#it looks bad on mobile but I really don’t care

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。underneath the stars (looking for a sign)

synopsis. al-haitham thinks waking up beside you feels like a dream—well, until it doesn’t

— word count. 4.1k (how did a drabble get here sobs)

— contents. pining al-haitham, honestly it’s mutual pining lol, gn! reader, implied one night stands, consumption of alcohol (both reader and al-haitham) reader is a matra, al-haitham is acting grand sage, it’s basically the “avoid my crush after i accidentally sleep with him until he corners me” trope lol, confessions, brief angst and then a happily ever after, sfw + fluff, not proof read—this was entirely written on tumblr drafts through mobile app. yeah. we raw dogged this bad boy lmao

— notes. if you knew. how many wips i have with him. you would be astounded :,) he’s all that matters anymore

al-haitham wakes up to a bed much softer than his, red flag number one. there’s also a weight on his chest, red flag number two. red flag number three, however, doesn’t make itself apparent until he opens his eyes and sees you.

oh. not good. you’re covered in the sheets, but you’re clearly…topless, and a quick glance at his own torso tells him he’s also not clothed. oh. double not good.

but there’s also a small voice in his head that’s cheering and patting himself on the shoulder—he’s managed to fall into the bed of the very person he’s been quietly pining over for months, what more can a guy possibly ask for?

but unfortunately, his mini celebration in his inner thoughts is disrupted when you open your eyes at the disturbance from his movement—and before he can get even one word in, you shriek. rather loudly, too—it makes him wince at the sound (he’s always had sensitive ears.)

“what are you doing here?” you gasp, “and why haven’t you got a shirt—wait. why haven’t i got a shirt on?”

“well, it seems—”

“you slept with me?” you gasp again, cutting him off as your face twists in disbelief, “while i was drunk?”

“i was drunk too,” he points out, frowning at the accusations. al-haitham is a respectable man, and more importantly, he cares about you too much to take advantage of your inebriated state like that. “it was a two way street.”

that seems to calm you for…approximately two seconds before your face twists in horror again.

“al-haitham,” you wail his name in despair, slumping onto your mattress in defeat, “this is the worst thing we could have done. do you realize that?”

oh. you regret this—the voice in his head suddenly stops cheering. it deflates, in fact.

worst thing. is this really the worst thing? al-haitham thinks you both have always gotten along rather well, and he’s always taken your slightly stuttered words and nervous chuckles as a testament to holding the same attraction he holds for you. but maybe he was too quick to assume you feel the same, and your words now feel like a boulder on his chest. they’re heavy. soul crushingly heavy, in fact—but he keeps the blank expression on his face ever so easily.

“yes, it seems a bit inappropriate for coworkers to have an entanglement,” he agrees after a moment, making you whine at his word choice.

“you don’t have to call it that,” you huff.

then, out of sheer curiosity (and absolutely nothing else), you take a quick peek from the corner of your eyes at his chest. in your defense, his shirt leaves practically little left to the imagination, and when else will you get the opportunity to see his (very impressive) chest? a peek won’t hurt.

you’re thoroughly impressed when your eyes catch his sculpted pecs. his eyes are thoroughly unimpressed when they catch your gaze.

“well, what would you like to do about our predicament?” he asks flatly.

acting uninterested is the hardest part, he realizes. here, you’re within reach for his arm to curl around you, and yet somehow, there still feels like there are miles of space between you in the sheets. it’s a bitter reality, he thinks, one that stings a bit more than he’s ever really imagined.

al-haitham has witnessed lots of rejections in his time. whether it’s at the akademiya where he is the unfortunate witness of a rejected confession, or in novels he reads of unrequited feelings. he however never thought he’d land himself in the same situation—even if he hasn’t technically confessed to you yet. but your reaction definitely feels like one, and he’s smart enough to deduce that if he did confess, you wouldn’t take too kindly to the idea.

sure, it’s a bit unprofessional for the acting grand sage to have a relationship with one of the akademiya’s top matra that he works with rather frequently, but al-haitham is only the temporary grand sage. technically, after this, he will be going back to being the scribe who makes himself scarce on a regular basis. and it’s not very unprofessional for the scribe and a matra to be romantically involved, he’d like to argue. most people meet their significant others through the akademiya in the first place—why should he be any different?

but one glance at your face tells him you’re rather unhappy with this situation. he thinks he can hear a crack where the boulder resides on his chest.

“i think you should leave,” you mumble, chewing nervously on your lip, “and don’t say anything about this to anyone. especially not cyno.”

“noted,” he says blandly. you turn away, letting him have the privacy to rise out of bed and dress—which he does as slowly as possible, just to drag out the feeling of being in your bedroom for just a while longer—before he says clears his throat. “i’ll be seeing you,” he says.

“sure,” you nod awkwardly, “see you at uh…see you at work.”

with that, he walks out of your bedroom, and sees himself out. as soon as you hear the front door shut, you turn and scream into your pillow—the same pillow that happened to be under al-haitham’s head for the entire night, the same pillow that smells like his shampoo.

you think for a moment how you can never wash this pillow case again—and then, when you realize just what you’ve thought, you scream again.

you might just be entirely screwed.

—————

“and where have you been?” kaveh is waiting in the kitchen as soon as al-haitham enters.

great.

kaveh has a talent for making himself available to chatter away into al-haitham’s ear on the most stressful of days. whether it’s to greet him with complaints about having no help with cleaning after a long day of work, or to bang on his office door and demand an explanation for rejected funds as he does paperwork, or to ask where he’s been after he’s been wounded rather harshly by the one person he’s ever felt romantically inclined for, kaveh is always there at the worst possible timing.

leave it to kaveh to sour his mood more.

“i don’t see how it’s any of your business,” al-haitham mutters, grabbing the glass of water on the table and chugging it to help with the slight hangover he nurses—it’s evidently not his best morning in more ways than one.

“hey, that’s my glass,” kaveh scolds, “get your own.”

“it’s actually my glass. from my grandmothers set,” al-haitham corrects his roommate, “and i pay the water bills. so it’s my water too.”

“you—” kaveh shakes with frustration. it would pull a bit of an amused grin on al-hairham’s face if he wasn’t in the worst mood possible. “nevermind,” kaveh huffs, crossing his arms, “where were you—wait, is that a hickey?”

“no,” al-haitham says instantly, pulling his cloak higher to cover his neck—but kaveh beats him to it, reaching over and inspecting his skin. he seems to light up as soon as he realizes it is, in fact, a hickey on al-haitham’s neck.

“it is a hickey,” he grins gleefully, gasping in sheer disbelief that al-haitham seems to have some sort of life outside of work and home, “this can’t be. did you pay someone to get into bed with you—”

“just because some of us can afford such services doesn’t mean we indulge in them,” al-haitham grumbles, which earns an offended gasp from the blonde, “and i’m not obligated to tell you where, or with who for that matter, i was—”

“was it that matra you’re always standing around with?” kaveh grins knowingly, cutting him off.

the mere mention of you must make his face fall—which is new, because al-haitham has always been good at hiding his emotions on his face. but kaveh seems to have realized he’s overstepped, because his smile fades just as quickly as it comes.

“it doesn’t matter,” al-haitham mutters, “it was a mistake.”

“a mistake? but you’ve been pathetically pining for months, anyone with eyes can see—”

“i’ll be going to work now,” al-haitham cuts kaveh off, “make sure you pay this months rent on time.”

with that, he turns, making his way to his room to shower and then be off to the akademiya—where he equal parts hopes he doesn’t see you, and equal parts hopes he runs into you just to catch a glimpse of you again.

—————

you haven’t seen al-haitham is six days—correction: you’ve avoided al-haitham for six days. admittedly, it’s becoming increasingly difficult seeing as he is the acting grand sage, and you do need him to approve of your reports from recent investigations—but then you remember how six days ago, in the darkly lit corner of the street on your way home, you both kissed.

(and yes, it was a drunken mistake—neither you nor al-haitham value public displays of inappropriate affection between coworkers, but that doesn’t erase what happened.)

perhaps it would be easy to laugh it off as an impulsive action the both of you took while being under the influence, but then you both stumbled into your house. and then your bed. and then a kiss turned into more…and then next thing you knew, you’ve been awakened to a very unclothed (but still very handsome) al-haitham next to you in the mattress.

you should be mature and face him—people can sleep with people and not let it mean anything, proper adults would simply brush over this and never look back. but al-haitham is a bit of a difficult scenario.

he’s handsome—painfully so, with those sculpted muscles and those soft strands of hair that fall perfectly over his face. but more than he is easy on the eyes, he’s a charming individual. at least to you—you think the majority of the akademiya would have to disagree.

but al-haitham is kind, he greets you properly, holds doors open for you, and he often notices when you’re tired just by looking at you before giving you extensions on reports. he’s caring, you can tell because he’s helped people more than once, and while he claims it’s for the sake of his own convenience so he can avoid extra trouble, you know that he doesn’t have the heart to turn away from those that need him. more importantly, al-haitham is disciplined—it’s something all matra such as yourself can appreciate.

he seeks out knowledge in the most moral of methods, he never crosses limits or abuses power even when he holds the ability to, and he never takes advantage of the authority he may hold over others.

he’s wonderful, you can’t help but think—and admittedly, his hands also have very attractive veins that make you sweat a little. but that’s not the important part, of course. the important part is how perfect his character is, if you take the moment to understand it. and you like to think you understand it—much more than most at the akademiya.

except romancing the akademiya’s grand sage isn’t the best look for a matra—especially if you want to climb up the ranks soon. you don’t want rumors spread to undermine your hard work…or worse, be accused by the general mahamatra of taking your position as the grand sage’s lover to your advantage for work gains.

cyno is a strict individual—you’d hate to get on his bad side. and just as you think about how awful it would be if he got the wrong impression, he walks right up to you.

with that serious look on his face—why does he always have that serious look on his face?

“grand sage al-haitham requests you in his office,” he says. you don’t detect any suspicion in his voice, and it seems like a perfectly normal statement, but that’s the thing about cyno. he’s too good at not letting his movements be read, too good at cornering caged animals before dragging them by the ankles out in the open, exposed and vulnerable.

you gulp. “did he say why?” you ask, “i’m a bit busy.”

“no,” cyno shakes his head—and then he looks at you oddly, “you don’t seem busy.”

“well….this report won’t write itself,” you chuckle nervously, which only makes his brows furrow in confusion.

“wasn’t that due two days ago?”

fuck.

“yes….but al-haitham gave me an extension.”

“he seems to give you a lot of those,” cyno points out, unimpressed.

well, that’s great, you think. surely, there is no other matra as good at losing composure and making things more obvious for themselves than you.

“i haven’t been feeling well,” you say quickly—which isn’t the worst excuse, seeing as you’ve hardly shown your face at the akademiya for the last few days.

cyno seems to buy it too, because he nods in understanding before giving you a concerned look. “you shouldn’t push yourself, you know,” he lectures, “being sick snot fun.” you blink, and he looks thoroughly amused with himself. “get it? because when you’re sick, you might have a runny nose? snot? and—”

“right,” you nod, “i’ll be seeing the grand sage now. i wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

at least you know cyno has not made any….inappropriate assumptions if he’s making jokes, as painful as they might be. you’re not sure if you’d rather face al-haitham or continue to listen to the general mahamatra’s interesting sense of humor, but the closer you get to the grand sage’s office, the more you want to turn back and find cyno again.

but you’re an adult, and adults do adult things sometimes, and sometimes they’re not the most ideal, but the only way to handle such situations is the adult way—to be mature and not let things get in the way of being professional. easy enough.

at least, you hope.

—————

“you called for me, grand sage?”

ouch. al-haitham has now been reduced to grand sage, not just al-haitham. he looks at you for a moment, and he tries—really, he does—to seem unbothered, but his brows crinkle before he can stop them.

“i did, yes,” he says, looking at you.

you look lovely—which, you always do, even when you’re nervous. he can tell you are because you have that habit of chewing on your lip when you’re nervous, and he hates that he makes you anxious enough to do that right now.

al-haitham has always hated the gap between him and everyone else—not because he enjoys being close to others, but because it’s burdensome to always seem like a pretentious asshole. being interpreted as one over the years has left him quite numb to what other people think….but that’s not the case with you, unfortunately. he wonders if you’ve ever thought he was an asshole, or if you’ve ever felt that he acts like he’s better than you are. he hopes you’ve never talked to him and thought he’s condescending like kaveh insists he is—he hopes you find value in his honesty and find him insightful.

he thinks you might have at one point, if the way carrying conversation with you is so easy is of any proof. it feels natural, talking to you. your voice is smooth, especially when it reads over mission reports to him in his office. your laugh is even smoother, though—it’s soft, and honeyed, it sounds like something he’s been missing his whole life.

everything about you feels like something he’s been missing his whole life, like he was born to be with you by his side, and he’s been empty without you all along.

you clear your throat, handing him papers as you pull him from his thoughts and say, “here is the report for that last investigation,” you say quietly, “i apologize for the untimeliness. it won’t happen again—”

“that’s not why i called you,” he cuts you off.

al-haitham is a straightforward man. he’s watched many confessions, and he’s read about many confessions, and he’s even thought about how his own confessions might go should he ever find someone he finds interest in.

but this isn’t interest. al-haitham is not interested in you—he needs you. to call this a confession might be incorrect, he thinks for a moment, because this almost feels like he’s about to plead for you to give him a chance.

“oh,” your voice is small.

you think you have an inkling of an idea of what he’ll bring up, and you contemplate running out of his office and begging cyno to tell you a few more of his jokes….or a few dozen….maybe a few hundred to be safe.

“we should talk about that night—”

“well, there’s not much to talk about,” you say simply, “you and i are consenting adults, and we happened to be heavily under the influence, which caused a lapse in judgement. it’s a bit unprofessional, sure, but as long as neither of us say anything, and as long as we manage to keep a professional atmosphere between the two of us, there shouldn’t be any—”

he cuts off your (rehearsed in the bathroom mirror many times) speech as he clears his throat. “i….” the words are caught in his throat.

for a lifetime of straightforward honesty and blunt words, it seems like now of all times he can’t seem to speak.

“you…?” you motion for him to continue.

“i enjoyed it.”

you sputter. his eyes widen as he stumbles over his words when he realizes what he’s really said.

“grand sage,” you gasp, “i think that’s hardly appropriate for—”

“n-no, i meant i enjoyed you,” he says quickly, making you furrow your brows.

“and what does that mean? because—”

“i enjoyed being with you,” he croaks. it’s a good thing kaveh isn’t here to witness this, because as a self proclaimed expert at love (which al-haitham would have to disagree), kaveh would have an absolute ball watching this. “i don’t….i would prefer if we didn’t pretend nothing happened,” he mumbles, “if you feel the same, that is.”

everything about al-haitham is hopeful. from the way his eyes watch your every movement as they stare at you, to the way he clutches the pen in his hand tightly in anticipation of your response, he’s hopeful. you can tell.

you can tell he’s hopeful you’ll say yes, that he’s hopeful you’ll say you feel the same way as him, that he’s hopeful he’ll see you again in a setting that’s not just for work and mission reports and investigation details.

he’s hopeful you’ll say yes to his pleading eyes and fill that empty spot beside him that’s been empty for far too long.

and it feels like swallowing lead when you sigh heavily and watch the hope crumble.

“al-haitham,” you mumble, “this wouldn’t be very wise, you know?”

“and why’s that?” the hurt in his face is almost tangible.

he’s not foreign to rejections, he’s witnessed them his whole life. he watched that haravatat scholar that declined the amurta one outside of class that one year. he read about that main character that found self respect and declined the toxic love interest in that novel he read last summer. he’s declined his own fair share of confessions by random scholars that stare a bit too long at his chest and arms for his liking.

but for some reason, he never imagined it to feel like this. like being with your for one second longer might just burn his skin, but being away from you might leave him cold and numb. al-haitham thinks that if you walked out that door, you might just take every bit of warmth he’s ever known from him—but sitting in front of you, in front of your sorrowed expression and sympathetic eyes….it might be too much heat for him to handle.

“well, you’re the grand sage, and i’m a matra—”

“acting grand sage,” he corrects, “it’s temporary. i’ll be back to being the akademiya’s scribe in a short bit.”

“but people talk,” you insist, “and i’ve worked hard to be a respectable matra, and i wouldn’t want anyone to think i’ve slept my way to the top. plus, the general mahamatra is technically my boss, and he’s very strict—”

“the general mahamatra and i drink at taverns together quite often,” he says pointedly, “he’s well aware of how i feel.”

“you told cyno?” you gasp, shooting him a sharp look, “i asked you specifically not to—”

“he’s known of my feelings before that night,” he assures, “evidently i’m not very subtle.”

“well,” you hum, biting back a smile, “no, you aren’t.”

he raises a brow, tilting his head in confusion. “you’ve known?”

“al-haitham,” you chuckle, eyeing him fondly. something about the way your smile is so bright makes him clutch his pen tighter. “you aren’t the most social, you know. but you always have something to say to me.”

“that doesn’t always mean anything,” he mumbles, blush rising to the tips of his ears.

he’s endearing this way, you decide—when he’s flustered and almost pouting and flushed a bright shade of pink. you think for a second that maybe, if you kiss him for a bit in the comforts of his office, no one will ever have to know.

“but it does, doesn’t it?” you tease.

