he places his hand under your chin, squeezing your face slightly. —"{You never do.}"—

He starts to lean closer as his grip around their face tightens.

—"{Or maybe, you will... Sometimes I wish you do.}"—

He mutters, stopping when his masked face is only inches away from theirs.

—"{Because then you wouldn't be so startled every time I come back... And I will come back. Maybe tomorrow, maybe after tomorrow... Or maybe you'll see me through the day. Who knows, I could be anyone of your friends.}"—

He was close, uncomfortably close. The shivering got worse the more he spoke, his voice so psycotic and cold yet sicky sweet and playful at the exact same time. (Y/N) was so lost and overwhelmed; confusion, fear, desperation, anger... So many feelings swarming their mind at ones that it was nearly impossible for them to keep up and think straight, all they could do is be still and stare into the dark eye sockets of the ghost mask of the intruder...

Ghostface.

(Y/N) heard about him. His crimes are always the very first thing discussed in the radio durning morning, so they're more than aware of how fucked they are.

The more they stare into those fake eyes, the more distorted his face appears to get. They can swear that they've saw an outline of an actual human eye behind the dark fabric of the mask, an eye that appeared even darker than anything they've ever seen.

So dark, so cold... That it almost felt unhuman.

—"{Fuck...}"— he groans under his breath. —"{You just have no idea how fucking cute you are... I wish I could've just...}"—

He leans even closer, his face hovering dangerously close to (Y/N)'s, plastic almost touching their lips.

But the sudden sound of footsteps aproaching made the masked man freeze, his hand giving a rough squeeze as a warning for (Y/N) to remain quiet. But his efforts to keep their little hang out as a secret went down the drain when the door suddenly opened.

—"Yo, dud do you happen to have a spare ibuprofen (Y/N)? Cause man, this hangover is killing m-..."—

(Y/N)'s roommate freezes in the doorway, looking at the scene with wide panicked eyes, which only narrowed even more when she recognized the intruder's outfit.

—"...Holy shit!"— she exclaims as she turns around and bolts off your room. —"Hold on (Y/N)! I'm calling the cops!"—

The masked man merely sighs with annoyance as he shakes his head.

—"And we were having such a great time..."— he mutters, no longer whispering. —"Sorry sweetheart, gotta cut our meeting short."—

He seemed to be about to lean back and away from them. But before doing so, he presses the mouth of his mask against (Y/N)'s cheek, sending small shivers through their body with the sudden sensation of the cold plastic.

Ones completely up and off the bed, the intruder actually takes his time to cover (Y/N)'s form with the blanket again, totally unaffected by the fact that their roommate is aware of him and must be trying to call the authorities. Little does that person know that he already took care of her phone...

—"The adrenaline should wear off soon. Sorry that you have to rest in such uncomfortable position, again. But you understand why I can't do anything about it right now, right?"— he says the last part in a somehow playful one as he runs his gloved hand through your hair. —"See you soon (Y/N), sooner that you think."—

And after these words, the intruder leaves the scene. The weird black ties of his costume trailing behind him as he exits the door before closing it.

And just like he predicted, exhaustion began to slowly fall upon (Y/N), their eyelids felt unnaturally heavy, their body slowly going limp and the soreness in their wrists is fading away as they slowly submerge in this restless sleep. They attempt to struggle one last time, a desperate try to free themselves as they hear faint noises of struggles outside their room, knowing that their roommate won't be able to resist the attack for long.

Unfortunately, their body gives up at some point and refuses to move, their consciousness barely remaining awake.

And just as they're about to fall back into slumber, a small tear slides down their cheek as the same damn sentence resonates inside of their mind again, and again, and again...

"See you soon (Y/N), sooner that you think."

#nothomegal fic #nothomegal oneshot #gn reader #ghostface #ghostface x reader #danny johnson #danny johnson x reader #slasher x reader

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yanxidarlings · 6 months

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I think mattheo vs blaise would be really interesting with a smart reader. Both are just cold and mean and barely concealing their scheming lol, and reader is just trying to fight both for top grades in class. Like these two know how to play "the game" and reader is doing their best to not lose. Eventually, either blaise finally gets the betrothal finalized or mattheo somehow resurrects his dad. Actually, now that I think about it, a clueless reader is probably just as good between these two. Can I request headcanons for these two?

