#and now I can. man. emotional. very moved

[fromchaostocosmos]

I kind of can't stop thinking about some of the comments if this post.

Let me start with an amendment I said that the notes contained light antisemitism, well I would like to amend that. Because reality is there a undercurrent antisemitism all throughout the notes. As well as host of misinformation about so much in regards to Druckman's inspiration for The Last of Us and what is going in the Middle East at large as well everything regarding Israel and Palestine.

So the comments primarily fall under two categories.

Category one: pointing out that not all classic book are written by white heterosexual men. Mary Shelly and Oscar Wilde get used most often for this with Oscar Wilde getting mentioned the most.

I saw several post calling out, so to speak, all the people who won't Wilde because he was a misogynist, but will engage with other current media that is not okay.

There is something about this specifically on this post specifically in which there is the pernicious antisemitism running through out because Oscar Wilde is pretty well known for his horrifying antisemitism.

It is something that has shown up in pretty much all of his works and the best example of it is his most well known work, The Picture of Dorian Gray.

I and many other Jewish users on this site of spoken about that here and we have also spoken antisemitism in other classics works.

And I like many other Jewish people both on this site and in other places choose not read, buy, or otherwise engage with the works of Oscar Wilde and other antisemities though they may be dead.

Now I'm more then willing to chalk this up to me jumping at shadows and being overly paranoid, I just want it to be known that I find it suspicious.

Now to the second category. This is the antisemitism playing dress up as just being about anti-Zionism.

Here is where we get distortions, false information, and well you know the rest because you have seen it before.

Some examples include:

Comparing Zionism to Nazism

Use "Zionist Propaganda"

Not able to be normal about Zionists/Jews

And then we get to this the just outright lying about Neil Druckman:

So Neil Druckman is an Israeli-American and his family moved to the USA in 1989 when he was around age 11.

I have nothing online to say that he served in the IDF.

The article that the person is using to justify their boycotting was one written in 2020 so it predates the current on going situation. Two is an opinion piece. And three seems to ignore the key factor of what inspired Druckman in the first place, which was the Ramallah lynching in 2000.

To quote from that very article:

The game’s co-director and co-writer Neil Druckmann, an Israeli who was born and raised in the West Bank before his family moved to the U.S., told the Washington Post that the game’s themes of revenge can be traced back to the 2000 killing of two Israeli soldiers by a mob in Ramallah. Some of the gruesome details of the incident were captured on video, which Druckmann viewed. In his interview, he recounted the anger and desire for vengeance he felt when he saw the video—and how he later reconsidered and regretted those impulses, saying they made him feel “gross and guilty.” But it gave him the kernel of a story. “I landed on this emotional idea of, can we, over the course of the game, make you feel this intense hate that is universal in the same way that unconditional love is universal?” Druckmann told the Post. “This hate that people feel has the same kind of universality. You hate someone so much that you want them to suffer in the way they’ve made someone you love suffer.” Druckmann drew parallels between The Last of Us and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict again on the official The Last of Us podcast. When discussing the first time Joel kills another man to protect his daughter and the extraordinary measures people will take to protect the ones they love, Druckmann said he follows “a lot of Israeli politics,” and compared the incident to Israel’s release of hundreds of Palestinians prisoners in exchange for the captured Israeli soldier Gilad Shalit in 2011. He said that his father thought that the exchange was overall bad for Israel, but that his father would release every prisoner in every prison to free his own son. “That’s what this story is about, do the ends justify the means, and it’s so much about perspective. If it was to save a strange kid maybe Joel would have made a very different decision, but when it was his tribe, his daughter, there was no question about what he was going to do,” Druckmann said.

It is not there is some secret Zionism or Israeli politics or whatever the fuck being snuck in. Rather Neil Druckman like pretty much every other creative ever, like every human ever brought his own experiences into his work.

We all do this. We all bring out experiences into the creative works we do and make.

That is all he did. But because he is a Jew it is seen as insidious and as a part of some deeper nefarious plot. Because you clearly Jews can not do anything with out it being all a part of some larger grander evil scheme.

You all are not slick and this all is not new. It is the same shit over and over and over and over again. The Nazi used this, the fucking Medieval Christians used this, the fucking USSR, and more.

If you are going to be this fucking antisemitic could at least get some new material. Like seriously where is the creativity. Is that why you hate us because we have an actual fucking imagination and ability to come with original ideas and you're jealous.

Also like could you be honest in your antisemitism. If you are going to be antisemitic just be antisemitic don't make shit up, distort facts, or lie. Don't say it is because someone was in the IDF when they weren't.

Just be honest about it. At least the Neo-Nazis are fucking honest and like that is sad day when Neo-Nazis are clearing the bar and you aren't. And that bar is so fucking low it is in a cemetery at this point.

Can't even boycott the last of us, can't even boycott captain america, SOME OF YOU CAN'T EVEN QUIT HARRY POTTER. And then you refuse to read some classic from a guy who's not even around to do any harm because "all the classics were written by white heterosexual men" WHICH IS NOT EVEN TRUE

[story-box]

STATIC ON THE LINE

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader | Eddie Munson x Y/N

Summary: Eddie ghosted you to “set you free”—so you came home to ruin his pity party and remind him you're nobody's damsel.

—

You should have set his trailer on fire.

Okay, maybe not literally — arson was still technically illegal — but metaphorically?

Oh, absolutely.

Because if Eddie Munson thought he could ghost you like some coward in a metal band who suddenly decided he was too emotionally fragile to answer a letter, then he clearly forgot who he was dating.

You had written twenty-one letters. Twenty-one. Plus, three postcards you thought were charming and a freaking cassette mix you made with actual effort and very questionable transitions. ("Careless Whisper" into Black Sabbath — sue you, you were emotional.)

And what did you get in return?

Silence.

Avoidance.

The occasional 'your letter was received' from Wayne when you called the Munson trailer, followed by an uncomfortable pause like the old man wanted to say more but wouldn’t.

You had tried to be patient. Really. You reminded yourself that Eddie wasn’t exactly known for healthy coping mechanisms.

But there’s only so much you can take before you start imagining exactly how hard youmee going to throw that shoebox full of unsent letters at his stupid, beautiful, stubborn head.

Because here’s the thing: You didn’t fall in love with him because he had perfect grades or a five-year plan. You fell in love with the idiot who played Dio songs like they were sacred texts, who gave voices to dungeon monsters and talked about fate like it was something he could fight.

And now? Now he was playing tragic martyr like it was some noble sacrifice.

You stared at your phone, hanging up on the wall. Again. Like it might magically spring to life with his voice on the other end.

It didn’t.

Instead, you whispered to no one, "If you think you're protecting me, Eddie Munson, you're dumber than that time you tried to climb my dorm window and got stuck halfway like a stray cat."

Maybe it was time to come home for a weekend.

And maybe it was time to make some noise…

. . .

The trailer looks smaller than you remember. Maybe it’s the winter light — flat and grey, like everything’s been dulled down without you here. Or maybe it’s just Eddie.

Because he’s standing in the doorway, sleep-creased and shoeless, hair a mess, looking like regret and cheap weed had a baby and named it "avoidant behavior."

You cross your arms and lean against your car, giving him the kind of look that says: Go ahead. Explain yourself. I’ll wait. Probably won’t believe you, but I’ll wait.

He blinks like he thinks you’re a hallucination. Which, fair. You did show up unannounced, in your Friday jeans and a pissed-off aura that could probably kill a small god.

“Holy shit,” he says.

“That’s all you’ve got?” you ask. “‘Holy shit’? After ignoring me for three months?”

He rubs the back of his neck. Classic. You’d almost missed that stupid nervous tic.

Almost.

“I thought you were… I don’t know. Gone.”

You laugh — sharp, not sweet. “Yeah. That tends to happen when someone stops answering your letters, calls, telepathic pleas—should I go on?”

His mouth opens like he wants to defend himself. Then closes again, like he realizes there is no defense. And honestly? Good. Let him stew. Let him feel the way your chest has felt every time you checked the mailbox and found nothing but silence.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he finally mutters.

You throw your hands up. “Try anything. ‘Hey, I suck at feelings, give me a minute’? ‘Sorry I’m an emotionally constipated disaster’? Even a postcard that just says ‘still alive’ would’ve been better than radio silence.”

He flinches. You almost feel bad.

Almost.

But then he says, voice low and stupidly sincere, “I thought if I let you go, you’d move on. Meet someone better. Someone who doesn’t live in a trailer and get held back and—”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you groan. “You don’t get to martyr yourself and act like you’re doing me a favor. I’m not some romcom character who blossoms without the sad boy weighing her down. I chose you, you idiot.”

He stares at you, like maybe he didn’t quite believe it until you said it out loud. Like he’s terrified hope might be real.

You step closer. Close enough that he can see the tear line in your eyeliner and the months of unsent anger burning just behind your eyes.

“If you ever ghost me again,” you whisper, “I will break into your room, steal your favorite guitar, and replace all your good vinyls with Barry Manilow."

He chokes on a laugh.

You almost kiss him right then. Almost. But he has to earn that.

So instead, you say, “Now let me in before I freeze out here. We’re not done talking.”

[dimlylittorch]

// Satin Stains \\

My Masterlist🌱

Silco x pre-op!transmasc!reader

small synopsis: Silco low key being your sugar daddy, always treating you well and taking care of you. (3.7k)

Warnings: female terminology used for genitalia (no use of t-dick, etc), daddy kink, little bit of crying, reader acts more on the feminine side (i’m a fem gay guy, sue me😔🤚)

the two of you were quite the odd pair. you were soft and sweet, a cute little thing from Piltover he had caught in his trap and managed to put on a leash. his pretty boy with rich tastes, a soft plaything he could entertain as a way to relax from the stress of his every day life. You were so sweet and oblivious you had no idea of the danger you were in with him. You simply thought this scarred man was very sweet and charming- who wouldn’t want to spend time with him? Growing to enjoy each others company and eventually calling him daddy, whether it be ironic or not, he enjoys it either way.

He didn’t expect to enjoy you as much as he does. Having a pretty little thing sit in his office with him, chattering away as he sifts through paper work and smokes his cigars. He likes having something to admire as you walk around the room, trying to entertain yourself as you talk. Eventually you hear the creak of his chair and you turn around, a hopeful smile on your lips when you realize maybe he’s completed his work- now able to spend time on you. You see him laid back in his chair, eyes on your own before he pats his thigh.

“Come sit.” he murmurs. It wasn’t a request. But sweet little you grins and walks over immediately, perfectly content to follow orders. You gently straddle his thighs, slipping your arms around his waist and burying your face against the crook of his neck with a soft sigh. That little sigh that dogs do when they get comfortable? That’s the exact sound you make- and it drives him crazy. Having a sweet little puppy all to himself. “Good boy..” he whispers softly against his ear as he puts his cigar out, careful to not irritate your lungs with the smoke. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as possible as his fingers trace along your spine. The simplicity you brought to his life was unmatched.

—

Even when you’re irritated or upset, you are still more simple than the rest of his life. Your emotions? That he can soothe. That he can fix easily. He can’t help but adore how emotional you can be. Walking into his office with flushed cheeks and wet eyes, having slipped in the mud and your outfit ruined. You sniffle as you walk in and he immediately sends everyone else out, standing up and walking around his desk to look at you.

“I really liked my outfit” you say weakly before bursting into tears, wiping your face with your sleeves.

He sighs softly, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and walking over, cupping your chin as he tenderly starts to dry your tears. “Shh.. hush now.” He says comfortingly as he rubs your cheek with his thumb. “It’s alright, love. We’ll get you cleaned up, hm?” Wraps you up in a blanket and walks you down the street, glaring at anyone that even looked in your direction. Brings you home, locking the door before leading you into his bathroom. Sits on the edge of the large bath tub as he turns the water on, humming faintly to offer some semblance of comfort as you stand sniffling, eyes transfixed on his hand under the water.

“I’m sorry I’m such a baby” you murmur softly as you sit on the toilet lid, eyes downcast.

He sighs softly, looking over at your soft form as you sit there like a kicked puppy with your tail between your legs. He stands up, walking over and wrapping his arms around your head, pulling you to rest against his stomach as he stands between your legs. “You do know why I keep you, yes?” He murmurs faintly

You sniff slightly, shrugging your shoulders. “I give good hugs..” you whisper softly

Your words make him chuckle faintly and he crouches down, hands moving to rest on your knees as he gazes up at you. “That is a part of it.” He muses. “You.. are everything I cannot be. Soft. Emotional. Honest.” He says faintly as he reaches up to cup your cheek. “You remind a monster of his humanity, little one.”

Gazing down at him through your wet lashes, a weak smile forms on your lips. You lean down, resting your forehead against his own. “You’re the first person to be so gentle with me.” You confess faintly.

He sighs at your words, wrapping his arms around your waist as he kneels in between your legs. “You deserve nothing but adoration.” He murmurs softly. The two of you stay like that for a moment before he stands up, pulling the blanket off of you and glancing at your mud soaked clothes. “Poor thing..” he says softly to himself as he gently helps you get your top off, leaving you in your binder and pants. “Up you go” he murmurs as he takes your hands to stand you up. With a small yawn you unbutton your pants, slipping them off with a shiver when you feel the cold air of the room. He reaches to grab the base of your binder, lifting it up. “Arms up” he orders as he pulls it off before taking a step back to admire you in only your briefs.

Crossing your arms over your chest loosely, you chuckle. “Shut up”

“I didn’t say anything” he smiles, putting his hands up in mock surrender.

“You didn’t have to” you grin softly before you get undressed the rest of the way, walking over to the tub to get in. Before you step in he gently takes your hand, his hand resting at the small of your back.

“Careful..” he chastises quietly as he helps you down. “Wouldn’t want you slipping.” As you settle in the water he sits next to the tub, resting his arm on the edge. He watches as you relax under the warmth and can’t help but admire how your body looks under the water, his cock starting to harden in his pants. “You’re a vision.” He murmurs, his tone deep.

