#i want to be a woman but saying that feels wrong. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

oceantornadoo · 1 day ago

Text

ch14 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: guns and violence. christmas is mentioned but nothing religious

last chapter yall! i did not edit this srry

masterlist

The day your life changes forever, again, is emotional for all the wrong reasons.

Two months after you get rescued (John insists that you rescued yourself, but you like to remember that image of him haloed by light at the top of the stairs like an angel), you send your brother and his husband back home to Manchester. The morning breeze whips the fabric of your coat as you squint at your family in front of you. Simon is dressed in his usual dark slacks and button down, the lines of his tattoos escaping the fabric to trail up his neck. Johnny’s mohawk has grown into a mullet, curly hairs framing his face like a cherub. They stand in front of the Castle doors with their backs to the waiting car, eyes trained on you and occasionally flicking to John or Gaz at your sides.

“I’m going to miss you.” You murmur, hugging Johnny first. He squeezes you until you’re lifted off the ground and pounding on his back to let you go. “Gonna miss ye too, hen.” He sets you on your feet laughing, then leans in to kiss your forehead. “Take care of y’rself.” He says it to you but his eyes meet John’s, a silent conversation happening between them. You turn to Simon, leaving Johnny to have intimidating handshakes with the men by you.

“Bye, Si.” He smothers you in a hug like he’s trying to merge you into him. “Bye, my love.” You sniffle into the crook of his neck, willing yourself not to cry. “You gonna visit more often?” You ask, voice weak with emotion. He nods tightly against you. “And it can’t just be because I got kidnapped. You need to come for fun.” He grumbles something nonsensical at that. Simon’s still sensitive over not finding Phil, a task that had eaten away at him all month. John finally called it after there was evidence Phil fled to Cuba. Simon squeezes you once more, freezing for a second when he feels the Glock tucked in your waistband. He sets you on your feet, his eyes searching yours as you try to tell him why. Satisfied that he found something, Simon nods resolutely. His eyes are wet but in a blink they’re dry, maintaining his tough-guy persona. You snort back a sob like a real woman, turning away as the men shake hands.

“Bye, guys!” You say one last time as they turn, hands almost brushing on their walk to the car. Johnny winks at you before dipping into the car while Simon turns his head upwards like he’s blinking back tears. The door shuts and they disappear in a cloud of exhaust.

John’s arm wraps around your waist, tugging you into him. You go willingly, hiding your face in his neck as you fold into him. “You’ll see him for Christmas, sweetheart.” Only a few weeks away, but it feels like eons. John kisses the side of your head, squeezing you tight until you can breathe. “John, I just…” You don’t even know what you want to say, just that you already miss your family with a deep ache in your heart. His free hand finds purchase at the nape of your neck, tugging you closer into him. “I know, baby, I know.” The simple acknowledgement of your feelings calms your breathing into a normal rhythm until you can pull back with a small smile on your face.

“I think I’m going to take a walk. Clear my head.” He nods, his beard pulling at the sides. You notice new grey hairs at the sides, a worrying look. “I’ll come?” You shake your head no, then peck him on the lips. “I think I need to be alone, honey. You can have all the men watch me from every corner of the park, I promise.” John knocks his forehead into yours for a second before pulling back with a grim smile on his face. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.” He pecks your forehead and turns back inside. Gaz nods at you, then taps his ear and speaks something into his earpiece.

You venture across the street into the local park. It reminds you a bit of Central Park in the movies, full of natural structures rather than just a flat patch of grass. You let your feet guide you, taking deep breaths in the crisp winter air. A moment later, you realize this is the first time in a while you haven’t thought about your kidnapping. Your therapist’s breathing techniques make an appearance as you pat yourself on the back.

Though the leaves are dead and the air is chilly, there’s still a lot of foliage in the park. Considerable bunches of bushes protect you from the wind as you walk in deeper. It’s calming to know that there’s guards watching you from somewhere you can’t see, a safety blanket to fall back on. As you turn left, you notice a tiny hill that rises into an overhang. Your feet weave a path towards it, settling your back to the rock wall and sliding down into a sitting position as you contemplate the last few months.

Footsteps crunch on dead leaves as someone approaches from behind you. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’d really prefer to be alon-” You stop in the middle of your sentence when you register the man standing in front of you. He’s thinner from when you last saw him, cheeks gaunt and sallow. His hair looks thinner and though you know it’s not possible, he looks shorter. A dark cap blocks you from seeing his eyes, an unsettling realization creeping over you.

“What, how, I thought you left the country?” Phil shakes his head, advancing near your spot. You scramble to sit up, wincing as your head knocks against the short overhang. You try to step out of its shadow but Phil steps forward again, preventing you from peeling out of the shadows. “Couldn’t leave you, sugar. Was jus’ waiting for your brother to leave.” You shiver at his insinuation. He seems…off. No longer the confident assistant or the wily interrogator. It’s like you are his mission now that Shepherd is gone.

“Why don’t we get out of this cold and grab a tea, Phil? I bet you’re shivering.” He’s not even wearing a coat, dressed in a worn pair of jeans and a cotton long sleeve. If you can just get out of the overhang so security can see you…

Phil shakes his head, fumbling for something at his side. Your dominant hand is still against the hard slab of rock, originally there to steady you as you stood up. “I’ve been watchin’ you. Waiting.” You nod, hand pressing against your pants as you fumble for the Glock tucked in your waistband. “Waiting for what?” You steady your voice so it doesn’t sound nervous. You smile sweetly at him, like you’re excited to be conversing with your kidnapper. Phil smiles back and you hold back your flinch. He’s missing two teeth, like they were pulled out at all the wrong angles. You shiver to think of how else Shepherd punished him.

“To talk to you, sugar. We could’ve had somethin’ great at the bookstore.” You swallow and nod, smiling tightly. Your hand finally finds the cold metal of the gun, fingers falling into a familiar grip at the handle. “I know, I’m sorry it went the way it did. I enjoyed our time there.” He nods sharply, eyes glittering with zeal. Shepherd must have knocked something loose in his brain, some part to turn him into this frenzied stalker. Phil looks at a loss for words so you stumble through a question.

“How were you watching me? Must’ve been pretty clever of you.” You give him a tooth grin, encouraging him to continue with a head nod. “Well, I-” You flick out your gun, hands sure as you aim it at him. “I need you to step backwards, Phil.” He refuses, shaking his head vehemently. “I can’t let you out there, sugar. My mission isn’t complete.” You walk forward with the gun and Phil doesn’t follow your lead, standing tall. “Move, Phil. Let’s talk this out in the park.”

It happens in a flash.

Phil reaches for the gun and you fire. Years of lessons come back instantly, all those times you pushed yourself to learn self-defense techniques, even when Johnny pleaded exhaustion and Simon pleaded never-ending work. You squeeze the trigger again, shooting through his outstretched fingers. It’s like a release.

The gunshot garners the attention of your security team. Men and women swarm you instantly, securing the body and taking the weapon out of your grip. John is there a minute later, petting your face worriedly. Gaz is asking questions but all you can focus on is the maroon stain of blood drying on the dusty rocks and lifeless grass of the park. You squeeze the gun in your grip before realizing someone took it from you, your fingers only finding air.

“I did it.” Finally, your eyes focus on John’s, noting the concern woven into your skin. “You did.” His hands don’t stop moving, squeezing your face and sides like he can’t believe you’re in front of him. “Let’s get you home, sweetheart. Ok?” You nod once and he smiles like you’ve impressed him. “Ok.”

For Christmas, John only buys you one gift.

Well, not exactly.

John cannot bear the sight of his city anymore, so he convinces you to stay, temporarily, in the countryside after you shoot Phil. After you, his wife, killed her own enemy in a park. A fact he reminds himself of everyday, turning it around in his brain like a puzzle he can’t solve. He can’t protect you, plain and simple. There’s only one solution for that.

You beg him to do Christmas in the library in front of the fireplace, a festive tree tucked in the corner. It’s been just you and him since the shooting. He can’t bear losing your attention to any other person and you’re too skittish to be around more than one person at a time. Jumping at every footstep, staring at the corners of the old master bedroom in the estate like there are ghosts watching. Laswell’s wife agreed that an escape to a new location might be good for you since the Castle and its surrounding park hold too many terrifying memories.

“I want you to open this one first, John.” There you are, haloed by firelight as you hand him a red and green present. You’re clothed in Christmas pajamas, a matching set you forced John to wear as well. He shakes his head no, sliding the envelope from where he was holding it behind his back. “You first, sweetheart.” You drop the present with a frown, snatching the envelope from his waiting hands.

You break the wax seal impatiently, tugging the set of papers out of their cage and setting them on the floor in front of you. Your eyes scan the papers quickly before frowning at him. “What are these?” John scans your face for any sense of a reaction, but it’s a smooth mask. “Read the top, baby.” You don’t look down at the papers, eyes trained on his face. “Let me rephrase. Why are you handing me divorce papers, John?” He sighs frustratedly.

“I can’t protect you. You said it, sweetheart. You’re trapped. I’m lettin’ you out. You never signed up for losin’ your life.” Instead of answering him, you slap your hands on the wooden floors and scramble into a standing position. “You’re an absolute ass, you know that?” You turn smartly and march into the bookshelves, John sharp on your heels. He thought this might happen, but he didn’t expect such an angry reaction. He thought you might be a little distraught but glad to go back to Manchester and put this shamble of a marriage behind you.

You’re muttering things under your breath as he chases you through the bookshelves. Right before the shelf ends, you whip around, flames in your eyes. “I haven’t hated you for months, but I think I do right now.” You bite out. John puts his hands up like you’re a wild animal needing to be calmed. “I thought you’d be glad. You were trapped.” You roll your eyes, nearing him quickly. “If I didn’t choose this marriage, you would know, John. I can clearly use a gun.” You haven’t talked about the shooting too much. John shut you away and waited for you to fall apart, but all you’ve done is…survive. John doesn’t respond, too thrown by your admission. Now you’re in his space, your chest meeting his own with every inhale. When he still doesn’t answer, you continue. “I love you, you absolute idiot. I did before I was kidnapped and I do now. You held me after I killed a man, John. Why would I divorce you?” John has no logical response. He drops to his knee.

“Marry me again. Just us, doin’ it ‘cause we can.” You blink, thrown by the change in events. “You just served me divorce papers.” You blurt. John smiles. “I didn’t sign them so even if you did, we’d be…” He gestures into open air, like he can’t articulate that he intended to trap you again. A terrible, terrible man. He can’t believe you love him.

“I hate you.” You say, smiling. “You love me.” You shake his head at your words. “That’s it?” You murmur, suddenly shy. That’s right, he almost forgot. “I love you too, sweetheart. Have since the weddin’, if we’re bein’ honest.” You bite your lip in surprise. John rises up and you pull him in, kissing him hard. “Tha’ a yes?” He murmurs, kissing your jaw. “Yes, Mr. Price. I’ll marry you again.”

GUYSSSS she's over!! she's done!! thank you for all the kind likes and comments and reposts and overall support it means the WORLDDDD. stay tuned for more price content <333

@heretoreadanddrinktea

@peachyxrosie

@joufrance

@galactict3a

@exactlyyoungchaos

@trulovekay

@alleycc

@abox-of-rocks

@orangehibiscus

@mismatchsposts

@nova-willow-541

@throwing-up-butterflies

@grossitsluca

@evans-dejong

@popcornlauncher

@earthcole

@backfromthedeadhehehe

@baduzzxy

@thegreyjoyed

@cutelibrariangf

@dearghostling

@mrsmalfoy1005

@all-by-myself98

@snburntandsad

@baklovers

@rmikaelson01

@leon-thot-kennedy

@the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned

@barcelonaaababe

@brokenandemptyhearts

@sleep101

@ontopofthefridge

@lilynotdilly

@teenagellamaangel

@harperdoodle

@ii-angelsrolltheireyes-ii

@violetisheresworld

@lolwey

@polyfandom-blogs

@burrowedinnature77

@sharkerino

@ashy-kit

@aikojwhpa

@thriving-n-jiving

@krispymagazinepizza-blog

@grayskel

@rpgsandstuff

@hisuccubus

@lumi-kalyke

@gimmeabreak1

214 notes · View notes

holylulusworld · 19 hours ago

Text

Collateral Damage

Summary: He only wanted some coffee.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: secret admirer, kinda love-struck Bucky, shooting, violence, blood, getting shot

Bucky hates it when things go wrong. He just hates it. Especially when he didn’t expect things to go awry.

On any other day, he’d expect things to turn out for the worst. Just not today. Today, of all days, shit had to hit the fan.

All he wanted was a coffee at his favorite café and a slice of the pie the owner bakes every Friday.

If he’s honest, Bucky would admit that he comes to the little bakery every Friday afternoon to see the woman he spotted some months ago.

She’s there every Friday after work to order tea, chamomile, and a cupcake. Sometimes she’s adventurous and takes a cinnamon roll.

Bucky chuckled when he heard her talk to the barista, telling her she wanted to be wild that day. He couldn’t help but smile at her innocent guilty pleasure. She was so unlike the people in his life. Sweet and kind.

Today, he wanted to talk to her. Today, he planned on introducing himself to the sweet woman stealing his heart bit by bit over the last few months.

Fate had different plans...

One hour earlier.

Bucky is in a good mood. No, he’s having one of the best days of his life. Business is good. He’s on top of the food chain, and he will finally talk to the woman he’s going to make his queen one day. – One step after another.

He opens the door to the little café he found when he was aimlessly roaming the streets of New York. Bucky only wanted to blow off some steam and sort his thoughts but ended up at the little café with coffee and pie. Finding so much more.

Bucky smiles as the little bell above the door rings. It feels like coming home every time he enters this place.

The owner greets him whenever Bucky is around, and the barista knows his favorite order. A risk, Bucky’s best friend Steve would say. Escapism from his life, Bucky would say.

She’s already there, engrossed in yet another book. This time, it’s a dark romance novel about a mafia boss and a shy librarian. Bucky knows because he googled the name to find out as much as possible about the books she loves to read.

“Hello,” the owner waves at Bucky, smiling as she passes him by. “Frankie will get you the usual.”

“Thank you,” Bucky nods before looking for a table closer to her. It’s the first time he’ll sit close to her, not at his favorite table, to watch her from afar.

“All for our favorite regular,” she says, walking away to check on the pies in the back of the café.

Bucky smiles. A soft smile, a genuine one. This place holds magic he can’t explain. It’s the calm in his life. Haven. An escape.

“Coffee and cherry pie coming your way,” the waitress says, balancing a tray in one hand.

Bucky frowns. He’s not a fan of changes. The new face walking toward his table, chirping and smiling as she struggles to not drop the tray, brings tension back into these fleeting, peaceful moments he spent at the café.

His instinct kicks in seconds before the waitress drops the tray to point her gun at him. Bucky takes her out with one precise shot, a bullet to her forehead.

People start to scream, and chaos breaks out. Most of the customers ran out of the café, along with the owner.

“I won’t miss,” the barista he chatted with so many times says. They jump over the counter, gun aimed at Bucky. “Your time has come.”

Bucky huffs. He’s about to shoot his attacker when a book hits the barista’s head. It’s almost hilarious. If not for the gun pointing in his direction, Bucky would laugh.

“Bitch,” the barista turns their attention toward you, their attacker. You gasp and drop to the ground, crawling under the table as they shoot in your direction.

Bucky reacts in a split second. He tackles the barista to the ground, taking them out with one hard punch to the chin. “Bastard, I’ll get to you later.”

He gets back up to look for her, his savior, and the sweet woman who enchanted him. Bucky gasps, watching you hunch over, blood soaking your pretty sundress.

“Doll, no,” he crouches beside you to cradle you in his arms. Bucky presses his hand to the wound on your arm, sighing because it’s not a deadly wound. “I’m so sorry. This shouldn’t have happened.”

“I,” you carefully touch his hand. “That wasn’t how I expected to get to know your name finally…”

#Collateral Damage #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #x reader #mafia au #mobster!bucky barnes #mobster!bucky barnes x reader

137 notes · View notes

softness-and-shattering · 3 days ago

Text

I dont know if thats entirely true, well, there *seems* be a lot of communities who arent accepting of anyone they deem as 'too masculine' regardless of identity. Maybe, hopefully, thats a much smaller group than it seems.

Either way, no one besides you gets to declare what your identity is. If you say youre a girl, a woman, than thats what you are. Anyone who gatekeeps anything - resources, community, events, friendliness - because of how you look, is an asshole who shouldnt be near the gates. That doesnt necessarily make rejection hurt less, and Im sorry for that. But other people dont get to say who you are, thats yours. And you should be treated respectfully and believed about who you are. Nobody can change your identity for you no matter how much they might want to.

Theres no right or wrong way to have a gender, to experience gender. Theres no required physicality or attitude or desires for change. Anyone demanding so is plain wrong and probably needs to grow up. Youre queer. You belong. Not because I say so, but because its just the truth.