“and if you’ve indulged it all this time, am i safe to assume it means something to you too?” he asks, raising a brow.

you should say no. sleeping with the grand sage and kissing him in his office and maybe even going on dates and possibly holding hands is hardly a good look—but the scribe….well, maybe the scribe is a different story.

“ask me again when you’re the akademiya’s scribe,” you say, biting back a smile, “perhaps my answer will be different then.”

“i see,” he nods, biting back a smile of his own, “i suppose the grand sage isn’t everyone’s type, huh?”

“no,” you chuckle, “i suppose not. but the scribe….well, he’s rather charming.” you walk up to him, lean down and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth as you mumble, “i don’t mind waiting for the scribe.”

“well, lucky for you, you won’t have to wait too long,” he hums.

he watches you leave his office—and then he decides that when he clocks out at five pm sharp later, he’ll go straight home, tell kaveh that he is, in fact capable in the field of romance, and demand this month’s rent.

—————

“haitham, we’re out of eggs,” you pout, poking your head out of the fridge, “will you bring some on the way home today?”

“we would have eggs if kaveh didn’t use all of mine,” al-haitham grumbles, glaring at the blonde who gasps in offense. 

“and you help yourself to my beer, don’t you? i deserve a few eggs,” kaveh huffs. 

“well, make sure you pay this month’s rent on time. we’re going to buy some more furniture for our room.”

this time, kaveh turns to you in disbelief—you find it amusing how he seems to still find it improbable that anyone would like to spend longer than five minutes with al-haitham, let alone share a bedroom.

“are you really sure you want to do this? what could you possibly see in him? he’s the most aggravating individual i’ve ever had the pleasure of talking to,” kaveh eyes you in concern as you walk over and press a soft kiss to al-haitham’s forehead, earning himself an unimpressed glare from the scribe and making you giggle. 

“he is a bit aggravating,” you agree with a teasing glint, pinching al-haitham’s cheek as he scoffs, “but i think he’s just nice to me because i sleep with him.”

“that’s gross,” kaveh wrinkles his nose, “you had better not be doing anything i can hear from my room—that would be traumatic. although, it must be more traumatic for you,” he says with sympathy.

“if you don’t like it, you can simply move out,” al-haitham, shrugs, wrapping an arm around your waist. as much as you love your boyfriend—and you love him quite a bit, you can’t help but mourn the fact that constant bickering will now become a staple in your daily routine. 

“are you threatening me?” kaveh gasps before he turns to you with his finger pointing to al-haitham, “do you see? this is your future, i hope you know that. he’s much more unpleasant to live with, i’m warning you in advance—don’t say i didn’t try.”

“well, i’m sure he’ll be on his best behavior for me,” you grin, eyeing al-haitham playfully as your fingers weave into his hair, “otherwise, i’ll have to come sleep in your room when i’m mad at him.”

you think, for the first time ever, kaveh and al-haitham seem to agree on something as they both share a look of dread at your words.

pov: you write 3.8k words of build up for a plot just so you can write the last scene 😭

no bc literally i meant to write this as a drabble just so i could write that last scene bc i thought of it and giggled but then the plot just kept going and now we’re at 4.1k words like w h a t

#teepods.writings #fics. #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham fluff #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x you #alhaitham angst #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fluff

[webslingingslasher]

can i request frat peter comforting and taking care of reader on her period?

i wrote this at work, do not EVER question my loyalty to frat!peter

w: talks of blood/period (i’m on mobile and can’t add a read more tag)

“Hello?”

It’s daytime and you’re calling Peter, he almost didn’t answer but something told him it was important.

He didn’t leave the lunch table, instead crossing his arms over his chest as he answered, his chair tilted back on two legs. Eyebrows furrowed in focus mode, he heard a slight shuffle, he assumes it’s a buttdial but he hears a whisper.

“That you, trouble?”

You must not have heard him the first time, the audio becomes crystal clear. You speak so loud and clear he can see your mouth pressed against the edge of your phone in his mind while you talk low.

“Peter, I need you.”

Oh. Well that’s a nice lunch break.

“At school? You really are tro-“

“No! I need you to come do something. I need help.”

The last part is a mumble, you didn’t want to admit. Peter slammed his seat down, “what do you need from me?” Instantly in go mode.

“It’s embarrassing,” his chest doesn’t feel as tight, nothing life or death.

“Spit it out junior, you’re making me miss out on my sandwich.”

“igotmyper-bloodisever-help?”

You heard silence then loud chewing, Peter’s voice came out garbled, his bite stored in his cheek.

“I heard blood and help, did you stab someone?” You whine out on the other end, you said you needed his help but he’s taking the piss.

“No! I’m…” Peter’s heart races when you sniffle, it’s the first time he’s ever heard you cry. He speaks to you so softly it catches the attention of his friend across the table.

“Hey, trouble. Stop crying for me, okay? Just let me know what you need and I’ll be right there, alright?”

You nod and realize he can’t see, you take a deep breath to stop your tears.

“I got my period.”

“Yuck! Why are you calling me?”

“Because,” why did you? You didn’t even think, you were in panic mode and for whatever reason he was the one you thought of calling. “Can you please help?”

Peter groaned, “call one of your girl friends, they’re prepared for this.”

“Yeah, but you’re my-“ my… my what? He wasn’t your anything. “Never mind, I’ll call-“

“No, no. I’ll play hero for you, where are you?”

You looked down at your ruined pants and cringed, “um, the downstairs bathroom in the lab building.”

Peter takes a beat, his mind trying to connect the dots.

“Why are you in the… trouble, were you coming to see me?” He’s not even in the room and he makes you feel flushed, “no! I was just passing by and noticed.”

“Give me five minutes, don’t move.”

—————

“You can’t be in here.”

A straight to the point fact. You can imagine the hoity toity expression on the girl's face, you don’t blame her for questioning but if a guy comes into a woman’s bathroom you’d assume it’s for a reason.

“Excuse me! I said you can’t be in here!”

“Fuck off, my girlfriend got her period.”

Your breath hitched, you know he didn’t mean it like that but wow did it feel nice.

“Oh. Well, still. You shouldn’t be in here.”

“Yeah, noted. I ruined your day.” A two knuckle tap on the stall door, you heard the main door open and a few choice words directed at your boy. He didn’t acknowledge it, his only focus on you.

“Trouble, you doing alright?”

“Yeah,” you stare at his shoes under the door.

“Want me to come in?”

You look at your pants and wince, you didn’t expect it to come early. You didn’t leak through a tampon or pad, you freebled and the back of your thighs proved it.

“It’s bad,” because it was. Even for your standards.

“Yeah, you’re gross. Can I come in?”

You stand from the toilet, you’d never rest your jeans on the seat normally but they’re already trash. You slide the lock on the handicap stall and it slowly pushes open.

“Hi,” you look shy and embarrassed, Peter pushed past that entirely.

“Hi, c’mere.” You melt into his chest when his arms wrap tight around you, his mouth places a kiss on your hairline.

“Alright, shark week. Let’s see the damage,” you peer at the ground and turn slowly. “Ah shit, okay. Hold on.”

Peter tugged his backpack off his shoulder and unzipped it. A togo bag was folded up, he pulled it out and handed it to you, you held onto the cardboard handles.

“Put your nasty, hazardous material covered, underwear in here. And use one of these, or both, I dunno, I don’t have… one of those.”

Peter hands you a pad and a tampon, your eyes sparkle when you grab them. “Where did you get these from?” He rubbed at the back of his neck, “Matt’s girlfriend, I asked if she had something and she asked what you used, I didn’t know so I asked for both.”

You clutch the paper thin plastic to your chest, “thank you.”

He pauses then nods, as he backs out his hand holds the top of the stall door. You wait to make sure he’s not coming back in and you start stripping, you follow his instructions and pull your pants back up. It’s an uncomfortable sticky, you can’t wait to get home as soon as possible to shower.

The stain is still your biggest issue, there’s no way you’d face the entire campus with it.

“Peter-“

The door swung back out, your boy smiled. You clutched the bag shyly, you would have to walk back to your dorm, with a fat stain.

“Give me the biohazard,” you shake your head fast, there’s no way you’d let Peter see what’s in the bag.

“No, no way. It’s disgusting.”

“Trouble,” he gives you a look you haven’t seen before, “give me the damn bag,” you hold it out and he snatches it. Closing it carefully and stuffing it back in his backpack before zipping it closed.

“As for that,” Peter points at your red stain. He drops his bag to the ground and pulls off his outer layer. An open faced flannel, a plain white tee shirt underneath.

Peter pushes your elbows up, “arms up.”

You took a deep breath when he approached, he smelled so, so good. Peter tugged you closer by your hips and gave you a very light smile, his arms looped around you, his flannel in his hands.

You're brought closer when the arms of his shirt are tied tightly around your waist, he crouches in front of you to hang the sleeves just right, leveling them so they hide your crotch.

Peter’s fingers tap your knee, “spread for me,” you do as he asks and he looks you over before standing.

“I think I just helped you cover up a murder, we’re bonded for life now.”

Funny, he jumped right into action and guided you when you were too frazzled to think for yourself, yet you still feel shy.

“Thanks, I don’t know why I called you. It’s not your job.”

Peter’s hand cups your face, “hey,” you look into his eyes, he doesn’t seem so scary, and not in the slightest disgusted or bothered.

“You’re my girl, right?”

You nod into his touch, his thumb brushes your skin, proud you know the answer.

“That means you call whenever you want and I’ll come running.”

“Thank you, petey.”

He didn’t fight you on the nickname, his thumb rested over your bottom lip until he gave in. Peter gave you a bruising kiss, one that made him prove how much he actually cared for you, even if he couldn’t make the words leave his mouth.

You pulled back, not trying to makeout in a bathroom.

“Can you take me home?”

Your boy scoffs, “absolutely not. I have three quarters of a sandwich waiting for me, getting soggier by the second.”

When you frown at him his thumb catches it and tugs it back up. “But-“ Your eyes light up, he can’t help himself and places a chaste kiss to your mouth, “I’ll give you a key so you can hang out at mine?”

A key? A house key? He’d give you a house key?

“I would’ve thought hell would freeze over before you’d give me a key to your place.”

Peter shrugs, “eh, that’s before I knew I was dating a squirter.” He giggles when you smack at his arms, you grunt when a sudden cramp hits and you squeeze his arm in support instead.

“Alright, crampy. Go home, I’ll give you a cuddle when I get back.”

You nearly skip out of the bathroom with Peter behind you, he looks around before pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I’ll see you in a few hours, yeah?”

You can’t help but to sigh dreamily, “yeah.”

#peter parker blurb #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm! peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #my writing #frat!peter

[weirdmageddon]

i posted this on twitter also but it’s still eating at me. i’m so fucking embarrassed to be jewish rn. i dont want to be associated with this ongoing bullshit from israel. why do we need our own state. theyre just making every jew across the globe look bad in general even though many of us are conflicted about zionism and the legitimacy of israel as a state

people have hated jews throughout history for no fuckin reason but now israel exists but now its like. GIVING people reasons to hate us as a group. note that i DON’T conflate zionism with jewishness, but a lot of people in the world don’t know the difference because theyre uninformed and been dripfed cultural antisemitic tropes their whole life and that’s the scary part is them falsely putting two and two together. like what the fuck israel stop youre just putting fuel on the fire for people around the world to hate an entire group of historically persecuted people if youre being this shitty with your insane colonialism and apartheid like……I Want No Fuckin Part Of This. you’re spelling our own doom. you cant just swoop in and go “mine now” and then oppress the people you took land from under a regime without my blood boiling at the injustice no matter WHO you are. even if my lineage is tied to you. so when news outlets support israel it doesn’t feel like they have the best interest of jews as a people in mind. it’s in the interest of a zionist ethnostate and whatever that christian zionism belief is about the jewish people returning to the holy land as prerequisite for the second coming of jesus. its not like they care about us as a dispersed ethnocultural group, it’s all for that religious narrative that a bunch of people in the US are backing.

saying you want all jews to die is antisemitic. beating someone up because they’re jewish and no other reason without knowing their views is antisemitic. criticizing human rights violations perpetrated by israel and the belief that one group deserves more rights another is not antisemitic. and the fact that israel has the ability to pull that antisemitism card in response to criticisms of the violations they commit because their state is the “jewish homeland” drives me fucking insane. take fucking accountability for your actions. and yes, there do exist full-on anti-jewish groups in the middle east that go beyond hatred of israel’s policies and existence as a state and i’m tired of people pretending there aren’t in fear of appearing to seem like they support the state of israel. on the other side of things many people overestimate this by fearmongering and saying EVERY arab is out to get jews worldwide, telling people like me “they want YOU dead”. this is not the belief every person in the middle east and it really rubs me the wrong way that people group millions of individuals into all-encompassing lumps like this. many people there do understand nuance of this political situation.

even if i have that “right of return” by israeli law or whatever, i don’t feel obliged to it; it does not register as fair. why do i have a “right of return” when i’ve never even been there in the first place while palestinians who have homes there can’t return to them? what’s the basis for that? substituting objective reality with an imaginary reality? i don’t think like that. i can hypothetically come and go whenever i please but palestinians are severely limited in mobility? what makes me more entitled to that land than the people who lived there for centuries? nothing that comes from natural law thats for sure. it’s all artificial and inflated.

but at the same time i also dont want to be the target of antisemitism and caught in the fray just for being ethnically jewish. once people start calling for the genocide of entire groups we’ve got issues (and you better believe this absolutely applies to the palestinian victims in gaza too), because people who dissent to the violence perpetrated by the loudest are caught in there with the people who are perpetrating the violence. lack of nuance. people conflating israel and its zionist apartheid policies with jewish ethnicity and culture worldwide. other people conflating being terrorist anti-jew with muslims worldwide (like that 6-year old palestinian-american boy that was just stabbed to death in chicago). scary times man. but as a jew i can’t just opt out of this if it’s how i was born as. i don’t have control over that. but i can control what i think and what my beliefs are

#israel palestine conflict #israel #palestine #what i feel is right most strongly resonates with secular humanist philosophy #never really found the right way to explain my worldview until i read about it

[ebullientheart]

roomies. spencer reid x reader

content — fem!bau!reader. injured!reader. fluff. anonymous request. brief injury description. reader uses conditioner. making out.

when you no longer need your live-in doctor, you find you desperately want him to stay.

you were absolutely fuming when the unsub shot you. just one, clean through the shoulder, that caused you to fall in a twist down the stairs, spraining your ankle. the chances of both of those events occurring had to be low, and spencer assured you of the statistics to back that theory up. just bad luck. fuming.

unfortunately, it also meant your life was substantially difficult to navigate while healing. you could barely shower, cook food, unlock doors, get changed. in fact it wasn’t ‘barely’, you just couldn’t. so the natural solution was to have your best friend move in with you while you were out of action entirely.

“it’s no big deal.” he shrugged. your best friend that you harboured secret feelings for, shrugged. no big deal.

there were some challenges.

“spencer,” you huffed for the tenth time that morning, “i am not swallowing those gross fish vitamins.”

he tutted at you, “they’re cod, and they’re going to help your sprain recover. valid studies have shown-”

awkwardly, you stood and used your uninjured arm to jab him in the chest, “i don’t care if they would grow me a whole new bone, they’re gross.”

it was weeks like that, when he wasn’t on cases. harmless bickering as he fussed over you like a newborn. but despite your teasing, you were not looking forward to the day he’d be moving back into his own apartment. it was nice, having someone to come home to. it took the sting out of the loneliness you felt, and you weren’t delusional for thinking he felt that way too. as your casts and slings were eased off, the both of you looked rather dejected, confusing the nurse tending to you greatly.

spencer nudged your good shoulder, “now you can help me box up my things.”

you’d gotten used to his things, though. his aftershave in the bathroom, his chess set by the couch. even his supposedly mobile library he’d moved into your apartment. you knew how empty it was going to feel.

in fear of that emptiness, you blurted it out on the car ride home from the hospital, “maybe you should stay a bit longer.”

“yeah?” he briefly took his eyes off the road to raise a brow at you, “you think you still need help?”

“i don’t need it.” you mumbled, picking the skin around your cuticles nervously. spencer noticed, and flicked your hands apart as a silent way of telling you not to do that. still taking care of you.

he didn’t push your declaration, just nodding, “okay. how long were you thinking?”

somewhere between a bated breath and a rush of words, you pushed out, “like, forever?”

this time, both his brows jumped and he had to clear his throat to stop his voice from cracking, “really? like roommates?”

no, like lovers, “yes, like roomies. nevermind, it was a stupid idea.”

“i don’t think so. i’d love to be… roomies.” the word sounded strange, too informal, coming from him, and it made you laugh. which made him smile.

after that very spencer-esque conversation, he moved the rest of his material belongings in, and put his flat up on listings. it sold fast, and you had to wonder why he’d agreed so rapidly, considering his place was notably nicer than yours. you had to wonder why he agreed at all, though it didn’t come as a surprise to anyone else that you hadn’t been able to separate. and the rest unfolded like one of the rom-coms you forced him to watch.

you no longer needed him to wash your hair over the side of the bath, which had at first been annoying because he did not wash the conditioner out properly. but now you missed it; it had become almost a bonding experience. that became true of a lot of things you’d adjusted to in the past months. him helping you into bed, you playing the wounded card to make him watch your shows on tv.

one thing that hadn’t changed was the sheer amount of card games you two played. you knew spencer was always going to win, but you tortured yourself with it anyway. one night, you were splitting the deck as you announced, “i’ve got a new game. it’s called rummy version two.”

before he could explain all the deviations rummy had from its origin over the years, making your game not a second version but at least an eighth, you rushed on to outline the rules. you were completely making it up as you went along, and continued adding to it as you played. it was impossible for you to lose, and spencer quickly figured out that you were bullshitting. for a profiler, you had a terrible poker face.