You look over at him as you lean back in the water, a content smile on your lips. “You are too.” You say sweetly. He huffs at your words, rolling his eyes and looking away from you as he rubs his mouth. “Hey-“ you say softly, reaching up to gently cup his chin and pull his gaze back to you. His breath hitches slightly when he see your eyes are full of concern.. for him. “I mean that.” You say comfortingly.

You were so sweet. So sweet it poisoned his blood stream. Here you were, trying to reassure him. And all he could think about was how hard it made his cock when you were nice to him. And how riled up he got when you were sweet. Before he could stop himself he was leaning forward, capturing your lips in his own.

Kissing him back with a hum, you sit up straight and let him steal your breath away. When you pull away, your hands are cupping his face as you rest your forehead against his own. When he opens his eyes and sees the way your chest is pressed against the edge of the tub, nipples peaked from the cold, he audibly groans before standing up hurriedly and starting to unbutton his shirt.

“Beautiful, you are.” He says breathlessly, his eyes trying to stay on your form as he undresses himself. Pulling off his vest and shirt, your pupils dilate when you get a view of his chest, slender yet well built. Sighing with a shy smile, you rest your head on your arm on the rim of the tub.

“I still can’t get over how pretty you are..” you say softly, your words making his heart skip a beat. He tenses for a moment as he stares down at you, his movements slowing to a stop.

Taking a small steps forward, he gently lets himself fall onto his knees next to the tub, his hand cupping your chin. His thumb traces over your lips as he gazes down at you, a shaky breath leaving his lips. “I thought I was a madman.” He murmurs faintly as he leans in closer. “But you.. you made me realize how sane I was.” He whispers against your lips, his nose brushing against your own.

You suddenly hear the undoing of his belt, and your eyes shift downcast, seeing him tug it off. Christ. He’d done it one handed. Before you can say anything, you feel his lips brushing against the tip of your nose. It was featherlight- you almost missed the feeling if you hadn’t been so focused on him. And then.. you feel that little brush of his lips under your eye. And then on your cheek. He was leaving no part of your face untouched. Not without the gentlest of kisses.

“Do you have any.. idea what you do to me?” He whispers against your skin, his eyelids heavy and breathing quick. Letting your eyes flutter close, you sigh as you feel his lips trail along your own before moving to the other side of your face. When he reaches your ear, a shaky breath slips past his lips. “Even covered in mud- or sobbing in my arms..” He says lowly.

As your eyes flutter open, you glance down to see his cock has been freed from his pants, leaking at the tip and dripping down one vein that followed along his skin until it reached the base, where the precum began to gather in his pubic hair. Longer than he was thick, his tip a deep flushed red as his hand squeezed around the length, but not stroking. “You make being me impossible.” he groans softly against your ear as he starts to kiss along your neck. “If anyone in Zaun knew a little thing like you got me on my knees-“ he chokes out before he lets out a hiss, and you glance down to see he’d started to gently stroke himself.

Leaning up and kissing along his jaw, you let out a small hum. “Hey..” you whisper comfortingly. “You’re always in charge with me.. okay?” You murmur softly.

He huffs at your comforting words, pressing more small kisses along the column of your neck as he jerks himself off at a steady pace, his breathing quick. “Sweet boy..” he groans. “After the day you’ve had- let me help.”

Reaching for the loofa he kept beside the bath, he ran it under the warm water before adding some of his own body wash to it. It smelled like rain. And moss. It was your favorite smell. Ignoring the throbbing member between his legs, he runs the loofa over your body, leaning over the tub to make sure he cleans you completely. And you’ve never felt so.. cared for.

As soon as you’re clean and out of the tub he grabs a towel, wrapping it around your body before slipping his arms around your waist and pulling you against his bare chest. “Be a good boy for me..” he whispers against your ear, and you gasp when you feel the head of his dick prodding at your folds.

He chuckles when he feels you clench your thighs, denying him access as you stand there wet and blushing heavily. “You and I both know that’s not all water” he smirks as he picks you up, carrying you over to his bed and setting you down before climbing on top of you.

“Sil- the beds going to get wet” you protest weakly as he starts to press soft kisses along your neck. “We won’t feel like changing the sheets after” you add against the shell of his ear.

With a huff he pulls away from your neck, both hands next to your head as he looks down at you. “Baby boy..” he says faintly. “Let daddy handle it” he murmurs breathlessly, his eyes practically pleading. “Or do you need more convincing?” He whispers against your cheek as you suddenly feel two slender fingers circling your clit.

You almost instantly arch into his touch, a gasp slipping past your lips. “N-not fair” you say weakly. “You always play dirty” you pout slightly as you let your head fall back, chest rising more quickly than before, his fingers causing your heart to race.

He scoffs at your words, placing his thumb against your clit instead, his hand resting on your pubic area. “You have no idea how dirty I can be, little one” he warns as you suddenly feel a glob of spit drip down onto your folds, pulling a gasp from you. “Oops.” He smirks as he looks up at you.

Whining faintly, you move your arm to rest over your eyes trying to hide how flustered you are. It was embarrassing how easily he made you blush, even with just a few small touches and softly spoken words. “Don’t take this for granted.. I can always close my legs.” you chastise faintly, no true bite to your words as his thumb slowly caresses over your bud time and time again.

A chuckle slipped past his lips as he began to place faint kisses along your inner thighs. “It’s adorable, really. You always have a bit of bite left until I get you pleasure drunk.” He teases as he leans down to slip his tongue over your innermost folds. When he sees how you jolt from the contact, he slips his arms around your thighs comfortingly. “How many licks does it take to make you dumb for me?” He smirks against your folds.

Letting out a shaky breath, you gently reach down to slip your fingers into his hair while your head lies back against the mattress as you try to gather yourself. “Sil?” You whisper softly, your tone slightly different than before. Sensing the shift, he sits up slightly, his eyes locking on your form. “I.. I might cry.” You warn faintly. “D-don’t get worried. I just.. it’s been a long day. And I’m really glad.. you’re so nice to me.” You choke out softly, quickly moving to wipe your eyes as tears start to form.

His eyes soften as he looks up at you, any semblance of playfulness draining from his demeanor. While he hated seeing you cry, hearing you say you were grateful for him made his cock twitch slightly. Moving up the bed to rest next to you, he slips his arms around you and pulls you to sit in his lap. “Shh, shh.” He shushes gently as he slips his hands down to your ass to hold you close. “It’s alright, sweet boy. You just cry that little heart out of you need to, hm? Daddy will make it better.” He whispers comfortingly as he starts to place small kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

Nodding gently as you let yourself melt against him, Silco slips his hand in between your thighs, a slim finger teasing at your entrance. Flinching slightly at his touch, he rests his other hand on your back, rubbing in slow circles to calm you. “Sil..” you whisper weakly as you start to press small kisses along his neck. “Please.” You whisper as a few stray tears drip onto his skin.

He groans when he slips his finger in completely, adding another after just a few moments. His head rests back against the headboard as he takes shaky breaths, gritting his teeth at how your hips began to rock slightly, forcing his hand down to rub against his cock. “Good boy” he chokes out softly.

After a few moments you start to grind down on his fingers, moaning when he starts to scissor your tight hole open. “Daddy-“ you choke out, crying sweetly against his neck as your hips beg for that sweet friction against your clit. “c-can- can I have more?” You ask weakly.

A small smile crosses over his lips when he hears your words. Always so polite for him. “Tell me what you’d like, sweet boy.” He says softly, pumping his fingers into your tight cunt. “Would you like to ride daddy’s face?” He coos gently, leaning forward to pepper kisses over your skin. He knew that wasn’t what you wanted- but he liked to encourage his little love to ask for what he wants. Daddy can’t speak for him, can he?

He chuckles faintly when he sees how you look down in thought, face radiating heat as Silco kissed your cheek. “Is.. is that what you’d like?” You whisper softly, your eyes meeting his own. “If it is- then we can-“ you start, but he quickly cuts you off.

“No.” He says plainly. “Do you want to be good for me?” He asks as he cups your chin, making sure you see his firm expression. When he sees you nod he presses his fingers deeper inside of your cunt, making you keen over him. “A good boy uses his voice. And tells me what he wants. Are you a good boy?”

You whimper weakly as his thumb starts to knead at your clit, and you can’t help but nod once again. “I-I’m a good boy.” You say softly as you look at him. “I.. I want to be full. Please.” You plead, finding your voice.

Silco nods, a pleased hum slipping past his lips as he pulls his fingers out of you, grabbing his cock and notching it at your entrance. “There we go..” he muses. “Didn’t that feel good? Asking like a big boy?”

Your breath gets caught in your throat when you feel his tip slowly pushing into your hole. His head leans back slightly against the headboard, a low groan leaving his lips. Sinking down onto him gently, you can’t help but moan at how thick he feels, his cock radiating heat and twitching against your walls. “o-oh fuck” you choked out, your hands holding onto his hips to keep yourself steady. “daddy- daddy, fuck!” You whimper as he bottoms out.

He groans when he looks down, seeing how your tight boycunt stretches around his cock. He lets his thumb start to circle your clit once more, admiring how your mouth falls into an ‘o’. “You’re doing- so well.” he grunts as he feels you flutter around him. “The most beautiful boy in the Undercity..” He murmurs, his other hand reaching up to cup your chin, pulling you into a kiss. “Sat like a prince on his daddy’s cock.”

You preen at his words, melting against his lips into a hazy kiss, any thoughts you had fading away. When you pull away, you rest your forehead against his own. “I love you, Sil.” You whisper softly, pressing a small kiss to the tip of his nose. “Thank you for being mine.”

A gasp slips past your lips when his hands are suddenly on your hips, lifting you up and pulling you back down onto his dick. His pace was intense, but not rough- no bruising touches or sharp pains. Passion was flowing through his veins, his heart pounding from your words. “Fuck- fuck.” He grunts out, the sound of skin against skin filling the air. “I can’t cum without making my boy feel good first, can I?” He breathes out. “What kind of daddy would I be?”

You choke out a weak moan, wrapping your arms around his torso and burying your face against his chest. “Daddy?” You whimper, confusion lacing your tone.

“You’re too sweet, love.” He grunts, his hips unrelenting as he starts to fuck up into you. “You almost made daddy cum- just from speaking. Only you have that power over me, little one. Daddy’s special boy.”

His thrusts were unrelenting, but not unkind. The balance this man could sustain put your mind in a haze. Soft kisses to your neck combined with the rough movements of his hips. His hands digging into your thighs matched with the heavy pounding of his heart, right up against your own. He had warned you many times before; he may never be gentle, but he would always remain tender. “You’re perfect” he said faintly against your skin in between grunts, his legs starting to shake. “Always.”

Your hands tightened around his waist, tears welling up in your eyes once more. He always knew just what you needed to make you break. “fuck-“ you whimper, tightening around him before a rush of your slick flooded onto his cock. He wasn’t far behind, and you could barely process the feeling of him filling you up as you lay limp against his chest.

His fingers slip up to card through your hair after a few moments, a faint kiss being pressed to your forehead. “You were right.” He murmurs faintly.

You hum, eyes fluttering closed. “hm?”

He chuckles at your tired state, one hand rubbing your back. “I don’t feel like changing the sheets.” He whispers against your ear, resting his head atop your own.

A weak laugh falls from your lips, smiling against his chest. “I told you.” You muse. “When are you going to start listening to me?” You add playfully.

He scoffs, a smile betraying the cold demeanor he so often tried to keep. “My ears may betray me, but my eyes certainly do not.” He murmurs, glancing towards the bathroom where your stained clothes lay. “And I take it you’ll be needing a new outfit.”

Your head instantly perks up, eyes meeting his own. “Can we go shopping?” You say with a wide grin. “Pretty please?”

He chuckles, shaking his head begrudgingly. “Yes, yes, alright.” He sighs. “But I will be in the fitting rooms with you. I can’t leave you alone to your own devices, can I?”

Placing a kiss to his cheek, you slip off of his lap, settling next to him. “You still need to change the sheets.” You tease.

He huffs, slipping off of the bed and grabbing his robe, tying it around himself. “This-“ he mutters as he walks over to the closet where spare bedding was kept. “-is a gesture of my love. Not me allowing a topsider to give me commands.”

You smile, sighing contentedly. “Mhm. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You guys were promised more Silco fics, and dinner is served🔔 i hope you enjoyed!! more are on the way :3

[queenofsaltinesss]

Expect the unexpected pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female reader

Summary: part two of Expect the unexpected

Warning: none that stand out. mentions of Bucky's repressed emotions

A/N: part one of this actually got some attention which made me so excited i wrote a part two. Thank you to @sebastianstan0813 for actually asking for this. It made my night.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bucky hadn't expected to feel like this ever again.

For 70 years Bucky had not felt anything at all, hints of confusion, frustration and anger maybe. But not this. Not once.

Therapy had opened up for a lot of emotions.

At first he had been ordered to show up 4 times a week, it was intensive and painfully awkward but they wanted to make sure he was James Buchanan Barnes and not the soldier.

He had dutifully answered each of their questions, with a measured distance to whatever feelings came up with the recounts of various actions.

As the weeks rolled by, they allowed him to see his passive aggressive therapist less each week. Now he is down to twice a week, but he still has these little tasks on the days he dont see her.

His therapist wants Bucky, a 108 year old man, to keep a diary.

Its a journal. She told him.

Bucky had rolled his eyes at that, journal or diary, he was not writing his emotions down in a little book.

It was a plain notebook, the kind you can get from the supermarket with about 100 pages, and a generic pen. They were tucked away in the drawer of his nightstand.

He hadn't used it a single time, only cracked the pages open to stare at the light blue lines and then smacked it together and tossed it in the drawer.

He talked to Steve a lot, and Sam a little bit.

Steve was adamant on getting his best friend back, and Bucky wasn´t going to reject him on that, so they spent a lot of nights together.

Steve would show Bucky the new restaurants he had discovered around town, they would listen to music in Steve´s apartment, and they talked.

Steve didn´t live in the compound so it was nice to get out for a bit, it made it a little easier for Bucky to try and put words to his emotions. Key word here is try.

Bucky hadn´t actually existed in the world for decades upon decades. His brain consistently felt fuzzy, like he had woken up from an afternoon nap and it was suddenly dark outside.

