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ciaraswritings · 5 months

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Gossip and Galas

Disclaimer: I do not own DC or their settings. This is certainly not canon.

Warnings & Topics: Alcohol, derogatory language, crowds, sexual references, comfort. 18+.

Word Count: 1.9K words

Summary: Shortly after her engagement to Bruce Wayne, fem!reader is met with the gossip that comes with it at one of his charity galas.

Author's Note: Finally made a masterlist, so go ahead and check that out for more fluffy stories like this. Comforting fics like this are just what I like for winter weather. I hope all of you are having a wonderful holiday season, and I hope you enjoy.

My bracelets clinked against each other on my wrist, sliding down my arm as I lifted my hand to brush back my hair, my focus never leaving the man whose arm I was grasping. He stood tall, the suit looking almost small on his frame, smiling politely while he escorted me into the ballroom. This year’s charity gala was quite full, very few people had sent their regrets. The champagne gown that hung over my body glittered, matching the diamond jewelry framing my face.

One diamond I kept hidden in my fiance's arm, dodging the prying eyes full of curiosity. Everyone wanted to see the size of the rock he had placed on my finger, desperate to be the first to share the flaming news. He had only proposed a week before, and it had hit the news almost overnight. Now, it was a free-for-all to see who could get the inside scoop first.

Breaking through my thoughts, he tilted his head downwards to hum, “Did I tell you that you look stunning tonight?”

His comment pulled a smile out of my peach-tinted lips. “You’ve said that six times.”

“Then let me say it a seventh time, you look absolutely stunning.” With the gentlest touch, he placed his hand over my arm in a comforting gesture. The affection made me forget everything for a moment, before the inevitable began.

Guests from all directions began to approach us, important names from all over Gotham, curious voices disguised with polite words. His smile opened ten different conversations at once, and I contented myself with the image of a silent trophy wife. Naturally, I had plenty to say, many words I wanted to make heard, but this was neither the time nor the place.

As I moved my left hand away from Bruce’s arm to brush away a strand of hair from my face, someone caught it in a tight grip.

“What a beautiful ring this is! What a size! Your finger is going to get tired of wearing that…” My hand was immediately surrounded by a group of five or six women, all peering down at the newly acquired engagement ring. My natural reaction was to jerk my hand back, but as I did, I was met with disapproving and disheartening looks from the curious viewers. I slowly let my hand slide back into place, allowing them to inspect with judgemental astonishment.

I turned my head back to Bruce in a silent plea for rescue, but he was occupied with a champagne glass in his hand and several well-dressed gentlemen holding his attention. Now a small crowd was gathered around my hand, many pairs of eyes leering. Using my sweetest smile, I was slowly able to pry free from the spectators and rejoin my fiance in the moment. The moment didn’t last very long.

As more and more people moved past, my lips became a straighter and straighter line. When Bruce noticed that my grip on his arm was becoming a little too tight for comfort, he turned to me with a whisper. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, can we… start walking?” I turned my head in the direction of the bar.

“Of course.” He gently guided me in the alluring direction of sparkling wine glasses, leaving a small trail of party-goers behind us.

Several exchanged words later between the bartender, and he placed a glass of wine in my hand, which I began to sip instantly. “Sorry I’m getting so uptight, I always think I’m going to handle parties better than I do.”

“It’s okay. Don’t think twice about it.” He placed a kiss on my cheek before eyeing another group of guests walking towards us with conversation topics written all over their faces. “Do you mind?”

“No, no, of course not. Go on, have fun.” My smile was fake, but my love was real. I watched him move off into the crowd, entertaining the many who were trying to catch his eye. He was going to have a good time, socialize, and later tonight I’d get all his attention.

I moved into a corner, next to a large, decorative ivory pillar where I could ease my tension and finish my glass of wine. I watched another party of women moving past me, their stares nearly piercing my left hand. Quickly, I shifted my glass into my right hand and put my left behind my back. Not only did I feel judged, I felt ridiculous. Tonight I was supposed to be the princess on the arm of my prince, ravishing in the glory of the spotlight.

It didn’t feel like glory, and I didn’t feel glorious. I didn’t want to be on his arm right now. As exciting as it was to be nearly royal for a night, after all the comments, whispers, and questions, I felt used, almost dirty. Tonight I’d been called many things in overheard conversation. So far I could mark gold-digger, leech, and other appealing titles off the list.

As I took a rather embarrassing gulp of my wine, I could hear feminine voices moving closer on the other side of the pillar. I turned my head, ready to move to a more secluded spot, before I caught a snippet of their conversation. When I heard my name, I sucked in my stomach, trying to disappear behind the stone to eavesdrop.

“Did you see how vain she looked on his arm? I can’t believe how proud she is.”

“Especially after he probably pulled her out of the gutter. Who knows how many rich, brainless guys she’s played around with.”

“You know she’s just waiting to sink her teeth into that divorce settlement.”

“Can you believe he’s so dense that he’d buy her such a huge ring? Somebody’s gotta tell him before she runs away with the next moneybag that smiles at her.”

“He’ll definitely be single in a few months. Don’t worry, Liv, you’ll get your shot with him.”

“Where’d she even come from?”

“Streets, no doubt.”

“You know, that’s probably why he’s with her! He hired her and then…”

“He fell for her the first time she gave him head.”

“Girls like her…”

“I know. What a slut.”

Gold-digger I could handle. Leech hurt, but it was fine. Slut was a cut I couldn’t manage right now. Maybe if my social energy wasn't gone, I might’ve appeared from behind the pillar looking like a goddess and given them a smart remark that would leave their glossed mouths gaping and their confidence rattled.

But that wasn’t where I was at right now.

Instead I was back at the bar, fleeing their snickers and giggles, asking the bartender to hand over another bottle of Cabernet and to not ask questions. With the bottle tucked safely under my arm and the stem of a wine glass between my fingers, I fled to the safety of the private quarters of the manor. Before I ascended the first flight of stairs, I kicked off my heels, letting them lay where they landed on the floor. My feet immediately felt relief even while climbing flight after flight of stairs till I reached the master bedroom Bruce and I had come to share.

Realizing I had no corkscrew with me, I glared down at the bottle, calculating the quickest way to open it. I don’t need all my teeth, I thought to myself. Before I could get a chance to pry out the cork, the bedroom door opened behind me, startling me. I whipped around, my heart racing, feeling guilty for abandoning the gala and running away to drink alcohol.

“Thought you might need this.” Bruce stood in the doorway with a corkscrew, his face riddled with concern and a bit of amusement.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me,” I ordered, marching to him and taking it from his hand. “And don’t act like you don’t have a thousand people downstairs asking for you. Duty calls.” I tried to shoo him away with my hand before he caught my wrist and pressed a kiss to my palm.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I saw your face when you left.”

“Go away, I have a date with a wine glass. I’ll tell you later.”

“(Y/N).” He calmly ushered me away from the door and sat me on the foot of the bed.

“I heard some… people… saying… things… about me.” I managed to get out.

“Which people? I’ll have them removed right now. What did they say?” His fingers brushed away loose hair that hung in front of my face.

“Nothing. I don’t want to think about it. Let me just…” I looked at him and then at the waiting bottle of Cabernet.

“Absolutely, want some company?”

Yes. “No, it’s okay. You need to get back.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do! The gala has two more hours to run!”

“It doesn’t matter, I’ll go next year.”

“Right. I’m serious, you’re going to be missed.”

“I’d rather be missed by them than by you.” His eyes glared into mine with stubborn insistence. I sighed.

“I’m not getting rid of you, am I?”

“Not at all.”

“...Okay.”

Bruce grinned triumphantly before making his way to the cabinet in the corner of the room and retrieving another wine glass. When he returned, his arm automatically wrapped around my waist. “Tell me what they said about you.”

“It’s not worth it,” I replied, finally managing to open the bottle of wine.

“Allow me,” Bruce took the bottle from my hand to pour both our glasses and pressed a kiss behind my ear. “You’re going to tell me after you finish this glass anyway, might as well tell me now.”

My glare wasn’t enough to deter him from his quest for an answer. “They said you pulled me from the streets, and that I was a slut, and I was going to divorce you and run away with somebody else…”

“But that’s not true, is it?” He caught my chin with his fingers and tilted it upwards, forcing me to look into his eyes. “I didn’t find you on the streets, I found you doing what you’re best at, working hard and making a career for yourself. I can’t think of a more admirable thing you could be doing.”

I smiled at the flashback to when we had crossed paths in a business meeting. “Mhm.”

“If anything, I don’t deserve you. Not only are you beautiful, you complete me. You make me better.”

My eyes closed as he pressed a very passionate, loving kiss to my lips. His hand rested on my waist, stroking with his thumb, sending tingles up my spine. When my eyes opened again, he was smiling. I couldn’t help but do the same. “Okay. Thank you for… all of this. Leaving the party for me.”

“You will always come first. What else did they say?”

“They said you fell in love with me the first time I gave you head.”

He tilted his head, pretending to ponder the statement. “Well…”

Laughing, I gently shoved his shoulder. “Bruce!”

“Okay, okay.”

Below, the party-goers searched for us, but we didn’t return. The feeling was transforming, suddenly I felt like the most important and beautiful woman in the world. His world. There, with him, I started to feel myself not care what they said about me or what names they came up with. Here, I was just his. And that was enough.

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themadlu · 3 months

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What Is It In You I Cannot See?

Astarion fails to sneak on Zelie, but somehow he still ends up with a full belly. Nothing asked of him. He is scared of her and angry at her at the same time. He is also happy. He is in uncharted territory. He doesn't understand if she'll be his salvation or his doom.

He also hates dogs.

TW: references to past SA (nothing graphic), mentions of animal cruelty (if him wanting to eat Scratch counts).

This is a oneshot from a longer fic idea. Zelie is my named Tav OC, but here there is no physical description, aside from eye colour.

Tagging @spacebarbarianweird because she's so talented and kind!

“Remind me again, darling, what are we doing in these godsforsaken woods?”

Astarion had woken up…happy—with a full stomach (He had forgotten what that felt like) and a clear head (He can hear the stern cadence of her sweet, precious blood being pumped through her heart).

His restless reverie made bearable by the life essence he took last night.

No, not took. He was too pathetically weak even for the basic functions of a vampire. It was a gift.

This is a gift—I won’t forget it.

He said as much, head tilted towards her, looking, but not seeing; he couldn’t bear to actually stare at the person he was indebted to now.

She doesn’t call it debt. There are enough ill-guided, wretched ideas floating in that head of hers, all about justice and fairness and respect, that she hasn’t asked anything in return for her donation.

Yet.

She will. If he thinks too long about it, it terrifies him.

No one hands their life blood over to anyone (to a monster) without a sizeable payback in mind. Either that, or he’ll have to start believing all her ideals (Her actions) are not an elaborate set of masks to trick him into trust (She’d be more idiotic than he thought, in that case).

Still, her confounding attitude worked in his favour. Not only he wasn’t left to starve the night before (a novelty in and of itself), but he’ll get future access to his dinner for the foreseeable future.

She said so (“You can feed on me again, IF you swear you won’t hurt others and stick to animals when I’m not around”). Her face carved in stone, unmovable as she always is when establishing her rules. Her boundaries.

(No one ever cared for his boundaries. An object of pleasure doesn't need any.)

But she looked at him like he would actually understand, as if the concept couldn’t be so foreign to him. Something in the world shifted.

Truth be told, you were my first.

Something changes in her eyes too and her expression softens, but doesn’t relent.

“Let’s keep me as the only for now. If you wish to tell the others and any of them are willing to donate their blood too, then you can expand your culinary options.”

What?

He knows she didn’t spill his secret to their companions (Gods forbid, someone as noble as their leader did that), but he assumed she would push him to reveal himself. Why wouldn’t she? She made such a fuss about how wrong lying is, and honesty this and fuck him that, and now she is willfully withholding information from the rest of the group.

Why?

You nearly got us killed at the Grove. Couldn’t keep your little mouth shut with that useless healer about the tadpoles. Foolish idiot, you’ll be our doom.

Was it a test? See what the hungry spawn does and punish him if he makes a mistake?

Astarion has an inkling of what she would like him to do, because it tends to be the total opposite of what he would do. He would continue their little arrangement in private, for as long as possible. He may have been a slave for centuries, but he’s not so daft. Why would a vampire willingly oust himself to a group that includes a literal monster hunter in their midst.

It would be suicidal and he has wished for death more times he can recount—often masked as sensual whimpers and pleas in brothels and alleys—but he doesn’t wish it now.

He won’t let a presumptuous, sheltered human kill him with her righteousness when decades of torture didn’t.

Not now he’s finally out of his grasp.

Not now he can exist in the sun.

Not now that he’s stuck in the mud chatting to a mutt.

Wait, what?

The scene in front of him is dreamlike: their stoic leader is knee deep in the dirt, shiny eyes coaxing a clearly aggressive dog closer, Karlach talking to it as if it were worthy of conversation.

Zélie stares at the mutt as if in a trance. Astarion asks her why they were in the woods in the first place to see if the dog isn’t actually a hypnotising hag.

The mutt snarls at him and he snarls back. Filthy beast.

“Hush, Astarion!” Zélie whispers, “he’s scared. You’ll only scare him more”

He takes notice of the corpse near the dog. Clearly dead. Filthy and stupid beast.

“Sweet thing you are, worrying about it,” he coos.

Hells below, you idiot.

“But may I remind you we are trying to get to a den of vicious goblins to find the blasted druid who can fix our wiggly issue?”

He points at his temple and she gives him the look. They’ve been travelling together for no more than a tenday and he already earned a signature look from her.

All piercing, hardened eyes and the disapproving tilt of the head a mother would give to her child before a good dressing down.

He wonders what his punishment will be, and his scars burn, his hands shake.

He quickly fists them behind his back to hide the tremors (A broken toy is worthless), strikes a casual figure, and something in her gaze mellows. Before it could have stricken down a dragon from the skies, now it would only manage a bear.

It certainly won’t manage a vampire.

He scowls at her, but her attention is already back on the mutt now within arm’s reach.

“You know, Astarion,” she murmurs, petting its fur with a care that had to be an act (Tenderness has no place in any realm), “dogs are beautiful creatures. They feel as much as us.”

Another stroke behind its ears, soft and barely there. Astarion’s own ears twitch.

“They accept our love, our mistakes, our pain, and still stay by our side. Sometimes they even see past our cruelty, so strong is their loyalty. I think you won’t find a more worthy companion.”

Another caress on its muzzle. The hint at complete loyalty to another would normally tear through him ('Remember thou art mine, useless boy'), but Astarion is transfixed by her hands on white fur (Would they touch his own white hair like that?) and his fangs are dangerously close to peeking through his lips.

(Two centuries of utter shit, but the mutt runs across her bare moments after his owner’s died.)

If I was alone, I’d bleed you dry. Animals only, so she said.

Fucking dog befriended, Astarion is ripped from his thoughts as Zélie stops her ministrations and stands up. She bows her head at—

“Scratch. Meet Astarion. Astarion, meet Scratch.”

The dog eyes him for a moment, then barks. Astarion almost hisses back. It’s his dear leader standing in front of him that stops him.

“I know he may look slightly ruffled, Scratch, but I like to think that you can trust him.”

Excuse me?!

She cannot speak with animals, so why the hells is she making polite conversation with it?!

“And you,” eyes on his, he hates how he has to prove that he can hold her look without squirming. She has the gaze of someone used to having a certain level of authority, and it disgusts him. His hands tremble more, nails now digging in his palms.

('You're nothing but a scared, little boy').

The others have moved further along the path, but she whispers it nonetheless, “When I say you should feed on animals, this is clearly not what I mean. Dogs are out of your food chain. Please, Astarion”

He doesn’t remember when it was the last time anyone ever said please to him, when someone kept a secret for him, and it’s enough to shock him into compliance.

“Thank you,” she says, a little smile on her thin lips (it looks foreign on her stone-like face).

She heads along the path without realising what she’s done. As if people handed thank yous around like nothing. He’s seen her thanking others, occasionally: Gale for his food, Shadowheart for the healing, even Lae’zel for not disembowelling a tiefling (How disappointing). But to him?

(He hasn’t done anything, besides taking her blood and her temporary alliance)

He kills and maims what enemies they encounter because he revels in the violence. In the control over another’s life—in not him being the pitiful wretch for once. If she thinks he’s doing it out of some sense of morality, then she’s even more idiotic than he thought.

She could simply be a pathetic moron with a noble soul. One who follows her way even when she doesn’t want to. Even when they do her more harm than good (Shouting a speech on interracial cooperation from a high rock to stop a vicious group of goblins and humans from killing each other was a terrible idea. Surprisingly, she only got scraps from all the arrows flying at her).

No. She isn’t. No one is like that.

Phantom touches on his body remind him of this shit world every second of every day and they will do so for as long as he lives. They all have their motives. She just hides hers beside a very put-together mask. An impressive one, if he can say so.

He falls into step with her as usual (Because he needs to make sure she doesn’t drag them to an unwilling death, because he needs to keep himself in her good graces now she knows his secret) and she acknowledges him with a nod.

The smile is still there—odd. She looks a moment away from giggling, a sound that he didn't think her mouth could form.

Now he needs to know.

“Copper for your thoughts, darling?” he drawls.

What’s going on in that confusing head of yours?

“I just thought—when Scratch said he’d join us at camp. I pictured Withers and him,” a corner of her mouth lifts, “playing catch. ‘Cometh here, oh chosen canine, and followeth thy ball along its rightful path.’”

Her eyes tear up from contained laughter (Have they always been so blue? He just realises one is more of a grey colour), then she coughs a little and her entire face resettles on its usual assessing expression.

"You're a bad influence, Astarion. I don't usually tease my elders, especially not millennia-old ones."

