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dr3c0mix · 10 months

Note

Hi! I love your stuff, you’re a really good writer! Take your time if you ever get to this, don’t burn yourself out.

The scenario is a delusional yandere childhood friend/monster. Like the reader found it in the woods as a kid and they grew up playing until the reader had to move away. Now years later, the reader is back..and the monster thinks it has a mate again.

Imaginary More-Than-Friends

Yandere! Imaginary Childhood Bestfriend x GN Reader

an: I believe the few people will recognize this guy from my old posts, i figured i let him out of my little toy box of characters huehuehue. i have to say though that i'm very much attached to this one and i will not be accepting nsfw requests of this character in the future! sorry if its not really what you asked for though ._." i was a bit excited when i saw your request

CW: Coulrophobia, delusional yan, this one is a bit more intense than normal, kidnapping kind of, possessive themes

🦋 You have vague memories of your old house. Memories of playing around in your old room and the faint sounds of cicadas and rustling leaves from outside your bedrooms window felt like a blur.

🦋 The clearest memory of your childhood there was playing around in the woods by your backyard. You had a small clubhouse somewhere in the thicket of trees and other flora. It was a small red tent full of flower ornaments that you've weaved and little trinkets you found while exploring.

🦋 You also remember there being someone else in the woods with you every time you played, although you don't remember any neighbors with kids when you were younger. Even then you have foggy memories of talking to someone very close to you.

🦋 You feel the truck you're riding in turn a corner and you look up to see your old family house slowly appearing from behind autumn-colored trees.

🦋 As soon as the moving truck came to a stop, you opened the door after thanking the driver and got your bags, taking a good look at the large house in front of you.

🦋 The paint was chipping and most of the metal decor was rusting, but you can fix them up as soon as you move in. Your family had to move out pretty quickly for some unknown reason so you figured many of the things that were left were still there.

🦋 Turning the key in the lock and opening the door, you could have sworn you heard scurrying from inside the house, must have been an animal that got in from a window or something.

🦋 Somehow, the house didn't seem very dusty, even though it's been sitting unoccupied for years. The floor looks swept to an extent with piles of leaves looking to have been swept lazily to the sides of the rooms.

🦋 You wandered through the house, your memories coming back to you about the times you spent with your parents, all the while, you can hear faint scratching and thumping as you walk.

🦋 The tall figure skittered around house, watching you wander around from the corners with an unblinking stare. He couldn't believe it. You were here, you're back! And you're so much bigger than you were all those years ago...you look so beautiful now! A toothy grin widens on his face as his claws scratched the doorframe he was gripping, leaving deep scratches.

🦋 As you enter your old room, you see that the dusty bed still looks made, like it's been waiting for someone to sleep in it for years. Old toys with ribbons of your favorite color tied to their necks or wrists sat in their places by a fogged windowsill as paper cranes and insects on string and glow in the dark stars still hung on your ceiling.

🦋 Just as you were about to leave to get your things moved in, you hear your old closet creak open. You freeze and turn to it, it looked like there wasn't anything inside. You wait a bit before fucking off, not wanting to deal with any ghouls or the like at the moment...

🦋 The figure then breathes a sigh of relief as soon as you're out of earshot. It pushes itself out of the closet and onto the floor. Soon you will see each other, he promises. He just has to find the right time...

🦋 You'd find items missing and reappearing in strange places sometimes, it could've been just you forgetting where you placed them, but there's no way you could have misplaced your shoes in the sink or your sweater outside your window...

🦋 You'd also notice food that was left out being eaten, not by ants or rodents though, the bite marks were too large.

🦋 You weren't some dumb character in a horror movie, you could see the tell-tale signs of a haunting, but you didn't want to let go of the house, not after all the years of trying to buy it back and all the money you put into renovating it.

🦋 Your mind was put at ease somewhat when you found a group of raccoons rummaging through your trashcans next to a window with a broken window, they could've just been messing with your stuff and eating your food while you weren't looking. You took note that you had to fix the locks soon.

🦋 After a few tiring days of getting everything cleaned up and moving in your stuff, you look at your hard work and smile. Your furniture gave the home your own personal touch while still keeping the nostalgic charm of your childhood home. You sigh in satisfaction and decide to go out and get some fresh air.

🦋 You exit through your backyard door and, from what you can see, the woods hasn't changed a bit since you left. It made you smile knowing you personal little playground hasn't wasted away. You then remember your old hideout. A wave of memories come back to you as you rush to where you remember the little red fort was.

🦋 To your surprise, the tent was still up, in fact, you could see no sign of aging on it. No damage from rain or wind or anything, it's like it was frozen in time. You walk up to it, crouching down and lifting the red embroidered curtains of the entrance and revel in the little items that withstood the years it has been left here.

🦋 Although, you notice there being more things than you remember. Did you really collect all these thing when you were younger? There were bottles of soda can tabs and acorns, figurines of animals carved out of wood, were those animal bones??

🦋 You back away from the tent, very much weirded out by the new additions to your old hang out spot when suddenly, your body bumps into something. It felt thin like a tree but soft like a plush toy with burlap for the cover. Your eyes go wide as you hear a voice from above you. "(Y/N)?"

🦋 The familiar jingle of bells sparked something in you as you look up to meet the creature's porcelain face.

🦋 You stare at the figure like it would disappear if you look away from it as you step back to look at it better.

🦋 It was a clown, a tall one at that. Its white pupils stayed on you as you can see razor sharp teeth within its mouth. His limbs looked almost jointless like how a plush toy would look. It's clothes were brown and dirty from years of neglect.

🦋 What you were seeing wasn't human, it couldn't be human. It was too freakishly tall to be one. You didn't know what to do, running could provoke it to chase you and attacking could anger it.

🦋 Suddenly, it steps closer to you and bends down, you could feel its breath on your face, it unusually smelled like candycorn.

🦋 Then it chuckles, giving you a grin before suddenly picks you up and wraps its long arms around you, spinning around happily like a child holding their new toy.

🦋 "(Y/N)! (Y/N)! Oh I'm so happy to see you again! You've grown so much! Where did you go? What did you see? Did you...make any new friends?"

🦋 It pulls away from you and stops spinning only to see a terrified expression on your face. His smile drops and cocks his head to the side. "(Y/N)? Are you okay?" The bells on its jester hat jingle softly.

🦋 As your shock melts away, you figure he didn't have any intention of harming you and you try and catch your breath. Your eyes then catch a glimpse of ribbons tied around his wrists. It was your favorite color.

🦋 Your slowly look back up to the clown and you finally remember your old friend that you used to play with.

🦋 You had a favorite toy amongst your collection of stuffed animals and dolls. It was a strawberry pink clown with stretchy arms, you used to carry it around with you all the time. From the moment you wake up to going back to sleep, you had it with you. You named it..

🦋 "Hallow?"

🦋 The clown perks up at the name and its smile widens even more. "So you remember! Hahah! I was beginning to think you forgot all about me!" "Y-you're real?! I mean you were- but- h-how is this possible?!"

🦋 Hallow puts you down and gives you a confused look, pointing a finger to his cheek. "Real? Of course I'm real! I'm your best friend!" He giggles, spinning around joyfully.

🦋 "And I...left you here.." "Oh I don't mind! I'm sure you had a reason! Besides, you're here now and we can play again! And we can be together!" He takes your hands into his and squeezes them, his grip a bit shaky. Well, at least it won't be so lonely out here anymore...

🦋 From there, Hallow kept you company, he would help you out in fixing up the exterior of the house and tell you all about what's happened since you left.

🦋 "I saw a reeeaaallly big bear once! He looked all tubby and fluffy and stuff! I tried petting it but it bit my arm off! So rude right? At least I knew how to sew my arm back! Thanks for teaching me how by the way!"

🦋 He's a bit clingy, but he does give you space if you ask him. and by give you space i mean he just stares at you from the corner of the room instead of hovering over you the whole time.

🦋 He wasn't a fan of other people though, if ever a friend of yours visits or a delivery person drops by, he'd disappear in a flash, when they finally leave, he's unusually quiet until to ask if he was alright. When you turn away from him, his forced smile drops down to a sneer, thinking about the strange person that was trying to take you away from him...

🦋 Then one day, a friend of yours called and told you they were in the area and wanted to meet up with you. Hallow watched as you happily talked to your phone from the gap between your door, scratching the wood in jealousy. Who was making you so happy (Y/N)? Only he's supposed to make you laugh like that...

🦋 When your friend came, he disappeared once again. He watched you greet your 'friend' with a hug, being awfully touchy with them, holding their hand as you guide them to your couch.

🦋 He hated it, he hated them. He hated you happy you looked as you two laughed together. He wished it was him who was making you laugh, not this stranger. Infact, what made you think they were to be trusted? Wasn't it other people that made you leave him in the first place? Your dreaded parents were the reason you were taken from him, what makes you think your "friend" won't do the same. Before you know it, you could be taken back to the city, stressed and overwhelmed and away from him, your best friend, your only friend, your soulmate!

🦋 His spiraling thoughts were quickly interrupted by your friend getting up from their seat. "Alright, it's getting late..where's that mall again?" "Oh, you just turn right from the second street over." "Ok! I'll pick you up tomorrow at noon!" noon?

🦋 The door closes, and you hear the jingling of bells behind you. "Do you have to hide every time there's someone else he-" Your joking comment is cut off when you turn and he's looming dreadfully over you.

🦋 "What mall?" "H-huh?" He's glaring daggers into your eyes, taking a step closer to you as you back up, unease growing inside of you.

🦋 "What's at noon?" "H-hallow we're just going out-" "How long?" "H-how long?? I don't kno-" "Hours? Days? Years?" You're backed up against the wall, the giant clown's arms at either side of you, trapping you under him as black drool drips down his snarling mouth.

🦋 "How long are you gonna leave me this time huh? How many days am I gonna wait for you to come back to me?!" "Hallow stop you're scaring me!" "I'm supposed to be my best friend! Not them!" He snaps at you, making you flinch in fear. His glare softens then turns into a horrified expression. Pulling his hands back closer to him shakily as you shivered in front of him, your arms hiding your face. He lets out a quiver before stepping away from you. You lower your arms and he was gone, you can hear banging and thumping from upstairs.

🦋 The next day, you were getting ready for your outing with your friend. Hallow didn't show up that day. You weren't used to the silence that was left.

🦋 You haven't seen Hallow in a few days, but you always let out food for him. He was hurt, you can tell, but it was clear he needed space at the moment, you just hoped he didn't do anything rash as you went to bed a week after your fight with the clown.

🦋 You woke up the next day, expecting Hallow not to come out again. You get up from your bed and head downstairs. Calling out Hallow's name, no answer.

🦋 You sigh and figure you should get some much-needed fresh air. The tension that has built up in the house was almost suffocating to you. You went to your backdoor to spend some time outside.

🦋 But when you tried to open the door, it wouldn't turn. You tried unlocking it, but the lock wouldn't budge. You pulled and shook it but to avail. You groan and try to open a window instead, but the latch was shut tight. You tried the other windows but none of them opened. You started to freak out when you hear a jingle of bells behind you.

🦋 "H-Hallow? Why are the all the windows shut? The door's locked too!" You look to him, but he looked off. His normal wide-eyed smile was replaced with a half-lidded grin. He swayed side to side, clasping his hands together as he giggled. "Hello, you~"

🦋 "H-hey...what's going on?" You ask him, sweat rolling down the side of your head nervously.

🦋 "Well, I thought about what you said and I realized! You're not at fault here! You just want someone to be with! And I guess me being your friend wasn't good enough for you so you turned to someone else! I know you didn't mean to hurt me lovely, but I can change for you! I can be much more than a best friend! We can be like those knights and princesses in your storybooks, remember?"

🦋 He starts walking up to you, you hold onto the countertop behind you as he rambles on in a lovesick haze. "H-Hallow?"

🦋 "You won't need anyone else (Y/N)! You'll just need me from now on! We'll be together forever! Oh and don't worry about food and stuff, I can get you those!"

🦋 He chuckles, before pulling you into an uncomfortably tight hug, you flinch as you feel him kiss your neck and cheek, his sharp teeth grazing your skin ever so gently.

🦋 "You'll never have go away ever again, my f-...my love~"

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astroboots · 11 months

Text

EVERY YOU EVERY ME: Issue #2

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Your streak of bad luck continues as you find that the universe is not done putting you in harm's way. Luckily, you have grouchy Spider-man to save you.

Word count: 3,500 words.

Content: Slowest of the burn, near death experiences, the emotional whiplash of Miguel O'Hara being a rude bastard and a total softie.

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

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According to an article that ran in the New York Times: one out of every 40 New Yorkers will have a run in with a Superhero in the time they live here.

That might not sound like much, but considering that nearly 8.5 million people live in this city, it adds up to a lot of people. In fact, most in your friends circle have their own anecdotal story to tell.

I ran into Tony Stark at the Brandy Library and he asked me for my phone number. Bit of a sleaze but he bought our whole table a round of drinks.

Captain America landed on my Fiat on Manhattan Bridge. He dented the roof, but he was very polite about it.

Daredevil was hanging out at the fire escape ladder above the Meatball shop. Gave me tips on what to order.

It's nothing short of a miracle that having lived in this city for as many years as you have that this is the first time you've had a Supes encounter.

It'll be a great story to tell at parties. You fell out of the Chrysler building and were rescued mid-air. It blows all the other stories out of the water. Though, you'll probably leave out the part where he wished he'd left you to die.

You stare blindly at your computer screen. There are endless rows of cells on your excel sheet no matter how far you scroll. Uninterrupted numbers and reference codes for insurance claims that are waiting for your attention. But the numbers and letters all blend into an indecipherable sludge soup. All you can focus on is: 'I should've let you fall.'