Voicing his thoughts and feelings were confusing, he hadn´t even acknowledged these things for so long that trying to find meaning in them felt like doing a puzzle with the picture side facing the table.

It was exhausting.

But Steve was patient, and Bucky had missed him greatly. Not consciously so of course, but deep down.

Steve had been there when they finally let Bucky move into the compound, until then he had actually lived in some form of cell. It should have upset him more, but Bucky was patient in a way other people would never achieve in a single lifetime.

And Steve had brought, a little friend.

And Bucky's heart had suddenly presented him with a new emotion he had no clue how to place.

He had shook your hand and you had reached for the flesh one. You had smiled, and it had been genuine. It had reached your eyes and pulled the delicate lines around them.

You had kept your eyes on him, but he hadn't felt like you were doing it to control him. For the first time in a long time, someone else's eyes on him wasn't weighing him down.

He had seen you a few times throughout that day, had heard your voice when you asked Steve if they needed help moving him in.

Bucky barely had any personal items, he had the backpack he carried in Romania, an old leather wallet with some cash and very little clothes.

But Sam and Steve had helped him, showed him around the compound. Steve decided to stay and they ordered some pizza for the team.

Bucky had eaten pizza twice before. The amount of flavors that everything had nowadays could be overwhelming but most of the time it was interesting.

The new but small experiences helped him feel more comfortable in this world. They were a safe way to explore and evolve without too much changing.

It was nice, to sit outside on the balcony with the others. They didn´t make him talk, or ask him too many questions. They just allowed him to sit comfortably and observe.

He had caught brief glances of you as you went through the kitchen and back out.

He continued to watch you like that, stolen glances and silent observations when he got the chance to.

You were extremely well liked, it was hard not to notice how people reacted to your company. You easily charmed those you talked to, making them smile like it was second nature.

It was two weeks before the two of you actually interacted. He had spent the last week of the two trying to figure out what to say to you.

He wasn't sure what he wanted out of it. But something about you made him feel safe, your energy was one of a kind.

He hadn't expected for your first interaction to be so soon. But you had arrived back from a mission a day earlier than he thought and suddenly he was alone with you in the kitchen.

You had your back to him and didn´t look like you were going to turn around anytime soon so he allowed himself a moment to look at you.

You were usually dressed in work clothes, tactical gear and the deepest shades of black. Now you were dressed in your pyjamas, and Bucky felt that same flutter again.

You were in these oversized pj pants with little cat heads, Hello Kitty actually, but Bucky wouldn´t know. You had paired the pink pants with a soft cream colored sweater. The neck of your sweater was stretched large and rested on only one of your shoulders, revealing your soft skin.

God why was he staring at your shoulder. What was this? the 1800s?

Despite it being the middle of the night, it looked like you were still working. You had a case file between your hands, flipping through the pages and making little notes with your pink pen. Of course you had a pink pen.

You were waiting for your ice cream to melt a little more and he was surprised to see it was vegan. The concepts of purposefully keeping select items out of your diet seemed so odd to him.

Before he and Steve had been recruited, people had eaten whatever they could get their hands on.

The ice cream container was orange and had little items of chocolate on it.

He tore his eyes away from you, the way your frame was leaned over the counter, the way the subtle muscle moved in your back.

He looked through the fridge, he kept forgetting to go grocery shopping. The shops were all overstimulating, bright lights and music an so many colors.

He picked out a large tub of greek yogurt. Yogurt he knows, yogurt he likes. Theres no post it on it and he knows it means its free for all. He knows the system.

But he sees his opportunity to say something to you and he takes it without hesitating.

He looks at you again for a second, the back of your neck was exposed now that your hair was pulled up in a clip.

“do you know whose this is? its not labeled” he´s surprised at how leveled his voice is.

You turn around, and it takes effort not to gulp as your eyes land on his.

You shrug, and the neckline of your sweater drops further to reveal the smooth skin of your collarbone, Bucky's eyes drop and he prays to god you dont see it.

“i guess if its not labeled its free for all” you tell him, confirming his own conclusion.

He doesn't even think twice to continue the conversation, “you sure? dont want Sam to complain about it for the next week or two”. And you laugh. You actually laughed at something that he had said and his heart swells even further, threatening to melt out of his body.

“well if he didn't label it then too bad”

Bucky looks back at the fridge, needing a break from staring into your eyes.

“besides, i wont tell anyone”

You smile in a way that swells more than his heart and adjust yourself against the counter.

“thanks”

“yeah, no problem”

You move to finish making your bowl of ice cream and his heart almost stops when you graze him to put the ice cream back in the freezer.

He´s lost in though for the rest of the week, replaying the moment over and over again. And then you leave for another mission with Wanda. And he doesn´t see you for another 10 days.

That´s when he pulls out the journal.

[seenoweevil]

My childhood tendency to feel like a burden has manifested into getting very emotional when I can help my parents out with things in very small ways

[bacchuschucklefuck]

love thinking kipperlilly spends her afterlife looking for lucy in a familiar forest

[fisherrprince]

oh so alisaie’s exaggerated bully behavior is 80% fanon. saying this she casually picks up a large rock

[umehaji]

— 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓;

☾ Content: popstar f!reader much more famous than your pro volleyball player boyfriend- you finally hard launch your relationship on instagram but the public reaction isn't what you expect, so you take matters into your own hands

ft. Ushijima Wakatoshi, Hinata Shouyou, Miya Atsumu, Bokuto Koutarou, Kageyama Tobio

☾ A/N: inspired by dua lipa and callum turner and my girl sabrina

— 𝐔𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐖𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢;

Ushijima doesn't even have an instagram, naturally. the closest thing is he's got is his team's account, curated and managed by the PR team. so when you wiggle your phone in front of him to show him the chosen piece for your account, he just gives it a cursory glance and nods. the photo is from backstage at one of your concerts earlier this month: you, glowing with joy, arm slung casually around his neck, leaning into him as you beam up at him with a smile that could light up your stadiums. he's got one arm wrapped securely around your waist, usual stoic expression softened by a warmth in his eyes as he gazes down at you- one that only you seem to be able to draw out of him.

but the reactions to your post are swift and crushing. you're beyond proud of Ushijima- proud of his quiet strength, his dedication, his raw talent. you know you shouldn’t and it shouldn’t—doesn’t—matter, but your thumb keeps scrolling through the comments. each one feels like a knife twisting deeper, a personal attack, particularly the ones suggesting he doesn't care, that he looks like he's got the emotional depth of a spoon, that this is all just a PR move somehow. watching the sweetest man you know not get the recognition he truly deserves hurts more than you want to admit.

ᯓ🏐

when Ushijima steps into your shared bedroom, shirtless, his hair still damp from a post-workout shower and sweatpants slung low on his hips, his gaze finds you sitting at your vanity. the soft light of the mirror highlights your delicate features, casting a warm glow over your pretty face.

"toshi," you greet him warmly, turning toward him with an inviting smile. he pads over to you, barefoot, and you tilt your chin up expectantly. he rests one hand on the back of your chair, the other on the edge of your desk and leans down, capturing your lips in a long, slow kiss, his head tilting to deepen it as he lifts a hand to your cheek, gently smoothing his thumb across your soft skin before drawing back, a small smile curving up on his lips when he sees the dazed look in your eyes.

"morning, love." he says simply, before walking off to the kitchen to make himself a protein shake. completely oblivious to the phone propped up against your mirror, the livestream on the screen, and the chaos that you've just unleashed within your fanbase.

readerfanatic_official joined popicon4life just fell to my knees screaming in the 711 parking lot platinum_readerstan she's dating a TREE tinyreader777 'morning love'???...our queen is built different i would've evaporated on the spot bipbop_23 ...i get it now readerfan2024 guess i'm into volleyball now glitznglamfan girl i'm scared for ur holes

— 𝐇𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐚 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐲𝐨𝐮;

it's a cute photo: the two of you on a beach at a resort, there for one of Oikawa's games. Hinata's got his head in your lap, one of your hands gently running through his messy orange hair while your other hand rests on his chest. you're gazing out at the sea, a serene smile gracing your face as you enjoy the view, while Hinata looks up at you, equally captivated by what he sees.

the comments that flood in are anything but kind. most of them poke fun at his height, with fans wondering how he managed to catch your eye when he's fighting gravity every day, others insisting that he must just be very funny. and it doesn’t bother Hinata at all, not that you can tell- he just scratches the back of his head and laughs, exclaiming that it's nothing he hasn't heard before, that he’ll just have to work twice as hard to earn your fans’ approval. ignoring your protests that he has nothing to prove.

ᯓ🏐

a few eagle-eyed fans are the first ones to notice it and not long after, screenshots of your activity start to circulate. first it's you liking an edit of Hinata lifting his shirt during ones of his games to wipe sweat off his brow. then it's a clip of him leaping into the air, showing off his energy and athleticism. a third like is a snapshot of Hinata celebrating a victory, fists clenched and knees bent, muscles in his thighs flexed as he roars with triumph.

the one that nips it in the bud is when you share a post to your story. it’s a reel- a compilation of Hinata’s spikes, his raw energy and unstoppable power lighting up the court as he slams the ball past his opponents. your fans lose it when you post a mirror selfie on the same day: you've got your back turned toward the mirror, all dolled up for an award ceremony in a gown that leaves nothing and everything to the imagination. you look good, accentuated by the man at your side who, unlike you, is facing the mirror. but Hinata isn't looking at the camera- his heated gaze is on your reflection instead. one of his arms is curved loosely around your waist, hand resting just above your ass.

the internet goes wild.

mvpmichelle8 2h 385 likes our girl is thirsting publicly on main i respect it robsessed247 2h 306 likes rip to her ass cheeks keanue_433 2h 243 likes ...what team does he play for again stanacctreader 1h 178 likes she got herself a short KING FR newvolley_98 1h 85 likes so when’s the next game where you get a front-row seat to his… spikes? 🥵

— 𝐌𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐀𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐮;

you don’t exactly share the photo yourself, but it might as well be yours. when Vogue posts the cover shot and tags you, it goes viral almost instantly. because Atsumu is seated in a luxurious chair, looking every bit like a king in his perfectly tailored suit, legs spread confidently, an air of dominance about him. you're perched on the armrest beside him, the slit of your black dress exposing the smooth curves of your body. one of your hands is loosely intertwined with his, resting on your thigh. the chemistry is palpable, electric. the sultry confidence in your posture paired with the intensity in Atsumu's gaze makes it impossible to look away. paired with the article about your relationship, this is a power couple at its finest.

or at least so you think.

the opinions of your fans are mixed, but those who disapprove don't hold back. they say that he must be cheating on you, that he looks untrustworthy, that his self-assured interview quotes only highlight how self-absorbed he is, implying he’s too consumed with himself to ever treat you right. Atsumu's ready to fight everyone questioning his devotion to you before you remind him that he can’t spend all day replying to hate comments- he has practice, and that you’ll handle it.

ᯓ🏐

you show up to the world championship that month with your entourage in tow. you visit Atsumu in his locker room to wish him good luck, ignoring the way his teammates trip over themselves gaping at you. he almost doesn’t let you leave, seizing you in a deep kiss that leaves you a little unsteady on your feet, but you plan a firm hand on his chest because you have places to be, a job to do.

when Atsumu steps up to serve and you watch as his routine unfolds, the familiar movements flowing effortlessly, your PR team is at the ready. his signature has evolved since his early days, the fist still a familiar gesture, but now his index finger uncurls at the last moment, pointing into the crowd. he doesn’t need to look; he always knows exactly where you are. but today, it’s different. you’re not in the shadows, hiding behind sunglasses or a baseball cap. today, you’re wearing his jersey, sitting front and center, in the best seat in the house. you’re clapping louder than anyone else, beaming so hard your cheeks hurt.

this time, when he finds you in the crowd, the whole world is watching.

Us Weekly: Atsumu Miya Makes History with Serve: Fans Go Wild over Major 'Couple Goals' Moment at the World Championship Buzzfeed: Is He Pointing to Y/N? 10 Moments Atsumu Miya Was Literally Screaming 'I Love You' Sports Illustrated: Atsumu Miya’s Serve Gets Personal: The Unspoken Gesture You Didn’t Know Was for Y/N Kyodo News: Fans Flock to See Miya Atsumu's Relationship with Global Sensation Y/N in Full View Cosmopolitan: Y/N and Atsumu Miya: From Music Charts to Volleyball Courts—Their Love Story (Exclusive)

— 𝐁𝐨𝐤𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐊𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮;

what you think is a beautiful moment, your fans interpret quite differently. in the photo you post, Bokuto's strong arms are wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him as he hugs you from behind. his hands are positioned low on your abdomen, fingers spread wide and pressing down lightly, a playful gesture that has you squirming in response. the candid shot your manager took captures you in mid-laugh. you're tilting away from him, hands gripping his wrists, body twisted in a half-escape as though you're trying to dodge his ticklish touch. Bokuto's lips are pressed softly to the side of your neck, the curve of your shoulder partly obscuring his face. his expression is partially hidden, but the corner of his mischievous grin peeks out, his eyes glinting at the camera as he looks up right at that moment.

your fans tear him apart, their words dripping with criticism- accusing him of being too touchy, claiming that you don’t want him like that, that he's too obsessed, too forward. the comments flood in, one after another, each one more biting than the last. the relentless stream of negativity cuts deep, and you can see the toll it takes on Bokuto as he scrolls on his phone with a downtrodden look. you tell him to ignore it, that he has nothing to worry about, but you can tell it does little to lift his spirits.

ᯓ🏐

you show him that night just how deeply you care about him, straddling his lap and gently cupping his face in your hands. your lips meet his in a soft, reverent kiss, a silent exchange that you hope conveys volumes. you murmur against his mouth, telling him how perfect he is, watching with a quiet smile as the tips of his ears go red. but then he shifts, flipping you over on the bed, caging you in with thick arms all while still blushing so prettily. and when you feel something hard and big pressing against your inner thigh, you wonder what you've gotten yourself into.