Astarion blinks (So she does have a sense of humour, even if it’s terrible).

He finds himself leaning into her, testing the boundaries. His sultry voice in her ear. "Darling, as your elder, you can tease me all you like. You have my permission." He is rewarded not with a whimper of excitement, but with the look again.

He finds himself suppressing a stray giggle and his hands stop shaking.

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #named tav #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 tav #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate astarion #astarion fanfiction #astarion angst #bg3 astarion #save scratch

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kaneaken · 2 years

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Hello! Congrats on your millestone :) i was thinking of requesting Tighnarixreader with a robin hood type vibe? Ive been reading your work lately and youre a great writer 💜

author's note; hiya :D i'm happy you're enjoying my works and i hope you can continue to enjoy them <3 funnily enough, i have only ever actually read the original robin hood tale. i actually watched clips from the disney film to figure out which scene to put in. decided to base this one off the archery tournament scene for tighnari, hope you can enjoy it :D

content notes; gn!reader, fluff, reader is royalty, possible ooc characters, reader is referred to as (y/n), possible incorrect use of liege?

you watch as the competitors walk past you, debating with nilou which archer would come out on top. there sure were a lot of contestants this year. did the reward really encourage them that much?

" my liege "

you turn away from nilou and face a hooded figure extending a flower to you.

" begging your pardon, but it's an honor to be shooting for your favor "

you take the flower from the figure's hand and make eye contact with them

tighnari?

you could definitely never forget those beautiful eyes of tighnari. tighnari, at least that's who you assume him to be, shoots you wink

" oh, why thank you. i wish you the best of luck, " you bring yourself closer to him before whispering, " with all my heart "

you watch the arrows fly and hold your breath when one of the other competitors shoot their arrows closer and closer to the center. you clap each time tighnari hits the center and smile brightly

a few rounds pass and the final two are finally announced. tighnari waves to you as he readies his bow once again. you wave back and hear azar chuckle

" you favor the hooded young man, (y/n)? "

" oh, um, why yes, sire! at the very least, he amuses me, " you answer, giving him a forced smile. you know how much azar despises tighnari, so you must make sure he never learns the truth

" oh, well, coincidentally, he amuses me too "

uh-oh

you rise to clap with the others as tighnari is announced the winner. you hope whatever azar finds interesting in him isn't his true identity.

you give azar side glances as tighnari walks over, a column of guards following behind him

" archer, i commend you and because of your superior skill, you shall get what is coming to you," azar chuckles, " our royal congratulations "

you definitely do not like his tone. tighnari bows as azar pats both his shoulders with his sword

" i name you the winner, or shall i say- " azar uses his sword to remove the hood from tighnari's head, " the loser "

tighnari is stunned as azar commands the guards to arrest him. nilou holds you down as you attempt to reach tighnari. she shakes her head as she holds you from escaping

" i sentence you to sudden, instant, and even immediate death! " azar shouts

you shake nilou's grasp off you and rush over to azar, kneeling before him. you'd told yourself you'd never kneel before such a cruel man, but you must save tighnari

" please, please, sire. i beg of you to spare his life. please have mercy, " you say, clasping your hands together as your tears flow down your face

" my dear, emotional royal, why should i? "

" because i love him, your highness! "

" you love him? " azar scoffs, " and does this prisoner return your love? "

tighnari watches as your tear-stricken face turns to him. oh, how he hated when you'd cry

" (y/n), my darling, i love you more than life itself "

" ah, young love, " you look up to see azar chuckling to himself, " your pleas have not fallen upon a heart of stone "

you brighten before your shoulders droop at azar's next statement

" the traitors to the crown must die! "

you see tighnari's face scrunch up as he shouts at azar, "that crown belongs to lady kusanali! "

" that's enough of your insolence! off with his head! "

you watch helplessly as the executioner approaches tighnari's figure

" stop! "

you turn to azar, his face appearing terrified as he called out to the executioner, " executioner, stop! hold your axe "

your confusion was great as you heard azar stutter out that tighnari was to be let free

the crowd cheers as the sheriff is forced to release tighnari. you rush over to tighnari, a smile making it's way toward your face

tighnari opens his arms to receive your warm embrace and he mumbles to you, " i owe my life to you, my darling (y/n). thank you "

" i couldn't have lived without you, tighnari "

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #genshin tighnari #tighnari x you #tighnari x y/n #tighnari x reader #tighnari #genshin tighnari x reader #nene.writes #nene.charactertales

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choysum · 5 months

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to you, for a moment, just to you.

that burning lover never recognized a single reference I made. you and I, we speak to each other in coded poetry and we decipher nearly all of it at a glance. the surgeon’s wife with her chapped hands, the peach song, triassic cuddle, red and blue me and you over and over web weaving richard siken kintsugi poetry that eats you back love as a dog love as a cat just crush me mary oliver!! with the flat of the knife, as garlic, as love. what would I do, to have so many of your words in me they leak out my fingernails, to be so coated my friends could read your name on my cheeks.

you live on the same continent as my first lover. I breathe, I breathe, and I wonder why it should be him and not me. the burning one crumples to ash and I know these letters are not much more substantial. we could leave it to the summer, if that’s easier. I’ll never know your face under my hands. maybe it’s better to chalk it all up to the romanticization of a stranger. frame it as a gustav klimt moment, lock me away into the box of people who wouldn’t understand you if you spoke only in french. I would catch every fifth word perhaps, amour, you know the nouns were always my strong suit.

if we say goodbye in winter, you picked a good month for it. decembre and its endings, you know. I see them everywhere. I’m always mourning some life or another. I wonder what you mourn, how you think. is your mind a maze of words words words, poetry and language and song? I imagine one of those grand bells, bejeweled on the inside. I fit a ruby pebble from my meteorite to the wall, and it is tiny beside the emeralds but please take it anyway. please imagine me, hands soaked in river water and promise I can’t fulfill. I braid the gossamer and the thistledown and the nettle, stinging and filament too fine to wend together, but when you write letters into the grey anything is possible. that apartment in the city and every home after it, the garden and the wallpaper. keep me-! and for a moment you do.

I am pressing every kiss to your neck. I’ve been waiting since childhood and still I know I will never grow up to your lips. come down, come down… not rapunzel, then, another tale. I don’t stop talking, never stop talking. someday one of the stories to pass on my breath will be yours. I will speak your name (I know it, e, what a traitor I am to know your initial and never give you mine) and I will keep your voice soft in my ear every time I read je t’aime. I will think of the thousand parallel lives we are not living together. I will remember the orange you could not peel for me. I will eat ivy for the rest of my life so that I might become it next time for you, so that you might eat of my leaves and I will finally know what it is to live in your mouth, however briefly.

(- not too romantic, that part; ivy is mildly toxic and should not be consumed by either one of us. violence and poison and sickness down to the soul, however, poets are no stranger to these. you and I get no story beyond the one we write. ocean vuong tells the whole thing in a sixteenth of the words that I use, and far better. you and I, you and I, you and I, beats echoing into each other ever softer until the cave itself forgets we are there. read me in the next cumulonimbus and remember.)

i haven't slept and the rain won't stop before the sun rises and then settles back down to sleep and i think i want to stay in this moment that you wrote to me for a long while

isnt it the greatest thrill to find such a complementary soul? all i ever wanted when i was 10, 11, 12 (brief respite when i was 13 and then it drowned me more than ever) was a best friend. i wanted a friendship like anne found in dianna, i think i would have done anything. i still would, if I'm honest about it - and of course i am. i think there was something wrong with me when i was born i dont know how to make people love me (and stay) / hello i am a cat what is my existence, what is that? why it and not me, please can you look at me and love me too

these are substantial to me. i met a friend from chicago online more years ago than i can remember and we wrote back and forth and called and i sent them silly birthday presents and we grew up and applied to uni and college and now i hope to visit them in the foreseeable future. i can tell this is going to be a long response and im sorry. how can we lose when we're so sincere ! people also ask: where else can i put it down. lets exchange hands and yes, multiplied by 1 everything is the same but a process has happened. we would have each other's hands.

i used to have a gustav klimt poster on my wall, my first moving out purchase. i couldnt keep such a box closed my dear, my rattlesnake. i was always bad with nouns, i prefer the doing, the clever games to fit detail upon detail into a single latin conjugation - i could teach you, if you like? please let's intertwine our red strings together further. i want to be difficult to leave. i want to be easy to leaveif that's what you want. tell me what to do what to believe in, won't you? ill ask so well

i traverse the llandscape of your mind this winter, frostbitten and tentative but i will leave a trace nonetheless that only you will find, and you will burn it to ash lest another agent discover it, won't you? in this timeline or the next. my thoughts are getting muddled i think you will still understand i think you'll still understand what I'm trying to have you understand

i would cry for the sake of your hands, my love. all the nettles but i fear the swans will remain that way forever.

you kiss the back of my [neck] and i want to cry, only the sun has come this close, only the sun. i am so stricken with desire for the tenderest of gestures right now that i occasionally wonder what i would give up to lie beside someone afterwards

always bring your notebook, never stop writing. always keep talking there is space in the world for your words and there is a vacuum here devouring itself anticipating them in earnest. you have my name, my face, my city and a multitude of my confessions.

a sixteenth sounds beautifully poetic,i wish i knew whether you refer to something specific or just want to conjure semiquavers

write soon, here or at the email. eat well <3

#thistledown stranger

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daviddshiki · 3 months

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The Adventures of David Dashiki- Tales of an African American Hero -The Birth of the Yard Birds... PART 2

The Birth of the Yard Birds

JAMEL It was not a sucker punch. It was a clean blow to the mid - section when he turned his head. He couldn't see it coming.

MEAN GUY, AP: I assumed so. The fact of the matter is that you launched your attack when he was vulnerable.

JAMEL: What?

MEAN GUY, AP: You struck him when he least expected it.

JAMEL: Isn't that the way you fight? Hit him before he hits you. I'm not going to wait for him to get ready. That's stupid

MEAN GUY, AP: Indeed! And you didn't. Hence, you find yourself in this predicament. Now about that rematch. It is not going to happen. We are not savages. Fighting is not the only way to settle a disagreement, a dispute. All of those brutal attacks on your classmates...They end today. Here begins the plan for your salvation...another path. No one gets hurt. The only one who will be exhausted will be you, the former incorrigible. Pause for a moment and listen.

JAMEL: I don't hear anything.

MEAN GUY, AP: Exactly. Please note that outside there are no cries for forgiveness. There are absolutely no pleas of 'I'm sorry' or 'I didn't mean it or 'I apologize. Why do you think that is so?

JAMEL: I don't know.

MEAN GUY, AP: I think it might be the fact that you are in my office and not in the school yard. The children outside are not trying to slaughter every living soul before the lunch period ends. These students have learned some skills regarding temper management and self-control which have escaped you. It is, then, my duty to reteach them to you in a manner which you will never forget and slowly become a fellow student which your classmates can trust. Playtime is never, pardon me for the James Bond reference, " A License to Kill". While you were with me, during this discussion, I have not heard one, hear me now, not one request for leniency or forgiveness. Therefore, the problem has to be you. When the behavior is unruly, cruel and uncivil, with the 200 children in the yard playing actively with other students, the only problem is always you...Always you. This has to end or someone will get seriously injured. TOMORROW, you work for me or with me. Whatever, you prefer. I don't get it, JAMEL! It's you. You cannot go through life punching the shit out of people because you don't like them, you don't like the way they think, or you believe they are weak. The world does not work that way for you or anybody else.

i WOULD LOVE TO REORT THAT THE BEHAVIOR IN THE SCHOOL YARD IMPROVED QUICKLY AND DRAMATICALLY. I WOULD LOVE TO STATE TO YOU THAT REPORTS OF ABUSE AND PUNISHMENT DECREASED SIGNIFICANTLY. I WOULD LIKE TO INDICATE THROUGH DAILY REPORTS FROM JAMEL THAT ALL TERRORISM CEASED. WELL, I CAN BECAUSE IT DID. THE SAME WOULD BE TRUE OF THE DRAYMOND GREEN CASE IF THE LEAGUE CARED ENOUGH FOR HIM TO GIVE HIM THE ULTIMATUM, " IT ENDS TODAY OR YOU END TODAY."

The reports on school activities in the cafeteria and school yard were maintained for years since. The monitors were given the nickname, " "YARD BIRDS" The legend of how the name was granted them is as broad as the yard itself. The true story of their name is truthfully written here.

There were complaints from students throughout the corridors of the school about the new monitors.?

STUDENTS: Who are these new monitors?

MEAN GUY, AP:

STUDENTS: How were they selected? Were they voted into office by the students

MEAN GUY, AP: No! They were selected by me for a special job I was assigned to complete>

STUDENTS: What were their special qualifications, the unique ability to fight and almost kill all the stunts in their lunch period?

MEAN GUY, AP: This is not a matter to joke about. it is a very serious matter.

STUDENTS; So are we ! And we are the ones playing mortal combat daily. Now, you are asking us to accept the criminals and respect their job. It would seem to all those in charge, you and the other leaders in the school , would select the children who know what to abide by school rules is.

MEAN GUY, AP: Why are you complaining like YARD BIRDS creating all this noise, we are trying to solve the problems

STUDENTS: Then have all of us be a part of that solutions. We are the YARD BIRDS. We have earned that right. We took the blows. Now it is our time for some reward. The YARD BIRDS have spoken!

And, that was how the YARD BIRDS WERE ESTABLISHED...

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casspurrjoybell-27 · 6 months

Text

Claimed by the Beast - Chapter 30

*Warning Adult Content*

Mercy - Part 1

Knox slips on a pair of gloves after getting the tarp set up on the floor.

"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"Take the dog out to the truck and then come back for the Jackal's bike. I got Hayes from here."

"No," Hayes' panic intensifies and his grip on the dog tightens. "You're not fucking listening to me. If you would just stop and let me explain why he was here, then you'd know that I didn't..."

"How about you speak when I tell you to fucking speak?"

Knox's patience is frayed.

He marches over to Hayes and a snarl curls his lips as he speaks..."

You aren't walking out of this goddamn house alive, so I suggest you shut the fuck up and do what I fucking say because the longer you stall, the more creative my thoughts get for how I want to end you."

Tears stream down Hayes' face as reality officially sets in.

"Please don't hurt Milo. I don't care what you do to me... just don't hurt my dog. He's innocent."

"I'm not the monster you think I am. I kill worthless fucks like you, not animals," Knox says, cracking his knuckles. "Now give Finn the damn dog."

The scent of fear wafts from Hayes.

Knox can almost taste the man's desperation and it fills him with a sick satisfaction.

He notices the slight tremor in Hayes' hands as he plants a desperate kiss on his dog's head before reluctantly releasing it.

Finn whistles and the labradoodle bounds toward him like he's dangling a juicy treat from his hand.

After they leave the house, Knox makes his move.

He grabs Hayes by the neck and punches him in the face with his free hand, a violent explosion of force that crunches against his nose, breaking it instantly.

Blood sprays everywhere but the sight doesn't bother him and neither do Hayes' tears.

The sound of the man's cries get distorted by the blood welling in his mouth and even still, Knox doesn't let up.

He shoves Hayes down onto the plastic tarp and stomps the shit out of him again and again.

He doesn't allow the man a second's worth of rest as he eventually gives his legs a break and reverts back to using his fists.

Blow after blow rains down, his fists leaving fresh waves of carnage on Hayes' already wrecked face.

Every hit sends a shock of raw energy coursing throughout Knox's body, a primal thrill he's come to recognize in moments like these.

Hayes' garbled pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears.

Knox's body is humming with power, the pain of his own bruised knuckles and strained muscles only serving to strengthen his stamina.

He's so focused on making Hayes pay for coming after Everett and disrespecting their relationship that he nearly forgets about the dead man lying a few feet away.

He only stops when Finn returns to pull him off Hayes' limp and battered body.

"Knox," Finn shouts. "He's dead, man. You can stop."

"He isn't dead. I... I didn't finish him off. Not yet," Knox's breath comes in short, ragged pants.

Sweat trickles down his temples and his fists throb, the exertion of the assault finally catching up to him.

"I zoned out but I'm good," he shakes Finn's arms off him. "Don't worry about me."

"Too late, brother. You taking it old school with your kills now?" Finn asks in reference to Knox's hands.

"Nevermind. Did he tell you more about the Jackal?"

"Haven't asked him anything yet."

"Right. Because you zoned out..."

"Shut the fuck up judging me and check to see if the Jackal has a phone on him or something."

Knox takes a step back while looking down at Hayes' unconscious form.

One of the man's eyes is swollen shut and his bottom lip is split open, the plastic tarp now painted with his blood.

Knox spits at him before removing his gloves.

He tosses them into the duffel bag and then walks over to the connected kitchen.

He uses the bottom half of his shirt to open the refrigerator door, not wanting to leave any prints behind and grabs a cold bottle of water.

He drinks half and then pours the rest on Hayes' face.

The chill stuns him awake.

"Toss this in the bag. Don't want to leave any leave evidence behind."

Knox gives Finn his empty water bottle before bending down to address Hayes.

"You have my permission to speak," Knox says. "Tell me about your connection with the Jackal. Were you only fucking him or do you have a deal with his club?"

Hayes coughs up blood when he speaks.

"One of them a-approached me a few weeks back for a job. Paid me 15k to hide a suitcase inside The Angel's Lounge."

"You motherfucker," Finn roars. "So you're the one responsible for bombing our strip club? What the hell is wrong with you, man? Who's stupid enough to bomb the place where they fucking work?"

"I-I didn't know what was inside the suitcase, okay? There was a combination lock on it..." Hayes says. "When I heard about what happened to the club afterward, I... I felt horrible. They reached out to me again and wanted me to do other stuff but I turned them down. And the only reason why I took the job in the first place is because I needed the extra cash."