Theres unfortunately a significant amount of exclusionism because idk if people think they can be acceptable enough they wont be in danger, witbout realising that we're ALL freaks, theres no queerness acceptable enough to keep someone safe from people who hate us. Some people struggle with that. And theres exclusionism in lots of different directions. Point is, if that determined who was really queer and who really belonged, no one would belong bc theres no way to be a "good queer". I feel like growing up Jewish has prepared me for this kind of ideology and reaction to ideology etc. but .im rambling. Sorry.

Yourr queer if you say you are. Youre a woman if you say you are. Even if you hold the truth inside yourself and never tell anyone else, its still the truth, its still reality. And you belong in queer spaces, queer community, you deserve access to queer resources. Not brcause of clothing or hormones or name changes, but solely because its who you are.

People do tend to treat people differently based on hiw they look, even when well meaning, and that sucks. May we keep progressing and may that nit happen for the next generation.

For now, you belong, gatekeepers are wrong. You can find your people.

In regards to my previous post: HRT is nowhere near a magic fix all that will make you a girl. That is decided by you. Your ability or inability to get hormone replacement therapy is not a measurement of how transgender you are. Being transgender is an internal decision, and whatever comes after that is ancillary to deciding for yourself that you are the gender you want to be. I recommend it; I adore what HRT has done to my body, but I was a girl long before I decided to do any sort of medical transition and anyone who says you need makeup and stringent routines and medical supplies to transition is either a fuckin' liar or needs to reexamine how they think about other transgender people, including themselves.

2K notes · View notes

wheels-of-despair · 2 days ago

Text

Dummy and All Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie and Evil Woman are having the best date ever... and then, one little slip-up changes everything. Contains: Eddie being sappy, Evil Woman being snarky, a shared milkshake, a romantic night under the stars, an E/EW first. Words: 1.8k

Eddie Munson is in love.

However, he is far too big a chicken to actually tell the object of his affection how he feels. Even though he's never been so sure of anything in his life. He can't risk her finding out. Best to just keep this to himself. Enjoy it while he can, before it all inevitably goes to hell.

It had been a perfect evening. They'd gone out for burgers. They'd both received exceptionally long fries, and had a makeshift swordfight across the table. His fry had died a dramatic death, getting soaked in ketchup before finally being shoved in his mouth. She'd laughed and given him a quiet round of applause for his performance, along with a smile that made his whole body buzz.

For dessert, they shared a milkshake. With two straws. The waitress aww'd at them, and Eddie briefly worried that the heat radiating from his burning face might make their shake melt. (It didn't.)

He never thought he'd actually get to be in a relationship like this. Who, in their right mind, would want to do cutesy couple shit with Eddie "The Freak" Munson, the drug-dealing dirt-bag from the trailer park who couldn't even pass the twelfth grade?

This girl.

Almost three months in, and he still couldn't believe his luck.

After they'd sucked down the last of their shake, they went to Weathertop for a little star-gazing. Eddie left the van in the woods at the bottom of the hill, and they jumped a fence and hiked through the slightly muddy field. It was a little slippery after the recent rain, but every time she slipped, she reached for him. Like she knew he'd never let her fall. It made him feel so proud; she trusted him. HIM.

He actually remembered the blanket for a change, so they didn't have to sit on the wet grass. He could still feel the cold and damp ground leech through after a while, but he didn't say anything. She pretended not to notice either. They sat with their heads together, his arm around her, watching the sky. According to the weather guy on the news, they might be able to see a bit of the Northern Lights tonight.

Eddie didn't see anything but the plain old midwestern stars, as usual, but he didn't mind. It was warm for this time of year, and the moon was so bright, he could see her painted nails and the ring on her thumb, which was absentmindedly stroking his knee.

"What time is it?" she asks quietly, speaking the first words in what feel like hours. How is it that the boy dubbed "the yappiest student I've ever had the misfortune to teach" found himself enjoying the silence? It was never awkward with her. Well, maybe there were a few awkward silences at first. But as they got used to each other, they quickly learned that there were more ways to communicate than with words. A warm smile that meant "I'm happy to be with you". A light touch that meant "I'm not going anywhere". A wink that meant "I want to make your brain waves turn to TV static".

Eddie lights up his watch and feels his heart sink. He has to get her home soon. Her mom has been shockingly nice to him so far, and he doesn't want to make her reconsider. Although that might happen any day now. He dreads the day that her mom gets in line behind the wrong person in the supermarket checkout line and finds out that her daughter is dating the town freak. An undesirable. A Munson. Cue gasps and pearl-clutching and church support groups.

"Guess we oughta head back down," he sighs. He moves to get up, but the hand splayed on his knee stops him. She leans in for a kiss. Who is he to deny her? One kiss turns to two, and three, and Eddie quickly loses count.

She moves her hand and gently squeezes that spot on the inside of his thigh, just above his knee, and he jumps up quickly, hauling his wet ass off the wetter blanket before any more blood can rush to his nether-regions. He reaches for her, and she lets him pull her off the blanket too. He holds on to her hands for a moment, trying to warm them between his own.

"I think my ass is even colder than my fingers, you gonna warm that up too?" she teases.

Eddie's face bursts into flame. She can put any body part she wants on that, and it'll warm her right up. Shut up, Eddie!

"Oh my god, you're blushing so hard I can see it in the dark," she laughs.

"Shut up," Eddie grumbles, unable to hide his smile.

He snatches the blanket and shakes it out, hastily folding it and sticking it under one arm. He reaches for her with his other. She laces her fingers with his, and their hands swing together between them as they traipse back down the hill.

They get to a particularly slippery part about halfway down. She skids down about a foot, squealing and trying her best to hang on to him. "I got you," he assures her, almost losing the blanket in the process of steadying her. It's a sacrifice he's willing to make. They continue on, easing down the steep hill step by step and side by side.

Eddie holds tightly to her, loving that she depends on him to keep her steady. He's determined not to let her fall.

What he does not count on… is falling himself.

In what feels like slow motion, Eddie Munson steps into a muddy patch between tufts of grass. His feet shoot out from under him, sending him airborne. It almost feels like flying. In midair, weightless, it occurs to Eddie that his only connection to the ground comes in the form of the hand he's holding.

Oh no.

Time speeds up, like when you hit fast-forward on the VCR. Eddie feels his ass hit the mud, and he slides downward, feeling a tug on his shoulder. A sharp yelp pierces his ears, and he feels himself tumbling down the hill, his body alternating between smacking against the cold ground and something warm and considerably softer.

When he finally stops, he stares up at the bright sky and focuses on trying to catch his breath. The fall knocked the wind out of him.

"Ow."

Oh, fuck! He dragged her down with him! Eddie rolls over, ignoring the pain in his knees and elbows and lungs as he half-rises to check on her. She's shaking.

"Are you okay?" he asks frantically.

She doesn't answer. Is she crying?

"Are you hurt?" he asks, wishing there was more light to see her by. He moves closer to feel her head, checking for bumps, and realizing a little too late that he's just smeared more mud on her face and hair.

"You know," she wheezes, "I kinda suspected you'd fall for me one of these days, but I didn't think it'd be this hard."

She's not crying. She's laughing.

Any other girl would be beating the shit out of him right now. Screaming about getting dirty, accusing him of trying to murder them, threatening him with daddy's wrath or a lawsuit, calling the jocks out from their hiding places to kick his ass for thinking this was real. But here she is, lying on her back in the mud, after being dragged down a fucking mountain, laughing and teasing him.

But she's not laughing at him, like the rest of them do. She makes him blush ten times a day or more, but there's never any viciousness in her teasing. She's different. She likes the same weird things he does, and she's sweet to him, and she's beautiful, and she has the best sense of humor. How did he get so fucking lucky? How is it that Eddie Munson found the girl of his dreams in a Hawkins High classroom? Where would he be if he'd skipped that day? Where would she? What if he'd lived his entire life without knowing what this felt like? The realization causes a strange sensation in his chest.

"I love you," he breathes.

His heart stops. So does her laughter. She stares up at him, mouth open and face frozen in shock. FUCK. HE SCREWED UP. HE SHOULDN'T HAVE FUCKING SAID THAT. EDDIE MUNSON YOU FUCKING MORON YOU'VE RUINED--

"Wow," she says, her tone unreadable.

"What?" he croaks, mouth dry and body trembling.

"We almost died rolling down that hill, and that's what makes your life flash before your eyes? Three little words?"

They stare at each other for a few seconds, and when Eddie finally gets it, it's his turn to laugh. She grins and wraps her arms around him. Eddie lets her pull him close, practically lying on top of her and hugging there on the cold wet ground.

"I love you too, dummy," she whispers in his ear.

It's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard in his fucking life. The words hang in the air. Dummy and all. The heat from her breath lingers on his ear and drives him wild. Eddie's heart swells. A tear may have escaped his eye. He never wants to let her go. She's perfect, and she's his, and she actually loves him too?!

"I hope you don't think I'm putting out just because you said I love you," she mumbles, shifting her body beneath him.

Oh, fuck.

Eddie scrambles off of her, mortified at the stiff situation in his jeans. Why can't he ever do one thing without fucking everything else up?!

"Relax," she chuckles, sitting up and wiping her filthy hands on her filthier jeans. "This is gonna be fun to get off."

Don't picture her in the shower, don't picture her in the shower, don't picture her in the--

"You okay over there, Munson?"

No.

"Yeah," he lies.

She laughs again, seeing right through him, even in the dark. She hauls herself up off the ground, then reaches for his hands.

"If you pull me down again, there will be hell to pay," she warns.

Eddie grins and takes her hands, careful not to push his luck and pull her back down. When he rises, he wraps her in a muddy hug. She rests her head against him, hugging him around the middle and sighing happily into his chest.

Eddie Munson is in love.

And the feeling is mutual.

#writings of despair #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x evil woman #eddie munson #sarcastic defense mechanism? where??

96 notes · View notes

thewinterdrafts · 2 days ago

Text

Flesh and Metal | The White Wolf

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (1st Person)

Word Count: 6,062

Summary: Bucky Barnes is everything you ever wanted—soft, thoughtful, devoted. He loves you with a quiet intensity that should make you feel like the luckiest person alive. But after so many months of being together, he still hasn’t touched you. Not like that. When you finally confront him, you realize the truth is so much deeper. He does want you. He just doesn’t know how to ask. And tonight, for the first time—he’s finally ready to give in.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, Sub!Bucky (lots of begging you guys), Angst, Swearing, Dominance & submission dynamics, Self-doubt & insecurity, Trauma responses & PTSD, Fear of abandonment & rejection, BDSM themes (light control, praise, permission-based dynamics), Overstimulation & begging, Implied past abuse

A/N: hey guys! this is my first ever story here, and i've worked so hard on it, my brain might dissolve through my ears tonight. i hope you'll like it, happy reading 🤍

📍Masterlist

It has been four months. Four months and one day, to be exact, since Bucky Barnes became mine. I’ve never heard so many people congratulate me and warn me in the same breath, but I never cared. Not when he’s been so precious, so thoughtful, so achingly romantic. Not when he’s spent every single day making me feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

I love him more than life itself. And with him—life and death feel closer than they should.

So why does it feel like I’m still not enough?

Four months, and he hasn't touched me. Not once. Not like that.

Every time I try, every time I lean in, every time I press just a little too close, he pulls away. Sometimes subtly, sometimes not. Sometimes it’s a hesitant step back, sometimes it’s a firm grip on my wrist, pushing me away just enough to make it clear.

I tried everything. Cute lingerie. Whispered invitations. I even got my hair done for our anniversary last night. Nothing helped, I couldn't shake his composed demeanor, no matter what I did.

Maybe, he doesn’t want me at all. Why would he?

The Bucky Barnes could have anyone. Someone like Natasha—gorgeous, cool, effortlessly magnetic. The kind of woman who could hold her own against a super soldier, the kind who wouldn’t hesitate. The kind who makes sense with him.

Me on the other hand? What was I thinking, believing I would be enough? Just a simple girl, coming from a boring family, with no interesting backstory, nothing to show, nothing to–

"Baby?" Bucky put his face an inch from mine, which immediately snapped me out of my spiralling thoughts. "You okay? Is your stomach upset?" He pointed to the remaining of mac and cheese he cooked.

He grew to be extremely good at reading my expressions over the past few months. He usually doesn't need to ask; he just knows what's wrong, and eliminates the problem without a word. This time, though, he didn't know. How could he?

"No," I say flatly.

"Sure? Because–"

"I am fine," I snap, louder than anticipated.

I immediately regret my tone when I see Bucky stiffen, the sound of his metal arm clenching into an unbreakable fist. He takes exactly three steps back from me; measured and calculated. His eyes terrified; I can almost see how he is searching for the possible threats or punishments he would receive, now that he senses the change in the mood. He's still as a sculpture, except for the arms; they are shaking from how strongly he is sqeezing his fist.

Oh, I fucked up.

"I'm sorry. It's just been a really hard week on me, I-"

"You're hurt."

It's not a question, it's a fact.

"I'm not hurt–"

"I hurt you."

It's not a fact, it's a crime. At least that's how he says it.

I look down to the tiled floor where I can still spot the signs of Bucky's cooking. I cannot look at him. I would need to lie to his face and that is one thing I was never able to do. Not after what he's been through.

I notice a small movement from him as he takes another step; farther. Way farther away from me. I take a deep breath and force myself to look at him, wishing I didn't as the sight instantly breaks my heart; his eyes are filled with tears, and he's so confused. Scared. Terrified of what is coming. He's gripping onto the side of his shirt, like he always does when he feels unsafe. A lump forms in my throat as I try to open my mouth to speak. I've ruined him.

"I– uh." The sound I made was barely a whisper, but it made him visibly flinch. "Do you... Do you not... want me?"

Bucky's terrified gaze turns into utter confusion in a matter of seconds. He blinks – for the first time in maybe minutes – as he's struggling to understand my question. I collect all my leftover courage and hope to keep talking.

"You push me away," I say, trying to be as soft as possible. "We've been together for months, but never... together."

I feel so stupid for not being able to just straight out say it. I'm hoping he somehow understands what I mean, but judging by his scrunched eyebrows, I'm gonna have to be more specific.

I let out a big sigh and close my eyes to make the embarrassment less painful. "Bucky, we never had sex."

As soon as the words leave my mouth, his face drops. I lose him again somewhere very far away from me, and he keeps looking at me like I am about to destroy him completely.

"If you don't want me, that's okay," I assure him, ignoring the bitter taste in my mouth. "I know I'm not the prettiest girl, and you've probably seen better—"

"No!" he snaps, so I lift my head up. He looks horrified, like I've just said something unspeakable. I wait for him to continue, but instead, he keeps staring at me, as if his eyes could tell everything he is unable to.

"No?" I echo. "Then why do you run every time I try to touch you like that?"

He breaks the eye contact by strictly looking at the kitchen counter right in front of him; or at anything that is not me. From all the months I've spent in his presence, I recognize this look too well. He's ashamed.

"Bucky..."

Silence. He grips the fabric of his shirt, twisting it in his hands. A nervous tick, but to him, a grounding mechanism. He's really trying not to lose himself.

"I—, I don't—," he stutters. "I don't know how."

"What?" I blink. “Bucky, you’ve—” I hesitate. “You’ve been with other women before.”

His head jerks up with a flicker of panic and frustration.

“That’s not—that’s different.”

“Different how?”

Bucky is refusing to look at me, so I stand up from my seat to make way towards him. He takes a sharp breath when I'm within his reach, but doesn't move. That's a good sign.

"Look at me, baby," I ask, softly. His eyes snap up instantly, and I see it all there. The fear, the desperation, the battlefield in his head. "Tell me what's wrong."

He tries to do so; he opens his mouth, swallows, exhales, shakes his head, tries again, but he fails, no matter how hard he tries.

"Do you want me?" I ask bluntly.

He nods, still staring at the marble countertop. Okay.

"Are you scared to ask for what you want?"

Another nod.

"Do you trust me?"

This one is instant.

"Yes."

"Then tell me."

He lets out a shaky breath before he swallows. He turns his head to me, face flustered, his chest moving up and down as he tries to regulate himself.

"Please, can you—," his voice dies before he can finish. He clearly is struggling, like he doesn't know how to want things and the fact breaks a small part of my heart permanently.

"Go on, Bucky. What do you need?" I encourage him.

"I—," he stutters, and then shakes his head hard, like the words are physically hurting him inside his head.

His body, however, tells the truth on behalf of him. The way his hands tremble and his chest heaves with each exhale, the way his metal fingers twitch against his thigh—he is fighting himself.

I let the silence stretch, waiting, watching the way his face twists with frustration, with hesitation. With want.

“Baby,” I say softly.

