I’m sorry this is going to be a kinda long series, I know where it is I wanna take it, I just… I don’t wanna miss bits out. Anyways… enjoy guys!
When she woke, Y/N was surprised to find herself tucked into the side of a sleeping Geralt. She didn’t remember coming into her bedroom, nor did she remember falling asleep at all. Had he carried her into her room? Had she asked him to stay? Why was she in bed with a man she barely knew?
Y/N’s eyes wandered over the sleeping man beside her. He had removed his shirt during the night, so laid beside her in all his glory. Her eyes wandered over his body, taking in every muscle, every scar as they went. Gently, she ran her finger across a particularly long scar running from the top of his shoulder down to his chest. How could a man who seemed so gentle ever get a scar like this? Sure he was a witcher, but in the short time she had known him, she found it hard to believe that his life was a dangerous one.
I’m open to writing smutty / fluffy / schmoopy fanfics about any character played by Charlie Heaton or Domhnall Gleeson, but I don’t write fics about real people so don’t ask me for any actor x reader fics, keep it fictional babey
Summary - Your life seems to have finally settled. You’ve got your dream job managing an artist blog, and although you didn’t have a place of your own, your best friend was letting you stay with her. But then you meet some men with a sense of familiarity and tattoos that seem to move. They offer you a mansion to stay in and lavish you with everything you could need. Until you find out that something is very off and you remember nothing is ever what it seems.
Authors note: I probably should add more warnings, but there’s honestly too many for me to keep track of, so yeah Explicit Content is going to have to do. I want to thank my beta readers @ilovetabicat and @noonananana you have both been an amazing help!
This is the LONGEST insert I have ever written holy MOLEY. Here it is at a whopping 5,423 words. I mostly wrote this with ToS!Scotty in mind but I think it also works for both ToS and AoS! I’ll also pop this up on Ao3. Fic is based off my favorite band The Orion Experience and their song Electric Moves
Summary: After moving to L.A. straight after college, Y/N L/N had abandoned her dreams of becoming an actress, instead pursuing a career as a writer for stage, screen, and the page. In the midst of her first novel, she gets a call from her agent about some hotshot Broadway director buying the rights to her first (and utterly unknown) play. It doesn’t take long for her to be more involved in the production than she’d ever expected…
summary: When you have been dating Evan for a while, and on a whim, he decides that you should meet his dad. But eventually things come to light, and through certain circumstances things change between you.
pairing: evan stanley x reader, paul stanley x reader
Thank you to this anon for the request hope you like it. This is my first request ever so feedback is definitely welcome
Warnings: as you can see warnings include but are not limited to, Swearing, ANGST, intimidation by a loved one.
Bucky loved his girlfriend with all his heart. He looked forward to every meeting he had with her and was excited to take the next step with her. The only problem was her new best friend, Sean. As time goes by and her new best friend starts impeding his time with her and Bucky doesn’t know how to handle it. Hopefully, communication happens before your relationship falls into chaos.
CAN I GET ME SOME PETER FROM BOC? (I promise he's overage ajdjfjff) he has no content and he's just,,,adorable 🥺
listen here, I’m now head over heels for Peter and I’m blaming you
WHAT A MAN,,,
I hope this doesn’t disappoint, it’s full of feels and there is a LOT to unpack here! I based it on this set of headcanons I did a while back wherein someone saved the circus members and nursed them back to health, so that person (tho I went with a lady) is this reader’s boss
also this got WAY longer than I meant it to but considering the absolutely criminal lack of Peter content, I don’t think you’ll mind
Sometimes, on nights when it’s warm, you’ll find those two sitting in the courtyard behind your employer’s manor.
(Mistress) never told you what the story was with these circus performers, and as far as you know, she’s never told any of the other servants either. Hell, she may not even know herself. If PETER and Wendy are anything to go by, this lot doesn’t open up easily. They’ve all been living here for six months, and the only thing you really know is that (Mistress) took them in after finding them horribly injured, that Peter and Wendy are basically adults stuck in bodies which never matured, and that they used to be trapeze artists in their troupe.
They’re both very hard to read, though Wendy is marginally friendlier than her brother. The two of them seem closer to each other than even to the other members, and the whole lot of them keep to themselves, perhaps trying to avoid the household’s staff entirely, so you’ve not had much interaction with any of them.
These two, though? They intrigue you; Peter in particular. He seems on edge all the time, a shock that so much anger seems to exist in someone so small. Even if you didn’t trust their word that these two aren’t children, you would know he was an adult. No child is that angry all the time without any discernible reason.
You just want him to be able to relax. Whatever the reason he’s always ready to fight, he would be so much less stressed if he could let go of it just a little bit. Doesn’t he know he and his sister are safe here? Don’t they all know that? If they don’t, someone ought to clue them in.
When you step out into the courtyard, the balmy night air welcomes you.
There they are, the two of them, and Wendy looks to be lying down in the grass. Sleeping, maybe? It’s late, but not past midnight quite yet. (Mistress) has no strict rules for her staff nor her guests except that she would prefer everyone be inside the manor by midnight. Oddly enough, unlike anyone else you have ever worked for, she’s very concerned with everyone’s safety.
The grass rustles between your feet as you walk. The closer you get, the more Peter’s shoulders seem to shoot up toward his ears; indeed, until they’re buried in his hair. Wendy, on the other hand, only moves by breathing, so she’s definitely asleep.