Heat prickles your cheek, as you replay his words in your head.

What the hell.

That was entirely unnecessary.

You didn't deserve that.

Over the course of the last 24 hours, you've played the scene on an endless loop in your head, until the memory is worn and scratched like a used up VHS tape.

Did you do something wrong? You must've. Who has ever heard of a Superhero treating a civilian in this manner? You’re just a hapless innocent bystander who fell out of a building due to a supervillain battle they started. To blame it on you and then call it a mistake. Isn't that something a supervillain would do?

Gritting your teeth, you feel yourself seething of the memory of the windows next to you breaking and shattering out of nowhere as a bird-person villain with mechanical wings tumbled past you. Next thing you knew you were tumbling out the window.

And then he saved you.

Did he mean to save someone else? Is that why he was so annoyed? But, you didn't see any other people falling from the building on your way down.

You replay the memory. Again.

The looming silhouette of his towering frame over yours as he sneered down at you.

He looked at you like he knew you. Like you had offended him with your mere existence. But you don't understand how. You've never met him before. Never met anyone who looked even remotely like him. You would've remembered a man with red eyes, they're not exactly common. Plus, you don't think you've ever met someone quite so tall. Your neck hurt with the angle you had to crane just to look at his face.

What could you possibly have done in your lifetime to piss off a Superhero you've never met before?

For that matter what Superhero is he anyway? You think back at the dark navy suit clinging onto every inch of skin, embellished by that bright angry red in the emblem of a spider.

Spider-man...

Except Spider-man is known to be a swell guy with a great sense of humor. Not a rude asshole.

Aren't his colors inverted too? You pull up the browser on your screen and google "spiderman outfit". There's over 800 million hits. In all of them Spiderman's suit is primarily red with blue embellishment.

Whoever the guy is, you don't think he's your friendly neighborhood Spiderman that every New Yorker knows and loves.

With a hapless sigh, you click aimlessly on your screen, trying to look busy at work for the next twenty minutes until you can go on your lunch break. You go through the motions of your soul sucking tasks. Tagging each insurance claim into one of the following categories: approved/rejected/further missing information required.

Peering over your cubicle wall to the wall of windows, you spy the section that has been zoned off since yesterday. The broken window you were knocked out of has already been replaced, but there's still shattered glass and debris nearby.

Your stomach drops, the phantom sensation of the ground beneath you giving way. For a brief second you swear you can feel the weightlessness of soaring through the skies without anything catching your fall.

You stand up from your desk, solid ground meeting the soles of your feet to remind you where you are.

The office.

There's a monotone drone of workers all around you grumbling and sighing just as unhappily. The quiet tip-tapping of keyboards of the working masses.

Is this the life you managed to escape death for?

Is this it?

It's kind of sad isn't it? You nearly died and lived to tell the tale, only to return to a life so unremarkable your brain didn't deign it necessary to provide you with any highlights (cause there are none).

The most exciting thing that has happened to you the whole of this year was being insulted by a grumpy superhero. The most you've wanted to live was during that span of ten seconds when you were falling out of a building to your death.

You glance at your clock, still 15 minutes before noon. You log out of your desktop anyway.

You barely make it across the street from your office. The light is green as you cross Lexington Avenue when the screeching noise of tires tears down the street and rips through your eardrums.

A yellow taxi hurtles towards you at full speed. Through the car window separating you, the cab driver is staring up at you with wide-eyed horror. In that fraction of a second before the hard metal is going to collide and shatter every bone in your body, you only have one thought: Oh god, this is going to hurt.

Life doesn't flash before your eyes. All you see is the familiar blur of shiny blue and red.

Go figure that's the only moment extraordinary enough for your brain to think it's worth replaying before you die.

There's a blunt and forceful shove to the side of your ribs. Softer than you would've imagined a two tonne vehicle slamming into you would be. It doesn't hurt. It reminds you of that time you played football with your cousin and he body slammed you to the lawn. You've heard about this phenomena, the brain will try to protect itself by going unconscious if the pain is too extreme.

But there's no bright light, when you open your eyes all you see is the familiar shiny blue fabric.

A firm weight wraps around your shoulders, and you recognize this, the feeling of being held as you're pulled into their solid chest. There's not enough time for you to look up, you're slammed onto the ground, the solid warmth wrapped around you, absorbing the fall.

The pressure wrapped around you shifts then lifts away entirely. When you open your eyes for a second time, there’s no one there holding you.

There's no one else there with you. Just the standstill traffic of cars and pedestrians gawking at you.

A concerned woman runs over to you, bending down to help you up on your feet. "Are you okay? That car came out of nowhere."

Your legs feel unsteady, wobbling as you put weight on it to stand up.

“I’m fine, I think,” you respond, and look down on yourself. There are no scrapes, just a bit of dust on your work-attire from traffic.

"You're so lucky, Spiderman was there to save you."

You blink up at the woman in dazed confusion and it takes your brain a few seconds to process what she's telling you.

Spider-man...

In your mind's eye the flashes of blue and a vivid red invades your vision. It wasn't just your life flashing you by. Not just a figment of your imagination.

He was here. He saved you. (Probably not) Spider-man saved you (again).

A wave of gratitude washes over you. You take back every unflattering thought you had about the man not five minutes ago. Rude? Would a rude man save you, not once but twice in one day? No, of course not, you probably just misunderstood him, or misheard. After all, if he truly regretted saving you, he wouldn't have done it a second time... right?

When you get back at your desk, there's a post-it tacked to your computer screen, with an angry scrawl of a handwriting.

'Look BOTH ways before crossing!!!!!'

You stare at the note, and the way the word "both" is capitalized and aggressively underlined.

Rude.

The universe is out to kill you. You're sure of it.

They say that death comes in threes after all. So no one can blame you for being a little bit on the edge after you've gone two for two within the time span of 24 hours.

You stay away from windows in tall buildings. You look both ways, twice, before crossing the street. You try to go straight home from work the minute you clock out from work, turning down any and all initiations with friends to go out after out of precaution. It's just not worth the risk.

And for a while it seems to work. For a while, there are no more incidents. A week goes by and your nerves start to settle and you are lulled into a temporary sense of security before it all goes to shits.

A ceramic flower pot on a windowsill tumbling off the sixth floor of a brown house by Chelsea that would have dropped on your head and split your skull if someone hadn't bumped into you from behind that you weren’t able to catch sight of.

A piece of scaffolding that comes loose and falls from a construction site in West Village as you happened to walk past, and would have been crushed under if you weren’t tackled away at the last second by someone who fled the scene before you could thank them.

A hot dog cart runs amok, hurtling downhill towards you between 184th and 190th street in Manhattan when the cart suddenly out of nowhere, against the very laws of physics like it’s being pulled by an invisible force and changes direction mere inches in front of you, hurtling through the air and crashing into the windows of a bodega instead.

Each and every incident leaves you with an ever growing sense of paranoia that this cannot be explained away by being merely pure bad luck. There are cosmic forces at force that clearly want you dead.

On Thursday, there are leftover cupcakes from a client conference. Mary, the secretary in your team, boxes up four of them for you and tells you to take them with you, because, "you've had a rough week, toots."

It’s not a flattering assessment of you, but when you see your own reflection in the mirrors of the office toilets, you can’t help but think it’s an accurate one. You look rough. Eyes bloodshot with deep furrowed lines underneath. Your face is gaunter than you remember seeing it too.

You take the cupcakes.

It's the first good thing that has happened to you all week, and as small of a comfort it is, you take it as a win.

You eye the box from your desk the rest of the day, squirreled away in your tiny cubicle. You are determined not to eat one while at work. Because you'll be damned if Matt from accounting catches a whiff of your cupcakes and asks you to share one with him. You want to properly savor them in the comfort of your home at the end of the day.

But as often is the case when you have something to look forward to, the seconds, minutes and hours tick away with a reluctant drag as if time itself knew you wanted the day to end faster and decided it'd be fun to flip yet another cosmic middle finger in your direction.

When it's finally time to end work, you get off your chair so forcefully it knocks it to the floor. You are practically jogging through the lanes of cubicles to get to the elevator, and nearly smack the security guard on the other side with how hard you swing open the front door.

It's pouring outside, which, of course it is. You take off your jacket and cover your cupcake box with it, because you're not going to let the universe ruin the one good thing you've got going for you this week, as you run towards the station.

The moment you step into the damp and sticky station any remaining sense of joy in you evaporates. There's a hoard of tourists swarming the subway paying no attention to their surroundings. Tourists wearing their caps and backpacks and wheelies knocking over a 'Caution Wet Floor ' sign as they gather in a throng in front of the subway map, blocking the way as you hear the train approach.

It's not that big of a deal. A train comes every two to five minutes, and if you miss this one, you'll just get on the next one. It's not the end of the world. Logically, you know that. Emotionally and spiritually however, the world around you has just taken a little bit too much from you for you to concede to this minor little loss.

You are going to make this goddamned train.

Taking a determined step forward, you shoulder and push your way through the throng of people to fight your way to the front of the track.

You push a little too hard. Your feet skid across the slippery tiles, leg buckling from your own weight and you lose control, tumbling forward.

In your peripheral view there's a blinding light approaching. There's wind beating the sides of your face, and you can hear the screeching metal of the train right next to you. Your foot drops into empty space and you are falling into the tracks.

Oh god why...

Why?

You just want to live.

The cupcake box flies out of your grip, splattered somewhere across the front pane of the train. There's a hard tug on your shirt as an invisible force you cannot see yanks you back, hard.

Your head whips back and for a fraction of a second, there are crimson eyes staring back down at you, you blink and then it's gone.

You land on your ass with a bruising force to your tailbone with a bone-breaking thud. The subway whizzes by with a demonic roar past you, inches from where you're sprawled on your ass on the dirty tiles of the subway station.

In front of your feet, there's a long streak of white frosting trailing down from your feet to the tracks of what looks like a crime scene.

Maybe it's the stress. Maybe you've just had a bad night of sleep (after many successive bad nights with little to no sleep). But something in you breaks at the sight of the frosting smeared across the dirty subway tiles.

Your eyes sting with exhaustion. Chest drawing in tight with a crumbling ache that makes you want to curl up on the cold tiles. You're just so tired.

There are people around you staring at you. No one in their right mind who lives in New York would sit on the floor of the subway.

But your legs are heavy and numb. You can’t move from the spot. Everything tastes like bile. You try to swallow and force it back down but it's no use, your throat has swollen shut. Your cheeks run wet and you press your palms to your eyes to make it stop but that only seems to make it worse. Snot runs down your nose and drips down your wrist. You're crying and you don't know how to stop.

Is this the rest of your life?

In the morning, you wake in your bed with a sore ache that gnaws at your bones. Swollen eyes and a soreness that scratches the lining of your throat.

Your back hurts, and as you try to turn to your side to get out of bed a sharp pain surges up along your entire spine.

Fuck.

It's too bright. The sunlight is offensive. It stings your eyes and makes you sick to your stomach. You only have vague memories of how you made it back home. Feet shuffling through the subway in a daze like the walking dead.

God is that what you are? A dead man woman walking?

You crane your head and catch a glimpse of your clock on the bedside table. 9.13 You're late for work. But that's mind as well, you don't have it in you to make it in.

What's the point anyhow? You hate that place.

Besides, if the subway on the way over doesn't finish off the job this time around, then eventually a taxi will. Failing that the universe is probably going to send over a ninja assassin rat from the subway to come after your life.

There's a soft breeze coming in from the open window that grazes the back of your neck and you turn your head towards it. All you can see from your window is the brick wall of the neighboring building. Even though your apartment is on the sixth floor, you can't see a speck of the New York skyline.

Still the breeze is nice, though you don't remember opening the window last night. You never usually do. It is silly and paranoid. No human robber could possibly climb up your six storey building just to climb into your window and rob you. If they could, they’d find that there isn’t much to rob in your apartment, the most valuable thing you own is a complete Le Creuset Cookware set.

Your eyes glaze over your work tote bag on the floor next to the window, drifting upwards and spot the pink box sat on the window sill and you stop.

You didn’t put that there.

You sit upright in your bed, setting your feet to the floor and force yourself to leave your bed as you pad over to the open window.

It's a fancy looking thing. Baby pink, and chiffon ribbon on its side. Wrapping your pinkie around it, you tug it loose. You perch your thumb against the corner of the lid when you stop.

It's not another one of the universe's assassination attempts is it? You're not going to open it to find a bomb ticking down are you?

You hesitate for another moment, taking a deep calming breath before you gather the courage to finally lift the lid. Inside, there is a gorgeous display of cupcakes adorned with white and pink frosting, topped with strawberries, chocolate shavings and on two of them there's mini macarons.

Way fancier than the day old Costco cupcakes you'd lost yesterday.

Picking up one, you take a bite. The frosting is light and zesty. The refreshing lemon melts on the tip of your tongue as the buttery cream floods your mouth with the rich flavor. It's the best thing you've ever tasted.

Lifting the box, you check the sides of it to see if there's any note left behind, but there's none.

Gladis Bakery. It's from a bakery you've never heard of before. When you google the name the place is outside of New Jersey, 58 minutes away and you would need to take a subway then switch to a tram.

There's no note attached, but you don't need one. The list of candidates who would be physically able to climb up six floors up the bricks of your apartment building to leave cupcakes on your window isn’t a long one.

Something warm blooms in your chest at the thought, and your fingers linger on the top of the box, savoring the taste of lemon and sugar still lingering on your tongue.