His eyes cracks open, blue burning with something raw, something pleading. He sucks in a breath, and for a moment, I think he finally gives in, but then he shakes his head again, hard, turning his face away.

I click my tongue, grabbing his chin, forcing him to meet my gaze. “You want something. I can see it. I can feel it.”

His chest rises sharply, lips parting, but still, he doesn't speak. I lean in, lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

“Do you need me to guide you?”

His entire body jerks, a sharp inhale ripping from his throat. His fingers are clenching into fists, the tremor rolling through his shoulders like a quake. But he still doesn't answer me.

My grip tightens slightly, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Bucky, if you don’t tell me what you need, I can’t give it to you.”

He exhales shakily, a frustrated, broken sound. His brows knit together, his hands lifting before falling back to his thighs, his whole frame trembling.

“Please,” he whispers.

My heart clenches. “Yes?”

His head dropped forward, breath ragged. “Please… please tell me what to do.”

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

I smile, slow and knowing, letting the moment stretch, letting him feel the weight of what he's just asked for.

“I’ll show you.” I say, and I find my voice firm. Commanding.

His breath stutters, his entire body tensing, every muscle coiled tight with restraint, with hesitation. He’s fighting it, clinging to the instinct to resist—until I lean in, my mouth brushing over the shell of his ear.

“If you'll be a good boy for me.”

The sound he makes—soft, broken, fucking relieved—rips through me like a shockwave. My core tightens, ignites, burns, a volcano threatening to erupt at the sheer power of it.

Bucky Barnes is submissive. For me.

"Follow me," I say, and as if I freed him from an invisible curse, he makes his way after me.

All at once, every doubt I ever had—about myself, about us—disintegrates. How did I not see this before? How could I have been so blind? He doesn’t need distance. He doesn’t need time. He just needs me. Me in control. Me guiding him. Me telling him exactly what to do.

And fuck, if that isn’t the most intoxicating realization of all, I don't know what is.

I may not be the most experienced woman alive, but that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that he needs me to be present. He needs me to take this. Own this. There’s no room for doubt, no room to shy away, when he trusts me to take care of him.

I release him just to check his expression, searching for even the slightest hint of hesitation, but to my surprise, I find none. Not a single trace. His eyes track my every movement, locked onto me like a soldier awaiting an order.

And it shouldn't turn me on the way it does.

"Do you want me right now?" My voice is steady, even as I close the space between us, just by one step.

His gaze sweeps over me, dragging from my lips, to my throat, to my body before he gives a sharp, assured nod.

"Then take off my dress."

He moves instantly, without hesitation—like he’s been waiting for this since the moment he met me. His fingers find the hem of my dress; his touch cautious, reverent, like he’s afraid I might pull away at any second. Like he can’t quite believe this is happening.

The contrast of his warm, flesh hand on one thigh, and his ice-cold vibranium fingers on the other, sends a shiver tearing down my spine. Slowly, deliberately, he lifts the fabric over my head, the brush of his knuckles against my skin leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Once I’m bare before him, he takes a small step back—just to look. His lips part slightly, his breathing uneven, chest rising and falling faster, deeper. His eyes—piercing, devastating—roam every inch of me, burning me from the inside out.

And then, he moves.

He throws the dress across the room without looking, never once taking his eyes off of me. His entire body is vibrating, like he’s barely holding himself together, barely restraining the need thrumming beneath his skin.

The sight of him is stealing every breath I have left.

“Can I take your shirt off?” I break the silence, my own voice softer now.

“Please,” he begs.

I waste no time. I step in, close enough for his ragged breath to ghost over my skin, and strip him bare. It’s a summer night, so he’s only wearing a thin, black V-neck, already clinging to the sweat on his chest–or at least, he was. With one fluid motion, I pull it over his head and let it drop to the floor.

I take a moment, just a few seconds, to admire him.

His body is all strength, broad shoulders and sculpted muscle carved by battle and time. Scars litter his skin, testaments to wars fought and survived, and yet, under the soft glow of the moonlight, he looks like something untouchable. Ethereal. Unreal.

I swallow hard, licking my lips as my gaze travels downward, over his defined abs, the way they tense under my attention, down to the dark trail of hair that disappears beneath the waistband of his boxers. I feel it then—the heat pooling low, the unbearable pulse between my thighs. And he’s just standing there, watching me, eyes so dark they’re nearly black.

I’m already so wet for him, it’s almost embarrassing.

"Undress me," I whisper.

His breath catches, eyes flash with hunger, the way they always do when he wants but won’t take. But this time, he moves.

With careful fingers, he reaches behind me for the clasp of my bra, hesitant yet desperate. This is as far as we’ve ever gone. Four months of waiting, of skirting the edge, of Bucky refusing to let himself see me without clothes. Back then, I thought it was because he didn’t want me, because I wasn’t enough.

But now? Now I know the truth. He wouldn’t have known what to do. He was afraid to ruin this. Afraid to ruin me.

I snap out of my thoughts as I feel the cold air of the AC dance on my bare torso. My nipples instantly harden as a result, and Bucky notices it just as quickly. His lips are apart, and he's staring at them like an animal on his prey. The way he wants me fills me with every ounce of confidence I’ve ever needed.

"You can touch them," I whisper, not sure he even heard me, but then he takes two steps towards, putting his flesh hand on my waist.

I gasp, the breath catching in my throat as his warm, steady touch trails up my skin. His movements are slow—painfully, torturously slow—like he’s memorizing me with his hands, drinking me in through touch alone. He reaches my left breast and he cups it, his thumb immediately finding my hard nipple. His breath shudders, sharp and heavy, his chest rising with a strained inhale as he circles my achingly hard peak with his thumb, teasing, testing, learning me.

I struggle to hold in my moan, my teeth sinking into my lip as he pinches it, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight between my legs. And fuck, he’s watching. His vibranium arm remains stiff at his side, fingers curled into a tight, trembling fist, his jaw slightly slack, his lips parted as he watches himself touch me.

He’s fascinated. Hypnotized. Like this is the first time he’s ever allowed himself to truly want something.

"Both hands, please." My voice is barely a whisper, barely a sound, just a needy, broken plea. His head snaps up, and for the first time in what feels like forever, his eyes meet mine.

His metal hand, still clenched in restraint, relaxes. With slow, careful hesitation, he brings it up, inch by inch, his fingertips skimming my ribs before finally—finally—he touches me. A shiver rips through me, my body instinctively arching into the icy contrast of metal against my heated skin. I don’t pull away; if anything, I lean into him, chasing the sensation, craving more.

"You're being so good for me," I praise, my voice low.

Bucky fucking breaks.

His entire body stutters, trembles; his breath hitching, his knees nearly buckling beneath him as a wrecked, desperate whimper falls from his lips.

Fuck. That has to be the sexiest sound in the world.

“Can I—” His voice cracks, his fingers flexing against my skin. “Can I please kiss you?”

He is pleading, over and over, his voice shaky, utterly undone.

“Please, I need it. Please.”

His words shoot straight to my core, the need in his voice a direct pulse between my legs. I want him so much, I might sublime from the heat he ignites inside me.

I don’t hesitate. I grab his arm, pulling him against me, forcing his bare chest to crash into mine. He melts against me, his body burning, muscles taut, already trembling with restraint. And then, I kiss him. Or maybe he kisses me. Either way, the moment our lips meet, Bucky loses himself.

He kisses me like he’s starving, like he’s drowning and I’m his only air. His mouth is hungry, relentless, desperate, lips crashing into mine as he’s trying to devour me whole.

And fuck, his hands.

They roam everywhere, one gripping the small of my back, the other skimming just beneath my panties, teasing, taunting me, and just when I think it couldn't get any better, his metal hand clamps around my ass, gripping tight, keeping me steady. Feeling the cool vibranium pressing into my heated skin, I moan straight into his mouth, my body shuddering in his hold.

“Put me on the bed. Now.”

The words leave me in a command, and Bucky moves before I can even take another breath. With one arm, just one, he lifts me with ease, like I weigh nothing to him. He lays me down, gentle but firm, already moving to cover me with his body—but I stop him.

“Not yet.”

I shake my head, and he immediately halts, his breathing labored, controlled. He looks wrecked, like he's using every bit of self control to keep himself away from me. Still kneeling between my legs, still so fucking obedient, and yet—his eyes. His fucking eyes, they’re eating me alive.

“Take it off,” I order, nodding toward his jeans.

Bucky keeps his eyes locked on mine, hands trailing down, slow and deliberate as he reaches for the button of his jeans. With a quick flick of his fingers, they’re undone. His piercing gaze never leaves me, his eyes dragging over every inch of my body, devouring, worshipping.

I don't have much time before he stands up and slowly pushes his jeans down. I gasp when I see the thin, black material of his boxers that do nothing to hide him. The thick, heavy outline of him, pressing against the fabric, takes my breath away.

I’ve never seen him like this before. Not even close. I’ve felt him—hard, pressing against me on nights where he’d let himself have just a little. But then he would stop and shut it down. I couldn't understand why, not until now, and I don't have one second to think about it, because he pushes his boxers down. His cock is finally bared to me in full, and Jesus fucking Christ.

He is huge. How is that gonna fit?

“Please,” I hear a small plea towards him, and I shot my eyes back to his face.

His breath is wild, erratic, chest heaving like he can’t get enough air, like he’s on the edge of breaking. His flesh hand is poised, ready to touch himself, to relieve even an ounce of the pressure, but he doesn't. Not without my word. I bite my lip, reveling in the power of it, in the way his entire body trembles under restraint.

“Take this off, too,” I instruct, gesturing to the lace panties that I’d bought months ago—back when I thought he’d see them then. Back when I thought we’d be here so much sooner.

But I don’t have a single complaint left in my body, because when Bucky finally moves—he rips them off. The thin fabric tears from me in one sharp pull, and for a split second, I wonder if he just ripped them in half.

His eyes drag over me, drinking in every inch of bare skin, mapping the places he’s never let himself truly look at before. I feel just how wet I am, now that there’s nothing to soak up the slick. I can feel it all pooling between my thighs, proof of just how badly I want him.

A flicker of shyness grips me—how did I get this lucky? How did I end up with him, undone and starving, in front of me? But I don’t let myself hide; instead, I sit up slowly, deliberately, my movements calculated, letting myself kneel on the soft mattress.

I look up at him, like I could devour him with a single breath. The six-foot-tall ex-assassin is towering over me, radiating pure heat, his entire body coiled tight like a predator barely holding back.

And then, soft as a prayer, I say, “I want you.”

As if I’ve broken a curse, Bucky snaps. His fingers clamp around my throat, his mouth slamming into mine, the sheer force of it knocking me back onto the bed. He pins me down, all of his weight pressing into me, heavy, suffocating, absolutely fucking perfect. The way he kisses me makes me crazy; he's hungry, possessive, and so filthy, I can only moan as a response.

His cock, thick and heavy, sliding between my soaking slit, his length gliding right over my clit with each slow, torturous grind.

“Fuck—” I moan straight into his mouth, my hips instinctively tilting up, chasing every ounce of friction he gives me.

I lose every bit of control I had left. Overcome with greed, I grab at him, pull at him, take as much as I can. My fingers tangle in his long hair, keeping him locked to me, refusing to let him break the kiss for even a second.

I let my other hand wander; I trace the sharp lines of his back, trailing lower, until my palm finds his ass. I squeeze, hard, forcing him to rock against me even harder, dragging his cock rougher, deeper through my slick folds. My breathing is a wreck, my body moving instinctively, clinging to him, needing more, more, more.

I want him. All over me. Inside me. Taking me apart.

“Can I—” His voice shatters, breathless. He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes wrecked with need.

“Can I please put it in?”

And fuck, he looks at me like a puppy, wide-eyed, begging.

“Please, I’ll make you feel so good,” he purrs against my neck, teeth grazing my skin, lips pressing open-mouthed kisses.

“God, yes,” I groan.

Bucky grabs himself, his fingers shaking with need as he positions his cock right at my entrance. He could thrust in immediately, take what we both want without hesitation, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pauses; his eyes flick back up to mine, searching, waiting, needing something more.

And I know exactly what he wants.

“Be a good boy and fuck me, Bucky.”

I'm way past hesitation or shame. All I want is him taking over me, claiming me, pressing me into himself. The words shatter something inside him; his mouth parts, his pupils blown wide, and then—without ever breaking eye contact—he slides inside.

A broken moan leaves my lips as my spine arches, my body opening for him, stretching around him, and fuck, he fills me.

Completely. Entirely. Devastatingly.

I’ve been aching for this moment for months. I’ve fantasized about him taking me, and now he’s finally inside me. A deep pressure builds low in my belly, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as he pushes deeper and deeper, until I feel the blunt tip of his cock press against my cervix.

He’s so fucking hard. I can feel him throbbing inside me, feel the pulse of his cock against my walls, and it drives me insane. I wait for him to finally move, but after a few seconds of stillness, I open my eyes.

Bucky is watching me so carefully, his eyes flicking over my face, searching for even the slightest sign of discomfort. His arms shake violently, his knuckles white from gripping the sheets beside my head. He’s breathing fast, erratic, his small, shaky breaths cold against my ear. And he’s moving too slowly, like he’s terrified of losing control.

“Relax, baby. You can let go.”

I lift my hand, gently stroking his beautiful face, my voice barely a whisper. His eyes soften, then immediately darken.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasps, his voice hoarse, ruined.

“You can’t,” I assure him. “I can take it. I want to take it.”

The sound that escapes him—a helpless whimper, like he’s been waiting his entire life to hear those words. His body trembles, his control hanging by a thread, his cock twitching inside me at the sheer relief of it.

He might be above me, but he is completely at my mercy.

“You’re doing so good,” I murmur, just inches from his lips, my breath fanning over his skin. “Don’t stop.”

The second I say it, he melts.

Raw, desperate need unleashes from him so suddenly, it knocks the breath from my lungs. I wheeze in surprise, barely able to keep up before he grabs the bedframe above my head with his vibranium arm and picks up the pace—hard. The deep, wrecked moan that rips from his throat sets me on fire; a wildfire raging low and uncontrollable, consuming every last of my coherent thoughts. All I know is him—the way he moves, the way he fills me, the way every precise thrust hits where I need him most.

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, and he collapses into me, his mouth claiming mine in a sloppy, desperate kiss. His thrusts are relentless, shaking the entire goddamn bed, and I have to grip his vibranium arm for dear life just to keep myself in place.

Somewhere in his haze, even now, he thinks to protect me—his flesh hand cradling the top of my head, shielding me from the bedframe. My chest tightens at the gesture, and I let my lips trail down his sweat-slicked neck in silent gratitude, my teeth grazing over his skin.

Something inside me snaps as I feel his salty skin on my tounge. My nails rake down his back, digging into the hard muscle, desperate to leave my mark. My teeth sink into his shoulder, biting, scratching, taking him. We’re sliding against each other, slick with sweat, the heat of the summer night making everything feel even filthier, more raw, more real.

And Bucky is falling apart.

He’s moaning, breaking, unraveling against me, the sounds deep and ragged, each one rougher than the last. If I didn’t know better—if I didn’t know how utterly overwhelmed with pleasure he is—I’d think he was in pure agony from the helpless little cries slipping from his lips.

“Tell me I’m good for you,” he whispers, almost afraid to ask, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

“You’re such a good boy for me, Bucky.”

The words fall from my lips like a promise, and fuck, the sharp, broken gasp he lets out shreds me to pieces. It’s high and desperate, so fucking needy, and it goes straight to my core.

He kisses me, hard and possessive.

“I’ve been waiting…” His voice is unraveling, barely understandable.

”… for so fucking long.”

Then suddenly—

Thrust.

“And you—”

Thrust.

“Feel—”

Thrust.

“So—”

Thrust.

“Good.”

His voice rasps in pure, guttural pleasure. I’m nothing but a puddle beneath him, completely ruined, and somehow, he’s not finished.

His rhythm snaps, his thrusts turning harder, rougher, deeper, more possessive.

“Mine,” he snarls, his voice low, primal. He slams into me, hard, forcing me to take it.

“Mine, you understand?”

I can’t speak. Can’t think. There’s no rational thought left, no words, just pure, consuming pleasure. So instead, I match his pace, my hips rolling up to meet every devastating thrust. The way his words set me on fire, I let the flames consume me. My orgasm builds dangerously fast, and I’m hanging by a fucking thread, barely holding on under the brutal precision of his movements.

“Bucky—God—”

His name falls from my lips like a prayer, breathless and desperate.

“I’m—”

Judging by his increased pace, he knows exactly what I'm trying to say. He lifts himself, just enough to look me in the eyes, and I’m trying so hard not to let my eyes roll back, not to completely lose myself in him.

“Please.”

His voice shatters, breaking apart in my ear, pleading.