After a moment of standing, staring at the sky, you lower yourself onto the ground next to Peter. Close enough that you could touch him, far enough that, hopefully, he doesn’t feel crowded. “Lovely night,” you hum, crossing your legs. “It’s nice when there are no clouds at night. You can see the moon so well. Lady (Mistress) is happy someone is finally enjoying the courtyard. She’s never really been one for stargazing or―”
“Oh, what the bloody ‘ell d’you want?!” Peter interrupts you before you can even finish your sentence. His voice is harsh, not loud, likely because he doesn’t want to wake Wendy. “Did y’ come out ‘ere just ta talk me ta death?!”
His bad attitude is still a bit surprising to you, but to have such rude comments coming from such an innocent-looking mouth is no longer the shock it once was. “Well… it wasn’t my intention, no. I’m sorry.” You tilt your head at him. “Do you want me to leave?”
The look he gives you is equal parts incredulous that you’ve said such a thing and sorely tempted by the offer. At last, his face contorts into a scowl, his head jerking back down to the grass he’s yanking out of the ground. “That ain’t what I said. Just stop prattlin’ on about nothin’.”
A moment passes in silence, then you reach over to tear out a couple blades of grass yourself. It’s not that you pretend to understand why he’s doing it, but you want to show him that whatever he’s doing, you’ll join him if he wants, even if you don’t know the reason why.
“… What should I prattle on about, then?” you speak up once he seems to have calmed down a little. “I started with the sky, but… I get the feeling you’re not actually out here to look at the sky. Not as dumb as I look, you know.”
Peter huffs, and a small sigh comes from Wendy as she turns over in her sleep.“So, y’ saw a bloke what didn’t wanna be bothered, ‘n’ y’ came out ‘ere ta bother ‘im, is what y’re sayin’?”
A small shrug is what he gets from you before you say anything else. “Well, no, I’m not trying to bother you. I just wanted to see how you’re doing… if you’re settling in alright. Wendy seems pretty comfortable.”
He snorts, the bitter look from earlier taking over his face again. “We ain’t ‘settlin’ in’. We ain’t gonna be ‘ere longer’n a year, I’ll bet, if we even make it that long.”
“Why do you think that? Lady (Mistress) says she likes you all and that you’re welcome to―”
He lets out a violent grunt as he pulls a clump of grass blades from the ground. They’re tossed down in short order, accompanied by a growl. “(Mistress) don’t know nothin’ ‘bout us! Y’ think she’d want us ‘ere if she knew the truth?! Y’ think anyone’d want us anywhere if they knew the truth?!” He presses his hands into the dirt, digging it under his frayed fingernails, and hisses furiously. “There’s a reason we were left ta fuckin’ die ― because we should be dead! We’re BAD PEOPLE, (Name)!”
Now his voice has gotten louder, causing Wendy to stir and make noises of what sounds to you like distress. You scoot over a bit, reaching around Peter to give a few soft pats to her shoulder. Then you turn your attention back to Peter. “… You’re not,” you say softly. “You in particular, you’re a little rough around the edges, but you’re not… bad.”
You shift around some to get more comfortable. When you cautiously set your hand on top of Peter’s, he flinches, but ultimately lets your fingers stay where they are. “Even if you were bad… you’re not the only bad people to ever exist. You don’t deserve to die.”
“What d’you know?” he grinds out lowly. “Y’ don’t know nothin’ ‘bout us either. Don’t know nothin’ ‘bout me. Y’ don’t get ta make that judgment.”
“Then what judgment am I fit to make?” If you sound frustrated by now, it’s because you are. Why does he seem so insistent about this? Doesn’t he think that if they all should have died, they would have? “Do my feelings really mean that little to you? Does what I think really not matter to you? Because whatever else you may be, good or bad or somewhere in between ― I’m glad to have you here. Perhaps this comes as a surprise to you, Peter, but I happen to like your company, and Wendy’s, and the others’.”
You curl your fingers around his, tightly, securely. “If you should have died, then God wouldn’t have let you live. You’re still alive for a reason.” Despite that you move closer to him, he doesn’t pull away. “You’ve all been given a second chance. Regardless of whether or not you think you deserve it, you have it. And you’re prepared to spend it feeling sorry for yourself, saying you don’t deserve it, instead of doing something with it?”
What surprises you is that he wraps his fingers around yours in response, holding your hand as if you’re his last connection to life. When he looks up at you, his expression is old enough to betray his youthful face. “Y’ don’t know what y’re talkin’ ‘bout, (Name). We shouldn’t ‘ave this chance in the firs’ place. It should’ve gone ta someone else. Y’ don’t know us, er what we done, er anythin’ else. Y’ don’t know… me.”
“But I want to.” Something strange thrums in your chest, your heart fluttering against your ribcage. “I don’t know you because you won’t let me. None of you will let any of us in even the smallest bit. Meanwhile, Lady (Mistress) and I and some of the others… we want to know you. Whatever that means. Even if there are things about you that aren’t pleasant. We like you. I like you. How do you know we wouldn’t accept you if you won’t give us the chance?”
What comes out of his mouth is a mix of a scoff and a laugh. That look in his eyes is so dark and tired you don’t know what to make of it. “Lord, y’know, I never met anyone like y’. Mos’ people don’t want us anywhere near ‘em, even the parts of us that ain’t so bad. But y’re tellin’ me, y’ expect me ta believe ― y’ actually want the bad parts?”
You lean even closer, almost desperate that you’ve come so close to potentially getting him to open up and be vulnerable with you. “Yes,” you breathe. So close you are now, your noses are almost touching. “I want the bad parts. I want the good parts. I want all of you. Is that so crazy?”
