#not in a physical fight; i could probably maybe beat two of you up in a fight. probably not the remaining one. but only because they're-

[mrpenguinpants]

Low Battery Warning - Touch Starved HCs

— If he goes too long without you by his side, he starts to get irritable and too frustrating for anyone to deal with. For the sake of everyone, please remember to recharge your battery before leaving for extended periods of time.

— Tartaglia, Kaveh, Ayato, Alhaitham, and Dottore

[Masterlist]

I JUST WANT TO WRITE WHIPPED MEN OKAY? What do you mean I have to write a part 2 for two different fics??? I'm honestly surprised I managed to finish this. Also, ALHAITHAM NATION REJOICE, YOUR BOY IS HERE AND I CAN FINALLY MAKE A BANNER. I wasn't going to write him (I'm a kaveh stan) but now that he's here...

Tartaglia

While Tartaglia is the most favored to work with compared to the other Harbingers, that's only by a very slim margin. The closest you'll get to death is when the man gets bored and randomly picks someone to fight, but they usually make it out alive. Maybe a couple weeks in the medical bay and a few broken bones but they aren't dead for the most part. He's also the youngest and therefore the most easy-going even if he's a bit childish. He's a soldier first so he knows the pain of listening to someone verbally beat you down and not having the power to do anything back. But he's still a person at the end of the day and after so many people messing up and delaying his work, he's starting to get irritated. First, it was someone spilling tea onto important documents that he just finished signing, then the Fatui agents stationed near Jueyun Karst being defeated by some no-named treasure hoarders, and then finally being held hostage in his own office because the Liyue Qixing wouldn't leave him alone. God, he slumps over his desk, he just wants to go home and see you!

By the time he finally stumbles through the door, you're already passed out on the couch. He can't blame you, it's very late into the night and he would probably be more upset if you forced yourself to stay awake just to welcome him home. But he can still pout that he was taken away from you for so long, he didn't even get to see you all day. That's borderline torture. But he supposes he can forgive you since you look so cute bundled up in his red shirt. If he happens to take a picture or two that's for his knowledge and eyes only. So he easily scoops you up into his arms, taking a couple seconds to just stand there as he basks in the comfortable weight before he takes you to bed. Just for tonight. This will be the last time work takes him away from home for so long.

It lasts for two weeks. Usually, Childe could hold himself together, he's been away for far longer, but the fact that you're right there and he can't hold you is driving him insane. By the 14th day, Childe is ready to snap his pen in half and hurl it at the next person that comes through that cursed door. He doesn't though because it's usually Ekaterina, the only one that has the balls to talk to him right now, and she deserves far more than she's paid to deal with. But he's touch-deprived and tired. Even Zhongli with his infinite amount of patience advises him to sort himself out before inviting him out to lunch next time. He tried to deal with it on his own, this isn't the first time he's felt claustrophobic, but after the fifth Hilichurl camp he doesn't feel any better which only makes his mood sour further. He might even beat Scaramouche in how short-tempered he is right now. There's heavy air wherever he goes and whatever carefree persona he usually has on is thrown out the window.

It's Zhongli who clues you into how bad Childe's demeanor has gotten, the rascal looks horrible both physically and mentally. Despite the consultant and Childe being on friendly terms, you don't really know the man that well. But he doesn't seem like the type of person to lie so you thank him for the information and make your way to the Northland Bank. To be honest, you've been feeling the effects of not seeing Childe as often as you usually do. You know his work can get so hectic that it keeps him cooped up in his office but it's been a while since you've even seen that fluff of ginger hair. He usually doesn't want you near his work considering how it might put you in danger, but if he isn't taking care of himself then what kind of partner would you be if you didn't help?

Even outside the building, you can feel the effects of what Zhongli talked about. All the agents look like they're on their last legs, there's a gloomy atmosphere surrounding the building even though the sun shines brightly across Liyue harbor, and you can vaguely hear an annoyed Harbinger scolding someone. As soon as you set foot into the building Ekaterina nearly tackles you off your feet. Desperately thanking you for coming and looking at you as if you're the Tsaritsa herself.

As soon as Ekaterina says your name, Childe whips his head around at such a speed that you're afraid his head might fling off as his eyes lock onto yours. You know Childe wouldn't hurt you, never you, but he's looking at you like he's about to devour you and you're suddenly very glad you've never been on the receiving end of his anger. He shoves the papers in his hands into the agent's chest he was probably reprimanding and marches over to where you are.

"C-Childe?" "S-Sir?"

Ekaterina mirrors the wary call of his name until he's finally in front of you and without a word, throws his arms around you. You stumble a bit under his weight but you quickly circle your arms around his back and hold on tight so you don't trip over your own feet. You can only imagine what it looks like for Ekaterina to see her stiff boss suddenly deflate in your arms. A pleased groan escapes from him as he basically lifts you off your feet just so he can hug you closer to him. You almost feel like a child's teddy bear with your legs dangling in the air trapped in a crushing hug. You know that your relationship with Childe isn't a secret but you both don't show any displays of affection, you don't even really interact in public in general, so this is pretty open for the two of you. Well, for you at least. You don't even think Childe is registering anything around him except that you're here.

"Are you okay милый?" you whisper into his ear, nuzzling into the side of his head that's nestled into your shoulder. Your snezhnaya is a little rough around the edges but from how he seems to purr you think he enjoys it nonetheless. "Although I'm happy to see you too, don't you think we should move so we aren't blocking the main entrance?"

He sleepily blinks awake and slowly starts to acknowledge that you're both very much standing at the bank's entrance with everyone shamelessly staring. He frankly looks like he doesn't care, people have working legs, they can walk around you both. But he also doesn't want anyone to find another reason to take him away when he's very comfortable.

"If you need me, don't," is the clipped order that rings out through the bank. You know he's heavily censoring what he actually wants to say but from how everyone cowers away, they can probably tell what would happen if they disobey him. They all give him a nod and a salute before he's picking you up, cradles you into your arms, and swiftly walks upstairs. With a kick of his boot, the door slams shut and he sinks into his chair, you seated pretty on his lap.

"Please never leave me, I think I might die," he groans, re-wrapping his arms tight around your waist. You can only sigh fondly as you gently run your fingers through his hair, rubbing small circles into his scalp and he melts into goo. As if you would want to leave.

Kaveh

You know Kaveh is a bit...eccentric to say the least. He always says what's on his mind and most of the time his thoughts are things he should keep to himself. Even you're not totally immune to his blunt honesty despite the fact he tries to watch how he phrases things when directed to you. He doesn't want to accidentally hurt your feelings, regardless if you know he means no harm. It's rather cute that for someone who doesn't care about what others think of him, he's a bit insecure around you. He likes you, really likes you, and he often finds himself plotting out what he's going to say hours before your lunch date with him. But as soon as you greet him with that charming smile and a brief hug, he turns into putty and whatever flowery language he conjured in his mind is swept away. The confident architect that graduated with honors is reduced to a red-faced mess of stumbling words. It doesn't help that you find it adorable enough to press a chaste kiss to his red cheek and he swears that he's going to pass out from a heat stroke.

He's both extremely glad and terribly conflicted that your love language seems to be touch. He loves it when you brush your fingers through his hair but it always lulls him into sleep so he doesn't get any work done. He loves it when you hug him tightly but then he never wants to leave so he doesn't get any work done. He loves it when you cup his cheeks and pull him into a kiss but then he goes in for seconds, then thirds, and so on that he doesn't get any work done. If he went into alchemy rather than architecture he would dedicate his life work to studying why you have the touch of an Archon that compels him so. But he didn't and now that he's drowning in debt, he really needs to concentrate and finish his work before the deadline.

So now he has the painful task of trying to find an extremely polite way of asking you to leave him alone without you taking offense and breaking up with him. He would be devastated if he couldn't see your loving gaze on him again. But the situation is dire because as soon as he sees you, all he wants to do is curl up in bed with you in his arms. Preferably forever but he'll cross that bridge when he gets there. But every time he tries to bring it up it only takes one look from you for him to stutter and wave off his words. He tries to pep talk himself and every single time he claims that this will be the day that he, very politely, pushes you off, it ends with him melting into goo and waking up the next day with all his untouched work judging him from the table.

It gets to the point that he begins to air his grievances to Alhaitham of all people. To be fair, he doesn't expect the scribe to listen to a word he says and if he did, it would only be because Kaveh needed to pay his share of the rent. But he's pleasantly surprised when you pop up with a guilty smile and that Alhaitham explained his circumstances to you. He tries to clear up the situation, he has no idea what Alhaitham said specifically but it must have been put in the worst way possible, but you take his hands and he shuts up immediately. You give him a light giggle that melts his heart and you tell him to call for you once he's completed his work.

It was the worst decision he's ever made. Second to moving in with Alhaitham. Maybe his judgment of you being an angel was a lie and you were secretly the devil from how often his thoughts were plagued by you. He could draw a circle and think of your eyes. He knows that he's smitten in your presence but he didn't expect that to double when he's suddenly alone. His only motivation is that as soon as he's finished, he'll be able to see you again. But his mind and his work bleed together and he ends up drawing your face instead of buildings and pipes.

He ends up locking himself in his studio and slowly deforming into slime with how awful he's taking care of himself. Alhaitham has to pry him from the table only for Kaveh to flop in his arms that the scribe gives up and hauls the corpse over his shoulder and makes his way to your home. Kaveh still needs to pay his share of the rent so he's not allowed to die before then.

When you opened the door you weren't expecting Alhaitham at your doorstep with Kaveh over his shoulder. He doesn't seem to want to be in this situation either because it looks like he's two seconds away from throwing your boyfriend across the room. But he manages to reign everything in front of you and quickly explains Kaveh's situation, dumping said man into your arms, and telling you to fix it. You shoot him an apologetic smile that he waves off, it's not like it's your fault, before turning around and making his way back to his own home.

"Kaveh?" you whisper gently against his ear to not startle him. It only takes him a second to register your voice before he's perking up and beaming at you. He easily shifts positions so you're in his arms instead. Twirling you around and using the momentum to tuck an arm under your knees and smoothly picking you up, somehow supporting your entire weight in one arm while the other closes the door. Sometimes you forget that Kaveh is really strong despite his lean stature. He is a claymore user after all.

"Darling! What are you doing here?" Kaveh questions while he makes himself at home. If only your living space was big enough for him to store all his work otherwise he would have moved in with you by now.

"Alhaitham mentioned that your recent commission was taking up all your time and you weren't taking care of yourself. Are you alright?" you ask, wrapping your arms around his neck to steady yourself while Kaveh takes his shoes and coat off. In these types of moments, no matter what you do or say he'll refuse to let you out of his arms. If he has to live with one arm then he'll gladly do so just so long as his other hand is wrapped around you.

"Never better," he replies with a smile. He's obviously lying given the dark circles under his pretty red eyes but the soft look he sends you is enough to tell you that right now, he's never been more comfortable. It makes you a bit flustered to have such an intense gaze on you but Kaveh is always forward with his affections and this isn't any different. With you in his arms, there's nowhere for you to run to when he tilts your chin down and brushes his lips against yours.

"Be still for me..." he whispers, the vibrations of his voice tingling against your skin as both of your eyes slowly close. Only for the moment to shatter by loud knocks on your door. You both jerk apart and turn to the disturbance with varying expressions. You're a flustered mess while Kaveh scowls as if the door offended his entire life's work. He finally sets you down on your feet and gives you a quick peck on the cheek. Before marching to the door, flinging it open, and telling the man on the other side to shoo before slamming the door in his face. Unless the world is ending, don't knock.

Ayato

To say Ayato works hard is an understatement. There are several nights when he's glued to his desk rather than resting in bed. Such are the woes of him being forever dedicated to his duties as the Yashiro Commissioner. On days when there are big events and everything needs to be perfect, he's nearly inconsolable that Thoma weighs how much he can get away with if he knocks Ayato out with a frying pan. His pondering doesn't go far because even though Ayato looks like a corpse from the lack of sleep, he'd probably knock Thoma off his feet before the housekeeper could even raise his arms. Ayaka has better luck but she's only able to drag him away for a few minutes before he points in a random direction to divert her attention before disappearing as soon as she turns back. It's just something everyone is aware of and they try their best to support Lord Kamisato. But if it starts to look really bad, like Ayato might drop dead at any second, then you're called in. The last defense and their ace up the sleeve. Not to brag or anything but you have a spotless record and you intend to keep it that way.

It only takes one word from you to have the dignified and cunning Ayato turn into a scared rabbit. His name. None of the wary calls of Lord Kamisato, a dismissal of his titles, and certainly not your affectionate terms of endearment. It always brings the temperature of the room to zero and Ayaka has to double-check that her cyro vision didn't accidentally activate. Unlike Thoma and Ayaka, you're not soft on him and you set your foot down when it comes to his extremes. One of the many reasons he fell in love with you but it's coming back to bite him now. He hates seeing you unhappy, doing anything possible to wipe that frown off your face, but when it's him that's making you so displeased he can't help but look like a scolded puppy.

It doesn't take much for you to know that Ayato has overworked himself to the breaking point again. You understand his duties mean that he's going to be riddled with work but you're his partner first and foremost. You're there to care about Ayato, not the Yashiro Commissioner. And Ayato looks like he's falling apart at the seams. Heavy eye bags, pale complexion, and his body swaying back and forth before he catches himself from falling over. It pains your heart to see him like this and yet still push himself to keep going. So you take one, two, and three steps towards him to delicately take his hand in yours, rubbing soothing circles into his palm before intertwining your fingers together.

Unlike Thoma and Ayaka, he doesn't disappear as soon as you take your eyes off him. Just stands there and stares dopily at you while you issue orders to take over his work. God, you look so attractive when you're in control. It's been a while since he's seen anything but paper and ink but did you always look this beautiful? He's so glad he's going to marry you. Maybe he can force the elders to move the ceremony date up. Everyone in the room politely ignores the fact that Ayato is saying these thoughts out loud and how red your face has gotten.

He doesn't object when you pull him out of the room with you, blindly following you wherever you happen to lead him by the hand. As long as your hand is in his, he'll follow you to the ends of the earth if you'll allow it. It's a bit comical how the dignified Yashiro Commissioner recedes into himself and crumbles away into a love-sick man just by a simple touch. At much as it makes you feel a bit shy, it's nice to know that Ayato won't try and weasel his way out of your grasp and return to his work.

If anything he clings to you like an onikabuto on a tree. You have to waddle your way to the baths with an oversized blue-haired man refusing to let go and draping himself over your back. You know he's making this as hard as possible on purpose, just do you can dote and pamper him a bit longer before he succumbs to slumber and has to return to work. It dampens his mood thinking of the future but it's quickly ushered away by the warm water poured over his head. It's fitting that his vision is hydro because he fits himself into the space you provide as you begin to scrub his hair clean.

There's something meditative about having his hair washed by your hands that no one else can replicate. It's a luxury that he only receives when he works hard enough that his arms hang uselessly at his sides and his body slumps into itself. Soft and malleable, completely willing to bend and mold in whatever shape you wish. But your hands scrub through his hair gently, rubbing all the stress out of his body and never complaining. Right now there's nothing else that matters more than being here with you and you with him.

"I'm going to rinse your hair out. Close your eyes now," you softly say and he follows your instructions. The rush of warm water is soothing to his ears although it sparks something in his memory that momentarily takes him out of this romantic moment. He reaches blindly behind him to take your hand, rubbing circles into your palm to halt your actions.

"It's just occurred to me but aren't you supposed to be on a trip to Watatsumi island?" he opens his eyes to peer up at you, his long eyelashes tipped with water droplets reminding you of just how pretty Ayato is. It's almost a good enough distraction for you to forget why exactly you're here rather than speaking with Kokomi right now. Almost.

"I was but someone had to go and work himself to death again. You need to take better care of yourself Ayato. I don't want to see Thoma running across all of Inazuma just to drag me back because you can't seem to sit still for a few seconds," your frown deepens with each sentence. Your free hand that's not in his grasp is knocking against his forehead, albeit not hard enough to cause any actual pain. He only chuckles before pulling you into the water with him until you're sitting on the edge of the bathtub. His head lay comfortably against your thighs.

"Apologies." He's not sorry at all. "When you're not beside me I have to throw myself into my work or else I may go insane."

"Oh so now all of this is my fault," you huff exasperated but he can hear the undertones of how happy that sentence makes you. "Come on, you'll catch a cold if we stay here any longer."

"Mmm, indulge me," he mumbles into your skin, his eyes closing once again with a content smile on his face. He doesn't need to see to know that you have an equally fond expression.

"Oh, so now my lord wishes to relax?"

"Only because you're here."

Alhaitham

You know that your relationship with Alhaitham is unusual to onlookers. You're both polar opposites and yet somehow stumbled into a rather healthy and committed relationship. To others, Alhaitham is a talented and intelligent man. The perfect bachelor if it wasn't for his "extraordinary sense of individualism" that he doesn't pay attention to people around him. He's notorious for being hard to get along with that not even his handsome face is enough for people to sit around for too long. Meanwhile, there's you. A wandering traveler who takes work whenever anyone needs an extra pair of hands. You're a bit well-known for accepting any job that pays well regardless of how dangerous or weird it might be. But unlike Alhaitham, you're more than happy to make conversation and you're often seen conversing with scholars from every one of the Six Darshans.

To everyone's knowledge, it's you that's the clingy one. You always have a hand around his arm or throw yourself at him shamelessly. Everyone assumes that Alhaitham tolerates it because he never pushes you off but he doesn't reciprocate affection to the degree that you do. If only those nosy scholars could see him now. Your newest job has you traveling to the Chasm to help collect and study the newly opened area. While the Chasm is close to Sumeru, a series of mysterious accidents led the entire mine to be closed. With the Liyue Qizing gradually reopening the area there's a lot of ground to cover. Alhaitham doesn't care much for the details except that this means you'll be away from him for a few years rather than a few weeks. As soon as you told him the expected date you'll return his face instantly soured. It was so cute that you couldn't help but press kisses to the corners of his mouth until they lifted. But one thing led to another and you're now trapped underneath his strong figure for the past couple of hours with no signs of him letting go. Every day you're gone equates to one minute he gets to keep you here.

No matter how much Alhaitham wishes to make you stay, even going so far as to bribe you, you eventually gather your things, press one last kiss to his lips, and leave him in his too-quiet house. He doesn't want to admit it but as soon as he closes the door he already feels lonely. But he'll learn to cope and continue with his life. He's been through more challenging obstacles and made it through. It's only two years, 3 months, 14 minutes, and 58 seconds. Alhaitham sighs and leans against the door. He's not going to make it.

Everyone else is content to whisper behind their hands about how the scribe seems to be more hostile. While Alhaitham doesn't have the most friendly personality, he's still somewhat polite until someone gives him a reason to exit the conversation. But now Alhaitham can barely get two sentences in before insulting someone. He doesn't even mean to do it on purpose, it just slips out. A girl who happens to share your eye color is met with a backhanded compliment that she should eat more fish. A man whose skin color is just a shade lighter than yours is met with an irritated scowl before he could even say anything. It's only now that people start to miss your presence because anything is better than a walking warning sign.

It only takes a few weeks for him to crack. He's not usually this starved of attention but the knowledge that he won't see you for another two years has him itching at his wrists. While on the outside there doesn't seem to be any changes, he's perfectly calm and collected, but his facade breaks when he starts making rash decisions. When he heard that his senior Kaveh needed a place to stay due to his financial situation, he offered to live with him much to everyone and his own surprise. Even Kaveh suspiciously asks why Alhaitham is being so generous. He doesn't dignify it with a proper answer, only that he better get his situation fixed within the next two years or the scribe is kicking him out.

As the second year rolls past, it's Kaveh who brings up Alhaitham's sudden mood change. He seems...excited. Kaveh chalks it up to Alhaitham being happy that Kaveh is finally moving out but that'd be kind of low even for someone like Alhaitham. As someone who cares about the arts and romance, there's a certain care in how Alhaitham cleans the house. Every systematic movement is laced with a longing gaze. His wrists are rubbed raw that Kaveh has to physically step in or he might rub so hard he reaches the bone. But above all the dangerous aura around Alhaitham is replaced with something Kaveh can only describe as restless patience.

"Honey, I'm home!" your happy voice is accompanied by the loud slam of the door crashing against the wall. Kaveh is startled by a random stranger entering their house but mostly at the term of endearment. Alhaitham only lowers his book at your voice before going back to reading. A bit rude in Kaveh's opinion but he can see the small smile that Alhaitham tries to hide behind the pages of his book. It's not like you aren't a bit devious yourself. So you retaliate by plucking the book out of his hands, taking a quick glance at his page number before placing it on the desk.

"Welcome back. I assume your job went well?" Alhaitham sighs as you kick his legs apart, plop yourself down into his lap, and rest your head against his chest. If you weren't so enthralled by the masterpiece that was Alhaitham's physique, you would have laughed at how the blond-haired man seemed to stare owlishly at the scene. His eyes almost fall out of their heads when Alhaitham doesn't push you off, doesn't throw you over his shoulder, or even make the slightest hint of being irritated or embarrassed. He just places his hands around your waist, rests his chin on your head, and sends an icy glare to which the blond-haired man scoffs before excusing himself. It's not anything different from what he usually does to onlookers although this is you and you can tell just how weary he is. How deeply he relaxes in your hold as the tension melts from his shoulders. How his eyes search over your body for any injuries that you might have gotten. It does look like you got a bit roughed up during your stay at the Chasm. Your hair is cut shorter than he remembers, you've put on some muscle, and there are a few nicks and cuts running along parts of your skin that are visible. But none of that matters because you're here. You're finally here.

"Aww, Haitham did you miss me?" you tease only to quickly eat your words when he manuever's you sideways so he can pin your back against the couch. You're hit with a sense of deja vu back to two years ago when you were about to leave for this trip.

"The next time you take a commission that lasts longer than two weeks, I'm coming with you or you're not going at all," he grumbles as he tucks himself into the crook of your neck with no signs of leaving. You laugh now but he's dead serious.

Dottore

You aren't sure when it started but at some point, you've been labeled as "Dottore's Favourite". He always seems to be the slightest bit nicer if you happen to be there, his voice a smidge less aggressive, and a lot more touchy. He's a Doctor first so he doesn't want to be contaminated by whatever bacteria people have gathered. But with you, he always seems to have a hand on you. Either harshly pinching your cheeks like a child with a crazed grin whenever you mumble something he deems stupid or pulling your arm of out its socket as he yanks you through the hallways of his lab. You act almost as his shadow, permanently glued to his feet and forced to follow wherever he goes.

You wouldn't consider yourself exceptional at your job but you did know how to listen. Perhaps it was your blatant disregard for your lack of safety since your head was always in the clouds that let you do your job with a steady hand. You don't blame your college's, it's hard to work under so much stress. If you had to do quantum physics and whatever the hell smart people do with someone who could, and would, kill you on the spot if you couldn't tell him what 3567 x 438 was on the spot, you think you could have exploded and crumbled on the spot. But you were just the ditzy receptionist who twirled a pencil on her nose more than on a paper. The only thing you were required to do was make sure Dottore was never bothered and let him know if anyone important needed his attention.

You've seen the Regrator the most compared to the rest of the Harbingers. You don't know what a banker needs from a doctor but you're not about to ask. It's not your business and you aren't paid enough to care about what your boss does. Besides, for such a handsome face his presence creeps you out which is saying something considering there's a maniacal doctor that treats human lives like numbers on a stats page. But since you are his "receptionist" you have to make conversation with him. Most of your interaction extends to him asking if the Doctor is in and you politely saying that he's out. You both pointedly ignore the loud crashes and angry yelling from one of his segments behind the closed steel door.