You put your head out the window, not sure what you're expecting to find but find yourself disappointed all the same when there's nothing there. No people in the quiet street below, and nothing unusual above.

"Thank you for uhm... saving me,” you say into the silence with nothing but the traffic noise below to answer you.

“And the cupcakes," you add.

There's no reply.

~ To be continued.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

#miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #marvel #miguel ohara x reader #oscar isaac #spiderverse fanfiction #across the spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you

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externalmemorycomic · 1 year

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Image description: A black and white illustration, designed to look like a book cover. On a decorative ribbon, the title at the top reads “External Memory”. A scroll work border of leaves and flowers divides the illustration into three rounded panels. The largest panel is in the center and shows a caravan surrounded by greenery, puddles and potted plants. The two smaller panels beneath it show a cartoon cat and mouse respectively, facing each other. At the bottom is another decorative ribbon with the text “a diary comic by My Murphy”. After the cover follows an 8 page comic. The style is cartoonish and the colours are soft pastels. Page one: An orange cat waves and says “Hello! I’m My.” The cat holds up a white mouse and says “This is Mouse, my girlfriend.” Caption: My name is actually My, but Mouse is a nickname for comic and privacy purposes. Caption: When I started this project, me and Mouse lived on a little island off the Swedish coast. The panel shows a stylised, tiny island with a lighthouse, spruce and birch trees, leaning houses and a little dock with a row boat tied to it. The cat and mouse are standing on the cliffs and a swan floats on the water in the foreground. Page two: Caption: Now we’ve moved to Ireland where we live in a caravan in the middle of nowhere. A small caravan, surrounded by greenery, overgrown trees, rocks, puddles and potted plants. The caravan has two windows and the cat and the mouse are looking out of one window each. Caption: We lived on the island to be close to my family. A ribbon with writing on it separates and labels four characters: “mom”, an ermine, “dad”, a wolverine, “brother”, a marmot and “step mom”, a squirrel. The ribbon has been torn in between “mom” and “dad”. Caption: and we moved to Ireland to be close to Mouse’s family. Three characters are shown, each with their own ribbon label. “mother-in-law”, a deer, “sister-in-law”, a jack russell terrier and “brother-in-law”, a hedgehog. Page three: Caption: Me and the mouse are currently in our thirties. The cat lounges on an antique fainting couch and the mouse sleeps on a cushion on the floor. On the floor is an open bag of “let’s” crisps and a laptop. Caption: We’re both pretty decrepit in various ways, so for this comic I draw couches and beds as often as I draw people. Caption: Disability isn’t especially interesting to me, but if a fish made an autobiographical comic… A fish under water paints a four panel comic with a brush held in its mouth. The panels the fish has painted show bubbles, waves and splashing water. Caption: …it’d probably be partly about water, whether the fish cared about water or not. Page four: Caption: My memory has always been pretty crappy. If a friend asks me: “do you remember when...” The question is shown asked by a red robin Caption: I usually have to answer: “no, I don’t.” The panel shows the cat giving this answer while looking away and blushing. Caption: There are many things in my life I’d like to remember. Mom the ermine watches as the cat opens a Christmas gift in front of a Christmas tree. The cat is much smaller than usual, its tail is bushy with excitement and it holds up a big book, “Mort”, with a skull on the cover. Caption: This comic is my EXTERNAL MEMORY so I can capture some of those moments… The cat admires a butterfly hovering above its outstretched paw Caption: …great or small. Page five: Caption: I try to make one strip per day, give or take. Pages with dates written on them blow off of a daily wall calendar by a strong breeze. As they turn over, comic pages are revealed to be drawn on the back. One comic shows the mouse with long fangs, biting the face of the cat and then hissing behind a bat wing. One comic is a pastiche of Tim Buckley’s “Loss” comic and one features a portrait of Frasier Crane and the Seattle skyline. Caption: and on the days when nothing interesting happens A close up shows the cat’s paw drawing a comic panel. In this panel a smaller, rounder version of the cat runs happily in the sunshine carrying a backpack. Caption: I reach back and draw something from my past. Caption: If you read this comic and wonder: A coyote looks at the comic on its phone, strokes its chin suspiciously and asks “did that really happen?” Caption: the answer is always yes. Caption: If you read this comic and wonder: A monkey reads the comic in zine form and think “did they really say that?” Caption: the answer is usually yes. Page six: Caption: When a specific phrase is the point of the strip, it’s recorded verbatim. The mouse says “you’re marching to the beat of the potato drum.” Caption: is a direct quote. Caption: When the point is something else, I sometimes take small liberties to make the memory fit well inside four panels. The cat sits at its drawing table, holding a pair of scissors in one hand and a paper with two comic panels in the other. Caption: Usually that means I make myself or the mouse play the part of the straight man because it will improve a joke. The cat and the mouse, dressed as clowns, stand in a circus tent. The cat pulls the clown nose from the mouse’s face and holds up a pie, ready to strike. Caption: In reality, neither of us is much of a straight man, but all art demands some sacrifices. Caption: In every way that matters, this comic always tells the truth. The cat looks up at a large, glowing, winged sphinx statue version of itself. The statue and framing is a reference to the all knowing Southern Oracle from the film adaptation of “The Neverending Story”. Caption: I am doing this to aid my memory after all, so it wouldn’t be very helpful to make my life seem more funny, interesting or relatable than it really is. The cat draws a comic while watching paint dry on the wall. Caption: That would be a pretty cruel joke to play on my future, more confused self. The cat scratches its head at a drawing of themselves as the winner of a beauty contest, wearing a sash and crown, waving to the crowd and holding flowers. Caption: She’ll probably have enough to contend with… The cat looks suspiciously at its own reflection in the mirror, not recognising it. The drawing is a pastiche of a panel from the webcomic “Gunshow” by KC Green. Caption: Maybe some of my comics will be funny or interesting or relatable to you anyway. That would make me very happy. The cat smiles and presses its paws to its face in joy, seeing that a bear and a horse are reading the comic together and laughing. Cartoon hearts float over the cat. Caption: Some of the comics probably won’t do much for anybody but me, but that’s okay too. The cat presses a page of the comic to its chest, looking contented and protective. In the last panel, the cat and the mouse are floating on air with a blue sky and white clouds behind them. The cat is smiling and twirling around, holding a paint brush out like a wand. From the brush flows paint that swirls around the two figures and making shapes of green leaves and orange and yellow flowers. On two looping blue ribbons appear the last captions: This is a record of my silly little life. Good or bad, I’m glad I get to share it. End ID.

Here’s a little introduction to External Memory! It was fun to make a proper neat and full colour comic - it’s been a while ^^

(If you like this project, please reblog this post! You can also subscribe to my patreon where I post one comic every day ^^)

#comic #comics #original comic #web comic #webcomic #diary comic #slice of life #autobiographical comics #journal comics #comic artists on tumblr #external memory comic #slice of life comic #apologies for the long post tumblr does that any time I put in tags for some reason #described #long post

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sprout-fics · 7 months

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Whumptober Day Four: Shock

(Captain John Price x GN! Reader)

(Whumptober Masterlist TBA)

Rating: PG-13 Wordcount: 1.2k Tags: Blood/Injury, Whump, Established Relationship, Near Death Experiences, Hurt/Comfort, Shock, Blood Loss, Medical Inaccuracies Likely Warnings: Explicit Mention of Injury/Gore

The world is still ringing in your ears when you open your eyes. The searing, scorching Uzbekistan sun burns against the inside of your eyelids, and you try to raise a hand to blot out the brightness, only to discover a horrible, aching heaviness that weighs it down. There’s noise all around you, gunfire, distant explosions that shake the earth, and in your mouth you taste dirt, grit, smoke, iron.

A voice breaks through the fog, and you dazedly turn your head towards it, body too heavy, senses desperately trying to clear. It’s familiar, you think, and as you search for the moments before this, the voice of your captain thunders through your thoughts and robs you of all remaining bewilderment.

“GET DOWN!!”

The whistle of an incoming mortar, your hands stretching as they shoved him clear, the thud against your senses that paved the way to darkness.

You lift your head now that you're awake, and it takes almost all your strength to do so. Gaze turning, your focus on your arm, take in the mangled, horrible mess of your flesh laden with shrapnel. Red oozes out along your side, decorates your uniform in sickening scarlet.

It’s only then that the pain sets in.

You scream at the sudden whiplash of it, voice garbled with your confusion and fear. There’s a horrible, icy wash across your limbs, one that feels so at war with the afternoon summer heat above you.

A hand seizes your vest strap, and you choke out a sobbing, broken cry as you’re dragged through the dirt, leaving an abstract smear behind your mangled arm.

“Stay with me, soldier!” A voice above you bellows, and you try to crane your head to see him, your captain. There’s a veil of dust and smoke that shields him, but it parts for just a moment so you can see his face. There, you see the tight draw of his brow, the thin line of his mouth, and the glint in his eyes that speaks of fury, fear.

The pain is blinding, and you feel tears already threaten to overfill your gaze, trapping Price behind a watery filter that obscures his expression of dread. Your free arm reaches up to grasp at his sleeve, further anchoring you as he drags you through the dirt and sand to behind a small rise that shelters you from the ongoing battle.

There’s a broken sort of whimper that bubbles up your throat when Price allows you to lay back flat on the ground- one that startles into a scream as he hoists your arms up into his lap.

“I know, I know, love.” He rasps, balancing your arm across his leg and hands working quickly to secure a tourniquet across your upper bicep. “We have to stop the bleeding. Try to stay still.”

How can you? It hurts. It hurts like nothing else you’ve ever experienced before. You can’t stand it, can’t stand the festering taste of iron, the horrific peirce of metal in your skin, the slow churning of your guts that rise quickly to the overwhelming agony of your arm being flayed open. The world spins dizzy around you, a luminous haze of sensation and color with only the face and voice of Price to keep you steady.

It’s so hot. The sun blazes down from the pale blue sky, seems to provide a nauseating imbalance to the chilled grip of primordial fear that seizes you at the sight of your own blood seeping gluttonously into the soil. There’s a tickle of memory in your mind at the sensation, at a mission to the Arctic circle aboard a U.S. submarine. You’d gotten seasick, and Price had stroked your spine as you emptied the contents of your stomach into one of the sub’s tiny toilets.

You tell him as much, or at least you think you do, lips moving but words slurred. Price snaps his attention to your, and your vision wavers to reveal the pinch of confusion across his face before his gaze sharpens suddenly. You see it for all a moment before you can no longer keep your eyes open, head lolling limply into the dirt.

A hand seizes your shoulder in a rough grip, and the shake he gives you is enough to clear the growing haze from your brain, make you realize how violently you’re shaking.

“Eyes OPEN.” He growls, dark and furious in a way that betrays his fear. You force your eyes open, and realize for the first time that Price looks pale.

“Talk to me, love.” He snaps at you as he works on your arm, reaching for the medkit in his pack.

“About?” You manage somehow, brow scrunching in confusion.

“Anything.” He replies gruffly. “You’re going into shock. You need to stay awake.”

Shock. That would explain a lot. It’s a dull realization hidden behind layers of pain and confusion. You try to fight your way through it, like trying to move against a riptide that tries to force you out to sea.

“I still haven’t seen that movie.” You try, biting down on a groan as Price jabs a morphine shot into your shoulder. “The one with the…the cheesy love story you hate.”

Price huffs, and you turn your head just a bit to see a tense, odd sort of smile that splays across his lips, under his beard.

“The one with the love triangle.” He tells you, shushes you when you yelp as he turns your arm over to inspect the other side. “And the bloke with the pub.”

“Y-yeah. That one.” You slur back, muscles tense as the morphine shot slowly works through you. It does nothing to quell the tremor in your limbs, and you wonder for a moment if it’s an earthquake, if somehow these mountains will tremble and crack down onto you both.

Your eyes shutter, the cool relief of morphine soothing your veins and making your head loll limply.

“Love. Love, look at me.”

Price’s bloody glove settles under your jaw, forces you to look at his face hovering above your own. His eyes mirror the pale blue sky above. You didn’t realize until now what a beautiful day it is.

“We’re going to get out of here.” He breathes to you. “We’re going to get out and I’m going to take you home. We’ll watch whatever you want. Anything. Just stay awake, yeah?”

It’s an anchor. A rope. A tether to hold fast to even as the world pulses with agony and a sickening, feverish haze. You hold to it, hold to him, to the image of falling asleep on his shoulder as the TV hums forgotten in the background.

You nod, and when it doesn’t feel like enough you force yourself to speak. “Yeah. Yeah, John. I’m awake. I’m with you.”

“There you go.” He smiles, and the tenderness in his eyes is so strangely departed from the ongoing firefight beyond you both.

He kisses you then, a small peck to your sweaty brow, and you force a wavering smile, hold fast to that too, in the midst of violence that colors both your lives.

#john price x reader #price x reader #john price x you #price x you #captain john price x reader

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hanasnx · 4 months

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❝ mercury: retrograde. ❞

── batman x reader

MINORS DNI 18+ WORD COUNT: 2k SUMMARY: after your failed attempt to recover the last pieces of joker present in the victims of his diseased blood donation, you discover a mystery about the batman in both body and spirit. NOTES: during the events of batman: arkham knight, when harley quinn tries to reclaim the joker-ified victims from panessa studios. the reader is somewhat in the place of harley quinn WARNINGS: f!reader | explicit sexual content | implied creampie | unprotected sex | established relationship: enemies to lovers | size difference | slapping (m receiving) | previous relationship with joker is implied.

