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lialuvsaven · 5 days

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Pairing: Aventurine x reader

Tw: none, he's just skittish but that's understandable. Might have grammatical mistakes but English isn't my first language so whatever. The « » words are supposed to be the avgin dialect okok that's all

"Will you teach me how to speak the Avgin dialect?"

Aventurine nearly splutters out the sip of wine he was about to drink, and you observe as his whole body subtly jerks — trying to figure out if he misheard you or not.

Blink.

And yet, the only expression he sees on your face is a little smile, a hint of curiosity and optimism in those lovely eyes of yours. For some reason, he can't find it in him to appreciate that look this time.

"And why is that?" The tone of his voice is reserved, calculated, and for a millisecond, you are reminded of your job: meetings, negotiations and transaction. The air suddenly feels thicker, and although he maintains his usual smile, there's a subtle shift that suggests it may not be as genuine as it was moments ago.

"Because I….want to understand you?" You naively respond, unaware of the warnings you're triggering in his head, unaware of the amount of bells ringing in his ears. The red alarms flashing in front of his eyes are bright, and they blind him to everything else, drowning out your silhouette until he can't make out your face as a familiar one.

All he's seeing is red, red of a warning bell, red of sunset and endings, red of blood and—

"I'm not sure why you even thought that would be a good idea" a small chuckle leaves his mouth, and he shifts a little on the couch in an attempt to regain his belongings.

"After all, I don't even speak it anymore— a dead language is not something you'd benefit from learning."

"But I am a linguist" You counter, huffing a bit. "I wouldn't think a language is “less beneficial” just because it's dead. Besides, Sigonian isn't a dead language, and neither is the Avgin dialect. You are here, and you speak it."

Blink.

"What?" Aventurine grows defensive, and he shifts in his seat again; only a little. It's not okay to let others know of your discomfort, you cannot show your weaknesses. Luckily, you don't notice, and he continues carefully.

"I don't speak it— what are you saying? How could I possibly use that language?"

He picks his sentences with caution, leaving half of it up in the air for you to interpret. He can't bring himself to finish it— he can't use it when everyone else who spoke of it is presumably dead. That would only result in another restless night of futile attempts at subduing the void in his heart. Just because he knows it, doesn't mean he likes to think of it.

Aventurine does not like to remember the fact that he's the only one left of the Avgins, even though the cosmos is merciless in its reminders.

"You do speak it!!" You insist, and look into his eyes, and his eyes almost make you forget the rest of your sentence. "—You say things under your breath. When things go south, or when your catcakes do something super adorable and you can't hold a grin on your face. I've seen you multiple times, talking to yourself in an unfamiliar language. It is your mother tongue, is it not?"

Ah.

The words that escape your lips are curling into itself, flickering through the corners of his mind. I've seen you multiple times. Multiple times. Multiple times. Talking to yourself. To yourself. To yourself.

His mother tongue.

Oh, how he wishes he could talk to someone else, how he longs to talk to another Avgin in his mother tongue— in their mother tongue.

"Do I do that?" He inquires, and you affirm, still wearing a smile. Both of you have been smiling at each other, but only one of you is clawing through the walls of their mind trying their best not to leave the room right this moment. You're not an adversary, he reminds himself. You're not an enemy.

"I can't teach you that." He stares in an unusually cold tone, sending shivers down your spine. A tone Aventurine reserves for when a business deal has gone wry, for when he needs to put on his best performance and come back at the top. Unfortunately, this means there's no room for you to argue, no negotiations, no nothing.

You realize a bit too late that you've made him uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry" Apologies keep flowing from your mouth, but Aventurine can barely hear them. All he knows is the warning bells in his ears are growing fainter, and you are once more becoming recognizable, the blur in your face diminishing by the second.

"It's okay," he laughs softly, ruffling your hair to dispel the gloom on your face.

"I don't remember much anyway- I can't teach you anything meaningful, you know? I think Tanti or any of the likes would do much better for your next research material than my native language. We have a reputation across the cosmos anyway, that language can't be intriguing to people."

"Huh?" You tilt your head in confusion, "I'm not going to write a paper on it though???"

"Then what did you want to learn it for?"

"Did you not hear me? I said I wanted to get to know you better."

The feeling of discomfort is back with that, and Aventurine finds himself trying to figure out how to come up with a valid excuse to end the conversation. If he isn't careful, you'll catch on. And if you catch on, you'll keep insisting on trying to understand him, to mend your mistakes and to avoid something similar in future. Then, he'd simply have to cut you off before you go too far. And he'd rather not cut you off and keep you by his side. Yes please, thanks.

You speak once more, but this time you avert your gaze from his eyes and focus on the soft carpet beneath your feet. "If you're not comfortable teaching me, I won't insist. I apologize if I overstepped. I want you to know that my intentions were not malicious. I simply wanted to learn your language so that we could converse in it, and I'm open to sharing my own language with you if you're interested."

Ah. You've now started to speak with more formal and eloquent words than usual, a habit Aventurine has picked up on thanks to observing you for so many years. You always do that when nervous, along with averting eye contact- and you're now anxious.

"it's okay," he reassures you again. "I know what you mean. So no need to worry, hm?"

His words seem to have given you a confidence boost, because your next words catch him off guard again.

"Also, I found your language to be quite beautiful."

"....Beautiful?"

"Yes," you gesture with your hands as you continue, "it's very melodious, you know? I'm familiar with the Sigonian language, as it was one of the languages I studied during my major. However, the Avgin dialect sounds... different. Of course, you're a very quiet mumbler—obviously— and I couldn't understand much- but I've realized that the Avgin is not only is not only significantly different from standard Sigonian, but it also has a much sweeter sound. As a linguist, it's disheartening to think that this sweetness has gone unnoticed by the world."

The initial panic has completely dissipated for Aventurine, replaced by a sadness even he can't place what for. He has half a mind to laugh, and tell you that his people were sweet too, but no one cared for that either. He wants to say of course it sounded sweeter, the standard Sigonian had always been dry and lacking the warmth, any Avgin would agree with you. And yet, he dares not let the dam loose.

Instead of voicing his thoughts, he decides to observe you, as the ringing in his ears has now completely silenced. The you in front of his eyes is meek, likely because you've assumed you overstepped and made him upset. He hates seeing that expression on you: truly, especially when you shouldn't have to feel that guilt. He knows you well enough to know you're not lying, and for a split second— he entertains the idea of sharing the sweetness of his language with you, to have someone else who can understand his tongue.

He decides it's not an entirely uncomfortable thought.

It has been a few weeks since he agreed to teach you the Avgin dialect, and he still finds it surprising that he made that decision. Everything related to the Avgins and their culture is dear to him, including his people, his family, and of course, kakavasha; he protects them with all of his being. However, for some reason, he has chosen to share this delicate and intimate part of himself with you. After all, he is the last known surviving Avgin—this is more than personal; it's his mother tongue, for goodness' sake!

You've proven yourself to be a very very dedicated student, absorbing every piece of information he imparts like a sponge. Aventurine is unsure of how to teach you, as he himself is losing touch with his language thanks to not speaking it for years. Because of you, he now thinks more in Avgin and realizes how much he thought he had forgotten but still remembered, and how much he thought he remembered but had forgotten.

But it's nice, to be greeted in his language whenever you two come across each other. You're still cheerful and sparkling as before, but now you can greet him in his language. «Hello, how's your day going!!!» You ask him each time, with that accent and broken words that makes you sound childish more than anything. But Aventurine could care less about that; he's quick to greet you back each time, adding a new word so you learn something from each interaction.

You've told him that he's much much more expressive whenever speaking Avgin, but he tries not to think about it.

"Manro means bread," Aventurine informs you, observing quietly as you eagerly jot it down in your notepad. "I quite like the feel of pen and paper," you told him once, and he still can't comprehend why that's preferable to typing on a screen instead.

"Mañro?" you repeat, and he has to conceal an affectionate smile at your accent. It's unfamiliar and odd, but not disliked. Never disliked.

"Manro." He corrects, and you get it down this time.

"So….«manro» means bread and you said…«pani» meant water? So let's say I wanna talk about my lunch….«I water with bread eat?» Is that how you say it?"

Aventurine purses his lips, trying to appear serious. "No, it's «I ate bread with water.» But what's with that meal choice? That can't be good for you."

You only huff in response, "hey— I'm still learning okay!! How do you say wine?"

"Mol"

"Mol— how about wanting to drink or taste?"

Aventurine raises an eyebrow, "Zumavel"

"Okok. So…. «I want to taste wine really bad. Might die.»"

Aventurine snickers at that, turning his gaze away to avoid receiving another punch from you. Despite the fact that you've opted for this inefficient learning method—since he can't provide proper grammar lessons—the sentences you're coming up with are hilarious.

"Not quite. It's «I want to drink wine so bad that I might die»" he corrects you again, and you let out an embarrassed laugh to write the correct structure down. You've promised him you'll figure out the grammatical structure and everything to him after all. And he can't say he's not hoping you actually will.

"How do you say eye?"

"Just like how you say in standard Sigonian"

"Ohhh….I've noticed that body part names are usually unchanged in the Avgin dialect. How about warmth?"

"We call it tato" he smiles at you, and your cheeks tint the faintest hue of pink as you look away.

"«Your eyes—»" you purse your lips, thinking hard to form the structure "«-Are warm right now. Very warm.»"

Aventurine's eyes widen, and for a moment he's speechless; unable to comprehend how and why. But you're blushing, and playing with the hem of your shirt, which means at the very least you aren't lying.

«I'm afraid you've become my heart» He says under his breath, the words escaping his mouth before he can even stop them. It tastes sweet in his tongue, memories of a time long gone resurfacing. He didn't even remember that saying, up until now. And now, he has a little more understanding of how sweet his mother tongue really is.

"What does that mean?" You ask him, and he merely smiles at that.

"Nothing. I just said thank you."

A/N : gah I'm sorry for that word vomit I can't stop thinking about it....like one been thinking for months about his language and what it might mean for him now that he's (presumably) the only avgin left. My mother tongue has PLENTY of dialects, and there are certain ones that are totally different from the standard (I don't understand some of those) so I kind of projected....and other than that I hope it wasn't too bad omg

#aventurine x reader #aventurine #honkai star rail aventurine #x reader

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buckets-and-trees · 2 months

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Any thoughts on Mafia bucky and Steve? Love ur works!!

I thought I didn't really have any thoughts other than that I pretty much am always weak for them.

But then I got struck with this idea about an hour ago, and the muse BOLTED with it...

Title: Little Lark Characters/Pairings: Mafia!Bucky x Millennial Female!Reader x Mafia!Steve Word Count: 950 Summary: You were already in a dangerous situation, but one meeting may drive you into far deeper waters than you're ready to swim in.

Content/Warnings: non-con, non-main character death, vaginal fingering, non-explicit PIV and oral (male receiving), use of pet name (little lark), mild degradation, implied praise kink, dacryphilia

Author Notes: Catching up on week seven of @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer - using the COLLARS prompt - and filling my November box for Build-a-Bucky Bingo with OBJECTIFICATION.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You flinched at sound of the gunshot and looked away.

Somehow you didn’t think they would do it, but they did.

You didn’t need to look to know your boss was dead.

You would be relieved, finally free from the debts and blackmail that had held you captive to work for him and keep your family safe, but you didn’t know if you would truly fare any better with the men in front of you now.

Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers had come from Brooklyn to Atlanta to make a deal with your boss only to find out he had tried to cross the two men before they’d even sat down to negotiations.

“You have a choice to make,” Steve said.

Hesitantly, you turned your head back to look at the most handsome and intimidating men you had ever seen – it would be your opinion even if you didn’t know the things you already did about how dangerous they were, and you were sure you didn’t know even half of what they had done or what they were capable of.

Steve unlocked and flipped open the briefcase he’d brought in for the meeting, then turned it to face you. “You’ll walk out of here wearing one or the other, but it’s up to you.”

You frowned, looking at a leather collar on the left and a silver chain with a stunning sapphire pendant. Then you looked back up at the men.

The choice seemed too obvious.

“What’s the catch?” you asked.

“No catch. Your ours now, but you can pick what that looks like,” Bucky explained.

“I’m not–” you tried to protest, but Bucky cut you off.

“Unlike your idiot boss, we thoroughly did our homework before this meeting. We know you only worked for him to keep your family alive.”

“So, let me go! The debts owed were to him, not to you!”

Steve smiled, but it was cold, calculating. “But we don’t want to. Why would we squander a pretty little asset like you?”

Your chest tightened and you could feel angry tears welling up. “It wasn’t like that! I was only his assistant!”

“The only decent thing about him was that he never cheated on his wife,” Bucky admitted, “but his intentions for you were never innocent. You were on the list of things that could be part of our potential deal.”

An object, not a person. There was a sudden pit in your stomach now, too, but you tried not to react in any other way.

“Neither of us need an assistant, but we have other needs we think you’re well-suited for,” Steve took over explaining the situation, and made no attempt to hide the way his eyes roamed your form.

“Again, your choice,” Bucky said, “or we choose for you. You can be either our whore or our companion.”

You were quiet for another moment, then you dropped your eyes and softly murmured, “Necklace.”

The modicum of dignity would be minimal, but maybe you would be afforded at least some semblance of humanity as a companion.

Bucky took the necklace from its velvet case and strode around the desk and the dead body on the floor. He motioned for you to stand so he could put it around your neck. As he fastened it, you couldn’t help but notice the sound and feel as there was twisting and then a click.

The chain fastened with a permanent lock.