YANDERE MATTHEO RIDDLE VS YANDERE BLAISE ZABINI

had never thought of these two fighting over a darling, but this was surprisingly fun to write, hope you like it!

• ladies and gentleman, we may have found the worst possible pair of yanderes. yes i say that everytime but it's genuinely hard to envision these two coming to any sort of agreement. blaise is a bit too proud, and once ol moldymort's back in the picture, mattheo believes he's above everyone and anyone as the dark lords son.

• one thing about the both of them is that they'll both try to lay claim to their darling quite quickly. the moment blaise accepts his obsession, he's sending an owl to his mother, requesting she arrange a marriage. mattheo is a bit less overt, he just starts hovering around them and scares off anyone who tries to interact with them.

• it's kind of funny but really interesting to imagine a darling that's clueless to their advances, and just views them as academic rivals. i'll assume the darlings a ravenclaw, maybe they've known the two since childhood, or maybe they met at hogwarts, doesn't matter, the darling only thinks of them as annoyances.

• maybe this academic rivalry is what kickstarts the boys' obsession; i could definately see that being the case for mattheo, he's the heir of slytherin, son of the dark lord himself, how dare this kid think he's smarter than him.

• he's pretty hostile towards the reader for the first few years, for the longest time he thinks he hates them, but if he does, then why can he never bring himself to beat him up before an exam? why does his heart drop when he hears their roommates talking about them crying in the shower after getting a 95 on the potions assignment? why did he want to go up to him, engulf him in a hug and tell him it was just a grade.

• what starts off as pure rivalry slowly but surely turns into admiration, at least on mattheo's end. reader is starting to seriously consider poisoning his pumpkin juice if he tops the class over them one more time.

• honestly mattheo finds his darlings hatred of him and anyone as smart as him cute, he'll casually invade their thoughts from across the great hall only for them to be imagining granger getting crucio'd. or casting the killing curse on zabini, clawing out goldsteins eyes, skinning nott alive, cutting off malfoys pri-

• mattheo is convinced they're soulmates, and eventually stops antagonising them alltogether. the only problem? apparently that son of a bitch zabini is having his mother arrange a betrothal between him and mattheo's precious darling.

the absolute fucking nerve. mattheo is pretty quick to corner zabini. "what the fuck do you think you're doing" mattheo growled as his hands wrapped around zabini's neck "m/n's mine. you got that? if i catch you even thinking about him, i'll kill you" his grip tightened as zabini's nails clawed into his arms, loosening as zabini started to draw blood.

pushing riddle off, blaise wiped his hands off on his robes, as if wiping off contaminated dirt. "yours?" "yeah so back the fu-" "why would someone as intelligent as m/n want you when there's other, much better, purer options?" blaise knew that would strike a nerve. riddle lunged his fist towards him "i warned you, you-" he yelled as his fist connected with blaise's face, profanities flying out left, right and centre.

• blaise had never really played into the darlings game, since the moment they met when they were little, he decided that they would be the one he wedded. he wouldn't be like his mother and leave a trail of spouses behind, he'd swear loyalty to his darling on the date of their wedding, and they'd never leave each others sides.

• for the longest time, blaise believed his darling felt the same about him. it was honestly kind of soul crushing when they got to hogwarts and became all the more competitive. if he wasn't obsessed before he sure as hell is now, his darling is going to love him, whether he has to force them or not.

• their competitiveness might annoy him, but their intelligence is one of the reasons he's so allured by them. but he can never just admire them in the library whilst they study, his darling always has to turn it into some sort of scheme by him. to steal their answers, that is.

• as smart as they are, it facinates blaise how the simplest social interactions fall short on them. the longing way he stares at them whenever in their vicinity would be a dead giveaway for anyone else.

• but blaise is in this for the long run, does it really matter if they ignore him throughout their hogwarts years? as soon as they graduate, they'll be wed and be together forever. or at least that's what he tells himself every time his ego takes a hit from the ridicule they throw his way.

• eventually, the betrothal was finally finalised. the l/n's had come to an agreement with his mother and he couldn't be happier. no one dared approach his darling anymore, in fear of becoming blaises new target.

"good morning" blaise greeted his darling as he approached the ravenclaw table, a slight smirk on his face as the ravenclaws shuffled away. m/n said nothing, he just glared at blaise for a moment, before looking back down at his book. "what're you reading" his slender hand reached over to the book, only to receive a hard slap. he looked up, eyebrow raised as his darling continued reading, as if nothing had happened.

blaise leaned in "tesoro, we are going to be married in a few years, is this anyway to treat your future husband" he entangled his fingers with theirs, watching as m/n's face went red with anger, but his ego told him it was a blush.