“Yeah!” This time it’s a full-blown laugh, though it’s so mirthless, he nearly sounds closer to crying than laughing. “That’s very crazy! Y’ oughta be locked up in some asylum! It ain’t enough yer lady took us in, but y’re tellin’ me y’ actually want every single part of me? Y’ take a look at me lately, ‘uh? I ain’t no gentleman! I ain’t refined, I ain’t sweet… I mean, damn, I look like a little kid!”
The tip of your nose presses to his. “You’re not, though. You’re not a boy,Peter; you’re a man.” You get the feeling very few people acknowledge that about him. He looks like a child, so he must be!
“And I don’t care about refined or sweet… and anyway, who says I want a gentleman?” Your hand stays in his, and your other arm snakes around his shoulders. “What I want is you. I understand if you can’t… or don’t want to… give me all of you. Or any of you. But… no matter anything else… know that there’s someone who will take every part of you. There are people here who want to accept you… if you’d only let us in. You’re not alone.”
Peter lets out a shuddering breath, and you can feel its heat against your lips. His hand clutches yours with such ferocity that his arm is shaking. After a long, long moment, his other hand comes to rest against your waist. How long must it have been since anyone’s treated him as the adult he is ― how long must he have been holding himself back so that he doesn’t make people angry or uncomfortable? “Stop,” he murmurs, and his hand bunches the fabric against your waist in a fist. “Stop bein’ so… good. I can’t… I can’t take it. Jus’ gonna make it ‘urt more… when we get chased outta ‘ere…”
He presses his forehead against yours, his chest heaving as if he’s using his whole strength to stave off the sobbing he’s already been holding back for his whole life. “… If I open up… if y’ do accept me… ‘n’ then I ‘afta leave y’ be’ind…” He’s still holding himself so tensely, wound so tight that he could snap at any moment.
“… I can’t…”
That he gives no resistance when you push forward and kiss him is something you didn’t expect. The way he leans into the touch, bowing to you with a stunning softness you weren’t sure he possessed, speaks volumes about how much he needs someone to embrace his whole self. He seems to even lose himself in your approval for what feels like an eternity.
You draw away, only to be pulled back in against him for another kiss. This one is rougher, hungrier, with a neediness that’s somehow the same as the first kiss and yet wildly different. It’s the kiss of a man who just wants to be wanted, who has tasted that someone desires him and became addicted to that in an instant.
When he pulls you back, you’re only too happy to submit to his wants. You can feel his hand at your waist, his fingers fanning out from that fist so they are splayed against your side.
As soon as you come up for air, you move your arm from his shoulders to let your hand rest on his cheek.
“Don’t worry, Peter,” you whisper as if you can quiet all his fury and anxiety with just those words. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Summary: Ruthless CEO Max Lord is about to meet his biggest match yet in another CEO such as cunning and biting as he can be.
A/N: Y’all are killing me with your support and response to this, and I’m in love with it! Thank you lovelies, I’m glad to see that we all love our boss daddy! If you’d like to be tagged, please let me know, and as always, feedback and comments are always welcome! xx
Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Reader
Word Count: 3.5k
Warnings: slight language; max being an ass (as usual)
Maxwell was sitting at his desk, feet up as he waited for his assistant to return. She should have been back fifteen minutes ago, but instead she was late, requiring him to remain in the office. He loathed tardiness, and loathed being help up due to an employee even more. And now he all he could was to wait for her.
It crossed his mind for a mere moment that she might have pocketed the card for herself and left. But she wouldn’t be that stupid. He wouldn’t have hired her if she was; Max was many things, but he was smart about picking who worked for him, who he kept in his inner circle. She was one of the few people that was privy to most of the goings on in his office.
Just as he threw his head back and let out an exasperated groan, a timid knock came from the other side of the door. Rolling his eyes and removing his legs from the desk, he reminded himself to be at least somewhat polite, to not completely scare her away, “come in.”
“I-I’m sorry I’m late,” his scared looking assistant walked in the door, holding a white box in her hands, which he could were trembling slightly. Nervous, he thought to himself, how cute.
“Close the door,” he commanded and she did as instructed, before slowly treading over to him and placing the box delicately on his desk, taking a step back. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the weighty credit card and handed it back to him. Max stared her down as he took the card back and tossed it onto his desk. It was a sign of power, of dominance, that money didn’t matter.
“I-I have the receipt,” her voice trembled as she fished in her pocket, but he just narrowed his eyes at her and she stopped, “sir?”
“There’s no need,” he insisted gruffly, “as if I care what you spent, I told you that money is no object. Present what you’ve obtained.”
“Yes, Mr. Lord,” she nodded fervently, hands moving over the box, untaping the ends so she could remove the lid. The simple, clean, golden writing on the box very simply stated that it was from La Perla. A small smile spread across Max’s face at the revelation; he’d a few…friends of the female persuasion that favored the brand. The young assistant was safe…at least for now.
When he didn’t make a move to stop her, she lifted the soft cardboard lid and set it to the side. Her nerves increased, heart rate shooting higher by the second as she picked up the singular piece of lace fabric. It was delicate and soft, almost the exact opposite of Max himself. It was a beautiful juxtaposition. While she had considered your words for what to pick, something black and velvet, when she had seen the white lace and pearl number, she had a feeling in her gut that told her this was the one.
