#and when it's finished it will still be atrocious | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

apppletea · 2 months ago

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die your daughter.

act one.

sipnosis: Your own desires were alien to your family, to the point where you are determined to commit an atrocious act but suddenly everything is 7 years ago when you were only 13 years old. Something has changed and you're not sure what it is.

w ; suicide, self-harm.

Your whole life was in her hands, in the hands of that woman and now in the hands of this family who didn't give a shit about you! So how should you react when you returned to your fresh 13 years? Should you have just been happy and cried? No, never.

Your room had become a mess, a mess worse than that family, the furniture thrown over next to the books, the posters you once loved torn and ripped, the trophies you earned with great effort lying near some wall due to the blows you gave them.

How? HOW THE FUCK?!

Soon you felt tears of pure helplessness fall on your cheeks, you looked at the plushies on your bed, they were all obligatory gifts, nothing was genuine, nothing at all! So what? Now what? What should you do? It was probably a horrible, terrible nightmare. No, it shouldn't have happened. You brought your hands to your neck hoping to finish again, hoping to choke on your saliva, you pushed harder and harder until the sudden click of the door sounded.

Alfred entered, worried or not really due to the commotion that sounded in your walls, his gaze fixed on your suicide attempt and quickly sprang into action, approaching you and holding your hands, while you caught your breath and tears wet everything.

‘young master...!!’ The adult's worried voice brought you to your senses for a moment. This was really real. It wasn't a lie, it wasn't a cruel nightmare. You had returned to that prison.

You sobbed, moans of pain leaving your mouth as you still struggled to catch your breath, Alfred stayed by your side, holding your hands to prevent you from trying again, He'd never seen you like this before, never thought you were capable of doing something like that, and the more he thought about it, the more terrified he became. What if you had a gun? A knife? Oh, He would never forgive himself for that.

Your eyes were too watery to see clearly, your gaze fixed on the now open door, the whole mansion was silent, but to you, they were like whispers, whispers that never left.

‘ugh—!... i feel sick.’ You murmured softly, abruptly removing your hands and seeking comfort within yourself, hugging yourself and hoping nothing more would happen but it didn't last, really nothing. You felt a gaze, a gaze that you could recognize from a distance, it was him, you looked up to find him watching the scene you created.

Alfred looked at him and simply looked away for a moment before greeting him properly. ‘master Damian.’ He said with a calm voice, the situation was serious but he... He was he.

You felt your body tremble and you could feel the anger that you had held in for 7 years, you didn't know what you were doing and you couldn't think clearly either, you only knew one thing, you hit Damian.

Alfred stood still like a statue, he knew you were in a vulnerable state but he didn't recognize that you could easily break at the sight of your family or at least, your brother.

‘wha— what's wrong with you?!’ He screamed but that scream you hated to hear because you knew he was ready to despise you, you grabbed another trophy to throw it at him but Alfred intervened, this time he took your side, he never did.

‘master damian! Please, stop. She's in serious condition.’ Alfred quickly justified it, Damian remained silent and looked at you again, this time realizing how you were and how the room was a mess. ‘So what? She thinks can throw a tantrum? Definitely not.’

‘shut up—!’

‘what?’

‘SHUT UP! I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU!!’

‘You—? oh.’

He remained completely silent as you writhed in the shadows that embraced you, shadows that never left you alone and perhaps you should have been grateful to them for not going completely crazy.

Alfred sighed, his eyebrows furrowed and he gave Damian a little push to leave the room, he left, still looking at you with an expression of confusion and deep pain that tried to disguise. Your words echoed completely in his vivid memory, his hands buried themselves in his hair as he gripped it with great force while his back slid against the wall next to your door. ‘UGH!—’

How can you hate him? How?— Aren't you that little girl who entered the mansion and tried everything to get close to him? Your older brother? What changed? What happened? What, what?! He couldn't allow himself to fall apart just because of that, he shouldn't let your words get to him, maybe you only said it because you were angry, yes, surely. He shouldn't have broken just because of that, he's... a well-trained boy, Talia al Ghul's son, he can't, no... So why does frustration fill every part of his being?

You felt like your eyes were exploding, they hurt, and so was your head, or rather, your whole body hurt, even your arms with scratches and cuts, your cheek with a scar that you got without thinking. All of this was real, it was real that Alfred took your side for the first time, it was real how Damian reacted quickly to your pitch, It was real like your room was the same, the pain was real, everything was real, so so real that you still couldn't believe it.

Alfred carefully pressed the wounds, slowly wrapping your arms with bandages. You weren't someone sensitive, not after what you went through in what is now your old life. You had had an insensitivity to pain, with all the wounds you got through your life, all your skin couldn't feel it properly and maybe it was an advantage, you never felt each wound again.

Still, you felt less human. If you couldn't feel pain, what were you then? A punching bag for those kids at your school? For your family? Maybe.

The older man's voice brought you out of your thoughts and you looked at him momentarily before looking down and losing yourself in the ocean of feelings you felt. He sighs again and leaves the room without being able to say anything, how could he anyway? They had neglected you so much that you were about to end your own life, he should tell the lord of the mansion but he can't, he doesn't know why but no, he can't.

Night had finally arrived, you knew everyone would leave, where to? You couldn't say, it was always a mystery but it was an opportunity not to escape, but to study the mansion and everyone, although in your old life you had allowed yourself to remember everything about each other, now they were just distant memories that were no longer in your head.

You didn't know where Alfred had gone but you didn't care, that didn't matter anymore so you barely heard the last one of them leave, You opened the door to your room and walked out silently. You were already dressed in your pajamas, ready to sleep, but today wasn't the time to sleep when everyone was awake too.

You looked around and walked carefully, going down to the main room and looking around again until you noticed something strange, maybe the mansion wasn't completely empty. Your gaze focused on the feet dangling from the armrests, large feet. ‘damn...’ You murmured as you noticed who it surely was, you approached trying not to be so noticeable but perhaps you knew that wouldn't work at all.

The figure was larger, of an adult, Jason.

The oldest brother, The resurrected one, the Robin, or whatever, you also temporarily sought his attention and affection but like everyone else, he was too busy to think about you. He was clearer with you, he made it clear that he didn't want you around even when you were determined to read all the books someone recommended just to keep you quiet.

Sigh... You looked closer and he was just sleeping with a book on his damn face, maybe it was a trick, you couldn't tell, you must have walked past and not paid attention but the air was cold or at least for you. You noticed that he was in his usual clothes,, you looked at him a little longer and simply placed a blanket over him and left, following your mission.

...

Silence, that was all, you had passed through a corridor so long that you felt it would never end. You had realized why, it was a corridor or hallway with all the family portraits, from the first Robin to the last, except you were the last and you had given up on the idea of being Robin. That's why yours was different, not with the idea of being special, it was the idea of seeing yourself as cool as all your siblings, so intimidating but at the same time with an aura of calm.

You loved your portrait, even as the years passed, you always admired yourself as a child, for your love of weapons even though one almost killed you. You, being the little 8-year-old with one of those long guns posing and holding it at the same time, loved your past self, brave, strong, and capable of doing anything. You are now a shadow of what you once were, and you didn't dislike it at all now.

And now, in that moment, it was just you and the shadows hiding in the darkness of this mansion.

new chapter yayy, excuse my inactivity !

I tried to focus a lot on the reader's reaction to having returned to that life again, it's like, I feel like she has to have some kind of anger because she ended her life because she didn't want to LIVE in that house and now shes back.

I have also seen in many fanfics that the reader first wanted the attention of the oldest brother, Dick, and wanted to change that because this reader is the youngest in the family and she wanted the attention and affection of Damian, her older brother.

and thats all... btw I'll be making the taglist soon, if you want to be added, please comment and make sure your settings allow it!

have a good day (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠).

#yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #dc fanfiction #platonic batfam #platonic yandere batfam #platonic yandere #yandere bruce wayne #batman #yandere batman #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batboys #yandere alfred pennyworth #yandere cassandra cain

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jynxpsiche · 5 months ago

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always there for you

kang dae-ho (player 388) x fem!reader

🎐. summary: you already took part in the games with Gi-hun and survived that monstrosity. But even the strongest soldier has its weakness.

🎐. warnings: canon gore, squid game violence, no spoilers, swearing, fluff, female reader, no proofread. English isn’t my first language!

requests are open !!

You woke up in that shithole again.

You promised yourself to never ever put your foot back in there after the last time. You still didn’t know how you managed to survive last time.

In the game only Gi-hun and you were the only one left standing after an atrocious journey. Poor Sae-byeok, who at a certain point was injured, didn’t make it because killed by Sang-woo, who instead was found dead in the bathroom.

So the two of you were facing each other on the field of the last game, but neither of you decided to finish it, both voting to go home.

The prize money had been split between the two of you then everyone followed their path, but Gi-hun and you kept in touch.