Once again, you don't consider yourself exceptional at your job. You're just a lousy receptionist at a place that doesn't require it and who spends all their time spinning in the office chair than doing actual work. You're just as replaceable as any grunt in this hell hole. So when Tartaglia waltzes through the doors, blinking at you with his dead fish eyes, before nodding to himself and hauling you out of your chair you can only hope that Dottore manages to remember that he has a meeting with Pantalone at noon.

You're hardly gone for an hour. Tartaglia was just bored, bored enough to come to Dottore of all people, that he happened to spot you who looked equally as bored. He just roughed you up a little before he deemed you completely useless and a horrible fighter before sending you back on your way. Seriously, if he wanted a fight he should have just picked one of the skirmishers instead of a damn receptionist. Although you may have to reconsider your position because as soon as you walk back into the lab, a girl is throwing herself at you and demanding where you've been.

You don't get the chance to answer before she's hurriedly running down twisting hallways, down the stairs, and punching in codes so complicated it looked like she was trying to make music out of them. Whatever questions you have are ignored in favor of getting you somewhere as fast as possible. It begins to make sense when you're finally shoved into a room, the girl who dragged you all this way throwing herself onto her knees and begging for forgiveness for letting you wander off.

The lab is an absolute disaster. This isn't the organized chaos you're acquainted with but the aftermath of a manic episode you're familiar with. Glass shards dripping with fluorescent liquid, research notes torn apart that flutter around the room as faux snow, and one mad doctor in the middle.

"Where have you been?"

For someone who destroyed years worth of progress, he sounds oddly calm and collected. His deep voice is firm while he fiddles with a test tube of blue liquid, watching it slosh around before placing it onto a broken table. He barely pays any mind to the girl currently on her hands and knees, forehead pressed to the ground while she glares at you to say something.

"Out," is your reply. A casual shrug of your shoulders even though the Dottore's back is to you. He's not wearing his usual white coat. That's too bad, you think it looks kinda cool. Really goes with his bird aesthetic.

"Out...out you say. Out. Out. Out," he mumbles softly, each time he say's the word "out", he taps the test tube harder onto the table. The lull in conversation only makes the pressure of the room drop lower before the tension snaps and he hurls the test tube at the girl still on her knees. It's only thanks to your reflexes that you manage to grab the collar of her uniform and throw her back just as the test tube collides with the floor, the liquid melting away the concrete where her head was. You can only give her a nudge and a look towards the door for her to scramble to her feet and flee as far away as she can. The slam of the door behind her acting as the nail in the coffin as Dottore's body seems to slump in on itself.

"Where have you been?" he asks again, running a hand through his messy hair. He sounds and looks far more tired, his fingers twitching to reach out and hold you but his pride stopping him. So you push yourself and step forward into his space, reaching your hands out to cup his face and rubbing soothing circles into his porcelain skin. He doesn't lean into your touch but he doesn't push you away either.

"Getting tossed around by Tartaglia. He came by saying he was bored and I just so happened to be there," you say absentmindedly, twirling the long lock of blue hair that hangs off the sides of his mask. He responds by snatching your wrist, squeezing hard enough until your bones creak. "Were you worried? Did you think I ran away?"

He doesn't dignify your question with a response. Simply shrugging your hands off his face before he reaches up to pinch your cheeks, a familiar cackle vibrating from his chest.

"As if you would have anywhere to go."

———

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[strlingsav]

Wounded: Two

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

One

Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

You hadn't seen Simon since your intimate encounter in his bunk. It had only been a day, but your growing concern was for his leg more than anything else.

A small part of you wondered if he was purposely avoiding you, finding himself no longer wanting to be around you once he'd gotten what he wanted.

You did your best to push the thought from your mind, throwing yourself into your work, ignoring every gnawing twitch of 'what if' and 'maybe'. You didn't have time or the mental capacity to coddle your feelings, or wonder where Simon was.

He was still injured, likely limping around base, probably still participating in field training. You'd signed off on his physical under the impression he'd be stopping in to have his wound fixed; you wouldn't have if you'd known he'd leave it to fester.

You filled in the remaining details of your patient charts, logged every prescribed medication and finished your rounds. You were ready to head home for the night, collecting your things from your desk when he appeared at your door. He was watching, like he'd caught you in his trap- again.

You hated how easily you gave in, let him have all of you without a second thought. He'd spun a web, of charming words and honeyed nicknames that made you feel warm, special. You knew it wasn't real. In your subconscious, your voice was screaming for you to let him be. To leave, before things got complicated.

"Lieutenant," You pursed your lips, still holding your bag in your hand.

"Don't have to call me that," He said, his shoulder resting against the doorframe.

"I prefer it," You said, a polite smile over your lips.

"Y'know my name."

"I do."

"Rather you use it."

"Why's that?"

"Seems right given the circumstance."

Your brows furrowed, inhaling a deep breath to keep a clear head.

"In here, you're a patient."

He hummed, unsatisfied with your answer. "Don't think it matters much."

"It does," You cocked your head, waiting for his response.

He nodded, slow, understanding but mostly combative. He was ready to put up a fight, ready to explain in detail the things he wanted to do to you. He'd never been a submissive man, nor did he often give in to things he disagreed with- but you were an exception.

"Can y'fix me up?"

You sighed. "I was going home." You dropped your bag, turning to gather supplies. "Take off your pants."

"Bloody hell, Doc. Doesn't take much, does it?"

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. "Sit down."

He was satisfied, knowing he was in your head, making your heart beat just a bit faster, your body burn with a heat of arousal. No matter the situation, Simon could bring it out of you, even against your innermost, adamant protests.

He undid his belt, his eyes on you as he pulled his pants down. He sat himself on the edge of the treatment table, hands gathered in his lap as he leaned forward to watch you. Now that he knew you felt something for him, something more than an innocent attraction, he wouldn't let you slip from his fingers.

You examined the wound, no longer fresh, though still showing the muscle beneath, pink enough that it could be re-sutured and he could be sent off with a course of antibiotics.

"You shouldn't have left it like this," You looked up at him. "It could've gotten infected- you're lucky it didn't."

His eyes hadn't left yours, aroused by the way you scolded him. Your strict voice, hand brushing the hair from your face so you could focus in on his wound- heat crept through him. You, in your element, tending to him after-hours; watching you in itself was interesting, but he liked you, not just as his doctor.

"What's the damage?" He asked.

"None that I can see," You nodded. "Stitches again, though."

He nodded, "Figured."

You huffed, your needle piercing his skin, a bit more careful with the tender flesh. Still, even as it showed an angry shade of red and had begun the healing process, he didn't say a word. No sounds of pain or discomfort, only watching you work.

"You've got nice hands," He said.

You looked up at him, quirking up a brow.

"Thanks," You smiled faintly, amused. "I'm trying to be gentle."

"Don't need gentle, y'know that by now."

You glanced up at him, shaking your head at his antics.

"You left an open wound and likely haven't been taking the pain meds I prescribed, I'll save you some of the pain."

"That ain't what I'm talkin' about," He said.

You avoided his gaze, knowing with his fine-tuned observational skills he'd surely see right through you. He had already. He'd read the flustered expression on your face with ease, finding satisfaction in making you stutter, second-guess your boundaries and feelings.

You didn't like being under the microscope, on display for him to scrutinize and tease. You were smitten yet irritated by his relentless flirting, but really, you despised how easily he could make you want him. Need him.

"It's what I'm talking about," You shot back.

"You're bein' difficult, sweetheart."

"You should be on your knees thanking me for staying to treat you," You said, raising your brows.

"Y'just have to ask," He shifted backwards onto his hands.

You exhaled, "You're insatiable." Your eyes lifted to his as you yanked the suture material through his wound.

"Can't blame me. Y'should see your face."

"What's my face?" You asked, your lips lifting to a hardly-noticeable smile.

He leaned forward. "Had that same look on your face when I had my tongue-"

"Simon." Your voice was low, threatening.

You kicked the door shut, leaning back on your stool as you stared up at him.

"I like when you say my name, Doc."

"You're a patient, Lieutenant. You want anything other than medical attention, you can find me after work."

You finished the last of your knots, tightening it slowly, finally bringing the separated pieces of flesh together with focused precision.

You stood from the stool, sliding the gloves off your hands, throwing away the disposable items.

He leaned in, grabbing hold of your thighs to pull you closer before you could step further away.

"You're off the clock, ain't you?"

You sighed, "Yes, but we're still in my office."

"Think you like bein' a bit filthy, Doc," He mumbled, dragging you in to stand between his thighs. "You sayin' y'don't want me to fuck you on this table?"

Your lips parted in shock, your chest tightening at the vivid imagery his words created in your mind. Heat crept over your face, engulfing your entire body just moments later. He was right. He was also charming- too much so for his own good, and dangerously so for your sake. It didn't take much for him to break down your adamant denial, the rigid rules you had in place.

Truthfully, you wanted nothing more than to give in. But a small part of you knew that if it breached the inside of your office walls, it wouldn't be a fleeting hook-up. You'd be reminded every time you came to work. You'd want more, more than 'house-calls' and tending to his wounds.

It was, in part, why you were a bit grateful he hadn't visited you sooner. Had he, you would've given in at the first sight of an invitation. But some time apart allowed you to keep a sliver of your dignity, your composure.

You sighed, "We can't."

"We can."

"I can't- with a patient."

"I ain't just a patient."

"You are."

"You want me to take you out, Doc? Go for dinner together?" He was without a doubt, grinning like mad beneath his mask.

"No- I'm saying we do this, in here- I can't be your doctor anymore. At least not just your doctor."

"That s'posed to stop me?"

"It should. You're not that kind of man."

He shook his head. "You ever ask me what I want?"

You sighed, defeated. "No, I guess I didn't."

You should've known better than to feed into the gossip, the rumours that spread about him. He wasn't the scary, mean man people had made him out to be. You couldn't help it, not with the aura of disconnection and indifference that poured off of him. You didn't expect anything more from him, nothing aside from sexual gratification.

"I want you."

You sucked in a breath, holding it while you searched for a coherent sentence to blurt out.

He scanned your face, realizing quickly that you'd been silenced by his confession. He pulled you in closer, close enough for your hands to reach his shoulders for balance.

"In every way."

You peered down at him, lips inches from his while you debated on your next course of action. He didn't allow for much deliberation, lifting his mask with the crook of his thumb, leaning closer to press his lips to yours.

You attempted to step back, but his hold was suffocatingly strong.

"Simon," You murmured against his lips. "Your leg," You looked down at the irritated wound.

"I've been takin' your damn meds, Y/N," He said, his hand travelling to your backside. "Now come 'ere."

He pulled you onto his thighs, your legs straddling his waist as he brought his lips to your neck, attacking your flesh with greedy kisses. He undid the sweater you wore, yanking your scrubs over your head.

You were panting, breathing heavily with arousal that was festering in your stomach. Every part of you wanted desperately to give in to your desires, regardless of the consequences that might come after.

His lips moved from the silky skin of your neck to bite the protruding flesh of your breasts, still contained by your bra. You couldn't help but push your chest forward, your hands moving behind your back to unclasp your bra, letting it slide off your arms.

His hands cupped them with gentleness, his eyes attached to yours as his lips engulfed the sensitive, perky nipples before him. Your head fell back, your hands grasping at his shoulders as he ran his tongue across them, teeth grazing them softly. He smiled faintly every time you'd whimper, bring your chest closer to his lips.

"I-I shouldn't- You shouldn't-"

He silenced your stuttering with another kiss- harsh and dominating, his hand lifting to your jaw, tilting your head.

"Y'don't stop talkin' do you?"

"I'm trying," You whispered, his nose nearly touching yours.

"Told you, I want you. Nothin' to talk about."

You breathed in, inhaling his scent, his words. Your fingers played with the few locks of hair peeking out from beneath the mask at the nape of his neck.

His eyes were dark, half-shut with the arousal pumping through his veins. You could see them clearly now, the freckles around his eyelids and the blonde eyelashes that kissed his cheeks with every lazy blink.

You'd been convinced, thoroughly, that it could work- would work. That he meant what he'd said. It was entirely believable, with the way his hands held your body, the way his lips savoured every inch of your skin.

It didn't matter now, you were already condemned to giving yourself to him. You had been desperately holding on to the last shred of self-control, but it quickly withered away with his touch.

"Touch me," You breathed, your head lifting to lock eyes with him. "I need you."

He pulled you in, your ass grinding against his crotch, and let his fingers slide under your waistband. He had a firm hold on your backside, squeezing a handful of the soft flesh, his other hand finding your clit, his fingers rubbing over it generously.

Your mouth fell open, your eyes poring into his as he moved his fingers in circles, using your sticky arousal to help glide over your clit smoothly.

His fingers would dip inside you, slowly, introducing them with a teasing glimpse of pleasure, then he'd pull back out.

"Look at you," He whispered. "I like seein' you like this. Squirmin' on my fingers."

You pressed your lips against his again- craving the connection, praising him for his sweet words. You slid your tongue across his, savouring the softness of his mouth.

He stood to his feet, turning you to face the examination table, his hands gliding over your hips, your stomach.

"Bend over," He whispered- it was abrasive in your ear, the gruffness in his voice. It coaxed goosebumps from your skin, a fuse lighting up through your spine.

You did, letting your hands rest on the table as your eyes peered over your shoulder at him.

He pulled your scrubs down your legs, chuckling when he saw the panties you had on.

"Black?" He teased. "'S that lace?"

Your cheeks radiated with warmth, hiding your bashful smile against your shoulder.

He hummed, "You are filthy, Doc."

His calloused hands slid across the round flesh of your backside, moulding it against his palms. He slid your panties down your legs, his hands gliding down your soft skin. Defying all stereotypes, he was soft, a bit rough around the edges but your pleasure was his ultimate goal.

"You gonna let me fuck you?" He asked, his palm brushing over your spine.

You exhaled, nodding.

He exhaled himself, pulling his briefs down just enough to free his cock, running his hand up and down it a few times while enjoying the vision before him.

His hand gripped your hip, the other guiding his cock into the slick warmth of your pussy, his head rolling back.

Your back arched further into the cool metal of the table, your lungs collapsing with the sharp exhale- a gasp of pleasure that left your lips. You turned over your shoulder to look at him, watching his eyes. He suddenly locked his gaze with yours, pushing his hips forward, in turn pushing himself deeper inside you.

"Keep those eyes on me," He mumbled, letting both his hands fall to your hips as he pulled you into his pelvis. "Fuck me."

Another grunt came from his chest when your body bounced forward. His grip tightened, rolling his hips into your backside.

You could feel your stomach tightening, and you lowered yourself to lie flat, your cheek pressed against the table. You spread your thighs further apart, earning a slap over your ass.

"Y'like this, don't you?" He asked, leaning over you.

His voice travelled in the small room, consuming you, earning a moan from your parted lips.

"You like bein' bent over," He breathed in. "Fuckin' filthy."

You groaned softly, listening to his tone, feeling his cock slide in and out of you with ease.

"Yes," You whimpered, choked with the overwhelming pleasure in your stomach. "Fuck- yes, Simon."

At the sound of his name from your lips, he nearly growled- possessive and pleased.

"That's it- say my fuckin' name."

He pressed his chest flat against your back, his hand reaching under to find your clit. His gloved fingers circled the sensitive bud, your body twitching with every movement, fighting off the desire to cum.

"Simon, please," You whispered- hardly audible under the strain in your voice. "Please don't stop."

"'S right, gi'me this cunt," He groaned. "Give it to me."

You were tense, rigid, with every thrust of his hips, his cock grazing your cervix, plunging deeply inside you. As he dragged his hips back, hitting the wall of your G-spot- his fingers still stroking the swollen, sensitive organ at the crest of your pussy- you cried out softly.

Your head rolled further to the side, your eyes barely opening as you turned your gaze to see his watching your every move. It only made him work harder, move faster to please you- to feel you.

Your stomach was burning- a searing temperature only rising with every passing moment. Your thighs were shaking, your hands holding onto his that were gripping your waist.

"Simon," You gulped, your throat dry. "Please, Simon."

His eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head, listening to you call for him- beg him for more. He'd oblige, always, over and over again.

He said your name, rough with strain, between quiet gasps of pleasure. Your pussy fit around him so well, your walls collapsing in every time he'd flick his fingers over your clit.

Your body was contorted, your torso twisted to watch him. He could easily see your breasts recoiling with every thrust, your hips moving in his hand.

"Go on and cum, Y/N," He grunted in your ear. "Cum on it, love."

His encouragement pushed you over the edge, your pussy constricting around his cock, pulsating with the sporadic waves of pleasure overtaking your abdomen. You trembled, your thighs threatening to give out beneath you as he continued his vigorous thrusts into you.

"Fuck that's good," He grunted, pulling you back to meet his hips.

He was a bit rougher now, exhaling harshly against your neck as he tilted his head to watch you. Your eyes met his, soft and pleading, glassy with orgasmic bliss.

He didn't ask this time, he just buried himself deeper inside you, his cock twitching as he released his cum in you.

He stood still for a minute, catching his breath, appreciating the velvety walls of your pussy, careful not to overstimulate himself.

You exhaled, your hands landing on the table. He stepped back, pulling his briefs back over his groin. He took a nearby hand towel, running it between your thighs in an attempt to help you clean up.

You'd dressed back in your scrubs, and he stood in the corner, watching you gather your things.

"Come back to mine," He said, moving toward you as soon as he saw you grab your keys. "We'll get a bite on the way."

You bit the inside of your cheek, ruminating on his tempting offer, your eyes meeting his.

"Okay," You nodded. A moment passed in silence, before you moved forward. "Let's go."

#cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod mwii #mwii #simon riley #strlingsavwrites #ghost x you

[blasphemecel]

Shidou Ryuusei — Like Teeth

PAIRING: Shidou Ryuusei/Reader WORD COUNT: 3.6k TYPE: Humor, Feelings realization, idfk what this even is but i threw in some surprise fluff at the end WARNING(S): Nsfw jokes but cmon it's shidou you gotta forgive me for finding sex funny this once, play-fighting that doesn't seem very playful, canon-typical mental illness, canon-typical unnecessary dramatics, canon-typical overly intense soccer rivalry NOTE: Reader is a part of the blue lock project but no concrete gender identity or pronouns are specified

It starts like this:

After the freaky nerd from the ceremony whose name you hadn’t bothered remembering finishes with his instructions about this game of tag you’re supposed to be playing, the biggest asshole in the room immediately targets you once he realizes you’re the one with the highest number on your jersey. You trap the ball with ease and then kick it straight into his face with as much power as you can muster, knocking him out, the force sending him reeling.

While the timer continues ticking, no one dares to make a move or even exhale too loudly in your presence, scared you might take their bodily functions as a challenge to your authority. Like every opponent before, they’ve submitted to you.

You stare at the ceiling, your lips set in a tight line, the despair settling in. Just this once, you want to meet someone who can excite you, and you’d hoped this ridiculous place could help.

___

As the top scorer of your pathetic excuse for a team — though behind your back they call you ‘the top red card holder,’ but considering how far up your own ass your head is, you’re yet to pay attention to this remark — by the second qualifying match they already know to pass the ball to you no matter what. In your defense, you’re not any more tyrannical than the average douche in this competition. It’s not your fault they’re too worthless to do what you can.

Two of the opponents are blocking your path, and you shuffle the ball between your feet trying to get the positioning right while they attempt to steal it. Everyone is making noises, but they never mean anything to you. You back up once you’ve felt that the stars have aligned and strike the ball through the tight opening between their bodies, taking the first goal of the match.

“You’re good!”

You blink, the words bringing you out of your perpetual trance to look at the guy in front of you. He starts rambling some nonsense about explosions and how he’s going to beat the ass of anyone who can’t give a good show and you think at some point he has started finding new roundabout ways of saying that he basically wants to bust a nut on the field. It is absurd. You understand it down to your bones, except maybe the last thing. For the first time, everything is coming into view. You can make out his face and you can hear his words and you see your teammates in your peripheral vision. How you didn’t notice him before, what with the hairstyle and his cartoonishly beautiful eyelashes, you’re not sure, but you’ve never been more present during a game before.

“Alright, gyaru,” you say. “Show me how you explode.”

“Gyaru?” he tilts his head, grin wide like a demon’s. “You think I’m pretty?”

Though Jinpachi Ego officially writes down what ensues as a round-robin tourney in his notes, the spectators (meaning literally anyone else who was in your physical proximity) would describe it as ‘The Longest Dick Measuring Contest They’ve Ever Seen.’

The way he moves fascinates you like nothing else. Just like you, he is a creature of instinct. You both circle around while trying to score or steal the ball, only to find that stopping the other is impossible.

After this match, two monsters glance at each other and think, ‘Maybe there is someone out here who understands me.’

___

There are still jitters in your veins. You can’t sleep. Is it ridiculous and maybe parasocial that the thought of ‘I want to see this guy again’ is keeping you up at night? Yeah, probably. You also feel like a creep lying down in the dark with your eyes wide open, yearning to bulldoze through something like you do when you want to calm down.

Frustrated, you slip out of the futon and leave the room while the rest of them are sleeping. The hallways let out ominous flickers, trailing after you while your steps echo and bounce off the walls. This building looks like a prison, you think, though you hadn’t noticed before.

You hate to think that your desperation is so strong you’ve developed the power of manifestation overnight, but when you step inside of the training room, he’s already there. He doesn’t have the decency to seem surprised at your entrance when you close in on him. His arms are crossed and he has a smug aura about him, but for the love of everything you cannot comprehend why he’s standing there doing nothing. At least you planned on being productive when you headed here with your plan to obliterate whatever you could get your hands on. Just so happens it’s him that you found.

The weird silence stretches, but it doesn’t bother either of you because as it turns out you have the same kind of social incompetence. You realize you don’t even know the guy’s name, but he declares, “You really came.”

You don’t really know what he means by this considering you didn’t arrange to meet here beforehand, but he’s saying it as if this was some unanimous agreement you came to earlier. “Waiting for me in the middle of the night all by yourself, handsome?”

“Every cell in my body was calling out to yours,” he says as if it explains anything. His expression is bordering on maniacal. Anyone else might’ve realized this was a bad idea, read the warning signs, but to someone like you who has lived their entire life sleepwalking, the excitement of such a strange encounter is addictive. “We’re the same… That’s why you felt it.”

“In that case, please avoid summoning me so late,” you say. “I value good sleep.”

He cannot tell if you’re just taking the piss or if you’re on the same page, but it’s rare that anyone entertains him when he says anything of that nature. To him, this is an amusing turn of events. “They say you’re some kinda unhinged delinquent. ‘s that true?”

“Sure, if that’s what you call putting a few sorry bums down in their place after they crossed me.”

“So you know how to scrap too, right?”

Right now, Shidou Ryuusei is like a kid at the candy store. You can’t discern any reason for him to swing at you, but he does, smiling all the while. After you respond to his provocation with a duck and a kick of your own — you avoid using your hands for anything if you can avoid it, finding it beneath you — you decide to consider this your friendly introduction to each other.

If he wants to coax the crazy out of you with his punches, then you’re trying to get him to settle down every time you retaliate, daring him to pipe down and turn boring just like everyone else. You’re not sure for how long you duke it out, but at some point you grow sloppy, and the last you remember of it before succumbing to your exhaustion is the last round of boneless slaps you offered each other.

