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mylovelies-docx · 7 months

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Love Bites (But So Do I)

🎃 HAPPY HALLOWEEN TO ALL MY SPOOKY, HORNY BITCHES 🎃

I'm finally participating in Kinktober, but it's literally the last day and it's whatever the fuck I wanted to write.

Pairing: Innocent!Vampire!Reader x Werewolf!Bucky

Plot: Reader is suffering from hunger pangs due to national blood shortage. Bucky offers a solution.

C/W: 18+ MDNI!!! (I am so for serious). Loss of virginity, age gap (Reader is late 20's), what’s the name for blood drinking?, fingering, praise kink, unprotected sex, slight dom/sub, knotting, cock-warming, fluff, resolution of mutual pining.

Vampirism is cool and all, but it also fucking sucks sometimes.

Like during a national blood shortage.

You’d been turned only a couple of years ago around the time of your 25th birthday. You can’t quite recall what happened, as everything around the event is distorted in your memories. All you know is that you were on a mission with some of the other Avengers one second, and then the next you were lying in the med bay with an intense craving for blood.

Everyone was surprisingly accepting of your new ‘condition’, with the exception of one person.

Bucky.

Bucky wasn’t on the mission where you were turned into a vampire, so he had no idea what he was walking in on when he stopped by to visit you in the med bay. You distinctly remember the look of worry and confusion on his face when he peered through the window and saw you strapped down onto the bed. You’d given him a forced, awkward smile and turned your head away, not able to look him in the eye.

You heard the door to your room click open and Bucky began to call your name, but then he inhaled sharply, unable to finish his question. You turned your head slightly and peeked back at him. You could tell immediately that Bucky’s werewolf senses had picked up on the change in your DNA, his instincts telling him that you were now his enemy.

You leaned your head back against the bed and closed your eyes, devastated that Bucky hated you before you could even have a proper conversation with him. You’d been on the team for a few months at that point, only really developing surface level friendships with everyone. They were all welcoming enough, but your anxieties prevented you from letting anyone in.

With your eyes closed, your other senses were able to accommodate for the loss of sight. The gust of wind from Bucky opening the door rushed up your nose, and a heady, intoxicating scent lit up your brain. Your eyes popped open and you stared at Bucky, noticing his heavy breathing and his pulse pounding against the arteries in his neck. Your mouth watered at the smell of him, divine and irresistible in a way that no one else had been up to that point.

A choked keening had erupted from your throat, your wrists and ankles straining against the bonds holding you down. You twisted and pulled, trying to break free and make a run for Bucky, but he’d immediately sensed your desire to drink his blood. A shutter fell into place over Bucky’s face, masking any expression that might have been there. He sucked in one final deep breath and slammed the door to your room, storming down the hallway and away from you.

As soon as you could no longer detect Bucky’s scent in the air, your mind cleared somewhat and you were able to realize just how out of control you had acted and how embarrassed you were at your actions. But you were also unable to stop imagining running after him and sinking your teeth deep into the flesh of his throat.

Slamming your head a few times onto the bed underneath you, you cursed yourself. Bucky barely even liked you before, but now he probably despised you – not just for what you were, but for how you acted, as well. You’d gotten off on the wrong foot with him to start, but then you’d stumbled hard and crossed a line by almost ripping your arms to pieces in order to get to him.

You’d never been able to look people in the face or hold eye contact for very long, but it’s especially true when it comes to Bucky. You’re not exactly sure why it is that your heart races and butterflies fill your stomach, but the feelings bubble up and prevent you from speaking and make you uncomfortable in your own skin. This happens every time you meet someone new or are with people you don’t really know, but the sensations that flood your body when Bucky is around are 100x worse than anything you’d felt for anyone before.

You’d realized in that hospital bed that whatever you’d felt for Bucky prior to becoming a vampire had changed, had become almost unbearable. His scent never left your thoughts and your mind always drifted off to think about Bucky: what he was doing, where he was, who he was with. Your eyes would darken and turn red, fangs lengthening when you imagined him with anyone other than you.

It’d taken you weeks to recover your sanity completely. You’d drained bag after bag after bag of blood, never feeling completely satiated, but unable to find out why. Some members of the team visited in those weeks to determine if you were safe to be around, and although the aroma of their blood wafted through the air and surrounded you, you never reacted to any of them the way you had to Bucky that first day. Dr. Cho had decided that you were no longer a threat after your successes, so she’d allowed you out of your restraints. You were finally able to walk the halls again and explore the compound.

Though the sunlight wouldn’t kill you (discovered during Dr. Cho’s studies), your skin would prickle and start to burn after prolonged exposure, so you tended to avoid the daylight. You’d wander the halls after everyone had turned in for the night, lamenting the fact that you could really only spend the evenings with them all before they needed to sleep.

You’d catch whiffs of Bucky as you stalked the night, your pulse racing and endorphins fizzing through your veins, but he never appeared. Bucky kept his distance from you for nearly a full year after you’d nearly attacked him. You couldn’t blame him. He’d been tortured enough in his life, he didn’t need the added stress of you trying to suck him dry every time he entered the same room as you.

It took some time, but you were finally able to cohabitate the same spaces with him again. Even though your mouth watered and your hands longed to reach out and grab him, you refrained. You kept yourself distant in order to make him more comfortable with your presence even though nature meant for your two species to hate each other.

You understood why Bucky had such a vehement reaction when he smelled you for the first time after your transition; walking the streets of New York, you’d catch of whiff of wet dog and dirty sock, immediately identifying werewolves as they prowled the streets, their stench clinging to your nostrils and turning your stomach. You’d grimace and walk away as fast as you could in search of clean air not polluted with the presence of werewolves. If grody socks and dirty mongrel was what you perceived werewolves to smell like, you can’t imagine what Bucky must smell emanating from you.

The only thing that doesn’t make sense is that you’d never found Bucky’s scent displeasing: in fact, the fresh, pine scent drove you crazy and had your body begging to be near him despite knowing that he’s a werewolf. You feel insatiable whenever he’s around, needing to consume blood soon after in order to calm the raging hunger within you.

Your mouth waters at the thought of the hot liquid filling your mouth and sliding down your throat, warming your insides and sending shivers all the way down to your toes. It’d been nearly a full day since you’d last tasted the savory red substance.

A nation-wide disaster the Avengers had handled yesterday required the hospitals to use up most of their stores of blood, leaving you feeling guilty for even thinking about taking the life-saving liquid for your own benefit. All the Avengers were out celebrating a job well-done and the prevention of more death and destruction that would have occurred had you all not been there to help.

The fight yesterday had taken everything out of you, and you were unable to drag yourself from the couch where you had collapsed earlier in the day. Your head is spinning and your muscles are weak from the lack of blood in your system. Some of the others had offered you their blood to help you feel better, but you’d declined and told them to go out and donate it to one of the blood banks that were in desperate need.

You’d never drank directly from a person in the years since you’d become a vampire, choosing instead to avoid the intimacy that must come along with the action. Holding someone’s wrist in your hands as you clamp down on their radial artery, nuzzling your face into the crook of their neck and sucking a mark around the two perfect puncture holes from your fangs – it just felt overwhelming.

And besides, the only person you could even imagine suckling from was Bucky and he’d never offer you his blood, regardless of whether it was in a bag or straight from the source.

You groan as your stomach contracts in on itself, the emptiness feeling as if there’s a black hole inside of you and you’re going to be consumed from the inside out. You feel foolish for turning your friends’ offers away, but there’s no way you’d have kept them from enjoying themselves after everything they went through yesterday. You can only hope that Dr. Cho is able to procure something for you in the morning or else create some alternative to the human blood that sustains your life force.

You’re curled in the fetal position on the couch, clutching your stomach and trying to think of anything else besides this nauseating hunger you feel. Your eyes squeeze tightly shut and your face scrunches in agony. You moan once more, unable to hold it in.

All of a sudden, your senses detect the presence of another person in the compound – a door in the residential wing swishing open and the pad, pad, pad of socked feet walking towards you. The sweet, fresh smell of a pine forest after a spring shower wraps around you, easing the pain enough for you to open your eyes and witness Bucky walk into the living room and find you lying there. His face contorts momentarily, but then smooths back out.

“Y/N?” he questions. You whine at the timbre of his voice, the rich sound penetrating your eardrums and burrowing into your veins. “What’s wrong?”

You wince as another hunger pang claws through your gut. “I’m –” you whisper hoarsely. “I’m hungry. So hungry.”

“Hungry?” he asks. “What about the blood you keep in stock?” Bucky walks over to the hospital-grade equipment in the kitchen behind you, looking for a blood bag you know isn’t there. You hear him open and close the door, quickly ascertaining that there is nothing to be found within. Bucky quickly walks back over to you and crouches a few feet from the couch. “Where did it all go?”

A red-tinted tear falls from your lower lashes, leaving a pink streak along your cheek. “The… the civilians,” you murmur quietly. Even with Bucky’s enhanced hearing, he has to lean closer to hear what you say. “They n-needed it more th-than me.”

“Shit,” Bucky mutters under his breath. A determined look comes over his face as he rolls up his sleeve. He holds his wrist in front of your mouth and barks out a command. “Drink.”

You barely find the strength to shake your head at him in refusal. “No,” you whine. “I’ve never… I can’t…”

“Yes,” he growls, “you can. And you will.” Bucky stretches his mouth wide and rolls his head on his neck, transforming his normal human teeth into the incisors of a wolf. He bites down onto the center of his wrist, tearing open his vein and shoving it back in your face. “Drink.”

Your bloodlust overtakes you at that moment. The warm, coppery blood seeps down his wrist and beads onto the sofa beside your head. Your hands move of their own accord, your mind fighting a losing battle with your instincts. You grasp Bucky’s wrist and wrap your parched lips around the gaping wound. You lick and suck where Bucky’s teeth had torn apart his own flesh. At the taste of Bucky’s blood hitting your tongue after years of craving it, a pleasured whimper crawls up your throat and forces its way between your parted lips against his flesh.

Buck’s metal arm reaches around and cups the back of your head, holding you in place as you continue to feed from him. “That’s right, doll,” he says. “Take as much as you need.” You feel the cold pressure of his hand as he strokes your hair away from your face. “Fuck. Been waiting for this. For you.”

The words send a shiver through you and you would have happily stayed right where you were for the rest of eternity, but the mouthfuls of blood have quickly turned into a trickle. You whine at the realization, running your tongue over Bucky’s wrist to confirm that his wound is healing too rapidly for you to continue drinking. You cry and raise your eyes up to Bucky’s, tasting his blood that had dribbled down your chin as you lick your lips.

“It’s –” you try. “You’re not…”

Bucky curses once again. “I heal too fast and the vein is too small for the amount of blood you need.”

He takes a hair tie from his pocket and quickly runs his fingers through his hair, gathering it all into a bun at the back of his head. Bucky rises swiftly and picks your body up into his arms. He cradles you against his chest as he settles quickly on the couch and places you in his lap. He circles one arm around your back to hold you upright and uses his other to guide your mouth to his throat.

“Bite,” he commands.

You whimper at the authority in his voice, but shake your head. “I’m okay,” you plead. “I – I don’t know how –”

“It’s instinct,” he replies harshly. “You do know how.” He takes your head and pushes your face further into his neck. “Bite me. Now, Y/N!”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you cry, resting your forehead against his skin and struggling to maintain the hold you have on your sanity when Bucky’s pulse is thrumming just under his skin. It’s right there. So close you can hear the blood as it rushes through his veins. This is the closest you’ve ever been to Bucky and his scent is beginning to drive you insane. You pant heavily against his throat, exhausting yourself from the effort of holding back.

Bucky releases a sigh and a sliver of tension leaves his muscles. The hand against your back strokes up and down, settling your body as it shivers against his.

“You won’t hurt me,” he says. “If I use my claws, the cut will be too big and I'll bleed too fast. Your teeth are so small, I won’t even feel them,” he soothes.

You hesitate for a moment before saying, “... you promise?”

“I promise, baby,” he hums.

The softness of his words is all it takes to tear down your defenses. You suck in a breath and bare your fangs. They sink into the skin right above his jugular and you feel the slight pop as you pierce its wall. Blood gushes into your mouth and you feel something inside you pop open just like Bucky’s vein.

All of the sudden, you become acutely aware of everything Bucky.