“Please cum on my cock. Please, baby, please—”

This is all I need to spiral. The coil inside me snaps violently, my entire body arching, shattering as a scream tears from my throat. I crash into pleasure, drowning in it, my walls clenching tight around him, milking him, pulling him deeper.

“Oh, fuck—” Bucky’s voice breaks, his hips stuttering, his rhythm completely unraveling as he feels me fall apart around him.

“That’s it—fuck—that’s my girl.”

His praise sends a violent aftershock through me, my body trembling, shaking, completely spent. I gasp for air, trying to regulate myself after the most devastating orgasm of my life, but I don't stand a chance. Bucky's not finished, not yet.

“I—I can’t—”

Bucky’s voice isn’t even human anymore. It’s a shattered, breathless little whimper, choked between desperate gasps, his body trembling like he’s about to break. His hips falter, his cock twitching so agressively inside me I swear I can feel it in my throat.

But he won’t let go. Not yet.

Not without permission.

“Please—”

The word falls apart in his throat, barely even understandable.

“Please, baby, please—please let me cum, I need it, I need you, I can’t hold it, I can’t—”

He’s whining, his breath is gone, his voice is gone, his body is gone; he is completely, utterly mine.

“Release it, baby.” My fingers tighten in his hair, dragging him deeper inside me. “Be a good boy and give it to me.”

And that’s it; he doesn’t just fall apart—he disintegrates.

His hips slam forward, burying himself so fucking deep inside me, holding us together, his muscles locking up, convulsing. And if this wasn't enough, he whimpers.

“Ohhh—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

His cock twitches and throbs uncontrollably, and I feel everything. The first violent, overwhelming pulse. The hot, thick flood of him spilling deep inside me. His hips keep jerking, his muscles keep locking up, his whimpers keep breaking apart into desperate, breathless sobs.

“Baby, baby—please, please, oh my God, I—I can’t—”

His hands claw at my waist, face burrowed into my neck, his breath a gasping mess. His voice cracks, completely breaking apart, and then a single, desperate sob escapes from him.

He cries. Bucky Barnes cries when he cums.

His body shakes uncontrollably, his hips rocking forward on their own, like he’s trying to push it even deeper, like he’s chasing something he’ll never be able to reach.

“Baby, baby—please hold me, please—fuck, I love you, I love you so much—”

His voice is cracking, completely gone, and I gasp as I feel another orgasm building inside me. Another slow, rolling wave, ignited by his moans, his desperate little whimpers, the way he’s still trembling inside me.

“Bucky—oh, fuck—”

The second he realizes what’s happening, it destroys him all over again.

“Baby, you’re gonna— Fuck, fuck, fuck—please, baby, please—”

His hips snap forward as a last burst of desperate energy, his hands gripping my waist so tightly I feel the bruises forming.

“Oh, baby—please, please cum on my cock again, I wanna feel it—please, baby, please, please—”

The filth of it, the raw need in his voice immedately shatters me. I scream his name, my body convulsing around him, my walls tightening, pulsing, taking him deeper, squeezing him so hard he sobs.

“Oh—oh fuck, baby, I’m still cumming—”

His cock throbs again, another weak, helpless little spill, and he whimpers so high and wrecked he sounds like he’s dying.

“I can’t stop—baby, I can’t stop, I can’t stop—”

His breath is gone, tears spilling onto my skin, his voice a trembling, begging mess, pleading for the final release. Not a moment later, he collapses.

His body slumps into mine; arms useless, his breathing erratic and broken. His tears still fall, his entire body shivering, overstimulated, still whimpering, still sobbing.

He’s still inside me, throbbing. Utterly gone from this world.

His hands stay locked firmly around me, fingers clutching, shaking, gripping, like he’ll die if I let go. And on top of that, he just won't stop crying. Soft, helpless little sobs hide into my skin, as he's holding onto me for dear life.

“Baby,” he whispers, his voice so broken and small.

“Baby, please don’t let go—please don’t go.”

My heart shatters to a million pieces in a matter of seconds. It becomes evidently clear that he's not here right now. He’s somewhere else, somewhere dark, somewhere cold, somewhere where he had nothing and no one. I feel it in the way he clings to me and his hands shake as they grip my waist. The way his face tucks into my throat, burrowing, searching, nuzzling like he’s trying to disappear into me; like he’s afraid this isn’t real.

"Shhh, Bucky,” I murmur, kissing his damp temple. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Even though I wanted my words to soothe him, he breaks even more instead. His breath catches on a sob, his entire body curling into me, fingers fisting in the sheets, in my hair, in anything he can hold onto.

“You’re so good to me,” he gasps, his voice shaking. “So perfect, so soft, I—fuck, I don’t deserve this—”

His lips quiver against my skin, hands tightening around me, pulling me closer. The realization that he’s not just crying from overstimulation, hits me like a brick. He’s crying because he’s never felt this before.

Never felt this safe. Never felt this loved. Never felt this cherished, taken care of.

“Bucky,” I whisper, cupping his tear-streaked face, making him look at me.

His blue eyes are glassy and vulnerable, still wet with tears. God, he looks so much younger like this. Like a little boy, back in the ‘40s, nineteen years old, held too many responsibilities, never got held in return.

I immediately want to fix every bad thing that's ever happened to him.

“You deserve all of this, my sweet boy,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his forehead. “You deserve every single second of love. You deserve to be taken care of.”

He lets out a tiny little sob that slits my heart in half, like a butcher knife.

“But I—” His voice cracks, his fingers digging into my waist. “I don’t—I don’t know how to do this. I don’t—”

His breath hitches, his chest rising, falling too fast. I know him enough to realize he’s panicking, his brain is fighting him, pushing against the comfort, trying to tell him he doesn’t deserve this.

I also know how to shut it down. I pull him into me, wrap my arms so tightly around him that he has no choice but to believe that this is real. I'm real.

“It’s okay, baby,” I say gently, stroking his hair, feeling his body relax against mine. “You don’t have to know how. Just let me love you.”

He immediately eases into me, his breath slowing, his shaking finally dying down. He doesn't know, but he's holding my own broken pieces together too, since I've never felt a love so consuming before.

“If I fall asleep,” he whispers, as if he is about to say something unthinkable, “will you be here when I wake up?”

My dear God.

"Of course, Bucky. I'll be right here, always," I promise, my voice firm, not leaving any space for doubts in his broken mind.

He buries his face into my neck as an answer, and with that, Bucky Barnes is fast asleep in my arms.

#bucky x reader #buckyff #bucky ff #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #sub bucky #bucky x you #winter soldier #sebastian stan #bucky #marvel #bucky fanfiction

84 notes · View notes

xo2dee · 3 days ago

Text

NOW LOADING. .

JJK MASTERLIST

KISS MY ICE

PAIRING: Yuki Tsukumo x (Fem)Reader WARNINGS: MDNI/18+ ONLY. Ice skating/figure skater au, modern day universe, referrals to social media apps such as twitter, instagram, etc., f/f relationship, lesbian!reader, rivals to lovers, oral sex, cunnilingus WORD COUNT: 3,225 SUMMARY: At the height of your career, she was your downfall. Not that it was particularly a bad thing.

A/N: for @ayyy-pee's The Jujutsu Journal Collab Event, (that was supposed be out half a year ago but ignore that) i'd been dying to write something with yuki for a while and this event gave me the inspiration and push i needed for it. i hope you enjoy!!

Thinking about it, you were sure you could pinpoint the exact moment of your downfall.

Perhaps the red giant stamp of ‘DISQUALFIED’ on your paperwork that night at the preliminaries of the International rounds of Figure Skating signified you were at a new all-time low, but you had only been disqualified from the women’s singles competition so you still had your chance. Or maybe it was when you’d been told instead of being able to compete in the Winter Olympics as a single, you were only qualified for mixed pairs due to your insubordination as a single skater (which whatever, yeah, you still had the love of the game and all the recognition). Yeah, both of those outcomes somewhat sucked when you renowned for being at the top of your game and an inspiration to women athletes everywhere, but nothing compared to when you realized who you were being paired up with for mixed pair Winter Olympics.

Tsukumo Yuki.

Tsukumo fucking Yuki.

Quite literally the bane of your existence, and the woman of all your festering, maddening desires.

It had to be karma you thought, you both had been disqualified as single skaters due to… a night gone wrong really on both of your sides, so of course the universe would slap you two together saying you could only compete in the Olympics together if you did it as a pair. And it just had to be the person you had history within the form of your faces plastered all over news sites and gossip blogs that caused both of your disqualifications and the reason you held some sort of grudge over the woman. A grudge and a crush, you groaned internally, remembering the headlines and picture that had almost plummeted your skating career.

It was New Years Eve, and a party at the famous idol Iori Utahime’s place was where you had both been that night. You and Yuki knew each other before of course, it came with competing against one another in the same sport, and when there was two girls opposing each other there was bound to be a rivalry born between the two. A rivalry with some sort of sexual tension in-between since every time you seen the woman you either felt like shoving her into the nearest wall and/or making out with her in the process and given the way she looked at you at times you wondered if she felt the same. And of course, it was like everyone said, drunk words were sober thoughts.

She was drunk, you were drunk, and your feelings seemed to get in the way after you moped to her about scores and then next thing you knew you two were breast to breast kissing each other. You could still taste her – strawberry flavored lip gloss painted on those lips as she ran her tongue along your bottom lip, your own chasing the phantom sensation as you recalled the endorphins a mere kiss sent you into. You were too inebriated to notice the flash of multiple phone cameras, but not too intoxicated to remember the way her mouth felt against yours and how bad you wanted her.

After you two split ways at the party, and then the next morning you were getting phone calls and text messages from your manager and PR team full of Twitter links and websites to blogs with that fucking picture of you and Yuki lip locked and completely ignorant of the world around you both. After that, it was all either a bunch of grown ass men sitting on their couches calling for yours and Yuki’s disqualification on Twitter, or it was people making edits of you and Yuki together and even coming up with a ship name for you both – like you were just people for their entertainment. And it was completely quiet from you or Yuki contacting each other at all.

(Until you got paired together, and you had to fight the urge to tackle her for another hot kiss every time you both practiced your lifts and jumps together.)

It left you feeling… hollow, but also pretty fucking annoyed because who kissed someone like that with so much passion and then ghosted them? It was whatever, and you stayed off of Instagram, Tik Tok, and Twitter from the advice of your PR team until you got word of your qualification in the mixed pairs competition. It was like a sick joke; first they condemned you for kissing her, and then they were shoving you together in a rather intimate and graceful routine in such a beautiful sport… Yeah, you supposed there and then you were at your downfall.

And that left you where you were at that moment, tying your skates on securely in the locker room as you prepared yourself for your upcoming show and probably quelling any insane need to kiss Yuki if you both got an outstanding score. Because regardless of your feelings, you both were amazing skaters.

You tapped your heel onto the floor, the blade of your skate clicking as you tested out its overall sharpness the moment Yuki entered the room. You hummed underneath your breath as you sat on the bench while trying to discreetly ogle her without her noticing, noting the sleek black outfit with sequined sides did absolute wonders for her legs. She was one of the few that liked to wear outfits with pants, and you’d only see her skate a few times in the skirts, but in your pair Yuki was the one lifting you she assumed a more covered form while you got to show of your legs in the white ensemble for the routine you two picked.

The smile she graced you with made you bite your cheek, her form coming to sit down next to you as you switched to breathing through your mouth to avoid her sweet perfume. “You nervous?” Yuki asked after a moment, letting you watch a lock of her hair slide off of her shoulder and close enough to touch your own.

Nervous was an understatement, yet you were not nervous thinking you two would do bad, more you were nervous being alone with Yuki.

You blew out a long breath, straightening your legs as you looked at your feet rather than her eyes, “I wouldn’t call it that.”

“Oh?” her head tilted in your peripheral vision, “And what would you call it?”

Sexual attraction. “Stress, maybe. Or embarrassment could work too,” you lied through your teeth, and perhaps the only time you had lied to her in your life. Even that day she walked up to you and asked you what was your type in men was you had straight up told her you weren’t attracted to men at all. The surprise on her face was palpable, but you wouldn’t ever forget the way Yuki’s eyes lit up and a slow smile spread across her face.

She hummed low in her throat, her shoulders relaxing as she leaned into the lockers behind her, “C’mon, what’s too be embarrassed about?’

“You don’t see what they say about us?” you grumbled, not like it necessarily bothered you, but more you couldn’t stand one kiss being attached to your name constantly.

Yuki laughed, “Who cares? What we did isn’t any of their business, and if anything else happened it still wouldn’t be their business.” She said it all so nonchalantly there was no reason you didn’t believe her, however, some of her words struck a chord inside of you. More of the carnal desire than anything else.

“’If anything else happened’?” you parroted back to her, finally turning your head towards her and meeting her eye for eye, “What? You think one kiss proves anything?”

A slow smile spread across her face, the glint of her lip-gloss making you lose focus for a moment to stare at her lips before you met her eyes again. “Of course not, I think it was a start though.”

“A start to what? The new and improved version of Nancy Kerrigan and Tonya Harding?” A snort left your chest at the thought because no matter the rivalry you’d never find it in you to wish ill upon Yuki. Quite the opposite actually.

A sigh tickled your ears, Yuki’s body scooting close enough so that you were hip to hip and thigh to thigh with each other, “Y’know what I think? I think that’s not all that’s bothering you,” she paused to assess your body language and seeing no apprehension within you she continued with a sad smile, “I wanna ask you something.”

A million things ran through your mind at that moment, ranging from whatever she could possibly ask you or if she was going to tell you that she no longer wanted to compete any longer and dropped out last minute. However, regardless of the oncoming doom your brain was festering out of paranoia you couldn’t not hear her out. Though you couldn’t find it in yourself to speak, nodding to her in fear you’d make a fool and stutter instead.

She blinked slowly, and you watched her pupil dilate when she reopened her eyes to look at you, “All those… moments between us, and I know that you know what I’m talking about…” Yuki’s gaze softened, and her fingers curled into her palms, “Did they mean something to you?”

You knew what she was talking about. All those moments between you two at practices, the way her hands rested on your waist (and how good it felt for your touch-starved soul), how she lifted you and put you down with so much gentleness you couldn’t help but think she harbored some softness for you, or maybe in your shared hotel room just the night before when you took turns nursing a bottle Vodka to help get rid of those nerves for the competition. You could remember the melodious octave of her laugh when you almost busted your ass trying to get the bathroom the night before, and when you’d been drunkenly trying out a Lutz jump without any momentum or ice.

There wasn’t anything denying how well you two could bounce off of each other, but more your pride getting in the way of allowing yourself some flexibility.

You swallowed, trying your best not to let your emotions show on your face, “The company of a new friendship? Maybe…” you lied, and even as you said it you watched the recognition flit across her face.

“That’s not what I meant.” A soft laugh made your face burn, your knees knocking together as you fought off the chills it brought. “I think I should apologize actually; all the mixed signals and teasing I did, I was only trying to see if all that attitude was hiding something else.”

Your face must’ve taken on an insane expression, Yuki’s laugh bouncing off the walls at your reaction to her confession as you tried to remain as nonchalant as possible, “So you were testing me?”

“I mean, there’s a reason why I didn’t listen to my publicist.” You felt her shrug, and your heart skyrocketed. “I don’t think I can stand staying away from you too long, almost like I’m obsessed with you really. I stopped seeing you as just my opponent a long time ago too.” Yuki’s voice had taken on a lower tone, like honey dripping into your body and your muscles molding into mush the more she spoke to you like in your ears and kept giving confession after confession.

Your heartbeat was a drumming in your head, your own blood rushing loud enough you were able to hear it with your own ears, and the nerves in your body suddenly lit ablaze when you realized the gravity of her words. Every parasitic worm in your body that screamed for the touch of Tsukumo Yuki awoke and your soul screamed for the woman so close to you. And it must’ve shown on your face as she smiled and her eyes shot down straight to gaze at your mouth.

“Y’know,” Yuki drawled out slowly, an unmistakable deepening in her voice that shot straight into your lower abdomen, “if you want something, you should go ahead and take it…”

The invitation in her eyes was loud and clear, and the way she leant back into the lockers behind her and legs opened for you. You wasted zero time at the sultry look within her eyes, practically launching yourself forward onto her mouth as she laughed before your lips met. The kiss didn’t feel as sweet as the one that night on New Year’s Eve, but she tasted all the same to you. That time you both were all teeth clacking against each other, saliva intermingling with your tongues, and nails finding themselves into part of each other that you could reach. You supposed the syrupiness of Yuki’s taste was the foundation of your attraction to her, and the near animalistic way you two went at each other was the core of it all.

But whatever it was, you decided then and there you would never be able to get enough.

Yuki lips broke away from yours with a ‘smack!’, pushing you away as she dropped to her knees onto the floor in front of you, “Let me taste you.”