“you’re making this up.” he stated, putting his cards down.

you leant over the table, now able to rest pressure on your arm, and challenged, “prove it.”

there was a thick tension that had arisen suddenly between the pair of you, though the more you thought, the less sudden it seemed. maybe it had been building for a while. like the blush steadily rising to his cheeks as you got slightly closer to his face.

he smirked, “you’re winning.”

“rude. that doesn’t mean i’m-”

what it didn’t mean, spencer never got to hear, because it was at that moment he surged forward to close the remaining distance between your lips. you almost fell when you two collided, but his grip had attached to your upper arm to steady you. his kiss did not relent, demanding and speaking of all the impatience he’d felt recently. you responded likewise, threading your hands into his curls as soon as you got your balance, barely breaking for breath.

spencer’s skin on yours was something you had thought about more than you cared to admit, and with the fervour he was kissing you with, you thought he might’ve experienced the same. he was almost desperate against you, hands trailing to smooth over any section of exposure he could find, before one rested on the side of your face, and the other on your thigh.

“spencer,” you gasped, pulling away to catch air in your lungs, “need to breathe.”

he nodded as though he’d forgotten that, mimicking your heavy breaths, but not taking his hands off you. you rested your forehead against his and blinked. it was starting to sink in, the line you’d just crossed together.

“do we have to tell hotch about this?” you suddenly asked.

spencer frowned, “why are you thinking about hotch right now?”

you laughed and kissed him again, quickly this time, “you’re right, let’s just…”

“yeah.”

thank god he agreed to be roomies.

#🤍ebullientheart #spencer reid #criminal minds #bau!reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x injured!reader #injured!reader #fem!reader #spencer reid hurt/comfort #humour #fluff #spencer reid x bau!reader #tw injury

[i-starcreamed]

Y/N: FIGHT ME!

Scrouge: How foolhearty... and facinating

Y/N: I- I don't- MIRAGE HELP I THINK HE'S FLIRTING WITH ME

Love it when villains find at least one (1) human cute and flirt worthy

🦂

ROTB SCOURGE X READER

Omg thank you 🦂 anon, im just like you and you’re just like me. MORE SCOURGE CONTENT!! While this wasn’t a request it gave me ideas :3

Unedited and also written on mobile…also look at this gif they scourge hot and wet on purpose

[ human!gn reader

Summary: As the request states, Scourge flirts with you. Big bad robot villain likes littol human

You might’ve secretly followed Mirage when he went over to distract Scourge while the others went on and save the world, no way in hell you were allowing an alien to destroy your planet. No way you were letting Mirage, you’re new friend, fight him alone. You started to rethink your decision when you were running across the platform, no weapon in hand to fight 20+ feet robot aliens and explosions going off everywhere. Then again, you were determined to fight along side your new robot alien friend to defeat the other…robot alien fiend. Aliens really need to find another planet to make a pit stop at, dont they?

You grunt as you pick up a piece of debris from the ground, it’s about the size of your head and could do as much damage as a splinter to Scourge. Who cares, you’d rather it be annoying than harmless

Scourge knocks Mirage back and you take this as an opportunity.

“Y/N stay back!” He reaches out but its too late, you’re already yelling and sprinting towards Scrourge, your piece of metal in your hand and waving it around like a crazy person.

“FIGHT MEE!” The piece of debris goes flying towards Scourge, only for it to hit his leg with a clank and deflect back into the floor. You freeze in your tracks, fuck. You’re out of breath and your little plan didnt work.

Scourge doesn’t squish you, he barely retains a laugh. Evil guys dont laugh, they cackle menacingly when revealing their evil plan to you. But this? This was…amusing to him.

“Did you really think that would work? How foolhardy, how stupid, how…fascinating”

He towers above you even as he leans down to..examine you? The proximity of his frame to your face is so close, your face was burning. You didn’t know if it was the fire and lava around you or just pure embarrassment.

“Uh, i don’t-“ Was he…flirting with you? You stood frozen even as his metal hand rose up, inching towards you. Do you run, freeze, or attack with your bare fists? Realistically your fists would be useless against his frame, you would be more in pain than he would. Even if you wanted to run, those eyes of his kept you in place. Such an intense orange gaze, who could look away from that? Scourge was getting distracted, he could easily snatch you up and complete his mission, but he couldn’t help but revel in your gaze of extreme awe and fear. He was rudely interrupted when Mirage started shooting again

You too snapped out of your thoughts and took a few steps back before sprinting back behind Mirage. “Mirage, was he fucking flirting with me?!” You yell over the sound of their blasters. You hid behind a small structure as the fight continued, not without noticing the way he occasionally glanced at you before attacking Mirage. You couldn’t tell if he was showing off or not

…was he seriously showing off for you?

#transformers #transformers x reader #scourge #scourge x reader #rotb scourge #rotb scourge x reader #rotb x reader #maccadam #gn reader #human reader #tf x reader

[leennaan]

Alessia Russo // Take on the world pt2

Here it is. Part two of „Take on the world“

Pt1 can be found here

Warnings: mentions of death and mental health problems. It’s not very detailed but it is mentioned so if that triggers you don’t read it. Take care of yourself.

With that being said, enjoy reading💕

———————————————————————

A few weeks had gone by since Alessia and Lotte had left the states, but the Corona situation had only worsened since then.

You left Chaphill a week after the two English girls to go back to your family in New York.

Alessia and you called each other daily. Sometimes you called her in the morning, and you would make breakfast for yourself and your little sister while she ate lunch or did her exercises. Sometimes it would already be night in England, and you would talk about your day while the blonde would just listen to you until she fell asleep.

The distance was hard for you both, as you were used to being in close proximity 24/7, but you managed.

But it got harder and harder when your girlfriend called you less and less. When you did talk to each other, you could sense that something was wrong, but you didn’t want to pressure Lessi.

When Alessia hadn’t talked to you in over two days with not even a text, you got worried.

You were scared that you had done anything. That she didn’t love you anymore. But also, maybe something had happened. Whenever the two of you talked, she looked drained with swollen and red-rimmed eyes. She looked like she had cried a lot, and it made you sick that you didn’t know what had happened to her.

So on the second day, she hadn’t called or answered your text, so you decided to call Lotte.

„Hey Y/N. What happened? You look like you cried."

Lotte had answered the second you dialed her number.

A son escaped your lips, and Lotte was instantly concerned.

„Calm down. Talk to me. What’s going on?"

„Lessi, she, I think she, she wants to break up with me."

You sobbed.

„Lessi wants what? Why would you say that? That girl is heads over heels in love with you.“

Lotte looked at you like you had lost your head or something. A few days ago, you would have believed her in an instant, but now you're not so sure.

"She hasn’t called me or answered my text in the last two days. That’s so unlike her. She called me even two or three times a day not many days ago, and then it got less and less, and the texts got shorter and shorter, and now she stopped altogether.“

You explained to Lotte, who looked more and more worried.

„Y/n I don’t think that that has anything to do with you. She hasn’t talked to me either, and the last time we talked, she looked so tired and sad."

Now you felt really bad. You had noticed that something was up with your girlfriend, but instead of trying to help her, you got stuck in your own head.

"You are right, Lotts. She looked like she had cried a lot when we last talked.“

„You know what? I will drive over tomorrow and look at how she is doing. I call you when I know more."

„Thank you, Lotts. I feel so stupid. I should have released that something wasn’t right. I wish I was with you guys. I want to help Lessi, but I feel like I am too far away.“

It took you a few hours to comprehend what Lotte had said.

You really felt dumb. The way you noticed her red and swollen eyes, her small voice when she talked, the way she seemed to be miles away—never once had you thought about why she was like that. Your mind had gone straight to thinking she would break up with you.

Now angry at yourself, you threw your mobile phone across the room, only to scramble to your feet and quickly make your way over to it when it started ringing.

You looked at your screen, which read “star girl." Stunned, you looked at the clock. It was around 3 a.m. in the morning in London. Now concerned about Alessia, you quickly accepted the face-time call.

You could barely make Alessia out in the darkness of her room, but you could definitely hear her sniffling.

“Lessi Baby? What’s wrong?” You asked, concerned, but she didn’t answer you.

"Baby, you scare me. You can talk to me; you know that, right?” It was silent for a few seconds, but it felt like hours until the blonde quietly started to talk.

"He, he is gone, Y/N."

Immediately, your heart sank. "They said he was better; they said he would be released soon. I don’t know what to do; y/n, he is gone.“

You watched as Alessia started to cry, and you wished nothing more than to be there with her. To be able to hold her. You knew she was talking about her grandpa. The situation in Italy was still tense. A lot of people were dying because of COVID, but until now, no one close to you was affected. Now that had changed, and you couldn’t imagine how Alessia must feel.

„Baby I am so sorry. I wish I could hold you. Is there anything I can do for you?“ You asked, now hating this whole situation even more.

Alessia's blue eyes were chiming with tears, and you had to fight back your own. Seeing Alessia like this broke you.

„Can you just talk to me? I haven’t slept since yesterday, when we got the call. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face."

„Of course I can. Anything specific?“ Your girlfriend shook her head.

„My parents are thinking of adopting a dog. They said that with me and also my sister going to college next year, they will be lonely. I felt betrayed that now that I am out of the house, they want a dog. You know I wanted one since I was little.“

And so you talked to her for the next few hours. Here and there, Alessia would hum or nod her head at you to show that she was listening. Slowly, you noticed her eyelids dropping and watched her fall into a restless sleep.

You stayed on the phone even after she fell asleep. As you watched her, a lone tear made its way down your cheek.

A few hours later, you woke up feeling slightly disoriented. You grabbed your phone from where it lay next to you.

Alessia had sent you a thank-you text and had wished you a good day.

That’s how the next few days went. At first, Alessia called you after she couldn’t fall asleep for hours, but you couldn’t see her struggling even more, so you started to call her around six p.m. London time. Often, Alessia just wanted to hear your voice, and you obliged, telling her about your day. One day you even played on your guitar after what felt like years. You started playing when you were little, but it got less and less in recent years. Now you were singing for her songs that you thought she liked or that she requested.

She didn’t know that you could play or sing, but she loved it, and so did you.

It kind of got therapeutic for you too, and slowly you started playing for yourself again, even when you were not talking to Alessia.

When the summer neared, you got increasingly excited.

Alessia was feeling better; at least that was what she told you.

You could still see the pain in her eyes, and you knew that she wasn’t as well as she said, but she was slowly getting there. Her smiles became more real again, and you knew she slept better because the begs under her eyes got less prominent.

Around early June, you went back to campus, and this time you took your guitar with you.

Over the last few weeks, you even started to write little songs. Nothing was good in your opinion, but it helped you sort out your thoughts.

Alessia and Lotte called you one afternoon when you were sitting in your dorm room with your guitar in hand, and they were both really buzzing. You felt the good energy as soon as you accepted the call.

„We are coming back!“ Was the first thing that Allesia shouted.

„Wait what?“ You asked, perplexed.

„Yes, we just booked our flight for next week. The restrictions aren’t as bad as before, and we want to get back as soon as possible. I know Blondie over here has missed you an awful lot, but I missed you almost as much," answered Lotte, and you couldn’t help the big grin that spread over your face when Alessia punched Lotte lightly on the shoulder.

„No way, guys, I am so excited. When are you back? I’ll pick you up from the airport. I can’t believe it. I missed you both. Campus and everything just isn’t the same without you Brits.“ You laughed.

That’s how you found yourself in the airport in North Carolina only five days later, impatiently waiting for the two girls to arrive.

And with almost one and a half hours of delay, they landed. As soon as you saw Alessia, you couldn’t help yourself, and you sprinted right into her arms. She had dropped her luggage to be able to hoist you up into her arms. You wrapped your legs around her waist, clinging to her like a koala.

„Oh how I have missed you." Whispered Lessi into your ear, not letting go of you. You answered by kissing her. It felt so good to have her lips on yours again.

After what felt like hours but in reality were only a few seconds, Lotte interrupted you two. „I know you guys love each other and missed each other so much, but I also missed you. Can I at least get a hug?“

Both Lessi and you couldn’t help but laugh before your girlfriend let you down, and you hugged Lotte. „I missed you too, Lotts.“

The next few weeks were the best you had for a while. Being able to spend time with your girlfriend made you extremely happy, and you could see that Alessia was feeling better too.

Of course, there were days when she was feeling down, but being able to just hug you was enough to make her better.

On days she was feeling especially down, you would get out your guitar and play something for her. You even taught her a few accords.

But soon you noticed that not all things were back to perfect.

At training, there was uncertainty about stuff and players. No one knew what the season would bring.

It wasn’t decided whether the games would be held as normal or if there would even be a college cup.

Training was hard if no one knew what they trained for.

You noticed that Lotte and Alessia were not happy with the situation.

„When we don’t have games, we are losing our opportunities.“ Said Lotte one evening when you were sitting together with the whole team. Of course, she was right. Without games to watch for national or club coaches, they would lose their spot on the national team and chances for a professional contract after college.

„I talked with the guffer today. He said he has no idea what’s going to happen this season. I also asked my brother what I should do. He recommended looking for offers back in England.“ Said Alessia while she was cuddled by your side. You didn’t want the girls to leave again, but you knew the situation would probably be the best. „What about you guys? Do you consider playing outside the U.S.?“ asked Lois. You watched as your friends answered. „I don’t know. My dream was always to play in the NWSL. It doesn’t really matter to me anyway. I‘ve got two years of college left, and my mother would literally disown me if I dropped out.“ The fact that you were a year younger than most of your close friends and girlfriend just hit you. Knowing that you would be left behind for a year even without this whole Corona thing going on.

Alessia noticed that your mind was starting to wander. Your habit of overthinking is getting the better of you again. So you hadn’t noticed her standing up. Only once did she pull you towards her, carefully maneuvering you out of the room.

„Baby breath. Breath. I am here. Follow my breathing. That’s it, baby. Slowly. Yes. There you are.“ Slowly, your breathing settled down.

„I don’t want you to leave. Not again.“ You whispered, and Alessia pulled you against her. Wrapping her strong arms around your body. „No matter what. I'll always love you. I know it was hard for us both, but we can do it again. I will visit whenever I can, and I promise you I will always be one call away. I know it may not seem like this right now, but I know for sure that you and I are forever.“ She kissed you hard, like a promise.

Your eyes were still closed when she pulled away slightly.

„I know we are still young…“ You felt her move away from your body and watched her get a jewelry box out. You opened your mouth, but she interrupted you. "Don't worry, I am not proposing. At least not yet.“ You couldn’t help but chuckle.

"It's a promise ring. I promise that I will never desert you. I promise that one day I will go down on that knee. A promise of a future together. "I promise that even though there might be thousands of kilometers between us, I will always be there for you.“ Tears streamed down your face as you watched her. Heart racing, you put your hand out for her to put the ring on your finger. „Not yet, baby. There is something on the inside I want you to look at."

Carefully, you grabbed the ring. Written in cursive were the words ‚We will take on the world‘ a sentence that both of you had repeatedly said to each other.

„I love you so much.“ You said this, grabbing her face with your hands and kissing her hard.

———————————————————————

I am already working on Pt 3 which will also be the final part

Always open to feedback ☺️

#alessia russo x y/n #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo x reader #woso #unc tar heels #unc Reader #alessia russo #lotte wubben moy #woso x reader #Tar Heels #woso imagine

[sacredtime]

If the boys had a chronically ill mate:

Possibly ooc

David: the minute he’s told (or realizes) Angel is chronically ill he internally panics and frets about them and how they treat themselves and how he treats them. He knows Angel has been living with this for a long time knowingly or not, their usual laidback attitude and usual lack of thought towards how they take care of themselves makes him concerned. He’ll focus more on making sure Angel is accommodated for in the home and they can be as comfortable as possible in their house.

David makes sure Angel is also treated well in day to day life. They come home complaining of how they’re getting treated or how they have to go into the doctor and how shit the doctor was to them when they told the doctor their problems he’ll come in next time as scary dog privilege and back up bullshit detector since unfortunately they’ll listen to him better than Angel. David is also on top of any medications and the conditions and location of possible mobility aids. Angel will never run out of medication or misplace any aids they need. If any of their medications have bad side effects or reactions with Angel David’s written it down in detail along with when they started it. Anything needs maintenance or needs to be replaced? There’s already an appointment set before Angel can forget or procrastinate about setting one.

Asher: Asher doesn’t worry like David, Babe is responsible and has their shit together out of the two and they probably have a steady routine; and despite his goofball, carefree personality he’s extra attentive to Babe once he’s told and help them see the positive side of things. Yeah he might try to get out of things but he’ll become their personal runner for anything, he’ll even ask David to try and teach him how to cook again so then Babe doesn’t have to make meals when they’re not up to it or has to power through making meals because Asher can’t really be trusted in the kitchen. He’ll also move anything around to make things manageable for Babe, he’ll also carry them and any mobility aids around if need be any time they ask.