He was obsessing with finding the recruiter and for the last two years he hired a group of men who would scour every inch of every subway line.

From the calls and video chats you both shared you undoubtedly noticed how his infinite search was draining him, both physically and mentally. He wasn’t taking care of himself properly.

Sometimes you went to his apartment and cooked something for him, hoping that some home cooked meal would have helped him a little, and even if he always vocalized his gratitude for your actions you knew that day by day he was losing himself completely.

An unhealthy obsession that was killing him slowly and painfully.

Luckily for him, you were there to help him grasp at that little sanity he had left.

“It must be annoying to look after someone like me”. He blurted these words once, a cigarette in one hand and a distant look on his face. He almost looked guilty and mad for disturbing you.

But he didn’t know that it was the least you could do. You couldn’t help him forget everything and live a happy and untraumatized life, but you could help by taking care of him.

He was the only one left for you, and you were for him.

And you cared so deeply for him that at a certain point you even decided to join his plan to finally find and confront the frontman.

The only difference was that it wasn’t in your plan to take part again in that murderous game. He knew that to obtain what he wanted he had to go deeper, but you weren’t ready.

Your eyes snapped wide open when you heard that familiar song. “God fucking dammit!” a few heads turned in your direction but you brushed them off.

The last thing you remembered was being in a fancy limo with Gi-hun and him talking with the frontman. Then black.

Now in that blue and white room again, on that nasty bed again that brought back so many memories but this time with different people, all too excited to win some cash.

When you looked down you notice that same outrageous outfit but a particular caught your eye.

003.

The same exact number.

Despite you scanned the room for that one familiar face you didn’t find him anywhere and that thought just made you paranoid.

It was impossible for him to not be where he exactly wanted to be? Maybe the frontman took him somewhere else? Where he could have been unable to fight back? Where he could have died without no one knowing?

That final realization hit you straight in the head and in an instant you stood up from your bed and tried to make your way through the other participants.

However, you had been stopped by a full body of guards walking in through the metallic door.

The square guard started with their usual speech, presenting the game and the rules, stressing every time his tone on how their rights and comforts were their main interest and always came first above everything else.

Merely bullshit.

You still hoped this was a fever dream or something like that.

But reality settled back in when you found yourself on that open field again and the colossal robot staring right back at you.

How you didn’t miss that place.

In the distance you spotted a slim figure running ahead the group, facing everybody.

It was Gi-hun.

“Gi-hun you son of a b—“

Alive.

Most of them managed to pass the game thanks to Gi-hun. 91 players were eliminated, 9.1 billions were now in the piggy bank.

And just that sum of money sent most of the players there out of their minds. And because of that the voting ended just as you expected.

By one vote the circle won and all of you were obliged to stay there and take part in another mortal game.

“These greedy people don’t even know what they got themselves into…” whispered through clenched teeth, your eyes thinned as you listlessly played with your food.

You reunited with Gi-hun and joined him and his best friend Jung-bae, now all seated on the stairs in a corner.

“I totally agree” a voice came from your right and when you lifted your gaze in front of you there was a broad man with half hair tied up and a gentle smile on his face.

His sudden appearance caught also the attention of the other two players, who simply stared up at him, distrust on Gi-hun’s face.

“I heard you during the first game! Everybody freeze!” The young man imitated your friend’s gestures with an excited spark in his eyes.

“And who are you?” Jung-bae asked while raising slowly from his seat, trying to flash him an intimating look and appear more manly.

He stared at him dumbfounded then regained his posture clearing his throat as a way to gain some kind of confidence.

His tone was a bit shaky but he tried to hide it in the best way possible “Kang Dae-ho. I was a former marine and I would like to join your team!” He beamed mainly, showing off his tattoo and then assuming a military position.

Jung-bae analyzed him closely and then not-so-casually rolled up his sleeve to show his own tattoo. Another former marine.

At that sight, Dae-ho stiffened his posture and saluted his fellow marine.

“I wasn’t expecting that…” you whispered to Gi-hun, who lowly snickered beside you.

However your words weren’t misheard by Jung-bae, who turned around towards you with an offended look on his face.

“And what do you mean by that?!” “Stop whining, you look like a big fussy baby…” you replied back nonchalantly and slowly massaging your temples.

Dae-ho stared at you silent, which was strange from him, and you took notice of that but did nothing about it.

He, on the other hand, thought he had not been caught red-handed, so he looked away clearing his throat, a light rosy veil framing his cheeks.

It was strange. He had always been an outgoing boy, a breath of fresh air, or so others had called him. A pure ball of energy and happiness, that's what he was.

A true golden retriever, ready to cheer up others and offer help when needed.

And now that he finally had a team he could trust he could help and feel useful so that they could all get out of that nightmare safely.

But when he looked at you, all the air in his lungs left him.

Sassy and witty, so confident and surely hot-tempered. What a woman.

Although he noticed the hard look on your face, your closed and reserved nature but not because of your personality, no, due to something else.

He sensed you had lived something traumatizing, just like him, but it was rude and vulnerable to show someone you just met minutes ago to show them said side of yourself.

He wouldn’t have done that either.

But he felt connected to you. He was attracted like a magnet and pulling away wasn’t an option for him.

Dae-ho wanted to be pulled, to be further attracted by you. Like a moth pulled by a flame.

He wasn’t scared to be burned but right now the lack of confidence was too pressing for him. He wanted to look his best for you and most importantly someone you could rely on. Even if it seemed you didn’t need one.

Although he noticed the way you deeply trusted Gi-hun and how unintentionally you counted on him. He was your anchor. Dae-ho didn't feel jealousy arose in him since he hyphotized you must have had a strong bond with him.

But he was craving that kind of affinity, to feel you so close even just spiritually, confessing him your dark past and your deepest fears. He wanted that. To be someone you could trust with all yourself.

And that opportunity came up. Unexpectedly.

The second game revealed itself to be not so intricate like many of you thought, but obviously with not a great team the minigames could have been a real pain.

Even if your team was already of five people, you decided to give up your place for a pregnant girl, probably your age, who desperately needed help and some kind of protection for her and her baby.

You couldn't have let her die in a place like that. For her and the baby's sake.

You were too good, you knew that, but fortunately you were also aware that a strange type of luck was by your side, due to you already surviving in a that place the last time you were there.

So you joined another team last minute. And you passed.

However, your team had been one of the first to play so when you succeeded you had to wait alone near your base for what felt like hours.

Groups of players were entering the dorms slowly filling the entire room, but there was still no sign of your group. Had Gi-hun and the others perhaps not made it? Gradually you heard the numbers of the players who had failed, but their numbers did not resonate within the cold walls of that glacial facility.

Maybe you were overreacting.

But you felt the tears blurring your vision and threatening to flow out.

You weren't ready to lose them. You knew to not create close relations in a place like this, but it was inevitable. It was the only way to push down an agonizing depression and an imminent madness.

Unoticed by you tears streaked your cheeks, creating deep furrows laden with repentance and sadness.

Dumbfounded you grazed your cheek with a trembling hand, your breath now harboured and often interrupted by soft sobs.

And then your ears made out the sound of the door opening for the last time.

You didn't want to look up, your heart wouldn't have withstood the blow. Soon after you heard his loud laugh.

Your head snapped up and tripping over yourself you managed to catch a glimpse of their figures, animated by fiery and excited spirits.

A breathy gasp left your lips and with tears still in your vision you jumped out from behind the beds and ran in their direction.

They still hadn't notice you but one by one Gi-hun and the others made out your approaching figure and swiftly got out of the way.

Dae-ho, although, hadn't spotted you and in a second he was engulfed into a bone-crushing hug, leaving him breathless.

Looking down he finally acknowledged your presence and warmth rushed to his cheeks when he saw your face buried into his chest and your devastated aspect.

A soft gaze possessed his features and warmheartedly he reciprocated the hug, gently cradling your head. You were still trembling and sobbing quietly so he gingerly shushed you by nestling your face into the crook of his neck.

You quieted down a bit, your sniffs and breath still hard and harboured, your grip strong on his shirt like you were scared he would disappear if you let go.

But he was there. Alive and safe.

"It's okay...I'm okay..." he reassured you calmly and reluctantly you backed up a little, meeting his tender eyes.

You shook your head, still not believing what you were seeing, “I’m sorry…I’m sorry” you repeated like a mantra and the poor guy in front of you didn’t understand.

“Why are you apologizing?” His tone was low and calm, one hand gently cupping your cheek and lovingly swiping away the tears, “you have done nothing…” you sniffed warily and nodded “I should have helped…somehow…I would have—“ you didn’t finish the phrase when another wave of tears and regret crushed your figure.

Dae-ho slightly chuckled and cupped your face tilting your head up to meet his warm gaze again. “Knowing you were safe and sound here gave me the strength to give my all…to come back…to you”.

You gazed at him agape, your mind blank and your heart tapping furiously against your chest. You felt warm and strangely…safe in his arms.

