#and it terrifies me to have to come to a reckoning with this thinking | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cherry-leclerc · 2 months

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wait for you ☆ cl16

genre: fluff, humor, tiny bit of smut, established relationship

word count: 1.8k

An eager Charles tries to convince you to take part in an adorable video to show off your relationship for the first time, but it only lands you two in a clumsy mess.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+…mainly just charles being a tit addict lol, oh and a bit of dry humping ahhah

req!…quickie, but enjoy :) ps. we love a man who understandssss

“Come on! Don’t be like that.”

It takes all of you to not roll your eyes at your needy boyfriend. He was excited to be back to racing after such a long time and this was just pure adrenaline, if you can even call it that. He had brought it up a few nights ago over dinner.

It’s been a year. Actually scratch that. A year and five months. Which is basically two if you stop and think about it.

Humming, you nod with less enthusiasm as he dangles his phone right in front of you, displaying cheesy couple videos.

We can recreate it, people will know, and people will love you. Easy peasy.

But there was nothing easy about any of this. It had stayed a secret for so long for a reason - a perfectly reasonable reason. While you knew the good would most likely outweigh the bad, that didn’t make it less nerve wrecking.

With a heavy sigh, you roll off of his lap, chewing on your bottom lip. “I’m not sure, Charles. You know how I feel about all this. Plus, don’t you like knowing it's just you and me who know about us?” You signal between the two of you, eyebrows wiggling suggestively as he gulps.

“I do love having you to myself…”

“So it’s settled. Not yet.”

The next time he brings it up is when you’re out on a double date with George and Carmen, seeing as they spend a good amount of time here in Monaco. Could be nice, he says, blankly taking a lick from his vanilla ice cream. Would make me happy, y’know…

“I feel like I have to ask,” the Brit mumbles curiously. “Trouble in sex-paradise?”

Choking with surprise, you hurriedly shake your head as Carmen pinches her boyfriend's thigh. He yelps, scooting closer to the Monegasque who continues to pout. Rubbing your temples, you say, “Don’t pay him any attention, he doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“Amore, it would be perfect!” Angling his head to the couple, he retreats his phone, already showing off the video. “Wouldn’t it be cute to announce our relationship like that?” Before they have a chance to answer, he nods happily, as if they’ve given him the biggest blessing. “It would, I know it would.”

“Reckon it’s a bit much,” George says while Carmen winces in agreement. Charles’ green eyes flicker to where you bite back a grin, writhing to let loose.

“You guys…”

Carmen pats his hand gently over the table. “Charles, just try and put yourself in her shoes. She’s worried. We’ve all been. Being in the public eye is extremely terrifying. Maybe she’s not ready-”

“Or she’s not that into you.”

The brunette clenches his jaw. “You’re not?”

Giggling, you peck his rosy cheek as he stubbornly gives in, a smile already being drawn onto his lips. “I’m so in love.” Then you turn to the Brit, kicking him sharply underneath the table. “Asshole.”

As he winces in pain, his girlfriend rubs his arm gingerly. “Oh, she’s definitely in love, Charles. But she’s not ready. Just wait on her for a tad bit longer.”

You’re honestly shocked when he doesn’t bring up the topic the time you visit his family, or when you meet up with Pierre and Kika. It was odd, but you didn’t think much of it.

That is until he has you perched on his lap, greedy mouth wrapped around your sore buds. Large hands come in to grip your breasts, squeezing them closer to his face as he groans. You shiver when the cool air hits your wet skin. He smiles wickedly when you start rubbing yourself against his thigh, whimpers entering the room.

“You sound so sweet…”

You grip his shoulders tighter.

“Doing so good for me, yeah?”

You nod with soft pants and tired eyes.

“Do you love me?”

More than anything.

“Then you’ll do the video with me? You will, won’t you, darling?”

“Yes, yes,” you huff, core growing tighter. “Anything and everything you want.”

You can practically feel his smirk against your chest, but are too far gone to even care.

With one last lustful lick, he scoffs. “That’s my girl.”

“Okay, stand still,” he instructs, hands fixing his phone against the wooden chair. There's heavy concentration that lingers adorably as he gently bites down on his bottom lip, that it almost makes you regret how much you were dreading this. Balancing yourself on your tippy toes, you giggle nervously. Green eyes look back at you before pressing a kiss against your temple. “Shouldn’t be too hard. Just stand there and look pretty.”

“Because that’s all I’m good for,” you mumble sourly as he aims a deadpan expression. You know that’s not true. Then he presses the countdown and runs out of the frame, leaving you to stand like a lost puppy, soft eyes looking for their owner. Frowning hard at the camera, you sigh. “I really don’t get it-”

All of a sudden, strong arms wrap around your waist as he carries you in a hurry. You’re squealing loudly and shutting your eyes tightly. It leaves you winded as you slip into a coughing fit. Swiftly, the Monegasque places you back down and cradles your face with worried eyes. “Holy shit, are you okay?”

Pushing him away harshly, you shoot daggers at your boyfriend. “What the hell was that? You nearly killed me!”

The brunette winces. “I didn’t mean to do it that fast…” His shoulder droops with panic when you narrow your sharp eyes, chest heaving with slight anger. “Or that hard.”

You step away, frantic arms shooing him. “I’m out, this is stupid.”

“No, wait!” Following after you, he reaches to grab your hand. “I’ll be gentle this time. Let’s just try again.”

A skeptical scowl paints your face before nodding along. Dimples shine back towards you as he happily leads you back to the large kitchen. Slow, Charles. I mean it. Beaming brightly at the screen, you playfully search for him before you catch a glimpse of your clumsy manchild through your peripheral vision. You foolishly flinch as he makes his way and comes to an unexpected halt. He groans and you wail.

“Why did you stop?”

“Why do you look scared?”

Letting out a dry laugh, you bring your hands to your hips, right leg extending out like a strict teacher. “I was doing my part.”

“If looking scared was what you were going for, then mission accomplished.” He rubs his lids. “Try to pretend that you like me. The whole point is to show people that we’re in love.”

“Am I supposed to act like I like you or all lovey dovey? Which one is it?” you bicker back, hair whipping your cheekbones. He rolls his eyes. Stop acting like that, it’s not cute. “It’s not cute,” you mock as you return to your original spot. “Do not fuck this up, Charles.”

“Fine,” he grunts. Repeating the same actions, this time around he manages to trip over his own two feet, landing with a loud splat. The sound of his skin hitting the marble floor has you rolling with laughter and gasping for air. This is great, you wheeze, eyes crinkled. “It’s because I mopped earlier, remember? One last time.”

The Monegaque readies himself like a quarterback, dark eyes drawn to you like a hungry lion. You almost want to laugh with how serious he’s taking all of this, but somehow hold back. Once again, he makes his way on cue, arms wrapping around you securely and taking you down with him this time.

Landing with a low umph, he holds onto you tightly, making sure to land on top of him safely as you yelp. Twisting up quickly, you bang a soft fist against his chest. “Dickhead! What are you doi- I’m not a fucking potatoe sack!”

The brunette manages to sit up, immediately going in to rub his head. Black spots blaze over his eyes. “I think I’m blind.” He pants, loopy eyes making a weak attempt to take in your delicate figure. “You still look like an angel, though.”

“That makes absolutely no sense.” You pause. “A-are you okay, baby?”

Brown locks bounce up lightly. With a heavy sigh, you help him up, leading him carefully towards the couch. Sore shoulders relax against the pillows. You bite down nervously on your thumb as you debate calling for help, given as how he hasn’t spoken much after the catastrophe. He hums. “I’m fine. Sit.”

“Oh, good,” you say, releasing out a breath of relief. As soon as he feels a dip next to him, he peeks one eye open, finding you with a pale face. A strong sense of protection takes over as he pushes your hair back, making sure to analyze everything about you. Why are you colorless? Did it hurt? Does anything hurt? We can go to the hospital to get you checked out. Actually, let's go.

He’s already grabbing your hand, flinging you to stand up when you let go. “I said I was okay. I’m just worried about you, that’s all. You took it the hardest, I swear I heard the sound of a coconut crack.” A teasing smile slips onto your berry lips, closed fist gently knocking against his head. “Only making sure.”

“Ha-ha.” Bringing you towards his chest, you nuzzle your face sweetly. “I tripped again-”

“I know,” you giggle, though it comes out slightly muffled, and slightly demonic. But it makes him grin eagerly, hand flying to smack your ass. You jump, feeling his chest vibrate as he chuckles. “This was an utter mess. How about we try again tomorrow?”

“How about we don’t?”

You pull away, hands pressing against his tall frame. “But I thought you wanted to do this…”

“I do, but you’re not ready.” A boyish wince strikes his face. “And I’m not going to force you.” You can’t help the swing your heart goes through with his sweet gesture. He continues. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do this in the first place; I knew you weren’t ready and I still tried. I’m sorry.”

Guilt eats you up with his words. “I swear I want to do this for you. I can try again!” Slithering out of his tight grip, you cluelessly look for his phone. He chuckles at your cute pout of determination.

“But you’re not ready,” he states for the second time. “I’ll wait for you to be.”

The internet was a scary place - one you dread very much - but it’s true. You would have done this with him, even if you weren’t open to it. But the fact that he understood regardless…

Sheepishly marching your way over to the green eyed boy, you shoot a shy wink. “When I am…I’ll let you know?”

He grins, arms wide open as you find a home between them. “Of course.”

taglist: @myownwritings

*anyone is welcome to lmk and i'll add you along :)

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sanguineterrain · 23 days

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Hi Sanne! I'm not sure if requests are open, but if you're up to it I'd like to request red hood x reporter! Maybe reporter reader is getting too close to a case and is starting to become a target and hood takes her protection into his own hands? ((Including lots of midnight rendezvous and rooftop bump ins))

i love this prompt sm! i've been thinking about a reporter reader ever since i read task force z :) thanks for requesting!

jason todd x gn!reporter!reader. tw: reader is attacked (but they're okay), guns, violence, fighting, jason being both a force to be reckoned with and a big softie. 2.5k words

****

"I don't need protection."

The Red Hood crosses his arms. You cross yours right back.

"Yes, you do," he says.

"No, I don't. I've lived in Gotham my whole life. I can take care of myself."

"Living around and being in the thick of violence are very different. You're already chasing this story; they will come after you."

And what a story it is. The story of the decade, at the very least. A task force of formerly-dead Arkham patients wielded against Gotham by a mysterious benefactor.

It's terrifying. It's dangerous. It's sure to win you your first Pulitzer.

And it all means absolutely nothing if the Red Hood keeps wrapping you in red tape.

Your jaw ticks. "This is my story, Hood. You can't turn it in, so I will. And I won't be scared off by some slimeball."

"Oh, please. You wouldn't even have known about this story if it wasn't for me, smarty."

Smarty. His favorite moniker for you because, according to him, you think you know everything.

Working with the Red Hood has been an unfortunate side effect of chasing your prize-winning story. Not only is he wanted in twenty-six countries (you Googled it) and is a ruthless crime lord (supposedly formerly, but you're doubtful), but worst of all, he's got an attitude to match yours.

He's also built like a tank, which is why you can't just. Outrun him.

"I can't just not publish the story," you say.

"I don't want to stop you from publishing the story. Hence the protection."

"I can't afford a bodyguard."

"Well, it's a good thing I already paid my rent this month."

You scoff. "The Gotham Gazette has a strict 'no armed and dangerous' policy. I'm afraid we all have to leave our gun-toting vigilantes at home."

You open the driver's door of your car, ready to end the conversation here and now. Hood calmly closes the door with his hip and leans.

You glare. "Get off of my car."

"Fact." He holds up a finger. "These kinds of people always strike before the story comes out. They know you're scared and stressed, and they wanna do it before the story gets out. Otherwise, it's obvious who killed who."

"And where did you read this fact? Crime Lord's Digest? We don't even know if they know I'm the reporter who broke into the lab."

"Listen, smarty, I've been in this game a lot longer than you. I know how they operate," he says, finally getting off of your car, only to lean on the hood. Jerk. "It's only a matter of time before whoever's behind this snuffs you out."

"I am not letting a wanted criminal nest in my apartment!"

"That's why I'd be there."

"I was talking about you, Hood."

"Funny."

"I'm not joking. Look, I appreciate your... help." You try not to show your exasperation. "But there's no way I'm inviting you over to my apartment. That'll set off more alarms. If anything happens, I'll call you. Until then, stay away. Deal?"

Hood looks you over.

"Hm. You're awfully comfortable with giving me orders, smarty."

Your adrenaline spikes for a second. But it quickly calms. You've worked with Hood for a month now. Sure, you were petrified the first week, but it quickly dissipated. You've fallen into an odd camaraderie with him.

It's actually kind of nice, having him on your side. No one at the Gazette gives you the time of day. You've become used to having a partner. Not that you'd ever tell him that.

"You take orders so well, I can't help but dole them out," you say, only a little smirky.

"Watch it," Hood rumbles, only half-serious. Probably.

You beam and wrench open your car door, sliding into the seat.

"See?" you say, turning the ignition. "No snipers waiting to take me out. I'll be fine."

He shakes his head and slides off the hood. "Ten bucks says they'll try by the end of the week."

You close your door. "You're on."

****

As it turns out, Hood doesn't need the end of the week to earn his tenner. Trouble breaks down your door the very same night.

You're on your couch with some well-earned Lebanese takeout when your door is ripped off of your hinges. You shoot up from the couch, chest immediately tight.

Your assailant is masked and isn't that typical, giving masked men everywhere a bad name.