Asher isn’t as intimidating as David off of looks alone, he lacks David’s murderer face, but he is very much a people person and I think he’s able to guilt trip people very well. Someone talks down to Babe or touches their things he makes the person feel so bad the person can’t help but apologize and depending on the situation avoid the two. He’s also naturally Babe’s biggest hype man, things are getting hard for Babe and he can’t do anything? He’s there encourage them and then comfort them after. Physio? Asher’s right beside them being literal support and not backing out no matter how hard they hold onto him or how much of their weight Babe puts on him. Asher is also great with positive reinforcement, if Babe struggles to take or remember to take pills he has a timer and little treats to make it all worth it and bearable few minutes.

Milo: Sweetheart is pretty self sufficient and tries to work through hell and high water so when they crash, they crash hard. When Milo realizes they have a chronic illness he makes it his mission to alleviate their stress and pain. He knows sweetheart is a workaholic and they are set well in their ways no matter how unhealthy it is. He has pain killers, massages and a good show/movie on hand. Even if Sweetheart tries to keep going despite everything Milo will pull out the big guns: ✨Aggro✨. He’ll plop the cat on their lap and sweetheart can help but stay put for as long as possible no matter how frustrating it is to be kept from their work. Milo also makes sure that in sweetheart’s work frenzy they eat well so they don’t feel even worse. He has ice packs, heating pads, pain killers and if worst comes to worst his mother to help manage sweetheart’s conditions.

Milo also makes sure he that they keep any mobility aids in arms reach for them. It’s not that sweetheart doesn’t acknowledge that they need them, it’s just that it’s another thing they have to bring with them that they also can’t cloak the aid so they try to go for as long as possible without it. He’ll start to nag if they’re at home and refuse to use it. Milo will also get sweetheart excellent comfy formal wear for work so they don’t have to wear anything uncomfortable or if they have braces they can wear them comfortably under their clothes and are able to look fashionable. I feel like sweetheart carries enough respect naturally with their job and just the attitude they have on their own they don’t need Milo’s help when it comes to disrespectful people and doctors in the empowered world but both would bounce off each other excellently and damn near kill someone with their words alone.

Sam: in short he is stressed. When Sam finds out Darlin has a chronic illness they shrug it off as ‘not that bad’ and that ‘everyone’s bodies do this.’ that if Sam weren’t a vampire and immortal he’d have had so many years taken off his life by the stress of this revelation alone he’d probably be on his deathbed. In the early stages of their relationship Darlin has nothing but a sketchy ziploc bag of Tylenol/Advil and a brace and/or cane from like Walmart. He goes all in looking for their medical history to confirm what they have if it’s there and if they should be on medication and then takes them in to the doctors for various tests whether they think it’s serious or not. Sam is there no questions to make sure Darlin goes to their appointments and he makes sure Darlin gets answers and proper treatments, he is unbelievably persistent and determined to get their health back on track. He is the ultimate mother hen early on and focuses on getting Darlin into better habits while also keeping them safe from their own recklessness.

Sam later in the relationship is far less stressed since Darlin is considerably more stable. He keeps tabs on their medicine still and can’t help but monitor their condition just incase they try to hide it again as to try and not worry him. In the rare time that Darlin finally crashes Sam comes in with old man comfort as they sit on the couch under a blanket. He uses his lack of body heat as a human sized ice pack, putting his hands on the areas that ache the most and apply subtle pressure while murmuring affirmations of how they’re still strong and how he doesn’t see them as lesser or love them any less for times like this.

If darlin has a cane and Sam picks it up Fred and bright eyes joke that it’s his now and to not rush his weary old man body and a whole bunch of grandpa jokes.

#redacted asmr #redacted headcanons #redacted asmr david #redacted angel #redacted david #redacted audio #redacted darlin #redacted asmr angel #redacted asher #redacted asmr asher #redacted asmr babe #redacted babe #redacted asmr milo #redacted milo #redacted asmr sweetheart #redacted sweetheart #redacted asmr sam #redacted sam #redacted asmr darlin #angel (listener) #babe (listener) #sweetheart (listener) #darlin (listener)

[sunonyoreface]

He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 15

An: Took a bit of a break to work on my school stuff, thanks for your patience and understanding! If you can't tell from this chapter, I really missed Soap. Lots of angst to come ;)

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 3700

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, angst, military setting, explicit language, graphic depictions of violence, use of guns.

Soap’s arm brushes against mine as we make our way to an unexpected meeting called by Captain Price. He’s the only stability I have right now. My joints feel weak and unnatural as they carry me through the corridor.

As soon as Ghost landed the helicopter in Ludza, I was ushered off and escorted to a solitary room somewhere deep within the base by a group of men I didn’t recognize. That was yesterday. This morning I’d never been so relieved to see Soap.

He says something along the lines of “It's been dunky's since I last saw ya,” and while I don’t have the slightest idea what he means, I’m just glad it’s him.

His right forearm is wrapped in gauze and looks like it’s supposed to be in a sling. Maybe it was in one for a day or so before he grew irritated from the lack of mobility and tore it off. I don’t know if the new injury is from his previous mission or the attack by the Ultranationalists, but I’m smarter than to ask about it right away.

“So, why did Price call a meeting?” I ask.

“Not sure, but it’s important enough for my whole schedule to change,” There’s something different about his voice.  I’m not sure if he’s annoyed or relieved. Maybe neither. Maybe he’s almost as concerned as I am.

The part of the building we’re in is underground. Most of the base is. It’s an eerie feeling knowing that if something went wrong, we’d be trapped down here. But this base is newer and better equipped than the last one. I get the impression that they use Latvia as their main base because it’s closer to Russia. Closer to the Ultranationalists. But I can only speculate. Maybe this is nothing compared to their other compounds.

I can’t stop thinking about Simon – Ghost – I don’t know what to call him. It’s like the names belong to two different people and I never know which one I’m about to encounter. One is reluctantly vulnerable, damaged, caring, and tender. He yearns for more. While the other… is, something else entirely. Ghost is cold and industrial, the perfect killing machine whose all stoicism and no emotional interference. There’s an indifference present with Ghost: he’s witnessed and partaken in so much violence, so much heartbreaking cruelty that every other human emotion is out of reach. They are two sides of the same coin.

I toss a quarter in my mind and pray it lands on tails. I catch it in one hand and flip it onto my palm. Soap opens the office door as I reveal its face: heads.

Dark eyes peer out from behind that damn skull mask. He stands just beside the entrance while Price leans against a table. The only thing on its surface is a clunky, black laptop.

“Sir,” Soap nods to each of them as I duck my head and follow in behind him. The last time this happened, everything changed forever.

“Sit down, y/n,” I know it’s going to be bad when Price skips the small talk. I feel my blood pressure rising. My neck is warm and my cheeks flush. I sit on the foldable chair directly in front of him. The brim of his hat dips as he looks down at me, still leaning against the table. Soap takes his place at the other side of the door opposite Ghost. Their eyes on me heighten my anxiety. “Take a breath darling, you look about ready to fall over.”

A weak, nervous laugh bubbles from my chest. I try and relax my shoulders but I think we both know this is as good as it’s going to get.

“I’d like to thank you for alerting us to the Ultranationalist’s plan, it greatly improved our reaction time. Probably saved some lives,” Price says, but in my mind drifts to the others that were lost as a consequence. “But for our sake, I need to know everything that prisoner told you.”

So I tell him. I like Price and he’s always been decent toward me, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared of him. Ghost didn’t plan this thing alone. He’s had a hand in everything I’ve endured and has less of an inclination than Ghost to trust me. I don’t know a lot about the English military, but I know his rank means something. He holds power. If he wanted me to disappear, I would without a trace.

As I talk about the things the prisoner said I hear a few grumbles behind me from Soap. I look predominantly at Price but cast a few glances at Ghost who breaks eye contact every time. His actions are far from reassuring.

“Fucking knew there was a mole,” Soap’s voice is bitter with distaste. Ghost shifts as he casts a warning glare in his direction. My mouth feels dry after talking so much.

“Not now, Sergeant,” Price cautions him. This is the kind of discussion I can’t hear. For all they know I’m the mole.

“Sorry, sir.”

“Y/n there’s one other matter we need to discuss,” his attention turns to me. I feel Ghost’s eyes intensify as he watches my reactions. Did he say anything? My heart skips a beat. The inside of my cheek throbs as I nervously bite down on the flesh. Surely he wouldn’t. Right? But their bond runs much deeper than anything he and I had for that single night. When it comes down to me or Price, Ghost would choose him a thousand times over.

Maybe he did say something. What happens then?

I look from Ghost who refuses to make eye contact to Price who won’t look away. He knows.

“It has to do with information discussed at the safe house,” breathing becomes incredibly difficult. My hands clench into fists. Deny everything. Nothing happened. Nothing.

“Okay,” I sound guilty. I sound treasonous. Ready to be put down by a firing squad.

“Lieutenant Riley said you expressed an interest in viewing our tapes of several Ultranationalist attacks,” Relief washes over me as my shoulders sink into the chair. Ghost didn’t tell him. “Specifically the ones involving your father.”

My eyes lock onto Price. His words spin around in my head and part of me refuses to believe I heard him correctly.

“My father?” Swallowing feels impossible. My throat is sandpaper the whole way down. My head is light and a sudden gust of wind could blow me away like a tumbleweed.

“Affirmative,” he uncrosses his arms to brace his hands along the table. “I have them here,” he tilts his head, motioning to the laptop. I look between him and Ghost who finally makes eye contact with me. He wasn’t lying. There really are videos.

My head starts to shake. “I don’t-“

“It’ll make what I have to say next a lot easier,” Price interrupts. What he has to say next? What’s next? What’s worse than this? How could watching my own flesh and blood commit a heinous crime make whatever he is going to say easier? My stomach turns.

“Okay,” I mumble. My hands are being forced. I don’t want to see whatever footage he has.

“Right then,” He moves away from the table to log onto the computer. Already pulled up, ready to play, is surveillance footage of an Ultranationalist attack. “This was in France. Nine months ago. At a soup kitchen.”

Price clicks play and I watch the scene unfold below. A group of armed men dressed as soldiers enter a packed building with people in line for food and sitting at rows of tables. The camera catches the back of their heads. Sewn to their shoulders is the identifying patch underneath the Russian flag. They line the walls and a staff member starts to approach just as they open fire on the crowd. Two minutes of chaos ensue until every single person is riddled with bullet holes. I feel the bile creep up the back of my throat as I sit there completely stunned at what I’m witnessing. It can’t be real. It can’t be.

As the dust dies down, the line of men turns to exit the building. It’s now the camera narrows in on their faces. Their unmasked faces. Not a single man is trying to hide his identity. No. They’re proud of what they just did. I recognize him immediately, even at a distance and in a uniform completely unfamiliar to me. The man leading the group is undeniably my father.

Devastation snags my jaw like a left hook and I feel my face start to crumple under the pressure. What the fuck. It’s real. It’s too real. The first tear falls and I quickly wipe it away, but I know they saw. I can’t stop my head from shaking. I can’t believe he would do something like that. The same man who raised me. Who I thought was so kind.

“Next one also took place in France. South this time,” Price’s voice remains calm. I feel ashamed. I feel dirty from his actions.

I watch three more videos of similar attacks. In the final one, there’s a closeup of the men involved. It’s the first time I’ve seen my father with a beard, but it’s still him through and through. My own flesh and blood. How could a man do something so horrifying? How could he justify his actions?

My stomach turns and I fight the urge to throw up. Full-body tremors take over my weak frame. I wrap my arms around myself in a small attempt to find comfort. I hate the fact that they see me in such a state. I’ve never felt so vulnerable in front of a group of people before. Let alone a group actively hunting down my family. If I can even call him that.

I wish I was back in that cabin, wrapped in Simon’s arms. He’s known this whole time. He tried to warn me.  If only I knew how bad it was going to get.

“It’s a lot,” Price starts. “Which is why I’m going to let you sleep on my next question.”

I nod, still staring at the floor.

“Will you help us lure him out?” I should’ve seen this coming. That’s what this has all been about. Using me to get to my father, maybe even Makarov. Ghost said so himself. But now they want me directly involved. Why?

“I don’t know,” I mumble.

“Think about it,” Price’s answer is short and to the point. He’ll give me time, but his patience is limited.

“Will you kill him?” my voice wavers. It’s a brave question, but I’m not brave enough for Price’s answer.

“That’s up to him,” his voice is resolute. The ambiguity of his answer is anything but reassuring. “That’ll be all for now. We’ll reconvene in the morning. Soap, she’s to stay in her quarters for the rest of the day.”

“Yes sir,” I feel his good arm on my upper back guiding me out of the room before I even realize what’s going on. In the hall, his hand rubs reassuring circles between my shoulder blades. “Do ya want food?”

“No,” I sniffle. I need to get it together before we pass the cafeteria full of men. “Thanks,” I mutter through a deep breath as I wipe my eyes for the last time. I find myself leaning into his touch. There’s a softness to Soap that’s too easy to get attached to.

My eyes are swollen, but at least I’ve stopped crying. Exhaustion seeps into my joints. Just walking feels strenuous.

“Still on babysitting duty, Suds?” a vaguely familiar voice taunts from across the room. A blond man in full gear leans against the entrance to the dining hall. He’s speaking to Soap, but his eyes never leave me. Chills run down my spine.

“Shut up ya fucking latrine queen, I don’t have time for your shite right now,” Soap shifts to my other side, placing some distance between myself and this man. He urges me to walk with a gentle hand but my feet start to slow.

“You know,” suddenly his voice doesn’t sound so vague. It’s the same man from the transportation van. The one who made crude comments toward us. The same one Ghost shut up by pulling rank. “Rumor has it you knew about the ambush.” The man raises his hand to point at me. Guilt swells in my chest.

There are only the three of us in the hall connecting the offices, cafeteria, and sleeping quarters, yet I’m afraid someone else will hear his accusations.

“Friday shouldn’t have gone down like that,” any previous teasing tone is gone. There’s real anger behind his words. “Our men died because of you,” I freeze at his words. The overwhelming feeling in my chest starts to spill over. Death follows me everywhere. He’s right. They died because of me. Others are still in the infirmary. Because of me.

Does he see my father when he looks at me? Is that what they all see? A contorted excuse for a human, twisted to the extent even mirrors don’t recognize?

Overwhelming anxiety and despair push me to the edge. I feel the tears threaten to fall again. I can’t let him see me cry. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

My feet take off sprinting down the closest hall, toward the sleeping quarters. My heart thunders in my ears, drowning out the sound of Soap calling after me. I don’t care. I need to get away from here. They blame me. They all blame me.

The empty corridor is lined with doors that blur as I run past them. Each leads to a room with a single twin bed. But no one’s here. Downtime isn’t for another while. I don’t know where I’m going. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter I just need to get away. Panic and adrenaline course through my veins. Tears cloud my vision and I can barely see.

When I hit the black object, It initially feels like a wall: hard and unmovable. But then his arms constrict around my torso, trapping me against his chest. I try and push off him which causes his grip to tighten even more. My mind flashes back to that night he held my arm so hard it bruised.

“How did you-”

“Where’s Soap?” Ghost’s unmistakable voice thunders in my ear. He sounds pissed. I blink away the newest tears. My emotions feel scrambled. His fingers press into my flesh. Ghost knows he has me. He doesn’t need to be this rough.

“Simon, you’re hurting me,” my throat is sore as my voice cracks.

His breathing falters and immediately the pressure is lifted. Ghost’s hands clench into fists at his side. I don’t know who he’s angry with anymore. Me, Soap, or himself? Part of me still fears him. Of what he’s capable of. Despite it, I don’t step away. I missed the heat of his chest seeping into my own. I want to feel the tenderness he’s capable of.

He sighs, collecting himself for another moment before speaking again. “Why are you running in the halls by yourself?” Ghost’s voice is significantly softer, but I don’t miss the urgency still present. A large hand brushes down my arm. It’s the only comfort I’ll get for days.

“I left him,” I mumble, refusing to make eye contact.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” I lie. The huff of his chest tells me he knows I’m lying. But there’s no time for him to push further. Feet thunder down the hall as the thick Scottish accent echoes off the walls.

“For fucks sake y/n,” Soap is audibly annoyed, but it’s only surface deep. “You can’t just run off.”

“Sorry,” the words tumble from my mouth. I hate this. I hate all the attention. All the expectations. Having to be on my best behaviour. The lack of freedom. All of it.

“What happened,” Ghost inches away from me as he turns his attention to Soap.

“I took care of it,” his thick words jumble together when he’s out of breath, but Ghost is used to it. What does he mean by “took care of it?”

“Is this something I have to tell Price?”

“Nah, shouldn’t be a problem again,” there’s a slyness to his tone. Soap tucks his hands into the side of his vest and it's now that I notice the red swelling at his knuckles. I watch Ghost’s eyes flicker down to the same spot.

“Right then,” he looks between the two of us. “I need to talk to you later,” Soap nods, seemingly already on the same page. Ghost casts one last glance my way before taking off. Conflict brews in the eyes beneath the skull mask. We need to talk. Question is, when? There’s a strange expression furrowed between Soap’s brows as he watches the interaction. One almost of suspicion.

I get an entire room to myself. I feel spoiled by this most basic accommodation. A twin bed, dresser, toilet, and sink. Like a luxurious jail cell. No windows. Not this deep underground. But at least there’s privacy. Tired feet drag their way toward the mattress.

Soap leans against the doorframe, bright blue eyes closely following my figure.