You held zero objections, carefully swinging both legs over her shoulders as you hurriedly fought to get your leotard off and down enough so that her mouth could find you. The kisses and bites on your thighs you knew you’d have to cover up in some sort of way, but you didn’t care for the moment, not when her lips and tongue seated themselves along where you yearned for her most and your eyes immediately rolled in the back of your head with a loud, keening moan following after.

Yet, a manicured hand covered your mouth with two of her fingers slipping in to keep you busy as you felt her laugh against your pussy. You got the message clear: You didn’t need the media finding you both in an even worse position. However, you were eager enough to slide your tongue along her fingers, moaning and sighing against her hand as her tongue swirled atop your clit and your head banged against the lockers behind you. You were careful enough not to slice her with the blades on your skates, keeping your hands curled into the bench you sat on to not fuck up her hair as you began to jerk your hips into her face in tune with how her mouth moved.

Your brain was slowly turning into goo then, only thinking of how fucking good it felt to have her tongue-deep in your pussy. Your neck rolled around as you nearly felt like denting the bench in your hands when the weight in your lower abdomen grew larger and harder, with your thighs beginning to shake once more when her nose rubbed along your sensitive clit.

Your bones were turning soft and moans growing louder as Yuki’s enthusiasm grew tenfold as her hold on your hips doubled down to almost bruising and you started to hear her breathing become labor. She was enjoying just as much as you were, and the thought sent a solid curl downwards to where your anticipated release grew in wave tides.

Already, you were close

The sinful lips that been mouthing away at the entirety of your cunt broke off once more taking her tongue with as you heard a deep, harsh breath and a low ‘Mmm’, before her mouth was latching back onto your clit to suck at it once again. Your back arched deeper then, mouth parting in a soundless wail as your hands left the bench to grip her shoulders. Your nails dug into her leotard, letting you hear a moan vibrate against your pussy, her ministrations nowhere near letting up as she continued you pull down into the paradise that was bliss personified with only her skilled mouth.

You could hear the noises of your drenched cunt then, the squelching growing louder as you rocked onto her face faster. Yuki didn’t seem mind just how much of your juices were pouring out of you, lapping them up like a woman starved and not even caring if it was messing up any of the show makeup on her face. You pulled your legs closer to you, in return forcing her face more into you as you wondered if you were practically beginning to face-fuck her as your grinding increased the longer she was eating you out.

Your head rose as your chest heaved and you took a peek at just what lied in between your thighs. But of course, the woman of your dreams that laid there had felt you move and her eyes were already straight onto yours as she sent another harsh suck at your clit. Watching her suck at your clit was one thing, however, her dark intense eyes already peering into yours when you looked up for just a glance sent something completely mind-blowing straight into your entire soul.

You fell back, your eyes rolling back into your head as the dam inside of you was at its breach.

It’s right there, there, ther – Fuck!

Your hips rolled faster, harder.

Yuki’s lips pulled and sucked faster, harder.

Your mind was only on Yuki as your back arched in a near horrifying backbend and your fingers knotted into her outfit more. Another moan vibrated your entire cunt and your legs constricted more as they began to roughly shake with another pornographic moan falling out your mouth she quickly covered up. The pressure in you was too large to ignore then, spine tightening as you sought relief for it and when Yuki’s lips pulled off your clit and her entire mouth was back on your cunt with her tongue pressing back into and her nose pushing in the absolute most direct, right way on your clit –

The stretching sensation inside of you snapped, and you were gone.

Thankfully Yuki was smart enough to cover your mouth the moment you two got busy, because you were sure from how loud you were with your mouth muffled security would be busting down the damn door thinking the worst from your moaning (or something entirely different). You could practically feel yourself jerking and squirming as the orgasmic bliss slowly began wane out of you and left your cunt and clit throbbing in the aftershocks of it. As your muscles relaxed and you tried to slow your heaving breath down, Yuki coaxed you through the burst of your release, her tongue lapping away at you and gently licking to bring you down from that powerful high.

It was a few moments before you blinked into clarity and your back fell back down as did your hips, heart loud in your ears and thumping against your ribs, as you realized what you had done. “Oh shit.” You were never going to get Tsukumo fucking Yuki out of your mind.

Yuki pulled away with a smug grin, nails digging into your thighs as she tugged you further down and onto her mouth with a mumble, “We got at least ten more minutes. Besides, you said you were stressed.”

Then and there, you decided Tsukumo Yuki was your downfall.

#{🩸} nee fics #yuki tsukumo x reader #yuki x reader #yuki tsukumo #jjk #jujutsu kaisen yuki #jujutsu kaisen yuki tsukumo #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsujournal #jjk x reader #jjk smut #yuki tsukumo smut

74 notes · View notes

gangstalkerbarbie · 15 hours ago

Text

i should pin this to my blog, and every time i feel remotely guilty that im not hopping and clapping like a circus monkey for american tumblr and americans generally i should look at it. for that matter i should pin this to my blog so that whenever some mouth breathing paint eater comes at me for a minor ideological disagreement i was civil about (SO YOU WANY ME TO DIIIIE? well now I might but also you never gave a shit i existed, or about the human trafficking and sex tourism problem i grew up in the shadow of even before it went wrong,, zo there) or because i don't know the latest kosher way to talk about the experience of being born a woman i can rub xir upturned bat snout in it like xes a dog that shat on my carpeted living room floor. holy fuck ive been doing too much just to be treated normally in this horseshit country both in meatspace and on the internet.

nobody say no shit to me about nothing ever again i'm over tripping over myself to make myself palatable to landlords who still believe in the red scare and also to aggrieved minorities who can't touch real white people so they screw with me

despite that i still get annoying anons on here and my last racist ass landlord had so much fun taking out her anger at white people on me that she killed my pets, who i raised from tiny little babies

and i should be trying to cope and heal from all that and instead im worrying about how to just exist without some dipshit accusing me of eating puppies and then killing my dependents about it

i should be so focused on myself and instead im like What can and can't i say in public? im jewish but is it dangerous to say that hamas returning several dead babies and a dead woman who's not even their mother that they agreed to return after a parade about how they're dead offends me? can i talk about any part of my life or is that trauma dumping? OH YKNOW MAYBE PEOPLE ACTUALLY DO HAVE THE RIGHT TO ABUSE ME AT WORK. MAYBE STRIPPING WOULDNT BE SO BAD, I THINK TO MYSELF, COUNTING QUARTERS IN MY LITTLE WALLET FULL OF LITTLE CARTOON FLIES?

ENOUGH already holy FUCK shit DAMN why do I ever tweak about sometimes posting on saturdays. Why am I letting anyone hold me to anything

sorry prev this isn't directed to you or anyone i just wanted this on my blog to look at

A reminder: do not ask Ukrainians for forgiveness, or grace, or any other kind of emotional work for you right now.

Ukrainians are being bombed, facing genocide, and actively betrayed after over a decade of disappointing alliances with the west. Even the safest Ukrainians must worry about their loved ones, their homes, and the future of their country. The last thing they need is to coddle others who treat voting every four years as the only political tool they have (with some of you not even being able to do that much)

Donate to Ukraine, call your representatives, ask local Ukrainian orgs what you can do, show up to rallies and protests. Those are actual meaningful and realistic actions you can take. Going onto social media and pleading for forgiveness like the “good” russians did three years ago doesn’t do anything for a nation who has been so grossly betrayed

358 notes · View notes

siri-ike · 2 days ago

Text

Gut feeling: Bad Ending

Bruce stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. He could have sworn he didn't need a stepstool before. He ran his hands over his naked scalp, his fingers along the two, long, surgical scars. Starting just behind each ear and curving all the way up to his temples. The stitches were coarse and sharp, but it didn't hurt.

A soft tumbling sound caught his attention. Frostbite fell into the bathtub. "You're brand new. You don't need a bath." He giggled, scooping his friend up and pretending to towel him off.

His ears perked up at the sound of the door to his room opening and footsteps entering the room. "Come on, dad promised to bring snacks."

His room was so boring and white, and not getting to leave it is a stupid rule. Just 'cause he could "get sick and die" or "horribly injure himself" due to his "impaired motor skills" and "partially exposed cranium." Bunch'a babies.

"You're not my dad." He accused.

"And you're not supposed to be out of bed." An old woman entered his room. "My name is Doctor Leslie Tompkins. Would you mind answering a few questions for me?"

The name sounded familiar, but he'd much rather his dad say if she's safe or not. "What kind of questions?" He tightened his grip on Frostbite.

"I would also like to run a few tests." She said as she pulled cards out of her bag. "I'll grade you if you like."

Ha! He's not gonna fall for that.

She gave him a look, "First I want you to write your name-"

"I know how to write my own name!" He defended. One day, he won't fall for that. Annoyed, he climbed into the bed and pulled out the tray table. Without an ounce of effort, he wrote his signature on one of the blank cards.

Danny F.

...

Danny F?

Who the hell is Danny?

He turned the card around and tried again.

Danny F.

Both look exactly the same. Like it was a practiced signature. But he'd never seen it before.

His name isn't Danny, it's... it's uh, drrr? Brrr. Baron? Boris? Bruce! His name's Bruce! Ofcorse it is.

He pulled another index card from the stack. This time slowly writing out the name Bruce Wayne. But, it's wrong. That's not his signature. It's sloppy and looks like any other word. The other one had personality. This one just looks like any other word. He tried a few more times until Leslie interrupted with a different test.

Drawing a clock, arranging pictures into a story, and pointing out objects in a picture was easy. But then she asked questions about his past. Names of places and people. He's lived in Gotham his whole life. There's no Casper high here! There's no Sam and Tucker! And there certainly isn't a portal to hell in his basement!

He's thinking clearer than ever, so why is he still full of shit?!

Dan- Bruce kicked at the table, and it swung back to the wall.

"I trust you'll want to handle this." Leslie exited the room and Nightwing entered.

His eyes lit up, "dad -" the exitement drained away, and he slumped back down with realization. "Are... you?"

Nightwing took a deep breath. "No... I'm sorry."

Who was this guy? Just some imposter who somehow looked exactly like his dad? Or was it the same person? Has he just been pretending the whole time? No, no, that can't be. This has to be some trick. Of course, his dad's real! He's just pretending! Bruce glanced over to his signatures all over the floor. He's just pretending.

"But," Nightwing drew his attention. "I could be. If you want me to." He put his hand on his back. "But I might not be your best option." He joked, unsuccessfully.

"What's, what's your name?" He no longer spoke in Bruce's cadence.

Nightwing sat down on the bed next to "??" the boy. "My name is Dick." He whispered, careful not to let the doctor on the other side of the glass hear. Leslie and Duke (Currently dressed as "vague medical staff") were watching, but so was some random resident. "But in this outfit, I'm Nightwing." Normal volume this time

Without missing a beat. "Is that like, your Glam Rock alter ego?" That had to be Danny because it couldn't be Bruce.

Dick couldn't help but giggle. Not even laugh, giggle, like a child. "It's something like that."

He looked so satisfied with the reaction he'd garnered. "Why'd you let me think you were my dad?"

"You had enough to deal with. We considered plenty of potential outcomes, and in most of them, we found that letting you believe what you wanted was for the best." Nightwing slid his hand from the child's (he looked like he could be around 10 now) back down his arm and held his hand. He looked to the floor, covered in index cards, and gestured to the other to do the same.

"Bruce" hesitated to acknowledge the papers.

"It's ok. You can ask when you're ready." It's the right thing to say. Dick knows it. He checked. He prepared. But making the best choices in a bad situation doesn't guarantee a good outcome. And those sad little eyes looked so much like all his brothers when they were little. So small. In need. "But we'll need to call you something." He tried. "Maybe you could pick a, "Glam Rock" name, too."

He smiled brightly at the prompt. The game. Getting to pretend. He could be like his dad. It should be something similar. Little wing? Night- uh- feather?. He proudly announced, "Phantom." No, that's not-

"Ooh, spooky." Praised Nightwing.

Yeah, it's perfect.

#dp x dc au #danny phantom #fanfic #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dc x dp #hes having... a time #that time when your whole world is crumbling around you #i wrote some of this in between reps at the gym #is there a “good parenting” tag? because there's a lot of it in the clone danny Saga

83 notes · View notes

silverryuan · 24 hours ago

Text

Riddle Rosehearts with a Siren reader from Jibaro

A/N: "It's weird that I don't have writer's block... I actually have a lot of ideas in my head that I really want to write but due to classes I can't seem to find any time for my hobbies anymore."

Warning: Blood Consumption, Slight Angst

The Siren or The Golden Woman is a character from Netflix's animation series, "Love, Death, and The Robots". She's the love interest of the deaf soldier from the Jibaro episode, directed by Alberto Mielgo.

• Your and Riddle's friendship is rather complicated yet it cannot be called a mere acquaintance. Although you don't really talk much you use arm swaying movements to communicate with others, it's almost like some sort of dance or another version of sign language. Rook likes to decipher these actions of yours and Kalim likes to dance with you.

• However, that doesn't mean he tolerates how you let your numb skull friends break the rules in the Heartslabyul dorm. He sometimes wonders if Ace and Deuce became affected by your... tendencies to cause trouble and wreak havoc across the campus. But you only do that as self-defense, as Grim says on your behalf.

• But why in Twisted Wonderland would you randomly scream at people as a defense mechanism? ← Riddle thought as if he doesn't do that himself.

• Riddle never heard you talk but he has heard some rumors associated with your loud screaming. It seems like there's a record of many Savanaclaw beastmen who tried to gang up on you, suddenly did these unusual body movements in reaction to your screaming. As if they're in a trance trying to dance with you but failed miserably.

• The Faculty and Staff were called numerous times to break it up when the students started fighting themselves. When the students snap out of it they don't remember what happened. The only thing they described was hearing beautiful singing, which doesn't make sense...

• Is this your Unique Magic? It's a little similar to Ruggie's Laugh With Me with a mix of Jamil's Snake Whisper, albeit more violent. Because of those incidents, you'd been put into the avoid-at-all-costs pedestal in the student body.

• The first time he interacted with you was in the cafeteria. Back when he was, ahem, overly strict before his Overblot. He did not like how the collared fool named Ace described him and had second thoughts about removing his collar. Before he could scold Ace, you suddenly leaped onto the table and proceeded to stare at him while moving your head from side to side.

• That was also the moment where he first learned how instinctual you can be when you feel threatened. He yelped and backed away from you, not without uttering an excuse about another rule being violated. On that day, he thought that you were the same as Floyd. Weird and eccentric.

• Riddle wanted to collar you at that moment but he remembered that you had no magic, so he didn't. But by the Great Sevens, he was proven wrong. Deadly wrong. He had become one of the victims that had fallen to the extent of the severity your magic can go.

• Him Overblotting was far too unsightly of a dorm leader. He broke too many rules, hurt too many of his dormmates, nearly destroyed his dormitory, unaware that his own mother created a monster like him. He held on to his delusions of following every rule down to every detail of it, thinking it was the best for him. But no...

• He knew that it wasn't. He knew deep down that he was hurting others, his friend Trey, but he denied it because they broke the rules. So he punished them because he was right and that he should teach them not to break another rule.

• But what rule is suitable for this? His demented form? His Overblot rampant for control? Who is even right? What rule should he follow to make the pain stop? His mother didn't teach him this... Was what Trappola said was right?

• The thoughts and memories of his past worsened his condition and only made him more mad. He felt his head pounding too much. The black tears of ink wouldn't stop. He hadn't this felt vulnerable and helpless in a long time. It seems that the time he spent with his mother managed to numb the pain as well as his emotions.

• His vision turned dark as the blot consumed him. He cannot breathe. The monster was slowly killing him. Riddle in turn slowly embraces the void, embracing his final moments.

• Somebody... Anybody... Please... Save... Him.

• ... But it was too late for him.

"Everyone... Run... Ake... Cov....!"

• At least he get to hear Trey's voice one last time. His voice was panicked and muffled by the blot but nonetheless, Riddle wants to hear it.

"Yuu! What... doing...?!.... Dangerous...!!"

• Was that your name? Trey is yelling at you. What were you doing?

"GET BACK!"

• What?

• What was that? What is that sound?

• It's coming closer...!