"i'll cast the killing curse on myself before i marry you" pulling his hand away, m/n closed the book, before storming out of the great hall.

• the day his darling was finally promised to him, blaise's behaviour flipped like a switch. acting as if he and his darling had been in a committed relationship for years, as if they hadn't barely had a proper conversation. the day of the betrothal is when everything hits the fan.

• mattheo is ready to rip blaise limb from limb, so is the darling, which is why, for a time, mattheo and the reader form a short bond over hating zabini, before it becomes apparent to the darling that mattheo isn't any better.

• mattheo and blaise spend the time prior to voldemorts resurrection actively trying to kill each other. they get most of their anger towards each other out during quidditch, every game and practice ends with one or both injured. they'll arrive in class 10 minutes late, with bruises all over and busted lips.

• if the reader was dumb, they'd do nothing, but no, mr smarty pants ravenclaw is gonna make sure those two always have something to fight over, showing one favour, then comparing them to the other, both to get them of the readers back and keep the reader at the top of the class.

• the darlings intelligence and cunning is his own downfall. eventually, the boys are gonna catch on to the readers schemes. whether things are becoming a bit too repetitive or more likely mattheo figures out what they're up too when invading their mind whilst they sleep.

• mattheo and blaise call a ceasefire on their own personal war. the dark lord has returned and the darling is using them against eachother, if they hate anything more than sharing, it's damage to their ego's.

• when they agree to focus on obtaining their darling, their darling, is, to put it in my favourite way; officially fucked.

• there's no escape from them, blaise will start demanding the reader sleep with him in his dorm, and mattheo will be the one to drag them there. they scare away everyone else, so no one can come to the readers rescue.

• these two cannot bare to leave their darling alone with the other, which is why they spend most of the time together. mattheo's dragged the darling into the shower with him? blaise is following not far behind. blaise is taking the darling to the three broomsticks for a date? best bet mattheo will be tagging along.

"must you pout like that every time" asked blaise whilst he made up a plate of scrambled eggs, placing it infront of m/n, who was too busy glaring into space, arms folded, a scowl on their face. "don't listen to him, m/n, you look adorable like that" mattheo wrapped his arm around m/n's shoulder, leaning in, pressing a kiss to the others neck.

m/n shook mattheo off, wiping the kiss off with the edge of his sleeve. mattheo only chuckled, before leaning in again. "oh leave me alone you cockalorums" m/n spat as he stood up abruptly, mattheo's smile faltered, he reached up and dragged m/n back down by the hips "have you not thought of the things the dark lord will do to you if he found out how you treat his heir?".

mattheo's breath tickled m/n's ear as he whispered. he remained silent, blinking away tears. "you make this out to be so much worse than it is, cucciolo, just let me- us care for you, va bene?" blaise took the fork and placed it in his hand, ignoring the tears that started to roll down m/n's cheeks.

#yandere harry potter #yandere mattheo riddle #yandere blaise zabini #hp writings #blaise zabini #mattheo riddle #matheo riddle x reader #blaise zabini x reader #yandere slytherin #slytherin fanfiction #x reader #x male reader #hp #hp fanfiction

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tonowarii · 1 year

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Hey would you be open to writing something where Neteyam, Jake, Lo’ak and Tonowari is mated to a female reader separately and one day they catch her practicing her hiss and growl to sound intimidating but they just laugh and tease her but eventually her hugs and sweet kisses because she starts pouting? Thanks 😊

this was funny to make ngl

Neteyam, Lo'ak, Jake, and Tonowari reacting to their female mate practicing to be intimidating

(and maybe failing miserably rip)

ೃ⁀➷ N e t e y a m

Neteyam walks towards your hut, coming home from a hunt and the first thing he wanted to do was to hang out with you, to have his head on your lap as you sing to him.

But as he was a few steps away, he could hear a faint hiss, followed by an almost strangled growl. Neteyam's protective manner jumped out as he thinks you were in danger as he swiftly moves faster to reach you.

Coming in the entrance, his movement halts as your back was faced to him, his face contort into confusion as there wasn't any sign of danger, there was no one there.

But you were stood, hissing and growling, more attempt has your voice straining, making your growl more grumbled.