___

Two of your teammates hatefully watch you and Shidou from across the cafeteria. You’re a selfish and insensitive person, of course, they know that. Before this, you’d always eat alone, but ever since the match where they were forced to watch you two flex on them, you’d hang out with him. Still, “I can’t believe [L/n] would rather have a romantic dinner with the only goddamn bastard in this goddamn building who gets better meals than share with us! I’m sick of this natto.”

“You’re telling me,” the other boy says, sadly eating a radish.

This must be an advanced form of psychological torture administered by Ego himself. Even if you don’t notice the audience, Shidou seems to be reveling in the negative attention. They can only watch and drool while you two push at each other and try to steal ingredients. At some point, you put Shidou in a suplex, making him cough out something. Then he wrestles his way out of your maneuver and shoves your head into your plate, forces you up again, and licks the food off your face while you scowl at him.

“I’d hardly call that a romantic dinner, though.”

“A guy from blondie’s team said he caught them asleep on top of each other in the training facility once.”

“Do you think they’re-?!”

“Oh my god, they’re…!”

They scream and point at each other and then hug as if traumatized. To add insult to injury, your voice rings from afar, “Are your eyes really pink? There’s no way that’s natural,” while some of the sauce still sticks to your skin.

“What? You think I’m some kinda fake?” asks Shidou, apparently offended.

“I’m gonna expose you, trust.”

How are you blowing everyone in your cell out of the water in terms of performance? You have to be the dumbest person in this entire wing.

___

“I want you,” he says.

Granted, this is out of context, but you still find that the words have some effect on you. But this won’t do no matter how hard you want to give in. With the first stage of the second selection cleared, you can’t continue as you are. You’ve been complacent in your talent. To expand your abilities, you need to observe whatever other powerful players there are in here instead of still chasing after him. Even the wet wipes on your old team have started catching up.

Besides, you’d always thought your appeal to him is as an opponent, someone who he wants on the other side of the field to face off against, and now Shidou is demanding to work together with you.

“I was in a coma before I met you,” you say. He pinches his eyebrows together, which is probably the first time you’ve seen him pull such an expression. To think you have the ability to utter something so strange, it weirds out even Shidou. “You pulled me out of it, but now I need to see other things, too.”

“If you tell me you wanna go watch other guys, I might get jealous.” Despite the initial waver, he sticks his tongue out at you, trying to be playful like always.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

Shidou grabs you by the collar of your jersey and pushes you against the wall. You blink at him, finding this an inappropriate time for a spar seeing as this is regular enough for him, but then he invades your personal space in a way which doesn’t feel particularly combative, your noses brushing against each other, and he blatantly glances at your lips before closing his eyes. You don’t think about it when you pull him in by the neck, your body reacting to his cues.

It’s not even that great, he’s not really being effective at what he’s doing, mashing your mouth against his almost pointlessly, teeth clashing and all before moving far too quickly onto the tonguing part of making out. Your nails are digging into his neck and his hold against your waist is tight enough to bother you. There’s a latent aggression in it like there is in any other interaction between you two.

And you don’t enjoy this for the surface-level sensations but rather for the strange tightness in your chest, the headrush, the closeness where somehow he’s enveloping you and you’re enveloping him at the same time and it feels like you’re about to fuse. You don’t want to let go yet, maybe under the assumption that if you keep kissing him, he’s going to be polite and return your breath to you.

Steps come near the entrance of the hallway and then, “Ah! Uhhh…”

You snap out of it and push Shidou off of you. He has the gall to look offended, glaring.

There’s some puny kid with a buzz cut, standing there with his confusion clear on his face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, uh… whatever it was you were doing!” he says in a panic, waving his hands back and forth.

Yeah, that’s a good point. What the fuck were you doing? You just jumped at each other on instinct, ruled by some bizarre, mysterious need.

It must be because the air is so charged between you. Shidou is always in overdrive and he has a penchant for pulling you into his madness. You’re always doing something when you’re together — trading blows, trying to show the other up in soccer, saying heavy-handed things for no reason — and now a moment of stagnancy happened and you both turned into even bigger morons than usual.

He didn’t think about it either, you’re sure. Besides, even if you’re a crazy bastard on the field, you’re not like him. Shidou will meet even stronger players once he advances and he’ll move onto his next obsession. This doesn’t mean anything, at least not to him, you’re convinced.

You untangle yourself from him and ram your shoulder into his as goodbye before lamely saying, “I’m going now,” and offering a nonchalant wave.

He frowns before kicking imaginary dust off the floor. “Sure, fine. Be this way!”

Igaguri isn’t super puritanical or anything. Yeah, he grew up in a temple and all, but seeing two people kiss doesn’t offend his sensibilities. What freaked him out was how you managed to make it look like a fight while you were going at it, and like, he knows the hallway was deserted before he came out of thin air, but this is still a public place. Whatever happened to shame?

And now he has to be in the same vicinity as this scary guy who’s glaring daggers at the spot you were standing in, vein bursting out of his forehead and all, as if you ruined his life by walking out of here. He looks like a manchild who’s sulking because his mom forgot to make him chicken nuggies. A bead of nervous sweat rolls down his forehead.

___

Ever since the beginning, Isagi has been honing his technique, always hungry to add another skill to his repertoire. Rin and Shidou have no synergy; fine, he thinks, it’s not like he really even wants to set up a goal using them. It’s not enough to satisfy him anymore, not after the last match. He’d much rather score himself.

But the problem with the spatial awareness he has developed is that he can’t turn it off at will, or say ‘la-la-la’ and ignore something to focus on what’s important.

Well, being on the same stage as you and Shidou has to be the worst thing of all time. He wants to smell a goal for himself, but the most likely chemical reaction he can predict is one between you two, and you’re not even on the same team. It’s like a ticking time bomb, like those explosions Shidou has been vaguely rambling about, and it permeates the air.

You’ve started adapting his bodily control and precision, almost coming close to scoring with your back on the net. And Shidou has managed to pull off one of ridiculously tight angled shots to break through a two-on-one, passing the ball to Rin. If the phenomenon Isagi observed and achieved before is ‘consumption,’ then he has a first row seat to watch you two cannibalize each other.

The most unfortunate thing is the chase. The ball will come to you, but Shidou will steal it. He’ll be in the air ready to strike, but you’ll sabotage him from below. Isagi recognizes this as an unconscious prediction — on a molecular level, you know where the other one will be, and you’ll race there. It’s like he’s watching both of you swing neon signs and desperately scream ‘Please look at me!’ and overall beg for attention while also stubbornly refusing to make eye contact in fear of rejection.

It is revolting. He wants to gag.

Sure, Ego talked about how luck is a skill and how a pro takes advantage of it, but he never mentioned what to do when someone on his team is living through a low-rated soap opera episode with an opponent. With all of the emotional constipation among the participants of this godforsaken project, he’s sure this won’t be the last time he’ll need it.

___

Sitting down in the middle of practice isn’t productive, but you’re ‘taking a break,’ by which you mean you want to snap someone’s neck. It’s been boring again, ever since Shidou started disregarding your presence. You’re even on the same team now and it’s like you’re no better than air to him.

Of course, you’d predicted he’d find someone new to excite him. You just hadn’t anticipated it’d hurt your feelings. Why do you care, anyway? You should be used to this. The soccer you’ve played has always been selfish and lonely, and moping and jealousy are below you.

But during the match against U-20, you saw him look at Itoshi Sae the same way he first looked at you on the day you met, spouting nonsense with his unique expert-level yappery. And you don’t like that. You don’t like it at all.

He’s off doing his own thing again when you search for him with your eyes. You stand up.

And then you don’t think at all, breaking out into a sprint at full speed.

You’re behind him in the matter of a minute or so, slipping your foot between his and kicking the ball overhead so it lands behind him. He bristles, perhaps at your unwanted company, but you’ve already turned on your heel to run in the other direction.

You’re dribbling the ball when you glance over your shoulder. He’s onto you, trademark grin on his face. You’re not even sure what you’re trying to accomplish here, but all that comes to mind is, It doesn’t matter if it’s going way too fast or way too hard anymore. Just chase after me one more time.

You’re almost all the way over to the other goal, maintaining your lead, when Shidou kicks the ball after lunging around your side. It slips off half-assedly, but you don’t have much time to mock him for his technique because he grabs you by the wrists and pins you down, straddling you to the ground.

“That’s a foul,” you say, displeased.

“I don’t care.” His smile is so big you feel like he’s going to need to visit an orthodontist after you’re done here. The annoying strands of hair he keeps loose are hovering near your face, taunting you.

Your eyes dart again with your head in the fake grass and you see it straying off. “And the ball didn’t make it. To be honest, you were sloppy.”

“I don’t care.”

“You… don’t?”

There’s that sick fluttering feeling in your stomach again and your heart kicks against your chest painfully. Your cheeks are growing warm and you feel uncomfortable by the heat with Shidou so close to you. What the hell is wrong with you? Seriously, he didn’t even tell you a line or anything. He just said ‘I don’t care’ twice. That’s not game! You need to get a grip.

“Yeah, why should I? I’ve got you right where I want you now.”

You raise an unimpressed eyebrow. If making you look like an idiot is his revenge to you for making him mad, then fine, you’re going to pretend you can’t make your way out of his grip with ease.

“You can’t give me a big dopamine hit like that and pull away,” he says, leaning closer. By this point you really can’t see much apart from his big ass head right in your face. Does he even know what he’s implying to you while looking at you straight-on? Does he realize you know his weird euphemisms are all figures of speech for whatever makes him horny?

“What do you mean?”

“Tellin’ me all that romantic stuff and running away…” Shidou narrows his eyes as if the memory is enough to annoy him.

You blink. Oh. You thought he was throwing a temper tantrum because you refused to team up with him. But once again, you’re unimpressed. “So did that turn you on or what? I don’t get it.”

“Well, I’d put it in other words, like, let’s say, hypothetically, maybe you made me explode because you’re an oxidizer and I’m an organic-”

“Ok, I know, but I’m trying to figure out what’s going on here-”

He retreats and rolls away from you, allowing you to sit up again, so you cease talking without reaching the point you were trying to make. It flies out of your head anyway when he links his hand with yours, staring at you, seemingly subdued now. You’re not sure why you’re both acting like shy middle schoolers now while indulging in something so chaste considering you’ve done way more indecent things together, but you intertwine your fingers and offer him a smile. The sight catches him off-guard.

Before he can bask in another achievement (this time being the first person to make you express any kind of joy when everyone knows you’re one distant asshole), a ball hits him straight on the forehead.

Without any preamble, Rin deems it fit to announce his presence by saying, “Your lukewarm displays are appalling. You should both just die.”

You stare at him and then at each other and burst out in laughter, pointing at him. Though you finish your laughing fits at about the same time, you spur on another one by asking, “Do you think he even knows what lukewarm means?”

“No, I seriously doubt it!”

Rin thinks to ask you how come you think it’s chill when your shitty boyfriend or whatever he is says the grossest things imaginable, but suddenly it’s a problem when he wants to say his favorite word, though he doesn’t want to seem too offended or otherwise invested.

___

Im sorry if this is in any way contradictory or shitty or sucks balls I havent slept in 4 days except for a one-off 3 hour nap and wrote this while possessed. Maybe ill sleep again at some point and this will be the worst thing ive ever seen and ill have to delete it. God forbid.

#shidou x reader #shidou ryuusei x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x you

[ijumpbridges]

Do a headcanon of scp 076, scp 049, scp 2396, doctor cleff, doctor iceberg, doctor kondrank, doctor glass on the first date.

First Date!

Ft. Scp 049, Scp 076, Scp 2396, Dr. Clef, Dr. Kondraki, Dr. Glass, Dr. Iceberg.

____ scp 049

Its impressive that you got him out of his lab to go on a date with you.

You were probably the one who suggested and it and he agree to it and decide to plan a picnic and restaurant theme inside his cell

Yall eating ok the floor but the 049-2 dress up as waiters.

Used 049-2 as the ones who would bring food or help around to make the setting for comfortable.

When you came in bringing the food he had the wine cups outside and bottles of stolen wine and the carpet and blankets on the floor.

The dinner was nice, you brought white spaghettini and he complimented it.

He gave you a lots of compliments.

He talked about the pestilence.

And you excuse yourself many times just to cough or sneeze cuz you don’t want to trigger him.

It was annoying, but overall the date was great, but you were removed from his cell.

scp 076

Blink twice you need help.

You date consist on doing physical work so im going to put maybe doing a sport together or taking care of animals in the foundations shelters.

If you chose to do a sport with him, be very careful, since its you are not strong enough to beat him.

It doesn’t matter if he says he will try to go ‘soft’ on you, he will throw you across the room.

If you chose to take care of the animals it would a nice heartwarming moment together, bounding with animals and you helps him a lot.

He was able to wash then and get them ready up to the standards.

You both also played with them afterwards in the artificial park and dog training section.

Throwing balls and training them.

You both would challenge each other, until it went wrong.

You ended up with a broken arm because of him.

When you told your friends they about it laughed at you, but at least 076 defended you to an extend until you told him not to and that it was fine since they were your friends unless it was someone from your outside group.

scp 2396

I think a movie night or a breach contaimenht to a theme park.

You cant chose cuz both thinks happen.

She invited you to watch a movie with her and you agree to it.

When you got to her containment chamber thinking you were going to watch the movie there, she tells you to wait out.

By ‘outside’ you though she meant outside of her chamber not the foundation.

She breach containment and actually made it out and when you heard this you went after her.

Afterwards you went to watch the movie, it was Barbie, she cry and while crying you two had to leave because the foundation had found you.

Luckily it was night and the theme park was close and since you both escape through the back door and no one saw you went to the theme park to calm her down.

You two when to the wheel fortune and got to the top and it felt relaxing and you even got a small conversation before a light from a helicopter showed up pointing at both of you.

A whole MTF squad showed up and took you both from the top.

They made you both climb up to the helicopter and went back tot he foundation.

Dr. Clef

Blink twice if you need help.

It was suppose to be a restaurant date night, but all went side ways and shit the fan and you are on the run with him.

The dinner date was not going great, the guy was being weird.

You kept your cool even with his weird comments.

Then a breach containment happen, this was a perfect time, since you could ditch the date.

But no, you see Clef told you he was going to take you to somewhere safe.

And you follow him, he took out his gun and then it was too late for you to make any decisions.

This man, brought you to the anomaly and not only that he started to provoke it.

So, now you that you are in danger you had to put your nerves aside and get your flight or fight reflex if you want to make it out alive.

He did a good job on containing that anomaly and he even protected you and hand you a gun to kill off any remaining of the anomaly.

Then you both got something to drink and part ways since its been a long night, afterwards you realize that he wasn’t so bad.

Dr. Kondraki

He took you to take picture with 408.

They were adorable and really friendly towards you.

They even surrounded you.

And he took a pic of that since he thought it looked cute, but he will never admit that.

He will take you around and bring you to the bar.

While you two talked he tried to control himself on the drinking.

But how could he if you were also tipsy too?

At the end of the date both of you only got tipsy not drunk, but a little which it was great for him.

You two mostly talked about anything and everything that wasn’t work related, he showed his works on photography and you showed him your hobbies and the things you achieve from it.

He dropped you off and then he went home.

It was a great night, you two really bonded, might as well get another date too.

Dr. Glass

He asks you out and you agree to a dinner night.

You two went actually out of the foundation to get dinner and wine together.

Being away from the foundation was actually nice and you two had a nice moment.

Until one of his client shows up at the dinner.

Like out of nowhere and uninvited saying he was looking for him cuz something fucked just happen to them.

And not only that just like a hardworking ants more two more came behind him. One was an Scp the other was a mtf chasing after it.

Then more people started to come in asking for your help, you and Simon looked at each other and sight in sync.

The date had to be cancel and reschedule, but you both got the left overs of your dinner and bought some wine.

Then you meet up at his place and set up a theme and mood for a dinner and had fun again talking.

The night went great with him.

Dr. Iceberg

Remember to blink twice if you need help.

And take pepper spray you will need it.

You either grab coffee in the morning or grab a drink at the end of your shift.

It was with mix feelings.

The guy will show some of his red flags.

Talking about the foundation and how they wont give him a promotion.

Ngl, it was a good vibe at first but then the guy was full of himself and probably made you uncomfortable.

You tried listening and giving him advice and everything and he took them to heart.

He tried touching you and you might have flinch med a little with how clod they were.

So, you tried to make room for you to talk about and he might have criticized some of the stuff that you say.

The end of the date the whole thing was on thin ice so it depends if you both reach out for another date.

#scp x reader #scp 049 x reader #scp 076 x reader #scp 076 #scp 2396 x reader #dr clef x reader #dr kondraki x reader #dr glass x reader #dr iceberg x reader

[sunnynwanda]

hello!! i hope your day is going well <33 :D

could you please write a story about a hero and villain who are academic rivals? and one day before their final exams the villain finds the hero in the library late at night, really stressed about their exams. maybe the villain comforting a panicking hero?? :'))

i would really appreciate it if you could write this!! its completely fine if you don't want to :D

p.s your work is amazing!! 💙

Even Odds

Hero shivers and shifts in their chair, folding their legs under them for warmth. They look up for a moment, noticing the snow cap on the lamppost outside the window, and rub their red eyes. It had been snowing for several hours now, and they had no idea how they were going to get home in their light coat and sneakers. It was warm in the morning when they ran out of their dorm room - not that they had time to look for winter clothes in the mess that was their wardrobe. The last month has been hectic, between classes, work, confrontations with Villain and all the catching up they had to do because of it. Not to mention that the smug bastard kept teasing them in class. They had no problem fighting Villain outside the classroom, yet facing them in class seemed infinitely more challenging and infuriating. All at the same time.

Christmas is coming up. Hero shakes their head at the thought. So are the finals. They close their eyes for a moment to let the wave of panic flash by them before returning to the subject matter. It takes Hero another two hours to realise the letters are blurring in front of their eyes. They can no longer discern the lines, and the paragraph looks entirely unfamiliar. They are doomed. Villain is going to destroy them with hungered passion, tearing into their flesh with snide remarks until Hero is left teary-eyed and defeated. And to think they enjoyed all of it once. They even went so far as to await the bickering arguments that followed after every class they shared.

With an exasperated sigh, they let their head fall onto the book. The panic returns with a fresh vigour, as do Hero's doubts. They want to cry from the helplessness that overwhelms their entire being. Their ears start ringing, probably from lack of nutrition. Hero presses their hands to their temples, trying to remember when they ate for the last time when a cough interrupts the flow of their thoughts.

"You look desperate," Villain muses, seemingly satisfied with the atmosphere in the 'enemy territory'. "I like it."

Hero has nothing to offer them but a deadpan look. They are too exhausted to muster any expression other than utter fatigue.

"What? Still trying to beat me?" They quip again, turning the chair to face their rival despite taking the seat right next to them. Hero doesn't react, much to Villain's dismay. They sigh, choosing another tactic - one that never fails to unnerve Hero. "Drop it, babe. No one can top me. Not in physics, at least."

Hero's eyebrows twitch, and Villain can't help the triumphant smirk that graces their thin lips. Gotcha.

"Sod off," Hero scoffs, flustered by their flirting and, more so, by their proximity.

Villain places their hands on the table and lays their head over them, mimicking Hero's position. "Says the one desperate to compete with me."

"Bold of you to assume I study for you," Hero's retort sounds surprisingly genuine. Villain isn't sure if they should find that offensive or not.

"Oh," their mouth forms a perfect round shape, and Hero almost reaches to touch their lips. Almost. They drop their hand over their eyes, trying to shake off whatever haze took them over. Sleep deprivation must be getting the best of them. It's sheer luck that Villain doesn't seem to have noticed. "Then why are you still here?"

"Because I have a lot of catching up to do, dimwit!" They don't mean to be mean, but they are just so tired, and Villain's nagging doesn't help. Not to mention that Hero is not ready for the exam, and both Villain and their professor will take their sweet time chewing them out tomorrow. Amazing start to the holidays!

"Shouldn't have missed the classes in the first place," Villain snaps back but softens upon spotting Hero's distress. Come to think of it, they had no idea why Hero would need to be absent so often. It's not like their confrontations took that much time out of their own week. So what was Hero so busy with? "Why did you miss so many, by the way?"

"None of your business!" Hero cuts them off rather harshly. They seem riled up for no reason, so Villain turns away towards the window, scrolling through possible distractions Hero might have been facing this semester. They're not fighting anyone else, and Villain was pretty damn sure they weren't dating. Or were they? Did Villain miss something? Should they be jealous?

Hero's low mumble draws their attention back to the matter at hand. "I'm still gonna score higher than you."

"Keep telling yourself that," Villain chuckles. Their brain is working overtime, trying to figure out how the smartest person they have ever met was behind the programme. "How long have you been here anyways?"

"I... don't know," the conclusion stuns Hero enough to get off the desk and sit straight. They have no time for conversations, but they also have no energy whatsoever to get up and leave. "What time is it?"

"Almost eleven..." When Villain glances at their watch, their eyebrows furrow in concern. "Wait, have you spent the entire day studying? Have you even eaten anything?"

Hero shakes their head instead of replying. Villain's eyes turn awfully round, and Hero smiles softly. This shouldn't look this endearing! They must have lost their marbles.

"Are you an idiot?" Villain questions, shaking their head when Hero attempts to answer. "That's not even a question, it's a statement."

"We have finals, dammit!" Indignation colours Hero's features, shading the weariness away. "I can't afford to fail, not after all the effort I've put in!"

"You won't fail," Villain sounds absolutely sure of their statement. They believe it, too. Hero, however, does not.

"How do you know?!" They break character, looking more panicked than Villain has ever seen. In fact, they haven't seen them scared, ever. Not even when they were hanging upside down from a skyscraper because Villain dared them to.

"I just do," they reassure, placing their hands on Hero's shoulders to get their attention. "I know."

"How?" Hero asks weakly. They look drained of life, and Villain hates to see the most cheerful person they know like that.

Fuck, is it them? Did they overdo it with the battles? Maybe they shouldn't challenge Hero so often. But then again, they only do that because they miss seeing their rival, and Hero has been skipping classes because of their job.

And then it strikes them. Their job. How could they forget Hero has to work? Ever since they lost their father, they took it upon themselves to support their family. And Villain had to go and add more to their plate - as if balancing classes and work wasn't bad enough. Shit.

They sigh at their stupidity, shaking their head to collect their thoughts before speaking.

"I've seen you ace every test, Hero," they cup Hero's chin, urging them to meet their eyes. "Not a single mistake, no cheating, nothing. You've got this. Trust me."

"What?" Hero's mouth is agape. Villain assumes their unexpected sincerity to be the reason but is proven wrong sooner than they can justify themselves. "Wait, do you cheat?"

"'Course not." They wait for Hero to nod before continuing. "I don't need it. You don't either."

"Well, I might this time," the claim makes Villain chuckle, baring the neat row of their teeth with slightly prominent fangs. Why the fuck do they keep noticing all this about Villain, of all people?

"Stop, Hero, stop," Villain catches their chin again, their stare intense when they speak. "You're not gonna fail. I promise. Now come on, you've got to get out of here, or your brain is gonna melt and drip out of your ears."

With that, they let go of Hero, and get up. Hero scrunches their nose at the graphic images that flood their tired head and starts collecting their books and countless pages of notes. Villain takes the last heap, shoving it into their bag while Hero fetches their jacket.

It's only later, after running through the showy courtyard back to their dorm and taking a hot shower to warm their limbs, when Hero pulls everything out of their bag to begin their night of studying, that they notice a few stapled sheets of unfamiliar notes. They are expertly organised and precisely what Hero needs to learn to pass the test. They stare at the pages for several seconds before shaking their head with a lopsided grin at the obnoxious and frustratingly sneaky little shit that slipped their notes into Hero's bag while they weren't looking.