A̷̞̖̤̩̰̭̼̹͇̘͇̫̭̠ͭͤ͑̈͐̽͛͗̂̆͊̾ͥ̄ͪ̑̎̈̆̀͢͡҉͟҉̶̷̷̨̡̛̀͘̕̕͘͟͟͟͞͠͡A̷̍̓̋̂͘͠͝A̷̶̗͍̺̱͎̠͓̙̖̞̱͇̩͈̒͆ͨͬ̎̌͒͑̓̊͒̈̑̇ͪ͂͝ͅ͏̡̧͜͟͟͢͞͠͝҉́̀͠͠A̳̬͉̫̥̤̩̰̺̯͍͉̪͈̭̜̮̣̣ͬͨ̅̈́ͣͬ͌ͦ̚҉̸̵̡̧̧A̲̫̤̫̥̟͚͕̞̦̣̭̦̞͍̣̮͉̺̮͛ͭ̽ͣͬ̓ͧ̀̐̅ͅͅͅA̵̷̶̧̪͇͈̖̖͔̺̙̦͆̇́̆̏̋̓ͥ̍̓͌͆͂͗̄ͪͯ̚҉̡̡͏̸̶̶̛̕͢͡A̵̷̧̡̛̦̭̰̟͇̯̱͙͇̣̖̩̻̞͙̰̪̱̫͔ͮ͂ͧ̉͋̎ͨ̃ͥ͋̈̀́̕͝҉͡҉̴͠҉̸̡̡̡̀͜͡͝A̷͈̭̠̗͍̹̠̙̗͙͕͎͍̘̥̥̜̹͚̺͚̍ͪ̾̎̔̔ͪ̉ͣͣ̾̊͗̇́ͣ̍̆͐͋͟͠ͅͅ҉̶̛́̕͟͟͢͡À͍̹͉̟̞̼̰͈̻̱̞̥̰͊͒̃̈̓́̿͐ͯ̑͑̍͂ͬ̇ͪ̀̆̚͡ͅͅǍ͚̮͈̰̤͍̹̖͚̮̤͉ͥͬ̏̒̈͌̒̅͆͊̌ͥ͒̔ͮ̂́̀͢͟͟͝҉̧̛̕A̦͎̫͊̈́̌̄̅̓ͦ͂ͬ̔̓̅̍̂ͯ̈́ͭ͂̓͝A̶̷̴̷̸̢̧̡̡̨̡̛̗̖̥͉̰̞̫͉̦̮̦̹̗̗̭̒̋̕͘͘͜͜͟͢͢͞͏̶̕͏͏A̛̪͍̗͈̤͔̗̠͉̯̮͍̬̪͓̭͕̱̫̞͍̺̗ͮ̓ͦͪ̄͛̄̎ͮͫ͌̽ͧ̈̓ͧ̽̃̽ͮ̐ͭ̕͜͟͜͠͝ͅͅ҉̶̴̧̨̀͟͜Ȧ̲̟̭̪̺̜̻̞̹̯͕̱͋ͥͤͩͦ͊̀̕͏̧A̢̠̻̠̩̜̥̩͙̺̓ͤ̾̓ͥ̏͛̅̔̉ͥ̾ͭ̌͋ͦͤ̇͐ͭ̆̚Ą̵̵̸̨̛̗͈̜̱̞̞͓̹͓̩̼̪̙̯̹̠̜̩͙̙͕͈͔̮̓ͤ̑̕͢͜͟͞͏̨̡͢͢͢À̶̷̵̴̧̢̛̜̯̩͕̟̟̞͈̒̅̇̀̇̔ͭ̔̄̄͆͑ͥ̂̃̉́͘̕͟͞͞͞ͅ҉̷̨̨̛̀͘͠͞Ȃ̮͈̝͈̩͈͚͙̭̙̪̦̺͚̾͆͆́̃͋͂͆͐͆ͭ̋̓Å̵̷̡̼͖͕̪̱̠͓̼̪̜̕̕͢͏͏̷͝A̜̘̺̭̰̤̱̲ͩ̃̅̀͐͋ͤ͐ͪ̅ͣͬ̌̊̐̽̆̃͒̿͛̿̌̉̀ͫ̉̀̀͘͟͟͢҉̴̸̨͜͠͡À̷̴̸̢̛͚̲͉̠̞̺̭̘̐ͬͥ́͗̏̊̆̾̒̒ͥͭ̽̋̓̑̀̀͘͞͞͝͡Ą̴̷̢̢̨̧̛͇͖͓̟̪͗̓͑̂́́̀̚͘͢͜҉̷̛̀̀͘͜͠͝͡͡A̢̹̥̬̖̘̘͓̥̮͕͋̐͆͌͑͋́ͬ͆ͫͪ̅̔́̊̋͆ͧ̈́ͧ̆ͯ͌̄̆́͟͝ͅ͏͝Ą̸̴̸̧̨̡̫̫̠̳͉͓̦͓̘̯̳͖̣͎̲͕̟̠̔̃̽́ͪ̔ͮ̅ͩ̎̔͂̉̇͒ͬ̏́̀̕͢͟͞͝͞͠ͅÀ̧̡̛̛̩̻̫͚̞̹̱̙̝̩̘̩̟̠̥̐̈́̾͊ͨ͊͢͜͡͏̶̵̷̴̴̵̧̨̨̕͜͢͏́Ȃ͇͉̣͎̇ͬ̾̇ͦͮ͂̈́̾͗̓̍̂̈ͦ͜͡͠҉̷̴̢̢̛͜͡͝҉Ą̶̴̸̨̧̛͉̠̦̤͔͓̯̠͎̩͉͐̄ͭ̎ͮ͊̌̓́̅̎̇ͦ͐̇҉̵̵̨̧͘͘͏̴̴̵̵̡̧Ã̷͚̗̞̗͎͎̳̑̆́̅ͭ̌̑̌̓̈ͯ͌ͤ͗ͭ̀͒͛ͮͮͩ̚͘҉̶̡̡̛̛͘͘͘͟͞҉̴̸̷̷̢̛́͘̕͟͢͡͠Ả̦̞̠̳̱̙̠̺̿̓ͯ͆͂̈̀ͯ͝͏̨̀͘͟͟͟͠͏̴̧̢̨͘͘͘̕͜͜͞͠͡͏̴Ȁ͖̲̩̤͇̞͇͚̞̭͈̤̱̞̖͂̿͒̓ͩ͆̀̾̏ͣ̀̒͂͑̈́̿̿ͪ͐͐̃̆ͮͯ͊ͅ͏̴̛̀́͟A̹̱̩̯͖̳̤̼͍͔̞̬̘̖̥̫͍̦͎̺͕̭̰̤͛ͨ̆ͤ͋̇̄͌̆̽ͥͪ̓̄ͥ̅̒̕ͅ҉A̴̴̶̸̶̶̡̦̣͈̯̤̖̯̣͙̖̪̫͕͕̲̼͍͍̪͎̲̩͜͟͝ͅ͏́Ā̶̸̵̸̢̛̬͇̫̺̜̖̫͉̫̟̹̳̥̪ͫͭ̓ͤ͑̎͐̐͆͆̇͌͊͊̽̄̏͗́̂͘͢͢͢͜͟͠͝͞҉̴̛͏̵̸̧́͘A̸̛͕̭̫̜̳̲͍͈̪͍̫͓̞͓̠͈ͦ͊͐̽͆͊̿̍̽ͥͮ̈́ͬ̈ͯ̈́̎͑͒ͫ̀̅̅͝ͅĄ̴̴̵̴̡̦̪͕̭͕͚͚̝͉̝̻̙͓̤͚̩̫̯̥̞͔̗̑̽͑́̔̂͌̓̽ͤ̀̈ͨ̈́̔̉͋̏̍ͫ̈́̆ͭ͆̎́͢͠͠҉̷̷̧҉̀Ă͖̥̘̺͖̭͙̗̗̰͔̹̱͚͓̣̺̥̳͇͍̏̐̈ͥ̀ͤ͂̎ͨ̀̓̆̌͠͏͘͟͡҉͏͏̴̶̡͠͏̧̧̛́̀͘͟͞͞͡͠͠҉A̛̛͖͙̠̭̼̟̱̘̤̬͙̦͓͉̖͉ͫ̀̐̈́̍̒͒ͣͮ̌ͨͨ̒͗̽̋ͧͯͤ̚̚̚͘͜͜͟͡͝ͅͅA̷̛̘̰͍͉͔̥̹͚͖̮͇̦̻̪͚̪̮̗͚̳̮̫͚̜͌̈͗ͭ̎̅ͨͫ̆ͯͦͦ̿̈́̈́ͩ͊̐ͮ̆ͩ͑ͨA̵͈̼͇̠̩̤̱̮̳̠̝͕͛ͧͩ̃̅̈̍̾͊́̈́̌̀ͦͩͦͨ̋ͦ̌̃̅͏̵͢҉̶̡̛́̀͠͏͏͏͏͝A̸͎̤̞̝͕̗͕̣̣̼̫̻̾̓ͮͬ̄ͨͣ͆̀͢͏҉͜͜҉̸̕A̶̶̸̡̧̨̧̹̪̬̩͖͖͈̭͔̯ͥͬͩ͗̒̌̾ͣ̑́́́͘͘̕̕͘͟͜͟͟͝͡͠͡͝͡͝ͅÁ̵̡̫̭̩̙͎̺̞̝̹̥̝̤̯͖̆̈́̉̈́̊͊͑ͮ̀́̚͘͘͜͢͞͠͏̀͏͏҉̸̡̀A̛̰͓̬̙̮̖̫̤̙͍̤̘͚͕̱̬̱̝̗̪͖̲̅ͨͣ̀̓̎̎̿̊̑̌̓͒ͮ͜͠҉̶̛͢͏̶̴̸̨̡̀̀͘͝͞Â̱͈̬̘̥̟͕̘̘͙̺͉͍͕͇͖̄͋ͩ́ͦ̓̌̊ͦ͐̂͛̈̽́͟͝͏̶̷̸̸̵̵̨̧̢́́̀͘͘͘͟͜͟͜͡͡͝Ą̷̧̜̮̲̟̥͎͕͉̖͉͖̩͈̮̺̂͘͢͝͠͞͠͏͞Ạ̴̶̢̠͎͖̥̙͙̱̼̯̻́̐̑̽̈́͆̊̂ͫͬͤͯͨ̾̔̑̈ͩ͛ͣ̎̏̆̏ͯ̓̊͘͟͜͠͞͝͏̧̛́̕͟͜͡Ą̸̷̷̴̡̛̪͙̻͇̬̲͖̪͖̅̌̓̆͊ͨ̏̿̓͆͑̄̍ͦ̊ͮ̇͋̏͌̾̑̾̈̍ͧ͜͟͞͞͡͡͠͞ͅA̬̭͉͙͓͖͇̰͇͍̾͂̄ͯ̔̉̿ͮ̍͆ͮͨ̚A̸̵̡̢̠̞̳͓̦̹ͬ̊ͭ͆͗͂ͮ͊͘͘͡͝͠ͅ҉̵̶̵̴̡̢̧͟͜͡͠͠͝҉̸҉A̶̶̧͈̝̞̻̺̙̭ͫ̐̀͘̕͘̕͟͝҉҉͢Ạ̷̧̡̛̛̓́͟͜͠͝͝͝Ǎ̷̡̢̛͔̠̭̙̣̖͎̬͈̥́ͬ̋͂͂ͤ͋ͧ͑ͩ̂̽ͯͮ̒̅ͪ̀̊̒̎ͩͨ̈́̈͌͢͝͞͠ͅÂ̸̧̪ͮ̋͌̎̉͋ͨ͑̊̎ͩ̈́̎͒̀͜͝҉̸͜͞͡A̴̧̧̢̢̨̘̠̹̱̻̤͖̫̯̞̬͖̗̠͚̳̲͓̪̿̍ͨͦ͛̓̍͊̀͊͗́ͣ̚͡͞͏͢҉̷̸͘͏Ą̴̸̵̴̛̻͓̯̞͇̻͢͟͠͡҉̵҉̶̴̡̛̕͘͜͜͜͡͠Ą̵̹̮̭͉̦̺͔̆͟͝͡͡͞Ą̴̷̡̨̨̧̨̰͔̱̻̺͓͇̩̝̺̣͉̦̗̳͆̀ͦ̆ͧ͛ͨ͆ͯ̅ͫ̽̊̄̅̓ͬͦͣ̍ͪ̋̎̚͘͘͘͢͟͡͝͞A̢ͯ̍͑͐̎̆̅͛̅͒̉̒͋ͣͤ̅͂̆̐ͨͭͤ̐ͣ̚҉̀͏̶̷̸̸̵̨̢̧̢̡̡̛̛́͘͢͠͡͞͝͠͝A̘̱̪͎̟̯̪̔͗̄ͫ̋ͧ͌̄͊͛̈́ͫ̍͆ͬ͛ͤͧ҉̶́҉̸̴̨̢̡́́͢͟͡͝A̷̶̴̵̡̛̘̩̙̯̜̩̦̟̱̼̤͉̭̲̟̹͇̯̗̱̘̲̔ͥ̌̅̒̽́̀́͘͢͜͜͞͠͏̵̡́̀͢͞҉̨͏̧͟

• Riddle cradled his head as a piercing shriek breaks the sound barrier, the void around him started falling apart from the shockwaves.

• It sounds awful... Like a thousand banshees shouting and crying inside his head...

• How it painfully reminded him of his mother yelling at him!

• How it sounded like her voice multiplied in every direction surrounding him and started screaming at him...!

• But it stopped. Everything went silent...

• The cries of the damned were replaced by beautiful melodic singing...

• ... It was hypnotizing him.

"Riddle! Snap out of it!"

"Rosehearts! Stop this madness!"

"Riddle, please, can you hear us?"

• Outside from Riddle's caged mind, his Overblot form and monster were in a spiral, desperately fighting back to whatever magic you've casted upon him. The more you screamed, the more Riddle suffered.

• Thank the Sevens Crowley managed to make himself useful and evacuated the rest of the students. Otherwise they'd fall under your magic's attack range too. Trey and Cater made a good call summoning magic shields around themselves before you attacked.

""̨̌̽AA̯̝ͪ͏A̠̭̠ͯ̀̀ȀA̱̫̯ͣ̔̍Ā͔̞͉̈́U̗͡U͇̭̯U̬̜ͪ̅͡U̝̟̮G͎͓͇ͥ̅̓G͈̜̙G̬̝͉͊̾G͒͒͡H͇ͯͩ̑H̹̬́͌H͓̫̆ͨH̵̗̚!ͫͫ̍!̦̬͗ͤ̌́҉!͙͚͂̓ͮ!̷͍̝͊͐!̖̟̦́̓͒͘͘ ̡ͪ͑S̷̫̓ͧ́́T̫̐Õ̵̳̙̣̾̂P̶̛ ̰͙̈́͜͞Ȋ͔̺̭̆͞T̐̚͏͝.͇͙̤̐̐ͩ͘͠.̩͗ͤ.̢̦̱̝̚͘!̢͕ ̸̺͈̤͌̃͘S͈̺̘ͦ̅͟T͍̩̠O̸̞͈̹ͥͦͩ͟P͆͗̍͏̧ ̴̜̦Ţ̷̲̙͕H̤̰̤̀͜A̜͙͉ͧͣ͂T͙͊́͞.͚ͪ̇̽.́͟.̬̯̜ͭͫ͘!̵ A̵̝̗̖A̞͙̣̓̏A͍̅͢A͆̈͌Uͧͮͦ҉͏U̶͇̰̗U̘̭̗̔͐U̡̱̜̳ͯ̿G͠G̝̤̙͌̀͏G̪̬̜G͙̳ͯ͏̴Ĥ̬̜͕̌͝"̜̃͟

• Riddle, who is now covered in ink from head to toe, is thrashing and destroying everything that comes near him. His Blot monster kept bashing its head on the ground. You were unfazed by his sudden change of aggressiveness and screamed louder.

• Even if he threw projectiles at you, your shrieks' shockwaves would deflect it with strong gusts of wind. Cracks began to appear on the monster's glass head.

"W-what's happening to him...?"

"He's weakened by Henchman's Unique Magic!"

"Eh?! You mean Siren! Yuu's Unique Magic is enough to make him like this?!"

"Focus, Deuce!"

"R-right, sorry!"

"Time to end this, guys... Split Card!"

"He's almost down. Cover us, Yuu! Doodle Suit!"

"I summon forth... Cauldron!"

"Fnyaaaagh!"