“What happened out there?” his voice is soft as he reaches for the door, slowly pulling it closed behind him. My eyes flicker from his to the swollen knuckles wrapped around the handle. My brain is foggy. His actions are slightly ambiguous. Does he mean today? Or at the safe house? The door silently latches into place as he blocks the only exit. What does he know?

“Out where?” I force myself to maintain eye contact. My hands nervously fist the comforter.

“The safe house,” Soap’s head tilts as he examines my reaction.

People are quick to dismiss Soap because of his openness towards others. He’s kind and doesn’t expect anything in return. There’s no hidden ulterior motive behind his actions. Johnny is simply a good person. And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t done the same thing.

But his kindness, his ability to connect with others makes him better at reading people than the rest of the task force. Next to Ghost, Soap is who you have to be so damn careful around. He’s been right there beside Ghost for more interrogations than I can count. But they’re not always bloody and violent. Sometimes they’re soft. Sometimes they’re done by someone you thought you could trust. The right interrogator will caress your cheek and wipe your tears as they coax exactly what they need from your swollen lips. Soap knows exactly how to get information from different types of people. He is dangerous. I can’t let my guard slip around him. He’ll know.

“What do you mean?” I ask, crawling further onto the bed to rest against the wall. I need to stay composed. For a moment I was certain Ghost didn’t tell Price, but I didn’t even consider Soap. They’re closer than anyone else on the task force. Their secrets have to run deep. Chances are he could know already but wants me to confirm it. Or Ghost lied to him and he caught on. What if my story doesn’t match his?

“He’s barely spoken a word since you returned. Something’s up,” Soap steps away from the door, cautiously closing in on the distance between him and the bed. I scan his face just as carefully as he does mine. But I lack the years of experience and training that he has. All I have is my gut. And right now I don’t know what’s the truth and what’s a lie.

“Nothing happened,” I attempt, but it’s apparent my words don’t take when Soap starts to shake his head.

“I don’t wanna do that with ya,” his voice is reserved as he crosses his arms. Nerves start to crawl their way back up my spine. Every part of me feels on edge.

“He was angry I didn’t say anything about the Ultranationalists before the attack,” I mirror him, folding my arms across my chest. It’s true. Just not the whole truth.

I watch as he processes my words. As his eyes narrow and his brows pull closer together. Soap’s sharp jaw angles down as he considers his next words. Something is eating away at him.

“Did he do anything?” I don’t hide the confusion stemming from his quiet words. What would he do? Why is that the first thing that comes to his mind?

“No,” It slips from my mouth in a rush, but I catch myself. “Well, we fought, but that’s it.” The sigh that escapes his chest is heavy and his stance remains closed off. I don’t know if he buys it. “It’s fine. Really. Soap I’m sick of talking about this. I know I fucked up. Every damn thing I do out here is a fuck up. Can we just leave it at that? Please?” I quickly wipe at the stray tear that escapes.

“Don’t talk like that lass,” Soap’s shoulders soften as he uncrosses his arms. His feet risk another step forward, but then he stops. Something about his expression is pained. His hand twitches at his side like he wants to reach out and comfort me. My mind drifts to how it would feel to have his strong arms wrapped around my frame, how safe it would feel…

Soap reigns himself in. He knows he’s tiptoeing the line of his assigned duties.

“Can I get you anything from the cafeteria?” He retreats into safer territory.

“No,” I sniffle. “Thanks.”

The heavy Steel-toed boots thud along the floor. “I’ll drop off a plate,” Soap says as he closes the door behind him. The loud clank of the lock rattles throughout the room. The fog clouding my thoughts mutes the aching betrayal throughout my body, eventually lulling me to sleep.

My father planned the murder of hundreds of people. Innocent people. Mothers and children. Refugees trying to build a better life for themselves. Vulnerable civilians unable to stand up for themselves. All for what? Political gain? What kind of a sick bastard views mass murder as a tool for power? I can’t believe I’ve been so clueless. Maybe he does deserve to die. Maybe we both do.

I don’t notice the plate of food sitting on the empty dresser the next time the door opens. Something else snags my attention.

My sleepy eyes narrow in on the dark, ominous shadow looming in the corner of my room.

Someone is here.

Pt 16:

#simon riley cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost imagine #ghost fanfiction #cod ghost #cod fanfic #cod imagine #soap cod #soap x reader #cod #ghost mwii #mw2 imagine #mw2 fanfic #call of duty mwii #he knows

[mannequinreligi0n]

Plaything

request: bratty, submissive reboot!Dante

PAIRING: reboot!Dante x reader

WORD COUNT: 850

WARNINGS: NSFW, dom/sub dynamics, use of toys, bratty sub (male)

⌛️⏳⌛️⏳⌛️⏳⌛️⏳⌛️⏳⌛️⏳⌛️⏳⌛️⏳⌛️

“Oh, c’mon, Dante - quit whining.” You roll your eyes, fastening the second handcuff around his wrist. You sit straddling his lap, latching him to the bedpost in your shared bedroom on a Saturday evening.

“Well, as much as I appreciate being manhandled by a beautiful girl, these-“, he pauses, rattling the cuffs against the metal posts, “-are a little much.” Dante half-smiles at you, a wary look in his eye, but the way his exposed length twitched at your responsive laugh told you everything you needed to know. Your hearty chuckle echoed through the candlelit room as you pulled out the vibrating wand from the “box of trouble and toil”, as Dante called it. You sat up and met his eyes, turning on the wand to the lowest setting with a grin; a chill of anticipation running down his spine at the sight of you before him.

“Are you going to behave?” You ask, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Just go easy on me, sweetheart. The goods are sacred.” Dante laughed back, gesturing down to his pelvis as best as he can with his limited mobility.

“Easy? Yeah, I can do that.” You shrug, nodding understandingly. Dante sighs in relief, head thumping back against the bedpost, but his nerves are quickly shot as soon as he hears the wand kick up to a higher speed and your shit-eating giggle accompanying it.

“W-w-wait, wait, wait! That’s not - fuuuuuck!” Dante’s protests are cut off by his unforeseen moan blurting out of his mouth. You run the vibrator along the underside of his shaft, purposely avoiding the leaking head. With slow, fluid motions, the wand journeys down his shaft to his balls that are cupped firmly in your free hand. A single curse followed by a hollow exhale leaves Dante in response to your descending hands. You’re careful to not press the wand too firmly against him, knowing from past experience that he’s prone to premature release. Your eyes ping pong back and forth between your hands and his exasperated face, relishing the sight of your boyfriend. Dante’s chest heaves and shutters, a soft blush covering his whole body.

“You’re being an awfully good boy, Dante, I’m surprised.” You coo to him, words sounding like a church choir to Dante’s ears. The praise elicits a whimper from him, cock twitching in an attempt to garner your attention. Despite his subtle squirming and heavy breathing, Dante lays still for you - not that he really has much choice, considering the handcuffs. You lean forward and kiss the head of his cock, a small show of affection. Pulling the wand away from him for a moment, you press the speed button on the vibrator twice more. Dante’s ears catch the higher frequency over his own sounds and shifts his head up, staring down at you with wide eyes.

“What’re you up to down there?” Dante slurs out, head spinning from the teasing. A fanged grin appears on his face, sweat dripping down his brow.

“I don’t recall playthings having the right to speak.” You retort, reapplying the vibrator against his shaft with more pressure. The sudden attack on him makes a choked groan come out, cutting off any coherent back-talk he had prepared. Dante’s back arches off the bed, thighs straining to stay spread for you. A proclamation or warning of some sort tries to form on Dante’s tongue but he’s so focused on breathing manually, that it’s impossible to make any sound other than a high-pitched moan. And just as soon as it started, he orgasms suddenly - his own release painting his chest and the bedsheets beside him. You yank the wand away from him, shaking your head with disapproval.

“Tsk tsk tsk, bad boy…”, you scold him, tossing the vibrator, now turned off, to the other side of the bed and crawling up to him. You shove your defiled hand to his mouth.

“Lick it clean.”

Your voice so close to him wakes his mind from the post-orgasm trance. Dante’s eyes lazily fall to the hand poking at his mouth and he opens obediently. Sucking your fingers free of his own cum, he closes his eyes and moans lewdly before reopening them to stare directly at you with blown pupils. You slide your fingers out of his mouth, a trail of spit following from his bottom lip. As a reward, you replace the absence of your fingers with your own lips. You can taste the mix of saliva and cum on his tongue as he pushes it into your mouth eagerly. The rattle of his handcuffs interrupts the moment, causing you to laugh against his lips.

“You uh-, you planning on letting me out of these any time soon? I’m losing circulation here.” Dante looks at you with pleading eyes, giving you his million dollar smile in hopes of wooing his way out. Tilting your head, you pretend to contemplate his plea. A moment of silence passes before a giggle comes out of you.

“Not a chance.” You whisper, planting a kiss on his nose before slithering back down to resume your little game.

#dante dmc reboot #dante DmC #dmc #dmc reboot #reboot dante #dante reboot #dante sparda #dmc smut #devil may cry #devil may cry smut #fanfic #smut #writing #oneshot

[imaginedanvrs]

encrypted relations

part 10 l masterlist

summary: yelena belova x reader. when natasha takes you under her wing, she becomes like family, and the last thing you want is to lose that. but when you meet her younger sister who you know is off limits, you have to decide between what you really want and hope for minimal damage

word count: 4.5k

warnings: mentions of previous abusive relationship, physical and mental trauma recovery

a/n: happy valentines ig <3 thank you all for your comments and support, here's the final chapter :)

The steady beeps and flow of your breathing through a mask seemed loud in Yelena’s ears as she sat by your side. She had hardly moved in the days you had occupied the hospital bed, even pacing outside the operating theatres for the long hours you spent in there. The blonde had been told by nurses, doctors, Natasha and Kate that it would do her a lot of good to go home and get some rest, that you would be closely monitored when she wasn’t there. Yet Yelena couldn’t bring herself to so much as leave the ward. 

  “She’s stable, but right now our main concern is what her mobility will be like when she wakes up given the damage to her legs and back. It’s hard to predict at this time,” the doctor told Natasha as the pair stood outside of your room. 

  “When will she wake up?” The redhead asked as looked through the window to where Yelena had fallen asleep on the chair. Her neck would be sore when she woke up. 

  “Whenever she’s ready.”

  “Okay, thank you,” Natasha nodded, understanding that there wasn’t much more they could do for you at that moment in time apart from administering the right medication. The rest was down to you. 

  Natasha winced as she watched her sister suddenly jolt awake from her brief sleep. She rubbed the side of her neck as she brought her chair slightly closer to your bed and examined the monitors for a few moments for anything different. The redhead had been trying to give Yelena some space in the previous days given that she wasn’t accepting anyone's company except for yours, but Natasha knew it wasn’t healthy to let her sister carry on alone. 

  She knocked on the door gently before she entered, giving Yelena a small smile she didn’t get back. Natasha pulled up the spare chair next to the blonde, sitting in silence for a few minutes as she took in your state. You were better, though the damage was still prominent. 

  “Kate wants to come and see her,” Natasha finally said. 

  “No one’s stopping her,” Yelena was quick to say. 

  “You don’t seem to like anyone else being in here,” the redhead commented. Yelena didn’t respond. It was somewhat true. “You can’t shut everyone out, Yelena.” 

  “Why did you not want us to be together?” The blonde asked as she watched the steady rise and fall of your chest. Natasha followed her eyeline, knowing Yelena was going to ask that question sooner or later. 

  “It’s not that I didn’t want it to happen, I just wanted you both to be careful,” Natasha sighed. “You’re new to relationships and y/n’s only seen the bad side to them. That doesn’t make you incompatible but I thought you both would’ve seen the sense in going slow instead of skipping straight to sex.” Yelena listened carefully to her sister, understanding her point. It made sense in hindsight, as most things did, though at the time there had been a part of both of you that knew it too. 

  “And besides, I thought you guys would tell me about something like that. I never expected you to think you had to sneak around and hide it from me. You should never have to keep something like that a secret, especially from your sister,” Natasha explained clearly as she looked at Yelena who nodded slowly. 

  “I wanted to tell you,” she whispered. 

  “I’m your sister but I’m her friend. I should’ve been looking out for both of you,” Natasha admitted. 

  “You’ll have the chance when she wakes up,” Yelena stated adamantly, not allowing anything to shake her belief that you would be okay. 

  “Yeah,” Natasha agreed. 

  “You recognised Ruslana,” Yelena started slowly. “But not from the red room and not by her name. Who was she to y/n?” She asked, the question had been weighing on her since their meeting. 

  “As much as I wish it wasn’t true, she’s who she said she was,” Natasha said honestly. “It wasn’t a healthy relationship by any means, she had y/n do the hacking for the red room - not that anyone knew that at the time,” she explained. 

  “She never told me that.”

  “She never told anyone.”

  “I am glad I killed her,” Yelena said after a steady sigh. 

  “I’m glad you did too,” Natasha admitted. “Even if it was reckless,” she added. Yelena rolled her eyes but her sister didn’t miss the smile that settled on her lips. “I’m going to get you some lunch,” Natasha told her as she stood up. “I’ll get enough for Kate too.” Yelena nodded and pulled out her phone to text the young archer. 

  “I miss you,” Yelena told your sleeping form. “I wish I knew about Rae, maybe it would have helped. But I understand why you didn’t tell me,” she said. You took several supported breaths. “I wish I was more honest as well,” she admitted. “But we’ll have time for all that when you’re awake,” she said adamantly, though the continuous beeps from the machines attached to you worked to dig doubt into Yelena’s mind.

  “Please wake up,” she whispered, her voice breaking as her eyes clouded. “I missed you so much, please don’t stay away much longer.”

*

The light was the first thing your brain registered when you woke up. It was far too bright, a painful contrast to the blanket of darkness you had rested under for the past week. You kept your eyes squeezed shut as you allowed the rest of your senses to adjust and take in your surroundings, the steady beeping next to you being too loud for one thing. The bed you were on was far more comfortable than your last one and the room was pleasantly cool, as though someone knew that was your preferred sleeping conditions. 

  The pain was the next thing you experienced and it made the discomfort of the lights jump to the back of your mind in comparison. It was everywhere and seemed to extend right into the centre of your bones without pity. Your skin felt as though it was tearing with every slight movement and the whimper you gave only scratched at your dry throat as you grasped at the bedsheets and stumbled upon a warm hand resting on your bed. You forced your eyes open just as Yelena did, meeting the grey orbs that you had hardly left your mind in your time apart. Your breath hitched as her features brightened at you. 

  “Hi,” she said as an anxious smile flickered across her lips. 

  “Hi,” you whispered, your throat protesting. Yelena grabbed the jug next to your bed and poured a glass of water, not hesitating to bring it up to your lips to aid you to take the water with steady sips until you had enough to ease the ache in your throat. “Thank you,” you said, unsure of how to even start on everything else you wanted to say. “Have you been here long?”

  “I haven’t left,” she told you. 

  “How long has it been?” You frowned. “You must be tired.” 

  “I’m sure it is nothing compared to you,” Yelena said, noticing your pain. You glanced down at your covered body, unsure if you wanted to see what lied beneath. “I will get a doctor,” she announced but the moment she stood up you reached out for her wrist and held it tightly. 

  “Wait,” you said, not wanting to wait any longer to fix the regrets you had become all too aware of during your last consciousness. “I’m sorry,” you started but Yelena cut you off as she sat back down. 

  “Don’t say that,” she insisted, though it sounded like a plea. “I know you didn’t mean what you said at the party.”

  “I just want to explain,” you winced. 

  “I read the letter,” she told you. 

  “Oh?” You remembered that letter vividly. “Right,” you nodded, recalling how it had ended. You hadn’t written that letter with the intention of recalling it to the blonde word for word, it was meant to be a guide to help you navigate your mind. You hadn’t planned for Yelena to be on that journey with you. So where did that leave you?

  “Can I take you out some time?” Yelena suddenly asked with an air of uncertainty that you weren’t ever going to be used to seeing on her. Despite the pain, you smiled. 

  “I would like that,” you told her and saw her shoulders instantly relax. She shifted her wrist so that she could hold your hand in hers, a gesture that hadn’t lost any of its perfection. “Where do people usually go on first dates?” You asked with an easy grin that Yelena mirrored.

  “I was hoping you would know,” she countered knowingly. 

  “Maybe a cat rescue centre?” You suggested. Yelena rolled her eyes and dropped your hand with a huff.

  “Screw you,” she said, though it was clear she was suppressing a smile. You chuckled at the sight and felt a bloom of pain arise in your chest. “Can I get someone now?” You nodded, letting her go under the certainty that she would return. 

  You rested your head back and tried to focus on anything but the increasing pain across your body, remembering all too vividly how you had come by your injuries. You didn’t want to think about Rae, especially now that Yelena’s role in your life was finally beginning to feel more concrete, but your past had caught up to you in a way you couldn’t have ever anticipated. 

  Rae was a widow and nothing you ever had was real. You were just a means to an end for her to use to support what Yelena and Natasha had suffered from. You frowned, refusing to let yourself fall into that spiral of guilt that never did any good for anyone. Sure, you had indirectly caused harm, but with S.H.I.E.L.D and Yelena, you had played a significant part in helping the heroes and the later acts had been your choice. That was enough. 

  “Miss, l/n,” a doctor greeted as she stepped into the room with Yelena close behind. “How are you feeling?” She asked with a genuine smile. 

  “Bruised,” you undermined slightly in the blonde’s presence, not wanting her to know how bad the pain really was. 