“Aw, our little lark is trembling,” Bucky cooed, tracing his fingers along the side of your neck.

“In fear or anger?” Steve asked.

You looked at him sharply.

He smirked. “So, it’s both. Good.”

Bucky didn’t move away from behind you, and his hands reached to tug your skirt quickly up around your hips. You yelped in protest when he pushed his hard bulge up against your ass and groped the fleshy globes.

And somehow Steve was suddenly in front of you, moving before you could even register. He took your chin in his hands even as Bucky’s fingers moved down between your legs, invading your panties to start playing with your folds.

“Bucky and I have always shared everything,” Steve said. “It’s why no one can beat us or come between us.”

Bucky suddenly found your clit, and it made you jump and whimper.

“Mmm, give her more of that, Buck,” Steve said, a wicked glint in his eye.

“We’ll make your body sing for us,” Bucky vowed, “don’t fight it, little lark.”

Your breath hitched, and you fought back a sob.

While Bucky kept tormenting your clit, his other hand went to the small of your back, urging you to arch and present your hips more readily for him. You couldn’t do anything but comply.

It was Steve who nudged your legs further apart with his foot edging your right to move out to a wider stance. Then he stepped back, and Bucky continued to push you forward. You almost stumbled forward, but Steve caught your hands to steady you.

And then he put your hands at his belt.

“Go on,” he urged, looking down at you, “be our good girl. You know what to do.”

Disobedience could mean death – maybe not yours, but someone else’s. They’d killed your boss in front of you without hesitation. You didn’t want to test them in the slightest. Your fingers worked open the leather belt and zipper in front of you while Bucky peeled your panties down over your ass and let them fall to the floor.

One cock in your pussy, one in your mouth, you tried to ignore their degradation and praise as they worked your body into unwanted bliss, tears falling down your cheeks and their collar hanging around your neck.

You were theirs.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

READ THE SEQUEL: BIRD ON A WIRE

When I tell you these mean mafia men really came and took over my creative brain about an hour and a half ago, I'm not lying. Start to finish, they were direct, brutal, and exacting in what they wanted.

#bucky barnes smut #steve rogers smut #bucky barnes #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader x steve rogers #mafia au #askpen #tw: non con #tw: noncon #aspen wrote something #female reader #babb2023 #hotbuckysummer2024 #little lark verse

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solbaby7 · 10 months

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Psychological Warfare

pairing: rhysand x reader

warnings: cruel Eris, insinuated methods of torture, taunting, angst, swearing, in depth descriptions of a panic attack, and again angst

summary: The High Lord watches his most fearless soldier shatter to pieces

—

“Just perfect,” You mutter snarkily to Rhysand under your breath, eyes scanning the lavish office and the steadily growing number of High Lords occupying its space.

It was spacious enough to fit the obnoxiously large table in the middle; had an assortment of liquors in their freshly polished bottles and no food.

Intentional, no doubt.

Booze them up and when their guards are low, the intel will flow.

“It won’t take long,” He hums back, hand rubbing soothingly at your thigh under the table and even though it’s clear to him you don’t want to be there—to others your face is the picture of neutrality, almost completely expressionless in your seat.

You ignore the side eyes, the Lords who clutched their wives tighter once clocking that you were in the room too—a vicious soldier that fought in the Night Courts armies, more skilled and bloodthirsty than any other recruit; more calculated and five times as determined as any other able body in those camps. Rhysand had hand picked you, promising you safety, warmth and a family if you’d accepted a position on his personal guard.

That had been nearly two hundred years ago.

One final group walks through, four men with auburn hair and sun-kissed skin and your body goes ramrod straight, quickly regarding Rhys in your head.

Were they invited?

Baron was.

“I see you’ve taken to collecting strays, Rhysand.” Baron’s eldest son jokes, dark eyes taking you in like a wild animal that had been perpetually starved.

“You should mind your tongue before I let her off her leash.”

Your throat immediately closes at the words—they were innocent; meant to be encouraging but the cruel laugh that pulls from Eris’ chest as he lowers into his seat is anything but comforting and you shift in your seat. “Funny you should say that,” Eris continued, practically vibrating in excitement. Fire burned in those brown eyes when he continued, he seemed to barely notice the others who’d been gathered for the meeting as well—watching, waiting with gazes that ping-ponged back and forth between you.

“Don’t.” You breathe out and for once everyone raises a brow at your tone, shock evident at the cracks beginning to emerge quickly in your fearless facade. The wide eyes, the slight wobble of your chin and that raw scent of genuine fear fills the room.

“I don’t know,” Eris drawls out, one leg crossing over the other and it could just be your vision but you’re certain you notice the lights in the room glowing just a hair brighter but it might as well have been a thousand degrees with the sweat beading at your hairline. “Everyone’s interest is now piqued, I’d be a terrible guest if I left them hanging.”

Your hands are shaking now and the look Rhysand sends you is enough to have your head bowing in embarrassment. His mouth opens to say something, probably to mention how you’d completely shut off access to whatever was going on in your head; how all your High Lord could see was tall, thick walls lined in barbed wire and heavily reinforced guards that remained stationed at every post—nearly impenetrable.

But, somehow, Eris finds a weak spot.

You try to brace yourself, the eerily cool pinprick of anxiety poking holes all over your body until everything felt like you’d gone numb.

“That’s enough,” Rhys spoke, a hand holding yours tightly under the table, shouting through the bond for you to just tell him what was wrong; what the hell was happening?

Trying to stabilize you, to will soothing words and calm feelings through that same connection but nothing works. One of your legs bounce uncontrollably, teeth gnawing at the insides of your cheeks until you can taste the blood and even then you keep on going.

“She ever tell you about her life before you and the Night Court?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, memories beginning to shove their way to the forefront of your mind after centuries of carefully locking it up and sealing it away. A noise pulls from your throat as you try and fail to regain your composure and a thick tear begins to burn trails down your cheek as Eris’ excitement exuded. “Eris.” It comes out choked, a half-plea but you should’ve known better—the Autumn Court never did do mercy.

You’re heart is racing and you’re sure that any of the high fae in the room can hear exactly how frantic your breathing has become yet you can’t bare to look at their horrified faces—eyes wide and mouths agape in astonishment as the Night Courts fearless warrior broke before them like a child who was denied the comfort of their mother. “She was given to me as a gift,” Your eyes clench shut, one hand digging into the roots of your hair when you feel Rhysand’s fingers tightening around your other. “—her old drunk of a father practically begged me to take her off of his hands.”

You could still smell the stale beer of your father’s breath when he’d dragged you through the streets in nothing but your nightgown and presented you to the High Lord and his heirs.

You’d never forget the way the males stared you down from their thrones, eyes raking in your body like it was nothing more than a new recipe their kitchen servants had come up with. “Please.” You beg, vision so blurry you can barely make out the cruel smile he wore, the burning white of his teeth blinding you like the most scalding parts of a fire. “Stop it.”

“I didn’t have much use for her at first,” Eris shrugged casually, retelling the story with such fond remembrance, glancing over to one of his brothers with a finger pointed. “But then my brothers and I were drinking one night and they jokingly asked if I needed a pet.”

Rhysand snarls at the way the word makes you flinch, eyes frantic and foggy like you were right there again—reliving the humiliation, the fear and disgust that brewed within for not being able to protect yourself. It had been part of the reason you’d trained so hard when you had escaped. Promising to never let any male degrade you in such a way again.

Eris rips at hundreds of years worth of healed scars in seconds, teeth thrashing and blood coating his maw while he tore you apart and exposed you for all to see.

You shrink in your chair and Rhysand’s heart clenched at the way he feels you go distant, staring at Eris but not really seeing the room before you; as if the eldest son of the Autumn Court had weaseled his way inside your head like Rhys could. There’s no explaining the way the air had stilled, High Lords exchanging apprehensive glances, murmuring words to Baron to tell his son to stop but Eris refuses to listen—drunk off the power and high off of your pain.

You can feel wetness on your face, your hands; it’s seeping through your pants and you can’t quite understand why. Not when Eris has his claws sunk deep within, waving the red flag bloodied with all of your secrets for all to observe. Like a show in the amphitheater, trapped in your own mind you relive every moment, deep sobs racking your body so badly the table shook with your emotion. Rhysand is beginning to gather you, shaping dark magic around your body so no one can see or hear you but the magic doesn’t hold, you’re too unstable—emotions too high and powers brewing on overdrive as it reacted to your distress. “I can’t breathe.”

Eris ignores your struggle, the way you are clearly drowning and fighting with all your might stay afloat but he keeps dragging you back down and genuine happiness is glowing on his skin at your reaction. “Spent all week mulling it over but I was walking through town and saw this display in a window,” He lets out a little chuckle, leaning in closer with fingers tapping casually against the mahogany wood, preening when you shrink away from him. “—a collar and a leash and it just hits me. My little pet. Come on, tell me you remember me putting it on you for the first time.”

Rhysand takes a more aggressive approach, protective nature on overdrive as you sob so hard you barely have time to suck in more air. Your hands are clawing at your throat, nails digging in, drawing blood and Rhys’ head whips back, double checking that Eris really hadn’t been using a daemati but when he looks into your mind—the towering walls inside are no more.

Rubble and glass is scattered everywhere in thick chunks like it’d been torn apart from the inside out, the plumes of smoke is scratchy in Rhys’ lungs but he keeps forward and right in the middle; covered in rags and bruises, ribs showing and cheeks gaunt, lashes and burns that covered more than it didn’t—was you.

With that damn collar around your throat.

“Don’t be like that, Rhysand,” Eris cackles in the background but it sounds like he’s doing it right in your ear. Your cheeks are red with your own blood and when Rhysand goes to help you stand, you’re putty in his hands. “I hadn’t even gotten to the fun part yet!” There are soft words, a palm cradling the back of your head as the High Lord of the Night Court picked you up and winnowed you away.

—

Azriel is waiting in the foyer when Rhysand returns with you in his arms, still sobbing but he’s calmed you enough to stop the scratching. Thick, angry lines assault your neck, blood pouring free and the moment he’d conjured up and illusion for your mind of you breaking free of that collar and burning it forever, did you stop fighting.

“What happened?” The shadow singer hissed, clearing the space between them and when his hand hovers over you, inches away from touching, another deep cry pulls through. “What the fuck did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Rhysand snaps back with equal intensity, violet eyes blazing with anger and deep, unsettling worry as you clutched so tight on his shirt he was sure it’d rip. “Call the madja, right now!”

Rhysand urges away a worried Elaine but eventually stops fighting it when you seem to calm in her presence. Falling into action easily, Elaine followed close beside, dress swishing against the glossy floors while humming some soothing tune that had your sobs settling into broken hiccups and soft whimpers. Mor seems to appear out of nowhere, face firm and gaze hot when she regards her cousin and it takes no more than a second before you’ve been transferred into her hold. Nesta falls in tow, already equipped with thick blankets and steaming tea. “Just go,” Mor huffs out, her hands raking through your hair as she leads you to your room. “We’ve got her.”

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar x reader #acotar x you #high lord rhysand #rhys acotar #rhysand x reader #rhysand #rhysand angst #nesta archeron #azriel #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #eris vanserra #send asks #acotar

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dancinglikebutterflywings · 10 days

Text

Interruption | Part 04

-> Pairing: mafia husband!Kim Hongjoong x mafia wife!Reader

-> Sypnosis: Things go to hell for Y/N.

-> Warnings: mafia au. Italics are flashbacks. the other korea is mentioned. talks of being a spy. alludes to someone being told to kill themselves. guns. someone gets shot (but spoiler: they don't die).

-> Word Count: 1,490

-> Taglist: open. Leave a comment on the masterlist post, send an ask or fill out the taglist form.

Interruption Masterlist | Hongjoong Masterlist | Tag List Form

As they make their way to the restaurant, Y/N flips through the folder that Wooyoung had given her earlier. “Ha-Na’s mother isn’t blameless in all of this,” she remarks, her eyes scanning the pages before she passes them to Hongjoong. Several sheets are filled with old photographs and documents related to the woman and her daughter. The folder starts to feel like a ticking time bomb, each page a revealing something that could unravel the carefully constructed facade Ha-Na’s and her mother, Ahn Soo-Ah have created for themselves. “She was troubled well before she got involved with Mun and my father.”

She pauses when she sees the face of the man who had tormented her mother after her father abandoned them. His cold, calculating gaze seems to pierce through her, rekindling the rage she felt the last time she encountered him. Her fists tighten as she realizes that this woman not only played a part in her father leaving but also in the hell that ensued afterwards.

“Ha-Na and her mother have no clue who they’re up against,” she mutters, mostly to herself, but Hongjoong nods in agreement. He’s seen firsthand the consequences of someone pushing his wife too far and feels no sympathy for anyone who might provoke her.

“We need to be more careful this time,” Hongjoong advises her. “This isn’t just about someone trying to take over our empire. It’s much more personal than that,” he says taking the folder from her.

Y/N pulls out her phone and calls Yunho. The man picks up immediately. "We're on our way," he informs her.

"I need to know if you found anything about my father?" she asks.

"I was just about to send you his details and address," he replies. “You should also know Ha-Na's mother is with him.”

"Forward it to some of our men and have them bring them to Mun's restaurant," she instructs. "Make sure to warn them that if they try anything, they'll be dead the moment they step through those doors."

With that she ends the call as they pull up outside the restaurant.

“Sorry, my mother couldn’t make it. She was murdered not long after our father left her, but you already know that,” Y/N glances at her father and doesn’t find an ounce of remorse but she can see the fear in them. “Now sit,” she orders all of them. San forces her father to sit down as Soo-Ah quickly sits in the chair next to him, feigning being terrified.