Bokuto goes even redder the next day when he wakes up to incessant texting from his teammates and he opens social media to find a photo on your feed: it's of him shirtless, lying on his front and cradling a pillow with his cheek smooshed into it, his hair down and expression peaceful. what's not so peaceful is the view of his bare back- red streaks running down his tanned skin, unmistakably from your fingers. the white sheets thrown over his legs obscure anything from the waist down but his face flushes deeper as he takes in the rest of the intimate scene.

you've got one hand resting gently on his head, fingers woven loosely in his hair, thumb caressing his cheek mid-stroke. it's soft, casual, possessive.

fan_gurl_4 1h 403 likes the way we thought HE was the obsessed one...how the turn tables bobfriend_76 1h 386 likes she's marking her territory glamjam69 1h 207 likes ...this ain't demure or mindful at all menin4k22 45m 146 likes ma’am for science, p-please remove those sheets readerfan234 14m 121 likes the way she's touching him...i need a moment to grieve 😩

— 𝐊𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦𝐚 𝐓𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐨;

the release party for your new album goes off without a hitch, and you score tons of cute photos with Kageyama, cuddling up to him that night to scroll through and select the best ones. your top choice is one of the more simple shots: you, with one hand resting on his chest, leaning into the arm he’s wrapped around your waist. his long fingers were hot against your skin through the delicate fabric of your dress, and you swear you can still feel the imprints of them. he's serious in the shot, his lips set in a stern line as he gazes into the camera, but you adore that look on him. especially when that same gaze shifts to you, hinting at something deeper, something darker, waiting for later.

your fans, however, don't see what you do. so you wake up to a barrage of comments, about how he looks boring, how he probably doesn't know a single one of your lyrics, how you could do so much better. naturally, Kageyama doesn't give a single shit as to what your fans think about him. just kisses you goodbye and heads off to practice, duffel bag slung over his broad shoulder. but you care.

ᯓ🏐

it takes a fair amount of convincing and a hefty dose of bribery, which somehow includes you securing an advertisement contract with one of Kageyama's favorite yogurt brands, but he finally agrees to appear in the music video for your latest hit. though, you can't help but think it had more to do with you casually hinting that your company had intended on pulling in one of the hottest actors currently on the scene, known for making girls swoon at meet-and-greets.

he plays a cop arresting you for a string of crimes you commit in the name of revenge on your cheating ex, culminating in him pushing you down in the backseat of his patrol car. it's hot, steamy, and when he shoves his knee between your legs, leaning over you with one hand pinning your wrists above your head, you won't deny that you make a mental note to recreate this scene later, without the cameras.

the music video shatters records and skyrockets to the top of the charts.

and the comments this time? well. they speak for themselves.

bops234 • 1 day ago this awakened something in me fando23 • 12 hours ago i'm going to need this man's @ immediately barkbarkbark_89 • 12 hours ago are we sure he doesn't want to switch career paths stanacctreader • 10 hours ago i thought he was just a plain slice of milk bread but boy was i wrong freedomsings145 1h • 5 hours ago casting your real life boyfriend as the main romantic lead in your music video is such a power move, as always our queen's taste is IMPECCABLE atsumumiya • 2 hours ago he looks like a foot

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Pt3 of the Danny is a clone/reincarnation in the DC universe au. Danny meets an alien [pt2 here] [pt 4 here]

Danny was jittery all day, but he is trying to not cling to Cass. He'll definitely give in once Damian's friend is here, but he's determined to not give into his childish instincts before then. And he's being mostly successful!

He ignores the amused and concerned looks Cass sends him every time he forces down his instincts. He wants to stop being so codependent. He won't lie, it's been nice to let these people baby him, but he didn't use to be such an anxious wreck that can't do anything without his hand being held. It makes him hate himself at the end of the day when he only has his thoughts, so he's going to take the effort to do a little better. And this is his first baby step.

"I'm home!" Danny perks up at Tim's voice.

"Green Room!" Cass calls out, and Tim sticks his head in a moment later.

"I want to change out of my suit, but I'll be right back." Tim explains. "Damian and Jon won't be here for at least another 20 minutes, and that's only if traffic is good, which it never is, so it'll probably be closer to 30 minutes."

Danny nods, trying to swallow his rising panic. He hasn't been able to get a single word out all day. Luckily Cass can understand his body language when his hands are full and he can't write.

Cass comes and sits next to him when Tim ducks out. "You're being very brave."

[Doesn't feel like it.]

"New things are scary. Trauma makes it hard." Cass smiles sadly before switching to sign language. Danny can sign too, but he prefers his iPad.《My father was a very bad man. Trained me to be weapon only. I understood no language other than body. When I came to live here, I was scared too. I knew only to hurt, but it hurt to read pain. Had to learn how to be a person, like you are now. It's very brave to face what scares you. Like new people.》

[I still don't feel brave.] Danny fiddles with his stylus [There's too much wrong with me for normal people to be nice. I will be vivisected if people know.]

《Family will not let that happen. You're baby brother and we will fight for you til you can fight for yourself.》

Danny sniffles and manages his first word of the day. "Okay..."

Cass hugs him tightly and kisses the side of his head. "We love you. Trauma and all, baby brother."

Tim enters the room in a stolen hoody, some leggings, and house shoes at that moment. He pauses to look at them before sitting on Danny's other side, rubbing his back.

"It's not too late to tell them you changed your mind, kiddo."

[No. I need to do this. It's unhealthy to isolate yourself or hide from new experiences.] Danny gives a deep sigh. [I'm tired of being scared all the time.]

"Have you thought about going to a therapist? I don't want to push you, but I have found it really helpful." Danny knows Tim started going to a therapist about 2 weeks after Danny arrived. He can't help but wonder if Tim did that because Danny started clinging to him and Danny was too much. It makes him feel guilty, but he read enough mental health papers recently to know even if Danny is the straw that broke the camel's back, Tim was wise enough to get help.

[I'm not sure I'm ready to talk to someone about everything.]

"A good therapist will help you at your own pace." Tim tells him, "I vetted a dozen therapists, and am currently vetting another 6, so you can switch if you need to at any point. I just want you to be as happy, healthy, and safe as you can be."

Danny is thinking it over so hard that he startles into invisibility when he hears the front door open and Alfred greeting someone.

"Oh! Damn, time moved fast." Tim blinks at the doorway before turning towards Danny's invisible figure. "We can still turn them away."

Danny wills himself back into the visible spectrum. [I need to do this.]

"If you say so..." Tim's face is an odd mix of emotions; grief, sorrow, pride, and relief are all there. He calls towards the door. "Damian! We're in the green room!"

With them all sitting, Danny can't hide behind Cass or Tim, so he just buries himself into Cass's hug. A few moments later, Damian and a honey tan guy with black hair and deep sky blue eyes enter the room with a slightly nervous energy. Danny blinks at that. Damian's nervous energy is clearly over introducing them, and who-is-obviously-Jon's energy screams "Please like me! I want to be friends!". He briefly wonders if this is how siblings usually introduced friends to family. All parties scared that they won't like each other. He and Jazz didn't really have friends to introduce, so this is new territory for him.

"See?" Cass smiles at him, clearly talking about Jon's gold retriever puppy energy. Danny nods at her before shyly waving at the newcomers. Jon beams and Damian relaxes a hair.

"Hi, I'm Jon! Dami's told me a lot about you!" Danny sends Damian a confused frown. "He likes to brag about his cute new little brother."

[What is there to brag about?] Danny tilts his head. [I haven't done anything to brag about.]

"Are you kidding?" There's sadness in everyone's body language, but Jon is still smiling at him. "You sound awesome! You can read body language like Cass! And are trying to learn alien languages and history for fun! You apparently memorized every space fact you come across! You like learning in general! Trying to cover all the education you missed because your evil creators! And you want to know the coolest thing about you currently?"

Danny rapidly blinks at Jon's list, actually sitting up straighter and unintentionally pulling from Cass's hug. She lets him go easily.

[What?]

"You're letting me meet you despite your crippling anxiety." If Jon had a tail, it would be wagging hard. "No one would blame you for locking yourself away and hiding from the world after everything you've been through, but here you are! Trying to concur your fear and meeting me!"

Danny can feel himself blushing, but realizes Jon is kind of right. While he can still feel his anxiety wanting to smother him, he doesn't feel like he's drowning and needs to run away.

[I still don't see how any of that makes me "cool".]

"It's okay if you don't get it. The people who care about you do and can remind you to be nicer to yourself." Jon nods to his own statement before excitedly floating off the ground. "I love your hair! It looks like it has stars and comets in it!"

Danny's face feels like it's on fire. He can feel Tim and Cass trying to compress laughter.

"Well, that's a way to win him over." Tim can't quite keep the amusement from his voice. Danny hides his face in his hands, while Jon flounders.

"Wait! What?? What did I do??"

"You told a kid who's obsessed with space that his hair looks like space." Damian sounds exasperated and fond.

"Oh. Oh!" Jon sounds embarrassed, so he clearly hadn't thought about that when he said it. Which is nice.

Danny huffs out a tiny laugh and can feel the room freeze at the sound. It only lasts a second before Cass is hugging him in delight, and the tense moment is gone.

"I can now tell Todd only his ugly face made Danny cry." Damian says with all the maliciousness of a petty sibling. He recognizes it from his time with Jazz. Luckily, none of his new siblings have directed that tone towards him yet, he just knows he'll start crying. He's pretty sure they know it too.

He hates how fragile he is now, not being able to take slightly mean sibling teasing is the worst, but he literally can't do anything about it. He has to take baby steps and heal his trauma at a pace his brain and core can handle, or the potential ghost of Jazz will beat him to a third? fourth? death when they meet again.

Danny reluctantly leaves Cass's hug. He can still feel the steady thum of his anxiety, but Jon hasn't been mean or scary at all. Jon also potentially has advice for how Danny can control his ghost powers that are leaking steadily into his human form. It's like getting his powers all over again for the first time.

[How are you floating?]

"Oh! It's one of the powers I got from dad!" Jon beams.

[I know. But HOW? Can't control mine.]

"Damian! You didn't tell me he has powers!" Jon complains.

"I wasn't going to say anything in public." Damian glares lightly at his friend.

Jon turns a beaming grin at Danny."What do you do? I've got flight, superstrength, durability, lazer eyes, superhearing, and ice breath!"

Danny turns a pleading look to Tim, who flashed an amused but reassuring smile. "So far we've seen; flight, invisibility, intangibility, and we think an ice power is trying to develop. His hearing is advanced as well."

[Ghosty]

"You are not a ghost." Damian is pouting. This is one of the few play arguments Danny has been able to have without having a panic attack.

[Ghost powers. Hides from people. I'm a ghost.] Danny is playfully serious.

"I can see your point, but you're not dead!" Damian seems genuinely a little frustrated, and Danny freezes. Unfortunately long enough to make everyone worried, but he snaps out of it.

[I'm not sure I count as alive.] Danny admits, and the concern in the room skyrockets. He directs the next note towards Jon. [You have superhearing?]

"Yes..?"

[Listen.] Danny pats his chest. Jon's eyes lock on where his heart is.

"No.. no way! Why is it so slow?" A pause. "Your breathing is slow, too. Even though I can tell how anxious you are, meaning this is fast for you... What's that buzzing sound?"

[I'm a freak.]

"Danny, honey, don't call yourself a freak." Tim scolds. "It's not your fault you're like this or were even made. The real freaks are the LoA."

《And even if you were, we like you the way you are.》

"How about we focus on something else?" Jon is frowning in concern, but smiles when he makes eye contact with Danny. "How about we go to the gym, put out the thick mats, and see if we can get you flying on command?"

Everyone is silent as Danny thinks it over.

[Okay.]

The rest of the visit is spent in the manor's gymnastics gym. Danny is still too skittish to let Jon within 5 ft of him and doesn't say anything aloud, but he interacts, and learns some neat tricks when it comes to flying and landing. He still has trouble, but he made some real progress before it's time for dinner. Danny trails after Jon when he goes to leave after dinner, and graces the alien with a quiet.

"Bye..." Danny doesn't understand the funny thing everyone's face does, but he has to dodge Dick's tackle hug directly after. He quickly hides behind Tim after that, completely done with social interaction now. Tim fends off Dick and gets Danny to his room.

Danny likes how his room has changed over the months he's been here. The giant bed is gone, replaced by a bunkbed that's been modified to have sturdy planks hiding the bottom bunk on 3 sides and sturdy folding doors on the 4th. Danny can't sleep in the open anymore, so they made him a nice hidden bed so he'd stop sleeping under the bed. It's also shoved to the wall where he can see all the exits when he peeks out of his hidey hole. Every available surface is covered in space stuff. The built-in bookshelf near the windows is full of his favourite books and different workbooks for alien languages. Rocket ship models are on any book free space. Different space themed posters are plastered all over his walls, the side of his desk and dresser, even his bunk's sturdy exterior. Glow in the dark stars are placed in his home dimension's constellations throughout the room, not that anyone but him knows that. Inside his bunk, he has star covered bedding and star shaped fairy light.

Danny's space obsession has never been so filled. He feels well-fed and safe in this room.

He ends the day feeling accomplished for once. He starts looking forward to meeting his siblings' friends, even if he's scared shitless by the idea.

[anantaru]

— doing his eyeliner while sitting on his lap

including. xiao, neuvillette, zhongli

genre. fluff, gn! reader, slightly suggestive

— xiao

"hey, you're shaking xiao, i can't focus."

"tzzz, i'm not," xiao rasps— ugh, you're just so pretty, you know? with a faint dusting of light clinging to your eyes, delicate yet indifferent, as if the universe itself had carelessly bestowed it upon you. he believes there was something unsettling in your gentleness, a quiet radiance that seemed to exist beyond the confines of this world— beyond reason, beyond him.

his hands grip around your waist like you might disappear if he ever dared to let go of you as his ears were dusted a telltale red, to be fair, xiao cannot keep his hands of you, and in his opinion it should always be like this, never too far from each other— forever as he snuggles himself a little closer towards you.

you shift slightly, adjusting your position on his lap as he tenses like a tightly wound wire, his thighs firm beneath you, muscles twitching as if resisting the urge to latch onto you with his soft lips.

you bite back a smile, dipping the tip of the pencil against his lower lash line as his breath shudders, yet this wasn't fear, don't misread xiao for his reaction, it was not from discomfort— just something inside of him reacting almost fragile, tenderly beautiful yet he didn't quite know how to name such emotions.