She displayed it proudly, making sure he got a good look at it. He drummed his fingers along his jaw as he inspected the garment. It wasn’t what he had envisioned you wearing, no; it was better- much better. The delicate material and almost innocence of the scandalous garment would mingle perfectly with your fiery personality. The picture created in his mind of you in the lingerie and heels, along with the lipstick was enough to have him half hard then and there.
When Max didn’t day anything, she swallowed the lump in her throat, and set the piece down, and grabbed the matching, barely there panties, “they’re a s-set.”
“Obviously,” he stated coldly, pulling the box towards him, letting his fingers skim over the fabric. He was pleased, very pleased, although his outer appearance suggested anything but. She took a step back and waited to hear her fate. It was several long, dreadful moments before he spoke again, “job well done.”
Scratched up skateboard wheels rolling across the pavement fluttered through the three-inch crack of the front door as Billy sat at the kitchen table. He’ll be met with a stern lecture from a mustached lip if a fly managed to wander into the home like a tourist upon their first breath of the A.C. at a hotel lobby, but Billy had much more important business to intend to. Report cards were just around the corner and with his sweet talking skills, Billy’d convinced the math teacher into giving him a passing grade if he turned in 200 solved problems by the end of the week.
He had seven days. Seven whole days to answer some textbook questions that they’ve gone over in class. It should have been easy, except it wasn’t. Billy was failing the class for a reason. Day five only had two hours left of sunshine, yet Billy’s currently stuck on problem forty-six. With each tick of the clock mounted behind him, his frustration grew.
One of his temples rested in the cup of his left palm as he beat the eraser head on the other before tossing the pencil at the book pages. Words were merging into numbers and numbers were blurring into letters.
Fuck it, he thought, I’ll just ask for a tutor. Yet he knew if he kept this mindset he’d fail, receive a smack across the back of his head, and still wouldn’t seek out a tutor.
He could hear the skateboard’s wheels beat relentlessly against the cracked concrete while Max explained the footwork behind the technique to you, who was sitting on the grass with your white cane last he check. Jealousy picked at the nerves in his forehead as frustration clenched his eyebrows together.
His mind began running off of the book pages and onto the blue sports car in his driveway. Would he have enough for the wash and the wax. Would there be enough leftover for a tip? Billy was an asshole to a lot of things, but he knew what it was liked to be stiffed.
Page 267 was beginning to give him more trouble than it was worth, and those pointers the geek with the lisp in his class gave weren’t helping at all. The rim of one of Susan’s good glasses touched the plush of his bottom lip, the cool water streaming down the well of his parched throat―
A gasp bordering along a yelp burst through the door, clawing its way into his ear. He nearly choked on his drink; some loose water dribbled down his chin.
Pushing out of his chair and the table he was leaning on, not caring if the polished hardwood caught a couple scratches, he was out the front door in five seconds.
Under the shade of his palm, which he planted against his eyebrows to fend off the sun’s brightness, he scanned the situation for clues.
His step-sister’s skateboard lied planted on the other side of the street. Upside down. Wheels spinning lazily under the shade.
The little redheaded runt’s wide eyes met his. Laced with alarm. Her bottom lip wobbled in search for words. Her hands held out below her…toward you, who was slowly lifting yourself by the skin of your elbows.
Raw. Blood beginning to clot around the loose gravel that clung to the wounds.
Billy marched through the grass, nearly tripping over your forgotten cane. “Max, what’d you do?!”
Max took a deep breath, crouching down to you. Her small fingers brushed your palm before helping you to your feet. “I’m sorry.”
As soon as you were back on the safety pads of your feet, Max turned to face her fuming step-brother.”I didn’t mean―”
His hand landed on her slender shoulder, shaking her like an earthquake rattles a brick foundation. “No, of course you didn’t mean to, you little twerp.”
A couple specks of spit landed across her freckled cheeks and nose, prompting her to screw up her face in mild disgust. “She wanted―”
“How many times do I have to tell you? You need to be careful with her, she’s―”
“Stop talking about me like I’m not here, Billy.” You dusted off the debris from your stinging cuts. “I’m blind, not fragile. How many times do I have to tell you?”
You would have walked off in the direction of his house if only you knew wherever the hell it was. Trying to land that kickflip Max had spent the last half hour explaining to you really messed with your sense of direction, but you weren’t about to tell them that. Your mother didn’t call you a stubborn mule for nothing plus you were getting really sick of Billy thinking you were weak, so you turned around and started stalking off without the aid device your parents payed for.
“Y/n, where are you going?” Billy called after you. “You can’t just leave.”
“Watch me!” You called over your shoulder, continuing your trek into the unknown.
Billy watched you walking down the street, and for once he appreciated living down such a long road miles away from the populated center of town. If it wasn’t one of his neighbors pulling into their cracked driveways after a long 9-to-5 shift or pulling away for a hearty meal at Benny’s Diner, cars rarely ever raced down this street.
Turning to Max, his grip loosened on her shoulder. “Grab your board and get inside.”
Max didn’t argue. Out of the two of them, Max had a more leveled head. She knew she could just check out the damage on your elbows and apologize again once Billy convinced you to come back into their comfy abode. Yanking away from her older step-brother, she ran for her precious skateboard.
“Babe, come on,” Billy tried to reason with you as his long legs neared you. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. You just―”
His warm hand gently latched onto your arm, turning you to face him. “I just what, Billy? You know people here either pity me or they stand feet apart from me like I’m made of glass,”the pressure in the center of your forehead begins to make itself known in the form of a headache, “I just thought things…here…were different.”
