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azsazz · 2 months

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Off Grid

Azriel x Reader [Formula One AU]

Summary: Ferrari has signed on rookie driver Dorian Havilliard. Azriel must learn to navigate the 2024 season with a new teammate and his secret relationship, with you, who just so happens to be the team’s media trainer.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2,109

Notes: This one goes out to @moosemahboi for the ask this morning 😏 enjoy 😉 (idk why I can’t tag u but hopefully you see this)

Also, sorry if the formatting looks like shit I’m posting this from my phone. I busted this out so fast tho whoops

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“Azriel, how are you feeling knowing that Ferrari has signed young Dorian Havilliard for the 2024 season?” The reporter asks, sitting eagerly on the edge of his seat. He has his phone out, recording Azriel’s responses. The man has been hanging onto every word Azriel has said; him and the other thirty journalists eager to pester him, all cramped within the small room.

Beside him, Cassian snickers under his breath, all too obviously happy that he’s not the one who must suffer this torturous questioning. Azriel refrains from rolling his eyes at the absurdity of it all. Well, it’s not absurd but it feels like it because it’s been the only question anyone seems to care about right now, they no longer care to ask how the new chassis feels, what his thoughts are about the new Las Vegas race added to the schedule, how he’s projected to be one of the top drivers this season. Was supposed to be one of the top performing drivers of the season. Ever since Ferrari leaked that Dorian Havilliard is making his debut with the team for the first race, it’s been a feeding frenzy for the media, trying to be the first to glean insider information about the fresh meat.

“I think he’ll make a great addition to the team,” is all Azriel offers in response.

He’s hot and sweaty from practice and being blinded by flashes of cameras that don’t seem to be stopping anytime soon isn’t helping his mood in the slightest. It’s the part of his job that he despises the most. All Azriel wants to do is drive, because nothing feels as good as the adrenaline when he’s behind the wheel, but right now all he wants is to go home, not respond to million questions he’s already answered too many times before. And to be honest, he’s kind of pissed about Ferrari signing Dorian Havilliard and nixing Rowan Whitethorn, who has signed on to be McLaren’s first seat after Aedion Ashryver’s accident at the final race of the 2023 season that sent him into early retirement.

There’s a beat of silence, and when it’s clear he has nothing else to say about the matter, someone else pops up from their seat and another question is hurled his way. “And what about your former teammate, Rowan Whitethorn? How is he taking the news of losing his seat to Havilliard?”

The urge to roll his eyes into his fucking skull is so great he almost doesn’t stop it, but the last thing he needs is the team’s media trainer on his case about the appropriate ways to conduct himself during media panels, no matter how pretty she is.

They should be asking this question to Rowan or even Dorian, whenever he begins press for the upcoming season.

“Rowan understands,” he tries to hide the sour tone in his voice. Azriel and Rowan have been driving together for the past three seasons and it’s been one of the best experiences he’s had with a teammate in Formula 1. He knows the constructors are too worried about placing him on the same team as Rhysand or Cassian, who he grew up with at karting school. They’re like brothers and they act like it too, but if they were on the same team the rivalries would feel even more drastic than they already are. “He’s a good driver and talent like his isn’t going away anytime soon.”

Rowan’s new teammate, Hunt Athalar, nods from Azriel’s other side. He and Cassian seem to be enjoying not being pestered with surface-level questions, and Azriel wishes that he was feeling the same.

With a few more unnecessary queries about Dorian, press finally ends. He, Hunt, and Cassian are escorted from the room, the trail of flashes and conversation starting up clinging to his back as he walks.

“Fucking hell,” Azriel mutters to Cassian, who jabs him in the side with a snigger once they’re cleared the room, the door shutting with a loud click behind them. “I hate these interviews.”

“Don’t need to tell me that, mate,” he laughs wholeheartedly, and Azriel glares. “I’m pretty sure everyone can tell. Might want to learn to act like you like it, though. Ferrari won’t keep you if your attitude sucks. But I’m sure that media trainer of yours is about to hunt you down and tell you the same thing.”

Azriel frowns. He thought he’d done a pretty good job at deflecting the questions about his new teammate.

“People like me for me,” Azriel shrugs, defending himself. He’s never been a bullshitter, no matter how badly his team has wanted him to be. This is what the people get, 100% Azriel, take it or leave it. And Ferrari has decided to take it, for the last three seasons. The second half of his sentence is drowned out as Cassian’s snickering becomes full-bodied laughter. “And my trophies speak for themselves.” He doesn’t mean to come off as cocky, but he’d rather be authentically himself than a puppet to the media.

Cassian shakes his head, wiping the nonexistent tears from the corners of his eyes. “No, people like me for me,” he winks at Azriel’s glare. “They like you because you’re a decent driver.”

Azriel’s nose crinkles. “Decent? My car is projected to perform even better than Rhys’ this year!”

They three drivers turn down a hall, nodding to the two Haas drivers they pass: Bron and Hart.

“We’ll see, won’t we, Athalar?” Cassian cranes his neck around Azriel, directing the question to the silent driver on his other side. Hunt and Azriel have never been close, but the angel of McLaren offers a genuine smile in response.

“Should be a good season, boys.” Azriel and Cassian share a look. A perfect media-trained answer, Hunt gave. The other driver turns off down another hall, “See you later.”

“What a weirdo,” Cassian mutters once Hunt has disappeared from sight. “Good luck to Ro, having to deal with that.”

Azriel finally rolls his eyes like he’s been wanting to do since he left the press room. “Yeah, and I’m the asshole.”

Cassian huffs and the pair of drivers stop at the end of the hall where it splits to go to their respective driver rooms.

“I’ll see you later, man.”

“Hopefully in a better mood, Azzy,” Cassian chuckles and dips down the hall before Azriel can toss another glare or remark at him.

Shaking his head, Azriel returns to his driver room. He’s going to grab his things and get the fuck out of here, because relaxing at his hotel sounds much better than waiting around here any longer.

A knock on the door interrupts his actions, and Azriel wonders why the Mother fails to grace him with one sliver of luck today.

“Come in,” he grunts, snagging his water from where he left it on top of the desk.

You enter the room with your phone and clipboard in your hands. You’re typing on your phone, fingers flying across the screen as you reply to another email. The water does nothing to quench Azriel’s suddenly dry throat.

He can’t help the way his eyes drag down your body with your attention on your phone, drinking in the sight of you in your pressed pants and professional button up shirt. There’s a lanyard around your neck with your Ferrari employee access printed on it and he wants to wrap his fist around the strap and—

Wherever his mind was drifting off to is completely shattered by your piercing eyes. He hasn’t had enough time to prepare for your apparent annoyance at his attitude during the press conference. You don’t look happy, and neither is his name as it rolls from your lips in a disappointed manner. “Azriel.” You step further into the room. “What the hell was that out there? You know you can’t—”

Your rant is cut off as Azriel consumes the space between you in two long strides, leaning in to slant his lips over yours, eating up your words. You can’t help but to melt into it a little, a lot when his tongue traces the seam of your lips and you part for him, brushing up against your tongue in a sensual move.

When he straightens, you’re panting and a bit flushed. Arousal burns through your body like petrol on the track, but you steel yourself against that fire in his eyes, all ready to light you up.

“Not even going to say hello before you start in on me?” Azriel asks, licking his lips. Your eyes follow the motion, and he smirks. The way his body is pressed up against yours and the firm grip of his hands on your hips threatens to distract you further, especially when his red racing suit is slung around his waist, leaving him in that tight, black long sleeve that contours around his lithe body perfectly.

“No,” you agree, and he frowns. “I’m upset with you.”

“Was it something I said?” He cringes at his own lame attempt at a joke, ducking from your serious gaze. “‘M sorry, I’m just sick of all the Dorian questions. They’re not asking anything about the season or the car, only how I feel about a rookie taking Rowan’s seat.”

You ache for him, you really do, but things like this happen in the sport and he’s been in it long enough now that Azriel should know better than to act like this. You can admit, Rowan had been an asset to Ferrari and to Azriel, wriggling his way under the stoic driver’s skin like a worm, burrowing deep into his heart.

“Az, you need to stop playing it like Dorian took his seat on purpose,” you console gently, “We both know that it was Rowan’s time, and he couldn’t resist what McLaren might’ve proposed.”

“I know, I know,” Azriel replies unhappily, retreating to perch on the arm of the small couch. He can accept it, but he doesn’t like it, preferring to blame the new driver instead. “I don’t want to deal with that little punk,” he groans, because the thought of putting up with a cocksure rookie tires him. “Coming in here thinking he owns the damn place.”

“Azriel,” you tut, rolling your eyes. You put a hand on your hip. “That was literally you four years ago.”

“It’s different,” he mutters, but you both know that it’s not.

You abandon your phone and clipboard on the desk in the room before standing between his parted thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck. His damp hair is slicked back but a strand falls across his forehead and he looks really good like this, head tilted upwards, gold eyes painted with false innocence.

“Why don’t you, instead of being Dorian’s enemy, you become his ally?” You ask softly, fingering the hairs at the nape of his neck.

“Because that’s not how the team works, baby,” Azriel sighs, enjoying the way you’re scratching his skin. He wants to lean forward and rest his head in the crook of your neck, maybe take a cat nap or nip at the skin there. “We might drive for the same team, but I’m not looking to be the supporting driver.”

Fuck that. There’s no way he’s letting a rookie take his seat when he’s worked his ass off since he received it. He’s been driving for Ferrari since he first got an in the sport, four years ago. He fought tooth and nail to work up from second seat to first, and Azriel will be damned if Dorian rips it from under him in one season.

“Your jealousy is showing,” you tease your boyfriend a little, poking him on the nose. You know you shouldn’t be doing this, hanging all over each other when anyone could walk into the room, but you can’t resist your draw to Azriel. “It’s not as endearing as it is when you’re jealous that I’m talking to one of the engineers.”

“Don’t remind me,” Azriel grunts, eyes hardening a little. “You’re mine and I don’t like to share.”

You snort, “That much is clear, babe,” you step out of his arms and miss the heat of his body already. You collect your things from the desk and return to him for a quick kiss. You shoot him a final knowing look, dodging his attempts at capturing you against his chest again. “Work on it, Azriel. I mean it.”

He salutes you as you open the door to slip out. “Yes ma’am.”

It shuts quietly behind you and Azriel slumps back onto the couch, sighing.

It’s going to be a long season.

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@iambored24601 @secretlyhers @kylaisra @daily-dose-of-sass wasn’t sure but figured u might want to see this one 😅

#acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #f1driver!azriel #formula 1 au #acotar x f1

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cereovo · 8 months

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A set of very conceptual notes I drafted a while back for someone asking for advice on learning to draw humans. I'm entirely self-taught so this is less of a tutorial and more of a very rambling set of general principles I follow and ideas that helped while I was learning. I figured I'd post it in case anyone else could get use out of it!

I also recommend checking out:

Drawing East Asian Faces by Chuwenjie

How to Think When you Draw (lots of good tutorials in this series)

Pose reference sites such as Adorkastock

Transcript and some elaboration under the cut:

Img 1 - Drawing a face

The two most important elements (at least for me) when drawing a face are the outline of the cheek/jaw and the nose*. I often start with a circle to indicate the round part of the skull, then add a straight like and a 'V' to one side [to create the side of the face and the jaw]. The nose creates an easy template for the rest of the face's features to follow (eyebrows at the top of the nose bridge, eyes towards the center of the bridge, ear lines up to eye) and the placement/direction and overlap with other features is a very simple way to indicate dimension. [A sketch of a face that has been adjusted by moving its parts to create 3 different angles. The following text is underneath:] -Different 3/4th views can be created just by adjusting the position of and amount of overlap between the facial features. - The top of the ear usually lines up with the corner of the eye. Think of how glasses are designed [specifically, how the arms run from the eyeline to the ear] [I go on a tangent in these next few paragraphs] *One thing I see many artists do - not just beginners - is learn how to draw A Person. As in, one singular person with one set of bodily proportions and one set of facial features. It's an issue that runs a bit deeper than 'same face syndrome' because sometimes these artists can draw more than one face, they're just not very representative of [the diversity present across] real people. Part of the reason I'm talking more about how to think about approaches to drawing - rather than showing specific how-to's - is because there is no one correct or right way to draw a person. The sooner you allow yourself to explore variety - fat people, old people, people of color, people with [conventionally] 'unattractive' features - the easier it'll be! Artists often draw their own features honestly and without [harmful] caricature, so it's always a good idea to look at art made by the kinds of people you're trying to draw if you're ever unsure about how to handle something. In general, it's far more important to learn how to interpret a variety of forms than to learn how to replicate the Platonic Ideal of the Human Body.

Img 2 - Stuff that helped me

Jumping into drawing humans (faces or otherwise) straight from photo reference can be overwhelming. The trick is to simplify forms into shapes - but even this concept is sort of abstract and it may be hard to know where to begin. Good news - Thousands of other artists have already figured it out. [When starting out] I needed to learn from photo reference AND artists I admired in order to improve. [When looking at stylization you are inspired by] ask yourself: WHY does this simplification work? How can I translate it into a different pose? Instead of copying what you see in a photo reference exactly, try to focus on the general forms first. My two biggest style inspirations for humans while learning to draw them were Steven Universe and Sabrina Cotugno's art. SU gets a lot of hate [in this instance I was specifically referring to a time on tumblr when the art was knocked for 'losing quality'] but its style does a great job of simplifying anatomy in a way that still portrays a diversity of bodies + features. [Extremely simplified drawings of Lapis, Steven, and Amethyst] SU characters are still identifiable- and still read as 'human' - even when reduced to just a few lines!

Img 3 - Things I keep in mind while drawing side profiles

- Eyebrows + eyes close to the 'edge' of the face - Forehead needs enough room for a brain - Eye is > shaped from the sides - Mouth kinda halfway [between the nose and the chin] but closer to the nose - Skin/fat exists under the jaw [and connects to the neck] - neck is about one half the width of the whole head - the back of the skull always sticks out a bit further than you might expect - Sometimes less is more - contours exist on every face, but drawing them in may make your character seem much older than they're supposed to be. However, it's a good idea to use them when you *want* your character to look old! These are very general notes- every face is different and has different proportions [and playing around with them creates unique and interesting character designs]

#2023 #may 2023 #i realized this is pretty nonsensical while transcribing it LOL #feel free to send asks if anything is unclear #but again im not any sort of professional

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milf-murdock · 3 months

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I See Red (Part 1)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x 141!Reader

Part 2 can be found here

Summary: A tech expert lends her expertise to the 141 for a mission. It’s not her fault that she’s tall, beautiful, and perfect. But it is her fault that she can’t keep her goddamn hands to herself. How else are you supposed to react when you walk in to find her lips on your Ghost? Warnings: allusions to cheating (not Ghost’s fault!! Sweet man has never done anything wrong in his life), swearing, angst (does it make it better if I promise all the fluff in the next chapter?) A/N: Well this has been on my brain for a while. I’m so thrilled to finally have this out into the world! The OGs know that this was one of my first prompts I came up with when I was first writing for Simon Riley. I guess we’ve come full circle <3 Thank you for all your support. Remember, your comments, tags, and messages mean the world to us writers!

It’s surprising that the harsh grinding of your teeth isn’t audible given how hard you’re clenching your jaw. You watch in irritated silence as a tall curvy redhead named Bex leans over Ghost’s shoulder to peer down at the encrypted computer.

She’s always so fucking close to him, to your Ghost.

You steady your growing impatience by taking a swig of water, the thin plastic crinkling under your touch.

“Hmm.” She leans in closer and you could tell Ghost is on edge. He wasn’t exactly the sort who tolerated too many people encroaching on his personal space.

Clearly he makes an exception when it comes to gorgeous redheads though, you think to yourself before mentally chastising the thought.

The rational side of your brain knows that he’s more than likely just putting on a brave face because Bex is new to the team. Technically, you correct yourself, not an actual part of the team. She’s more like a short term contractor. Even you had to begrudgingly admit that the 141 needed her level of expertise to crack through the firewalls and get the intel needed to ensure success for the next part of your mission. After all, you risked your life getting the damn laptop. What good is it if you can’t even get into it?

You knew all of this. Logically. It made sense. Your team needed a military-grade computer expert. She was the most qualified for the job—the “best of the best” Price had said. Done. Fin.

Except…

Except you just couldn’t get over the way her eyes always seemed to linger on Ghost. The way she’d accidentally brush up against him as they walked side by side through the hallway. The way she laughed a little too loud at his terrible Army jokes. And right now, the way her hand rests on his shoulder as she studies the screen.

Your fist unconsciously clenches around your water bottle causing the ice cold water to gush over the loosened cap, spilling all over your lap.

You let out a shout, jumping to your feet as the cold water soaks through your layers. Bex jumps as well, surprised by the outburst, stepping back from the mess.

Simon is on his feet in a heartbeat.

“You okay?” But not even his deep baritone, usually instantly calming, could soothe your irritation, now at an all time high.

“I’m fine,” you snap, crossing the briefing room in strides to toss the empty bottle in the bin. Ghost watches you with careful eyes. Though his face is covered by his signature skull balaclava, you didn’t miss his appraising gaze as he tries to assess the situation—ever the tactician.

You take a deep breath. “I’m fine,” you try again, aiming for a more pleasant tone. “Really. Just a slip of the hand.”