"hah xiao, you're holding onto me like i might fall," you tease him, brushing your thumb under his eye to soften the colored line.

xiao swallows thickly, his gaze flickering, searching yours as his arms tighten around you, a quiet plea, a contradiction? "i wouldn't let you," he responds quietly, his words alone turning your heart aflame.

it was racing so fast to the point that it might rupture through the shape and flesh of your body. it's almost laughable how dearly you two adored each other— how the conqueror of demons, fierce and untouchable alike, was now just a man beneath your firm hands, coming undone over the slightest trace of your body moving atop.

his warmth seeps through his clothes, one by one, through yours, yes, burning into your skin where his hands grip your waist like he's afraid you'll slip away. he needs you, xiao does, and you can feel the faint tremor in his fingers as you press the liner to his other eye, his breath uneven, his body an open book— tense, passionate, but leaning into you like you're the only thing keeping him tethered.

"there," you whisper, pulling back slightly to admire your work.

xiao doesn't let go of you yet, instead he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his shuddering breath warm against your heightened skin, his touch a quiet fire, burning through your flesh and sinking deep into your very bones— although not with pain, but with the kind of warmth that made you realize you have always been cold without him.

"…do the other eye, please," xiao's voice was barely a muse, but you knew what he meant by it,

"stay,"

— zhongli

"I feel like you're enjoying this a little too much," zhongli finds it almost comical on how fast you could determine his mood as you accused him of the obvious— and the next smile he returned towards you felt slow as his hands easily rest at your thighs.

he tilts his head ever so slightly, offering himself up like something meant to be worshipped, when in fact, such was the case considering who he truly was.

"how could i not, love?" he exhales, his voice rich like aged wine dripping down the tip of your tongue— or honey, yes, now we got it, the sweetest of them all— spilling, slow and golden, from the corners of your mouth whenever you kissed him. as if even your lips cannot contain such excess, as if the world itself conspires to make you taste too much, feel too much, drown in the deep pleasure of it.

"my love, perched on my lap, so close, so intent, how could any man resist?"

you roll your eyes at him in order to hide your boiling all the more flustered expression, but the way your fingers tremble just slightly as you drag the liner along his lower lash line ultimately betrays you.

zhongli's amber gaze watches you, unreadable, indulgent as you bite down your lower lip, "hold still," and warn, ignoring the heat curling at the base of your spine.

"as you wish," he responds cheekily.

and yet, his voice descends— lower, smoother, as if sinking into the very marrow of the moment, curling like smoke in the hollows of your ribs, "though i wonder—" zhongli continues confidently, unraveling something unseen, something inevitable.

his hand slides up slowly, fingers curling at the nape of your neck, the touch featherlight, barely there, but you feel it like a brand, searing into your very being, leaving a mark of endless pleasure.

"—is it i who needs to stay still," his thumb brushes over your pulse,

"or you?"

your breath hitches as his lips curl at the edges with a slightly amused demeanor— an expression not quite a smile, not quite anything at all.

oh, he knows.

"i should stab you in the eye."

zhongli chuckles as his grip tightens, his chin slightly tilted, just a fraction, just enough that your noses almost brush, "if you must."

he winks, "though, i’d much prefer if you kissed me instead."

you swear the next line you draw on him will be just a little uneven.

— neuvillette

the storm groaned against the windowpanes, a ceaseless murmur like the whisper of some distant, unnameable grief as beneath you, neuvillette sat in stillness, his breath deep and steady— like an anchor against the restless howl of the wind.

his hands, resting with an almost absent-minded lightness upon your hips, betrayed neither urgency nor hesitation, only a quiet inevitability— the controlled rise and fall of his chest beneath your touch was steady, as if the weight of existence itself laid upon him and yet he bore it without complaint.

"you're very patient with me," you hum at him, your voice barely above the hush of the rain as your fingers find his chin, tilting his face with a careful adoration.

his skin was cool beneath your touch, smooth like polished marble— an artifact of restraint, a monument to something vast and unknowable, "and you're very careful," he replies, his voice low, "i find it… comforting."

you smile at him as your fingers trace slow paths along the delicate sweep of his lashes, the elegant lines of his face as the patience in him was almost sorrowful, an acceptance of longing as though he has lived with it for too long to protest.

then, without warning, he moves— a shift, so fluid and inevitable, and before you could catch your breath and register what was happening, neuvillette's face was buried in the curve of your neck, his lips barely parted against your skin.

an immediate warmth spreads through you, a heat that knots itself into the quiet places between your ribs.

although you freeze, your breath catches on something unnamed, something trembling between desire and disbelief;

"n-neuvillette?"

your voice sounded like a question, yet your body revealed an answer— your fingers curled at the nape of his neck, the press of his lips a silent confession.

his arms come around you at last, gathering you in, as though he has finally allowed himself this.

his nose brushes along your pulse, "mh? what were you saying?" as his arms tighten around your waist just slightly, holding— not trapping, just holding.

"you're supposed to sit still," you chide playfully, but your voice came out softer than you originally meant to.

he exhales, lips ghosting against your throat. "forgive me," he murmurs, "you are warm, i find myself comforted by your presence."

"—and you take such care of me."

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[my-castles-crumbling]

st. mungo's - jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 360

"Move out of the fucking way!" Regulus nearly-screamed, pushing a nurse to the side as he ran to the service desk of the hospital floor and stopped short, glaring down at the bored-looking nurse sitting there.

"Name?" the man asked, voice completely deadpan and unamused.

"James Potter," Regulus said, trying not to hyperventilate.

Unconcerned eyes met his and the man tilted his head a bit. "Mister Potter already has someone in with him. Unless you're his family or his wife, you'll have to wait over there." He gestured to a row of seats where several stressed-looking people were sitting.

Regulus, however, was in no mood for this. "I'm his fucking husband," he spat, curling his hand into a fist around the handle of his wand, which lay in the pocket of his robes. "And unless you want me to find Head Healer Rosier, who I happen to be very good friends with, then I suggest you tell me what room I can find James in. Now."

For the first time, emotion flooded behind the nurse's eyes, and he looked toward a clipboard. "Er...So sorry, sir! R-room twelve!"

Not bothering to say thank you, Regulus looked around and saw that room twelve was only a few feet away. Scowling at the nurse, he slammed open the door, expecting to find his husband on his deathbed.

Of course, James always liked to surprise him.

"Heeey, Reg," James ginned at him as soon as he entered, looking over from where he was sitting up in his bed, Sirius sitting next to him.

Anxiety slowly leaving his body, Regulus felt himself relax a bit, shoulders lowering. "What the fuck, Potter?" he asked weakly.

"Just fell off my broom. Hit my head. Sirius brought me here to make sure I'm okay," the taller man grinned, and Regulus tried his best not to let James's smile make him melt. "I'm just fine, though, baby."

"That was real interesting though, Reggie. 'Don't make me call your supervisor!' You sounded just like Mum," Sirius grinned, a teasing look in his eyes.

"Oh, fuck off," Regulus groaned, sinking into a chair and giving his racing heart time to slow.

[bcksbarnes]

between a dream

pairing: tws!bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky barnes has just found out his entire life has been a lie. that his life as the winter solider has been nothing but mind control. instead of running off after his fight with steve, he returns to the avengers tower where he trusts no one. everyone takes turn on watch, and this time it's yours.

word count: 2.2K

read the: next chapter

a/n: based this on request from anonymous!

the winter solider was not a man. he was not capable of forming his own thoughts or having feelings. he was a killing machine that was able to be turned on and off at any moment, bringing only death and destruction wherever he went. that was until he heard one word, one name. bucky. that moment altered something in his brain, a voice in the back of his head coming to life. it sounded like his own. the winter solider was not sure he had ever heard his own voice in his head before. 

he had learned very quickly, and against his will, that he was once a man named james ‘bucky’ barnes. that he used to be a solider from a different time. that he had a life that was taken away from him. that he has been used as a weapon. and that he should be dead. 

the man he had once thought was his target, steve rogers, was actually his friend in the life he no longer knew. the one he couldn’t remember.  

and now as he sat in this tower over looking the city skyline, all he could think about was that there was no one to be trusted. sure, maybe steve, but he wasn’t even in the right frame of mind to distinguish if this was still some trap – some lie. 

“he’s been sitting like that for two days.” sam says as you and steve approach. everyone has been taking turns keeping watch of him since he and steve returned from their fight near the river. first nat, then sam, now it would be your turn. “he hasn’t eaten or slept.” 

“i don’t blame him.” you mumble as your arms cross over your chest, watching the back of bucky’s head. “he just found out his entire life has been a lie. he’s been used a killing machine for the last 70 years.” you try to keep your voice low so that he can’t hear you, but you watch as he tilts his head back and forth a bit, the memories filling his mind. 

“let me go introduce you.” steve’s voice is soft, as he places a hand on your elbow guiding you over to where bucky was sitting. once you approach his chair, you take a step back keeping your distance while steve goes to speak to him. 

“hey, buck.” he says, bucky wincing a bit at the name, obviously not used to it yet. “sam’s going to be heading out of here in a few minutes. i wanted to introduce you to another team member.” 

bucky’s head turns to the side to look at steve, his eyes raking over the man. you can tell he’s trying to figure out if steve in that moment is a threat to him, his body rigid as he asses. you can’t imagine the amount of stress he’s under, how his brain must be on fire with trying to discern between realities. 

he soon looks over at you, his stare is hard as the two of you make eye contact. you’re not scared of him, and you know you could disarm him in a moment despite the difference in size between the two of you, but there’s something in his gaze that feels so disconnected from the world – from emotion. steve introduces you, saying your name a few times as he gives bucky the same rundown as he had with both natasha and sam, trying to reiterate that they were here to help – not hurt. 

bucky doesn’t respond, he didn’t the first two times either, his gaze moves back over to steve and he continues to frown, wanting to be done with this conversation, wishing the screaming in his head would stop.  

once steve wraps up his rundown he looks over at you, giving a firm nod before he walks out of the room, beginning your time on the clock to keep watch of this man, while they figure out how best to move forward. 

nothing really happens for the first few hours, bucky shifts slightly in his chair a few times, you lead him to the bathroom once or twice, and your phone buzzes with some texts from steve checking in, but overall nothing worth noting.  

you can see the dark circles under bucky’s eyes as you sit a few seats away from him. you feel bad for him to some extent. he had done bad things, sure, but you couldn’t imagine the pain he was going through. the sun begins to set and you hear a loud sigh leave his lips, it makes you wonder what’s going on in his head. 

he hasn’t eaten. 

sam’s voice rings through your head and you realize it’s probably best to get bucky some food. 

“hey.” you say, getting his attention, his head slowly rolling to the side to look at you. “what do you want to eat?” 

bucky’s eyes graze over you for a moment, you can see him making a mental note that you are a threat to him and that no one right now is safe. he makes no attempts to respond before he rolls his head back to continue staring into space. 

“o...kay.” you mumble to yourself, taking out your phone and making a few arrangements to have food sent up for him. 

it doesn’t take long for someone to arrive, pushing a cart filled with food, you jump off your chair to thank them before grabbing the plate and moving it over to a table where bucky could sit. 

you don’t realize he’s watching you until you turn back around, your head nodding over to the table and he stands. he’s much taller than you had anticipated, your eyes taking in the size of him as his metal arm shines brightly even with the dim lights in the tower. he sits down and waits for you to sit across from him. 

“i guess they sent over ...” you eye his plate for a moment. “salmon.” the face you make after the word is one of pure disgust – a food you hated with every fiber of your being, you didn’t envy that he had to eat it. 

but, he makes no attempts to reach for his fork or knife, his hands curled into fists as they rest at the table, his eyes watching you intently.  

“do you not like salmon?” you ask, trying to coax even an answer out of him, but he doesn’t budge. it takes you a moment before you put two and two together – the most obvious reason of all as to why he’s not eating. “steve wouldn’t poison you.” 

he grunts in response, his fists tightening a bit as his eyes move down to the food then back up at you. it’s hard to understand what could possibly be going through his mind, what horrors he’s had to endure and the false reality that he was placed into for all those years. 

“steve wouldn’t poison you, bucky.” you say again, trying to reiterate the point as much as you possibly could, your words holding so much weight to anyone but it falls flat with him. 

“i don’t know steve.” his words send a chill through your spine, his voice is deep and hallow, lacking any emotion, but, to be fair, he’s not wrong. “i don’t know you.”  

“fine. i’ll prove it to you then.” your words come out faster than your brain has a chance to stop you. standing up from your seat, your chair pushing back as you do so, you lean across and grab his fork, hands shaking slightly as you grab a piece of the salmon. 

you regret doing it almost immediately, you can feel the weight of his gaze on you as he watches you bring the fork to your mouth. it’s fishy and pink and the bile is rising in your throat just at the smell of it, but you know you have to do this. to earn some sort of trust. if steve was here, he’d do anything to prove to bucky, so you had to show him you were just as capable of proving this as well. 

taking the bite your body wants to reject it almost immediately as you chew, but you manage to get it down, taking a long sip of your water once it’s been swallowed to try and get the taste out of your mouth. horrible. terrible. disgusting. if he didn’t eat the salmon now, then you’d definitely kill him. 

a beat of silence passes between the two of you as stare at each other. bucky moves his hand, grabbing his fork back from you and moving to take a bite of the food, having an easier time choking it down than you do. 

there it was. something. maybe not trust yet, maybe just a spark of the idea. 

you sit down across from him again, shaking your head as you try not to imagine eating anymore of the food, the idea of it sending a shiver down your spine as you continue to watch silently. 

“thanks.” he manages to say between bites, his eyes on the food in front of him.  

“yeah, don’t mention it.” you quip back, your voice flat before letting out a dry cough. 

it’s once he’s finished with his food that he pushes his body back against the chair, sinking into it slightly, his flesh and metal hand grip the arms tightly. the tension in the room is palpable at this point and you know bucky can feel it too. 