"For what? Gavin almost pays you better than he pays us," Finn says.

"I have family that I've been keeping out of sight from you crazy fucks," Hayes explains. "And in case neither of you know, college is really fucking expensive."

"Don't worry about your family. We aren't interested in them," Knox says after Hayes starts crying again. "If you're done with The Jackals, then how do you explain him?"

Knox gestures to the dead man.

"What was he doing over here, besides the obvious?"

"He's the one who delivered The Jackal's payment to me," Hayes says. "We hit off and have been fucking around ever since. I called him over to help me move, not because of the imaginary beef that I have with you but because I knew the truth would eventually come out about me being responsible for the bombing."

"I believe you," Knox says.

"Please don't fucking kill me, man. I was just messing around before. I'm sorry for what I said about you and Everett..."

At the sound of Everett's name, Knox takes out his knife and plunges it into Hayes' skull.

He pulls it out seconds later, wipes the blood on Hayes' shirt and then stands with a relieved sigh, like he hasn't just brutally killed a man.

"Did the Jackal have a phone on him?" Knox asks, turning to Finn. "A wallet?"

"Yeah. I'm in the phone now. No passcode," Finn mutters while going through the cell phone. "Hot damn, I think we might've hit the jackpot, baby. There's a contact in here named G. Only one person that can be."

"Ghost."

"How do you want to handle this? Should we send him a text to..."

"Let's not make any rash decisions until we inform Gavin and the others. Call him and tell him what's going on while I deal with the bodies. Prospects should be on the way over to clean up the place."

"Sounds good. But, uh... what the hell are we going to do about his dog?"

Knox smirks.

"Present for Everett."

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dycefic · 3 years

Text

In The End, Victory

I think we all know that I spend a lot of time thinking about tropes.

It’s happened a million times.

It will happen a million more.

Darkness and light, they call it. But that’s not it. That’s never been it.

I never thought about it like this before.

We grew up as ordinary people, with the simple understanding of good and evil that children have. And then…

And then…

Then it got more complicated, like it always does. When you get older, you see the complicated under the simple. You learn that there are no easy answers, and realize how badly you want them. Especially when bad things happen. And terrible things are happening now.

I love my sister. I have always loved her. But she wants the answers to be easy so badly. She’s clinging to the idea that there’s a right solution, an easy answer, a simple way to make all this suffering end. Hers, and mine, and others’. And I know, deep down, that she’s wrong.

We tried over and over to persuade each other, with pleas and coaxings, with reason, with angry words. Our arguments got louder, and harsher. We both sought out others, the friends and strangers who agreed with us, who told us we were right, and our sister was wrong. I want to believe that I’m right, but we’ve never opposed each other before. As long as she believes in her path as truly as I believe in mine, how can either of us be quite free of doubt?

I know she had doubts too. I know it because of how hard she swears she doesn’t, this last time, of how passionately she insists that her way is right, with the fervour that means she’s trying to convince herself as well as me. How angry she gets with me when I argue back. We end the argument screaming at each other across the room, and this time the words are bitter-edged, final words, words we can never forget, perhaps never forgive. This is our last attempt to reach out to each other, I know it even as it ends. It’s over now.

And in that one moment of time, I feel it. A certainty that is more and less than a memory, the knowledge that it would always have come to this. That it always has, and always will. I don’t know if she feels it too, and I don’t know if I’ll remember it a moment from now, but I know. I know that some part of what we are is as eternal as the wind or the sun, the flow of the tide and the shadows of mountains.

I look at my sister across the room. Across the battlefield. Across throne rooms and deserts and bloody stones, across broken promises and nightmares and reconciliations full of regret. Across thousands of echoes, and eons of time.

The good one. The bad one.

Darkness. Light.

It’s never been a matter of good and evil. Of darkness or of light. What we are, what we have always been, is war and peace. The fight, and the negotiation. The open hand, and the closed fist.

And sometimes it’s the peacemaker and the warmonger, and sometimes it’s the freedom fighter and the collaborator, and sometimes one of us dies, and sometimes it’s both, and sometimes it’s neither. Sometimes we can forgive each other, and sometimes we always loved each other. Sometimes we’re brothers or sisters, and sometimes we’re enemies from the beginning.

But it always comes down to this. The two of us, facing each other. And we both believe we’re right.

One of us is wrong.

There’s only one way to find out who.

But I don’t have to hate her, and she doesn’t have to hate me. We are two possible answers to a thousand, a million problems, including this one. It doesn’t matter, in the end, which of us is right.

One of us will be.

And we will end this.

Note: Originally inspired by Faith and Buffy, but also a reference to Thor and Loki, Caramon and Raistlin, Peter and Edmund, Emerson and Sethos, and all the others who have faced ‘the enemy in the mirror, the friend across the field’.

#short story #original fiction #the eternal duality #good and evil are objective things #peace and war are different #conflict or resolution #one of them will be the solution #and in the end #that's what matters

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soulmate-game · 3 years

Text

Harley’s Plea for Help: Chapter 2

Chapter 1

“How long do you think it’s gonna take before she decides to sneak out?” Nightwing asked over his comms, lazily leaning against the balcony railing in front of him with his head resting on one hand.

“Dude, I started sneaking out almost twenty minutes ago,” a girl’s voice made Nightwing squeak and turn around, to reveal a teenage girl leaning against the door that led to the balcony he was on. “I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by doing unnecessarily showy gymnastics down from my hotel room’s balcony, no matter how much fun that would be, so I just snuck out one of the hotel’s back exits. Then I looked up to admire the moon and saw you here, staking out what is clearly my suite, and decided to come pay you a visit.”

“How long have you been there? And how did you even get behind me? I hope you didn’t break and enter, that’s an actual lived-in apartment behind us right now,” Nightwing asked, turning around to analyze the daughter of Harley Quinn for the first time in person.

She looked just like in her pictures, of course. Jet black hair like her father’s, except it seemed to have a bluish shine in the light. And her eyes were definitely Harley’s— thank goodness for that —vibrant blue and clearly analyzing him with the same amount of intensity as his did her. He had to bite back a chuckle. In a turn of complete irony, she really did look like a Wayne kid. Fit all of Bruce’s usual criteria to be adopted. But she was tiny, even smaller than Harley’s lithe form. He, Bruce, and Tim were of the hypothesis that the exposure both her parents had to Ace Chemical’s vats of acid likely had an effect on her DNA that stunted her growth. Perhaps there were other effects that they wouldn’t be able to figure out until they got to know her better, too, though it was clear that her skin was a likely one. It wasn’t unnaturally pale like her parent’s after their acid dips but it was paler than normal for sure, just a shade or two shy of being paper white.

And he could see, now, what Harley meant when she referred to Marinette as a powerhouse. It wasn’t very noticeable in pictures, but up close Dick could see the carefully honed muscle of an acrobat curling over her otherwise slim build. Combined with the knowledge that Marinette had been taught at least some serious self defense from a young age, he could see how such a tiny package could be a remarkable threat when necessary.

Marinette grimaced as the other Batfam, who were all nearby staking out her room from different angles, dropped onto the large balcony with them.

“Uh, well. I didn’t break and enter, I rather not get off to a criminal-ly start on my first night in Gotham, you know? But I realized that even though I was able to figure out the exact room you were staking me out from, I realized as soon as I got into the first floor of the building that I had no idea how to actually get to you. So I just climbed the stairs all the way to the roof and scaled my way down to this balcony, and pretended I’ve been here for a while when really I was barely able to hear you ask when I was gonna sneak out. I’m still out of breath, actually,” she put a hand on her chest and sure enough her breathing was still slightly fast. But not enough to be worrying or even all that noticeable. Yet another piece of evidence to show that she was a very active individual and had resistance built up to physical activity.

“Yup,” Robin groused grumpily, crossing his arms. “With all that rambling, you couldn’t be anyone else’s child but Quinzel’s.”

Marinette’s face immediately flushed pink all the way to her ears. “I’m sorry! I’ve been trying so hard to quit that habit, too!” She grumbled a bit to herself, putting her face in her hands. They all chuckled at the display. Red Hood ambled over, draping his arm over her shoulders (he nearly had to bend in half to do it, the height difference was that bad).

“As adorable as your freak out is, why’d you even come up here anyway? There’s no way you’d scale down a ten-story building just to say hello.”

She let out a heavy sigh at that, slowly peeling her face out of her hands. “Yeah, I recognized you guys right away. And honestly, as much as Momma Harley would be super proud of me for managing to give an entire group of vigilantes the slip, she’d also ground me for life if she found out that I saw you guys and still snuck away even though she probably swallowed her pride and asked you guys to babysit me, right? Self preservation. Contrary to popular belief, I do actually have some.”

“Wait,” Red Robin held up a hand, brows clearly furrowed under his cowl. “You expected her to ask for our help?”

“Well,” she made a so-so motion with her hand. “I didn’t think of it beforehand, but it all clicked once I saw Nightwing. I know how much my mom is worried about me, especially since you-know-who broke out a few days ago. She is more than worried enough to ask you guys for help. Even if she does complain about you guys, a lot actually, she also has made it clear that she trusts you guys with the stuff that actually matters.

“‘You know who’?” Batman repeated, arms crossed. If Marinette squinted, she thought there might have been a grin on his lips. “Is that how you always refer to him?”

“What else am I gonna call him?” she asked, face going deadpan. “Sperm donor? Source of a large amount of my self doubt and depreciation? The prime reason I haven’t been able to see my mom in person more often over the years? Oh, I know! How about I just always refer to him as ‘that bastard I wanna punch,’? That sounds good!” she rolled her eyes sarcastically. “Only one person in this world has the right to be considered my father in any capacity, and it sure as hell isn’t him. Genetics notwithstanding.”

Red Hood straight up guffawed at that, landing several rough pats on her back that made the girl stumble a bit. “Yep, I like this one! But as fun as it would be to see you give that jackass a mean left hook, it’s better if he never finds out who you are or knows that you’re here,” the vigilante’s voice got dark and serious very quickly. “He doesn’t forget people he finds interesting easily, and if he ever finds out about the connection you have to him, he’ll be a constant threat in your life.”

“I know,” Marinette agreed with a nod. “And if this conversation was happening two years ago, I’d say that my mom’s concerns aren’t unfounded. That I am too easily emotionally compromised and despite my deep seated issues and hatred for that man, I couldn’t guarantee he would be unable to get to me.”

Batman straightened up, as did all of his sons around him. None of them had missed the ‘if’ there. Batman’s voice went from charmingly deep to it’s usual gruff grumble. “What changed in two years?”

They all watched as Marinette gulped, taking a deep breath as she stalled for time, looking out at the view on the balcony before seeming to steel herself and return her gaze to Batman’s. When she did, it was suddenly full of iron will.

“I didn’t lie when I told Mom that I came to visit her— but that isn’t the whole truth, either. If I just wanted to visit her in Gotham, I would have waited until I was eighteen like we agreed. But I can’t wait, Paris can’t keep going on like this. I entered that contest because it was the fastest way to see you. I didn’t know if I would win, but… I had to take the chance. There was no way I’d be able to get to Gotham behind my mom’s back otherwise.”

“What are you talking about?” Robin hissed, stepping up to his father’s side. “Paris has been silent. If anything were happening, we would have heard about it by now.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Marinette corrected, never losing that ironclad look in her eyes. “Because a combination of magic and politics is keeping it quiet. No news about Paris’ situation is able to leave the city limits. Magic makes any non-native who leaves Paris think that everything they experienced was just a crazy dream. Natives won’t forget, but politics has all of us under very strict NDAs if we leave city boundaries, and all of our local news and social media is blocked from being accessed by anyone outside the city. But, I figured a little breaking of the rules wouldn’t exactly put a stain on my family’s reputation or anything, so,” she dug in her pocket and pulled out a thumb drive, holding it up for all of them to see. She swallowed again, but never stopped her eye contact with Batman. She held out the thumb drive.

“I came to Gotham to ask for your help. This sped things up, I didn’t expect to see you on my first night here, but two years in Hawkmoth’s Paris has really taught me how to roll with the punches. This,” she shook the thumb drive. “Holds videos of every fight since HawkMoth first showed up. It has all the information I’ve gathered over two years, tracks his movements and lists all his targets and— everything. But I’m not a detective, I’m a designer. I make clothes, I spar on the weekends, I am not good at getting evidence to prove that someone is a magic-abusing villain holding an entire city hostage.”

“We’re gonna need some details, Little Q,” Red Hood finally removes his arm from around her shoulders, instead crossing his arms and looking down at her sternly. “If your city has a villain holding it hostage, is anyone fighting him? And if you do have someone fighting him, why don’t you need our help, or why didn’t they call the Justice League? The JLE should be in Paris, right?”

Marinette snorted, face scrunching up in obvious distaste. “I’ll have to answer those a little out of order. First; the JLE was kicked out of Paris. They moved their headquarters to Italy about five years ago, I’m just surprised they apparently kept that secret from you,” she gestured to all of them, who indeed seemed very caught off guard by that tidbit. But Marinette just sighed and continued. “Though that’s a good thing, actually. We do have heroes, it started out as just a pair but it’s grown into a small team out of necessity. They didn’t call the Justice League because the last thing we need is any powered heroes coming in and making it worse— your league doesn’t have the best reputation for letting newer heroes take the lead even on their home turf, you know,” she pointed out, which made Batman shift a bit guiltily. He knew the JL was often a bit… heavy handed in their methods.

“What makes the situation so bad that you don’t want to bring experienced heroes into it?” Red Robin cut in, sounding as if the whole situation was a puzzle he was determined to sort out. Which, really, was exactly what Marinette had been counting on. She shot him a finger gun, grinning.

“That’s exactly the point! Hawkmoth uses a magical artifact, like I said— but this artifact can brainwash anybody who experiences even the slightest negative emotion. Sadness, anger, fear— anything negative. And it gives them powers, but puts them largely under his influence,” her expression twisted again, this time into a wry little grimace. “I guess you can say that my momma’s psychiatry background has secretly come in handy a lot over these past two years. And Hawkmoth is exactly why I try to tell Momma Harley to stop visiting me— I have worked my butt off to keep her from finding out about his attacks or getting Akumatized. Every time she shows up it gives me a heart attack!”

“Akumatized?”

Marinette waved a hand dismissively. “It’s the term used for when someone is turned into a super powered villain because of HawkMoth. The brainwashing— really it’s more similar to a straight up corruption. The person usually lacks their usual moral compass, and just seeks to soothe whatever set off their negative emotion in the first place. Usually, that means they seek a bloody revenge. And if someone who already has extensive training or extremely strong powers gets Akumatized, guess what?” She made jazz hands even though her face was deadpan. “Extra powers, or amplified ones, for the metas or superheroes who are Akumatized. And imagine what someone with, say, Batman’s level of experience could do if he had powers and no moral compass,” the silence that followed her words was deafening. She just nodded, knowing she had gotten her point across. “I’ve been working my butt off to stay positive, because if I’m Akumatized…” her shoulders fell, and she had to swallow a lump in her throat. “... I have no idea what I’d turn into, but if you take into consideration both my training and my family history… it’s really best if we never find out what kind of magic-powered supervillain I’d make.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Nightwing said after another long moment of silence for that to all sink in. He gestured at her with an open palm. “You’ve been dealing with a terrorist for two years who targets emotional vulnerability, you apparently have never been corrupted by this magic at least to present day, but your mother still worries about you being very emotionally fragile. And your heroes are not detectives, which is clearly what you need or you wouldn’t have asked us for our help.”

Marinette nodded. “I used to be very impressionable. At the start of all this, I was a huge people-pleaser. I got attached to new people in a matter of minutes. My mom always said I reminded her too much of herself— but two years of fighting off a guy trying to get into my head—“

“Wait,” Batman nearly barked, taking a step forward. “He’s been targeting you? You specifically?”

Marinette nodded grimly, mouth a straight line. “Not from the beginning, but this past year it’s been painfully obvious. He might be able to sense the strength of people’s emotions, and unfortunately I don’t exactly experience my emotions very… gently. All of my emotions tend to the much more intense side of the spectrum. If that’s true, then he might know that any negative emotion I feel will make an extremely strong Akuma. Either that, or he’s going by process of elimination. All of my friends, except for one, have been Akumatized already. So has my Papan and my grandmother. But it’s obvious when he’s targeting someone, I’ve felt him try to override my will on several occasions. But I can’t just repress all of my negative emotions forever, so consider us working against the clock right now. That thumb drive has all the details you need about our heroes, how exactly Hawkmoth’s powers work, and so on.”

“Do your heroes know you’re asking for our help?” Red Robin asked, gaze burning a figurative hole through Marinette’s face. “Better yet, if this drive has as much information as you say it does, how did you get it?”

Marinette handed the drive over to Batman, who finally took it and tucked it in his belt as she answered.

“Momma Harley might have a lot to say about your detective skills, but you are all still strangers to me. So consider this a test of your abilities— I expect that you will all go to extreme lengths to verify all of the information I gave you anyway. After all, I’m still the daughter of your most hated enemy. Right?” She met each of their gazes, one by one, with a challenging one of her own. “You’ll just have to figure out my connection to the heroes on your own. And how I got the information, too. It shouldn’t be too hard for the so-called world’s greatest detectives. And maybe this can double as a trust exercise. I fully expect you guys to scour through every inch of my past, and dig up everything you can on me. I encourage you to try to find everything you can, so that hopefully you can decide to trust me on your own once you have all the details laid out in front of you. By the way, for your own sanity? I’d start with reading about all of our heroes’ powers and abilities before you watch any footage of past attacks.”