You run to the kitchen, hoping you can grab a knife. But you're grabbed before you can get there. You slip on the carpet and trip further into your assailant's arms.

"Keep still so I won't make a mess," is all he says.

You start screaming. He covers your mouth and you bite his hand. That earns you a thump on your cheek, so hard your vision blurs.

Bang!

You freeze, expecting the warm drip of blood and the excruciating pain to accompany it. Instead, your assailant falls to the floor, clutching his ribs. You stumble backwards and see Hood at your door, gun still aimed. He stalks over and kicks the assailant in the chest as he does. The assailant groans.

"You okay?"

You're still staring at the man who very nearly killed you a minute ago. Blood roars in your ears. You think you might be close to fainting.

"Hey." Big, gloved hands hold your face. You flinch and hold the owner's wrists. Hood comes into view once more.

"Are you okay?" he asks firmly. "Look at me, look at me, sweet. Breathe. 'S okay. Does anything hurt? Did he—"

Hood cuts himself off as he touches your cheek, where you were hit. He lightly runs a thumb over what is probably a budding bruise.

Hood lets you go and whirls onto your attacker. He hauls him up and presses a gun to his stomach.

"Go ahead, shoot me!" the attacker shouts.

"If I shoot you, it won't be out of mercy. You won't get a quick death. You don't deserve it," Hood snarls, and you suddenly remember all of your good reasons for fearing the Red Hood.

"I ain't telling ya shit!"

"I don't expect you to," Hood says, and fires again.

The man crumples to the ground, but he's clearly still breathing. Still alive. Hood drags him to the door by his collar.

"You go back to your boss. And you tell 'em that they're fucking with the Red Hood now. And, in case I'm not being perfectly fucking clear through all that blood loss—" Hood grabs the man by his hair and wrenches his head back. "If you come for my reporter again, you'll wish I was kind enough to put a bullet in your head."

Hood hauls your attacker outside. You hear a car start a minute later, and it tears down the street.

You look at your guardian angel, spattered in blood.

Not nearly as much blood as I expected, you think manically.

Your body aches and shakes with adrenaline. You can't even get enough control to move to the couch.

"How–how did you get here so fast?" you ask, staring at your now cracked coffee table.

"I've been monitoring your apartment since you got home. One of the traffic cameras picked up a stolen vehicle turning onto your block, so I came here."

You look at Hood. He seems very collected, all things considered.

"You—how did you find my apartment? Have you been stalking me?"

"Please. Lend me a little credit, smarty. I don't need to stalk you to find where you live," he says, holstering his gun.

"Are you insane?!" you burst. "That is such a gross invasion of privacy! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Hood looks at you.

"What's wrong with me is I just saved your life," he says evenly. "And on that note, you owe me ten bucks. Maybe even fifteen, considering it took less than a day for them to do exactly what I said they would."

Your lip wobbles. You don't know what triggers it; maybe it's your scratched up door or torn sofa or the fact that the Red Hood is in your living room right now with blood on his suit.

The tears form quickly. You can't stop them.

You cover your face but a sob claws out of your throat. Soon, you fall into big, heaving cries.

"Whoa, hey." The floorboards creak under Hood's unsure footsteps. "Hey, I didn't mean that. Shit. I was just kidding about the bet part. Aw, don't cry, smarty."

A hand lightly touches your shoulder. You lean in, but don't dare to initiate more contact. So Hood eases you into a side hug, awkwardly patting your other arm. He's extremely warm and solid with muscle, but his chest is soft enough to rest your head on. He unclips his holster so it doesn't dig into your body.

"I was just kidding," Hood says quietly in your ear. He rubs your arm. "'M sorry. Didn't mean to make y'cry."

You sniff and shake your head. "No, it–it's not that, I'm just—God, I'm t-terrified, Hood. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? They're gonna kill me! I'm gonna die before I win my first Pulitzer!"

You try to suck in deep breath but it's not working. Hood leads your unsteady feet to the couch. You sit, fingers gripping his jacket. Hood carefully loosens your grip.

"They're not gonna kill ya, smarty. I won't let 'em. C'mon, let's have a seat. Where's your kitchen?"

You point, lashes still thick with tears. Hood leaves and returns shortly. A glass of water is held to your lips. You drink it, breathing stilted.

"'S okay. Take it easy. Breathe. That's right."

You swallow half of the water, and he sets the glass down on the coffee table. Hood hands you a wad of tissues.

"This is pathetic," you say, wiping your tears. "Can't believe I'm being nursed by the Red Hood."

"I think nursed is a strong word. But it's more than I usually do for my informants. Then again, they don't usually burst into tears."

"Don't make fun of me. I'm fragile."

"I wasn't making fun of you," Hood says, gentler than you've ever heard him. He puts the tissues aside and rests a hand on your shoulder. You turn into it, appreciative of the weight. "You handled this better than most people would. You didn't even pass out. Hell, I've passed out."

You're sure that Hood is leaving out important details behind that anecdote, like fighting off a hundred men or being swallowed by a whale beforehand. You're grateful nonetheless.

You turn to him, fresh tears in your eyes. "They're gonna kill me, Red."

He shakes his head. "No. Listen to me. Nobody is gonna do anything to you, okay? I'm not gonna let 'em hurt you, smarty pie."

"That's an impossible promise," you say. "One of these days, something will happen. You can't be everywhere at once. Especially not while I'm at home."

Hood tilts his head. "Well..."

"Well, what?"

He rubs his throat. An old injury, he'd once told you. The pain flares up sometimes.

"I could call in a favor. Get you into a safehouse."

"You would do that for me?" you ask. You probably shouldn't ask. Shouldn't look a generous vigilante in the mouth. But you can't help it.

"I can't very well publish the story myself, can I?"

You shrug. "I doubt that. You have your ways. Once you have the evidence, you don't need me."

"That's not true," Hood says fiercely. "I do need you."

Your eyes widen. Hood fumbles for a moment.

"That—I mean for the case. Obviously. I don't have any journalistic links besides you. And I wouldn't want the story to fall into the wrong hands."

"Oh." You have a strong urge to wrap your arms around him. Weird. "Well, um, thank you. I appreciate it."

"Don't thank me yet. It'll take me a few days to get the safehouse," he says.

You deflate. "Oh. So I have to stay here until then?"

Hood is quiet for a long time. So long, you briefly revisit your original theory that the Red Hood is actually an AI remotely controlled by a billionaire.

"Hood?"

You reach to touch him. He flinches, a tiny movement. You immediately draw back.

Nope. Still a man.

"Sorry," he says, hand slipping from your shoulder. "I was, uh, going over options. No, your place is toast until we find whoever's behind this. But, um, it would be possible for you to—if you want to, 'cause if you don't, y'know, I understand, but I—it would be doable for you to, uh, stay with me. Until I get the safehouse."

"Stay... in your apartment?"

"'S not far from here. And it's a hell of a lot better protected than your place. And, y'know, I'd be there most of the time, so like..." Hood clears his throat. "Uh, yeah. It'd be safe. I promise."

"I wouldn't want to impose," you say, nervously scratching your arm.

"Mm. If you're scared of staying with me, y'can just say so. I won't take it personal."

He does kind of sound like he's taking it personally.

"No, Hood, it's not that. I don't... I'm not afraid of you. That, uh, went away a while back," you say. "I just... I don't want to burden you. After all, it's your space."

He makes a sound that tells you he's rolling his eyes behind his helmet.

"Saving your life is important, smarty. Why you don't think so, I'll never know."

You make a soft, pleased sound. "Got a real bleeding heart there, Red."

He sighs. "Yeah. I'm working on it."

You grin. "Thank you for rescuing me."

"Part of the job. If you don't wanna stay with me, I could..." Hood hesitates. "With your permission... I could get the Bats involved. Ask one of them to house you."

"You mean Batman?"

Hood grunts. "Preferably anyone but him, but yeah, if it comes to that. He'll probably get involved anyway. Fuckin' busybody."

"The Bats would protect me? But they don't know me."

"Don't matter. If I asked them to, they would. If that's something you want."

You think. Is it something you want?

Sure, any reasonable person would prefer Nightwing or Batman to protect them.

"I don't want to stay with them," you say. "I'd rather stay with you."

He jerks like you've told him the sky is falling.

"You do?" he asks.

"Well, yeah. I know you, Red. And I know you'll keep me safe."

"At any cost," he says.

That simultaneously frightens and thrills you.

"Then I'd like to go home with you," you say. "If you'll have me."

"'Course, smarty. Anything to keep you safe. Go pack some stuff. I'll be out here. You're okay?"

"I'm okay." You stand and turn before he can see what he does to you.

Yes, it's an odd thing, being partners with the Red Hood.

You're starting to fear that you can't have it any other way.

#jason todd x reader #Jason todd x you #Red Hood x reader #Red Hood x you #Red Hood fanfiction #Jason todd fanfiction #Jason todd imagine #Red Hood imagine #dc fanfiction #batman fanfiction #batman imagine #dc imagine #Jason todd x gn reader #inbox #blurb

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jpmarvel90 · 3 months

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Don't Belong part 2

Masterlist Natasha Masterlist

Part 1

Word Count: 5499

Relationship: Mother WandaNat x Daugher Reader

Summary: After Y/n's accident on her mission, her mother's are terrified that they might not get the chance to make things right with their daughter. That's assuming Y/n wants anything to do with them when she comes around.

Nat: Mama Wanda: Mom

Nat's POV:

It's been over 24 hours since Y/n came out of surgery and she's still unconscious with a machine helping her breathe. I thought she would have been awake by now and there'd be a relief that she was on the start of her long road to recovery.

Instead, Wanda and I are glued to our seats next to her bed. We've only gotten up to use the bathroom. Otherwise, we've remained by her side. Pepper kindly offered to take the boys for as long as it's needed. Though they are both very anxious to see Y/n themselves. They might be young, but they understand that she's hurt. They love their sister, and they want her to wake up just as much as we do.

I've not slept since we found out that she was hurt, and I don't plan to until she is awake. Though the longer it goes on, the more my body is fighting against that desire. I want to be there when she wakes up to show her that her moms are going to be there for her the whole way through her recovery.

Wanda and I have spoken a lot over the last day. We've shared our pain and sadness, whilst making sure we come up with a plan to help her with her recovery and to ultimately gain her forgiveness.

We both know that Y/n will not forgive us easily, if at all. But that doesn't mean that we're not going to try with everything in us. For too long we've allowed her to go about her life thinking that we don't love or care for her anymore. She has every right to feel that way after how we've treated her. But she will not ever question that again.

The both of us are sat in silence, both of us watching over our daughter. My eyes are trained on her chest, making sure that she is still breathing, gaining a lot of comfort from the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. However, the silence doesn't last long until the door flies open.

Out of instinct, both Wanda and I shoot up from our seats and take a defensive stance in front of our daughter to protect her from any danger. However, we soon relax when we see Yelena's worried face. "I came as soon as I could." She tells us as she moves closer to the bed, her hand hesitant as it reaches out towards her niece.

Yelena has been away for most of the time over the last few years. She's been helping to find all the widows and has only come back for a couple of days at a time. Each time though, she has always made time for us. "How is she?" She asks, as I pull up another chair for my sister.

"It's not good. She's still in critical condition. They had to remove part of her liver, but Cho reckons that if she can get through these first few days, that she'll be on track for a full recovery." I fill her in as her eyes never leave Y/n. "Clint said that it was a double agent that set her up." She states and we nod in clarification. "I'll be paying a visit to Fury when I'm done here." She announces, an anger to her voice. "We've tried to see him, but Fury won't let us anywhere near him." Wanda warns her but Yelena just scoffs. "I'll get to him one way or another." She states and I believe her. She's incredibly protective of the people she loves, and she'll want to make sure that he pays. I actually hope that she does.

"Wait, you said you were with Clint?" I question her and she nods. "Yeah, he was with me on my last mission. He's waiting outside, he didn't want to intrude." She responds, pointing towards the window behind her where Clint is stood with a young girl next to him. "Who's with him?" I ask. "Kate Bishop. Clint's stray. He's going to see if she can join Shield." Yelena explains. "She was with us and had no where else to go so I said she could stay here for now." She adds on. If Clint thinks she's worthy of Shield, then I believe that she is. She must also be good if Yelena has been working with her. She wouldn't let anyone help who would slow her down.

"How long are you back for?" Wanda steps in with her own question, making my own ears prick up for her response. "As long as I need to be. I want to be around to help with her recovery." Yelena replies, making me smile. Y/n is going to need all the help she can get, and she adores Yelena, so I'm glad that she's not going anywhere any time soon.

After a while, we indicate for Clint and Kate to come in. We go through our introduction, and I can see how enthusiastic Kate is. She's very chatty and I'm surprise she's not pissed off Clint and Yelena yet though! "I read about Y/n in the Young Initiative files." Kate shares. "Did you know she is the only recruit to ever get a perfect score. She could have passed the exams two years ago and still topped the class." She tells us enthusiastically. "Sounds like you're a fan." Yelena teases her, making the young girl blush. "I guess when your parents are the Black Widow and the Scarlett Witch, you're going to be good." Kate chuckles.

It makes my gaze drop, something that Yelena clocks on to instantly. She's not been around so hasn't seen how we've treated Y/n. I'm actually worried for when I tell her. She's going to hate us for it and I'd be surprised if she even lets us stay around Y/n. "Y/n did it all on her own. With a little help from Steve. Her talent has come from her own ability and desire to be the best." Wanda corrects Kate, showing that we have no claim to how good Y/n is at being an agent. "Oh, that's even more impressive then. You must be really proud." She smiles at us and we both nod. "More than she'll ever know." I mutter.