You stir at the feeling of strong grips handling your waist, the heavy haze of unconsciousness fading as you’re lifted from the ground. Memories gradually return with each inch gained, and your eyelids flutter open, the dull light stinging your gaze. The motion of you being punctually raised to your feet only to be thrown over the shoulder of none other than the BATMAN is jarring to say the very least. “Hey. Hey!” you interject when you come to, your mouth finally catching up with your brain as your stomach makes contact with his armored shoulder, and the wind is knocked from your lungs.

“Take Charisma back to the cells. I’ll catch up.” he orders the newest Boy Wonder. A man clad in red and green holds Johnny Charisma in a similar fashion to your position, mirroring you.

Robin nods, and sees himself out. “Don’t take too long.” he jests, and if you were paying more attention you would’ve rolled your eyes. Instead, you’re much too busy running your mouth with any kind of noise, kicking your feet, and banging your fists against the Bat’s lower back. With each blow, the cape bounces back to brush your angry hands, and in a brief fascination you clutch onto the foreign material with the intent to rip it. Of course, it doesn’t, and you consider the possibility of tearing into it with your teeth as you would duct tape. To calm your writhing legs, he straps an arm around your thighs, lumbering along with you on his shoulder as if you simply weren’t there. It’s dizzying being all the way up here, the Bat towers over most everyone… it’s that or all the blood that’s rushed to your head. He enters a different room than where Robin went, and momentarily you entertain the fact he seeks to interrogate you. But what could you possibly know that the Bat wants? It was always Joker with the big ideas. Now that he’s gone, you’ve been trying replace him as the Head Guy but it’s just not the same.

So you thrash. You move your body in any way you can think of, anything to loosen his vice-like grasp on you, but he is infallible. Taking you deeper into this abandoned set in Panessa Studios. “Put me down—! Hey! Are you listening to me? I said, put- me- down— Oh!” Your commands are interrupted by your own squeak of surprise as he unceremoniously drops you, landing on your feet with a bounce as your countenance shifts to one of endearing disbelief. You rally, skewing your features to convey indignity. “How dare you?” you scold, but it’s grossly performative. You raise your hand, punctuating your disdain for him with a sharp slap of admonishment to his cheek. It reverberates in this empty room, and his neck has craned from the force. Perhaps out of respect. You’ve seen this freak throw grown men across the room, you’re sure he feels nothing but a sting on his skin. So you give him another one, smacking him to pivot him to the other side.

“Touching a lady like that! You should know better! I’m wearing a skirt! Anyone could’ve seen! What would my men think of their boss if they’ve seen her panties? Huh? Do you have any idea what it takes to be a leader in this economy?” With each passing phrase, your voice heightens shriller, the emotion of the scene getting to you, but he is unaffected. Slowly, he faces you, opening his eyes to meet your vindictive gaze. “You—! You’re the one that killed him, if he were still alive I wouldn’t have to be in this mess—“ your tone cracks at the mention of the Joker, and a desperate sort of need takes you over. You throw yourself onto the statuesque vigilant who remains expressionless as you clutch onto whatever purchase his tight armor possesses, climbing up his chest to his collar.

Your instability is cause for your sudden shift in depression and wrath; one second you’re clinging onto him, shaking him (or more accurately, shaking yourself using him and his immovable body), and the next you’re pinching your features into a frown and weakly banging your fists against his chest for round two. They glance off, and he stares down at you. It takes you an inappropriate amount of time to question how long he’s been letting you do this to him, until he side-steps you. Comically, you fall forward from the loss of balance, the lack of his beam-like support causing you to stumble and clumsily regain your footing to round on him.

“Enough.” he commands, and his recognizably annoyed tone sets your lips into a thin line. “Tell me what you know.” Inviting himself into your space, this dark towering figure stoops to your level, forcing you to arch back as he imposes.

You audibly gulp, scanning his form. He notes that. That scares you. So you attempt to throw him off the trail, taking a step back so you have room to straighten, cross your arms, and stick your nose in the air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you insist, and wiggle your shoulders, peeking at him through your closed eyes to gauge his reaction. You don’t have time to react before his huge glove has enclosed in the puffy fabric of your sleeve, yanking you back to him. Instinctively, you reach out, bracing against his chest so you won’t trip again. A furtive glance is paid to your hand’s position on his emblem, and when you meet his gaze he’s already looking at yours.

“You’re here for the patients. You think they’ve got the potential to replace him, don’t you?” Just like that, he ruins the moment with his big mouth.

You scowl, lifting yourself on your toes as if that’ll intimidate him. “They are him!”

“He’s dead!” The anger behind his words admits how resentful he is that you won’t deal with the Joker’s death.

“Because of you!”

“Don’t be stupid.” An alarming shift in his tone conveys an uncharacteristic smugness, one that creases your brow in bewilderment because of how likely the phrase sounded like Batman was about to laugh at you. “How long are you going to live in that fantasy?”

“I—” you begin, but a flash catches you off-guard. Untensing, you search his eyes for that flash again. A glint. A glimpse of that familiar viridian. You’ve looked into Batman’s eyes countless times, you know his irises are colored blue. But for one single second, you could’ve sworn you saw a little of J in there. As if you weren’t in control of your own body, you take a step forward. A great sense of relief overcoming you at the sight of green blooming faithfully in Batman’s eyes. “It’s you…” you muse in wonder, your gentle hands coming to cup his rough face, your fingertips grazing the helmet’s smooth material.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you stunned the Bat. But he doesn’t let it last long, growling in offense as he uses your abused top to toss you against a prop wall. You clatter against the hollow wood, meagerly propped up by the 2x4s on the other side. His massive fist nails the surface right by your head, and you’re too in awe to flinch.

“Tell me what I want to know!” The Batman orders, and you know exactly what to tell him. You pounce on him, draping your body all over his armor as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Oh, I’ve missed you so much!” you exclaim. You had no idea a little taste of Joker blood had infiltrated the Big Bad Bat. Here he is, right in front of you again. Old feelings come flooding back as your lips peck at whatever is in reach, punctuated with audible “muahs.”

He recoils, but your grip only tightens, clinging onto him until he pries you off by his hands on your wrists.

“Oh, baby,” you croon, bending over to show him your cleavage as you wiggle it for him. “Why you gotta make me wait, huh? Didn’t you miss me too?” Your wrists, suspended in mid-air, make your arousal run impossibly deeper. Firmly enclosed in his big hands, restrained, you could jump out of your own skin. You tilt your head at him as he observes you, as unperturbed as ever, and you wonder if he’s fighting off the Joker-persona that takes over. “You know you want it…” you exhale, lusty and provocative. “I know you do. Whether you’re the Bat or the Joke I know you want me.” you test. Your tongue licks at the lipstick on your lips. “Don’t worry,” you whisper, desperate. “I won’t tell anyone.”

This is not the first time he’s been tempted by you, yet he finds it more difficult than the last to refuse you. He allows you to take a step closer. “Fuck it.” he says, and you squeal with delight as he scoops you up, pinning you back to the wall. You slam your lips to his, and he eagerly accepts you. The kind of kiss that’s fucking sloppy. Disgusting. As reserved and formal as he is in kissing you, you’re far too disorderly for that. All tongue, you thrust it out between your lips to shove it into his, enthusiastic in playing with his. Surprisingly, he accepts it but doesn’t match your energy as you tongue-fuck his mouth. You trace it over all the wrong places, giddy in the notion you know what the inside of Batman’s mouth feels like. You line it over his his teeth until you’re sure you could recreate his dental print from memory.

It all happens so fast. One second you’re making out, sucking on his tongue like it’s his cock, the next his utility belt is on the floor and his actual cock is rearranging your insides. He’s a lot bigger than your old boss.

“Fuck, fuck! Right there, right there!” you mewl your praises, wet pussy gratefully slurping up his every inch. It’s unfathomable how long you’ve gone without proper dick, and something about the way he’s bullying his way into you hits the spot. Everything from the angle of fucking you against this wall, to the gruff and animalistic exhales he expels with each thrust has your pretty eyes rolling into the back of your head. “Oh, my fucking God! Who knew you could fuck like this? If I’d’ve known you feel this good I would’ve hopped on your bat-cock years ago.” Mindless, stupid ramblings of a thankful whore, reeling from his thick fingers that leave bruises in the flesh of your thighs. He’s relatively quiet, letting you do the talking, perhaps he already regrets his decision to screw you but it’s too late now. Whatever implication this proves he’s not stopping to examine the morality of it, chasing his high and using your body to do it.

The familiar tremor in your thighs lets you know how close you really are, clawing at his armor. His hand cups your jaw, tucking your chin into the web of his thumb, pinching your cheeks together a bit as he adjusts you to look at him. “You wanna finish?” he asks through the grit in his teeth, and you nod furiously, stifled by his hold.

“Yes. Yes, baby, I wanna finish. I wanna cum.” you whine, seeking to please him.

“Promise to be good?”

A stinging thrill shoots up your spine originating from your sex. You had no idea he was into that kind of stuff, nor implementing it. You go crazy for it. Once again, you nod furiously. Whatever that definition entailed— to be good— you would do it. Anything for him. “I promise, I promise. I promise to be good, I promise.”

You find out later being good entails being thrown into a cell to await policy recovery. Oh, but it was fucking worth it.

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tearskillstardust · 5 months

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hello hello I have a genshin request!! genshin men Xiao, Neuvillette, Alhaitham, Wriothesley, (sperate) x y/n??

It's nothing special but hearing y/n sing for the first time?? She's very quiet and closed about her life but they go looking for them and hear them singing!!

(also shes singing Doria mermaid song!! I would suggest searching that up and listening to it first!! Have fun!!)

-🦇🎀

✎ GENTLE HARMONY... al haitham, xiao, wriothesley, neuvillette.

✎ they hear you singing once, but now that they've heard your mellow voice and seen your vulnerable side, they aren't letting you off the hook about it so easily.

— female reader. no trigger warning except that childe has a crush on scara which may be traumatizing lmao

✧ XIAO

serenity and peace had shaded the brilliant skies a gentler shade of grey as the trees leaned in towards each other in idle chatter.

in the eyes of the yaksha, it was an ordinary view. if the skies were grey, then all it meant was that rain would follow soon after, nothing more nothing less. but in the eyes of his lover, whose romantic nature he had begun to come to terms with and secretly adore, a grey sky meant so much.

it was rejuvenation after the bright seduction of the summer breeze— the first onset of the dance of the peacocks as they spread their wings in all their glory, and the onset of the romance of the lovers who had only recently united.

xiao had known you for as long as he could remember, you had just, sort of been there when he first began serving rex lapis. a nature spirit, rex lapis had simplified after a great struggle of trying to explain what you were. and though your discontentedness with the term was very great, because you were not just a spirit, you decided against voicing your opinions.

part of your reluctance stemmed from the fact that xiao had uncontrollably smiled then, unaware of what he was doing, not having controlled his emotions. he had blushed very harshly after that, and though he never explained the 'why' part of it, you assumed nature was simply a touching subject for him.

the yaksha stopped in his steps.

a lone bird at a distant tree took off in flight, the cranes choosing another spot for rest, complaining about the loud of a certain flute.

a flute.

in these high mountains?

he was the only one around himself he had known could play the instrument —other than a certain peculiar kid dressed in red who said he smelled like a distant past and a longing pain and xiao had to control himself from smacking him— so where did the tune originate from?

he would have moved, he certainly would have if the tune wasn't so melancholic in nature—it was like a paradox almost, bright where it was dull, buoyant where it was heavy, ephemeral where it was harsh.

suddenly, he felt like a young adeptus again, clad in green robes as he stared out into the sky, loud chatter behind him as the rest of his friends talked loudly, exchanging fruits and trinkets they'd got from villagers who thought of them as divine earthly spirits.

'c'mon xiao!', a certain rough hand pat his back, and he was so startled that he would have almost fallen down the ravine had another strong one not grabbed him right then as they dragged him back to the cavern where everyone else was and forced-fed him apples.

'haha! have some apples! especially for the most fearsome of yakshas!'. everyone around him laughed at that, and someone pinched his cheeks when he huffed, red at the teasing.

the memory was too distant for any image to properly solidify, his heart throbbing in pain of revived memories. but strangely enough, he remembered having felt so happy that day—the last day he had seen all of them smiling before everything dissolved to dust.

no, he shook his head, gritting his teeth as he held his spear tighter, ignoring the dull pain in his heart, stupid, stupid memories.

he moved slowly in the direction of the tune, spear in his grasp, agonizingly as though a snake trying to catch sight of the rabbit— and when the rabbit came to sight, his mouth fell open in slight shock.

it was you.

he almost called out to you but then realized that you would stop singing if he did. you had always been private about this side of yours, never quite revealing it to him entirely. he had always been slightly perplexed when zhongli would laugh and tell him about how skilled in the arts you were, and he would always have difficulty accepting his words for he had never even seen you reading a poem, much less sing or perform.

so when he heard you sing, he couldn't help but simply sit down behind the bushes as you completed your tune, humming peacefully, all alone, defneseless.

defenseless.

'so you hate the arts because it makes you weak?', cloud retainer asked him jokingly once when he told her he didn't like songs or arts. he wasn't entirely sure what to say to that response of hers.

'it makes you vulnerable.' he answered her back, clearing his throat.

and it was true.

the vulnerability that danced in your eyes at that moment made his heart mellow with equal parts love and nostalgia. of lost memories, lost friends, lost loves, lost happiness— everything he had lost, he had sacrificed for a single goal born out of devotion. he could not find it in himself to move away from your gentle song, nor did he have the heart to disturb you when you were so much at peace.

so he remained there until you were done, reliving old memories as he got further lost in your song, and he could have sworn your gaze flickered exactly to where he sat amongst the bushes, a smug grin on our features before you turned away, staring serenely at the sky as the downpour began.