You didn’t know you could have felt such feelings into a place like this but it happened.

All thanks to him.

You leaned into his touch and closed your eyes, basking into his gentleness.

Your behavior didn’t go unnoticed by him whose heart immediately swelled at your action and a childish grin erupted into his face.

Without stopping cupping your face, he slowly and tentatively leaned in, half-lidded eyes observing your now calm expression.

You trusted him.

You found in him someone you could rely on.

Your foreheads connected and a shiver went down your spines at the contact.

“I’m here for you” he whispered lowly, his hot breath softly hitting your face “and you can count on me” he was there for you “remember that”.

He didn’t need to remind you.

You already knew that.

From the beginning.

#dae ho #dae ho x reader #front man #gi hun #kang dae ho #kang no eul #player 001 #player 388 #player 388 x reader #squid game #kang dae ho x reader #kang daeho x reader #kang ha neul x reader #kang ha neul #thanos #thanos x reader #thanos x nam gyu #nam gyu

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ruesol · 7 months ago

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Nanami Kento is the type of man to lose his mind if he sees your ankles. In other words, Nanami goes crazy whenever he sees a sliver of your skin.

Notes: pre-relationship, Nanami has a HUGE crush on you and is embarrassed about thirsting over you.

main masterlist

Prim and proper. Two adjectives that described Nanami Kento to the T. The man never came to teach with a hair out of place- everything was held back with the right amount of gel. His tie didn’t move unless it was to be removed for a fight and his suits always fit him just right.

He was a man of consistency and neatness. However, that side of him would only keep up until you were in sight. You with your radiant smile and boisterous laughter that had him turning around and shoving his face into the nearest wall out of pure admiration.

Nanami hated losing his stoic facade in front of you. It was like you turned him into a teenager who had hit puberty and began seeing girls in a new light.

It was just another day at Jujutsu Tech. The teachers were having a meeting in the staff room. Well, it was more of tea time while gossiping about the students. Nanami, as usual, didn’t indulge in the conversation and chose to listen instead.

You however, were not afraid to give in your two cents about Yuuji’s atrocious new shoes.

“It was so funny, he looked like a clown!” Gojo laughed out from the other end of the table. You could feel Nanami rolling his eyes from beside you but you still had a feeling that deep down side, he agreed with Gojo as well.

Gojo pulled out his phone to show you a funny picture of the student and you leaned over the table to see it, making your already tight blouse, ride up.

‘I’m a gentleman.’ Nanami told himself while staring at the translucent brown liquid in his cup. But then again, your ass was right next to him, and you were wearing the pants he liked too. It would be a missed opportunity to not look, especially when you were so up close and personal.

He looked. There it was, your beautiful skin, he couldn’t see much but he could swear it was probably one of the most beautiful things he had seen all week (aside from your face).

He gripped his cup tightly as he imagined himself stroking the soft skin of your back. He averted his gaze when you went to sit back down. However, he didn’t stare at you discretely enough because he had managed to make eye contact with a smug Gojo. The word gentleman did have the word man in it.

Another instance where he almost lost his cool while looking at you was when you both were assigned to fight a curse that had razors for fingers. It was too dangerous for the students to tag along.

You tried your best to dodge the blasted creature but managed to barely get by as one its blades grazed your torso, cutting your shirt in half. This angered Nanami and he quickly finished the curse via his classic 7:3 technique. He turned to look at you hunched over, examining your fresh new wound- a giant paper cut going from between your chest to your belly button. The cut wasn’t deep but it was painful.

Nanami’s blush deepened after reaching towards you. He could see your bra and he felt horrible at that moment. There you were, groaning in pain while he wondered if you’d sound the same under him.

The worst incident in his opinion was when you had invited him over to help you build your bookshelf and you opened the door wearing thigh high socks and shorts. Didn’t you know not to mess with a man’s heart?

Every time, you’d walk by him, he’d try to sneak a peak at your plush thighs. It happened so often that he accidentally hammered his thumb. “Kento!” You rushed towards him and sat down on your calves, taking his hand in your lap.

“This looks painful. Let’s get you some ice before it begins to bruise.” You lightly tug Nanami’s forearms but his eyes are too focused on your expanded thighs, begging to be let out of the confines of your socks. “Kento?” The man was shook out of his trance when you looked up at him with concerned eyes.

Fuck, he couldn’t do this anymore.

“What?”

“Ice? Your thumb is starting to bruise, come on.”

The man silently followed you to your kitchen while you set up an ice pack for him. His eyes tracked along your figure, especially the way your thighs chaffed against one another. Even though he had an ice pack in his hand, his skin felt like it was burning because of the proximity between you two.

You were cooing at the wound, regretting that you made him do all that work just to get hurt.

“I’m so sorry, Kento. Is there anything I can do to make up for it?” you apologetically asked. There you went again, shooting arrows at his heart with every word.

“Let me squeeze your thighs.”

“Huh?”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“What.”

—

I don’t know how to end this. Sue me.

#jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk nanami #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami fluff #nanami kento x reader #jujutsu nanami #nanami x reader

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raytoelicker · 4 months ago

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x. another life (written work)

You groaned, throwing your phone into one of the soft cushions.

To say that Scaramouche is a morning person was a complete understatement—that guy's a complete, abnormal morning freak. You're pretty sure he went to bed at around midnight and guessing from the times you've seen him prepare, he'd take at least two whopping hours to, what? contemplate which shade of color goes well for his Minecraft boxers?

Yeah.

That's how slow the asshole is. And listen, you're not one to judge; you're a morning person as well, but in fairness, it's mostly because you're still high from the adrenaline of doing a concerning amount of work before taking a short nap.

So, again, yeah. He's a fucking morning freak that you would absolutely not appreciate in your morning routine that requires the absolute of patience needed.

Clicking your tongue, you shoot a glare at your glowing device. One that could hopefully urge the phone to burst into flames.

Okay, bath. Bath. Bath.. bath.. bath..

–

“Three baskets of strawberries, thirty kilograms of flour, and that Letche brand of baking powder in..” you squinted, willing the memory out of the corner of your brain, “..in aisle three or seven. Just request three boxes of those, thank you.”

The man with the brown cap nodded, eagerly taking notes with the most worn-out pen you've seen so far, “that's it, miss..?”

You smiled. “Miss [Name]. We’ll be seeing each other more, I'm sure of it.”

“Got it! We'll have it delivered by.. presumably three days from now.”

Seconds passed by as the sounds of scribbles filled the air, until another man emerged from of the entrance, form shifting and awkward before the sound of chimes and an embarrassed voice shatters the silence, “sorry to bother you, but uh, um. Your coworker, I assume..? Your coworker is very.. aggressive, and I think he wants to go in. Inside, I mean. Here.”

Silence ensued as you stared blankly at both men, before recognition hits you like cold ass water.

How the motherfuck do I always forget that he exists, goddamnit!

You flashed the two men a customer-service smile, whispers of apologies on your lips as you rushed to the door.. and, lo and behold! The Beauty and the Beast: budget edition!

Said Beast snaps his head to you, an ugly scowl adorning his face, “calltime was 8:00AM. and it's 8:09AM. How hard is it for you to be punctual for once, you fucking–”

You sighed, eyes shutting to a close, “as you said, it's 8:09AM in the morning and it's still early. Can we save the yelling later in the afternoon?”

Your veins throbbed when a click of a tongue was all you could hear before a calmer voice replaced it once again, “yeah, whatever, fruitcake. Let's get on with it. Who were those people, anyway?”

He pats the metal part of his Beauty, slowly treading over to your side, “uh. just a few of those delivery guys. yeah.”

“‘s that so? Also, fucking gross. I can hear your saliva swirling around, shithead. Keep it down.”

“..Shut up!”

–

God.

This was gonna be an absolute comedian 12-Hour Shitshow. With the first guests being the poor two men having to witness the most atrocious altercation between two hard-headed rivals, especially the one with grape-hair.

A particularly idiotic expression coursed through your rival’s face, “no, that's why you don't need the three boxes of shitty baking powder, you dumbass! You have to finish the remaining ones in the pantry first!”

The man with the brown cap flitted his eyes to the Asshole, before going back to yours, “and as I've said, there's only two in the pantry! Two! We need more than just two, and there's barely any stores in here that sells that specific brand!”

“That damn thing is also about to expire.”

“No, it's not! We bought it just a year ago, in the highest quality!”

“Baking powders lasts up from six to eighteen fucking months! You're a barista slash baker, how do you not know that!?”

“Erm—”

“Eighteen! There's still six months left. And—”

“Fuck off with your mumbling shit. There's no need to buy lthree fucking boxes of baking powder to last you a year, you dipshit. You only need one!”

“No, we don't—”

“—Um, as much as we're enjoying this, uh. Conversation, I think we have to really get going, because um. We're running late. So. How many boxes, really?” The sheepish man put out a notepad, strikingly similar to the man with the brown cap that's now pulled down to his face.