They pull out their phone, sending a short "Thank you." text to their rival, only to receive a cheeky reply in mere seconds.

"Simply wanted to even out the odds. Let's see if you can top me now, babe."

Masterlist

Hello, dear!

Thank you so much for this request! I've wanted to write academic rivals for some time now, and this was the perfect opportunity for it. So yeah, thanks xD I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

xo Sunny

P.S. I wasn't able to find the owner of the photo, credit to the owner.

#hero and villain #villain x hero #hero #villain #academic rivals #rivals to friends to lovers (potentially) #tired hero #flirty villain #mutual pining #teasing #idiots in love #because that's cute okay #so freaking cute #should I do a part 2? #hero/villain #villain and hero #villain/hero #villains and heroes #creative writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #requests open #sunnynwanda

[itsbopp]

Please pleeasee you can write headcanons for Gwen Stacy with a very problematic airhead gn!reader who is always causing trouble, where she always has to save and take care of them AND their bullshit?

Babysitting a Partner - Across The Spiderverse | Headcanon

A/N: Of course I can! I tried to think of all that I could, so apologies that it's so short! Hope you enjoy!

SUMMARY: How would Gwen Stacy be with dating an S/O who’s an airhead, problematic, and a troublemaker?

WARNINGS: All characters are 18+. Swearing, Talks of Wounds, Talks of Blood, Slight Talk of Physical Violence.

WORD COUNT: 1000+

You’re probably considered to be the human embodiment of a problem. But it’s okay, because Gwen still loves you, even though you can be a pain in the ass sometimes. If she wasn’t Spider-Woman, it would have been a lot harder to keep a close eye on you and to make sure nothing terrible ever happened to you. Maybe that was why you stumbled your way into her life, because fate decided that she was the only person who would have been able to deal with your colorful personality – and colorful actions. 

There had been many times where she’s had to stop what she was doing, just for the sake of keeping you from getting hurt. Sometimes you do impulsive things, or you don’t think certain decisions through completely, and more often than not, Gwen’s spidey senses start tingling, and she’s having to drop everything to go and find you. One time she found you trying to fight a group of thugs, who were beating up on some poor guy who was just wanting to go home after a long day at work. It was a close call. You almost ended up getting knocked out, but before one of the lowly men could swing on you, she had swooped down from a building and webbed his hand, which allowed her to yank him away from you. 

There were other times where she wasn’t so lucky in getting to you in time. There was one particular night where she was busy fighting crime, saving people from fires or other terrible situations, and eating some pizza when she eventually had the ability to take a break. You had been holed up in your dorm for the majority of the day, and so while she was resting and enjoying her pizza, and you were leaving university to get some food in your own system, you encountered two people who were close to your age. Of course, they were up to no good, yet again, and so when they saw you, they started following you, before they eventually struck.

You couldn’t even begin to understand why they had attacked you, but they did, and you ended up getting hurt in turn. Gwen felt her senses tingle again, and when she dropped everything she was doing to find you, she had spotted you on the ground, bleeding from your head and clutching your abdomen, as though you had been stabbed. Though, luckily, when she rushed to your side and tended to you, you weren’t terribly hurt, but it was enough to warrant panic from her. Enough panic to where you ended up staying at the local hospital for a night. You didn’t want to, but she said that you couldn’t say no, and so you relented.

After that terrible event, she made sure to keep a much closer eye on you, even when she was too busy dealing with her villain of the week. You were still just as much of an airhead, even after what should have been a life-changing event. You acted as though you were a dare-devil in a way, which was sometimes endearing, but only when she had the ability to experience it with her own two eyes. You knew that she was Spider-Woman. So, sometimes, you’d find yourself attempting to show off to her, while the two of you relaxed on the roof of a building whenever your days were typically slow. Walking along the edge of it and yelling to your girlfriend ‘Gwen, watch this!’ and then almost proceeding to fall to your death was her least favorite thing in the world.

Trust me, there’s been many times where she tries to get you to just relax. You’re just such a high-strung individual that it makes it hard for her to get you to calm down, especially when she doesn’t let you get your jitters out first. She won’t hesitate to stick you with one of her webs and use that as a leash to keep you close to her. Think of those children backpacks that have a leash connected to it. That’d be you whenever the one and only Spider-Woman is done with your shit. Hell, sometimes she’ll shoot her webbing at your feet, just to get you to stay put. And of course you’ll complain, but like… she doesn’t really care. 

Just stop moving.

It’s hard out here when your partner is an airhead, she thinks.

And when it comes to hanging out with her at your dorm, you always somehow manage to give her a heart attack, even when she can tell what’s about to happen, without it having fully happened yet. There’s been way too many times where she’s had to take a knife away from you, because you’ve almost accidentally cut yourself. There was even one time in particular when you tried to move too quickly, and in turn, it caused you to bump a glass cup off of the counter. And of course, the one and only Spider-Woman was there to catch it. And of course, she scolded you gently and told you to be more careful. 

But did you really listen? 

No.

You just have a habit of rebelling. It’s what makes you, you, and although it can sometimes get on Gwen’s nerves, or it can stress her out a little too much, she still really cares about you. The days where you’re too tired to be a miscreant are probably her favorite, though. But you definitely didn’t hear that from her. And honestly, you don’t always need to be tired in order for you to just cool it. You may be an airhead, but you can gather whenever she’s feeling a bit too stressed out, and so even though there are still those urges to get into trouble, you relent and decide to give your wonderful girlfriend a break. 

And she appreciates it. 

Though she loves going on adventures with you and your curious mind, she’d still love to just relax in your dorm and watch some movies with you. Maybe even play some games together, or even bake something – but there’s no way in hell she’s letting you hold anything that can cut you.

Being Spider-Woman is a job as is. She’d like to not be a medic, too.

She already has to deal with herself getting hurt.

#spider gwen x reader #gwen stacy x reader #atsv x reader #itsv x reader

[daddysuga101]

The greatest weakness of all~

Suguru x Reader

Warning: noncon, violence, reader is gojos grilfriend and he rakes advantage of her, unwanted creampie, cruelty. Mean, forced cheating, seriously don't read if ur not into it

There was nothing quite as deep as Sugurus hatred for Gojo Satoru. Well maybe it wasn't hate, maybe it was more accurately jealously.

Jealously in the fact that Gojo was a god walking amongst man. A god with the power to do whatever he wanted and still he did nothing. That made Suguru feel more anger than one man should ever feel.

And if Gojo wasn't going to fight for his cause Suguru would prefer him gone. But that wasn't realistic now was it?

He couldn't kill Gojo, no one could, but if he couldn't kill him, he could sure as hell hurt him.

Geto wasn't stupid of course, he knew if he tried to fight six eyes himself he'd lose. After all Gojo Satoru was the strongest. He didn't know how to even hope to beat someone as figuratively and literally untouchable as Gojo. Until he found out about you.

You, Gojos cute sweet girlfriend that he coincidentally never told to anyone about. In fact Geto probably would have never known the two of you were even romantically involved if he hadn't spent the last 4 months plotting against Gojo watching his every move. Waiting for some sort weaknesses to show itself.

Who would have thought he'd be offered up such a perfect Achilles heal all too fitting for Gojo himself.

Love.

He knew Gojo was in love with you. He'd been friends with him for years after all, he knows him. He knows what look Gojo has in his eyes when he isn't looking at a girl as merely a quick fuck. Instead he actually cares.

He spent the next three weeks taking a break from watching Gojo to watching you. He could see the appeal. You seemed smart and determined in school. Always coming to your lectures early. Being sure to take good notes, taking hours out of your day to study. You were all around amazing. But most of all you seemed kind.

So kind you couldn't see how some of your "friends" were conniving bitches that loved seeing you fail.

You had so many friends you probably couldn't see the toxic ones clearly. But he could.

You were surrounded by people all of the time, some who seemed to admire or envy you. You were non the wiser though. Gojo likes that probably, he always liked girls like you. Innocent, kind,

Pure.

The second week of watching you he payed close attention to the places you spent your time in the most. Seeing what activities you'd like to do.

After the third week he was ready to approach you. He could barely sleep the night before as he thought about the upcoming encounter with you. He didn’t know how he was going to get you. He didn’t want you dead, not yet anyway. He wanted hurt Gojo deeply but to kill you would erase Gojo having to see the proof of his own failures in someone who he loves. And Suguru simply couldn’t miss that opportunity.

How to hurt him?

Wait…

The next day he showed up to the coffee shop you go to every Wednesday and like clock work you strut in all bright eyed and bushy tailed heading to your normal seat and fuck,

Seeing you up close in good lighting all he could say is, he got it. He got the physical appeal. The way your leggings hugged your ass and thighs giving anyone who'd look quite the show.

You were something else.

He couldn't take it anymore.

He pushes his inky black hair back standing to his feet heading over to you a sweet smile placed on his lips.

"Excuse me, Y/n?" He calls out, having the pleasure of you looking up at him all wide eyed and confused. You take your air pod out smiling at him.

"I'm sorry?" You ask.

"Sorry to bother you, but you must be the famous Y/n, I heard a lot about you." Suguru said with a fake but welcoming smile. You look slightly confused before Geto chuckled holding his hands up in defense.

"I'm sorry, how rude of me to just jump you like this. I'm Iratori Kageyama. I'm a friend of Gojos. He told me the two of you were together."

"H-He did?" You asked shock evident in your face.

"Yes, we're quit close and I'm assuming you're aware of who he is and how important it is for you two to stay private."

"I hope I didn't scare you too bad by mentioning it." Suguru said with a smile. You shook your head.

"Oh no it's just he never mentioned you before. But if you two are close enough that he'd tell you about us then any friend of Satorus is a friend of mine!" You said with a wide smile.

You missed the the almost psychotic grin that he almost relviled to you.

This would be too easy.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all!" You say brightly.

It was all too poetically perfect. You were really stupid. From the way you gladly sat down to conversate with Suguru, to how you believed him when he asked if it was okay if he could come over to surprise Gojo about him being in town.

You were truly naive. Truly innocent.

He couldn’t wait to take that from you.

…………..

He followed you into your dorm random anime figures and nerdy posters on your wall. It was adorable. The kind of room he’d expect a girl like you to have.

He couldn't wait to defile you it.

You placed your bag on your floor, tucking it neatly away into a corner.

“So I know you said you wanna surprise Satoru but he won’t be here for a few hours. Is there something you’d like to watch?” You ask,

“Anything you wanna see is okay with me, I’m not picky.” He answered. You nod sweetly, bending over ever so slightly so you could grab the controller for the tv off your bed. Suguru raised an eyebrow.

He was worried he'd have to force himself to screw you but fortunately you were more than fuckable.

“Is legally blonde okay?” You ask a little shyly. He smiles. It’s a genuine smile because god you are too cute.

“Legally blonde is perfect.” He says. You nod starting the movie and Suguru can’t help but feel a little bad. You weren’t a bad person, just at the wrong place at the wrong time. It wasn’t fair you were casualty in this due to you having relations to Gojo.

Hell, Sugurus sure Gojo didn’t even tell you the full extent of how import he was. You were probably non the wiser, just an innocent bystander caught in the whirlwind of jujutsu sorcerers fighting other jujutsu sorcerers. But life isn’t fair.

Life has never been fair for Suguru. And it wont be for you.

He was about to do a bad thing, he knew that. At least it would be fun to do it to you.

The second you turned back to him after fixing your tv Suguru wasted no time planting his lips on yours in a aggressive, rough kiss. You stumbled back in shock before you tired to push him off of you. He hands held yours by your sides as he pushed his tounge in your mouth.

You tasted so sweet. So innocent like a flower that hasn’t fully budded yet. He loved how you felt against him.

You pushed against his shoulders again your eyes wide as you finally freed your mouth from his. He almost feels annoyed at how your fighting against him. He knows he’s not ugly and he knows he’s a damn good kisser so he wished you’d just calm down.

"What are you doing?!" You cried, Suguru sighed in annoyance.

"Please don't make this so hard. I don't have all day." He says as he cups your pussy through your leggings.

"No! Don't touch me! I don't want to!" You shouted, Suguru pushes you on your bed anyway straddling your waist.

"I don't really care what you want baby. I'm doing this for me. Now stop resisting me before I kill you."

That seems to get you to stop squirming. You let out a desperate whine under him as the ear piercing sound of clothes ripping shot through your ears.

His hands are large and perverted as they touch you. Stroking you, groping, pulling, prodding at your body as if it’s his very right to do so.

It felt euphoric, a sadistic smile grew on his face he watched you cry under him. Fat, wet, hot tears spilling out your eyes as your body secretly aches for his touch.

The best way to hurt Gojo Satoru...

Suguru bit his lip pulling his erection out of his pants stroking himself teasingly over your mouth.

“You want it in your pussy or mouth sweet thing?” He asks. You cry harder and he rolled his eyes tapping his hot, precum stained cock against your lips.

“Pick one, or I put in your ass.” He threatens.

“M-my..” You try to say.

“What was that?” He teased.

“My mouth.” You finally say in between tears. He laughs and climbs off of you pushing your legs apart. Your eyes stretch in horror as he lines himself up with your pussy.

���You said-!”

“You took to fucking long to say it I had to pick for you.” He says coldly as he pushed his hard cock inside the warm wet hole you presented to him. He couldn't stop the genuine moan that excaped his lips as his hips snapped into your body.

You bit back a moan so clearly fighting with everything in you to not enjoy how it felt. To ignore the way his cock claimed your body as his own.

You hands moved to cover your eyes, Suguru was quick to stop you. Making you watch as he fucked you. He smiled widened his lips licked the inside of you ear before speaking.

"Wanna know a secret sweet girl? This isn't personal, I'm not doing this to you out of blind hate or anything like that. Truth is you have something of value. Wanna guess what that is?" Suguru asks as his pace quickens a bit, you opened your mouth to speak.

"I d-dont know." You said, he smiled fondly his hand reaching down to rub your clit.

“It’s because Gojo loves you. And I wanna break anything he loves because I hate him.” He says almost sweetly. It’s strange because as he fucking you, hurting you. His voice explaining it to you is almost gentle. You cry harder.

“You don’t understand! He doesn’t love me! He’s never told me that he did! No matter much I wanna hear it, he hasn't said it!” You explain, hurt so evident in your voice. He smiled.

“He's scared baby. He does. I can tell, I’ve known him for years. He’s fucking obsessed with you.” He pauses, speeding up his pace.

"He’s obsessed with your innocence and purity. So today's your not so lucky day, m' just gonna rape you until you're no longer someone Gojo wants effectively breaking his heart." Suguru said, before chuckling pushing his long hair back.

"Nah who am I kidding the poor bastard is in love, fuck, maybe I should just get you pregnant. I wonder how he'd feel seeing you pregnant my baby." He said, you cried loudly your tears egging him on to he empty his warm load into your unwilling body.

He wanted to bottle each and every one of your pretty tears and send it to Gojo as proof of what he's doing to you. He thought of maybe even recording it but nah, it'd be more fun to see Satorus reaction to you passed out on your bed stuffed with his cum.

Suguru threw his head back as his climax came closer. This was so worth it. More than worth it.

His nails dig into the skin of your thighs as his rammed his hips into your frantically his eyes rolling back as he came in you.

His breath was heavy and he whistled.

"No wonder he locked you down. I definitely wouldn't want any other man to even look at that pretty pussy." He said as he pulled out and climbing off the bed leaving you sweating, sticky and crying.

"I told you to quit the crying didint I?"  He asked softly as he wiped the sweat off your forehead with your own ripped shirt.

"Y-you, you." You shakily muttered.

"I know, I know baby. M' fucking horrible." He muttered noticing his phone on the bedside table.

'What the fuck?’ he thought grabbing his phone off the table.

"Spread you legs for me."

"N-no I'm tired." You whined.

"Do it before I do." He pushed, you whined again but inevitably obeying him. He smiled softly.

Smart girl. He thought.

he took a picture of your abused stuffed cunt sending it to Gojo.

—————————————————————————-

Gojo is in Tokyo when his dings loudly interrupting a meeting with the elders of jujutsu tec. The white haired man smiles widely.

“So sorry. continue.” He says. Yaga goes to open his mouth once more but his phone dings again.

“Sorry again, I can’t help how popular I am, I just-.”

“Just take it outside Satoru! We have no time for your childish games.” He grimaced. Gojo rolls his eyes under his blind fold standing to his feet.

“Whatever, this meeting is boring anyway.” He says stepping out into the main hallway. He pulls his phone out, his heart jumping a little when he sees it’s you that texted him.

He smiles a to himself. He couldn’t wait to ditch these losers and see you. But when he opens the text his heart drops to floor.

It’s a photo of you naked and passed out cum leaking out of you. He feels like someone wedged a crowbar in his stomach. The second text that was sent was not an image this time it was words.

Gojo skakingly, reluctantly reads it.

"Your girls got a good snatch on her better keep a better eye on her next time, Satoru."

Only one person calls him by his first name like that...

“Suguru?” Gojo questions in a shaky breath. What has he done? What did Suguru do to you?

“Shit! Fuck!” Satoru shouted punching a hole in the wall, the dry wall crumbling around his fist.

How, how could he have let this happen? He was supposed to be discreet with you so something like this wouldn’t happen, he was supposed to keep your hands clean if his present and his past.

He was supposed to protect you. And when he wasn't looking, Suguru got to you.

#gojo smut #smut #suguru geto smut #geto suguru #getou suguru x y/n #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #fanfic #nanami smut #x reader #kento nanami smut #satoru gojo smut #jjk toji #toji smut #read the disclaimer

[somber-sapphic]

Oooh Im loving the new prompts!! :)) Anychance of seeing 22A with the ‘Not A Word’ sickie type please? :))

Maybe seeing Nat not being allowed to attend a mission and being pretty annoyed about it? :))

100% Not Sick

Natasha is 100% not sick. She couldn't get sick. That was just not a thing that happened. Until it did.

Hope you like it @goldenempyrean!

Word Count: 1318

-----

“Romanoff, go back to your room, I don’t have time to argue with you right now.” Steve snapped, frowning at the red-nosed assassin. She was quite literally pouting, her typical tough glare replaced by a cute little scowl. You were half smiling, hiding your slight smirk behind your interlaced fingers. 

“Who the hell do you think I am Rogers? You don’t dictate my damn life, I can handle one fucking mission!” She yelled back, her voice barely above a whisper. You could tell that her throat must hurt by the way she talked and the slight tug on the edges of her lips as she swallowed. 

Steve took a step towards her and she naturally did the same, both of them settling into what could be considered a fighting stance. Neither was willing to back down and you couldn’t actually guess who would win. 

Natasha was sick, probably feverish and obviously miserable, but said misery was probably fueling her rage. Steve on the other hand was in tip top shape, well rested and physically unable to contract an illness. 

You could see Tony’s eyes boring into you, he wanted you to intervene, but you really didn’t want to get into this. Plus, you were mildly interested. You were pretty sure that Steve would back down but that would only be because Natasha was sick and he didn’t want to beat up a sick woman. Which the redhead would ultimately see as a challenge and would probably end up doing something stupid. Like attack him stupid. 

“Agent Romanoff, stand down. Go back to your room or I will have you escorted.” You wrinkled your nose at the Captain's words, leaning back in your chair to watch the chaos unfold. After nearly two years of dating the woman you knew better than to step in when she was like this, it would only embarrass her and then she’d fight you on not being sick and it would just end up with Steve and Nat back at each other’s throats. 

“What did you just say to me? You’ll have me escorted? How exactly do you expect that? Who do you honestly think can take me?” She ended her seething rant with a harsh sneeze against her elbow. It sounded gross and you were like 80% sure that it was incredibly contagious. If Cap could get sick, he would have.

“Look Rogers, you worry about you, I’ll worry about me. Right now, I’m worried about catching a villain.” Their faces were inches apart now, Natasha’s glistening red nose practically against Steve’s chin. The height difference was quite amusing. He rolled his eyes and stepped back, falling back into a more relaxed position. 

“That’s what I thought. Y/l/n, come on. We’re going.” She ordered, snapping her fingers at you. If she were in any sort of reasonable mental state you would’ve called her on it, but she was in boss mode. She also hadn’t slept in probably three nights, she was definitely running a fever and her stiff movements indicated that all of limbs hurt. 

You stood, plastering a gentle smile on your face. She stepped away, looking almost like a cornered cat. 

“C’mon love, let's go. I’ll make some tea.” You coaxed, slipping your hand into hers. She sneered at you, eyes widening in panic. You knew that she was new to this, that she hated being sick and she hated showing weakness even more. Now you were in front of the whole team, being watched. Of course, no one was really watching the two of you, but she was still humiliated. 

“Y/n,” She started, her tone warning. You squeezed her hand gently and began to tug her away from the conference room. 

“Just let me.” You dragged her out of the room, ignoring the sounds of protest and her tugging away from you. Normally you’d let her just do her thing, especially when it came to a mission, but there was just no way that you could let this slide. There was a fair chance that Natasha would get herself killed if she went on that mission. 

“Y/n, are you kidding me? One, I’m not sick. Two, I can handle myself!” She grumbled, sounding slightly defeated. You looked back and shrugged, giving her a little smile. 

“Come on, it’ll be nice! Plus, I’m exhausted. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Maybe we could just watch a few movies in bed?” You suggested, pulling her gently into your room. She huffed as she sat on the edge of the bed, crossing her arms over her chest in a show of anger. 

You sat beside her and squeezed her shoulders, leaning over to kiss her neck. She grumbled her unhappiness again and she frowned at the floor, seemingly ready to stab you. There were countless ways that she could kill you just sitting there, but she never would. She loved you too much for that. 

“Please Natty? Just for a little while.” You pleaded, beginning to undo her tight braid. She sniffled quietly and sagged against you, her facade faltering just slightly. You gently removed a few bobby pins and laid a hand on her forehead, humming your disapproval. 

“I’m not-”

“I know honey. Lets get changed into something more comfortable, yeah?” She nodded and put her head on your shoulder, seeming to accept that she wasn’t feeling well. It was like as long as you didn’t say anything she was willing to do what she needed to get better. But there was probably no way that you could get her to take any medicine, that would be a later issue. 

It took a bit of coaxing but you managed to get Natasha into a soft, cotton t-shirt and flannel pants. You weren’t exactly sure why she was so insistent on wearing her uniform, but for some reason she was very angry with your attempts to help her. Which of course, made sense. You had fallen for the most stubborn woman you could find. 

When you were finally both changed and laying down, Natasha had her head against your chest, finally giving in. Her anger had changed to utter misery though you still wouldn’t be saying anything about her illness. You knew better than that. 

“What do you want to watch, love?” You asked, running your fingers through her curly hair. She shrugged and mumbled a response into your shirt, cuddling a little bit closer. You looked down at her, wondering if you’d even need to turn the TV on to get her to fall asleep. 

“How about Parks and Rec?” It was one of her secret comfort shows that only you and Clint knew about. She was supposed to like action movies and sometimes she was a fan of hockey, but she loved a good comedy. She was especially a fan of Ron Swanson. She enjoyed his blunt attitude. 

“M’kay.” She hummed, letting out a deep sigh. You turned on a random episode, the room flickering in soft blue light, but you weren’t interested in the show. All you could focus on was the sleepy redhead laying on your chest, making soft unintelligible sounds. 