__________

When Kate and Clint leave, Yelena is quick to question Wanda and I. We tell her of what's been going on and how ashamed we are and how much we want to be able to fix everything. "You don't deserve to fix it." She spits angrily at us. "It's no excuse to say that you got lost in the boys. Y/n is your daughter too and she needed you." She shouts, calling us both out on our actions. "We know Yelena. We can't take back how we've treated her. But I promise that we won't every do anything like that again!" I tell her sincerely. "No, you won't. I won't let you. If you are going to be back in her life as the parents you should have been, you have to be all in. You promised to be better than we had Natasha!" She tells me firmly with a finger jabbing into my chest.

"I know Yelena. I wish I had a valid excuse or reason for what we did. I will never forgive myself. I will always have a hatred towards myself for ever making her feel the way we did. But I'm not going to wallow and hide away from it. I want to own up to the mistake and try and fix it. I know that it's not going to be an easy fix, but I will stay here and face the brunt of the anger and pain that she's feeling because I will not give up on her. Not again." I tell her passionate. "Neither of us will. I promise you Yelena, we will do everything in our power to fix this." Wanda steps up and adds her own promise, taking my hand. At least we have each other through all of this.

Yelena doesn't speak, she just looks between the two of us, her chest heaving with anger. It's intimidating to be the one on the receiving end, but we deserve it. I'm glad that Yelena is here. She simple nods her head and that is the subject over with. For now.

That night, my body ultimately wins, and I end up getting a couple of hours sleep. Though it's full of nightmares that I can't seem to escape and then when I wake up, I'm terrified that Y/n will be awake already and I'll have missed it. But when my body wakes with a jolt, I'm met with my sleeping wife and still unconscious daughter.

I stretch out and move closer to the bed and take Y/n's bruised hand in my own. "I can't lose you. You are my daughter, blood or not and I love you so much. I know I haven't shown that to you and there is no excuse for that. I also know that you have every right to never forgive me. So, my only request, is please wake up. Please survive. I don't think I can live in a world without you in it." I plead with her. Hoping that somewhere in her subconscious she can hear me. I squeeze her hand, hoping for any response, but nothing comes.

The day goes by slower than usual. That is until Cho comes in to check on Y/n and gives us the good news that she should be able to breathe without the ventilator now. Wanda and I step outside as we watch through the window. We're holding on to each other tightly as we watch. "This is good. She's strong and this is the first step to her waking up." Wanda speaks. I can hear the hesitation in her voice, showing that she is trying to convince herself more than anything. "You're right. She is so strong. I know she's going to wake up soon." I add on, smiling at my wife.

Cho soon joins us with a smile. "She's doing well. She's now breathing easily on her own. I expect she'll wake up within a few hours. I'll be back to do a full examination then so we can assess her injuries." She informs us. I feel a sense of relief wash over me. Hopefully it won't be long until our daughter is back with us.

The next couple of hours seems to drag by. Clint, Yelena and Kate all paid another visit but left to try and sort a room out for Kate in the compound. Steve was then the next to join us, taking a seat at the end of Y/n's bed. It's a long wait until we finally see a twitch to Y/n's eye.

I'm the first to my feet, leaning over to see if I had imagined the small movement. "Y/n, honey. It's mama. Can you hear me?" I ask her, fighting off the tears threatening to fall. With a flutter, her blues eyes lock on to mine. "She squeezed my hand." Wanda says excitedly. "Baby, we're here." She tells Y/n, who's got a confused look in her eyes.

"You're in the medical wing sweetheart. You got shot on your mission." I explain to her. "S-t-Steve." She stutters out. "He's fine. He's here." I reassure her, waving for Steve to come closer. "Hey kiddo. Boy we're glad to see you awake." He tells her with a relived smile. One that she returns. "I'll got and get Dr Cho." Wanda states, quickly leaving the room. "T-the m-mission." Y/n starts but Steve is quick to stop her. "Is not to worry about right now. Just know it wasn't your fault. But we'll explain it when you're doing better." He tells her, earning a nod. She reaches out her hand to Steve and he instantly takes it. "You're not allowed to scare us like that again." He chuckles, his voice wavering.

"S-sorry." She replies, her eyes fluttering again. "It's ok sweetheart. Don't fight it if you want to sleep again." I tell her softly. She doesn't really acknowledge me, but she does seem to listen as her eyes flutter shut once again.

They don't stay closed for long though, soon woken up by Cho as she comes in with a wide smile. "There's my favourite patient." She smiles at Y/n, who grins in return. "I bet you s-say that to e-everyone." Y/n responds through a struggled chuckle. "But with you I actually mean it." Cho winks, before looking over Y/n's chart and obs.

She takes the time to explain Y/n's injuries to her and the plan for her recovery. I see her face drop when she realises she's going to be in the hospital for at least another week before being on strict bed rest when she's discharged. "I'll be around if you need anything or have any questions. So please get one of the nurses to get me if you need me. That goes for all of you." Dr Cho offers. "Thank you. For everything." I tell her sincerely. She gives me a tightly smile before turning on her heel and leaving the three of us too it.

With Cho gone, it's silent in the med bay as Wanda, Steve and I just watch over Y/n. She is struggling to keep her eyes open, but I can see a pain in them when they lock on to mine. "You should get some rest kiddo." Steve speaks up as Y/n nods in return. "W-will you s-stay?" She asks, making Steve smile widely. "Of course." He returns, moving to get another chair to sit with us. At that confirmation, Y/n seems comfortable enough to let her eyes close and for sleep to take back over.

It's almost agony to see her asleep once again. We've been waiting for so long for her to wake up, for her to be asleep so soon is tough. I almost want to start apologising and showing her that we're going to change and it's going to stick. But I don't want to overwhelm her. At the moment, her recovery is the most important thing. As much as I hate it, earning her forgiveness will have to wait.

"Now she's awake, you two should head to your apartment. See the twins, eat some proper food, and get some sleep. I can stay with her." Steve offers, but I'm quick to decline. "I don't want to leave her." I tell him, whilst gripping her hand tighter, my eyes not leaving her sleeping form. Steve lets out a sigh. "She'll be asleep for a while, and she needs you both on top form." He tells us.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and look up to see Wanda smiling warmly at me. I hadn't even noticed that she had moved from the other side of the bed. "Steve's right. We've been here for days. If we want to do what's right by Y/n, then we need to look after ourselves as well." She speaks sense.

With a huff I stand from my seat and lean forward to press a kiss to Y/n's head. "We'll be back later sweetheart. I love you so much." I tell her softly then move so that Wanda can say goodbye too. With one last look to our daughter, we both reluctantly leave. Though I smile when I see Steve move closer and take Y/n's hand in his own. Although I will forever regret how we have treated Y/n, I'm glad that she has had Steve there for her.

Y/n's POV:

Well, that was not how I wanted my first mission to go. I wanted to impress everyone, not end up in the med bay with part of my liver missing! Waking up was a weird experience. Seeing my parents' faces were the last thing I expected to see. They seem genuinely worried, but that was probably all a front for everyone else. They can't be seen to not care about the daughter they've ignored for the last few years.

When I wake up next, I see Steve smile down at me. "You're still here." I say and he nods. "Of course. I wanted to make sure that you're ok." He replies, making my own smile grow. I look around and my smile drops when I see that my moms aren't here. I can't hide that it hurts a little that they didn't stick around. But I shouldn't care about that. They haven't cared about me.

"Should have guessed they would go once I woke up." I complain, wincing as I try to adjust myself in bed. "Careful Y/n/n." Steve scolds me as he shoots to his feet to help adjust my pillows. "I told them to go." He admits and I look at him with a frown. "Not like that. But they have not left your side since you were brought in. They weren't looking after themselves and if they are going to help you through your recovery, they need to be at 100%" He explains but I just scoff.

"I don't need their help with my recovery. They didn't care before I was hurt, they don't get to care now." I groan. Steve takes his seat again and looks at me with his, "I know I'm right" look. "Y/n. I know you don't believe it, but they do care for you. They were cut up when you got hurt. They were devastated that they wouldn't have the chance to be able to make things up to you." He says. I roll my eyes, but he continues. "Look, I'm not saying you have to forgive them. But you can't question how much they have cared for you over the last few days."

"Fine, but I'm not going back to their place to recover." I huff, folding my arms. "Considering you've been shot and in a medically induced coma for the last few days, it's good to see it hasn't affected your attitude." Steve teases.

We sit in silence as I think about my parents. They surely can't think that just because they've been sat beside my bed whilst I've been hurt is going to make up for everything that they have done over the years? Who's to say that they won't go back to how they were once I'm healed? I have a place at Sheild now. Somewhere that I can make a name for myself and create my own family.

"I'm sorry I messed up the mission." I break the silence, my mind now moving on to the fact I failed at my first mission. "You didn't fail anything kiddo. We were set up. If anything, I should apologise to you. They were after me, but you were the one to get hurt. You did a great job of take on as many agents as you did." He explains, taking my hand in his. "You fought, and it's because of your skill and ability that you're alive. You impressed everyone." He assures me, running his thumb over my bruised knuckles.

Our moment is broken when my moms walk back in. "You're awake!" Mom says excitedly as both her and mama move into the room quickly. Steve moves back from my side, which I frown at as mama takes my hand in hers. I'm quick to pull it away. The hurt that flashes across her face doesn't go unnoticed, but I'm not in the mood to pretend like everything is ok right now.

"How are you feeling?" Mom asks, appearing to my left. "I'm fine." I respond shortly, receiving a warning raised eyebrow from Steve. "Are you in pain? I can get the nurse to come in and get you some pain killers." Mom fusses. "I'm fine." I repeat the same words. "That's not true, you've been wincing since you've woken up." Steve rats me out. Traitor. "If a 40 calibre bullet went through you, I'm sure you'd be wincing too." I snap. "Told you. Amazing how your attitude hasn't changed." Steve chuckles.

However, both my mom's look at me with worried looks. "I'm going to get Dr Cho. You look pale." Mom worries before rushing out the room.

Mama reaches forward and places her hand on my head, which I quickly try and move away from her touch. "You're hot. I hope you're not running a fever." She states. "Like you care." I mumble, but she hears it and that look of hurt appears on her face again. "Look Y/n. I know you believe that we don't care or love you. But that couldn't be further from the truth. I want nothing more than to talk to you about it and start to make up for everything. But right now, all that matters is your recovery. You can hate us and ignore us or yell at us, but we are not going anywhere." She states firmly, her eyes locked on to mine. I just roll my eyes and turn to look at Dr Cho who has walking into the room.

She checks me over and I notice the frown on her face. "What's up?" I question. "I'm worried about your temperature. I want to run some tests, but with the inflammation to your incision, I'm worried you've got an infection. It's nothing to worry about as we've caught it early. But we'll need to keep a close eye on you." She replies. "So, no discharge yet then." I huff.

Cho chuckles and looks up from my chart. "It's funny you think you were close even without this infection." She teases. "Aren't you meant to be nice to me? I'm a patient after all." I pout. "If I'm on good behaviour, can I get out early?" I plead. "Maybe in a week. But you'll be on strict bed rest and need to be cared for. You're still technically a minor." Cho breaks the news and I know exactly what she's getting at. "But I'm 18 in like 4 days! Besides, I literally got shot on a mission for Shield. Surely that's enough?" I argue.

"Y/n, you are going to struggle to walk, let alone be able to properly look after yourself. Even after you're 18, you'll need support during your recovery. It isn't a simple road ahead for you." Dr Cho returns. "So, what are you saying?" I get straight to the point. "I'm recommending that you are discharged to your family. You'll be in the compound so if anything goes wrong, you can get the right medical attention straight away." She explains. "Really? There are no other options. Can't I stay with Steve or something?" I ask but she shakes her head.

"Y/n, come on. It's what is best for you. Your moms will be there to help. I'll be away on missions so can't give you the care you need." Steve speaks up, but soon shrinks back as I glare at him. "Really, what makes you think that I'll get the care I need at home?" I growl, my anger building. "Y/n..." Mama starts but I cut her off. "No! You can't just stand there and act like the caring parents when you have done nothing to back that claim up. I've been the forgotten daughter for years! Slowly I have been pushed out this family and now you want me to just act like everything is ok and trust that you'll look after me?!" I yell, that frustration finally finding its way out.

"Y/n, you need to calm down. Your heartrate is getting too high." Dr Cho tries to calm me down. "Kiddo. You're ok. You need to give them a chance." Steve tries to reason. "A chance like I was given? I've practically raised myself these last few years!" I snap. Why is he suddenly defending them?!

"Please sweetheart. You're going to make yourself sicker. We want to be there for you. We're not denying how badly we've treated you. But I promise that it will never happen again. You'll be safe with us. We just want to be able to care for you and help you get to full health." Mama speaks, her eyes filled with tears. I look between her, and mom and I see that she's almost inconsolable. "Do I have a choice?" I sigh, turning to Cho. "Technically, yes. But physically, you won't be able to follow through with it." She breaks the bad news. Suddenly the sounds of my heart monitor becomes noticeable so I lie back and take a couple of deep breaths. I can feel all their eyes on me, and I let out a sigh. "Fine whatever." I respond. I just need to do everything that Cho tells me so I can heal as fast as possible and move back to Shield and start my life again.

__________

The next few days are not fun. My infection hit me pretty hard, and I spent a lot of time either sweating or freezing whilst fighting the urge to throw up. I hate being stuck in this bed and I just want to be healthy again and being able to go on missions. Before it went south, I was loving it. Even if it was just a small one.