The rhythm of his heart as it pumps blood through his body and into yours, his breaths as they leave his mouth, the sounds he makes as you suckle at his neck – as if he’s enjoying every second of having your lips at his throat and sucking the blood as it floods into your mouth in time to the pulse of his heart. You can feel your own heart race to match his, beat for beat.

You moan at the sensation and pull harder against Bucky’s neck. Needing to be closer, you swing a leg over his lap to straddle him, hooking one arm around his shoulder and the other around the back of his head. You feel Bucky’s hands grasp your hips as he holds you tight to his body.

Involuntarily you roll your hips against him, rubbing your covered core over the bulge in his jeans. The action elicits a groan from Bucky and the contact sends an electric current through your body, forcing your hips to seek more friction. You continue to grind against Bucky’s crotch, your panties becoming soaked and leaking through your shorts and onto his jeans.

You continue to draw from Bucky’s neck as he begins to thrust against you in response to your motions. You moan at the extra pressure against your mound and work harder to match his rhythm.

“Fuck yeah, baby,” Bucky groans. “Using me so well to work that sweet little clit.” You whimper against his neck and brace one arm on the back of the couch, gaining leverage and moving your hips faster against him. “You gonna cum like this, darlin’?” He pants into your ear. “Gonna cum when I haven’t even touched you yet?”

At his words, you release your fangs from his throat and take big, heaving breaths. You pull away and stare down into Bucky’s eyes, his pupils dilated and staring deep into your own. You lean down quickly, capturing his lips with your own like you’ve dreamed of doing for so long. Bucky returns the kiss feverishly, working his tongue between your lips and delving into your mouth. You continue to grind yourself against Bucky until you’re nearly delirious with lust and feel a tight knot forming between your legs.

Bucky’s fingers snake between your bodies and pull the fabric of your shorts and panties aside so that he can run his fingers along your soaking slit.

“What a good girl,” he growls. “Already so wet for me.”

He nudges one finger at your entrance and you keen at the pressure of his thick finger trying to enter you. You huff against his mouth, trying to relax and allow his finger entry.

“’s okay, sweetheart,” he breathes against your throat as he trails wet kisses from your lips down to your shoulders. “’m not gonna hurt ya.”

You nod your head feverishly and lean backwards, changing the angle of your hips so that his finger has more access. It slips inside and your pussy clenches hard around it, not used to anything filling you so full. You cry out in pleasure as he crooks his finger against your walls with what little room he has.

“Goddamn, you’re so tight,” he huffs. “Have you not done this before?” Bucky questions you, using his free hand to pull your face back towards his so that he can kiss you once before letting you respond.

You shake your head no and cry out again as he withdraws his finger and plunges it back into you. He continues to massage your walls while he pulls his finger in and out, in and out.

“Then is this okay, baby? Do you like this?”

“Yes! Yes, Bucky! I – I love this.”

He sucks your bottom lips between his teeth and holds it there for a second before letting go. “Let me see how much you love it, Y/N. Come on, cum for me.”

“Uh, ah, I’ve never –” you half confess before stopping yourself by biting your lip and throwing your head backwards.

“You tellin’ me you’ve never let yourself orgasm, pretty girl?” he asks you. “What a tragedy,” he growls against your neck, finger still working between your legs as he slowly tries to fit another one inside you.

“Unh,” you whine in time with his finger thrusts, feeling the stretch of your hole as the slick from your core coats his hand and allows his second finger entry. You gasp at the sensation of his two thick fingers inside of you and the heel of his hand against your clit. The knot in your stomach feels as if it’s stretching as tight as it can go, pulling and straining to be undone. You work your hips in time with Bucky’s hand, trying to get him deeper inside you where your body screams for more.

“But don’t worry,” he whispers against your ear. “I’ll take care of that right now.”

Bucky’s other hand comes up and pinches your erect nippled through your shirt. The sharp sizzle of pain morphs into pleasure as he surges through your nerves and rips the knot in your core apart. Your hips freeze and your knees lock tight against Bucky’s hips, every muscle in your abdomen clenching and your walls bearing down on Bucky’s fingers.

“That’s a good girl,” he breathes. “Look at you cumming all over my hand.” His words send another blade of pleasure to your core and you squeeze his fingers tighter. “You like when I talk to you, baby?” Bucky asks. “You like when I tell you you’re a good girl?” Bucky chuckles at the realization that his words cause your pussy to work his fingers harder.

“Does my sweet, pretty girl want to cum on my cock?” He wonders, tracing a finger down the side of your face and then slipping it into your mouth. You instinctively suck on his digit, lathing your tongue around the tip. Bucky sucks in a sharp breath when you nip at his finger with one of your fangs.

“Dirty girl,” he teases as he takes his finger from your mouth. He grabs your chin and looks into your eyes again. “Will you let me fuck that tight little pussy of yours?”

You moan and nod your head. “Yes! Yes, Bucky – please!” you cry out.

With a wolfish grin, Bucky grabs the back of your thighs and holds you up as he carries you out of the living room and towards his bedroom. You notice two little pinpricks of blood where your fangs had been earlier, the skin already healing over. You lower your mouth back to Bucky’s throat and lick his skin clean. Bucky bounces you in his arms and kisses your lips forcefully as he finally arrives at his room.

He crawls with you up the bed until your head is nestled on his pillows and his body covers yours completely. The warmth of him encompasses you and his scent surrounds you where it pours from his sheets and clothing scattered around the room. Bucky’s bedroom smells just like him, like being sheltered by a grove of pine trees as the sun rises in the sky after a long, dark night.

Bucky slides his hands under your shirt and pushes it up your chest, kissing your breasts as they’re exposed. You hum at the warm, wet kisses he places on your nipples before he pulls the shirt over your head and up your arms. Next, he kisses your lips and slowly makes his way down your body, leaving a trail of warmth in the wake of his lips as he reaches the waistband of your shorts.

His fingers curl around the elastic and tug them down, down, down, your legs. Bucky sits back on his haunches, your shorts and panties dangling from the end of his fingers. You reach to cover yourself with your hands, never having had anyone look at your naked body before.

His glacier blue eyes lock onto yours and freeze you in place. Bucky shakes his head once, telling you to stop hiding yourself from him. You slowly pull your hands away, not exactly sure what to do with them now that they don’t have a purpose.

Bucky hums in content at seeing your naked body lying on his bed, wet and ready for him. He slides backwards off the bed, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. Your face heats as he whips his shirt over his head, exposing his solid chest and torso. He reaches for the button of his jeans and slowly undoes the fastenings. He watches your eyes widen when his cock springs free, finally relieved of its confinement.

You can’t take your eyes away from Bucky’s dick as it stands at attention, the pink tip weeping liquid. You quickly glance up at Bucky’s face, and see amusement flicker in his eyes.

“I don’t th-think…” you stammer.

“Oh,” Bucky rumbles. “It’ll fit.”

Bucky positions himself on top of your body again, pulling your legs apart so that he can nestle his hips between yours. You feel as his warm, hard length rests between your lower lips and up onto your mound. He’s so big that you could wrap both hands around him and there would still be leftovers. You swallow hard and look up into Bucky’s eyes as he hovers over you.

“Are you sure?”

He leans down and presses a hard kiss to your lips. “I’m sure.”

Bucky guides his tip to your entrance, coating the head with your juices. He slides it up and down your slit, notching it against your clit and sending shocks to your core. You slowly bring your knees up and wrap your feet around the small of Bucky’s back, reaching your hands to grab onto Bucky’s metal wrist where he has it placed above your head. You look into his eyes as a smile graces his lips.

“Good girl,” he praises. Your body shivers at the compliment and you smile shyly back at him. Bucky takes the head of his cock and slowly notches it into you, pausing at your gasp of air. “Relax, doll,” he says as he leans down to kiss you. You melt into the kiss, allowing your legs to relax slightly and your walls to open enough for Bucky to slide in a couple of inches.

His cock is thicker and longer than his fingers and your body is unsure what to do with so much of it inside you. You whine against Bucky’s lips, the stretch and pressure unfamiliar.

“It’s okay, baby; you can take me.”

You nod and consciously relax your pelvic floor, imaging the muscles loosening up and allowing Bucky inside. You can feel the effects immediately, Bucky’s hips closing the gap and the tip of his cock lodging deep inside you, the notched head putting pressure against a point inside you that forces all the air to leave your lungs. You suck in a sharp breath as Bucky fully sheaths himself inside you, barely believing that his entire length rests within your walls.

“That’s it, doll,” Bucky commends your efforts. “Told you you could do it.”

You smile at him earnestly, proud of yourself for taking all of him inside of you at once. He brings his flesh hand up to your face and pulls your bottom lip down with his thumb. “I’m gonna move now, okay? You ready?”

“Yes,” you breathe. Your heart pounds in your chest as Bucky slowly slides from you until he’s almost completely out. Then, in one smooth motion, he presses back inside, the head rubbing against the spot that made you lose your breath when he entered the first time. You stare into each other’s eyes as Bucky continues to rock into you, his hips meeting yours with every press forward.

You can’t help but sigh at the sweet pleasure that builds from Bucky’s measured pace. You unwind one hand from Bucky’s metal wrist and reach for his face, closing your eyes and capturing his lips in an ardent kiss. The feeling of him moving inside you is nice, the coil from earlier returning to its place inside your core.

You cry out suddenly when Bucky’s next thrust enters you with more force than his previous ones. He opens his eyes and looks down at you, seeing the heat of your cheeks spread down your neck. He smirks and slams into you again, harder. Your eyes widen and your breath rushes out with the thrusts, your walls constricting around him with the repeated motion.

“You like that?” he questions, thrusting hard into you again. You gasp when he picks up speed and force, slamming into you over and over again. “I said: do you like that? Answer me.”

“Uh”-thrust-“huh”-thrust- you answer, your affirmation being knocked out of you as Bucky slams into your core. The rapid, harsh thrusts have the ridges and veins of Bucky’s cock sliding against your walls, and you can feel every single one of them tightening the coil inside of you until it is stretched tight once again. Bucky continues to thrust, taking you higher and higher and higher until there’s no room left inside of you that your emotions seep from your eyes, your pink-tinged tears from pleasure rather than pain this time.

You gasp for breath repeatedly, listening to the wet sounds of Bucky thrusting in and out of you, the moans and muttered praises falling from his lips.

“So good for me.”

“You take me so well.”

“Look at you, crying over my cock because it’s making a mess of your sweet little cunt.”

The praise sends you soaring, you can’t help but whimper and sob into Bucky’s mouth as he keeps his face close to yours, making sure that you like everything he does to your body, monitoring your cries of pleasure to make sure he’s doing the best he can.

The coil begins to fray and snap. You begin to tense up, the sensations becoming too much.

“I think,” you moan, “I’m gonna…!”

Before your body completely lets go, you feel Bucky snarl into your neck and bite down hard with his incisors. You feel a flood of endorphins rush from Bucky’s mouth and travel through your body, pooling in your core and lighting the coil on fire. You cum hard on Bucky’s cock, liquid gushing from you. Your mind goes completely blank as your body shudders and shakes against Bucky’s, your pussy sucking him in as if it will never let him go. Buck retracts his teeth from the mark on your neck, licking his tongue over the puncture wounds.

“Oh, fuck yes, baby girl. Look what I did to you – no one else will ever make you squirt like I do. No one will ever touch you. You’re mine, baby. No one else’s. I’m never letting you go.”

You stare down in enraptured surprise as you feel Bucky’s cock suddenly swelling inside you, locking him in place. He’s buried to the hilt and you feel a bulging just inside your entrance, preventing him from thrusting any more. Bucky groans loudly in your ear and you feel warmth and extra pressure against your walls, filling you to the brim with Bucky’s cum.

Bucky leans down and nuzzles into your neck, placing tired kisses against where he’d bitten you. “Mine,” he growls. “Say it. Tell me you’re mine,” he commands.

Your eyes drift closed as the after effects of your orgasms and Bucky’s mark leave you breathless and blissed out. “Yours,” you murmur. “Always.”

Bucky flips you both over, his knot keeping you firmly locked together, unable to separate even if you wanted to (which you don’t). He lays you gently on his chest and holds your face in both of his hands. He wants you to look at him, but your eyes are so heavy that you can barely lift them.

You hear Bucky’s low voice as you drift off to sleep, but the words don’t make any sense.

“My mate.”