“M’not sick.” She said after five minutes, jolting you back into reality. You chuckled quietly and kissed her hairline, unhappy with the fever that you felt radiating from her skin. The next time she woke up you’d get her some medicine.

“Of course not. But even 100% not sick people need to sleep, right?” 

You felt her smile against your skin and you smiled back, entranced by her beauty. You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you felt your eyes closing, but you knew that Natasha had fallen asleep long before you did. It wasn’t like you loved your girlfriend being sick, but it was nice to hold her. It was nice to play caretaker instead of the other way around. 

#fever #sickfic #fanfiction #marvel #marvel sickfic #sick fanfiction #marvel mcu #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff #natasha romonova #natasha x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #hurt/comfort #sick natasha #mcu sickfic #sick fanfic #caretaking #slight fluff #lots of fluff #minor whump #minor angst #black widow #black widow x you #black widow x reader #black widow x y/n #sick black widow #natasha sickfic

[star122234]

Yandere alphabet Vance Hopper

-[A]ffection- How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it be?

°Vance is a super protective yandere so expect him to protect you from everything and everyone even if there is no real danger

°he always has an arm around your shoulder or a hand on your waist or starts a make-out session just to show others that you are his

° and you can be sure that Vance is very intense

-[B]lood- How confused are they willing to be when it comes to their sweetheart?

°vance literally almost killed a kid for making him lose at pinball. do you really have doubts that he would kill a person just because they looked at you in a strange way

° it is obvious that he would not kill the person in front of him or other people he would wait until his victim was alone so he could beat him to death

-[C]ruelty How would they treat their girlfriend once kidnapped? Would they mock them?

°Vance will try to be kind and patient with you, even if you yell at him Vance will just take a deep breath and try to calm you down, but if you annoy him Vance may not hurt you but he will yell at you

° he feeds you and makes sure you are clean

° he also tries to make sure that the place you are stuck in is as comfortable as possible

° he gives you some gifts to distract you when he is not with you

° physical touch will be very common in your relationship even if you don't like

-[D]arling- Besides kidnapping, would they do anything against their sweetheart's wishes?

°touching you

°he always hugs you or kisses you or holds your hand even if you don't want to

-[E]xpose- How much of your heart do they lay bare for your darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to your sweetheart?

° he is not vulnerable at first but the more you gain his trust the more vulnerable he becomes

-[F]ight- How would they feel if their sweetheart fought back?

°Vance would feel hurt and angry

° you can try to fight Vance but he is stronger than you so he would take you down quickly

°he would lock you up or tie you up somewhere and leave you alone until you calm down

-[G]ame- Is this a game for them? When would they like to see their darling try to escape?

°this is definitely not a game for Vance

°he would hate for you to try to escape

-[H]ell- What would be your sweetheart's worst experience with them?

°probably when he kills a person in front of you

-[I]business- What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their sweetheart?

°Vance dreams of taking you to live in a house in the middle of the forest where no one can bother you two

°maybe have two kids and a dog

°and about marriage Vance doesn't give a damn he thinks the two of you are already committed to being together forever and that he doesn't need marriage

-[J]ealousy- Are they jealous? Do they attack or find a way to deal?

° a normal Vance is already quite jealous a yandere Vance is extremely possessive

°at the first opportunity he kills the person he thinks is trying to take you away from him

-[K]isses- How do they act around or with their sweetheart?

° he acts like a guard dog around you, he is always behind you and looking fiercely at everyone and growling at anyone who gets close to you

° when you think you are alone you can be sure that Vance is watching you

°when you're not paying attention Vance takes pictures of you so he can admire you when you're not with him

° wherever you go he goes along with you

° when you go to the bathroom, he will wait for you outside the door

-[L]ove letters- How would they go about wooing or approaching their sweetheart?

° he would first be your friend, he wouldn't realize that he likes you in a romantic way at first but when he does he starts flirting with you all the time and at some point he would ask you on a date

°Vance also likes to buy gifts for you, gifts are not expensive or anything like that but they are things you told him you liked like books, clothes, accessories, etc…

-[M]ask- Are your true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

° to tell the truth yes

° I mean he would still be that kid with anger issues who gets into fights all the time

° but with you he would be more affectionate and gentle

-[N]aughty- How would they punish their darling?

°Vance would punish you by hurting someone you love

°he would hurt a friend or a member of your family and then he would take a picture of them and show you just to show you what happens when you don't behave

-[O]ppression- How many rights would they take away from their darling?

°he would take away your right to socialize

°Vance doesn't like you being around or talking to other people he wants you to talk and be around only him

°it will isolate you from the rest of the world

°And why would you want to be around other people when you already have him?

-[P]atience- How patient are they with their sweetheart?

°compared to the patience he has with other people he is quite patient with you

-[Q]uit- If their sweetheart dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, will they be able to move on?

° good depends

°If you escape Vance he will hunt you down like a wolf hunting a sheep

°but if you died Vance will be crazier than ever anything annoys him, and he would also isolate himself from the rest of the world

-[R]egret-

Would they feel guilty about kidnapping their sweetheart? Would they let their darling go?

°no he wouldn't regret it, he wouldn't regret it at all

-[S]tigma- What brought out this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

°Vance's childhood probably brought out this yandere side of him

-[T]ears- How do they feel when they see their loved one screaming, crying and/or isolating themselves?

°he feels a sense of guilt but even with that feeling he wouldn't release you

°he would try to comfort you by hugging you and telling you how he's just trying to keep you safe and how he loves you

° maybe he would leave you alone for a few hours but only for a few hours

-[U]nique-

Would they do anything other than classic yandere?

°he is certainly not as sweet as a classic yandere

-[V]ice- What weakness can your darling exploit to escape?

°The more you convince Vance that you really love him, the more manipulable he becomes.

-[W]is the end- Would they ever hurt your darling?

° Vance could never hurt you at least not on purpose

°maybe he hurts you unintentionally

° if he hurts you by accident he will feel extreme guilt maybe he doesn't show much but you can be sure he feels guilty

-[X]oanon- How much would they revere or adore their darling? How far would they go to win their sweetheart?

°Vance thinks you are an innocent angel who needs to be protected and he will protect you

°he will kill anyone who dares to threaten you or threaten your relationship

-[Y]earn-

How long do they crave their sweetheart before they snap?

°it will probably take about five months before he decides to kidnap you

-[Zenith- Would they break your darling?

°I would say yes

°bom he literally threatens you saying he will kill friends and family if you don't behave and he's probably already killed some people in front of you

#vance hopper x reader #the black phone #vance hopper #yandere the black phone #Yandere Vance hopper #yandere male

[xoxo-sarah]

Getaway Car

↝a/n: y'all voted! Set in Season 3.

↝pairing: Steve Harrington x FEM!reader

↝ warning: angst, not proofread, Billy is mentioned, mention of alcohol, physical abuse, inappropriate comments about reader, talk about cheating, breakup

↝⎙ 6.6.23

"maybe later, pretty boy."

You winked at Steve across the counter, before walking towards the door, ice scream in hand.

"Woah." He turned around, looking at a wide-eyed Robin.

"What?"

"Mr. y/l/n would beat you to pulp if he knew you were flirting with his daughter." Your father was a very intimidating guy, an ex-sheriff, actually. Rumor has it that he beat a guy so much that he got fired, and that offered up a spot for Hopper to take the duty of Sheriff. The guy never seemed to have a smile on his face.

"Relax, it was just a little harmless banter, Buckley."

"Yeah? Tell that to her boyfriend."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed, following Robin's finger when she pointed towards the glass windows.

You stood in front of Billy Hargrove, kissing his cheek after giving him his ice cream. "You've got to be kidding me."

The guy sweeps in, takes Steve's spot in popularity, insults his-then-girlfriend, and now has the girl Steve has had his eye on since he could remember. Steve hated that guy.

They both watched as Billy shrugged you off, taking a few licks of his icecream before throwing it in the trashcan.

Yep, hate that guy.

•••••

"Y/n?" Steve had seen someone walking down the side of the road, raining pouring down, causing him to stop when he got close enough to notice the jacket.

You turned your head the other way, sniffling before fixing your posture, rain soaking you. "Y/n, what are you doing? Get in the car."

The car slowed right beside you, Steve trying to look at you and the road. "C'mon, y/l/n." But you never stopped. Steve parked the car fully, jumping out and jogging around the car. He stood in front of you, not letting you past. The rain soaked his hair, falling into his eyelashes and down his cheeks. "You're gonna get sick."

You spilled apology after apology as you sat in his passenger seat. "I'm getting your seat wet." You whined, buckling.

Steve chuckled, "so am I- it's fine."

Silence laid on the car as if it was a thick blanket.

Steve turned onto your road, stopping when you had an outburst. "No! Uh, I don't wanna go home." Steve stared at your side profile for a few seconds before pulling into a driveway and turning back.

"My house? I can fix food." It would be a lie to say you weren't hungry, especially when Steve had heard your stomach growl when you first got in the car.

There wasn't much more talking on the way to his house.

Steve turned at your gasp, seeing you in his dry shirt and sweatpants, he didn't even notice the can in your hands. Farrah Fawcett hairspray. "My mom uses this." He ignored the playful smirk on your face, turning back to the microwave.

He brought the pate over to the table after it was done, hissing as his finger skimmed the bottom of the plate. "Watch it, it's hot."

"I wonder why."

"Sorry I only had day old pizza. I don't know how to cook." There was that sweet smile that Steve could look at for the rest of his life.

"It's good."

•••••

"Are you kidding?" Steve stared at Robin, who just told him about the fight she had seen you and Billy have in the parking lot at school. "Why'd she get back in the car?" After hearing how he yelled at you, calling you all kinds of name, Steve hated how you still got in the car, letting him drive you back to his place probably.

Speaking of the devil.

You strolled in, a smile gracing your face as you made eye contact with the boy. Robin knocked on the table with her knuckles a few times before smiling, "regular?" After you nodded she was off, leaving you two to chat. "So-"

"So." Your eyes widened at his flat, cold tone.

"Who pissed in your Cheerios?" His eyes glanced all over your face, down your neck. He saw the bruise- the hickey.

He scoffed, looking at his hands before looking back up. "What are you doing?" He saw how you were confused, not knowing how to respond. "He's a dick. Leave him."

Now knowing what was going on, you took a step back, smile falling. "Don't start."

"He yelled at you- no man should ever raise their voice, especially at you."

"It's not you business, okay?!" The other people in the shop turned, just as Robin walked back over. You took the ice cream, slamming money on the counter before walking out. Steve watched you, a frown plastered on his face.

A sudden hit at the back of his head made him yelp, staring Robin down. "Stupid." Robin rolled her eyes before going to get the next person's order.

•••••

"He just stood there. No emotion whatsoever." You rolled your eyes, looking up as more tears rolled down your cheeks. It wasn't a surprise that Billy had been fucking another girl. It still hurts to see how it effected you. He wasn't cruel enough to tell you 'i told you so'. He simply pushed the bowl of ice cream closer. You turned, looking at him teary-eyed. "I should've listened I just... I loved him."

The air got caught in Steve's throat. He swallowed as more tears fell.

His hand raised, his fingers gliding across your soft cheek, wiping the tears away.

As his hand dropped, he looked back at your eyes, seeing their doe-like innocence looking back at him. "Make me forget I ever looked at him."

"What?" He wasn't sure if he heard you right, with the people around the booth and the fact your voice was nearly a whisper.

"Please, Steve. Make me forget him."

•••••

"What? We're just over?!"

Steve's head shot up, seeing you walking fast towards his car, Billy right behind you. "You cheated, William! You don't get to be mad at me!" Steve got out of the car as you turned around, poking Billy's chest with almost every word. "I told you that I didn't like how she looked at you. I told you how she made me feel ugly compared to her! You just brushed it off, making me feel stupid."

Unknown to them, you had seen how your father acted, seeing the same sign in Billy. But you didn't want to believe it. Didn't want to seem as weak and stupid as your mother felt the first time her husband had cheated.

"Get off my dick, woman! Maybe if you weren't all over me all the time, I wouldn't have felt so suffocated." As Billy's hand went to your shoulder to push you back, Steve was behind you, hand going to your sides to help keep your balance.

"hey, chill out, man." Steve's nostrils flared, glaring at the mullet wearing dick. Billy looked between the two of you, before chuckling.

"Really? Harrington?" He scoffed before turning around. "Whatever," he walked a few steps away before continuing. "Bitch." Before Steve could go after him, your hand was in his, leading him back to the car. Before you knew it, the car was steamed up and the two of you were panting through a heavy makeout.

•••••

"Y/n, she just dropped something off. I swear." You couldn't help the doubts that clouded your mind. Nancy was pretty. They had a past. You weren't completely crazy for waiting for the signs. Were you?

"I don't know if I can do this." Steve stopped talking, staring at you.

"No. Y/n, look, I promise. Baby, please." He knew thoughts were racing through you mind, not stopping for anything no matter how much you wanted them to.

Steve reached forward, taking your hands in his. "I'm not him, okay." You knew he meant Billy but you thought of your dad. How little he made your mom feel, how he would gaslight her into thinking she was crazy after knowing he would go out, staying late into the night with another woman.

"Prove it."

"What?" He was confused for a second, just looking at your face. But you never elaborated. Before he knew it, he fell down to his knees, kissing your belly before raising your shirt. "I love you." He muttered against the skin under your belly button.

•••••

It was the moments where you wore the biggest, brightest smile that Steve knew he was doing something right. He'd do anything, give anything to always have you smiling like you were now. Wind blowing through your hair as you watched the trees blur by. "You're so beautiful." You turned, a blush painting your cheeks at his random comment.

"Eyes on the road, Harrington." He reached over, laying a hand on your thigh before squeezing it. He would never understand how anyone would want to hurt you, emotionally or physically. He thought back to the time he had taken you to your house to get some more clothes to spend the night. You had told him to stay in the car as you ran in, saying you'd only be a minute. He watched the door for you, and seen you open the door, going to step out before you quickly turned around, face dropping before a hand pulled your hair, pulling you back to the house. The door shut by the time Steve was out of the car, running to the porch. He had run straight in, seeing your hand standing over you, tears running down your face as you stood hunkering down. Steve had quickly gathered you up when you dad went to get another drink, his breath already reeking of alcohol. Steve never wanted you to go back.

•••••

Ignore him. Just ignore him. Steve kept having to remind himself, a taunting Billy at the end of the aisle. "She was the best ass I've ever had, honestly." One of Billy's buddies had cackled at that, not really knowing exactly that Billy had seen Steve and just wanted to rile the man up. "Yeah, Y/L/N's a special one, I'll tell you that."

"Why don't you keep her name out of your mouth, huh, Hargrove?" He dropped the bag of chips back on the shelf, turning to glare.

Billy laughed, stepping closer. "Tell me," he stepped even closer, shoulders squared. His voice was quiet as he got in Steve's face. "Has she screamed my name yet?"

"Steven!" You gasped, seeing the bruise forming around his eye when he stepped through the door.

"I didn't know getting a bag of chips would be this dangerous." Steve dryly chuckled as you tried to lighten the mood and held an icepack to his eye.

"What happened?" He knew you. He knew how you would react to hearing what happen. He knew how you'd blame yourself, being hard on yourself when it wasn't your fault. But he couldn't bring himself to lie to you. Your hands stopped playing with his hair as he told you, watching your face drop.

•••••

"I can't do this anymore."

Steve knew you could, knew you wanted to. He knew you were lying. It was so sudden, Steve wondered what had happened in such a short time. You two were just cuddling, naked bodies under his covers. And now you sat beside him in his car, tears threatening to escape. "Steve, I want to break up."

"What happened?" He glanced up at the house, your house. Your father wasn't supposed to be home, his truck wasn't in the drive way. He couldn't of been here to tell you to end things. Everything was fine, atleast it was in Steve's mind.

"I just don't see us working out." You lied through your teeth, Steve could tell. You hadn't looked him in the eye since you sat in his seat. He reached over, grabbing your hand like he had so many times through your relationship, it felt as if they fit right in each other- like a puzzle piece.

"I don't believe you."

"Damnit, Steve!" You threw your hands up, dropping his hand as Steve flinched at your outburst. "I don't want to be with you, why can't you just let me break up with you." Before he could respond, you were getting out of the car, slamming the door before running up to your house and slamming the front door.

Steve just say there, not knowing what to do.

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [!I don't give permission!]

#Spotify #angst #stranger things angst #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #steve x reader #stranger things #🕶️ #xoxo-sarah 🩷

[yanderes-galore]

A yandere alphabet for Astrid from HTTYD, please?

Sure! I can try my best :) Sorry for the long wait! Not fully proofread, may contain mistakes.

Yandere! Astrid Hofferson Concept

Yandere Alphabet - Astrid Hofferson

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Jealousy, Violence, Possessive behavior, Stormfly enabling her rider, Kidnapping/Abduction, Threats, Implications of murder, Forced relationship/marriage implied.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Astrid has times where she can get intense. She's competitive, protective, jealous, and emotionally driven. As a result she has times where she can be volatile... even when she tries to be subtle.

Despite this... Astrid is incredibly caring and compassionate towards you. She would be affectionate with you, all while trying to hide her true feelings. She shows her love through competition and impressing you.

Partially because of her fear towards inadequacy....

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

As stated in her concept, I did mention Astrid would get into fist fights due to her competitive nature. She may even use Stormfly to pick off rivals one way or another. She's self aware enough to limit her violence...

But sometimes... sometimes it may just be needed for those you love.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

If things ever did come to that... Astrid would try her best to care for you. She'd never mock you, might not even restrain you if you don't need it. She'd treat you as her spouse... even if you weren't even dating.

She'll be the best girlfriend/wife for you... you just need to understand this is for the best.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

She tries not to... but if she needs to be more stern with you, she will.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

She can actually be quite vulnerable with you in private. She cares deeply for you and doesn't hide that much. For the most part you can read what Astrid is thinking.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Disappointed, she'd probably calm you then reprimand you. She may even be unamused by your attempts.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

No and she'd hate you trying to escape.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

When it comes to Astrid she's mostly subtle. However, you could probably catch her threatening, beating up, or using Stormfly to get rid of rivals.

That could be the worst experience... other than the betrayal of being abducted.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Marriage is something she wants between you. Maybe even a family somehow.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Yes and she may lash out. She tries to hide it and be subtle... but her competitive nature may get the best of her when it comes to your love.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Loyal, Competitive/Jealous, Dedicated, Persistent, Impulsive, Overprotective, Manipulative, Caring, and Controlling at times.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

She no doubt met you through Hiccup as another Dragon Rider. Eventually as you two talked more and more, Astrid began to realize she had feelings for you. Ever since then, Astrid has kept a close and protective eye on you...

But as her violent tendencies make themselves known... perhaps her fixation on you isn't out of friendship anymore.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Not entirely, no.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

She doesn't enjoy physical punishment, so she might pick isolation or degradation to punish her darling.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Not many as long as her darling listens to her. She doesn't like imprisoning you... hopefully it won't come to that.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

She can be impatient but tries her best to be patient with you.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

She'd have a really hard time with it... in fact she may not move on. Losing you may affect her mental health poorly.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Yes and maybe.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Curiosity for the most part.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Astrid tries her best to comfort you... pulling you into her chest and holding you. Even if you struggle against her....

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

SKIPPED

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Going along with her obsession could give you an advantage.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Not on purpose, even in punishments she tries to limit that.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Not quite a worship yandere but would do just about anything for you.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Astrid can probably pine for a while... years maybe?

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Not intentionally, she actually hates the idea.

#yandere how to train your dragon #yandere httyd #yandere astrid hofferson

[obscuritory]

Alright we're gonna talk about BATTLE DOME

You asked for off-topic content, so we're gonna talk about one of my obsessions from the past year: BATTLE DOME.

I know there's a lot of Y2K-era nostalgia now, but if you lived through the Bush years, you probably remember that the early 2000s were a cultural wasteland of amped-up, testosterone-addled, hyper-sexualized garbage.

At the top of that pile was BATTLE DOME, a short-lived TV game show that aired for two years in syndication, presumably to low viewership. BATTLE DOME attempted to blend the over-the-top athletic competition of American Gladiators with the hypermasculine, character-driven soap opera of professional wrestling.

The result was maybe the stupidest show ever to air on television: an extraordinarily dangerous game show where competitors regularly walked away with serious injuries, interrupted by scripted melodrama that played like it was written by and for horny middle schoolers. It is spectacular, and it's almost too unintelligible to be offensive.

The pitch for Battle Dome is simple: three random competitors compete in a series of demanding physical events against THE WARRIORS, an ensemble cast of underemployed Los Angeles-based bodybuilders, stuntmen, and MMA fighters, who have come together here to play a collection of cultural stereotypes and beat the absolute shit out of the hapless contestants.

Here's one of the warriors, Mike O'Dell, a grotesquely muscular dude presented as a white-clad golden god with uncomfortable Aryan overtones. He's at least a head taller than all the contestants and could probably eat them.

There's also T-Money, played BY A YOUNG PRE-FAME TERRY CREWS IN HIS FIRST ACTING ROLE. Getting him on this show was an incredible casting coup in hindsight.

Every event on Battle Dome has a simple objective, like knocking your opponent off the monkey bars. Except this is Battle Dome, so the monkey bars are 15 feet off the ground. And the bars are shaking. And there's a massive man kicking you in the chest.

They call it Aerial Kickboxing.

But the real highlight of Battle Dome are the terrible wrestling plotlines they interject between (or sometimes even during) the events. They're usually arbitrary, poorly written, and just an excuse to make the beefy men fight each other. In this episode, T-Money is pissed at O'Dell because he's underperforming.

After an episode's worth of O'Dell and T-Money throwing barbs at each other, they finally must come to blows. Bobbie Haven, the "sexretary" to the Battle Dome Chairman, demands that the warriors must compete in ULTIMATE BODY SLAM to decide who is the number one warrior!

What is ULTIMATE BODY SLAM, you ask?

I've never been into pro wrestling, but I get the sense that part of the fun of pro wrestling is being a "mark," suspending your disbelief and buying into the fake reality. I do not know how you can do that for Battle Dome. The problem is that the Battle Dome warriors are competing against real humans, which makes their fake absurd antics even faker and more absurd. There is no kayfabe. There is no hermetically sealed world of Battle Dome fiction. This is more like Legends of the Hidden Temple with punching.

But you know what's definitely not fake on Battle Dome? The violence. This show is brutal. Concussions are received. Bones are broken. Even the actors aren't immune to injury. Terry Crews said years later that he almost got set on fire once during an event.

The tagline for the show was "Real Warriors, Real Pain," and at least the second one of those is correct. Pain is the only real thing in the bizarre world of Battle Dome, where emotional truths have been replaced by body slams.

This is clearly not a good television show, and it is incredibly fun. 20+ years removed from airing, it's much easier to laugh at. If I wanted to show someone what American culture felt like at the turn of the millennium, I would show them Battle Dome. I would show them its bacchanalia of testosterone, its bizarre miscalculation of human drama, its Tommy Wiseau-style acting and understanding of women, its unrelenting grinder of human bodies, and then I would get popcorn.

PS: Here are the two announcers for Battle Dome: Steve Albert (right), professional sportscaster; and Scott Ferrall (left), shock jock and professional feral man, dressed like he's about to go on a cruise inside a surrealist painting. Albert does the play-by-plays, while Ferrall screams incoherent horny color commentary in a gravely voice that sounds like he's been smoking six packs of cigarettes a day since kindergarten. They are truly a dynamic duo.