✧ WRIOTHESLEY [modern au]

the captain of the baseball team had no business around the club rooms. especially around the music ones. and he knew it.

but when a certain ginger-haired, dumbass of a friend decided that it was best to have a crush on scaramouche, the most introverted, 'golden-kid' guy of the school, he had to decide against his better judgement to look for him around the music rooms where he would often be during afternoons.

but when he came across the rundown music room with the sign 'do not enter' hanging outside it, he was suddenly reminded of you who had been entering the room, continuously sniffing and coughing as you tried to gather the courage to enter, a broom in one hand and a mop and bucket in the other. he snickered quietly, remembering the snarl you had given him like a wounded cat when he offered help.

when he tried remembering who you were, however, his memory betrayed him. he only remembered that he had seen you receiving a reward for an inter-school musical performance you had given, but your name or class was entirely a different matter.

'childe can find out about her,' he thought, and then blushed furiously when he realized he was obsessing over a girl he had seen just yesterday. he shook his head once again, 'no i'm a confident man.'

pause.

actually, not so much.

because as soon as he slid the door open out of pure curiosity —hoping somewhat that if some of the cleaning work would be left, he would do it and act like the prince clad in white robes on a white horse— the sight in front of his eyes almost made him drop to his knees.

you sat in front of the piano, back towards him as you played a melody, your fingers working quickly as your voice filled his ears. you looked so pure and unbothered in that moment that he had to force himself not to march right up to you and ask for your number.

he could not help but stare at your fingers as they worked quickly on the keys, never staying still, and then your mellow voice as you sang the notes perfectly, the highs and lows evident in your voice. he was surprised how touching the song was, and almost complimented you when he felt a hand on his shoulder and almost screamed.

childe pressed his hand further against his mouth and pulled his back, and softly slid the door back in place before looking at wriothesley with a teasing grin.

'so?', he asked suggestively.

'so what? you absolute piece of shit i was about to get down on one knee and—

'do you even know her name?'

pause.

'w-well i will! eventually! '

childe sighed and rubbed his forehead. 'you know what actually? forget i ever said anything about that purple twink. i'll talk to him and this girl for us.'

wriothesley eyed his friend suspiciously, aware of his playboy tendencies. 'oh c'mon,' childe said, smiling smugly, 'i would never flirt with my soon-to-be friend's dearest—

'ugh, shut up.' wriothesley said, completely red in the face. he grabbed childe by the throat and began roughing him up affectionately, both of them laughing loudly in the empty corridor.

'excuse me?'

wriothesley dropped childe and straightened up immediately at the familiar voice. 'oh! hi!'

you eye him once before nodding. 'hi. i'm practising a song, please keep it low.'

he was a bit surprised with your short response but managed to smile nonetheless. 'oh, yup, we're sorry. also, your singing is amazing!'

oops.

to his surprise though, you smiled gently at him and blushed. 'thanks, i wrote it a long time back!' and he had to try not to combust with embarrassment and glee. he smiled widely, red in the face as you went back in and slid the door in place.

oh, he could marry you.

'let my shirt go, dumbass!'

'oh, go to hell ginger. i'll talk to her myself.'

✧ AL HAITHAM

al haitham liked his peace. period.

much to his annoyance, however, kaveh's best friend, you, that is, who was staying over at his place for some time to look after both, him and kaveh because both of them fell sick at the same time, hated silence.

no, not disliked. hated.

in your eyes, it was a day wasted if there wasn't an element of song and loudness in it. you always left a cd playing at the gramophone. you didn't even care about the genre, something just had to always keep playing. and you should always be able to listen to it. otherwise, you start becoming irascible.

once he had turned off the radio that you'd left on even when you were working in the balcony, hanging their clothes to dry and that night, as you placed the cloth over his heated body, you made sure it was extra cold making him hiss loudly.

it wasn't very fair, but he didn't go much against you after that.

he would not have needed your help, but tighnari had insisted that they keep you there to ensure that their viral does not get any worse. he had mentioned some botanical words al haitham was too annoyed to remember and then pushed you in the house, leaving.

still though, with his own fever which was always accompanied by chronic headaches, with his inability to read which was clawing at him, and kaveh's endless chatter about one thing or the other, even he was bound to lose his patience at one point.

today was precisely that day perhaps when he had thought of at least 101 reasons why silence was necessary right now in his house as he strided over to kaveh's study where you were working on your herbology work. or at least he thought you were.

standing right outside the room, he heard a soft tune of singing. right.

now that he actually thought about it, the entire house was quiet except for your soft singing that was infiltrating his ears right now. he had no interest in invading anyone's privacy or being rude, nor was he fond of the arts, but when he heard the softness of your voice, he couldn't help but press his ear further to listen closely.

he was so used to your loud, excited and energetic voice, which always irritated him —no offence intended— that when he heard the softer side of it, the more vulnerable one, he couldn't help but get mellow from the inside. he almost wanted to gag, but even he couldn't deny that your singing voice was beautiful.

he had always had a bit of a lonely life.

not that he was upset with it, no, he almost called it, welcomed it with open arms. he was rich, intelligent, no scratch that, genius, capable and competent. he simply didn't need anyone around.

but sometimes when he stared at kaveh moving around the house, holding a ladle one time, then a stack of books the other, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of emotion— something he couldn't quite place his finger at but something which forced him to smile nonetheless.

and then there had been you. there was nothing in you that the scribe would've liked romantically, initially anyway; you were loud and bright and energetic, always jumping from one task to the other, always had a story to tell and a joke to crack, never quite had a dull moment or a need for rest. he almost laughed every time he saw you interacting with kaveh and the way you two just clicked together—the two most annoying people on earth.

the only two people close to his heart.

wait a minute.

he suddenly realized that your song had stopped, and he immediately skipped from the door to the kitchen, or as far as he possibly, quietly could, when you opened your door and stared at him confusedly.

'scribe?'

'al haitham.'

'same thing, what are you doing here? you need a newspaper?'

he looked where he was standing and found he was in the middle of the hall in the most awkward way possible and then cooked up an excuse quickly. 'uh, yeah, kaveh's being a pain again.'

you snickered quietly and quickly came to where he was, standing on your tiptoes as he instinctively bowed down to let you press your hand against his forehead. when he realized his action, he blushed furiously.

you frowned seeing him all red, 'you still have a temperature, al haitham. go back to bed and if you need something, just call me. i'll bring today's newspaper.'

fuck the newspaper, he thought, quickly walking back to his room—confusing both of you; you, over how weird he was being all of a sudden and himself over why he cared so much for you all of a sudden.

✧ NEUVILLETTE

the chief justice of fontaine.

interesting title.

but the duties that came with the position were not so interesting. don't get the ludex wrong— he loves his people, and his job and he was completely devoted but it's simply that when he can, and wants to, spend time with a fun friend and funnier melusines, it's a bit hard to focus on your work.

it was just that time to time, it was nice having someone around who can alleviate your stress without being loud or obnoxious or landing him in more trouble. and it just so happened that you provided him the perfect gateway for that, his newly assigned guard.

he hadn't insisted on keeping one but wriothesley and clorinde had, telling him about the fragile state of fontaine in these times and how any kind of chances of attack on the ludex remained high and that even though he was the hydro dragon himself, a skilled and trustworthy mercenary was always worth keeping around.

what they never said to him though was that they had also assigned you the duty because they were aware of your jokester nature. they knew that you would entertain him with jokes and keep it light when he was getting too tense. and then there was this empathetic nature of yours, which always allowed you to comfort the hydro dragon when he felt upset.

he was genuinely amused by you. you were a nice influence to have around, with your light-hearted chatter and sweet-spoken self. what he didn't expect though, was that he would start getting so restless when you weren't around. he convinced himself for a week, then two, but when the third week passed without having you around, he wanted to visit you.

you had fallen sick, clorinde had informed him. surely, you would be better by now? where were you then? did you grow tired of being around him? he felt upset at that thought. of course. he never openly admitted to liking your jokes or witty banter, certainly, you hated him now. regardless, it was your duty now, and he didn't really ant any kind of stain on your reputation. he would gladly —well, not gladly— let you leave but with proper documents and papers.

he knocked thrice on your door, only for the door to open with a creak.

negative thoughts infiltrated his mind.

he walked in slowly, expecting anything and everything to jump at him. he looked around slowly as he closed the door behind himself, frowning deeply. then he paused.

a song.

and he was so relieved upon hearing that song that he couldn't help but follow it to its source blindly, the innermost room where you had once told him you kept all your musical instruments. you were playing the song on a lyre, and he could almost imagine your serenity as you pluck at the strings idly, staring out of a window.

you often sang it when it was dark and you were lighting all the lanterns around the place and switching the lights on. there was a certain joy, a promise of love in the sweet song that you often sang that made him love it so much. or perhaps it was not the song at all but the person singing it instead.

he stopped right at the closed door and heard your voice, putting him at peace. he thought about how peaceful you must be in this moment, so vulnerable with your closed eyes and parted lips as you addressed the wind with your gentle song—

'sir?'

the song stopped.

he turned, irritated at the interruption, only to find clorinde standing behind himself, holding a small pouch of herbs. now that the situation sank in, he realized that there was shock in her tone, as though she wasn't expecting him at all. he blushed.

'good evening, miss clorinde.'

she tried hard not to tease him and shushed him by pressing a finger against her lips and quickly hid him behind the cupboard, as he crouched, half embarrassed, half thankful as you opened the door.

'who's there clorinde?' your voice came, albeit a bit softer than its usual pitch.

'oh, it's no one.'

'but you said sir?'

'c'mon be serious, you really think i would address someone if they barged right into our house? i would crack their skull open just like that!'

neuvillette flinched slightly from his place before grimacing.

he sneaked out slowly when the door closed and moved out of the house, making sure to shut the door behind himself. and as he walked back to his quarters, he could not help but feel every emotion known to mankind— love for you, anger at clorinde, sorrow for himself, guilt at entering without thinking, then irritation for overthinking, sulking for not being able to see you and confusion at the fact that he was feeling so much all of a sudden.

one thing was sure though, the ludex had taken a liking to your voice, and when you returned, there was no way he was going to let you finish your shift for the day without singing him the song in your lovely, lovely voice.

i wanna kiss the anon who sent this request! this was so cute and fun<3 and the song was amazing my darling, love you for it! i hope i could deliver what you hoped

also, who wants to help point out what al haitham is feeling? 😌

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pellucid-constellations · 7 months

Text

angstober (6)

Prompt: "Can't Go Home"