***

Your eyes snap open at the feel of soft lips against your forehead, then your nose, then eyelids and cheeks, and finally against your own lips.

You pull away immediately, hands covering your mouth in absolute horror. The previous night comes rushing back to you when you sense the heaviness of a mark on your neck and the aching pulse between your legs. Bucky looks up from where he lays beneath you, his expression turning puzzled and then quickly alarmed at your words.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I didn’t mean to. I can’t believe –” you gasp out, placing your hands over your entire face and scrambling away in embarrassment. “I don’t know what came over me. I told you. I’ve never done that before, I didn’t know that would happen. I – I must have hypnotized you or something!” you cry out. “I didn’t know that was something I could do! I'm so sorry. I never should have –”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he calls, rushing to sit up and pull your hands away from your face, tilting your chin up until you’re looking at him. There’s a tender look on his face that you’ve never seen before, as if he’s dropped all of his walls with you. Your heart shatters at the realization that you’ve made him do things he never wanted to.

His eyes soften, almost as if he could understand your thoughts just by looking into your eyes. He tries to get you to calm down, to regulate your breathing by taking in deep breaths of his own, but you’re too full of anxiety and self-loathing for it to work.

“It’s okay,” he consoles you. “We didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do.”

“How is that possible?” you sob helplessly, trying your best to divert your gaze from his. “You don’t even like me. You’ve never liked me and especially not after I became a vampire. I mean, you’re a werewolf! You hate me. You couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as me for a year.”

“Shhh,” Bucky soothes. “When did I ever say I hated you?”

Your brows furrow in confusion, your breaths continuing to heave in and out of your chest, but your heart somehow calms of its own accord. You feel its beat echoing around you and you realize that Bucky’s heartbeat is working to calm yours, his eyes peering into your own while his hands rub up and down your arms in a soothing motion. “I – we’re enemies,” you say quietly. “Vampires and werewolves have always hated each other.”

“Do you hate me?” he questions, turning your face so that you’re looking at him once again.

You hesitate for a moment before shaking your head softly. “No.”

“And I don’t hate you,” he states, raising a hand and softly stroking your hair.

“But you…?” You try to make sense of what Bucky’s saying. “You can’t stand me. You avoided me after – after I…”

“Because I didn’t want to scare you,” Bucky murmurs. “I knew that if I was around you, I would do something I would regret.”

“...like kill me?” you wonder.

Bucky’s lip quirk into a small smile and he chuckles at your question. “No, Y/N. Not kill you.”

“Then what…?”

“After you were turned,” Bucky begins. He pulls his hand from you and clasps your hands within his, gently stroking your skin with his thumbs. You watch, entranced, as his fingers move over your skin. “I realized something as soon as I walked into your room in the med bay and scented you for the first time.” He tugs on your hands until you look up into his face. He smiles softly down at you with a look of pure adoration and love. “You’re my mate, Y/N.”

You stare at him in confusion. There’s no way – that’s not possible. “How… How is that possible? Are you sure I didn’t hypnotize you into thinking that?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and laughs. “You didn’t hypnotize me – that’s not real, and you know it.” He moves one hand to your throat, where he caresses his bite mark on your skin with his thumb. “I don’t know how it happened or why the universe saw fit to bind us together, but it did.” Bucky bends his head and smiles ruefully at you as he continues. “I knew you were going to be special to me the first time we ever met, but you were so quiet and you avoided me like the plague, so I thought you were afraid of me.”

You feel the anguish coming from Bucky as he thinks back on how you treated him these last couple of years. How your inability to meet his eyes or hold a conversation with him led him to believe that you were frightened to be near him, frightened of him.

You pull your knees to your chest and rest your chin on your folded arms. You glance away and say softly, “I’m… I’m not good with people. Sometimes it’s okay, but others… it’s like I forget how to talk to people.” You flicker your eyes to his quickly, but look away just as fast. You raise your fingers to your lips and rub back and forth, a nervous habit you’ve had for years. “If…if I… like someone. It makes it worse.”

“And that’s why you wouldn’t talk to me?” Bucky questions, pulling your hand from your mouth and placing a kiss on the center of your palm.Your face flushes and a small smile flits to your face. You nod your head while looking down at your knees.

“Well,” he says, “I like you,too.” You raise your eyes to see a smile lighting up his face and brightening his eyes. “I always have.”

“You do?” you ask, checking to be sure that Bucky isn’t just saying these things because you slept together after feeding from him. “It’s not because of what I did last night?”

“No, sugar,” he replies. “I’ve wanted to be with you this whole time.” You watch his eyes scan your face, watching your reactions and feeling your emotions through your new bond. “Do you want to be with me? I wasn’t going to mark you without asking first, but my instincts wouldn’t allow you to be so close without claiming you.”

You shyly pull your hair over your shoulder where Bucky’s mark resides. You worry a strand between your hands and look up into his eyes. “I… I like it,” you confess, feeling your heart beat faster in your chest at your bold words.

“Good,” Bucky states. He leans into you and brushes your hair back away from your shoulder, exposing your mark and placing a tender peck against the raised edges. “Because you’re mine.”

You nod and tilt your head to the side, allowing Bucky to trail his lips up and down your throat before he makes his way to your lips. He kisses you deeply, his tongue sliding into your mouth and meeting with yours. You hum and unfurl your body, climbing into his lap as his hands guide you into straddling his waist.

“I’m yours,” you agree.

“And I’m yours,” he echoes.

________________________________________

So I didn't have time to make the part 2 I was thinking about for this, but it was never a direct continuation anyway.

Hope you enjoyed! 🎃

#kinktober #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #smut #bucky barnes fic

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maopll · 4 months

Note

Merry (early) Christmas! May I request Kaeya, Childe, Ayato, Neuvillette, and Wriothesley finding their s/o, who gets cold easily, wearing their jacket/coat?

Warm me up

# genshin impact !

⌗:, a/n: sorry for being away for a MONTH i was so stressed out from school... T-T and I AGAIN did add a lil bit spice for wrio. I can't stop myself.

⌗:, pairings: kaeya, childe, ayato, neuvillette & wriothesley w/ gn!reader

⌗:, extra: happy late Christmas I couldn't finish it because I was worn out </3

˗ˏˋ ꒰ KAEYA ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Its a little secret that none knows about. The coat he wears and what you wear on cold wintry days are his as well. It's quite noticeable but according to him, "Nobody's gonna know!". He goes crazy whenever he sees you wear his big coat. It makes you look so cozy...and soft...like a warm fireplace in winter morning which always have a welcoming feel to them.

The trip to Dragonspine was, as usual, extremely cold. The fire that Kaeya made from the dry firewood wasn't enough to keep you warm. "You want me to make the fire more big? I can find some more dry wood for you" He asked voice laced with concern. You knew that no matter how big the fire or enormous layers of cloth, you won't be able to keep yourself warm...unless Kaeya offers you his comfortably warm chest...and hands too.

As if able to understand your gaze since your shivering form really gave it away, he walked up and sat behind you. He wrapped his arm around your body gently and said, "Lay on me. It'll help you keep warm" you relaxed your body and brought your knees closer to yourself and making yourself feel at home. You heaved a sigh of relief as if you've finally been able to stop the piercing cold wind from affecting you any further. "Thank you Kaeya" he smiled at you, "As long as you're comfortable". He sealed the conversation with a kiss upon your forehead.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ CHILDE ꒱ ˎˊ˗

He has been born and brought up in Snezhnaya. A nation with only snowy landscape all around. Naturally he was quite well adjusted himself to the cold atmosphere of any place that you visit. While he should be having big long coats in such a dry and chilly climate, he refuses to wear it because, "You can't get this cold anywhere else! it's a test of courage!".

You had a cup of hot chocolate on your hand as you flipped through the pages of the book. The big bear blanket and the brightly lit fireplace did make you warm but not enough. You shivered "Brr...its really cold if only he was at home..." during the coldest of days you ache for his comforting presence and his big warm arms enveloping your body as you two cuddle in the plush couch often times drifting off to sleep unknowingly. You missed him so much that you quickly sprinted towards his closet and grabbed the biggest jacket of his. You scurried inside the multiple blankets and drew his big fluffy jacket around you. His familiar scent filled your senses. He smelled like the ocean, no matter how faint the scent was, it was refreshing.

....the door of the room opened, and the wooden floor dreaked beneath his boot-like-shoes. "Babe?" he quietly asked, hoping to receive an answer, but as soon as he was about to go find you, he saw you laying comfortably on your stomach with his big jacket enveloping you as you softly snored. He felt himself falling for you adorable antics all over again. He slowly picked you up in his arms and carried you to bed. He murmered, "Sweet dreams, sweetheart..." with a kiss.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ AYATO ꒱ ˎˊ˗

The ocean breeze can get quite chilly right? With the layers of clothes you had on you, the coat was barely enough to even keep the piercing cold win from making you whole body numb. Sure, you acted impulsively and decided to sit down near the railing. You started off into the vast ocean. Ayato wasn't here most of the time and your time of respite to soothe your heart from missing him. "He's taking care of matters....he will come back soon..." you mumbled and hugged your knees close.

You felt an already warm blanket being draped around your figure from the back. Looking at the delicate fabric and the seam's design you turned your head back a little too quickly. There he was...the one who you waited so long for...He chuckled softly seeing your bewildered face. "You'll catch a cold if you sit here in the cold like this with barely enough layers dearest" He kept his hand on your shoulder blades gently. "Ayato...I thought you'll come..." "Let's say I did a few little things here and there which allowed me to spend some more time."

You smiled at him sweetly and got down from thr railing. You intertwined your hands with his and with a peck on his cheek, " I missed you so much..."

˗ˏˋ ꒰ NEUVILLETTE ꒱ ˎˊ˗

"Not done yeeetttt?...." you slumped on the couch as you waited even longer for him.

With a chuckle, he said, "It's almost done... just a little bit longer, dear." Then soon he went to work and correct the piles of paperwork. He has been avoiding them for quite a while now, and it had to be done one day. He may be the cold and formal Iudex of Fontaine, but even he loses the grip on his stoic personality whenever he's with you.

The evenings are quite cold in Fontaine, and he saw how you tried to warm up your arms. You didn't want to disturb him since his pending work's deadline was tomorrow in the afternoon.

While you were busy staring into space, he wrapped his coat around you. "Hm? Suddenly?"

"I saw how you were trying to warm yourself up and I apologise. I can't be the one to warm you up but I hope my coat suffices?" He said chuckling, a hint of blush on his fair cheeks. You grinned from ear to ear, "It's quite enough Neuvi, thanks for caring about me so much" you cupped his cheeks gently with your hands.

"I love you" you said as you touched his forehead with yours. A sign of the utmost affection for one who is the Hydro Dragon Sovereign.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ WRIOTHESLEY ꒱ ˎˊ˗

"Sigh... I know it's cold, but that's no reason for you to stay under the covers... it's 9 pm, now how long do you plan to do it?"

Concern lacing his voice as he saw how you tried your best to warm up your feet with whatever you could find. "It's too cold and I can't keep bothering you for so long, you've got work to do" you tried to sound as if you were alright but in reality, fighting the cold was really taking out all your strength from you.

"Wait—" you felt the covers being lifted from your head. He swiftly carried you on his arms and ploped you on the plush couch. Upon inspecting your surroundings, you saw how he had prepared everything from A to Z... there was a warm tea, leg warmers and special fur on the couch, which was especially sold during winter and the fireplace. "Wriothesley? You prepared all this for me?" You spoke bewildered.

"Yes. All the things that will keep my beloved warm and happy while I'm unfortunately working, " he spoke gently, holding your hands. "Wow...looks like I won the lottery when I received a boyfriend," you said while ruffling his soft hair.

"It's good thank you... but" you smirked maybe something other than this can keep me more warm?" "What are you imply?— Oh...I see" he chuckled on realising your intention.

He slithered his hands on your thighs and seductively said, "I don't mind that warm treat on such a cold day"

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ahaura · 6 months

Text

Title & subtitle:

[Nov. 21] The Harvard Law Review Refused to Run This Piece About Genocide in Gaza: The piece was nearing publication when the journal decided against publishing it. You can read the article here.