Neteyam almost seemed amused as he watched, but he wanted to know why were you doing this.

"My love-" Neteyam's hands raised as you snap towards him. Then your eyes widened as you shout. "Neteyam!"

Neteyam can't help the smile and laugh that erupts from him. "My love, what were you doing?" He walks up to you.

You then pout as your mate was laughing at you. "I mean what you were doing is great... But why?" He asked, hands going to hold your arms.

"I thought I'd try to be more intimidating..." You admitted. Neteyam chuckled before he pulls you to him, hugging you. "You don't need that, yawne."

"Yes, I do!" You muttered from his chest.

"What if I need to protect you or when those girls were taking too long looking at y-"

"Hey, hey, what?" Neteyam looks down at you. You shut up and shake your head. "Nothing."

"Girls staring at me, huh?" Neteyam smirked.

This time you finally let out a threatening hiss at Neteyam at the mention of those girls looking at him.

Neteyam's eyes widened as he slowly nods, face leaning down to meet yours.

"That'll scare them my love, but that was hot."

ೃ⁀➷ L o ' a k

"What- hold on!" Lo'ak laughed as he caught you trying to practice your hissing and growling and Lo'ak had mistaken it for a stray viperwolf pup.

"I hate you!" You pout. Lo'ak shakes his head, going over to you as he clutches his stomach from laughing. "Wait truly I did not think that was you. Give- give me a second."

You playfully shoved Lo'ak away as you frowned. After Lo'ak had finally composed himself, he looks at you.

"Why were you hissing and growling out here in the middle of the forest? You know someone could mistake you for a predator."

"I wanted to do it where no one could see me." You answered, frown still evident on your face as Lo'ak leaned in to place a light kiss on your forehead, making you feel better.

"It was intimidating, I'll give you that, I thought you were a wolf. But I need you to promise me to teach me sometime. My siblings say I need someone to teach me how to hiss."

You laugh, leaning onto his touch.

"Okay, lessons start tomorrow, mister."

ೃ⁀➷ J a k e

You draw your bow, hissing for the nth time that day, trying to look intimidating. Then you switch to your dagger, growling at the empty air, imagining the Sky People were attacking you.

"Baby, have you seen my- woah." Jake stops in his tracks hands raised in surrender as you faced him, your dagger in hand as your fangs were bared at him.

"Uh... What's... What's this?" Jake asked, walking closer to you. You stood straight, sheathing your dagger back in its holster as you blushed.

"Nothing.." You answer. Jake tilts his head at you.

"Were you the one making noises from earlier?"

"Probably...?" You say. "What're you doing this for? Are you planning to murder me in my sleep?" Jake jokingly says making you roll your eyes.

"If I had maybe I wouldn't be your mate now, would I?" You retaliate, but you sigh. "I was just.. Trying to be intimidating if the time comes when... they come back."

"Aw, baby." Jake said, cupping your neck to crane it to him as he leaves a kiss on your forehead.

"You don't gotta worry about that now, okay?" Jake looked at you as you nodded closing your eyes for a brief second before opening them to look at him again.

Then his famous smirk creeps up onto his face.

"Now, come have fun with your husband."

ೃ⁀➷ T o n o w a r i

Tonowari had his free time in the afternoon, having completed his duties today as olo'eyktan.

He was walking toward your shared marui when he spots your familiar figure in the sand by the shore.

He figured he was going to see you in your marui, but he was now making his way towards you.

He was about to greet you when he heard you hiss. He was about to open his mouth again when you hissed, this time a lot... Meaner than the last one that has him squinting.

"What is troubling you, my dear?" Tonowari's voice sounded from behind you, making you jump and look up at him. "Tonowari." You greet, feeling embarrassment at getting caught.

"Nothing- nothing is troubling me..."

Tonowari doesn't believe it for a second. You knew lying was no use, he could read you like an open book as you did him.

With a sigh, you tell the truth. "I overheard people saying that they haven't seen me hiss... I figured I had to try it out for myself and maybe I looked mean."

Tonowari chuckles, shaking his head at you but you begin to pout. His eyes blinked before he reached out to you.

"No such thing, I think your hiss is pretty scary."

Your eyes lit up, then you growled at him, catching him by surprise as he looks at you bewildered.

Tonowari nervously chuckles, wrapping an arm around you. "I think that is enough for today, my dear."

"But was it scary?"

"... Yes."

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