A̭̦̫ͧ̎͘͜A̍ͧA̴̞͇ͫ̈́ͫͧͥ̀ͅÄ̵̼̮́ͩ̍A͖͢G̨̛͔̜̦̮̪̐̉̇̊̀̀͠G̷̟͍̳̭ͪ̈ͪͦHͬ̏̽̾͂H͚̘͍̾̒̇H̸̗̩͍̘̓̈ͦ̍͛͞!̢̈̕!̵̧̬͝!̨̨͖̦̩̱͑ ̺̰̺͛͗̈̾̃҉҉͞Ḙ͎͖͍͇̊̂̇ͥN̯̯̤̮͔̐̈́ͤ̎Ǫ̴̤̥̻̦ͦͭ͊̚͜U͎͋̑̀Gͩ̕H̛҉!̺͕̄̒̑̃̀͠҉͢͞!̢̢͉̃ͥ̀͡!̠̱̟̹͟͞͏ ͍ͣ͏Ǫ̼̫̺ͭͬ̎F̖̰̞͎̆ͣ̄̅F̛̮̳̩͉̦ͪ͘͘ ̼͉̯͊̏̊̄W̲̪͙I̴͔͈̙͓͌͒͂́͘͢͞T̞͈̪͢H̡̧̹͚̪ ̛̟͍̘̭͟A̵̡̡̯̎̋́͘L̴͎̜̀Ļ̷͉̰̠̉͗ͅ ̸̙̙̣̤̦͒̏̿̕͜Ý̙̗̰ͥ̓͜͏̡̢͢O͇͚͖̩ͪͮ͑Ȕ̟̞͈͎̰̐̽ͪ̃͜͢͝͠R̷͞͝ ̘͎̒̑͊͞H̬ͯ̒̎́҉͏̨E̴̛͈͔̠Ẻ͓̦̘E̪̹ͣ͊͊͆͆Ȃ̄��̶̢̛͖͚̹̙̄̉́A̛̝̤A̸̸̝̻̥̣ͣ̽͏Ą̡̘͢D̗̙̹̟̓̄̓̕͡S̴̥̟͎!͈̭͉̥͏̶̡̕͠!̢̢̠̜̌̒̾ͣ͆̕͟!̟̰̣ͤ҉

{NRC – Infirmary}

• Riddle woke up in the school infirmary. He sat up with a ringing noise in his head. He tries to recall the things that happened but the headache prevented him from doing so. The boy was surprised by Trey, Cater, and the rest of the troublemakers appearing by his side. They looked relieved, tears welled up in Trey's eyes and he says something...

• ... He can't hear him... Why can't he hear him? Is it because of the ringing? What is he saying?

"...Mnh?... Trey?... Cater?..."

"Riddle! You're okay! A-are you okay? Does your head hurt?"

"Dorm Leader Rosehearts! He's awake!"

"Ssshhhh! His head might still be ringing!"

"... H-huh?"

• Trey and Cater were right up beside him immediately, checking on him. The students behind them couldn't believe it but they were relieved to see him awake.

"Siren! Yuu's magic did quite a number on you, dorm leader... Maybe you should rest more-- Woah!"

"H-Hey, Riddle! Don't sit up yet, you just woke up. There, there, relax."

"Are you in any pain right now? You look a little pale..."

"I... I... Can't... You..."

• They're mouths were moving but no sounds came out no matter how hard Riddle strained his ears.

"What is it? Can you speak louder? What's wrong?"

"Trey.. I can't hear you."

"W-what?"

"I-i can't hear what you're saying, Trey. I can't hear all of you! I c-can't- I CAN'T HEAR ANYTHING!"

"Dorm Leader, calm down! Take deep breaths."

"It's alright, just look at us. Everything will be fine."

"He can't hear us?"

"His condition is worse than I thought. Did his Overblot perhaps took his ability to hear?"

"Everyone, please get out of the infirmary. He needs space."

• The students of Heartslabyul left the room but Ace, Deuce, Grim and you stayed behind. Riddle's hands cupped his tear stained face as his sobbing intensifies.

"We're so sorry, Riddle... Don't worry, the Infirmary Ghosts can help you. We'll be right here every second."

"Yeah, you'll get your hearing back in no time!"

"... I'm... sorry... I'm sorry..."

"E-eh?"

"I'm so sorry... *sob*.... *sob*... I've been so horrible to all of you.... *sob*...."

"Woah. Dorm Leader Riddle Rosehearts crying? Oh. My. Sevens."

"Cater."

"Sorry, Trey, it's just... I never see him cry his eyes out like this."

"... *sob*.... It's all my fault... it's my own fault...! ... *sob*... You were right... *sob*...!"

• Ace stepped closer to Riddle. The crying boy saw him and cried even harder.

"T-Trappola... I'm sorry... I did want that Mont Blanc tart! I really did... *sob*... I felt bad for tossing it away... But I had to follow the rules... *sob*... I'm so sorry...!"

• Riddle let out all of the pain, all of the guilt, all of the regret he bottled up throughout his life. Ace decided to forgive him for admitting his defeat but left his reasons of doing so for another day once Riddle is healed.

• Moments later, the Infirmary Ghosts appeared and checked on Riddle's vitals. Riddle finally stopped his crying, he still hopes to reconcile with Ace. He knows that his wrongdoings will not be forgiven... He does not deserve to be called a dorm leader if all he ever do is hurt his own dormmates.

"He's healthy now and the blot is all gone. There's nothing clogging his ear canals, no bleeding. In fact, his ears look fine."

"We don't know why he lost his hearing. Maybe it's because of a concussion?"

"The students did give him a beating but that's unlikely."

• A few hours passed by. The Ghosts became puzzled and made Riddle recite the 810 rules to check for brain damage, using a notebook and pen to communicate. Riddle perfectly recalled all of the rules. The Ghosts then asked Riddle to recall his dormmates' and classmates' names as well as their appearances. Riddle remembered all of them correctly. This made the Ghosts even more puzzled.

"Looks like Yuu's magic worked too well on him."

"This was caused by magic? If so by whom?"

"Siren! Yuu's Unique Magic."

"My Henchman's Unique Magic makes them scream very loud. They can hypnotize people with it and make them go crazy."

"Really? That's some frightening magic you got there, kid..."

"Suppose that they've used it to make him deaf?"

"To cover us when we subdued him. Riddle looked like he was in great pain the whole time."

"Ah, I see."

"Well, every mage's magic gotta have some kind of loophole or weakness around it, right?"

• The Ghosts turned to ask you if there's a cure, to which you nodded yes. You took a scalpel and pierced it across your palm. Everyone was taken aback when droplets of your blood dripped on the floor but you ignored them and grabbed a teacup by Riddle's bedside. Your blood soon filled half of the cup and you gave it to Riddle.

• Riddle looked at you with shocked eyes and rejected the gesture. You insisted to lift the cup to the boy's mouth.

"W-w-what? What are you...?"

"I think Henchman wants Riddle to drink it."

"Huh?!

"What?!"

"B-but that's...!"

"I dunno! It's what my Henchman is doin'!"

"What the hell?! Don't you think it's... I don't know... Weird and gross?!"

"Hmm... If it's the only way then we don't see why not."

• The Ghosts wrote on the notebook, instructing Riddle to drink the blood. Riddle, who literally saw you cut your own skin, closed his eyes and hesitantly gulped it all down. Coughing as the metallic taste of the red liquid lingered on his tongue.

• You bandaged your bleeding palm and left the room with a theatrical bow. This moment became a core memory of the group's earliest impression of you.

"Fnyagh... I think they're tired from all that screaming. I'm gonna go rest with them. A fight like that surely made me sleepy. Hey, Henchman! Wait for the Great Grim!"

• One day later, Riddle finally got back his hearing and the headache he had disappeared. He recovered with no complications. His dormmates' planned to throw an Unbirthday Party for him in his recovery. However, Riddle's guilt has not left his mind.

"Ace Trappola."

"Uh, yes?"

"I... heavily apologize for how I treated you... how I treated all of you with strict cruelty. I see now that not all can follow the rules like how I was raised to... And that I shouldn't enforce such rules and give harsh punishments because of one's trivial or small mistakes... From now on, I'll take time to reflect on my actions and the effects it has on others... From this day forward, I, Riddle Rosehearts, hereby back down as dorm leader of Heartslabyul--"

"Sorry, dorm leader but you can't."

"P-pardon?"

"The title of dorm leader sounds nice but I don't want the strings attached to it. No one can handle the responsibility like you can, no one puts more effort into the duty of the title like you do, no one is more suitable for a dorm leader like you are. Besides, I didn't ask you to a Mage's Duel to take your position. I want you to see how much of a heartless snob you were. You were at fault for mistreating your dormmates. Trey and Cater are also at fault for letting you mistreat them for a long time. That just isn't right."

"I'm sorry too for turning a blind eye all this time as vice dorm leader. I was too cowardly to face him."

"Me too. I should've looked out for you guys as your senior. Some friends we are, huh?..."

"But that's alright. I'm sure your dormmates can forgive you guys and give you a second chance."

"Y-You really think so?... Will they forgive me? After all I've done?"

"Of course, we forgive you, Riddle. As your friends, we're here to help you whenever you need."

"Yups! Totally vote for a second chance! Just don't overdo it next time and have some more mercy, dorm leader!"

"On behalf of the Heartslabyul dorm, we still want you as our dorm leader!"

"I... I-I'm...thank you, everyone... thank you all so mu--"

"BUT I STILL HAVEN'T FORGIVEN YOU!"

"E-eh?!"

"Ace!"

"NO, DON'T "ACE!" ME! AFTER ALL THE EFFORT WE PUT INTO THAT PERFECTLY GOOD MONT BLANC TART AND TOSSING IT OUT. IT'S NOT SOMETHING YOU CAN JUST CRY AND GET AWAY WITH IT!"

"What the hell's wrong with you!?"

"The poor guy's sorry isn't he?"

"Y-yes, I do feel terribly sorry for wasting the tart."

"WELL, IF YOU ARE SORRY AND YOU DO WANT TO EARN MY FORGIVENESS, AS A PUNISHMENT FROM ME, IT'S YOUR TURN TO MAKE THE TART!"

"Ace, stop talking!"

"No, he's right. I accept the punishment. I will make the tart."

"WITHOUT TREY'S HELP!"

"W-what?!"

"But Ace...! Isn't that a little...?"

"OH? IS IT TOO HARD FOR OUR DORM LEADER?"

"N-no! I can handle this. I'll do it by myself!"

"GOOD! NOW GET TO BAKING WHILE WE FIX UP THE PARTY!"

{Heartslabyul – Unbirthday Party}

• The rose bushes that were destroyed by blot were restored their original clean state. The branches that scattered the area were removed and more grass was planted to layer the bald ground. The light of the sun bounced off the shiny surface of the teapot and silver tableware. The ripped and tarnished table sheets were replaced by new white ones.

• Riddle seemed to have a hard time adjusting with his newfound leniency but he doesn't act like he has a stick up his behind anymore and is now more calm.

"Alright, let's see... The table sheets are white, tableware is at place, acceptable weather, it's nobody's birthday today... Is the mouse asleep inside the teapot? Actually, nevermind. It does not matter anymore."

"Hey there, Riddle. You don't have to be too lenient now. Take it easy."

"I second that, we wouldn't be able to recognize you without your habits of being prim and proper."

"Forgive me, it's just... I've never done this before... breaking a ru-- well... excluding ones for this occasion."

"Don't you worry your head about that, dorm leader! You'll get used to it. It's not so bad."

• As the three chatted, Ace approached them smugly, however, the sweat evident on his forehead from the work of cleaning up the dorm lessened the effectiveness of his smugness.

"So, you have the tart ready, dorm leader?"

"Ah yes, I have it prepared. And I wasn't assisted by Trey and followed the instructions for making it exactly the way down to every detail."

"What flavor is it?"

"Cherry."

"Did you remember to put enough chestnuts? Like, a ton of them?"

"Yes, I did. Just because I want to correct my faults does not mean you have the right to boss me around. I'm still your dorm leader."

"We'll see about that. Now you know what it's like to be in our place."

"Dorm Leader, Ace!"

"Spade. Are the flamingoes and hedgehogs ready?"

"Yes! I've also invited Grim and Siren! Yuu like you requested."

"That's good, thank you."

• Speaking of which, Riddle felt absolutely guilty about the insults he hurled at you during the previous Unbirthday Party. You looked uneasy when he aggressively pointed out your appearance. He guessed that he deserved to get screamed at by you. It's a better punishment than his mother's verbal abuse.

"Heya! We're here! Where's the food?"

"Sigh, Grim..."

"What? I'm hungry! Let's get this party started! Hey, Henchman, wanna dance later after eating?"

"☺️!"

• You nodded with a smile, it faltered when you faced Riddle. You simply stared at him like you're expecting him to do something. Luckily, the short boy find this awkward encounter as a good moment to apologize to you. He tells you to come with him to the Rose Maze.

{Heartslabyul – Rose Maze}

"Hello again...Siren! Yuu, was it?.... I want to speak with you for a moment... In private."

• Riddle sends the eavesdropping three a stern look, putting emphasis on the word private, and they read it as a signal to shoo, but they didn't. Instead, Ace, Deuce, and Grim proceeded to watch in silence at a corner, peeking at a nervous Riddle struggling to form words while under your laser-focused gaze.

"........"

"I-it's not about rule violation. It is just for a dorm leader to invite guests to get acquainted with them... Yes, it's to establish a... Well..."

".....😶?"

• Your gaze softened and your head tilted to the side, like you're both questioning and urging him to state his reasons more clearly. Riddle decided to not speak like a dorm leader but as a person who's grateful for your efforts.

"Oh, forget it. Siren! Yuu... I cannot apologize for the insults I've thrown at you... how I called you a magicless human who lacks discipline and manners... and I cannot thank you enough for saving me even after all that... But..."

"........."

"I do feel sorry, I do... I feel so ashamed of myself... Please give me a chance. A chance to give a new impression. A chance to make things right... This Unbirthday Party is now a welcoming gift and an offering of gratitude for saving me. Please, accept this apology."

"......."

"... And... I'm sorry about the Mont Blanc tart... I won't waste food for a trivial rule like that ever again."

• Your smile returned to your face and you bowed. The eavesdroppers took that as a positive sign to wait at the table for you.

"... 🙂‍↕️."

"Y-You... you forgive me?... Thank you... Thank you so much... You've no idea how relieved I am! I admit, I was worried there for a minute. Thank you."

• Riddle almost teared up from relief and joy but he wiped his eyes. This is a good sign after all, no need for more crying. He'll make the others worry.

"I, Dorm Leader of Hearstla- no... I, Riddle Rosehearts, am humbly grateful for your forgiveness. Now, shall we go back?"

• You and Riddle walked out of the Rose Maze, awaited by a hungry Grim and an impatient Ace.

"You done chatting with him?"

"☺️!"

"C'mon, c'mon! Don't just stand there. Sit here! I heard from Ace that Riddle made a Mont Blanc tart for us! I wanna taste it!"

"Grim, calm down. Your drool is soaking the table sheet!"

• In the end, the tart made by Riddle tasted terrible but you guys got a good laugh at it. Music filled the party and you danced with your new friends.

• Like I said, Riddle has a somewhat complicated friendship with you. You liked to feel free from restraint or control so you could freely express yourself however you want. Riddle is one of the others that keeps you at bay or from doing anything stupid.

• Riddle even made the effort to learn and decipher your movements. And in turn, you took time to learn some of the Queen of Hearts' rules.

• There are times where he hides behind you to scare away Floyd. There are times he lets you roam around Heartslabyul and dance within the Rose Maze (not without a warning to not break a rule). You cause less trouble now, however, he can't say the same for your idiots.

• He's also one of the individuals who protects your gold scales from watching eyes (read: Azul, Ruggie) and to provide the headmaster a list of reasons on why he can't just take it whenever Crowley asks. He warns you to stay away from others who want to monopolize you. He tries his best to threaten Azul to never strike a deal with you.

• He's seen you cure Overblot victims with your blood, amazed by its effectiveness to heal injuries and even some disabilities. For example, a student from Heartslabyul that were injured by the blot claimed that their blindness was gone. Another one from a different dorm used to have a paralyzed nerve in his leg, but now he can run with no difficulties thanks to your blood.

• He worries for your safety and well-being at this point. He knows that he cannot restrict you from every choice you make, whether selfless or foolish. Besides, you told him not to grow gray hairs for you as he has a lot on his plate as a dorm leader. You learned cautiousness from experience that there are individuals who revel in the despair of others.

• You know pain physically and emotionally all too well. It was under the guise of a person you thought who loved you. Only to stab you in the end and take everything you have dear away from you. Leaving you alone to lament in your miserable state.

• Riddle felt that pain too. It disguised itself not only as a loving figure, but as his own mother. A mother who inflicted strictness upon him like no other, caused him to Overblot and on the verge of dying. But he was saved by his friends who cared for him.

• But who saved you from your pain? It was just you. All the horrific things they did to you, yet... you let it all go, you learned to accept it and moved on your own. Riddle was astonished by your strength to let the painful past go. It gave him a deep thought that if you can do it, maybe he can too. You bared your scars to him and he bared his to you.

• Your carefree and cautious demeanor contrasts Riddle's strict and wrathful one. But overall, he thinks that you are a great and loyal friend. A friend that he didn't think he deserved, but one who needed to show him how to let hurtful things go. How to accept your mistakes and imperfections as a part of your journey.

• To dance with no fear on the stage full of pain and sorrow called life.

70 notes · View notes

thefemmefatalexo · 2 days ago

Text

Nanami SMAU - A Verdict of Us

Chapter 13 - Objection Overruled

Summary: Kento Nanami was perfect—disciplined, untouchable, and entirely focused on his future. Emotions didn’t fit into his plans. You were everything he avoided—bold, warm, and impossible to ignore. You told yourself he didn’t matter, but you couldn’t stop watching him.