Article text:

On Saturday, the board of the Harvard Law Review voted not to publish “The Ongoing Nakba: Towards a Legal Framework for Palestine,” a piece by Rabea Eghbariah, a human rights attorney completing his doctoral studies at Harvard Law School. The vote followed what an editor at the law reviewdescribed in an e-mail to Eghbariah as “an unprecedented decision” by the leadership of the Harvard Law Review to prevent the piece’s publication.

Eghbariah told The Nation that the piece, which was intended for the HLR Blog, had been solicited by two of the journal’s online editors. It would have been the first piece written by a Palestinian scholar for the law review. The piece went through several rounds of edits, but before it was set to be published, the president stepped in. “The discussion did not involve any substantive or technical aspects of your piece,” online editor Tascha Shahriari-Parsa, wrote Eghbariah in an e-mail shared with The Nation. “Rather, the discussion revolved around concerns about editors who might oppose or be offended by the piece, as well as concerns that the piece might provoke a reaction from members of the public who might in turn harass, dox, or otherwise attempt to intimidate our editors, staff, and HLR leadership.”

On Saturday, following several days of debate and a nearly six-hour meeting, the Harvard Law Review’s full editorial body came together to vote on whether to publish the article. Sixty-three percent voted against publication. In an e-mail to Egbariah, HLR President Apsara Iyer wrote, “While this decision may reflect several factors specific to individual editors, it was not brd on your identity or viewpoint.”

In a statement that was shared with The Nation, a group of 25 HLR editors expressed their concerns about the decision. “At a time when the Law Review was facing a public intimidation and harassment campaign, the journal’s leadership intervened to stop publication,” they wrote. “The body of editors—none of whom are Palestinian—voted to sustain that decision. We are unaware of any other solicited piece that has been revoked by the Law Review in this way. “

When asked for comment, the leadership of the Harvard Law Review referred The Nation to a message posted on the journal’s website. “Like every academic journal, the Harvard Law Review has rigorous editorial processes governing how it solicits, evaluates, and determines when and whether to publish a piece…” the note began. ”Last week, the full body met and deliberated over whether to publish a particular Blog piece that had been solicited by two editors. A substantial majority voted not to proceed with publication.”

Today, The Nation is sharing the piece that the Harvard Law Review refused to run.

enocide is a crime. It is a legal framework. It is unfolding in Gaza. And yet, the inertia of legal academia, especially in the United States, has been chilling. Clearly, it is much easier to dissect the case law rather than navigate the reality of death. It is much easier to consider genocide in the past tense rather than contend with it in the present. Legal scholars tend to sharpen their pens after the smell of death has dissipated and moral clarity is no longer urgent.

Some may claim that the invocation of genocide, especially in Gaza, is fraught. But does one have to wait for a genocide to be successfully completed to name it? This logic contributes to the politics of denial. When it comes to Gaza, there is a sense of moral hypocrisy that undergirds Western epistemological approaches, one which mutes the ability to name the violence inflicted upon Palestinians. But naming injustice is crucial to claiming justice. If the international community takes its crimes seriously, then the discussion about the unfolding genocide in Gaza is not a matter of mere semantics.

The UN Genocide Convention defines the crime of genocide as certain acts “committed with the intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group, as such.” These acts include “killing members of a protected group” or “causing serious bodily or mental harm” or “deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part.”

Numerous statements made by top Israeli politicians affirm their intentions. There is a forming consensus among leading scholars in the field of genocide studies that “these statements could easily be construed as indicating a genocidal intent,” as Omer Bartov, an authority in the field, writes. More importantly, genocide is the material reality of Palestinians in Gaza: an entrapped, displaced, starved, water-deprived population of 2.3 million facing massive bombardments and a carnage in one of the most densely populated areas in the world. Over 11,000 people have already been killed. That is one person out of every 200 people in Gaza. Tens of thousands are injured, and over 45% of homes in Gaza have been destroyed. The United Nations Secretary General said that Gaza is becoming a “graveyard for children,” but a cessation of the carnage—a ceasefire—remains elusive. Israel continues to blatantly violate international law: dropping white phosphorus from the sky, dispersing death in all directions, shedding blood, shelling neighborhoods, striking schools, hospitals, and universities, bombing churches and mosques, wiping out families, and ethnically cleansing an entire region in both callous and systemic manner. What do you call this?

The Center for Constitutional Rights issued a thorough, 44-page, factual and legal analysis, asserting that “there is a plausible and credible case that Israel is committing genocide against the Palestinian population in Gaza.” Raz Segal, a historian of the Holocaust and genocide studies, calls the situation in Gaza “a textbook case of Genocide unfolding in front of our eyes.” The inaugural chief prosecutor of the International Criminal Court, Luis Moreno Ocampo, notes that “Just the blockade of Gaza—just that—could be genocide under Article 2(c) of the Genocide Convention, meaning they are creating conditions to destroy a group.” A group of over 800 academics and practitioners, including leading scholars in the fields of international law and genocide studies, warn of “a serious risk of genocide being committed in the Gaza Strip.” A group of seven UN Special Rapporteurs has alerted to the “risk of genocide against the Palestinian people” and reiterated that they “remain convinced that the Palestinian people are at grave risk of genocide.” Thirty-six UN experts now call the situation in Gaza “a genocide in the making.” How many other authorities should I cite? How many hyperlinks are enough?

And yet, leading law schools and legal scholars in the United States still fashion their silence as impartiality and their denial as nuance. Is genocide really the crime of all crimes if it is committed by Western allies against non-Western people?

This is the most important question that Palestine continues to pose to the international legal order. Palestine brings to legal analysis an unmasking force: It unveils and reminds us of the ongoing colonial condition that underpins Western legal institutions. In Palestine, there are two categories: mournable civilians and savage human-animals. Palestine helps us rediscover that these categories remain racialized along colonial lines in the 21st century: the first is reserved for Israelis, the latter for Palestinians. As Isaac Herzog, Israel’s supposed liberal President, asserts: “It’s an entire nation out there that is responsible. This rhetoric about civilians not aware, not involved, it’s absolutely not true.”

Palestinians simply cannot be innocent. They are innately guilty; potential “terrorists” to be “neutralized” or, at best, “human shields” obliterated as “collateral damage”. There is no number of Palestinian bodies that can move Western governments and institutions to “unequivocally condemn” Israel, let alone act in the present tense. When contrasted with Jewish-Israeli life—the ultimate victims of European genocidal ideologies—Palestinians stand no chance at humanization. Palestinians are rendered the contemporary “savages” of the international legal order, and Palestine becomes the frontier where the West redraws its discourse of civility and strips its domination in the most material way. Palestine is where genocide can be performed as a fight of “the civilized world” against the “enemies of civilization itself.” Indeed, a fight between the “children of light” versus the “children of darkness.”

The genocidal war waged against the people of Gaza since Hamas’s excruciating October 7th attacks against Israelis—attacks which amount to war crimes—has been the deadliest manifestation of Israeli colonial policies against Palestinians in decades. Some have long ago analyzed Israeli policies in Palestine through the lens of genocide. While the term genocide may have its own limitations to describe the Palestinian past, the Palestinian present was clearly preceded by a “politicide”: the extermination of the Palestinian body politic in Palestine, namely, the systematic eradication of the Palestinian ability to maintain an organized political community as a group.

This process of erasure has spanned over a hundred years through a combination of massacres, ethnic cleansing, dispossession, and the fragmentation of the remaining Palestinians into distinctive legal tiers with diverging material interests. Despite the partial success of this politicide—and the continued prevention of a political body that represents all Palestinians—the Palestinian political identity has endured. Across the besieged Gaza Strip, the occupied West Bank, Jerusalem, Israel’s 1948 territories, refugee camps, and diasporic communities, Palestinian nationalism lives.

What do we call this condition? How do we name this collective existence under a system of forced fragmentation and cruel domination? The human rights community has largely adopted a combination of occupation and apartheid to understand the situation in Palestine. Apartheid is a crime. It is a legal framework. It is committed in Palestine. And even though there is a consensus among the human rights community that Israel is perpetrating apartheid, the refusal of Western governments to come to terms with this material reality of Palestinians is revealing.

Once again, Palestine brings a special uncovering force to the discourse. It reveals how otherwise credible institutions, such as Amnesty International or Human Rights Watch, are no longer to be trusted. It shows how facts become disputable in a Trumpist fashion by liberals such as President Biden. Palestine allows us to see the line that bifurcates the binaries (e.g. trusted/untrusted) as much as it underscores the collapse of dichotomies (e.g. democrat/republican or fact/claim). It is in this liminal space that Palestine exists and continues to defy the distinction itself. It is the exception that reveals the rule and the subtext that is, in fact, the text: Palestine is the most vivid manifestation of the colonial condition upheld in the 21st century.

hat do you call this ongoing colonial condition? Just as the Holocaust introduced the term “Genocide” into the global and legal consciousness, the South African experience brought “Apartheid” into the global and legal lexicon. It is due to the work and sacrifice of far too many lives that genocide and apartheid have globalized, transcending these historical calamities. These terms became legal frameworks, crimes enshrined in international law, with the hope that their recognition will prevent their repetition. But in the process of abstraction, globalization, and readaptation, something was lost. Is it the affinity between the particular experience and the universalized abstraction of the crime that makes Palestine resistant to existing definitions?

Scholars have increasingly turned to settler-colonialism as the lens through which we assess Palestine. Settler-colonialism is a structure of erasure where the settler displaces and replaces the native. And while settler-colonialism, genocide, and apartheid are clearly not mutually exclusive, their ability to capture the material reality of Palestinians remains elusive. South Africa is a particular case of settler-colonialism. So are Israel, the United States, Australia, Canada, Algeria, and more. The framework of settler colonialism is both useful and insufficient. It does not provide meaningful ways to understand the nuance between these different historical processes and does not necessitate a particular outcome. Some settler colonial cases have been incredibly normalized at the expense of a completed genocide. Others have led to radically different end solutions. Palestine both fulfills and defies the settler-colonial condition.

We must consider Palestine through the iterations of Palestinians. If the Holocaust is the paradigmatic case for the crime of genocide and South Africa for that of apartheid, then the crime against the Palestinian people must be called the Nakba.

The term Nakba, meaning “Catastrophe,” is often used to refer to the making of the State of Israel in Palestine, a process that entailed the ethnic cleansing of over 750,000 Palestinians from their homes and destroying 531 Palestinian villages between 1947 to 1949. But the Nakba has never ceased; it is a structure not an event. Put shortly, the Nakba is ongoing.

In its most abstract form, the Nakba is a structure that serves to erase the group dynamic: the attempt to incapacitate the Palestinians from exercising their political will as a group. It is the continuous collusion of states and systems to exclude the Palestinians from materializing their right to self-determination. In its most material form, the Nakba is each Palestinian killed or injured, each Palestinian imprisoned or otherwise subjugated, and each Palestinian dispossessed or exiled.

The Nakba is both the material reality and the epistemic framework to understand the crimes committed against the Palestinian people. And these crimes—encapsulated in the framework of Nakba—are the result of the political ideology of Zionism, an ideology that originated in late nineteenth century Europe in response to the notions of nationalism, colonialism, and antisemitism.

As Edward Said reminds us, Zionism must be assessed from the standpoint of its victims, not its beneficiaries. Zionism can be simultaneously understood as a national movement for some Jews and a colonial project for Palestinians. The making of Israel in Palestine took the form of consolidating Jewish national life at the expense of shattering a Palestinian one. For those displaced, misplaced, bombed, and dispossessed, Zionism is never a story of Jewish emancipation; it is a story of Palestinian subjugation.

What is distinctive about the Nakba is that it has extended through the turn of the 21st century and evolved into a sophisticated system of domination that has fragmented and reorganized Palestinians into different legal categories, with each category subject to a distinctive type of violence. Fragmentation thus became the legal technology underlying the ongoing Nakba. The Nakba has encompassed both apartheid and genocidal violence in a way that makes it fulfill these legal definitions at various points in time while still evading their particular historical frames.

Palestinians have named and theorized the Nakba even in the face of persecution, erasure, and denial. This work has to continue in the legal domain. Gaza has reminded us that the Nakba is now. There are recurringthreats by Israeli politicians and other public figures to commit the crime of the Nakba, again. If Israeli politicians are admitting the Nakba in order to perpetuate it, the time has come for the world to also reckon with the Palestinian experience. The Nakba must globalize for it to end.