“You too, Ha-Na,” she says waving her gun at her before pointing it at her mother. “I don’t want to kill her before you hear what I have to say.”

Wooyoung comes closer, snatching the gun from Ha-Na, glaring at her and forces her into the chair next to her mother. With the gun pointed at her mother, Ha-Na abides and doesn’t make a fuss. Now that Soo-Ah was brought into it, Ha-Na calmed and the situation became more controllable. It was all the proof she needed to know that the woman who had broken her family is her half-sister's weakness.

“Do you know why your mother stayed with Mun and our dear father had to wait all those years to be with her?” she questions Ha-Na, leaning in closer to her. “I’m sure you do since you’re all in this together,” she says waiting for Ha-Na to reply. The younger woman shakes her head but her quick glance towards her mother tells Y/N that she’s lying. “That’s what I thought. You two are close right?” she asks looking between the two women. They both nod. “That must be nice,” she mutters and steps back from them while Yeosang hands her the folder she’d been going through earlier. She opens it and drops it, its contents spilling on to the table, showing photos of a younger version of Soo-Ah, with a man dressed in military gear. Some of the photos she has a large belly, and some of them have her with a baby.

Y/N observes as Soo-Ah's fake look of fright, turns into one of anger showing where Ha-Na gets her terrible acting skills from.

“You didn’t think I would find out that you were enlisted as a spy?” She taunts. “Or that Ahn Soo-Ah is not your real name? Ri Mi-Rae.”

Upon hearing her real name, Soo-Ah's face darkens. If looks could kill, Y/N would be six feet under. The atmosphere shifts, the air thick with unspoken threats. Hongjoong steps closer to Y/N, sensing the tension. He places a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but his eyes remain fixed on Soo-Ah.

Soo-Ah hisses, her voice low and dangerous, "You have no idea what you're dealing with."

"I know exactly what I'm dealing with, Ri Mi-Rae,” Y/N straightens, her resolve hardening. “You’re nothing but a con-woman who leaves destruction everywhere she goes. I’m truly surprised the North hasn’t caught up with you, yet. Maybe I should send you back myself.”

“She would rather kill herself, than go back there,” Ha-Na retorts, while their father continues to sit there scared for their lives.

“Should we test that?” Y/N says, taking a gun and handing it towards Mi-Rae only when everyone of her mens guns were pointed at her. “Try anything and they’ll end you quicker than you can blink. Now go on, prove your daughter right,” she urges, her tone a mix of challenge and provocation.

Mi-Rae's eyes flickered to the gun, then back to Y/N. With her head held high, she silently refuses to take the gun. "You think you can intimidate me?" Mi-Rae finally spoke, her voice steady. "You have no idea what I’ve survived, what I’ve done to stay alive. You, little girl, don’t scare me. I’ve faced worse than you."

Y/N's grip on the gun tightens, her resolve unyielding. "This isn't about fear. It's about choices you’ve made and how you’ve involved me in them,” she says her voice rising. Aiming the gun at Ha-Na while keeping her eyes locked on Mi-Rae, she pulls the trigger, ending Ha-Na’s life in an instant. "That was for my mother."

Mi-Rae looks at her a mix of shock and fury in her eyes. Ha-Na's body crumples to the ground, lifeless, letting Mi-Rae and her father, Ha-Joon know that she is no longer playing around.

Ha-Joon, filled with fear and confusion as he watched the scene unfolding in front of him, finally finds his voice. "You're a monster."

"Is that so? And who do you think turned me into this, father?" Y/N retorts, allowing her emotions to spill over towards the man who had abandoned her all those years ago. Just hearing his voice brought back memories long forgotten about and she was transported back to being that little girl, lost and alone.

Seizing the moment of distraction, Mi-Rae quickly grabs a gun and fires shots as she dashes out towards the back.

"Get her!" Y/N yells at her men as they duck for cover. Four of them make chase after Mi-Rae as she looks around to make sure no one was hit.

That's when her eyes land on her husband, bleeding from his chest and gasping for air. Her heart sinks into her stomach as she hurries to his side, and covers his wound with her hands trying to stop the bleeding as she yells at the others to help. Tears began to sting her eyes as she felt the warmth of his blood seep through her fingers.

"Stay with me," she begs, her voice shaking as panic grips her throat. She has never felt this terrified in her entire life.

"Y/N," Hongjoong's voice emerged weak and raspy as he lifted a hand to gently caress her cheek. "You need to get out of here. This isn’t safe for you." His eyes, usually so full of life, were clouded with pain, and Y/N could see the flicker of fear in them, not for himself, but for her.

"I won’t leave you," she cries, her heart racing as she presses harder against the wound, trying to will the blood to stop flowing.

"Y/N, listen to me," he gasped, his breath coming in shallow bursts. He winced, his hand slipping from her cheek to grip her wrist, his fingers trembling just as badly as hers. "I love you, Y/N. No matter what happens, remember that." His eyes locked onto hers, he calls for Wooyoung, “Get her out of here.”

Before anything more could be said, San pushes his way in, replacing Y/N’s hands with his own as Wooyoung pulls her up and rushes her out of the building before she has time to process what’s happening.

As she sits in the car with Wooyoung at the wheel, a chilling numbness envelopes the Mafia Queen’s body. Her voice, icy and determined, sends shivers down Wooyoung's spine as she declares, "I’m going to kill all of them. Her and everyone she cares about is dead."

@do-you-remember-summer-127 - @staytiny2000 - @rainydayteacups - @kpopmenace143 - @treehouse-mouse -

@alexxavicry - @jedi-dreea - @rainydayteacups - @green-agent - @tinyelfperson -

@yeonjunnie – @hollxe1 - @laylasbunbunny – @deltamoon666 - @skz1-4-3 -

@everythingboutkpop - @oddracha - @http-gyu - @skittyneos - @pinkpunkdynamite -

@keshivibes - @katsukis1wife - @jjoongstar - @arki-sha - @forever-atiny -

@lixisoul99

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aquaticwolfkuri · 16 days

Text

You HATE Me, But I Hate YOU More: ch.6

“hehe….hahaha….Hahahaha….HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!” Zim laughs, completely impressed by his new and genius EVIL plan. It was just too perfect, so evil, that only someone as great as him could have come up with it, other than Minimoose of course.

The plan? Ruin Dib’s prom night by asking Plotty to go with HIM instead of the Dib-Human. Yes, the plan is very amazing.

“NOW to attend Skool like the good and filthy human that I am!” Zim says, throwing on his disguise before heading out the door. Gir and Minimoose wishing him the best of luck.

Everyone gathered by their lockers, gossiping and conversing about all sorts of things, ranging from rumors, boys, adult magazines, games, and many more stupid human things. Zim cared not for such things, and right now, his target was the ginger haired girl.

Thankfully she wasn’t too hard to spot, so Zim ruthlessly shoved anyone that got in his way.

“Oh, Hello Zim” The girl says, giving him a smile that nearly makes him gag.

“Yes, Hello…PLOTTY.”

“Did you need something? If your looking for Dib, he’s-”

“Z-Zim is not looking for the Dib-human!!!” Zim’s face starts to feel warm, trying NOT to remember his computer’s clearly INCORRECT calculations.

Plotty looks at him, feeling a bit awkward and confused… Zim can see this and quickly changes the subject.

“I was actually looking for YOU.” Zim says.

“Me?”

“Yes. You see… because of my condition, most of the other HUMANS, tend to pick on poor Zim, even making fun of my water allergy…. Now Zim has no one to go to prom with…” Zim says in the most soap opera way possible, even going so far as to fake the tears welling up in his eyes.

“Oh, that’s awful… Of course I’ll go to prom with you Zim” She says, smiling brightly. Delighted, Zim thanked the girl, letting her know just how HAPPY she’d made him before making his way to class, laughing maniacally… but, unfortunately, he bumps into the back of a very familiar black coat. Dib turns around, giving him a very accusing look as he narrows his eyes.

“Zim, what did you do?? What are you planning this time?”

“Well Dib, if you must know… the Plotty-girl will be going to prom with ME!!” Zim says, laughing again, but instead of Dib wallowing in Sarrow like he had imagined, Dib instead tackles him to the ground, attempting to strangle him.

"Zim, you little piece of shit!!” Dib yelled. Zim screamed and gagged, before finally kicking Dib in the groin, and pushing him off. Dib nearly sheds a tear, but he pushes through the pain and grabs Zim by the leg before he can get up.

“Z-Zim, I hope you know how much I HATE you right now!” He punches him, and Zim pulls his hair, biting into his arm.

“I hate you MORE Dib!” Zim retorts back. They both continue to kick and fight as the other students gather around them, watching the live wrestling match, and pulling out their phones as they capture footage of the event; even Gaz.

“Zim you-....y….y-yaaaCHOOO!” Sneezing right into the alien’s tunic, Zim screams bloody murder, and thankfully, the principal arrives just in time with the other teachers to stop the fight from escalating, sending them both to the nurse's office.

“Dib… This behavior is completely unacceptable. This is the 4th time this week. You can't keep assaulting Zim just for being different.” The principal says, tired and frustrated. Dib is such a talented student, so gifted in fact, that he’s honestly being held back by being in high Skool and not Membrane Corp… yet his behavior was just out of control.

“It's Zim’s fault! He- Cough cough!”

“LIES! The Dib-human lies!-”

“Enough. Dib, your suspended from Skool for the rest of this week.” The principal says. This was the last thing Dib wanted to hear.

“B-But Principle Morals, Prom is THIS weak! A-And my Dad is going to be pissed if he finds out!” Dib says, trying not to have a meltdown

The principle sighs. “Fine. I’ll allow you to attend prom, but for the rest of the weak, you’ll be suspended from Skool… You can go home now.” The principal says before leaving the nurse's office. Dib falls back against the small bed, and groans.

“Fuck… Dad’s going to be pissed.” Dib groans, removing his glasses before rubbing his eyes, frustrated, and this morning's headache didn’t help. He can hear Zim cackling in delight and it only makes his headache throb.

He already didn’t feel good getting up this morning, and now he had to deal with this??? He never should have gotten out of bed… or maybe he should have exposed Zim sooner. In fact, he should just rip his wig off in the class hall, and force those stupid contact lenses off his eyes; then everyone could finally see what he is! They would HAVE to BELIEVE him! And then, after enduring so much of Zim’s shit, he could finally cut open the damn alien and study his organs to his heart's content.

“That’s right Dib, suffer like the pathetic- “ Dib grabs Zim’s face and sneezes. Zim screams and squirms.

“THE GERMS!!!”

“Fuck you Zim.” Dib grabs his glasses and walks out of the room as Zim continues to scream and squirm. He should have known, he should have fucking known Zim would pull some shit like this. No matter if Dib does something nice or mean, the alien always has to double down and make his life more miserable than it already was.

Dib just can’t ever get a break, he can’t ever just have anything go right!

“Hey… I heard from the Principale… Dad’s gonna be pissed.”

“Yeah…Cough cough!... Hey Gaz… can we trade place?”

“What? And have me be stuck with Zim? No thanks. Besides, I don’t think there’s anyone else that could capture that guy’s attention more than you.” Gaz explains, but Dib raises a brow at this.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks, but Gaz just shrugs and doesn’t elaborate any further.

“Anyway, you look terrible. Get plenty of rest once your home…”

“I will…”

Dib returns home after a miserably long walk, only to have his dad reprimand him as soon as he walks through the door, giving him the longest lecture before sending him to his room, and as punishment, he would not be given access to any of his paranormal possessions or TV shows.

So Dib just lies in bed, letting his slowly forming fever consume him. He hated not having his things or knowing that Zim could be doing who knows what at Skool… and yet, he couldn’t help but feel relieved he wouldn’t have to bother with any of it anymore.

But you know what really pisses him off??? Is that he caught a shitty cold helping Zim out, only to get totally backstabbed! And why would Plotty go with Zim to prom anyway!?

He just groans and rolls over in bed feeling miserable, feeling too sick to even be pissed anymore. “Cough cough cough! Ugh…. this fucking sucks…”

Later, his dad comes up to his bedroom and brings him a bowl of chicken noodle soup and some water. “Thanks dad…” Dib says, careful not to burn his tongue while eating his bowl of soup, but his dad takes a seat next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Son, I know being a teenager can be a difficult thing.”

“Dad, I’m fine.”

“You have so many new hormones inside you, making all sorts of chemical reactions.”

“Dad-”

“And sometimes those changes make us see people differently.”

“Dad, where are you going with this?”

“I know you must be so confused and maybe even frustrated. I know you and your little green friend used to be so close as kids, but sometimes things change when we get older.”

“We were never friends, dad.”

“Look son, I will always love you and I’m always proud of you. But bullying Zim is no way to get his attention. Just tell him how you really feel Dib. I know he’ll feel the same way” He say, patting his head before leaving the room, taking the empty soup bowl with him.

Dib nearly chokes, blushing “D-Dad, I don’t have a crush on Zim!!”

“Sure you don’t son…!” He says from downstairs, clearly humoring him.

“W-What the fuck??? Why would Dad think that???” Dib groans, falling back against his bed, coughing into his hands.

This can’t be happening… First Zim asks Plotty to Prom, then he gets suspended from Skool, and now his dad thinks he has a crush on Zim??? And why would his Dad think Zim would like him back??? Zim hates him!

But then he suddenly remembers yesterday when it rained… He thought he had seen Zim blushing… Gaz said something weird too, about him being the only one that could keep Zim’s attention… and then there's Zim’s disdain towards Plotty, like maybe he’s-....???