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

A/n: Whew 😮‍💨

angstober masterlist here ♡

~~~

“After this one, we’re getting our own place.”

Bucky’s sweet words found a home in your head. They nestled into the unkind parts of your brain as the battle went on, fear and pain and confusion mingling. Threatening to take over.

“I don’t care what the rest of them have to say about it. I’m sick of sharing you. Sick of living in this tower with forty million people.”

“I don’t think forty million people live here, Buck.”

“Shut up.”

You could feel the smile against your neck, the memory of his lips there as he spoke. Something blew up a few feet away from the hand-to-hand fight you were struggling with. You felt the heat along your side.

“I’ve always pictured a brownstone. Even back then.”

“Back then as in… before you were as old as my great-grandpa?”

“You’re awfully mouthy tonight.”

A truck flew overhead. You had no idea which side threw it. Banner jumped over it, grunting at the force. Not your side, then. This fight wasn’t going well.

“Well, back then,” Bucky playfully stressed, “I thought it’d be just me in there. Bachelor in New York City and all that. But now that I have you—”

He rolled over, encasing your head with his arms. His nose brushed yours as he spoke next, eyes achingly soft.

“Now that I have you, I’m thinking something else. Something far away. Maybe more upstate. We can get a horse.”

“A horse?” you laughed.

“Maybe ten horses.”

Pain erupted across your ribs. A boot imprinted there, pressing and deepening the bruise that had already been inflicted. You cried out, arms tightening around the creature thrashing against you. It eventually went lax and the pinch at your ribs subsided.

You hobbled into a sitting position, clutching your side. The battle around you raged on, screams and commands hurtled into the comm at your ear.

“How will the team contact us while we’re out in this vast, open countryside? Carrier pigeon?”

Bucky ran his fingers along your cheeks. “Don’t care. Hope they don’t contact us, actually.”

You shot up as gunfire littered the ground around you. Your break was over. It had only been about thirty seconds, but that was enough time for you to be targeted. The bullets were different though—bigger, almost…charged? You didn’t have a word for the current that seemed to run through them.

Didn’t want to have a word for it.

“How do you propose we do our jobs then?” you asked, humoring him, loving being under his gaze.

But Bucky became serious, brow lowering. After taking a moment, watching his thumb as is passed over your skin—

“I want to retire,” he whispered. “This is the big one, but then I want to be done. I want it to be just us. I want to be home. With you.”

Your name ripped through the air like a siren. You turned, craning your neck to catch the call, but it wasn’t fast enough.

You heard the shots before anything else. Your body braced for impact, braced for the end, but was met with nothing. A small groan was all you were left with, followed by the decimation of whatever had been shooting at you. Tony flew by in its wake, hands still flaming red from the blast.

When you turned your eyes back down, the battle ceased to exist. There were no sounds, no guns, no danger. There was just Bucky, pressed against your chest, breathing heavier than you’d ever seen him.

“Buck?” you whispered, reaching out to brace his arms. “Bucky?”

Bucky didn’t answer you. His knees buckled instead, and you fell to the ground alongside him. Maybe if you were stronger, faster, anything other than what you were, you would have been able to catch him. But you weren’t, so you fell with him, beside him, as you would be with everything in life.

You positioned him along your thighs, leaning back on your ankles as you examined him. You went to pull at this suit, but he stopped you, brushing your arm away. He reached up but didn’t make contact with your face like you thought he would. He grabbed your comm instead, missing it the first time in an uncoordinated shuffle.

Bucky was never uncoordinated.

“Steve,” he said into the device, urgency mixing with an incoherent slur you had never heard from him. “I’m down. I’m—pal, I’m done. You gotta get to y/n. She’s—”

The rest of his words were nothing but a buzz. The entire scene, the world around you, turned into white noise. Later, you would recognize this as shock. In the moment, it felt as if you ceased to exist. As if everything was ending.

And maybe everything was ending. Because when Bucky put the comm down—when he gripped at the back of your neck and his lips began staining red from blood you couldn’t see yet—it felt as if there was nothing left of you.

Your hands were shaking. Everything was shaking.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Bucky whispered. His voice sounded distant, weak. “Stevie’s gonna take care of you.”

His hands guided your forehead down to his. His labored breath brushed across your lips.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

Something snapped within you. Something sharp and cruel. A panicked cry left your throat and you pressed back from Bucky in one quick movement. Your hands whipped around him in desperation.

“No,” you gasped, tearing at his vest. “No, no, no, no. You’re fine. I can fix it. I can fix it, Bucky.”

But the more you shifted his clothes, the more you saw that you wouldn’t be able to fix it. There was so much blood and it wouldn’t stop flowing from his body. You pressed your palms to the wounds to staunch the flow, but it only ran in between your fingers.

Bucky wasn’t normal; he could heal from most things. That fact had sent him into the line of fire more times than you could count.

He had also been in this situation an infuriating amount of times, throwing himself in front of you to take the brunt of a hit more often than you had actually been injured.

But this time… this time he had grabbed your comm before sending you a sheepish laugh. This time he had apologized and asked his friend to take care of you.

This time he wouldn’t stop bleeding.

“It won’t stop. It won’t stop,” you cried, shaky and broken and disbelieving. “I’m trying, Bucky, I swear. Why won’t it stop?”

“Look at me.”

You kept up with your ministrations, pressing into his stomach even when he had no response to it. Couldn’t he feel it? Didn’t it hurt?”

“I can’t make it stop.”

“Please look at me, baby.”

With a ruined cry, you did as he asked. His eyes were lidded, but his mouth turned up on one side when you entered his view.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he breathed out, straining to touch you. “Love you so fucking much.”

Your sob was harsh and painful. “I love you more.”

A scream pierced the sky not too long after that. Steve was only able to find you because of it.

Even if you moved now, you wouldn’t be able to go home. You’d never be home again.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes #angstober 2023 #day 10

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vampiretendencies · 1 year

Text

said you’re smoking less, and then you ashed it on your chest

summary; rafe embraced his change in appearance.

paring; rafe x fem!reader

warnings; fluff, drug use

a/n; this is definitely not that long but i wanted to hurry and write something to honor rafe’s new hair in s3, it may pass for a blurb but i don’t think so. hope you enjoy!

Rafe didn’t give a fuck.

Now, he doesn’t, anyway.

He seems as though he’s shed a new skin, with the buzzing of his hair. Prickly sharp ends, yet soft, minuscule, and shaven all at once.

So, now he’s got this sense of feeling untouchable.

Hence the reasoning behind him not giving a fuck.

But, he had to admit he give a fuck about a little something in particular.

The moments as he stood in the mirror, gazing back at his image before him. Bathroom tile cold beneath his sock clad feet, wriggling his toes about not having enough hair for the first time in his life. In those moments, the mere thing that was withholding him for just having at it, was you.

Rafe foraged for your opinion, in any and every thing that he’d done.

It could be an activity as simple as picking out which shirt he wanted to start his days with, if he thought— if he knew you didn’t like it … he wasn’t fucking wearing it.

He had adoration for you opinion and respected it above all.

On a whim, pajama pants hugging his waist deliciously, the green and blue plaid swiveling about as he paced in the plane bathroom. He’d been waiting for you for going on an hour now— impatiently as one could tell— a sleep over so to speak. Brown tresses parted in the middle, layering the sides of his face— he ran a limp hand through it sickened by the roots and the split ends.

He wanted change from the core memories laced to this hairstyle.

Rafe decided he couldn’t decipher on his own, and he wanted his new appearance to be a surprise to you.

With that’s being said, the only ‘friend’ he could turn to was cocaine.

The one and only thing he didn’t give a damn about your opinion on.

Cocaine— was of comfort to Rafe, and he refused to make himself uncomfortable because someone else didn’t like it.

It stayed when other didn’t, it made him whole.

As sickening as that sounds.

As far as you knew, Rafe wasn’t ‘doing’ cocaine. And he was astonished that you hadn’t caught on yet.

But, right now that was not his main concern.

A thin crumbly substance-laced pure white line, maneuvered with the back of a credit card. Rafe lowered himself, eye-line with his addiction.

Mouth hungrily slobbering from the inside, tapping just the ends with a lick of his pink tongue. It was sensational, and ethereal and everything in between. Plugging one nostril, speedily, in cranes his neck to breathe in the rest of the drug.

A hype of adrenaline rushed through Rafe veins, slowly and all and once.

“Do it, pussy.”

He spat at himself in the mirror, mimicking that of a boxer that is about the get ready for the start of a match. Bouncing on the tips of his toes, whilst his own fists beat the center of his shirtless chest— the flesh turning a fiery red.

“Do it! You fucking pussy!”

Rafe pat the sides of his head, turning on the hair clippers with no second thought. Humming buzz sending him into a thrill, chuckling back at himself whilst the chunks of old locks fell to the white floor beneath him.

Rightfully, here he is the moments after urging to punch a whole in the walls— he’s so fucking invincible.

A knock rang timely in the Cameron household, loud enough that it seemed like it was coming from the outskirts. Yet, it was you, prominently knocking after having waited over ten minutes.

Rafe was too occupied by his new look.

Beige door flying directly open, revealing a hairless Rafe.

Your mouth slack open, Rafe has always had hair— you thought.

But wait, it miraculously somehow suits him,

Before you could even utter the words to Rafe, He’s embracing you. Along arms swinging and swaying, whilst he effortlessly picked you up with the lift of one hand— squishing you flush against him. Arms flexing and folding, resembling a small child that missed someone so.

He never faulted, he never failed to hold you that close.

Because it was you.

You willingly oblige, somewhat not taken aback by his sudden attack of fondness.

He exhales lowly, direct eye contact, puckering his lips desiring his ‘hello’ kiss.

A kiss to Rafe was hello, goodbye, and everything in between.

Any you appreciated the greeting. The mouthy kiss was paced and slow, yet wet and meaningful. Lips turning about to meet the others in hunger.

Rafe forced himself to pull away, though he really fucking held power with his newly shaven head.

Would you think so?

“D-do you like it, princess?”

Someone that was just on top of the world secondarily, is now putty in your hands.

Awaiting your approval to, pick him apart through and through. Your fingertips feathered over the bits of hair, a little grin becoming of you.

“Fuckin’, love it.”

#rafe cameron angst #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #rafe obx #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron x oc #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x you

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redcraneacnh · 8 months

Text

#animal crossing #acnh #new horizons #red crane memories #animal crossing new horizons #ac new horizons #sh*t my villagers say #acnh autumn #acnh fall #acnh raymond

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takami-takami · 7 months

Text

For His Pleasure.

kinktober day 1: love bites.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. smut.

warnings— gn!reader. keigo is such a good boy. slight masochism. marking.

More often than not, a canvas takes the form of the flesh when it comes to Keigo Takami.

Your breath fogs back against your lips when you're this close to the piercable skin of his neck. You dip down, fangs bared, and he cranes his neck so far back it could just about snap. A carnivorous, masochistic ringing in his mind won't let him forget how he wants nothing more than to expose the entire surface to you— to only you, vulnerable and ripe to be marked like a nametag signed into the flesh.

Panting below you is a man who tends to hold little back. You've come to expect him in the raw. Frankly, you prefer it that way. It's advantageous to your relationship in every sense, pulling you closer together as you weave through challenges with ease, armed with communication as the hot knife that slices through the thick of conflict.

But in the bedroom, that communicative nature of his translates quite nicely into behavior that is oh so responsive.

With his hands propped behind him to keep his body stable, you straddle him and mark his skin; and Keigo has never sounded as pliable as he does now.

"This here," you whisper, tracing a finger from the center of his chin down his bobbing Adam's apple. "This is mine, baby."

It is. You swear you catch the sweetest coo of agreement bubbling in his throat as you work on his flesh, his nape bared further by the way he lets his head fall back slack. Golden tufts are splayed against bare shoulders, cascading over the curvature of muscles formed to carry fierce wings. It brushes against his bare skin with each labored breath, and his head dips back like a strawberry in melted chocolate, decadent in its indulgence.

Inside, he invites you, and you're willing to crawl.

Sticking up in wild tufts, you could count the mussed strands of hair poking in every direction atop his head. Memories depicting how you played with and pulled them flash in your mind's eye, reminding you of how the soft texture felt running like water through the valleys between your fingers.

You discovered it pretty early on in your relationship: the pretty boy likes his hair pulled. It's an activity that soothes him, the controlled sparks of pain pulling a lopsided smile as he spills the prettiest moans.

"More— Harder,” he begs. “Please, angel, gimme more."

Keigo doesn't want to look perfect. He wants to look taken. He wants to look loved.

Most nights, he studies your work like a ritual. He stands before the bathroom mirror after you've finished each masterpiece, admiring the blooming bruises that burst forth in shades of red and violet for longer than he probably should. Barely suppressing a giddy smile, Keigo simply walks past the comb on the counter without a second thought, opting to keep the mess that is his hair intact before he returns to bed— before he returns to you.

Yeah, he definitely prefers this look to the one suggested by his hairstylist.

For as selfless as Hawks is at his core, gluttony is a language Keigo speaks fluently when he allows himself to; when it's safe to, when it doesn't affect his work, when he can sink his teeth into the concentrated comfort and moan like a goddamn whore once it bursts in his mouth.

Concentrated methods of comfort... It's an amicable way to describe a vice.

It keeps him sane.

You noticed it first with food; with the way he glues his eyes shut and sighs, chewing agonizingly slow with his eyes rolled back, letting the flavors burst atop his palette. He only allows the delicacy to be swallowed down his throat after every bit of pleasure has been milked to the fullest.

It's even more apparent in his slouch when he sinks into the scalding burn that fills his porcelain tub after work. You’ve taken the pleasure of watching him sink alongside you, submerged down to the nose as the heat melts the crackling neurons that sing in his brain. It's evident in the way he throws his head back and sucks his teeth at the patter of the showerhead against his back, how his breathing slows to panting groans the moment he turns the knob as hot as it will go.

And here in the sanctity of your bed, Keigo sits poised, the picture of blissed out debauchery. His eyes haven't peeked open in some time; if that and the labored rise and fall of his chest is any indication, he's fallen too far down to pleasure to be reasoned with.

Good.

You like a man you can bend.

"You're so good to me." Another moan slips out at a nip against his jaw. His pleasure-drunk smile never wavers, even when he raises one hand to paw at the bend of your hips. Like this, he can slide his calloused hands along the divots imprinted by his teeth, ghosting against each bruise with a glint of conquest in his eyes.

With each mark sucked into his skin, a plethora of sounds grace your ears: hisses, whimpers, outright and unabashed moans.