Heat burned in your cheeks as you pinched the Asshole’s side, ignoring his utterly embarrassing squeak as you replied back, “Two. just.. two. Thank you.”

The two simultaneously and awkwardly replied, “got it!”

You and Scaramouche shared a glance as they scurried to the door, before it turned into a glare.

“That was your fault, by the way.”

“Was not.”

“It was.”

“If you hadn't made a comment on the baking powder, then this wouldn't have happened.”

Scaramouche scoffed, the snark so prominent it makes you nauseous, “oh, fuck off. you listened to me in the end, didn't you? kind of proves that you really needed my help.”

A snort left your lips as you approached him, arms folded, “kinda? shut up, I never needed it,” there was a harsh finality in your tone and you made sure to emphasize it as you jabbed a finger to his chest, “I survived 15 years without your help. And I sure don't need it now.”

And in response, Scaramouche all but blinked, shock morphing his expression before it contorted to one of mixed miniscule confusion and amusement, “ever heard of sarcasm, fruitcake? you're so easy to rile up.”

Your eye twitched. It's still 8:30AM. You open up at 9:00AM. 9:00AM..

Exhale, inhale.

“And that exhale, inhale thing you're doing is also pretty dumb, by the way.”

“Okay,” you were so close. so close to punching the asshole out of here. better yet, fire him and put the nastiest record on his file, but you know better than that. because, again, exhale inhale exhale inhale— “shut the fuck up, and turn over that damn sign. go parade out the streets since you're such a dollface, you goddamn asshole. maybe you should put that pretty face of yours to some use instead of using it for the ugliest shittiest fucking–”

“You think I'm pretty?”

What. The fuck?

Your brain short-circuits, as you blankly turn to him.

Scaramouche, the shit-eating asshole that he is, dares to even flutter his eyelashes. Eyeliner becoming more prominent amidst the pale expanse that is his face and by gods, you can only hope that the absolute nausea that's swirling in your stomach right now is reflecting on your face, because why in the goddamn fuck did he say it as if it wasn't an universal fact?

Yes, he's pretty! Of course, he is! It's like goddamn sky is blue, grass is green and Tighnari is head over heels for Cyno—so why the fuck is this hardheaded dickhead acting as if your flattery is anything different from the others!?

And after prolonged minutes of intense emotional whiplash between nausea, disgust, shock and acceptance, you reply, “no, you look like god’s abandoned piece of shit.”

He snorts, poise relaxing as he sits by one of the chairs, leg propped up over the other leg, “that's a funny thing to think about.”

“..Are you gonna do the damn thing or are you just gonna—”

“Alright, alright, you fussy shithole!”

–

It's only a short 30 minutes before you’re working on the counter again: swiveling through the counter, putting on the most customer-service smile, throwing an occasional ‘good morning’ to the elderly, and saying ‘hi’ to the chit-chat companion you sporadically talk to.

Except this time, this fucking time, there's a fucking twink bumping hips and asses with you in every turn.

Hey, listen, the café that your grandmother owns specifically intends to hold two workers minimum considering that she had this whole thing built for her husband that soon passed when you were younger. So, meaning to say, it's not particularly small. It's somewhat large if you consider it, but goddamn.

It's like every hit and bump is laced with ill purpose. But when you turn to him to reprimand him, his eyes hold the same sceptical annoyance as well.

(A gnawing thought itches at your skin, but you turn that shit off the second it appears, because it mentions quite the inappropriate thing. Hint: thing being ass.)

It's gotten so bad that by the time it hits an hour before lunchtime, one of the regulars asks the most atrocious thing.

“Um, not to offend or anything, but are you two.. dating?”

And.. that? Oh boy, did your composure nearly slip if it weren't for the hand that was aggressively on your head once again along with an insincere voice cooling the atmosphere down and basically talking in the undertone of, “fuck off and never say that again”.

Along the way of him explaining, which took 3 customers waiting in line watching the theatrical show of your expressions shifting from what to yes, he's right, his fingers slowly threaded through your scalp.

And, shit. It feels good. Like, really good. You'd rather die than ponder more over that though.

So, with renewed fury, you slap his hand away, cutting him off from the yet-still persistent customer who keeps demanding if you two were dating. Which is surprising because you're pretty sure it's been five minutes.

It's then that Scaramouche gently pulls at your ear and roughly whispers, “this guy wants to fucking date you, assshat.”

Your eyes imperceptibly widen, shifting from his to the man before you, as well as the five people behind who're so clearly tired and waiting for their daily dose of caffeine.

Customers aiming for the barista aren't typically common in your area, so this situation is a bit shocking.

A sigh left your lips, as you put out a stance, “is there a problem? There's a line waiting, you know.”

The man fumbles, as you check him out, “right! sorry.”

The moment ended as fast as it came as you tended to the customers, who still seemed a bit pissed by the whole event. By the time the clock hits an hour of lunch and the whole interior is swimming in delicate gold color, you can already feel the lethargy seeping into your bones as you slumped back against the chairs.

Watching customers wasn't really your thing since you particularly have a bad habit of overdoing it and glaring into their souls instead, but perhaps this time, it wouldn't be that bad.

A short few minutes passes by before the gasbag opens its mouth again, “stop glaring at the customers like that, fruitcake. You're gonna scare them.”

That nickname..

You rolled your eyes, “oh, shut up. They don't even care.”

“Look at that little kid over there, he's shivering under your glare.”

“You're schizophrenic, shut up.”

“Yeah, and my hair is green. Anyways, where's lunch?”

Your brows raised as you turned to Scaramouche, who's also currently leaning against the doorway of the staff room, “what lunch?”

He blankly stared at you, “what do you mean, ‘what lunch’? you self-destructive piece of shit.”

You gulp, “I don't.. eat lunch?”

And, silence. Only for a short minute though, because the gasbag can't really keep his mouth closed to save his life.

“Oh, fuck you. What do you mean ‘you don't eat lunch’? Is this why you go stupid after lunch breaks?”

A frown settled on your face as shame blossomed on your cheeks, “I just get busy! And, don't call me that. I still beat you on afternoon recitations.”

A snort, “beat me, my ass. your answers are always slurred.”

“..No, it's not.”

“Ask that little brunette friend of yours and find out.”

“You're such an asshole.”

“I'm so kind, I know. And, also,” an onigiri flew into the air as you stumble over one of the stools to grab it, “30-Minute break is over, assshat. I'll take over first and you better eat that shit, or else.”

Then, slam.

You eyed the onigiri on your hand with suspicion. It was [favourite flavor].

Your gut squirms.

–

The rest of the shift passes by as uneventfully, and as the inky dark finally looms over and the café is deprived of the usual nightly customers, the Asshole finally shows signs of weariness. And it's then that you make the mistake of commenting on it.

“Aw, Mr. Twink tired already?”

“Fuck off, I don't like talking to people.”

“Uh huh, weak ass.”

He glares at you, leg attempting to sweep over to yours but you evade anyways, “try putting on a facade and act like a suck-up bitch.”

Of course, he'd think like that.

“Well, you just—”

“—Do people usually come and ask you out like that?”

And, oh. Well, that's certainly unexpected.

Your gut squirms yet again, “what?”

Why does he care? Is he shitting me?

“Are you deaf, or what?”

“Why do you care about my love life, huh?”

His face drops to a comedic deadpan, all hints of curiosity dissolving, “And in what statement did I even state that.”

You stuck your tongue, “you implied it, not my fault.”

“And this is why you placed third in that ‘Comprehension Reading Regionals’, you know.”

Annoyance settles in your temples as you shove him by the shoulder, “the past is past, that was two years ago, get over it. and besides, i was literally–”

“Excuses, excuses.”

“Shut up! it's true, and hey, I can totally beat you up again if ever the regionals come up and–”

“Yadda, yadda, yadda. Just admit you suck at reading comprehension.”

“Not until you admit sucking on dick!”

That seemed to do the trick, considering the way that familiar scowl finally settles in on his face.

“God, I hate you. You're the reason I've been getting dick pictures in my dms.”

You scoffed, he had the nerve to complain, “at least you don't get death threats from crazy fangirls.”

and instead of an answer, you feel a sharp stab in your shin, and that stupid shit-eating smirk only widens before it leaves out of your eyesight in a very comical downward motion.

“Yeah, that's right. kneel under me, dipshit.”

“You sadistic shit,” you snapped as you did a sweep kick aimed for his shins, and surprisingly that did the job as the Asshole falls over to his ass with a ‘thump’.

A transient glance was shared in understanding before the Asshole grasped at your forearm and pulled you over down with him to have you in a quasi-headlock.

“Fuck..you—” pain blossomed in your knee as you whirled around to knee him on the stomach, a wince coming out of him as he let go of you.

A brief second passed with a glare before he attempted to pin you down on the floor, only to ultimately fail by missing one of your wrists which resulted in a jab in the forearm.