“No,no,no,no,no,no,no!! Zim is NOT in love with me!! I HATE Zim! And Zim would NEVER fall in love with me! ME of all people! I’m his greatest enemy! I’m a stinking disgusting human for crying out loud!!” Dib shouts, as if he was trying to reason with the universe and convince it that all of this was just some crazy misunderstanding.

“He’s an evil alien invader trying to conquer Earth! He’s loud, annoying, violent, green, and tiny! He’s proof that i’m not crazy…! He’s...the only thing that makes me feel… normal, kind of… I don’t have to hide my paranormal interests around him… UGH! What the fuck am I thinking?” Dib looks out the window, looking towards the stars for some kind of answer. He sighs and lays back down, setting his glasses aside and goes to sleep for the rest of the night.

#dib membrane #invader zim #zadr #zim #dib #zim x dib #invader zim fanart #fanart #digital art #digital illustration #iz fanfiction #invader zim fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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leviathanleva · 4 months

Text

Cujo

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Supersoldier!FemReader

Description: A monster in human skin, a weapon disguised as a person, no thoughts, no emotion, as per design. He despises you and everything you stand for. He’s tried to kick you out of his squad and failed, he’s made it his mission to break you no matter the cost.

It comes as a surprise when he asks you to lie and say you love him.

[5.5k words]

[Angst, Power Play, Light Degradation, 18+]

Chapter 1 "Raspberry Tart"

Hound.

A fitting callsign for a dog that only knew how to follow orders. A mindless beast whose chain had been thrust into his hands forcibly and now he was to be your navigator, your Northern star in a sea of black. He’d have had no problem taking you under his wing, but you weren’t just some rookie in need of training. He couldn’t crack a cheesy joke and make you snicker, couldn’t relate to you in any way, couldn’t find common ground to start a conversation.

He’d tried to break you, poking at the squishy unknown beyond the stone exterior in the hopes that there was something still there. It was incomprehensible, you were a living contradiction to the natural order, an anomaly made reality by nameless, faceless, suited figures scrambling for power and drowning with money. He was a stoic man, cold-blooded, ignorant of his trauma, and suppressive of any flicker of tenderness that tried to wiggle out. He was trained in the heat of battle, under the rain of bullets and among the hills of corpses. He taught himself to withstand anything thrown his way. You, on the other hand, had nothing to withstand. You weren’t stoic or calculative or cold.

You were indifferent.

It irked him.

Late at night, when he was left to his thoughts, he wondered what they had done to you.

What chemical turned a human’s sclera black and devoid the iris of color? What concoction was fused into your blood to make your muscles grow so dense you could punch through walls, at will? How could you pick up the heartbeats of enemy forces without even entering their headquarters? How did you see in the dark without any gear save for a peculiar oxygen mask?

What sort of poison had been pumped into you? Had it hurt? Does it hurt now?

You were a macabre sigh.

You don’t look healthy; gaunt features sharp enough to cut glass and dead eyes that burrowed into his soul. There were no bags under your eyes, you slept well at least, perfect for someone whose hands reeked of blood. The fat was barely any, it was impossible to retain the supple softness of femininity with your condition, and if it wasn’t for the perky tits showing beneath your loose tee he could have easily mistaken you for a scrawny man. A paradox; porcelain skin devoid of scars blanketing over a heap of muscle that could tear limbs like they were loose threads.

You’d been a pretty thing once, before the augmentations. He could tell.

You barely reached his collarbone and yet you could take a grenade head-on and live unlike him. And you had, for him. He’d nearly lost his mind when you had, tucked you into his chest because he’d lost too many good men already and you were fresh in his squad and dying under his care. A bleak moment of weakness on his end that he’d believed you’d have no recollection of because half your fucking face was missing. But then the flesh had crept back onto your exposed cheekbone and he’d pushed you away as quickly as he’d hugged you. His mask did well to hide both horror and bewilderment. It had taken you under two minutes and you were ready to go again.

He’d thought your files were a joke, had read them absentmindedly over a glass of bourbon then tossed them aside and waited for the actual reports. They weren’t a joke at all.

You were his shield. It’s been a year since you joined Task Force 141 and you had taken so much damage in his stead it was mindboggling still. There was no fear, no hesitation, no doubt, or rebellion; you simply sprawled yourself over him like a ballistic shield, soaking in anything lethal coming his way. It was a heartwrenching scene, but how could he feel empathy when he’d seen you rip people apart.

You were his weapon, a leal monster, ready to pounce at the flick of his wrist. But your loyalties to him were temporary, shallow compared to the ones you held for your torturers, your makers. He hadn’t expected you to abandon Gaz to fend off the enemy alone when you’d heard a vocalization of the target’s whereabouts over the coms. On that deployment, Ghost had learned that you held no value for human life, you cared not for the well-being of your teammates. Mission first, success at any cost.

After that display, he’d spend hours arguing with Price while trying to find a loophole that would let him kick you out of the squad. A seemingly endless exchange of words led to nothing, the Captain had taken a few long phone calls, all fruitless aside from some measly promises to instruct you better. You’d been summoned shortly after and the phone had been passed onto you because the bastards couldn’t even be bothered to correct your ways face to face.

“Protect all your teammates at all costs, not just the Lieutenant.”

“Do not abandon a comrade.”

“Your squad comes before your target.”

Simon had nearly missed the last sentence; it had been whispered so lowly over the line.

“Unless the target is within direct line of sight.”

He was left seething. He didn’t want you here. He’d tried again, stating more facts, adding more blood and bone-chilling scenarios to the list of reasons why you needed to be transferred, to no avail. He’d been hit with a stygian truth after. Either Task Force 141 or some blokes from KorTac, there were no other organizations that would take you in without downright exploiting your capabilities.

Judging by what little he knew about you, you wouldn’t care, but he would. He’d be caught dead before letting you walk into those war criminals’ grimy paws and have them lock your attention on him as your next target. No. You were his weapon, his shield, his hound; if anyone was going to lead you into a massacre, it would be him.

His charge, his responsibility.

His pet.

He’d settled after that, begrudgingly letting you stay.

And it wasn’t all bad. Over time he grew accustomed to your presence, you’d eat together, train together, sit together in some forgotten corner of the base and enjoy a moment of silence. Ghost was an intimidating man, both rank and appearance kept most people out of his way, but with you constantly on his heel and your docile nature out of combat, he grew fond of your companionship. Some days he forgot you were even there, skulking in his shadow.

Rarely did you speak without being spoken to, never whined or complained. It was as refreshing as it was disturbing. He dealt with it for the most part, but sometimes he couldn’t. Sometimes he wanted to see you shatter, find a crack in the masquerade for the sake of his own sanity. He needed you to crumble, to find a way to break you because then he would have some sort of reason to cling to. Some vague explanation for the turmoil you caused inside him without even meaning to.

He was torn between hating you with everything he had, leaving you be and retaining the fickle peace between the two of you, and obsessively delving into your being in search of some long-forgotten spec of humanity that yet lived.

It was becoming a problem.

Finally, he snaps out of his morning sulking and remembers he has a cup of black tea secured in his hand. He bunches up the skull mask on his nose and takes a candid sip, then grimaces.

“It’s cold.”

A soft remark muffled behind a mouthful of buttered toast. His eyes trail up, tired and distant, to find yours studying him like he was an intel chart.

You spare his drink a glimpse, offering wordlessly, then lick the grease off your thumb and let your fork rest against the leftover scrambled eggs on your plate.

“Want me to reheat it, Lieutenant?”

He hadn’t even noticed when you’d gotten up for a second serving, the only indicator being the stained empty tray lying next to your current one. You ate a lot, had to in order to regain the energy you exerted during missions, at least that’s how he understood it. A part of him hoped it would stick, add some more curvature to your form, show him there was still an ounce of normalcy in your existence, at least physically, but it never did.

“You can heat shit too now?” the rasp in his voice is still heavy with sleep. He’s drained and bitter after another night of nothing but restless tossing and he’s poking fun at you as strain relief.

And as usual, it flies right over your head.

“No. I meant in the microwave.” you motion past your shoulder, pointing at the cutlery set up in the back of the mess hall. When he remains silent you extend an arm towards the mug, palm spread out and waiting. “I don’t mind.”

Of course you don’t, you’re a good mutt. The demeaning slew nearly succeeds in slipping past his lips, he snuffs it out with more stale tea.

“Nah.” he turns down your offer and tucks the mug closer to his body. “ ‘S fine.”

“Pyrokinesis is preposterous.” you say, cooly, addressing his previous snark after a beat or two.

It pinches a nerve.

It’s not meant as a jab at his intelligence, just a fact based on your experiences with human experimentation. It’s never a joke or a cocky scoff or anything that would allude to a personality.

“You’re bloody preposterous.” he barks back and his eyes crease in distaste.

The wannabe super soldier telling him what was and wasn’t possible was not on his tolerance list for the day.

There’s a pause, one which he doesn’t appreciate as you’re stripping him bare without consent or clemency. Your stare is degrading, has been since day one, and you’ve no interest in privacy or personal space. The only reason you keep everyone at arm’s length is to minimize any possibility of injuring your subordinates, as instructed by your shadowy puppeteers. Each action, word, and thought from you seems normal at surface level, human, until one understands the reasoning behind it. Everything about you is twisted, it’s creeping up on him, warping his reality.

You’re prying through a blank visage, no remorse, chipping away at his persona and feigning concern.

It’s sickening, it feels so real.

“You’re snippy again.” you note, mow down the rest of your breakfast, and push away the food tray. “You’ve not slept. Again.” it was a statement rather than a question. Your hands clasp together, fingers intertwining as you abandon your hunched-over pose and adjust to a professional stance. “Have you considered – ”

Your maternal tattle is cut short when a phone is thrust into your face. You blink a few times as the image registers:

A puppy. A Labrador puppy all fluffy and adorable stares back at you from the screen.

You look up unamused, letting Soap’s smug grin beam down on you, a ray of sunshine on such a rainy morning. He’s a chipper one, carries both your apathy and Ghost’s grimness on his shoulders like it’s nothing.

“No?” the smile dies on his face and his subtle crow’s feet disappear.

“No.” you answer with a small shake to your head and earn a scoff. “It’s just a dog.”

“Fucking hell, Hound.” he slumps on the uncomfortable metal bench next to Ghost, swiping at his phone before tucking it in his pocket. The pout lasts a few seconds as he rubs a hand over his stubble. “I’ll find yer weak spot one day. Mark my words.” then he turns to the hulking mountain of a man beside him. “Mornin’, Lt.”

John MacTavish had taken a liking to you early on, shining antipodal to the rest of Task Force 141. He’d made it his goal to work a smile out of you and it had begun with dad jokes, then evolved to funny videos, now it was cute animals.

It was a doomed cause, but also none of your business. How he spent his free time was not your concern so you went along with it as long as it didn’t involve you actively participating.

“Mornin’, Johnny.”

“You’re a dedicated man, Sergeant.” you offer simple words and snap your mouth shut before they degenerate into anything derogatory.

“Unlike yourself.”

The cafeteria was lively with soldiers seeking a strong coffee and a hearty breakfast. The cacophony of chatter kept your hearing busy, your senses were dulled, you were relaxed, but you weren’t deaf. You didn’t miss the Lieutenant’s cynical nip.

The ambiance has slowly turned hostile, he’s extra cranky. You pinpoint it to his silent dwelling earlier and leave it t your tongue to resolve the matter before it escalates.

“You’re displeased with me today.” you lean back and let your hands glide off the table, resting them in your lap and appearing smaller. A subtle change, but one you’d learned he fancied; being smaller than him gave him more authority room and indulged his masculine pride. “Have I done something wrong, Lieutenant?”

He likes to stay high on a power trip and humiliate you, keeps your leash secure and short as if governing over you is a boast.

“Don’t like you in general.” casual, passive; he’s peeking at you from beneath light brown lashes. “Think we already established that.”

It’s always a step forward and a thousand back. He’ll be approachable one day, open to discussions on many topics, which are more monologues than dialogues. Then the frail serenity will snap and he’ll want to crawl out of his skin by simply being in your presence. You knew little of his internal wars, knew better than to carve a seat to a psychological bloodbath with no predetermined outcome. But it was confusing, he bore too many burdens and he was making it your problem.

You took bullets for him, would endure anything for him, you’d walk into a minefield if he so wished. You obeyed without question, proven your loyalty yet he refused to change his outlook and continued to treat you with as little fairness as possible.

He was a reject yet he judged you for your difference to the rest of his men. A hypocrite. How unnecessarily…bothersome.

He speaks with subtle malice, yet his body plays a different tune and you run your mouth before thinking. There is no backbone to his passive aggression.

“You lie.”

Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to humble your higher-up in a public setting, especially in front of his most trusted subordinate. However, you cared little for social norms and interaction standards.

He’s mustering a counterattack, as cold and as fowl as his tea, but it never leaves the confines of his skull mask because you continue to yap.

“A truthful man does not sweat. His pupils don’t shrink.”

The stab is made worse by the lack of satisfaction in your voice. You’re indifferent that you’ve caught him in his untruthfulness and it serves to twist the knife deeper.

The least you could do is show him grace by reciprocating his hatred with your own, but you don’t.

You don’t care.

Fuck you.

Ghost rises with the intent to leave, doesn’t spare you another glance, only stares straight ahead, past the crown of your head, and towards the exit.