We must imagine that one day there will be a recognized crime of committing a Nakba, and a disapprobation of Zionism as an ideology brd on racial elimination. The road to get there remains long and challenging, but we do not have the privilege to relinquish any legal tools available to name the crimes against the Palestinian people in the present and attempt to stop them. The denial of the genocide in Gaza is rooted in the denial of the Nakba. And both must end, now.

#palestine #uspol #the nation #geopol #long post #the article is paywalled so here it is for ease of access #📁.zip

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coralinnii · 4 months

Note

Is it alright if I request Ruggie, Deuce, Trey and Cater helping fem!reader with her period?

‧₊˚✧ To share our joys and abdominal pain ‧₊˚✧

↳ Helping fem!reader going through periods

feat: Ruggie ❋ Deuce ❋ Trey ❋ Cater genre: fluff, humor note: no pronouns were used for reader (I just ended up not using any), symptoms of periods vary in stories to match the reality of different experiences in real life,

Fun fact, some of the scenarios in this post were inspired by real life experiences between me and my male friends. I missed those idiots, but now they’re somewhat smarter now. Me and my friends called it “the shining” cuz of the famous elevator scene xD

2.7K Followers Writing Event 2023

Not gonna lie, he might be a little afraid of you whenever the time of the month comes around.

Coming from a nation where women are revered as strong and aggressive as well as coming from a woman-dominated culture, Ruggie had learned an important lesson in not pissing anyone off when their body is going through what could be described as hell, blood included.

Whether your symptoms are more tolerable or excruciating, it was still a surprise to suddenly see your nervous boyfriend carrying a gift basket with essentials like a peace offering of sorts. Appreciative, but a surprise nonetheless.

It was also a surprise to see that Ruggie had built a little fort for you filled with fluffy blankets and pillows. Ruggie can’t imagine how painful cramps can get but if you need to curl yourself, he rather you have somewhere comfy and warm to do so.

No one tell him he just essentially built a nest for his partner. He already knows.

Once you enter his nest fort, you’ll never leave. Not because you can’t but rather you never needed to. Anything you needed or had a craving for, the observant hyena caught on and was quick to make your wishes come true.

Under his fears, he watches over you in worried awe as you brave through your pain the best you can. He always had respect for anyone who has to go through the day in so much pain but when you smiled at him so sweetly as you thanked him for bringing you some painkillers, his heart bleeds.

Whether he has to run 10 miles to get you something with his money or just to rub small circles on your stomach to ease the cramps, he’s willing to do any work to make you a little better.

"You hungry? I can whip up something good in the kitchen if you're hankerin' for something sweet. Leona'll understand me goin' missing for a while. Afterall, I gotta stay when my babe needs me. Shyeheehee~"

He was panicking so much, it’s almost comical.

This lovable dummy won’t know what’s going on with you and simply you were sick or unhappy with him given how easily irritated and queasy you were throughout the first day. It was until you flat out told him that he finally put two and two together.

“oh…Oh…OH SHI-!”

He wants to help so much but the former delinquent has no clue on anything regarding the female anatomy. He tried looking up some helpful advice but unfortunately he only got more confused because it’s the fricking internet.

“Deuce, what are you doing?”

“Protecting you. I read that bears and sharks can smell you and they’ll attack you!”

Thankfully, a call with his mom sent him in a better direction. The embarrassing flush of red of his cheeks was a cute contrast to his blue hair and eyes.

With guidance and some trial-and-error, Deuce was trying his darndest in helping you throughout these hellish days. Even if you’re the type to rather handle things yourself, it was nice to have someone by your side even if you get more irritable than usual.

Like when a particularly bad wave of cramps suddenly hit you in the middle of the day.

The excruciating twisting and stabbing feeling in your abdomen brought you close to tears as you gritted your teeth to bear the pain. With swirling feelings of nausea and anger clouding your senses, your fight-or-flight senses kicked in as you growled out for people not to touch you in such a sensitive state.

Almost everyone cowered at your seething words, except for Deuce. Instead, he wordlessly scooped you up in his arms and quickly made his way to the infirmary, only opening his mouth to apologize as you punched and yelled at him while in pain.

It wasn’t until he finally laid you down onto the comforting bed of the infirmary that you apologized for your harsh behaviour, but the blue-haired freshman only grinned at you, fist to his chest like a show of confidence.

“I may be an idiot, but I’m pretty strong and can take a punch. I’m gonna be right here if you ever need anything.”

One of the more level-headed students on campus, he wasn’t too panicked when you told him when your monthly visitor came around.

Being someone with a younger sister, Trey at least has some basic understanding of what could happen during this time.

Since it shouldn’t be anyone’s business but your own, he kept your predicament discrete for your privacy. If anyone in Heartslabyul did take notice and made any demeaning comments about it, they had a sudden flux of kitchen clean up duty because “since they happen to be so free to talk about someone else’s pain, they can do some good around the dorm.”

He would take over your Grim duties during the first few hellish days, keeping your rambunctious dormmate distracted when he noticed that you’re not quite in the best mind or body to watch over him.

If you don’t specifically tell him though, he may go a little overboard with taking care of you. Trey is the type to be over prepared with everything and anything that involves you. Of course, he’ll bake you some of your favourite treats but he would also refill your hot bottle, remind you constantly to stay hydrated, and gently force you to lay down if you get migraines.

Trey is a sweetheart through and through, ready to help with anything if it would turn your pain from a 100 to even a 99. Even if all you ask is for him to caress your head as you rest before he leaves, he’s sure he could probably talk his way out of his vice housewarden duties for the day, just to stay with you through it all.

“Are you awake? You should have something sweet to eat to ease the cramps. Ha ha, don’t be shy. What would you like me to make?"

None of this is new to him. He grew up with two older sisters for Seven’s sake, he understands and sees the sh*t the body goes through every month. He could watch you wreck an entire room or cry for hours on end and just go “hmm, valid.”

He’ll still act like his typical fun and flirty self. Even when he had a feeling you were on your period, he doesn’t pry or hint his suspicion unless you told him yourself. He knew it wasn’t his place to comment on anything.

If you do tell him, he will try his best to make you feel the best through this painful ride of hormones. He just doesn’t wanna make you feel like you’re getting unwanted attention during all of this.

The two of you would have sleepovers whenever you feel too tired or if your body feels too sore to move. If you’re prone to bad breakouts during periods and feeling unattractive, Cater would dispel your worries by making you feel so beautiful, leaving sweet kisses on your face as he’s pampering your aching body.

Despite what people may think of his attention-seeking tendencies, Cater’s very intuitive and works to make you feel good throughout the monthly changes. Never is he the type to make you feel bad or burdensome for your unpredictable needs and aches.

For you, the outgoing junior could spend the day away chatting about anything and everything just to distract you from the mood swings. If you feel too tired to talk, Cater would happily lend you his shoulder to rest on while the two of you bundle together under a warm blanket and watch cute animal videos on his phone.

“Don’t worry, your Cay-Cay is here for you, cutie~! Just relax and take care of your totes fab self, ‘kay?

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majeoeje · 2 months

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Counting days

Zuko x reader

I hope you never know how much i cried that day

"Just how long has it been??" You giggled as you twirled Zuko around in your arms. Something you had promised to do three years ago as you bid him goodbye.

Well much to his dismay at least.

"Only 3 years, 5 months and 4 days" he said, you could only laugh in response because you weren't actually expecting a definite answer

Zuko looked embarassed not knowing if he gave the right answer, his awkward demeanor still holds up even to this day making an odd sense of comfort wash over you seeing how some parts of him still remains the same.

You guessed it was 3 years, 2 months and 4 days ago that you bid him goodbye. It was before he set sail for his banishment to a search for the avatar, like it was just another short adventure, you smiled and greet him like it was just an ordinary day at the palace. Like it will be a short trip he'll have to endure not for long. How awfully positive you were being gave him a sense of hope that the nightmare he will go through would eventually come to an end.

Your encouragement only fueled the ambition in his heart to burn brighter.

And the light would dim in your eyes watching him go. He may not see himself as talented or gifted. He told you that hard work and effort had made him strong. Though he fails to notice how he was always your light without even trying.

You wished you yourself believed your own words you said to him.

Because much to his knowledge you broke down only minutes after he left.

"Well it felt longer than that..."

You reminiced, trying to take in the moment. You're here on a mission once again in inner rings of Ba Sing Se when you saw him. You thought you were hallucinating again but upon closer inspection, you were right.

It is him.

Zuko. The banished prince of the fire nation. The fugitive. The honorless coward...

...

..Your best friend.

The sentimentality of this moment bear weight heavier than you could ever hold. Though he knows you'd never admit that

"Really? Lee? You can't be more creative than that?" you try to tease him once more

"So? There's thousands of Lees here in Ba Sing Se"

"You look more like a Chen to me"

"Well you're 4 weeks too late to tell me that" he rolled his eyes, looking away slightly. But not enough to hide the smile that had adorned his face

It was more than meaningful to see him smile once more.

You thought after being scarred so horribly by his father. It would took you mountains of blood sweat and tears to see the corners of his lips turn upwards once more. But Zuko always proves you wrong

Because what you didn't realize and never would, you could always make him smile with just existing.

The chilling air blowed past the two of you, signalling for him to bring you somewhere else.

He took your hand leading you somewhere

"Come on, you have to meet uncle now that you're here"

"Did you and uncle Iroh actually opened a teashop??" You perked up, curious at the smell of jasmine tea that lingered from Zuko's apron.

You could always tell that it was one of uncle Iroh's dream to open his own teashop seeing how critical he always of every cup of tea you served to him. Saying how "every tea is to be brewed with perfection" Making those tea lectures that he would go on about much more yawning. But still, you always appreciate it knowing how those tea brewing lessons were how he kept you company in your visits everytime zuko's not around.

"I don't think it's that surprising"

Zuko then went on a rant on how some men who came in their previous workplace just started offering a job, a building AND an apartment in the inner rings of Ba Sing Se to uncle Iroh

The whole situation would only bring you to giggle at how silly it was. Silly, but a blessing nonetheless.

One thing of note was something has tremondously changed in Zuko, was it his more positive outlook? Or was it his more carefree demeanor. Lacking of the boiling desire to prove himself. Perhaps he has truly let go the way of only pleasing his father and just live?

It does bring contentment. But you can't help but feel sorrow washing you away. Because now you guessed he won't feel the need to come back. Come back home to his country....His rightful place as the heir to the thrown.....His coldblooded father.....His dead silent home...

Or perhaps you just wanted him to come back to you.

You were remembered the days at the palace where he'd eagerly lead you to take a look at something he had took intrest to. Whether it was baby turtleducks, a new gift by uncle Iroh or even a new firebending move he learnt.

"Heyyyy, slow down!" You'd whine, feeling him tug at your hand as he ran

"Come on! We're almost there." He'd say, you were always a little out of breath trying to catch up to him as his grip on your hand never faltered.

These detour wouldn't last long however knowing how people would look for him, cutting your moments short. But you never minded. No mattrr how frequent or how short these little quest last. You were just so happy being with him.

Though as you grew up you noticed these little detour would only lessen as years passed. It was understandable really you two were growing up after all and it wouldn't be appropriate for the prince of the fire nation to be holding hands with his childhood friend to show them daily mundane things.

And you yourself were far too prideful to ask him to do it again so you cherish the memories you already had in your heart.

Still.. you never thought you'd miss how the warm skin of his palm would brush again yours. The question along the lines of 'how long has it been' would echo once more in your head, feeling how rough his hand were now....Different to the smooth small hands of little Zuko.

But the warmth still remained the same.

You bit your lip and stayed silent hoping he doesn't notice the tears that was pooling in your eyes, blurring your vision as you heard him rant about his uncle's new teashop filling in the silence.

The cold air of the inner ring of Ba Sing Se suddenly felt warmer. The illuminated night was engulfed in a glaze of sunset hues as your steps on the concrete streets of Ba Sing Se would ring a sound akin to a smooth tiled floor

It was as if you were back at that damned palace again..

It's as if you were kids all over again.

Though this time you didn't have to worry about catching up to Zuko's pace.

(A/N:not an exact timeline bc i was too lazy to do research)

#zuko #atla zuko #zuko x reader #gender neutral reader #atla #avatar the last airbender #prince zuko #fire nation #ba sing se #earth kingdom #uncle iroh #general iroh

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rabbitcruiser · 1 year

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National Sense Of Smell Day

Take some time to stop and smell the roses—literally. National Sense of Smell Day is for appreciating the many scents our noses can pick up and enjoy.