The process went back and forth.

There had been way too many instances wherein you and Scaramouche nearly went into a brawl in the middle of the classroom, art room, or even the canteen. But this? This was the official one. And fuck, are you glad that no one is in the café right now, lest they'd hear the concerning amount of expletives exploding in the air.

..And!

Sike. Turns out, the universe really, really does fucking hates you.

Faintly, the bell chimes.

Your head snapped to the front, as the Asshole shifted to get a peek at the entrance—and, boom, a small ball of greys appears and your heart jumps.

Fuck, it really was your grandmother.

Sending a quick survey at the man on top of you, whose pale face is currently decorated in ugly black and purple blotches, your instinct flies in.

Which was kicking him off, resulting in a concerningly loud thud with a groan. Which also did not help with your heart hammering in your chest and your breath hitching—

“What the fuck!?” He exclaims, and you swear to the flying fuck—

“Dear?” a velvety voice comes in, the door hinges creaking as it finally opens to the staff room and—

God, you wish you could take a picture of your beautiful grandmother’s face right now.

───────────────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────────────────

|| previous episode - next episode. ||

───〃★tunes of your heartbeat masterlist

synopsis: in which your fate somehow gets entangled into a messy jumble between punk music in cozy cafés, intense rivalry, cherished yakults, parallelograms and quantum physics, competitions in contests and rainy days. or in other words; the universe seems to fucking hate your guts for whatever reason and decided to curse your love life with your awful crass emo twink-a-fuck rival. the question is; did the curse work?

taglist (50/50): @toekissers , @raineyun @localscarasimp , @potteraep , @shutingstar , @feiherp , @scaraenthusiast1 @dazqa , @wraithisd3adinside , @x-hihihi-x , @court-jester-stuff , @automaticpatroltragedy , @lalalaloveallmydays , @trulyylee , @jayzioxx , @featuredtofu @kazemiya @help-whatdoimakemyusername , @skyoverkill1 @phoenix-eclipses , @anqelkoz , @miyakomari @saechiro @franaby , @swivi , @vixialuvs , @heusalettle @kunikissr @yomishen @mywillt0live , @baldrapunzel @jiminscarmex @sushitushi , @liuaneee , @shynsgore , @mechanicalbeat1 , @marivaudages , @okukura , @azzumei @lucid1tty @iloveescara @usagiarchive @kyouzki @theunhingedmf @kangyeonie @mi2ukiss @bubblebellaz @eternallykira-143 @lumiicch

• featured song - im like a lawyer with the way im trying to get you off by fall out boy

• notes - meeEEEE AND YOUUUUUUUU SETTING ON AAAAA HONEYMOOOONNNNNNNNN give fall out boy a listen cuz GODDAMNNNuggghhh this song is an addiction i need it in my brain waves and also i think this song is popular in tiktok so i hope tjta helps UGGHHHH ME AND YOUUU SETTING ON A HONEYMOOONNIF I WOKE UP NEXT YO YOUUUUU

author's notes: how to quite literally force yourself to write? make a smau that has 60% writing in it. im not even joking dawg. but i love writing so😋😋😋 also can you tell im so ao3 style typa writing? i was gonna write more but then i realized that it's a goddamn smau hayss....

p.s - im passing the fuck out after this but oh my god we reached???? 700??? on the masterlist?? HELLO???? hello new followers omfmdkdndnd giggles okay stop

also totally-detailed schedule of the cafe shift:

Monday to Tuesday - Grandma and friends

Tuesday to Thursday - Hu Tao and granny friends

Friday to Saturday (interchanging) - [Name] and Scaramouche💜

afternoons to evenings in weekdays - double workers

mornings in weekdays - single worker

mornings to evenings in weekends - double workers

(ask to be added or removed)

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vigilantekisser · 25 days ago

Text

dex vs. the emoji industrial complex

masterlist | ao3 mirror

summary: dex has zero social media literacy and doesn't know wtf you're talking about. (1.1k, gn reader, crack, fluff, office friendship, dirty joke, minions, dex tries to understand what memes are; honestly idk why this was so long i just want to have more of dex ig)

It’s just a stupid meme, so you don’t think much of it when you send it to Dex—a low quality, atrociously Photoshopped picture of a puppy with its brain getting poked with an injection, Ritalin pills and a 5G tower in the background:

theyre doing this to me at work tomorrow btw [Sent 9:06 AM]

Dex doesn’t reply, not even with his usual stilted “Thanks”.

You’re fine with that, totally; you already know Dex is, well, himself—man of few words and composure and too-sharp jawline… So. You assume he’s just ignoring you as usual, which makes you a little bit pleased knowing you’ve probably stupefied your poor coworker into bewilderment once again.

What you don’t know is that you’re exactly right. Twenty feet away, in a sterile cubicle surrounded by discarded tactical gear and stacks of paperwork, Dex is staring at his screen like it personally offended him.

Dex blinks once, finally, slow like a cat watching a ceiling fan.

“…The fuck.”

The badly edited puppy has a syringe full of mercury pointed into its brain and someone’s holding an orange bottle of ADHD pills behind it. He rereads the sentence, just in case it holds a secret meaning.

theyre doing this to me at work tomorrow btw

He leans back in his chair like a man confronting the unknowable void.

“Is this funny?” he mutters. “Do I say something?”

He opens Google.

“dog on ADHD medication??”

No luck. It sends him to some Instagram pages with dogs he doesn’t care about, and he closes the tab after seeing a bunch of drama on the PetMD forum. Symbolism perhaps? Puppy = you; mercury = brain damage; the cell tower = some kind of conspiracy… at work… the Bureau...?

Oh fuck it. He gives up.

Are you ok? [Sent 10:40 AM]

Aha, so the man responds. You send back four emojis: 💻💀😭🙏

A few minutes later, your phone pings.

I hope they don’t inject anything into your head. [Sent 10:45 AM]

You snort, trying to stifle your snicker. You can hear this guy’s voice in your head. thank u king that’s so thoughtful, you send back.

By lunchtime Dex is three articles deep into “Millennial vs Gen Z Humor: A Brief History of Nihilistic Absurdism.” He doesn’t mean to care, really. You’ve probably forgotten about it entirely but he hasn’t. He’s finally gotten the point of the picture you sent, to his satisfaction, but why is the skull emoticon thing everywhere now?

skull emoji meaning Result: “Used to express laughing so hard you’re dead.”

He shakes his head. That doesn’t make any fucking sense.

The next day, you wake up to multiple messages from Dex.

Thank you for your dog Meme, it’s very funny. Work is like that sometimes. Haha ☠️ [sent 5:10 AM]

You stare at the screen for a long time.

☠️

Actually, you think your hands are shaking now. You message back:

wtf u know how to use emojis????????????

He replies immediately:

Yes. I think

Then:

🔥

Why is there fire now. What does the fire mean. Is he okay. Your face’s gone hot and you screenshot it for maybe nothing in particular but, well, to look back at later on and laugh harder.

It’s Friday, which is a vacation enough in itself but unfortunately that still means you should be working and processing the latest field report Mockta dropped on your desk. But instead, you’re doing something far more dangerous. You’re messing with Dex again. You send him a photo of someone furiously petting a cat’s head.

Me rubbing the workweek’s pussy so it finishes faster [Sent 9:48 AM]

Dex is drinking his coffee—straight black, very sad—when he sees the notification. He reads your caption and almost spits into his sleeve.

What did you just send him.

He stares and reads it again.

“Me rubbing the workweek’s… Oh God…” He trails off, rubbing his brow in anguish. He lowers the phone slowly, looking around the bullpen, the hallway, the exit. Then he turns to his laptop and opens Google. God help him.

pussy rubbing work week

He hits Enter and immediately regrets it. A new tab opens. A very not-safe-for-work one accessed through the Bureau Wi-Fi. There’s moaning and a lot of exposed skin. One of the women is holding a calendar. He slams his laptop shut so hard the desk rattles, mind racing.

He didn’t read about this shit in any of the articles he read last Tuesday! Staring into the abyss of his screen, Dex messages back:

omg dex it’s a joke i hopeyou did NOT google that are u okay

There’s a long pause, an eternity really. You sip your coffee, wipe at your eyes. Then, finally:

Understood. Thanks for the explanation I did but i won’t Google anything ever again. [Sent 10:21 AM]

The mental image of him in a mortified fugue state, recoiling from his screen, is almost too much—but you manage to swallow your laughter as Ray walks past your desk, shooting you a wary look.

The rest of the day is uneventful. You manage to make a small dent in the field reports. Dex doesn’t message you again and you assume you’ve broken him with the dirty joke, which—honestly—fair.

You don’t see him again until you're heading out, bag slung over your shoulder, keys jangling in your hand. You pass Dex’s desk, and he stands up so fast he almost collides with the corner of his desk.

“Hey,” he says, voice weirdly formal. He wrings his hands. “Uh. Wait a second.”