“Well,” Bex scoffs, “You really should be more careful. We are dealing with electronics here, you know.” Her snarky tone has you nearly seeing red again, but you clench your jaw tight and plaster the friendliest smile you could muster, though you’re certain it must look more like a grimace.

“Noted,” you grit out before turning your attention back to Ghost. “I’m gonna head to the barracks and grab a shower. Catch you later?”

Ghost’s head bobs in a subtle nod, but his eyes are still looking at you with that quizzical expression on his face. He knows something is wrong.

You just subtly shake your head in response, doing your best to a convey a “not now. We’ll talk later” with just a glance. Turning back to the door, you leave the two of them behind to tackle the task at hand. The sooner you crack the encryption and figured out where your target is, the sooner Bex can get the fuck out of here.

Walking across the base, you pinched the bridge of your nose between your fingers, internally scolding yourself for letting your temper get the best of you. The fresh, cool evening air helps calm your sour mood, and you do your best to reassure yourself.

I’m sure it’s nothing.

It’s all in your head.

He probably doesn’t even like redheads.

You’re so caught up in your thoughts you don’t even see where you were going, which is exactly how you find yourself running face first into the brick wall of Johnny.

Oomph. The air whooshes out of your lungs as two broad hands reach up to steady you.

“Easy there, lass,” the Scottsman chuckles. “Watch where yer goin’ bonnie.”

“Sorry Soap,” your cheeks feel warm with embarrassment. “Didn’t see you there. Lost in my own head.”

“I’ll say!” Johnny claps a hand on your shoulder, the other balancing a stack of folders. “Hey, while I have you here, have ye seen LT?”

“Yeah, he’s with Bex in the briefing room. They’re trying to tackle that computer we lifted from the last mission.”

Soap nods. “More power to her. That shite doesn’t make any fucking sense to me.”

“Yeah. She’s a real blessing to the team,” you grumble, unable to withhold your eye roll.

“There’s that fiery sergeant I love so much,” Soap teases. “Am I getting a whiff a jealousy, hen?”

“Don’t even get me started Soap or I swear to god—“

“Alright, alright,” Soap laughs good naturally, his free hand coming up in mock surrender. “But hey, would you mind dropping off these files to LT? He needs to review them before our meeting with Laswell in a couple hours and I’ve got to meet up with Price now, don’t have time to trek all the way to the briefing room.”

“Sure,” you do manage to hold back your sigh this time. “Happy to help.” And you are happy to help Soap—he’s a great friend to both you and Simon—you just aren’t too happy at the thought of seeing your new BFF Bex again so soon. At least the short walk had served its purpose in cooling your temper a bit.

“You’re a treat, bonnie, I owe you one,” Soap smiles, giving your shoulder a firm pat before taking off in the opposite direction towards price’s office.

You adjust the stack of sealed papers in your hands as your turned back around towards the briefing room and head across base.

You quick steps have you approaching the briefing room soon enough. Surprisingly, the door is left slightly ajar—you must not have shut it all the way when you stormed out of the room earlier, you reason.

You approach silently, softening your footsteps to avoid any kind of noise, a small voice in the back of your mind goading you to surreptitiously see how Bex might behave without an audience. You peer in the room to find Bex and Simon standing at the table, the computer screen lighting up in front of them.

“We’re in!” Bex exclaims, her voice high pitched with excitement.

You watch the scene unfold before you and it feels like the world is moving in slow motion. Bex turns her radiant expression up to face Simon, her hands moving upwards and tucking up under his balaclava, and then—in the blink of an eye—she raises it above his chin and presses a kiss to his lips. Simon’s hands reach up to grasp her wrists, already beginning to pull away, but it’s too late.

You see everything.

The papers fall to the floor with a crash, and both Simon and Bex jump apart, eyes flashing to the door.

Bex at least has the good sense to look embarrassed by her actions, her face flushing bright red, eyes cast to the ground.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Simon urges, pulling his mask back down in place. “Wait—“

You turn and walked out the door, the scene playing on a loop in your head.

Her lips. Pressed up against Simon. Your Simon. His lips…kissing her back? The memory already warps, tinged with shades of red matching the shades of anger running through you.

The rage fuels your steps as you run from the briefing room, desperate to get away.

Simon blinks at the empty space in the doorway, the space where you stood just a second ago, before this colossal shit storm descended.

“Well, sorry we got interrupted,” Bex’s sultry voice breaks the silence, her small hand reaching towards Ghost’s glove. “Should we continue where we left off?”

“Touch me again, and you lose the whole goddamn hand,” Simon’s hardened voice is laced with the threat of violence. “Keep your bloody hands to yourself.”

The blood drains from Bex’s face.

With that, he storms out the door, following your trail. One thought playing on repeat in his mind: I can’t lose her.

Masterlist ✧ Ask Box

Read Part 2 here ❤️

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley imagine #simon Riley x 141!Reader #ghost x 141!Reader #141!Reader

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risuola · 10 days

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ENTRY #4 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU

A void that kept me in ache, The sorrow cut short my breath, Gone at your fingertips wake, Pulling me back from the death.

cw: arranged marriage!au, hurt-comfort — 0,9k words

series masterlist

„It hurts, Satoru.”

Pain. Agonizing, paralyzing pain was something Gojo had to teach himself to live with. He wouldn’t tell anyone, he’s the strongest, the honored one, he’s… a human. No matter how trained he was, how much control over his own body he had, how efficiently he managed his cursed energy, he never learned how to deal with the side effects of the cursed blessing he inherited.

It felt like he’s dying. Every time his six eyes were put to work for more than enough, a part of him was begging for an end to the suffering he had to endure. He felt like his head was splitting open from the inside out, like his brain was bleeding, his eyes were burning. He could feel the pounding of his heartbeat, fast and uneven, in his temples, ears and neck; he was sweating and frowning. He was miserable. Vulnerable. He couldn’t focus on anything and every move he made only made the anguish worse. It was a misery. Excruciation. But then–

“What do you think you’re doing?”

–then your soft, warm palms planted themselves on top of his closed lids oh so gently and Satoru realized that he held your wrist in an iron grip – a defense mechanism he couldn’t control whenever anyone got too close to his eyes. With his infinity turned off, he felt helpless against your touch, but submitted himself to your mercy and it tingled. An odd sensation that seemed to envelop his head in a protective hood of something he couldn’t understand slowly soothed the torment inside his skull. The pounding mellowed and the muscles between his brows and in his shoulders began to relax underneath the calming influence of your doing.

Satoru let out a shaky breath, one that he just noticed he was holding in, and his fingers that once wrapped around the fragile bones of your forearm now shifted to the top of your knuckles, greedy to hold your hands there longer. His senses were calming, coming to the sharpness he’s used to have and slowly he started registering more than just the balm of your hands. Slowly he became aware of you. The subtle, sweet scent of your perfume mixed with equally pleasant, slightly flowery note of washing detergent you bought recently – the one he had to carry for you the other day because you had enough bags in your hands and texted him for help. He felt the softness of your stomach against the top of his hair as you stood behind the couch on top of which he was sitting, with his head tilted back.

“You’re hurting. I’m helping you,” and the melody of your voice, quieted and gentle that now he was finally able to hear clearly once the echo of his own heartbeat stopped deafening his eardrums.

Satoru couldn’t tell what you were doing. He felt the very distinct signature of your cursed energy flowing through your palms but it wasn’t something he could recognize. He also couldn’t tell what gave away his suffering – was it the way he entered the house that day? After a week-long job outside the city, he dropped his coat and kicked off the shoes and then, without acknowledging you he nearly collapsed onto the couch. It wasn’t the first time he ignored you and surely it wasn’t the first time he was in pain in your presence. Maybe the grunt he let out when dropping his weight onto the cushions made it too obvious that he was in agony?

“How do you know I’m hurting?” He asked, too curious, too unsure to let the question go.

“You’re always hurting after those longer jobs,” you replied and he hummed, perplexed to realize that you’ve been seeing his misery before. “It’s the six eyes, right? Your head hurts when you overuse it.” Your words made him speechless; the tone you used – full of care and concern, it got him frozen for a moment or two. “You saved me many times, so I learned this to save you.”

“You learned this for me?”

“I did,” you let out a soft chuckle, the kind that flows on top of a breath without much sound to it. You moved your hands a little, resting your thumbs on top of his skin and moving them in little circles, rubbing the tension away from his forehead and temples. It felt intimate in a way and Satoru wasn’t used to stripping his infinity off to connect with other humans in such private level. “I wasn’t sure if it’s even going to work. I couldn’t test it before because it only applies to you.”

“A technique that works only on me?” He repeated the words that didn’t make sense in his mind. Why would you go so far for him? He wasn’t a man you chose to spend your life with, he wasn’t even good to you. “How?”

“Well, it’s a little mix of my cursed technique and yours and subconsciously you allowed my energy to enter your head and release the tension that built up after you overused your eyes. It’s not really reversed cursed technique, I don’t know how to explain this… but all that matter is that it works,” you concluded with a soft sigh of relief.

“Why?”

“Because I’m your wife, Satoru. Because you carry enough weight on your shoulders to pay the price of saving the world. Because you don’t have to be the strongest all the time and you don’t have to do this alone.”

taglist: @kinny-away, @anan-baban, @lotomber, @netflix-imagines, @kawliflo, @nishloves, @ghostfacefricker6969, @thejujvtsupost, @yozora7154, @cherrycolabarbedwirebedpost @ae-mius

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impale-me-radio-daddy · 18 days

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The Lookalike

☒ Summary: The first thing you remembered after your death was an argument. “No, this isn’t one of my fucking sluts.” The man behind you exhaled, frustrated. “This is a present for you. Something to help you work through your Alastor fixation.” You awaken in Hell as the near-spitting image of a certain infamous radio host. Unfortunately for you, you immediately fall into the clutches of his nemesis.

☒ Warnings: hermaphrodite!reader, deer!reader, crying!reader, they/them pronouns used, explicit content, reader is in Hell for a reason, Valentino, canon typical scenarios.

☒ Author's note: This is now a series! Part I Part2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 6 BONUS SCENE

The first thing you remembered after your death was an argument.

“What the fuck, Val? You can’t just come in here and dump a fucking body on my fucking floor. Christ.” The first voice was a man’s, the intonation weary rather than angry. He walked towards you, each footstep reverberating through the floor and through your tender skull. “Look, I don’t want to be in the same room with you right now.”

“This isn’t a body.” The second man spoke from behind you, and you could practically hear him rolling his eyes. Dimly, you took stock of your situation. You were on the floor. Your head hurt. Your body felt weird.

“One of your sluts, then. I don’t fucking care, just get it out of here.”

“No, this isn’t one of my fucking sluts.” The man behind you exhaled, frustrated. “This is a present for you. Something to help you work through your Alastor fixation.”

No, your body wasn’t just painful, but really weird, like all of your joints weren’t quite where you remembered them. You were pretty sure your ears were in the wrong place. What had happened?

“Oh, fuck you, Val. I don’t have a-” The man in front of you stopped mid sentence, an audible intake of breath. “Oh. Oh, fuck. What the fuck, Val?”

The second man made a pleased noise deep in his throat, and laughed. “See? I know what you really want.”

“Fuck me, that’s, uh, some resemblance.” The first man’s voice slowed, tone shifting from annoyance to something closer to awe. He moved closer, and you felt the air shift as he crouched next to you, getting a closer look. “Where did you get them?”

“We had some idiots posted near the east side boundary who were meant to look out for Alastor. This one was just lying in the street. Wrong color, but you know the saying- life gives you lemons, you see how many you can insert into one slut.”

“Fucking hell.” The first man leaned in closer, and you squinted open your eyes. Blue was most of what you could see. Glowing blue. He placed a hand on your shoulder, and you gave an involuntary sound, a static crackle and a whine like a capacitor with a faulty mount. “Oh fuck, they even sound like him! Val!”

“Whatever you say, snookums.” Val exhaled again, the air moving as he walked away. “Pheremones on the cabinet if you need them, you can thank me when you’re done with your new toy.”

“Where am I?” you asked, your voice feeling deeply unfamiliar, a coarse, crackling edge to it. Groggily, you lifted your head, still squinting. The man who had stayed was glowing blue, and you squinted at him uneasily, your eyes not quite working as you expected. Where were your glasses? “Who are you?”

“Oh, fuck, that voice is so fucking close. This is so great. Hey, can you look at me real quick?” A blue hand caught the bottom of your chin, guiding your head, and you found yourself staring into a rectangle of blue. “Can you say I’m sorry Vox?”

“Who’s Vox?” you asked, genuinely puzzled. “Why are you a television?”

“Ohh fuck.” The man let your chin drop, withdrawing his touch. “You really are new here, aren’t you? Fucking Val.” He sighed, and as your eyes adjusted further, you could see his face was digital, a pattern dancing across the screen. “Alright, first off, I’m Vox. Let’s get you up.”

His hand around your forearm, Vox helped you to your feet. Which you didn’t have. You had hooves. You looked away, feeling faintly nauseous, and nearly tripped as soon as you were standing, only Vox’s arm holding you up. You made another sound of distress, a static whine.

“Hey, hey.” Vox’s tone shifted again, from his previous intense interest in you to something softer. “You’ll be okay. Let’s get you to the bed.”

Stumbling, you made it to the bed, and Vox lowered you carefully onto the sheets. They were a dark blue, the thread count so high they were almost silky to the touch.

You pulled your legs up onto the bed and started feeling the length of them with your fingers, the familiar knee to the unfamiliar cleft of the hoof, your panic continuing to rise. “What’s happening to me? Is this even real?”

“Fuck me that’s hot,” breathed Vox, his gaze on your hooves for a moment before he tore it away. He sat beside you, hesitating before placing a hand on your shoulder. “Yes, this is real. Everyone goes through this, y’know. I’m a fuckin-” he gestured to his face. “You get used to it.”

Alarm flooded your body. Used to this? With your legs too long, and your ears- and whatever the fuck was growing out of the top of your head- you didn’t even want to think about that. Tears welled up hot in your eyes, and you swallowed down a sob, something that came out sounding like the pop of a small capacitor bursting.

Vox watched you with a hungry fascination. “Hey,” he said, reaching across to brush the wetness from your cheeks. “It’s hard. Fuck, I know it’s hard. Let me take care of you, okay? I can take care of you.” His arm snaked around your shoulders, and you found yourself pressed against Vox’s chest, his other hand a gentle pressure at the small of your back. Vox smelled faintly of hot plastic and windex, but his body was warm, and welcoming, and you nuzzled into his collar as the tears came, half static sobs that shook from your diaphragm up through your shoulders.

“Hey, baby deer, it’ll be okay.” Vox’s palm smoothed your back, rubbing slow circles over your shoulderblades as you cried. “I’ll take good care of you, you’ll see.” His claws went to your collar, undoing the top button of your shirt with thumb and forefinger.

You looked down, surprised, as Vox undid the second button. “What are you-”

You paused, staring into his eyes as you considered your situation. The other guy had dragged you here as a gift. Vox clearly wanted sex. He was warm and his hands were deft, and you were all alone in a strange new place. You had one piece of leverage, and that was your resemblance to whoever this Alastor guy was. Your best bet, realistically, was to play dumb, spread your legs, and negotiate once you had a better grasp of the situation. Or murder him in his sleep, either worked. If you started asking too many questions you risked Vox realizing you had a brain.

“What are you thinking?” Vox asked, hands paused over the third button of your shirt.

What was the dumbest, sluttiest answer you could give to that? You thought fast, improvising. “How do I kiss you?” you asked, blinking away tears. “I mean, can you kiss-”

Vox gave a toothy, slightly superior grin. “Oh, that? C’mere.” Saying that, he put his hand on the back of your head, and pulled you close. Your nose nearly touching the screen, you could feel the heat of him. He was bright so you closed your eyes, your lips pressing against the flatness. And then. Lips. A curve in the glass, and an opening. He probed his tongue against your lips, and you opened your mouth for him, letting him inside. The feel of his tongue was like the surface of the screen but more intense, a throbbing electrical signal as it twined against yours. His tongue was also huge, large enough to fill your mouth and extend down your throat, though Vox didn’t push, letting it instead extend between you, the length dripping with saliva. He kept one hand in your hair, the other on your back, and you found yourself crawling into his lap, sitting astride his thighs as you kissed. Your whole body was unfamiliar, but arousal took the edge off, a pulse that ran through your core and-

“Oh-” you breathed, breaking the kiss, becoming aware of the unfamiliar sensation in your own pants. An aching tightness and a pulsing slickness.

Vox withdrew his tongue, his expression one of concern. His gaze followed yours down to your pants, and a triumphant look returned. “Yeah, I have that effect on people.”

“I- I think I have more parts than I used to.” You swallowed, the static in your voice crackling. “Is that normal? Does everyone-”

“Show me.” Vox’s response was instant, and when you hesitated, his hand went to your waist, encouraging. A little shimmying later and you were on your back, naked from the waist down, cock engorged, cunt dripping.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck me. Fucking hell.” Vox’s screen glitched slightly as he knelt between your knees, his stare frank and hungry. “That is. Oh, man.”

You closed your eyes, feeling yourself heat under his gaze, tears threatening to well in your eyes again. “Does it… it’s not weird?”