A year, a whole year since you were assigned to him and still you were a dense twat with not a drop of regard for anyone, not even yourself. It was infuriating how stuck in your ways you were, he’d tried to rupture a change and the results were null. He’s fed up.

You’re a lost cause and his nerves are stretched thin, he’s inclined to simply avoid you today.

“Lt, wait.”

Soap, always the buffer to your scuffle, the voice of reason, but there’s nothing to cushion this time. The cord’s been cut, Simon’s let go of you for the moment and he’s in need of some good alone time to properly simmer down.

He’s stuffed his hands in his jeans, thumbs sticking out and glossing over the stitching. He doesn’t turn back when he offers a response.

“Appetite’s gone.”

If he was any shorter, he would have disappeared in the sea of soldiers, but he’s too easily distinguishable for such mercies. His steps are thunderous, you’ve committed the beat of his stride to memory. He was your highest priority on the battlefield, everything about him has been burned into your mind and it’s left a mark in your day-to-day. He could be on the other side of the base and you’d find him with a blindfold on.

A good soldier, the best. Why couldn’t he appreciate that?

You watch him unblinking as he rounds the corner and disappears out of sight.

An exasperated grunt makes your head reel back.

“Life of the party as always, Hound.” Soap snips, disappointment dripping past his teeth. It’s a gentle scold, as a big brother would his younger sibling after they’ve misbehaved.

“He lied.” you retort and your expression hardens in self-defense. “He wouldn’t be upset if he hadn’t lied. Why did he lie?”

“Ask em yourself, you blind eejit.”

The gravity of his words doesn’t register until they slip out.

There’s no stopping you now, there’s a goal set in front of you. He’s almost stirred enough to stop you, but a meek nag in the back of his head prevents him. Maybe it’s for the best that you talk it out and snuff out the fire before it has a chance to grow. He pities Ghost in a way. Of all the people he could have…

You secure the abandoned mug of tea and are already trailing after the Lieutenant.

“Oh, here we fucking go…” John is left with his cheek resting in his hand and scouring the mess hall for a livelier company to lighten his morning break.

You follow him by scent alone – a pleasing musk that characterized him well aside from the cologne. You maneuver around the horde of military personnel, washed out in a cluster of camo and rugged limbs. The rain has only worsened, battering against the row of windows gracing the corridor, you can almost smell it through the glass. It’s a lovely aroma, but Ghost’s is favored and it guides you through the limbo of concrete, up a few flights of stairs until you understand you’re heading towards his office.

He’s a good man, the Lieutenant, a wonderful man – stern and fair, caring in his unique decrepit way. So why does he insist on treating you like a disgruntled mentor?

If he’s feeling generous, you’ll find out soon enough.

You let yourself in absentmindedly, barge in like the inelegant brute you are and if there had been a conversation bubbling beyond the door it would have rattled you back to cognitive thinking. But the silence had only welcomed you.

He’s sat behind his desk, looming over sparse documents that are of no interest to you, a cigarette languidly burning in the ashtray next to his elbow, smoke sucked out by the ajar window.

His eyes lift at your intrusion.

The fucking audac –

“Why did you lie?”

Straight to the point as usual. No wordplay, no gentle gestures to picture a power imbalance and ease him into it. He’s your superior and you’re supposed to show respect. Tough luck when you forget that little detail.

“Didn’t give you permission to enter.” he watches the sentence seep in as you set his tea at the edge of his desk, mulling.

Without a word, you walk out as whimsically as you’d entered, tiny body made gangly by the white lights illuminating the hallway. The door closes with a creamy click and despite his irritation, he snorts.

A beat of nothingness before three curt knocks sound, it’s comical. You’re a God damn clown.

“Enter.”

You walk in and clear your throat and that blank expression never falters. With legs spread wide and steady, you clasp your wrist behind your back, nose brought high to expose your neck, spine straight and stretched like a violin string.

“Permission to speak, Lieutenant.”

He has the spite to deny your request, cut your escapade short and shoo you away.

“Granted.” he says instead.

The clock above your head ticks and soothes the stale silence, that and the storm outside. The lights are off, the blinds hold back the scant sunlight overshadowed by an ocean of clouds. The only lamp alive is the one on his desk, deep yellow and warm, casting grim shadows over the skin-tight skull mask. The pen hoisted between thick, battle-worn fingers is still.

He’s waiting, watching you like a prowling predator, chin dipped low and eyes half-hidden behind the ridges of his eyebrows.

“Why did you lie?” you repeat with less zest and your shoulders slack a tad.

You’re the best person to share with openly, would take his confessions to the grave, and have no reason nor will for judgment. All he needed to do was ask for you to never mention this to anyone and you could be tortured to death and not budge. It was so simple, you were simple, ranks be damned, you were here for him.

Though Ghost was anything but one-dimensional. He was a complicated individual with a rich past, he was comfortable trusting you with his life, not his secrets.

He steers away from your question and offers a crappy tease instead.

“Fishing for a Psychology degree, Cadet?”

“That’s not a proper answer.” you’re bullet fast to voice your displeasure with his evasiveness. Your paper-white gaze holds his honeydew brown one, displaying openness and hoping for reciprocation.

“And I’ve taught you proper interrogation.” he spits back with growing mock, taut in his chair, muscles solid and ready.

He fights a war not of the physical world, a solitary brawl, in which you refuse to participate. There is no point in such self-induced struggles; the debate of the heart and mind is a phenomenon known to all and it can be a slippery slope. Hence it had been chemically removed from your system.

At least you can see it bothers him, whatever it is he’s musing over. You’d offer advice, you’d help if he let you dip your toes in the problem, but he was too stubborn.

You fail to understand that you’re the problem.

“You’re avoiding the question.” dry and bland, a boring fact both of you have come to acknowledge.

“I don’t need to answer your fucking question.” the pen and papers are pushed to the side as his attention is fully directed towards you. He readjusts and even while sitting down he seems larger than you. “Mind your bloody tone with me, Dog.”

You startle at that, tighten like a board and your expression falters for a second. It’s not his sharpness that shakes your awareness awake, it’s your behavior – obtrusive and insolent, insulting him with nonchalance unacceptable for a soldier of your rank when conversing with a superior. Your nails dig into the fluff of your palm to ground you, and your knee trembles with the barely repressed need to bend and dig into the floor.

It’s a fleeting sight, but he sees you stagger. An alien sensation coils in his stomach.

Finally.

Finally…

A glint of normalcy is peeking beneath the crooked façade. You’re brooding, maybe even experiencing something, branching out from the year-long unbreakable apathy.

“I apologize, Lieutenant.” you yield, backtracking until you settle into a less casual mindset. “I’ve no right requesting any information of you.”

“Damn straight you don’t.” he sinks his teeth in the opportunity, strangely eager to coax a more prominent reaction out of you, obsessive even. Speaks to you with a demeaning twinge, egged on by the split second in which your brows dip. “Forgot your place.”

His tone is biting, but his movements are fluent as he stands and rounds his desk to approach you. He towers over you unapologetically and you’re left staring at the center of his collarbones, avoiding his eyes as a sliver of respect.

He clips your chin between two calloused fingers, burdens you with a look of contemplation as he debates an idea.

“Open.” he commands and you oblige.

Your jaw lowers as your lips part without an ounce of hesitation. The hairs on his arms rise in anticipation, concealed beneath the course military blouse.

His thumb travels up, past the dimple of your chin, and over your plush bottom lip. His skin grazes your bottom teeth before he presses down on your tongue.

“Suck.”

Your lips curl around his salty digit, tasting the smoky cigarette he’d mouthed a few minutes prior. His concentration wanes, his pupils expand briskly before he catches himself softening. He pushes on the roof of your mouth to guide your vision to lock onto him.

Your rhythmic suckling sparks a warmth low in his abdomen. A dull aching pulse licks deliciously at his loins and he sinks his canines into the side of his cheek to snap out of it. He can’t afford this, not with you, you don’t deserve to witness tenderness when you have none to offer in return. So he remains an explorer and keeps pushing boundaries if not to see you uncomfortable, then for his own curiosity.

“You do as I say, when I say.” he rumbles a guttural reminder of your place, then slips his thumb out of your slithery hold and takes a step back. “On your knees.”

Your legs fold in an instant, knees digging into the tiled floor with a deaf thump. You’re face to face with his crotch and a sickening thought passes by him that makes his thighs clench.

Pushing boundaries, that’s all this was. Nothing more.

He rests a hand on the hem of his jeans and fiddles his zipper, alluding to actions he didn’t intend to follow through with. A somber attempt at making you react, but you don’t. There’s not even an involuntary twitch of a muscle – you’re still as a statue and just as emotionless.

He’s stuck between pondering if you’ve called his bluff or you’re simply passive to the idea. Either way, what he’s hinting at is vile and you being this pliant is unnerving.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re just gonna let me…” he trails off and swallows the bile rising in his throat.

What if you were left in the hands of a less gracious leader? What if some fucked up bastard had gotten a hold of you before him? What if he’d succeeded in kicking you out and you ended up in KorTac…?

What would they have done to you?

What if –

“ – I do as you say, when you say, Lieutenant.”

He snarls at that. Grabs a fistful of your top and boosts you to your feet. The tips of your boots are barely touching the ground and he’s lurched over you, so close that you’re overwhelmed by his breath.

Toothpaste, cigarettes, a feint hint of bourbon from the night before.

You inhale slowly, too comfortable in his grip and it makes no sense to him considering his treatment, then exhale audibly and speak again.

“Why does it bother you so much? My condition.”

“It’s not normal.” he gives you a solid jerk, emphasizing his words, spewing poison. “It’s shit. How am I supposed to trust you if you don’t give a flying fuck about me…or the team?”

“I would never let – ”

“ – Don’t gimme that crap.”

You’re an adaptive creature. You remember the intricacies of man despite no longer seeing any value in them. His frustration is evident, a spout of bio-chemicals thickens around him, from which adrenaline and oxytocin are the most prominent. He’s torn between protecting himself from you and protecting you from the rest of the world. And at the end of the day, he’s only human and has spent too much time with you, a member of the opposite sex, to be unaffected by your presence.

You do the first thing that comes to mind. A short-circuited move in the name of self-preservation while also not causing him any harm as per your orders.

You kiss him. Inch close while he’s in a haze of despicable turmoil and press your lips where his would be hidden behind the mask.

His lethal tantrum ceases.

He’s stunted, shaken to the bone as he stares right through you. His eyes are bulging, accentuated by the charcoal face paint. His whole body is pulsing, you hear his heartbeat, steady but clamorously loud in your ear, then he cocks his head to the side and you begin to question if your choice of action had only worsened his state.

“I’m sorry.” you blurt. “I misread you, I didn’t – ”

He’s clawing at his mask until it catches on his nose and graces you with a strong jaw littered with nearly blond stubble. You bite your tongue before more words spill and risk shattering the desperate trance he’s succumbed to.

He devours your mouth with a hoarse grunt, the force causing your neck to crane back. The large hand holding you in place vanishes shortly before he starts pawing at your hips, clutching at the firm flesh and then seeking refuge in the dip of your ass.

“Lieut – ” you suck in a breath when he hoists you up like you’re nothing and nudges your legs until they’re wrapped around his thick waist. Your ankles lock over the small of his back and you hold a steady grip on his collar as he shushes you with a husky “shut up”.

His stubble grazes and prickles as he reclaims your wet lips with bruising vigor.

The chain lies broken, his resolve has been torn to shreds after months of no reciprocation. He’s a starved man, too battered and scarred to seek his fix from a stranger. So he’s looked to you, an amalgamation of senseless strength and a hollow heart, an abyss devoid of feeling or emotion, the worst possible option, but in his mind – the only option.

Desperation blinds even the strongest of warriors.

With wobbly steps, he squishes you between the wall and himself, lets words flow without a single sound, and twirls his tongue around yours as you perfectly follow his shaky guidance. He sucks at whatever he can find, made mad with a craving for your essence despite never having tasted you before, slobbers you like a touch-starved dog.

Crushed into the warm safety of his body, in the darkness of his quarters, you're hidden from the world as he gingerly indulges his wants. Senses peaking from overdrive, you only hear, smell and feel him, a fleshy mountain carrying the scent of what you learn is home. What little exposed skin you find is scalding, he shudders while you unintentionally map out his shoulders in search of purchase.

He peppers heated pecks down your jaw with a resounding groan and finds the even pulse in your neck.

You jolt as his teeth encase the spot and he freezes.

“Want me to stop?”

His head is nestled in the crook of your neck, away from the possible judgment of your sight. His voice is low, a scratchy reverberation, strained with a need too great to be put out by his self-restraint alone. He’s a mess, oozing hormones, jittery and uncertain but too lost in his delight to retreat.

He’s slipped inadvertently and wound up vulnerable.

“No.”

He’s satisfied with your answer only for a moment before the nagging reality starts chewing at his gut. You aren’t normal. You’re not the typical bird he’d pick out in a bar after a particularly heavy mission and one too many glasses of scotch. You’re fucked up.

He doesn’t want to keep asking, wishes so direly to stay blind and dumb to the facts spitting acid in his face. But he’s too grounded for such fantastical blessings.

“Want me to keep going?” he looks up with a clenched jaw.

His breathing slows, preparing for a hit similar to a bullet to the chest, but there is no Kevlar to shield him from the devastation. He’s bare before you, at your mercy despite his stoic composure keeping him visibly untouchable. You should pity him, feel something because your situation hints at him being more than an ally or friend. You should muddle the truth or let him down delicately, he deserves as much.

He wanted you to want him. He didn’t want to be alone in his desires.