“how long have you known steve?” his voice is gruff as it comes out, and you’re surprised he’s willing to talk to you, let alone ask questions. 

“two years.” you respond. “since they found him in the ice.” you remember that day vividly, watching as they brought him in for evaluation, making their plans to slowly acclimate him to the real world, which in true steve rogers fashion did not work. you had been assigned to his team ever since. “i was one of his first recruits on the team. sam was next, nat is just a friend.” 

bucky nods at that, his long hair falling in front of his face as he takes in your words.  

“has he always been ...” he looks over in the direction of the door that steve had walked out of hours ago. “like that?”  

you let out a small laugh, shaking your head a bit at his question – you knew exactly what he was talking about. steve, while he had everyone’s best interest in mind, was a bit overbearing, always over explaining everything and a bit ... self absorbed. it was the hero complex. 

“yes.” you nod, a small smirk on your face as your gaze catches bucky’s again. his eyes are tired, not as guarded as they were a few minutes ago – softer. “he means well, but he can be a little ...” you trail off, but bucky nods his head understanding where that was going. 

bucky lets out a long sigh, his eyes closing for a moment as you can see his hands gripping the chair tighter, the knuckles on his flesh hand white. 

“i hate that he looks at me like that.” he admits through gritted teeth. “like i’m supposed to just remember everything that happened. there’s ... bits and pieces, but i don’t know him. i barely remember myself. he doesn’t understand.” 

“he doesn’t expect you to remember anything.” you add in after a few long moments of silence. “it might feel like he does, but he doesn’t. he’s just excited to have his friend back.” your eyes trail over his face. “a version of his friend.” 

bucky’s grip loosens on the chair, a deep breath leaving his nostrils as he moves to stand from the table. you watch as he makes his way back to where he was sitting before, his head lolling back onto the chair as he stares up at the ceiling. 

and he stays like that for the remainder of the night. his shoulders aren’t as tense as when you had first arrived, he turns to look at you when you ask him a question and he even manages to gruff out an answer. 

by the time morning comes, steve is there bright and early, ready to release you of your duties as it was now his turn to keep watch over bucky. 

“hey.” he says, startling you a bit as you and bucky both turn to look at him. “how’d it go?” 

“good.” you nod, standing up and straightening your posture. “he ate late last night, he’s feeling a bit ... overwhelmed.” you keep your voice low so bucky couldn’t hear you. “give him some space. don’t ask so many questions.” 

you felt suddenly protective over bucky, the need to make sure he felt comfortable as he navigated his way through this new beginning was blooming in your chest. and as you turn around to see him one last time, you swear you seem some sadness in his eyes. you pat steve on the shoulder as you walk past him, finally being relieved of your time. though you’d never admit out loud you’d be counting down the hours until it was your turn on watch bucky again. 

[luveline]

could you write bombshell!reader getting a tattoo of spencer’s name or something that reminds her of him and his reaction please?

“Why are you kissing me?” you mumble, your voice hoarse with sleep. 

They’re light kisses. “I’m going now,” Spencer says, matching your quiet tone. 

“No.” 

You wrap your arm behind his neck and feel his hair against your wrist. His nose and lips warm your jaw. 

“Yes.” He kisses your jaw. “I have to go, but I didn’t wanna leave without a kiss.” 

That’s really sweet, he’s so sweet, you’re so tired. “Please don’t go, Spencer.” 

“I have to go.” He readjusts your hugging to hum against your temple, distinctly content despite your pleading. “I’ll be back by six for dinner, promise.” 

“Promise,” you say.

You get to keep him for a few minutes, regardless. His neck must sing bent as he is over you but he doesn’t relent, doesn’t move until you encourage his face back to kiss just under his bottom lip. “Sorry, I’m making you late,” you whisper. 

“No, no, I accounted for this. You’re on my agenda.” 

“How much time did you allot?” you ask through a smile. 

“Seventeen minutes. That’s how long we usually hug in the morning.” 

“Gotta get that time down,” you say. 

“Or up.” He holds your face. You turn your head into his touch and keep him for just another half a minute. 

“Okay,” you mumble, letting your eyes flutter closed again, “you can leave, I’m gonna go back to sleep.” 

“Good idea.” He kisses you, and he says goodbye. You’re sleeping again before he’s even left your room

When you wake properly, you still feel loved, like a sunburn but with less stinging. There’s something very special about your boy; something permanent about the way he loves. You can’t imagine he’ll ever stop loving you like this, he’s embedded you so deeply into his life and his routines (and you’d beg him to keep you if he ever changed his mind). That in itself is crazy. You can’t have imagined begging a guy to let you stay, but for Spencer, you would.  

When he comes home that night, half an hour before six, you have no regrets. 

You hadn’t noticed how he was dressed when he left, but he looks lovely in just a simple t-shirt and jeans. Remarkably casual for him, you used to think he only wore t-shirts to bed, but the older he gets the better propensity he has for comfort. What makes it for you is the cardigan. 

“You look nice,” you praise, more than satisfied when the first thing he does after he takes off his shoes is lean down to hug you where you’re sitting on his couch. 

“Thank you.” He pats your back and pulls away. “You’re beautiful,” he says with ease, like he’s commenting on the weather. “Good day?” 

Your lips pucker into a twist. 

“What?” he asks. 

Unfortunately, he sounds deeply worried. 

“No, it’s nothing, I just hurt my arm. Can you have a look?” 

Spencer takes your arm. “What did you do?” he asks, pulling the sleeve of your shirt carefully up to your elbow. The Saran wrap confuses him, until it doesn’t, and he grins at your skin, before frowning again. His flickering emotions worry you, until he says, “Is that mine?” 

You hold your arm in the light. “Of course it’s yours?” 

It’s just a few words from a note he wrote you, perhaps too soon into your relationship for sweetness, and yet one you kept anyways. He told you the story of the I Love You lighthouse, or rather, the Minot Ledge lighthouse, and how the man who lived there had to live on a different island to his family while tending the lighthouse, so he would flash the light once, then four times, and then three times, one flash for every letter of each corresponding word: I love you. The note was left on your dresser. You’d slept together the night before, but he had to leave early. Nowadays he wakes you up, but  back then he’d been too shy. 

I want to be able to do that for you but I can’t find a lighthouse in D.C. that will let me in to try. I’ll keep looking. 

“I’ll keep looking,” Spencer reads. His thumb heistates just under your small font.

“It’s from that note you left me.”

“I know, I remember.” He does his awful frowny face where his eyelids lower and you're sure he’ll never smile again, he looks that upset. “You know this is permanent?”

“They do tend to be,” you say with a lovelorn sigh. 

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I should kiss you, or hug you, or… I don’t know why you’d do this.”

“But it’s okay?” you ask. It could make for a very awkward conversation if he doesn't like it.

“It’s perfect.” He holds your gaze. “You’re perfect.”

He acts like your tattoo is a gaping wound as he moves in to hug you, careful of your new ink, but relentless in the tightness of his arms behind your back. You laugh, then squeal at his insistence, a giggly girly thing that nobody else should ever hear but him. He doesn’t make fun of you, just squeezes you to him, his face pressed so hard to yours you can feel his cheekbones. 

“Now I just have to say something romantic for you to get tattooed and we’ll be equal again.’

“So we aren’t equal?”

“Um, no way.” Your laugh is self-satisfied and breathless. You turn your lips to his cheek. “I love you. I’m gonna build you a lighthouse.”

“Can’t believe you kept that note.”

“I have a whole shoebox of them. I love that you write them.”

He stops holding himself up, half on the couch and half in your lap as he hugs you with every bit of strength in his arms.

[lady-lauren]

❥ SHANKS X FEM!READER

❥ WORD COUNT: 2.3k

❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: forced orgasms, some yandere vibes, dub-con to be safe, very inappropriate use of conqueror's haki, power dynamics (captain/crew), praise, creampie, Shanks is so mean but so good and I would die for him

→ Kinktober Masterlist ←

“You’re gonna cum for me, darlin’, even if I have to take it from you.”

The weight of his words curl around your throat like a vice, blood pumping in your ears you until can barely hear his boisterous laugh. 

The smile he gives is so cheshire, so oddly genuine, it makes a shiver of fear run down the back of your neck. Perhaps it’s actually pleasure, but the emotions are too entangled for your brain to piece apart your state of mind. 

He’s not letting you go this time, not until he gets what he wants. 

“Shanks,” you plead, nails gripping into the black fabric of his cloak, “we shouldn’t, you’re my captain, and I—”

“And your captain knows what’s best for you. Promise.”

The playful lilt in his voice is disarming. 

He always lures you in so easily, and usually you can squirm away, calm your raging heart and pretend like you’re not the object of his desires. Because you shouldn’t be, you can’t be, you’re honor bound to serve him as your captain and you refuse to let lust cloud your relationship to Shanks. He helped make you a pirate. You’re more than a mistress.

Yet he’s already stripped you bare for him tonight, easy work for one of the most powerful men on the seas.

Warm lips press into your cheek as you turn your face from him, gritting your teeth as you deny his kiss.

Shanks chuckles in the face of your defiance, squishing his fingers into your cheeks to make you look at him. 

“You know, you really are cute, thinking you can stop me. Besides, don’t you want to follow Captain’s orders, hm? That’s why I picked you—you’re so loyal, always willing to please. But you should please and be pleased.”

His eyes close with a sincere smile, the pink scars nearly shining in the firelight of his room.

Perhaps you do forget sometimes how weak you are compared to him, to the man who can cut down enemies with a single gaze. 

Trapped between his colossal body and the wall, you have nowhere to run, no way to slink off and keep only ghosts of his touches. He’s going to make you feel every moment.

“Want me to show you how good I can make you feel?” 

“Trust me, I know, I know how good you’d feel, but I can’t—”

“You have no idea.”

Somehow he feels closer, as if the sun-kissed skin of his chest from his parted shirt is already blending into yours. He is darkness clouding over you, engulfing you.

He cups your chin with his hand, big fingers spilling down onto your neck. He slants his mouth over yours before you can protest, moving plush lips until you can’t help but moan. Spiced rum, aged and smooth, greets you when his tongue slides between parted lips. He kisses like a dance, like a back and forth that he leads.

“Breathe,” he whispers, and you don’t have to ask why. You sense his conqueror’s haki in the air before you feel the power lick at your skin, dragging and pulling and hot. 

“Cum for me.”

Lightning quick, your tummy tightens, the pleasure centers of your brain on overload as he overtakes you. Desire boils down to your cunt like a poisonous liquid heat, unbearable, sinful, yet so, so blissful as your pussy flutters and you fall over the crest of orgasm. 

“Fuck! Oh, fuck you, fuck, fuck…” Your eyes squeeze closed as the ecstasy is literally ripped from your body, like he somehow sunk his hand inside your core and extracted all the delight he craves. 

“Doesn’t that feel good?”

You can’t help but nod, because yes, it does, as if pleasure is bursting like supernovas underneath your skin. Your hands are clinging to him, one around the back of his neck, the other beneath his shirt, like you can’t help but be closer to the source of your heat.

“Shanks, I…” your tongue is so thick in your mouth, searching for words you can’t think of.

“Now imagine just how fucking good you’ll feel when you do that on my cock.” 

“Please, oh, god, please.”

His famous laugh greets your ears and you’re almost knocked back to the reality of who has you in his grasp. 

“That’s my girl.” 

You’re in his bed before you know it, eyes glassy at the sight of his naked body. You knew he’d be beautiful, but the actual view of him, on his knees, pumping his cock in his hand while between your legs has you whining.

“What’s going on in your pretty little head? Tell me.” 

“I…want you, so badly, and I-I’m sorry for pushing you away. I never—”

He shushes you, takes his hand from his cock so he can brush the back of his finger across your cheek, “You were just doing what you thought was right. Didn’t wanna just be my plaything, did you? I know you wanted to be my strong little pirate, but you can be both.” 

“Promise?” 

“Swear it.” He grins like a little boy as he mockingly draws an X across his heart with his finger. 

How can someone so deadly be so adorable?

Your instincts are flaring again, telling you to run, that once he sinks his claws into you, you’ll only ever be his. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Maybe that doesn’t sound so bad, especially not with how good it feels when he buries his hand between your thighs, fingers playing in your wetness. 

Shanks is equal parts messy and methodical, swirling his fingers around in your slick folds before rubbing his thumb over your already sensitive clit. You cry out, back arching and nails digging so deeply in his pillows you swear you hear fabric rip.

“Think I made you wet enough to take my cock already, don’t you?” 

To prove his point, he slides his slick-drenched fingers between your lips, letting you taste yourself. You nod your affirmation as you suck against his skin, his eyes shining as you wrap your tongue around his fingers.

You eye his cock between his legs, preening at the thought of having him inside you. His cock is pretty, fat, already leaking and veins straining beneath silken skin. Red curls crawl up his toned stomach and you nearly drool around his fingers. 

All you ever wanted was to be a pirate, but the sight of your captain’s cock has you content to be a whore.

“Been dreamin’ about you in my sheets ever since I found you, darlin’. Knew you were the one for me, my perfect girl.”

“Oh please,” you gasp as he draws his fingers from your mouth, dragging them down to your tit so he can pinch your nipple, “you know what praise does to me, Shanks.”

“Of course I do,” he sing-songs, grasping his dick and pushing his tip between your folds. He presses in, a cant of his hips shoving his cock halfway into your dripping hole. Your head falls back at the stretch, cooing at the feel of him. 

Shanks is clearly done chasing you, mindset moved to capture, to take. He bottoms out and immediately starts moving, grinning as he watches your pussy lips drag along his length. 

He wolf-whistles at the sight, making you flush with a strange mixture of embarrassment and pride. “Look at that pretty fucking pussy. So slutty already for me.”

Strong fingers push your thigh back, spreading you wide as he starts his pace. 

“Now,” Shanks clicks his tongue against his teeth, “let’s see what it feels like when I make you cum around my cock.” 