“They are, babe.” His chin bounced with quick little nods to reassure you. Sometimes he forgot that you couldn’t see these small actions. “Okay? They are. Max was teaching you one of her stupid tricks, and I just freaked, okay?”
Memories flicker through your mind, sounds and touch alike. When one of the mean girls at school had purposely stuck her foot out in front of you for taking “her man” away, you had bashed your head against a locker and were knocked out cold. You had woken up moments later in Billy’s arms as he carried you to the nurse’s office. You hadn’t bent over and died when the concussion symptoms came at you in full force; you had just taken the standard amount of sick days at home. Not any less and, definitely, not any more.
Other memories came at you, but none were as extreme as the concussion. Yet, with each scrape or nick that life threw at you, Billy reacted like blood was seeping through your clothing at an alarming rate or your lungs were restricting from lack of oxygen. Whatever it was, Billy acted like it was the end of the world for you.
“I didn’t cry when I fell off a tree branch and broke my arm in fourth grade, “ you began the recited verse you’ve told almost every member of your family, “so, I’m not gonna cry because of some stupid scuff marks on my elbows. I’m fine.”
“But, when I was sitting at the kitchen table, loss in thought, I heard it.” His thumbs were stroking the bones of your cheeks. “I heard you fall, Y/n. How was I supposed to know it wasn’t anything worse? When my dad first introduced me to Susan, Max walked around in crutches after a bad skateboard landing snapped her shin bone.”
You sighed, allowing his outlook on the situation widen the scope of your mind. Maybe you were being a little too harsh on him. After all, you couldn’t pour salt to the sizzle off the worry that ate you up inside whenever Billy decided to hang out with one of his pals. It would steal the sleep from you knowing he’d be driving around drunk. Him cradling you to the nurse’s office and you phoning him to make sure he made it to his bedroom safe were two sides of the same coin.
“I’m surprised Susan still lets her ride around on that thing.” His fingers carded through your hair. “I was just scared the same thing might of happened to you, or worse.”
“I understand, Billy.” You spoke so softly, Billy wasn’t entirely sure if it was just one of your breaths. A shuddering gasp forced its way out of your throat as you fought off the burning sensation of tears from the corner of your eyes. “I just get so frustrated sometimes.”
Your face met the soft cotton of his shirt as he brought you into the protection of his arms. “I know, baby,” He kissed the crown of your head. “I’m sorry I overreact sometimes.”
You sniffled a couple times before pulling away from him, “It’s okay.”
His lips brushed against the center of your forehead first then dipped his head to land another on your plump lips, but your fingers caught him. “You still have to apologize to Max first before you can kiss me.”
He took a deep breath. “Deal.”
Your fingers fumbled for his before before successfully latching on. You sighed as your palms melded together like ironworks as Billy led the way to his house.
As you both grew closer a loose thought struck you. “Wait. Don’t you still have homework to do?”
A/N: I hope I did alright in characterizing a blind reader.
Warnings: Canon typical violence, Death (lightly self inflicted death?)
Request: By anonymous -Hello! I’ve read all of your Star Wars imagines and they are absolutely fantastic! I know you write Sith Obi Wan x reader and was wondering if you could write an imagine in reverse: Female reader is a Jedi Master and in love with Obi Wan but can’t act on her feelings because of the Jedi Code and Palpatine convinces her to join the dark side so she can be with Obi Wan then she runs into Obi Wan and tries to get him to join her but he’s loyal to the Jedi and they end up fighting?
A/N: This took too long, I hope to write a little faster in the future. But i’m back, even tho I never really left.
No happy ending? Am I alright?
(Not my gif)
The Sith lord had convinced you. You knew he manipulated you into joining him. But you didn’t exactly fight him on the matter because you also knew he was right. He was right about your feelings, your doubts, about it all. But most of all about Obi-Wan. He had always had a special place in your heart. You didn’t know why. It might have been his wit, his bravery or the way he would smile at you. Most likely all of the above.
Manipulation or not, you had joined the dark side. You had done it for him, or so you tried to tell yourself as you made your way to him.
“Obi-Wan!” You ran to him while waving your hand to hold his attention.
“Ah, Y/N! It’s good to see you.” When you reached him nerves started to flutter in your stomach. This was a long shot at best. Should you be doing this? The words of Sidious echoed through you mind. “If he is as loyal to you as you say he is, he would not think twice about joining you.”
“We need to talk. Maybe somewhere secluded?” Obi-Wan gave you a questionable look but nodded nevertheless. He followed you as you made your way to the topside of the temple. Most of the Jedi were off fighting in the clone war so it should be mostly empty at this moment. Obi-Wan had probably sensed your nerves because he spoke up as soon as you stopped walking.
“Are you alright? You seem on edge.” He put his hand on your shoulder in a reassuring way. The gesture made you turn around to face him. You took the hand that was resting on your shoulder and held it in your own hand.
“What I am about to say does not come lightly. We have always had a connection. I sensed it on you and I know you sensed it about me.” He tried to interrupt you.
“Please- Just. Let me finish.” He closed his mouth and listened to your words. “I know the Jedi code forbids attachment like this. And I tried, I really tried to push my feelings away. It didn’t work. I feel for you, strongly.” Obi-Wan looked apologetic, you couldn’t blame him for not seeing your solution to this problem yet.
You took his other hand in yours as well, giving them a tight squeeze while maintaining eye contact with him. “I found a way for us to be together. Leave the order with me.” His eyes widened and he pulled his hands out of your embrace.