#battle dome #sort of wrestling? #wrestling #the culture immediately before 9/11 is fucking crazy

[kaziee2]

Not yet but soon

Summary: Reader a soft omega with a ready to kill alpha

Warning: Cursing, like really small violence, smug men

Pairs: [Alpha Yelena x Omega reader]

[Words: 2.4k] [A/n: not totally proofread, been in my drafts for like months, first ever writing a/b/o hopefully you guys enjoy]

“Yelena you have to let go of me,”

“No,”

“Whyyyyy,”

“Because I said so, I’m the Alpha..hmp,” Yelana complained with pouty lips, holding onto you tighter. 

You mentally groaned at her, after a minute of trying to wriggle yourself out of Yelena’s arms, you gave up and wrapped your arms around her, hearing a contented sigh from her. You look down Admiring her sleeping face, you never understood what made everyone so afraid of her. She is such a sweetheart. You both stayed in the same position until you fell asleep on top of her, cuddling to one another. 

It was late into the afternoon when you both started to wake up, neither of you wanted to leave the bed, but you knew you missed the morning report and most probably will expect a disappointed Fury, you wince at imagining his disapproval look staring at you. 

You looked to see your mate’s sleeping face, you savor the peace of the moment you and Yelena were in. These were just one of the rare times you both could relax without the thought of the world ending at every opportunity it gets.

But every peaceful moment doesn't last when suddenly you jumped out of bed surprised, when your door room burst open with a very angry looking Natasha. Her angry pheromones radiate around the room and you suddenly feel sick to your stomach. 

Yelena finally stirring awake when you suddenly jumped out of her arms, she instantly feels another Alphas presence (which she feels is familiar). She turned her head to face the door, ready to practically fuck up the person who dare ruin both her and your moment together but most especially for scaring you. 

Once Yelena sees Natasha at the door, she stands up and rushes to push her and her sister out of the room, trying to rid of the angry pheromones in the room. 

Once both were outside, you stared down the door feeling more calmer than you were seconds ago, the pheromones of an angry alpha still lingered in the air but soon it started to dissipate. You sat at the edge of the bed, hugging the blanket which Yelena uses often, her scent was strong on it. You can hear the bickering from the other side of the door, but you didn’t really delve yourself to know the reason for the outburst of the redhead alpha. You just laid down and waited for Yelena to return and fill you in.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Yelena whispered with a harsh voice to her sister, “You were scaring (Y/N)! What is so important that you couldn’t have just knocked like any regular normal person would do?” she raises one brow while crossing her arms. 

“Well if you didn’t make me wait for you for fucking two hours in the training room, then MAYBE I wouldn’t be so mad,” Natasha with the same harsh voice, she points to her sister. 

“Pshh, I don’t need training, it's one damn day! I’m practically better than everyone here in physical combat, I’m at par with you сестра (sister),” Yelena huffs, “If anybody needs training, train the damn newbies. They have no combat training, go bother them.” Yelena was mad, she didn’t need this daily training all the time, her fighting skills are perfect.

“Yelena, you know damn well, we need to keep on training to better ourselves and for your information, those kids can technically still beat you up,” Natasha points out, “With powers maybe,” she hears Yelena mutter. 

Natasha thinks for a moment before having an idea that will surely get Yelena to train, “Why don’t you bring (Y/N) to train with us, they could just sit and watch us train,” she offers, “And why should I let my precious omega be bored to death with watching us?” 

“Why would they get bored, you’re there to entertain them. Flex your muscles, show your omega how strong you are,” Natasha says with a cogent voice. 

Yelena doesn’t seem so convinced but does think about it, you watching her, and her very broad muscles, you’ll practically drool over it! 

With one last attempt to get her sister to train with her, she gives her a deal she know Yelena would never refuse, “If you train with me now, I’ll let you beat me couple of times, to show off,” and with that Yelena agrees, “Not like I need that to beat anyway,” a smug smile on her face.

Natasha pats herself on the back on being able to convince Yelena to train with her. Technically it wasn’t so important and she could’ve just let Yelena miss a day at best, but nobody else was available or capable to match her hand to hand combat. Steve may be strong but his combat skills could truly need some work, she internally sighs at that. 

They both start to prepare themselves with Yelena going back inside the room with a smile on her face, excited to bring you to training with her (even with you just watching). Natasha, on the other hand, goes to the training room to set up a spot for them, since most likely there would be agents scheduled to train today.

The moment you saw Yelena walk back in, you knew something was up. She had this smug smile on, and her scent smelled of pride, now you're wondering what she's planning. 

“Detka (baby), change of plans! We’re going to train with my bitch of a sister,” Yelena announced while changing into her gym wear. 

“Don’t you mean you’re going to train with your sister, as you know. I am not an agent or an Avenger, I’m an assistant and you know how Maria feels about me joining your training sessions,” you remind her, Maria has always been so protective of you since you were the only omega female that has been hired into S.H.I.E.L.D.    

Yelena looks at you perplexed to why she would have to worry about Maria at all, “Oh detka (baby), you misunderstand me, I will be training with my sister, you will be there to accompany and cheer for me as I beat my sister,” you roll your eyes at that. 

“I guess it's fine. At least I’ll have a good view of something while waiting for you,” you purr your words while walking up behind Yelena and wrapping your arms around her midsection, putting your head to her shoulder, “None of that milaya(darling), do not start something you can not finish,” her voice held want but she held back. 

“We should go before my sister comes barging in again,” Yelena removes herself from your hold and holds your hand in her own dragging you with her as she leads both of you out of the room.

Upon entering the gym, you immediately recoil due to the smell of every alpha scent that hits you. It's not strong enough to make you want to puke but it does slightly make you dizzy. Yelena squeezes your hand to bring a sense of comfort when she notices you recoil when entering. You love her so much for that, she always knew when something felt wrong for you and would always try to help you feel better, marked or not.

Your loving gaze on her was quickly cut short when Natasha approached you both from the other end of the gym, “Yelena glad you could make it,” she said with sarcasm,”(y/n), it’s always nice to see you, glad you could come too, makes it easier for this one to comply simple orders,” she points at Yelena with a pointed look, “Well as you know Nat, if Maria finds out I’m here you're done for,” you smirk at her, “And you will most probably be sleeping on the couch for the month,” 

Natasha's eyes widen after some realization and now she looks absolutely scared, “Oh please don’t tell Maria about this,” she practically begs. 

“The black widow begging now, never thought I'll see the day,” you and Yelema both laugh at her, barely being able to hold it in. 

Natasha looks mad but keeps a calm and stoic face, “Let’s just start our training, come on Yelena. I set up a bench near out training spot, you can sit there (y/n),” 

When everyone was settled, Yelena walked over to you and kissed you on the cheek, “Watch me beat my sister,” she puffs her chest in pride, ready to show her mate how strong she is. You just roll your eyes at that. 

Few minutes goes by, and you’ve kept score on who won each time. You were about to score another win for Natasha when someone blocked your view, looking up you see a man standing in front of you, just by inhaling his scent due to him pumping it out to show himself off to you, he was an alpha. “Uhm…excuse me you’re blocking my view, can you please move,” your voice came out low, you were never good at asserting yourself. 

“What’s a sweet omega like you doing in a training room, hm?” he ignores your request and continues to flaunt at you. Showing his broad muscles, that just makes you want to gag, but you’re just too polite to do it. You give him a nervous smile, starting to get really uncomfortable with how close he’s trying to get to you, but you just keep on moving away until you reached the end of the bench you were sitting on. 

“Come on, don’t you want a strong alpha like me to take care of you,” he grins at you, “An omega like you need an alpha like me,” he gets closer to you prompting to wrap an around your shoulders, but before he could even get close he was quickly punched in the face, him staggering a bit to the left due to the force of the punch. 

“DON'T YOU KNOW WHAT A MATED OMEGA LOOKS LIKE! Ty sukin syn (You son of a bitch)!” Yelena yells at the male alpha, she was angry, angry like you have never seen, her chest was heaving and her eyes had dark intentions. 

You immediately snap out of your shock and stand between her and the alpha that was currently cowering in pain and fear. “Move out of the way omega, let me deal with this!” she yells at you, her pheromones overcome you, trying to make you submit but you stand firm. You felt if you let Yelena move towards him, there will be blood. 

Yelena growls in frustration that HER omega was protecting a piece of trash, she moved towards you but suddenly was held back, and she knew who the culprit was, her own fucking sister, “LET GO! LET ME AT HIM! I'LL SHOW HIM NOBODY TOUCHES MY OMEGA!” Natasha’s hold on her is strong, “YELENA! Calm down, just let him go, he learned his lesson,” but Yelena still tried to wiggle her way out of her sister's hold. 

From this point on, you couldn’t handle the stressful situation more so after defying Yelena’s orders is taking a toll on you. You immediately helped the male alpha recover and ordered him to get out, you hoped with him gone it would help relieve some tension in your alpha. But when it didn’t and you saw Natasha starting to struggle holding down an enraged Yelena, you took a more direct approach. 

Walking up to Yelena, she looked at you with anger and possessive eyes, you cupped her cheeks and kissed in the lips. The longer the kiss went on, you felt her body slump in ease, Natasha deeming it safe to let go, she did, and when she did that, Yelena quickly held onto you, Natasha took that as her que to leave both of you alone. 

Both of you only parted ways when needing to breathe became a necessity. Yelena looked at you softly, any residing anger in her had died down, she could never be mad at you, never at you. She loves you too much to let anything happen to you, and when that alpha started to approach you and started making you uncomfortable, she couldn’t handle it anymore and just marched her way to separate him from you, punching him just came to instinct. 

“I’m sorry moya lyubov’ (my love), I couldn’t bare the look at that svin'ya (pig) being near you and when he tried to touch, I lost it…oh I know you hate violence, bu-” you stopped her apologizing, knowing it wasn’t really her fault.

“I know love, I don’t blame you, it was probably my fault too anyway, I should have said something instead of just sitting there,” you kiss her on the cheek in gratitude, “Well he should’ve known better,” Yelena puffed her chess, and started to nuzzle her face in your neck, just right where her mark should be. 

You love when she does this, it always brings comfort to you. “I guess we made everyone leave,” you giggled softly when looking around the gym over Yelena’s shoulder. 

Yelena didn’t really care if there were other people around she just wanted to hold onto you and never let go. You quickly noticed how different she was acting when her hold on you got tighter, “Hey are you ok, what’s wrong?” you ask her softly. 

Yelena didn’t know when she started to feel this way, so vulnerable…she hates it and loves it all at the same time, she’s scared that the more she falls in love with you and you suddenly think she isn't a good enough alpha for you, it might just break her. She doesn’t want to lose you. 

“Yelena,” you gently called her and she looked at you, “Whatever you're thinking, it will never happen. I know you're new to this whole love thing and I know you get scared sometimes being soft, but I promise you, that I will always be there for you and we can explore the new things together,” you smile at her, and kiss her on the lips, but Yelena knew this kiss was different from the rest, it was filled with passion and love, and she loves the feeling of it. 

“I love you, my alpha,” 

“I love you too, my omega”

#yelena belova #yelena belova x gender neutral reader #a/b/o fanfic #a/b/o universe #natasha x platonic!reader #marvel #the avengers #natasha romanoff fluff #yelena belova fluff

[scaryscarecrows]

Welcome to Camp Kill Batman

When the first batch of recruits come, it’s going to rain any minute. The skies are black, the humidity is unbearable, and the jungle is silent.

It’s no wonder the Knight’s nowhere in sight when the APC pulls into the compound.

Antoine’s the one who went to collect them. He won’t scare them, and he’s not busy; Frank, the other Good Choice, had had a breakthrough on some drone thing and had left firm instructions that unless the compound was actively going to self-destruct in two minutes, Do Not Disturb. Riley had tagged along, which maybe wasn’t a great idea, but really, Trent figures, how bad can it possibly have gone?

What he should figure, he realizes later, is how bad can it possibly go. The men pile out, already bitching about the heat. They’re professionals, though, and they get lined up fast enough despite their obvious confusion.

“These the new recruits?”

Trent doesn’t jump. He just shudders a little, that’s all. The Knight is way, way too stealthy for a guy dressed like…well…that. Antoine, who probably saw him coming, just drawls, “Yessir,” in a tone that screams, no shit these’re the new recruits.

There’s another movement, small and fast like a bug, on his left. A second later Riley’s nudging him in the ribs and going, HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT. He grunts an acknowledgement. He doesn’t have to be here, but he’s a little curious, really, as to how this is gonna go.

“I want to know what I’m working with,” the boss says suddenly. He steps back, cocks his head, and Trent has just enough time to think, oh for fuck’s sake when he continues with, “Attack me.”

There’s a beat. Two. Then one of them, with a long scar down the back of his head, asks, “All of us? Together?”

“Mm-hm.”

“But that’s–”

“What you’ll be doing in Gotham. I’m giving you all an order. Follow it, or leave.”

They follow it.

About four and half minutes later, Antoine lights a cigarette, gives Trent and Riley a very, very tired Look, and gets back in the APC.

Yeah. Mark’s probably not gonna be very happy.

* * *

Honestly, Trent chalks that one up to needing to make an impression. This whole thing sounds crazy on paper. And it worked: the second and third batches are swiftly pulled aside with, “He kicked our asses like five minutes after we got here, this guy means business.”

So when batch five rolls around, Trent’s not expecting to be called over.

“Some of you are probably thinking that this is overkill,” he says. “Ages here is going to show you why it’s not.”

What.

“Sir,” he starts, but the Knight just turns to him and spreads his hands.

“Shoot at me.”

“What.”

“Your last physical said your hearing was fine.” Little shit. “Shoot at me.”

He regrets not being busy today. Oh, well. Look, this is on camera. If this goes badly, it’s on camera that he was literally just following orders.

He hefts his minigun up. Wonders, a few seconds later, why he was worried; he gets a few rounds off, sure, but the Knight just does that annoying-ass sproing, bounces off the gun like it’s a damn diving board, and probably only doesn’t use gravity to drag Trent to the ground after because that’s not the point. The recruits are suitably awed. Trent’s just annoyed. There were a thousand ways that could have gone horribly wrong and also, what the fuck.

“You owe me a fight later,” he gripes. “No guns. No holds barred.”

The Knight just laughs.

“Sure,” he says easily. “Why the hell not.”

* * *

Twice is coincidence. The third time, when the Knight opens with some absolute bullshit line about, ‘whoever kills me gets to command–and profit from–this entire operation’, Trent just sits back to watch the fun.

He didn’t know this was going to happen. Hell, the boss just got back from Gotham. Showed up a few minutes after they did, actually, roaring into base on a bike Trent doesn’t recognize.* But he hopped off, collared one of the mechanics and told them to take it to Frank, and came over to investigate. And, well, he led with that.

“There’s no way he can take on that many guys,” one of the newbies whispers. And. It’s just, well, look. Nobody is stupid enough to accuse Trent of being a fine, upstanding gentleman.

He heads over, relishing a little in the path that gets cleared for him immediately, and rumbles, “Wanna bet?” The man blanches and he clarifies, grinning, “Twenty bucks.”

Newbie looks very much like he does not wanna bet, but he also doesn’t wanna risk losing face.

“You’re on. Twenty bucks this guy gets his ass kicked.”

“Anyone else?”

There’s a few takers that agree, there’s no way this nutcase can come out of this. Trent suddenly has a wonderful, awful idea and twists over to go, “Hey, Antoine.”

That causes a ripple of worry. Apparently, they didn’t realize they were betting with one of the Top. Oh, well. Antoine shakes a cigarette out and looks over.

“What.”

“We got a bet going over here that the boss is gonna get clobbered. Wanna pick a side?”

He shrugs, flicks his lighter open.

“Twenty that one of ‘em insists they need medical.”

Good point.

“Yeah, I’m changing mine to that, actually. All right. Anyone else?”

No.

They walk away with roughly ten new mortal enemies. Better than the one insisting that he had a broken arm; it was a sprain, and Mark was not happy to have to explain this.

Still, Trent figures, rifling through his cash, he’ll be around for newbies every time. This isn’t a bad haul.

THE END

*It’s Dick’s. Jason steals two bikes from him (that we know of), presumably for use with his own tech, though he’s also such a little fucker about it. :p

#fic #jason todd #arkhamverse #scaryverse #trent ages #jason is a menace and he makes this everyone else's problem

[millersdjarin]

I Only See Daylight

Chapter Eight

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: E

Warnings/tags: mentions of past arranged/forced marriage, past emotional/physical abuse, nightmares, wound/injury description (not in detail), negative self-talk/self-image, panic attacks, PTSD, religious trauma, religion disillusionment

Chapter length: 10k

Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist/Info | Full Masterlist

notes: so the rating hasn't technically gone up yet, but i've decided to just label it as E from now on rather than E (eventually), just 'cause it's easier :)

long chapter today, so grab a drink, settle in, and enjoy!

i wounded the good and i trusted the wicked; clearing the air, i breathed in the smoke

Grogu doesn’t settle again until he’s made sure that both of you are alright, and that you’re not still mad at each other. He sees the bandage on your shoulder, reaches out to it like he’s going to try and heal it. But you assure him that you’re going to live, that Mando has patched you up real good.

“Your dad’s taken care of me, kiddo. Just get some rest, I promise it’s alright,” you tell him. 

Then, Mando sits with him, gently rocking his hammock back and forth, telling him everything is okay. You watch from the doorway, heart warming at the sight. 

You wish you could say that your focus is entirely on that, though. 

But it’s not. 

All you can think about is what Mando said. What he’s called you on several different occasions now, since the first day you came aboard with him weeks ago. 

Sweetheart.

You’re still trying to rationalise it, not willing to believe that he means it in the way that you think. Maybe Mandalorians call all their friends that. Although, you think, he didn’t want Karga to call you it, back on Nevarro. And…you’ve never heard him say it about anyone else. Not even to the kid. And if anyone’s going to get called a non-romantic, affectionate Mandalorian nickname, it’s him. 

But so far, it’s just been you. 

You’re just debating whether or not to bring it up when Mando peers over the edge of Grogu’s hammock, then says softly, “He’s asleep again.” He gets up, and you move out of the way so he can climb out of the bed chamber and close the door behind him. 

And then you’re just standing in front of each other, barely two feet apart. He’s looking at you through the visor, and something about him seems hesitant, unsure. 

“Look,” he says eventually, “I’m really sorry.” 

“You already said that. And it’s alright, we’re both wired after what happened…” 

“Not just about the fight,” he cuts you off softly, holding up his hand for a moment. He pauses. You’d fold your arms over your chest if you could; you feel exposed beneath his gaze, like he can see so much more of you than anyone ever could before.

“Then what are you apologising for?”

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” 

You frown. “By…doing what?” 

“Calling you Cyar’ika. Sweetheart,” he corrects, and his left shoulder twitches just a little, almost self-consciously. “I…hope I didn’t overstep. I won’t call you it again.” 

“No,” you say, probably too quickly, and find yourself taking a short step closer to him. He doesn’t move away, but he tenses, visor following your movement. “No, you…” you’re not sure how to say, Actually, Mando, I’d quite like to be the person you call ‘sweetheart’, so instead, “You didn’t overstep.” 

A beat. “Oh.”

“I mean, maybe it would’ve been nice to know what you’ve been calling me all this time…” 

“When I called you it for the first time, it just…slipped out. And again just now. I was worried it would scare you if you knew what it meant. If you’d think it was…weird.” 

A smile twitches at your lips as warmth blooms in your chest, and you’re itching to step closer, to put your hands on his helmet like you’d hold his face. “It’s not,” you say. “But…” 

“…But?” 

Softly, you sigh. For a moment you glance away, rubbing the back of your neck. “Mando, I…I never wanted to intrude on your life. I honestly thought you’d get sick of me by now,” you say, and he tries to stop you with a gentle slip of your name, but you hold out your hand to carry on, “But you haven’t. And, honestly, I guess I’m wondering what…that word means. Not literally, but…to you. To us.” 

A breath comes through his helmet. You see it release from his chest. He looks at you, as if considering. Then, tentative, he takes a step closer, and reaches down to take your good hand in his. 

A sharp, quiet breath pulls into your throat. You wait for him to speak, unsure you could form words right now. 

“Cyar’ika…” he says, and now that you know what it means, it makes a shiver run down your spine. “This is…all very new. To me. To my life.”

You look down. “I know. Like I said, I didn’t want to intrude…”

His other hand surprises you by lifting to prop his pointer finger under your chin. Gently, so gently, he coaxes your head up, lifting your eyes to meet him again. “You’re not,” he says, “that’s not what I’m saying.” 

You gulp heavily. “Then…what are you saying?” 

He keeps his finger there for another long, lingering moment. Your skin is still sparking even when he pulls away, hand dropping back to his side. “I’m saying that I feel…something between us. If you do.… I mean, do you?” 

It’s endearing, this new hesitancy about him. It’s almost enough to distract you from the fact he just said that. You manage to nod, stammer out a, “Yes.” 

“But…this is new. I’ve not had something like this before, and I…I never expected it. I never expected…you.” 

“Likewise,” you agree, a soft smile tilting the corner of your lips. 

“I care a lot about you. Which is why I don’t want to kriff this up by—by not being able to give you what you need, what you deserve.” He sighs, soft, his hands clenching nervously at his sides. “I’ve got a lot of things that I need to work out. From…from my past.”

You swallow down a lump of emotion, and nod understandingly. “Me, too.” 

He nods, like he already knew. “And I don’t really know where I’m going, what I believe anymore. But what I do know is that whatever has happened that led us here, I don’t…I don’t want it to end. With you, with the kid. I promised I’d take you travelling, and I also promised I’d take you back if you ever wanted or needed to; I intend to keep those promises.” He shakes his head. You watch him, waiting for him to continue. Then his tone shifts to something softer, something less certain. “I don’t know what I can give to you, but if you’re okay with waiting for me to work it out, can we…find a way forward together?” 

Kriff.

Your heart leaps. Both with excitement and nerves. It’s quite a thrilling mix, actually, one you’ve never felt before. At least, not quite like this.

You’ve never actually been with anyone before. Not willingly, not out of real and true feelings. The man you were betrothed to was never someone that you had chosen. Never someone you would have chosen, in any version of reality. 

And, despite the thrill of hearing Mando say he feels the same, you’re not really sure how you’re going to handle anything more than what They tried to force upon you. They went to a lot of effort to make sure you weren’t desirable to anyone else. Mando doesn’t know what lies under your clothes, or beneath the rubble of the past you tried so hard to leave in a wreckage behind you. 

Doubt begins to creep in around your happiness. It’s sour, foul on the edges of your consciousness. 

As soon as he sees all that…mess, he’s going to run. You know this. They made sure that it would never be any other way. 

“Cyar’ika,” Mando’s voice breaks you from the thoughts heading down a dark path. “If you don’t feel comfortable…” 

“No, it’s not that,” you’re quick to say, voice shaking a little. “I just…this is new to me, too.” 

He nods. Squeezes your hand, soft, reassuring.

Maybe, for now, you can pretend that it will be everything you could dream. You can have this, both of you, even if just for a time.  

“We can take it slow,” Mando promises you, so soft that it hurts, brings a painful yearning to your chest. 

You nod. Some kind of instinct draws your eyes down to where his lips are behind the beskar, even though you can’t see them, can’t kiss them like you want to. Can he kiss? Is that a thing that you’ll ever have together, if he can’t take his helmet off? 

“There’s a lot that I don’t know,” you whisper, a confession and a question. 

He lifts up his other hand. Out of the corner of your eye, you see it gently coming towards your face, and as it goes out of sight you feel the backs of his fingers trace lightly down your cheek. “Whatever you want to know,” he says, “I’ll try my best to answer.”