“You don’t, ah,” you gasp as his cockhead prods against a soft spot, “h-have to make me, I’ll—” 

“Shh, I’ll take care of you, baby. Let me make you feel good, yeah?” 

There’s no time to think, not with how fast he acts, a simple look into your eyes has you shattering until you scream. The pleasure claws from your depths all over again, more intense now that your cunt has his fat cock to convulse around. You suck him in deep as you fall, bliss blooming over every nerve ending. Your toes curl, your nails cut into his shoulders, your stomach nearly hurts from the twisting of your orgasm. 

“God damn, you feel so fucking good when you do that, get so tight around me.” 

“Sh-Sha—mhm, fuck,” you try to protest, to say something, but the way his body moves into yours is like the mesmeric waves, lulling you into a headspace of drifting euphoria. 

He’s all over you—hand in your hair, tongue sliding down your neck, lips sucking at the fat of your tits, teeth scraping along your curves. He’s all encompassing, snaking his arm behind your back until you're pressed against his thick chest and rocking with every thrust.

The orgasms have made you numb, all you feel is pure carnality, like now you just exist to fuck and be fucked.

For a moment you wonder if he’s still forcing it on you, but you decide you don’t care. He’s the only one who can make you feel like this, haki or no.

Shanks brushes his nose down your cheek, lips hot and wet as he kisses your skin, “Touch me, baby, be with me.” 

Like puppetry, your hands trace his musculature, taking note of how his shoulders roll with every push and how his abdominal muscles stiffen whenever your cunt spasms from pleasure.

You kiss over the freckles on his shoulder, down to the thick bicep he no longer wraps in bandages. 

He groans as your lips get close to where his arm used to be, a purr from deep in his chest like you’re too close to something vulnerable.

“Gonna take from you again, darlin.’ Gotta feel your cunt suck me dry.” 

“N-no I can—I can do it, I can cum for you, promise.” 

“Mhm, where’s the fun in that when I can just make you?”

His hand snakes around your body, letting you sink into the bed free of his hold. He teases your clit just because he can, because he likes watching you wiggle and writhe and whine beneath him.

You suck in a sob, “Please, just a little more, more, and I—”

Shanks’ haki feels like the warm licks of familiar fire. He burns because you let him too close, stared too long at the flames. 

You’re sure he purposely brings the assault of his conqueror's power on slower, lets it bleed and blend with the ecstasy building from the sensitive pressure on your clit. 

This crest is bigger, fuller, like you’ve been thrown from the Red Force into the toiling dark ocean. Only it’s boiling, scorching and tugging the pleasure from deep within your belly. 

“Oh god,” you throw your head back and whine, “too hot.” 

Shanks groans deep from his chest, fingers pausing on your clit as he feels you cum around him. His thighs shake, cock twitching and throbbing. Mean fingers dig into the softness of your belly like he’s clinging to sanity, holding himself back just enough to be in control. 

“One more, baby.”

He starts thrusting again, a slow grind into your depths that has red curls kneading into your clit. You feel him in your guts, your heart, like the beat of blood in your veins. 

“C-can’t, god, can’t, please.” Please no. Please yes. You’re back in an entanglement of emotions where no way is up, the sun still so far from underneath the waves.

Shanks buries his face in your neck, red hair fanning like embers across overheated skin. 

He sucks at your pulse, flesh between his lips, “yes you can, my good girl. For me.” 

You’re slammed into a new atmosphere, floating for seconds before being dragged back down, down to where you feel details of your name whispered against your throat and the pulsing of a thick cock as ropes of cum spill into tight, gummy walls. 

“Fuuuucckk, oh g-god, Shanks, hurts, so good, shit—”

You babble until your mouth runs dry, anchored by your captain’s bruising grasp on your hip. He has you flush against his body, heavy breaths syncing as you both float up from hell.

It’s like waking up from a dream when he starts kissing you, all feather-light and reverent. He sits up and his lopsided smile seems so sincere. 

“So proud of you, really thought you were gonna pass out there for a second.” He laughs playfully, blowing a stray red hair from his face. 

All you do is whine and shift your sore hips, gasping at the feel of his cock still hard and deep inside you. 

You’re not sure how much time passes before he pops his dick out—your heart beats are too erratic to count as seconds. 

He sinks praises into your skin, kissing down your breasts, your belly, making you jerk when he kisses the mound of your pussy. 

His breath is hot on your clit. That feeling has your mind shattering like porcelain, a sharp smack centering you straight back into reality. You sit up and stare at the scene before you, sharp-eyed prey watching a predator in the forest. 

“Shanks, no, please, for the love of god—” 

“No no no no, it’s okay,” he coos from between your legs, eyes closing and head cocking to the side as he smiles, “I’m not gonna take this one from you. Promise. Gonna let you do it all by yourself, nice and slow.” 

It’s easy to forget that Shanks is a bad liar when he shoves his pretty face down to eat his cum from your pussy. 

[chithereader]

l-o-v-e / aaron hotchner

part 2 to jealousy, jealousy!!!! word count: 2.1k pairing: aaron hotchner x f!bau!reader, shy!reader genre & cw: hotch being so in love!! jealousy plot, made-up case, and different use of cm character a/n: i got so much love for jealousy, jealousy it has been so surprising to me how much u guys loved it!! i really hope you enjoy this part 2 as we finally get some clarity to their feelings for each other!!

With your jaw slightly dropped, you manage to get out an “Uh..” Then you clear your throat as if that will make actual words come out then— “Uhh..” 

Now you didn’t know how long you were staring at Hotch. Yet somehow you were aware that the silence— your silence was stretching out for too long. Like a fish out of water, you continue to move your mouth soundlessly. 

And if you were actually underwater, you knew a series of air bubbles would come out in a line from your lips. 

Deep inside, Hotch was getting a little worried. That maybe he came on a little too strong. 

Was that too bold? Was that out of the blue? What if you think he’s joking? Or worse, what if you think he’s not taking you seriously? 

On the outside, Hotch is trying very hard to maintain his calm and collected composure, not letting too much emotion seep through his expression. Making sure he doesn’t look worried or too proud, too scared or too smug. 

The small smile on his face is one that he hopes to convey what he means: that he seriously likes you and that he doesn’t mean to embarrass you. But it is a smile that slowly fades the more he sees the panic growing in your eyes. 

Loud clapping shakes you both out of your individual worries as Derek teasingly cheers for the development in your romance— hooting and whooping about how the boss man has finally made his move. 

As if suddenly remembering that there are other people in the room, you both look around to check the other team members’ faces. 

To your surprise, Reid is blushing even more than you and Hotch are, and to absolutely no one’s surprise, Rossi is looking straight at Hotch with a smug grin. Raising his hands theatrically slow to clap painfully slow for his best friend. 

“My man.” Derek proudly says still clapping, and if he was brave enough to risk losing a hand tonight, he would have stood up to pat his boss on the back. 

Hotch shakes his head bashfully, cheeks turning increasingly red.  He looks down at his shoes to hide his face a bit, mumbling a low, “Shut up.” 

But Rossi being Rossi, was not gonna let the moment go, “I gotta say, Hotch, I didn’t think you’d ever do it…or anything actually.” 

Looking at Hotch, you start to giggle. He’s got his head facing the ceiling, acting playfully exasperated at his team’s antics. No doubt already regretting his public expression a little bit. 

But the laughter dies down into soft giggles, and he straightens a little to look at you. Catching your eye, you smile back at him softly, also hoping that he’d understand what you’re saying with that little smile. I like you too. Don’t worry, you didn’t embarrass me. 

Hotch’s worries are instantly quieted by your smile. Like dust settling on the ocean floor, he feels at peace. 

Your little staring moment though, is suddenly interrupted by his cell ringing. And the room’s mood sombers knowing that there can only be one reason someone will call one of your cells late at night— a new body was just found. 

—

It’s 7:00am and the sun has risen brightly. Reid and Rossi went to the ME with the body to further examine what’s been done. Meanwhile you, Morgan, Seaver and Hotch stay behind at the crime scene, knowing a fresh scene can tell you the most right now.

You’ve been staying close to Morgan as he theorizes the unsub’s movements. Following and coming up with theories of your own in terms of the order of the unsub’s entry and exit. 

But as much as you are focused on the case, you look at Hotch and Seaver every now and then, who are interviewing witnesses and authorities on the side. 

Hotch catches you looking at him and Seaver, just as Seaver holds on to his arm to fix the strap of her heel. You may have looked extra irritated but you’d blame it on the sun being on your face. 

Looking back at Derek who had gotten quiet, you find him smiling at you teasingly. Already aware of what you were just looking at— more like who. You roll your eyes at him, “Shut up, chocolate.”

Derek shakes his head as he laughs, taking his sunglasses from where it hung his shirt and wears it on you. 

“Calm down, Cyclops. You might just kill the two of them if you’re not careful.” 

You gasp at his audacity, watching his back as he walks away, not even giving you the chance to respond to his teasing. 

Not wanting to stare at his back any longer, you turn around to pick up right where you left off. Only to have the fright of your life seeing Hotch right in front of you. 

With a hand on your chest you catch your breath, “Oh my god! How even—“ One second he’s more than 6 feet away from you, the next second he’s not even 4 inches from you. 

Your heart beats even faster as Hotch’s hands reach up to your face to remove Derek’s sunglasses. “Morgan!”, he shouts and tosses Derek his glasses. 

Derek catches it instinctively and looks to the both of you in confusion, but Hotch looks back at you and takes his own sunglasses off his face to wear it on you. 

Seaver watches all of this unfold from behind Hotch, and you could see it annoyed her. But she puffs her chest and turns to the people she and Hotch were talking to, continuing the interviews they were conducting. 

— 

Now during the case, obviously there wasn’t really any time for you and Hotch to discuss the romance brewing between the two of you. Absolutely no time to indulge in personal matters at a time where other people’s lives depended on you. 

But that’s not to say that Hotch has not followed up his advances with more actions. Not at all— the complete opposite actually. 

He has only become increasingly affectionate and bolder with his actions. He seems to have given up on holding himself back around you. He’s constantly sitting beside you, placing his hand on your lower back as you walk, then he stands behind you constantly towering over you whenever, wherever. 

He’s even given you his handkerchief multiple times so you could wipe your sweat, and when you guys ordered takeout for the night, he made sure to unpack yours for you and hand you your utensils, even standing to get you water from the pantry before he even touches his food. 

He’s been crazy sweet and even more protective than usual, you almost didn’t need words to confirm how he feels about you… if it weren’t for Seaver who has also gotten bolder with her advances towards Hotch. Then I mean, maybe a little reassurance would be nice. 

It seems as if the recent development in yours and Hotch’s romance was something Seaver saw as a challenge- a hurdle she has to get over to win Hotch. 

Annoying you even more, when she arrived at the precinct the next day wearing a revealing top and tight pencil skirt. She looked good, you had to admit. 

Looking down at your own attire, with jeans, boots, and a plain shirt. You felt a little defeated. Obviously you weren’t going to attract Hotch being this plain. 

But you also wanted to be ready. The team was closing in on the unsub who has become more and more erratic, you could almost predict a chase and maybe even a tussle. 

You were standing beside Reid, looking at the board trying to uncover a pattern in the unsub’s dump sites when you heard an agitating little voice say, “Hotch, I think my top unbuttoned at the back. Could you get it for me?”

Tension instantly brews. The team, who has caught on to Seaver’s ploy early on, awaits your reaction. You could feel their gazes on your back, even from Reid who you could feel checking on you from the corner of his eye from where he stands to your right.

But you refuse to give in. You continue- more like pretend to- analyze the map on the board. Even tilting your head a little to sell that you’re really not paying attention to the two. However in all honesty, all your other senses are very much attuned to whatever’s happening behind you. 

Rossi cleared his throat, making you check the room’s reflection on the window on your left through the corner of your eye. And you watch as Seaver turns in her seat away from Hotch, anticipating him leaning close and putting his hands on her. 

Now you thought that since Hotch had an idea about how Seaver makes you feel, that he’d keep his distance. You know, set those boundaries to appease you. But to your surprise, Hotch leans over the distance between his chair and hers, and reaches over to button her top. 

You could feel your face heating up. You don’t know if he simply didn’t care, if he was oblivious, or if he did it on purpose. But now was not the time to act up and make a big deal out of something so trivial. You were all so close to catching the unsub, you poured your focus on the case instead. 

But you need a moment to yourself, maybe a little fresh air or even a pep talk in the bathroom mirror will do. Just as you were about to excuse yourself stepping back from the board, you hear Hotch close the file he was reading- before he was interrupted- loudly. 

His stern voice soon follows, “Just a little advice, Agent Seaver: if you’re assigned to the field, dress like it. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about buttons popping or heels snapping while you’re chasing an unsub or racing to save someone’s life.” 

You couldn’t stop yourself even if you wanted to. Their reflection on the window was blurry enough that you couldn’t make out their facial expressions, so when you hear Hotch’s stern voice your head snaps to look at him in surprise, not expecting him to be annoyed at Seaver given that he’d just helped her. 

You almost feel bad for Seaver who’s turning red in embarrassment. She’d obviously put together an outfit for Hotch. You all knew she was an outstanding agent, so to jeopardise her performance for a man’s attention seemed weird even for her. 

–

To your surprise, her advances towards Hotch did not stop even after his dig at her unprofessionalism. 

As you were all boarding a jet well into the night, exhausted from the long case, you all noticed Seaver subtly rushing to sit first. Unsurprisingly, she chose the seat beside Hotch’s usual seat. Acting normally, she pulled out a blanket settling in her seat. 

But Hotch, who has been behind you the whole time, was just shadowing your movements. The most exhausted out of all of you, he wasn’t even thinking about where he’ll sit. He was blindly following you like a puppy, with a hand on your waist as if to not get lost. 

He was actually just waiting for you to sit somewhere, then he’d sit beside you. So you chose a couple-seat on the far end of the jet, away from Seaver. Neither of you have the energy to deal with her antics. 

In a last attempt to get Hotch to her, Seaver calls out “Hotch, I saved you your seat!”, even opening up her arms that are covered by the blanket as if to invite him to her warmth. 