In the dark annals of history it served to protect us from danger as we came down from the trees and raised ourselves onto two feet. So strongly attached to our development is it that it is connected to multiple different neurological systems, and as such can trigger memories in a way that little else can.

With it we can identify our favorite dish, or pick up the wafting scent of our favorite person, that’s right, Sense of Smell Day is dedicated to this most amazing of our (far more than five) senses.

History of Sense of Smell

The Sense of Smell Institute sponsors this holiday for reasons so obvious we needn’t mention it. The importance of the sense of smell is often overlooked, and some don’t truly appreciate how much of a role it plays in every day of our lives.

Some of the most important and comforting things we can experience are intricately tied to our sense of smell, and our sense of smell becomes much less discerning without it. The Sense of Smell Institute is the research and education division of The Fragrance Foundation.

Interesting things that this institute has managed to unveil is the fact that no two people smell odors ��in quite the same way. As the day progresses your sense of smell gets stronger, with the evening representing our strongest sense of smell.

This makes a certain amount of sense when you consider that during the day our sight is the most important sense in identifying dangers, and at night, it could be a scent on the wind that saved our ancestors. Another interesting revelation is that Vitamin A is not, as purported, good for our eyesight by and large, but is actually vitally important for our sense of smell. A lack of it can actually cause Anosmia! (An odd little word that means ‘loss of a sense of smell’.)

How to celebrate Sense of Smell Day

The best way to celebrate Sense of Smell Day is to give our little sniffer a work-out. Try savoring new scents throughout the day, and really take some time to appreciate all the various odors that cross your path.

While it was generally a feast for all the sense, you can even get together with friends and play a game called “The Pleasure Room”, where you take turns trying to identify things by smell.

Maybe even set up some surprises and get smells that are really close to each other, or smell very much alike but are from incredibly different sources. All sorts of fun can be had on Sense of Smell Day!

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murderousink23 · 1 year

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04/29/2023 is Astronomy Day 🌌🌎, International Dance Day 💃🕺🌎, World Veterinary Day 🐰🐹🐹🐶🦜🌎, National Peace Rose Day 🇺🇲, National Shrimp Scampi Day 🦐🇺🇲, National Zipper Day 🤐🇺🇲, National Rebuilding Day 🇺🇲, National Sense of Smell Day 👃🇺🇲, Independent Bookstore Day 📚🇺🇲, Day of Remembrance for all Victims of Chemical Warfare 🇺🇳

#astronomy day #international dance day #world veterinary day #national peace rose day #national shrimp scampi day #national zipper day #national rebuilding day #national sense of smell day #independent bookstore day #day of remembrance for all victims of chemical warfare

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malewgtfstories · 4 months

Text

Yes Coach!!!

A new sunny day reflected on the wet grass of Sunnydale High. The smell of the game that took Sunnydale to Nationals was looming. The pressure on Jimmy was immense. He was the QB after all. He didn't want to disappoint his parents, his classmates, but especially his coach. He praised the coach for his strong and manly demeanor. He knew the coach was a football star in his High School years some might say he was even a prodigy. Unfortunately, an accident caused him to never be able to play football again. In reality, the main reason why Jimmy didn't want to disappoint Coach White was because he secretly had a crush on the coach. He tried to deny his feelings toward Coach White, but he looked irresistible. Coach White was the definition of a proud American man. He had a protruding gut. His ginormous gut made a 4XL skintight. On top of that, he was hairy. Something that always infatuated Jimmy. He loved a man with a big belly and a big bread. Last but not least he loved his gigantic ass, which jiggled with every step he took. He loved the freedom the coach had with no care in the world. Getting to eat anything and everything whenever he wanted to. It seemed to be Jimmy's biggest wet dream. All of these contributing factors led to Jimmy always hiding his hard-on while near the coach.

On the other end, Jimy was a thin, lean, and hairless Mexican teen. He was the popular Jock attracting people from both genders. He was a people magnet. This made him frustrated as all he wanted was to have Coach White. He was confused about how everyone at school fawned over him and his looks. Everyone except for Coach White. He was sexually frustrated finding football the only way to relieve the pressure building inside of him.

As the school day was reaching its end, Jimmy knew this meant the game would soon begin. This was his one and only chance to impress his coach. All he strived for was for the validation of his crush. Little did he know this would warp his sense of reality as soon one looked down at him. The team was on the field waiting for their prized quarterback to come out of the locker room. Everyone was confused as to why he took his time. The game was about to begin. Jimmy stayed in the locker room contemplating whether he had made the right decision. Whether he was fit for playing at the National level. He is scared of losing. He was scared of disappointing. After a few minutes of complete silence, Coach White walked in. He was embarrassed to show this side to the coach. So, Jimmy braced himself for the confrontation he would have with the coach. "Why are you here sulking all alone? You're about to play for goddamn nationals grow a pair." "I'm sorry coach I'm not ready for this. I feel sick in my stomach." "Come on bud you're a senior. Why not leave this school with a bang? You've been preparing this all four years. Don't give up now." "I'm sorry coach, but I can't." "Well, then son I've done all I could do for you. If you quit our team, well be done. We surely won't make it without you." Coach White sighed in disappointment. He turned his back in frustration and began to exit the dimly lit room. Jimmy knew that this would be his only chance to say how he truly felt. Jimmy in a desperate attempt grabbed Coach White by his hand and turned him. "Listen coach I've been holding this in since freshman year, but I can't hold it in anymore. You are the sexiest person I know. When your big belly and ass jiggles give me boners. Your big beard makes us want to stuff you till you have crumbs intertwined between the jungle that covers your face. All I would want is to be in your shoes I know your dream is to be in my fit body, but I on the other hand would love to have the freedom your big belly gives you. I would love to have a big burly body that bumps into everything while you walk down a hallway. I just wish for the freedom you have." "I don't know where this is coming from. I know you are stressed about the game, but this is concerning." Little did they know that the god of fate had other ideas. He saw the desperation in Jimmy's eyes, so he decided to accomplish his wish. After all the god of fate is kind. Is he not? But all wishes have their downside. to balance the scales of fate something had to balance out the scales. The drawback was that their body switch would be permanent. Coach White felt weirded out by the love declaration of his star student, but deep down he did feel the same way. So did the god of fate. The switch began, and both Coach White and Jimmy felt a strange sensation in their stomachs. Jimmy felt piles of lard start to pile on him. He fell as his center of gravity was thrown off. Frist his

smooth six-pack was replaced by a small hairy beer belly. It grew to the point where it seemed he was fully free in a pregnancy. With that love, hands started to appear which gave him a wider look. His pecs soon followed as they lost all their muscle mass and were replaced with big utters. His arms lost their definition and were replaced with piles of lard that settled in where the muscle was. Hair started to grow all over his body except his head which seemed to diminish. His penis seemed to grow in thickness. Unfortunately, his fat seemed to cover this manhood. Just like his arms lost their previous fit look his legs were replaced with big trucks to hold up the gargantuan man he was now. Last but not least was his ass. Which seemed to be replaced with Jello. It was so big that the seams of his football unfirm were stretched to their full ability. Likewise, his shirt stretched in ways he never thought it would. His arms, gut, ass, and legs were clinging to dear life. Until "pop" his uniform tore and he was left there naked in the middle of the locker room. Likewise, Coach White went through his own transformation his body seemed to shrink and shrivel into a fit and young man. He gained definition in his body. His body burst with energy, and he felt a rush of excitement. He lost his body hair and looked like a hairless Greek god. And with the luxurious locks that replace his once bald hair surely completed the look. Coach White I mean Jimmy gave old clothes to Coach White. Coach White sat there in disbelief that his wish came true he felt uncomfortable. Unfortunately, they had no time to fret they had a game to win. People saw Jimmy play and they thought he had played like never before. It was as if he had gained years of experience. After the whole ordeal, Sunnydale came out as the victors and went to nationals. Everyone praised Jimmy for his hard work. Coach White felt jealous as he took his win, but there was nothing to do. He pulled him away and told him. "We need to find a way to get to our original bodies." "I'm sorry coach I don't know what you're talking about. I'm Jimmy and your Coach White." Coach White sat in silence as all of Coach White's memories came flooding in. Soon nothing remained that was part of Jimmy in Coach White. All he could think about how hungry he was. He was thinking about how many pizzas to stuff in his mouth. This was who they were now. No possible way to change back, and it is not like they would do anyway. The one who took the final laugh was the god of fate. Never mess with fate.

#thin to chunky #bearification #male weight gain stories #permanent tf #fat gain tf #male transformation #bhm weight gain #male body swap

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vampdes · 3 months

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Please, I'm begging you do more Homelander x top male reader. I loved your other fic with him. Maybe reader is a supe who's stronger than Homelander and left. Homelander was sent to kill reader due to reader having information but instead gets fucked. Thank you and have a nice day.

DES says . . . im not doing anything right now, so why not? hope you enjoy xx (even though this is very late).

SUM. — homelander is sick, erratic, manic. why? he has his fame, his money, his powers – what more could he need? an antidote, obviously, what else?

CON. warning — smoking weed / rolling a blunt (once), dry humping, dry orgasm, overstim, mentions of: growling, passing out (figuratively), meeting heaven (figuratively), & yan-like actions. p in a. bareback. begging. impregnation (breeding ?) kink. collar & leash. subby (leaning on), needy, & whiny homelander.

NOTES. — very rushed. semi-detailed smut. not a very good ending.

you flipped through the televison’s provided channels with an unlit blunt protruding from your lips, itching to light it in order to feel the undeniable zest and haze it always seemed to provide you with. the calming and doughy-like sensation melted your brain, it allowed you to escape from the realization that you were indeed wanted by national police and superheros (all at the same time, mind you) just because you even dared to speak of retiring. therefore, you came up with an idea: just escape! to hawaii or somewhere — you landed in Australia, though, so hawaii was entirely off course but aye, you were gone and free and almost high.

what’s not to love?

you finally found a reliable sitcom that’d allow you to not think too hard or pay attention too much. so you sat back and slouched, drowned into the comfiness of the couch’s plush cushions, and lit your blunt. the wafting smoking engulfed itself deep within your lungs and etched itself into the cushions of your couch. before you could even care about your couch’s wellbeing or could even take a second exhilarating blow, the smell of metal being burnt and resulting smoke that wafted from under your penthouse door to your living made your eye brows furrow together with confusion. before continuing your trail on being high, you dipped the blunt into an ashtray and pushed it into the table, and sat up, watching the door with a sense that something was array in the air.

“fix me, oh fuck — y’gotta, fuck, fuck, fuck—,” john’s words fell into loud, squeaky squabbles into the silk sheets of your bed. his large frame sat atop of your hips, straddling you whilst he made a steady pace of teasing his concealed cock with the friction your ruffled jeans provided him with. you wanted to calm him down, tell him it’s okay, baby, you know i’ll fix you, but he chose that ignorant and arrogant company or what the two of you could have had. and that’s something you’ll never forget, but damn, why pass up on fucking the most famous hero in the world because he’s begging to have you? nobody in their right mind would, that’s for sure.

“you gonna let me treat you right?” you asked, gripping on his hips with words that haven’t been spoken before but explained and demonstrated through the many encounters that occurred in the empty janitor closets in the hallways of his company. and john. . he can’t help but grind himself a little harder and nod just a little faster. he wants you in ways he could never explain. he needs you with the biblical and primal history behind it. he begs to serve you as though he’s nothing but a measly worshipper and you’re a god within the highest of heavens. and you allow him to do so.

“please.” john responds, and you know he means it.

before long, he has a pastel-pink color around his neck with the leash wrapped around your balled fist, feeling like a submissive fucking bitch under your control, and damn, he feels good. his hands are tied behind his back with his nails clawing at the air between you and him in order to feel the pleasure that courses through every atom in his very being. for the first time in a long time, john allows himself to be willingly and properly used by someone he adores.

when you mention the fact that you’ve run out of the very last condom, he says: “get me pregnant.” and good lord above, you can’t help but comply with his demands. he felt fucking heavenly too, he felt so, so fucking good, and the noises that were coming from him? good fucking god, you’d capture those noises in a jar and listen to them every night before you sleep if you could.

in between the lingering touches and chaste kisses and animalistic thrusts and moans and being treated like a fucking free-use prostitute, the tears that streamed down his eyes and the whines that came from him and the need eminiting from him to have the immediate skin-to-skin contact with you even though you were literally shoving your cum into the deepest part of his guts is what captivated you entirely. the way he honestly showed his greed proudly with it circling around town and right back to you made your heart swell. fuck, this was sick (sick enough to make you force yet another cry out his hoarse throat).