“Do you realise what you’re asking of me? Who gave you the idea to leave the order? Y/N, this is your place, our place, we cannot abandon it.” You took a step back. You had not expecting him to react this way.
“I- I just thought-” You looked away from him and turned around. You made a promise, you were not one to break promises. But you also hadn’t thought it would come to that. Oh how you wanted to break the promise you had made to the Chancellor, your master.
Obi-Wan instantly knew something was wrong. His hand moved to grab his lightsaber in case you were going to try something. “What did you do.”
Tears were now running down your face. You sniffled and cleared your throat before speaking. “Please reconsider.” You were practically begging him. Your promise repeated itself once again. “If he chooses not to join us… you will have to eliminate him. Promise me that you will.” And you did promise, you were certain that Obi-Wan would come with you.
“You know I cannot do that.”
“Then you leave me no choice.” The words came out weaker than you would have liked them to. Your hand moved to your lightsaber. You hadn’t bled your crystal yet so when your lightsaber ignited a familiar blue hue painted your complection. You heard Obi-Wan ignite his as well.
You attacked first, clashing your lightsabers together in a frenzy of sparks and heat. Your heart was not in the fight, far from it if you were honest with yourself. You pulled back to strike at him again but you knew each others fighting style too well. The hours of sparring together did not come to your advantage.
Obi-Wan blocked every one of your strikes, lightsaber clashing over and over. You managed to slice his left arm but it hurt you more than it did him. Your battle moved itself to the edge of the temple. You were now balancing in the edge.
Your feet tried to find grip while you dodged Obi-Wan’s counter attacks until you had to take a step back to miss his lightsaber. As the blade missed you by a hair you could feel your foot slip off the edge. You felt your body fall back and did nothing to stop it. You could have easily manipulated the force to pull yourself back on the edge but you did not care anymore. You had given up.
As you accepted your imminent death you could feel a hand grab your wrist. Obi-Wan had tossed his lightsaber away and managed to grab your wrist to keep you from falling. He was all that kept you from dying. He lay on on his stomach as he held your wrist, his eyes were brimming with tears. His face showed sadness and you were now certain that he felt the same way about you. But it was too late. He would never join the dark side and you couldn’t kill him.
You looked down for a moment and when you looked back up Obi-Wan spoke up. “Please, don’t do this.”
One of his tears escaped his eye and as you fell the wetness fall down on your own cheek you knew what you had to do. You gave him one last smile and took a second to remember his face, take in his features that you loved so much.
You brought your feet up to brace them against the wall you were hanging against, and you pushed yourself backwards. The grip on your wrist disappeared and you felt wind blow past your body. The last thing you saw was Obi-Wan getting smaller and smaller until everything became black. You had failed.
Can I requests The Collector with a reader Who is a killer, a killer like jigsaw; very smart and cunning? Thank you! ❤️
The Collector (Asa Emory) x Killer! Reader
Infuriating. That’s what it was. His own traps turned against him? That was the last straw in the game of chase. At first he’d enjoyed it. Another smart brain to play against, to try and beat. Asa enjoyed stimulation more than anything, but only on his own terms. He crouched by the trip wire of his own design and sighed under his breath, spinning the knife over the back of his hand as he ground his molars together. The trip wire wasn’t attached to his own trap anymore, the hammer hanging in the air on its wire, no longer positioned in the rafters over his head. The killer held his knife and snapped the wire, standing back as a huge sledge hammer swung through the corridor. Pressed against the wall, Asa felt his jaw click, his anger mounting at the discovery of all this tampering.
Oh he knew you were responsible.
He twisted his boot into the wooden floor and looked at the hammer with rage in his dark eyes. You’d found his little play house, and tried to make it your own. Not on his turf. This was an invasion of everything of his. Asa sheathed his knife and continued, dismantling traps and throwing pieces of them out of his way as he stormed towards his control room. In a fit of anger, he dragged wires from the walls, tugging the pulley system from the ceiling as he reached for the door to his control room. He breathed by the door, knife in his hand as he listened. The buzz of the screens attached to the camera.
The camera over the top of the door whirred, lens turning to focus on his face as he peered upwards.
You grinned inside the control room as his fingers recoiled from the handle. His dark eyes peered at you through the camera before he disappeared out of view. The microphone was sent into static as a knife sliced the wires at the back of the camera. Asa was angry. You played with the keyboard as you waited, looking at the screens for a sign of him as you wondered what your little stunt would get from the man.
A bookcase behind you shuddered.
A smile graced your features as you watched the bear trap next to it shudder. Asa peered downwards and scoffed, stepping over the trap with a curious look before his ire was turned back towards you.
“Did you have fun, Asa? Playing the game?” You asked sweetly as he twisted the knife over his fist, vinyl gloves squeaking as he strangled the handle and watched you, breathing evenly, trying to calm himself, “I enjoyed watching you play.”
He stalked closer, the knife deadly, pointed towards you. His foot tapped against another wire, but the man caught himself, peering up at the knives hanging precariously over the both of you, a shower of steel to end the two of you and this little game. Asa stepped over the wire and stood over you in his little chair, the knife pushed close to your chest.
“All games come to and end.” He uttered before pushing the knife closer, pricking your skin, blood dripping from the cut.
“But you enjoy them.” You peered up at him, ignoring the knife.
Imagine being a lab-grown Supe with Homelander. Imagine encouraging him to be selfish and arrogant and ruthless because it turns you on. Except in regards to you, of course. Acting coy in your formative years helped. You would be high school sweethearts if you weren’t Supes.