  “We’ll increase your dosage so that you can be more comfortable,” she told you as she read your vitals and the information written out on the board above you. “Your body’s been through a lot,” she informed as she began to explain the numerous operations you had gone through and how your body was expected to recover, given the chance and what condition it was in at that time. “Could I ask you to raise your left leg?” She asked. You felt Yelena shift next to you as you strained to lift the heavy limb and succeeded, after several moments' effort, to get it a few inches above the bed and repeated it with the other. You were unable to raise either of them as high as you could prior to your injuries, but you were well aware of how lucky you were to be able to move it at all.  

  “That’s good to see,” the doctor told you honestly, withholding from the fact there had been great apprehension as to whether or not you would be able to accomplish the movement. “Can you try and sit on the edge of the bed with your feet over?” She continued though that proved to be harder. Your back burned in protest as you twisted it and you had to use your hands to help drag your legs across the mattress until they fell over the edge and you suddenly felt very unsure of your ability to support yourself. You gripped onto the bed as tight as you could while Yelena stood by your side with her arms outstretched ready to catch you should you fall. 

  “Now when you’re ready, see if you can stand up.” You breathed out and peered over the side of the bed with some apprehension. You suddenly felt quite high up. Tentatively, you pulled yourself closer to the edge until your feet hovered just an inch from the floor. 

  “I’ve got you,” Yelena reassured. You smiled at her with little confidence and finally pushed yourself off with a soft pat on the floor. You didn’t let go of the bedrail as you steadied yourself, leaning the majority of your body weight on the bed instead of your own two feet until you let go. You stood for several seconds unsupported until the muscles in your legs gave out beneath you. True to her word, Yelena caught you just as you toppled, hooking her arms underneath yours and immediately guiding you back to the bed where you sat in defeat. The doctor mentioned something about physiotherapy, but you weren’t really listening. Your legs were numb again, but it proved difficult to be too disheartened when you felt Yelena rub soothing circles on your waist as she listened to the doctor intently. 

  “And we’ll monitor your progress to see if you need any additional support,” the doctor said, noticing that she didn’t have your full attention.

  “Like what?” Yelena enquired. 

  “Leg braces can be of great help.” You nodded absently. You didn’t want a brace. 

  “Thank you,” you muttered towards the nurse, wanting the meeting to end. She seemed to take the cue and departed with a sympathetic smile. Once she closed the door behind her, you looked at the blonde and patted the space in the small bed behind you. A smile graced Yelena’s lips as she moved to the other side of the bed and you hauled your legs up again, settling on your side as she slipped in beside you. You didn’t waste a second in stretching your bandaged arms out around her as she did the same. It was easier to ignore the pain when it meant you were able to hold the blonde again and a small price to pay to feel her steady breathing above you. 

  “I will help you walk too,” Yelena told you with a certainty you always associated her with. 

  “Tomorrow,” you replied. “Let's just stay like this for now.” Though Yelena wanted to help you get better as quickly as possible, she couldn’t decline the offer to stay with you in the way she had been craving. Instead, she rested her chin on top of your head until you both fell into a peaceful slumber like you had numerous times before.

*

“Oh my god,” Kate rushed out once she stepped into the room. 

  “Hey,” you smiled at the sight of your best friend and sat up slightly. 

  “I can’t believe you did that!” She exclaimed. “That was so dumb!” She continued, giving you the same frantic look she did after drinking a dozen red bulls in order to get through a twenty four hour stake out. “That was so so dumb and I’m so mad at you,” she told you as she enveloped you in a tight hug and clambered onto the bed beside you. You chuckled with a wince you didn’t want the archer to see as her hands caught the edge of the strike on your back. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said as she held you tight. 

  “I won’t be if you keep squeezing the air out of me,” you told her with a grin. She pulled back with a start and gave you a sheepish smile. 

  “Sorry I just…you scared me,” she admitted. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. I’m so-”

  “Don’t you dare,” you interrupted. “It was my choice to leave. It scared me when I thought they had you,” you pointed out, seeing the comfort Kate drew from your words. “Worthit though.”

  “Really?” Kate frowned as she glanced at the different bandages across you. 

  “Yeah. The way I see it, I tried to save your ass so now you owe me so much pizza,” you shrugged and Kate began to grin.

  “Except you didn’t really save either of us,” she said matter of factly. 

  “I still almost got turned into minced meat for you!” You huffed. Kate was beyond glad that you were still able to make light of something that could have destroyed other people. She knew you were still hurting, but it was good to see you hadn’t been entirely broken by what had happened. 

  “Not just me,” she smirked. “I heard Yelena’s been in here a lot.” You hummed simply, suppressing your smile. 

  “I sent her home to have a shower.” Kate chuckled at that. 

  “Are you guys good?” She asked except the way she was looking at you indicated that she already knew the answer.

  “We’re going on a date,” you informed with a grin that Kate quickly mirrored and launched forwards to give you another, lighter hug. 

  “Finally,” she beamed. 

  “Yeah, yeah,” you dismissed with an eye roll as she pulled back. 

  “I’m happy for you,” she told you with a sincerity that made her eyes glimmer. “For you both,” she added. 

  “Thanks, Kate. For everything. I don’t know where I’d be without you,” you told your best friend. 

  “Somewhere really lame I bet,” she shrugged and pulled up a chair next to your bed to give you some space. “So I know you’re happy with Yelena and all that sappy stuff,” she began. “But you do realise that as best friends we’re obligated to discuss this latest addition to the whole crazy ex thing.” You knew that there was never any genuine pressure to discuss the most recent events that had unfolded with Rae, but you were done trying to pretend like anything to do with her never happened.

  “Well for starters, she’s a widow,” you said. 

  “Dude, what the fuck?!”

*

“You’re doing well, y/n,” the therapist encouraged once she helped you up from the heap on the floor. You bite your tongue as you clung to the bar to prevent yourself from snipping that it didn’t feel that way. It didn’t feel like you were making much progress at all despite working your leg muscles as best you could in the past few days. “I think we should call it a day for this session and pick it up again tomorrow,” she suggested. You didn’t want to stop. You wanted to keep going but you knew the physiotherapist had a lot of other patients to attend to and you couldn’t take her attention away from them. 

  Yelena emerged from where she had been watching from the sidelines and brought your wheelchair with you to help you into it. You almost swatted her hand away to do it yourself, but you needed the support and you couldn’t brush her off. You went back to your ward in silence as Yelena commented on your progress, apparently sharing the belief that you were making good progress. You still couldn’t walk unsupported and you could only take several steps at a time before falling. Yelena and Kate were amazing for being so supportive, but it had always been Natasha who had taught you skills you needed the most. You hadn’t seen her since that night at the party and you were beginning to believe it would be a while until you would again. 

  “We don’t have to wait until you’re walking, we could go to a restaurant that is wheelchair accessible,” Yelena rambled as she helped you back into the bed. 

  “You’re not getting tired of waiting on me, are you Belova?” You quipped. 

  “I’ve been waiting a long time,” she muttered back with a fond smile. You hummed in agreement. “I’ve done some research to see which restaurants would be best,” she continued. Of course she has. “But I want to visit them myself to fact check,” she told you matter of factly. “Because sometimes it’s not as good as they say and-”

  “I love you,” you said suddenly. Yelena’s eyes widened as she took in your words. “Sorry, you don’t have to say it back and I know you kind of already knew it because of the letter and if history has taught us anything I probably shouldn’t be moving so fast anyway but it just felt right to tell you because-”

  “I love you too,” she cut you off confidently. “I think I have loved you for a long time,” she added. You pulled her forwards slightly and she took the cue to lean down and kiss you softly, cherishing the moment’s intimacy that you had both waited so long to display. It was new territory for you both, yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world. “And I would like to go on a date sooner rather than later,” she smiled. 

  “Just don’t stay away for too long,” you replied, still holding her hand as she pulled away. 

  “Never,” Yelena promised, leaving your room with a glowing feeling in her chest that she was allowed to embrace for the first time in her life. She owed that to you. 

  Similarly, you lay with a content grin on your lips for a while as you reflected on every moment you had with Yelena and couldn’t help but anticipate what was to come. Though if she was constantly willing to go the extra mile, you should be too. With that in mind, you dragged your feet over the side of the bed and braced against the sides as you raised yourself to your feet, unaware of the emerald eyes that watched you from the hallway. 

  You took a supported step as you clung to the bed, feeling your legs shake in protest but unwilling to back down just yet. You carried on regardless and successfully reached the end of your bed so you could set your target on the window just two steps away. Two steps was nothing, right? Wrong. The moment you advanced towards the window the numbness took over both legs in their entirety and you toppled to the floor without Yelena being there to help you up. Someone else was though.

  “I thought you were only supposed to do that with a nurse around,” Natasha stated as she appeared by your side. You looked up at her with a badly concealed surprise as she held her hand out to you. You took it, knowing you were unable to get up on your own.

  “As if you would follow that advice,” you muttered, uncomfortable at the tension that filled the room. 

  Natasha didn't reply to that. “They said you’re doing well,” she said instead as she helped you sit down. She didn’t pull up a chair, opting to hover by your side with her arms across her chest.

  “Apparently,” you shrugged, glancing down at your lap. You had never found yourself struggling to make conversation with the redhead before, even though there was something you both needed to talk about. 

  “Yelena said you guys are gonna go out some time.” You kept your eyes glued to your lap as you swallowed a lump that had suddenly formed in your throat. 

  “Yeah, is that…yeah,” you said slowly, wanting to ask for her approval but too afraid to hear her reject it. 

  “I’m glad-” she began but you cut her off before you could take in what she was trying to say.

  “I’m sorry, Nat. I know you told me not to date your sister and I never thought we would actually- I mean I didn’t expect that she would even want to- or that we would end up getting so-”

  “Y/n,” Natasha cut off as she sat down next to you. “I had no right to ever tell you Yelena was off limits and honestly, if I had known how you felt about each other before I saw what you did with each other, I never would have stood in your way,” she said firmly. “I would have had some issues with the order you two were working in,” she continued and you finally let yourself smile in relief, “but that’s only because I want the best for both of you. Now I know what that is.” Without another word, Natasha tilted her head to rest against yours and you didn’t waste another second in leaning in to wrap your arms around her, feeling the immense safety that always came from being in such proximity to either Russian. 

  “I promise not to hurt her again,” you whispered. 

  “I’ll spare you the lecture,” she chuckled. 

  “I’ve heard enough of them,” you told her as you remembered the hours Rae had spent at your side.

  “You’re safe now,” Natasha said with all the assurance you needed to hear. “I told you I’d find her.” You hummed faintly.

  “I never doubted it. Now there’s nothing holding me back.”

*

Six months later

  “Just a bit further,” Yelena encouraged as she gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. You glanced up at the last stretch of the hill, knowing it was going to be the hardest. It would be worth it though. “Do you want to stop for a bit?” Your girlfriend asked as she watched you struggle to persevere.

  “I got it,” you told her even though your legs were burning, adamant on getting to the top without any assistance. Yelena stuck close to your side as Marty peered up at you from the other, giving a bark of encouragement too. “Thanks, bud,” you told him as the last few metres drew closer and you finally hauled yourself up to the top where you collapsed in an exhausted heap. Your burning legs were numb but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you gazed out across the cliff. 

  “Are you okay?” Yelena asked, concern written over her features as she crouched down in front of you. You merely smiled up at her and placed your hand to her cheek, only needing a moment of that contact to ease her worries as she sat down next to you to admire the view and grab some water from her backpack for you all. 

  “It’s even better in the summer,” she commented as you sat up, resting your head on her shoulder. You hummed in agreement and craned your head slightly to gaze at Yelena. 

  “Beautiful,” you muttered. 

  “We should camp out here next time,” she said, too caught up in the view to notice your subtle admiration of her. 

  “I like that idea,” you told her, although what you really liked was the idea that there would be a next time and no doubt many more after. “I think they do too,” you added when you noticed Marty and Fanny looking at you both with great interest. Yelena chuckled and rested her own head on yours. 

  “You think you will be up for it?” The blonde enquired. 

  “I think so,” you said. “I hope so.”

  “You’re doing well,” she told you, knowing how frustrated you had been over your slow healing progress at the start but how, despite the odds, you had made it back onto your feet.

  “So are you,” you said. Yelena kissed your forehead softly, knowing what you meant. 

  “It’s easy loving you,” she said simply. You grinned, feeling your heart elevate in your chest as you wrapped your arms around your girlfriend and sat content under the knowledge that you never had to doubt it. “It always will be.”

The end.

#marvel #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #white widow #natasha romanoff #kate bishop #gxg marvel

[jamiesfootball]

After careful consideration and a lot of angry tags, I think I have pinpointed for me where Ted Lasso, especially season three, fails to succeed all the way at the themes it explores.

The narrative uses the deconstruction of toxic masculinity to paint their characters as being stronger for having let go of their preconceived notions of acceptable behavior - but the narrative also never lets their characters be weak or fragile without having toxic masculinity to blame. And there are a lot of situations in this show where you would expect someone to go ‘hey man, are you okay? Are you doing alright? because that was a shit thing that happened. it’s okay if you’re not okay.’

And it never does.

There’s an undercurrent in how scenes play out that suggests that the male characters should be strong enough to deal with hand they’ve been dealt. The narrative suggests that they’re the ones who need corrected. They can act better, but they can not be treated better themselves as a result. The male characters are allowed to express themselves, but they are not allowed to ask for anything back from the situation.

Which is why you can have a fight with your assistant coach, but when he comes back to apologize you don’t articulate how it made you feel. You don’t tell your friend how he hurt your feelings. You just accept it and move on.

The Diamond Dogs give advice on how to handle external problems with  emotional roots. They never discuss how they feel internally on its own merit.

The closest we got to a male character just having a bad one and expressing it without a clear source of external conflict? Jamie in the boot room. And that was played for laughs.

Which is why you could be in a deep depression over losing your career of twenty years and part of your mobility, I guess. But also maybe that’s a problem of you not being able to let go, and maybe you should apologize for not moving on sooner? We should pity Roy for getting so stuck in his own shit all the time. Not because the man has lived an incredibly stressful and emotionally isolated life in a high pressure environment for so long he doesn’t have the tools to deal with it, but because the narrative would like us to know if he just stopped getting in his own way all the time, this wouldn’t be a problem.

Is your ex-wife seeing someone else, who happens to also be the person who was your marriage counselor? I don’t know man, relationships are hard. Don’t worry about how hard that must have shaken your trust in a profession that already made you feel skittish. Maybe you should stop obsessing over her and move on.

Your girlfriend can tell all your friends and coworkers how you’re too smothering. Yes, this is the ‘learn how to communicate better’ show, but that was on you, really. Good on you for apologizing for smothering her.

The women may have worrying relationships with people who love bomb them or turn out to be controlling, but Jane and Beard are just a bit weird. Don’t worry about it, Higgins.

You can take accountability for your actions, but if it was your email who was hacked - who cares? You apologized, and everyone is very proud of you. We won’t ever bring up how incredibly mortifying that must have been for you to realize, because something more mortifying happened to someone else.

You can show your emotions, but not the angry ones, not the bad ones - those you should get a hold on, no matter how warranted they are. The stronger you are, the more divorced from toxic masculinity you are, the less those things should matter.

Struggling with your abusive dad and how his relationship with you has literally scared you so badly that you keep looking over your shoulder, afraid he’ll be there? That is clearly the anger talking. This is definitely not a situation that calls for your pseudo-father figure to put his hand on your shoulder, look you in the eye, and say, “i’m really sorry to hear that, son, but you know we got your back. Ain’t nothing bad gonna happen to you while we’re here.” 

No no, this is a you problem and you can correct it by forgiving that man who hurt you. In fact, you thank him for motivating you. It was the anger that got you this far. It wasn’t getting up at 4am every morning for extra training. It wasn’t your mentor, the one invested all his time in helping you. It wasn’t the coach who gave you a second chance when you blew your whole life up to get away from that man. It wasn’t your own drive and passion and love for the sport that pushed you towards succeeding in a career you only had a one-in-a-million chance of ever getting. No, it was the anger that carried you. You should let that go. And hey - what if hypothetically speaking, he might try to be better too one day? You can’t hold it against him. You should let that go too.

Breakdowns and displays of crying are fine, but expecting people to care or show concern afterwards? The narrative doesn’t know her. The narrative will not validate that. We don’t see what happened after Wembley. We don’t see what happened when Isaac came back to the locker room after blowing up. What the show will validate, however, is moving on. Just be a goldfish, or forgive and forget. 

And finally-

Embrace your feelings, but not too hard - you can’t be trusted with them, actually.

Can you imagine that we actually got a scene of Roy telling Jamie that he was worried if either of them pursued Keeley it might ruin their friendship? Can you imagine? From the beginning they have butted heads. From the beginning, Roy has struggled to actually articulate his feelings, especially to the people they involve. And here is Roy doing exactly what the narrative has been teaching him to do - he voiced a feeling that was bothering him to the person who was involved in the problem. Unprompted. He did that on his own. After three seasons of being told that is what he should do when he has a problem, that should have been the moment of narrative reward. That would have been the audience’s release of tension: they’re still at odds, they’re still the same bull-headed people they’ve always been, but they’ve learned to talk about it. No matter what happens next, at least, they’ve gotten this far.

Instead the narrative rewarded him, and us, by having them fight it out in a back alley. Because they’re idiots, and they can’t be trusted to handle their feelings without someone else in the narrative (Keeley) setting them straight.