Red hood rocked back on his heels, trading glances with the other vigilantes before they all shared a nod. Apparently having decided their course of action, Red Hood leaned down and hoisted Marinette up into a princess carry. All traces of her previous iron will melted away in favor of the high pitched squeal of surprise she gave, and once more she became an overly flustered teenager.

“Alright, little cutie. Let’s get you to your mom’s place before she and her crazy plant lady fiancé come hunting us down.”

“I can walk! I can freerun on my own! Mon dieu please let me down! Eeeeek!” She squealed again as Robin slapped a domino mask over her eyes and Red Hood wasted no time jumping over the balcony railing with her still in his arms. The fact that they were lowered down by a wire wrapped around Hood’s waist didn’t seem to take away any of the fright that came with a sudden drop over an eighth-story balcony.

Part 1

@emotionalsupportginger @alysrose-starchild @emistar0 @kibastray @justanotherfanficlovinbitch @alyssadeliv @blackroserelina @blackstarlight-co @readingalldaysleepingallnight @maanae @aespades @jaybird-and-co @fleursroses @probably-a-hologram @misterpianoman (didn’t work sorry)

#dc x mlb #dc x miraculous #maribat #bio!dad au #Bio!mom Harley Quinn #Bio!Dad joker #mlb x dc #ml x dc #Harley’s Plea for Help #platonic brucinette #platonic jasonette #platonic Harley Quinn x Marinette

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dorimena · 3 years

Text

𝕷𝖆𝖈𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕮𝖆𝖐𝖊

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯; bakugou katsuki

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱; 1.4k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰; fem!reader, lingerie, sex toy (vibrating butt plug), implied edging, implied overstimulation, pegging, mommy kink, dacryphilia, dom!reader, sub!reader

𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰; garterbelt, dry orgasms, didn’t know lima bean respect day existed, if you haven't realized i refer to reader's dick as cock whether flesh or silicone, implied aftercare, aged up character, Bakugou is in his 20s

𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢; late gift for the birthday boy who i haven’t written anything about until now. It was supposed to come out as a small fic, but University kept getting in the way and I’ve fallen behind with some pendant writings. Guess this is my first headcanon thing. Not proofread!

April 20th could mean anything for a lot of people:

In the US, it’s National Pineapple Upside Down Cake Day.

Also in the US, it’s National Lima Bean Respect Day.

Internationally, for the weed lovers, it’s 420 Day.

But April 20th simply means it’s your boyfriend’s birthday.

Bakugou had been hinting about wanting a small surprise for a while, whether big or small

And by hinting, I mean downright telling you every breakfast, lunch and dinner spent possible throughout March that he wants something from you, but doesn’t want to know what

If you were Mina, you would’ve thrown a party at some lowkey club and hired one of the best DJs in the city, if not the country

If you were Kirishima, you would’ve taken him hiking to a new mountain someplace else in Japan + a weekend glamping getaway

If you were Sero, you would’ve gone to do something relaxing, maybe a spa? Aerial yoga? Definitely not to just see his ass in some yoga pants

If you were Kaminari-

Well, that’s actually an interesting thought… What would you have done if you were Kaminari?

Bakugou wearing a black, see-through thong, the most sensual looking lace garterbelt you could find in his size and a pretty black bow sitting on his ass is what you managed to come up with

Sure. At first he was ready to fight, but then he remembered who you were so obedient baby boy mode was activated without any more fuss. That, and his fucking fantasies.

He’s also been fantasizing for the past few weeks leading up to his birthday about how you’d probably ride him. Maybe fuck him? He doesn’t care, just wants to be babied and loved and fucked good until he passes out to wake up a week later.

Maybe not, he still has work to do

Another reason he put up with this is because, y’know, you tend to be nicer on special days so-

Bakugou wearing a garterbelt makes you feel so many levels of horny in a span of 30 seconds once you see it on him. It accentuates his already envious waist line even more. God, you can’t wait to see him bent over and ass up.

So you tell him gently to do so from where you’re sitting, and he does it so prettily.

Reminds you of a graceful cat, the way he turns around on the bed, chest already down onto the bed sheets as he pulls his torso as close to his knees as possible. Juicy ass is as high as it could be and wow, the thong doesn’t do a good work at hiding the glimmer of the diamond butt plug.

Pity it didn’t come in any other color than white, but it came with the lingerie.

You didn’t even warn him when you turn the butt plug on.

The promised low setting already sounding pretty loud, his small huffs indicating it’s not as overwhelming yet.

Good.

But by now, you’ve left it on for a good while, watching as he tries not to lose his balance or shuffle too much to ‘lose the appeal’.

He’s cursing at you in airy moans, vermillion eyes glaring at you. Why are you teasing him? You’re meant to be nice.

It’s his fucking birthday

You’d punish him for his impatience, but you already punished him the day before.

You don’t want him not being fucked in the ass so you turn the vibrator up to the last setting, smiling sweetly as he curses even louder

This is still punishing but nice, right?

He seems to agree

His arms are restless, moving from staying beside him to moving above his head to grip at the sheets.

His hands also go to grab his ass and pull the cheeks apart to show you how he’s clenching desperately around the toy, whining about how he needs you right now, to stop fucking around and get your big ass cock in him or else-

But that “or else” doesn’t really get finished, not with you startling him with your speed and sight of the ribbons.

His arms are tied now, forcing him to keep spreading his ass, to keep showing himself off.

This has him burying his face into the bed, hiding how red he’s gotten from embarrassment.

You don’t allow that, so you press your hand onto the plug to push it in deeper.

He yells out your name, body jolting as the toy relentlessly messes with his prostate while your other hand curiously goes to touch the front.

The thong is absolutely soaked and sticky, and when you move your fingers against the fabric to feel just how sticky it is, Bakugou tries humping them, well, really just trying to rub his dick against your fingers because wow the stimulation of the fabric is n i c e.

But you’re not having it just yet, you wanna appreciate his perfect posture a bit more.

Reminder: the butt plug is already at its highest setting.

So the next best thing you can do is smack his ass because your baby loves that, loves how you leave compliments and praise for how it jiggles and gets a pretty red. He does it for you, after all, makes sure it’s always at its best presentation.

But he’ll never tell you shit because then you’ll tease him and embarrass him in front of his friends.

So a few slaps in, being careful with his hands, all followed by cooing at how it moves, how it blushes, how it’s now matching his face and probably dick too, has him trying to fuck back into the vibrator, but he’s humping absolutely nothing and growing more and more desperate and horny.

You back away from the bed, going for your camera to take another pic for your growing collection.

On the bed lies Bakugou Katsuki, all tied up, lingerie getting sticky with precum, the laciest garterbelt you’ve ever seen decorating his waist while he’s panting heavily, ass in the air, face completely red and wet, whether it be his sweat or tears.

He’s holding his ass apart to show you the vibrating diamond butt plug that’s been stuck in the highest setting, buzzing away as he’s whimpering your name, hiccuping “mommy, mommy, mommy” as he pleads for mercy, wiggling his ass as he tries luring you back to his body.

“M-mommy! Hnnnm tuh-touch me! Plea-ease? Please~”

Hey, aren’t you supposed to be nice? Eh...

He can’t come alone from the vibrating butt plug, never has been able to before, and if his rocking hips don’t indicate how much he wants to either fuck the bed or have your hand on it, you just ignore it.

Let’s see if tonight he’ll be able to cum hands-free for once. And make sure he cries more and more everytime he gets to cum from your cock and only because of your cock.

Basically that’s your birthday gift. Fuck him good until he either forgets his name, he's a babbling, crying mess, he's completely milked, or all of the above.

After hours of being edged by the toy he finally came, but in thin, small amounts, so you had to fuck out a few more rounds and cum out of him before he passed out.

In all honesty, he begged you to fuck him until he passed out. He had been fantasizing about it, after all.

After you both had your final orgasm of the night, rather early morning, he’s in tears, body trembling through the last tremors of his 2nd dry orgasm out of what? 7 orgasms? The copious amount of cum he’s managed to get milked out of him drying everywhere on his body, drool wetting the bed sheets even more than they were, room smelling like caramel, asshole fluttering around nothing and dick twitching as if wanting more.

Bakugou’s speaking gibberish at this point, the only coherent words leaving his dumb mouth being “mommy”, “more” or your name as he slowly succumbs to his exhaustion.

You give him your premium grade A aftercare during the little time he remained conscious and took care of everything else as he slept.

Next day, you cook breakfast, even if he grumbled about the taste or appearance.

He’s a good boy, he’s not gonna yell at you or be ungrateful with anything and everything you do, considering you put up with his anger. I mean, he gives his opinions, insights, inquiries through loving shouts of disapproval and approval.

All in all, he liked his birthday, but told you he kind of expected you to throw a party and had mentally prepared himself

Goddamn it. Guess next year you’ll call Mina for some help

#bnha smut #mha smut #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki smut #sub bakugou #sub bnha #ლ; blasphemy #𝖇𝖆𝖐𝖚𝖌𝖔𝖚

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stickyy · 3 years

Note

I loved what you wrote about student! college! aizawa,if it's not too much trouble,I would like to read a second part but it contains a sub!aizawa,dom!reader,mommy kink and pegging please. I have to take advantage of the fact that you are the first blog with dark content that I see that accepts pegging,an opportunity that I will not miss,but if it gets complicated for you oh you don't like it,you can reject my request.

DISCLAIMER: always ask for consent first!

warnings: DUBCON, sub!aizawa, edging, verbal abuse, bondage, pegging, gn!reader but light mommy kink is used in reference to, praise kink if you squint?, slightly unrealistic depictions of pegging, reader is fed up but that doesnt excuse their actions :P

word count: 3489

notes: sorry for the delay, i hope u like anon! :D there should always be more pegging fic out there

part 1 here

EXAM SEASON

Finals season is quickly approaching, sending the entire campus into a frenzy, students scrambling like displaced ants trying to finish last minute assignments, novel-esque essays, merciful extra credit projects. The workload takes its toll on everyone, even the star students. You found Aizawa in even worse moods more frequently; a schedule consisting of all nighters spent studying old material followed by early classes and a job on the side, he was absolutely exhausted. You sometimes sneak a peek over at him during class to see his head bobbing slightly, bloodshot eyes struggling to stay open as he fights sleep. A small part of you feels bad for him; he’s a diligent student, and you were sympathetic to his exhaustion.

You still hate the asshole, though.

You found yourself snagged in a twisted sort of arrangement with Aizawa after midterms. There was always a half-assed attempt at tutoring you before giving up and cramming his cock down your throat or deep inside your cunt, leaving you sore and dripping with his cum, all the while spewing insults targeted at your intelligence (or lack thereof). In exchange, he’d complete your assignments and allow you to copy his answers on exam days. Ignoring the situation is where you make peace with yourself; you feel used, but you also have no other option if you want to pass this class.

What you hate the most is the way you roll over and take it. You’re more than just a hole to fuck, you know that, but you’re helpless against his searing abuse and venomous scowls. Even when you try to be nice, it only makes him crueler, your soft pleas and offers of peace an invitation to tear you down and make you cry. You want to fight, to claw and tear into him out of spite. You don’t want to feel so weak anymore.

So, you decide to do something about it.

It’s late, campus illuminated by street lamps and headlights of cars passing by as you make your way into the dorms. After your first encounter, Aizawa began inviting you back to his room instead of the library, deciding to “study” in his personal space as opposed to possibly getting caught in the library with his cock down your throat. You didn’t complain, but it’s especially convenient today, with what you have planned. Knocking on the door softly, you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, anxious for what’s to come.

“Open,” he calls out from inside, prompting you to enter. You pass through the messy common room he shares with his roommate and enter his bedroom, opening the door quietly. Aizawa’s room is tidy compared to the outside, bed made, tousled only where he sits with his laptop, typing.

“You’re late,” he squints at you from behind the screen, shutting the device. “Not surprising.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, placing your book bag on the floor and taking out the very heavy law textbook (that you hadn’t bothered to open since midterms). You take your seat next to him and open to the most recent chapter you read over. He’s silent, only speaking to answer your questions as you focus on the text. You can tell he’s sleepy, his responses slurred and delayed, and you glance over to see him dozing off. Late study sessions and Aizawa’s recent exhaustion meant more often than not that he fell asleep before tormenting you. The first time was startling, but you learned that it was a regular occurrence.

You prefer Aizawa when he’s drowsy. His usually hard features were softened, quiet snores rumbling from his chest. His dark hair messily framing his face as he leans back against the headboard of his bed, arms folded over his chest. He’s good-looking, no doubt. If his personality matched, you could see yourself falling for him.

His eyes open, shooting you a questioning look, and you duck your head back into your textbook, embarrassed at being caught staring.

You keep quiet for another 20 or so minutes, waiting until he’s truthfully asleep and not just resting. You have to be careful not to wake him, as you aren’t keen on being reprimanded for what you're about to do.

Once you’ve deemed it safe, you stealthily open your bag and retrieve the small plastic bag stored inside. With the help of online shopping, you bought some handcuffs, lube, a dildo, and a harness. You aren’t all into pegging, but this was less about the sex and more about proving yourself, forcing him to respect you, in some perverse way. You retrieve the cuffs, gripping them carefully as to not make any sounds. This is the most crucial part; as long as you could get him restrained, you’d could dish out any revenge you desire. You slip off of the bed and tip-toe, almost comically, around the other side of the bed. You test the waters, snapping your fingers near Aizawa. He doesn’t stir, chest rising and falling with his deep breathing.

You steel yourself with a deep breath; this was your chance. You make quick work with the handcuffs, gently yet hastily clicking the metal around one wrist and looping the cuffs through the headboard before securing his other wrist. A grin spreads across your face; you’re thankful he’s such a deep sleeper.

Now that you had him where you wanted him, you were paralyzed by the sheer amount of possibilities. You climb over him apprehensively, hovering over the unconscious man, who only shifts minutely. The peaceful look on his face puts a small pit in your stomach; this was wrong… right? Technically, this was assault. You frown, a small chill running down your spine. Is this what you had become? It was almost enough to convince you to stop, but you force yourself to remember the first time Aizawa had his way with you, the way you choked and gagged and had to hide your face until you could find a bathroom to wipe off the dried cum that adhered to your skin.

This was his fault; he made you like this.

“Fuck it,” you say aloud, bracing yourself before grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking, hard. He awakes with a surprised gasp, wrenching his head away from the assault.

“The fuck?” He bites, eyes drowsily scouring the situation. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Just waking you up,” you smile, releasing your grip. “It’s kind of boring watching you sleep. I thought we were supposed to be studying.”

Aizawa gives you an agitated look, disoriented as he tries to move, only to find his range of motion limited. “You fucking handcuffed me?”

“Yeah, I can’t believe you didn’t wake up,” you chuckle, sliding your hands under his shirt and running your hands over his taut stomach. He keeps his eyes on you with an expectant expression, waiting for an explanation.

“You know, I like you so much more when you're asleep,” you continue, idly tracing patterns on the skin of his abdomen. “No insults, no curses, no glaring. You’re pretty handsome when you’re not being a total douchebag.”

“Let me go,” he ignores you, yanking the handcuffs. “This isn’t funny.”

“I think it’s pretty funny, actually. You’ve spent all semester treating me like shit, and for what? All I’ve done is be nice to you, even after you call me names and abuse me. It hurts my feelings, you know? It’s not like I’m trying to fail this class, I just needed a little extra help, and you take advantage of that every week. So I do think this is pretty fucking hilarious. Maybe you’ll see just how great I feel when you bully me.”

If looks could kill, your heart would have stopped right then and there. Rage burns behind his glare when he meets your eyes, still struggling to break the cuffs. You’d never seen him like this; at his worst, he seems moderately annoyed in your day to day. Despite being an insufferable asshole, he always manages to keep a cool air about him. Never giving anyone much of a reaction, he’s only nasty when he desires. Watching his face take a red tint and his eyes narrow in frustration send waves of satisfaction rippling through your chest.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he grits out, “If you let me go now, I’ll forget all about this. I promise that you don’t want what’s coming for you once I get out of these cuffs.”

He did have a point; you had no idea what you were doing. That wasn’t going to stop you, though.

“Aw, it’s not so fun now, isn’t it?” You coo at him in a demeaning tone, pouting dramatically. Your wandering hands slid to his crotch, where you could feel his length stirring curiously. You bark out a laugh.

Pulling down his sweats and boxers, your mouth waters at his hardening length. Normally, your stomach would drop at the sight in anticipation for physical abuse you were about to receive. But this? This was different; knowing that you’re the one in control is absolutely captivating. You take his cock in your hands, slowly working your hand up and down. He stays silent in defiance, steady in his glare in an attempt to intimidate you. It would work, usually, but with his hands bound there was nothing he could do to you. He’s betrayed by a pleased noise that slips from his throat.

“Don’t tell me you like this? You want to be taken advantage of, is that it?” you taunt, basking in his agitation as you speed your hand up, thumbing the pre gathering on the slit.

“Watch it,” is his only response, voice dangerously low. He keeps quiet, not willing to surrender to the reactions you’re trying to draw from him. It’s a challenge, if anything, and you weren’t going to back down..

He’s fully erect in no time- you’ve spent enough time as his cocksleeve to know exactly what he likes and responds to. His eyes fall shut as you squeeze tighter, hips canting up into your hand, chasing his own release. You keep it up until he gets a little louder, close to release, and you pull your hand away, watching his dick twitch helplessly.

“Fuck- why’d you stop?” he asks groggily, opening his eyes.

“You didn’t think that I was just going to let you cum that easily, did you? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” you shuffle off of the bed, smiling over your shoulder as you hook your thumbs in the band of your leggings. You make a show of sliding the material down over your ass, purposefully leaning over and arching your back. You hear a pleased growl from the bed, causing you to giggle as you pull your underwear down as well.