You stop. “Yeah?”

He hesitates, squinting as he unlocks his phone, and silently holds it out to you. You blink down at the screen.

It’s a Minion. A fucking Minion. The image is so low-res you can count the pixels, jpeg artifacting all over. The Minion’s mid-stride, throwing up a peace sign. The text reads:

BestfriEND BoyfriEND GirlfriEND Food Only Food has no END.

There’s a watermark in the corner that says something like “Susan's Recipe Shack,” straight from the Facebook feed of someone’s divorced aunt. It takes you a second to process what’s happening. And then you wheeze, laughing so violently your knees buckle a little. Two people from Cybercrimes glance up. You wave them away, tears in your eyes.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, clutching your chest. “Dex. Dex.”

He’s standing stiffly, eyes flicking nervously around the room, like he didn’t expect you to react. His phone wavers in his hand. “You don’t have to laugh that hard,” he mutters, starting to pull it back.

“No, no—don’t you dare delete that,” you grab his wrist, still breathless. “You made this? Where did you find it?”

He blinks. “Facebook.”

“Christ almighty, you’re going deeper.”

He swallows, ears red and flexing his hands. “You seem to like them.”

You giggle again and this time somebody mutters something about needing to go home. You don’t care. Dex is still standing there like he’s not sure if he should run away, but a smile’s starting to tug at his mouth too.

“Keep going,” you say, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “I want more tomorrow.”

“…Alright,” he nods. He’s serious but the blush’s absolutely radiating off his face. “I’ll look for more Minions.”

a/n: this is what i was talking about btw

#benjamin poindexter #benjamin poindexter x reader #benjamin poindexter imagine #bullseye x reader #ben poindexter x reader #ben poindexter imagine #dex x reader #daredevil #daredevil born again #bullseye #ddba #wilson bethel #dex #vigilantekisser writing

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leafydory · 16 days ago

Text

Stupidly Drunk Zayne

(Adorable Drunk Zayne x Mc) (Fluff, slightly suggestive, We love Needy Zayne) (700 words in length)

Stupidly Drunk Zayne who drinks more despite the amount of liquor he already taken, he wasn't a drunk for sure, in fact he avoids alcohol, but when he does consume one... Let's say it would take a big strong hunter to carry him away from the shot glass he'd been obsessing with for hours yet still insist he isn’t drunk. Seriously someone gives this man hangover medicine.

Stupidly Drunk Zayne who would try to put back his tie on his neck but eventually removes it because it was too hot to wear, but then puts it back again because he thinks he doesn't look neat without it. He actually fixes yours too, even putting his coat on your shoulders. "It will be cold outside... So, wear it now, I don't like you catching a cold" Turns out he's the one getting a cold soon.

Stupidly Drunk Zayne that would pout, sulk and act all adorably possessive after a man hands you over a drink, he would rest his head on your shoulder, hold your waist and murmur incoherent drunken ramblings there. "Don't take drinks from them... You should be only drinking with me today..." Jealous, he later fills half of your glass then insists on not putting anything more because he doesn't want you drunk.

Stupidly Drunk Zayne who talks while his eyelids are already closed. "Where are we?... Are we there yet?" On repeat and can't even navigate his way back home due to how dazedly drunk he was. He looks like he's sleeping but really, he just doesn't want to look around because it makes him dizzier, everyone is moving all over the place, and he can't take that now, rather he feels your hands. Warm and a guide he can trust.

Stupidly Drunk Zayne who would kiss you deep when both of you are finally home, sloppy, messy, needy, and passionately, but then he would find himself almost falling down the ground when he leaned his weight more against yours, this man kisses like the world now ends, you would lay him down the sofa and take care of him even if the whole mess turned you on.

Stupidly Drunk Zayne who despite being a doctor, questions if he's actually holding a medicine that cures hungover headaches

"This suspiciously looks like an Ibuprofen"

"Because it is Ibuprofen"

"That's not what I'm supposed to take... And the dosage input is-"

And he would talk about how ibuprofen is not a good substitute medicine for hang overs. he would still take other medicine though (it's actually still ibuprofen but a different brand and appearance)

Stupidly Drunk Zayne who would squirm and immediately deny the sight of a carrot chicken soup... It was for his health, so his upset stomach would feel much better... But he can't help it, smelling and tasting more of that atrocious soup makes him want to puke. He would finish it... Slowly… Under your direct supervision.

Stupidly Drunk Zayne who always say sorry now out of random, a moment of vulnerability from the well composed doctor that he was known for. Clinging close to you, saying every mistake he might have done in the past but you've already forgiven before. This man wants to be better than he already was for you, love him. Pamper him.

Stupidly Drunk Zayne who would use you as a comfort pillow, usually he doesn't hug his pillow, but right now the softness of your body pressed against his, and your scent lingering, he can't help but think about the pillows you lay down on when you're visiting him and sleeping on his bed, now he can't even tell the difference between the real deal and the infamous you scented pillow. Then would sleep so softly like a baby, breathing steady and undisturbed, now well rested against you.

Stupidly Drunk Zayne who never remembers what happened last night

"What happened?... I think I went over board last night, too many alcohol drinks than normal."

"There is no 'usual' on the amount you drink last night Zayne."

"Don't make me eat that carrot chicken soup again..."

"Your literally in a good shape right now because of it???"

"It's definitely because of the ibuprofen"

Yup, never remembering how stupid he was. Adorably drunken stupid.

(i am literally obsessed with him-) (He's so cute- I will take care of this man now-)

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fear-is-truth · 9 months ago

Text

slow down ── dilf! peter maximoff x f! reader

⟡ NSFW || MINORS DNI 18+

⟡ TAGS: sexual content ・ fem!reader ・dilf!peter ・ unprotected p in v・ english is not my first language so bear with me・not proofread ・word count: 1,831

⟡ SYNOPSIS: domestic life with peter

a/n: i just finished my assignment for criminal law & wrote this fic with the aid of monster energy. kindly ignore the atrocious writing lol

“Hey kiddo! Bedtime!” Peter called down the hallway. He waited, silence.

“You’re not in bed yet! I’m gonna have to tickle ya to sleep if ya don’t get moving!”

Still nothing—except the faint sound of a stifled giggle. Peter’s lips twitched into a smile.

Game on.

He leisurely made his way down the hall, towards the living room, passing Luna’s bedroom door without sparing a glance.

“Huh, that’s weird,” he wondered out loud, playing it up.

“Where’s my kid? I swear I had one, like, five minutes ago.”

Peter exaggerated his search, peeking behind the curtains and glancing under the furniture. More giggles, and he nearly broke character with his own grin. He then made a big show of scratching his head in faux puzzlement.

“Nope, no kid here. Oh well,” he sighed dramatically. “Hmm, could’ve sworn I heard something. Maybe it’s a mouse. Or a cookie thief…”

At that, Luna couldn’t hold it in any longer. She popped out from behind the armchair.

“Noooo! Daddy, I’m here!” she squealed, bursting into laughter. Peter spun around, feigning surprise. “There you are! Thought I’d have to call the FBI or somethin’!”

Squealing with delight, the five-year-old bolted down the hallway as fast as her little legs could carry her. Peter was on her in an instant, zooming past you with a playful wink before scooping her up into his arms, spinning her through the air.

“You’re getting too fast for me, kiddo,” he grunted, as he carried her towards her bedroom, the little girl squirming in his grasp and laughing hysterically.

You leaned against the doorway, amused by the back-and-forth that had become so routine.

“Peter, you’re supposed to be calming her down, not winding her up.”

“I’m working on it,” he called back, depositing his daughter onto her bed and tucking the blanket around her.

“Fine, but when she’s bouncing off the walls at midnight, you’re the one getting up with her.”

Peter shot you a smirk, showing that he knew exactly what he was doing. He reached down and ruffled Luna’s hair, earning another giggle from her,

“Alright, peanut. Let’s make a deal. One more story—only one—Deal?”

Luna’s eyes lit up, and she bounced in her bed. “Deal!”

“Peter,” you reminded him, stepping into the room with a raised eyebrow, “you said ‘one more story’ three stories ago. She’s going to be up all night at this rate.”

Your husband grinned innocently.

“C’mon, what’s one more story? Just gotta make sure she’s really tired.”

He turned toward the bookshelf, fingers dancing over the colorful spines.

“Which one are we reading tonight? Something super long, I bet.”

She giggled, pointing at a well-worn book. “That one, Daddy!”

He picked it up, settling onto the edge of the bed as Luna snuggled under the blankets. “Alright, one loooong story, but then it’s off to dreamland. Yeah?”

•••

After Luna was sound asleep in her bed, and you’ve done your playful striptease, it was time for you to free Peter from his jeans. In the process of removing his belt, your fingers accidentally brushed the strain in his crotch.

“Mghmm… careful there babe.”

He inhaled sharply, and you indulged in the temptation, gently rubbing him through the denim with your left hand while unbuckling his belt and pulling down the zipper with your right.