"Gonna show me off, baby?" The ghost of his stolen air creaks when he speaks. His word choice is an attempt to sound cocky, you’re sure, but an unmistakable whine laces that breathless tone.

Still running his mouth even as he squirms, you appraise. You roll your eyes; but you can't find it in you to judge when he sounds this happy.

Rosy cheeks and a toothy grin; this is what Keigo wears when he's experiencing true happiness. In the solace of your bed, his customer service façade drops to the floor alongside his clothes to reveal his innermost sunshine you've come to adore.

"Mark me up and show 'em. All of this s'yours."

He arches his back, bowing off the bed in a manner more reminiscent of a feline than a bird; and you can’t help but dive into him, feeding off his indulgence once more.

…

There's a pep in his step when he swipes his ID card with a flourish at the front desk this morning.

Keigo flips a kick and a stutter with the rhythm of his walk, coat flaring with his little spin as he swings open his office door. When the people around him snap their necks to gawk, their head-turning stares are simply met with a dopey smile and a wave.

Your relationship going public was the best thing to ever happen to him.

Some commission executive glares down her nose at his neck, glasses glinting a reflection of the light in Keigo’s eyes.

I know, right, he wants to say, lovesick and claimed at last.

#title is actually a reference to a tiamat song that inspired this actually! listen while reading for the full effect actually #i want him to be able to drop that image of what other people want him to be SOOOO bad #he deserves to be himself and not hide anything and be authentic. so I wrote this #🖋 writing #🌶 spice #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha thirst #smut #x reader #bnha thirst

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aemysbabyofficial · 3 months

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Sweet Favor; Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!OC

O, young Lucerys. So young and naive ventured down journeys and halls that never called his name.

Warnings: descriptions of sex; targcest; p in v sex; implied rough sex; description of nude bodies; dirty talk; swearing; description of sex

MDNI

Lucerys Velaryon had a favor for someone. It was something special yet difficult. It required the utmost levels of precision. Not everyone was fit for the challenge. Not his brothers, no. They would mess up before he even asked them. Lucerys kicked the dirt off his boots before commencing his search inside the castle.

No, this favor required the skills of one special kind of person. Someone he knew he could trust. Someone that always had his back, even in the darkest of nights. This person knew all the ins and outs and was secretive with it. This person was also everyone's favorite, so there was chance his favor could take time. The right wink was needed for the right flush of the cheeks.

"Saela?"

Lucerys noticed the odd shift in Daemon's shoulders when he spoke his cousin’s name. His head of brown curls poked into the quiet room and his voice echoed against the high walls. Out of everyone, Daemon would know where his favorite daughter was.

"Haven't seen her since the morning. Is she not riding with her sisters?"

Lucerys shook his head. Hope had crested off the cliff's edge into the frigid blue depths.

After breaking their fast, Baela and Rhaena took off on their dragons with Jacaerys and hadn't returned. Saela told them she wasn't feeling well and excused herself from the table to rest in the library, leaving she, Lucerys, and King Viserys' children inside. Currently, from the other rooms and halls he poked his head into, Helaena was outside digging through the gardens. She muttered prophecies that scared Lucerys away from even asking her a question. Aegon hadn't shown his face since dinner two nights ago--there was no question where he was nor what he was doing. Aemond was squaring off with Ser Criston Cole a while ago and where he was now didn't pinch the boy's mind.

"You need her for something?" Daemon craned his neck. Lucerys shook his head and bid the prince farewell before he could spill his favor.

Where the Heart of the House had disappeared flew over the prince’s head. This is her home. Lucerys was forced to remember after he turned every corner that he was only a guest at his cousin’s home. Saela knew the Keep better than anyone. The layout was stamped to her mind hotter and fresher than anyone. It was because of that Lucerys bore jealousy for her impeccable memory. With all the years they spent apart and she was forced to roam these cold walls, it came to no surprise that Saela knew the best places to hide.

Midday at the Red Keep saw few to no people in the halls. As it was a bright day outside and peace had touched the land, rather than waste the odd day, all the nobles either roamed the town or returned to their homelands. No one knew how long symphony would sing its strings in King’s Landing. Such quiet gave Lucerys to roam hallways, secret paths, and passages he would never once do. It was a shame Saela wasn’t with him to be his guide and Jace was missing the greatest action, but adventures by himself built up his small strength for greater feats.

A hall he had never seen before, or maybe, hadn’t remembered from his time away stood to his right. Lucerys looked to his left and right. He stood far from anyone’s bedchambers or busy hallways. It was empty, this hall. No guard stood posted outside a door nor did a handmaid walk. A heavy ball dropped in the young prince’s gut when he stepped foot into the hall. It felt like he entered a new world. Candles lighting the paths were blown off and an rogue breeze brushed his hair sideways. An open door? The sounds of children laughing and light voices trailed from an open door out of Lucerys reached. To not startle anyone or expose his position, the boy craned his eyes just far enough to see the awkward skirt of a handmaid and wooden toys for children.

“A nursery…” Lucerys whispered. Jaehaera, Maelor, and Jaehaerys must be playing inside.

An open window allowed for the ocean breeze to pave its way. A young child--Lucerys' could not figure the age for the life of him--ran to the far corners of the room to an older woman. A wetnurse rocked on a chair while the other handmaids spoke better High Valyrian he expected. Across the floor were various clothing items and hoods detailed with colored ribbon. The lure of young ones laughing and running with glee reminded the boy of his youngest siblings. A mixture of High Valyrian and Common Tongue fell from the children’s tongues. He wished to join them in the large room, jealous they could speak his mother’s tongue better than him, but doing so would distract him from his mission.

He needed to find his favorite cousin now.

Lucerys ran past the nursery with light steps. The prince pushed past the door at the end of the hallway and came face to face with a storage. Another dead end. Magic must have stolen Saela away because she was nowhere to be found. Lucerys kicked a hanging rug behind him, basking him into a cloud dust.

"Gods..."

A breathy voice trailed its way to Lucerys' ears. As the last syllable burned his flesh, the skin of his ears blushed a flaming pink. His head checked all directions in the storage. He was alone, was he not? Who could be making such a devilish sound? A mix of muffled and hushed voices spoke to the boy’s confused mind behind a door hidden behind the fallen rug. With careful steps, he crept closer and closer to a spare room.

“N-no worries. ‘tis quiet now, right?” the airy voice spoke again, warring on a thin line between pain and pleased. Was the voice talking about him?

Lucerys furrowed his brows.

What his cousin was doing in such an abandoned place made no sense, but the surprise he would give her would ultimately reveal the truth. Out of the three, Saela was the easiest to give up. Baela would resist with arms of steel and Rhaena would somehow evade his unique questioning, but Saela? If he needed anyone to cover his messes, wanted to know a little secret, or needed a little favour, Saela was the perfect girl to give into little Lucerys.

The smile on his face tugged his lips upwards when he rested a hand on the door. Whoever closed the door was confident no one would pass the hall because it was unlocked. Nothing stopped Lucerys from barging in. Nothing stopped him from lightly pushing the door with his fingers. Nothing stopped him from bribing Saela.

"Oh gods, right there! Don't stop, please!"

A loud voice froze the boy's smile. Lucerys' body stilled so much he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. But past the deep thumping of his heart and blood rushing through his veins were the moans from his dear cousin. The giggles he loved to hear after making her laugh were interlaced with breathy moans and pleads for whatever to go faster. The quiet of the hallway made everything behind the door much louder.

What he saw made his stomach turn.

Atop a simple bed were two bodies tangled together in a mess of clothes and limbs. The skirt of Saela's skirt was bunched at her waist while one of her legs were strung over Aemond's shoulder. Her breasts spilled from the neckline of her dress and both their hands, in the mix of haggard hair, groped each other’s soft skin. Aemond’s hands trailed up from her waist to her neck while Saela interlaced her right hand with his and braced herself onto his other wrist. The vicious slap Aemond’s hips made every time he thrusted into her made Lucerys sick.

But what shocked him most were the words spilling from Saela’s mouth.

Her full, round lips would once sing him imaginary songs to sleep and whisper him funny stories she thought up in the Godswood. Yet in the cramped space she opened her legs to Aemond, filth dripped from her tongue every passing second.

“Aem-ugh, right there!” Saela screamed as her back arched. Her eyes shut closed. Lucerys watched pain and pleasure wash over her face. The head of silver waterfalls basked her chest when Aemond sucked her breasts. Her moans sharpened when he bit her nipples. His hips never stopped smacking into Saela but quickened its pace when her moans and screams grew louder.

Aemond had rid himself of his trousers and boots, leaving him a heaving statue dressed in a cotton shirt. Contorts of his muscled back flexed with every move he made. Sweat glistened off the sun’s rays, resembling his appearance to an imaginary spirit rather than a statue or man.

“Gods be good, Saela.” Mutters of Lucerys’ cousin fell from Aemond’s lips. It was like he worshipped her in the cramped space. Her moans and pleads were a chorals song to Aemond’s prayers that were fulfilled every second.

No. No! Lucerys covered his ears and stepped back from the door. What we doing here? He shouldn’t be here? The prince froze in place, unable to move nor block out the lewd sounds he heard. His mother always said she would teach him about manhood—what it meant to love a woman, fight for her honor, and eventually take her maiden head. But here in this cramped space, Rhaenyra was already beaten. I can’t look away, the boy’s brain honed his eyes to the sweaty fucking before him.

Lucerys couldn’t look away from Saela’s bouncing breast, her nipples shinning with Aemond’s spit.

Lucery couldn’t look away from Aemond’s dick vanishing into her hole, already coated in juices.

Lucerys couldn’t look away from Aemond nuzzling his face into Saela’s neck, whispering sweet whispers and pressing kisses to her skin.

No, I can’t look away. Lucerys’ body was hot. I am a grown boy bound to learn love sooner or later. Something in him throbbed, he didn’t know what, but it made his body blush.

"Give me a babe, Aemond. I want to be full of your seed."

Babes? Lucerys couldn’t believe his burned ears.

“You want to be full of me, again?” Aemond breathed against Saela’s neck. The whisper was loud enough for Lucerys to hear over the loud sex. “You want to parade yourself around as my little whore again?”

“Fuck what the lot think. All I want is my cunt to be filled with you.” the hooded stare Saela gave Aemond would have any man melting at the knees, but the prince hovered over her like a god unfazed. No, he wasn’t unfazed, his desire peaked to higher levels. Whatever throbbed in Lucerys moved to his heart and mind. Who was this woman that his cousin’s face?

“No one satisfies me the way you do,” the prince’s voice became airy. “No one fucks the way you do, sweet talks them into anything. No one loves the way you do.”

Aemond showed the fury of a swordsman in that small room. His voice growled against her cheek. His balls ached with release each time they slapped into Saela’s wet entrance. Juices leaked from them both, coating their thighs in slick layers Lucerys couldn’t imagine. “I will give you whatever you wish for in this cursed place. As long as you stay with me.”

“Forever and ever, love.” Saela’s voice was soft even if her face contorted in pain. In just saying those four words, the couple lost themselves to each other.

A mixture of a laugh and moan fell from Saela’s mouth when the hand fisting her hair tightened its hold. Aemond’s other hand sunk into the softness of her thigh and kneaded the skin without mercy. What Lucerys half-understood as Valyrian curses erupted from Aemond when he dug himself deep into Saela. One. Two. Three. Four. One at a time, Lucerys watched Aemond “shoot his load,” as Aegon whispered into his ear in passing. His ears burned with the hot hiss from his uncle, and they bled every time Aemond cursed steps away from him.

A drunk smile spread on Saela's lips as her back arched. Her eyes clenched close as a searing pain shot up her thigh. The grip Aemond hand on her forced her body closer to his. Their bodies stuck to each other from the sweat and desires they oozed. She trembled with ecstasy while Aemond's hot breath fanned her equally hot skin. His kisses on her neck were wet and his thrusts slowed to a gentle beat. Lucerys could see flames of desire ignite everything around them.

When the moans stopped and the couple peeled themselves away from each other, the boy finally snapped back into reality. His body stumbled against the cold floor and his chest rose faster the more he listened to the shuffling of their clothes.

Lucerys' breath hitched when the door opened. How did she get up so fast? Saela gasped when she saw her cousin's wide eyes. After the pounding she received, Lucerys wished to ask her “are you not in pain?” but speaking in this quiet space warranted him a death sentence. Her hands flew to cover her chest, but what was there the boy hadn't seen she needed to cover? The red of his face and panicked rise of his chest gave it away. He saw. And what could Saela do?

"Are you alright, love?"

Saela whipped her head back into the room. Her curls fell over her shoulders, hiding the trail of bites from her chest to her ear. She closed the door just slightly, hiding Lucerys from both she and Aemond's eyes. Whatever Aemond was doing kept him from the door, saving Lucerys the rest of his life.

"Yes, I'm fine. Thought I saw a rat." A deep chuckle from the One-Eyed Prince echoed in the room before more shuffling. “A nasty thing, that would be.” She whispered something to him, craning her body closer to him, hopefully keeping Aemond from the door while Lucerys shuffled himself back to his feet. When he looked back up, another pair of eyes stared down at him.

That wasn't Saela. Whoever he was looking at wasn't his dear cousin who laughed at anyone's jokes. The woman half-dressed with red eyes wasn't the sweet lady that cheered him up when Jace won others affection. The woman who looked like she could kill wasn't his favourite cousin that would sneak down with him and steal lemon cakes and fruit at the hour of the owl. No, no, the lady in front of him had her legs open to the prince that taunted his family. She accepted the seed of a man who mocked his parentage, called him a bastard, and nearly killed him after claiming another’s dragon. This woman called the prince every loving name in the world. She was the lady that wished to have his babes.

"Luke."

The nickname was curt and hard. It was whispered like a needle, pricking his skin without warning. The boy shook his head, unsure if he nodded.

Saela stepped out of the room, her shoulders rolled back and head held up high. Whatever she did, she was used to. She must always hide and fuck Aemond whenever she wished. Whoever stumbled upon them were victim to the madness in the girl’s veins. She was comfortable with the power she wielded in this situation. The air around the Velaryon and Targaryen grew thick and heavy, challenging Lucerys to breathe. The stare as sharp as a sword sliced him up and down, silently checking if he was a threat. Of course he wasn't. This woman wasn't scared of a boy like him.

"I always do favors for you." Saela batted her eyes. In a second she was the girl he ran in the halls with when everyone was asleep. The girl that helped him learn most of the High Valyrian he remembered. Her lips crested into the sweet smile he missed after so long.

"You can do this one for me. Right?”

The magic Lucerys looked for was used on him. It was only Saela Targaryen, amongst anyone in their family, that could use magic that would make any man bend the knee without thought.

#house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon x oc #hotd x oc #house of the dragon x reader #hotd x reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #aemond angst #aemond targaryen angst #house of the dragon smut #aemond targaryen x reader