Now that you’re both co-captains of the Seven, your invincible boyfriend can and will do whatever you want.
A/N: There are apperances of BTS members in this fic, but they are not dominant characters.
Summary: Tucked away in a small corner alley is The Magic Shop. It’s a quaint store that you work at on the weekends. You’ve seen your fair share of ‘tourists’, the ones who come in just to oogle the products or joke about the potions just being for show. Most days you wish they would just buy that transformation potion and drink it, because then they’d know that this really wasn’t a joke shop. Sometimes you get the ‘aggressive tourists’, the ones that try to bait you into using magic, but you stick to the law: Witches and Wizards are free as long as Mortals don’t witness magic being performed. One weekend you notice a boy, well a man actually. His stark blond hair a harsh contrast to the darkened interior of the shop, easily recognizable as you see him come and go a few more times that same weekend, always eyeing the goods but never purchasing anything.
Hey there! Could I ask for a scenario of Megs, Starscream and Optimus with a seeker s/o that sacrifices their wings to save their life? Like the damage done makes them crippled and flightless unless they are able to find replacements, thank you. I absolutely love your writing and I hope you have a great weekend!!
Thank you very much :D (Also dentae means teeth for transformers)
Optimus watched in horror as Megatron ripped both your wings out of your back like it was nothing, and threw you aside like trash. The decepticon then transformed and flew into the horizon. You could’ve sworn you heard that maniac laugh.
“(Name)!” Optimus raised his voice as he rushed to you.
You were curled up in a ball on the ground and trying to reach the place where your wings had just moments ago been. Now there were just two holes, dripping with energon, broken fuel lines and wires sticking out. Your optics were wide in horror and couldn’t get a word out.
Optimus picked you up as gently as he could, careful not to touch your back.
“By Primus” Arcee gasped as he saw you in Optimus’ arms.
Bumblebee buzzed frantically, telling Ratchet to send a bridge and to prepare the medbay.
Optimus didn’t say anything as he carried you through the groundbridge and set you down on the medbay table.
“My god” Ratchet said as he saw the two gaping holes in your back.
“I picked up their wings” Arcee said as she placed them on the floor next to you.
“Can you reattach them?” Optimus asked Ratchet, with a grim look on his face.
“I can certainly try, but this was done very violently and I don’t know if I have the sufficient equipment here”
“Try, please” Optimus said.
“I will, now everyone give me space”
The next few hours the whole base was quiet. Ratchet had put you in temporary stasis and he was doing his best to reattach your wings. Optimus couldn’t get the noise of Megatron ripping off your wings out of his head. It kept playing on a loop in his processor. It haunted him, that sickening noise.
It felt like forever before Ratchet finally called him back to the medbay.
“I did what I can, but we’ll see if it worked once I wake them up. They’re going to be in quite a lot of pain, so be prepared”
Optimus nodded and Ratchet slowly brought you out of stasis.
Your optics opened slowly and you quickly got a scared look in them.
“Optimus?” you whispered.
“I am here my star” he said and took your servo to his.
Your wings fluttered a little as you were laying on your chest on the medbay table and you seemed to relax, even though you were undoubtedly still in pain.
“I can feel them again” you smiled as a tear rolled down your cheek.
“I’m glad” Optimus smiled and squeezed your hand.
It took a long time before your wings were in good enough shape to fly again, but Optimus stayed by your side the whole time.
You were laying on the ground behind Megatron, your wings almost fully cut off by the Prime’s sword. You were writhing in pain, trying not to scream. Megatron was just standing there as the autobots escaped, when the last of them was gone, he turned around to face you.
“Just get Knockout to fix me, okay?” your voice broke and you had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from crying out in pain.
Megatron picked you up quickly but gently and walked through the groundbridge to the Nemesis. You were squeezing his arm like your life depended on it, while his servos were stained with the energon leaking from the stumps that were left behind after the Prime had sliced off most of the wings.
As Megatron marched into to the medbay while holding you to his chest, Knockout was just finishing surgery on one of the vehicons. Megatron pushed the vehicon’s unconscious body to the floor and laid you on your chest on the examination table.
“Fix this” he commanded pointing at your back.
“My liege, I-I regret to inform you that without the missing pieces of the wi-wings, I cannot restore your partner’s ability to… fly” he gulped.
Megatron grabbed Knockout by the neck and lifted him up, he looked at the struggling medic with such hatred it almost made you shiver, before dropping him to the ground.
“Leave us” Megatron commanded, and Knockout hurried out the door.
“I won’t be able to fly again” you stated bluntly, phrasing it more like a statement than a question.
“He should’ve just killed me, I’m useless without my wings” you buried your face to your hands.
Megatron traced the transformation seams on your back with one of his digits. He could feel your chassis trembling under his touch, he wasn’t sure if it was because of the pain or because you were crying. He knew how much you loved flying.
“I do not care for your ability to fly, I only care for you”
What was left of our wings had stopped leaking energon, but he knew you were still in great pain. Megatron moved his digits closer to the base of your wings and brushed away the dried energon.
“You’ll survive this, you’ll adapt, like you always do” he said quietly.
“Will I? It’s like he killed me, without actually doing it and somehow that’s worse.
“You aren’t dead my love, not even close and no matter what, you have me”
“Can you really promise that? That you won’t just leave me behind?”
“I promise, my dearest”
Megatron swore vengeance against the autobots, but for now his priority was to keep you comfortable and make sure you managed to work through this, he knew you could, you were strong.