A shaky breath escapes your lips, your eyelids fluttering at his touch. You wish it was his bare skin, wish you could turn your head and kiss the very warmth of his palm. There are a lot of questions, many of which you’re sure you haven’t even thought of yet. He probably has them for you, too, and you wish you could offer him the same promise of answers in return. 

It should be terrifying. This development, whatever exactly it is, should make you want to run back to that planet and never see anyone again. The trust and attachment blooming in your chest are exactly what you stayed alone to try and avoid; let alone being off of the safe planet and in the middle of space where anyone could find you. 

But, just like everything else with Mando that should have scared you off, it doesn’t. 

“You should rest,” Mando says quietly, his hand falling from your cheek. “How does your shoulder feel?”

“Hurts,” you say with a sad smile. “But I’ll be okay.”

He nods. Pauses. “I really am sorry,” he says. “And I’m thankful. I couldn’t have done the mission without you. I’m sorry for getting angry, but I’m mostly sorry that you got hurt.” 

“It’s alright. I went in knowing what could happen. Honestly, Mando, it could’ve been worse.” 

“It could have been. But I won’t let it happen again.” 

A small smirk twists your lips, “You saying you’re going to invite me along to another mission? Because I’m down.” 

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Maybe. If we need to.” 

“Well, you’ve got my number,” you joke. Your body is starting to feel heavy with exhaustion, muscles getting stiff from the exertion. 

Mando sees it. He reaches his hand out again, this time settling it carefully on the back of your neck. Then he leans in, almost like he’s going to kiss you, but you know he’s not (though you wish he could). Instead as your eyes fall closed, you feel the gentle press of cool beskar against your forehead as he rests his there. 

“Rest, Mesh’la,” he says, maysh-lah, and smoothes his thumb over your neck. 

You exhale, shaky. “What’s that one mean?” 

Briefly, he pushes against you so gently, the front of his visor brushing against your nose like a Mandalorian kiss. Then he pulls away, lets you go. “Beautiful,” he translates. 

Your heart clenches.

The last time you heard that word directed at you, it was your mother, telling you that no one would find you beautiful again. That your only hope was your betrothed. 

Shoving the memory away, you give Mando a shaky smile, and squeeze his hand before letting him go. “You going to sleep, too?” 

“Once we’re in hyperspace,” he says. “I need to eat first. Are you hungry?” 

“Actually, yeah.” 

“I’ll make us something quick. Then you can sleep.” 

“Yes, sir,” you offer a playful salute, earning a humorous shake of his head. 

He gestures to the ladder, following you when you turn towards it. Just before you start to climb, you feel the slightest brush of his palm against the small of your back. 

You shiver, partly because it feels nice, partly because of what lays beneath your clothes. 

You force yourself not to pay it any mind. Not now. 

Not yet. 

-

When you wake up, the first thing you feel is the pain in your shoulder. 

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself, grimacing as you roll onto your back, winded with the effort of it. The pain is shooting like the knife is still in there. At the feeling, the dream you just left comes back to your mind: you dreamt that you were lying in your bed at your hut with a knife in your shoulder, and no one could get it out. Mando was there in the corner of the room, just watching while dozens of people tried to remove it, the pain increasing with every tug, every tear. 

Then, Mando had stepped closer, and everyone around you disappeared. He reached for you, for the knife’s handle. It was going to be okay, he was going to help you, until your shirt tore and revealed your stomach and he saw your skin, what you look like, and the memories from everything you escaped were playing on a screen on the wall for him to see—he backed away, disgusted—

And then you woke up.

Now here you are, still feeling the after-effects. So much so that when you look to the door and realise it’s open, you almost expect to see Mando there, backing up, turning away and not looking back. As if you were never there in the first place.

You hate bad dreams. 

Mando and Grogu are in the cockpit when you emerge. You’d avoided your reflection in the ’fresher mirror, and hope that you don’t look as hideous as you feel when the flashing lights of hyperspace come into view. 

You sit down in your seat. Grogu turns to you and gives you a happy smile. 

“Morning, kiddo,” you smile tiredly, reaching out with a wince to rub your hand over his head. Pain shoots down your shoulder, strains all the surrounding muscles. “Oh, kriff.” 

Mando’s helmet turns to look at you. “You okay?” 

“Just hurts, is all. Sleeping kinda made it worse.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“How’d you sleep?” 

“Well, thank you.”

“Where are we headed?” 

“I know we only left Coruscant not that long ago, but I thought we could head back.” 

“I’m okay with that. You did promise to take me to a restaurant,” you say, giving him a sly smirk. 

He chuckles, his shoulders shaking just a little. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Just try not to get into any trouble that gets you stabbed, this time.” 

“Can’t make any promises. And anyway, you’re one to talk.” 

“Oof. I see how it is. Are we going there for a mission?” 

“No. The ship’s heater has been showing warning lights, I thought I should get it checked out. And I thought…” he hesitates, although it might just be a lapse in concentration as he flips a few switches above him, “I thought we could get you some new clothes.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “You saying my wardrobe is tired, Mando? Rich, coming from you.” 

“No,” he laughs a little, “I like your wardrobe.” 

“Are you a fashion expert? Secretly keeping track of all the style trends on different planets? Personally, I think you’d really suit a poncho.” 

He sighs, not tired but amused. “Alright, alright. I just meant that you still have to sleep in your day clothes. It can’t be comfortable, and after your injury, you should be comfortable.” 

Your heart warms. “That’s sweet,” you say softly, wishing your sore muscles would let you reach out and run your hand over his shoulder. Then, turning teasing again, “What do you sleep in, Mando?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he quips, low and suggestive. 

Something stabs through your gut. Something…not unpleasant. “That’s why I asked. Do you sleep in the armour?” 

He’s quiet for a second, either avoiding the question or just concentrating on something. “I sleep in my flight suit. With the helmet on, since taking the kid on.” 

“Is it comfortable?” 

He shrugs a shoulder. “I’m used to it.” 

Your mind wanders to a place where you might see him when he sleeps. Where maybe, he’d let you lie beside him. Maybe even touch him, hold his hand. Feel his heartbeat in his chest. 

“We’re coming up on Coruscant,” he announces, and the ship whips out of hyperspace, the planet appearing before you, stars coming to a standstill. 

“Maker,” you curse, “it is pretty, isn’t it?” 

“Better from far away,” he says, wry. “Too busy on the surface.” 

He’s right. It’s really fucking busy. 

You knew this, of course. But last time you came to Coruscant, you stayed on the ship, and you remember being distinctly grateful that you were safely inside the walls and not out amongst the chaos. 

The only thing that stops your racing heart from deteriorating into full-blown panic is Mando beside you, sticking close to make sure you’re not separated by any quick-footed pedestrians. The kid is in his satchel, not enough space on the streets for his pram. 

Mando’s hand brushes against the small of your back every now and again, sometimes guiding you through a quieter section, and sometimes, you think, because he’s offering or seeking comfort. He’s not big on crowds, either.

It’s loud and a little disorienting, but Mando keeps his head as always, knowing where he’s taking you: to a little clothing store on a street corner, lit with bright neon lights in the windows. Grogu is fascinated by all the clothes, the different fabric textures and designs. He reaches out and touches everything he can, and Mando only sometimes tells him to stop, though it’s entirely half-hearted. The kid is distracting, so it takes you far too long to pick out some comfy pyjamas, while Mando waits with an admirable patience. 

“Hey, these would suit you,” you say to him, holding up a pair of black pyjamas with gold embroidered trimmings and patterns. You give him a teasing grin, holding it up to his body to try it. “That’s a good look on you, Mando. I’m into it.” 

He shakes his head, amused. 

You make sure to choose long-sleeved clothes to hide your skin as always. The pyjamas you go for are soft, probably the softest fabric you’ve ever felt, a dark blue colour with white stars patterned on the shoulders and the hem of the pants. The long sleeves are wide and flared, the pants pleated. They’re warm and comfortable and you can’t remember the last time you slept in something like this; if you ever have at all.

“Thank you,” you say as the three of you exit the shop. “You didn’t have to get those for me.” 

His gloved hand brushes against yours as you squeeze yourselves past a particularly dense group of people. “You’re welcome,” he says. “You deserve to be comfortable.” 

You smile, warmth blooming in your chest again. “So, dinner?” You suggest. 

“I know just where to go.”

The diner is small but busy, a restaurant tucked on the fifth floor of a tall, beige building that glitters with lights in each window and hanging down the corners of the walls.

It’s divided throughout the restaurant with curved walls, creating little areas tucked away and some more in the open. There’s a bar in the middle of the room where people are perched on barstools, drinking alone or flirting with another. A live band plays in the corner opposite yours, generic music floating through the air as a backdrop to the hustle and bustle. It is small compared to other places in the city, but clearly a popular place to come. 

You sit in a booth in the corner beside one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, the perfect place to watch the busy crowds moving through both in and out of the restaurant, some people arriving, some still eating, and some on their way out. The city below you is alive with lights and movement, above you with speeders in traffic lanes. 

“Did you pick this spot because you know I like watching people?” You ask Mando after a waiter has taken your order. 

“You and the kid, yes,” he says. 

You give him a smile. He’s sitting opposite you with the kid at his side, in a little kid’s booster chair on the booth bench. “You been here before?” 

“I got a bounty here once. It seemed nice.” He’s got a drink in his hand, the waiter having brought both of you one after you ordered. He’s not drinking it, just swilling it around as if he’s nursing it.

“Of course you did.” 

“It was before I met you. Before I met the kid, actually.” 

You take a sip of your drink, the liquor warming your throat. “How long ago was that?” 

“That I met the kid, or that I came here?” 

“Both, I guess.” 

He tilts his head, thinking. “I’ve had the kid a little over a year,” he says. “So, maybe two years ago.” 

You want to ask more, ask him where he and the kid met, how they were brought together and why they stayed together. Maybe Mando knew his parents, and promised to look after him. Maybe it was just an unlikely meeting, and Mando couldn’t resist the kid’s charm. You could totally get that. 

But before you can ask, the waiter comes around with a hot tray of food, plates steaming atop it. The kid has a little bowl of soup with something sticking out from the bowl, something that was once alive, with tentacles. He looks very excited by the idea of it. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can get you, sir?” The waiter asks Mando. 

“Yes, thank you.” 

He nods, gives a respectful half-bow, and leaves you alone again. 

The soup you chose smells amazing, and as much as Grogu seems thrilled with his tentacle-ridden dish, you’re glad you went for one that came without a creature you don’t know the name of sticking out. Instead, yours is bright green, a broth of vegetables and regular meat, herbs sprinkled on top, served with a huge hunk of fresh bread. 

It smells amazing, and tastes even better.

Grogu sucks the creature out of his bowl in one move, and gulps it down. 

“Very impressive, Grogu,” you say, blowing on a spoonful of your own soup. “Was it good?” 

The kid nods and coos before lifting up the bowl. He looks at you, watches you blow to cool it down, and then mirrors you, pursing his little lips to blow air onto his hot soup.

“Good job, kid,” Mando praises, and you can hear the smile in his voice. 

As you eat, your foot brushes against Mando’s boot under the table. On instinct you pull it back immediately, but after a second, you feel the boot there again, gently tapping against your own. Mando is looking down at his drink, so it could have been an accident. 

Either way, you slide your foot so it’s pressed right up against his, and leave it there. 

“If you’re not going to drink that,” you say once your bowl and plate are empty, stomach full and satisfied, “can I?” 

He pushes the glass across the table towards you. “Go ahead. Is it good?” 

“It’s beautiful,” you take a sip and smile. It’s sweet, with the common bitter undertone of alcohol, syrupy as it glides down your throat and warms you from the inside out. “Strong, but good.” 

He sits forward in his seat, leaning across the table just a little, forearms resting on it. The backs of his gloved fingers brush against yours where you hold your glass. “Do you want anything else?” He asks, his little finger hooking over yours, smoothing across your knuckle. 

You swallow, looking into his visor. You can think of a million other things you want, but none of them involve something the restaurant can give you. They all involve Mando. Mando and his hands, his arms, his body. And, in your wildest fantasies, his mouth. 

“I’m okay,” you tell him with a smile, feeling your cheeks start to heat up at your thoughts. “You sure you don’t want to bring any food for the road?” He shakes his head in answer, so you nod, and reluctantly pull your hands away from his. “I’m gonna go to the ’fresher. Be right back.” 

“I’ll be here.”

As you walk away, a smile tugs at your lips, warmth blooming in your chest. You know he’ll be there; you know he’ll wait for you. And that’s something you’ve never been sure of with anyone. 

The contentment in your bones is interrupted, though, when you suddenly walk into something very broad and hard. You weren’t looking where you were going, too distracted by the memory of Mando’s finger wrapped around yours, and you’ve only gone and walked into a Trandoshan who’s standing in the middle of the restaurant walkway. 

“Oh! I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you look up, finding a lizard-like face turning towards you with an unimpressed glare. They narrow their eyes and fold their arms over their chest, tongue darting out for a second. 

“Ssseems like it,” they hiss. “You almosssst made me ssspill my drink, girl.” 

You feel small underneath them. “I’m sorry. It was my fault.” You step back, just wanting to get away from their unrelenting glare, but as you turn around without looking first you walk into someone else, and this time it’s accompanied by the smash of a glass, the slosh of liquid spilling on the floor and down your front.

You’ve walked into a Rodian, and spilled their large drink all down their clothes and their feet. Your cheeks are red for a different reason now, embarrassed down to your core, heart racing now that you’ve got two very angry-looking people on either side of you.

“I’m sorry!” You yelp. “It was my mistake, I wasn’t—”

“You jusssst can’t sssstop causing trouble, can you?” The Trandoshan says from behind you. A cold, scaly hand clamps down on your shoulder, right over where it hurts, where there’s still a bandage beneath your sweater. 

You cry out in pain, unable to resist the pull of their hand when they spin you around again, their slitted eyes glaring down at you.

“Buy thisss fine Rodian a new drink, and a round for my entire table, and we can forget thisss ever happened,” they hiss. 

Wide-eyed, you stare up at them. The Rodian is still behind you; you can feel it, they’re standing so close. You’re trapped between them, and are just about to try and run in one of the directions that they’re not boxing you in, when suddenly you feel the muzzle of a blaster being pressed discreetly to your ribs. You gasp, feeling like your heart just stopped.

“I ssssaid,” the Trandoshan says, “buy us drinks, girl, or else I’ll walk you out of here and make you disssappear.” 

Your heart is pounding, blood rushing through your ears. You can feel the drink that you spilled on your shirt where a large splash of it had reached you. It’s cold against your stomach. Your shoulder is agony, the Trandoshan’s hand still clamped on it. It’s like they know you’re injured there. They’re using it, pushing pain into your nerves that would make it near-impossible to move even without the blaster pointed against your ribcage. 

“Please, I…I don’t have any credits. It was a mistake, I can help clear it up…” 

The muzzle pushes further into you, the hand squeezing your shoulder so hard that it brings a whimper from your throat, tears to your eyes. Your heart drops when you hear the click of the safety on the blaster. Breaths start coming faster than they should, your lungs rising and falling, pushing against the blaster barrel every time your chest expands.

And then, another click. 

This time from your left side, the side where the rest of the restaurant curves around into the divided space. 

Without moving a muscle, you look towards the sound. There’s another blaster. Except this one isn’t pointed at you, and it’s being held in familiar, gloved hands. 

“Let her go,” Mando says lowly, calmly, “let her go, now. She’s with me.” 

The Rodian immediately scuttles for cover, running around the corner into the safety of the lounge area. Mando cocks his head as if urging the Trandoshan to follow the very smart Rodian and move the fuck away. 

They don’t, though. Instead, they just move their blaster into Mando’s view, pressing it against your stomach now. You grit your teeth against the pain in your shoulder, feeling tears wobbling on the edges of your eyes. 

This is all your fault. You’ve fucked up. You were too distracted, not paying enough attention to your surroundings. Mando is going to be furious, he’s probably never going to want you back on the ship again—

“Last chance,” Mando tells the Trandoshan. 

Just as a toothy grin splits its green face, there’s the sound of a blaster firing. You gasp, expecting to feel pain burning in your middle. It takes a second for your brain to catch up to the fact that it’s Mando’s blaster that’s gone off; he’s shot the guy in the shoulder, getting him to release yours.

Stumbling backwards, you grab your wound, trying to catch your balance through the blinding rush of relief at the pressure being released. 

The guy is still alive, just stunned, and he’s about to lunge for Mando when Mando just punches him right in the throat, then in the face, rendering him unconscious and falling to the ground with a mighty thud. 

Mando is next to you in an instant, taking a gentle hold of your good shoulder. “Hey, it’s alright, I got you. Are you hurt?” 

Your mind is racing, reeling after what just happened, blaming yourself relentlessly until you absurdly start to think that the two guys were innocent, you made this happen, it was all you, you can’t get anything right—

“Hey, Cyar’ika,” Mando says, dipping his head to try and catch your eyes. “Are you alright? Look at me.” 

You can’t. Your eyes won’t focus, either from tears or the fact you feel separate from your body. 

Distantly, you feel him push gently at you, one hand coming to the small of your back to guide you towards the refresher. He doesn’t say anything, just leads you to the door at the end of the corridor, quietly takes you both inside and locks the door behind you. It’s all one room with a toilet and sink, an armchair in the corner, silver trim over every accessory and towel in the room. There are plants on shelves, in pots on the floor. You’d admire how fancy it was if panic wasn’t tightening your chest, if you could even blink.

He sits you down on the armchair, then crouches down in front of you. “I need you to answer me,” he says softly, “are you hurt?” 

You somehow manage to shake your head. It’s not true, not really; your shoulder has just been squeezed with the strength of a Trandoshan, and you could swear you felt a few stitches popping while it was happening, the wound now feeling sticky and strange beneath the bandage. Your chest is hurting, tightening as your breaths get faster and come quicker. 

Then, you look at Mando, and fear strikes in your gut. 

He’s going to be furious with you.

You were having such a nice evening, a quiet dinner just the three of you, probably the most normal and mundane thing you’ve done since you met. It was so nice, so calm. And now you’ve gone and fucked it up by being too damn clumsy, too fucking mindless to focus enough to watch where you’re going—

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, “I’m sorry, Mando, I know I fucked up—” You’re waiting for him to yell, to explode, to tell you what an idiot you are. Or, worse, not acknowledge your existence for weeks until you’re so lonely that you’d rather die than exist another second of being invisible—

“It’s alright,” he says softly. “Hey, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s okay.” 

“You should be angry with me,” you tell him, not enough room in your mind to wonder why you’re telling him that, why you want him to be angry at you—it’s all you’ve ever known—“I understand if you can’t forgive me…” 

No one has ever forgiven you. Not without consequence. Not without trial. People around you don’t understand mistakes; they just demand retribution, even for things you never even did, let alone things that you did.

“I do, Cyar’ika, it’s okay,” he reaches up a hand to touch your face, but in your panic you push him away, your brain telling you he’s going to hurt you even though you know he won’t, know he would never. But in your eyes right now, he’s not the Mando that you know. He’s not someone you know at all. He’s Them, thinking of the best way they can punish you. 

Maybe this is how. Maybe They’re saying they’re going to forgive you, lure you into a false sense of security, a trick to make you feel like you’re safe, only for Them to bring it up again in the future, hold it over you like a cloud…

“Please, just get it out of the way,” you beg him, feeling tears pouring down your cheeks. “If you’re mad, just tell me, don’t use it against me…” 

“Sweetheart,” he says, in Basic this time, his voice soft and laced with concern. “Sweetheart, look at me. Here, look right at me.” 

Unable to do anything else as your entire body trembles, you look to his helmet, wondering how angry he looks under there. 

Except his voice is soft, so soft, concern under every single breath that comes through his modulator, “Hey, Cyar’ika, it’s alright. I promise I’m not mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just me, okay? Just us, we’re here for you.” 

It’s then that you look at his lap, where his knee is propped up and Grogu is sitting in his satchel, staring at you with curious, concerned eyes. 

The sight of him releases a breath from your lungs, the first good one you’ve been able to let out in minutes. You keep your eyes on him, lift your trembling hand so he can hold it when he outstretches his own. He squeezes, soft, reassuring. 

And then, it’s like he’s flooded comfort through your bones. Like the place where his skin touches yours is made of a golden light, peaceful, familiar. Gentle. 

You close your eyes, clutching the kid’s hand. He doesn’t try to pull away. Just lets you hold him, lets you feel the overwhelming sense of peace that he is somehow giving to you. It’s like it was when he healed your poisoned wound, except this time, the poison is in your mind. 

“Just breathe,” Mando’s voice comes through the quiet.

You nod, doing what he says. Taking shallow breaths, forcing yourself to stop hyperventilating, to bring yourself back to the moment. Your hand that isn’t holding the kid moves up so you can grasp at Mando’s shoulder, the soft part above his pouldron and beside the curve of his neck. You hold on tight, feeling his warmth. Feeling him. 

It’s alright. It’s just Mando. 

It’s not Them. 

“Sorry,” you say again, this time apologising for the panic attack.

He lifts his hand and places it over yours on his shoulder. “It’s alright,” he assures you, soft. “It’s alright. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” 

You shake your head, but say, “He squeezed my shoulder. I think—I think my stitches might have popped.” 

“Dank farrik,” he curses. Panic stirs again at his tone, but then he follows it up with, “I should’ve killed him for that.” and it settles again.

Letting yourself fall forward, you press your forehead into his neck, close your eyes again. Your hand is still holding on to the kid, his peace still reassuring you like nothing ever has before. Mando’s hand finds its way to the back of your neck, grounding you. “Can we get out of here?” You ask in a voice thick with tears. 

“Of course,” he says. “I had another surprise for you after this, if you’re feeling up to it. I promise it won’t be hard work.” 

“A surprise?” 

“Sort of.” 

A smile twitches at your tear-soaked lips. You push against him just a little harder, then pull away, wiping at your cheeks. 

When you leave the restaurant, he doesn’t take you in the direction of the ship. Instead, he leads you down a street that’s just a tiny bit quieter than the others, lit with all kinds of lights, from lamps in windows to street lights to decorative neon signs above stores. 

Then, he takes you to a hotel. 

Oh.

Not just a hotel room. A suite. With two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living area. You’ve never seen anything like it. Everything is plush and white, edged or decorated with golden thread. The carpets are thick, soft, like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Each wall is either black, white, or gold, decorated with a marble-like pattern that shines in the speeder lights coming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

“Mando…” you breathe, disbelieving, as he closes the door behind you. 

He shrugs his backpack from his shoulders and places it by the door. You feel his hand gently touch the small of your back, his helmet leaning close to your ear when he asks, “You like it?” 

“I…yes,” you laugh. Turn to him, giving him a smile, probably a teary one. Happy tears, this time. You’ve never stayed at a hotel; never been somewhere so comfortable. And no one has ever done something like this for you before. “I…this must have cost a lot of money. Are you sure it’s okay?” 

“Karga gave me an advance for those guys who were after the kid,” Mando says, hauling Grogu out of the satchel and in to his arms. “You helped with one of them, I figured this could be your payment. Unless you want actual credits, of course…” 

You shake your head. Your throat is tight with tears at the sight of him, standing here in the soft light of the hotel living room, his baby in his arms, his armour shining like he’s something ethereal. “I don’t need credits,” you manage to say past the tears. 