But you’re no liar, you’re not a gentle soul. You offer him a curt, tasteless answer.

You stare him straight in the eyes and shoot.

“No.”

It stings more than it should.

“I want for nothing.”

The fire in his belly is extinguished, it feels as if the blood is sucked out of his body. The stab leaves his pulsing cock flaccid with only a stain of precum smeared against his boxers as a reminder of the blossoming need you’d snuffed out mercilessly.

He holds your gaze as the spark in his shrunken orbs vanishes, then slowly sets you down and tears himself away with disgust; regretful and insulted.

“Get out…”

Chapter 2 >>>

Masterlist

[I'm a bit uncertain about this one. It's a niche idea, but it's been swimming in my head for some time now. Someday I'll be satisfied with my writing, but for now I'll settle for this. I'm not great at COD characters so if anyone seems OOC forgive me. I try my best, but I'm a rookie.]

#ghost fanfiction #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #mw2 fanfic #x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you

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st4rvedbuck · 1 month

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I think the fandom of Ninjago should talk about Zane's fear of losing his humanity and his fear of any negative emotion in general. And how they contradict each other.

(warning, yap sesh ahead) TLDR: can nindroids get therapy? If so we need 5 therapists for Zane immediately

It's already established that Zane has a fear of being seen as just a machine, nothing but a freezer with fake coded emotions. But I haven't seen anyone talk in depth how he seems to turn off his emotions whenever he's faced with grief or stress, and how he only learnt to not do that far into his life.

He probably picked up that habit from when Dr. Julien turned off his memory switch before "dying" back in season 1. And he realized that if he went so long not feeling bad about the "death" of his creator by simply not remembering it or not having the actual emotion of grief, he wouldn't feel bad either when anything similar happened if he just turned off his emotions like Dr. Julien did to him.

The fact this lasted as long as it did meant nobody picked up on it* and tried to tell him he was wrong. Which only validated that idea because if there was a problem with it, someone would've told him..right?

But how can you say you don't want to lose your sense of humanity as a robot while simultaneously doing something humans can't whenever you're faced with stress? I'd say he'd overthink it, and feel guilty about not being honest with himself. He knows hes being irrational, but hes still terrified of the thought of no one seeing him as a person.

But at the same time, he's never been taught how to face stress by himself. Only for other people. It's not like he just doesn't know that ignoring your feelings is a way to avoid the problem and a bad coping mechanism, he obviously knows that. He probably just doesn't know any other solutions because his situation is so niche.

Because how could anyone not want what he has? In his position, he probably feels as if everyone would kill to be a nindroid. Since nobody tells him otherwise. We even see clips where the others use Zane's robot body as a joke or in one case, use him as a fucking cleaning robot. Can you imagine how dehumanizing it must feel for someone to be forced against their will like a puppet into doing a weeks worth of chores?

Zane probably feels as if his fears are irrational. Like he shouldn't have them because being a nindroid seems to be the only thing that others care about when they see him. He's a logical person for sure, but everyone has irrational thoughts and unless you face the reason you have those thoughts they aren't going to go away and they'll cloud your judgement. Zane, for sure, is not doing that. Because we can see he just simply forces himself to stop having emotions when they happen instead of facing them, which only fixes it temporarily.

So hes afraid of being seen as just a freezer with fake emotions (i have more to say about the "fake emotions" part), and because he doesn't face his feelings about why hes afraid of that he lets himself believe that is how people see him. Which causes him to think that fear is stupid and that he shouldn't have it, which makes him turn off his emotions for a while, and the cycle continues.

He also might believe his emotions arent needed. Like maybe at some point he convinces himself that if everyone else only sees him as a calculator with ice powers, maybe that's what he actually is. So on top of everything, he feels like since hes only a computer, all his emotions are fake. Therefore unnecessary.

Not to mention he most likely feels as if he's weak for letting Vex manipulate him. And emotions = weak, weak = manipulated again, manipulated again = letting everyone down. But thats just a little thought i had to let out.

If i could write I'd probably make a fic about him being confronted by this fear, but until then it'll stay in my brain.

Poor boy. Just look at him. He doesn't deserve this bro AUUGIGUGJGJGGHHGHHHH IM AUTISTIC 🥹

Edit: *i rewatched crystalized today and realized the other ninja ARE aware of Zanes habit. They just dont gaf 😭WHICH MAKES IT WORSE!!!

#ninjago #zane ninjago #i just now realized how unreadable this all is.#sorry chat #ninjago headcanons #excuse my bad english

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beebopboom · 7 days

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Shax’s Taunt

A scene that has always struck me as odd is this particular time Shax riles Crowley up, like it’s just so interesting. Not because she’s taunting him, that seems to be her thing, and not the switching of faces, that’s something that is established demons can back in s1.

Well maybe a little of that last one, has it ever been seen to be used as this extent?

No.

Back in s1 the Demons were disguised as humans, that much is true. They then turn around and boom they are back in the forms we recognize. Particularly Hastur.

And that’s all we see. Then they take Crowley (Aziraphale) to Hell.

But there is something more with Shax.

Shax is luring Crowley outside because she can’t touch him in the bookshop.

She then disappears, leaving Crowley to wonder around aimlessly not knowing where to expect her.

He bumps into someone throwing him off balance and that’s when Shax makes her first move, appearing just enough like the backpacking man but also with her features.

and then Crowley is further thrown off balance by the bike lady who just appears as Shax.

The thing though about both of these people is they continue walking after Shax has moved on to the next person, and you can only see Shax’s features after Crowley bumps into them.

Interesting, right?

This is not what we’ve seen before. This is something temporary, something that’s happening to actual people who don’t seem to even pause whenever Shax is done with them.

and then the final person that takes on Shax’s voice, a child.

No features of Shax, only the voice, no bumping into. This feels so significant, it’s different from both other times.

Why the child? Before this it was people who were physically throwing Crowley off balance. Maybe this was meant to throw him mentally off balance.

…Just how much does Shax know about our dynamic duo, and how did she get that information?

Picking a similar tactic to the one used to capture them for their execution, and only fully visibly transforming into the child. A known weakness for Crowley, at least for us.

This is a predator move, calculated. She’s playing with him.

Taking away his safety, his balance (ironic cause he’s a snake right?), all to finished it off with a child’s face.

Smart. It could have worked. Interesting that it didn’t, not really.

Even when she goes to Aziraphale as the hitchhiker it’s much more like what happened in s1 face wise so it makes this time stand out so much more.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens shax #crowley #aziraphale #good omens meta #good omens analysis

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schrijverr · 10 months

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Batman Fatale

While on a mission with the Justice League, Batman (who hasn’t revealed his secret identity) pulls out his Brucie voice, shocking the others.