“You could still let me go,” he offers, giving you a once over as you climb back over him, “I could forget about this if you let me fuck you.”

“Nice try, but I’ll be the one doing the fucking tonight,” you grab your bag from the floor, retrieving the lube but leaving the dildo and harness obscured in the bag. You squeeze a generous amount onto your fingers, causing Aizawa to give you a puzzled look.

“You don’t need lube, you’re always so wet for me,” it’s more of a question than an observation, since your previous trysts never included anything but his spit and your own juices. You just give him a smile before nudging his thighs open with your own, trailing your hand slowly beneath his balls, settling in between his ass and your lubed fingers circle the muscle there. The look on his face is priceless, absolutely shocked at the prospect of you inside of him. He thrashes in protest but you’re steadfast, pinning his hips down with your other hand.

“You can’t be serious,” his voice is alarmed, almost erring on the side of anxious, “you’re dumber than I thought if you think you’re just going to get away with any of this shit.”

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you sing-song, using your dry hand to tug playfully on the cuffs, “You’re a little tied up at the moment.”

“I’m going to beat your cunt up when I get out of these,” it’s a threat, and you ignore the way your stomach flutters at the words, eyes trained on his as you push two fingers inside.

He grunts, his face scrunching up, almost cutely, at the burn of the stretch. You expected him to be tight, but given how tense he is, it’s difficult to push all the way inside. You take it slow, savoring the pained expression on his face; it’s a stark contrast to his cocky demeanor when you’re being subjugated to his abuse. His chest is heaving, a lovely red flush spreading across his skin, eyebrows knit tight, lips bitten red- you’re obsessed. You move your fingers in and out slowly, scissoring just gently enough not to seriously hurt him, but enough to watch him writhe. His dick twitches despite (or maybe due to?) the pain, still red and dripping.

“This is priceless,” you laugh, “if you wanted to get fucked so badly, all you had to do was ask, you know? Mommy would’ve taken care of it for you.”

“Mommy?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes, “you’re insane.”

Any further insult is cut off with a sharp gasp, eyes shooting open in shock, and you know you’ve found it.

You stroke his prostate with a heavy hand, grinding your fingers into the spongy spot inside of him as he struggles to breathe, back arching deliciously. You can’t help but smirk; you kind of get it now. If this is how tormenting you makes Aizawa feel, then you understand why he was so cruel.

“Fuck,” he chokes on a whine that sends heat down your spine, . Your wrist is beginning to strain, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It’s cute; he’s writhing, his hips seeking the stimulation he was previously avoiding as he moans openly, loudly. His cock is an angry purple, pre pooling on his stomach from where it’s leaking. He looks like he’s close, eyes beginning to roll back when you pull your fingers out, laughing as you ruin his orgasm for the second time.

“Please,” he’s breathless, a betrayed look on his face as his hips rock on nothing, desperate to cum.

“Begging already? We haven’t even gotten started yet!”

You reach over into the plastic bag, pulling out the dildo and harness. You can clearly see the fear on his face this time as he moves to sit up, the fog of pleasure clearing quickly.

“Wait,” panic sets in his voice yet again. If you were him, you would be scared too; the toy is thicker than the two fingers you used, something you chose purposefully. You stand and slip on the harness, ignoring his attempts to reason with you.

“What’s wrong? I thought I didn’t know what I was doing?” you ask innocently, forcing your hips between his legs and drizzling some lube on the toy, warming it up with your palm.

“That’s the fucking problem, you idiot, you don’t,” he seethes, pulling on the restraints again, “It won’t fit, and you’re not sending me to the hospital.”

“Exactly, I won’t send you to the hospital. Mommy’s gonna take good care of you,” you coo, settling between his legs.

“Just let me go,” it’s the first genuine plea you’ve heard from him, the sincerity pulling your attention to his eyes where you see a look you can’t quite place. He looks… afraid? Remorseful? It’s enough to give you pause, equal parts consideration and schadenfreude. You settle for leaning forward and placing an uncharacteristically saccharine kiss on his forehead, your humanity getting the best of you.

“All you have to do is relax, okay?” you whisper, resting the tip of the toy against his entrance. He shuts his eyes in anticipation, resigned to his fate, and you push in gently, watching his hole swallow the silicone. The way Aizawa contorts, back bowed to scoot away from the pressure of the toy is salacious, drawing a moan from deep within your chest. He can’t get far due to the restraints, and he lets out a soft sob at the stretch of the toy, face scrunched tight. You push slowly until you bottom out, your hips pressed firmly against his, grinding in small circles to alleviate your own ache. He exhales shakily, unaware that he was holding his breath.

“See, it’s not so bad right?” you soothe, rubbing your thumb against his hip soothingly. “You should be grateful; I’m so much nicer than you are.”

“Fuck you,” it comes out weaker than intended, his voice strained as he tries to adjust to the girth of the toy.

You pull out slowly, experimentally, watching his stomach clench from the sensation of silicone caressing his insides. His dick gives an interested twitch, despite his demeanor, and that’s the invitation you need to start moving. It’s a little awkward at first, but your enthusiasm combined with the size of the toy more than makes up for your inexperience. He’s breathless, still uncomfortable, but you can see his body slowly relax as he tries to make sense of the sensations coursing through his body.

“You like this, don’t you?” you dig, eyes transfixed on his face, “Is that why you're so mean to me? You strut around like an asshole, just to hide the fact that you’re just a little bitch?”

You focus on angling your hips, searching for his prostate again, and when you find it, you commit to fucking him. He’s loud, stray tears sliding down his face as his body struggles to comprehend both the pain of the stretch and pleasure of the abuse.

“Fuck, you’re cute like this,” you sigh, “you’re meant for this, aren’t you? Meant to get your ass bred by your Mommy? You’d be so much more tolerable if you were sweet like this all of the time.”

His dick jerks violently but he shakes his head with a weak ‘no’, too lost in the sensation to retort any further. You’re soaked by now, the pressure of the toy on your end combined with the power trip pushing you to the edge. It takes all of your self-control, but you suddenly stop, unwilling to let yourself finish so quickly; there’s still unfinished business here.

“Tell me I’m pretty,” it comes out before you can even really think about it, but the words hang heavily in the air.

“Huh?”

“You’re never nice to me, so if you want me to even consider letting you cum, you better start kissing up.”

He hesitates, but when you shift slightly and the blunt head of the toy rubs against his prostate, he changes his tune very quickly.

“Fuck- you’re cute, ‘s the reason why I’m mean to you. So cute when you’re about to cry-” you give him a particularly hard slap on his ass and he winces, muttering a quick apology.

“You’re pretty even when I’m not fucking you, too,” is all you get, but it’s the first genuine compliment you’ve gotten out of the asshole since you’ve met him, and your heart soars. He’s awful and mean and evil but the simple statement is enough for you.

“I’ll let you cum if you beg for it,” you grunt, rutting your hips enthusiastically. You’re close, but you refuse to finish first. He’s needy, thanks to being edged twice, and he’s unable to resist your promise.

“Please, fuck, please let me cum,” he whimpers, voice wet and eyes watery.

“Please what?”

“Mommy! Fuck, please mommy, just let me cum, it hurts, fuck, please,” he babbles, and it’s enough for you. You wrap your hand around his cock and stroke it firmly, hips speeding up as you chase your own release. It’s quick- he finishes almost embarrassingly fast, and the whorish wail that rips from his throat sends you right over the edge, your vision blurring at the corners as you stay trained on his face, obscene and submissive.

It’s quiet after you stop, both of you catching your breath. You pull out slowly, watching the way his hole flutters and you giggle, your body and ego fully satiated. You look back to his face; he looks more fucked out than you’ve ever seen him, almost like he’s about to fall back asleep.

“Can we call it a truce?” You break the silence, grinning as he cracks open an eye to give you a scalding look.

“Fuck. You.”

456 notes · View notes

kuroopaisen · 3 years

Text

tiny love || 13

➵ as tooru’s younger sister, falling in love with iwaizumi hajime is easy. your feelings aren’t ignored, either. this time, you both decided to tell your brother the truth.

warnings: f!reader

wc: 2.8k

m.list | ch. 12 ↞ ch. 13 ↠ ch. 14

Tooru’s beaming face stared up at you from your phone as you get through to voicemail for the seventh time today.

He smiled at you from the walls, a whole range of Tooru of all different ages – all Tooru’s who hadn’t shouted at you for sleeping with his best friend.

You’d come to your room in the hopes that it might bring you some comfort. Stupid decision, really. There was so much of him here, grinning at you from your walls, from your desk. You hadn’t even realised how many damn photos you had of him until today. And he’s in everything; photos with your friends, photos with your family, nice shots of Miyagi that he’s managed to ruin with half his forehead.

God, if Tooru wouldn’t forgive you for this…

No. He’d have to.

Your brother was going to hear you out, and he wasn’t going to speak over or belittle you. He had to recognise you as an independent adult.

You hadn’t told Iwaizumi you were planning on doing this. He’d bore enough of Tooru’s rage today. And besides, this was a conversation you wanted – no, needed – to have on your own.

If only your stupid brother would answer his damn phone.

What’s the bet he’s practicing his serves with all the aggression he’d cultivated in high school? Or maybe he was just watching his own phone ring, staring at it with derision as your name glowed on his screen. Or maybe he wasn’t doing anything, simply passed out on his bed, tuckered out from all the rage.

You took a deep breath as your thumb hovered over the call button. One last try. Just one.

The phone rung once more. You were starting to get sick of the sound – the same number of trills, the same mechanical rhythm.

One more time. If he didn’t pick up now, then—

“What do you want?” Tooru’s voice was sharp, with far more aggression than necessary.

“I need to speak with you,” you said, as much confidence in your voice as you could muster.

“Go away,” Tooru hissed.

“No!”

You didn’t mean to shout. It just came out of you, as if it had been dog rattling at the gates, begging to be let out for the hunt.

“You’re not going to run away from this, Tooru!” You could already feel the corners of your eyes burning, your throat starting to constrict, that awful knot in your stomach reforming.

You didn’t want to do this. But you had to.

Tooru said nothing in response. But the white noise coming through the receiver let you know that he hadn’t hung up.

“What is your problem?”

It was a plea more than a question.

“My best friend is fooling around with my sister,” he hissed.

“Look,” you breathed, your chest so tight it felt like was going to crack your ribs, “you don’t get to dictate who I do and don’t date.”

“That’s my best friend.” Tooru didn’t miss a beat. But part of you is relieved to hear that he still referred to Hajime that way. Maybe all was not lost.

“I know,” you replied, clenching your fist in your lap. “I don’t see what the problem is.”

Tooru scoffed. Every petty argument you’d had over the years comes back to you – Tooru’s dismissive, obnoxious tone, the ache of not being listened to, the frustration at being treated like a little kid.

“What if you break up?” Tooru said, as condescending as if he was explaining how the sun rose and fell. “What if something goes wrong?”

“We’re adults, Tooru,” you rolled your eyes despite the circumstances. “We’re not going to be petty about it if that happens.”

And we’ve already managed to let you live a cushy life after a breakup, you thought to yourself. Though you knew better than to tell Tooru that.

“An adult wouldn’t go behind her brother’s back,” he seethed.

It was really all about him, huh? Your relationship, how much you and Iwaizumi cared about each other… Tooru wasn’t even thinking about that. It was just his perspective, his wants, his needs.

It’s just like it was back in high school. The only difference is that this time, Tooru was articulating these thoughts. Knowing the assumptions, you made all that time ago, in your hormonal, addled teenage brains…

“Look,” you snapped. “I’m sick of losing to you.” They’re words you should’ve said ages ago. Or maybe you shouldn’t have said them at all.

But they were out now, no longer a dirty little secret held close to your chest for who knew how long.

You weren’t just talking about Iwaizumi, either. You’d always felt second to Tooru – second to his fire, second to his passions. Always second over the finish line. Always second best. Always less important.

Fuck, you’d even moved halfway across the world just to live up to his ‘legacy’. How were you supposed to just go to a Japanese university after Tooru had moved to fucking Argentina? No, you’d wanted to prove yourself. To show that you, too, were worth something.

But even after all of that, you’re still just ‘Tooru’s little sister.’

And poor Iwaizumi was all this converged; poor Iwaizumi, stuck between two hearts and shackled by his sense of propriety.

Iwaizumi, who could easily be part of both of you, weaved through both your souls by calloused hands.

“I’m not losing him again just because you don’t like the idea of us being in a relationship.”

Maybe it was an irresponsible thing to say. There’s too much truth in it, too many years of bitterness stored and cultivated in your gut.

But too much has already been said. Nothing could be taken back. And if life wasn’t going to let you have anything of your own, anything you could be proud of, then you sure as hell weren’t letting it take Iwaizumi away from you, too.

You jerked the phone away from your ear and jabbed the ‘END CALL’ icon with more force than necessary.

That… could’ve gone better. Did you even achieve anything? Or had you just added to the clusterfuck? But there was nothing to be done now.

Hajime said he’d stick by you this time. That meant there was no backing out now. Not that you wanted to – not after all of this.

✧ ✧ ✧

I’ll go for a run, Hajime had thought. It’ll help calm me down.

Wrong.

He’d made the stupid mistake of bringing his phone with him.

Oikawa’s unique ringtone blared in his pocket; a little jingle of Oikawa singing ‘Iwa-chan!’ Oikawa had created it one day in their final year of high school when Iwaizumi was taking a toilet break.

Iwaizumi had never had the heart to change it, irritating as it was.

Slowing to a stop, he slipped his phone out of his pocket and brought it to his ear reluctantly.

But this was a new kind of reticence. This isn’t the everyday annoyance he’d felt in high school whenever Oikawa stroked his own ego, or when Oikawa refused to do the bare minimum of looking after himself.

This was something else entirely. Something Iwaizumi loathed.

“Hello?” He answered gruffly, voice terse with both anxiety and exertion.

“What the fuck is going on, dude?”

Cutting right to the chase, then.

“We told you,” Iwaizumi swallowed. “We’re dating.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Oikawa snapped.

“What do you mean, then?” Iwaizumi bit back his temper.

Shouting at Oikawa wouldn’t get him anywhere. That’d just make everything worse; and he didn’t want to do that to you or your brother.

Oikawa was silent for a moment – quiet enough for Iwaizumi to check the connection.

“She said ‘again,’” Tooru murmured.

Iwaizumi didn’t have the space in his heart to get mad at you. Not after years of keeping your feelings locked in your heart, trying to do the right thing by your brother, trying to make all of this work despite the discomfort it brought you.

He took a deep breath. “This isn’t the first time something’s happened.”

A confession. One he should’ve made years ago.

But God, did his soul feel lighter for it.

“Wait, what?” The tone of Oikawa’s voice was unplaceable.

“I kissed her at the beginning of our third year.” The words were out before he could doubt them. Now wasn’t the time to be delicate, to be cautious. If Oikawa was going to respond like this, then you both have to return in full force.

“What the fuck?” Oikawa’s an emotional guy. But those three words had more rage and vitriol in them than Iwaizumi had ever heard before.

“She wasn’t exactly subtle about the fact something was happening,” Iwaizumi grumbled. Looking back on it, he really had been cold. You’d just been reaching out to him, hoping that he’d give you the affirmation you craved. He’d avoided you in the hopes that you’d forget all about it.

God, it had all been very ‘teenage’. Part of him felt like he couldn’t blame either of you for that – you were teenagers at the time, after all – but another part of his heart couldn’t quite forgive himself for what he did.

To you, and to Tooru.

“Was this before summer break?” Oikawa spoke after a long moment, a quietude in his voice that even Iwaizumi wasn’t familiar with.

Iwaizumi swallowed roughly. “Yeah.”

Another silence. But this time, it’s hostile. It felt like the silence before a huge wave crashed, the air thrumming with the tension of what was about to come. It didn’t feel like Oikawa was about to shout; no, it’d be worse than that.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There’s hurt in Oikawa’s voice, but not the same kind of before.

“Because I knew you’d be mad,” Iwaizumi admitted. And I was scared.

“That’s no excuse.”

It never was.

“I know,” Iwiazumi sighed. “I was a coward.”

“What, so you decided that you’d just go behind my back now?” Oikawa scoffed.

“I didn’t plan for this to happen,” Iwaizumi said, biting back a snarl.

“This didn’t cross your mind at all when I asked you to live with her?”

Iwaizumi remembered that conversation well. The doubt, the fear, the apprehension. He hadn’t wanted to do it – didn’t want to put himself in that situation again. But Tooru had been persistent; kept talking about how someone needed to keep an eye on you.

“I decided to share an apartment with her for you, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi said, voice surprisingly firm and steady. “Because you were the one who wanted me to keep an eye on her.”

“But—”

“I care about her,” Iwaizumi swallowed. “This isn’t all about you.”

“I never said it was ‘all about me,’” Oikawa fumed, “you guys just obviously didn’t think about me at all.”

Iwaizumi took a deep breath, the knot in his forehead getting deeper. Ignorance must be bliss. But Oikawa had no right to think like that, no right to make such accusations.

“We both put you first, you know?” Iwaizumi said, voice tight. “I dumped her in high school because of you. And I bet that she moved in with me because you asked her to.”

“What, so this is my fault?” He sounded bewildered more than anything else.

“Of course not,” Iwaizumi huffed, “but don’t think for a second that nobody in this ever gave a shit about you and your feelings.”

“Well you could’ve asked me—”

“It’s not just about you!”

Iwaizumi didn’t mean to shout. It just came out of you, as if it had been dog rattling at the gates, begging to be let out for the hunt.

He didn’t mean to repeat himself, either. Oh well.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Some sweat still lingered on his forehead – a damp reminder that a few minutes ago, he’d been on a run. To relieve tension.