Yes, people backslide in real life all the time. But when the narrative backslides at the very end of the story - that’s just nihilism. That’s what this felt like - all that progress and promise that you can be better, and two of the people who struggled the most tripped at the finish line. The audience don’t even get to see them pick back up. I mean they’re fine now, I guess. They went for kebabs. I have to assume it worked out. I guess after that they found a way to be happy, but I would have preferred to see them find a way to be happy by way of their own actions. Not in a fanfic. Not by way of imagining how it went afterwards. Not by what’s implied in a montage. By the story actually showing me they could get there on their own.

And the worst part about all of this is that when the show gets it right? It fucking sings. The team coming together to repair Ola’s? That sings. Ted’s ‘ain’t nobody in this room alone’ speech? Wonderful. Trent telling Colin that ‘some people need time to adjust; it’s not fair, but they do’? So delicately wielded, so painful. Beard’s speech to Nate about stealing a loaf of meth? Chef’s kiss. Ted forgiving Rebecca when he learns why she brought him to coach Richmond? The tears in his eyes when he tells her ‘divorce is hard’?

The hug at Wembley.

That’s what I wanted, from start to finale. When the show knew how to wield its empathy, it wielded it like a knife, cutting into the deepest parts of your heart.

Which is why when it does mess up, it hurts so much worse. Because by season three, the show has sunk so far into the deconstruction of things that it’s forgotten that what it fixed were not the only problems those characters ever faced. The show zoomed in too close on the themes. It forgot that at its roots, the its biggest strength has been its empathy. And that to me is where the show failed.

#i am upsetti spaghetti #and this has been rolling around in my noggin since the finale so- here #ted lasso meta #people don't care when bad shows mess up #they care because the show was good #oh and because i can't say this enough #fuck jamie's dad #i'm all for forgiveness and fuck jamie's dad are two sentiments that can should and do coexist

[possibilistfanfiction]

Prompt for your little Hallmark AU: Christmas market (You know, those markets where there are booths who sell Glühwein and Punsch, Im not sure how to correctly translate it in English in Austria we call it Christkindlmarkt)

it’s grey outside, the clouds heavy but not quite snowing yet; it’s warmer than it’s been on clearer days, still cold but almost pleasant, and quiet.

you make sure to give yourself extra time to do your stretches in the morning after you go to camila’s to get breakfast. the atmospheric pressure of the incoming storm is, unsurprisingly, causing your back to ache, but that’s not new and it doesn’t really faze you at this point. if things get bad enough — and they do, sometimes — you just reschedule your plans and take pain meds and muscle relaxers from dr salvius after you do your physical therapy exercises. but your hands don’t ache and you don’t have any numbness in your feet, your temperature is normal, and so you go through your routine and feel better by the end of it.

beatrice picks you up at eleven on the dot, as she confirmed twice over text the evening before with perfect punctuation that made you feel a little bit like you were in trouble but was charming anyway. 

‘hey stranger,’ you say when she knocks on your door, and she blushes and smiles and you’re delighted by the effect you have on her, almost immediately — this exceedingly smart and competent person stumbling over herself the second you smile. it makes you feel powerful and it also makes you want to treat her kindly, to make her laugh.

‘good morning, ava.’ she fidgets, for a moment, and you’re curious why you’re not just going to her truck, but then she takes a hand out of the pocket of her peacoat and opens her palm. ‘i, uh, i noticed your cane was getting stuck in the snow.’

‘oh.’ your first instinct is to be embarrassed, eleven years of abuse rearing its ugly, awful head, but then you look at what she’s actually holding.

‘i already had it,’ she explains, slightly rushed like she’s trying to make sure you’re not upset, like it was just a thoughtful aside of hers. ‘i tore my acl a few years ago and used both on my crutches, and so, i just figured, well… if it doesn’t work, that’s fine, but maybe worth a try?’

you take the winter cane tip attachment from her outstretched hand and it really does feel like some kind of offering for a moment. it’s nice, the crampon itself retractable, and easy enough to put on your cane. when you try it outside the door on the way to her truck, you can’t help but smile, remember a little bit of the joy that first came with movement as you started receiving proper care and accessibility and mobility aids. you don’t take healing for granted, even now. ’thank you,’ you tell her as she unlocks her truck and goes around to the driver’s side. 

she nods. ‘like i said, i already had it sitting around. not a problem at all.’

‘still,’ you say, climbing up and twisting around to greet a suddenly very excited theo in her kennel strapped into the backseat. ‘not many people have been particularly thoughtful in my life, especially not at this.’

she frowns at your admission, her jaw clenching, her face stormy. she’s handsome in her rich maroon scarf and camel wool coat, careful hands on the wheel.

‘anyway,’ you say, a little overcome, ‘how’d you tear your acl?’

she immediately reddens, pulling out of the driveway and trying to act like she’s concentrating very hard on her turn signal to merge onto the completely empty road. 

‘bea, please.’

she sighs, refusing to look at you even at the red light. ‘i was training with theo,’ she says.

‘that’s not horribly embarrassing on its own.’ you grin. ‘there’s got to be more to it.’

‘fine,’ she says, mostly just to humor you, you’re pretty sure. ‘she was small, and we were both learning how to herd. i, well — i tripped over one of the sheep.’

you wait a beat to picture it and then laugh, not unkindly but without any remorse. ‘thank you truly so much for telling me.’

she rolls her eyes. ‘you’re so welcome,’ she says flatly, and you laugh again.

/

you’re confused if your little outing to the christmas market is a date or not for the two minutes it takes for beatrice to park the car, get the small pack holding treats that she carries around for theo buckled around her waist — a little nerdy and totally adorable — and then letting theo out of the kennel. she’s in a little green coat, the same as the other day, and it kind of makes you feel like you’re going to scream, she’s so cute. she greets you fully now, with happy little wiggles, and then situates herself at beatrice’s side. she has a leash connected to her harness, the other half slung over beatrice’s shoulder and across her chest so her hands are free; you think theo doesn’t need it at all, but beatrice explains, ‘in crowded public access areas, it’s appropriate.’ theo, for her part, is busy sniffing a few treats beatrice scattered around her feet in the snow, and then she smiles at you and gestures to head inside.

you’re confused no longer when you see camila’s booth, advertising hot chocolate, apple cider, and egg nog, and she whistles. ‘beatrice, you look so nice with your fancy jacket.’

beatrice glares. 

camila turns to face you fully, a smirk on her face. ‘she never wears that unless it’s a special occasion.’

you can’t help yourself: ‘well, i am a special occasion, if i do say so myself.’

’no one else is saying it,’ lilith grumbles from her seat behind camila, and beatrice fights a laugh while you pout.

‘you look nice too, ava,’ camila says, keeping the peace as you’ve quickly figured out she always does. 

you preen a little, just for the fun of it. ‘why thank you. i love your sweater.’

camila looks down at her jesus was palestinian sweater. ‘’tis the season and all that.’ she beams at you, then beatrice. ‘well, what can i get you both on this romantic outing?’

beatrice sighs in defeat but you grin and look at the menu. ‘well, i’m on vacation and bea picked me up—‘ camila perks up even more at this— ‘so i’m going to do your bailey’s hot chocolate.’

‘i’ll have a cider,’ bea says, and you shoo away her attempt to pay for things, which brings a blush back to her cheeks when you tap your card with a pointed flourish. 

you go through the market with your warm drinks, your cane not sinking into the snow as it had been the past few days, making everything easier, simpler, less nervous with every step. once you have half of your hot chocolate, you lean into beatrice with a smile, and she offers her arm, all clove and pine and her soft scarf. there are booths with ornaments, knitted coasters; you convince her to buy a pretty wreath for the front door of her cabin, which you kind of hope she’ll invite you to see.

it starts to snow when you’re about to leave, the sky darkening early, and she feed theo a few treats before she situates her in the kennel. 

it’s quiet when she starts the truck, and she seems nervous, her hands white knuckled around the steering wheel. ‘i apologize if i was presumptuous.’

you soften. ‘that was a really wonderful date, bea. you can be as presumptuous as you want.’

her smile is shy, bathed in the waning light. ‘well, in that case, would you like to come to my house for dinner?’

‘yes, obviously.’

 she laughs. ‘alright then.’

#hallmark au #avatrice #wn fic #avatrice fic #prompts #first date!!! #butch bea 🥺🫡

[jade-parcels]

Fatherly Instincts 2

Back by popular demand, one year later, we’ll once again look into how genshin men would be as dads! Since classes and projects are taking up a majority of my time, I haven’t been very active…but this was so fun to write in the time I have during break! Thank you for your patience! 🐦

Fatherly Instincts <3 With: Albedo, Tighnari, Neuvillette, and Itto <3

-..-..-..-..-..-..-..

Albedo isn’t the best at showing emotion in his facial expressions. He keeps a blank face most of the time but for his child, he’ll smile more frequently- though this ‘smile’ is just the slightest upturn of his lips. Your kiddo quickly took a liking to your special kamera from Fontaine and has loved posing for pictures! Bedo has become a victim to the camera phase himself because his sweet little baby has learned ‘cheese’. He hears “Pa! Cheese!” about ten times a day and every time, he’ll smile for his kid. Does he like smiling with his teeth? Not really. Does he think he looks silly in the photos? For sure. However, he knows that imaginative play and loving, parental interaction is integral for his child’s development. So if that means he has to smile, he will smile. And when he finds his kiddo’s stash of photos of you and him… he can’t help but get sentimental. He sees himself from his kid’s perspective :’)

-..-..-..-..-..-..-..

“See? I told you not to run ahead. This is what happens when you don’t look where you’re going” Tighnari shakes his head, kneeling down in the dirt with his bawling toddler. His ears twitch with the loud screeches but he isn’t bothered. Before he gets to work dressing the wound (it’s hardly a scratch at all) he holds his kiddo close until they stop crying. Tighnari’s dad senses kicked in when he started caring for Collei and he uses that prior experience now. He’s a natural at healing wounds and caring for those in need. Before his kiddo was able to SPRINT ahead of him in the woods, he was able to prevent accidents by baby proofing your shared home. All corners are covered with foam, all dangerous objects locked away, all hunting gear kept on high shelves. His quick, fox reflexes helped him catch his baby when they first where learning to walk! But now that they’re extremely mobile, he has to kiss a lot of scraped knees and make a lot of ‘healing pudding’ aka, a simple sweet treat to help them forget about their boo-boo :) oldest trick in the book.

-..-..-..-..-..-..-..

Though he has dozens of daughters already, he still finds parenthood difficult at times. Neuvillette felt out of his depth when he held your baby for the first time. Melusines are not born this small, this fragile… This…. Fussy. The two of you quickly found out that this baby simply does not want to sleep at night. Neuvillette, the gentleman that he is, insists that you stay in bed while he tends to the baby during these late nights. One night, He felt a sense of sadness, it flowed slowly into his chest like a rising tide. Perhaps he felt bad for you, felt inadequate as a father, he couldn’t really place the emotion. In his own restlessness, it began to rain. While any other time he would worry about creating a storm, it seems that this one was a blessing in disguise. After hours of fussing and crying, the baby stopped. The low rumble of thunder, soft patter of rain on the windows… it soothes his child. Since that day, he will bring forth light rain during the night to ensure a peaceful rest for his family. And when the newspapers start to report on this strange weather phenomenon? He pretends he doesn’t know a thing about it. One day they will grow out of needing the rain but for now, he enjoys being able to provide for the child he loves so dearly.

-..-..-..-..-..-..-..

Itto is known for his loud laughter and goofy personality. He can be forgetful at times or too-over the-top but he knows when to be calm. His poor children, half oni as they are, start to grow their horns at a young age. Their horns start out as bumps on their foreheads and as they get older, the horns break through the skin much like teeth do when they grow in for the first time. You don’t have any experience in this field, all you can do is ice their heads and offer warm hugs. During days where their horns hurt, Itto steps in to cheer them up. With ice packs in hand, he wraps their heads with colorful ribbons and bandages, making a crown of sorts. He compliments their new headgear, telling them how royal they look! Soon enough, the horn pain is forgotten and the kiddos toddle off to play once again as their headaches dissipate. You don’t miss the look of fondness in your oni husband’s eyes. He hesitates before wrapping the remaining ribbon around your head “Well… Gotta deck you out in some sick headgear too right babe?” what a dork oh jeeeez.

-..-..-..-..-..-..-..

🐦You can find part one here <3

-..-..-..-..-..-..-..

#genshin impact #genshin impact writing #genshin impact neuvillette #genshin impact tighnari #genshin impact albedo #genshin impact itto #genshin impact headcanons

[piercedddriver]

Ok With It

This is a little angsty fic with the Obey Me brothers inspired by the song OK With It by Lyn Lapid

T/W: mentions of suicidal implications, Leviathan being autistic and stimming, self-starving, guilt, sexual implications in Lucifer and Asmo’s parts. Gender neutral reader (No pronouns used), PTSD, trauma response, angst

We live in other dimensions

We both saw it coming

——

Beel rolled over for the umpteenth time that night as he thought about you. Where were you? Where did you go? Did you miss him? Did you miss any of them? He sighed and rolled over again, his eyes meeting Belphegor’s.

“You okay Beel?”

Beel shook his head and hugged the plushie you had given him after a Fangol game. Belphie gave him a sad look before trudging over to his own bed.

Beel knew one day you would disappear from his life, but not now.

Not like this.

We used to sleep on our mobiles

Now we’re barely calling

——

Checking his DDD for the hundredth time he sighed, seeing no signs of hearing from you. Leaving the dining table, the brothers looked at Beel with concern. He hadn’t been eating lately and had lost a lot of weight.

Asmodeus followed him to the gym where Beel put in his headphones and listened to voicemails you had left over time. Running on the treadmill with tears streaming down his cheeks. He never had the heart to delete your messages and now he was glad didn’t. Beel watched Asmo leave from the corner of his eye, but couldn’t bring himself to care. Why should he anyways? Every time he cares about someone they leave.

First Lillith now you…

Beel shook the thoughts away and replaced them with memories of watching you fall asleep over FaceTime, ignoring the pain in his chest.

I haven’t been worried about where you’ve been

Who you’ve been talking with

——

Levi was even more shut-in than before, completely blocking out the world along with his brothers.

At first he stressed everyday over where you could’ve gone. He worried and cried until he physically became sick. It wasn’t until he woke up from a feverish haze he realized you were likely never coming back. After that, he worried less, and grieved more.

His Henry, the only one who really understood him, gone, without a single trace.

Levi stopped caring who he associated with and began to shut down. He locked himself in his room and hasn’t left since.

Lucifer, ever so diligent about the wellbeing of his brothers, would leave meals outside Levi’s door. His heart warming when he saw a clean plate the next day, but shattering when he saw the days it wasn’t moved or paid any mind to.

We’re growing dissonant

Finish line’s imminent and

Inevitably, you’ll surely forget me

——

Levi’s DDD had over a hundred missed messages from his brothers. Hell, even Diavolo tried reaching out to him, but nothing worked. Levi was spiraling. The one he could rant to, stim to, and generally just talk to was now gone. He was growing tired of the grief, tired of the pain, tired of the uncertainty.

Levi stared at the “you died” screen on his computer not even registering he died until his teammates were yelling at him through his headset. He turned off the chat and stared at the screen. Suddenly, death didn’t seem so bad anymore.. after all, surely you’d have forgotten a worthless otaku like him by now, right..?

It’s the end and I’m okay with it

Seasons shift

They’re always changing and

——

Lucifer stared at the paperwork on his desk not registering Diavolo’s voice.

“Don’t you think so Lucifer?”

What? Did he miss something?

“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”

Lucifer shook his head and laughed, almost humored at the situation. He finally grew to know you, to respect you, to love you. But you were gone now. When was the last time he allowed himself to be vulnerable like that? Was it.. Lillith? Maybe.. Simeon? No.. it was him it was always him. He thought looking up at the redhead at the other side of his office. Maybe.. it was time for Lucifer to let go of you. Perhaps, the feeling he felt were never meant to be after all..

We’ll be sad

Through the summer

Start again with different lovers

——

The first summer without you was hard on Lucifer. No midnight rooftop visits, no early morning coffee runs before walking through the parks. He found himself grieving more than he ever had before. Even falling from grace hadn’t affected him this badly. How many nights had he cried himself to sleep away from the prying eyes of his brothers? How many nights had he vomited at the thought of you happy with someone else? How many nights did he go to that one person for comfort.

Lucifer looked over on his bed, your side now occupied with the Devildom’s young prince.

How many nights had he tried to take the pain away through someone else? No. That was enough. It was time to move on from you for good.

Lucifer stood from his position on his side of the bed and walked over to the sleeping prince, shaking him awake gently.

“Diavolo, you need to leave before my brothers wake. They can’t know about us just yet..”

Know the thought can be menacing

Waking up when you’re not next to me

——

Mammon groaned as he stretched on his too-large bed. He had upsized it to accommodate the both of you, but now that you were gone it felt painfully empty. He rubbed his eyes trying to ignore the deep bags under them. When had he last slept well? Days? Weeks? Hell if he knew..

Nightmares plagued Mammon every night since you disappeared.

He was your first man, he was supposed to protect you, and yet, he couldn’t even save you from this unknown fate you had suffered.

Mammon looked over to the empty side of the bed and felt chills run down his spine at the thought of you being in bed with someone else. He shook it off and got up to start his day.