“Wh-Why?” Starscream asked with a quiver in his voice as he laid below you on the ground.
You had basically tackled him to the ground and he could see what was left of your wings hanging to your sides, chunks of them falling around him.
“What do you mean…” your voice faded as you collapsed to Starscream’s side and lost consciousness.
The seeker was in shock and unable to move. You had just saved his life, but at a great personal cost and quite honestly. Just for a second the thought crossed his mind that he wasn’t worth it, but he quickly got rid of the thought and looked around. The autobots were retreating, and Starscream got out of his trance.
“You! Carry them back to the Nemesis, now!” he yelled at one of the vehicons.
The vehicon picked you up and carried you through the groundbridge.
You were carried to the medbay and the vehicon laid you down on the examination slab.
“Now leave and get that damned medic over here”
It took awhile for Knockout to arrive and when he did, he didn’t say a word while examining you.
“Why are you so quiet? Do something!”
“Starscream… There is nothing I can do, except amputate both of the wings fully”
Starscream was ready to strike at the medic, but somewhere in his mind he knew that it wouldn’t help anyone.
“Then do it” Starscream just said and walked out of the room.
When you woke up, you were in a world of pain, but it also felt like something important was missing.
“You’re awake” a familiar voice came from somewhere behind you. You were laying on your chest on what you assumed to be the examination table at the medbay. You tried to push yourself up with your arms but a shock of pain rippled through your whole upper body.
“What the scrap?” you hissed from between your dentae, but then another realization hit you. Was Starscream okay? He was at least alive since he was talking to you, but was he uninjured?
“You shouldn’t try to move, not yet” he continued.
“Are-are you okay?” you managed to say.
“I’m fine” he scoffed.
Starscream sounded weird, perhaps annoyed, but there was also something like sadness to his voice. You had never heard him sound like this before, so something must have been wrong.
You fought through the pain and sat up the edge of the table facing Starscream. You made the effort to flutter your wings, but they didn’t seem to be responding, it was like there weren’t any wings there at all. You reached to touch them with your servo, but there was nothing there.
“Starscream?” you asked with a quivering voice.
“I’m sorry” was all he managed to say. He didn’t feel guilty, no that wasn’t it, but he hated that this had happened when you saved his life.
“Where are my wings Star?” you asked, now sounding angrier.
“There wasn’t much left of them after you got hit by one of the autobot’s blasters, so Knockout did an emergency amputation”
“With whose permission Star? Yours?”
“You had no right!” you said as you stood up besides the pain and took one wavering step towards him. “It wasn’t your decision to make” you tried to take another step but your legs gave out. Starscream caught you but you pushed him away and collapsed to your knees on the floor.
“You had no right” you started sobbing.
“(Name)…” he said and knelt down, putting his hand on your shoulder.
“No! You-You need to leave” you said angrily.
When Starscream didn’t move, so you pushed him away again, which made him stumble backwards.
“Get out!” you yelled.
Starscream was baffled by your reaction. The thought that you would blame him for this hadn’t even really crossed his mind.
“As you wish” he said and walked away.
Starscream left the medbay and you were left alone. You clawed at your back where your wings used to be, not caring about the immense waves of pain that came with every touch. You would never fly again.
hi!! could i mayhaps get jealous!lio hcs? 👀👀 also all of your works so far are great, i love the blog! 💖
Hey, much appreciated! Glad you’re enjoying the blog （＾∇＾）
• Lio doesn’t get jealous easily. It’s just not in his personality…
• …But that doesn’t mean he NEVER gets jealous. If someone is particularly hanging onto you in a conversation, ignoring him or anyone else in the group, he will start to get protective, pretty quickly actually. It’s one of those things you can’t quite ignore.
• Lio’s subtle about it- He shuffles closer to you, and if the interaction goes on long enough he swallows some pride and sneakily places a hand on your hip. He makes intense eye contact with the offending party as he does this, so they’d have to be completely focused on you to miss it.
• This can go either one of two ways now: Either the offending party gets the hint and backs off, or they get more aggressive.
• If they choose to back off, Lio just preens at having won that little battle. He seems smug for the rest of the evening and if you weren’t privy to the undertones of what just happened, he won’t tell you about it. If you do ask, Lio deflects and distracts you.
• If they get more aggressive in their attempts, Lio puts a stop to the conversation then and there. The moment they (try to) touch you is the moment they no longer have Hand Rights. Lio can and will put them in a choke hold until they apologize to you and leave. It’s up to you to stop Lio from doing much more…Please Lio you already have a warrant, not again-
• At the end of the day, no matter which outcome, later that night Lio is a cuddle-bear. He lowkey needs reassurance that you wouldn’t run off with someone else, as he has some insecurities deep down, but he wouldn’t tell you this out loud, so he settles for upping the physical affection.
“I’m about ninety percent sure that we won’t be dead by the end of this,” he drawled.
You huffed. “What about the other ten percent?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll just have to play it by ear now won’t we?”
You sighed, pushing your glasses on and checking the holsters under your dress to make sure your knife and gun was still hidden in place.
Now your relationship with Agent Whiskey was… strained you guess you could say.
There was a lot of intense flirting between the two of you, anyone walking back could feel the tension with every comment and tease.
But you knew it was also a dangerous game to play with your line of work. It could get anyone one of you killed if emotions got in the way, and so you kept your feelings bottled up, locked away to the deepest depths of your aching heart.
At least you thought you were doing a good job at that.