Funny, that.

“Look, I know I should’ve told you about it in high school,” he mumbled. “And I shouldn’t have kept it a secret for so long. But you don’t have a right to say that we can and can’t be together.”

Their words he didn’t know he had, solid and strong and steady.

“We’re not doing this to spite you, Oikawa,” he said. “I know she’d want your approval more than anything. But your feelings aren’t going to stop any of this from happening.”

Oikawa was silent. Iwaizumi didn’t need to see him to know the look on his face; pouty, with all the air of a petulant child despite his age.

“Why do you even have such a problem with it, anyway?”

It’s the question. The one that all this mess boiled down to. Part of Iwaizumi felt betrayed; did Oikawa not trust him? Did he not deem him ‘worthy’ of his little sister?

But another part of him understood the anxiety. That’s why he asked gently, with as little antagonism as possible.

It was hard. Much harder than he’d anticipated. But it was necessary.

“That’s my little sister. And you’re… you’re my best friend. If you two broke up, where does that leave me? And I’m sure that neither of you would rely on me if you did break up, and—”

“Why are you so certain we’ll break up?” Iwaizumi nearly laughed.

“It could happen!” Oikawa whined. “Nothing’s set in stone!”

“Exactly,” Iwaizumi nodded. “So, there’s no reason for you to be so concerned about whether or not we’ll break up. It’s just as likely that we won’t.”

Another silence.

“What, are you planning to marry her or something?”

Iwaizumi’s cheeks flared and his stomach swelled. “Wh—I—Don’t get ahead of yourself!”

“Oh my God… you’re planning on marrying my sister…”

“I didn’t say that!”

“But you implied it.”

“No, I didn’t!”

Of course Oikawa would jump to conclusions like this. Shittykawa and—

“Do you love her?”

Iwaizumi was struck dumb by the question.

Does he love you? Well, yes. There’s a space in his heart specifically carved out for you, in your shape. Honestly, it’s been there so long he’s not sure if it could ever go away. Not truly.

But he wasn’t sure if that’s what Oikawa was asking. He meant love in a distinctly romantic way; the sort of love they show in movies and play on the radio. The sort of love that specifically drove romantic relationships.

Somehow, that’s what made him nervous. Iwaizumi knew he loved you – saying it out loud, to your brother of all people, was an entirely different ball game. Different meanings, different layers of love, and you intersecting all of them.

God, he’s got it bad.

He swallowed roughly, clenching his fist at his side. “It’s too early to say, but…”

“But?”

“I… I think I could.”

“God, you’re taking this too seriously…”

“I’m taking this too seriously!? You’re the one who—”

“’It’s too early to say but… I think I could,’” Oikawa parroted in his best Iwaizumi impression. Iwaizumi would’ve given it a six out of ten at best; he’s pretty sure his voice wasn’t that deep.

“You’re a piece of shit,” Iwaizumi grumbled.

“As you like to remind me,” Oikawa hummed in a sing-song voice.

It was strange. Talking in those voices. Saying those words.

It was almost like things were normal.

“Anyway,” Oikawa cleared his throat, snapping Iwaizumi out of his disorientation. “I’ve got to get back to practice. So…”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi nodded. “Good luck. But don’t overwork yourself.”

Oikawa chuckled with a tsk. “Now, now, Iwa, I’m not the boy I was in high school.”

Iwaizumi could only hope that was really the case.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Hey.”

You were sprawled out on the couch, staring at the living room ceiling. You’d quickly deemed your bedroom far too precarious of a place to be, but that didn’t leave you with much.

And you couldn’t even call Amaya – she’d be (or, at least, should be) asleep right now.

But Iwaizumi was back, appearing in the front home with his hair all ruffled and his cheeks flushed. Of course he made coming back from a run look good. It’s really not fair.

You sat up, offering him a weak smile.

He returned it gently, making a direct beeline for you.

“Did you have a good run?” You asked.

“Mm.”

You blinked at him.

Iwaizumi looked at you with a certain cautiousness. “He called me.”

Shit.

Tooru must’ve… you must’ve said something that…

“How did it go?” You asked. No point jumping to conclusions.

“I don’t know,” Iwaizumi sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It could’ve gone worse?”

You don’t know what to do with that knowledge. “That’s… good?”

Iwaizumi chuckled, shaking his head.

It was nice, seeing him smile. It felt like he hadn’t done that all day.

“Are you okay?” He asked, a big hand coming to caress your cheek.

You leant into it, pouting. “No.”

He sighed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Anything I could do to make it better?”

You pondered it for a moment. “You could make us lunch?”

He smiled. “If that’s what you want.”

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi hajime scenario #What Are Tags #tiny love #also can you believe i didn't make you guys wait for all eternity for this chapter? exquisite

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spideymarvelws · 3 years

Note

reader’s old childhood nickname is bunny, so when Peter figures it out he can’t help but to refer her as that. and like....if you wanted to turn this into a smut—-😳—- it could be something along the lines of “bunny‘s like to bounce, right?” “Bounce for me” JSKSK excuse me as I do the walk of shame 😞

Taking fucking like rabbits to a whole different level lmfaoo

I really hope i did this justice

Main Masterlist

Warnings : SMUT! (dom!peter, sub!peter, face slapping, choking, oral [fem rec], innocence kink?, master kink [at the end tho and its like only mentioned once], excessive use of the word bunny)

Word Count : 1.5k

My Little Bunny

Dom!Peter Parker x Reader

“So...” Peter started, leaning against the counter opposite you in the kitchen, “Bunny, huh?”

“Oh god not you too,” you groaned, thankful that your back faced his as you took care of the dishes in the sink, making it easier to hide your flustered face, “Just a stupid nickname my family use to call me when i was younger,”

“Bunny,” he tested the name on his lips, “I like it,”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, shaking your head at the thoughts that started to form in your mind. You felt dirty at what you felt when the name rolled off his tongue, so innocently but sinful at the same time sending shivers up your spine and shocks in places it shouldn’t.

You were a fool to think that peter didn't notice the change in tone of the room.

“Want to watch a movie after this bunny? or straight to bed,” he bit his lip, watching as you squirmed slightly at the name once again. He loved the power he had over you, how submissive you got with a simple word or touch. He had to admit he abused the power quite a lot, but to see your eyes roll to the back of your head as he fucked you senseless, it was worth it.

“Stop calling me that,” you grumbled, taking one of the dishes from the sink and pulling it in the dish water.

“Calling you what Bunny?” He smirked, biting his lip as he watched you clench your thighs, “You loved the name when we were younger, what happened now?”

“I’m not a kid anymore Peter,” you snapped, letting out a shaky breath after putting the last set of dishes in the machine.

Peter chuckled darkly, leaning off the kitchen counter and walking towards you, pressing his chest against your back. His hands landed on either side of you, holding on to the counter.

Trapping you in his cage.

“So it’s fine when your family says it,” he said into your ear, teasing the skin with light kissed that he trailed down to your neck, “But when i try it out its a problem? Why’s that bunny?”

“Peter,” you grumbled, trying your best to sound authoritative but the small whimper you let out told him otherwise, “Quit it alright?”

“No, no I don’t think i will,” bitting at your skin, “I like it, and i think I’d go as far to say you like it too,”

You bit your lip, holding back a another small whimper that threatened to escape your mouth, “No I don’t,” you gritted your teeth, planning on just turning in his hold and pushing him away, ready to get in bed and forget the night ever happened. But your boyfriend had other ideas.

His left hand raised off the counted, finding its place around your throat, pulling your head back look look him in his dark brown eyes that were clouded with lust. You whined at his movements, your own hands gripping at his, but not making an effort to pull them away.

“Don’t like it huh?” He raised his eyebrows mockingly, “So if i just moved my hand up,” his finger gripped at the edge of your skirt, pulling it up as his hand travelled up your thighs, “And rubbed your little clit, you wouldn’t be dripping wet for me right?”

“I-,” you gulped, closing your eyes as you bit your lip. You’d never experienced peter like this, so dominating and confident compared to the sweet baby boy you grew to love. Sure, you both had sex before, and as your friends would say it was pretty vanilla since it was your first times together.

But you’d be a liar if you didn't like this new side of him.

“Not gonna say anything?” He chuckled, trailing his fingers up the inside of your thigh, hovering it over your clothed heat, “Guess ill just have to figure out myself then,”

He pressed the pads on his pointer and middle finger against your clit, moving in slow circles around the fabric. You softly gasped at the contact, your hand shooting to his hair, tangling your fingers with he brown locks while the other stayed still on his wrist.

“You’re soaking bunny,” he pushed your panties to the side, teasing your lips with the pads of his fingers.

“Peter,” you managed to get out, trying your best to hide the moans digging its way out of your throat.

“S’that all you gotta say bunny,” his finger slipped into your tight hole, making your breath hitch, “I’m sure you could do better than,” his tone dropped an octave, “I’ve been kind so far, giving you what you truly want. But if you want me to continue, you’re going to have to tell me bunny, i cant do everything for you now can I?”

You didn’t responded, you didn't want to give peter the satisfaction of knowing how weak you grew with the dumb nickname. But a sharp slap to your right cheek broke you out of your thought.

“I’m trying to be nice here bunny,” he murmured, taking his finger out and continuing to rub against your clit, “But if your going to be a fucking brat, i have no problem leaving you here until you’ve learnt your lesson,”

“I’m sorry peter,” you finally said, missing the feeling of his fingers deep in your pussy.

“Good girl,” he rasped, letting go of your throat and turning you around, lifting you up and moving to the side to sit you on the clear counter. You wrapped your legs around his waist, grinding on the obvious bludge in his sweats.

“Don’t be greedy now,” he wrapped his hand back around your throat, squeezing tightly, loving how your mouth opened slightly and your eyes become cloudy, “Now tell me. What. Do. You. Want?”

“I want you to touch me, please peter,” you begged, finally breaking, grabbing at his shirt, “Please, fuck,”

“I’m already touching you bunny,” he replied smugly, chuckling at your pleas, “Going to have to be more specific than that,”

“Your mouth, please!” You cried, “Fuck, please, Peter,”

“Anything for you bunny,” he mumbled, placing a sweet kiss on your forehead before moving down your body. On his trail down, he took off your top along with your bra, placing light feathery kissed on your buds briefly before moving down to your skirt.

He bunched up the material at your waist, revealing your cotton panties that had a visible wet spot making you look away in embarrassment.

“Well, you wont be needing this anymore bunny,” he mumbled kneeling on the hard floor before ripping off the panties and diving into your soak heat, giving a bold lick up the middle of your cunt. He bit and sucked at the sensitive skin, moaning at your sweet taste.

“Holy fuck! Peter!” yous screamed throwing your head back as you grabbed at his hair, tugging on his soft locks.

“Keep yours eyes on me bunny,” he mumbled into your pussy, sending vibrations up your body, “Look at who’s making you feel so good,” he wrapped his arms around your thigh, pulling you closer into his tongue.

Peter smirked into your heat, running his finger through your clit then into your tight cunt, moving slowly in and out. He latched his mouth on to your little bud, sucking and licking softly, listening to your noises, taking his time to make sure you were enjoying the pleasure he gave you. You whined at his slow movements, tugging harder at his hair causing him to let out a small laugh, looking up at your pathetic state.

“What’s wrong bunny,” he fake pouted, raising his head from your pussy but keeping his fingers moving, “I thought this is what you wanted?”

“Faster,” you mewled, “Please,”

“Hmm, Whatever my bunny wants,” he added one more finger before plunging into you, moving in at out at an impossibly fast past. His mouth lapped at your clit, slow and calculated, a clear difference to his fingers moving quick, hitting all the right places rapidly.

“Peter,” you moaned, trying your best to keep eye contact with him, but the pleasure was so intense, sending your head flying back.

“Go on bunny, cum for me, cum for your master,” the name fell out of his mouth so fluently, sending you over.

Your thighs shook around his shoulders as your hips jutted out at the shocks moving throughout your body. You’ve never had an orgasm so intense before with the combination of his teasing and calculated movements you knew it would be your last.

“Good bunny,”

Oh, and that stupid nickname.

You hummed, trying your best not to slouch back or forward, knowing that if you did you’ll most likely hit your head on the corner fo hard stone. Peter took note of this, trailing kisses up your body before brining your chest against his, allowing your to sag against his clothed shoulder.

“Oh we’re going to have so much fun bunny,” he growled, biting the top of your ear, “My little bunny,”

...

Permanent TagList : @jadegill @joyleenl @sarcastic-sunset-7

Peter Parker TagList : @ietss @itscaminow

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x fem!reader #dom!peter #dom!peter parker x sub!reader #peter parker smut

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pomegranates-and-blood · 3 years

Text

Those who weave (Act I, Ch 1)

Those who weave Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Ivar/Freydis (I warned ya)

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: 18+, smut, and then just the usual stuff for this story. The general warnings can be found on the masterlist, please keep them in mind because I won’t warn those in specific chapters.

A/N: So, here’s the first chapter! I hope you like this, I would love to hear your thoughts on this! Fair warning this takes place in an very Alternate Universe lol, I hope to explain it well within the story itself, but if I don’t just shoot me an ask and I’ll bullet point the main changes or smth. For character ages, think around 6b, diverts greately from 5b canon onwards tho.

Also, there’s passing reference to an AU version of Ivar and Freydis’ first interaction (in 5x03), you can find it here. Passing mention, nothing more, but still, it’s there if you wanna read it.

The dream is always the same, the boat is always flimsy underneath you, the waters are always gentle around you.

And the wanderer is always kind towards you.

“If you could ask the Gods for one thing, and one thing alone…tell me, wanderer, what would that be?”

The question is always the same too. And so is your answer.

Looking into his eyes you cannot help but think back to the waters you are so used to seeing around you in your dreams. The endless blue of his eyes that, like the all-encompassing waves of your dreams, try to understand it all, reach it all, by a look alone.

Like now, as he puts heavy hands on the sides of your hips and brings you closer, until you are standing between his legs.

You search his gaze, and though all you can think of still is the endless blue of a surprisingly calm sea, it is you who asks,

“What is it you want, Ivar?”

Head tilted to the side, he doesn’t hesitate to retort, “You.”

“You have me.” You promise playfully, endlessly amused at the annoyed narrowing of his eyes.

“Are you planning on being difficult for much longer?”

“That depends.” You reply, a little sing-song in your words and a growing smile on your lips as you wait for Ivar to bite the bait.

“On what?”

“Will you tell me what it is you want?”

His shoulders rise and fall with a deep angry sigh, but after a moment he gains a glint in his eye, and his hands on your sides creep lower, venturing down the curve of your ass.

“I want to use my tongue on you, have you hold yourself over my face as I make you shake and scream my name,” He tells you, sending a pang of heat through you. His eyes remain on you, hungry, as he continues, “And then I want to be inside you, deep inside you while you are still coming down from your high so I can feel you tight over my-…”

“That is not what I-…”

“You asked, love.” He interrupts, annoyingly satisfied with himself.

You cannot help the effect of his words on you, and even as your roll your eyes pushing lightly at his chest, there’s a part of you that feels heat settle low in your belly at his words.

Ivar grasps your wrists as he falls back on the bed, tugging you forward until you are held above him face to face.

You don’t even consider stopping yourself from leaning down and kissing him. How could you, when he looks so lustful and open and yours?

The errant thought that he very much isn’t all of those things is quickly pushed away by the heady daze of lust that settles over you, even now as you exchange slow and languid kisses. Fire-like warmth takes over, an ember awaiting only the faintest change in the wind to start a wildfire.

You kiss him and let yourself forget, you kiss him and give your hands free reign over him, you kiss him and forget to think or feel anything that isn’t him, that isn’t this.

Ivar pulls back, just slightly, just enough so that he can speak, but when your eyes open to look at him the words die in his throat.

You take in the way his cheeks and the top of his ears still after all this time sport the faint shade of red, the way his gaze seems a little out of focus when your kiss-bitten lips pull into a smile, and realize whatever it is he was to ask for you would gladly give.

Thankfully, his request is simple enough, in more ways than one.

A petulant tug at the edge of your nightdress, and a gruff, “Off.”

You quirk your eyebrow, teasing, “Is that what you want?”

His chest expands under you with a heavy breath, “I swear by all the Gods, woman…”

“Don’t try to threaten me,” You chastise, one last peck against his lips before you lean back to take off your dress. “It never works.”

His eyes rake over you, painstakingly slow and burning you in the hunger that shines in them, a reverent edge to the way he licks his lips as he takes in your naked body that makes you feel as if this were the first time.

You take a step closer, and when Ivar’s eyes return to you, he tilts his head to the side, “Doesn’t it?”

You roll your eyes, “Arrogance isn’t a good look on you.”

“That wasn’t what you said wh-…ah.” His words die in a soft sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan when you slide one hand between his legs, cupping his hardening cock and drinking in the sight before you.

You don’t think there will ever come a day you don’t treasure this, the way he gasps, the way his eyes flutter shut, the way he tilts his head back and bares his throat to you.

Pressing your body against his, you move your hand to reach for him under the pants he wears, grasping at him just in between softly and roughly, and kiss a trail along his jawline as you move your hand up and down over his cock, passing the pad of your thumb over the tip.

A call of your name, breathy, beseeching, and all thought other than having him leaves your mind.

You make quick work of the laces of his pants, and slide them off his legs until there is nothing in between the two of you, until the warmth of his skin seeps into yours and makes the already flaming embers flicker and rage into heat that pools low in your belly and clouds your thoughts.

Straddling him, you kiss him as his hands bring you flush against him, unintentionally torturous drag of his hard cock against your center making you tremble.