Inspired by Head Problems by That_One_Curly_Haired_Fangirl on AO3.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none

~~~~

The Justice League is going for stealth, something Bruce didn’t think they were capable off, but so far he’s been pleasantly surprised. Though, maybe the promise of a good brawl later is what is keeping them quiet.

They’re infiltrating into Luthor’s office, underneath which he is building a robot army to overtake the world in the name of peace. Hacking in to disable them means sounding the alarm and Bruce has already calculated that it will take too long for him not to get swarmed by them, before he can take them out. Hence, the League, who will keep them off his back while he works.

However, they’ve run into a bit of roadblock in the form of the security guard, who is manning the front desk during the night shift.

Everyone has thrown out ideas to take him out, but Bruce wants to attract attention as late as possible and there are likely human operatives further down as well. They’ll notice if the guard were to disappear.

Besides, the guy, Amir, cleared his background check when he was planning this mission. He doesn’t know what he’s guarding and is just trying to make ends meat.

So, he holds up his hand and the whispered deliberation quiets down. As he pulls out his phone, he says: “I’ll handle this. Wait for my orders.”

They all shoot him confused and wary looks as he sets to dialing on his phone, keeping the screen away from them. He can say that it hurts that they don’t fully trust him, but he doesn’t care. He has his own family/team back in Gotham and if being a mysterious prick keeps his kids safe, he’ll gladly play the part.

He knew this roadblock might come up, so he prepared in advance. So, within seconds he is bringing the phone to his ear, while the others continue to look between him and the guard that’s on the other side of the glass doors.

Bruce mentally laughs, they probably expect assassins to swoop down and drag the man into the shadows.

Which is the opposite of what happens, because instead Amir startles then looks down at his now ringing phone. He smiles, then looks around a bit, checking that the coast is clear and completely missing the League, before picking up.

As Amir looks around, Hal hisses: “What the hell are you doing, Spooks? You don’t call the guy you wanna sneak-”

He shuts him up with a hand over his mouth, because Amir has picked up now. “Hey, hi, uhm, how are you doing, John?”

John is the fake name he used on the dating profile with the doctored photos. He feels a little bad about catfishing him, it’s slimy and Amir is actually cute too. Still, can’t be helped, so he puts as much Brucie charm into his voice as he flirty replies: “Hi, Amir, I’m good, just lonely. Would be better if you were with me. I’m practically indecent here for you.”

Immediately all the League’s heads snap his way, but he ignores them in favor of observing Amir. He is blushing, but looks pleased, before he sags a little. “I would love you, you’re so handsome-”

“I’d prefer pretty,” Bruce interrupts. “If you’re letting me down, at least call me pretty so I’ll know what it’ll sound like from you.”

Now Amir’s darker skin gets even more dark as he continues to blush. He stammers: “No, no, no. Not letting you down. Fuck. You’re so pretty, John. Of course I’m not letting you down. I’m just working, pretty boy, just working.”

“Booo,” Bruce whines, knowing how to sound appealing instead of annoying, albeit a little spoiled. “Can’t you just have a little break? Where do you work? I can come over, little blowie in the ally on a smoke break never hurt anybody.”

Amir groans at the offer, leaning back in his chair and looking at the ceiling, feeling a little despair by the look on his face. “I could get fired,” he protests, but it’s weak. Got him.

Bruce knows that he’s going to get fired anyway for letting them pass, but at least like this he’s out of harm’s way. He’s planning on offering him a job anyway. So, he insists again: “Promise I’ll get you off before they notice. It’ll tide me over until they let you go and you can show me what a proper good time is.”

Now Amir is looking around, no one except the League (who are all still staring and he wishes they’d stop) to see. So, he relents: “Alright, I work at the Luthor office. Uptown, you know it?”

“Oh my god, you’re kidding?” Bruce laughs in his most ditzy Brucie voice. “I’m literally at one of the bars down the street.”

“And what are you doing there?” Amir asks, trying to sound flirty, but coming across as a little insecure. It’s cute on him.

Bruce imagines himself twirling the phone cord at this point as he bats his eyes through his voice as he says: “Feeling lonely and thinking about you.”

Amir looks relieved at that, straightening up again as he asks: “Well, I can change one part of that for you. How fast can you get here?”

“Like two minutes,” Bruce answers.

“Meet you in the alley on the left then,” Amir says. “See you soon.”

“See you soon, handsome,” Bruce greets back, before hanging up. The second the line is dead, he reverts back to Batman’s voice and grunts: “Get ready to move.”

“What the fuck was that, Batman!” Hal is unsurprisingly the first to break. He never does know how to keep his mouth shut during stealth missions.

“Are you still Batman? Please tell me you’re still Batman. Because if you’ve been replaced by some alien, shape shifter or pod person, I don’t know what to do with myself. So you have to be Batman, even though Batman is creepy and mean and stand-offish and not flirty and-”

“Flash, quiet,” Bruce cuts of the rambling of the speedster. He’s not in the mood.

“You can at least tell us how you know the guard,” Clark speaks up, going for firm leader. Bruce can respect him for trying to lead these people who are all obviously not used to working as a team nor good at it. But the boy scout act sometimes gets on Bruce’s nerves.

He’s sure his kids and Alfred will have something to say about it, pointing to his trust issues that makes him perceive everything as an interrogation, but they aren’t here right now. Plus, he knows Damian at least will be on his side. He has people in his camp.

… Though that might not be a good thing. Hm, should he talk to Damian about it?

“It seems familiar somehow,” Oliver comments and Bruce hopes Amir moves soon. The last thing he wants is for Ollie to figure out who is under the cowl, the man is insufferable enough as it is.

“Batman?” Clark prompts, apparently he’s been quiet for long enough.

Falling back on one of his contingencies, he says: “Everyone should have skills in the acting and grifting department. Contact is sometimes unavoidable. I study people and I plan ahead. This is planning ahead.”

Right at that moment, Amir finally moves. Bruce feels a little bad about standing him up, but is glad to grapple away from the rest of the League. He hopes there will be a fight soon, because that way no one can ask him more questions.

#rr writing #batman #bruce wayne #brucie wayne #clark kent #superman #hal jordan #green latern #green arrow #oliver queen #flash #barry allen #justice league #jl #jla #dc #dc comics

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hollowed-theory-hall · 3 months

Note

Idk if you’ve been asked this before, but what are your thoughts on the Gaunt family? Do you think they interbred a little too close (like siblings together, aunts, and uncles to nieces and nephews) because they seemed to be the only Pureblooded family (that I can remember) that is canonically unattractive and inbred-looking? And when you look up the Gaunt family, it says, “Due to their habit of marrying their own cousins,” but like all Pureblood families have done that/do that, so why are they attractive and “normal" looking (or, were they even? I can’t remember). Why were the Gaunt’s different? Did it just happen to run in their genes specifically because I remember Marvolo Gaunt being described as looking like an “aged monkey” and then his ancestor(?), Salazar Slytherin, being described as also looking "monkeyish"?

I definitely think they inbred too close to the sun. And actually, we don't see many other pureblood families that are that closely related. Even the Black family, the "always pure", aren't super inbred. In the (more or less) canon family tree that has 7 generations back, the only in-family marriage is between Orion and Walburga Black (Sirius' parents) and they are second cousins who had no inbreeding in their bloodline at least 4 generations back.

I actually did some research about inbreeding and when it starts to become an actual risk to the offspring. From what I've read, even marrying first cousins wouldn't be that bad as long as it's not every generation. To calculate an inbreeding coefficient (basically how inbred someone is) you calculate according to how close the relatives were and then multiply it with every generation the inbreeding continues. The thing about inbreeding is that the moment you introduce new blood, the coefficient goes down to zero and you start the counter again. So as long as pureblood families keep the familial distance to, at least, second cousins and make sure to keep a breath of two generations between these marriages they could get away with looking pretty normal and not harming their genes too much. Like, there are no major health risks, even though their breeding pool is still relatively small and too similar which puts them at a general health risk, and squib risk, but that isn't exactly an inbreeding issue, more a lack of genetic diversity in a small closed-off community issue (I talked about this here).

But the Gaunts are a different story. As you mentioned, the Gaunts are described as ugly:

The man standing before them had thick hair so matted with dirt it could have been any color. Several of his teeth were missing. His eyes were small and dark and stared in opposite directions

-Morfin Gaunt (HBP, 201)

An elderly man had come hurrying out of the cottage, banging the door behind him so that the dead snake swung pathetically. This man was shorter than the first, and oddly proportioned; his shoulders were very broad and his arms overlong, which, with his bright brown eyes, short scrubby hair, and wrinkled face, gave him the look of a powerful, aged monkey.

-Marvolo Gaunt (HBP, 202)

a girl whose ragged gray dress was the exact color of the dirty stone wall behind her. She was standing beside a steaming pot on a grimy black stove, and was fiddling around with the shelf of squalid-looking pots and pans above it. Her hair was lank and dull and she had a plain, pale, rather heavy face. Her eyes, like her brother’s, stared in opposite directions. She looked a little cleaner than the two men, but Harry thought he had never seen a more defeated-looking person.

-Merope Gaunt (HBP, 204)

Magically very weak:

as Merope, who had already picked up the pot, flushed blotchily scarlet, lost her grip on the pot again, drew her wand shakily from her pocket, pointed it at the pot, and muttered a hasty, inaudible spell that caused the pot to shoot across the floor away from her, hit the opposite wall, and crack in two.

(HBP, 205)

And if we count Hogwarts Legacy, Ominis Gaunt was born blind, something that can be caused by inbreeding. I mentioned their magical weakness is also most likely the result of a lack of genetic diversity, something we actually see with two other wizards:

Crabbe and Goyle.

Both are also described as ugly, stupid, and magically weak. And, of course, pure blood. Basically, I think these two families have an inbreeding problem between cousins as well...

In general, not all Gaunts are as ugly as they are described. Isolt Sayre, who founded Illvermony and whose mother was a Gaunt is implied to look normal. So do her mother, Rionach Sayre (born Gaunt), and aunt Gormlaith Gaunt, who is a pure-blood maniac (and a general maniac) but isn't described as ugly in any way. Ominis Gaunt also looks completely normal in Hogwarts Legacy (though I'm not sure how canon I consider the game). This makes me think the inbreeding of the Gaunts is relatively recent. The fact that both Morfin and Merope are described with eyes looking in different directions but Marvolo doesn't again, suggests that Marvolo might have married a bit too close, even for pure-bloods.

I also checked the description of Salazar Slytherin:

It was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard’s sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor.

(CoS, 284)

Which is quite similar to Marvolo's description. So, in the case of Marvolo's ugliness, it's likely just the genes he got that were intensified by some level of inbreeding, but not anything worse than Crabbe and Goyle; as in marriage between cousins too often in the last 4 generations, but not something closer or something that has always been the case (probably not considering they aren't all infertile squibs). It's why he is somewhat more reasonable, stable, and magically capable than his kids.

Basically, I think Marvolo had his kids with another Gaunt that was too close to him genetically, be it a sister or first cousin who happened to share both sets of grandparents and great-grandparents with Marvolo. Something like that would definitely cause a quick decline. I'm leaning towards sister.

If we take Hogwarts Legacy as canon, the Gaunts, in 1890 are still a respectable enough family to be associated with the Blacks (as Ominis mentions his father is closely acquainted with Phineas Nigellus Black). But by 1926, the Gaunts are living in a hovel, dressed in dirty rags and the Blacks would likely be offended by the notion of knowing them. Marvolo acts like he remembers how important they once were and raves about it, but Merope and Morfin don't seem to know a life other than the one they are living.

So, my headcanon is that they were inbred more than the Blacks by the time Marvolo was born. They married cousins every generation in the past 4 generations, unlike the Blacks who made sure to marry other pure-blood families as I mentioned above. The Gaunts, like the Blacks, probably married other pure-blood families until the last few generations, like with Rionach Sayre I mentioned. But by Marvolo, their genetic diversity was shit as is. Then Marvolo was the one who married too close even by pure-blood standards. I think he "married" (quotation marks because I don't think it's legal in the Wizarding World) his sister and had his two very inbred kids with her. I think this, for pure-blood society was too much and caused the Gaunts to be pushed into the fringes the way we see them. I mean, Marvolo raves as if he can remember the times his family mattered:

“Summons! Summons? Who do you think you are, summoning my son anywhere?” “I’m Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad,” said Ogden. “And you think we’re scum, do you?” screamed Gaunt, advancing on Ogden now, with a dirty yellow-nailed finger pointing at his chest. “Scum who’ll come running when the Ministry tells ’em to? Do you know who you’re talking to, you filthy little Mudblood, do you? [...] “So!” said Gaunt triumphantly, as though he had just proved a complicated point beyond all possible dispute. “Don’t you go talking to us as if we’re dirt on your shoes! Generations of purebloods, wizards all — more than you can say, I don’t doubt!”

(HBP, 207-208)

He expects to be treated with the respect he likely wouldn't have received if the Gaunts were already in their hovel when Marvolo was growing up.

Hope this answers your question! 😊

#harry potter #hp #hp meta #asks #anon asks #anonymous #wizarding world #wizarding society #gaunt family #house of gaunt #magical genetics

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writteninlunarlight-years · 3 months

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I would like some Alastor with my favorite MBTIs Reader here:

Alastor with ESTP! Reader

Alastor with INFJ! Reader

and Alastor with ISTP! Reader

Headcanons.

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4

I also added at the end my MBTI, I haven't taken this test since I was 16, and though most of my personality has stayed the same, two of my letters have changed. Bet you can't guess which ones.

ESTP (Entrepreneur) Reader:

Alastor enjoys the business side of you, even though it reminds him a lot of his time back with Vox. However, you balance your business and friendships well. You mix work with play almost as smoothly as whiskey goes down for him.

Alastor hates when you jump into things head first, not because he is against seeing what happens to you but because you always manage to come out on top. He has never known someone to rival him in pure power and knowledge.

He finds your bravery almost pathetic if it weren't for you constantly picking a bone with him to see who really is the most powerful between the two. He finds your inability to be scared of him almost endearing and frightening.

Being highly perceptive allowed you to see Alastors' masks much easier than others. This created friction between you two until he realized that having a like-minded confidant was all right.

Overall, Alastor really likes you. He sees a lot of himself and past friends in you. Please be aware of your competitive defiance, though it can vex him. If you consider that, though, he will immensely enjoy your direct and perceptive nature.

INFJ (Advocate) Reader:

When Alastor first met you, he thought he had met another Charlie, but much quieter. Your introverted nature confused him, especially with the big goals and plans you boasted about to your friends. Yet he saw that you, like himself, like to work in the shadows for a more significant cause—even if that cause is for the greater good and against him.

Alastor finds your need for altruism all too close to home. When you came into his life with these grand ideas and a sense of not belonging, he wanted nothing more than to prove you wrong and show you how amazing you are. Yet that leads to weakness and his need to be altruistic alone.

Alastor took your kindness for granted, leaving a sour taste in both your mouths as he managed to ruin something good between you two before it even started. Yet you never stopped being kind, allowing him to find new things about you to love and attempt to understand.

Alastor, also the ever-elusive figure he is, understands the complexity of being burnt out and having difficulty picking up where one left off. However, with you in his life, he finds that you two can help the creative imbalances within each other as they arise.

Overall, Alastor enjoys your kindness, creativity, and articulation. This allows him to overlook some of the qualities he finds annoying most and lets him accept his deep, hidden kindness for you and all your friends.

ISTP (Virtuoso) Reader:

Alastor's first meeting with you was chaotic. You found a million and one things in the hotel that needed shaping up, and all of this made Alastor even more peeved that you were changing his ideas. He wanted nothing more than to blip you out of existence, but as you fixed things and they came out better than imagined, he slowly grew to enjoy this, even giving you some of his own personal objects to fine-tune.

It worried Alastor at first, as more people began seeking redemption, how you closed yourself off in the workshop that Charlie added for you. He thought maybe someone had wronged you, yet as he learned that you just didn't care for strangers or large groups of people, he slowly began to work on his scripts in your office or even bring your tinkering tools into his studio so you two could quietly still spend time together.

Your brash bluntness tends to cause many fights in the hotel, especially with the eccentric Lucifer and the cold, calculating Alastor. Though Alastor enjoys knocking Lucifer down a peg or two, he hates it when you call him out on his actions. This creates brief tension between you two that fades as soon as he needs a new thing fixed.

Alastor, working with the Shadows has always been a hot topic between you. Your being overly skeptical and his believing in what worked for him led to many discussions and arguments. However, when Alastor warmed up to you and showed you how his magic worked, you had a face of wonder and understanding as you two began researching and looking into all these new possibilities.

Overall, Alastor enjoys how you can overcome any adversity and still remain true to your authentic self. Yet when it comes to your stubborn and blunt opinions, he sometimes would like to pass. If you two can find a happy balance, everything will be good.

ENFP (Campaigner) Reader:

Out of all the others listed, you terrify Alastor the most. You are so energetic and the exact duplicate of Charlie. You seek to find emotional connections and understand people to new extremes, which terrifies the poor deer man, as he can not risk anyone knowing his deep, dark secrets.