I'm also finding it hard that my mothers are suddenly around all the time. Mama is much better at not smothering me. Mom on the other hand, she is always fussing. But that's her and I used to love it when I was younger, when she actually cared about my wellbeing. "Wands, she's already said she has enough pillows." Mama sighs, her own frustrations growing. "Yes, sorry you did." Mom apologises, slowly putting the pillow down she had in her hands.

"Can I get you anything else? Some food. Though the food here is pretty horrible. When you're back home, I'll make sure to cook you something tasty with the food you're allowed to eat." She starts to ramble. I'm not going to lie, that does sound amazing, and I'd kill for a bowl of paprikash right now. I remember when mom taught me how to cook it. It was one of the last memories I have of us spending quality time together.

I don't realise I'm smiling until I see both my parents looking at me warmly. I quickly shake it off, not wanting to let them think that I'm enjoying this in the slightest. "You know what. A sandwich would be good." I say, taking them both by surprise. I've not been very talkative, but I could do with a break right now. I know I won't be able to get rid of both of them, but I can at least take a break from mom fussing.

"Of course. I'll go and make you something up and bring it down. The bread is always dry here." She speaks, grabbing a couple of things and turning to leave. "Maybe I'll check with Cho if you could have a smoothy." She mumbles, making mama chuckle as she leaves.

I let out a breath of relief. I feel slightly less suffocated. But I am still very aware of mama's eyes boring into me. I'm used to her being quiet. She always observes, making her conclusions before talking when it's necessary. But seeing her now, it feels different. I'm pretty good at reading people and I can tell that she is lost in her own thoughts. I've only seen her like it a couple of times before and it's been after particularly difficult missions. Ones that bring up bad memories for her.

I grab the TV remote and try and find something to watch. I end up with Rizzoli and Isles on. I don't really watch it, but the sound is helping to break the awkward silence. Just after they break the case in the show, I notice mama sit more upright in her seat.

"When I found you in Hydra, I knew instantly that I wanted to help you. There was something about you that melted my heart. When we found out that you had no family to return you to, it wasn't even a question, I knew I was going to adopt you. In that short space of time, I had spent with you, I grew to love you." She starts. I don't look to her, my focus on the TV.

"Even though you had been through so much, you had this happiness around you. You were grateful for everything and found the joy in the smallest thing. I just wanted to give you a life that you deserved. When I married Wanda, I was so happy that I could give you two loving parents." From the corner of my eye, I can see her smile tearily as she picks at the skin around her fingers.

"I failed you Y/n. When I adopted you, I promised that I would be the best parent to you. That you would never want for anything. What's worse, is I never even noticed what I was doing. What we were both doing. I've always prided myself on being able to read people, but I couldn't see the damage I was doing to my own daughter." She continues, pain evident in her voice.

"I wish I could go back in time to change how we acted with you. To include you fully with the twins, to support you in your work in the Shield Programme. To show that even with the boys, you were loved and an integral part of this family. All I can do is apologise and promise that we are not going to let that happen again." She finishes, finally look up to me, a couple of tears falling down her cheeks.

"It's been years. We're not just talking about a couple of months here." I speak up, still not able to lock eyes with her. "Steve became more of a parent for me than the two of you." I admit, and that seems to make mama's heart break a little more. "Is it because I'm not biologically yours and moms?" I ask, my voice shaking.

Mama is quickly to her feet and takes my hand in between both of hers. "No. Of course not Detka, and I will forever hate myself that I've allowed you to think otherwise." She tries to reassure me, a panic in her eyes. "I wish I could give you a reason for why we acted like we did. Initially, it was because we were so focused on the boys, but after that, I have no idea. I wish I could pinpoint why, maybe it would make this all easier. I know you probably don't believe it, but I love you as much as those boys. Blood doesn't matter to me. You are my daughter as much as they are my sons. I know and feel that through every fibre of my body." She expresses. The sincerity is evident in both her voice and facial expressions. "Saying sorry isn't going to fix this. You only knew what you were doing because I called you out on it. Had I not gotten shot, would you have made any effort to rectify what was wrong?" I question her, my anger growing.

"We wanted to. We were planning on taking you to breakfast to talk and work out a way that we could make things right with you. But you had gone, and we couldn't get to you. You have a lot of people at Sheild that love you." She chuckles humourlessly. That is true. Maria is like an aunt to me and her and Fury happily kept my room allocation secret, "Look, I know that we don't deserve your forgiveness, but it doesn't mean that we are going to stop trying." She states firmly.

"It's not that simple mama. I have learnt to live without you now and I've got my own place with Shield. We can both move on with you getting your perfect biological family and I get the career I want." I say, but that only makes mama cry more. "No, our family is only perfect if you are in it too!" She almost shouts, but she's quick to calm herself down. "Look, we've got to live together through your recovery, let's just see how things go after that ok." She proposes. "Fine, but I can't promise anything will change." I respond and she nods. "I know. But I'm going to try everything to earn your forgiveness." She comes back with a newfound confidence.

We fall back into a silence, one that feels more comfortable. Mama looks less stressed, but her brow is still furrowed. When mom returns, the quiet is broken again, despite mama trying to get her to calm down. I try not to smile when she tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I miss this caring side of my parents so much. But for me, it's too little, too late.

Taglist: @reggierizzoli @ordelixx @mousetheorist

#marvel fanfiction #natasha romanoff #avengers fanfiction #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x y/n #marvel #avengers #romanoff #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat x reader

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moonstruckme · 2 months

Note

Now that your requests are open I need more ceo Sirius content PLEASE 🙏🙏🙏🙏

Thanks for requesting! You didn't ask for smut but it's what popped into my head lol, hope this is okay

cw: smut mdni, semi-public sex

ceo!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 636 words

“Baby.” Sirius’ voice is low and smooth. Compelling. “Let me see you, dollface.”

You struggle to pick your head up from where it’s dropped off the edge of his desk, finding your boyfriend watching you from his plush chair.

“There’s my girl.” He grins, eyes glinting with humor at your flushed face. His hand strokes up and down your thigh, a soothing touch that’s completely at odds with the mess of slick between your legs.

It doesn’t seem particularly fair to you how casual he looks. Sirius is relaxing in his chair like he’s sitting in a meeting, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and hair tied in a loose bun like he might’ve just pulled it back to have his lunch. Meanwhile, you’re spread half naked on his desk, seeping wetness onto the varnished wood.

His fingers dip into you, the heel of his hand rubbing against your clit, and you make a choked sound.

“Breathe,” Sirius reminds you.

You roll your hips in search of more, but he stops you with a firm hand, pressing down just below your navel.

“Easy, sweetness. We’ve got all afternoon, remember? Don’t want to tire you out too early.”

“Sirius.” Your voice comes out breathy, teetering on the edge of a whine. “Come here.”

He hums and curls his fingers inside you. You make a sound like you’re dying. You might be. “That wasn’t very polite, was it?”

“Please.”

He gives up the act easily, standing and bending with his fingers still inside you to lock his lips with yours. The way he kisses you says enough about how much he’s been exercising his patience, too. Greedy passes of his tongue along the inside of your mouth. Deep, long kisses punctuated by little nips. You meet him all the way, half sitting up on the desk to be closer to him even as the butt of his palm works ceaselessly into your clit.

You’re the first to break the kiss when there’s a knock on the door.

“Sir?”

Sirius sighs, but his fingers don’t so much as stutter inside you. He raises his voice to be heard through the door. “I thought I told you not to bother me, Len,” he says, a slight bite of annoyance in his tone.

“I know, I’m sorry. But Mrs. Burke’s assistant called, she wants to move her meeting to three today.”

Your chest starts to burn, and you realize you’ve been holding your breath. You keep a hand pressed over your mouth, terrified of letting out some small sound that could give you away. As if on cue, Sirius’ fingers curl inside you again. Your thighs start to tremble.

“What happened to two tomorrow?”

“She’s had to cut her trip short and will be leaving tonight. Three’s her last availability.”

Sirius frowns, glancing at the clock on the opposite wall. That means he has to have you out of here and have his office cleaned up in an hour. His eyes meet yours, flashing with challenge in a way that has your shaking worsening. He smiles, wolfish.

“You can let her know that’ll be fine,” he says. “Thanks, Len.”

He waits a few seconds for Len to go from the door, then takes your chin in his hand. “What’d we say about breathing, doll?”

You finally let the air escape you. Sirius watches amusedly, fingers still moving in and out of you at an indolent pace.

“Should I go?” you ask once you catch your breath.

Dark eyebrows flick upwards. “No,” he says, sounding almost surprised. “Didn’t you hear Len? My meeting’s not until three.” He bends close to your face, a lock of hair that’s escaped his bun brushing your cheek. “I reckon we can get at least two good ones out of you before then, don’t you think?”

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heartfullofleeches · 8 months

Text

[tw: threats]

Midnight Caller Darling... - A reader fully aware and terrified of their stalkers. The yearning, unwanted presents and advances- the stares. They hate the stares most of all. Lingering glances burned into their skin, following them home and clinging to them no matter how hard they scrubbed and scratched them away. In their shower, their bedroom. Nowhere was safe from watching eyes. They were an infestation, a plague. Darling just wants them all to go away, but nobody will help them. Their calls had been ignored by police, ongoing cases thrown out and burned by detectives who swore their safety - all parties involved paid off with the deeper betrayal of passing their information off to the highest bidder.

They couldn't leave. This was their home, the town that raised them. Though its people had turned their backs on them they couldn't uproot their entire life so suddenly and who's to say their stalkers wouldn't chase after them once they fled - the very police who turned a blind eye writing their escape and subsequential disappearance as just another missing persons case.

They had enough. They were tired of being afraid in their own home. Tired of being afraid of going outside. They searched for something - anything to help them come to find everything they needed was written straight from the hands of their admirers and slipped under their front door.

Phone numbers. Once it was clear nobody would save them, their stalkers shed almost every inch of anonymity and became bolder in their demands and approach. They left numbers, places to meet. Pretty much everything except their real names.. Cowards. One night Reader realized they could have the same wall of mystery as their watchers and ventured out to the payphone down the street. It was dangerous to go out so late, but there were just so much racing through their head they had to do something to gain a moment's rest.

They dialed the first number, granted seconds to put everything in their brain to words as the phone rang. They begs so many nights to be free, it was time for a different approach. If they showed fear or even an ounce of weakness it'd mark them permanently as an easy target. They had to be the one that was feared, a force to be reckoned with. They need to be worse than their stalkers. Threaten them and make them fear every waking moment alive - just like them.

"I..... I have a knife... I have a knife and... I'll stab it through your fucking eye if I ever see you again."

Did they really just say that? The words flowed so naturally from their lips it felt as if they'd rehearsed them their whole life. It felt good. Freeing. Their body hadn't felt so light in ages. They felt in control. Powerful.

"I'll gouge them both out... then you'll never be able to stare at anyone else again. I'll be the last person ever see.. You'd like that - wouldn't you?... stupid bitch."

Its the most fun they've had in years - even before all this began. They never wanted to come down from this high. They were free. Finally free.

"Slut... Think showing a bit of skin will make everyone love you? You're worthless. Nothing more than a cheap fuck. If you ever talk to another person like you do now I'll cut out that pretty tongue and rearrange your guts in ways you aren't used to. We'll see who think you're oh so cute and innocent when I put your head in a trash bag."

"There've been so many times where I could kill you. So many times I could just wrapped my hands around your throat and just - squeezed til you finally shut your mouth for good. One of these days... one of these fucking days..."

"Hahaha, I'll kill you. You hear me, bitch?! I'll slit your fucking throat and fuck you til the warmth leaves your body. It's all you're good for anyway. You stupid whore. Disgusting pig. hahaha - HAHAHA."

In a way their calls work. There aren't as many eyes on them anymore - bashful and reserved by the depravity their darling has whispered to them in the dead of night. It's almost romantic most think. Being the outlet for every twisted thought and frustion their love has had to endure. Figures who once waited outside their door wait patiently each night for their midnight call unable to fall asleep without the verbal assaults and threats of the one they hold dearest to heart.

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere x reader #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere oc #yandere drabble #creep reader

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lieutenantfloyd · 3 months

Text

One thing I think about entirely too often is Cyclone’s face after warlock says “no turning back now.”

Like the whole scene just fascinates me.

He looks uneasy when the daggers are chosen, and terrified during the entire mission. From a storytelling perspective it’s implied that this is him finally reckoning with the full weight of the situation and realizing that there’s nothing more he can do to change things. Which to me makes sense for someone who was so controlling over the training parameters and mission planning.

What I also think is interesting is how similar the look on his face in this scene is to the one he makes when they’re in his office and Maverick says “-and how to come home, sir”.

(Which to me never came across like him having a sudden realization, but more so a look of surprise?? Whether by Maverick’s forwardness or that Mav thinks he hasn’t been considering that. This is a topic for another time...)

Anyway, throughout the movie Cyclone is supposed to be this super stern villain character who only cares about the objective, but he just… isn’t? Like obviously he’s a no nonsense type who wants the mission accomplished, but his way of going about things just doesn’t line up with the actions of someone who doesn’t genuinely care about the aviators. Something I think is especially obvious when you compare him to someone like Admiral Cain, who canonically couldn’t care less about the aviators.

#ignore me #this post comes to you courtesy of Jon Hamm’s exceptionally expressive face and my neurodivergency #are they really your comfort character if they aren’t also your Roman Empire??#top gun maverick #top gun #beau cyclone simpson #cyclone #warlock #warlock top gun #maverick mitchell #pete maverick mitchell #Maverick #tg #tgm

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seravphs · 1 year

Text

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GUARDIAN ANGEL! GOJO x FEM READER

Kneeling by your bed, rosary wrapped around your knuckles, lips pressed to the burnished rosewood, you pray.