His body pressed against yours, and you felt the soft push as the back of your legs met the edge of the mattress. With a smirk, Peter wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you effortlessly. You let out a delighted squeal, soft giggles filling the space between kisses as your fingers clung to his shoulders for support. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bed, feeling the heat of his cock press against your abdomen.

“Please, Peter. I want you, so bad.”

And that was all your husband needed to hear. He laid you gently on the mattress before crawling forward, positioning himself to settle between your legs. Breathlessly, you gripped his shoulders and lifted your hips slightly, moving in sync with him as he lined himself up. Peter began to slowly ease himself into you, groaning into your shoulder, warm puffs of his breath tickling your skin.

He paused for a moment for you to adjust, before pushing further until he was fully sheathed inside you. The delicious stretch of your pussy was nothing short of glorious.

“Oh god… Nghmm — Peter,”

You whined, tightening your grip and leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin as he started moving. He slowed down mid-thrust to mumble against your cheek,

“Love you too baby,”

Peter rested his chin on your shoulder, placing hot kisses along the column of your throat as he moved, He shifted his hips to find a better angle, and you gasped when you felt his tip nudge against your cervix. Your spine arched and your heels dug into his back as he thrust into with such force that your body slid a few inches towards the headboard, the sheets creasing around you.

“A-ahhh— fuck–”

A strained moan tumbled from his lips when he sheathed himself to the hilt. You can tell by the vein popping on Peter’s neck that he wanted to lower his head, but he was fighting every instinct to keep his eyes focused on you, chocolate irises fixated as you both begin to ascend towards the precipice.

The sight of him, biting his lips and brows furrowed in such concentration made the hot coil in your belly tighten. Supporting his weight on one elbow, Peter slipped his other hand down between your legs, and his fingers—those magical fingers started working your clit almost frantically.

“Please— ohmygod, Peter,”

you babbled, clenching your quivering thighs and throwing your head back when he bottomed out once again. His tip was pressed snugly against your cervix, and you swore you could feel him poke into your stomach, but that did nothing but stir your body into overdrive. You heels dug into his backside, anchoring him as the familiar warmth of his come spurted into your womb. Instinctively, the walls of your pussy clamped tightly around his cock, milking him dry.

“C’mon, baby,” Peter mumbled as he leaned down to give you a quick peck on the mouth, “wan’ you to cum for me, yeah? Cum all over my cock.”

The few seconds between you seemed to stretch into eternity before the coil finally snapped, waves of intense, white-hot pleasure alight your bloodstream as your pussy convulsed around his cock. You placed your palms to either side of his face, his eyes trying desperately to find a part of you to focus on.

•••

Moonlight streamed in through the window, bathing a silvery glow over your bedroom as you lay tangled up in each other, legs intertwined beneath the sheets. Peter smirked lazily as he traced a finger along your arm.

“Y’know, I think ‘m finally starting to get the hang of this whole ‘normal life’ thing. Not as fast-paced as I’m used to, but it’s not so bad,”

You laughed softly, nestling your head against his bare chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“You? Normal life? That’s a stretch.”

“Hey, I can be normal,” he defended with a grin, though the glint in his eyes said he didn’t really mind being anything but. “I did the dishes tonight. That counts, right?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, letting your hand rest on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin. “You stuffed them into the dishwasher in like a nanosecond. Doesn’t really count when you’re cheating with super speed.”

Peter chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Alright, alright. But I still nailed bedtime. Got Luna to bed without any major disasters—except maybe that story where I gave the dragon a Brooklyn accent. She seemed into it.”

“She loved it,” you agreed, smiling at the memory of their earlier antics.

“You’re good with her, Peter. You’re her hero.”

“Yeah, well, she’s pretty awesome,” he shifted slightly, turning to look down at you, his silver hair tousled against the pillow.

“She’s got you to thank for that.”

You met his gaze, fingers idly tracing patterns on his chest.

“Pretty sure she gets most of that from you. The attitude, the energy. The ‘never staying still for more than a second’ thing.”

He smirked, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Gotta keep things interesting, right?”

You let out a soft hum of agreement, your lips brushing against his collarbone as you spoke. “Interesting is one way to put it.”

There was a beat of comfortable silence between you, and Peter’s arm wrapped more firmly around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space between your bodies, just the warmth of his skin against yours. He broke the silence with a quieter, more thoughtful tone. “You ever think about how we got here?”

“Where? In bed?”

“No, seriously,” Peter said, fingers brushing through your hair absentmindedly. “Like, the whole thing. You, me, Luna. I used to think I’d never have something like this. Y’know, slow life, family stuff. Thought I’d always be the guy on the outside, just speedin’ through life.”

You shifted slightly to look up at him, your chin resting on his chest. “What changed?”

He shrugged, his smile softening. “You. You changed everything. Made me realise I didn’t have to run away from it all the time. That maybe I could actually slow down long enough to be a part of something.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned up to kiss him softly, the gesture full of the affection you felt for him. He kissed you back with the same tenderness, his hand cupping your face gently as he deepened it, the kiss slow and sweet like molasses. When you finally pulled back, Peter’s thumb brushed across your cheek, eyes locked on yours in that concentrated, yet familiar way. “I don’t say it enough, but I’m lucky to have you. You and Luna. You guys are my world.”

You smiled, warmth spreading through you at the sincerity. “We’re lucky to have you too, Peter. Even if you’re still kind of a goof.”

He grinned, silver hair falling into his eyes as he tilted his head. “Gotta keep you guys on your toes somehow.”

You laughed softly, settling back against his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull you into a peaceful quiet. His arms wrapped around you protectively, his thumb continuing to brush absentmindedly against your skin. For a while, neither of you spoke, just content to be together. But as you felt your eyes growing heavier, Peter’s voice broke the silence one last time, soft and almost sleepy. “Hey, babe,” he mumbled, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple.

“Thanks for making me slow down.”

You smiled against his chest, “Thanks for sticking around.”

He chuckled, his grip tightening around you. “Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

#𝐅.𝐈.𝐓 #peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff smut #peter maximoff x y/n #peter maximoff fluff #dilf!peter maximoff #quicksilver x y/n #quicksilver x reader #quicksilver smut #quicksilver #x men apocalypse #x men #evan peters #peter maximoff x you

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yandere-daydreams · 9 months ago

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Hear me out hear me out on this concept idea

Southern gothic small town pastor Geto AU

tw - non/con, manipulation, unbalanced power dynamics, financial abuse via organized religion, and implied kidnapping.

wait that would actually be so hot of him actually.

i don't know what is about geto but he just,,, radiates scummy religious figure energy to such an atrocious degree. like, couldn't you just imagine him moving from small town to small town, posing as a country-values pastor to scam his ever-growing congregation out of their life's savings and retirement funds before smuggling himself away and moving on to fresher meat? if he works quickly, the whole operation takes a little less than six months, and he's got such a charming smile and such a soothing voice - no one's ever so much as thought twice about trusting him, not really, not unless they wanted to be the next town outcast.

well, no one aside from you, of course.

it's cute - just how suspicious you are of the man who has your chronically truant parents sitting in the front row of his chapel twenty minutes early. you'll tell anyone who's got the time to listen that you don't like his hollow expressions, that you don't find his sermon-topics appropriate, that you don't trust how quickly he showed up after your last pastor suddenly went missing. no one listens to you, of course. you burnt that bridge when you decided to move away to some big, new-age city and attend some expensive, self-aggrandizing university. like him, you'll only be in town for a few months, just until the start of your next semester, but unlike him, you actually care about what's going to happen to your neighbors after you leave. the fact that you stopped going to church entirely after he took over doesn't help. in a town like this, you might as well be signing the warrant for your own social exile.

you make an effort to keep your distance, but he just can't seem to pay you the same courtesy. in a town like yours, it's can be hard not to run into familiar faces, especially when he seems to stop in at the general store where you picked up a summer job every other day, when he mentions to your mother that they could really use an extra pair of hands at the church's monthly bake sale or tells your father that he might want to bring a helper the next time he comes to fix up a few things around the sanctuary. you're always so flustered around him, always so brooding - like you think someone's going to believe you just because you cross your arms and pout. he savors any chance he gets to touch you - whether it's his hand ghosting over the small of your back as he moves past you in a narrow hall or your body pressing into his after he forgoes your offered handshake in favor of a nice, tight, neighborly hug.

and, when you come to him, he thinks he might finally know why people try so hard to get into heaven. it goes without saying that you're irate, shouting at him from the steps of his parsonage as you demand he return the tens of thousands of dollars that your mother so generously donated early that day, but it's not hard to convince you to come inside, to get a glass of wine into your hand under the pretense that, if you really drove all this way just to yell at him, it's the least you deserve. things devolve from there - your glass looks a little empty, why doesn't he top you off while you tell him what a terrible person he is? you've already finished that bottle, but he's got a gorgeous vintage red, and you're just starting to slur - he's sure it'll be fine. and, oh, well, you're far too drunk to drive yourself home, but don't worry, his bed's big enough to share. and oh, look at that, don't you feel lucky to wake up naked and sore in an unfamiliar bed, the handsome young pastor's cock still buried inside of you? he's sure your parents will be elated when you two tell them about your new engagement (because, of course, you can't just sleep with your local pastor and expect to come out of it without a ring on your finger, can you?), even if you seem a little upset right now.

it's only as he watches you sob into his chest, his arms wrapped around your waist and his cum still dripping out of you, that he decides he might be able to stay in this particular small town for a few more months. just long enough to find a way to take you with him, when he leaves.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere geto suguru #geto suguru x reader

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callsign-rogueone · 3 months ago

Text

call me yours

Brennan Sorrengail x childhood friend! reader [request] words: 1.6k 🏷️: very intimate, but still sfw, set mid iron flame, you’re Mira’s bestie since childhood and grew up with her and Brennan, Bren is touch starved and down atrociously bad (we love pathetic men in this house!) if you're familiar with the grishaverse, you kinda have the powers of a heartrender — can sense and control others’ vital signs.