But Hotch only looks at her silently, blinking. Then in less than 10 seconds, Hotch takes your hand, intertwines it with his, kisses yours softly, and crosses his arms as he closes his eyes to sleep- leaving your hand somewhat trapped to his body. 

You’re surprised at the bluntness of his affection, considering most of your team members were looking at you after Seaver called him out. 

Stealing a glance at Seaver, you catch her shoulders drop before she settles back into her seat, while Morgan mouths to you “Told you,” from across her. 

Turning your head to look at Hotch, you can tell he isn’t asleep yet though his eyes are closed. You squeeze the hand intertwined with yours, trying to get it out of his grip and crossed arms– he opens his eyes to look at you and softly whines, “Stoopp.”

“Hey!” you whisper. 

He breathes out a grumpy, “What?” to which you smile softly and say, “Fine. I guess I’m your girl.” 

here's my masterlist!

[cosmictheo]

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 | feyd-rautha

(gif credits to @pascow)

— summary: an arranged marriage with feyd-rautha in the name of reconciling your houses was something you were not expecting, neither was the soft and light way he seemed to behave towards you and only you. —pairing: feyd-rautha harkonnen x female!atreides!reader —word count: 3k —warnings: arranged marriage, feyd being gentle and calm because the reader is the love of his life (as it was written), probably ooc!feyd (sorry but i just love to see the most savage and feral men fall on their knees for their s/o)

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

ᯓ★ part one ── part two ── part three (coming soon)

Your arranged marriage to Feyd-Rautha had been the reason for House Atreides and Harkonnen to strengthen their alliance, ensuring that neither would stab each other in the back, which was most expected from the Baron. Your Houses had been wavering on a faint thread that separated you from a war and this marriage arrangement had pacted a reconciliation. It had been your parents' idea and obeying your parents was the most important thing for you, right after protecting your family and indeed that was what you were doing, guarding your family.

Your twin brother did not like the idea, he was not very fond of Feyd-Rautha and his House, moreover, he found him rather... repulsive. For Feyd was a savage, a ruthless and bloodthirsty man.

However, he had to admit that, next to him, you would be basically untouchable, after all, it was like having a guard dog, the most possessive and protective dog, a dog that was ready to kill and ravage for you if necessary.

“He's scary.” Paul's voice echoed inside your head as together you walked along the vast hallways of the Harkonnen palace, at the end of it, Feyd-Rautha stood, engaged in a conversation with your parents, forever as stiff and somber as he had been since you had first met him.

“Just look at him, you'll have to wake up next to him for the rest of your life.” Your brother insisted, throwing you a knowing and concerned look. “We can fix this without you having to marry that man, sister. There must be something—”

“Enough.” you interrupted him, finally dragging your eyes from your betrothed to your anxious brother pacing beside you, you made an effort to offer him a reassuring, soft smile, grateful that he was always so caring and concerned about you and your well-being. “There's nothing else we can do. You know about my visions and what they foresee. Our House will not endure if I do not accept this offer.”

“We will do whatever it takes to survive for now.” You added, holding Paul's gaze, noting the sadness and pity behind his dark eyes, and like the good sister you were, you sighed softly, leaning closer to him to bring him some kind of reassurance. “Our turn will come to make our move and win, brother.”

“Whatever it takes.” He echoed, nodding his head, fingers brushing your clasped hand around his forearm, as you were accustomed to do when you walked side by side.

“The marriage will take place two weeks from now.” The Duke's voice gave out the news once you were all inside the assembly room, with the Baron at the head of the table, of course, looking uncharacteristically approving and pleased to hear the announcement.

The massive man showed his approval with a hint of a phantom, twisted smile, plump fingers taping the edge of the black table in front of him. “We will have the princess as a guest in our home for a week and then the na-Baron will visit her home for the last week, prior to her coming to live here.”

He planned the whole thing and there was absolutely no one in the room who had the idiotic courage to be against his command, so, it was settled.

Once you said goodbye to your family and gave a tight and emotional hug to your brother, you were left alone in the dark and gigantic planet of the Harkonnen family, feeling like an outsider, like a small prey surrounded by bloodthirsty predators. Although, the place possessed an indescribable and incomparable beauty, the sun was black, and the light that irradiated was whitish, giving it a beautiful contrast with all the black buildings rising majestically. But the place was rather... depressing, quiet and somewhat eerie, it was nothing like your home.

You soon felt out of place, and everyone who looked at you could see it too. It was as if you had some kind of golden aura, glowing among all the darkness and gloom of the place.

Feyd-Rautha watched you attentively, analyzing every expression and emotion you let be shown across your face, catching the look your eyes possessed, that special little gleam that flashed in your orbs as you admired Giedi Prime as if it were one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen in your life, his home.

“Do you like it here, my lady?” His husky, raspy voice managed to snap you out of your trance, and your heart skipped a beat once you trailed your gaze from the horizon beneath the balcony to him, meeting his deep, dark gaze. He always seemed to look at you with those eyes, captivated, as if you were some form of strange spectacle.

And indeed you were, you stood in perfect contrast to the planet, your eyes were bright, lively, your aura was vivacious and hopeful. And because of that, he liked to look at you, study your face, your body language, every little reaction you had in response to something. You were fascinating.

Whenever you entered any room, his deep blue eyes were pulled to you like a magnet, drawn to orbit around you like his planet circling the dark sun.

Feyd noticed out of the corner of his eye how your hands clasped lightly around the balcony fence in front of you, skin contrasting against the blackness of the material. 

You nodded your head very slowly, twisting your body just enough to be able to look him directly in the face, big eyes looking up at him, not with fear, but with expectation. “I do.”

Even your voice was the opposite of his, keeping that soft and delicate tone, as elegant as you.

He seemed satisfied with your positive response, and so, he dared to lean against the balcony fence right next to you, but careful not to cause you to feel too uncomfortable or intruded upon. His eyes never left you for a second and he was quite pleased that you were bold enough to hold his powerful and intimidating gaze.

“Good, it will soon become your home too.” Feyd answered you, in a tone that oscillated between amusement and fascination, you didn't quite know how to decipher the expression on his face either, naturally.

He was very complicated to read, even if you tried extra hard, the many tutoring and lessons with Lady Jessica didn't seem to do much use, with him. Perhaps because he made you feel unnerved, he made your soul tremble like no one could, stepping beyond your walls and standing where none of your senses seemed to work. Where the eye could not see.

“Are you mocking me?” Still, you had the courage to ask him that bold question, one eyebrow rising on your forehead and your head twisting slightly, defiant face and all.

Your bravery made him laugh slightly this time, a noise that was heard almost unnaturally, with a small crooked smile on his lips that looked all too unusual and strange on him. For not even his strongest and most powerful enemies had had the courage to stand in front of him and challenge him like you were doing right now. You were a fierce girl. And he liked that.

“I wouldn't be likely to mock you, my lady.” Feyd-Rautha replied calmly, his tone of voice the exact same, as if you were a spectacle. Your eyes lowered to his hand, which snaked slowly to the edge of the balcony fence, fingers stroking the smooth surface. “I'm just stating the obvious. You'll be living here with me soon. It will be our home and you will reign with me when it's my turn.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly at his response, not yet quite convinced that he would behave so calm and composed with you, when not more than two days ago you had seen him slicing men to pieces in the arena. “You are not bothered by me invading your space?”

You asked that question because you knew how... eccentric men usually behaved, you could see it in basically every man with any power you had ever met, in the so many meetings with the Duke back home. You could see how they treated their wives, how they looked at them and how they talked to them, as if they were dealing with a servant. You feared this marriage was like that too.

Even your parents' marriage was broken, since Duke Leto kept close to his heart another woman who was not Lady Jessica, he did not love her as he loved that unknown woman. You had grown up seeing an empty and cold marriage, merely to fulfill a duty.

You understood that your marriage would also have that basis, and therefore, you knew that duty was the death of love. But for some silly, innocent reason, you wanted to think there might be love here. As the naive, young girl that you were.

Feyd-Rautha shrugged, not taking much interest in the matter of the question, “You'll be my wife, my space is your space.”

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he saw that his answer pleased you. You could begin to understand that to him the whole arranged marriage thing wasn't as important as it was to you, or maybe it was, but it didn't seem to bother him or disagree.

“Does this marriage bother you?” It was his turn to ask, staring down at you, noticing how beautifully your skin reflected the pale natural light of the black sun. He could see how frustrated you were now, to be there, with him. “Does it bother you to be my wife?”

You sighed heavily, peeling your eyes from Feyd-Rautha and returning them to the beauty of the landscape below, pondering the questions. His dark eyes followed your every movement as your body turned forward again, hands gripping the balcony fence as if your life depended on it.

“Do you care much for my opinion of you?” You decided to answer him with another question and that seemed to annoy him for his frown deepened and his fingers halted on the fence, devoting himself to glaring at you with his azure eyes, mirroring the pallid light of the gloomy sun.

“Woman, I will marry you and live by your side for the rest of my life, of course your opinion is important.” He took a couple of steps closer to you as he spoke, hand closer and closer to yours, managing to make you even more nervous. “Don't speak nonsense, it doesn't suit you. You're a smart girl.”

Seeing the expression on your face, he leaned even closer and out of the corner of your eye you watched as his hand rose to your face, resting on your chin and turning it ever so gently for you to look at him, but your eyes lowered, fleeing from his.

It seemed astonishing to him that you didn't even flinch away when you sensed the approach of his hand to your face, as if it wasn't the same hand that had slaughtered so many and slit so many necks by the same motion.

“Don't take your eyes off me.” He demanded in a low, raspy tone of voice, you could feel his breath brush against your face. “Look at me.”

When he whispered your name in that delicate, nearly pleading tone, you finally summoned the courage to look at him, allowing him to cradle your chin between his fingers and allowing him to be so close to you that you felt suffocated by the warmth of his body against yours.

“You fear me?”

He asked in that tone of voice, whispering, silently asking you to have mercy on him, not to fear him as everyone usually feared him, not to see him as the monster everyone saw, but as your husband, your protector and your lover.

He saw how your eyes watered slightly as fear peered into your usual stoic, cold face, and Feyd-Rautha was used to beholding that face, was used to fear, because it was always the last look of his enemies.

“I'm afraid. Of leaving home, of living on an unknown planet, of marrying someone I don't know.” Then you shook your head softly, looking up at him through your long eyelashes. “But I am not afraid of you, Feyd-Rautha.”

“You're very bold... and emotional.” He whispered in a disapproving but gentle voice, fingers tracing barely a caress along your lower lip before he reached up and dried the couple of tears that had managed to escape from your pretty eyes. At the closeness, you could begin to see through the mask he always carried, hiding his emotions. “You can't let yourself look like this in front of your enemies, it will make you appear weak.”

“I can't let myself look like this in front of my future husband?” his dark eyes lowered to your lips as you modulated the question, pupils dilating slightly. You swallowed as you saw desire and lust darken his orbs even more when you referred to him as your husband. You sniffed, feeling suddenly embarrassed by your outburst of emotions. “I'm s—sorry. You shouldn't see me like this, my lord.”

“Don't apologize.” He again reprimanded you in that passive-aggressive tone of his, like a hiss of a snake, shaking his head a little. Even after he wiped away your little tears, his hands remained in the same place, cupping your face, each of his thumbs resting on your flushed cheekbones.His fingertips were surprisingly gentle against your skin, sending shivers all over your body beneath their path. “You can be like this only with me, you understand? You can trust me, I want you to trust me.” His fingers took a lock of your hair and pulled it away from your face, running it carefully behind your ear. “But I really don't like to see you cry, my wife-to-be.”

After barely a second of silence with his azure eyes again flicking down to your parted lips, he spoke again, muttering, his raspy voice indicating that perhaps it hurt his throat to talk like that. “Pretty girls like you should cry out of pleasure only.”

He studied your face once more, not missing the way you blushed at his open flirtation and suggestive words, how you bit your lower lip, pupils expanding in thick blackness. You weren't used to so much attention, let alone men saying those kinds of words to you, it was evident. You were so innocent that it provoked a rare feeling of tenderness in Feyd-Rautha.

Perhaps it would be the closest thing to an act of consolation you would get from him and it was likely the only time in his life he had ever done that.

Promptly, you managed to make him smile again. “You Atreides are so strange and delicate... but then again, you will soon be Harkonnen, the prettiest na-Baroness, my pretty little wife.”

From his voice, his careful choice of words and the way he was looking at you, you expected him to kiss you right there —perhaps that was what you wanted, amidst all the tumult of emotions that shook your little heart, beating in rumbling noises inside your chest, pumping fiery blood through your veins.

But after a few seconds, he pulled his hands away from your face and backed away from you, taking a few steps back and offering you a look that you managed to perceive as soft rather than harsh. You knew that he was controlling himself well in maintaining a good demeanor, perhaps because his uncle had ordered him to do so; to do his best to make a good impression and not bring shame to the family. And also because he wanted you to have a good image of him, he was a prideful man, he was used to boast of his virtues and his power, and he was above all, protective of his own person and his glory.

He made a short gesture with his head pointing to the open balcony door, his hands clasping together behind his back pragmatically, as if he were presenting himself in front of a superior. “Now come, pretty girl, I'll show you the palace myself. You're future home.”

You walked towards him, a little smile curving your lips, the first smile on your face during the entire conversation, and he admired it in all it's glory.

“You don't have to be all stiff when you're with me, Feyd.” You eyed his posture with light eyes as you passed him and made your way inside the guest room with graceful steps, him following close behind.

He wasn't very fond of being addressed by name directly, of having his name used so freely, but the way you pronounced his name made him so utterly proud to be called that, he suddenly was wishing you would just call him that, in that tone of voice, tongue savoring his name as if it were the most delightful thing to say.

You turned to look at him for a few seconds, your tone of voice becoming reassuring, something he wasn't quite used to, yet he heard and savored it as if it were the sweetest thing in the world.

“If you can see me cry, then I can see you relaxed. It is only fair, no?”

Feyd-Rautha received your words positively, causing him to deepen his breathing into a snorting chuckle, eyes sparkling with amusement now behind your back.

“I'll try for you.” His response made you smile once more.