“You are perfect,” said Vox, with the absolute conviction of a man about to ruin his own pants. He crawled up over your body, pushing your unbuttoned shirt open, his touches on your skin almost reverent, the static field from his screen making the fine hairs on your chest stand on end. He kissed you again, giving a groan of satisfaction as his clothed erection pressed against yours. But being exposed like this, even under worshipful eyes, was hard, and you felt the telltale ache in your throat, your face wet with tears as Vox pulled back a little.

He didn’t scold you but hushed you, hand gentle on your damp cheek. “It’s okay, I’m gonna take such good care of you, you’ve got no idea. So you just relax and leave it to me.”

Slowly, you nodded, looking up at him. Crying hadn’t been your plan, but it seemed to be helping.

“Fuck, man, those eyes.” Vox made a noise, continuing under his breath as he undid his belt. “I didn’t know those eyes could look so trusting, fuck me. You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?”

The tip of his cock was the same luminescent blue as his tongue, the shaft darker. He held your knees under his arms and pushed into you, his stare for you as greedy as it had been from the moment he first saw you, and as good as his word he was gentle with your body, the strokes sweet and slow. You knew intellectually that his gaze was for some guy who happened to look like you, but even so, it was hard not to get caught up in the moment, not with the attention he paid to you, optimizing the slow roll of his hips to hit the good spots inside you as his fist closed over your cock, pumping in time.

A soft mewl escaped you, the first sound you had made without the static filter, and Vox grinned. “See? I’m taking good care of you, aren’t I?”

“Y-yes,” you managed. The way he was fucking you made it difficult to form a coherent sentence.

“Say my name. Say Yes, Vox.”

“Y-ye-” you gave a whimper mid word as he hit the good spot inside you again, palm tightening around your shaft. You swallowed, and tried again. “Yes, Vox- ah!” You felt a twitch from his cock as you said his name, a line of broken pixels down his screen.

“Oh, fuck me, that’s the good stuff.” Vox made a staccato groan, fingers briefly tighter around your shaft. “Tell me you’re sorry, and you should have joined my team.”

“I’m s-s-” Sorry vanished into white noise as Vox set a harsher pace for the two of you, the roll of his hips becoming a snap, making your breath catch as your pleasure built. “I’m sorry Vox, it was a mistake, I should have joined you-”

“You’ve joined me now though, haven’t you? Gonna cum on my cock,” said Vox, with the absolute conviction of a man who could already feel the twitch of your cunt around him.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, feeling sensation crest. You hadn’t expected to cum, not in this unfamiliar body with this unfamiliar man, but the combination of his intensity and the dexterity with which he fucked you proved your undoing, sensation pulled tight through the core of you.

Vox’s expression was an indulgent leer. “That’s right, baby, let go,” he said, and you could only give soft animal and radio interference noises in response as he tipped you over your edge. Your orgasm was a hot white second of nothing but bliss that left your new body trembling and twitching. You came over your own stomach and chest, Vox giving a groan of his own when he saw it. “Fuck me that’s a fucking work of art.”

With you spent he worked on his own end, both hands on your hips, fucking a brisk rhythm into you that had you whimpering through your aftershocks.

“Alastor,” Vox groaned as he came, his eyes glazed as he looked down at you. His spasm into you was another new sensation, a staticky sort of frisson run through you, a shiver through your core and up your spine as his cock pulsed inside you.

You stayed in that position for a few moments, both of you still and panting, Vox not yet soft inside you, still holding your legs under his arms. Tentatively, your reached out and touched his forearm, and this stirred him out of his fugue. “Shit,” he said, blinking. “Right, uh, don’t move.” Gingerly, he withdrew from you, your cunt giving one last echo of a spasm in protest, and you watched him from the bed as he retreated into the bathroom, returning with a damp towel and tissues. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said.

Vox lay alongside you, wiping your cum from your chest with an attentiveness that was equal to any he had shown while fucking you. His strange, rectangular head was warm when the sides brushed against your skin, and you found yourself scooting a little closer to his body. You caught a glimpse of a pleased expression on his face before he pushed a finger under your chin and you tilted your head back so that he could clean the last of the cum from your collarbones and neck. True to his word, he was taking good care of you. Maybe you wouldn’t have to murder him in his sleep after all.

“So, who is Alastor, anyway?” you asked. Vox froze, but you pushed a little further. “I mean, if I’m pretending to be him, it’s better if I know, right?”

“Oh, man.” Vox gave a deep sigh. “Fuck, where do I even start?”

You nestled closer to him, tucking your head against his shoulder, and after a little awkward adjustment, he settled with his arms around you. He radiated heat, and you felt yourself relaxing at the physical contact, your heart rate and your breathing slowing. Tilting your head back, you brushed your nose against the outer frame of Vox’s head, and he gave a soft sigh of contentment. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you said, playing the ingénue.

“No, no, you’re right.” Vox tilted his head, his strange lips brushing against the tips of your ears and making you shiver. “It’s a long story, but I guess you should know.”

#vox x reader #vox x you #vox x alastor #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox the tv demon #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #vox x y/n

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unreliablesnake · 1 year

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The Bet – part 2 (Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader)

Summary: Ghost admits that he wants more from you, and so the two of you go on your first official date.

Note: Here's part 1. I didn't expect people to like it this much, so I decided to write a short part 2. / If you want to know when I post new stuff, follow @unreliablesnakefics and hit the get notifications button. I don't have a taglist.

Part 3

Warnings: none, it's fluff.

It had been there for weeks. An invisible string connecting the two of you, pulling you to the other no matter how hard you tried to resist. Again and again you found yourself staring at him in secret, watching him intently even in crowded rooms. You didn’t care that anyone could notice it, you couldn’t resist the urge to keep an eye on him.

And Ghost was aware of this. His eyes often met yours, his gaze resting on you for longer than it did when he looked at other members of the team. Could it be that he felt it too? Could it be that he noticed that string as well?

All of this had begun when you licked his arm because of a stupid dare. Ever since he touched you, you had been yearning for more, you wanted to feel his hands all over your body, pleasuring you in any creative way he could think of. He lit a fire inside of you, and you didn’t know how you could put it out.

Not like you truly wanted it to end, after all it was the kind of sweet torture many often choose to experience. But they usually knew they would eventually get what they were waiting for, but in your case Ghost was off limits. He was a lieutenant, and as such, he was your higher up. It couldn’t happen. Not without consequences.

“Are you listening?” Ghost asked you, one palm placed on your shoulder, his thumb absentmindedly massaging your neck. “Sergeant, I asked you a question.”

Why did he have to do this? Did he really have to touch you? It made your knees weak and you were struggling to stand straight. His hand stayed where it was, maybe even gripping you a little harder now, keeping you in place.

You cautiously looked around, making sure no one was around, then stood on your toes and placed a soft kiss on his mask. He drew in a sharp breath as his dark eyes fell on you, watching as you stepped back and folded your hands behind your back.

Despite his initial reaction, he looked surprisingly calm, maybe even a little cold. “What was that all about?” he asked you with his head slightly tipped to the side.

“I don’t know,” you lied. Because you knew. Deep down you knew you wanted him to know you were interested in him. That you wanted him so badly that it made you stupid.

Ghost shook his head as he inhaled loudly. “Don't lie to me. Just say it. Tell me the truth.”

“I can't… I just,” you tried again, but your voice faded as you failed to put your thoughts into words.

His eyes suddenly softened and he even took a small step towards you. “I already told you, love, only do things like that when you really want it, not because of a bet,” he told you, although his voice was kind.

Letting out a sigh, you shook your head. “It's not a bet, not this time,” you assured him.

Ghost reached out and took your hand, gloved fingers lacing with yours. It took you some time to look him in the eye and see how expressive they were now. Those warm brown eyes were locked on you, telling you that he was eagerly waiting for your explanation.

“While we were away with Price and Gaz, I–I couldn't stop thinking about what I had done. I know it was just a stupid, childish bet, but–”

“But you want more now,” he interrupted you, his voice carrying a hint of hesitance despite sounding confident. You nodded, silently waiting for his reaction. “You're not the only one,” Ghost finally admitted.

This brought a smile to your face. He wanted you as well. So you weren't imagining things, he truly felt the same way about you. You raised your free hand to his masked face, resting it on his chin that was free of the hard plastic skull, and he immediately leaned into your touch.

“You haven't even seen me without my mask yet,” he suddenly said, earning a shake of your head in response. “And if it turns out I'm not your type?”

“I know you and that's enough for me. Do you want me to tell you about all the things I want you to do to me?” you asked suggestively, your hand moving from his chin to his chest, a finger hooking under his vest to pull him closer.

“Stop teasing me, Sergeant, or else…”

“Or what?”

Ghost let out a deep growl as he let go of your hand and simply pushed you until your back hit the nearest wall. Your entire body trembled from the excitement you felt, eagerly waiting for him to take off his mask and finally kiss you. But he had a different idea as he wrapped his hand around your throat and ran his thumb over your jawline before leaning closer to you.

You didn't say anything. You couldn't say anything. He didn't do much, yet it was more exciting than anything you had imagined in the past weeks. This man could play you like a violin, knowing perfectly well how to make you lose your sanity. You thought you were teasing him? No, you were just playing some stupid game.

This. This right here was the definition of teasing.

“Mission's almost over,” he began quietly, “why don't we meet once we're done here? We could have fun.” Even though you opened your mouth to respond, no sound left your throat. “I'll send you the time and the address. I won't wear my mask so I'll find you there. Just be patient, that's all you have to do.”

•••••••••

In the message Ghost told you where and when to meet, and he even warned you to call him Simon outside of work. It was okay, you couldn't wait to test what it would feel like when his name rolled off your tongue.

Simon.

You smiled to yourself after you silently mouthed his name while sitting at the bar, looking at your cocktail. As you stirred your drink with the straw, out of the corner of your eye you noticed a guy looking at you from a few seats away. Could it be him? He seemed tall and big enough.

“You shouldn't be ogling other men when you're waiting for your date,” someone suddenly whispered into your ear.

You turned your head to the side to face the source of the familiar voice. That's when you truly saw him, looking at you with the sweetest smile you'd ever seen. Is this what he had been hiding under that mask all this time? You gulped, having a hard time figuring out what to say. Should you kiss him? Or would it be too soon?

Before you could make up your mind, Ghost pressed his lips to yours, cautiously tasting you, as if he was unsure about the whole thing. Your heart wanted to jump out of your ribcage while you were kissing him, the excitement you felt being too much to bear. He was excellent at making you feel good, and he was certainly aware of the effect he had on women.

“You look absolutely gorgeous, love,” he told you before taking the empty seat next to you.

Giggling like some stupid schoolgirl, you twirled your hair and looked at him through your lashes. “You can't complain either, handsome.”

What the fuck was wrong with you? How did you turn into this giggling mess all of a sudden? It was just a handsome face and a kiss that felt too good to be true. Closing your eyes for a moment, you took a deep breath and listened to Ghost ordering a bourbon for himself.

You were screwed.

You were brought out of your thoughts by Ghost when he reached out to take your hand in his, large fingers enveloping it tightly. “Simon,” you began, enjoying the way it felt to say it out loud, “are you sure about this? I mean, about being here with me?”

The lieutenant flashed a surprisingly wide smile at you as he raised your hand to his lips. “I wouldn't be anywhere else.”

And you believed him. You believed every word he said because he was so nice, and warm, and soft, everything he wasn't while working. He was usually focused on the mission, and even though he was often worried about his teammates, he never seemed this relaxed.

“Do you live here? In London, I mean,” you asked.

Ghost shook his head. “No, I'm from Manchester. Lived there my whole life.”

Your face began to hurt from smiling so much, but you couldn't stop, not with him around. Simon and Ghost were so different that if you hadn't known he was coming here to meet you, he could've sat there next to you the whole night and you wouldn't have noticed it was him.

Simon seemed perfect so far–nice, and kind, and loving, unafraid to show his emotions. The more you found out about him as you talked, as you kept questioning him, the more you understood the use of the mask. He was building a barrier between his private and work personalities. He was protecting himself, and maybe even those he cared about.

Then your series of questions came to an end, and it was his turn to ask you about yourself. He wanted to know about your family, about your hobbies, about your taste in music and movies. He wanted to know everything, really. And he paid attention to your words. He truly wanted to get to know you, it wasn't just pretend.

“Why don't we watch a movie?” he asked you, referring to the new part of a series he now knew you loved. “I have time.”

But you didn't want that. You wanted something entirely different, something more intimate. You wanted all of him, finding out what it felt like to be touched by him. So you began to massage his hand with your thumb, giving him a seductive smile that easily told him what you truly wanted now.

“Or we could go to my hotel room,” he corrected himself with a smile.

You leaned over to place a soft kiss on his lips, one he eagerly turned into a more passionate one. He slowly slipped off his chair and stood next to you without breaking the kiss, hands resting on the sides of your neck to keep you focused on him. Little did he know that he didn't need to do that, you were already hyper-focused on him, forgetting about the outside world completely.

“I'd rather choose this latter option,” you said quietly, your forehead resting against his.

Ghost smiled at you before giving you another quick kiss. “I'm glad you said that.” He extended his hand, offering you to take it. “Come on love, let's get out of here.”

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost #ghost x reader #modern warfare ii #modern warfare #call of duty #mw2

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deliciousbasementtrash · 5 months

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Playing Nurse for the Batfam

Artist: https://www.instagram.com/twalxxart/ Twalxx

Summary: you are a nurse working for Gotham General Hospital. Batman has offered you a job. You are now a nurse for the entire Batfamily. There has been an emergency and you have been called into the line of fire. You have been injured by the Black Mask, how will Jason react?

Pairing: Slowburn Jason Todd x Female!reader

Warning: Adult language, mentions of gunshots and death

Word Count: 2.4k

Masterlist

Note: These characters are not my own they belong to DC. The only character that is 'mine' is the reader. I am going to be as nondescript as possible for the reader as well for physical attributes. This is a continuation series; I’m not sure how long it will be. Also for some reason, my replies to comments are not showing up. I’m not ignoring your comments Tumblr won’t let me respond :( But please, please comment I live for it

Part 9: If I Have to Throw You Over My Shoulder I Will

***********************************************************

Jason Todd

[Jason, please we need backup. We need you.] Dick had sent about ten minutes ago.

Some dark part of me wanted to do nothing. The part of me that was tortured and beaten. The part of me that was angry no one cared enough to avenge me. But I loved Dick like he was my flesh and blood. And whether I admit it to myself or not… I love Bruce the same way.

Often I think about how my life led me down this way. Was it fate? Was it God? Was it just dumb fucking luck?

There is one theory I keep circling back to. The Red String Theory. At birth, we have invisible red strings tying us to the people we are destined to meet. Was I tied to my parents? Bruce? Alfred? Dick? Tim? Barbara? Steph? Cass? Damian? Duke? Or even… him?

That’s too many. If that’s true, my fate lines look more like a messy evidence board. Or maybe a fucked up marionette puppet. Like I was made to be influenced by those tied to me. Pushed and pulled. Just a vessel of violence.

But the Red String Theory couldn’t be true. At least not for me. I’m so covered in red. You can’t pull a red thread out of a sea of blood.

My morbid thoughts halted when I saw Pizza Joe’s. I parked off to the side. In an alley, no one could see. I approached the gunshots, listening for Dick. Boy Wonder was nowhere to be seen, but I made mental notes of the men that were perched on the buildings.

I made my way discreetly around the building, toward the back. My heart stopped dead in my chest.

Y/n was pinned against the wall. With a gun in her mouth. Fighting with everything in her against the Black Mask.

Something in me snapped. Without hesitation I shot twice at his arm, severing the flexor digitorum profundus and rendering his index and middle finger useless. I shot through his stupid fucking masked head. I shot through his heart. I shot through the bastard's fucking dick. I shot. And I shot. And I shot. No one hurts her. Ever.

I barely noticed Bruce as I stepped over him. I could have checked his pulse, his status, anything. But all I cared about was getting to her.

Anger and fear surged inside me, at the sight of seeing her covered in blood. I started to panic. My chest felt like one thousand pounds of pressure was crushing me. All I could do to calm myself down was to pull her into my arms and hug her tight enough that I felt her heartbeat against mine. She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive.

I had stayed away from her this past week. Trying to keep her safe from whatever bullshit I would bring her. But here she was finding the danger all on her own. Without me to make sure she was safe.

Seeing her face, feeling her against my body, lit something up inside me. Anger surged.

“Why the fuck are you here?” I growled.

***********************************************************

Jason grabbed my chin, slowly moving it from side to side, inspecting my blood-spattered face. His mouth was moving but all I could hear was the damn ringing in my skull. Jason frowned and looked at both my ears. I felt a warmth run down the left side of my neck.

Jason leaned into my right side, his cold helmet brushed against the shell of my ear making me shiver. “You’re hurt.” The words were simple. But they were laced with bitterness and anger that went beyond reason.

I looked up at his Red Hood, “Dick needs your help.” I couldn’t tell if I was screaming the words or saying them at a reasonable volume. I couldn’t gauge Jason’s reaction either which annoyed me. I wanted to rip that helmet off and see his face.

“I’m looking at someone that needs my full attention right now. Grayson can handle himself,” he snarled the words at me.