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xstarkillerx · 5 months

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Because I'm in procrastination mode today aperantly, you know what else I've been thinking about? My dear, sweet @anakincentric. Pretty Blade, this is for you because I love your version of anakin so much <3

Tw: dead dove do not eat

We've talked about this before but I honestly love the idea of being anakin's little baby and having a dirty blog where you reblog porn gifs and talk about all the ways you get fucked into oblivion by him. Anakin knows about it of course, but he isn't nosy, you never have to worry about him snifing around.

It's a rare bout of confidence (stupidity) that leads you to ask if he wants to see it, and he honestly wouldn't have paid it any mind if you didn't immediatly backtrack. All red in the face and turning away, looking like you just realized what a bad a idea that would be and well... now he's gotta see what's on there. So, he settles you in his lap while you log in and make a big fuss about hiding your password from him. As soon as you log in there's already a gif of some big brutish man shoving his cock into a girls tight asshole, and you're whining all over again about how you change your mind and "do i have toooooo." Anakin doesn't budge. You wanted to show him, and he knows all this fuss that came after is an ill attempt at reinserting shame where it has no business being, so you proceed to your blog, pretty and pink as expected.

See, it's not so much the gifs of pretty little girls like you getting passed around and wrecked, or the videos of pussies getting stuffed full by inhumanely large dildos that you reblog, it's the paragraphs upon paragraphs you post, they're fucking filthy, kind of gross, honestly. You can feel his eyes scanning the page, his little huffs of amusement, his gentle squeezes on you arm when something was particularly vulger. You're getting redder by the minute.

"I didn't even know you knew that word, Aivela-"

"Daddy, we can stop now." Your little hands are grasping tightly at his shirt sleeve, resisting the urge to tug his hand away from the computer, you've had enough.

"No, keep going, what's that? Oh, that's a long one, you wanna read it to me?" Your nails are close to ripping holes into his sleeve, you know this one, you know this one. You shake your head, craning your neck to look up at him and give your best pleading look, it only solidifies his interest. "Come on angel, I worked all day I'm tired. Read it."

And you do, quietly, full of shame, stuttering. "Today my... Today my d- dad caught me by suprise. Mom was doing laundry in the basement while he fucked me upstairs in the livingroom. I had my headphones on, music blasting when he pushed me over the arm of the sofa and pulled my..." you flail your arms, too flustered to continue.

"Come on, I wanna hear what your dad did to you."

All you can bring yourself to do is hide your face in the crook of his arm. "you know already it's you!" you stretch every vowel, whining and cranky, he can tell you've had enough. Anakin continues reading in his head, dropping the odd comment here and there and stroking your hair while your face remains hidden against his chest.

"Oh my," "no, baby that's fucking dirty, I don't remember it like that," "you slut, is that why you asked me to say that again? wanted to commit it to memory to tell are your perv followers about it?" Every one made you squirm, and when he finished he gave you a kiss on the head with a laugh. "You like telling them them I'm your dad? Look at me, is that what you post on your little blog all day?"

You nod, looking about close to tears when he pulls you in for a kiss. He laughs like it's the most amusing thing in the fucking world, endearing even, regardless of how fucked up it might be.

"They just eat it up huh? Bunch of fat old virgin fucks in your dms?" You nod, too shy, too overhwelmed to tell him about the wealth of unasnwered anonymous asks you have stockpiled you telling you yeah well if I was your dad I'd molest you too, and no wonder he touches you he's got a perfect slut for a daughter. Love the stories <3. Those are for a different day.

#centric sweetheart #daddy! anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #donnie does 👑#tw: dead dove don't eat

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chiiyuuvv · 2 months

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hold me, never let me go 🌷 c. anton

inspired by rocco's song, hold me, never let go

childhoodbestie!anton x fem!reader mentions of shotaro 0.3k words

▸ 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺?

The laughter slowly fades when anton looks at you with those eyes again, his gaze focused on the way your hair flows in the light wind, your grip tight on the metal chains of the childhood swings you always swung on when you were younger, doing it again to revisit some fond memories after a long day at work. He turns his body so he could see you well, his neck tired of being craned to the side as you rest yours on the metal chains with a fond smile when you catch his eyes, your hand letting go of the chain to rest on top of his. He returns the smile, placing his other hand on yours to squeeze, the laughter coming back when you do the same thing in return. “You know,” you begin, that pretty smile of yours painted on your face, refusing to leave its place, “I love you too.”

Anton was a bit shocked to hear that statement fall from your lips, his eyes widening and the tips of his ears red in response. “I love you too, you know that already.” The head shake that comes from you suggests that you mean something else, something more, and that makes his heart skip a beat. “No. Love you.. Shotaro told me you love me too. Or, love.” you mumble the second part with a bashful look on your face, your eyes focusing on your stack of hands that were neatly sat on your lap as you try to shy away the feeling of your heart beating faster as you wait for his reply.

“Oh.” was the only thing he could say, a little flabbergasted but still returning the smile when you share a look, the small chuckles that fall from your lips helping ease the tension in the air. “I love you too.. More than a friend.” your eyes never leave the boy when he finishes his confession, your smiles getting bigger as you mentally thank shotaro for helping out your romantic life. With a jump up from the swing, you land on the ground, stamping a quick kiss on antons cheek before running away from the blushing boy. “Catch me if you can!”

︴bonus! i really love rocco's music if you couldn't tell :<

▸ taglist 🎧 @starryriize , @eun-luv , @cake1box , @wccycc , @babigriin , @soul-is-a-strange-kid , @riize119 , @yeosayang , @addictedtohobi , @yuniniverse , @yoiiwonn (welcome!) , @bambisnc (welcome!)

🎬 navi

@chiiyuuvv on tumblr . do not steal works/headers/line dividers

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scaranation · 1 year

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༊*·˚ 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄

Pairing: Alhaitham x GN!reader

Content: Modern AU, childhood friends, mildly suggestive

In which you reunite with Alhaitham, the nerdy scruffy kid you’d used to tease in middle school - except now, he is neither awkward, nor quite as small as he used to be.

“Are you coming to the reunion?” Your friend’s voice over the phone was excited, almost imploring.

“I’m not sure, should I?” You were sprawled across your bed languidly, phone tucked into your shoulder and laptop balanced precariously over your knees.

“Yes, please! I heard even Alhaitham’s coming to this one!”

“… Alhaitham?” You paused your typing for a moment to readjust your position.

“You two were assigned seats next to each other throughout middle school, weren’t you? I remember you always complained about it.”

“Oh, yes.”

“You should really come and see him. I’ve heard he’s now a prolific researcher. And Nilou finally got into the dance academy she wanted as well - oh, just turn up! It’ll be fun to meet our class again.”

“Ah, I’ll make an effort to come.” You replied, hanging up, although your mind was elsewhere. Alhaitham… That was a name you hadn’t heard in a long time.

You’d been distraught when you were forcibly separated from your friends by the woes of a middle school seating arrangement. Even more so when you realised that your desk partner was none other than Alhaitham, the hilariously awkward nerd who seemed to be physically attached to a book at all times. He was a scrawny kid - shorter than you at the time, hence the fond memories you had making fun of his height and mockingly peering down at him.

Coincidentally, the two of you had been forced to sit together for many classes over the next few years - leading to a casual sort of friendship. Or, that’s what you saw it as. You loved to tease Alhaitham, watching in glee as his neck and ears turned red. Looking back, he probably despised you now - you were quite mean back to him back then, taking advantage of the fact that he had a crush on you. Occasionally, the two of you would hang out outside of school, and although there was no dismissing how difficult it was to hold conversation with the boy, you grew to become fond of those times. Fond, to a certain extent.

Perhaps it was your own denial, but you preferred to remember it that way - merely sentimental fondness for pleasant times between friends.

In high school, you had decided to pursue humanities, whilst Alhaitham had gone down a different route. And so, the two of you inevitably grew apart, with you never rarely ever seeing him again. You were simply too busy - following your devious shenanigans in middle school, you’d decided to turn over a new leaf and engross yourself in academics to compensate for your former rowdiness.

On the day of the reunion, you were late. At least twenty minutes late, for sure - and that was if you could even get your car started. Drowning in student loans, you’d only managed to buy a third hand car that barely clung to life, and you were now suffering the consequences of its senile engine.

“Fuck!” After turning your key in the ignition again in exasperation, you got out of the vehicle in defeat, slamming the door shut and resorting to calling a taxi.

Fuming, you left your apartment block and waited out on the street, a frown fixed across your face. That frown was only further perpetuated when the most obnoxiously high end vehicle swerved, wheels skidding through a puddle and spraying you in filthy city water.

Almost too stunned to move, you glared into the heavily tinted car windows as the vehicle slowed to a stop by the curb. The driver’s side door opened, and a man stepped out.

Broad shoulders, ridiculously tall, muscular build and a tight fitting dress shirt… You craned your neck upwards, and almost recoiled.

“Alhaitham?!” You stumbled back.

“So you’re done staring at my pecs?” The former victim of your relentless bullying bent down mockingly to be eye to eye with you, a smirk decorating his face.

“They were right at eye level! Fuck, it’s not my fault you got tall.” You recovered from the shock quickly, remembering that you were furious at the man once again.

Alhaitham had definitely changed. His jawline was stronger now, and his gaze was different - the awkward tenacity of his preteen years was replaced with cut calculation, cold despite the playful gleam that occupied them. Catching yourself gawking again, you defaulted back to your scowl.

“You got me wet.” You accused.

“Oh, did I?” Alhaitham quirked a brow, grinning suggestively.

“Not in that way.”

“Do you want it in that way?”

“Stop trying to change the topic. The issue is, I’m soaked through with puddle water and about half an hour late to the reunion.” You snapped. Oh, how the tables had turned - now you were the one being teased, your face flushed and your fists clenched by your side.

“Alright, I get it. I apologise. Do you want my coat?” Alhaitham shrugged, looking down at you now in concern.

“Yes.”

“And a lift to the reunion as well, I assume?”

Archons, how much you hated him in that moment. His wry, mocking smile was back - although you were grateful for the warmth that now settled across your shoulders from his coat. Begrudgingly, you agreed, and Alhaitham ushered you into the passenger seat.

“Careful, watch your head. Don’t want you hitting it on the roof, because you’re just so much taller than me, aren’t you?” The man chuckled from behind you.

“Shut up, it was ten years ago.” You retorted, only to be met with another condescending laugh as he buckled your seatbelt for you. Alhaitham then climbed into the driver’s seat, starting the engine smoothly before pulling away from the curb - only pausing for a moment to shoot you a smug smile.

The reunion was pleasant, albeit mundane. Much to your annoyance, Alhaitham was the centre of attention - the gleaming golden child who’d had a glow up and dominated whatever lame industry he’d decided to get into. Despite this, he was remarkably different around others. A stoic expression was settled on his handsome features as he mostly kept conversations short and blunt, refusing alcohol.

You, on the other hand, had lost count of your glasses, relishing in the feel of liquor searing down your throat whilst you brooded from your seat next to Alhaitham.

“Alhaithaaam, why don’t you have a drink? You’re… no fun…” You mumbled, pushing your glass against his lips as you rested your head on his shoulder. It was warm, and broad - how pleasant it would be, to just rest on it.

“I have to drive you home, remember? Speaking of which, you should stop drinking now. It’s not healthy.” Alhaitham pushed your hand away, although he kept hold of your wrist to prevent you from pouring another glass.

“Just one more drink…” You whined, frowning and slamming your free hand over Alhaitham’s mouth upon sensing he was about to spew some medical fact about the effect of alcohol on the body. That was one thing that hadn’t changed about him.

“Alright, time to go. It was pleasant meeting everyone.” Alhaitham pursed his lips, pulling your hands away and tucking his arms under your shoulders to hoist you up.

“Nooo, I don’t wanna…” You flailed, vaguely making out the mirthful expressions of your former classmates before Alhaitham grabbed your legs and carried you out of the restaurant bridal style.

“Put me down!” You hit at his chest, which probably did more damage to your hands than it did to him, and kicked your legs to no avail.

“Shh, you’ll thank me for this in the morning.” Gently, you were set down in the passenger seat - hearing the click of the seatbelt buckle and the clink of the door shutting. Alhaitham readjusted his jacket around your form so that it covered you like a blanket, sighing and turning his attention to the road.

“Mm…. Do you have any wipes?” You rifled through Alhaitham’s glove box, before your fingers brushed over something. Pulling it out, you realised it was an old photo of you and him standing outside the school gates. A wide grin was spread across your face, one arm propped up on his head, a vastly less amused expression occupying his smaller features.

“Alhaithaam, what’s thiiis?” You snorted, delighting in the way Alhaitham’s adam’s apple bobbed at seeing the photo clutched in your hand. Finally, he’d broken his infuriating demeanour - even if it was only for a second. You decided to prod it further to get more of a reaction.

“Hmm… Maybe… You stiiill have a crush on me?” You smirked, although you put little thought into your words. There was no way the stoic, cold Alhaitham could maintain his former-

The car stopped with more force than necessary at the immediate red light. You weren’t sure if it was the reflection of those lights, but Alhaitham’s face appeared flushed. His hands gripped the steering wheel to the point where his knuckles turned white, eyes fixed on the road with searing intensity.

Oh?

“No waaay.” You turned to Alhaitham incredulously. Perhaps it was the liquor. The alcohol churning in your veins. After all, what other explanation could there be for your racing heart?

And, more importantly, did his heart race like yours?

The answer was in the abrupt stop of the car by the side of the road. In the cold, lithe fingers holding your chin. In the push of Alhaitham’s lips against yours, tasting like sweet mint. The answer, breathless, was muttered by your childhood friend as he finally pulled away.

“So what if I do?” Alhaitham’s voice was barely more than a whisper, his face close enough to the point you could feel his breath. His eyes were so beautiful, opulent green flecked with glowing amber. They searched yours desperately for a reply, for reciprocity.

You were confused. Drunk, both on alcohol and the taste of Alhaitham’s lips. So many feelings gushed around your head like the liquor you’d drunk earlier, sloshing nonsensically. As if to deflect the restlessness of your own heart, you leaned in again for another kiss - for that was the only certain reciprocation you could give.

And under the streetlight, amidst flushed cheeks and wandering hands, you found the Alhaitham you’d known from middle school again. The Alhaitham that blushed at your words, and shot you yearning looks. Chuckling between shallow breaths, you cupped his cheeks in your hands - smiling at the familiar face of the boy you’d loved.

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