The third floor, at the end of the hall, they’d told you, and surely enough, there he is: Lieutenant Colonel Aisereigh, seated at a desk in what appears to be his office. He looks exactly how you always picture him in memories and dreams — just older, his face slightly hardened, the light scruff on his jaw making him look less boyish, and more like the army commander he’s become in the years you’ve been apart.

He still has the same stiff posture as he examines a roll of parchment, that little crease of concentration between his eyebrows… You could stand here all night, just soaking up the sight, but that still wouldn’t be enough. And now that you’re finally reunited, your twenty-year-old self’s prayers answered…

You gather up the courage to knock on the doorframe.

He looks up from his papers, humming lazily, and then his heart nearly stops at the sight of you. There’s a flurry of emotion across his face before he finally speaks. “I just got my nose fixed, so I’d prefer it if you hit me somewhere else,” he says by way of greeting, giving you a pained smile.

You return it. “You know I could never hurt you, Bren— I probably shouldn’t be calling you Brennan anymore, should I?”

“Please. Call me anything but Lieutenant Colonel.”

You smile. “Brennan it is. And I’m really sorry about that, by the way. She never left the ‘anger’ stage.”

“That’s fair. I probably wouldn’t have, either.”

You finally step forward, entering the office and taking a look around. “Nice digs.”

He’s definitely going to need something stronger than his long-since-abandoned mug of tea if this conversation is going to last much longer. “Whiskey?”

That same mischievous grin that he remembers splits your face. “Always.”

He pushes up from his chair, taking a half-full bottle out of the cabinet along with two glasses.

“So, fill me in on this new life of yours,” you prod, shrugging off your jacket and draping it over the back of your chair before settling in. “Wife? Kids?”

“Nope. Just Marbh.”

You remember hearing that Marbh wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type, either. “Must be lonely.”

He shrugs. “Staying busy helps. What about you, Major? You have a husband hidden away somewhere?”

You roll your eyes at his use of your rank, flashing him your left hand — no wedding ring. “No, I do not. And I hate that title. They gave it to me as an apology, not because I earned it.”

He hands you a glass, frowning. “I’ve never known the Navarrian military to apologize. What for?”

“For almost killing me and my entire company — sending us right into a drift of gryphons. I let them take me so that everyone else could escape. But that’s what all the torture training was for, right?” you ask over the rim of your glass.

He doesn’t laugh. “When was that?”

The whiskey burns its way down your throat, and you sigh in relief — this is exactly what you needed after the fifteen hour flight from Montserrat. “A few months ago. Mira saved my sorry ass. Broke protocol to come get me, because-”

“—Navarre doesn’t negotiate for hostages,” he finishes for you. “I’m so sorry, kid.”

You mime taking a knife to the heart, twisting it and pulling it back out for dramatic effect. “Kid? And here I thought I had a chance.”

Something shifts in his body language, in his eyes, in the air of the room. “What do you mean by that?” he asks, deathly quiet.

“You know what I mean,” you reply, your eyes not leaving his for a second, even as you take another sip.

“I need to hear you say it.”

You rise from the chair and set down your glass, resting your palms on the edge of his desk and leaning forward slightly — it’s giant, so you’re still two feet away, but you’ve definitely crossed the threshold of his personal space, ignored the rigid line that’s supposed to separate the great Lieutenant Colonel from the rest of his army. It has the intended effect: his gaze immediately falls to the exposed curve of your shoulders and the green of your relic that spreads over your bicep, dipping down to the low neckline of the tank top you’re wearing before he looks back at your face, his cheeks sufficiently reddened.

“Surely you know I’ve always had a little puppy crush on you, Bren, ever since Mira and I met. You always saw me as your little sister’s tagalong friend, but I had this idea that once I graduated from Basgiath, you’d see me as a woman, a dragon rider… I know you can put the rest together yourself. You’ve always been too smart for your own good.” This punctuated with a cunning smile that makes him squirm a little.

“You are certainly both of those things now,” he says carefully, adjusting a stack of papers on the desk. He’s sweating, his blood pressure elevated, his breathing shallow… but he’s not going to break.

You give him a sad smile. “But you’re too good of a guy, too proper of a Lieutenant Colonel to do anything about it now. I promise I won’t let it get in the way of our professional relationship. I understand. We do have a war to wage, after all. In another life, maybe.”

“In this life.”

Oh?

Your eyebrows raise. “Are you sure about that, Lieutenant Colonel?”

“I thought I told you not to call me that,” he tries, but it comes out much weaker than he’d intended.

You round the corner of the desk, stepping forward. You’re definitely in his space now. “What do you want me to call you?”

It takes him a moment to gather the courage. “Yours.”

You blink at him.

“Call me yours,” he rasps. “I always have been.”

You can’t contain the smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” It’s a weak whisper, a quiet plea for you to claim him after all these years.

You reach out, cradling his jaw in a soft hand. He shivers at the touch, but leans into the warmth of your palm nonetheless, looking up at you with stars in those gorgeous amber eyes. “I would love nothing more than to call you mine, Brennan Sorrengail.”

If it’s the admission, the touch, or you saying his name — his real name — that makes his heart flutter, you’ll never know.

“When she told me that you were here, that you were alive… all I could think about was that I wasn’t going to miss my chance with you again.” You take another step closer, standing between his legs, and guide him into a gentle embrace, your thumb brushing over his cheek tenderly. You slide your other hand up to the back of his neck, working your fingers through his hair, and he melts, nuzzling his cheek into your shoulder like a contented housecat.

You hadn’t even used your signet, but he’s already falling asleep on you. That’s good. He probably hasn’t slept well in a while, if the dark circles under his eyes are any indicator.

You start to pull back, but his eyes fly back open, his fingers digging into the soft fabric of your shirt. “Shh,” you soothe, reaching out with a tendril of your power, and he calms near immediately. “It’s okay, sweet boy. I’m not going anywhere.”

He hasn’t been a boy in years — since before he started at Basgiath — but he’d let you call him anything as long as you said it in that soft voice, and looked at him with such adoration, touched him so gently… nobody’s held him like this since he was a child.

You continue stroking his hair, speaking softly. “I was just gonna suggest that we both get some sleep. In a real bed.”

He considers it for a moment, and then with a shaking exhale, slowly lets go of you. You take a cautious step back, but his heartbeat remains steady. Good. You extend a hand to him, and he takes it silently, interlacing his fingers with yours as he rises from his office chair, wincing at the ache in his back and shoulders.

The hallways aren’t as deserted as you’d thought they’d be at this hour, but none of the cadets or officers bat an eye at the sight of the two of you holding hands. He doesn’t say a word as he leads you across the fortress, stopping in front of what has to be the door to his room. It’s incredibly close to yours, actually -- they’d given the higher ranking officers the nicer guest rooms, and put all the cadets in the barracks.

“Brennan,” you say softly, “is it okay if I go get some clean clothes, and take a shower first? I promise I’ll be quick.”

He blinks at you once, twice, realizing what you mean -- you’d thought you’d be spending the night.

You see it dawn on him, and you continue before he can say anything, a little embarrassed. “If you want me to. I know that’s… a lot.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I’d like that.”

You give him a soft smile, squeezing his hand gently before you let go of it. “Ten minutes, tops.”

He must have done the same, because when he opens the door for you, his hair looks damp, slightly mussed from having a towel rubbed over it.

Neither of you say anything as you climb into his bed, gravitating toward each other like magnets. You fit together well, his head tucked into your shoulder and his arm around your waist, your legs intertwined. You can feel his heartbeat slowing, his breaths deepening…

For the first time since he died, it takes him less than two minutes to fall asleep.

#brennan sorrengail #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #brennan sorrengail x reader #mine

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