Gunshots sounded loud enough for me to hear. My brain started spiraling into the worst-case scenario. A Dick Grayson riddled with bullets involuntarily entered my mind. “Please help him. Please, Jason.” I grabbed his arm as I begged. His bicep tensed under my grip.

“I’m not leaving you alone,” he ground out. “Get behind me.” Despite his harsh tone, he gently moved me behind him. His broad shoulders and generous height covered me completely. I kept a hand at the base of his hip. Ready to heal him if needed.

There were four shooters surrounding Dick, and three on the buildings, all pointing their guns at him. Jason opened a pocket on his thigh and reloaded his right gun one-handed. He was so smooth with the movement it was like he was doing something simple like buttering toast. He was dexterous at a level I can only describe as masterful.

Jason aimed at an impossible speed and precision. Seven shots rang out. Seven men fell. I don’t even think they realized Jason was enemy fire until they already had a bullet fly through them. It was seemingly impossible.

Jason didn’t give me a chance to assess Dick or Bruce before throwing me over his shoulder and walking away.

“I need to help them! Jason! Jason, listen to me!” I yelled and slapped the back of his leather jacket. He ignored me or I didn’t hear his response. Knowing him, most likely the former.

Suddenly, he moved me off his shoulder and straddled me onto his motorcycle. My mind was acutely aware of his large hands pinning my waist down.

“Grayson is fine. He will take care of Bruce and your car. I’m taking you home. Now.” He was leaning toward my good ear again, his voice was dark and commanding. Lighting a certain part of me on fire. Who am I kidding, my whole being burned.

“I am fine, Jason. Really. You got there in time. Just let me heal the boys and I’ll go with you!” I sneered at him.

“How about no,” Jason sneered back and straddled onto the motorcycle behind me. His firm body was flush against the entire back side of mine. My breathing became uneven when he reached his arms around me and revved his motorcycle before accelerating. I tried not to lean back into him. But he was so warm and I was so tired. Jason must have felt my tension. His hand found my hip, as he continued steering with the other. He pushed back, forcing my body to melt into his.

“I’ve got you,” he said, making me shiver.

Gotham was a blur of lights as Jason drove us back to the Batcave. In a record, 6 minutes. Which I tried not to take personally.

He rode us through the entrance, and as close as he could get to my workstation. He got off quickly as if trying to get away from me. But just as quickly scooped me up from my underarms and placed me on top of my examination table. I blushed at the firm way he moved me around. Like I was his to just grab and move as he pleased. He was an extremely strong man. He made it seem like it was no effort at all.

He roughly took off the Red Hood. His hair was a wild mess. His eyes were dark with what appeared to be anger and concern. His breathing quickened as he looked me over.

“What blood is yours?” He curtly asked, messily digging into my neat supplies. I tried not to cringe as he did. With his mask off it was a lot easier to understand him because I could read his lips and vaguely hear him.

I looked down at my red-stained hands. I curled them up and down. The blood was sticky and cracked. Suddenly, an assault of memories flooded my mind.

The hospital wing after the mass shooting—healing a man being tortured over and over for information—my mom's bloody nose—my bloody legs dripping into my sneakers. Breathing became sharp and rushed.

A hand gently caressed my face, “Hey, hey. It’s just me. It’s Jason,” his voice and touch was gentle. Easing my mind back to reality. When I was no longer trapped in my own mind I realized that Jason was once again cleaning up my hands. He washed the blood off of them until you never knew I had stabbed a man in the neck.

His hands were warm and calloused and thorough. For a moment he just held my hands in his. His thumb traced small circles on the inside of my wrist causing goosebumps to rise on my skin. Slowly, he trailed upward to my forearm, and an angry sigh left his mouth. Wordlessly, he cleaned and tended my cut. Wordlessly, he wiped the blood and brain matter from my face and neck. Wordlessly, he took off my stained hoodie and disgusting scrubs. Until I was left in my white undershirt and tight black shorts.

His eyes were hard and staring just above the curve of my breast. Right where my heart rapidly beat. Right where the Black Mask had made a small but deep cut. And then his eyes trailed upward. Toward my bruised neck, and burned cheek.

“I should have killed him slower,” he growled out. I hadn’t realized how close Jason was to me. Somehow he had gotten between my legs and mere inches away from my face. My cheeks heated, as I took in the oddly delicate features of this harsh man. He had a very light sprinkling of freckles across his nose. His eyes were more of a stormy gray than blue. His eyelashes were so pretty and long I wanted to slap him. And his Cupid’s bow was sharp and defined which highlighted his full lips. I swallowed roughly.

“Thank you, for—for helping me,” I whispered, afraid that if I spoke any louder I might scare him off.

Jason scoffed angrily, “You shouldn’t have been in that position in the first place. I’m going to beat Bruce with an inch of his life—”

Gently, I gripped Jason’s hand, “I chose this. Don’t be mad at Bruce. If anything, be mad at me. I should have been more prepared. I should have brought a weapon.”

Jason leaned his forehead in so it was just barely touching mine. I involuntarily held my breath.

His hands reached for mine as he traced along my old burns. “We are bad for you.” He whispered.

“You guys have given me a part of myself that I thought was lost forever. How could that ever be bad?” I lifted a hand hesitantly up toward his cheek. Jason leaned in like he was desperate for the contact. For comfort. For me.

“I can’t get you out of my head. I want—” Jason’s soft words were interrupted by the screeching of my car followed by the Batmobile. Jason practically jumped five feet away from me. I frowned at the lack of contact.

Well, Bruce is well enough to drive, that’s good. Pretty fucking shit timing though, Batboy.

I lowered myself from the table. I tried hiding my wince, but I saw Jason tense. He reached forward steadying me, before scolding, “Do not push yourself for them.”

Dick came out of my car with a large dimpled smile and a huge ugly shinner. Bruce looked pale but better. I motioned for them to sit where I was just perched. Ready to finish healing them.

Bruce was simple. I just had to re-patch him up. Finish what I started. Dick was a bit more complicated. Homie had the snot beat out of him. One of the bright sides was that he wasn't shot.

When I was done, both Dick and Bruce politely excused themselves to their rooms.

I slowly cleaned up my workstation. Jason silently helped me. His mouth was a firm line.

My hands shook with exhaustion when I was done. My eyes went in and out of focus. My head was pounding from the exertion and the physical trauma. I covered my bad ear, trying to will the ringing to stop. Jason noticed and gently pulled me to him. Before I knew it he had his arm under my knees and back, and he cradled me into the elevator.

I snorted at him, “I’m fine, Jason, really. Don’t go through the trouble of carrying me.”

“I think I want to rip that word out of your vocabulary,” he snapped. “Let me just carry you. Don’t make it a big deal.”

My heart sank, and I whispered, “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“While I’m at it, I’ll take that one too,” he said, pressing the button number 4. Our floor number. “Don’t lie to me and tell me you’re fine. Don’t ever apologize for existing.” He huffed and paused, “Please.”

I nodded, not sure what to say. The elevator ride went by shockingly quickly. He walked past his room and into mine. He set me down on my bed gently. He pulled my blankets back and covered me. I got deja vu as he did it. I smiled under my covers.

Jason pulled an armchair towards my bed. He angled it so he could see both the door and the windows. I looked at him, confused.

He shrugged at me, “I didn’t like seeing a man have a gun in your mouth. I actually don’t think I saw it for more than two seconds before everything went red.”

“So, that explains why you’re watching me in my armchair because…”

Hashbrown barrelled toward Jason. She rubbed her body on his feet demanding attention. Jason swiftly picked her up and held her on his lap. She seemed to soothe him as he pet her. The tension in his body decreased, instead of ramrod straight he leaned back. Almost comfortable, but not quiet.

“Because I need to make sure that you’re okay,” he said after a few minutes went by.

“Why?” I asked, needing an answer.

“I don’t like it when you’re hurt. Or in danger,” he answered.

“Why?” I demanded, again.

He roughly raked a hand through his messy hair, “I don’t know why. I just feel like… like you’re mine to protect. You put all your energy into healing other people. You deserve someone to care if you’re healthy and safe.”

I think only two people in the world have ever cared about that. Sam and my mom. His words were like wildfire to my mind and body.

Warmth bloomed in my chest, followed by boldness, “Do you have to protect me from all the way over there? Or can you protect me in my bed?”

Taglist: @soundsfunbutno @killxz @morpheus-girl @redhood414 @bungunz @conicoroahre @greenyofthegreens @taytaylala12 @theroyalmanatee @nym-0-s @sarahskywalker-amadala @bonesbonesetc @dreaming-of-the-reality @gone-batty-fics @thescarletcryptid @bakugosgf2005 @irregular-child @vythika96 @greenyofthegreens @mythicalmo @eccentricarabella-blog @princessbl0ss0m @ghostindeath @whirlwind2005 @the-lights-are-loud @00hellohello00 @tfygcdy @theblindhag @murkyponds @midnightecko @crookedmakerfury @cosmicqueenieb @deans-spinster-witch @princessbl0ss0m

If I missed anyone please let me know <3

Author's note: Thank you all so much for your kind words, comments, messages, and interactions!! They inspire me to keep writing. I hope you guys continue to enjoy the story, thank you again <3

Hashbrown Cam!

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vixensbrainrotts · 3 months

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Committed to you (part 2) - Manjiro <Mikey> Sano

Content: part two to Committed to you (read here)

Summary: After vigorous brainstorming and planning, Mikey can finally propose to you in the City of Lights.

Vixen's two cents: Thank you so much for the support on the first part- quite a few people ended up wanting a second part so who was I to deny them? I had so many ideas writing this, I hope this isn't too all over the place... now let's see how Mikey does it... enjoy!

It took Mikey and co. a short month to put together the perfect trip around Europe, the time slot falling into early summer- perfect for sightseeing and splurging tourism. With the help of Emma’s expertise in pretty places and things, and Ken’s keen eye for price, the three of them ended up with a perfect booking schedule. The request was sent, the confirmation received, and the bills paid, which rendered the trip ready to go.

The only part that was missing was you. Mikey had yet to surprise you.

That was his current mission as he sat on the couch, thinking deeply about how he was going to present this. You were coming home in less than 15 minutes- not enough time to make or order a cake, not enough time to set up a big confetti-filled explosion, not enough time to make a song to serenade you with… What to do?

Mikey glanced at the clock again, eyes widening when he realized that two minutes had passed already! He ran a stressed hand through his hair and centered himself for a moment and reminded himself to think… what could he do? What is he doing?

That’s right. You and him- eight weeks- Europe. Now he just has to tell you all about it, and hopefully not spoil his plans of proposing to you whilst he’s at it. What to do, what to do…

Coming home from work you were very much ready for the coming week off. It was a regular Wednesday, on which nothing special or specific happened but it tired you out nonetheless. Unlocking the door with a swift jangle of your keys, you tossed them on the little tray at the side of the entrance, taking off and hanging your coat in the same move. Kicking off your shoes you sighed a bit at the relief.

“Jiro?” You called, a bit confused that he hadn’t come to you yet. Normally he would have been with you by now, at least shouting a quick welcome when he heard you come in (which he surely had). You took your purse with you towards the living room where you hoped to find him. When you stepped into the room however, your eyes nearly popped out of your skull. “Mikey?”

He stood in the middle of the living room next to two of the largest travel suitcases you owned, dressed in a layered Ralph Lauren Pullover overtop of a dress shirt, the tails hanging out sloppily from the bottom and the collar half-unfurled. Atop his head sat a beret, your beret you noted, taken that he didn't own any, and your eyes drifted to his face, jaw hanging open. On his face was a heavy streak of sunscreen over the middle of his nose and across both cheeks and a very scraggly moustache was drawn onto his upper lip, probably with your eyeliner. Safe to say that he looked absolutely ridiculous, if not even a bit cute.

"Oh my god, Mikey what-" you started but he interrupted you, apparently springing to life with an almost rehearsed poise. "Ohhhh mon amourrrr~~" He purred from where he stood, putting on a heavy French accent and hollowing his cheeks to make his face seem slimmer. "Would-eh you like to accompany me around the world-eh of the Cheri Europé?" he wiggled his eyebrows at you for good measure and gestured to the luggage. "Do not worry dearest, all your circumstances have been cared for you, all that you must do is comply to my affections."

Your grip on the purse loosened and you felt it slip out of your grasp, falling to the floor as your hands cupped your smiling face. "What? Mikey, I only have a week off and-" He cut you off again, not even letting you finish thinking the sentence as he came in closer to you, circling his arms around your waist and pulling your body to his with a firm tug. "I said, all your circumstances have been attended." He mumbled as he stooped his head down into the crook of your neck and reigned a tiny little assault of affection of the skin, making you laugh heartily.

"Mikey! Oh my- Wait! Stop! I-" You laughed, looking into his eyes properly when he finally pulled away. "Really?" You asked, letting the prospect set in your mind, and you found yourself giddy just thinking about it. A vacation to Europe of all places? What a dream!

"Yes really. Eight weeks, you and me, all of the prettiest places in Europe. Unless you don't want to, in which case I don't know what I'd do because we'd be flying tonight."

That's how you found yourself packing in an almost childish joy, despite being rushed by the short notice, and then driving to the airport on a Wednesday afternoon to catch a flight to Sweden, Stockholm, where you found your tour would be starting. You had tried to press Mikey for more details about where you'd be headed, but he wouldn't give any information.

Whilst this annoyed you greatly, in retrospect you were almost thankful that he chose to do it this way, surprising you with new places and sights every time you travelled across boarders.

Down the Scandinavians- Sweden, Norway, and the Netherlands, where you took about a million pictures of landscapes, wildlife, and urban and rural heaven, and even got to observe northern lights on a warm summer night.

A short detour to London, watching theatre performances and standup comedians, visiting the Palace and Big Ben, and strolling through Central Park before continuing through Belgium where you tasted a million different sweets, and even got to attend a chocolatier course- courtesy of Mikey's planning.

All in all the past three-and-some weeks had been perfect. Now the two of you are situated in France, Paris, with a quaint little AirBnB that has a wonderful view of the Eifel Tower.

Speaking of, that was tonight's destination after a ride over the Seine.

Mikey offered you a hand as you stepped off the boat, thanking the helmsman with a quick "Merci!" as you turned to face him again. "That was wonderful, I would have never thought that the Seine was so long!" you gushed to Mikey, holding onto his arm as he started guiding you away from the docks and towards the direction of the Eifel tower.

The two of you chatted up about nothing on the way, you hung pretty off Mikey's arm, mindlessly telling him about something wish he could focus on, but something very specific kept him from it.

He could feel his heart start beating harder as the two of you got closer to the place and as the clock ticked on closer to the time. The very then and there he had promised himself he would do it.

His hands felt clammy in the pockets of his shorts, one hand fingering at the paper that contained the entire speech written out, just in case he completely blanked and forgot. His other hand was occupied half opening and closing the smooth, black silk box that sat pretty in his palm.

"But in the end, who are we to judge, right?" you seemingly finished your thought, looking up at him expectantly. Mikey's eyes widened a tad as he realized that he hadn't been listening to you at all, way too worried about.. other things... so he opted for the tactical agreeing head nod, even mumbling a soft "yeah" to make himself seem more convincing.

You, however- always the observant type- noticed his slightly off behavior. "You alright, love?" you asked him, turning to face him completely to make eye contact. Mikey felt himself flush in the cheeks a little, shrinking into his polo shirt. "Yeah, yeah don't worry. Maybe I'm a little low on sugar or something..." he drifted, half-smoothly saving the situation.

"Oh," you state, concerned, as you check your purse for something and then scan the nearby area. "Well, how about you sit down and I'll go buy some crepe from that stand over there? There are some benches over there, maybe you can grab us a seat in time for the glittering to start."

Pleasantly surprised at your offer, Mikey nods and goes to find the most aesthetically pleasing bench he can find, giving him a few crucial moments to prepare himself. Breathing deeply he runs his finger over the slit of the silk box again, rehearsing the words one last time before he fumbled his hands to his back pockets, pulling out his phone.

"Oh, please propose to her in front of the Eifel Tower! Or the Coliseum! Or on some romantic Bridge in Venice!" Emma swooned and held her hands over her chest, hearts in her eyes.

Mikey smiled at her and nodded again. "I'll try and film it if I can."

Mikey remembers the moment not much of a month ago and smiles down at his Lock Screen: an image of you blowing kisses at him through a mirror when you were getting ready for your ninth anniversary this year.

Nine years strong, through thick and thin but always side by side. Fierce loyalty and fierce love, and finally he would put a ring on it.

Snapping out of it before he lost too much time reminiscing he set up the camera in an appropriate angle against the back of the bench. checking himself in the reflection one last time before he was satisfied, he chose the "video" option and hit the red record button as he heard your footsteps approach again.

This is it Manjiro. Dont fuck it up.

He turned to face you again as you walked closer, the promised crepe in your hands as you smiled widely at him. "Im back!" you chirped, clearly excited by the soon-to-be world-famous sparkling of the Eifel Tower.

"Hey Baby." Mikey replied and took the sweet teat from you as you presented it to him, laying it on the bench on some napkins out of sight of the phone. Before you could say anything he turned back to you and grabbed both your hands with his, looking straight into your confused eyes.

"Listen, you don't get how long I've been trying to do this for, and the adventures I've been on trying to make this all happen. I owe a few people a real number as thanks, and I hope that I can make this even half as special as I envisioned it being..." He breathed for a second, collecting himself one last time and making sure that his voice was working all the way.

"Since we were fifteen it's been you and I, since we've been eighteen we've lived together, and since we've been twenty-one I've been wanting to do this.

I want to honor you, and how you've supported me with nothing but unconditional love for all this time, and I want to thank you for all the things you've stuck with me through. Good and bad you didn't falter, and even at the worst of times, when I was spent and exhausted, I watched you fight for our love; for us.

I think that's one of the things that I admire about you the most. One of the things I fell in love with you because and one of the things I love you for now. You're incredibly strong and you're not afraid to fight for what you think is right, not to mention your unconditional beauty.

Time and time again you sweep me off my feet in worlds of wonder and awe, and I hope that I've lived up to that on this trip, and I vow to live up to you in the future.

Let me sweep you off your feet, dearest. Let me be your one, and let me honor you."

You fought hard to keep tears at bay, hands having risen to cover your mouth as you stared at him. Nerves were tingling in your entire body as if there was liquid glitter running through your veins. Your breathing hitched as you watched Manjiro sink onto one knee and produce a little box from his pocket in one swift movement.

"Will you marry me?"

He presents the open box to you, allowing you to look at what had to be the most perfect ring ever. White gold, diamond-encrusted excellence shined back at you from the satin-lined box, glinting and sparkling even by the sheerest reflection of light.

It didn't take you long for you to respond, nodding violently against your hands, locked in the moment as you cried "Yes!", tears slipping down the planes of your cheeks.

What seemed to be inconspicuous onlookers erupted into a small applause, some whistling and hollering celebrating the proposal as the world slowed down for just a moment. Your hands came to wrap around Mikey as he kneeled on the floor, pressing his head into your chest as you pressed your nose into the crown of his head. Mikey's arms tighten around your waist as you feel him tremble against you, his hands shaky as they grip your blouse.

The world around you started twinkling, bathing you both in a flashy bask as the Monument behind you started glittering behind you. When you pulled away, Mikey's face was streaked in tears, his nose a little red.

Puling his hands from around you he presented you with the box again. "I wanna.." he started, carefully plucking the ring from its pollster, "Lemme..". You caught on and gave him your left hand, letting his shaky hands hold yours as he pushed the ring down on your finger, admiring it on your hand.

He kissed the back of your hand looked up at you and whispered "I love you." Entranced, you leaned down to him and held his face in his hands, allowing his hands to rest on your hips as you whispered back "I love you too." and locked lips with him.

A thousand words were left unspoken as the two of you exchanged affection through the kiss. The gentle caress of skin on skin sending waterfalls of warmth down your body, the sensation spreading from your chest down to your feet and all the way up to your head, a dizzying lightness replacing every thought you had beforehand.

When you two pulled away and shared the ever-lasting lover's gaze, you pulled Mikey to his feet again and fell into his arms. "Thank you Manji, this is so special." you mumble into his chest and squeeze him a little for good measure.

Mikey laughed breathlessly and ran a hand over his face, wiping the tears as he collected himself with a sniffle again. "No problem Baby. It had to beg it was all this or nothing, no joke there." Mikey's hands raked over your back soothingly, holding you against him as he looked over to the glittering tower, gently rocking the both of you back and forth silently as you both admired the twinkling lights.

"We still have that Crepe to eat, you know?" Mikey teased once the glittering ceased, remembering both the treat and the phone which was still recording.

You huffed a silent giggle and pulled away from him. "Yeah, I think we need some sugar right now."

Side by side you two shared the treat, nuzzling impossibly closer to one another despite the hot summer temperatures when Mikey put an arm around your shoulder.

Side by side you two fell asleep together later that night, cradling another dearly, deeply tangled in the sheets as your breathing patterns aligned, and your heartbeats worked in perfect synchronization.

Side by side you two stood at the altar a longer while later, exchanging vows and words of love, "yes"-sing another and kissing, now married, bound to one another indefinitely.

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stxrvel · 4 months

Text

i don't wanna live forever (1)

summary: reader couldn't stop having deaths in her life ever since the Supersoldier serum came into her life. no matter how hard she tried to stay sane, it seemed that life didn't want to give her a break. until, one afternoon, she learned that one of her old friends was alive… (you guys know im bad at summaries, but please give this one a chance)

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: +4.5k

warnings: angst, major character deaths, canon deaths¿?, bad words, english is not my first language! thoughts of revenge and death, this is like an introductory chapter, so the buckyxreader interaction is low, but it'll get better, i promise!

note: holy fuck guys. i just spent like five hours writing and editing this and i fucking love it. its been a while since ive been this proud of a work, im actually scare the emotion will disappear, but i really want to rejoice in this one. i wanted to write something a little different from my usuals, maybe a little common in the fanfiction world, but i started and i simply could not stop (or maybe just approach this bucky fic from another perspective). so this is the first part and i'll try with all my heart to keep this going because it was fucking insane, at least for me. i really hope you all like this as much as i do! feel free to leave any comment! thanks always for all the support!! see you next time <3

part 2 ; part 3 ; part 4

When you went into the Supersoldier serum project with Steve, you thought you were going to change the world. Of course, at that time when technology was relatively new any invention felt like the beginning of a new era. That's how it was all sold to you and it was how you expected everything to turn out… Until you realized that it was all really a waste of effort and time.

They were just propaganda for war. Not to stop it, to promote it. To motivate it.

You tried, on several occasions, not to think too much about it. You tried to stay out of it as Steve sometimes asked you to, even though even he didn't want to, as Bucky asked you to when you lay on his shoulder to cry in the little time you had free between trips. It was a great burden of guilt and helplessness.

Until you and Steve, with the almost imposed help of Peggy and Howard, rescued Bucky from the evil hands of Johann Schmidt and his nefarious organization, HYDRA, that, unbeknownst to you, would haunt you for a long time to come. It was only after that, after spending several sleepless days on edge thinking about what might be happening to Bucky, that you and Steve were finally able to go out and contribute something. Destroy HYDRA and the Red Skull's plans.

Of course, you realized that not everything could go right when, the one mission you couldn't attend, Bucky didn't return. And then Steve didn't come back either.

“Do you think this will ever end?” you had asked Bucky the day before his last mission.

“Of course it will,” he had answered without hesitation, moonlight illuminating his clear eyes, squeezing your hand as if it was all he wanted to do for the rest of his life. “And after that we can begin to live as it should be.”

But there was no after that, because you never recovered from losing him. From losing them both.

“Are you okay?” Peggy approached, in the middle of the afternoon when the sun was streaming through the stained glass windows of the church, illuminating the spot where Steve's empty coffin had been, because they didn't even find his body. They didn't even think there was any of it left.

You barely moved your head to acknowledge her presence, moving the prayer slip they had recited throughout the mass between your hands. Your eyes were crystallized, in tears that no longer even made the effort to flow, because you had already spent too many days and nights crying. Peggy had been on the other side of the church, sitting next to Howard while the priest spoke, because you had refused to be near them in those moments. You didn't want to be near them.

“As well as one can be,” you slurred, finding that it had been a long time since you'd last used your voice for anything other than cursing and crying disconsolately.

The people had already left, probably an hour or more ago. The empty coffin had already been brought out, all the flower arrangements had been picked up, and the priest was preparing for the evening mass. You knew you had to leave, you knew Peggy and Howard were there waiting for you, but you felt stuck at that moment. You didn't want to leave, you didn't want to get ahead, you didn't want that life if it had to be this cruel.

You heard Peggy's sigh, before she took a seat next to you, a short distance away, averting her gaze to look at Christ on the cross.

You didn't know if you were selfish to be so closed off to your friends at this moments, because they must be grieving as much as you were, but you didn't know how to deal with the future possibilities. Bucky and Steve, great men and soldiers, one even with enhanced abilities, had not been able to make it through the punishment of war. What if Peggy and Howard were the same? What if they too had the cruel fate of dying at the hands of injustice? Could you deal with that? With everyone gone?

Maybe you could open up to them a little more because if not, who else? Turning away from them was not going to ensure their survival in this hate-filled society. Maybe you could protect them, like you couldn't protect Steve and Bucky. Maybe you could make a difference, because you had the chance to.

“You know,” Peggy spoke again, rearranging herself on the bench and crossing her legs, “Steve always knew this was how it would end.”

Her wistful, mournful, fragile voice sent a shiver through your body. Peggy didn't consider herself someone to show herself vulnerable in front of others no matter how close they were, even in those things that hurt her the most, in those things that affected her personally and made her eyes water instantly, she always tended to shut down. And at that moment you didn't dare interrupt her because you knew it would probably be the only time she would talk about Steve in a long time.

“Sometimes we'd talk, between tour trips, and he would tell me that wasn't what he wanted to do, even when he had to convince you otherwise,” her clasped hands would occasionally squeeze between words, blinking rapidly to fight back the tears. “He didn't know if he'd made the right decision.”

You could almost picture him, backstage at the foot of the stairs with that notebook he carried everywhere and wouldn't let go, Peggy at his side nostalgic, as helpless as the others. It reminded you of the times you'd had similar conversations with Bucky, desperate to find a purpose, a way through so much fog.

“The first time I saw him so sure of himself was when he asked us to help them look for Bucky,” she mumbled his name, as if trying not to scare you away by saying it too loudly. “Ever since then it seemed like he'd found that spark…”

“Until Bucky died,” you whispered, the words cutting through the cold and silence, Peggy shifting on the bench contritely.

“He lost something of himself from that day on, it wasn't hard to tell. The next time I heard him so sure after spending days lost, it was on that call from the plane.”

Peggy paused, raising her hand to cover her mouth as her voice faltered. You turned to look at her, wishing you could rip the pain from her soul and leave it in yours. She was trying to contain her emotions, breathing deeply, and in that moment you wondered what life might be like from now on, with the specter of grief following you around, waiting for the next time the dead knocked on your doors, unexpectedly, without allowing you to say goodbye.

“He had told me he wouldn't die in peace until he could get it all over with. And he took it all with him. And I hated him so much for it…” Peggy sobbed, her labored breathing standing out between words. She kept looking straight ahead at the stained glass windows, the expression on her face hard and scowling despite having tears rolling down her cheeks, as if she were trying to blame something for what had happened. Her reproachful eyes fixed on the Christ.

Her wails echoed through the walls of the church, the father on the dais sending them a look of sorrow. He had offered you water, thirty minutes after everyone at Steve's wake had left, when they kept walking, and you stood there.

Another empty casket.

“Ladies,” Howard's voice reached your ears amidst all the physical and emotional numbness. You could barely notice Peggy wiping under her eyes with the pocket square that was surely part of Howard's suit, as she took breaths to get up. “We should go now.”

You heard him walk, his slow, careful steps stopping just behind you. There, on his feet with his chest tight, he rested a hand on your shoulder and gave it a squeeze in support. He knew it was the most you would allow him at a time like this, deciding not to pass up the opportunity to let you know he was there. You sighed, feeling a heaviness take over your body as you stood up.

“Yeah, let's go.”

The next few months passed in a blur. Maybe too fast, maybe too slow, you weren't sure anymore.

Peggy continued to work at the Strategic Science Reserve for a couple of years, calling you from time to time to help her with some jobs. You kept a low profile, practically a fugitive from the state, while trying to live a halfway normal life in Europe. A lot of it thanks to Howard really.

Life had become a rather monotonous routine when you stopped getting so many calls from Peggy and Howard several years later. You knew they were fine, but not being able to return to the country filled you with anguish every day. And trying to lead a normal life became too complicated when you looked in the mirror and it seemed like not a single day had passed since you were in that capsule of Dr. Erskine's with Steve.

Until Peggy called one day asking you to come back. She told you that it was safe, that there would be no state officials waiting for you at the airport, but even if that had been the situation, you wouldn't have hesitated for a second to buy the first plane ticket and fly to see them again. To Howard and Peggy, to melt into an embrace, longing for the lost years.

You had thought that contributing to the fight in World War II had earned you a ticket to at least be recognized in the military, but all you gained was the government with their mad scientists looking for you to try to recreate the Supersoldier serum. Peggy didn't want to risk you and Howard gave you no choice by giving you a plane ticket to Finland with your bags packed.

You wasted many years not being by their side, unable to keep the promise you had made them in your head to be close by to protect them, to watch over their safety.

But when you left the airport there was only Peggy, and maybe that should've told you everything.

Her hair already looked gray, the effects of gravity and time present on her face. You hated to think that you shouldn't have looked any different from the way she saw you last time when she waved you off at that same airport. Her warm gaze was the same, raising her arms with held back tears to encircle you in a big hug. She tried hard not to sob against your shoulder, you felt the choppy movement of her breath against your chest.

She looked so different and the same at the same time.

You walked to her car a moment later, her trying to carry your suitcase and you telling her you were perfectly fine carrying it on your own. Amidst a smile, she walked into the driver's door and you frowned as you saw the empty passenger seat.

“Where's Howard?” you spoke as you sat down, after stowing the huge suitcase in the trunk of the car. The way you moved to buckle up, you didn't notice the way Peggy froze in place, her hands clenching the steering wheel so tightly that her breath hitched from the effort.

“We're going to see him,” was all she said, but she was very good at hiding that something was wrong. Only for a little while.

During the trip, even though you tried to ask things about them, about what they had been doing during this time, you didn't miss the way her shoulders were tense or her eyes very alert. Something bad had happened and Peggy was trying to hide it from you.

When she pulled up in front of a church, you already knew what had happened without her answering a single one of your questions.

Howard had died.

You two had sat next to Howard's son Tony, his spitting image, in complete silence as the prayers went on. At that moment you didn't know what had happened, hoping it had been a quiet and peaceful death, because you didn't know if you would be able to endure another violent death.

Peggy gave you all the details when the mass was over, after the coffin was taken away, and you hadn't felt such fury in so many years. Not since the deaths of Bucky and Steve had that adrenaline rush of anger returned to run through your body as violently as it did at that moment, when Peggy told you that he had been murdered along with his wife. All to steal some prototypes of Dr. Erskine's serum. The damned serums with which everything had started.

This time there was a body in the coffin, but there was also a culprit. Someone to point the finger at and take it out on for years of anguish and pain.

You were at Peggy's house, staying for a few days, when she told you that wasn't all.

Peggy had a suspicion that HYDRA hadn't disappeared when Steve crashed that plane into the ice. Her suspicions generated panic in you, because Bucky and Steve had died for that, now apparently Howard, only for it all to have been for nothing. The feeling of carnage that ran through your whole head made you nauseous, years of helplessness and pain pent up in such a small body had to find its way out somehow.

“It was a man, according to the information I've been able to gather,” Peggy spoke, taking a seat across from you in the dining room of her living room, after pouring you a glass of lemonade. “He didn't die from the crash. He had a concussion. He was hit in the head. His wife died from asphyxiation.”

“Does Tony know?”

“No,” Peggy shook her head quickly, one hand over her heart as if the mere thought caused her physical pain. “It didn't even occur to me to tell him something like that.”

“And he was looking for the serum,” you recalled, a bitter feeling planted in the back of your throat, the memories of the disastrous times during the war coming back into your head like a blinding flash.

“He took them. We don't know who he is or who he works for, but whoever they are, they must have been following us for a long time to know about them.”

“You mean years,” you arched an eyebrow, your fingers touching the cool exterior of the glass seeking some reassurance.

“Possibly. That project isn't recent,” Peggy nodded, drinking her lemonade with a grimace. You stared at the liquid almost finished from her glass, a wrinkle forming between your brows with each passing second and you kept wondering why.

“But what the fuck was going through that asshole's head?” you spat angrily. Rage at already the amount of lives that serum had taken with it and at Howard's recklessness. Rage at the reaper who seemed to be following in their footsteps for some reason, rage at that damn man and whoever his damn boss was.

“It was the only option, Y/N,” Peggy turned her gaze, meeting your eyes with a strange glint.

“What do you mean?” you were almost afraid to ask, your friend's gaze suddenly turning evasive. You watched her run her fingernails over the glass of the tumbler, lost for a moment in thought. The way her shoulders slumped forward in defeat caused a pressure in your chest that made it hard to breathe. Peggy shouldn't be going through these things at this point in life.

“Howard was working with the Pentagon, as a contractor or something. They had found you. Howard felt cornered and they made him sign an agreement.”

With your incredulous look on her face, Peggy didn't dare look back at you for a few seconds. So much had happened since you had left and it seemed that you had only been told about the things you weren't going to care about so much. But if you had known that you wouldn't have cared much about giving some of the state officials their comeuppance. You would've liked Howard to trust you enough to tell you, not live in as much fear behind his back as the last few years must've been. You didn't like the way Peggy's lips curved downward, as if she, too, would've preferred to make another decision had she known this was how it was going to end.

“Howard assured them that he could recreate the serum, and told them he would as long as they left you alone.”

“Fucking asshole…” you closed your eyes, scrubbing your face with your hands. The rough skin of your hands rubbed against the delicate skin of your face, years of combat and mistreatment foreseeing a harshness that reminded you every day of what you'd had to go through to get to that moment.

“I only found out about it after it happened. I didn't see it for like a whole week,” Peggy shook her head slightly, her eyes glistening in the pain of the memories. You shook your head hard, a more violent reaction than you could have anticipated.

“That stupid… stupid asshole! What the fuck made him think I couldn't defend myself?”

“He was trying to do the right thing,” Peggy finally searched your eyes, meeting the red rims that told her you were holding back too hard breaking in front of her, only using that pain mixed with rage to keep you sane.

“And look how that turned out!”

Peggy stretched her hand across the table, with a pleading look asking you to lower your voice, averting her gaze to the hallway. You followed her gaze, for a second forgetting where you were, forgetting that her family was with you behind the doors where you were plunged into darkness. It was past midnight.

You took a second to calm yourself, trying to drown out the uncontrolled emotions and taking deep breaths to calm your fluttering heart.

“And if what you theorize is true…” you regretted the moment those words left your mouth; you didn't even want to finish the sentence.

“Do you think it is?”

“I don't want to,” you shook your head instantly, closing your eyes, the thought sounding illogical inside your head. Your hands on your chest trying to contain the storm of feelings that was making chaos inside your head. “That would mean that everything we did, everything Bucky, Steve and Howard did and sacrificed, was in vain. It will all have been in vain.”

You spent several weeks with that thought in your head, working hand in hand with Peggy, and the organization you barely knew as SHIELD, to track down the whereabouts of the killer of Tony's parents and the one responsible because the Supersoldier's serums were, surely, in the wrong hands.

And yes, it was many years of fruitless missions and dead ends, with you running every field mission and Peggy calling the shots from the New York facility. Every time you felt close to discovering something, it seemed that the enemy rejoiced in your failures and still couldn't understand how they were always three steps ahead.

However, you had to leave the missions when Peggy became ill.

The silent, lethal Alzheimer's.

During the first months in the hospital, she still recognized you. She also recognized her husband and children. But after the first year, she frowned every time her children walked through the door. After a year and a half, her husband had to remind her that they had been married for about forty years.

After two years, she was still only remembering you, Howard, Steve and Bucky. Her whole life during her time in the army was all you talked about, sometimes you would tell her how much more time had passed than she remembered and always, without fail, she would ask you how much you had done in Europe for so long by yourself.

She cried every time she remembered Howard's death. She cried every time she remembered her children. Out of her mouth came a thousand apologies that no one would accept, because there was nothing anyone could do to prevent what had to happen. You wished she had been a serum test subject instead of you.

For several years, missions to find Tony's parents killer were sporadic because you spent more time around Peggy than at the SHIELD facility. She was the only thing you had left of everything you'd ever had, of when you held the world in your hands. She was the last thing keeping you tethered to that reality, keeping madness from flooding your reason. How could you have so many years ahead of you when that was all you had to live for? A life full of the dead, full of pain and suffering. What kind of karma were you paying for?

You were leaving the SHIELD facility, after another failed mission, when Nick Fury stopped you in front of the exit. You almost rolled your eyes right under his watchful gaze, tired of having to meet him anywhere, and exhausted from his comments about this vengeance project or whatever he wanted you to be a part of.

You still didn't know how, being such an exemplary agent, Coulson had fallen into his nets.

“Miss L/N,” the man stopped you with his words, his hands behind his back and a tense stance that caught your attention.

“Fury,” you nodded in his direction, hoping he'd be quick because you were running late for your weekly visit with Peggy. “Do you need anything?”

“I'd like you to come with me somewhere,” Fury approached tentatively, his one eye fixed on your wary expression, which shifted to boredom the moment you thought you knew what he wanted.

“If this is about that project, I've told you a thousand times-”

“No,” he interrupted you, moving forward and removing his hands from behind his back. “It's not related to that. I really want you to come with me.”

“You look agitated, but I need-”

“I'll take you to see Peggy myself after this.”

You didn't like that he knew your routine, even though you weren't doing enough to hide it from the other agents. But Fury looked nervous, even though he was hiding it very well, trying to keep his cool as he looked for ways to convince you.

You figured it wouldn't be a big deal for you to go off the deep end for once. After all, Peggy never remembered you were going to see her.

You set off in Fury's armored vans, not quite sure where you were going, but sure that it was urgent, because he had taken it upon himself to let his driver know that you had to get there as soon as possible.

You took that time on the trip to come up with a new strategy for the next mission because what you were doing up to that point wasn't working and you felt too close to throwing in the towel, figuratively speaking. You could spend years following a ghost, but you wouldn't give up on finding Howard and Maria's killer.

Before the car pulled up to one of SHIELD's secret sections, they passed the giant, imposing Stark Tower. You never saw Tony again after that time at his parents' funeral, not even during his visits to Peggy because you always made it a point not to cross him. You didn't think you'd be able to look him in the eye while you knew his parents had been killed without being able to tell him. You had promised Peggy in her lucid moments that you wouldn't tell him anything until you could find the culprit. You didn't want to initiate that pain if it had to be kept repressed, as yours once was, and probably still is. You had learned, some time after the funeral, that he was living with Edwin Jarvis, and you were glad to know that he would have good companionship to keep him company in such hard times.

Fury, a handful of agents and you entered the vans through the entrance to what appeared to be the parking lot of an old warehouse. Upon entering, the first thing you noticed was the number of armed agents that seemed to be guarding the place, not at all discreet to how SHIELD used to do things. You weren't sure if Peggy would authorize something like that, but you couldn't question the Director's decisions. It wasn't your place.

“What's going on here?” you frowned, watching as every meter there was another agent and another agent. You got out of the car without waiting for an answer from Fury, moving directly toward the entrance where most of the agents were concentrated. You barely noticed their looks in contradiction, running their eyes over you and then over the man trying to catch up to you, dubious as to whether or not they should move. “Move.”

“Wait,” Fury's voice stopped the command in the agents, who turned back to look at you as you sent Fury a confused look.

“What's all this mystery, Nicholas?” the man startled almost discreetly at your tone of voice, the agents stirring uncomfortably, but kept the serene expression that was getting on your nerves. “What the fuck did you do?”

“We got a call from the Arctic.”

“From the Arctic?”

You tried to ignore the way the hairs on your neck instantly stood up, your body alerting you to something your mind still couldn't comprehend. You felt like a deer face to face with a predator, expecting the worst.

“The Colonel informed us of something that might interest us,” Fury's cryptic voice echoed in your ears, drowning out the flicker of uncertainty vibrating from your head to your toes. “They found a plane.”

You didn't even answer him. Your heart began to pound wildly, cornered, ready to have your head bitten off. The tension in your shoulders intensified, with the involuntary movement of your hands as you broke into a cold sweat. The mere implication of his words caused an emptiness in your stomach, a sense of longing and fear you hadn't felt before.

You looked at Fury, trying to find in his gaze the gleam of a lie, but there was nothing there but assurance. There was nothing but recognition and understanding in his gaze, but that didn't make the emptiness in your stomach and the tight chest go away. It didn't make the feeling of being outside your body go away.

You barely remembered to move in the direction of the door, the agents instantly moving out of your way, pushing it so hard that one of them flew out. You moved your eyes around every corner of the room, the cream-colored walls generating a great repulsion in you. And there, in the midst of all the confusion and the storm, a confused and disgruntled face looked back at you. A face you never thought you would see again.

Steve Rogers was standing a few feet away from you, barely comprehending what was happening around him and instantly recognizing you. Your chest compressed once again, the tears you held back for so many years even in your loneliness making their own way into your eyes, endangering to end that mask you wore everywhere you went.

Steve was actually there, looking back at you with his eyes shining in recognition. You didn't know if he was as surprised as you were to react or you looked so bad that he didn't know if he should approach you or not. You just knew it was him, it really was him right there in front of you. He wasn't dead. Steve wasn't dead. He was alive. Ah, he was so alive.

The broken sob that suddenly left you was loud enough to make your friend shed his stupefaction and stride over to where you were. You barely managed to cover your face, between sobs, wails and disbelief, feeling your knees give out, surrendering to the weight of the pain, when his strong arms grabbed your shoulders before you hit the floor. Preventing your fall, as you had wished so many times before.

You cried against his shoulder, when feeling him against your body you knew there was no doubt it was true. You moved your hands away from your face, wrapping them around his waist as tightly and lovingly as you hadn't hugged anyone in so long. Surely the last time you hugged someone like that was when you saw Peggy on your way back from Europe.

Steve wasn't far behind, his arms around your shoulders just as tightly, his chin against the crown of your head, moving from side to side trying to hold back the loud sobs that shook your body.

You couldn't believe it, but it was true, he was right in front of you.

Steve was alive. He had come back to your side. You didn't even want to ask why.

And there was nothing else you could think about for the rest of your life.

#stxrvel talks #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky x you #bucky fluff #bucky barnes angst #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky #james bucky buchanan barnes #winter soldier #the winter soldier #steve rogers

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fyodorloveclub · 2 years

Text

pretty girl like you

pairing: fyodor x afab reader

notes: kinktober fic 3!! thank u so much to all of you guys for being so sweet and patient with me, it means the world <3 likes and reblogs are really appreciated!!!!

cw: hardcore breeding kink, lactation kink, mating press, fem pet names (good girl, pretty girl), persuasion by fyodor, 18+ minors DNI!!!

wc: 1.8k

It was all because of a stupid remark Nikolai made. One that he well knew would rile Fyodor up, and at your expense.

“Hmm. I thought you would’ve had a child by now. Seems it’s getting a bit late, isn’t it?” he lilted, holding back a smirk.

It wasn’t late at all. The two of you were young and had plenty of time. Fyodor had mentioned children in the past, and you knew it was a non-negotiable for being with him. He needed to have a child, someone to pass on his genes, knowledge, and raise someone to carry out his cause, if it hasn’t been achieved before he was killed.

And you were completely fine with this. You had always wanted a baby as well but didn’t necessarily feel as strongly about it as Fyodor did.

But this comment got under his skin, in a way you were really hoping it wouldn’t. It turned him irrational, convinced him that mid-20’s is far too late to begin a family, and his vision for the world would stop cold in its tracks the second his heart stopped beating. Which you were both well aware was a possibility at any given moment; he wasn’t exactly the most liked person, and many people would prefer him dead.

You did what you could to talk him through this, to help him see the bigger picture and that immediately staring a family was not the answer. You hoped and prayed he could see the rational side of things.

Kicking the bedroom door closed, he dropped you onto the bed before crawling on top of you. Now hovering over you, arms braced on either side of your head, his gaze meets yours. His violet stare was so intense it bore holes through your skull. You swore you could almost see his eyes glaze over as the primal side of him took over. He had one intention for tonight, and one intention only. He leaned in close to whisper in your ear, lips grazing the thin skin underneath.

“I will stuff you so full of cum, your body will have no other choice but to become pregnant.”

You shuddered at the harsh words, concerned with how much it turned you on. There was a part of you that was slowly overtaking you that wanted nothing more, to be nothing more, than the vessel to carry Fyodor’s children.

”Yes, sir,” you moaned, voice shaky.

“You will stay put in the positions and locations I put you in with no complaint. I will have my way with you, as I please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Though he wasn’t looking for your approval, he smirked at your willing acceptance of his terms. It was much easier to breed a compliant partner.

Not looking to waste a single second, Fyodor had immediately transitioned to ripping all your clothes off your body. His fingers worked swiftly as he yanked your skirt and panties off in one fell swoop, then unhooking and discarding your bra with one hand as he pulled your blouse over your head.

“Need you to be completely free and exposed, can’t have any part of you hidden. Need to be able to touch every bit of you,” he whispered.

Fyodor also shed all his clothes, making it clear that this was intended to be a very intimate yet primal experience.

Kneeled in between your legs, he took his half hard cock into his hands and began stroking himself. You watched, mouth watering, as his erection grew and became an angry red. You wanted to get your mouth on him right then and there, loved having him in your mouth and tasting him, but you knew that wasn’t what Fyodor wanted right then. And what you wanted wasn’t really relevant.

Once he was completely hard, he leaned back slightly so he could roughly shove two fingers inside you, making you yelp. He immediately removed them before bringing them up to his mouth and licking the digits individually. Your face flushed at the sight.

“Wet enough, it seems,” he mused, mostly to himself as he licked his lips. “God, you taste good.”

In a few swift yet graceful movements, Fyodor suddenly had you on your back, held firmly down on the mattress, with your legs thrown over his shoulders. He smirked, eyes fixated downward as your widespread legs put your glistening pussy on full display. You looked away in shame, feeling far too exposed, and instinctively tried to squeeze your thighs together to cover yourself. The speed at which Fyodor’s expression darkened and eyes narrowed told you that you had just made a huge mistake.

“Trying to hide from me, now, are we?” he asked, voice dripping with contempt.

“N-no, no, I swear, I sw-“ you tried to defend yourself, but your words got caught off as you groaned in pain.

He had taken your legs at the knees and forced them apart as wide as they could possibly stretch, and it hurt like crazy. The muscles in your hips and thighs screamed and tears pricked in your eyes as he pried you open.

“Fedya, please, I’m sorry-”

“No.” he barked, his loud voice echoing through the room. “You’re not sorry. I told you to stay put.”

You said nothing in return, only nodded politely, focusing all your energy on holding the tears that threatened to spill down your cheeks at bay. The way his fingernails dug deep into your skin as he held your legs wasn’t making it easier.

“You will stay put.”

“I will stay put,” you repeated, voice shaking.

A sickly-sweet smile spread across his face, a jarring juxtaposition to the darkness that had radiated from him. It was far from genuine, though.

“Good girl,” he cooed, throwing your legs back over his shoulder so he could use a hand to stroke your cheek. “My good little girl.”

Your cheeks flushed but you maintained eye contact with him, embarrassed at how fast one pet name could make your clit throb. No matter how he treated you, you wanted him bad. So bad. Nothing felt better than getting stuffed by Fyodor, and you’d tolerate just about anything to ensure you were the one he wanted.

His eyes flicked down between your legs, smirking again. “Now, where were we?”

He brought his hand down to your core to graze his fingers light over the folds, before using two digits to spread your lips open. He felt great satisfaction at the way your slick glistened in the moonlight that poured from the windows, despite having done so little.

“Gushing,” Fyodor whispered to himself.

The way your hole gaped for him made his cock throb, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He leaned forward to push you into a mating press, knees almost touching your shoulders, before roughly shoving his cock deep inside you. It burned like hell, him having no regard for how much your pussy had to stretch in order to accommodate his large cock. You clenched your walls hard around him and he dropped his head down, groaning.

“So fucking tight, baby girl. So fucking good for me.”

You whined at the praise, glad that you were behaving enough to his liking.

There was no adjustment period as he pressed his hips against yours before pulling back out and thrusting into you even harder. But as he began to pick up a rhythm, sounds of skin slapping filling the room, the searing pain was slowly overshadowed by the pleasure that washed over you.

You forgot just how fucking addicting it felt to be completely stuffed with his cock, letting out a high-pitched moan as you screwed your eyes shut.

“Ah- a-ah! Fedya!” you whined, throwing your head back. He smiled.

“Feel good, baby girl? Do I fuck you good?” Fyodor growled, leaning his head down so he could bite at your throat. You only whimpered louder as he sunk his teeth into the thin skin under your jaw.

“Ye- yes- fuck! So good.” You could barely speak, each word punctuated with a deep thrust.

Waves of pleasure radiated from your core to the tips of your fingers and toes as he fucked you, and you swore you could see stars.

Fyodor removed his mouth from your throat and lowered his head, taking your hard nipple into his mouth and sucking. You moaned and squirmed at the sudden stimulation. He knew your nipples were highly sensitive and was taking advantage of this.

“These are going to be so swollen, so full of milk for our baby one day,” he muttered almost to himself. He used a hand that had been holding himself up on the mattress to grip your breast tightly before massaging it, almost as if to stimulate the milk ducts. He continued to massage this breast as he moved his mouth to your other nipple, grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud as he closed his lips around it.

“You must breastfeed, this is not an option. Do you promise to breastfeed?” His voice is deep and gravelly, and you knew the question wasn’t really a question. It was just an opportunity for you to agree with him willingly.

“Yes- ah!- of course I-I will,” you tried to get out. Getting a coherent string of words out while he sucked on your breast and stuffed you full of his cock was proving to be very difficult.

You could tell he was approaching his climax as he had begun thrusting even harder, burying himself even deeper into your poor cunt, chasing his high. You knew just how bruised your pelvis was going to be after this.

It wasn’t long before he shoved his cock inside you as deep as possible as he came, ensuring every last drop of cum was absorbed by your pussy. He pulled out slowly, careful not to spill any cum out of you.

“Not a single drop is to go to waste,” he instructed. “How else are we going to make another pretty girl like you?” You blushed.

And since he wasn’t a complete monster, he placed his cock in your folds and rocked his hips, dragging his length back and forth over your clit. Well-lubed by his cum and your slick it slid easily, and the way the fat tip of his cock nudged at the already swollen spot meant that it wasn’t long before your body felt electrified, whining and whimpering as the orgasm washed over you.

“That’s my good girl,” he whispered, petting your hair as you tried to catch your breath. “Are you feeling okay?”

You nodded your head, but your eyelids felt heavy. “’M tired.”

He chuckled as he leaned in to kiss your forehead, holding your body against his.

“Oh, darling. We’ve barely just begun.”

#fyodor smut #fyodor x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs smut #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #flora’s fics

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 years

Text

🎭 masks & meaning 🎭

Thank you, TWST merch, for giving me a clearer view of the masquerade mask designs 😂 Here’s what I noticed…!