Ivar surges against you, one hand splayed at your back to bring you as close as he can, chest pressed against yours and mouth hungry over the skin of your neck. Your hands grasp where they can at fever-warm skin, but before you can lost much more of your mind, your hand presses lightly at the base of his throat and forces him once again on his back.

There’s a growing smile on Ivar’s lips that speaks of hunger, a hunger you feel snarling and desperate inside of you as well, a hunger that pools low on your belly, that makes you bite your lip as you take him in.

There’s a moment, a breath or two, a pause that tortures you as much as him, where you just admire the way his body looks, naked in the low and warm light of your home.

Unable to wait any longer, you straddle him once again, a pang of heat running through you when he dutifully stays on his back, looking up at you with hunger and desire clearly written in his darkened gaze.

Holding yourself above him and grasping his cock with the hand not on his chest, you line him up with your entrance, but not before betraying a smile and pressing,

“What is it you want, Ivar?”

This time it is a surrender, it is a plea, it is a gasp, “You.”

____

It is known men sleep with other women when they are away from their wives, you know this. It is known they sometimes bring women bearing their child back to their homes, a bizarre war prize. Though the most likely outcome is that the two part ways, and the men return to their homes and their wives; and the women they chose to keep their bed warms during the raiding season move on, marry another, one that is free enough to call them their home.

You know this, and as you absently pick at a piece of bread, watching as Ivar works expertly through the process of securing the iron braces around his legs; you cannot help but remind yourself you also know many new things.

You know the cold makes his pain worse, you know he is very good with a bow and arrow, you know a flickering and soft smile can always be found on his lips when you tell him you want him, you know he has days when he irrationally tries to keep his legs a secret from you. You know him, and…that has to mean something, doesn’t it?

You are distracted from your thoughts by movement, and you watch silently the by now familiar wobble of Ivar’s crutch as he stands up, quivering under his weight until he easily finds his balance.

Straightening in his place, he extends a hand to beckon you closer.

“My love, come here,” He orders, and by the way the term of endearment you’ve stolen -taken, borrowed, but always hers- rolls of his tongue alone you have your feet helplessly trailing the distance between you. Ivar’s free hand grasps at the side of your face with more gentleness than you would have expected out of him when you first met him, and he tilts your head up to capture your mouth in his. He kisses you slowly, sweetly, reverently, and your heart breaks further with each breath you share. When you part, his brow rests against yours, and though you can feel his piercing blue gaze on you, you keep your eyes closed, “We will be returning soon, you know that.”

“I know.”

“You will be returning to Kattegat with me.” He tells you, and your body stills at his words, a furrow between your brows that Ivar reaches up to smooth with the caress of a rough thumb as if he hadn’t just said the words he did, as if things were normal.

“No, I…I have responsibilities here, I-…”

“I want you to come with me,” He insists, and any softer tone you may have fooled yourself into thinking you heard is lost when he meets your gaze with his piercing blue eyes and promises lowly, “I am not asking.”

“You never ask.”

He isn’t swayed or insulted, offering only a smile that tugs at your heart.

“Yet you still love me.”

It is an arrogant boast, nothing more than that, and it serves as a reminder for you of the mess you’ve gotten yourself into, it serves as a warning of all the ways this could end in disaster.

During the winter you spent apart, him in Kattegat with his wife and you still here in York with your duties, you told yourself you would forget about him, and life would return to the way it was before he came into it. Yet it didn’t, and somehow it didn’t for him either, because when the warriors from Kattegat returned to continue raiding into England, Ivar found you again, and…life did return to the way it was, the way it was before he ever left.

And now he will leave again, and you have made peace with it. You have made peace with him leaving you once again for the winter, and you have made peace with you not being there to be found when spring comes.

You shake your head, and insist quietly, “You are a married man.”

“I was a married man when we met, and that didn’t stop you,” He retorts, a quirk of his mouth, “I was a married man this morning.”

You look away with a sigh, “Ivar…”

His hand on the side of your face brings your eyes back to him, but you don’t find softness looking back, you don’t find the jarring warmth of eyes the color of winter; you find the probing gaze of a man looking for the answer to a question he hasn’t yet asked, you find something that looks a lot like distrust.

“What reasons do you have to stay here, hm?”

“The same you have to leave. Your life is in Kattegat, as much as mine is in York,” The words leave your lips as the hope leaves your heart. You have known, you have accepted it, but to say it is something else entirely. If you had met before, if you had met in another life, then maybe…but not this time. Searching his gaze, you sentence, “It is Fate we part ways.”

“Why is it Fate? Because you say so, hm?”

“Because you have my heart,” You sentence, trying not to show weakness at the flicker of emotion that crosses his features. “But yours belongs to someone else.”

Ivar’s eyes fall closed, and he shakes his head.

“No, no,” The barest hint of a smile, “It is yours. It was Fate that I found you,” He insists, hand trapping yours, making you pliant under his touch with the warmth of his skin and the openness in his gaze. “I believe…I believe the Gods sent you to me. If anything, finding you proves that it was true what I was told, about the Gods rewarding those who endure pain.”

And not even the warmth of his skin could stave off the cold that creeps over you when you hear the familiar words.

“And who told you that, Ivar?” You ask, a sad smile on your lips because he knows you know the answer.

“Did you believe her?”

Ivar’s shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, and you lift your eyes from their lazy exploration of the traces of ink on his bare chest to meet his eyes.

“Freydis does. To this day, she still claims there is a reason for pain, hers and mine.”

That isn’t an answer.

“Did you believe her, Ivar?”

“Of course I believed her. I wanted to believe her, I wanted-…” A sigh, and he stops himself. Eyes searching yours, Ivar’s features tighten momentarily, as if trying to not give away something in his expression. “I want it to be true.”

“Why?” You ask, just as quietly.

“So there’s a reason for all of it. Any of it.”

“There is always a reason, Ivar,” You tell him, leaning up on one elbow. He looks up at you, silent. “It just might not be the reason you want it to be.”

“What do you think the reason is, hm?” He prods, the backs of his fingers trailing up and down your arm.

You shake your head, “You won’t find answers in me.”

“But you believe in something.”

“I believe in Fate. I believe…I believe that just like the Völur weave their spells, just as Freyja weaves her secrets, the Norns weave our Fates, our lives.”

“Without reason?”

“Without any reason we can understand.” You correct him, a small smile curving your lips at his insistence.

You bring her up and the reminder that across a sea she exists, she waits, she claims; and it is enough for the warmth to leave you completely, to drain from your skin like the last drop of blood after a deep wound.

You grit your teeth and lower your head, trying to hide weakness that has been there from the first day when you sat before the King of Kattegat as he watched you methodically work on mending the stitching on his armor and smiled stupidly at each clumsy attempt he made at making you laugh.

You turn to the door and open it, but you are quickly stopped.

It is almost a stumble, iron-braced legs not quick enough for how he wants to move, but Ivar reaches the door before you, slamming a strong hand on it and keeping it closed.

You are well used to his temper and his demanding ways, but that doesn’t mean anger doesn’t flare within you now, or that you will simply accept him trying to keep you from moving freely.

“Whatever it is you intend to do, Ivar, I suggest you think twice about it.” You warn slowly, before turning around.

But when you lift your eyes to meet his you don’t find ire, you don’t find rage. You find desperation, you find…fear?

He grits his teeth, breathing sharply through his nose before asking, “Why are you trying to leave?”

He isn’t asking about you leaving the room.

Ironic, you suppose, that he is the one set to leave for Kattegat before the week is over and yet you seem to be the one intent on leaving him behind.

“Spring is over, you ought to return to your home.”

“And you will come with me.” He replies automatically, ever so petulant, arrogant.

“No, my home is here.”

“Your home is with me. You will be coming with me to Kattegat.” He insists, more agitated, yet more fragile in his certainty.

“Is forcing me to be by your side what you want?”

“I want you,” He snarls, leaning even closer. So similar to the words he would speak last night and so many nights before, yet the meaning is so different. Or maybe it is the same, and you just haven’t been listening. Ivar presses his lips together, taking an angry breath before offering, “I don’t want to lose you.”

I am not yours to lose, you want to argue, but it tastes like a lie before your lips even form the words.

There is nothing to lose, you almost try, but the mere thought of it breaks at what is left of your heart on your chest.

“You won’t.” You promise instead, dooming you both. Or maybe you are just dooming yourself.

Ivar leans closer, but you notice him swallow thickly, you notice the way he lowers his guard a bit, no longer so much so on the offense.

“Come with me.” He says, asks, beseechs.

With your eyes searching his, you cannot help but think of the waters you see in your dreams, you cannot help but remember the question you were once -many times, or maybe never- asked.

You cannot help but think of your answer, and realize maybe this is what you are granted, maybe this is the gift you are offered at your answer.

____

Settling in Kattegat proves equally difficult and easy.

It is easy for you to keep yourself occupied; the dawning of winter means people are in search of warmer clothing that now that the men are back from raiding they can afford to purchase, so your days are easily -comfortably, familiarly- busied with sewing and weaving.

It is difficult however, for you to forget what brought you here, what foolish and reckless desires -your own and Ivar’s- have left you here in Kattegat. And it is still easy, to let him consume your nights, to let him take the space he demands in your life; it is still easy, and that is the difficult part.

Ivar is many things, but he isn’t subtle. He wasn’t subtle about keeping you close in York, he wasn’t subtle about how everyone ought to treat you on the journey to his home, and he hasn’t been subtle about where he spends his nights.

And you cannot help but feel strange, intruding, invasive. Stupid, really, that you feel guilt when the man that is married to her doesn’t seem to, but you cannot help it.

You haven’t met her, and there is really no reason why you should, but you have seen her. By all the Gods, she is beautiful, and carries herself in a way you have scarcely seen.

You see her in scarce moments, pass her by on a feast or meet her tranquil gaze across a room. Sometimes you see her with Ivar, a barely-there moment that you feel an intruder for witnessing, her hands carefully folded over her stomach, her a back stiffly held straight, her expression coldly controlled. Sometimes you see her with thralls and young girls around her, and you pretend not to notice the way she sometimes shies away from their touches.

You see her, not long enough to be able to claim to truly know her, but long enough to no longer be able to pretend she doesn’t exist.

Almost a month goes by as you live in this strange in between, as you settle into life in Kattegat as if you were still in York, pretending winter is nothing but another spring.

Tonight, as you sit across from Hvitserk as he animatedly talks about what his travels to the Mediterranean were like, Ivar at your side with a hand -heavy, comforting, possessive- on your leg; you find your gaze finding the Queen where she sits alone, across the room.

She has this way about her, this jarring contradiction between meek and steadfast. She lowers her eyes, she keeps her gaze pointed at the ground quite often, but she has this manner of looking up and meeting people’s eyes that has nothing to do with passivity.

She smiles often, a sweet smile just on the edge of being too wide, but there’s this shine in her eyes when she smiles when people are looking that reminds you of the easily-cracked seashells you could put to your ear against and hear the mournful cry of the sea from.

“What are you so distracted by, hm?” Ivar asks, pulling you away from your thoughts with the sound of his voice alone. You turn to him, offer a smile and a shake of your head.

“Nothing,” You reply, but your focus still lingers on her. This isn’t your place, she should be sitting where you are, or maybe he should be there sitting by her side. You shouldn’t be here, and the realization of it dawns on you like a weight dropped on your chest. You feel sick, and you don’t think there’s any hiding it. “I…I think I’ll retire for the night.”

As you stand up, a hand running down his arm in what you hope is a gesture soothing enough to keep him from asking questions, you steal another glance her way.

She isn’t there anymore.

____

That night, as too-many nights before it, as you settle for bed Ivar appears at your door, comfortably taking room in your space with a familiarity, an ease, that feels wrong even if it fills you with warmth.

You sit before the small mirror in your room, your back turned to the bed where Ivar sits, your eyes focused on the task of brushing your hair.

“What is the matter with you, hm?” He asks. You keep your gaze on the mirror, working on detangling your hair where it is thrown over your shoulder.

Slowly, you start, “You aren’t…subtle.”

He doesn’t need you to be any clearer about what you mean, understanding your meaning immediately, and you are almost grateful for that.

“Why should I be?” He retorts, almost affronted. “You are my woman, I don’t need to-…”

“You have a wife.” You enunciate slowly, eyes wide as they meet his over the reflection in the mirror. Your hands, by force of habit alone, are working on parting your hair in three different portions to ready the braid you are used to wearing to sleep.

Ivar’s mouth curves downwards in a nonchalant gesture, a furrow between his brows.

“Do you think Freydis didn’t know how I spent my time in England? Do you think she doesn’t know about you?”

You still your hands for a moment, before you continue the path of the braid down.

“That only makes it worse.”

“We aren’t…we aren’t as we used to be. Freydis and me.”

You offer a look over your shoulder, and a clipped, “Surely you bringing another woman to her home has nothing to do with it.”

A fake smile at your response that only speaks of annoyance, and Ivar explains,

“It has been this way before I met you, and you know that.”

Hushed conversations by the lapping shores of the river port of Yorktown of how after the loss of the second child grief was made into weapons on both ends, and her words of how it was his seed what had cursed their children to die on the womb was still a thought that haunted him. The rumors that walked with you through the streets of the big city of how Ivar the Boneless had chosen another woman to keep by his side and yet still was only able to remain loyal to one, rumors that you understood much later when you were told Kattegat’s king and queen slept on separate beds.

You grit your teeth, tying the end of the braid tightly, and ask the question you haven’t dared for too long already.

“Why doesn’t she divorce you? Or you her?”

It is idle curiosity, you have never had the intention -the imagination even- to think Ivar would divorce his wife, but after all he has told you it is a question that has ran through your head often, and now that you have been a witness to how they interact, to at least part of it -his nights are spent with you, and that alone is enough to make you question what is the point of any of it- the questions grow louder.

“People would talk,” He replies as if the answer should be apparent, as if that is reason enough, explanation enough. To him, you realize, it is. “They talk enough already, even if I were to be the one to end it, they would-…the rumors would grow louder, people would talk about how she left me.”

“They would be wrong.”

“It doesn’t matter,” He sentences, “I won’t fail, I won’t lose.”

“Fail?”

“The cripple can’t satisfy his wife, can’t father a child, can’t…can’t be a normal man, so she leaves him.”

Your heart feels strange in your chest, as if it is being squeezed tight.

“Ivar…”

He grits his teeth, looks up at you past stubbornly furrowed brows, “You know that is what they would say, I can’t…I can’t let them say that.”

“It wouldn’t be true.”

His eyes fall from yours, “It doesn’t matter.”

He refuses to talk much more about any of it, and if you are honest you are almost grateful for his stubbornness, because you don’t want to discuss anything else any further.

It is with painful ease that you two settle in bed together for sleep, your head on his chest and his fingers absently tracing the dips and curves of the braid you wear.

Sometime in the middle of the night you wake up to a darkened room and a low call of your name in a voice you know well by now, even if you hate to hear it when you are peacefully sleeping and he insists on disturbing that.

Ivar’s fingers are running idly over the side of your face, tracing the contour of your cheek. You reluctantly open your eyes.

“Why aren’t you asleep yet?” You mumble, irrationally annoyed. Your brow furrows, and eyes narrowed, you lift your head, “Better yet, why are you punishing me for your inability to sleep?”

His fingers trail down from your face to the base of the braid on the side of your neck, and ignoring your question he prompts, “Do you regret it?”

Biting back an argument about how this is very much not the time to continue this conversation, you ask, “Regret what, Ivar?”

“Coming here. With me.”

Your annoyance fades away like smoke between your fingers, and you sigh.

“No.”

More easily than you would like to admit Ivar maneuvers you until you are on your back underneath him, looking down at you with a small smile.

“Good.” He sentences. You lift your eyebrows.

“Good?”

He hums an affirmation, leaning closer and stealing a kiss from your lips.

“You are mine,” He reminds you, eyes piercing on yours. Before you get too lost on the way the flames flicker in the blue of his eyes, Ivar leans once again to kiss you, slowly but with an edge you can’t help but notice. When you part, he licks his lips, before admitting, “And I am yours.”

“And hers.”

A smile, a slow blink of his eyes, and he ignores your words.

“I didn’t bring you here to keep you a concubine, and when spring comes I will leave but you will still be here.”

You frown, “What are you saying?”

“I intend to make you my wife.” He states, jarringly certain, unmovable. Your eyes widen, and in the back of your mind you think your breath leaves you in a gasp.

“N-No, you can’t-…”

His eyes search yours, trying to find the answer to a question he hasn’t yet asked. It is still enough to silence your words before they even leave your lips.

Voice quiet, he asks, orders, pleas, “Marry me.”

____ ____ ____

“Whether you love what you love, or live in divided ceasless revolt against it, what you love is your fate.” (F.B)

A/N: I certainly didn’t plan for the first chapter to open with smuttish themes, but I need the practice writing it and I suppose it works well for establishing the relationship between these two. Idk. Hope this was alright, thank you for reading!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @1950schick @ietss @peachyboneless @encounterthepast @maggiescarborough @fae-sedai @zuxiezendler @crazybunnyladysworld @stupiddarkkside @northumbria @aprilivar @punkrocknpearls @heavenly1927 @ladynightshade30

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar #those who weave masterlist

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insufferablelust · 3 years

Text

Naughty list. (ThrilledAu!Mgg x Reader)

Warnings : Slight smut, Spanking, D/s themed ofc, The use of ‘sir’ & ‘daddy’, mention of edging, mention of overstimulation for future reference, sadist!mgg, condescending!dom, Marking, Its.. um Filthy as many of you already know. Please read at your own discretion.

Hello this is the christmas one shot i’ve promised, its 3 am rn and im so sorry i just done finishing this because things had been so chaotic. But i hope y’all enjoy and please wait up patiently for my next fics which will come in the next several days as promised.