“oh fuck, fuck, fuck — gotta make you mine, gotta get pregnant and make sure you stay with me, oh fuck, gotta – gonna cum, fuck, gonnafuckin’cum–,” the process that coincided with long strings of his cum colliding with his pretty pink breasts made the loudest, girliest, guttural squeal mixed with a whine mixed with the neediest moan escape from his throat with him crying out your name. your sylabells. and for fucks sake, he knew exactly how to get you started again to buck your cum-covered tip into his abused prostate once more.

when he cried out your name like you were the Archangel himself, you knew that today would turn into tonight which would turn into yet another post-sex morning with a bitchy, clingy, neck-biting john that always needed a piece of you with him or he swore he might (would and undeniably will) go crazy. and to be honest, if you just savor this maniac for just a little bit longer, maybe the earth would look a bit more brighter to you. maybe the air would be clearer, the sun would shine harder, the birds would harmonize better — the morning is the best time of your day.

#dan.writes #x male reader #x gn reader #x gender neutral reader #the boys x reader #the boys x you #the boys x male reader #homelander x gn reader #homelander x male reader #homelander x reader #homelander smut #bottom homelander #x top reader #x top male reader

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ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 5 months

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"That's a Wrap!"

Loki’s not-so-triumphant return home from prison is delayed due to a winter storm as the Avengers all find themselves snowed in at the Tower for Christmas. As your holiday mood sinks, the others find a festive way to lift your spirits.

Pairing: Loki x Avenger!Reader Genre: Comfort, longing fluff with a touch of suggestiveness Content Warning: slight nod to bondage, but nothing else Word Count: ~2k

Prompt: The Avengers sneak Loki back from prison and wrap him up as a goofy present for Reader, who's always carried a torch for him.

For @lady-rose-moon's Secret Santa gift!

“It’s kind of funny,” you said softly as you sensed someone joining you in the darkened room.

“What is?” asked Natasha, forgetting that you had heightened perception, so not even she could usually sneak up on you. You could smell the two mugs of spiked cocoa she was carrying as she came in to sit beside you, the vague scent of butterscotch shots mingling in with the rest.

“The snow’s still kind of pretty, even if it’s completely disabling the city,” you answered bitterly, pressing your forehead to the cold pane in front of you. “If we went outside right now, it would probably be gray and graveled slush all over.”

Nat sighed, putting the mugs on the table between you. “But from up here it looks like a postcard.”

“Right.”

It was the worst blizzard New York had seen since 1993. Whiteouts blinded anyone daring to walk outside. Frigid gusts whipped snow drifts against the sides of buildings, burying doorways and windows, trapping people inside. Any car making an attempt on the road turned into a boat that went sailing freely down the icy thoroughfare, careening out of control. Temperatures settled well below the threshold required to close schools. Wind-whipped ice pellets stung the skin while the air froze eyelids shut.

The redhead paused for a moment, setting the mugs down next to you but making no move to sit. “I thought if you wouldn’t go to the party, I’d bring the party--”

“--thanks,” you mumbled, unsure if you wanted any at the moment.

The Black Widow bit her lip, still somewhat ill at ease in gentler social situations. “So, you were really hoping he’d be home by now, weren’t you?” She asked it with a little too much caution, as if the wrong inflection would be enough to spark a meltdown.

“I know you all know,” you mumbled bitterly. “Don’t worry about skirting around it anymore.”

The right corner of Nat’s lip curled. “Thanks. That was getting annoying.”

After the parole of your unwitting beloved, one Loki Laufeyson of Asgard and Jotunheim, was granted and ordered to be served on Midgard, you were practically giddy. Finally after years of talking to him as a prisoner under your observation when you and Steve made trips to Asgard, your hard work convincing both Odin the King and the United Nations paid off, and you’d won freedom for your flame (at least partially).

However, you’d hoped he’d be delivered back to Earth by the holiday, as you’d planned it in your head to make your first date a sweet, light-hearted Christmas Eve outing. It would be such a change from the harsh dungeons of the palace he’d once more willingly called home.

That was when the weather turned, and it made any aircraft landing impossible. The storm began on the 22nd, and it was still raging two full days later. It was ripping the city apart at the seams, making even walking to the curb an impossible task.

Shrugging, you turned away from her and looked out the window again, ignoring Nat when she gently nudged one of the mugs toward you. “Am I wrong for being into him?”

“Yes,” Natasha said without skipping a beat. “Especially considering you’re planning on asking an intergalactic war criminal to get in bed with you.”

“So I like ‘em bad,” you mumbled. “And besides…he’s on parole now. Or probation.Whatever.”

Nat twisted her lip. “You know how I feel about him. And that my feelings would never change, even if he was vindicated.”

“Noted.”

“But,” she went on after a pause, “It still really sucks seeing one of us so depressed on Christmas eve, no matter what the reason. Please come downstairs. We’re doing the Secret Santa gifts, and Thor had your name.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “How come Thor made it home?”

Chuckling, Natasha took a sip of her spiked cocoa. “Is that any way to talk about your possible future brother-in-law?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

You woefully looked out into the snowy twilight, pressing your forehead against the cold glass. Natasha groaned. “Okay, I tried,” she said, getting up, not bothering to grab her own cup. “I’ll tell Thor to put some holes in the box until you feel like coming down.”

Winking, she went slowly for the door, deliberately waiting for you to make sense of her clue. You got up, still skeptical. “He didn’t bring back another direwolf thinking it was a husky, did he?”

She didn’t turn around, only pausing in the doorway to say, “I guess that remains to be seen.”

Thor was always well-intentioned, but his meatheadedness often got you all into trouble, and tonight it would be specifically on your account if things went awry. “Did he really get me something…dangerous?”

“Oh, it’s dangerous,” Nat promised.

Shit, you thought, going to follow Nat downstairs after all. Even if you didn’t want to be there, if Thor had inadvertently caused danger with your ‘present,’ you had to at least take some responsibility for it. It still didn’t stop you from cursing Thor in every way possible while you reluctantly trailed Nat down to the lounge floor.

The air was much hotter on the floor below, and the sudden burst of bright fluorescent lighting forced you to squint for the seconds it took your pupils to adjust. You’d been sitting and sulking in the dark for a while.

“There she is!” chortled Thor Claus, wearing an obnoxiously oversized Santa hat that nearly slid down his face as he rushed over to greet you. “Happy Tidings!”

“Eyyy look who’s here!” chimed in Tony from the bar in the corner, where he was disseminating drinks. “Eggnog? With or without the special ingredient?”

“With, please,” you said quietly. “But I’m not staying long. I’m only here because someone warned me about my gift going rogue, Thor.”

Thor smiled at Nat, who winked from behind you so that you couldn’t see the message. “Friend, it has done no such thing--”

Tony interjected. “--but it is getting a bit crabby!”

Steve rolled his eyes from the sofa while Bucky giggled on his lap. “Yeah, please just open it!” he begged.

You twisted your lip skeptically as Thor pointed. “It’s under the bejeweled arbor,” he said.

Scott Lang nearly spat out the beer he was drinking. “It’s just a Christmas tree, Thor, pal!” he called.

The room was as merry and bright as one would expect for the occasion. Tony hadn’t skimped on a caterer, and they’d delivered a twenty-foot spread of every fathomable Yule-centered food. Vision was blinking red and green (Wanda couldn’t keep her eyes off of him). Nat went off to join Bruce Banner closer to the large tree in the center of the room, which was also where you began to head.

As you approached the tree, everyone else in the room seemed to cease their own activities in order to follow you, whether physically or with their attention. You noticed the low hum of diverse conversations blending together had ceased.

“What--?” you began asking before something caught your eye at the base of the fifteen-foot tree.

Sitting on his legs, tied and wrapped from neck-to-toe in metallic green Christmas wrapping, was none other than Loki, a large red bow plopped sloppily on top of his long black hair. Someone had hung a large holly wreathe around his neck, and above his head, dangling on a bit of fishing line, was a sprig of mistletoe. He was in profile to you, but the moment he could gather from the room that you’d spotted him, he looked for you.

He smiled in spite of his situation when he met your eye. However, his cheeks began to turn pink.

“Um…Merry Christmas?” he asked quietly, causing half the room to erupt in roaring laughter.

“But…I thought…how?” you said, unable to line up a complete thought as your brain was simultaneously attempting to process the surprise that Loki had come home after all..and that he was restrained and sitting in a submissive’s humble pose at your feet.

Thor was so proud of his little trick. He followed you back to the tree, his fists proudly sitting against his hips as he posed like Heracles. “He came back with me.”

“We were going to call you,” said Nat, still laughing (and, admittedly, gaining some satisfaction at Loki’s humiliation). “But then he said something that made Thor and I come up with this idea.”

“Oh?” you asked with curiosity, kneeling in front of the God of Chaos, bound helplessly in crepe paper, cupping his face in your hands. “What did you say?”

Loki raised a brow. “I said nothing,” he bluffed.

“The first words he said were to ask of your health and whereabouts,” Thor said gleefully. “And that’s when the Woman of Stealth and I invented this humorous plot to bring you some Yuletide cheer!”

You couldn’t help but eye Loki up and down, literally delivered to you wrapped in shiny paper. “It’s certainly cheering me up!” you said, your mood elevating with each laugh.

Loki’s cheeks continued to go red and warm.

“He still needs to loosen up a little,” suggested Scott.

“Let’s force-feed him some ‘nog! Anyone got a bib and a funnel?” asked Tony, raising his voice.

You rolled your eyes. “Jesus, guys, isn’t this enough?”

Loki smirked and sighed as you leaned over to kiss his forehead gently. “I’m quite thankful you got here before they made good on their threat to…what was it…’don me now in gay apparel’?”

Scott shrugged as Thor and Nat turned to him expectantly, the copious amounts of drink starting to slosh around in his brain. “I thought he’d look less scary in a reindeer outfit!”

“Well,” you said, “let’s at least free you from these Christmas trappings--”

“--no!” Loki quickly refused, nearly causing you to flinch. “They…the humiliations are manifold…” he began to explain.

Thor chimed in unceremoniously. “He’s completely nude underneath his paper bonds!”

You gasped as Loki nodded in the affirmative. “While I assure you I would have no qualms with showing the chiseled, superior physique of Prince Loki to this room of peasants, I have been told doing so will result in having garlands and snowglobes thrown at me.”

“And that’s a promise. I think we’ve all had enough exposure to Loki’s scepter around here,” said Stark. Several people in the room nodded in agreement.

Loki groaned, annoyed and further embarrassed. “Thus, I’m stuck until the party ends, after which you WILL be unwrapping your…err…gift, in privacy.” He struggled gently against the layers of paper tightly wound about him.

You reached up to straighten the bow on his head. “That’s better. And I’ll be more than happy to open my christmas present in the privacy of my bedroom later.”

The rest of the evening was spent in good cheer all around, thanks in part to you gently feeding Loki sips of Stark’s alcoholic eggnog until he was ready to willingly partake in the merriment. It didn’t hurt that you added the incentive of a promised kiss under the mistletoe after the others left.

Finally, the last of the revelers made their way to their bedrooms, you fulfilled your promise to Loki, not able to help yourself as you slipped a finger under the tapped wrappings at his throat, using your long nail to gracefully slice a long cut right down the middle. You peeled the green paper away just enough to expose his bare chest, stopping your breath at the sight. Loki added a sly, sexy grin to the image, completing the statue of the hottest Christmas gift you’d ever received.

“Oooh,” you moaned with excitement, “Merry Christmas to me, indeed!”