It’s for the best

We’ve been cavin’

It’s the end and I’m okay with it

And I’m okay with it

——

Mammon paused when he saw one of your doodles in his Devildom History notebook. He quickly tore the page out and crumpled it throwing it away. He couldn’t think of you now, not after how far he’d come with accepting your disappearance. You being gone was for the best. At least, he tried to tell himself that. He tried to ignore his already terrible grades worsening, he tried to ignore the feeling in his stomach whenever your name was mentioned, he tried. Really, he did. So why was it so hard?

It’s not like it matters anymore. Nobody knew where you were, and nobody cared when they saw Mammon digging through the trash looking for a certain discarded doodle.

We could be living like one day

We’ll be reunited

And promise that we’ll stay in touch

But we know we’d be lyin’

——

Satan’s wrath was unchecked, nobody dared to even come within 100 feet of him. So what if he went through millennium of anger management? It’s not like it mattered anymore. He checked his DDD everyday hoping for a sign of reconnection, only to have his efforts met with nothing. He called, texted, emailed, but to no avail. You were gone.

He was angry.

No, he was hurt.

Your promised him. You promised him you’d always be in tough no matter what happened. But you broke your promise.. and all he had left was a mere picture on his dresser.

Why be at odds with our sanity

By arguing with reality?

——

Satan was losing himself. Every day he regressed further away from who he had been and progressed towards who he was when he first was created. He was slowly going crazy.. just where where you? You were gone. He knew that, he really did. Yet, somehow he couldn’t help but sit in your room every night, holding the book you two were reading and waiting for you to come home and continue the story with him.

It’s the end and I’m okay with it

Seasons shift

They’re always changing and

——

Asmo didn’t sulk.

Asmo didn’t cry.

Asmo didn’t show any signs of grief. Anyone who didn’t know him would say you meant nothing to him.. only those close to him saw the impact you left. “Those” mainly being Solomon. Solomon saw it, he felt it, he’ll, he even heard it. But through everything, he said nothing. He couldn’t. He couldn’t risk changing the future, not even for Asmodeus.

We’ll be sad

Through the summer

Start again with different lovers

——

It was hard to notice Asmo’s slight changes. In fact, Lucifer was the only to notice for a long time. Lucifer was the only to notice the small eye bags, the lessened amount of makeup, the chipped nail polish. It was Lucifer who heard Asmo crying himself to sleep at night, and Lucifer who comforted his younger brother when things got too painful to handle alone. Thus, Asmodeus followed his brother’s example. He let his sin get ahold of him and began spending nights with strangers to chase away the ache in his heart.

Know the thought can be menacing

Waking up when you’re not next to me

——

Belphie yawned and sat up after a long nap. His stomach cramped and he winced. When had he last eaten? It didn’t matter..

He looked over at him twin who was sleeping with tears staining his cheeks and ginger hair matted to his head. Belphie smiled, knowing this is the first night of sleep Beel had gotten in weeks, but internally sobbed at the loss of you not being there to fall asleep with them. He hated humans. Hated them.

He told himself that for millennia, but then you came along.. And, oh.. Oh how he loved you. At first he told himself that if he trusted humans he would be betraying Lillith, and Lillith was very dear to him. But dearer than you..?

No.. not even close.

It’s for the best

We’ve been cavin’

It’s the end and I’m okay with it

And I’m okay with it

——

Months went by and Belphie convinced himself he was fine.

Sleepless nights weren’t caused by you.. of course not. His pillow wasn’t cold enough, that’s all. The nightmares..? Trauma response from Lucifer. It was all Lucifer’s fault. Lucifer should’ve protected you. Lucifer failed you, not him.

Not him.

Then again… he killed you before. Right? What if he did it again? What if… this was for the best? He couldn’t hurt you anymore. No one could.

Belphie told himself this every night, and yet, he still wished you were there with him.

@l3viat8an @obeymeluv @obeymeimaginesandasks @asmosmainhoe

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me boys #nightbringer #obey me nightbringer #diavolo obey me #nightbringer diavolo #obey me diavolo #lucifer obey me #lucifer avatar of pride #obey me lucifer #lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #om lucifer #lucifer #asmodeus x male reader #obey me asmodeus #om! asmodeus #asmodeus x reader #asmo obey me #leviathan x male reader #levi x reader #leviathan #leviathan obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #angst #om! angst #obey me angst #obey me mc

[okaystoptellingmetomakeanaccount]

Guys. Scrooge McDuck already traveled the multiverse in 1995

Hey look, it’s the doors from doctor strange

-my dad

This year will mark a historical moment in Disney comics history. The first Marvel-made Scrooge McDuck comic. Uncle Scrooge and the Infinity Dime coming up in June will have Scrooge travel through the multiverse to defeat an evil AU version of himself.

To some unfamiliar with Disney comics, this might sound like a lame idea in the trend of many multiverse stories that we are seeing in the cinemas today.

To some familiar with Disney comics, this sounded exactly like the plot of Zio Paperone e il predone dimensionale.

Truth is, the multiverse has always been a part of… just comic books. It’s now starting to slip into other mediums because of the many, many comic book adaptations just getting to that point of the lore, but the comic books themselves have had it for a long time now. Including Disney comics.

Though for Disney it’s less a case of: we wanted to explain continuity errors and then went a bit too far, and more a case of: if you have comics coming out literally every single day of the week then at some point you just get to the multiverse.

There are many of these to be found in Disney comics, which we might talk about later if someone is interested or I feel like it, but today we are going to go over the one most similar in premise to the upcoming Marvel release.

Because I just think it’s really funny how similar they are. Like at this point I would call it a reboot.

Oh oh, Scrooge and multiverse, look at this. I’m pretty sure the Loki tv series just copied their time doors from this comic.

Federico Povoleri wrote a pretty simple story. Someone is stealing from Scrooge again, and this time, the culprit turns out to be… himself!

‘Our’ Scrooge is signified by the red coat (and later the multiverse hopping suit). All the alternates will be clad in blue. DT87 Scrooge is just another AU that no one cares about confirmed

This stealing Scrooge is our ‘Scrooge above all’. He wants to be richer than all his other variants and steals from them for that or something. I don’t remember very well but why he does it doesn’t matter. It’s evil Scrooge and he steals that’s all we need to know.

As we have seen already, he escapes with an universe hopping door. As he always does within these kinds of situations, Scrooge calls Gyro who finds some kind of dimensional energy lingering around where the door used to be. He does the usual explain the multiverse bit.

Then Gyro does in a few hours/days/wedontactuallyknow what Red Raider has been trying for years. There’s a reason they kicked him out of PKNA he would be too overpowered.

Yeah altronave my nose.

Scrooge arrives in the bin of another him, and explains as well as he can. This repeats a few times and I would love to show it but there is a 10 image limit on tumblr mobile for some reason.

Finally he arrives at the bin of the Scrooge who steals and they have a little typical multiverse discussion (I am the real one. No bitch I am. But which one are you. A real me would never do this. That kind of stuff)

But he gets defeated by bad Scrooge. Oh no the only one who could defeat Scrooge has defeated him. What will happen now?

Exactly what you think happens. prime!Scrooge never closed the AU doors and so everyone he visited could just hop through and arrive at Scrooge above all’s office. Yay.

It is not a bad comic. It has the single idea, it sticks to it, it executes it well. The interactions with AU Scrooge’s are just plain fun. At the time of writing the story has place 6020 on inducks which is pretty dang high for such a silly comic.

It’s very much a multiverse story in a classic Disney comics way. It’s not used to bring multiple continuities together. No storia e gloria Scrooge VS life and times Scrooge. Nothing dramatic happening or high stakes. Just Scrooge going on another adventure, and for being one of the first multiverse comics involving Scrooge that didn’t pull random bullshit, it’s considered good by most of the fandom it seems. That the Comicup artists was pretty decent helped as well.

But now, what can we expect from what is totally gonna be a remake of this?

Infinity Dime is Marvel. It’s gonna take a Marvel approach. Assuming it’s not gonna be parody (which i kind of really hope it isn’t), then what will it be? Are we gonna see something similar to this, where Scrooge will just meet different versions of himself or will we see established AU’s? Both Ducktales and all his other animated counterparts (i heard the americans like christmas carol scrooge) seem like easy picks. Will they fight? Will it be Secret Wars? Or will they work together like in this comic?

Marvel has still given out zero information about the story (hell, they haven’t even made clear which artists aside from a few are drawing. “celebrated Scrooge artists” does NOT narrow it down) except for that super vague premise. So the best we can do is imagine this story but with the Marvel flavor. Not that I have read enough Marvel comics to properly understand what that means but ive seen some movies okay.

We can probably imagine there will be more ‘evil’ Scrooges. Some Scroogehenchmen. And they will fight. We gotta have action scenes. Which I trust will look good because Mangiatordi I believe his connection to the project alone will secure that the art department will be amazing. His existence is enough.

I’m also expecting DT17 Scrooge to at least cameo. He’s the perfect character for this type of story, fits way better than any other non comic variant. DT87 Scrooge could work as maybe a younger version? Who is not sure what he got caught up in. But then we would need emotional scenes between Scrooge and Scrooge and that’s probably asking too much from Jason Aaron.

Oh hmm actually. I can see when good Scrooge fights bad Scrooge in the climax he will do a big speech that will last a good 4 pages and will teach bad Scrooge what it takes to be a real Scrooge. That sounds stupid enough to be a Marvel thing but not so stupid as to become completely ridiculous.

I’m not expecting actual references to other established comic Scrooge AU’s. We will probably have Barks and Rosa references and that’s it. I’m not even expecting a Van Horn reference tbh. It’s all Barks and Rosa we gotta keep it beginner friendly. It might even just be Rosa. Which indirectly will result in a Barks reference because every Rosa reference is just a Barks reference but with extra steps.

I’m trying to make predictions okay? So I can go I SAID SO when it comes out. It’ll be really funny for me and annoying for you guys. You don’t even have to read this (yet). This is just for in the future so I can look like a wizard.

The scene where Gyro explains the multiverse might just get copied one on one. Maybe Gyro will be replaced by Ludwig? At least I don’t think they will have Scrooge just go: oh yeah ive seen this before. Maybe another Scrooge will explain it to him/secretly the reader. It WILL involve a big cosmic looking image that will represent the multiverse. It just has to. Even if just to show the Marvel audience how good these Italian Scrooge artists are.

I don’t think Donald or the nephews are gonna play a big role. Maybe at the beginning and end, maybe they will somehow stay in contact with Scrooge or he thinks about them a few times to remind us of hey this is Donald Duck. But I think most is gonna be a solo Scrooge adventure just like we have already seen.

Idk. I really want to talk more about Infinity Dime because it’s the most exciting US made Disney comic in ages. Idk why no one else seems to be hyped. Where is all the rambling and speculation guys?? Not about the covers, but about the actual story!

Anyways now we get to the most important question: do i think it will feature Magica?

Maybe. (Definitely not gonna play a big role if she even appears. Maybe a cameo when at some point there will be a dramatic flashback… Or she could show up in one of the AU’s. Maybe just a short scene in the beginning showing his usual life but that sounds lame. Probably not gonna have a role in the story at least, and I kinda hope it won’t have any Magica at all because I’m scared that they will go of off Rosa’s characterization lol.)

Ok Remember to infinity your dimes and uncle your scrooges gby

#uncle scrooge and the infinity dime #disney comics #infinity dime #scrooge mcduck #uncle scrooge #multiverse #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #ducktales 1987

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Cat’s 3K Series

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

Part Three

By the end of the week, the hero was an expert in stitching. It was a lot of work.

On the outside, the villain didn’t look that bad but once the hero removed their clothing, the amount of cuts and bruises was scary. Their whole body was full of them and the hero had to use a lot of thread. There were also smaller wounds which the hero covered up with band aids.

Unfortunately, they only had coloured ones with comic animals (their niece had wanted those a while ago) which at first, had made the villain protest again. However, the hero had somehow managed to convince them that the colour of those band aids had absolutely nothing to do with their functionality.

One time, the hero caught them trying to escape again, limping, they’d aimed for the door but the hero had pulled them back, pressing their bodies against each other, hands on the villain’s chest. Handcuffs were useless, the hero had decided. Maybe that was a good excuse but the hero also had seen the marks those handcuffs had left on them.

Slowly, the week passed and slowly, all of the villain’s wounds were stitched and cared for, even those which reopened frequently thanks to their great struggling. The hero placed the last band aid on the villain’s jaw.

“You know,” the hero mumbled. “You’re a fucking pain in my ass.”

The villain’s eyes jumped to the hero’s.

“No dirty joke?” the villain asked.

Yeah, no dirty joke. With the villain around them 24 hours a day, it was more than a little complicated to play a role. Either that and crying themselves to sleep every night or walking around like an exhausted ghost all day. They’d decided on doing the latter.

The agency had urged them to file a report but the hero had called in sick. They knew they couldn’t do this for eternity.

The hero didn’t answer them.

“Your stitches are awful,” the villain said. “They look horrible.”

“You’re mean.” The hero looked at one of the stitches, slightly uneasy now.

“I didn’t ask you to treat my wounds.”

The hero didn’t say anything.

“Still don’t get it why you do all this shit. The agency is bad, I get that. But they’re heroes. Can’t be that bad.”

The hero stared at them, something close to a murder stare.

“You know nothing,” they said. They pushed the flashbacks into the corners of their brain. Deep down so they wouldn’t have to dig them up again. “There are some leftovers in the fridge, take them if you want to.”

The hero stood up and looked down at their shaking fingers. They breathed in, breathed out. But it didn’t go away.

Usually it did but with the agency right behind them, asking for mission reports and more work, psychic evaluations and health check ups and another mission, they couldn’t even fall asleep anymore. Maybe it had been a mistake to bring the villain here. Maybe they were better off alone.

“I don’t wanna eat your trash food.”

“You know what?” The hero turned around with a burning face. “You’re a massive fucking asshole. I saved your life, more than once by now and you do nothing but insult me.”

Anger and exhaustion mixed together, creating a poisonous soup the hero was more than ready to throw in the others face.

“I know my cooking isn’t the fucking best, alright? I know it sucks but I’m trying really hard to keep us both alive.” The hero’s hands formed into fists and they dug their fingernails into the palms of their hands. “Fine. Just leave if you want to. Leave.”

The villain had the audacity to actually look surprised. A little shocked too. What a joke.

“I won’t drag you back into this apartment. Leave. Escape. Whatever. I don’t care. I have better things to do.”

Blinded by overwhelming emotions, they grabbed their suit and walked out of the door. They accepted the mission the agency had given to them on their mobile phone.

Turned out, irrational decisions were the worst. The hero had suspected that with bringing the villain into their home but now, they were certainly sure this was their end.

Apparently their opponent’s evaluation was ridiculously wrong. The information the agency had sent to the hero had described them as “insufficient” and “negligibly violent.” They were anything but.

Within five minutes of the fight, the hero already had a broken rib and a sprained ankle. Ten minutes in and the hero had turned into prey that got hunted. The hero tried desperately to hide, to block where they could but it didn’t get them far. They got hit, could barely escape, got dragged back into the whole mess. Their opponent wasn’t enormous in size but they were quick. Focused. Agile.

The hero wheezed when another strong hit went to their stomach. They felt the crack and the pain, felt how tears formed in their eyes.

They made a noise, a horrible noise and broke down.

“Nothing personal,” their opponent said, voice deep. The hero fought for air but nothing filled up their lungs. Not fair. Not fair.

It wasn’t fucking fair.

Their tears fell to the ground and they gasped for oxygen which eventually found its way into their lungs.

They hadn’t made dinner yet. What if the villain really didn’t like the leftovers? But they’d eaten yesterday…

They squeezed their eyelids together. What were they even thinking about? The villain had probably left the house already, licking their wounds like a hurt dog in their lair.

What a thought. The apartment would be so quiet…

With time, they managed to breathe evenly. But weren’t they tired of fighting? Weren’t they just so, so done with everything?

“Who sent you?” the hero asked.

“I sent myself,” they said. “Wanted to see how strong those little heroes have become. Wanted to experiment a bit with you.”

Experiment.

“Please,” the hero begged.

Their throat went dry. Their breathing changed, breaking, crumbling in their control. They knew they couldn’t afford this right now but god it had never been this bad before. They grasped their suit, gripped the fabric stretching over their chest. It was hot. It was way too hot.

Tears streamed down their face. Experiment.

And then, suddenly, they felt a hand on their shoulder.

“This one is mine.” The hero looked up, finding the villain’s eyes easily. They wanted to cry out of happiness but the building panic attack prohibited it.

The opponent tilted their head, their eyes jumping between the villain and the hero.

“Where have you been?”

“I kidnapped them, they escaped,” the villain lied. Their fingers combed through the hero’s hair and they shushed. “Mistake on my part.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” the opponent asked. Slowly, the hero got a grip on reality. This wasn’t the end. It wasn’t the end, wasn’t the end, wasn’t the end—

“They became attached to me accidentally. I didn’t know if you’d approve,” the villain said. “I wanted them for myself.”

The hero saw the tension in the villain’s jaw, how they swallowed forcefully. They knew each other.

The opponent watched them carefully, suspiciously.

“Fine with me. Make them your puppy.” They looked at the villain intensely. “But don’t forget about my puppy back at home, will you?”

The hero didn’t understand the threat. However, when the villain carried them to the hero’s car, they understood that the villain had come to rescue them.

#Joan going to war is such a mood #some people really make you want to go to war #writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #request #3K