He steps closer, reaches out a gentle hand to push some pieces of hair back from your face. For a minute he just lingers there, the very tips of his fingers brushing at the apple of your cheek. You could just close your eyes into the touch, revel in the way it makes you feel, all the thoughts that flood your mind of other places you want his hands to hold you. 

“I’m going to put the kid to bed,” he says, dropping his hand. “Then can we talk?” 

There’s that shot of panic again, mind going places you don’t want it to—

“A good talk,” he clarifies, probably noticing the sudden wideness of your eyes. “And only if you’re up to it.” 

You centre yourself, swallow your nerves. Giving him a reassuring smile, you nod. “Okay. Night, kiddo. Thanks for today.” You give his hand a little appreciative stroke, and he smiles at you, like he knows exactly what you’re talking about. 

It takes Mando twenty minutes to get the kid to sleep. His bed is a regular, human-sized cot with soft, white sheets and big, fluffy pillows. It’s a far cry from the hammock in the ship; although, he does seem to like the hammock, and he definitely doesn’t have any concept of fancy things, because he gets Mando to get rid of all of the pillows before he’ll even consider settling down. 

The second bedroom is bigger, a huge, four-posted double bed in the centre of it, pressed against a marble wall. A fluffy carpet is spread across the empty space between the foot of the bed and the sofa by the window. Paintings of Coruscant line the walls, and there are twinkling lights on the ceiling. 

It’s so beautiful that you don’t think, at first, about the fact that there is now only one bed.

Your heart beats louder at the realisation, thrumming in your ears. Does Mando want you to share it? Are you going to take turns, or maybe one of you will take the sofa? 

He breaks you out of your thoughts when you hear the soft click of Grogu’s bedroom door closing, the gentle padding of Mando’s footsteps. When he steps into the bedroom, he finds you standing in the middle of it, staring out at the beautiful view of the city below you.

“Kid’s asleep,” Mando says. He comes to stand beside you, his arm brushing yours. 

“He’s probably exhausted after a long day,” you say. “It’s been really fun today. Thank you.” 

“I’m just glad it made you happy, Mesh’la.” 

Your heart clenches at the word, its meaning. Beautiful. If only he knew. 

“Can I take a look at those stitches?” 

You nod, and the two of you head out into the living room. Mando fetches a med kit from the bathroom cabinet, then comes to sit beside you on the long, plush sofa. It’s all very square and rectangular, with sharp angles and thin metal legs. But the cushions are fluffy, soft, comfortable. It’s been so long since you felt something like this. 

“How much does it hurt?” He asks, setting the medpack on the glass coffee table in front of you.

“Just a little more than usual. That Trandoshan squeezed the fuck out of it the entire time.” 

“Asshole,” Mando mutters. You smile a little at that, at the disdain in his voice. You can relate. “Do you mind if I lower your shirt just a little?” 

Instinctively, you close in on yourself. 

It’s stupid. He’s seen your shoulder before; he patched it up yesterday like he didn’t even notice the bare skin around it. And you know he’s not asking to see you fully naked, or anything. It’s just what he has to do to help you.

So you force yourself to relax, sliding the shoulder of your shirt down your arm, releasing one of the buttons to allow him better access. Like this, all he can see is the fresh wound. No scars. 

“Dank farrik. They have popped,” he confirms. “I’m gonna have to stitch it up again. I’m sorry.” 

Resigned, you sigh. “Okay.” 

As he readies the sutures, he glances at you. The quiet lingers for a moment, your shoulder still exposed to the warm air of the suite. “Can I ask you something?” He questions. 

You stare at the side of his head. A nervous nod, “Yes.” 

Threading the needle, he says, “Did you think I was going to punish you for what happened back there?” 

Your eyes fall closed, forehead wrinkling as tears sting at the backs of your eyes, rising impressively fast from nothing. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Mando assures you, turning back to face you with the sutures ready to go.

“I want to,” you say, finding that you mean it. “Yes, I did think that.” 

“You know I would never hurt you, right?” He sounds so concerned, so desperate to get you to hear him. “I need you to know that. I’ll never punish you, I’ll never hurt you. I promise.” 

Pulling your bottom lip into your mouth in a futile attempt to control the tears wanting to fall, you nod, your eyes still clamped shut. 

“I’m going to start now,” he says quietly, resting one of his gloved hands on your shoulder. “Are you ready?” 

You nod again. “Yes.” 

The first stab hurts more than you’d expected. A sharp hiss goes through your gritted teeth. It ebbs a little as he keeps going, your body getting used to it.

“I know you’ll never hurt me,” you whisper into his patient silence, “I know that. But in that moment, it’s like…I forgot where I was. Who I was with. I…” a trembling breath comes from your mouth, shaking from your very core. Memories flood your mind as you try to find the words to explain how you became the way you are. Wondering if you even should tell him; if it’s too soon. “Some people in my past treated me like that. Any tiny mistake I made, they’d punish me in some cruel way.” 

Mando remains steady and quiet, pulling the thread through your wound with precision, concentration. But you know he’s listening. He’s always listened to you.

And now that you’re saying it out loud, now that the words are forming and falling out into the intimate, private space between you, it feels like something has released. Like a dam breaking, a blockage being pushed through. “I—it was my family. Sometimes, the punishment would come later, not right away. They did it like that just to be cruel. It wasn’t physical—not always, anyway—but, honestly, it felt just as bad.” 

He ties the sutures. When he’s done, he keeps his hand on your shoulder, his thumb smoothing softly over the uninjured skin.

You take a shaky breath, and continue, “I’m just so used to messing up. To everything I do being a fucking mistake, something that has to be corrected. Nothing was ever off limits for them. They would reach into every area of my life, everything I cared about, everything that made me me.”  

You feel his other hand taking yours, threading your fingers together. Your eyes open, falling to your lap to look at your joined hands. “Sometimes, it’s like I’m still there. Like I never escaped.” 

“You’re safe now,” he says softly, trailing the hand on your shoulder up to gently cradle the side of your neck. 

You nod. “I know. I know that really. But sometimes I just…revert back to who I was in that time in my life.”

“That’s understandable,” he assures you. “Was it always like that? Even when you were a child?”

“Like I said, nothing was off limits,” you laugh bitterly. A tear falls from your cheek; you lift your free hand to wipe it away. “They controlled every aspect of my life,” you think of your betrothed, the man they tried to force you to be with, all for the sake of their stupid religion, or whatever they called it. A shudder goes down your spine. Words don’t form, won’t; you can’t even imagine getting it out and telling Mando about Him, about how They did everything they could to make it so He was the only man who could ever want you.

You’re shaking before you realise it, Mando’s hand in yours the only thing keeping that hand still. The other is trembling in your lap, your shoulders shaking. 

“Sorry, I just—it’s hard. To talk about.” 

He leans in, presses his forehead so gently to your temple. Maker, you wish you could feel him. Feel his skin, his warmth, his lips against your skin. Something about the gesture makes you think he feels the same; wishes he could press a real kiss to the side of your head, could push his nose against you and say his words right against your skin with nothing between you.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he says softly. “Thank you for telling me what you have. It means a lot to me that you trust me, after everything you’ve been through.” 

“I do trust you,” you squeeze his hand. 

He removes his hand from yours in favour of lifting it up to gently stroke at your cheek. Your eyes are still on your lap, his forehead still pressed to your temple. He holds your face in one gloved hand. It’s hard not to feel like this is only half a touch, when you can’t feel his heat.

But it’s enough. Kriff, is it enough. 

“You don’t ever have to worry about them again,” he promises firmly, his thumb rubbing circles over your cheekbone. “Even if one day you decide to go back to your planet, and you want to be alone, I’ll still protect you.” 

Your heart warms at the promise, and panics at the idea of ever being alone again. You reach up, take a hold of his wrist. Tilting your head, you press a kiss to the leather on his palm, nuzzling your nose against the curve of his fingers.

“Do you know,” he whispers, “how badly I want to kiss you right now?” 

Oh, kriff.

A shot of arousal, surprising in the midst of the nerves and warmth and tenderness, goes through your belly. You move back just a little so you can look at him, gaze right into his visor. “You do?” 

“Yes,” he replies. He’s still holding your face, his other hand moving to gently hold the back of your neck. Holy fuck, you can somehow feel his warmth even through all that armour, his softness despite the metal and the weapons that cover him. You want to be all over him like the armour, cover him, protect him from anything that would ever cause him harm. 

You bring up a hand and place it gently on his chest plate. “Is that something you can do?” You ask, looking right into the darkness of his visor.

The hand on your cheek ghosts down, his fingertips tracing the line of your jaw, down to the sensitive skin of your neck. You shiver, eyelids wanting to flutter closed at the sensation. 

“I’m not supposed to take my helmet off, ever,” he says. You start to nod, knowing that already, knowing that you will never ask him to do something against his Creed, but then—“But things are changing.” 

You pull back, your brow furrowing. “What do you mean?” 

He hesitates. His fingers still absently stroke your skin, almost like he’s trying to comfort himself as much as you. “The kid and I went on quite a journey. I discovered a lot about my people, about…the Creed I was raised in. Not all Mandalorians keep their helmets on.” 

This is something you already sort of knew. You have fuzzy memories of meeting Mandalorians when you were a child, and they wore no helmets. But you’d thought that maybe they’d abandoned the Creed, that maybe they were outcasts. 

“But you do,” you say, explorative. 

“I…always have. Except a few times, for the kid. When I had to save him; when he needed to see my face, before we were separated.” 

Your eyebrow raises. “You were separated?”

“For a time,” he says, nodding once. “The Mandalorians cast me out after that. Because I took my helmet off.” 

“But…you did it for your kid,” you frown. 

“Yes, I did. And for a long time I tried to atone for my failure. But…since then, I’ve become…disillusioned, with some of what I was raised to believe.” 

You try not to show your surprise too much on your face, let alone your hope. 

You never, ever planned on asking him to break his Creed. Despite your own rocky history with religion, you’d never even considered getting Mando to choose between his own and you.

“I’m not saying I can take my helmet off right away,” Mando says, sounding hesitant, like he’s maybe frowning under there. “Maybe I’ll never be comfortable enough for it. But it’s crossed my mind. Especially since you.” 

Something shoots into your chest, something like guilt. “Mando, I’m not asking you to change who you are for me,” you say, pressing both hands against his chest now, holding his armour to make a point. “If who you are comes with this helmet, with this beskar, that’s good enough for me.” 

He nods. “I know that,” he says, appreciative, putting his palm back on your cheek. “But, fuck, Mesh’la, there’s so much I want to give you.” 

“Mando…” 

“I’m not telling you this meaning that I’m going to change who I am for you. I’m just saying that I’m…different, to how I used to be. Everything is different with you, with the kid, and it’s opened up my eyes to something bigger.” 

You swallow heavily, feeling that your eyes are wide as you gaze up at him. Your shoulder is still exposed, not even bandaged up yet. You don’t care. You could sit like this forever, until the wound was healed and your skin was wrinkling from age. 

“So, if you’ll let me,” he says, “I’d like to kiss you.” 

Holy shit. Yes, yes, yes.

Trying your hardest to maintain some level of composure, some level of self-control, you nod a little. “I’d like that,” you say, nostrils flaring as you hold back the excitement and arousal that’s blooming in your chest. “How?”

He brings up his hand from your cheek. Gently, so gently, he touches your eyelid with his thumb, coaxes them shut. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you close your eyes, as the light shuts out and you can’t see anything else, just feel him, hear him, smell him. 

You feel his hand moving down your face, tracing over your jaw, rubbing circles into your chin with his thumb. He touches you for just a minute longer as you focus hard on keeping your eyes closed, then he pulls away. 

The next thing you hear is a soft, unfamiliar hiss. 

Then, breathing. Unmodulated breathing. His breath, brushing softly against your face with every exhale.

Oh, kriff. 

He reaches for your hands, lifts them from his chest. He guides them to his face and lets you feel that his helmet is still on, just tilted up so his jaw, lips, and the tip of his nose are exposed to the air. Then he lets your hands settle on his cheeks, and you feel the exhale before you hear it, a release of relief at your touch. 

“Cyar’ika,” he whispers. “Can you keep your eyes closed for me?” His voice. That’s his fucking voice. Holy, holy kriff. 

You nod without question. Yes, it’s hard to resist opening your eyes when you know that his lips are right there, when you know that you could open them and see half of his face for the first time. But, ultimately, the trust he has in you to let you do this is more important than any of your own desires. You need him to know that he can trust you, need to honour the faith he’s putting into the space between you right now. 

His voice is enough to keep you going, too. You’d keep your eyes shut forever if it meant you could hear him speak to you so intimately, nothing there to modulate him. 

Gently and carefully, you let your fingers spread out. There’s the hint of a beard on your palm, just a thin covering over his jaw but not his cheeks. A moustache is above his lips. You feel it tentatively, brush your thumb over the hair on his chin. 

“Mando,” you breathe, “it’s you.” 

He chuckles. You feel the vibration in his face and grab hold of him tighter, wanting to feel it again. “It’s me, Cyar’ika.” 

Hearing him say that in his unmodulated voice unravels you from the inside out. You release a shaky breath. Everything is trembling still, except now, it’s not because you’re scared or talking about something horrible. This time, it’s from the sheer effort of holding back from him, of keeping your eyes closed.

You hear a soft sound, two things hitting the ground in quick succession.

It only takes you a second to put the pieces together. When his hands find your face, and, kriff, it’s him. He’s removed his gloves, no leather separating his warmth from yours. Just his skin. Bare skin. 

“Mando…” you all but whimper, “you don’t have to…” 

“I want to,” he whispers, sounding more sure than you’ve ever heard him. “Can I?” 

“Yes,” you answer in an instant. “Yes, Mando. Whatever—whatever you want.” 

You feel his smile. His smile. His smile, his smile, his smile. 

And then, slowly, he guides your head forward. His head is tilted back a little, making a bit of an awkward angle for him. But it means that when he pulls you in, coaxes you to dip your head a little, tilt it to the side, he has you in just the right place for him to close the distance between you with ease.

And he does. 

His lips are so soft. So warm. Gods. Maker. Fuck.

It is, technically, a chaste kiss; top lip to top lip and bottom to bottom. 

But it sends a guttural need through your entire body. Because his mouth is on yours. Because he’s here. His moustache is brushing against your upper lip. 

He lingers on you for a long, delicious moment. Then only pulls away to open his mouth slightly, coaxing yours open too as he catches your top lip between both of his. You sigh into his mouth, into the soft, slow kiss he gives you. His breath is sweet, familiar and new all at once. His cheeks are so warm beneath your hands, so real.

The kiss is gentle, exploring. It can’t go any further, the two of you barely able to open your mouths much further without your forehead bumping the bottom of his helmet and knocking it off his head. 

But it’s perfect. 

When he pulls away, you can’t help the sigh that escapes your throat. Both a sigh of relief, and of desperation. It was perfect, it was more than enough. You need more.

“Kriff,” Mando curses softly, his thumb running over your bottom lip, pulling it down just a little. Like he’s memorising its curve. “I’ve never done that before.”

“I couldn’t tell.” 

“Really?” 

“Really. You could do it again, though, just to make sure.” 

He smiles. You feel it on your hands. Then he leans in again, quickly kisses you. 

“Mm. Yeah, I think you’re a natural.”

A soft chuckle brushes against your face. “I’m putting it back on now,” he tells you, but then leans back in again like he can’t help it, pecking one last kiss upon your lips, then on your nose. 

“Okay,” you whisper. 

He takes his hands from your face. A second later, there’s the same hissing noise from before, and he taps at the corner of your eye. “You can open them.” 

You do. The visor is staring at you, his bare hands back on your face. “Thank you,” you whisper. “Mando, that was…I wasn’t expecting that. Ever.” 

“Me, neither,” he says truthfully. “Thank you. I never thought I’d trust someone enough to do that. You kept your eyes closed.”

You kiss his palm and close your eyes again for just a second, almost pointedly. “Of course,” you whisper. Then, smirking, “I like these bare hands.” 

“Oh, you do?” His voice lilts with a smirk. “They’re pretty skilled.” 

“Mm. I can imagine.” You slide your hand over his helmet, let it rest at the back of his head. “Think maybe one day you can show me what they can do?” 

He releases a shaky breath. His fingertips push past your hairline, carting through your locks with a soft ease that has a shiver running up your spine. “We’ll get there,” he whispers. “I promise.” 

And you believe him.

notes: so you might have noticed i've changed the upload schedule for this to just Thursdays. i know that sucks but life is super busy, and i just wanna make sure each chapter is as good as it can be, which means i need more time to edit ❤️ hope you don't mind! i might do the occasional surprise Monday update though :)

as always, reblogs help so much with engagement/reach/my motivation, and i'd love to hear your thoughts if you can ❤️

love you, take care of yourself!

taglist: @toobsessedsstuff @granillx @keepingitlokiii @shoe1412 @kiruoris @quentinor @yourunstablegf @moonknight-s-cumdump @senassn @samanthacookieone @local-fanfic-addict @your-slutty-gf @brilliantopposite187 (this tag never works im so sorry) @whenpugzfly @elsasshole @moony-toasts @julesjewelss36 @jbcalway @mxlsmith @indec1sive @lordhavemurthy @booktvmoviefangirl

ps: reminder that my requests are open, info here ❤️

#din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #star wars fanfiction #my fic #my fic: din #i only see daylight #my post: fic #gif cw

[ghostingssdeadlinee]

PLATONIC ALPHABET - DEAN WINCHESTER

warning(s): none? Maybe swearing?

AN: I actually love him sm <33

Adventures (what kind of crazy shit would you get into together?)

Well, besides hunting? Getting food in the middle of the night.

Also him forcing you too watch ‘doctor sexy’

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Best-childhood-friends.

Flirty at that.

Cuddling (do you ever cuddle? how physically affectionate are you?)

Yes. Either you just lay over him like a blanket or it’s after a hunt.

Sleeping, his head in the crock of your neck, you slowly going over his back and hair, mumbling, reading/watching something in the background.

He’s definitely big in hugs.

Soft and suddel touches are his specialty.

Dance (do you ever dance together? how?)

Jamming out too classic rock in baby is a given of course.

But slow dancing in the kitchen in the middle of the night, or rocking out in the kitchen in the middle of the night is something he’d so do be up for.

Enemies (were you ever enemies? Do you share the same enemies?)

He definitely doesn't like some of the people you call ‘friends’ (like Crowley, Gabriel, etc) if you call any demon/angel your friends he’d probably doesn't love them.

But Lucifer? Pain in the ass for both of you.

Fight (how often do you fight? how do you resolve conflict?)

Probably over you putting yourself in danger. He takes a while to cool down but after he does it you talk it out.

Gain (how have you helped each other improve as people?)

You’d be one of the only people he’d trust to actually talk about what makes him sad.

And the way you’d be there for him, telling him everything’s going to be okey and that he’s doing great, he doesn’t need to be ‘Strong’ all the time, he’d be there for you.

Whatever you need, he’ll get for you.

Help (how do they ask you for help? how do they help you when you need it?)

He rarely does because of him being scared you’ll look down on him.

But it’s definitely when your alone, closed of era.

Injured/Ill (how would they act if you got hurt or sick?)

Hurt? What or who ever hurt you is fucking dead. So fucking dead.

Sick? Baby you as a joke, but of course gets you medicine and food.

Will even cuddle you even if it could get him sick.

“Dean- you’re going to get sick.”

“Mhmm, yeah, but your worth it.”

Jokes (what’s their sense of humor like? how do you joke about things together?)

Most of the time the jokes on you, but like in a loving way.

He’ll also jokingly flirt. Like a lot.

Kisses (do you ever kiss? how? Kisses not on the lips count)

Forehead kisses. Cheek kisses.

Sometimes while he hugs you from behind he’ll plant a kiss right on top of your head.

Love (how do they show you they care?)

He’s very touchy, in a calm way.

Definitely voices it, maybe no by saying ‘I love you’ but I’m other ways.

Makes you a mix tape, let’s you pick the music in baby, even MAYBE would let you drive her.

Definitely tells you random facts about classic rock.

Meeting (how did you meet? how did you become friends?)

Childhood friends.

Nesting (do you co-habitate at all? how?)

At motels, if you want too, he’ll let you sleep in his bed with him, gladly cuddling if you let him.

Oasis (is there a specific place that is “your place”? what is it?)

I can imagine that there’s a place near Bobby’s that you used to go too sense you were kids, maybe like a cliff with a tree house. Going there whenever you want to be alone.

Protection (how protective are they over you?)

Very protective.

Definitely understand that you can take care of yourself from monsters but still would take a hit for you, putting himself in danger just so you don’t get hurt.

Again, will beat up anyone who decides to fuck with you.

Query (how inquisitive are they when it comes to getting to know you?)

Doesn't want to make you uncomfortable by asking to much, everyone has secrets, especially him, but also doesn’t want to you hiding something massive.

For two reasons:

One, it could way you down and make you sad / not feeling like you could be yourself.

Two, it could be helpful in hunting.

That might sound dark and mean, but maybe if it could help he’d really like two know.

Record (what’s something you’ll never let them live down?)

Definitely once got mega black out drunk and just wouldn’t shut up about the most random things.

all from his crushes, fictional or real.

Too how much he loves and cares for you.

And then too really embarrassing moments in his life he has never told anyone.

When he woke up the next morning, very hungover, you had a lot of fun teasing him about it for the next year.

Support (how would they show their support for you? how far would that support go?)

Well, it depends on what it is.

You like something? If he sees something that is alike he’ll steal get it for you.

Lgbtq? Same. (He definitely has some internalized homophobia but he could never point that at you.)

Wants to get out of hunting? Don’t forget him, please, but if you could, he’d be so happy for you.

Trust (how much do they trust you? how do they show you that?)

Tells you it in looks.

As long as you trust him, he trust you.

If you’re unsure about a plan and is a little worried it’ll fuck up, he’ll give you a look of ‘it’s okey, I trust you that this will work’

And when it does work he gives you another one of ‘see? You got it.’

Uplift (how do you bring each other up?)

Tell him how you feel safe and protected around him and he’ll just start to tear up and pull you into a tight hug.

Knowing you feel safe around him is better then anything.

He’d try too get you out of the place that got you down and then ether just talk or listen to music, in baby of course.

If you want to talk, he’ll listen and give advice the best he can.

If you just want to listen to music, even if he’s not into it himself he won’t mention it, singing along.

Vacation (do you ever travel together? what’s that like?)

I mean, outside hunting? Probably not. No where long at least.

Maybe he’ll take you to a diner or some silly place you’d like to go (like a cat cafe) but not like airplane travel/vacation.

Worry (do they worry about you? how often?)

Every time you’re away. Especially on hunts alone. Leaves you messages and if you don’t respond for some days he drives up there himself.

(Yes, a little clingy but he has attachment and abandonment issues okey?)

Xerox (are there any traits or habits of theirs that you’ve picked up by accident?)

‘Son of a bitch’ is a word you never said before you started hunting with dean. You kind of just picked it up.

Not really relevant, but sharing looks of ‘damn (s)he’s hot’ and ‘huh’ and even ‘what the fuck’.

Yahoo (what’s an inside joke you share?)

You’d see like a pineapple or something and just burst out laughing for the dumbest reason.

Like I’d be that you mispronounced something once and whenever you say the word, he’ll correct you with the wrong way you said it like 20 years ago.

Zany (do they have a weird side only you get to see? what’s it like?)

He can be so silly when he’s not sad.

Doing wired shit, making stupid childish jokes, talking shit, watching movies, shopping (with stolen credit cards ofc), even going to like painting or pottery, the places where you just make stuff.

#platonic alphabet #spn fanfic #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction