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commiegoth · 6 months ago

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Fun writeup on the goth subculture of the 1990s from FringeWare Review #6(66), published in 1995

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Subcultbabble 101: Magdalen on Things Gothic

So who ’zactly are these legendary Goth creatures? As with any subculture, it’s hard to pin ’em down. Let’s start with an image nearly all our dear readers will have seen at some point: kids with flowing black clothes, white faces, and lots of black eyeliner. You have perhaps wondered WTF is up with them, and with people who try to look like vampyres, and pouty twentysomethings in black T-shirts who seem too pointedly haughty to be generic Gen-Xers, and gorgeous fetish babes who sorta look like they’re dressed for the grave rather than for the dungeon.

Writers like yers truly just fuck it all up when they try to explicate subcultures, but somebody’s gotta do it. My own experiences have brought me in contact with the so-called goth scene intermittently over the last decade, though I should warn you that mine is a fundamentally West Coast point of view. YMMV. Like many others who end up returning to goth clubs and music every few years, I seem to have a fixation with Death which finds itself soothed and fulfilled by Things Gothic. Despite my propensity for slovenly attire and no-bullshit communication, I’m also addicted to the sense of ritual and aesthetic which differentiate the goths from most other American cultures.

I Wear Black On The Outside… ’cos black is how i feel on the inside

The two most prominent subcultures I’ve run into are punk and the hippie trip. In them, participants usually adhere to a loose cluster of aesthetic parameters, but everyone involved pretends that exteriors mean little to them. (Let’s bypass the hypocrisy involved, when they like the rest of society typically wear certain signifiers to identify themselves with the group.) Hardcore punks and hippies don’ t necessarily bathe very often, or wear makeup. Punk and its bastardized commercial offspring, the media-titled Grunge movement, aspire to externalize their rejection of conventional society by substituting fucked up, comfortable clothing for the clean, rigid, and perky duds yer stuck-in-the-fifties parents always wanted you to wear. The aesthetic relies upon potentially-violent sloppiness (or a carefully-reconstructed pretense thereof) and the attitude that you honestly don’t give a fuck what people think of you. Mortified though many latter-day punks might be to think of it, a similar motivation lay behind the original hippie anti-aesthetic, where organic materials and shapes sought to externalize the flowing qualities of nature where Cold War man had instituted three-piece suits and all they represented. Pardon the irony, but both mohawks and stringy long hair try to signify the rejection of a shallow society intent on keeping up with the Joneses and little else.

The goths fled in the opposite direction: past conventional fashion, whose crime isn’t its rigidity but its sheer dullness and tendency to follow embarrassing trends, and onward to a hyperstylised self-presentation reminiscent of the Courts of centuries past. Goths are renowned for their vanity and apparent shallowness; I believe the goth aesthetic is actually quite honest, embracing the notion that externalizations such as clothing and gesture form an intricate interpersonal art form, a dance of communication. It’s refreshing compared to the equally intricate games played by those who present a studiedly “casual” facade, hoping their Gap shirts will help them blend in with the wallpaper. Practitioners of theatre understand very well the subconscious semiotic games being played in the guise of supposedly “normal”, casual conversation: how the body moves, what it is draped in, the choice of words, tone of voice or the flick of an eyelash can determine the outcome. In the theatre, these external elements are mastered to create ritual and entertainment.

Walk into a goth club, and you see this same cunning, playful manipulation of details taken from the stage and thrown into what might be a costume ball. Black is everywhere: hair, clothing, eyes, lips. Perfectly blood-crimson lips and hair extensions materialize next, along with deep purple dresses and tresses. Proper white collared shirts glow in the dim light, while the occasional off-white Victorian wedding-gown or ivory ’30s dress will float by as well. The goths, who go out of their way to be a sensual set, get off on the tactile beauty of their gear as much as its visual effect: velvets, satins, leathers, brocades, sheers, laces (though lace has fallen by the wayside since the ’80s) — anything lush and sumptuous. For a group of people rumoured to be exceptionally dictatorial in their tastes, they can be most creative and eclectic. Cheesy classic deathrock bits like torn fishnet sleeves, and Robert Smith hairdos straight out of the early ’80s, nuzzle up against the hippest new fetish gear. Goths manage to dig up gorgeous period pieces, mostly evocative of the ’20s or of Victorian fashion, and many can even wear the things properly, playing the appropriate body language to the hilt.

You should be able to kick around a few Byron quotes here and there, and recount Shelley's death with heartfelt accuracy (didn't he like die on a boat or something?)

As you nervously approach the crowded bar for a dollar-drink special, you’ll notice some other things. Makeup ranging from pale to deathly white on many faces, both male and female, accompanied by exotically-applied eyeliner and severe lipstick. Lots of curious if pretentious objects: fluttering fans, scarves, silver cigarette cases, lunchbox handbags, crucifixes, hats, and miles of silver jewelry. A man bending at the waist to kiss a woman's hand. Angelic, dour boys in long skirts and pointy boots. Expansive, melodramatic dancers flailing and swirling, refusing to acknowledge each other even when they collide. Impeccably-dressed, attractive women sitting all alone yet not being harassed. Frankly, you may find them all ridiculously snotty poseurs, what with their wannabe-regal airs and seemingly unbreakable attitudes. Stay long enough, though, and the drugs and alcohol will kick in thoroughly, revealing kids with fake IDs and eyeliner drooling drunkenly down their cheeks, stoned speedfreaks giggling, drunk speedfreaks dancing and fighting, bedraggled gentlemen hiking up their skirts to take down the lights. Though it may appear otherwise, people have dressed up and come out to have a good time, and to do so in the most decadent of ways.

If you asked them, the majority of these people would not admit to being goths. Most of those who would are the sort of irritating obsessives you find in any cultural group, like the self-proclaimed hippie that buys every new Dead shirt as soon as it hits the market or the poet who wears a beret and turtleneck. These are the folks who desperately needed an identity to cling to, a pre-existing aesthetic to buy and adopt rather than create; they’re invariably the people who uphold and propagate the codes and cliches of a subculture. So what’s the stereotypical goth of this sort like? Where hippies have hyper-friendliness and Luv, these goths have a comical level of snobbery, cattiness, and a calculated air of impenetrable mystery. Where punks often pretend to be less cultured and articulate than they are, yer local cliche-goth will likely present hirself as well-read and emotionally intellectual, with a vocabulary of words and gestures gleaned from faerie tales, Victorian literature, and heroic ballads. The correct political stance is apolitical, and while the proper drags change over the years and according to geography, speed’s the classic drug of choice. The face will be pale and powdered, the eyebrows painted in black points which shadow the inner eyelids in an immaculate line; the clothing will most definitely come in black.

As The Millennium Turns: the emergence of a NeoGoth scene

What’s interesting about this culture isn’t the surprisingly small group of people who wear full costuming and whiteface 24/7, but the way that its recent resurrection integrate a variety of musical and aesthetic tastes. Odd as it may sound, my theory is that the increased popularity of Things Gothic owes much to the Rave trend at the turn of the decade. As, that pushed repetitive techno music into regular discos and radio formats, people started delving into darker technology-driven music such techno-industrialists Skinny Puppy. Much to chagrin of oldschool industrial types, a new “industrial” movement started gaining momentum, showcasing Ministry’s industrial deathmetal crossover and the Top 40 success of Nine Inch Nails. The explosion of general indie and "alternative" music as a popular phenomenon helped out, too: all these newly-mainstreamed bands had common influences from the days when frat boys would beat you up for having a leather jacket and funny hair, instead of jumpin' into the pit with ya at a Dickies show (Dude!).

People new to these genres of music and the subcultures they spawned started digging up those influences and giving 'em a spin, and pretty soon there was a fresh crop o' youngsters gazing at Blixa's made-up face on old Einsturzende Neubauten videotapes, discovering Bauhaus for the first time, finding Al Jourgenson's cheesy '80s dance tunes, and praying that the entire 4AD catalogue might be released domestically on compact disc. Some small group of goth types had endured through the '80s in most large cities and hipster towns, and found their ranks swelling as the population at large gained exposure to music and fashion previously confined to the underground and to independent music labels. For several years now, the goth capital cities (London, New York, San Francisco) have boomed with golf clubs, local bands, and 'zines. The resounding success of House of Usher, the East (SF) Bay club the proved you really could rejuvenate this tired old scene enough to make serious money off it, owed much to its owners' creation of two separate dancefloors in a single club: one industrial, one gothic.

But wait, there’s more! In addition to marrying the black-leather-wearing New Industrial scene to the extant retro-gothic scene, the neo-goth resurgence has cross-pollinated nicely with the fetish scene, the cyberpunks (yes, I hate that word as much as you do) the exponential growth of the Internet, the underground comic and ’zine network, and a rising interest in the arts of self-decoration (piercing, tattoos, etc.). As always, other marginal groups with proclivities for theatricality — SCA members, RPG fanatics, | drama geeks, Renaissance Faire guildmembers, wiccans, and the terminally suicidal — are still attracted to the goth set. It all makes for quite the tasty brew once it has fermented long enough.

Weeping, Wailing, and the Gnashing of Teeth

Music acts as the cornerstone of most popcults, and can’t possibly be treated thoroughly in this space. If you’re into the idea, get ahold of the fanzines listed under SOURCES. Suffice to say the music wafting out of gothish clubs ranges from historical deathrock (Bauhaus, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Joy Division) to second-wave gothic (Fields of the Nephilim, Christian Death, Sisters of Mercy) to new indie-goth hybrids. Some of the most distinctive music associated with Things Gothic can only be described as mood music, whether it’s ethereal, ominous, or sparse. Dead Can Dance and Cocteau Twins have popularized the ethereal sound, usually featuring lush arrangements, swooning female vocals, and often incorporating elements of Irish folk, medieval, classical, and middle eastern music. From the cruncher sounds of My Bloody Valentine and lovesliescrushing, and the symphonic chaos of Cranes or the recent Miranda Sex Garden releases, a whole new generation of post-ethereal bands continues to evolve.

Ominous mood music ranges from the Wagneresque horror of In Slaughter Natives to the soundscapes of Caul; again, subcultural crossbreeding has birthed a wide range of techno-industrial-cybergothic soundtracks. On the sparse end of the scale, the Death In June/Current 93/Sol Invictus formula combines morbid lyrics, hypnotic acoustic guitars, and experimental sounds: for a heightened experience, be sure to keep razorblades poised at your wrists while listening. And you’re bound to find old farts who still keep some guilty pleasures around — ’80s English popsters like early Cure, Smiths, and Tears for Fears, the deathpunk of 45 Grave and pre-glam TSOL, or the moody disco of New Order and Tones On Tail.

Face it, kids, you live in a society whose obsession with Death is matched only by its insistence that one continually maintain a mask of cheerfulness or neutrality. Colonial-style religion, which used to provide a ritual release for feelings of fear and deah has largely been exposed as a patriarchal scam. You will watch Cops, you will run to see Natural Born Killers, but you will still toddle into work and smile after your best friend commits suicide. The hippies tried to make you too uniformly joyful and mellow; your foray into punk let out some anger but did nothing for the lingering melancholia. The poets gave you deep verbiage but they didn’t know how to dress, and the sullen slackers sneered at anything remotely dramatic. And while the Protestant preacher gave you lots of Death, and Mass gave you ritual satisfaction to breathe in like incense, they expected you to believe in GM, fer Chrissakes!

I can’t stomach being around it too much, but sometimes it’s a relief to sip Chartreuse with an entire room full of people who’ve given up and welcomed death. A good goth club or party feels like a Christian funeral smashing into a raucous wake: some are there to mourn, others to celebrate the dead with wine, song, and incoherent rambling. No one is going to stare at the scars on your wrists in such an environment, nor try to stop you from driving 120mph on the bridge after you’ve snorted up a quarter and chased it with a litre of bad red wine. No one’s gonna care whether your sour, aching mood arises out of severe pain or out of the need to make an impression. Nor does it matter whether you've actually punctured human flesh with those ridiculous fangs you had custom-made.

The house, club, or cemetery you’re partying in is likely decked out in Things Gothic. Among all the dead flowers, skulls, and candles, who’s gonna look askance at the crucifix around your neck? The props of Death attract people for different reasons. Some have a heartfelt reaction to religious iconography, often rooted in childhood experiences with the church; others are attracted to the mystery of the post-corporeal life represented in objects which evoke thoughts of mortality. Some just want a solid talisman to grasp while they mourn life itself, while many are drawn to the classical aesthetic often employed in rendering icons. And there will always be those who don’t really care to think about art, Death, or afterlives, but who want to look cool. Regardless of the motive, people who want to play with the props of Death aren’t given much of an opportunity to do so in conventional society.

Except in religious subcultures, of course. Is the goth scene religious? While a fair percentage of its members are ex-Christians or current pagans, goth has nothing to do with religion. The closest thing to a Deity it offers would have to be Peter Murphy or Andrew Eldritch — mere mortals who happen to be the subject of much fawning, rather like Elvis. Laughing at the corniness of Deathprops and quasi-religious elements is probably more common than revering them. Goth appropriates from religion, using its imagery in decadent stylization. It has no interest in either approximating religion or fostering it.

Deadly, theatrical, and a bit over-the-top, Things Gothic definitely hold a selective appeal. I for one will be thoroughly amazed if the goth subculture ever gets adopted by the mainstream, but then again in 8th grade I wouldn't have imagined punk ever crossing over. Times change, and if folks stop dismissing the goths as absurdly pretentious we just may see Rozz on the cover of Rolling Stone in a couple of years. Stranger things have happened.

#fringeware review #tiffany lee brown #gothgoth #industrial goth #///#suicide mention #self harm mention

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totouchthcstars · 1 year ago

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Look who just woke up- is that ROSE LESLIE? No, I must have been mistaken, that’s YGRITTE from GAME OF THRONES/ ASOIAF. I heard they are TWENTY-FOUR years old and stuck here just like everyone else. Even in the 20’s, he still gives off a BEING PRETTY SKILLED WITH BOW AND ARROW, LIVING A ROUGH LIFE IN A ROUGH INVIROMENT, BEING PERFECTLY ABLE TO TAKE CARE OF HERSELF; GOING TO JUST DO THINKS INSTEAD OF SITTING AROUND LAMENTING ABOUT LIFE; HIGHLY VALUING HER FREEDOM AND BEING ABLE TO GO WHEREVER SHE WANTS. But here, they are working as a RANGER. They’re known to be quite BRAVE & SKILLED but have a tendency to be SARCASTIC & BLUNT on their bad days.

Gender/Pronouns : she/her

How long have they been in Sydney : born and raised, however, in reality, it is only one and a half year, at this point

Which suburb do they live in? Tba

Personality description (in your own words) : Ygritte is a strong, independent woman who takes pride in being able to take care and look after herself in different aspects of life. While she has a caring personality, she does often bottle up her emotions, seeing them more as distraction than anything else, just like getting attached to people. Ygritte also does not want others to think they need to take care of her, and is usually no one openly asking for help in any way

Memories of their real life : everything up to her death. RIP Ygritte

What was their fake life like :

Ygritte's fake family was rich. Not insanely rich, but enough to own a shiny mansion and enough to pay for a nanny and a housemaid. Ygritte did not exactly like it there. For some reason, she did not enjoy the fluffy carpets and shiny clean kitchen. It felt sterile. More like a hospital than like a home. Plus, Ygritte would always get scolded when she had dirty shoes or a dirty dress from playing outside - which was always way more fun than playing inside, given the circumstances. She and was also never allowed to have a pet because her mother would not want to deal with all the 'work' such a fluffy companion would mean...

Society and her family tried to press Ygritte into a form she would not fit in. So she'd decided to go her own way without them, already before her memories where about to return.

theme song: Kelly Clarkson - Stronger (What Doesn't Kill You)

Quote: "Do you think I'm as dumb as all those girls in silk dresses you knew growing up?" - to Jon Snow

Label: the independent woman - a woman who is strong and a leader ; a girl who doesn’t need a man ; can be seen as a feminist, but not necessarily.

#Ygritte tbt #about Ygritte tbt #thebridge: intro #muse intro

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denimbex1986 · 1 year ago

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'The Giggle

We begin The Giggle in Soho 1925, with a man walking into a toyshop. The man behind the counter is charismatic and rather creepy, especially as he talks about his various dolls up on the wall. Apparently it has real hair and the Toymaker’s German accent slips a little as they talk.

The man, Charlie, takes “Stooky Bill”, the doll in the toyshop, and takes it to his employer, John Logie Baird. He’s been testing his new invention, the TV, and wishes this doll could speak.

We then cut to the present where we left off last week. The whole place is compete chaos. Two days ago, everyone had suddenly decided that they’re right and they won’t change their mind. If you try to argue with the infected, they go mad. The only one who stands out is the Toymaker, who tries to dance with the Doctor in the street. The Doctor recognizes him, especially when UNIT show up and take the Doctor away to HQ with Donna.

Shirley and Kate Lethbridge-Stewart are there to greet him… along with a surprise guest too. It’s Melanie, the companion for the sixth and seventh doctors! After, we hear the same exposition we just got from the man in the street. Apparently this issue is worldwide, but those inside UNIT are being subdued by something called the Zeedex, which keeps them under control and not going mad. Whatever this thing is, it’s been generated from inside the brain… but some people aren’t affected like Donna and Mel.

Donna believes it could be a tune, just like in The Sound of Drums. But instead of four repetitive notes, they quickly realize it’s actually closer to a laugh. That same laugh jingle from the doll. This image has been put inside every single screen in the world, and with the Korean satellite allowing every single person across the world to be online at the same time.

The Doctor soon learns the exact location and time that Stooky Bill was broadcast on TV, so off Donna and The Doctor go to 1925 to figure it out. They instead find the Toymaker, and The Doctor immediately recognizes him. Despite telling Donna that she needs to go to the TARDIS, they both end up inside the Toymaker’s little domain.

The Doctor starts to doubt himself, and then the pair are separated. Again. Remember Charlie from the shop? The Doctor finds that he’s been turned into a puppet after losing a game to the Toymaker. And now he’s stuck on strings to do what the Toymaker wants. As for Donna, she finds herself attacked by the other dolls in the shop, until she destroys Sooky, the mum, and leaves the three babies as orphans.

The Toymaker taunts the Doctor, showing him all the companions that have passed and bringing up the Flux again. Please RTD, let’s not bring up that travesty of a series. Again. Anyway, The Doctor challenges him to a game, and the Toymaker boasts that he’s beaten everyone there is to beat. Even The Master, whom he’s turned into a gold tooth.

The only one he won’t play against is “The One Who Waits” but he won’t elaborate, claiming that’s someone else’s game. The pair decide to play Highest Card Wins… but the Toymaker wins. However, this just makes it 1-1 given the Doctor played and won all those years ago. The Toymaker decides they need to play in 2023 next, and the toyshop turns into a jack-in-a-box. As it does, The Doctor and Donna return to the present.

UNIT destroys the satellite but The Doctor is quick to point out this is only a link in the chain. There’s more to this than they realized and they’re about to step it up a gear. The Toymaker shows up at UNIT itself and a big dance number breaks out.

When he disappears outside, The Doctor realizes he has the Galvanic Beam. The Doctor’s pleas to have the Toymaker join him and leave together, play games across the cosmos, falls on deaf ears. The Toymaker has realized that Earth is the ultimate battleground and besides, hasn’t most of the Universe been utterly obliterated from the Flux?

The Toymaker eventually plunges a laser-beam straight into The Doctor, telling him he needs to play this game with the next Doctor. As The Doctor regenerates, he utters “Here we go again, Allons-y” and the regeneration becomes a bi-generation. Donna and Mel both pull from either side and one Doctor becomes two.

The pair of them decide to challenge The Toymaker together. They decide to play Catch, and the Doctors win. Their prize is to banish the Toymaker forever. “My legions are coming,” He says, as the box he’s kept in is banished to the vaults. His gold tooth however, holding the essence of The Master, is picked up by someone.

Meanwhile, the Doctor shows the New Doctor (Ncuti) to the TARDIS and both he and Donna agree that Tennant’s Doctor needs to chill out and stay in one place forever. The new Doctor, after winning the gae, smacks the outside the TARDIS and decides to create a second TARDIS, which has wheelchair access and a jukebox.

The pair say their goodbyes, and Tennant decides to join Donna noble’s family (and Mel) to sit down and chill on Earth with his family. Apparently he fought all those battles to settle down with a family, and Tennant has never been happier than he is now.

The Episode Review

So Doctor Who’s run with the Toymaker ends in crazy fashion with the very first Bi-generation and honestly? it’s a bit of a disappointment. The decision to keep Tennant around feels like having your cake and eating it too. On the one hand, we have a brand new Doctor running around and trying to slip into the role which should be the number 1 focus.

But then on the other hand, it shows a distinct lack of confidence that Ncuti Gatwa can do it alone, knowing that Tennant can just pick up the mantle should this Doctor fail to bring back viewers, which this show continues to leak. The Christmas Special is going to be the real tell though and it’ll be interesting to see what the views are like for that one.

On the positive side though, Ncuti’s Doctor is pretty good and it’ll be interesting to see exactly how he slips into the role in his own adventure on Christmas Day.

The episode itself is actually not bad either, and some of that stems from the charisma of Neil Patrick Harris and David Tennant, who both chew up the screen. Ncuti Gatwa holds his own too, which is a nice touch, but it’s far too early to tell how he’ll slip into the role of Timelord.

For now, this third special bows out with a decent episode but is this really a spectacular celebration of 60 years for Doctor Who? Especially when it borrows ideas from the past like The Sound of Drums, complete with the pop music number. Regardless, we’ll have to wait and see what’s in store for us next.'

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whoneedsapublisher · 1 year ago

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The Graveyard Shift

Chapter 2: The Vampire

Also on Ao3

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

One week later, Nico was still being paid the same, sitting behind the counter and scrolling on her phone idly.

Honestly, she felt like she should be more tense, but at some point, it was hard to stay nervous for an entire shift for days on end. The vampire lady hadn’t come back, she had more garlic anyway, and so far the shop’s defences had stood up fine.

She still wasn’t entirely sure whether Nozomi was messing with her about the werewolves, but either way she hadn’t seen any.

She heard a knock on the door and glanced up, and then scowled.

“Hey, the door’s stuck, can you-”

“It’s not stuck!” Nico yelled back, and the woman scowled.

“It is!” she insisted. “Let me in!”

“I’m not letting you in, vampire!”

“What? I’m not a vampire!” the woman said. “What are you even talking about? Vampires aren’t real.”

“Sure they’re not,” Nico said. “And that guy you walked past with the exposed skull isn’t a zombie, right?”

“That’s just makeup,” the woman said dismissively. “Let me in already. I want a pizza.”

“Order it online, then,” Nico said, looking back down at her phone.

“I’m at the restaurant, why should I order it online?!”

“Because if you can’t open that door yourself, you’re not getting in,” Nico said.

“This is ridiculous. I’m going to call the owner and complain.”

“Go for it,” Nico said. “She’s the one who told me not to open the door for people.”

“Ugh! This is absurd, I’m going home.”

The woman stalked off angrily. Once more passing by the zombies as if there was nothing strange about it. Just like a not vampire would totally do. Who the heck did she think she was fooling, anyway?

Still, seeing her again did make Nico a little uneasy. She’d hoped that after the first time, she’d just… give up and go away. If she was going to keep coming back, though, that was pretty worrying. Who knew when she’d try to mess with Nico’s mind again?

Nico walked out from the behind the counter to peer into the darkness and make sure the woman was gone, and then double checked that the door was shut. Did that even matter, actually? She wasn’t that familiar with vampire lore. If Nico didn’t explicitly invite her in could she get in just by the door being open a little? Probably not, but Nico didn’t feel like betting her life on it.

…And why was her life at risk anyway?! She was just supposed to be manning a pizza place! Why was that potentially fatal?!

Ugh. She really should be getting paid more. She was going to go bother Nozomi again. Maybe she’d call her right now and tell her that the vampire wanted to speak to her and should she give out her number.

…Probably not. She was trying not to die, after all. And she had the feeling that Nozomi could get very scary when she was mad. Dangerously so. No normal person ran a place like this, after all.

“Hey.”

Nico looked up to see the woman at the door again, but now she was looking sulky rather than imperious.

“...Look, I get that you’re not going to open the door, but can I at least get a pizza through the delivery slot?”

Nico narrowed her eyes.

“...You’re not going to try to bite my hands, are you?”

“No I’m not going to bite you,” the woman snapped. “Will you just get me a stupid pizza already? A margherita. And no garlic!”

“Fine,” Nico said. “Put the money in the delivery thing, then.”

The woman walked around the side of the shop, grumbling to herself. Nico put the pizza into the oven, feeling a little conflicted. Was she really making a pizza for this woman right now? She was a vampire. Who’d tried to mind control her.

On the other hand, she worked in a pizza place in the land of the undead. Wasn’t making pizzas for supernatural freaks her entire job?

Nico peered through the tiny window in the airlock. Sure enough, there was a bill in there. She pulled the lever to close the outside and open the inside, and grabbed the money. A ten thousand yen bill… of course a vampire would be some out of touch rich girl. Grumbling, she went to go get the change as the timer for the pizza ticked.

The time seemed to pass a lot slower while that particular pizza cooked. Knowing the strange and dangerous woman was lurking outside, right there on the other side of the airlock, made it a little hard to focus on social media scrolling on her phone.

Finally, the timer went off, Nico boxed the pizza, and then put the box and the change into the airlock and swapped the doors.

A few moments later, there was a knock on the door again.

“I’m not letting you in to get a napkin,” Nico said.

“I wasn’t going to ask that,” the woman said. “I just wanted to make sure, you’re sure you didn’t put garlic on this?”

“What do you care?” Nico said incredulously. “It’s not made of human blood, so it’s not like you’re going to eat it anyway.”

“Of course I’m going to eat it,” the woman said, and opened the box, pulling out a slice.

Nico found herself extremely conflicted. On the one hand, when the woman opened her mouth, her elongated canines were on full display, which sent a shiver of fear down Nico’s spine. But on the other… well, look, it wasn’t like Nico was some kind of weird pervert, but there was something attractive about an elegant woman taking a messy bite of pizza, right? Especially one as greasy and full of melty cheese as the pizzas from this place. The juxtaposition was appealing. Like seeing a nun lift up their habit to show off fancy lingerie.

The woman chewed for a moment and then swallowed.

“See?” she said. “I can eat just fine, thank you. I’m completely normal, so you should let me in.”

“I saw the fangs, Dracula. No chance.”

The woman clicked her tongue. “Whatever. Thanks for the pizza.”

And with that, she strode off back into the night.

Leaving Nico to return to scrolling her phone.

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

“Where do vampires go during the day?” Nozomi repeated, tilting her head at Nico in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Like, there’s no big western style castles around here, right?” Nico said, gesturing with her fork. This time, they were meeting for Nico’s breakfast instead of Nozomi’s, and Nico was taking full advantage of the comparatively less stressful circumstances to enjoy the meal a little more than the last couple times. “So where does she do the whole like, sleeping in a coffin in a crypt thing?”

“I don’t think there’s any entities in the city powerful enough to start warping buildings around,” Nozomi said. “She probably just rents an apartment and has really thick curtains. Or maybe she sleeps in a room with no windows.”

“What? There’s no way,” Nico said, frowning.

“Why are you so surprised?” Nozomi said. “You said that you didn’t realize she was a vampire until she tried to fascinate you, right? Why wouldn’t she fit into the city?”

Nico frowned. “But she only goes out at night and she’s inside all day.”

“Niccochi, you’re a night shift worker, and you think that would seem implausible?”

Nico crossed her arms. “I do get some sun, thank you,” she grumbled.

“I’m not saying you don’t, but,” Nozomi said, sipping her tea. She always ordered tea. And always glanced into the cup before drinking. Was she trying to read tea leaves? Wait, but this was made with a teabag. You couldn’t read teabags, could you? “If you changed your schedule by a few hours, people wouldn’t assume you were a vampire, would they?”

“...This is too weird,” Nico said. “You’re saying she could be my neighbour or something? And I’d never know?”

“Well, you live a little far from the dead district,” Nozomi said. “She could theoretically live anywhere, but I doubt she’s crossing town to hang around the restaurant. So she’s probably not your neighbour.”

Nico’s frown deepened.

“Besides, aren’t you used to the city having two sides by now?” Nozomi said, sighing. “I mean, really, Niccochi. Do you think the zombies all just evaporate at daylight? Just because the monsters only come out at night doesn’t mean that’s the only time they exist.”

Nico glared at her.

“You know, you really should give me some kind of bonus for destroying my blissful ignorance,” she said. “Like an emotional damages settlement. I wouldn’t know about any of this stuff if you hadn’t decided that you needed an adorable idol to manage the desk at your insane business.”

“Sorry, Niccochi,” Nozomi said. “I’ll give you one of those just as soon as I get mine from the city. But I wouldn’t hold your breath. “

She grinned.

“Most of the people you see on shift can’t hold their breath anyway, right?”

Nico groaned.

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

The next night, the vampire was back again.

“I’m still not going to let you in,” Nico said, when she strode up to the door.

“Ugh, it’s you again?” the vampire said, pulling a face. “Give me a break.”

“That’s my line,” Nico said. “Can’t you go drink the zombies’ blood?”

The vampire made a face.

“Why don’t you go drink water out of the sewer and eat a rotting dog corpse, then?” she shot back.

Nico made a face of her own at that.

“Besides,” the vampire said, flipping her long hair over her shoulder irritably. “It’s not like I kill people when I drink their blood, you know? So it’s less like you having a steak and more like you drinking milk.”

“Ohhh no,” Nico said. “I’m not falling for this. ‘Oooh, Nico, I promise that I’m just going to take a little blood! It’ll be fine! You’ll be okay! Soooo pwwwwease let me in’ right? I’m not buying it!”

“That’s not what I was saying,” the vampire snapped.

“Sure you weren’t,” Nico said.

“I hate you, you know.”

“Oh nooo, the vampire doesn’t like me. Whatever will I do? I guess I just won’t let her in here, so she can’t do anything about it?”

The vampire in question glared at her and stalked away.

That wasn’t the last time Nico saw her. It wasn’t every day, but over the next few weeks, Nico saw the vampire more than a dozen times. Sometimes she’d come up to the window, see Nico, and leave immediately. Other times she’d stick around to snipe at Nico again. A couple times she ordered a pizza again.

Nico had started to get used to it, as weird as that sounded. It was pretty clear at this point that the vampire couldn’t get in without her permission, so what was there to be scared of?

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

“You really do have awful luck, you know,” Nico said, as the vampire walked up to the door and peered inside suspiciously.

“Because I keep running into you? Believe me, I know.”

“No,” Nico said. “Seeing a beautiful girl like Nico so many times is an indicator of great fortune, actually. I meant that you never seem to be here when the deliveryman is. Or when any of the walk-ins show up.”

The vampire scowled. “That’s not luck,” she said. “I’m just not suicidal.”

“Huh?” Nico said, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

“Anyone who casually walks through this district in the middle of night to a pizza place in the center of the dead zone isn’t even remotely normal,” the vampire said. “I don’t need some weirdo zombie hunter snapping my neck and throwing me into a dumpster when I try to bite him.”

“Awfully specific fear you have there,” Nico said. “Happened before, has it?”

The vampire blushed, twirling a lock of her hair on a finger and not meeting Nico’s eyes. “N-No! Just, hypothetically, I mean! Not that it would kill me even if it did happen, but it wouldn’t be fun, and it took- I mean, it would take days to get the smell out!”

Nico snorted, and the vampire gave her one last parting glare before vanishing back into the night.

Well, there was the highlight of her shift over. Honestly, before, she hadn’t much minded sitting in the shop alone on her phone. It gave her plenty of time to check out up and coming idols, as well as scouring for new auditions, as thin on the ground as those had been recently. Now, though, she’d started looking forward to the vampire showing up. Their verbal sparring took her mind off how long it had been since she got a meaningful role. And even if Nico wasn’t stupid enough to let her any closer, she was still nice to look at. Maybe that was part of her vampire powers. Lure her prey in by looking pretty so that they’d want to cuddle up close to her and let her sink her fangs in.

For tonight, though, Nico expected that she wasn’t going to have any more social contact.

At least the image of the vampire struggling to climb out of a dumpster with her head at a ninety degree angle was fun to dwell on for a little while.

#love live #nicomaki #storytag:graveyard shift

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simplysable · 3 years ago

Note

Hi, I love your blog so far! How do you think the lords would react to being snowed in?

Absolutely!! Thanks so much for the ask, it might be small, but it’s nice to know people like my nonsense <3

I’m not sure how to do a line break on mobile so you’re getting this long ass list without breaks

The Resident Evil Lords Getting Snowed In (Plus S/O!) ❄️

Alcina Dimitrescu

To put it simply, she hates it.

Because of her cadou, she and her daughters can’t exactly find joy in the snow like you can

“Dearest, would you stay inside? You’re tracking the snow in with you when you come inside.”

You tunnel your way out of the castle like a bunny so you can dick around in the snow while Alcina and her daughters just stare

You try to make her happy, even though she hates the weather with a fiery passion

“At least the fires make it warm in the castle, especially in your chambers!”

“I bet the Duke has hot chocolate and marshmallows. I can show you what cool people do when they get snowed in.”

“Heisenberg can’t get in, right?”

That made her smile, finally.

She thought to herself and smiled, looking out the window happily

“I suppose this disgusting cold isn’t all bad. What are more modern things that people do when they’re trapped?”

Oh she shouldn’t have said that

You drag her to a window while you burrow outside and show her the art of making a snowman

You show her a snowball fight with you and some poor lycan that got stuck in the snow

You ripped a piece of bark off a dead tree and sled down a steep hill, which you didn’t know was steep until you were going too fast

When she was patching you up inside, she smiled at how happy you made her even though she hated what was around her

She doesn’t hate getting snowed in as much now that she has you

Donna Beneviento

Donna loves snow days

She loves that frost delicately covers her windows, and gracefully dusts her trees

The quiet stillness of it is very calming

She isn’t too fond of the cold itself, but she loves the snow (she has a Very Good��️ heating system in her house)

When it snows, she feels as though it’s time for a wardrobe change

She gathers up every doll from every nook and cranny in her house, and she lays them all out in front of you, silent excitement buzzing from her

She asks you to haul out a large chest she has in her room, and you open it with a smile

“It’s their winter clothes. I wanted to make sure that none of them got cold.”

She pulled out Angie’s snow gear, who donned it happily, and you and her got to work changing her dolls into the proper winter attire

“Donna, the craftsmanship on these are gorgeous! You should sell some of your clothes, people would love them!”

Being snowed in, she also can’t escape your compliments

Que a blushing mess at every compliment you give her, no matter how small

“I like the red ribbon on this one. It was a good choice!”

“Aw, the little boots look so warm! Good job, Donna!”

“You have a nice face.”

She liked being surrounded by newly clothed dolls, you, and beautiful white snow falling silently outside

Snow days weren’t too bad, in her humble opinions

Salvatore Moreau

Eh. He could feel either way about the snow, but he always likes it more when you’re around him

His home is pretty drafty, and he’s always kind of sick, so, like Donna, not a huge fan of the cold

It looks gorgeous, and it turns his home into a frozen wonderland that you have fallen on on many occasions

He loved bundling up, and the cold weather makes his aching joints feel nice

Listen, he was already going to, but if you’re the one that suggests a winter Hallmark movie,

This man loves you so much

He loves that your nose gets pink when it gets cold

He loves that you wear gloves that don’t match

He loves that he wears the scarf Donna knitted for you (that he commissioned)

“Donna will be happy to know you love her work! Should I get a matching one?”

He’s just happy when you’re around him, and he could honestly forget he’s snowed in if you spend enough time with him

He had walked into a wall of snow after trying to open a door, forgetting why he was staying inside in the fist place

You do things to this man-

Karl Heisenberg

This man is a husky

You have to haul him back inside when it gets too dark to see

He will go out frolicking in his boxers in three feet deep snow

You hate the snow because of this, because of the fact that you have to act like a parent watching their kid

“Heisenberg, you can’t fill the snowballs with nails.”

“The lycans won’t feel it, they’re dumb as shit!”

“Heisenberg!”

You like to watch his dumbass from the nice, heated factory

When he comes in, shaking like a dog, you throw a heated blanket on him and force him to make the hot chocolate

“I told you it was getting too cold to wrestle with the lycans.”

“Yeah, well they can suck my dick. It never snows this much, so I’m taking advantage of it.”

He will force you to play outside with him

You know

Like a child

Snowball fights taken too seriously, a snowman army on his roof, a little igloo village, a lycan eating a snowman,

He loves the snow, even if you don’t

He does get a little pissed off at the weather if it gives you a cold

“Not all of us are fucking huskies, Heis.”

Eh, he’ll just throw snowballs at the widow of the room you’re sleeping in

I hope you liked the headcanons, and thank you again for asking!! My inbox is always open, so keep the asks coming 😎👉👉

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mammss · 3 years ago

Text

mc’s little siblings act like their boyfriend

a/n: i’ve been thinking about this for so long and i thought it’s quite funny and cute

WARNINGS: slight spoilers from azuls past if you haven’t completed chpt 3

leona:

little kids aren’t his things so when you asked him to babysit your siblings it took tons of convincing plus hugs and kisses thrown in but he ultimately does it because it’s you and he loves you

it’s been hours since you left and the house has been questionably quiet. while leona likes the peace shouldn’t he be hearing noisy children?

squirming with anxiety he checks upstairs in one of guest rooms to find your siblings curled up together surrounded by every blanket and pillow ramshackle owns

he thought it was cute and definitely thought they could teach you a thing or two about sleeping/cuddling but he kept that thought to himself and watched them until they started to wake up

still attached to each other they look around the room obviously looking for you but find a strange cat man leaning on the door staining at them

they ask where you were sleepily not really fazed by leona’s presence and when he tells them you’re out running errands they motion leona over to them tugging on his sleeve to get into bed with them

what did you come home to you may ask? your siblings laying right on top of leona covering him like a blanket. taking some well deserved pictures of the cuddle bugs you yourself join the pile and sleep until the morning

azul:

azul is a man of business he has no time to babysit children which he thought to himself when you asked if he could watch your sibling for a couple hours why you run around doing crowley’s work

but what did his mouth say exactly? that’s how azul is now stuck in his office with your sibling who is clearly occupied reading damn near ancient textbooks

he admires your sibling a lot for many things like not annoying him and being loud, making a mess of his office and touching everything in sight. he can’t put his finger on it but why is your sibling acting like this?

he remembers the way his bullies would spend all day outside running around screaming just kids being kids while azul desperately tried to fit in

he knows he shouldn’t pry in there business and make them open up but the thought of kids bullying his sea angels sibling? there will be hell to pay

he tries subtle not so subtle conversation asking about what they’re reading and why then questions about school and their friends are brought up and the next thing you know the child is curling up in a ball crying trying to hide from the world just like azul did long ago

he found out they’re only reading this because there peers don’t think highly of them and tease them ruthlessly which they don’t like. they know they should tell mc or an adult but the bullying will only get worse from there if it happens

they want to prove to everyone that they are smart and not some stupid kid and if that means reading big boring difficult books then so be it. azul doesn’t know how to comfort people but he can understand what they’re going through so he gets to there level and gives them a pep talk on how you shouldn’t care what people think and how your aren’t weak if you tell someone about the bullying

everyone deserves to be treated with respect and kindness just how mc treats him. both just hug and cry complaining about how cruel the world is. the moment you walk inside azuls office you are greeted with two kids crying holding you in a vice grip.

floyd:

has floyd ever watched children before? no but when it comes to you he’d love to help out his shrimpy

off the bat floyd loves them but doesn’t understand why they have a harness and leash on until you give all the ground rules

as soon as you leave your sibling is bouncing off the walls asking all sorts of questions running around the lounge touching everything in sight

this gives floyd a good laugh and a little game of tag to tire out the kid or so he thought. the kid doesn’t give up because he’s tired more like he has a mood change and wants to go outside

floyd remembers you told him to keep your sibling inside no matter how much they ask but with all the wining and screeching floyd’s mood takes a turn and he raises his voice to tell them to stop

this sure does get there attention but at what cost? mc sibling is now crying and in a sad mood. both children are now in opposite moods and the atmosphere is tense

it takes a while for floyd to relax but once he does he apologizes to them and asks if they wanna prank some people around campus to which your sibling agrees

he knows they should stay inside but come on they both need to go outside!!! so while you’re running errands floyd and your sibling are terrorizing students left and right and it’s complete chaos

while walking back to mostro lounge with goodies for both of them. you hear behind you laughing and a crowd of people yelling to stop you stop to look around but before you know it floyd is screaming at you to run while he’s holding your sibling

and behind them are all the dorms and staff clearly pranked by the two trouble makers.

#twst #twst leona #twisted wonderland #azul x reader #twisted wonderland azul #twisted wonderland floyd #floyd leech #floyd x reader

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hansensgirl · 4 years ago

Text

i’m in the water.

summary. | He’s in the wind, and you’re in the water. Nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter.

warnings. | non/dubcon, smut, angst, protectiveness, kidnapping (implied), stockholm syndrome, obsessiveness, death/violence, dark themes, DDLG undertones, creampie kink, choking, piss kink (both pee), degradation, pet play undertones, p in v sex, Master kink, dacryphilia, crawling, slapping, hair pulling, face fucking, boot riding, orgasm denial, spitting, gagging, manhandling, praise, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI.

word count. | 8.5k

pairings. | Dark!Winter Soldier x Naive!Reader.

a/n. | please heed the warnings! i hope you enjoy, and please don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (and i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. they’re both very hydrated! this takes place in the 90’s! thank you so much @asadmarveltrashbag and @mypoisonedvine for proof reading for me ilysm!!

From the day you were born, you always felt as though your legs are broken. Always needing crutches throughout your life to hold you up, always needing support. But you never really had these crutches, so you'd always drag your hands against the brick walls to support yourself. Vulnerable, breaking away at the edges, falling down. Nothing kind ever came, and it stays the same for a while.

So maybe that’s why you lean into his icy cold touch. So abrasive and yet so caring. His aspects are juxtaposed to each other, just like in those Magritte paintings your art teacher would show you. She was always a kind lady, but you don’t care enough about her to wonder where she is in life now. She was kind to you, though, so you hope that she isn’t suffering like you are.

Your goosebumps raise for the fifth time in this painfully slow hour.

“Are you cold, кролик?” he asks even though he knows the answer. You hum. You always do. Your voice doesn’t raise in an affirmation. It stays flat; he knows what that means. “Thinking again?” he gruffly presses, squeezes your bare arms. The thin, grey shirt with torn sleeves does nothing to protect your body. But why do you ask for protection against the man who has done everything for you?

“Why… Why do people believe that grey is a boring colour?” you ask him, looking around the dark cell that surrounds you. Soldat grunts, not knowing what to say. “I think it’s quite beautiful. All colours have different shades, yes, but there’s something about grey. Each shade comes with a different emotion. Don’t you think so?” you ask him, looking down to your lap.

A carrot toy sits there. It’s filled with cotton balls from the medical room, by his request. “Yes…” He bites the tip of his tongue, not sure what to say because the Soldat only has a few emotions and a few words. “Why can’t we get a different wall colour?” you question him, turning around to face the man.

“It’s not allowed,” he reminds you. You feel like you’re experiencing déjà-vu, but then again, the days have blurred together so well that you can’t tell if the tape is being put on rewind already. You have to assume that your celluloid scenes are fading away along with your sanity. It’s torn at the seams. Threads hanging that just need to be ripped or cut out.

“Beige would look lovely…” you point out solemnly. The Soldat doesn’t know what shade of beige you’re thinking of, but he believes it would be beautiful nonetheless. “I… have a mission,” he tells you after a while. You hum in that same monotonous tone again, so he squeezes your arm even tighter. “When, Master?” you curiously ask, only now taking in his words.

“Tonight. Approximately at twenty-one hours,” he informs you in that mechanic voice of his that you hate. It makes you feel more trapped and vulnerable, even though there’s quite literally a chip in the back of your neck. “How long?” you ask him softly, a frown already beginning to display itself on your face.

He doesn’t like it when you frown. He prefers the lines that your smile provides over the lines your frown forces. That innocent glint in your eyes shines a bit, flickering like a dull light on the verge of completely blowing. Though it’s not much, it’s still something. And when it goes away, his entire being is filled with darkness.

You’re the light of his life, the fire of his loins.

“Not sure. Extraction of information. Senators and mayors…” He begins to ramble, and you shake your head. “Sorry, кролик,” he apologizes as he notices how uncomfortable you’re starting to get. You hum again. He wonders if you were a bird in your past life, perhaps a hummingbird, to be more exact. Or maybe even a swan or a dove because you’re just as beautiful as they are, if not more.

“You know how to behave, right? Потому что ты мой хороший маленький кролик?” he asks, and you don’t understand the second question, but you understand the former. “I know, Master,” you breathe, an airy ending to your words. “You’ll be good, кролик?” he questions one more time, and you lazily nod. You’re tired. Your body moves at a drowsy pace, and you don’t like it.

You don’t want to sleep, though. Scared that if you shut your eyes for too long, the monsters will come back, and Soldat won’t be able to save you. He always saves you. You’re his damsel, constantly in distress, locked away in a gilded cage. But he tells you it’s not a gilded cage. It’s not a run-down cell built in the fifties. It’s your home, even though you haven’t known what home is like for a while.

“I’ll always be good for you, Master. Please don’t leave for long. I get lonely easily,” you express in small bits of sadness and distress. “I know, кролик, я знаю,” Soldat says as he hugs you closer. You tilt your head backwards and let it lull on his shoulder. “I’ll be back as soon as possible,” he promises, and you know it’s not true because he never fulfills it. “But my carrot can’t keep me company for all those hours… Please stay? Please?” you plead with tears welling in your eyes.

“Я могу составить ей хорошую компанию,” the soldier standing outside the cell mutters under his breath, earning a few snickers from his coworkers. I can keep her in good company, is what he said. And it’s truly unfortunate that the guards have forgotten that the Soldat — the Asset — has super-hearing. Their laughter dies down into sighs, and Winter’s chest begins to heave.

He puffs up like the big bad wolf he is, and he tosses you to the side like a rag doll. You watch him as he strides his way over to the guards. Each step carries the weight of the Winter Soldier, the one who’s ready to kill whoever is in his sight. Except for you. His bionic hand reaches through the metal bars that separate him from the outside world.

He wraps his fingers around the guard’s neck, and he squeezes his throat tightly. As Winter crushes the guard’s windpipe, you watch him behind slightly squinted eyelids. Tears blur your eyesight, and you remember that time when you were holding off the tears so well, you couldn't see the HYDRA van driving ahead of you.

Maybe if you could control your emotions a little better, you wouldn’t be here.

But then again, where would you be without the Soldat? Miserable, stuck in the worst parts of town without anyone. Having to drag your hands across those brick walls, again and again. Surviving on your own, teetering on the edge of death. Just like these men at the hands of the Soldat.

The crunching of bones and the screams of men are all blocked out for you. You focus on Soldat’s arm whirring in the most satisfying harmony you’ve heard in the past two years. Other than the orchestra you both have managed to make almost every day. But you still cup your hands over your ears.

Winter pulls a knife from the guard’s limp body. That very same knife ends up inside his heart, stopping it from pumping. The guards begin shooting at Winter, but he easily shields himself with the metal arm. It goes silent, but you keep your hands over your ears. Muffled talking steps in place of the silence, and you look up to see members of HYDRA staring at your Winter and you.

“Солдат, Что ты натворил?” One of the head agents asks. You believe his name is Vasily Karpov because that is what Winter has told you. “The… The guard said something about my кролик. He’s not supposed to,” Winter explains, looking to the ground. Karpov mutters a chain of curse words under his breath that you’re not too happy about. One of the other agents asks him to speak up, and he snaps.

“Just get him to the armoury! We need to prep him,” he shouts before stalking away from the scene. They all stick around a few more seconds before scurrying off like little mice. The dead bodies still lay on the floor, but nobody seems to really care. What’s happened has happened, and there’s no changing it.

“Привести с собой солдата!” A rough voice blasts through the intercoms, and suddenly, more guards show up at your cell. You curl up into a ball and rest your forehead against your knees. You can’t bear to watch them take him away. You wait until the cell door swings shut, and then men stomp away. But even then, you cannot look up.

Bring the Soldat.

He wears that mask of his. The last time you saw it, it was caked with dirt and blood. You can hear his hard breathing behind it, almost sounding as though he’s just run a marathon. He sits in the edge of the cot — the left corner, to be exact — and he watches you. The Soldat states as you look down at the array of snacks he’s provided you with.

“Kролик,” Winter gruffly calls, and you turn around. You hum and your voice raises at the end. You haven’t done that in a while, so it startles him a bit. “Which one?” he asks, stretching his neck out just a bit to see what snack you’ve chosen. “N… Not sure,” you shyly whisper, ducking your head down in fear.

“Green one,” he says after a while, and you place your hand on it. “I don’t know what it is?” you confusingly say. The Russian text on it confuses you, so you hand it to Winter. “ Sour Patch Kids…” Winter reads out loud, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion. “Oh, I like those!” you eagerly cheer, sitting up on your knees. You turn around and reach your hand out for him to give them to you.

They’ve wiped him. You know it, and you hate it. They’ve taken all emotion away from him, and now he’s just an empty shell of a man. His softness from just a few hours ago has now gone away, and you don’t know what to expect of himself. But then again, you never do.

Hesitatingly, he hands it over. “Don’t eat now. Sugar will keep you up,” he warns, and you nod. Your father would say the same thing when you were younger. The only difference is that your father had more love in his voice than Winter ever will. “We need to go over the rules,” he speaks up after a few seconds. You hum again, and he continues. “Do you remember your rules?” Winter asks, and you hum once more.

“Кролик,” he growls, and you look up. “Do you need me to repeat the rules?” Winter questions and you shake your head in objection. He doesn’t listen, though, because he knows you don’t remember them. You never seem to remember the big, important parts of the puzzle. Only the small corner pieces that don’t really matter. “I’ll tell you them anyway, and you’re going to listen to every word I say. Understood, кролик?” he raises his eyebrow, not leaving any room for protesting.

You gulp thickly and nod. “Don’t make any noises, don’t touch yourself, don’t talk to the guards, don’t let anyone touch you, don’t hurt yourself and don’t even think of escaping,” he lists, and the last one makes tears sting your eyes. “I won’t escape. ‘S not like I can even do anything in here,” you whisper under your breath, and he stands up. Metal fingers grip your chin tightly, and Winter slowly kneels down in front of you.

You’re watched like a pet. You always have been. Not even a pet, more like a possession. Seen as an object with no feelings and no emotions. As though you don’t have a heart that pumps crimson blood and lungs that expand with each breath you take. “Don’t ever speak like that again. I can easily stitch those pretty lips of yours shut, кролик,” he threatens, and you feel your tears beginning to leak.

No, no, no, no, no. Not now.

He laughs. He fucking laughs, and you want to cry even more because you need him. You need your support, but he doesn’t want to give it to you. You should’ve just kept your mouth shut. “You’re so fucking… precious. Especially when you shed those tears of yours,” he tells you with a hidden smile behind his mask. He squeezes your jaw even tighter, and you whimper out a small ‘thank you, Master’ to him.

“I wasn’t finished listing the rules, so keep your fly shut,” Winter sneers, and you nod your head slowly. “When I get back, which will be in around three hours, you have to finish drinking all those bottles of water,” he stays, snapping his fingers to grab your attention. Your eyes follow those very same fingers as they point at the four bottles of water sitting by the bed.

You never noticed them until just now. “Oh, and you can’t go to the bathroom until I say so,” he adds with a slight humorous chuckle to his voice. Your eyeballs nearly fall out of their sockets. “Don’t worry, кролик, I’ll be back so quickly, it’ll feel like a few minutes,” he promises, and you feel a wave of relief wash over you. It reminds you of when you were young, and your parents would take you to the beach.

Your parents would build sandcastles with you until they got tired. You would beg your father to piggyback you into the sea, and he would do exactly that. Your mother would carry her disposable camera with her just to take photos that would end up in the green photo album from the thrift store.

And when you got a bit older, you’d go by yourself—older in the sense that you have to start paying the bus fare of $3. You’d head to the beach after dinner and before your parents came home from work. The sky would either be a dark, dark grey or a lovely mix of pastels. The water would wash beneath your feet, pulling and loosening clumps of sand.

Taking it away the same manner Winter took your innocence.

“And remember, if you break any of these rules, I’ll know. And the outcome won’t be as pretty as your face or that pussy of yours, кролик,” Soldat warns, and you nod your head. “Yes, Master,” you shyly say to him. You want to look down at the concrete flooring so badly, but his iron-clad grip on you doesn’t loosen until a minute after your words. He looks down at you, and you look away. His strong gaze is just as powerful as the summer sun that would beat down on your skin.

“Прощай, кролик.”

You never realized how thirsty you were until just now. You’ve finished all four bottles in the span of two hours, and now you’re counting down the minutes until Soldat arrives. There are no guards standing outside your cell, so you’re all alone. Not even your intrusive thoughts have visited, and you wonder if the water was spiked.

You were never that good at telling time. It would always take you a few seconds to find the minute hand and the hour hand. But the digital clock that is on the wall across from your cell is quite helpful. It even has seconds on it, too. So you count down out loud, trying to ignore the full feeling in your stomach.

Stomping echoes down the hallways, and you don’t know if he’s close by or meters away from you. You never could tell. Russian words fall off the agents’ tongues, and sometimes you wish you could understand them. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel like such an outsider even though you’re trapped in their home. “Ты свободен, солдат,” one of the agents say, and you can hear Winter grunt.

You’re free to go, Soldat.

His big, heavy feet stomp down the hallway. The sounds bounce off the greyish-green walls, stained with different things such as blood and dirt. You can hear his metal arm whirring, and your heart jumps with fear. You’re not scared of him; you’re scared of what he’s capable of.

Oh, who are you kidding? You’re terrified of him.

The guards open up the cell door, and you look up, locking eyes with his. They’re dark and empty as they usually are. “Кролик,” he growls, and you whimper. You run up to him and hug him, feeling the water slosh inside of you. You slow your breathing down the same way your elementary school nurse told you to when you were younger and try your hardest not to throw up.

“Missed me, hm?” Winter questions and you nod meekly. Though you didn’t want to admit it two years ago, you do now. “Missed you lots, Master,” you tell him. The leather is cold against your warm skin. If you focus just a bit more, you could feel the creases of the fabric as well. But you’re too busy with him, so you ignore it. “W- Was the mission good, Master?” you nervously ask him, only out of curiosity and nothing more.

“As always. Were you good, кролик?” Soldat questions in return, rightfully so. You nod eagerly and fiddle with your fingers behind his back. He acts like he can’t feel it, just for you not to stop hugging him. “Good girl… You seem like you want something. Out with it,” he orders, and you gulp in fear.

“I… I was wondering if I could go to the bathroom,” you meekly tell Winter, looking down to the ground. His boots are shiny and polished. Cleaner than anything you’ve seen before, and it’s confusing. He usually comes in covered with dirt, sweat, tears and blood. “You need to go to the bathroom, кролик?” he asks as if he didn’t hear you beforehand.

You shyly nod and unwrap your arms from around his broad torso. You wonder if he left the mission unscathed or not. Winter chuckles. It’s breathy, airy, sly and dark. “Aw, кролик, you’re adorable, the cutest кролик of them all. It’s too bad I’m not going to let you,” he sneers in that faux fantasy tone of his. You furrow your eyebrows and so desperately want to beg him, but it’s out of line, and he never asked, so you stay quiet.

Winter grabs your hand and drags you to the cot, reminding you of the way you’d pull your parents to the shore so they can play in the water with you. They’d both laugh before your father would tackle you in the water, and your mother would push him down in retaliation. You’d always resubmerge from the water with a smile on your face and laughter bellowing throughout the beach.

You miss those times.

You let him guide you to the bed you wish wasn’t yours. “What did you do while I was gone, кролик?” Soldat questions, sitting down on the canvas of the bed. You’re placed on his lap, almost as though he’s forcing you to reclaim a throne you need. And it’s true; you need him. His hands fall to your waist, and Winter holds you in place. “I drank all the water as you asked, and I just sat here, Master,” you recount to him, leaving out the parts of the past three hours he doesn’t need to know.

He hums in the same manner as you. “That’s all?” he questions, and you slowly nod your head. “Good, I’d hate to have to punish you this late in the night,” he says, pinching the skin on your torso. You don’t whimper because you’re used to it. He calls it affection, and so do you. Winter’s hands move from your sides to the front of your stomach, caressing you with a bit of pressure being put on your bladder.

You whimper and try to play it off with a cough, but you know deep down he doesn’t buy it. Soldat continues to run his hand against your stomach the same way you’d run across the shore. Slow, wary, yet with care from the ground beneath you. You like to think of the simpler, more happier times. You know if Winter pushes a little harder, you may not be able to control yourself any longer.

The pressure in your bladder grows every few seconds, so you squirm around in his lap. Your weight shifts from his left thigh to his right thigh, over and over, and he knows exactly what’s wrong. “Кролик… Are you feeling all tingly?” he asks you. You nod your head, but you take in his words. Meanings and implications are always lost with you. They fly over your head the same way birds do, and you only see them with someone's direction.

“N- No, Master, I just have to pee really badly…” you clarify to him, and he nods his head in understanding. You smile as a spark of hope lights inside of your heart. “I don’t think you do, кролик, I already told you,” he assures, and you sigh. “I- I know, Master, I’m sorry,” you apologize and drop your head down. “I think you’re having those tingles, кролик, is your little cunt wet?” Soldat questions even though you don’t have to answer.

His hand travels between your legs and to your pussy, cupping it tightly. You whimper and involuntarily grind against his hand. “You’re absolutely soaked, кролик! Were you thinking of me?” he interrogates, and you just go with it. “Y- Yes, Master, was thinking of you all the time,” you whisper to him. He squeezes your cunt tighter and purrs in your ear. “Then why didn’t you tell me beforehand, кролик?” Winter presses, and you feel fear pump through your veins.

“I- I knew you were tired from the mission, so I didn’t want to bother you, Master. I’m sorry, please forgive me!” you plead, and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. Your heart sinks to your stomach with each sound he makes, and you want death to take you right here, right now. The Soldat pushes you to the ground, and you fall with a loud ‘thud!’. Your knees hit the concrete hard, and you can feel your old scars open up a bit.

One was from a poor fall at the beach. Your father carried you home, and your mother tried to soothe you. You were only six at the time, but it felt like your world was ending.

Winter’s metal hand grabs your hair and tugs on your locks painfully. You bite back a pained moan as he yanks your head back. It’s not the first time he has nearly given you whiplash. He changes moods faster than anyone you’ve ever met. The Soldat walks around you, and you follow him with your eyes. “It’s okay, кролик. I’m not mad at you. I’m gonna treat you so well; you’re gonna love me even more,” he promises with a dark glint in his eyes.

He wedges his boot between your legs and underneath your cunt. “Get comfy, шлюха,” he orders. You shift yourself a bit, trying to alleviate any aches you feel, but it seems as though he wants you to be uncomfortable. Your pussy rests on his foot, and you wonder what he’s up to. His hand tilts your head to look up at him. You want to look away, just like when you’d look at the bright sun on a hot summer day. It was always too much to look at, but the sight was so captivating you couldn’t turn away.

“You said you wanted to go pee, right, маленькая потаскушка?” he questions, and you confusingly nod. “Then go ahead, do it,” he orders. You gasp, quite loudly, in fact. The reaction doesn’t please your Master, so he yanks on your hair a little tighter. “What’s wrong, сука? I thought that’s what you needed?” he interrogates, and you nod. “Yes, Master, but not like this,” you reason, and he growls. “I give you protection, I give you food, I give you my cum, I give you everything you need. What’s wrong now? Don’t you love me?” Winter asks.

Your heart quite literally breaks in two.

“I do, Master! I love you so much!” you promise, feeling those stupid tears of yours starting to well up. “Then why aren’t you listening to me, you dumb baby? Hm?” he presses, and panic begins to rise in your chest. The tears stream down your face the same way the waves would engulf you at the age of 7. “It’s just uncomfortable, Master, that’s all…” you reason with him. “Well, I don’t care. You’re gonna do it anyway, okay? I thought you were a good bunny for me…” Winter trails off as if he’s lost all hope and cause.

It makes you want to cry even harder.

Sniffling, you wipe your tears and try not to give up. “I am your good bunny, Master. Please don’t make me do this. I don’t want to!” you beg once again, and he grows weary of your patheticness. Winter bends down, and his flesh hand goes to the front of your flimsy shirt. Thin cotton rips away easily, with barely any strength coming from his behalf. The grey cloth is in two pieces, and he pushes them off your shoulders.

Your nipples harden as soon as the cool air brushes against them. Winter’s hand leaves your head, and you feel alone without his touch. “Seems like you forgot your place, кролик… You don’t get what you want; you get what you deserve. And what you deserve is to be put in your place,” he tells you, and your bones rattle with fear. The sound of a belt clinking and a zipping being pulled down grabs your attention, and you hold back a hearty sigh.

The Soldat stares you down as he throws his belt to the side just like he did you a few hours ago. “I can’t believe you, honestly. Думая, что ты так выше меня, пытаясь помешать мне делать то, что я хочу. After this, you’re going to regret ever talking back to me like that ever again,” he rants under his breath like the mad man he is. Your tears have dried up, but your bottom lip starts to wobble again. He huffs, tired of seeing you cry.

Winter halts his movements and goes to remove his mask, the one thing that’s been hiding that sinister smirk of his. The dark, matte material is clutched between the tips of his cut-up, bruised fingers. He carefully places the mask on your face, covering your mouth and nose. The action shuts you up, just like how he wants. You look up at him without blinking your tears away. You let them fall and soak the mask, staining it with your waterworks.

The Soldat pulls his big, thick cock out of his tactical pants. His cock is as hard as a rock, blooding pumping down to it, and his veins throb on the side of his shaft. Beads of precum drip down from his tip, rolling down his cock. He’s a raging red, desperate to be inside of you. His metal head returns to your head, and he brings you higher up in your knees. Your neck cranes at such a painful angle that the ache in your knees is ignored.

“You better fucking look at me while I teach you your lesson, шлюха,” he warns, and you listen to him easily. Through your haze of pained tears, you manage to look into his eyes. You’re not sure what he wants to do and what he’s going to do. You never do. The Soldat is unpredictable, and even in your two years of knowing him, you’ll never understand how the gears in his mind turn.

“Not so dumb after all, huh,” he chuckles before shaking his head. Winter sighs and smiles down at you. “One last chance, шлюха,” he tells you in a sing-song voice. You don’t say anything, and the Soldat clicks his tongue. Suddenly, instead of the delicious precum, he would usually make you lap up like a kitten, clear streams of warmth hit your chest. You gasp behind the mask, but it comes out as muffled nonsense to him.

“Stop!” you cry out to him, but your words are once again muffled. His pee soaks your chest as he relieves himself from the pressure in his bladder. Your hands bat at his stiff thighs, hitting them just so that he can stop humiliating you and treating you like you’re all but human. Winter growls, and his metal arm drops your head, and he slaps your hands away. His pee covers your tits and drips down your skin, staining you with disgust and humiliation.

The streams soon stop, and you’re sobbing even louder now. “Oh shut it, this isn’t even as bad of a punishment. I’m going easy on you, шлюха, I could easily do worse,” Soldat growls as the slightly tinted liquid drips from the tip and onto the ground. Your chest stutters with sobs, and you can barely breathe. You’re covered and coated like a freshly bought canvas, and Winter’s just ruined you. Almost in the same manner that you’d destroy your father’s canvas with your cheap, dollar store paint.

Winter bends down and grabs what was once your shirt and is now just a piece of cloth. Kind of like how your mother would give you any leftover scraps of fabric to make something for you. She’d never let anything go to waste. He uses it to wipe the drops of urine that still drip from his cock, and then he throws it at you like you mean nothing to him. You let it fall to the ground because there’s no possible way a piece of cloth that was once on your back can fix your honour.

But who are you kidding? You lost your honour the moment you gave into the Soldat, just like you always do.

You stretch your arms out to him, silently pleading for comfort from him. But he shakes his head with a sly smile on his face. “Aw, you want your Master to help you out, мой питомец?” Winter questions, and you eagerly nod your head. His metal hand goes to remove the mask, but he stops as soon as he touches it. “Say please,” he orders with faux sympathy in his voice. “Please, Master,” you beg to him, and he smiles.

Winter places his hand back on the mask and yanks it off of your face. The sides scratch your cheeks a bit, but that’s not what matters. “T- Thank you, Master. I love you so much,” you tell him before struggling to put a smile on your face. At the end of the day, no matter how brutal he is with you, you’ll always love him. ...Right? “You’re welcome, кролик,” he says as he throws the mask to where his belt lies.

Your cheeks are sticky and stained with tears, much like your chest. Winter’s flesh hand cups your left cheeky lightly, and he’s back to being the gentleman who has killed for you on numerous occasions. He wipes away the wetness on your cheek as his other hand goes to his cock, grabbing the base of it. “Say ‘ah,’ моя маленькая шлюшка,” he orders before you can even register his signature Cheshire smirk.

His cock is shoved inside your mouth without any warning. He always does that. No heads up, no preparation, nothing. Zip, zilch, nada. Winter wiggles his foot that’s underneath your cunt, and the sudden friction is startling. He calls you bunny because of this reason. You can get off on anything, and you’re always needy for him. “I can see how wet you are, шлюха. You’re soaking my boot with that little pussy of yours,” he coos.

You don’t realize how wet you are until he points it out. You’re absolutely soaking, and you’re not sure why. But for the utmost incomprehensible reason ever, you don’t care.

His cock slides down your throat until your nose nuzzles against his pubic bone. His balls touch your chin, and your saliva coats his cock thickly. Your throat and side of your kissable mouth both hurt horribly, but you ignore the pain just for him. “You’re my good little bunny, right?” he questions, and you nod while his cock rests on your tongue. “And good little bunnies like you always listen to their Masters, right?” Winter asks, and you nod again.

He smiles. His hand on your cheeks moves to the back of your head slowly, returning to its newfound home. “I bet you want to come, don’t you, кролик?” he interrogates, and he’s not wrong. You really do want to come, and you’re a bit ashamed of it. “Master will let you come, don’t worry. I’m gonna let you have cummies, кролик,” he promises, and you happily giggle around his cock.

“Go on, hump my boot like the little bunny you are,” he pushes, and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. You want to protest so badly, but the memories of what he just did to you freshly flood your mind like the memories from when you were younger. “Are you that stupid that I have to explain how to get yourself off? Or are you just not listening to me, кролик?” he asks in a tone that reminds you of subdued thunder.

You shake your hand and try to move your hips around a bit. Your soaking wet pussy grinds against the leather of Winter’s shoe, and your clit throbs at the feeling. Winter’s cock slides out of your mouth until the fat tip of it is all that’s left, and then he quickly shoves it back in. Your loud gags and his moans fill the room like music. Your loss of oxygen makes you see stars, and you can recall how much your father loved to paint the midnight skies until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

Your old toothbrushes would serve as the home of the clouds of dust that the stars would be born from. His fingers would be covered in white paint that would fall off in the water and swirl down the sink. His black t-shirts would have white freckles on them, and your mother would always suggest for him to turn the cloth into a galaxy. He’d always tell her one day, and you’d always remind him of that day whenever you’d catch him painting.

“Fuck, you always do look even prettier with my cock in your mouth, кролик,” he swears, and you smile around his cock. Oh, well, you at least try to smile. You continue to rub yourself against his boot as he uses your throat as he pleases. Your hole drools with want, and your slick gives his shoe a shine that is unmatched by any other substance. The burning, fiery feeling on your clit spreads to your abdomen, and you can feel yourself being brought closer to the edge.

You’re moaning around his thick cock, sending sinful vibrations throughout him. “Fuck, are you gonna come, кролик?” he questions as he feels you hug his leg. You nod around his cock, and he begins to push your head back and forth of his cock, matching your desperate movements. He uses you like a fleshlight, and you’re used to it. “Well, too fucking bad, шлюха, you’re not allowed to come,” he spits, and your hips freeze in place.

“I didn’t say stop, did I? No, I didn’t, continue, шлюха,” he sneers, and you listen to the Soldat. You’re not sure how you’re going to stave off your orgasm, but you’ll do anything for him. You slowly begin to grind your hips back and forth on his boot again, trying to slow your breathing down, and Winter fucks your face sloppily. “Fuck, you want my cum, don’t you, кролик?” he questions, and you squeeze his leg tighter.

Winter pulls his cock out abruptly and pinches the base, staving off his release only for a few seconds. “I said, don’t you want my cum, шлюха?” he asks once again, and you nod. Saliva coats your mouth, and you can barely catch your breath. “I- I really want your cum, Master, please! Please give me your cum,” you plead to him with a ditzy look in your eyes. You wiggle your hips side to side just to give off the impression that you’re getting yourself off.

But you can’t fool the fooler. Nobody can.

“I’m going to give you all my cum, шлюха, and you’re going to take it all like a good girl,” he moans as he shoves his cock back into your mouth. Winter shoves himself deep inside your throat until you can’t take any more of his length. You swallow around his cock, and he moans loudly, swearing in Russian. The words roll off his tongue skillfully, and you feel yourself getting even wetter.

He grabs your head even tighter and bobs your skull up and down his cock a few more times before finally hitting his release. His balls tighten up, and a deep, throaty moan leaves his mouth in the best way ever. Hot, sticky ropes spurt down your throat before you can even register the way he throws his head back. Winter’s long hair spills on the sides of his head as his cum spills down your throat. You have no choice but to swallow, but it’s not like you want to spit his seed out anyways.

Winter lets out a deep moan that goes straight to your core, and his hand pats your head in a praising manner. “Good girl, such a good fucking girl,” he praises as he slowly pulls his sensitive cock out of your mouth. Your cunt flutters with sensitivity, and you want to come so badly, but you just can’t. The Soldat takes a few steps back, slipping his foot away from your aching pussy. You let out a whimper, and he smiles.

“I’m not done with you, маленький кролик,” he tells you, and your heart flutters. You’ve managed to ignore the building pressure in your bladder, but now it seems to come back stronger. “C- Can I go pee first, Master?” you politely ask him, still on your knees. Even that ache has returned, but it’s the least important thing as of now. He ignores your question as he works on the numerous straps on his battle uniform.

Skillful fingers take off the leather vest he wears, revealing a bulletproof protectant that saves him from certain dangers. “Get on the bed, кролик,” Winter orders as he continues to strip himself. You begin to stand up on your wobbly, scarred legs, but he tuts. “Uh uh, not like that,” he interjects, walking back to you. He pushes you back onto the floor, and you fall with a sob. “On your knees, because that’s what you deserve. Nothing more, шлюха,” he sneers, and you sniffle.

You slowly crawl to the bed. Each time your knees touch the ground, you burn up with both arousal and humiliation. And it’s not like the action is making your need to go to the bathroom any better. The abrupt movement makes the liquid slosh inside you, and you want to burst out in tears, begging Winter to just let you relieve yourself. Your hands have slight scars from your nails, and it reminds you of when your father would encourage you to do the monkey bars.

You’d always try to swing yourself to the end with all your might. But you never could do it. You’d fall down to the ground and leave the park wailing. The scars and blisters on your hand would make your parents so upset, but that never stopped you from wanting to go back and try again. Eventually, you got too old to try, and it would always upset you. Maybe one day you’ll be able to try again— one day.

You hear zippers unzipping and velcro cracking behind you as you get on the bed. The coolness of the sheets is so refreshing against your hot skin. It soothes you for a few seconds, but it eventually loses its worth. You turn around and face him with a sort of dumbfounded look on your face. He fucking loves it; Winter always does. He’s naked, fully naked, and even his signature tactical boots have been discarded.

If you squint, you could see the way your wetness shines on his boot. “Good girl, such as good little bunny,” he praises, and you can feel yourself get flustered. Winter climbs onto the bed, staring you dead in the eyes. He kneels in front of you with a wicked smirk, and he brings his flesh hand up to your throat. You let out a gasp as he squeezes your neck tightly before he leans in closer to you.

The Soldat’s face is just a mere few centimetres away from yours. You can feel each breath that he takes against your skin. His hard cock rests against your sticky chest, and he’s still hard as fuck. “Open your mouth, кролик,” he orders, and you instantly do so. You wait for his cock to be stuffed in your mouth once again, but it never comes. You watch as he puckers his lips up before spitting right by your mouth.

You choke in surprise as his saliva slowly drips into your mouth, landing on your sore tongue. You whimper at the feeling, and Winter has a proud smile on his face. He pulls his head away from yours, in the same manner your father would whenever he’d finish one of his masterpieces. “Swallow it all, кролик, I know you want to,” he orders in a sing-song voice.

You follow his demand obediently. You can’t lie; the sheer act of him spitting in your mouth and forcing you to swallow it makes you even wetter. You’d take anything he gives you. “You’re such a good girl, you know that right?” he questions, and your chest heaves. Winter’s cock twitches against you, and you so desperately want him inside you. But there’s nothing you want more than to go relieve yourself.

His metal hand comes up to your face, and you think he’s going to lovingly hold you. You absolutely adore it when he strokes your cheeks. The Soldat’s thumb touches the soft yet slightly sweaty skin of your face and moves back and forth. Chills run down your spine, and you smile into his touch. He suddenly pulls his hand away, and he strikes you roughly. You let out a cry as your skin stings and prickles from the hit.

He does it again and again until your tears soak his hand. Your cheek is practically numb from the pain. You can feel his cock leaking with cum, and you know that he’s going to fuck you, just like you want him to. “Did you forget your manners?” Winter harshly questions, and you quickly shake your head. “T- Thank you, Master,” you whisper to him, and he smiles.

“Master… Can I please go to the bathroom? Please, it hurts,” you beg to him, but he just shakes his head. “P- Please, Master? I’ll be a good girl, I promise!” you plead to him as your tears run down your face even quicker. He ignores your cries for relief, and he instead slams you onto the bed. Your mind is a mess as he combs on top of you, and the aches you have only get stronger.

The hand that was slapping some sense into you finds a new home on your stomach, right above your swollen bladder. He pushes down on your stomach slightly, and you kick your legs. “Shh, none of that, no, stop it,” he shushes, and you try your hardest to not let go right there and then. “Master knows what you need, okay? And right now, you need my cock, маленький кролик,” he tells you, and you sob.

The hand on your throat moves to his cock, and he grabs his thick base. The veins on the side throb with need, and in one thrust, he bottoms out inside you. You barely have the time to register what’s just happened. The painful stretch of his cock radiates throughout your core, and you dig your nails into the scarred skin of your palms. His tip nudges against your g-spot, and you coat his cock with your wetness.

Winter is buried inside you to the hilt, filling you up to the brim. His swollen, heavy balls rest against your ass, and you both try to get used to the connection. The painful stretch dulls down to an exquisite pleasure, and Winter loves the way your tight cunt gets used to his thick cock. He’s splitting you in two, but he simply does not care. His hand returns back to your throat, and this time, he squeezes the sides of your neck even tighter.

Winter pulls his cock out until his fat tip is the only thing resting inside of your pussy. He slams back into you roughly, and you let out a cry. Your jaw falls slack as the Soldat begins to fuck into your relentlessly. His balls slap against your ass, and your loud, short-lived moans fill the cell that you’ve grown to love. “Fucking hell, кролик, your pussy feels so good,” he growls, slamming into you even harder.

Your tits bounce with every movement he makes. The pleasure sears through your body as Winter hammers against your poor g-spot with each thrust he makes. “Master, please, I need to go really badly,” you beg to him as he continues to fuck you. He shakes his head in objection before pushing down on your stomach even harder. You let out a wail and try to squirm away, but you only worsen things for yourself.

“No, you don’t, кролик. The only thing you need is my cock,” the Soldat tells you, and you upsettingly toss your head back. “No, Master, please, I don’t wanna make a mess,” you reason with him, but he just doesn't seem to want to listen. “I know that, кролик, but you need to listen to me, okay? You don’t need to go; you just need me,” he growls lowly, and you can feel him pushing harder on your bladder.

“No- Wait, Master, please stop pushing on me,” you implore to him as a moan follows your words. Your silky, wet cunt hugs his cock as the tingly feeling in your bladder becomes stronger. You want to cross your legs and stop it from growing, but you can’t. Pressure builds up in your core, and you’re not sure if you’re going to come or if you’re going to make a mess and humiliate yourself.

“Let go, мой тупой ребенок, I know you want to so badly. You can make a mess, do it,” Winter urges, and you shake your head. “No, Master, please stop it,” you cry to him, but he only fucks you harder. One specific thrust hits your cervix, and you yell out in pain before even realizing what’s happened. Warmth trickles down your thighs and onto his cock. You let out a wail as humiliation blossoms from your soul.

Though there’s nobody else watching, you’re still embarrassed. And that wicked smirk on Winter’s face does nothing to help you out. The sound of it makes your back sweat, and you want the ground to open up and take you home. Your urine wets the sheets beneath you, and your tears wet your face. “God, look at you. You finally got what you wanted, and here you are, crying like a fucking brat. You’re so ungrateful. Do you even deserve my cum?” he questions with disgust on his tongue.

You struggle to nod, but you do it anyway. The last thing you need is to have your Master upset with you. “‘M sorry, Master, please forgive me,” you plead to him. You continue to relieve yourself, and he continues to fuck you despite the mess you’re making in his shaft. “Такой грязный, глупый малыш. Ты такой жалкий, ты же знаешь это, да?” he questions even though you only know one simple word of Russian. You moan loudly as you slowly stop making a mess and begin to feel your orgasm building up.

“Aw, are you gonna come, кролик?” Winter asks you in a condescending tone, one that makes you even wetter. The lewd sounds that come from your pussy as just as humiliating as what you’ve just done, but you don’t care. You’re too busy getting fucked stupid. “Fuck, I can’t wait to fill this pussy up with my cum; watch it leak out of you. You always do look prettier when you’re filled up with my cum,” he moans as his thrusts grow sloppy.

“Master, ‘m gonna c- come,” you whimper to him, laying in your own piss. “Go ahead, шлюха, come on my cock. You already made a mess on me twice, might as well do it for the third time,” Winter growls, moving the hand that lays on your stomach. He grabs your hips roughly and pulls you closer towards his cock. Hot flames lick at your abdomen as you hit your climax, seeing stars in your vision.

Your reality is warped as you can barely make out the look on Winter’s face. Darkness takes over your vision in the same manner as the clouds would take over the skies on those hot summer days. They would hide the pretty sun for a few minutes, and then they’d leave eventually. Your pussy clamps down on his cock tightly as you coat him with your juices, making him moan.

You wail loudly as you clench around him, making him groan. “Fuck, you like that, don’t you?” he asks without waiting for an answer. You nod as he fucks you through your orgasm, not even caring about how overstimulated you are. His cock slips in and out of you with ease and his thrusts begin to grow sloppy. “Tell me how much you want my cum,” he demands, fucking you even slower.

“I- I want your cum really badly, Master. I need it so badly; please fill me up with your cum!” you politely beg to you as you come down from your much-needed high. “Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up so nicely, кролик, you’re gonna beg me to fuck you again,” Winter husks as his balls tighten up. A string of Russian words leave his mouth, and you have to assume that it’s all foul language.

Warm, white ropes of cum paint your walls as he pushes deep inside your cunt while coming. Winter’s blue eyes squeeze shut, and you both moan at the feeling. He fills you up just like he promised, and you bite down on your lips. Everything has dried, and you feel disgusted, so you try to focus on the way his cum pumps inside you. His cock stays inside you, but he doesn’t soften at all, and you know what that means. Winter falls on top of your sticky chest with a sigh, and tears sting your eyes.

Though he says you need him, you wonder if that’s really true.

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

Text

Initiative - aka NMJ and JYL get engaged - ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3

Nie Mingjue was always glad for an excuse to leave a boring political meeting, although he was surprised that Jiang Yanli had been bold enough to send a note requesting his immediate presence before they were married.

Certain jibes had been made at his expense by his fellow sect leaders, of course, but he had shrugged them off. Let them think him overly indulgent; what did he care? He enjoyed having someone to dote on when he had the chance, and anyway he didn’t think Jiang Yanli would ask him to come out so quickly over nothing – though it was interesting she asked for him to join her, rather than asking for her brother.

“Mistress Jiang?” he said, walking into the room in Jinlin Tower where she was waiting for him. Her posture was tense, her hands clutched together under her sleeves. “What’s the matter?”

“Do you know where the Wen sect survivors were sent?” she asked. “It’s a matter of – some urgency. If you don’t know, we’ll have to find out another way.”

We, he thought. Wei Wuxian, no doubt, since Jiang Cheng was still inside the hall, enduring the politics that came with any meeting between sects. And Wei Wuxian did not, generally speaking, have the best ways of figuring things out.

“The Jin sect has not shared that information publicly,” he said slowly, and saw her shoulders slump in disappointment. “But that does not mean I don’t know it. What is the issue?”

Jiang Yanli explained in a few sentences: a woman looking for a brother, a young man who had helped rescue Wei Wuxian during the war, a doctor’s assistant, who’d even gone so far as to poison his own people to save members of the Jiang sect and then spent the majority of the war in a prison, and yet now they thought he had been trapped in a prison camp, being abused…a young man surnamed Wen.

A young man called Wen Ning, or Wen Qionglin. It was not a name Nie Mingjue remembered.

But the one searching for Wen Ning was his sister, Wen Qing - and that was a name he did remember.

Wen Ruohan’s favorite nurse.

Nie Mingjue’s jaw clenched at the thought. He’d spent more than half his life avenging his family, and had always assumed the Wen sect would do the same if they were allowed to live; he had never stinted on hating all of them without exception, without quarter. Wen Ruohan was a murderer and a tyrant, and his family supported him with nary a word in protest until the tables had turned and it was their own lives at stake – was it not evil to support evil? Could Wen Ruohan have done as much as he did without Wen Qing’s medicines and treatments, without Wen Qionglin’s silent compliance? Did it really matter that they had been threatened, as so many other people had been threatened?

No. Duress could explain many things, but it never excused standing aside in the face of murder. Wen Qionglin and Wen Qing were, at best, accessories to a hundred crimes, and deserved exactly none of his sympathy.

And yet.

It was not them that was making a request of him.

Patient, calm, gentle. Forgiving. These were all traits he wanted in his bloodline, traits he lacked and knew he lacked. Traits that Jiang Yanli possessed: matching strength to weakness, weakness to strength.

Nie Mingjue did not love Jiang Yanli, not yet, but if he was not willing to even trust her, it was better not to marry at all.

“Very well,” he said, deciding. “Are they waiting outside? We will go at once. Huaisang will make my excuses.”

“…Huaisang will?”

“He’ll stutter and obfuscate and make a tolerable mess of it,” Nie Mingjue said, not without a mixture of exasperation and fondness – he knew his brother too well. “And as a result they won’t know where or why we’ve gone for at least another half a shichen, if not more.”

(Knowing Nie Huaisang, he might ‘accidentally’ end up implying that Nie Mingjue had gone to enjoy some afternoon delight with his soon-to-be bride, but Nie Mingjue was too polite to mention something like that to Jiang Yanli.)

Jiang Yanli nodded, and slipped her hand into his, squeezing briefly. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I know what it all means to you.”

“I can only give you the benefit of the doubt,” he said, trying to be honest but probably coming off as harsh. “For the rest of it, I will decide when we are there.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t have his sword, as always these days, and Wen Qing, shivering behind him, had lost hers, but Nie Mingjue brought along four Nie sect cultivators and ordered two to act as escorts, with the other two trailing behind in the event of trouble. He rather liked Wei Wuxian, especially after that stunt he’d pulled in protest of the Jin sect’s little shooting ‘entertainment’, but demonic cultivation was dangerous and Wei Wuxian’s mentality was said to be unstable. Nie Mingjue had lost so many of his own already - he was taking no chances.

“How did you know where they’re located, Chifeng-zun?” Wei Wuxian asked from where he was balancing behind a long-suffering Nie Zonghui. “I wouldn’t have thought the Jin sect shared that information.”

“Are you not familiar with the concept of spies?” Nie Mingjue asked, voice dry. Jiang Yanli, in his arms, giggled – she’d planned to send them along without her, looking disappointed and worried and resigned, and she’d brightened like a flower exposed to the sun when he’d informed her that she was coming along with them. She was accustomed to being left behind, and he intended to change that.

Besides, they were only going to the Qiongqi Path, which was solidly in Jin territory, to a prisoner of war camp staffed by Jin cultivators. It was hardly a dangerous expedition, and he did not expect to encounter anything that might be a threat, excluding perhaps his own temper.

His temper did, in fact, make an appearance.

“Jin Guangshan swore to Lan Xichen that the Wen remnants would be resettled peacefully,” he snarled, eyes red with rage and Baxia in his hand as the Jin sect cultivators - which had been tormenting the civilians here and that had gotten into Wei Wuxian’s face when he’d charged over first to shout at them - cowered in front of him. They were willing to challenge Wei Wuxian, but it seemed that Nie Mingjue was a different story – bullying the weak and cowering before the strong. Pathetic! “I had not realized that our understanding of the word peaceful was so different. Clearly I will need to have words with Sect Leader Jin.”

A hand touched his arm, and he looked down, surprised; virtually no one approached him when he was in a rage.

Jiang Yanli stood beside him, looking up at him fearlessly. “As much as I’m sure you’d like to chop them into pieces, it’ll be more effective to present them as evidence,” she said, and even smiled, as if they were sharing a joke between the two of them. “We can save the chopping for later. Following the trial that I’m certain Sect Leader Jin will insist upon.”

The Jin cultivators paled, clearly realizing that the likelihood of Sect Leader Jin standing behind them rather than immediately making them scapegoats was very low. They would be much more likely to spill whatever secrets they might have now, knowing that their fates depended more on Nie Mingjue’s mercy than on Jin Guangshan’s, than they would have even in the face of his threats.

Baxia grumbled in reluctant approval, and all of a sudden Nie Mingjue could not wait for Jiang Yanli to have a saber of her own and to cultivate its spirit – he thought it would be a very fine spirit indeed.

“Very well,” he allowed, and put Baxia back on his back, noting but ignoring the respectful looks his cultivators were sending Jiang Yanli. It was nothing more than what ought to be, the proper role of a Nie furen: to incite when appropriate, to restrain when necessary. “Zonghui, return to Lanling and bring a larger force so that we can transport the Wen civilians to safety. And – there’s no need for subtlety.”

By which he meant that he wanted every cultivator who could fly their own sword to be tagging along out of curiosity, and Nie Zonghui knew it. He saluted and left at once.

“What do we do now, then?” Wei Wuxian asked, shifting from one foot to the other. He looked anxious and young, clearly startled by the abrupt lack of violence and worried about Wen Ning – the young man had some nasty injuries that hadn’t been treated by the Jin sect, his body tossed away like so much refuse, but they’d arrived early enough that his sister was avidly working to care for him. She had said that his chances were good, since they had arrived before his consciousness had slipped away.

If they’d arrived later…

If Nie Mingjue hadn’t had the information ready to hand from the spies he disliked using, if Wei Wuxian had had to get the information out of the Jin sect directly, if he had had to ride here from Lanling rather than fly a sword, if he’d gotten stuck in that thunderstorm that was rapidly heading their way…

Well, that hadn’t happened. There was no point in wondering what if.

“Now? Nothing. We wait. Nie Xizhe, Wu Shude, take some of the Wen civilians and have them help you tie up all the Jin sect cultivators; I don’t want anyone sneaking away, and there’s not enough of us to guard them while they’re free. Wei Wuxian, walk with me.” He glanced to his side. “With us, I mean.”

Wei Wuxian obediently trotted over to where Nie Mingjue and Jiang Yanli were waiting, and Nie Mingjue led the three of them over to a nearby ridge where they could have a little privacy. The storm was getting ever closer, he noticed.

“Very well,” he said finally. “It’s just us now. What debt do you owe the Wens?”

Wei Wuxian froze. “Debt? I don’t – I already said –”

“There’s something you’ve left out,” Nie Mingjue said. “The way you act with them…”

He didn’t know how to put it into words. It wasn’t merely chivalrous altruism, nor even friendship, that was driving Wei Wuxian – he was desperate to help, manic with the need to do something; there was something else there. Some secret. He knew, because Nie Mingjue knew secrets and what they did to a man, even if he was keeping it for the best reasons in the world.

“A-Xian?” Jiang Yanli asked when Wei Wuxian said nothing, when Nie Mingjue said no more. “You know you can tell me, right?”

His lips were pressed together, his hand tight on his flute until his knuckles were white. He shook his head. “Shijie,” he whispered. “Don’t ask, please. Don’t.”

At least he’d admitted there was something.

“Your conduct is causing trouble for Yunmeng Jiang,” Nie Mingjue said, and Wei Wuxian turned tormented eyes on him, even as Jiang Yanli’s hand tightened on his. “It’s a Great Sect, but your brother is young, untried, and sensitive to criticism. It will be difficult for him to deal with the issues you present, especially if you persist in your present path of continuing with demonic cultivation instead of returning to the orthodox path of sword cultivation.”

Wei Wuxian nodded, looking pained.

“Do you have a suggestion?” Jiang Yanli asked.

“Yes,” Nie Mingjue said. “Absent yourself before you are forced to leave in truth. Go to the Cloud Recesses the way Lan Wangji continues to pester you about – see if you can’t tell him what secret it is that’s weighing down your tongue, if you can’t tell any of us – and come visit the Unclean Realm when you’re done there.”

Wei Wuxian was staring. Nie Mingjue ignored him.

“When you’re done with that, assign yourself the job of checking up on the Jiang sect’s dependent sects, or even just go around to visit every sect listed as having fought in the war, building relationships with them,” he continued briskly. “As for the reason, you’re clever, you’ll think of something. Get Wangji to teach you some healing spells and come help those in my sect who need it. Say that you’re using your demonic cultivation to help ferret out resentful energy in need of cleansing. Something. It doesn’t really matter what. But whatever you do, go. Give Yunmeng Jiang time to become as strong as it needs to be to protect you.”

“But it shouldn’t be protecting me,” Wei Wuxian protested. “I should be the one protecting it!”

“A-Xian!” Jiang Yanli exclaimed, and her expression was suddenly fierce. “Are you the eldest? No. I am. You are my A-Xian, my didi, and that means you are part of Yunmeng Jiang – we have as much right to protect you as you us, and don’t you forget it.”

“But – shijie –”

“I won’t hear another word,” she said. “I won’t! Whatever it is, A-Xian, you need to tell us eventually, or else we’ll all fall apart. Didn’t you both promise me that we’d stay together, the three of us, always? You can’t break that promise now.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes were wet with tears. “All right, shijie. I’ll figure something out.”

“Start with Gusu,” Nie Mingjue said again, uncomfortable with the display of emotions. “If you tell Lan Wangji the truth, he may even be able to help – in one way or another. Or don’t, it’s up to you. Just get yourself out of the public view. Earn some merits that aren’t related to slaughter.”

Wei Wuxian nodded again, clearly overcome with feeling, and then promptly made up a flimsy excuse to leave, dashing away towards where Wen Qing was still working on her brother.

Jiang Yanli sighed. “Thank you,” she said. “Again. I just wish I knew what was wrong with him!”

“We’ll figure it out,” he promised her. “Even if I have to pick him up and shake the secret out of him.”

Jiang Yanli smiled up at him.

“Thank you,” she said, now a third time over.

“Thank you,” he corrected. “If you hadn’t brought this to my attention, I would be guilty of negligence in regard to the Wen sect remnants – and most of them civilians, no less. As for Wei Wuxian…he’s your didi, and so soon to be my brother-in-law. It’s nothing but what I should be doing.”

“Still,” she said. “I am grateful nonetheless.”

Nie Mingjue looked down at her, fierce and yet patient, kind and righteous in her own quietly determined way, fearless enough to stand by his side and trusting him enough to come to him for help.

His heart moved in his chest.

He decided to be daring, as it had always served him well in the past – he stepped forward, closer to Jiang Yanli, and leaned down to press his lips to the corner of her mouth.

“It is what I should be doing,” he murmured, voice low. “Nie furen.”

Jiang Yanli’s face turned bright red, but she was smiling.

Yes, Nie Mingjue thought – he might not be able to promise love, but accepting Jiang Yanli’s show of initiative was definitely one of the better decisions he’d made.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #jiang yanli #wei wuxian #my fic #my fics #initiative

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maddenleftchat · 3 years ago

Note

I had this really cool idea with blob dream. What if one day you and dream switch places? You wake up and you can’t feel your legs touch the ground, then you turn around and see dream but as a human and you are the blob now!

Oh! I love this one!

Triggers: possessive behavior, cuddling against will, obsessive behavior, criticizing of chosen friends, dream having sort of a god complex, and yandere like behaviors. Please be careful when reading.

Enjoy.

BLOB DREAM

Dream Blob to say the least would be very happy.

But it would take him a minute to learn the basic functions.

Such as walking, eating, breathing, blinking, etc.

But once he has all that figured out... I pray for you.

He already knows how to talk, He's picked that up from you.

Plus he may or may not have studied the dictionary when you were away…

Hey at least it's keeping him busy from destroying or hiding your stuff.

Blob dream is normally kind of a harmless but possessive yandere.

If you're read my last headcanons about cuddling, you'll know he's a little shit.

From here on out I'll be calling him dream because he's kind of no longer a blob.

For the day at least.

So let's start with the day:

When you two first wake up, it'll be highly confusing.

But, this is to be expected.

But when Dream realizes what's happening, he will immediately try to adapt to the new body.

Meanwhile with you it takes a bit longer.

I mean you literally just got four out of your five limbs taken away.

You have to learn how to wriggle up and waddle around.

But that won't be a problem for much longer... (Hint hint.)

But once Dream is situated, he'll look at you.

And you will see the most mischievous and evil smirk on that man's face.

He will not hesitate to then pick you up.

You of course and rightfully, will squeak.

And that just made this thing so much worse... For you anyways.

"Look who's the tiny one now."

"Look at you you're so small and cute!"

"I could just carry you around like this all day."

He'll mock you with certain phrases like this…

But honestly what did you expect?

After mocking you for a little bit he would finally just pick you up.

You glare but you can't do much.

"Now...um.. breakfast.. right?"

You can't respond like you normally would, You just simply stir up at him.

But unlike his blob form we can actually show facial emotions.

And currently a big frown stuck onto your face with a small glare.

"Don't look at me like that! I trying my best, it's my day to treat you like you treat me!"

You roll your eyes and squeak.

During most of the day you two just stay inside, but one stream had his arms around you he wasn't letting go.

Both of his hands are full?

Into the shirt pocket.

He has an open hand?

You're being held like a small doll.

Both hands are open?

He is hugging the shit out of you.

You're honestly surprised you haven't been squished to death yet.

But since Dream isn't used to being a human yet, He's very clumsy…

And when I say very, I mean very.

This dude has almost sat on you at least four times.

If it wasn't for your high-pitch guinea pig like squeaks, You would be squashed.

After he apologizes profusely, you're still squeaking at him out of anger.

God you wish you could talk.

Dream would find a way to make the day last as long as possible.

Not because he wants to take care of you and make you feel comfortable.

Oh no baby.

This is about him.

He wants to be the big one in the relationship for once.

He wants to be the one in control for once.

And so that's what's going to happen.

Cuddling sessions usually go down like this:

He's sitting on the couch with you in between his legs.

There's no complaints.

It's actually pretty warm and comfy.

Until he gets upset and becomes needy.

Dream well then interrupt your piece just so he can have your attention.

Honestly he's not that different from when he's a blob.

Just a lot more possessive and obsessive…

He'll hold you close to his chest or put you on his shoulder.

He'll then start to rumble and grumble.

"Well I don't understand why you need to go outside so much?"

"I mean I'm here as a human and I'm fine."

"Oh but that's right, you need that dumb stuff money to survive…"

"But other than that I don't understand... I mean why do you need other people when you have me?"

"I don't know about you but you're a great company as a blob. And I like to think I'm even better company as a blob."

*Squeak*

"Or when you give all your attention to those damn people that you call friends. They're kind of weird looking."

"And I don't like the way some of them treat you. To get too touchy and too close…"

He'll go on and on You just have no choice but to listen.

But hey at least he's a good cook when it came to dinner... Even though you couldn't have any.

Luckily he was a nice enough to leave you some for tomorrow.

As the day concluded you learned a lot of opinions you didn't know that he had.

It was kind of nice, but scary to hear all this.

You've decided later in the future to leave him home when you go to hang out with friends…

It's likely for the best.

But when it comes to bedtime, he almost squishes you in his sleep!

You of course squeak at the top of your lungs to wake him up.

And he quickly apologizes.

As you to fall asleep for the night, You want stream about being human once again.

In the morning you slowly open your eyes, and go to stretch your legs and arms... Only to feel that there's nothing there…

Good luck with your new found form~

In short: Dream Blob would love this. Like this is his dream, he always feels a bit insecure about himself when he was a blob. He was so small and just wanted to protect you, You wanted to protect his human. Is that too much to ask?!

Word count: 1,000

#dream blob x reader #dream blob #blob dream #yandere dream #dreamxreader #dream smp #yandere dream x reader #yandere dsmp

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unwrittenlibrary · 3 years ago

Text

the warmth of your love

summary -> there are more ways to say i love you than just i love you. you and bucky share a few.

words -> 2.2k

warnings -> pining, friends to lovers, back to my fluffy bucky roots, female!reader

notes -> i wrote a harry s. piece similar to this years ago & it’s so interesting to see how my writing has changed since then. based off of this list. items from the list are italicized!

— ➶ —

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

They’re simple words that Bucky has become accustomed to.

Steve Rogers departure has left a hole in the world and a gap in Bucky’s chest that aches. They were best friends, brothers, and Bucky wasn’t sure how to navigate this world without him.

Bucky has grown used to the pity filled eyes of the Avengers, or at least what’s left of them, and the apologetic tone of voice.

The way the words came from your mouth though was different. Your eyes full of kindness and a small smile on your face that offered comfort.

“Th..Thank you.” Bucky says quietly. The two of you have only known each other for a couple years now, but Bucky finds comfort in you more than he does people he’s known since Steve and Sam had saved him. “It means a lot.”

Your hand squeezes his right forearm gently. “If you need anything, I’m here for you.”

He knows the words hold true; That if he called, you’d be over with dinner or movies to help him. It makes Bucky feel warm in a way he hasn’t in almost a century.

“I know.” His left hand covers yours. “I appreciate it.” You both share a smile, small and private, before the moment is over.

“I was in the neighborhood.”

There’s a knock on his door that makes Bucky jump. He’s been working on his reactions, logically he knows not everybody is out to get him, but it’s something ingrained in his mind.

He’s working on being better about it, he is, but it’s almost ten at night and Bucky doesn’t really have many friends left.

His hand wraps around the hilt of his knife as he creeps towards his apartment door. There’s another knock and Bucky moves to look through the peephole.

It’s you. Covered dishes in your hand and scarf wrapped tightly around your neck. Bucky’s lips quark up at the sight, fall was starting and fall in New York was a bitter cold. His hand falls from his knife as he moves to unlock the door.

“What are you doing here?” He asks incredulously as you step inside. Bucky’s eyes find his makeshift bed on the living room floor and he shifts in embarrassment.

You gently place the glass dish on his counter and shrug your coat off. “I was in the neighborhood.” It’s an obvious lie, if the meal for two is anything to go by, but Bucky doesn’t dispute it. “Thought you might be hungry.”

You move around his kitchen like you belong there, pulling out plates and utensils. Bucky watches with his mouth parted in awe. “You didn’t have to-“

“-I wanted to.” You move over, making room for Bucky to stand beside you, and hold out a fork for him. “Now, come on. It’s a new recipe.”

Bucky holds a finger up. “Let me get you a drink. I have some wine.” He shuffles through his cabinets until he comes across a bottle of white wine, a housewarming gift from Sam.

“Now it’s a date.” You giggle and Bucky can feel his cheeks heat, not at the insinuation of it being a date but the fact that he so desperately wishes it was.

“Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

Bucky knows you’re not his girlfriend. It’s a painful observation he makes every time you bring something over or offer to go out. The way your hands brush but never intertwine and how you give him a hug and press a kiss to his cheek instead of his lips.

Bucky knew you weren’t his girlfriend, but he didn’t know you were dating.

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” Your voice is choked up and you struggle to get the words out, “I just, I didn’t know who else to call.”

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Bucky’s mind has slipped into panic mode as he jumps up from his couch. He moves around his apartment, hastily pulling on pants and socks while holding the phone to his ear and listening for any signs of pain. “Where are you?”

You sniffle. “I’m fine! I’m not hurt! Well, not physically anyway. I had a date tonight and he stood me up.” You suck in a deep breath and Bucky freezes.

A date?

“So, my pride is injured.” You joke, but Bucky’s stuck frozen in the middle of his living room with one shoe on and a broken heart.

He knows, okay, he knows you never told him you had feelings for him. That you didn’t owe him anything, but he thought maybe…

“…But physically I’m okay.” You’re still talking and Bucky is only half listening. “Can I come over? I’m, like, five blocks away. Bad Moon bar. I can walk to your place. I just need a friend.”

The word rings in Bucky’s ears, but he forces himself to speak. “Stay there. I’ll come get you.” Bucky moves to pull his second shoe on and pulls on a coat.

He hears your sigh of relief. “Thank you so much. I’ll be outside.” Bucky swallows thickly when you hang the phone up.

“I think you’re beautiful.”

You have another date. This time with a man who asked what your favorite flower is and has decided to take you out to dinner instead of a bar.

Bucky’s chest hurts, but he stays silent. He’s unwilling to break this friendship up by telling you how he feels, especially when it seems clear to him that you do not feel the same way.

“Okay! Okay!” You come barreling down your hallway and into the living room. Bucky looks up from his phone and his mouth almost falls open in shock.

You look lovely in the dress that flows to your feet. It fits around your curves and Bucky can’t stop his eyes from trailing over you in awe.

“Wow.” He murmurs. Your eyes shift and you glance down at your hands fiddling in the front of your stomach. “You look…”

You cut him off before he can get anymore words out, “I look ridiculous! I knew it. I look far too dressed up.” You spin on your heel, but Bucky shoots up to stop you.

“No! You look…” He trails off nervously. Bucky looks at you, really looks at you, someone warm and full of light and understands what this feeling he has around you is. “I think you’re beautiful.”

“Happy Birthday.” & “I made this for you.”

Bucky walks into his apartment and is immediately hit with the smell of vanilla. He can hear your voice, reading ingredients to yourself, from his entryway and smiles to himself.

“I knew there was a reason Sam kept me out all day.” Bucky laughs when you jump and drop the whisk in your hand. “What’re you doing here, sweetheart?”

Your shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. “It’s your birthday!” You smile brightly as Bucky presses a greeting kiss to your cheek.

“I’ve had too many of them, no need to bring attention to it.” Bucky dips a finger in the whipped frosting in your hands and laughs when you smack it away.

“We have to celebrate!” You exclaim with an affronted look. “No ifs ands or buts! Happy birthday, Bucky!”

The bowl of frosting is dropped on the counter as you move to wrap your arms tightly around Bucky’s waist. He settles in your arms as his own come up to wrap around you.

The poems and stories talk about being in the arms of the one you love as rapid heartbeats and butterflies but all Bucky feels is calm. It’s like the worries of his day to day life just slip away when he’s with you.

It’s good, so wonderfully good to have an anchor like that. He didn’t need the butterflies that made him feel sick or the rapid heartbeat that worsened his anxiety. He just needed the warmth.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Bucky presses another kiss to the top of your head. You pull away to look up at him excitedly. “What’s that look for?”

You pull away completely and move around to pull your bag off of one of his kitchen stools. “I made this for you.” Your voice is quiet and nervous as you push a wrapped box towards him.

It’s a small book, one with no title to indicate what’s on the inside, but Bucky can tell it’s something personal from the way you’re rocking back and forth nervously on your feet.

When he opens it to the first page, tears almost spring to his eyes. His lungs burn with effort to not cry as he flips through picture after picture. Him, you and him, him with Sam and Steve and all of you together.

Each photo has a small note next to it too. Hearts and smiley faces decorate the edges. Bucky looks up at you with his mouth open in awe.

“This is… Nobody has ever done something this special for me before.” He admits quietly. “I love it.”

A sigh of relief escapes you as Bucky moves to pull you into his arms again. “Happy Birthday, Buck.” You murmur into his chest.

It’s the best birthday Bucky’s had since he was a child.

“You can tell me anything.”

You’re nervous.

It’s obvious in the way your eyes shift to Bucky before back to the sidewalk in front of you.

Your nervousness is making Bucky nervous. His fingers twitching every so often and he finds himself shifting around as if he expects something to hop out from behind one of the trees.

“Are you okay?” Bucky finally asks when he notices your hands tangled together in front of your stomach. “You’re being fidgety.”

You look up with wide, shocked eyes like you had forgotten Bucky was there entirely, too caught up in your own thoughts. “I’m okay!” You say quickly.

Bucky feels his eyes narrow and he forces you to a stop beside him with a gentle hand on your elbow. “Are you sure?”

“Yep! Just busy overthinking.” You laugh awkwardly as you glance down at the hand still wrapped around your elbow. Bucky drops it quickly, but your hand reaches out to intertwine your fingers with his. “I just… I’ve been wanting to ask you.. No. Tell you something.”

Bucky squeezes your hand gently. “You can tell me anything.” He says quietly. You look at him with wet eyes and Bucky feels himself panic. “No judgement, not from me, not ever.”

“Promise?” You ask quietly. Your voice sounds so unlike you, so nervous and uncomfortable that Bucky isn’t sure what he can do to make it better.

So he nods. “Promise. I’m the last person to judge, sweetheart.”

“I love you.”

It’s right out of those romantic comedies that Bucky pretends to dislike. The way you stand in front of him, wrapped up in a winter coat and scarf, with trembling hands and admit to Bucky how you feel.

“I’ve felt like this for a long time. A really long time now, I don’t think I could even tell you when because it just happened.” You ramble when you’re nervous, a habit Bucky thinks is adorable. “And I knew you were going through a lot, so I never said anything. I love being your friend, I do, but I had to tell you. It’s tearing me up having this secret because I hate secrets.”

Bucky says your name in an attempt to cut you off, but you don’t seem to hear him. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. I-“

Your lips press shut when Bucky’s hands come up to cup your cheeks. “Will you shut up for just one second?” He asks sweetly.

You nod with wide eyes. “I feel warm around you,” Bucky starts off, “I don’t feel butterflies or sweaty palms. I used too, sometimes when you look at me a certain way I still do, but most of the time I just feel warm. I… I feel like I can breathe again. I feel calm. You make me calm.”

“What?” You ask softly. It’s obvious you’re trying to not get your hopes up as Bucky talks.

“I love you too.” Bucky says clearly. Your hand comes up to rest over his on your cheek as you press into the pressure. “You make it easy for me to breathe again.”

Bucky feels the sigh of relief you let out. “You make it easy for me too.” You say quietly, your tone much lighter than before.

“Can I kiss you?”

When you nod, Bucky can feel his entire face brighten. He’s sure there’s a nervous blush there as you tilt your head up towards him and leans to meet you halfway.

It’s just as warm as you are, the way you kiss. Slow and pushing all of your emotions into it. Your lips are cold, but Bucky’s sure his are too.

It’s everything he’s wanted with you. Despite the snowflakes beginning to fall around you and the wind nipping at his skin, all Bucky feels is warmth.

Bonus -> “Can I have this dance?”

A winter wedding seemed fitting when you had suggested it. Something small, intimate and warm. Just a few of your closest friends and family to bear witness.

You’ve been wandering around the venue for the past hour, saying hi to family and catching up with people you’ve been too busy to hang out with the past couple of months. Bucky’s sick of not having you by his side.

His arm wraps your waist from behind and he presses a kiss to your cheek, immediately cutting off what you were saying to Pepper.

A slow song starts, Bucky won’t admit until later that he told the DJ to start it once Bucky reached your side.

“Mrs. Barnes, can I have this dance?”

— ➶ —

me: has ten pieces in the drafts that need to be worked on

also me: just writes this fluffy disaster

#bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #james bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes comfort

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years ago

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SW Suddenly-Omegaverse AU: Surrogacy, Worldbuilding, Obi-Mom

Truly the main irony of all this is that everyone considers Obi-Wan the Better Omega but Anakin is the one who's actually 👀👀👀 about pregnancy

Obi-Wan: I have the deepest respect for those who do it, but the idea of growing another person inside of me is weird and gross, no, thank you.

Meanwhile Anakin is like. Immediate baby fever. Someone actually approaches him like "hey... there are forms you can fill out to request an exception for pregnancy, and like... regulations" because he's that obvious about it.

I assume that if they've got safety nets for accidental pregnancies, then they're probably aware that there are people who want to do it on purpose? I feel like in an omegaverse where 'biological imperative to procreate' can be so much more intense, then maybe there's old precedent that stuck around even after suppressants got most of those hormones under better control.

Bit torn. Just know I want Anakin to Make Baby.

"Anakin, what are you--" "Do you think offering to be someone's surrogate would be acceptable to the council as a way to be pregnant without getting attached." "...what." "They'd probably accept that as a way to practice not getting attached, right?" "N...no, that's not... what?"

Anakin approaching Bail and Breha and being like “Do you... still want a kid? I would provide a kid. Do you want one here*?”

* in this dimension

Great way to give up the baby as a parent because he'd still be able to see them once in a while but also like... it's not HIS kid, technically. He can be a cool uncle who happened to give birth, which is distant enough to not be 'attached,' but close enough that his Tatooine-raised 'must ensure family is safe whenever possible' background doesn't flip out. It helps that 'Core World Royalty' is like... a top-tier family to be raised in.

(It would have to be post-war because he probably shouldn’t be risking his life while very pregnant. He needs to be reminded of that sometimes.)

Bail/Breha is an alpha/alpha relationship and while a pregnancy is still possible,* it’s a whole lot more difficult, and that's on top of Breha's canon medical issues that resulted in her heart and lungs getting replaced.

* AFAB alphas can get pregnant, and AMAB omegas can inseminate, but the success rate on that angle is much lower than the 'traditional' alpha/omega roles, as is any attempt at reproduction outside rut/heat. They're low-fertility overall for the non-dominant aspect of their reproductive system, which... ha, Anakin and Obi-Wan try to get explanations for why the senary system works the way it does, but it's a very longform history lesson that comes down to 'idk this got cemented so long ago that nobody really knows why anymore.'

AKA "why do you title these roles male omega and female alpha instead of intersex omega and intersex alpha since both parties have both genitals."

ANYWAY

Anakin: I want to make babies. But I don't want to get kicked out of the order. But I don't want to give up my own babies for adoption. But I can't keep my own babies if I want to stay a Jedi. So basically I want to have someone else's babies? Anakin: ...wait shit that's just surrogacy.

Anakin, calling up Obi-Wan: Hey are the Organas still struggling to have a kid? Obi-Wan: ...not really your business. Anakin: You're friends with Bail again though, right? Obi-Wan: I am, but-- Anakin: Do you think they'd want me to be a surrogate? Obi-Wan: What.

I can't decide if it's funnier for the Order to be like "I mean... technically there's no rules against this?" or if this is a precedent set by at least three omegas every generation because that's just how a/b/o manifested for omegas in a biological and cultural sense.

Bail: Wait, your former apprentice is... volunteering... to be our surrogate. Obi-Wan, exhausted: Yes. Bail: He barely knows us. Obi-Wan: He respects you and you're the closest people he knows that want a child and would be good parents. Bail: And he's just... volunteering? Obi-Wan: Yes. Also, you did say your primary worry was that a surrogate might be targeted for assassination and you couldn't ask someone to risk that, right? Anakin is very much able to avoid assassins, and would be staying primarily in the Temple anyway. Very safe, and not particularly scared of assassins in the first place. Bail: Your words say you approve, but your tone says otherwise. Obi-Wan: Anakin considers me his father. I'm not old enough to be a grandparent. Bail: Ah.

Anakin is a surrogate and enjoys it and everything is fine and then like a year later he's accidentally pregnant with his own and Rex's kid, and nobody knows how to ask if it's actually an accident.

A suggestion from @gelpenss:

OH MAN i.... have to drive home. But I just had a thought about like. I always want to poke at Betas in A/B/O like are they “normal” or different from our standard or.... but ANYWAY assuming they have a pheromonal thing I just think it would be neat if betas had the ability to be the Bucket of Cold Water. Like if caught early enough, and with the caveat it’s not permanent, a beta could arrest a rut or heat in its tracks until a more ideal time. Like. They aren’t birth control. But they are the remind me later button.

Okay done driving I am Returned to bring up why I brought up betas and it’s this: well okay 1. It plays nice with a popular but inaccurate dog breeding urban legend that female dogs will like, delay heat cycles? so that the bitches above them in pack hierarchy have first choice of mate selection. And I think in omegaverse it would be cool if that was a Bio Fact, and also historically enforced by the third designation. 2. It gives me an excuse to have betas have the Most Sensitive sense of smell because it’s their “job” to pick up on things before they go too far to be put on pause. 3. I’m just thinkin ‘bout a beta clone [...] just hovering around Obi-Wan because they found out how much stress his heat cycle causes and they’re like “okay cool I will help make sure it does Not”

I want to like a/b/o verses but betas niggle at me. I want to give them a hat and a Function that woulda helped before modern medicine.

I'm not sure how I feel about betas being able to delay heats, but I do like the idea of them having a more sensitive sense of pheromone smell than most. Most aliens assume it's omegas with the best sense of smell, and betas with the worst, but it's more complicated than that because they all specialize: Alphas are actually less attuned to pheromone smells, but more attuned to things that were useful back when humans were still a hunter-gatherer species. Omegas tend to be heightened towards danger smells like fire or aggression, and pheromones relating to children/care. Betas, as suggested above, are very sensitive to pheromone changes relating to mood and behavior of the community around them.

I like the idea that betas were historically the ones that ended up taking care children, unmated omegas, and so on during people's heats and ruts, because they kept their heads about themselves long enough to do things like cook and clean while someone was reeking of hormones. The checks and balances work out that betas may have lower fertility, but it makes them better able to support the network around them.

It works in with humanity's general collective history of thriving the most when working as a community.

Given that I decided that this is Jangobi, the clones might all subconsciously view Obi-Wan as Mom. Not intentionally, but, you know... Obi-Wan the not-evil stepmother. He doesn't know how he got into this situation, but he sure is here, and he sure as hell doesn't know how to get out.