God, please send me another guardian angel.

A blast of static from the TV behind you.

The one you sent me-

“Hey, how does the thing work?” Gojo says, accompanied by loud thumps. You cringe in silence.

He’s strange.

wc — 3.7k

tags — religion, Gojo has to reckon with the consequences of being the strongest, domesticity, attempted (failed) mugging/attack, Gojo kills a man for you (non graphic), Shoko’s a good friend, bs angel lore, I think of this like a prequel to reader’s villain arc lol, title from closer by nine inch nails

You wake up to a man standing over your bed. Understandably, you scramble backwards, hands over knees over legs over feet, all your limbs tangled together, until you bump into your headboard.

“Hi!” He says cheerily. “Wow, haven’t gotten that reaction in a while, not since- Anyways. I’m Gojo Satoru, your guardian angel. Please make breakfast, it’s 12 pm already and I’m starving. Your sleep habits are terrible.”

You shake, terrified. Nothing he said has gone through your brain.

“Um, hello? Deep breaths now. It’s really not that serious, can you stop that? Hellooooo,” he’s snapping his fingers in front of your face, trying to get through to you.

You panic and bat his hand away, but if you can touch him, that means he’s real. You’re not dreaming. There’s a strange man in your house calling himself your guardian angel. You try to pull yourself together enough to make a coherent sentence. What comes out is:

“Um. Guardian angel. What?”

“You don’t believe me,” he says.

You’ve heard it can be dangerous for people suffering from delusions to be forcefully brought out of their dreams. “No,” you say carefully. “I’m sure this is all a big understanding.”

“No, that’s okay,” he laughs. “I love getting to do this.”

Massive wings unfurl from his back. It’s a strange sight. The air seems to ripple around them, iridescent ebbs and flows of the universe to make space for the impossible. They seem to sprout right out of his shoulder blades.

It’s undeniable, irrefutable proof. Your brain can’t process this. It goes back to sleep.

You wake up to the smell of bacon burning in the kitchen.

Gojo hums as he cooks, his wings out. You’re almost worried they’ll get caught in the flames when suddenly you have something much more real to worry about.

“Ow!” He’s about to stick his finger into his mouth when you intervene, scolding him without even thinking about it.

“That’s dangerous! Don’t put your hands in your mouth, especially not if you’ve been cooking. Come here,” you tug him over to run his hands under the faucet.

“Who's the guardian angel again?” He teases, amused.

You answer him with another question. “Why are you cooking, anyways?”

“You’re starving me! It’s so late and you haven’t made breakfast yet - you know I could report you to the authorities for angel abuse, right?”

Somehow, you don’t believe him. There may very well be a division in heaven’s bureaucracy dedicated to looking after angels, but something about Gojo is just on the edge of unbelievable, like if you blink too hard, it might disappear without a trace. It’s the wings, probably.

You’re good at compartmentalizing, so you ignore all of the normal reactions someone would have to an angel randomly appearing in your apartment to instead make breakfast. Gojo already burned your favorite pan, so you stick it in the sink to soak while you rummage around for your second best set. Then you check the fridge. You’re out of butter and eggs. There are just two pieces of bacon left. Is it presumptuous to ask your angel to run errands with you?

You poke your head out of the fridge to look at Gojo, staring remorsefully at the burnt remains of his once-was-an-egg. He’s nursing the cut on his finger.

“Do you want to go grocery shopping?”

He smiles at you, slow and syrupy and-

He can’t do that. He’s beautiful as it is, as if God took extra time crafting him. Smiling only makes his beauty all the more painful, tugging at the strings of your heart. His snow white hair curls against the nape of his neck, a ruthlessly cute detail you notice when he tilts his head at you.

“I would love to. What’s grocery shopping?”

Introducing Gojo to the modern world is an exercise in both patience and childish wonder. There’s so much he doesn’t know. He tells you the last time he’s been on Earth was somewhere back in the 90’s.

“Like 1990? That’s pretty recent,” you remark.

“Like 90 CE.”

He’s delighted by everything, even the simplest of snacks, and begs you to add them to your cart. Ramune impresses him to no end. He’s enthralled by the taste of ice cream after the nice worker gives him a sample. You might really be reported to the Bureau of Angel Abuse at this point - all he’s interested in is junk food. It takes a while to finally wrangle him away from everything. In a way, it’s your fault because you hesitate to refuse an angel anything, and Gojo wants it all. You only manage to get him to agree to go home once you’ve tired him out.

There was a sense of reverence, at first.

There’s an angel living in your home. It’s hard to imagine getting used to that. Walking into the bathroom to the sight of Gojo brushing his teeth shirtless, his wings out, is a sight that will never get old. He manages to transform even the mundane into the divine. The sunlight strikes his hair at just the right angle to glow, giving him a faux-halo.

“Good morning,” he smiles. “I think I used up all your toothpaste.”

By day seven, you’ve wised up to Gojo’s tactics. If you don’t say no to anything, he’ll steamroll right over you, so you have to grow a backbone.

“Oh, Christ? Yeah, we’re old pals. We go wayyyyy back.”

“Please be quiet while I’m trying to pray.”

“We’re in the same therapy group, actually. He texts me all the time for advice-“

“Gojo. Shut. Up.”

He’s silent for all of a minute before he pipes up again. “I don’t think capital G up there would appreciate that.”

You have never missed a day of prayer in your life. No temptation has been able to sway you from your duties. Hunger, thirst, and pain all were swept away in the face of your faith. Were you seriously about to start now, being annoyed to death by a particularly useless angel?

The best solution to Gojo is always to ignore him. He needs attention like flowers need water.

Without it, he stalks off to sulk.

It’s night by the time he returns. He’s flying, which you usually don’t allow him to do, but you’ve driven out to a more remote, private church to pray. It’s owned by an old family friend, who handed you the keys without question. Half of this is for you, to experience god in the sanctity of nature, and half is for Gojo. You hate seeing him cooped up. Part of you feels like you’ve chained him down. You’re a trap in the form of a human, made to keep him grounded.

He touches down next to you, hair slicked to his forehead in sweat. When he stretches his arms, his wings move simultaneously. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look more alive. He loves nothing like he loves flying, and you’re inclined to agree.

Maybe you’ll let him take you for another ride tonight. You love the feeling of the wind against your face, the sight of the landscape beneath you when he takes you up, the feeling in your stomach when he tucks his wings in and free-falls for fun. You’re not scared. Gojo would never let anything happen to you.

You might ask, later. Now, you send him off to the car ahead of you while you lock up. He’s cheerful as he heads off, whistling merrily. You’re glad flying has improved his mood. It’s equally painful for you whenever he’s upset with you. Perhaps it's simply a side effect of being a guardian angel .

The key is in the door when you feel the first hint of danger.

“All the money in your pockets, ma’am.”

Polite, for a thief.

“You’re not from around these parts.” He says as you spin around. “Should’ve known better than to go wandering around these woods alone. Whatever happens next is on you, sweetheart. If only you’d been a little more careful.”

He has a knife.

“What do you want? Money? You can have it.” It doesn’t matter much to you. As long as he leaves before Gojo comes back.

“Sometimes, ma’am, men don’t want anything but a thrill.”

Then he lunges at you, presses you against the wall, and pins you with a knife to your throat.

“Don’t scream now. No one would hear you anyways.”

He’s wrong about that part.

You hear him coming up the path before you see him.

“What’s taking you so long?” Gojo whines. “I wanna go home and watch Love Island already-oh.”

“Run!” Gojo might be an angel, but you’ve seen him cut himself making toast. He can bleed like any other man, gold ichor, yes, but blood still. You don’t want to see him hurt.

Instead, he sizes up your assailant, unfurls those beautiful wings - they always take your breath away - and in one swift move, simply tears you from his grasp. It’s faster than you can blink.

The man makes a muffled sound of fear and shock as Gojo seems to blink back into existence. You know he’s only moving too fast for your brains to comprehend.

“Stay here,” he deposits you on the grass behind him. It’s scorched, burned black from the temperature of his wings.

He turns up the heat. You didn’t think it was possible, but he was clearly holding back. The air seems to melt around him, heat waves shimmering off his skin, his white feathers. They glow with an otherworldly light, radiating heat.

You didn’t know true glory until this moment, and it frightens you. All other versions of blue fade in favor of Gojo’s eyes - a single, unyielding truth. He is a piece of heaven on earth, burning up. His anger is righteous. Holy. His true nature melts away his human appearance.

He’s a seraph, one of the highest order of angels.

You’ve never seen him fight before, don’t know how he gets his weapons or where he puts them. It just appears out of thin air. He carries a flaming sword in one hand, its pommel is white marble, its blade glass. Contrary to common belief, his voice doesn’t boom. In fact it’s all the more threatening because it is soft, a whisper so clearly heard it defies the laws of the world just because it can.

He raises the sword like an executioner and judge all in one.

You barely have time to close your eyes in horror when you realize what he’s about to do.

Real angels are not like the watered down, commercialized ones you can find today in any young adult TV show. Real angels are bloody. Real angels are the hand of God, ruthless and violent.

Real angels have no mercy.

You open your eyes again when you feel the now familiar heat on your skin.

He’s standing before you, beaming. It’s clear he expects praise. In heaven, it might’ve been given to him.

You can only stare at him in fear, not awe.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He steps closer, his burning wings flapping. “It’s okay. I got rid of him. You’re safe now.”

You’re ashamed a split second after it happens because it’s so pathetic, but you can’t help it. Your animal instincts react instinctively to the threat, sending you skittering back on your palms and ass away from him.

He freezes. His wings remain moving. Perhaps, like a shark and its gills, he simply can’t stop.

“You’re afraid of me,” he says, stunned. “Why are you afraid of me?”

The heat from his wings is baking your face. You’re afraid if you speak, your skin will crack. Still, Gojo shows no signs of leaving you alone. If anything, he’s about to get closer.

“Stop,” you squeak. You throw out your hands in front of you like the world’s most useless shield. Your eyes are watering from looking into his radiance.

Helpless, Gojo does something he hasn’t done since he was just a newborn angel.

He asks for help.

Shoko Ieri looks nothing like him, so that answers one question you’ve always had. Gojo tells you she’s another angel, although you don’t see her wings past the first minute you’ve met. After Gojo summons her to the scene and she catches the way you look at him, she keeps them carefully folded in.

She helps you into the passenger seat when you can’t make your legs move to walk back to your car. You won’t let Gojo touch you, feeling torn at the look on his face when you flinch back from him.

He’s sitting on a stool at the island while Shoko checks you over for injuries in the kitchen. There’s no major damage, just the after effects of shock and adrenaline working through your system.

“You know I’d never hurt you, right?” He says, hurt and confused.

“You fucking idiot. You colossal blockhead. You-“ Shoko pauses, not because she’s run out of things to say, but because she has too many. “It’s not about you, right now, okay? I know it’s hard for you to get your head out of your ass, but can you at least try to be supportive?”

Gojo makes a noise like he wants to protest, but you shift your weight and that draws his attention back to you. The look on your face makes him fall silent.

Shoko leaves after she’s completed her examination, though she doesn’t leave you helpless.

“Do you want to come with me?” She says, carefully. “I understand if you don’t want to be left alone with him right now.”

You shake your head.

“Listen, I know Gojo scared you. I’m sorry. He shouldn’t have. He’s always been too reckless - ugh. The stories I could tell you. But I promise you, he will never hurt you - not just because he cares about you, but because he’s literally not allowed to. He’s your guardian angel.”

“I know,” you say, and that’s the end of that.

There’s an uncomfortable silence after Shoko leaves. You’re not sure how to navigate the once easy relationship between you and Gojo now. Always unable to keep still, he breaks the silence first.

“Do you want to talk about it now?” He says softly. Everything about him is dulled, even the gleam of his brilliant hair. He’s back within his human skin, even more modestly than before, as if he has taken care to seal up every crack that his true nature could spill out of.

You choose your first question carefully. “Why has the lord sent a seraph to watch over me?”

Seraphs are the highest level of the hierarchy of angels. They maintain the order of the world, fulfilling God’s will. For one to have come to you-

True horror is sinking in. You love your saints. You worship them devoutly, knowing each story by heart. You could trace a path through the church library of all the books you’ve read on them, giving the history of each spine.

You do not want to be one of your saints.

Joan of Arc died at 19. Saint Agatha was canonized for being tortured violently.

By sending you such a strong protector, your lord may be condemning you to die young, but that’s not why you cry. You cry because you are too weak to fulfill his command.

Life is sweet. You don’t want to give up the taste of tart oranges on your tongue, the feeling of the babbling creek over your feet, the songs of the birds in the morning. You don’t want to give up Gojo’s wake up calls, or the feeling of flying.

All these selfish, worldly pleasures should mean nothing to you when faced with the lord’s call, and yet-

You resent it still.

You’re so confused by it all. Why were you given such a burden and told nothing about it? What does any of it mean?

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. We don’t get told anything but who we were assigned to.”

“Okay,” you say.

“That’s it? Okay? I scare the shit out of you, and all you have to say is okay?”

“Gojo, I don’t want to fight anymore. Let me just go to bed, please.”

You’re woken up not by the light of Gojo’s halo, as you’ve gotten used to when he comes to your room demanding breakfast, but by the sun. The curtains are open, and sunbeams stream in over your pillow.