Individual Character Masks

Riddle’s mask resembles the collars that appear when he uses his unique magic, Off With Your Head! It is also a recurring motif on his dorm uniform; note that the crown is on the same side on the mask as it is on Riddle’s dorm uniform sprite. Additionally, his lapels and boots have the split heart design incorporated into them. The checkered pattern inside the hearts looks the same as the background of Heartslabyul school uniform cards, which makes sense, as Riddle is their leader.

Deuce’s mask has a spade on it, but it just so happens to look like an inverted heart. This may represent his allegiance to Heartslabyul. The checkered pattern on the bottom half of the mask denotes his status as a card soldier; the checkerboard pattern recurs on his dorm uniform’s right sleeve.

Ruggie’s mask has rough edges, with the black part resembling an animal’s mane (I’m going to assume it’s a hyena’s mane since that’s what Ruggie is, but it could also be a lion’s mane to allude to his dormitory). The lower part of the mask looks like it could be sharp fangs or claws. Finally, the zigzag pattern reminds me of a jester’s hat: the points end in circles, which could be the bells. This would suit Ruggie’s playful but mischevious nature.

Azul’s mask is very intricate, with many swirls and what looks to be white pearls or rhinestones. The design and color are indicative of octopus tentacles and the ink they spill, with the jewels placed to represent the suction cups running along the tentacles. (Fun fact: Azul’s masquerade suit has several tailcoats, which also resemble an octopus’s tentacles. His necklace resembles the seashell one that Ursula wears.)

Jamil’s mask is very obviously a viper (the snake appears to have a hood) curling around one eye, so close to one of his ears... almost like it could turn and whisper to him. The mask also has red diamonds in the viper’s skin and around the eye area, which could be a reference to the infamous “diamond in the rough” quote from Aladdin.

Epel’s mask has a particular shape to it that resembles an apple. It’s also notably more of the color of an apple, rather than the deep violet associated with Pomefiore. (Maybe this is meant to show that Epel is “not like the other boys” in his dorm?) Then, of course, we have white flowers on both sides of the mask, which are likely young apple blossoms.

Rook’s mask has a golden part which forms a bow and an arrow nocked into it. These are items that are associated with his character, as he is a huntsman. Interestingly, his mask also contains the pattern that appears in the background of school uniform Pomefiore cards (the scattered moons and stars). Perhaps this denotes his loyalty to Pomefiore--and, more importantly, to its queen.

Idia’s mask has far less color than those of his peers. This suits him, as both he and the dorm he represents have a gloomy atmosphere about them. (His masquerade suit is also mainly black, with blue as the accent color.) Those skeletal hands that form Idia’s mask may very well be the cold, merciless claws of Death itself, come to claim another soul... which, very understandably, ties in deeply with Idia’s guilt related to his past (see episode 6 of the main story, you’ll know what I mean). The geometric pattern on the fingers resembles the jackets of Ignihyde dorm uniforms, and the prongs that stick up at the top of the mask looks similar to the lower halves of the skull which holds his magical gem.

Malleus’s mask is also predominantly black (as are the masks of his vassals), which, again, is likely associated with dreariness (though in Diasomnia’s case, it may also be tied to mystery or olden times and a lack of change). We’ve got the spikes and the glorious outstretched dragon wings, which are the very same wings that appear on Maleficent’s throne in Sleeping Beauty. The green gem set in the center might as well be Malleus’s crown, representing all the power and the responsibility he holds--and the dragon scales hiding behind his bangs.

Silver’s mask is done up to resemble a rose, true to his princely demeanor. It’s cool that the stem of the flower curves beneath his eye!! There’s exactly three green gems dripping off of the stem, and all three of them seem to be on thorns. These three could represent the fairies in his life: Malleus, Lilia, and Sebek (half fairy). Why do I think this? Because there is also a fourth item on the stem that stands out and doesn’t have a gem on it: the leaf, the one pure human in the Diasomnia quartet, Silver. And it is the leaf, Silver, that opens up to the petals of the rose--like many fan theories speculate that Silver is the key to a happy ending (ie “he is the sword that slays the dragon”).

Sebek’s mask is, perhaps, the harshest of them all. It’s very angular and point, likely to resemble thorns, as the latticework of the mask itself looks like a network of tangled briar. (It makes sense; Sebek is the most openly abrasive and “pointed” of Diasomnia.) The lattice pattern actually works with the solid parts of the mask to form what vaguely looks like a thunderbolt shape (do you see it?), which is Sebek’s motif. His mask tapers into a single green gem that is bigger than any of the gems on Silver’s. That gem? It’s symbolic of the young master that he has sworn to protect and serve.

Shared Dorm Features

Heartslabyul’s additional elements are straight laced and no-nonsense, just like the stern Queen of Hearts. It’s a simple combo of two ribbons in solid colors (with one always being black). Maybe that’s a nod to the “black and white” nature of Riddle’s interpretation of the rules!

Savanaclaw boasts beads and tassels! The beads resemble the ones that its leader, Leona, wears in his dorm uniform. The tassels may seem a little out of place at first, but then you realize that tassels look like a lion’s tail—just like that of the King of Beasts.

Octavinelle’s ribbon is a little twisty and tapers into a point, like the tentacle of a shady deal maker like Azul or the Sea Witch. It has the same white dotted pattern as the actual mask, which, again, mimics suction cups on a tentacle. The holding stick has a segment (where the mask and the ribbon connect) that forms the shape of plumes of ink dispersing through the water. *NOTE: this may just be Azul’s design, not Octavinelle’s design. We don’t have either of the twins to compare. See the final bullet point for more details.

Scarabia’s ribbons are more slim than that of the other dorms; the more serpentine look may be to make the ribbons more closely resemble the Sorcerer of the Desert’s famous staff. The red diamonds also show up again, promising worth and feelings that may not be apparent at first glance—not unlike the twisted story of Kalim and Jamil.

Pomefiore’s ribbons are two very different ones; they’re both done up in bows—a more traditional look befitting of the oldest dorm at NRC—but in very different shades and widths. Notice that one ribbon seems to be inside the other! Perhaps one represents the conventional definition for beauty, and the other represents alternative definitions for beauty. Vil and the Beautiful Queen can have them both: outer beauty and the strong will and to passionately pursue it.

Ignihyde’s holding stick is the most unique shape of all the dorms. It looks less like a holding stick and more like a torch, lighting up the dark path to the Lord of the Underworld’s domain. The sleek look of the ribbon makes me think of a gaming console, especially with the little color it has and the blue dots, true to Ignihyde’s high-tech dorm. The only element I’m not too sure about are the black feathers! I probably just lack knowledge on Hercules and Greek mythology, but all I can think of is maybe it’s pegasus feathers??? *NOTE: this may just be Idia’s design, not Ignihyde’s design. We don’t have Ortho’s to compare. See the final bullet point for more details.

Diasomnia also has two ribbons (simple yet elegant, like the Thorn Witch), one light and one dark. It’s a dorm that is associated with mystery (the dark), which we will soon receive revelations for (the light), particularly with Malleus opening up to others and learning more about the world. And of course a spinning wheel, representative of a pastime that is sacred in Malleus’s kingdom, is incorporated into the design of the holding stick!

I noticed that the characters with SSRs (Azul, Idia, and Malleus) have fancier holding sticks than everyone else. Their holding sticks are entirely different shapes than the SRs and Rs do. In the case of Malleus (who has Sebek and Silver for comparison), his holding stick has additional details (a gem, plus a black pattern snaking up his ribbons, and a ball of thread where the holding stick connects with the mask).

#twst #twisted wonderland #Azul Ashengrotto #Idia Shroud #Malleus Draconia #notes from the writing raven #spoilers #outfit analysis #disney twisted wonderland #Deuce Spade #Ruggie Bucchi #Jamil Viper #Rook Hunt #Epel Felmier #Sebek Zigvolt #Silver

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yaut-jaknowit · 2 months

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I love ur writing so much like 😻 ur stories are like the best I’ve seen.

Anywaysss simple request I think ?

Human female hunter , is a part of a clan on yautja prime, known for their skill with staffs/spears, is respected amongst many other hunters, while also owning a rather big snake that hangs out on readers neck/body a lot, good use for poisoning the prey, Gawtin caught word of the said reader is rather curious of her. Later on Gawtin runs into reader hunting on a planet that reader kills a queen xeno. (Reader wears xenomorph skin as armor to protect themselves from their acidic blood) and Gawtin has catched feeling for said reader

Venom

Pairing: Gawtin (female Yautja) x F!Reader

Word Count: 3755 (not ten but seven, close enough)

Summary: Born to human parents yet found by a female Yautja who raised you as her own wasn't destiny. Life finds away. Raised to be a hunter from the moment you could crawl, you sought out the life as a warrior. You grew to the top and live amongst other hunters. Gawtin hears your name in rumors and couldn't help her curious nature to hunt you down.

Author Note: Even if it was a simple request, I never make it easy on myself. I'll write ten pages for a two sentence ask.

P.s. Heads up, I'm on the other side of the US right now for a vacation. I'll try to get another post out this week but I can't promise anything. I'll be sipping soda and relaxing in either a pool or a beach. Thanks for your patience!

Masterlist

Ao3

Different clans will specialize in different fighting styles. They have to. They have to adapt to the path craved for them in this universe. Spears are known mostly along the fishing and jungle clans. Bows are also used within the jungle clans and the forest. Machetes for the forest. As for those who live on the freezing poles, traps are their chosen weapon.

In the one of the clans that resides in along the coasts, a ooman lives within a species that hunts them. To hear of such news was jolting. Yet intrigued the moss green Yautja. Let alone, rumor has it the ooman has a pet of their own.

Though, not from Yautja Prime, the creature was rather deadly with one single bite. Enough venom could take down a fully grown Yautja. No wonder the ooman has such a pet under its care. Yautja Prime was a dangerous place, even to its native inhabitants. Everyone is born with the instinct to sleep with one eye open. The ooman had to use what it had to survive on such a planet.

This ooman, from word of mouth, is respected amongst her clan. A ooman with respect from a Yautja, let alone a clan size. However did she accomplish this? Gawtin prayed to Paya for the chance their paths to cross.

Paya is merciful to answer a prayer once in a while.

The atmosphere that struck you in the face was similar to the lands you called home. Warm, hot, high humidity barreled down on your form the moment the ramp lowered. You breathed in through your mask for the semi fresh air that filtered in.

This was a hunt you’ve trained long and hard for. Years upon years of harsh, tiring workouts that had you collapsing onto furs at the end of it. Only to wake up hours later to rinse and repeat.

In the clan you call home, you are a respected, blooded warrior that has earned their title like any other Yautja who hunts. But this, this here will change things back home. The head of a Queen Xenomorph will forever have your name in their scrolls. With the addition of the skull, you will be have a better status, further upholding your mother’s name.

From the bits and pieces you remember so long ago, she had to fight tooth and nail to keep you. You knew you weren’t like them. It was a quick realization that stung as a child. You were treated different, nothing more a worm that didn’t offer much besides being bait.

Those that once looked down on you will now have to look up at you. The skull of a Queen will be strapped to your back and carried off your ship. Your head held-you stopped yourself from getting ahead. Don’t count the skulls before they are obtained. Or else it’ll be your downfall. Cocky Yautjas usually either lose their personality trait in two different ways: death or they learn.

Your name won’t join the ever-growing pile. It’ll be a name Yautjas will learn about in history scrolls.

From the weeks you’ve done your fair share of research about this hive alone, there’s a reason no one has taken it. Tucked away in tight tunnels that a Yautja wouldn’t dare attempt to squeeze themselves into, hid away a smaller species of Xenomorph. They’ve evolved this way in a short span of a year by what you’ve read.

Yet, the queen hasn’t been seen ever. No one knows if she’s also changed in size due to this evolutionary trait or if she’s the original queen who dug her way into this tunnel system.

Many have tried with solo teams and hunting parties of twenty to bring down this hive. No one has succeeded. Yautjas are just too stocky and large to fit in these narrow holes.

But you? Are the perfect size to get past the first entrance and fight your way to the queen. This was a fight you had to plan every step, every breath, every thought carefully or else you could die. No one wanted this hive, but you did. You will succeed and return home. You will.

With your gear strapped secure to different parts of your body, you strode out of the ship and stepped along the dark, volcanic rocks. It crunched at every step you made, alerting enemies to your position.

The sharp rocks clawed at the bottom of your durable shoes but couldn’t pierce the finely woven material. You’ve done your research and for every needed supply to have a fighting chance of surviving.

From the ship and up to the closest recorded entrance, it was only a short ten-minute hike up. You wanted your ship close in case of a retreat and reform of a new plan. Said entrance was small. A manageable size for you to crawl into on your hands and knees. Just enough space for you to sit back on your haunches and use the collapsible spear attached to your hip when you’re attacked.

In the quite warm, morning, you stood still, tilted your head back. The sounds of an empty location echoed back at you. A gentle breeze ruffled your hair but didn’t bring any concerning scents with it. That didn’t mean you could relax. Anytime you were on a hunt, you had to be ready for anything to come your way. The only time you’ve been able to receive some peace and quiet is traveling in your craft. The hum of the engines always lured you to sleep.

A few buttons were activated on your wrist gauntlet. The hunt begins.

The trek from base of your ship to a hole further up the mountain would’ve proven difficult for a novice. You planned every step of the way up, mapping what ways were easier to get to what was thought to be the main chamber. The least you knew about the inside was that it opened back up. The mountain hollow from once being an ancient volcano that once blew.

Your ears strained for every little sound, every pebble that shifts in what looked to be a wasteland. The coast was clear. You knelt down and inspected the hole thoroughly before starting the crawl inside.

Every muscle in your body is prepared to launch if the need arises. Your hand ready to spring three moderate sized blades out from your gauntlet. All of it coated in a mixture that protected it from the acid spray of a Xenomorph.

About fifty feet into this tunnel, you had to flick up a HUD from your mask to cover your eyes. The area that once was blanketed in darkness turned all different shades of green.

No movement ahead of you. A good sign in your eyes.

Before you left the tunnel, you paused and timidly peeked out to scan the larger tunnel. It reeked of recent activity. You didn’t like that but knew it was part of the situation and adapted to it.

Slick, sticky substance coated the walls. You peered at it and knew instantly what was. A helper in the situation. You used a hand to scoop some of it off and began to cover every inch of your body. It was disgusting to feel this latch onto your skin but it was a necessary evil to keep yourself alive. You gave a quiet huff and followed the mental map of areas known to the archives. These tunnels larger and allowed you the chance to stand fully.

No one knew where the Queen’s chamber was. You were here not only to find it but destroy it in the process. Everything was planned up till then. From there, as you’ve learned, your species is well known for: adapting. You were to adapt the plan at the end and claim the skull as your own.

Skittering of claws had you pausing and lowered yourself, ears picking up every little sound. Something was coming up behind you. You fought the urge to instantly go into fighting mode and pressed yourself against the sticky walls.

Hard meats aren’t technically blind but they don’t have eyes to see the way you see. Smell and hearing is a large factor to finding prey. Also, a use of echolocation helps them perceive the area in a different light. You’ve learned that the imagine they create in their mind is a general picture. Still blurry and unclear but enough information to move about. That’s why you took to smooshing yourself against a wall.

On your HUD, a bright, hard meat shape patrolled past you, tail posed. You stayed calm and watched the creature move on and down the tunnel you traversed through. With a breath of relief, you continued onward in the same direction. The gunk stuck to your skin was a horrible feeling that was hard to ignore. For the sake of your life, you are able to push the thought down and focus on your predicament: finding the Queen’s chamber. If only you had more information…

The longer you trekked through the tunnels, the more uneasy you grew. At any point, one of the Xenomorphs could catch you slacking. Then, you would lose all the hard work you’ve put into this life and join Cetanu. That’s something you refused to let happen.

This didn’t seem like a large hive with numbers but the amount of tunnels that led to the outside world or to different chambers was astonishing. In its prime, this place would’ve been amazing to see and study.

Today, it would fall.

Some time later, you stumbled across the largest of the chambers. Instantly, you knew this was the Queen’s chamber. Not only the size of the place itself but due to all the drones gathered here. Then, a massive form appeared on your HUD, slow in movement.

The Queen herself.

Your eyes widened behind the screen covering them. You could confidently answer the fact this Queen was the original queen from when the hive was established around a year ago. Her large body easily dwarfed her smaller than average drones that cared for her.

For a moment, you heart thundered in your ears. Not from fear. No, from the adrenaline beginning to filling your veins. You may not have been born a Yautja but the love for the hunt still exists in your blood. A grin grew on your features, hidden behind the mask that covers the lower portion of your face.

Careful, calculated, controlled movements allowed you to grasp the collapsible spear at your side. Any closer to the would draw the attention of a drone to you. You held the shrunken weapon in your hand and watched the group.

From what you could speculate in a language you didn’t understand, they were none the wiser to your presence. The goop used to hide your scent worked wonders to keep the hive calm.

You prepared for when the hive would be alerted to your presence the moment you stepped closer. A drone paused and turned its head towards you. It tilted its elongated skull and made a short screeching noise. Not alerting, just curious. You paused once more and could only wait.