PLEASE NOTE : This blurb sets inside my Thrilled Au, after the Bratty Rendezvous chapter which i have yet to upload, though i will upload it very soon. So basically this fic is the filler chapter and a teaser for the two upcoming chapters of thrilled! so i hope that makes sense and i hope y’all enjoy it. Happy holidays and Merry christmas! Take care, x D

MASTERLIST HERE.

He felt her before he even opens his eyes, a small smile threaten to quirk at the side of her lips in response to the feeling of small kisses all along his face down to his neck— the oh so warm familiar kisses by the love of his life.

“Matthew wake up.” Y/N whispered, giggling to herself as she felt him grunt below her at the feeling of her sinful lips nips and bites onto his skin, “It’s christmas morning, come on daddy.” She whispered once more, but this time doing it with grinding down where her bum was sat prettily atop of his crotch, just enough to make him wrap his hand around her neck.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” His grip tighten a bit just then, as her eyes closed and a smile etched beautifully onto her lips. Matthew scoffed at her reaction before sitting up on the bed, bringing her up with him so he could lean against the headboard.

“J-just waking you..” Was all that she could manage, with shallow breaths and innocently batting her lashes up at him. “Oh, princess..” He murmured as he finally took in the sight of her.

She’s perched up beautifully on her lap, with her thigh high christmas themed socks, his sweater and a collar— a special one he had gifted her a few days prior, with the color red and his named engraved on the inside lining where nobody could see but she certainly could feel. On the outside, it might look like a normal choker necklace but they both know very well that that’s not the case. Its a symbol of him, latched onto her every second of the day— its their dynamic, its how they work.

“You look like a dream, little one..” He gasped, as she whines on his lap, a perfect little noise reserved only for him, making his hard on pressed oh so good against her bottom. “Dressed up for y-you!” Y/N exclaimed happily and slightly out of breath by the way Matthew’s grip just tightens and tightens— just like he was trying to squeeze the cuteness out of her.

God, you’re his, and his his his only.

“I know baby, so so pretty for me, being so so good.” He gave her cheek a pretty light slap, just to make her gasp and leave her sweet little mouth open slightly— all messy and beautiful. “Thank you daddy, just for you.” She smiled then, awaiting for his instruction just like how he likes it— or more importantly, just like how she craves it.

Matthew cocks his head to the side a little as he contemplates on what he’s going to do with her, it’s always like this with them— just wanting to do so many things, explore everything, explore each other’s limits, especially hers. Always hers, he thinks, whatever makes her happy.

So with a simple instruction he lessen the grip on her neck before pressing a small kiss on her forehead, “Go to our room now, and be on your position, daddy has to make some calls for our party this evening but you better be on your position by the time i get there or else.” He taps her cheeks twice, eyes pierced onto hers— as she nods a little, “yes daddy.”

“Go on.” She smiled before pressing a gentle peck to his lips, getting up and padded her tiny feet towards the door, “Oh and princess?”

“Yes daddy?”

“anything off but the socks and your collar.”

—

He’s doing this on purpose, your mean mean daddy is doing this on purpose— making you wait on your knees by the bench inside your dungeon, just waiting and waiting until you feel your knees beginning to fall asleep on you. But you tried your best to be presentable, just how daddy likes it.

Your body jumps a little when the sound of his footsteps rang through the room, sound of the door closing has your feet tingling and your cunt wet, oh he could definitely see the glisten gleam from it for sure.

“I thought you’d be well acquainted with my rules by now, pup.” He let out a disapproving sigh, which made your cheeks warmer and you instantly straighten your back, part your thigh a little and gulps— trying to remember what you did wrong this time.

“I—“

“Ah ah, you know better than to speak without my permission in this room do you?” He scoffed, walking around the room just to tantalize you, sending shiver up your spine. “you were good this morning, so good that daddy had half the mind to make you cum but now i’m not so sure.” He adds, which earn a gasp from you, Oh how you wanted to cum, you want to cum so so bad, the last time you did was a week ago when you were still in Paris— but right after your little bratty rendezvous there was no way in hell, he’d let you cum, oh no no, kitten doesn’t deserve to cum until master says so.

You bit your lip in agony, trying to block the tears that were about to slip from your pretty eyes down your heated cheeks, just trying to do anything he asks— anything. You let out a gasp as he tilt your chin up, which he cooed at and sigh softly, whilst his thumb brush side to side on top of your lips.

“Look at your tears, baby. Do you think it’ll work? hm? you think because daddy’s little elf put on a show this morning, that daddy is going to let this slide?” He pouts condescendingly, watching as the tears finally dripped down your cheeks, oh he wanted to photograph this so bad, his little fairy.

“Go on, answer daddy.” He pats your cheek with his thumb as you tried to find the courage to speak, “I-I’m sorry d-daddy.. i.. please..” Matthew sighed softly, seeing the genuine regret behind your eyes has him reprimanding your punishment, daddy was a tamer, but he was and will always be fair— forgetfulness is a human mistake, besides it’s christmas, and he figured he needed to give you something from all the torture you’ve endured since Paris.

“Up, princess. Let daddy braid your hair.” He tugged her collar a little which earned a gasp from her, though it was a combination between the sensation on her neck and realization on what she did wrong, “Daddy i—“

“Shh, up.” He cuts you off before you could mutter an apology, or several apologies. You should’ve known better, if he told you to be on position, what he always meant is for you to be on your knees by the bench, with your hair untied specifically because he likes to braid you before play time, and today you’ve put your hair up, completely forgetting a clear important rule. Matthew helped you get on your shaky feet, as you trembled a little, whispering a small, “thank you daddy.” Before facing the bench, back toward him so he could process on your hair.

“Tell daddy why he’s punishing you tonight.” He hummed behind her, fingers expertly tangle and untangle through her hair, looping each side to the center as he formed a perfect braid from the top of her hair and making his way down. “Because i forgot daddy’s rule.” You muttered shakily, voice laced with regrets at yourself for disappointing daddy.

“Which rule is it, pup?” His voice seemed so close now, she could practically feel his warm breath against her skin that she zoned out for a moment before a tug on her hair brought her back, “I— i didn’t untie my hair, sir.”

“Why is it important?”

“Because daddy needs to braid my hair, and.. and it teaches me to.. remembers daddy’s rules.” You finished with a sigh, before feeling a soft kiss placed on top of your shoulder blades, “10 with my hands. Go and bend over the bench, bunny.”

—

Y/N braced herself as she felt the stinging, heated sensation smacked across her bottom, making her grip tighten onto the railing bench and her body shakes a little. “F-Five, thank y-you daddy.”

“Color?” Matthew pressed his palm against her stinging skin as he try to soothe the aching pain a bit, it’s true that they both love this— loves the thrill, the pain, and the overall pleasure that comes from this. However, Matthew would never enjoy hurting his bunny without any context, or out of proportion, it might look like he has all the control but they both knows well that she has all the control, if she wants to stop, she knows what she needed to say.

“G-Green sir please.” Oh how he loves the way her voice croaked underneath him, the way she arched her back toward him— as if asking for more, ready for more just as she deserve, as she behaved. So he delivered then, 3 slaps in a row as she cries out between each milliseconds, and sobs out the thank you’s and pleas.

“just two more now, y’think you can take it, petal?” Matthews hand crept up to where your collar snuggly wrapped around your neck, thumbing the soft leather as he makes sure you’re still okay which you confirmed by a ‘yes daddy, please continue’

The last two slaps were unexpected, catching her off guard as it landed way way below where her cunt drips dewy sweet honey, and where her by now— swollen little pearl sits, making her jumps and scream out in a blissed pleasure. “Fuck! oh! nine ten! daddy thank you!”

“Shh shh, come here, good girl.” Matthew gently helped her stand before picking her up bridal style and sit down onto the bed which was installed on their room, his lips were pressed tightly onto her forehead as he soothes her aching skin and mumble calming words. “It’s okay, ‘s all over, such a good girl, little one.”

“Daddy...”

“Yes angel?”

“Do i deserve to cum now?”

“Oh petal, you will be begging to stop cumming later, just you wait.”

—

EXCUSE MY GRAMMARS AND TYPOS, my laptop is not accessible right now so i have to use my phone to write and upload so please bear with me. Thank you, i love you and take care.

Don’t forget to support!❤️

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#spencer reid smut #mgg smut #insufferableblurb #dom!mgg #matthew gray gubler smut #thrilled

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yamag00ps · 3 years

Text

the morning after

pairing: yamaguchi x reader

genre: best friends to lovers

contains: even more fluff, slightly suggestive/nsfw

word count: 1.8k

summary: yamaguchi already cannot get enough of you and tries to keep you from leaving your room (as long you'll let him, of course)

note: surprise! I truly did not plan on writing a part 2 to this but I'm happy with the way it turned out. here’s part 1. p.s. I listened to theme of ms. okudera from the your name soundtrack the entire time I wrote this and I highly suggest playing it in the background while reading it b/c I think it makes everything sweeter :-)

You woke to the sweet sound of birds chirping and the feel of an arm draped over your bare waist, his grip just as tight as the first time he held you — as if he was afraid he’d lose you if he lightened his hold on you even a little. A soft orange glow painted the room as you replayed the night before in your head. Evidence of the newfound intimacy you’ve found with your best friend appeared in the purple marks scattered on your neck and your chest, he had a few of his own as well. His head lay on your chest and you smiled at his light snores, your fingers brushing through his hair.

Tilting your head to get a better look at him, you stared in adoration still having a hard time grasping the turn of events. You can’t remember ever feeling so content in your life.

You thought back to last night when you opened your door to find exactly who you were leaving your room for at 3am in the first place. You hadn’t planned on confessing though. You just couldn’t sleep and decided to go bother your best friend. He beat you to it, but he didn’t know that. As if on cue, Yamaguchi stirred and pulled you closer.

“Hi sleepyhead,” you whispered.

“Mmm. What time is it?” he groaned and shifted his position so he could bury his face into your neck, not wanting to face the new day yet.

“Too early. I think we only slept for like 3 hours.” You closed your eyes again and continued to massage his head with one hand, the other hand rubbing the arm wrapped around you.

“Hm, I wonder why,” he mused. You rolled your eyes and lightly smacked his arm. He chuckled and lazily peppered kisses onto your neck.

“Hey! This is your fault Mr. Pacing-outside-of-my-room-at-3am.”

“Shhhhhhhhh,” He put a finger over your lips in a shushing motion. You giggled and lightly bit his finger. “No more biting,” he mumbled, “only I can do that.”

Your laugh turned into a groan as you said, “Actually no, you can’t. No more from you. God, I don’t know how I’m gonna hide these from everyon--”

“Then don’t,” you felt him grin against your neck as his arm returned to its place around your waist.

“Tadashi, I’m serious!” You pouted and smacked his arm again, though you couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto your face.

“So am I!” he laughed and lifted himself up onto his forearms, moving to hover over you. Yamaguchi was never one to be openly possessive over you, but he couldn’t deny the ego-boost he got just from knowing he was the one to leave those marks on you. He finally opened his eyes fully, and boy was he happy he did. Seeing your dreamy state with your bed hair sprawled out onto the pillow felt like a dream. You looked so delicate under him, he was almost afraid to put any of his weight on you.

You rubbed the sides of his arms as he studied you, taking the time to memorize every detail in front of him for future reference (not like he’d ever forget). A blush crept onto your cheeks as his eyes roamed over every one of your features. His eyes trailed from your eyes, to your nose, to your lips, then down to your neck and your chest currently littered with the bruises he left.

“Wait, do they hurt?” he frowned a bit, lightly touching them. You jokingly hissed at his touch, pretending to shy away in pain. The second you noticed the horror on his face you laughed loudly. “I’m just kidding!” you said between laughs while holding his pouty face.

His eyebrows furrowed in annoyance and he purposely dropped his entire body on top of yours, earning a grunt from you. You continued to laugh as he hid his face into your neck again, stubbornly biting you again.

“Ow! Tadashi, you’re heavy!” you whined.

“I don’t care. That was mean.”

“If you’re so mad, why are you snuggling into me?” you poked at his sides, still giggling.

He stayed silent but you felt a small smirk against your neck. Your hand found the nape of his neck, playing with his hair again.

“So I can do this.” His hands met both of your sides as he tickled you mercilessly.

Suddenly you were shrieking and laughing, trying to escape his hold.

“No!!!!” You used both arms to still one of his, while his other hand continued tickling you.

“T- Tada-Tadashi p-plea-please! PLEASE,” a mix of your laughter and screams leaving you breathless.

You remained helpless until there was a sudden banging on your door. The both of you froze completely, expecting a noise complaint.

“Oi, oi, oi! Go easy on her Yamaguchi, you dog!!!” Noya yelled. Tanaka and Hinata howled with laughter. You gasped and covered your face with your hands. Yamaguchi blushed furiously as he shook his head and crawled back to hide his face in your neck again, the crook of your neck quickly becoming his new favorite spot.

“Wait, what?!” This time Yaku spoke up, shock evident in his tone. “Yamaguchi, Y/N-san, I hope you were safe!” You rolled your eyes at Hinata’s stupid giggles.

“Dear god,” you whispered, begging for everyone to just go downstairs and mind their business.

Yamaguchi groaned and yelled, “Shut up!” Their laughter only continued and eventually faded. However, the two of you smiled at one another anyway, too smitten to be annoyed for long.

Feeling a grumble in your stomach, you patted his back. “Let’s go eat, bub.” He reluctantly moved off of you, allowing you to get up, put your robe on and open the blinds.

“Wait!” He took your hand and pulled you towards him, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You haven’t kissed me once yet this morning,” he pouted. Your heart clenched at his neediness. You loved it.

“Last night wasn’t enough?” you teased and stood between his legs.

“Not at all.”

Holding his head in both of your hands, your lips met his. You smiled into the kiss before deepening it. It started out slowly and gently until his hands began caressing your thighs. His kisses became hungrier and he grabbed both of your legs and pulled you onto his lap. This greediness was so unlike him, but neither of you cared. He was so, so lost in you.

You broke the kiss and sighed, his lips immediately attaching themselves to your jawline and your neck instead.

“‘Dashi, I’m hungry.” Though, you did nothing to stop him. One arm tightly wrapped around your waist while his other hand continued to rub your sides and your legs.

“I am too,” he agreed, breakfast clearly not on his mind. The growl from your stomach spoke for you, throwing you into fits of giggles. He laughed through his nose, still refusing to let you go.

Grabbing his face once again, you pecked his lips and moved back to lock eyes with him. He melted into your touch like putty. He was in a daze. Everything in him was begging you to stay in bed with him all day, not wanting to leave your room, fearing the reality of the world outside of your door. In here, you were all his and there was nothing that could take you from him. He was being selfish, but he felt that he had a right to be after having loved you for ten years now.

As if you could read his mind, you whispered, “Psst, I love you.” He closed his eyes at this, mentally keeping a recording of that for the times he inevitably would have his doubts. You both knew he was not the most confident person in the world, meaning that a relationship with him was going to require a lot of reassurance on your end. You didn’t mind this. The idea of reminding Yamaguchi how much you love him for the rest of your life made your heart swell.

You kissed him again, slowly and sensually before you pulled away and began peppering light kisses all over his face. “And there is much,” kiss “much,” kiss “much,” kiss “more,” kiss “where that came from,” you smirked. Desperate, he latched his lips to yours once more. You mindlessly grinded your hips into his and a groan erupted from his throat. Before his tongue could meet yours, you pulled away, leaving him a whining mess. “Later,” you winked and stood up, swiftly dodging his swipe before he could pull you back in.

“You’re so mean.”

“Maybe Tsukishima’s rubbing off on me,” you snickered. He smiled and rolled his eyes at the mention of his best friend’s name. He wondered if Tsukki already knew about the two of you; he wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in the house did. Regardless, he could already see the smug look on his face saying I told you so.

Yamaguchi watched you from his place on the edge of the bed, so utterly and deeply in love. As you roamed around your room getting ready for the day, his heart warmed at the domesticity of the scene.

“Tadashi?” You questioned. He was too dazed to realize you asked him a question.

“Let’s use the canoes on the lake today,” you beamed and he returned your smile.

You smiled warmly as he walked up to you, hugging you from behind in front of the mirror. You leaned into him as he lowered his head to press a kiss onto your shoulder.

“This. Everyday.” Another shoulder kiss. “I want this everyday,” he locked eyes with yours through the mirror’s reflection.

You don’t know why that was all the convincing you needed to stay in your room a bit longer. Ignoring how hungry you were, you suddenly turned and crashed your lips into his.

“Okay maybe breakfast can wait,” you mumbled against his lips. Yamaguchi grinned ear to ear and wasted no time picking you up and jumping back into bed with you.

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

Once the two of you finally stepped into the kitchen around half an hour later, you were immediately met with howls and applause. Bokuto reached for a high-five only for his arm to be smacked away as you made your way to the fridge.

“Mannn, who would’ve thought!” Sugawara beamed.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, OKAY we got it,” you rolled your eyes, both of you shaking your heads at the relentless teasing. As you poured yourself a glass of orange juice, you looked up just in time to catch Yamaguchi smugly accepting a knuckle punch from Kuroo as he took a seat. You gaped at him across the kitchen island, Kuroo keeling over in laughter. Yamaguchi cheekily winked at you, his newfound confidence exuding off of him.

Deep down, you both knew it was all worth the teasing because the two childhood best friends, notorious for their honesty, were no longer keeping secrets. If everyone knew, then so be it.

All that mattered to Yamaguchi was that you knew that he loved you.

You loving him back was a major bonus.

#yamaguchi tadashi #yamaguchi x reader #yamaguchi fluff #yamaguchi x you #yamaguchi tadashi x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #childhood friends to lovers #haikyuu suggestive #hq yamaguchi

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