Alastor finds your way of thinking odd, that how we treat one another is, in turn, how the world will treat us. He did nothing wrong as a boy, and the world still treated him wrong. Yet when you explained your reasoning for why that could be, he was amazed at how articulate and powerful your words were.

Alastor found it terrifying that your warm, empathetic nature allowed him even a moment of vulnerability, let alone many moments that have him seeking you out privately more often than not. However, your tendencies to internalize and seek answers to his problems worry him, as he notices you sleeping less and less while you worry away over him.

Alastor can not stand your people-pleasing tendencies and often will be a bad cop for you so you can get some rest. As stated, it is tough on him when he is the reason you are people-pleasing. This sends him into a fit of rage when you sit there and keep trying to be the listener and fixer of the group, forgetting yourself and your needs.

Your warm, kind personality was a total put-off, but as he realized you had a way with words that rivaled even his momma, he found himself warming up to you. Find a way to balance your need to help everyone while still taking care of yourself, and I am sure Alastor will have fewer heads to roll.

#x reader #headcanon #lunarwritings #moons #hazbin hotel #hazbinhotel #hotel hazbin #hazbin #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel

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bigtreefest · 6 months

Note

I dare you to write a piece using a character that you want to, but have never had a chance to write for before. With the sentence "Well that was a surprise."

Saint or Sinner?

College! Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Word Count: 1,331

A/N: Amber!!! Thank you for tickling my brain with this dare! I honestly wanted to do Andy so badly, but this quote was screaming Lloyd to me and I couldn’t resist. To be completely honest, I had no intention of writing him, but my fingers tip-tapped away and I lost all control. I might’ve been possessed.

I also always plan on writing a Drabble, and then it ends up being as long as one of my fic chapters, but anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Smut (oral, m receiving), use of pet names, sociopathic tendencies, mean Lloyd, a twist?

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Ever since you were old enough date, you’ve been happily independent. You grew up in a small town, surrounded by blue collar families, including most of the members of your own.

You’d always had a keen ability to fit in anywhere, which you attribute to your upbringing. Your mom worked a corporate job, while your dad spent all day in a mechanic shop.

You were well off, but not raised like it, and you’d never judge those who had less than you, even though that’s what a lot of people expected.

Once you graduated high school, you got into Harvard where you met Lloyd. Lloyd was someone who was good at keeping his distance. You noticed it at first when you invited him to join a study group you had started with some other members of your cohort.

You received a terse “No thanks, Pumpkin,” punctuated with a curt nod and a wink, before he went to hang out with his other friends and his team.

You had made multiple attempts to include him in group activities, or engage in conversation when you could nab a seat next to him in class, but after some time, you stopped seeing him altogether. You could tell he was avoiding you and the study group you had become closer with. You’d probably actually call them your friends, becoming just as close as you were to some people back home. They picked up on the same things too, seeing that you were humble, and carried yourself in such a proper manner, earning you the nickname “the Saint.”

When word of that got around to Lloyd, he rolled his eyes. You were the complete opposite of him. Kind, welcoming, calculated, while he was cold, unpredictable, sociopathic. He couldn’t stand how successful you were, too. Professors and students alike constantly praised you, more than willing to help you in any way through your academic journey and career beyond. Where he schmoozed, you gracefully existed and got just as far.

You were perfect in everyone’s eyes, including his own, which is what infuriated him. There had to be a weak spot, somewhere where your surface would crack, and he had initially tried to find it by turning you down all those times, but it was unsuccessful.

None of the manipulation tactics he had worked so hard on perfecting for so long made you budge, either. He’d pluck out a random friend from your group to join his. Nothing. He’d sabotage your flash drive for your presentation, you’d have a backup in your email, ready to go. After you’d gone, you wished him luck and no technical difficulties like you had, with a giggle! He was enraged.

After being at the top of your class, the two of you were selected to go to a conference in DC. It was hardly supervised by your professor who had booked two rooms for you next to each other, getting himself a suite a few floors above.

You knocked on Lloyd’s door in the late afternoon, the day before your presentation. He opened it just enough to peek his head through.

“What do you want?”

You sighed with your signature smile on your face. “Did you want to go over everything one more time before dinner?”

He looked you up and down, face as stern as it ever was when he was dealing with you. “Not really, Sunshine.” He slammed the door in your face.

What Lloyd didn’t know was that all his little tactics were really chipping away at you. All you wanted was to spend time with him, to get close. You couldn’t help it. You’d be lying if you said it was in your usual friendship way, too.

No, you wanted more. There was something about how aloof he was that drew you in. You were obsessed and not willing to give up until you got what you wanted, what you deserved.

His little tendencies weren’t upsetting because he was rude, they were upsetting because they were keeping you away from what your body and the deep, dark recesses of your mind were screaming for.

The door slamming in your face was the last straw. Lloyd wouldn’t get away with this any longer. You could see what he was trying to do, and if you had any say, you’d make sure it failed. You were going to be the winner of the little mind game he was playing.

To be honest, by this point, Lloyd had given up, thinking you’d never break. You were just too sweet, a true Saint. Treating you like this had just become habit, which is why he was almost confused when he heard muttering on the other side of his door.

You had taken the magnetic clip out of your hair and maneuvered it against the hotel key card reader until it unlocked. The door flew open and your eyes landed on Lloyd, stomping towards him and pinning him with his back against the nearest wall.

He looked down at you, face unreadable beside his eyes being slightly wider than usual.

“Why are you being like this!? What did I do!?” You gritted out, your tone threatening.

Lloyd didn’t say anything, only the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

“Tell. Me.” You slammed your hands against the wall, arms framing his head as you looked up into his eyes, your stomach pressed against his cock that was growing rock hard.

“Am I going to have to pull it out of you? Suck it out of you, myself?” Lloyd found himself at a loss for words for once. All he could do was part his lips slightly and give a small nod like he always did.

You began to unbuckle the belt of his ridiculously expensive pants, shoving them down just enough that you could see the hard-on pressing against his boxer briefs.

“Huh? Is that what you want? That what you need, Pumpkin?” You spat back at him, mocking his previous words.

His brain was finally beginning to catch up with the situation as he nodded down to you and you got on your knees.

“Yeah, do it. I know you want to. Suck me off.”

You didn’t need much more prompting, fueled by rage and control. You pulled down his underwear, his dick springing free.

You gave him no time to prepare, immediately licking from the base of his length to the tip before fully taking him into your mouth. Your mouth was stretching to accommodate his girth, but it was nothing for you in the lust of the moment. You set a vigorous pace, Lloyd’s head thrown back against the wall as he moaned loudly.

He pulled his head forward as his abs tensed, already close with the debauchery of the situation. He tangled his ringed fingers in your hair, helping to guide you along his length.

“That’s it. Keep going. Not such a Saint, are you?”

You hummed against his length in response, saliva dripping down your chin and his balls that you were lightly tugging in you hand. The other hand had its nails dug into his thigh, causing a slight sting that heightened the pleasure for Lloyd.

Before he knew it, he was coming down your throat. You pulled away as you swallowed his salty release, looking up at him and wiping off your face before standing up.

You caught his gaze again and Lloyd looked at you with bewilderment mixed with his post-orgasmic haze.

“Well that was a surprise.” He said between heavy breaths, pulling up his underwear and pants, buckling his belt again. Oh, he had no idea the tactics you had in store for him.

Your hands pressed against his abs in his knitted shirt. One stayed there as the other traced up his firm pec, past his collar and found purchase around his neck, lightly squeezing.

“So are you finally going to tell me what’s going on in the head behind that ridiculous mustache?”

Bonus A/N: Um… I don’t really know what happened. I think I blacked out.

#ST’s 100 follower truth or dare game #100 follower truth or dare game #truth or dare #dare #lloyd Hansen #lloyd Hansen x reader #lloyd Hansen x you #lloyd hansen smut #the gray man #Chris Evans #st answers

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crucifiedfaerie · 11 months

Text

Kylo Ren — SFW Alphabet

no warnings, just lots of fluff and lil bit of angst !! however, just bc its SFW, doesn't mean i want minors interacting w this, BEGONE !!! TO THE GLUE TRAP YOU GO !

— AFFECTION (how affectionate are they?)

in the beginning of your relationship, affection was very scarce. kylo wanted so badly to open up to you more, but was too afraid to, so when he would catch himself getting too close or too affectionate he would pull away and become that cold and calculated kylo again who you knew all too well. when he did finally admit his feelings, he couldn't get enough of you, as if he were making up for all of the lost time he spent pushing you away.

"i cant believe i waited so long to do this, what a fool i am."

— BEST FRIEND (what are they like as a bestie?)

the only hc i have for you as best friends would be if you grew up together in jedi training... and you guys would fuck w each other CONSTANTLY. like practically bully each other, it's all in good fun though. luke would refer to the two of you as partners-in-many-crimes because of the several messes you'd make doing stupid shit. one time ben almost burned the hut down because you dared him to light fireworks outside of luke's window while he slept. bad fucking idea.

"you idiot, he's going to kill us, you know?"

— CUDDLES (how do they like to cuddle?)

kylo loves holding you. his favorite is when your head is on his chest because it makes it easy for him to play with your hair. he also loves being the big spoon, wrapping his strong arms around your small frame. in those moments you were a tiny, precious thing that he wanted only to love and keep safe.

— DOMESTIC (thoughts on settling down? how would they be helping out around?)

kylo wanted nothing more than to make you his and his only forever. despite how kylo treats literally everyone else, he is a very doting partner and has a huge soft spot for you and only you. he's better at helping with cooking than he is cleaning. anytime he would try to clean, he'd never do it right or fully and you'd end up telling him to stop and do it yourself lol.

"what do you MEAN i'm not doing it right?!"

— ENDING (how would breakups go?)

its simply not happening. if he broke up with you, he didn't actually mean it and said it out of anger in the heat of the moment. if you broke up with him, he would probably lose his mind. his cold façade would shatter into a million pieces and he'd promise he would change, do better, do whatever it was you needed him to do. you were his and the mere thought of anyone else ever having you filled him with insurmountable rage and sadness.

— FIANCEE (how do they feel about commitment?)

kylo is devoted to you wholeheartedly. being his empress and ruling over the first order by his side would only solidify that.

— GENTLE (how gentle are they?)

when he isn't being a freak, he handles you as if you are made of glass. a pretty, precious thing that could break at any moment. if you fall asleep next to the fireplace, he will pick you up and carry you to bed, making sure the blankets are tucked around the both of you in the way you like, so you don't wake up cold in the morning.

— HUGS (do they like hugs? what are their hugs like?)

kylo loves hugging you, and you love hugging him. bc of his height, you are dwarfed by him and his hugs feel like getting tightly wrapped in a large, warm blanket. usually he just bends down to hug you, but sometimes he picks you up.

— I LOVE YOU (how long does it take for them to say the L word?)

again, kylo is terrified of showing weakness, so in the beginning of your relationship he's very cold towards you. every time he was around you he had to fight the strong urges telling him to be honest with you. after a long while, he did finally say it though. he was so nervous when he first said it, his eyes scanning your face for a reaction and his palms sweating. now he reminds you that he loves you all the time, especially if he's going out on a mission and won't be back for a couple weeks.

"don't look so sad, my star. i love you, you know i always come back to you."

— JEALOUSY (how jealous do they get?)

kylo is as jealous of a man as you can get. the mere thought of someone trying to take you from him fills him with a rage that rivals the fire of a thousand suns. one time he heard a guard having very loud, impure thoughts about his empress so kylo killed him. you have always been much more passive than he is, so you were not happy to see that he had killed someone on your living room floor.

"but my love- his thoughts were so loud! what else was i supposed to do?!"

— KISSES (do they like kissing? what are their kisses like?)

kissing you is kylo's favorite past time. if you both are out and his helmet is on, all he's thinking about is getting home so he can kiss you. sometimes if no one's around, he will lift his mask up just enough so it only exposes the bottom half of his face so he can get a quick kiss or two or eight in. his kisses are warm and never fail to send tingles down your spine, and you always say kylo tastes of cinnamon and smoke. to him, you taste of summer fruit.

— LITTLE ONES (how are they around kids?)

he's indifferent towards other peoples children, thankfully he's less harsh on them than adults, but he isn't pleasant to them either. one time he blew up on a servant boy that was no older than eleven, and you scolded him afterwards. "he's just a child kylo, don't be so hard on him." he has such a soft spot for you and admires the empathy you have for others that he will never have. he promised you he would try to be a little nicer. yours and his children however, he treats as well as he treats you. they are an extension of his beloved, after all. i hc that kylo is a wonderful father, making sure they receive the fatherly love he never got.

— MORNINGS (how do your mornings with them go?)

sometimes on busy days, he's gone by the time you wake up. you always look so beautiful and peaceful when you're sleeping, so he doesn't dare wake you up. instead he kisses your head and whispers that he loves you and that he will return shortly. he knows you can't hear him, but he likes to tell you anyways. on days he doesn't have to leave so early, you stay in bed together. kissing, cuddling, talking, other things. kylo is content doing anything as long as it's with you.

— NIGHTS (how do your nights with them go?)

this is a sfw post, therefore i cannot describe how your nights with kylo would go lmao. please refer to the nsfw abc's. afterwards though, kylo is a doting partner that takes care of you, cleaning you up and tending to every single mark he left on your body that he worships so much.

— OPEN (how open are they? when will they tell you more about themselves?)

the first few months of your relationship is like dating a brick wall, it is not easy getting kylo to open up. once he does though, he makes sure not to hide anything from you anymore. it took a lot of work and patience, but he loves and trusts you wholeheartedly.

— PATIENCE (how patient are they with you?)

kylo has a temper, and he tries so hard, but he does have slip ups sometimes. any time he blows up on you though, he apologizes immediately. you know he loves you because he absolutely hates admitting he was wrong.

— QUIZZES (how much do they remember about you?)

everything. every detail, every like, every dislike, your favorite color, your favorite flower, your blood type, your fears, hopes, and dreams. this man remembers EVERYTHING about you. at least fifty percent of his brain is an archive of facts about you.

— REMEMBER (what is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

the first time you told him you loved him. it was the first time anyone told him they loved him, and you made him feel like he was ben again. he used to be so scared of being that boy he tried so hard to kill, but you held that part of him so tenderly, that he knew he'd be an absolute fool to try to push that away.

— SECURITY (how protective are they of you?)

kylo protects you with his own life and would kill thousands for you, despite your disdain for unnecessary violence. you are the most important thing to him, and he would have to be dead before he let anything happen to you.

— TRY (how much effort do they put into dates/special occasions?)

kylo ren has an ungodly amount of rizz and i stand by that. this man buys you your favorite flowers, he sets up candlelit dinners, he watches the sunset with you, he makes you personalized playlists like every other fuckboy except he doesn't send it to seven other women. whether you're his empress yet or not, he treats you like royalty. @enviedear and i also have a hc that kylo is the type of guy to pick out your nail polish color for you, and then buy a tie to wear that matches.

"you'd look so heavenly in this shade of red, my star."

— UGLY (what is a bad habit of theirs?)

kylo has an awful temper and is prone to outbursts. he tries SO hard to not have a temper with you, but everyone makes mistakes. he always apologizes to you though. i also hc that kylo is a nail biter, idk it just makes sense ?? that man is a caged animal and emotionally damaged, he definitely has anxiety.

— VANITY (how insecure are they? what are they insecure about?)

our poor babygirl is sooo insecure about everything, no matter how much you tell him how beautiful he is. your loving words of affirmation always make him feel a little better though.

— WHOLE (would they feel incomplete without you?)

without you, kylo would return to the broken, shell of a man he was before you. if he somehow lost you, hundreds of innocent lives would be lost due to the rampage he'd go on.

— XTRA (a random headcanon about them)

another hc that liv and i came up with was kylo's and ben's music taste. kylo listens to typical male manipulator music like radiohead, the smiths, and deftones with some angrier shit like slipknot and korn. ben is a different breed of male manipulator that listens to the weeknd and pulls up blasting solo by future. we also hc that both cry alone to lana del rey.

— YUCK (what are some things they dislike?)

anything and everything that isn't you. his least favorite thing though, is when he can hear people's rude or impure thoughts about you. he hasn't told you this, but he's killed at least fifteen people for doing just that.

"personally, i think fifteen isn't enough."

— ZZZZ (what are their sleeping habits like?)

for the first few months of your relationship, he did not sleep around you. you were convinced he didn't sleep... like ever. after he became more vulnerable with you though, he would. you love how peaceful he looks when he sleeps. i also hc that sometimes he gets terrible, vivid nightmares that he wakes up crying from :(

#kylo ren #ben solo #star wars #kylo ren x reader #ben solo x reader #star wars x reader #star wars sequel trilogy #the force awakens #the last jedi #the rise of skywalker

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