When it opened its mouth again, you instinctively opened your spear and threw it at the hard meat. Before it could release a horrifying call, the sound died with it. The weapon now out of your hand and pierced into the skull of your prey. You unleashed the three blades attached to your gauntlet and rushed forward to gather the lost spear. You wrenched it free and began the berate of relentless attacks on the newly alerted hive.

A screech sounded from the largest of the beasts that lived within the quarters. You sliced the throat of a Xenomorph. A spray of acidic blood arching out and landing straight on the armor that protected you. A mixture between past battled against the very species you aimed to kill today and metal shielded the weaker parts of your body. The blood hit in varies areas, landing mostly on the armor. The pain that flared to blazing life only fueled your instinct for the hunt.

Claws raked across the air you stood a second before. You were moving and swung out the three blades to slice the thickly scaled beast the towered over you. More blood threatened to sear off your skin and dripped off the armor that kept you free. The Queen roared out and wiped its deadly tail around. Her long legs stepping back to get you withing biting range.

Drones came to her aid. In swift, deadly waves, you used your trusted weapons to keep the drones at safe distance away that didn’t have you ending up dead.

One of the tinier ones was able to push past your defenses and latched onto the break of your armor. A joint in your elbow and slightly above it was free from either the hard scales or metal that shielded you. Teeth bit harshly into the free chunk and flesh. You yowled in pain and immediately ran your three blades through its skull. The little vermin died with its fangs still buried deep into your arm.

Anger fueled you.

The distraction brought the group closer than you possibly could deal with. Claws raked at armor and exposed skin. Red blood crying from the spilt skin. You gritted your teeth. The spear in your hand was used in a terrifying arch.

Those that pushed past your defenses were battered and sliced by the deadly end of your weapon. They retreated and were already testing what they could do to get through again.

You tore the small creature off of your arm and threw it at one of the larger ones. Blood poured freely from the newly created wound. The worst one of them all.

Above you, the Queen snarled swiped at you with one of her spindly hands. You narrowly dodged a killing blow and rolled. Out of the roll, you reared your spear up into the exposed belly of the Queen. She choked out a roar and moved faster than you could perceive.

Once on your feet, the very next second, you found your back to a wall. All of the air rushed out of your lungs. You sputtered to gain new oxygen through your mask. It left you vulnerable for a second too long.

A massive hand pressed your firmly to the ground. You snarled once you gained enough air and glared at the hide crown of the Queen’s head came into view. She opened her mouth. The inner mouth slithered out. She hissed a deadly tone into the space that could be your last.

The raging drones behind her slowed down in their vicious actions since the threat had been contained. But, you weren’t going down.

It some strength but you were able to shimmy your forearms underneath your chest. With your legs, you started to push against her bony hand. It worked. Just enough to rest on your elbow and jab your three blades into her wrist. The Queen howled and reared back, opening you back to the battle.

Your discarded spear was snatched from the ground and wielded once more. You pinned a glare on all the drones that surrounded you. They all sounded their cried of offence at you attacking their queen. You brushed off the calls and returned to battle.

In a mess of acid blood and red blood yourself, you returned your attention back to the Queen. Behind her, her tail snapped wildly. You twirled your spear and pointed it at the largest of them all. She swiped at the air before her, challenging your dominance in hand. You cared less about the challenge before sprinting forward, thrusting the spear forward.

It left your hand and soared through the air. It pierced the thick hide that protected her upper shoulder and rendered the limb useless now. You stayed moving in full force and leaped up. Your other weapon rammed into spot lower than the spear. You kept the same momentum upwards and used the spear as leverage.

Now on top of the Queen, you shoved the same three blades drenched in acid blood into her back. She gave another cry. You turned the blades a certain direction and pulled them through her scales more. Then, her body fell to the ground.

A special spot along her spine had been severed, rendering her paralyzed to the spot. You grinned once more behind the mask and leaped off of her back. A new wave of hard meats came to intercept you.

The battle ended. You stood victorious, surrounded by a sea of dead Xenomoprhs and a Queen who would not move. You knelt before the large beast and placed a hand on her expanse crest. “I thank you for your skull and what new titles it will bring me,” I praised the creature before moving around and driving the spear into her throat.

The life in her body fading until her heart beat one last time.

A new silence entered the chambers and left you feeling… watched. The hairs on the back of your neck rose as you scanned the area, changing the different vision modes on your HUD.

Up top in one of the larger tunnels, a blazing yellow figure appeared. From the overwhelming scent of the dead Xenomorphs and their smell alone, you couldn’t tell what this thing was. You growled and positioned yourself into a fighting stance, ready to take it on. Anything to defend the trophy you had earned fair and square.

The figure stood up, forced to hunch over. It dropped down into the chamber with barely a sound and stood a safe distance away. The form itself you recognized as a Yautja but not the being itself. Still on end, you kept your weapons up.

She, you got a whiff of her scent, stopped and held her head a respectful distance up. Not in a challenging way nor submissive. She had to be observing you the same way you did to her.

This new Yautja was average sized for a female. Tresses hung from her head freely. Your eyes darted without moving any other muscle to the recent kill at your side. Was she here for this? Was she mad that you had gotten the kill before her? And the fact she was in here. No other Yautja has ventured this far without meeting a terrible end.

Yet, here she stood.

Due to the fact all you could see was her body heat, you couldn’t tell what clan she represents. You didn’t trust her, already knowledgeable about how many Yautjas feel about oomans. The weapons in your hold never turning away from the possible threat.

She took a step forward. Only one. “Paya has answered my prayer to allow me to meet such a creature as yourself,” her voice velvety but with a harsh undertone. Your skin pebbled with bumps. “I have heard of your existence on Yautja Prime.”

It was an infamous situation of your existence. Some clans allow oomans such as yourself to live amongst them. Some offer better treatments than others. Yours, clearly, allows you life but only if you live as one of them. Since you could remember, that’s all you’ve known. But it’s a lifestyle you would never give up. You felt born with the need to hunt like many of your clan.

To ensure she didn’t see you either as a threat or submissive, you kept your chin level and eyes neutral pinned on her. “Who are you?” You wanted an introduction. Some sort of clue on who she was and why she was here. From her first words to you, it seems like this was planned in her eyes.

“My name is Gawtin, ooman,” she answered freely. You felt a smidge better at her willingness to answer your questions. But you refused to let your guard fall.

“And why are you here?” You also wanted to ask how she got in here. You’re the only survivor to get in here. You could only reason with the fact you had distracted the group for her to make her through one of the larger tunnels towards the top of the mountain.

Her mandibles clicked together. “You are infamous on Yautja Prime. Your name is whispered among clans both in good and bad tones. A Yautja grows curious to meet such a creature to capture a rumor.” You already knew yourself to be known on Yautja Prime. Oomans aren’t a rarity but to live on their planet was. Either as a pet or a warrior.

“What is it to you?” you snapped, unsure of her intentions still. Even around those in your clan, you knew you had to keep your guard up. Any of them would be more than willing to claim your skull for their own collection.

This time, Gawtin stepped closer into your space. You hunkered down, muscles taut as you readied your weapon. She didn’t react and stayed that step closer to you. “I would like to offer a chance to hunt with you.”

Now, that took you off guard. “You want to hunt with me?” you reiterate for her. Puzzlement filled your voice. You stood up taller and tilted your head at her.

“Yes. That is what I said.” You kept your gaze on her, studying all the details possible with what the HUD allowed you to see. She showed no challenge, no sign of a threat towards you. She was polite and calm. Plus, the opportunity to hunt with someone outside of your clan was a chance you didn’t dare give up.

You dipped your head. “I’m willing to let you join in on one of my hunts.” You didn’t want to sound excited and kept it cool and level. Don’t act like an unblooded.

“Good. I shall meet you outside once you’ve collected your trophies to discuss our hunt.” With the ended, she turned on her heel and strutted to a nearby tunnel. You watched her get down and crawl her way in before disappearing. You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

With her gone, you returned your gaze on the dead Queen at your feet. Not only was this a turning point in your life, but the fact a Yautja from a different clan asked for you to go on a hunt with her. Your life was becoming ten times more interesting now.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader #love gawtin #Gawtin

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fungalittleweirdo · 2 months

Note

chubby!reader × Donnie? he gets a tad bit flustered? maybe a bit of a spicy peice? praise kink🙏🙏🙏🙏

-👾🐈‍⬛️

already writing limes in the sfw blog, are we ?

jules fears NOTHING !!

i love writing this kind of content anyway >:)

if you wanted something higher on the citrus scale i shall direct you to my other blog, @fungalittlefreak where you could get even more specific with whatever you desire !!

i initially wanted to make this longer but i'm swamped with so many things to do, might have a part two if there's demand for it.

one chubby reader x flustered donnie coming right up B)

thank you for the request anon <3

important side note: while i don't deem this as "mature content" i feel more comfortable if anyone 15+ could interact with this post, otherwise please don't read or interact. while i can't force you not to, i hope anyone below 15 years old could respect my wishes.

May I?

It's movie night in the Hamato household and you're invited! April said you didn't have a choice, so here you are contemplating on wearing something comfortable or something cute.

Delivered (18:42 PM): is this too much? i'm bringing a change of clothes because i'm sleeping over

apes (18:42 PM): oooo who are you trying to impress

apes (18:42 PM): god i hope it's not leo

apes (18:42 PM): you deserve better

You shake your head, grinning at your phone as you send your last message to April.

Delivered (18:43 PM): i'll never tell :)

You finish getting ready and grab your overnight bag, heading over to the lair. The clattering and chattering in the kitchen tells you that the brothers would be in there, but you spot Donnie alone on his phone in the projection room. He seems comfortable enough not to wear his battle shell, which you find surprising. You take a step toward him and he looks up, turning to you as you put your stuff down beside the couch. He stops, staring while you move to sit beside him, even though you already greeted him, waiting for his response.

"Uh, yes. H-hello. Greetings. Good evening."

He looks away, then looks at you out of the corner of his eye. You grin and lean in with a smirk. He blushes, then a nervous smile plasters itself on his face. "D-do you need anything from me?" Donnie asks politely, but his eyes darted everywhere, scanning you as if he is committing the way you look right now to memory.

"A kiss might be nice."

The softshell freezes and it looks like his brain is malfunctioning, his face warming at the thoughts racing through his mind.

"May I?"

He reaches up to cup your soft face in his hand. His fingers twitch as if he's holding himself back from holding you firmly. You nod with a whispered yes, leaning in for a delicate, soft kiss. The softshell perks up and a dopey smile spreads across his face after you part, then he leans in for a deeper kiss, the heat on both your faces burning a little hotter.

"Your lips taste so good," Donnie breathes, threading his fingers through your hair at the base of your skull, holding you close as the two of you made out on the couch. "So sweet for me..." He whines, his blush darkening his face even more while he reaches for you with his other hand, holding you against him. His fingers knead the plushness above your hip for a moment, the hitching in his breath apparent. After another minute or so the two of you officially part, noticing the lair has gotten quiet.

You turn around to find nearly everyone with their jaws dropped to the floor, eyes boggled. Donnie sneers, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you against him possessively. The way his hand grips your tummy made you yelp, feeling embarrassed now that the two of you were caught. April snaps a picture, Leo snickers, Mikey cheers, and Raph narrows his eyes in suspicion, then smiles, proceeding to whack Leo upside the head before he moves over to tease Donnie. The Caseys walk in with two bowls of popcorn, Junior has a knowing look on his face while CJ looked on in confusion to the commotion. You sigh with a grin, shaking your head and relaxing in Donnie's arms as movie night started to kick off.

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt writing #rottmnt donnie #rise donnie #rise donnie x reader #rise donatello #tmnt 2018 #oneshot #fluff #lime #no beta we die like gram gram #yippee

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littlespoonevan · 1 year

Text

left half my heart in our living room

that episode did severe emotional damage to my psyche and then i turned on grow by sigrid and proceeded to make it worse :) i don’t know what this is i just needed to write some words because buck and eddie said So Many words in this ep and i felt all of them 💔

spoilers for 6x15

I feel like she sees me.

The sentence sticks in Eddie’s head. Niggling at the base of his skull like an itch that won’t go away.

“You’re quiet,” Buck says when they’re on the way home from the cemetery and it’s around that moment that Eddie realises he hasn’t said anything since they got in the jeep. Too consumed by their conversation from before.

I feel like she sees me.

He looks over at Buck now, one hand on the steering wheel, one resting on his lap, and he looks…comfortable, on first glance. But then Eddie notes the tense set of his shoulders and the way he seems to be staring at the road a little too hard, like he’s purposefully trying not to look in Eddie’s direction.

For one bitter moment, Eddie wonders if Natalia would notice those things but he shakes the thought away. He shouldn’t put this on her. She only knows what Buck’s told her.

“Do you really believe that?” he asks finally, voice quiet and a little bit too tentative. “That she sees you better than-“ me “-than any of us?”

Buck’s mouth parts and it’s clear he hadn’t expected the question. Eddie watches him while he works himself up to an answer – the way he shifts in his seat, the way his eyes dart to the rearview mirror instead of Eddie himself, the careful intake of breath before he finally decides to speak.

“I mean, it’s different,” is what Buck settles on. “Her perception of death and how it affects you, it’s-“

“Because none of us have ever had any experience with death,” Eddie can’t help cutting in.

“Eddie,” Buck sighs and it sounds like please.

“Chimney’s heart stopped last year,” Eddie says. “And when I got-“

“She doesn’t look at me like I’m a ghost, alright?” Buck says, sharp and slicing through Eddie’s intended comment about his own brush with death.

The words make him stop short. He clenches and unclenches his fists in his lap as he digests them. "What d’you mean?”

Buck sighs again and it seems more upset than before. “Maddie, Bobby, you- you all look at me like…like you’re not even sure I’m really here. Like I’m gonna disappear at any minute. You think I don’t see it but I do.”

“Because you died, Buck,” Eddie exclaims, frustrated and weary and more vulnerable than he’d planned on letting himself be. “You died. And for three minutes and seventeen seconds I thought I was going to have to live in this world without you and I didn’t want to.”

That makes Buck clap his mouth shut and he doesn’t say anything else but Eddie can see the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. The car stops abruptly then and he takes stock of his surroundings for the first time since they got in the jeep. They’re outside his house now.

He takes a measured breath and unclips his seatbelt, shooting a wary look in Buck’s direction. His hands are still gripping the steering wheel and he’s staring straight out the windscreen but he cut off the engine, at least.

“Come inside,” Eddie requests softly, climbing out of the jeep and not waiting to see if Buck follows.

He lets himself into the house and hears the slam of Buck’s car door as he’s dropping his keys on the side table. He hesitates when he gets to the living room, unsure whether he should keep travelling to the kitchen or just drop down on the couch and bury his head in his hands.

Buck comes inside before he can decide, the click of the door soft as he closes it behind himself.

“You looked at me like that too,” Eddie says without turning around. It’s easier saying it without Buck looking at him, even though he can feel Buck’s stare like a brand on his back. “After the well. And- and the shooting. I remember.”

“I’m used to losing people,” Buck says after a beat. “The fact that I got to keep you felt like a trick somehow. Like if I looked away for too long you’d be gone again.”

Eddie huffs a humourless laugh, feeling tears sting behind his eyes. He finally turns, finding Buck standing in the entryway. He gives Eddie a helpless shrug when their eyes meet.

“And I’m not allowed to feel like that?”

“You are,” Buck insists, body shifting like he’s about to charge forward but in the end he only takes one step. “I just don’t know what to do with it.”

“Why not?” Eddie asks and they’re teetering dangerously close to a conversation they’ve never let themselves have before but he doesn’t know how to stop pushing either.

Buck answers anyway.

“Because if I think about how much you see me – how much I let you see without you even asking – I feel terrified. Because I’ve spent years trying to get you to let me all the way in but it’s really fucking scary to imagine me doing the same thing. To believe that you’d even want that.”

Eddie works his jaw, swallowing against the heaving ache in his chest. He gets it, is the thing. No matter how much they’ve taken care of each other, no matter how much they’ve acted as one another’s soft place to land, there’s still a voice in the back of his head that says, you’re being a burden. Stop it.

“I don’t care if you want to start dating again-“ Lie. That’s a lie. “-but don’t- don’t say-“

As if sensing he can’t actually get the words out, Buck immediately starts shaking his head. “I won’t,” he says. “I won’t. I’m sorry.”

Eddie nods, clears his throat, and glances between the couch and the dining room. He doesn’t know what to do now, doesn’t know how they go back to having a casual beer, but before he can come up with something to say to break the tension Buck is stepping forward, crowding into his space and folding him into a hug.

I don’t remember the last time we did this, Eddie thinks even as his muscle memory reacts. His arms come up around Buck, one hand gripping his shoulder while the other wraps around his waist. Buck’s face burrows into his shoulder and Eddie only hesitates for half a second before he presses his temple against the exposed line of Buck’s neck and breathes him in.

“I’m not gonna disappear,” Buck whispers and, ridiculously, it makes fresh tears spring behind Eddie’s eyelids.

“Me either,” he replies and Buck’s arms tighten around him in response.

And he thinks they’re at an impasse now, a sort of crossroads they can’t turn back from but aren’t able to move forward from yet either.

If this is where they have to stay for now, he thinks he might be okay with that.

#buddie #buck x eddie #911 fic #my fics #911 spoilers #6x15 #everyone listen to grow by sigrid right now!!!!!#(and make gifsets please 😇)

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