Obi-Wan "I don't need to get pregnant, I have three million stepchildren" Kenobi

I definitely love "clones all want to make Obi-Wan's heats less stressful" but like in a different way from Whatever The Fuck Anakin's Got Going On.

Obi-Wan using the force to dull the pain in a Shiny's broken leg while the medic works on it and the Shiny just mumbles "Thanks mom" and everyone gets very embarrassed and pretends it didn't happen.

But then it happens again. And again.

Obi-Wan asks for an explanation from Cody and gets a halting response that, since Jango is technically their father, and his scent has been all over Obi-Wan recently... and Obi-Wan puts in a lot of effort to take care of them all.......

Anakin overhears the clones calling Obi-Wan "mom" and just. The most judgmental eyebrow raise.... Mostly in the sense of "You never let me call you dad" "Thought you said you weren't anyone's parent." "Hey, hey, Obi-Wan. What the fuck."

BOBA. BOBA ABSOLUTELY CALLS OBI-WAN MOM WHENEVER POSSIBLE. IT'S DEEPLY FRUSTRATING.

Obi-Wan eventually manages to admit that he's uncomfortable with it at minimum because of the gendering the word has for him, can they at least use the neutral 'buir' instead?

Word spreads like fire, takes like two days max for everyone to switch.

(Anakin demands cuddles as compensation for not getting to call Obi-Wan any true parental term for years.)

#Anakin Skywalker #Obi Wan Kenobi #Bail Organa #Rexwalker #Jangobi #Captain Rex #Commander Cody #Boba Fett #star wars #the clone wars #omegaverse #SW Suddenly Omegaverse #mpreg tw #phoenix posts

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theficblog · 3 years ago

Text

BRINGING HIM HOME

JOSHUA HONG

Prologue: Fear takes over you as you bring Joshua to meet your parents, but he say’s you’re taking gratuitous stress

Genre: Fluff + Established relationship AU

Wordcount: 1,016

Warnings: None

Today was going to be a big day. You've had this in your vision for a long time now and it couldn’t be refrained from. You were, however, excited about it at the same time. But the excitement was accompanied by fear, anxiety, and worry. Human emotions can never be easily caught and understood. You were sat in the car, paying zero attention to the otherwise lively streets of the city.

Your city, the place where you were born, raised, and probably conceived, too. You had missed it. The busy streets, the halting of the vehicles at the traffic signal, the people, the places, everything but you are back now, after what were originally supposed to be three years of receiving higher education in America. No, the pandemic treated you no differently. Life was paused, leading to being stuck in America for two more years.

Anyway, you were back. There was so much sentiment inside you right now, that you could never process them. The car stopped as the traffic lights turned red.

"Are you too emotional to talk right now? Baby, are you okay?" Questioned the man seated next to you. Joshua, your boyfriend.

"Shua, Yeah, It’s just, you know." You failed to put your thoughts into words.

"Is it because you’re too emotional that we’re here? Or are you afraid that I might screw it all up in front of your parents?" Four years of being together and this man knew you better than yourself. His coral black eyes teamed up with comforting and deep aura questioned once again.

Yes. You were afraid, not because Joshua would mess it up. It was only natural to feel that way. He was the first man you were bringing home, he had had innumerous zoom calls and texts with your parents whilst the two of you still being in America, they knew him and approved of him. The admiration was so intense that your boyfriend and parents were also mutuals on social media. Then, what was so special about this day? Someone who had to go through it could only understand.

Soon, you reach your home. For a moment, tears started forming in your eyes. They say there is no place on earth like home, and it could not be better understood by you. You missed it. Everything appeared to be so different yet still managed to be the same. The vibe welcomed you as you took steps further.

"Trust me, everything will go well. We just have to be ourselves right? They’re parents." Joshua affirmed. "I know they love you." You added to his affirmation. "Yes. More than they love you." He teased, and his lips turned into a smirk. On normal days, you would hit him playfully, but the timing didn't allow you to do so this time. You could not ruin his appearance, no, not right now.

It was as if you were lost again, admiring your boyfriend. He was dressed in a pastel blue button-up that complemented his light brown pants. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbow, almost naturally out of habit. His alluring eyes, black-brown hair combed back, and the long flicks falling onto his forehead from the sides of it. Joshua looked perfect.

You shook your head, returning back to the time and place as you now rang the doorbell. Taking few quick breaths to ease your tensed body.

You were greeted by your parents, and you instantly leaped up and went on to engulf them in a hug. There was nothing more special than this, everything felt at place, you felt as if nothing from the outside could affect you anymore. Parents, were just some really special set of human beings. Although you talked to them almost every day during your time overseas, meeting someone in the flesh was a whole different matter. You lost count of time but surely it wasn’t any less than a good ten minutes.

"Alright, alright! My turn?" Joshua commented so as to ease the emotional environment. He made you laugh, even when you had tears rolling down.

The family now sat in the living room. Your boyfriend was completely lost in chit chatting with your family, as they went through your childhood photo albums. Everybody seemed to accept him at an instant. It felt like it was him who was this family’s child.

"Noooo Y/N, you were so cute as a baby! Look at you in this pumpkin outfit. When is this from?" He kept on inquiring and commenting while you just sat there, adoring him. Honestly he was the type that anyone could take home and get approved of. You were lucky to find a man like Joshua. He was understanding of your complex emotions, tolerated your deadly mood swings and unbearable shower concerts. He was more than that, of course. He befriended all you family and aunts and uncles and even cousins. Easy going and laid back, he was amiable. His charm could never be resisted.

"I promise that I’ll love you for the rest of my life."

Men like Joshua Hong were rare to find and, if found, were not supposed to be taken for granted.

The gathering soon ended after dinner, and there was more talking and sharing of old family anecdotes. You were the main theme today, though. It felt gratifying.

You were now in your balcony, alone with Joshua. Everyone in the house would have gone to bed by this time. You felt so at ease as his arms wrapped around you. He lifted and twirled you lightly, resulting in blood flowing to your cheeks, making them now appear red.

"Hmm, told you everything would turn out well. You were stressing over nothing" Joshua soothed.

"I was never stressed about it in the first place. I know what my taste in men is like. How could anyone not like you, Shua?" You defended yourself, teasing him.

"Ahhh, really?" He questioned sarcastically. A little roar of laughter now filled the air as he tickled you by the waist.

Well, yep, he was right. Everything would go well.

LET ME KNOW YOUR VIEWS + ALSO SEE : MASTERLIST

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thesunicarusfellfor · 4 years ago

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WAIT WAIT— what if 👀 what if Yandere!Tubbo and Yandere!Tommy falling for the reader at the same time

BROO— THE ANGST POSSIBILITIES

ooooooOOOOO DAMN this one is gonna be good! I love the way you think! So I wrote this as headcanons, but I will write this as an actual story if requested. ^^

This is not exactly implied romantic??? I'm still scared about writing their characters as directly romantic????? I'll probably get braver about it but still lowkey worried.

Yandere!C!Tommy x GN!Reader x Yandere!C!Tubbo Headcanon/Fic

Tommy, at first, completely denied even acknowledging your existence.

Until he saw someone interact with you.

Then he would start pulling out his sword or glaring at them from across the room.

He would definitely pin them in an alleyway and threaten every single one of their canon lives.

Tommy, please. Niki was just trying to give you cookies.

He's the kind of Yandere that would greatly keep his distance both physically, emotionally and mentally. Basically, he would be a Tsundere Yandere.

Tubbo, on the other hand, would be extremely sweet to you.

Need netherite? He had an extra few ingots ready in his pockets!

Interacting with someone who wasn't him? Was he not good enough for you??? Fine. You don't deserve him.

He would cry to you and make you feel guilty OR completely ignore you for a week straight until you come crawling back to him and apologizing.

Straight up can flip emotions like a switch.

The first time either of them realized the other liked you as well, was when they were listening to Mellohi on their bench, watching the sunset when they saw you having a conversation with Ranboo at the bottom of the cliff.

"What're they doing talking to him?" Tommy growled lowly and leaned forward to glared at the enderman who was talking to you. He reached for his bow n' arrow before Tubbo grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks, "What? I don't want them talking to anyone but me."

"What do you mean 'anyone but you'?! You avoid them like they're a virus!" Tubbo stared at him, digging his fingers into Tommy's bicep a small bit to show his anger a bit more, "They should only be talking to me."

The blond turned towards his brunet friend and yanked his arm out of his grasp, "Excuse me?" He glared into Tubbo's dull blue eyes, gritting his teeth, "You do nothing but give them stuff!"

"And you treat them like shit and avoid them!" The smaller of the two retorted angrily, trying to keep his tone level enough to where you didn't hear.

Mellohi, the music that had been playing mere moments ago, slowly came to a stop and left nothing but silence and tension in the air. You had noticed them arguing from below, but Ranboo (who had heard their entire argument) decided to pull you away from them and bring you to the Tundra.

"Are you trying to take everything from me?!" Tommy tightened his grip on his diamond sword, although part of him knew that if Tubbo equipped his netherite armour, there would be absolutely no competition whatsoever.

"Take things from you?! They're a human being and you choose to ignore that fact when you ignore them or call them terrible names!"

"I treat everyone like that! You already have Ranboo, I don't understand why you're chasing after them with hearts in your eyes when you're fuckin' married! Loyal much! Oh wait, you aren't loyal, you EXILED ME!"

"It's platonic! I told you that already! And you're starting this again now, Tommy?!"

Ranboo actually felt nervous leaving you alone around both Tommy AND/OR Tubbo after hearing their entire argument that day.

Tommy, although now a lot nicer, became extremely clingy towards you and constantly would walk over and drag you away mid-conversation with anyone that wasn't him. ESPECIALLY if you were talking to Tubbo.

Man would bring you everywhere with him if you would let him.

Netherite mining? Get your pick.

To get new discs? Pack your bags, we're going on an adventure.

Straight up does everything he can do to get you away from Tubbo because he's petty.

He tried giving you as many gifts as Tubbo, but mans is broke.

Tubbo would get extremely annoyed by Tommy even just walking through the area when he was with you.

Would start to hold your hand or link arms with you (if you're comfortable), just so Tommy couldn't pull you away as easily.

Started to try guilt-tripping you into living in Snowchester, and even tried to get you to live in the mansion.

Ranboo actually lied to Tubbo, saying he was scared of enderwalking and hurting you, to convince Tubbo not to guilt-trip you further into living in the mansion.

Tubbo's constant gift-giving got so much more extreme.

Want netherite ingots to make armour?

Nope. No lifting a finger.

He already made you fully enchanted netherite god armour anyway.

Has definitely tried to convince Ranboo to let him involve you in the platonic marriage.

"Ranboo! My beloved!" Tubbo called jokingly, walking into their home. He kicked the snow on his boots before pulling down his hood and taking off his hat, hanging it on the hook as he took off his footwear, "I have a proposition for you!"

The monochrome-coloured man lifted his head and set down the journal in his hand, the ink likely still wet judging by the quill in his hand, "Yeah? What's that?" He placed the feathered pen in the pot of ink and turned to face his platonic husband.

"What would you say to extending our marriage to three people? Like a polyamorous relationship. Like Sapnap, Karl and Big Q?" Tubbo sat down in the chair beside him, watching as Ranboo was left reeling for a few seconds.

"W-well, one, I think you mean expanding. Two, with who?!" The tall male sat up quickly, bumping his leg on the table from his minor flailing, "A-and, and, what about Michael? Are you sure they can be trusted with him?"

Tubbo held out his hand to calm his friend down, making his friend put his hands down so he didn't accidentally hit something, "You know what I meant, and (Y/n)! Y'know... Like, the one with (h/l) (h/c) hair, (tall/short)! (Y/n), them!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know who they are, it's just..." He paused to gather his words, glancing away from his friend. In all reality, he wouldn't mind inviting you into the platonic marriage, even if he knew Tubbo felt more romantic feelings towards you. He didn't shut up about it. It was the fact that he was worried about what kind of mental manipulation Tubbo would do to you if you did agree to be in the marriage. Or even what Tommy would do to you or Tubbo!

"...Just?"

'Your relationship with Tommy is beyond screwed already... Imagine what would happen if both of his friends left him to be in a platonic relationship with me. Tubbo, all of us would be in severe danger.' He thought silently before taking a breath. "I-I don't have my enderwalking state under control... I'm already scared for Michael enough, and I don't want to hurt her as well... Give it some time and we'll see. Please.." He whispered, lying through his teeth. Ranboo knew you were damn good at protecting yourself and could knock his long and lanky ass to the dirt within seconds.

Tubbo's bright shiny eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment as his smile began to falter, "Ah... Yeah. I guess that makes sense. For their safety I suppose." His normal look returned and he gave him a smile, "Yeah, that does make a lot of sense. I'll ask again next month to see what happens."

"What... What about Tommy-"

"What about him?" He demanded sharply, his smile vanishing in mere seconds which caught Ranboo off guard yet again, "He doesn't need to be in their life. He would do more harm to them than good!"

Ranboo was left gaping, his mouth moving but not creating any sounds. He watched as Tubbo eyed him carefully before he got up, murmuring something about grabbing food then going to bed.

Once the goat hybrid was completely out of sight, Ranboo reached for his memory book and took the quill again.

'Protect (Y/n) from Tubbo and Tommy. Get them out of DreamSMP.'

Ranboo was scared for you.

He was stuck watching as these crazy two men fought over you, threatened you, manipulated you... It was worrying, to say the least.

Don't get him wrong. If he didn't have an adopted son, a platonic husband that he still cared about despite him being another Dream at this point, and a Syndicate to protect him from, he would've packed everything and ran, bringing you with him.

He was practically walking on eggshells around this man that he had once been extremely close to!

It practically sent shivers down his spine...

Eventually, it got to the point where Ranboo had gone to your house in the ungodly hours of the morning to talk to you.

This man LITERALLY crept into Tubbo's room AND Tommy's house to make sure they were both asleep before going to talk to you.

"Ran... Boo?" You asked, yawning softly as you leaned against the door, your hair all frizzy and messed up, "What's up? It'sssss... Like 5:30am. The sun is barely even up..."

"(Y/n)... Can we go inside? Please... There's something very wrong.." He murmured softly, his memory book tightly held in his grasp as he glanced around. Tommy could be waking up sometime soon, and he did not want to get caught talking to you. He would certainly be down a canon life before he could even say 'sorry'.

You watched the nervous man in front of you and nodded before stepping aside to let him in. Peaking outside, you looked around for what was causing him to panic but went back inside once you didn't see anything. "What's wrong?" Softening your tone, you gestured for him to sit at the table while you made coffee.

Once he had a fresh mug of coffee in front of him, Ranboo slowly began to gather his nerve and speak. He told you everything he could remember, and even opened his memory book to tell you about the things he didn't remember. Everything from the fight where Tommy and Tubbo's friendship completely went downhill a few months ago, to the threats Tubbo used against Tommy, the manipulation against you, the threats he had received by talking to you, and even Tubbo's violent mood switches when talking about you or Tommy.

The entire time, you just sat there wide-eyed as you listened to him ramble on about his fears and worries, and everything in between. He even mentioned wanting to actually divorce Tubbo because of how scared he was for you and his own life. "I don't... Not... Believe you... But this is- this is a little difficult to believe." You knew the enderman hybrid wouldn't lie about something so serious, and he definitely wouldn't be shaking like a leaf if it was a joke or a lie.

"Y-yeah, I expected that... But I really do care about your safety, honestly. You know I wouldn't joke about this kind of thing, especially about Tubbo." He murmured softly, looking at his crown laying on the table in front of him, "In all honesty, I came here this early because I was scared about Tommy trying to kill me if he saw me talking to you..."

"He wouldn't ki-"

The door slammed open dramatically and there was a cheerful shout of your name, "(Y/n)!!! Let's go mining for diamon-" Tommy walked into your kitchen, only to freeze mid-step and midfacial expression. His expression went from surprised to annoyance to a grim smile, "Hello Ranboo!" He gave him a smile that was more like baring his teeth as he twirled his axe nonchalantly.

He was going to hurt him...

#tommyinnit #tommyinnit x reader #dream smp x reader #yandere tommyinnit #yandere tommyinnit x reader #yandere tubbo x reader #yandere tubbo #ranboo #ranboolive #dsmp #tommyinnit dreamsmp #tubbo dreamsmp #ranboo dream smp #tommyinnit dream smp #tubbo dream smp #c!tommyinnit #c!tommy #c!tubbo #c!ranboo

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