Gojo is in the kitchen making - not burning - breakfast. He doesn’t turn when you pad into the kitchen on slippered feet, but you know he knows you’re there. You’re feeling much better. Sleep has refreshed you from the major shock to your system last night, and now you feel almost half bad for your reaction to him. He only wanted to help you, after all.

It’s not his fault he’s strong. At the end of the day, he’s just another gear in the universe, like you. Neither of you are important enough to be privy to the greater, divine plan, not even a seraph. You shouldn’t have snapped at him. You’re in this together.

You stand on tiptoe behind him to peer over his shoulder into the pan.

“I’m making you breakfast,” he says. Is it just you, or does he seem almost shy?

What an impact you’ve had on him. Your heart breaks. You’ve only known him to be bold and uncaring of human customs like politeness. You didn’t think it would upset you to see him learn manners, and yet-

It’s a consequence of your rejection last night, as if he’s worried you’ll pull away again. This isn’t what you wanted, ever.

“We should talk,” you say.

“Yeah. We should.” He still won’t turn around, avoiding eye contact.

Before you can speak, he blurts out, “ Do you not want me to be your angel anymore?”

“Of course not,” you say, reaching out for him. He’s hesitant to let you pull him closer, take his hands in yours. “Gojo, why would you think that?”

“You’re scared of me,” he says, almost petulantly, like a sulking child. “You don’t like me anymore.”

“Gojo,” you can think of nothing to say but his name. Sweet Gojo. Selfish Gojo. Gojo, who you’ve gotten used to having around. Gojo, who has infiltrated your life and now thinks to leave like you can kick him out like that. Like you would. Gojo, who you’re fond of in a way you can’t articulate, despite the way he takes and takes from you. Gojo, who you’re willing to keep, despite everything.

Gojo, who you care about, enough to want him to stay.

Gojo, who cares about you, enough to want to leave.

He takes this like a rebuff and wrenches his hands out of yours.

You grab his face and forcefully drag his attention back to you. His eyes are wild like a trapped animal, but there’s no sign of fire. He’s carefully dampened any kind of godliness in him.

“Oh, Gojo. Please don’t. I want you with me, I promise. I would never ask you to leave.”

“You don’t have to,” he says grimly. A soldier to the end. He knows how to do the hard things. Sometimes, you have to cut the rot out before the wound festers.

“I am scared of you - please don’t make that face. You’re breaking my heart.”

“Your heart? What about mine?” He bristles.

“I trust you. Let me prove it. Take your wings out again. Show me your true self.”

“After seeing how you reacted?” He scoffs, turning defensive. You’ve exhausted his goodness, and now his emotions are getting the better of him, making the situation ugly. But you knew this would happen.

You know him.

And you know how to deal with him.

“Come on,” you say. “Think of it like exposure therapy.”

“I don’t want to see you look at me like that again,” he admits.

“I know you won’t hurt me,” you say. “Please. Do you trust me?”

He ends up on the ground cross legged, his wings spread, back to you. His wings are fiery, but carefully controlled. He won’t burn you.

You start small, running your hands all over his wings. They rustle underneath your touch like startled animals. When you tug gently at the ends, extending them to their full length, you realize how monstrous his wingspan truly is. From tip to tip, they’re larger than a grown man is tall. Your fingers creep along the thin ridge of his radius, deceptively thin beneath your fingers. If you didn’t know better, it would snap easily with just the barest hint of pressure.

He makes a small noise. You jerk back, worried you’ve actually bent the bone, but he’s fine. He pushes his wings back under your hands like a puppy seeking attention.

From the radius, you trail along the top edge to his metacarpus, then down to his feathers, all the way back to his scapula. From there, it’s only a few inches over to his actual shoulder blades. He shudders when you touch him there, your fingertips lightly grazing over the bone. You press down gently. His muscles flex under your skin, tense and wound up.

You realize that he's been suspiciously quiet for a while. He’s too still, as if he’s purposely holding himself in place. Have you hurt him without knowing? Would he tell you if you had?

“Gojo?” You pull your hands away from his wings and he shudders as if he’s been burned. “Look at me.”

He won’t turn, so you grab him by the chin and force his head up so you can look him in the face. Even down on the floor like this, he’s tall. His face is pink, his eyes wide like he’s been stunned. He looks almost like he’s in pain.

“What’s wrong? Why didn’t you say anything? Does it hurt?” You fret over him.

“Doesn’t,” he says hoarsely. “Feels too good.”

You freeze. It’s this sight of an angel in all his celestial grace wrecked by your touch, brought down by just the brush of your fingers, that makes you realize it.

It feels good to have an angel at your feet.

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader

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kingkatsuki · 11 months

Text

— make it fit

Based on this post here.

Kirishima says he’ll make it fit, but it really really won’t fit.

Warnings: 18+, size difference, hinted first time, creampie, Kirishima jerks off in readers pussy, Kiri talks to your pussy like it’s a person sorry not sorry, not proofread.

Pairing: Kirishima Eijirou x f!reader.

Word Count: 1.2k.

It’s no secret that Kirishima is big.

The number eight Pro-Hero is a force to be reckoned with as he towers over most other heroes, especially his old classmates. He’s a towering wall of muscle and dwarfs you with ease, whenever you hold his hand or sit on his lap you’re reminded about just how contrasting the size difference is. And being a man of his stature means there isn’t a part of Kirishima that’s small.

“Fuck,” Kirishima grunts as the swollen tip of his cock catches against your hole, leaning into the give as he begins to press his hips forward.

But he’s too big, too thick.

It feels like all the air has been stolen from your lungs as he begins to breach your wet heat, certain you can feel him in your throat as you begin to seize up.

“Shit, baby,” He chokes, moving a calloused thumb to press sloppy circles against your clit, “You gotta relax.”

And you’re trying, you really are. Thinking back to all the nights you’d spent dreaming of this moment, your fingers stuffed into your tight cunt as you tried to imagine they were his cock. Spreading and scissoring your digits in a feeble attempt of replicating the size, but of course you hadn’t prepared for him to be quite this big.

“You’re so fucking tight, oh shit—“ Kirishima clenches his eyes shut tight, terrified that if he opens them he’ll cum too soon. The debauched expression on your face veiled with the slightest hint of pain has his cock pulsing, his balls tightening as he contemplates just rutting his hips forward and forcing his cock into your wet, warm hole, “Come on, sweet girl. You got this, I got you—”

He’s panting now, short chaste breaths which have his chest heaving. It does nothing to quell the ache between your thighs, only serving to have your clit throbbing with desire when his eyes roll back.

“Eiji— it hurts,” Your jaw tightens as you hiss through gritted teeth when Kirishima shifts his hips, your cunt drooling around him does nothing to help ease him inside. The lubrication no match for his thick girth as he tries a different angle. A different approach as he presses palm to your thigh, raising your hips but to no avail.

“I know, baby. I know,” He coos, leaning down to pepper wet kisses against your cheek. Following the path of the tears that streak down the apples of your cheeks as the change of angle has you gasping in surprise, a pained squeal tumbles from the back of your throat as you make a sound akin to a wounded animal, “Fuck, sweetheart. I’m sorry—”

But Kirishima still doesn’t pull out. He feels like a monster for deliberately trying to continue when you’re in pain, when he’s hurting you. It’s not his fault. Not when you feel so good, his cock begs for more as he cherishes the way your cunt wraps around him. Even with just the tip buried inside you he can still feel the way you clench around him, like your needy cunt is desperately trying to milk him for all he’s got.

“I just gotta get this tight little pussy used to me is all,” He groans, letting his fingers feel around his cock, pressing down on where your bodies are connected as he collects your slick against his fingers, “Get her all nice and ready for my cock.”

Kirishima loves the way your cunt pulses at his praise, gazing down at you through half-lidded eyes as he begins to stroke himself. Smearing your slick along his length as he wraps himself in a fist, tightening it to try and replicate how tight your cunt would be if he just forced his hips forward.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. We’ll keep trying yeah? Keep trying until I stretch this pretty pussy out.” He’s rambling now, drunk on pleasure as he imagines just how deep inside you he would be if you took him all. His free hand tracing a path along your pelvis towards your stomach as he presses down.

Your smaller hands wrap around his wrist for some semblance of reality as Kirishima continues to jerk himself off with his swollen tip still buried inside you.

“Please, Eiji.” His fist bumps your clit with each forward motion as he watches you writhe beneath him, almost like you’re begging for his cum.

And who is he to deny you? He’s a gentleman after all.

“I think she can take me all, she’s just shy.” He continued, flicking his wrist as he continued to stroke his cock, “But she can take all my cum, can’t she?”

Your tits are bouncing from the force of his fist as he begins to buck his hips into his touch, more of his cock disappears inside you as you choke back a moan. A constant heartbeat throbs in your trachea as your nails dig into the soft skin on his wrist, watching as Kirishima practically loses himself inside your cunt. Messy wisps of red hair stick to his temples as the crude schlick of his hand stroking his cock echos around the room, paired with his guttural groans as he works himself towards his end.

“So pretty like this, so tight, wet— fuck,” He’s losing himself, delirium setting in as he follows his bliss. The familiar sensation rumbles between his thighs as his cock begins to twitch, pressing his palm down on your belly as he cums hard. Spilling rope after rope of warm, thick cum into your tight hole.

Kirishima sounds even better saying your name when it’s at the end of a crescendo, the husky rasp to his tone has your walls clamping down around him as you feel a warmth beginning to consume you from the inside. His cheeks flushed as he gazed down at you, pulling his tip out from your tight cunt to watch his milky cum drool out of you. Your little hole barely stretched, but he can tell the difference. The slight flutter of your walls an indication of just how much he’d managed to fit inside.

And he’d make you take more, you’d take every inch of him soon enough. Of course you would.

“You did so good for me, sweetheart,” Kirishima mumbled, his hands already circling beneath your thighs, “Such a good girl.”

“But it didn’t fit.” You pouted, like an insubordinate child who didn’t get their own way.

“It’s okay, baby.” He cooed, “I’ll make it fit.”

He’s already tugging your thighs apart to hoist your hips up to his eager mouth, his tongue gliding through your slick as he pushes against your drooling hole full of his release.

“Let me clean you up and we’ll try again, yeah sweetheart?”

#red daddy riot

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amyispxnk · 6 months

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And if you were my little girl

Summary - your dad sucks and you finally turn to Joel for help (summaries are my specialty can you tell)

A/N: SO my dad’s being a little bitchy and making me genuinely want to unalive a little bit, I remembered this song existed, Joel is the father we all wish we had, and here we are. Also I’ve (fortunately) never had to deal with an alcoholic so I’m sorry if it’s not written very well?

Pairing: platonic/father figure!Joel Miller x f!reader (can probably be read as gn tho?)

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: paternal issues (i refuse to say daddy sorry), alcohol mention, language, angst, comfort, a lot of tears, father Joel, implications of using certain methods to get things you want, verbal/physical abuse, blood

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

Part 2 here

You reckoned you had stopped really taking the words in that he tried to threaten you with a long time ago, letting the curses and attempts to break you apart in through one ear and straight out the other. That way you wouldn’t be able to linger on them for too long; it was better that way.

“Where’s the fuckin’ drinks?” Your dad yelled, stumbling around the kitchen and throwing open the shelves in his search, met with nothing but dust. You skated around him as best you could but after he had almost torn apart the wood trying to find the alcohol, he turned to you.

Red in the face, sweating furiously with a look that could definitely kill you. Hands balled at his sides as he took a step towards you.

“D’you hide it again?” He said menacingly, trying to instil as much fear as he could into you, desperate for the liquid relief.

This time, you hadn’t hidden it. You knew better than to try and help him anymore, he couldn’t be fixed and you had to just accept it. When you were younger, when you were more stupid, more hopeful, you had tried hiding it or disposing of it in secret to try and discourage his alcoholism - only to be met with a split lip and hundreds of salty tears spilling from your eyes, only to be ignored and discarded and yelled at and told you were useless before being sent out to go get more. Sometimes without money, him saying that you’d just have to find another way to get it.

You were so disgusted with the prospect of what he was surely insinuating, but thinking about what he might do if you came back empty-handed was somehow scarier to you at the time.

“Fucking answer me!” He snarled, pulling you up by your collar and glaring at you.

“I didn’t hide it- there’s none left, and there’s no way to get any right now. If you just calm-” You began, trying to keep your voice steady and your face void of too much emotion. You weren’t going to let him do anything. He didn’t scare you anymore.

“Well you best fuckin’ find some, you bitch!” He shoved you towards the door, knocking you onto the hard wooden floor in the process and watching you cry out in pain without so much as batting an eye, too fucking stubborn to even feel any remorse since he was always fucking right about everything like he was now.

“Don’t think about coming back here unless you find me it.” And with that, he slammed the door in your face, leaving you outside the apartment door in the hallway.

You let out a shaky exhale, hands raising and covering your face as you furiously wiped away any tears that threatened to spill. Your hands balled up in your face as you hit your head over and over. You had to think of something. No matter how much of a poker face you put on in front of him, you were still terrified deep down, that feeling would never go away no matter how long you’d been putting up with it for.

You ran through all of your usual options, but you genuinely couldn’t think of one that would work today. It was nearly impossible to get your hands on alcohol in the apocalypse with ration cards, without them you had to resort to other means and you couldn’t bring yourself to do that right now.

Just when you thought that all hope was lost, the familiar and far-too-comforting Southern drawl of Joel Miller sounded from across the hallway.

“Y’alright sweetheart?” He asked cautiously. He had heard some banging coming from your apartment and had opened the door to find you standing there, tugging at your hair in frustration and looking like you were about to explode.

You turned to face him, opening your mouth to speak but not really knowing what to say.