Part of @fictive-sl0th's 2023 Secret Santa game

Secret Santa 2023 taglist: @joyful-enchantress @mochie85 @muddyorbs @holdmytesseract @sailorholly @lady-rose-moon @superficialdomina @cultofcarter @coldnique @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @smolvenger @loz-3 @catsladen @lokisgoodgirl @acidcasualties @divine-knight-hand @quirkiest-turtle @glitchquake @nyxlaufeyson @fandxmslxt69 @holymultiplefandomsbatman

#loki #fanfiction #mcu #mcu loki #loki fanfiction #loki x reader #mcu fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki/reader #loki christmas #christmas fanfic #avengers christmas #avengers fanfic #mcu christmas #2023 secret santa

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illmother · 2 months

Text

ೀ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ⎯ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝖕𝐚𝐫𝐚deisos 𝓼𝗰𝘂𝗺.

A/N: rewatched the rain burst event AGAIN and fell in love with rahu all over again, i now declare myself vice president of rahu nation. (if you will 🙏) i’ve been reading “On A leash” again and got inspired, so soldier x doctor it is

⏜ ₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ݁ Rahu x Paradeisos!Doctor!Reader

cw: a bit suggestive

Resilience, strength, obedience. Those words could very well describe Rahu as a whole, a headstrong, dependable soldier who wouldn’t hesitate to kill in order to pave the way to victory. Being part of the FAC elite division, she has faced many dangers alike, big and small. But regardless of this fact, it’s not uncommon for her to get injured despite also being a sinner with immense power, which brings Rahu to this predicament quite often.

The doors of the infirmary opens, and in walks the tall sinner. Immediately upon arrival, Rahu was hit with a nauseating scent, which in turn made her brows furrow. “That habit will kill you one day.” She sneered through her mask, walking up the source of that wretched smell that kept assaulting her senses, smoke and cheap cologne. Rahu’s expression remained stoic and stern, as she came up to the root of her irritation, and more notably—desires. Yet, only a small laugh could be heard, a sound so empty, so hallow, it made Rahu tense. Damn, that women, that damned doctor that claims she’s only here to treat patients, but rahu knew better than to trust paradeisos scum. Her eyes narrowed at the figure in front of her, draped in a white coat, head tilted away from her, she seemed to be paying to mind to the sinner.

“You say that yet, you come back to me all tattered up weekly.” You countered with a smile, leaning against the crisp, white wall of the infirmary, with a cigarette in hand. Finally, for the first time since Rahu’s arrival, you turned to face her, before your eyes trailed down to the state she was in. You noticed a rather large wound right on her abdomen—not deep, but enough for it to cause pain and discomfort, alongside other smaller injuries, and a visible frown formed on your delicate features. But for some strange reason, some stupid reason, seeing that change on your usually serious face was…weirdly intoxicating to Rahu. But just as fast as it came, it was gone, she was intrigued, she needed to see it again, see that look on your face, see what other expressions that stern face can morph into. “Really, who’s actually going to die first?” You asked with mild irritation and a hint of—concern? in your tone, snapping Rahu out of whatever trance she was in. You heaved a sigh of frustration before putting the cigarette out and throwing the bud in the ashtray.

“Come, let’s get you fixed up.” You gestured for her to come sit on a hospital bed with a nod of your head, and she complied, not that she had a choice if she wanted back on the frontlines as soon as humanly possible. You stared Rahu down, hands in your coat pockets, and she instinctively gripped the sheets, your stare was intense, and she needed stability. There was silence between the two of you, and you raised your eyebrow. “Undress.” You ordered sternly, to which her expression faltered, she let out a small sound of surprise. “What?” Rahu questioned, her hands gripping the sheets tighter, as her brows furrowed. You only looked at her with that same deadpan expression on your face, it only made her more irritated.

“Do you want to get treated, or no? your pick.” You gave her an ultimatum, either get treated or die in battle, her choice. Though, in all honesty, you were going to treat her either way, and you were well aware how suggestive you sounded when you told her to undress, but you couldn’t help but find every reaction of hers…quite endearing. A smug smirk was plastered on your face, as she begrudgingly started rid herself of her dark coat, leaving her in her white now blood soaked button down—if you were feeling optimistic, you’d think the blood wasn’t hers, but in this case you knew it was. Once again, there was silence, a deafening silence, one you would deem peaceful if it wasn’t for the sinner glaring holes through your skull. You sighed, before getting on your knees, kneeling down. Rahu watched your every move, from the way you gently lifted up her shirt to inspect her wounds, to the way you eyebrows furrowed when you were deep in thought. She seemed all too focused on your expression, your face, your lips—

Rahu instinctively shoved you away, when she felt you unbuttoning her shirt, her hand situated in your hair. You stare up at her, her face was covered by her oni mask, yet the tips of her ears were red, how…cute. Coming from someone like her. “What—what the hell are you doing?” Rahu stammered out, her grip firm on your hair, yet you didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. “How else am i going to treat you?” You countered, but still let go of her bloodied shirt, crossing your arms in mock irritation. “You should have just asked, i’ll do it myself.” She says simply with mild annoyance, before her large, calloused hands let go of your hair, and moved up to unbutton her shirt. “Rather skittish today, aren’t we?” You teased, before getting to work, cleaning and fixing her wounds up, before she inevitably gets injured again or exerts herself too much, so much so her wounds reopened. It happened more than once, more times than you can count, or even remember.

As you treated her wounds, occasionally hearing pained groans above you, it amused you to no end if you were, truly, being honest. Seeing her pale hands, covered in countless scars that had built up over the years grip the sheets until her knuckles turned white, it was beyond amusing to you, but even despite focusing on treating her, you could practically feel her eyes on you, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you shiver.

“Alright, you’re all fixed up.” You stated calmly, before standing up and straightening yourself out. “As always, i insist you stay here and recover. Going back to the frontlines in this condition would—” You expected her to just fix her appearance up, and walk out without another word, but to your surprise she only responded “I’ll stay.” Rahu stated firmly, before crossing her arms, you almost let out an laugh at how unexpected this behavior was, especially coming from her. “Have you gotten yourself so beat up, you’re finally listening to me?” You teased, before eyeing the bloodied shirt she had on. “It’ll do me some good if you get rid of that, it’s gonna reek up my infirmary. I’m sure the FAC will provide you with another in due time.” You hummed, gesturing to her shirt, to which she reluctantly complied and took it off. What a strange change of pace, not that you were complaining, she was much more tolerable, but somewhere, deep down, you knew why she was so hostile towards you. You were from Paradeisos, it was natural for her to be on guard, you really couldn’t hold it against her.

“You’re making that expression again.” Rahu commented, which makes your gaze shift from her discarded shirt to her face, and your eyes shine with a hint of attraction at seeing her exposed, toned stomach, your eyes trailed higher until they settled on her chest, and collarbone—you quickly snapped out of the daze you were in, and stared her in the eyes. “Do you enjoy looking at my face that much, you even notice the smallest of changes?” You teased with a grin, to which you noticed her eyebrow twitched, just the tiniest bit.

“You’re free to stare as much as you want.”

#was gonna make this a oneshot #but didn’t wanna make it too long #path to nowhere #ptn #ptn rahu #ptn x reader #rahu x reader

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diejager · 5 months

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My deep dark desire for a distillery au wherein each force is a competing distillery and you yeet an expert taster reader in there who is in charge of judging each whisky and ranking them. Either they are pulling out all the stops on your tour and treating you like a princess or doing the opposite and threatening you to rank them the highest :')

Mhairi, I am the worse person to ask about whiskey, my parents have delicious smelling ones, fruity and spicy ones, but taste wise? I gag like there’s no tomorrow, especially gin!! I hate gin. The only thing I can stomach so far is sweet, coffee and cream flavoured Baileys Irish Cream. (I know there’s Irish whiskey in it, but it’s only 17% compared to the 40% of any other whiskeys)

Eau De Vie Cw: Alcohol drinking, whiskey taste, tell me if I missed any.

Whisky had always been your favourite, your little secret that you shared with your closest friends alone —your penchent for judging whiskeys and bourbons alone, managing to include rum and brandy in rare occasions. So when you were approached by a known figure in the Whiskey industry that acted as the face for many distilleries across the world, you couldn’t turn down the offer when you were given so much in a simple deal.

You were responsible to drink and rank many popular brands by taste and smell alone, the only person delegated to become the judge. You were given the privilege of taking home a bottle of each brand after this competition, another reason to accept it. So you signed the contract without a second of hesitation, shaking her hand to conclude the deal before she left you squirming with excitement in your office home.

You were flown from your city to a calm part of the Scottish countryside, a chalet overlooking the Scottish highlands and its green beauty. This was the quaint house you would temporarily live in with the rest of the team orchestrating this friendly competition, leaving the connecting house up the cliff side to the different distilleries. From what you’ve heard, Kate Laswell - Kate you called her after a few meetings that had fully bloomed into a friendship of alcohol connoissoir - the participating teams were the British company 141 - who in coalition to Chimera and the ULF - would represent their alliance, the American Shadows, the multi-national KorTac and the Russian brewery Konni. They were all popular brands distilling whiskey and brandy in their own countries, creating a plethora of tastes and sensations that would explode on your tongue after a few sips.

You were ecstatic, your mouth salivating at the simple thought of tasting the finest whiskeys from around the world, but you had a few days to rest and tour the side of Scotland you were shipped to. What you expected to be calm and mild-mannered men and women from their side of the world to meet and eat with refined etiquette, was shattered the second you peered through the door after walking down the connecting path from your chalet to their house.

They were loud, rambunctious in the very sense of it, loud and jovial, hurling insults and hissing out jeers at one another. It was a dogfight between brewers, like cats and dogs. You felt like a stranger, gawking at the group hurling words at one another until it all stopped, the open living room falling in silence when they heard you drop your bag on the polished wood. You’ve never seen humans move so fast until the second after the silence, scrambling to clean the room up and wooing you with their compliments and sweet pleasantries to appease you.

They gave you a tour of the house, the rich wine cellar that was open to you whenever you wanted a drink, the wooden patio that had it’s own lounge and bar, and the various rooms in the mansion-like chalet. They all vied for your attention, ripping one another’s throat to have a second of your attention, kissing up to you with sweet compliments and even sweeter praises.

The Brits - well, three English and one Scott - were a good mix of mature and zealousness, low voices and near-overwhelming figures with their broad shoulders and stocky mass. They came with other people to represent their company: Farah and her devoted Alex from ULF, and the crude Nikolai and Krueger from Chimera.

The Shadows were American, the most American you’ve ever seen, energetic and determined to win you over, and the CEO, a man with a southern accent and a seductive smirk, swiping you off your feet with pet names that made you fluster.

KorTac had as many accents as they had people of different countries, both men and women skilled in multiple languages and conversing so fluently that you started to question if you were on the same planet.

Konni was rough on the edges, their leading figure as scheming as he was gentlemanly, his thin lips letting out the most vicious praises to have you squirming under his dark gaze and unmoving determination for the win.

Days later, you met them at the compound farther down the road, away from the beauty of the coast and cliff, a long table exposing their finest to you. Poured in a cups, one with ice and another without, they were left for you to decide which would win the prize for both straight and on the rocks. Today was the day you would nominate one as the best, standing higher than everyone else without bias despite the times they rendered you a flustered mess and made you unendingly grateful for their help.

Your pallet exploded with flavour every time you sipped on a different brand, eyes rolling to the back of your head with the deliciousness of every bottle. 141 brought three bottles of their aged whiskey: a smoky Scotch Whisky made in the same Highlands you were tasting it, the bitter spiciness of rye whiskey from the American branch of the ULF - credits to Alex for introducing it - and the woody and fruity aroma of Chimera’s whiskey. Shadows had brought - unsurprisingly - their most popular types of whiskey to the table: Bourbon made in their own distillery in Kentucky, a sweet and mellow sub-type of their first one and the smooth flavour of their wheat whiskey. KorTac had a large variety to it’s collection: a floral tasting whiskey that outmatched Hibiki Harmony, a nutty sensation of a bottle made in Ireland and the rich and peaty on of a danish-made bottle. And finally, three Russian bottles from the biggest distillery in Russia: a sweet and smoky bottle, a second one with rich malt and honey, and a third focusing on aroma with it’s spicy odour and fruity taste.

They were all so delicious, if you had these bottles when you working at the bar, mixing concoctions for paying clients, you would’ve been overjoyed, but those days were long gone, your priority standing elsewhere than fulfilling your dream. Truthfully, you didn’t know who to give the medal, the flavours so vast and unique. Perhaps they wouldn’t mind if you took a second or third sip just to be sure.

Part 2

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @kaelysia @notspiders @velvetsoulweaver @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake

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