How many times had this happened? How many times had your own father terrorised you for any minor inconvenience and blamed you for everything, made you feel stupid and worthless of any attention or love? And how many times had Joel still given you that attention, that love, or whatever it was. Maybe it was love, maybe he was just being nice to you, but you told yourself that’s what love was since you knew no better. Growing up in this world was cruel enough, but without anyone who truly loved you and liked to make sure you knew that every day, nobody to protect you from the monsters - infected and human - that inhibited it, that felt like the worst fate you could suffer.

So were you alright? No. No, of course you weren’t. But you’d say you were just like you had every time, because you didn’t want to bother people with your ‘issues’. As well as numbing yourself from feeling any intense fear or sadness as a result of your father’s endless torment, you also found it incredibly difficult to take pity on yourself. You always felt like your issues were never that real, that your father had a hard life and maybe you should just let him take it out on you.

“I’m..” you began, mustering up a pathetic excuse for a smile as you glanced from his face to the ground in front of your feet, “I’m fine, thank you.”

You knew the exact expression which would be on his face without even needing to look up, having seen it too many times. That one where he looks worried, his brows furrowed as he tries to pick you apart and figure out what the hell was actually going on, slightly angry too as this kept on happening and you still refused to tell him anything. Did you not trust him? Did he do something wrong? He knew he was threatening to people, that’s what he was known for in the QZ. But he had never done anything to you, he’d always tried helping you but you never talked or anything at all with him.

“Do you um- do you have any beer? Any alcohol would be fine really, I just need it right now. I can pay you but I don’t have any ration cards so it would have to be later on unless you could think of anything…” You trailed off at the end, not wanting to say it and give him the option in case he hadn’t thought of it yet, praying he wouldn’t want that.

“Yeah, I got some.” He murmured, before blinking a few times and opening the door to his apartment again, cogs turning in his brain as he still tried to figure out what happened.

“Come in, don’t need ya standin’ there like a lemon.” He said when you stayed fixed to the ground beneath you instead of following him inside like he had very clearly offered when he left the door open after walking in himself.

“Right.” You nodded as you entered his apartment, closing the door gently behind you and watching him as he went over to his cabinets and reached for some whiskey.

You took in his living space. It was clean, organised. The small entryway led straight into the living room which was linked to the kitchen space, a dusty couch in the centre of the room and a coffee table in front of it. A few books were on the table, along with some slightly cracked glasses. You never took Joel to be much of a reader, clearly you were wrong.

There were 2 more doors which were closed and you could only assume that they were the bathroom and his bedroom.

“Hope this ‘s okay.” He said as he appeared in front of you, bottle of whiskey in hand.

“You’re not drinkin’ this all by yourself, are ya?” A smirk appeared on his face as he attempted the light teasing with you, maybe that would cheer you up a bit.

Your expression bore a smile which faltered and faded quickly. If only he knew.

“No, no. It’s for my dad. He ran out so.. Yeah. How do you want me to pay?” You said quietly. Whatever it took, you supposed.

He noticed the dejected look on your face as you looked up at him. So tired. That’s what came to mind whenever he looked at you. Barely an adult and already looking like you were at death’s door whenever he saw you. Exhaustion clouded all of your features and your mind when you trudged up the stairs, down the corridor and up to your apartment door, entering as your shoulders somehow slumped even more.

“Y’ don’t needa pay, sweetheart.” He told you, and you blinked a few times in confusion.

“Really?” There was no way. Alcohol was so hard to come by, and here he was giving you a bottle for free?

“Yeah.” He nodded, making sure you had a good hold on the bottle before letting go of it and pursing his lips as he thought deeply yet again.

“‘F you ever need to talk or anythin’, I’m always here for ya, okay?” He said before you could leave, making you stop with your back towards him as you stood at the door.

“Thank you, Joel.” You whispered before leaving and returning to your own apartment.

After that, you found yourself on Joel’s doorstep a few more times - you didn’t go every time you needed something, not wanting him to think you were taking advantage of his kindness, so sometimes you were just genuinely hanging out with him.

He had some little books and crosswords, stories to tell you, and one time he’d even come across a VHS tape with a movie from the dawn of time on it which the two of you had watched one evening.

You stayed too late and definitely paid the price for it, but it was worth it, you told yourself as you cleaned the blood from your arms and hissed at the sting of a newly-formed bruise.

Then, one evening, it finally fell apart. He threw you out of the house, quite literally, and you were already knocking on Joel’s door before you could realise what you were doing.

He opened the door and you slammed yourself into him, causing him to let out a little cough as he stumbled back, arms tentatively wrapping around you.

“Woah, woah, y’alright sweetheart?” He asked, taken aback by your sudden action.

“Joel, I- I'm sorry.” You choked out, tightening your hold on him and fisting his shirt.

He ushered you gently into his apartment, closing the door behind you and sitting you down on the couch.

“What's goin’ on? What happened?” He said, watching as you trembled, lip quivering as you tried to formulate a sentence without bursting into tears.

You ultimately failed at that. Only managing the words my dad before a pained sob wracked through your entire body and you were crying into your palms.

Joel rushed to your side, pulling you into him and rubbing his hands up and down your back soothingly.

“‘s okay. You can talk to me, tell me what's goin’ on honey.” He told you, pulling back slowly from you to try and make you look at him, frown deepening on his face when he saw how upset you were.

“He- he- kicked me out, ‘cause I didn't- I lost the cards and- he got too angry at me so then- I was mad at him back and he hurt me so I said I didn't want to stay and he-” You stuttered, trying to actually remember what had happened in the first place then explain it as best you could.

His jaw clenched with anger. How could someone do that to their own child? Your father had clearly put you through so much emotionally and physically, and you had done nothing wrong. You were a good kid, and you deserved better than that. He could be better for you.

Your shaky breathing filled the room as he came back to his senses, willing his fury to stop clouding his head so he could focus on what was more important right now - you. He'd deal with him later.

His thumb reached up and wiped a stray tear from your face before he pulled you close again, hugging you tight.

“You stay here, okay? ‘m so sorry sweetheart. I won't let anythin’ bad happen to ya. Y’just gotta let me help you.” He said as you nodded into his shirt, a weak mm-hm muffled by the fabric before he slowly rose from the couch and walked into his kitchen.

He came back with a glass of water, offering it to you. “Drink this.” Your cautious fingers closed around it and brought it to your lips.

“‘s gonna be okay. You can stay here, if you want?” You had come to him, obviously hoping he'd ask you that, but hearing him actually say it gave you relief like nothing else could.

“Y-yes, please.” You said, putting the glass back down on the coffee table as he nodded, helping you up and taking you to his room.

“I'll stay out there on the couch for a bit, okay? ‘til we can sort somethin’ a little more proper out for ya.” He told you, going to find you some clothes that weren't almost completely torn up.

When he returned, he saw you blankly staring at the floor, hands fingering the same strand of hair mindlessly and not even realising him walking up to you.

He sighed, handing you the clothes and placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“It'll be okay sweetheart. Nothin’ bads gonna happen anymore, he can't hurt you here.” He assured you, hugging you one more time before he left, closing the bedroom door behind him.

Thank you sm for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated and requests are open 💞

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avocado-writing · 8 months

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notes: a request from @silcosmoke who then went and did a version of this fic which is 🔥read it here!

rating: T

pairing: aziraphale x reader

cw: sexual harassment

Aziraphale’s hand is warm on your leg, protective, and ever so slightly possessive. Not that he’d admit to that last part, he’s an angel after all, and greed is unbecoming. But he does like that you are his.

“My round,” you say, noticing your glasses are empty. Aziraphale opens his mouth to object and request that he should buy again, but you press a finger to his lips before he can speak. He is silenced, smiling, and you head to the bar.

It’s a busy day, so you insert yourself in the crowd and try to make eye contact with the bartender. In fact, you don’t even notice someone has pushed in next to you intentionally until they start speaking.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

You look around, confused, before you realise he’s talking to you. He’s slurring his words, clearly a few pints deep already, and getting far too close for comfort.

“Can I help you?” you ask, not terribly upset yet, more annoyed. That changes when he lurches forward and presses his body into yours.

“Yeah, darling, actually I reckon you can…” he leers, his face disgustingly close to yours.

“Leave me alone, mate, I’m here with someone.”

The drunk clearly hasn’t realised. He’s too off his face to really know what he’s doing. That’s not an excuse or an apology, though, and you’re getting very angry.

“Fuck ‘em. Come on, let me get you a drink, looks like you know how to have some fun…”

You can smell the cheap lager on his breath, and when he reaches round to grab a handful of your arse, you shove him.

Well, you go to shove him. Aziraphale gets there first.

You’ve never seen him angry. Irritated, yes, miffed that you’ve had the last chocolate from the Milk Tray, but this is entirely different. There is hellfire in his eyes as he sweeps across the floor of the Dirty Donkey, grabbing the drunk’s collar with clenched fists, and smashing him down into the bar. He does so with such force that some of the wood cracks.

“What the fu–”

“I believe,” Aziraphale says levelly, “that you were asked to leave my companion alone.”

There is silence now, it has descended onto the pub like a heavy snowfall. Nobody has ever seen Aziraphale, cheerful if aloof A Z Fell, at the end of his tether like this. The drunk squirms. The angel grips his shirt tighter. It begins to rip around his knuckles.

“Alright, fuck, I’ll go…”

“Apologise.”

“What?”

Aziraphale nods over to you.

“Apologise. Nicely.”

The drunk looks up at you, properly terrified now.

“I’m s-sorry.”

Azirphale looks to you for confirmation that you’re happy with this. You give a small nod and the angel releases him, stepping back and dusting his hands off.

“Well I think you’d better–”

Before he can say ‘leave’, the drunk has disappeared, leaving a trail of wood chips and splinters in his wake. Aziraphale watches him until he’s out the door, then turns to the bartender.

“I am so sorry, please do let me pay for your bar to be fixed…”

You listen to Aziraphale sort out the details, feeling… strange. You’ve never seen your angel do anything like that. Eventually the hubbub returns to the bar and, rather than stay for another drink, the two of you decide to return home. You get to the alley beside the bar when you pounce on him, pressing him up against the alley wall and sealing your mouth on his. You’re just enough sheltered from the main street that nobody can see you, but it’s public enough that you can feel it revving Aziraphale’s motor. He accepts your kiss with enthusiasm, his touch a welcome one as it alights on your hips.

“What’s this for?” he asks, breathlessly, when you part. You grin.

“Never had someone defend me like that before. Quite liked it. Wanted to say thank you.”

And as you sink to your knees you can think of a very good way to thank him indeed.

taglist: @angiestopit@dazed-soul @@foolishprincipalitee@smile-eywa@staygoldsquatchling02@underratedboogeyman@cool-ontherun-world@emilynissangtr@cool-iguana@this--is--music @ilyatan @lxsm2@clarina04@wtfhasmy-lifecometo@mrgatotortuga@wereallbrokenangels @night-affiliate @silcosmoke@kimqueenofhell@chewbrry @bajablast23 @h3k3t@am-i-obsessed---maybe@bakerstreethound

#aziraphale x reader #request #michael sheen x reader

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cherry-leclerc · 19 days

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the set up ☆ ln4

genre: fluff, humor, parent trip vibes from oscahhh, strangers to lovers (bc of course it is), uni!reader

word count: 2.12k

Caught up in work, you find time to join your friends at the McLaren welcome dinner; meeting a certain British driver along the way. Whom you don't make the best first impression with.

req!...oscar+lily playing matchmakers? cute cute cuteeee. quick one for my lando lovers mwahhh

It takes a lot to convince you; like—a lot. Partial credit is due to your pride, but honestly, it drove your friends mad.

Let's go out and celebrate! Just a good ‘ol round of drinks. I have to study. Maybe next time.

Oh! I heard of this new place down the street where you custom make your own jewelry. Fun, no? I have enough already, thank you.

Five minutes—let’s just go grab coffee! Too tired. Go on without me.

“It’s my welcome dinner, mate. You can’t do this to me now.” Oscar’s brown eyes flicker between you and his girlfriend, to which she apologetically shrugs. Deep down, it's like she can forehear your excuse. An essay is due, your internship, helping out at your local library. There's been too many times where you’ve flaked, and they were starting to worry. The pile of clothes makes her wince as you greedily type away.

“I-I’m sorry, but I have to—”

“Reckon you don’t have anything on your agenda that is as important as you make it out to seem,” he hums. Narrowed eyes burn down, flipping your screen towards him.

Compile a series of current events…BLAH BLAH BLAH. He stops caring, already bored.

“I wish I could—seriously, Oscar—but I’m needed elsewhere.” A beat. “Lily will keep me updated! Go Mango!”

The Australian rolls his eyes, sharp eyebrows expanding with desperation. “Papaya, mate, papaya.” You giggle, mimically apologizing. The clicks continue; round eyes laser focused. He tries getting your attention once more, but you don’t look up at him at all. The driver’s girlfriend purses her pink lips, crossing her legs gingerly against the couch.

“I can help you write your paper. All of it. Just please, come with us.” Blue eyes wink back as you come to a halt, temptation swirling. “We’re your friends and we want you there. Pretty please?”

The McLaren rookie thinks it has to do with his girlfriend's cute pout, but that is so far from it. It was well known that Lily Zneimer had a wicked talent for conducting a killer research essay. From her resources, to her dialogue. It’s astonishing how smoothly it gets done too. With her, it’s a guaranteed pass. Now that was what you needed.

Berry lips twist back and forth for a second before stretching out. “Touch up on globalization effects in different cultures and we have ourselves a deal.”

The paper was coming along so perfectly that you almost wanted to cry. Your eyes buzz with excitement as you jot down a row of bullet points, conversing with Lily before settling on what to write.

“This is not what I had in mind when you both made this stupid pact,” Oscar groans for the millionth time as he passes by, spotting you and his girlfriend crouched down on a table; computer, notebook, pencils, index cards, books—everything—in hand.

“Mate, this is worth half of my grade,” you shriek; jotting a few more possible ideas. Finally, your dazy orbs connect back onto him. “As in fifty percent.” You gag. “Do you realize how terrifying that is?”

Lily shoos him. “We’re almost done anyway, darling. Go enjoy the party.” The Australian’s jaw drops and she huffs, raising her neat brows. “Go, go, goooo.”

Despite his girlfriend and his best friend ignoring him, he has a splendid time. He curses beneath his breath when a large hand sprawls against his back. Lando laughs. “Don’t worry, my date ditched me too,” he teases, blue eyes sparkling against the fuzzy lights. The rookie sighs plainly.

“I wasn’t ditched—'' He angles his head to face back to where you and the dirty blond hunch over, whispering, attention drawn onto the bright screen. A few people even go as far as to try and take a peek, probably thinking you were working on anything McLaren. “Yeah, uh, I guess you could say I was ditched.”

His teammate rubs his watch a couple or times, nothing but music lingering between them. No one really speaks up until Lily delicately makes her way. Oscar tilts his head politely. “Done?”

“No quite yet, but she has it all under control.” She faces the British driver with a sheepish line formed between her pink lips. “Hello, you must be Oscar’s new teammate.” A beat. “I’m Lily.”

“Lando,” he can feel himself proclaiming. “I thought she was Lily…” A lousy fingers points over to you. They both let out a weak chuckle. That’s my friend from back home, Oscar confirms. Her and Lily are super close, too. She beams, light blush feathering her full cheeks.

All of a sudden—the Australian sparks up. “Come; let me introduce you two.”

The twenty-four doesn't really have anything better to do; business convos that have him apologizing profusely, cameras being shoved straight into his face, girls who never get the hint. “Sure.”

First thing he notices is the faded scar that hugs the bridge of your nose. It's almost completely gone—and he really shouldn’t even be able to spot it—but it's there, almost a glassy color that shines back at him. He notices how quick you are at typing; navy blue, fingers flying at a constant speed. He’s impressed. Or the way you barely spare him a glance.

“Don’t be rude, he’s talking to you,” Oscar hissed as he and Lily tower over you like a strict parent duo. You can distinguish the panic that laces through her when you didn’t first respond, too worried at making a bad impression, even if it wasn't her leaving it behind.

“Of course, I…um, I’m sorry—shit!” The laptop blinks back at you as a warning before settling in its death. A groan slips by, hands pressing harshly against the keys, then the screen. Nervously, you look up at Lily, biting your bottom lip. “What do I do? What should I do? What should I do?”

“Charge it when we get back,” Oscar advises, still waiting for you to greet the older McLaren driver. Lando stands back amused. “As I was saying—”

“It’s due at midnight, dimwit!” It’s eleven-fifteen exactly. “I need to find a charger.”

“O-okay, lets just all calm down.” Lily turns to her boyfriend. “You always carry one with you, let her borrow it.” He winces. Only during races, sweetheart, not an important event. She rubs her temples, curly hair running against the wind. “Let’s just calm down!” she screeches.

“Not helping,” you wail. “That’s it—I’m leaving.”

Oscar is quick on his feet, already tugging you to stay firm. “We haven't even gotten to the speech!” A familiar fire rushes through your orbs, burning him along the way. I don’t give a shit about that right now! I need to turn this in.

“I’m sure Charlotte has one,” a friendly voice slides in, leaving you three to turn and face it. Lando awkwardly shrugs. “She’s really well organized, you know her. I’ll be right back.”

“Can I go with you?”

Blue eyes shift over, surprised to hear you speak. Anxiously, you bounce up and down against your heels. He gulps. “Of course.” He turns back to the Australian, who is busy comforting his girlfriend as if it was her grade on the line. “I’ll be right back.”

There’s a sort of tension that hangs steadily—or maybe he’s the only one who thinks so—but he tries his best to push past it. Of course, he was right, and Charlotte did have an extra charger, so that’s quite nice. As if this were the one and only resource of water in a hot desert night, you immediately take it from him, plugging it fiercely.

“You don’t know how grateful I am. You’re an absolute angel.” You’re quick to pick up where you left off. If you try hard enough, you can remember exactly what you need in order to have it done in a few minutes.

“Glad I could help.”

He should probably leave, he thinks. He’s done all he could, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a seat across from you, contently closing his eyes as the sound of your keys brings him to a deep sleep. The sound of a computer shutting gently is what nudges him awake. You grimace. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been more quiet.”

Lando scrunches his eyes, rubs them for a couple of minutes. “It’s alright. You done?”

“Yes. Just in time—you really saved my ass, thank you again.”

A large hand waves you off, reclining against his comfortable spot. “You’re pretty dedicated to your work,” he mutters.

“I sort of have to be if I want to graduate on time and on top of my game. All those sleepless nights couldn’t have been for nothing.”

“Well, I don’t really know you that well…but I hope you pass,” he says. “Lando, by the way—you were probably too busy to catch it the first time.” He cocks his head to the side, a cheesy grin playing out. “And the second, as well.”

You giggle, shaking his humid hand. You don’t even seem to mind. “Third times a charm, no?”

“It appears it is.”

The objective was quite clear; get you to leave your rotting bed. It was astounding how long you could go without getting up. You always blame it on the fact that—I’m finally done with my most important courses and I can sleep all I want—and—I never wake you up, now do I?

So, naturally, when they march into your room, flashing a phone—you curl a full brow. “What am I looking at?”

Oscar smiles. “Save his number. Right now.”

Lando Norris—winks back at you, digits causing a migraine to stir. You huff, reaching out for the blankets once again. “And why would I do that?”

Lily hums. “I tried to stop him, I really did.”

Beady eyes peek demandingly. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s really just one date—”

“What?”

“And if it doesn’t work out—”

You sit up straight and agitated. “What?”

“...then you won’t ever have to see him again?” The Australian flinches at your cold stare. “He thinks this was your idea…because I told him it was, but…” He winces harder. “Don’t make me look bad and please go!”

Lily squeals when you fling up, hunting him down your flat. “I am going to kill you!”

The Brit beams sweetly at you, pinching his hand a couple of times to pump his circulation that was suddenly lacking. “I’m a bit surprised you wanted to see—”

“This was all Oscar’s idea.” He blinks and you purse your lips. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I think he does it because the third-wheel act is starting to get to him. Asshole,” you hiss at the thought of the rookie.

Lando coughs, playing with his bracelets. “You’re not dragging me into anything. I want to be here.” Now it’s your turn to stare back at him, caught off guard. He chuckles. “I take it you haven’t gone on a proper date in a while?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Nah,” he yawns. “Oscar told me.”

Pounding your fist against the table, you yelp. “That little—he wants to ruin my life, I see.” You force a tight smile. “I’ve been busy with work…and…I’m—” A flash goes off; you flinch. “A total catch. Like—total.”

Blue eyes flicker to the careful watchers surrounding the restaurant. “I don’t doubt that.”

“Good,” you respond, finally allowing yourself to rest easy. You raise a sharp brow. “Don’t you get tired of this?”

A few murmurs dance across the room, blinding lights continue. He sighs apologetically. “Right now I am. Let’s get out of here?”

You blush. “The bill…”

“My friend owns the restaurant. I’ll pay him later.” He grabs your hand. “Let's go.”

The moment you slip into his car, panic rises fast. “I don’t hook up on first dates,” you spit out. “It’s not in my nature, I-I-I would rather get to know the person—”

“Then let’s get to know one another. I wasn’t looking for anything like…that,” he whispers, timidly. His blue eyes burn against yours. “I only wanted the chance to get to know you now that you don’t have your nose pressed up against a screen.”

A kind smile. “Okay.”

The more you two converse inside his crowded vehicle, the more you find yourself giggling against the rich seat. “You’re quite the charmer, Mr. Norris.”

“Thank God,” he jokes. “It’s working.”

Another giggle erupts when you nod. You’re sure that you're flustered, burning bright red from all his pick up lines, but you don’t have the strength to look away. “I’m glad we got the chance to talk. For real this time,” you add, sheepishly.

“So do I.”

And something inside of him tells him this isn’t the last.

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious

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orkbutch · 7 months

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Okay! time to add my accompanying essays with each image from this set of work about why I assigned which types of play to each set of characters, and how Baldur's Gate III supports these in the text of the game. Because I thought about all of this way too much im not joking

First, Context: All of these are drawings of consentual play happening between these characters after they have put aside any active conflicts between each other. Nontheless, they utilise the dynamics and emotional conflicts of these characters. Each of these characters are in some way violent people, deeply stressed out by their circumstances, and craving pleasure and connection. Sometimes you need a little pinch and squeal before the end of the world just to get through the night, you know?

Wrestling & choking; Lae'zel (D) / Karlach (S)

I'll be honest, figuring out how Karlach and Lae'zel's dynamic would manifest was difficult for me at first. This piece came into existence primarily to balance the other pieces; it had to be the two of them with Lae'zel domming and Karlach subbing. But those restraints ended up guiding me to something I possibly may not have considered and have ended up really, really liking! Lae'zel immediately likes and respects Karlach because she is powerful, hardy, direct and honest. She tells Tav to show Karlach due respect the night she joins you. I think everyone loves Karlach because shes Karlach, but that is an unprecedented level of immediate respect from Lae'zel. I reckon one of the first things Lae'zel thought when getting to know Karlach was how fun it'd be to spar her, to test her strength. Not even sexually - just as bonding or morning exercise before taking on the day. And I know she'd want ideally to win, because she always wants to win, even if she'd be horny about losing.

Karlach seems to respect Lae'zel just as much for similar reasons; direct, honest, committed to her principles, and a beast on the battlefield. I think she'd feel a lot of empathy for Lae'zel's alienation from the world around her. She spent 10 years in Hell and is only now finally coming home, and she'd see in Lae'zel the opposite; someone flung out into space, braving a terrifying fate with nothing grounding or reassuring her. I think she'd be invested in welcoming Lae'zel into fun, casual friendship without being patronizing.

If these two powerhouses spent enough time wrestling each other or watching each other drill or whatever... INEVITABLY... it'd turn horny. Lae'zel's no. 1 turn on seems to be respectable beefcakes, and Karlach would fucking love wrestling in a horny way. Lots of body contact, its playful, its a little competitive, you got some power struggle shit going on which I think Karlach would enjoy, and she gets to use her big muscles for fun!

Wrestling also has a layer that I think Karlach and Lae'zel would absolutely connect on, which I kinda wanna flesh out in some more work: a love for Primal dynamics.

Now, a little detour, because Primal can be embodied and understood differently by different people. For some people, Primal is all about the specific power dynamic Primal usually plays on: Hunter/Prey. This is a dynamic of power struggle, pursuit, conquering and claiming, all things I think Lae'zel would definitely love, and Karlach would also enjoy. Where I think Primal clicks more for Karlach is another element of how many people do Primal: As play that emphasizes liberated expression of emotion, and roleplays loss of control. Its The Berzerker's Kink, and The Werewolf's Kink, the restless adhd jock's kink. Just getting lost in struggling and contact and fucking and roughness, and expressing whatever emotion comes during that. Karlach and Lae'zel find really, really good partners in each other for this kind of play.

Lae'zel is tough as fuck, competitive as hell and kinda scary, so Karlach wouldn't need to worry that much about getting too rough with her. She'd get to truly go hard in the struggle for power. But, ultimately, I think Karlach would let Lae'zel win pretty frequently (and tbh I think Karlach would usually win wrestling Lae'zel just because of her size and reach) because Karlach would LOVE being pinned and held by a body. Its the most high contact, our bodies are all over each other fun, and I think she'd relish that after 10 years of denial. She gets to just enjoy the feeling of being held, spent and physically overwhelmed after some good fun rolling around in the dirt. It's a great time. Karlach is deeply admirable to Lae'zel from the moment she met her. I think Lae'zel kind of sees Karlach as this singular force of nature warrior peer. Lae'zel doesn't have preconceived notions of what a tiefling is, or what most Plane beings are. She doesn't see Karlach as someone whose been Changed from an original form by time in the Hells. She sees Karlach, and she sees a war-torn tower of long surviving muscle that pours out fire and kills baddies with terrifying power and efficacy, who is also bright red and a team player. And seriously, I think for Lae'zel this would have been a moment of like. "Holy shit, they make people like this here? Maybe this Plane isn't so bad. She is a dragon and I want a ride." And getting to wrestle away control and power and subdue that beast, to conquer this amazing peer you admire so much, would be ... SUCH a rush for Lae'zel. The ultimate power trip. To bring Karlach the unique pleasure of being physically immobalized and held and conquered in a way thats hot, satisfying and safe. Yes. They'd love it. In Conclusion: They'd fuck a bunch and get extremely exhausted and roughed up. Then they'd go sit in a pond that Karlach would set at a comfy spa heat with her body and give each other shoulder rubs and drink beer. And they'd be like, "Hey seriously, x move was really good. I did not see that coming. Your leg lock is stronger than it was last month. I totally overpowered you with that pin though, right? Oh it was a fluke huh? We'll see next time." Jocks having some good rough fun.

#bg3 #Karlach #Lae'zel #Laelach #??#idk what their ship name is #Nasties #art #kinkposting

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