He never looked your way. Not until the day his perfectly controlled world unraveled, and you were at the center of it.

an: Phew…. How we feeling? SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 12} ; {next}

taglist: @gigiiiiislife @getovibesonly @inthedarkshadows000 @burpzz @sleepykittyenergy @fuzzycollectiondeersblog

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

The dining room of the Nanami estate was a picture of refinement—high ceilings, a crystal chandelier casting soft golden light, the long mahogany table set with fine china and gleaming silverware. The quiet hum of classical music played in the background, nearly drowned out by the voices of the two families engaged in discussion.

Nanami sat at the far end of the table, his posture rigid but practiced. His father, seated at the head, was deep in conversation with Mr. Takahashi about upcoming business mergers and legal strategies. It was a familiar setting, one he had been raised in, where every conversation had a purpose, every alliance a calculated move.

“The key to a successful firm,” Mr. Takahashi was saying, “is knowing which cases to take and which to leave alone. Not every battle is worth fighting.”

Nanami’s father nodded approvingly. “Exactly. Some lawyers waste their careers chasing ideals instead of securing real power. At the end of the day, reputation is everything.”

Nanami’s mother took a delicate sip of her wine. “It’s like that upcoming case involving the [Your Last Name] family. They always involve themselves in causes that are… questionable, don’t you think?”

Mrs. Takahashi smirked. “Oh, absolutely. I heard they’re throwing yet another charity event soon. Always parading themselves around as if that’s the same as real influence. Honestly, I wonder what they even gain from it.”

Nanami remained silent, his fingers tightening around his fork. He forced himself to keep his expression neutral, even as irritation twisted in his chest. They spoke about you and your family so casually, as if you were nothing more than a misguided idealist playing at generosity.

He wanted to correct them. Wanted to tell them they were wrong about you. But he knew better.

His father was already displeased about his association with you. Speaking up now would only draw more scrutiny—scrutiny he couldn’t afford.

So, he stayed quiet.

Across from him, Ayaka Takahashi, their daughter, turned to him with a charming smile. “You’re awfully quiet tonight, Nanami. Is dinner not to your liking?”

He met her gaze, giving a polite nod. “The food is fine.”

“You always seem so serious,” she mused, resting her chin on her palm. “Maybe you just need the right company to loosen up.”

Nanami didn’t react, but his father did.

“Ayaka is an exceptional young woman,” his father said smoothly, cutting into his steak. “She comes from a family with strong values, and she’s already making a name for herself in the legal world. Kento, you should take the time to get to know her better.”

Nanami kept his expression unreadable. “I spoke with her at the conference. She’s impressive.”

Ayaka smiled. “You think so? That’s nice to hear. Maybe we should have dinner sometime—just the two of us.”

Before he could reply, Mrs. Takahashi chuckled. “Oh, I agree. They would make such a perfect match.”

Nanami’s mother hummed in approval. “We’ve always wanted Kento to be with someone who understands our world. Someone with the same drive, the same ambitions.”

His father nodded, his gaze sharp. “Ayaka is a smart choice, Kento. A relationship should be built on more than just fleeting emotions. It should be built on stability, power, and strategy. You would do well to remember that.”

Nanami didn’t respond immediately. He was used to this—his life planned out in careful steps, his future mapped by decisions he was barely given a say in. He was used to expectations.

But for the first time in a long time, he felt like resisting.

And he knew exactly why.

The dinner at the Nanami estate was perfect, by every standard that mattered to his parents. The company was prestigious, the conversation strategic, and the atmosphere calculated.

But for Nanami, it had never felt more suffocating.

As he listened to Ayaka laugh beside him, as his father spoke of futures he was expected to walk into, all he could think about was you.

And the truth he hadn’t wanted to admit.

That no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, he didn’t want the life his parents had planned for him.

And he didn’t want her.

He wanted you.

But he wasn’t sure if it even mattered anymore.

The campus cafeteria was a buzzing mess of students chatting between classes, the smell of coffee and fried food lingering in the air. You sat with Shoko and Toji’s reader, idly stirring your drink as you waited for Gojo’s reader to arrive. The day had been dragging, and for once, you weren’t sure you were looking forward to this meetup.

Shoko exhaled a lazy puff of smoke before putting out her cigarette. “Saw Nanami last night, by the way.”

Your interest piqued immediately. “Oh?”

She leaned back in her chair, looking entirely unbothered. “Yeah. Looked like he was on a date.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

Toji’s reader raised a brow. “With who?”

“Some rich girl,” Shoko said, waving a hand dismissively. “Ayaka Takahashi. You know, her family’s loaded. I saw them at this fancy restaurant—real expensive place. They looked cozy.”

Your fingers tightened around your cup. Nanami on a date. With another girl.

You felt something you didn’t want to name twist in your chest. He had been pushing you away for days, ignoring your texts, acting cold and distant. And now you were hearing that he had been out with someone else?

You weren’t sure what hurt more—the fact that he had gone on a date, or the fact that he hadn’t even bothered to tell you.

You opened your mouth, but before you could react, a voice interrupted.

“Hey, sorry I’m late!”

Gojo’s reader slid into the seat beside you, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside you.

You forced a smile, pushing everything down. “No worries. We were just catching up.”

But even as you tried to focus on the conversation, your mind was elsewhere.

On him. On the way he had shut you out.

And on the realization that maybe you had been foolish to think you were ever different to him.

56 notes · View notes

redfoxwritesstuff · 1 day ago

Text

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 37 (Human Alastor x Married Reader)

AN: DId everyone have a good Valentine's day that celebrated? And a good week? Feeling nice and cozy? Ready to be home from our beach vacation? Good....

CW: Laurence, sexual assault, marital rape, Alastor being a unhinged murder baby, suggestions of people nomming

Prev Masterlist AO3 KoFi Show your support by leaving a tip, buy Kit a coffee!

“Where’d you get that dress?” Laurence hissed over your shoulder as you lifted your bag into the car.

“Ma- Mother got it for me,” you corrected yourself. Speak properly, you’re in public and heaven forbid your words appear to be anything less than chipper. You tried to look him in the eye while you straightened again, but it was hard. It felt like Laurence was looking into your soul when your eyes met. Would he see your guilt? The weight of your sins on your heart?

“Did she now?” Laurence asked after a pause. “How generous of her.”

“It was,” you agreed. “I’m rather fond of it, too.” You made a show of turning this way and that to show it off, just as a woman would in a happy marriage.

Laurence only looked on wordlessly as he opened the car door, face still as stone. There was something in his eyes, in his face, you didn’t like. You almost asked him if he was alright, if something happened before you swallowed your fear induced curiosity.

Instead of asking, you tried to smile and ignore it. If you worried, if you looked like you saw, it would only make things worse for you. All it would do was make you look like there was a reason for you to notice. The last thing Alastor needed was for you to act guilty.

“How was your sister’s?” Laurence asked, sitting behind the wheel for a moment before starting the car.

“It was lovely.” You fueled the smile on your face with memories of the sandcastle that hardly looked like a castle.

“And the birth went well?” Laurence asked, eyes focused on the view out the back window while backing out of the parking space. You kept your eyes trained on the world passing by, searching for one face, one car that would make everything alright.

For a moment, a flash, a blink, you saw him. Alastor stood tucked close to the pillar and hidden from sight, watching you. Did he see you looking at him?

You wanted to wave to him, to say some sort of goodbye, but you couldn’t. He couldn’t either. All you could do is trust him and hope that he saw you longing to be by his side.

“Something wrong?” Laurence asked, “Did you leave something behind?”

“No,” you lied, knowing full well you had left behind your heart. It wasn’t like you could go back and get it, anyway. It would be impossible for you to go back and collect it. It was his forever.

“And how was your weekend away?” Mimzy asked, sliding a glass to Alastor across the empty bar. She was closed, still prepping for the night, but that never stopped Alastor from making himself right at home.

“It was wonderful,” Alastor said, smile spreading wider as he swirled the amber liquid in his cup.

“Oh, Al.” Mimzy sighed, leaning on her elbow as she looked over the bar at him. “You’ve got it bad for her.”

“I do,” he admitted. “I’m addicted to her.”

“Be careful,” she reached out, wrapping her hand around his much larger one. “I wish I could tell ya that this’ll work out and you’ll get your girl, but Al, this is doomed. Don’t let it doom you. Keep your head about you, if you’re going to run around with her.”

“I’ve got it under control.”

You tried not to notice the dust clinging to railings and tables as you walked through the living room. There were footprints on the floors, marks left by someone walking shoeless through the house, the body’s natural oils leaving just the ghost of the step behind, illuminated by the sunlight.

Laurence always told you it was proper to wear shoes in the house. You needed to be guest ready at all times. Even he kept himself to that standard. From the first day of your marriage, shoes were required if you were going beyond the bathroom.

But there were footprints on the dusty floor.

One set of footprints was smaller than the other. You had no children. Laurence had no sisters. There was no reason Laurence should walk shoeless through your house. There was no reason a woman should, either.

He had brought her to your home. Hot, bitter something stabbed into your gut and chest. Why? Why did that hurt you? It shouldn’t. You told yourself that, blinking back tears. You had spent your weekend in the arms of another, so what if he did too?

The sound of your throat clearing awkwardly was loud in the silent house as you crossed to the stairs. The emotion locked in your throat made it feel dry and as dusty as your home.

Cold fear ran down your spine as Laurance loomed behind you. Your eyes struggled to leave those dainty footprints on the dusty floor. What a contrast it was to feel fear again after a weekend with nothing but the peace and warmth you had felt sheltered with Alastor.

“Something wrong?” Laurance’s breath cascaded over your neck and shoulder, not bringing an ounce of comfort that came with Alastor’s breath doing the same.

Your eyes remained locked on the footprints, far too dainty to have any chance of being yours. Had you ever actually been barefoot on this floor? Even once?

A painful lump burned in your throat and your eyes stung as you came to terms with the fact that he really had brought another woman into your home. It bothered you and worse still; the fact that it bothered you bothered you.

There was nothing you wanted more than to run into Alastor’s arms, take shelter there and cry those bitter hot tears. He’d let you too, you knew that and oh, wasn’t that somehow worse still?

The man you loved would hold you as you bitterly cried over the betrayal of another man. Surely it would hurt him to do so, not just to see your pain, but to know that you cared enough to be hurt. Would he still love you?

The stairs creaked as your weight settled on each step. Mentally, you mapped those squeaky boards, as you did every time you climbed them, just in case there was a change. They creaked louder still under Laurance’s weight as he followed you up, presence suffocatingly close behind you.

Had you always been this scared of him, or was it you had grown desensitized? Had Alastor spoiled you with his kindness, love and pleasure for so long that you’d forgotten how to live your life? Had a weekend truly been enough to grow accustomed to the safe shelter and happiness you found in Alastor’s arms?

Was the fear sharper now that time had ripped that all away? Was that why being in this house with him felt all the more terrifying?

You’d grown complacent in your short time away and now utter terror at the prospect of your husband’s touch ran through your veins, sending your heart beating hard. Were your hands trembling? You didn’t dare hold them out to check.

What would his touch bring you tonight? Had he sated his hunger, a hunger you had only begun to understand, with the owner of those tiny footprints? Was she the same woman from Mimzy’s? Or did he have other women?

Would he still hunger for you tonight? Would he grip your arms too tight, pushing you to the bed? Would he rip your dress?

Suddenly you regretted wearing it. You didn’t want to face the thought of it ripping, not the dress Alastor had gotten you.

“I’m going to change out of this,” you said quickly, on impulse. “It ah- it smells like train.” It didn’t. It should have, but it didn’t because you had only spent an hour in the crammed car.

Each step toward your wardrobe came faster than the last, though you tried to not let them be. You tried to pretend not to see Laurence’s eyes on you as you undid button after button.

You were, for the first time in days, acutely aware of the lingering ache in your side, left by ribs still healing even after weeks passed since their injury. It would ben weeks still until that pain stopped gripping you, if ever. The bruises were lighter now, shades of yellow hidden in your skin.

You had been healing. Time with Alastor had been putting you back together again, a little bit at a time. Alastor’s voice smoothed over your worries. His touch healed bruising.

As the fear rushed through your veins, the wrong pair of hands wrapped around your biceps from behind. You couldn’t help but question if it was worth it? Did the fear feel like this before? Or was it because you had gotten a poisoned taste of Alastor?

Did it matter?

Laurence pulled you to him. Each breath that washed over your neck made it harder to school your face. You knew how to do this, you’d done it time and time again. Go numb. Go still. Let it happen.

So why was it so hard now?

You knew why. You knew why a sob tried to fight from your throat as Laurance pushed your slip up your legs. You knew why the bed you didn’t remember landing on felt wrong.

“Please, Laurance.” You couldn’t keep the whine from your voice. It felt like a lifetime ago when you had said something similar, whine and all to Alastor, and yet the meaning and desire between the two instances couldn’t be more different. “I just got home.”

“I’ve been without my wife,” Laurance punctuated his words with the bullying press of his hips against you. How different he felt fighting his way inside you compared to Alastor’s fingers had. “A man has needs, and it’s his wife’s job to satisfy them.”

It wasn’t like this with Alastor. That’s why it was so hard to lie there and submit.

Tears welled in your eyes as you took in the poorly made bed. Hairs of bright red, not your own, lay on your pillow.

She had been here too; you realized as tears fell from your eyes. Laurence had taken her into your home. He had taken her in your marriage bed.

Had he lain with her? Surely he had. Her hair was on your pillow. Did he make her feel good in the same ways Alastor made you feel good? Or was he not capable?

Each jarring shake of your body as he bullied into you made it harder to breathe. It felt like you were being ripped apart. Had it always felt this way? Hurt this bad?

The blanket was rough against your face as you sobbed into it silently. Your mind conjures up an image of Alastor, sitting on the villa bed naked as the day he had been born and yet so vulnerable, a desperate attempt to comfort yourself.

Alastor, the man who would never take you against your will.

Alastor, the man who would always leave you an out, never demanding more from you than you could give.

Alastor, who taught you that love didn’t hurt.

You wanted to hate him for that. You wanted to push his face from your mind. You wanted to turn away from him.

As Laurence worked through your body, using you to please himself in a process you understood better now than ever in your life, you longed for Alastor.

You longed for his soft touches.

You longed for his sweet kisses.

You longed for the joy in his laugh.

He was poison; you realized, but he was also the antidote to Laurance’s poison. You were addicted to his sweet taste and there was no going back. Alastor may be poison to your marriage, to your reputation and your standing. That was true.

But he would never do this to you.

Alastor felt like electricity was running through his veins. There had been only a few times he had felt as alive as he did right now. It concerned him slightly how many of them took place over the weekend but that was alright, he’d examine that later.

There was a thump in the back of the car but Alastor paid it no mind. They’d be where they were going soon enough. It wasn’t like the man had the strength to do any damage to the trunk, anyway.

It was better he wake up now and be feisty instead of Alastor having to wait for them to get his senses about him. The hunt would start sooner if he was awake.

“We’re just about there, old chap.” Alastor interrupted his humming, though the man likely couldn’t hear him. That was alright, he didn’t need to hear Alastor.

The car bumped and rocked, sometimes jumping over large roots. They were a good way out, but that was just how he wanted it, too. They had turned onto the back road that led out to into the bayou just past his home almost an hour ago and not stopped since.

Alastor’s grin spread wider when he spotted the end of the road. The car speed up, earning muffled screams from the back and then, when he slammed on the brakes, a solid thump as the body flew into the back of the trunk.

“Just making sure you’re awake,” Alastor said, laughing as he cut the engine. The car rocked with the shifting of his weight when he stepped out of the car. Turning, he leaned back in and grabbed the rifle from where it leaned into the passenger seat.

The barrel of the gun rested against his shoulder as he carried it, whistling a jaunty tune all the while as he made his way to the back of his car. Each step was paired with a flick of his hand, spinning the keys around his finger only to slap the underside of his fingers with a jingle. Another whistled step and another jingle of the keys.

The sound of the key slotting into the trunk lock was loud in the silence otherwise silence, only accompanied by the tune Alastor whistled. The man inside stilled, but Alastor could still hear his pathetic whimpering, muffled as he opened the latch. The smell of urine wafted up from the trunk as it opened. Alastor’s nose wrinkled at the smell.

It was alright, that’s why he had the tarps lining the bottom.

“You’ve made quite the mess in here, haven’t you, Mr. Montemuro?” The man’s wide eyes reflected the moonlight as he scooted away from Alastor. “Ah, where are my manners?”

Alastor slipped a knife under the knotted cloth gag tied around the man’s head and pulled. The blade cut through the fabric easily.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Moreau. I swear, let me go and no one has to know about this. I swear! I won’t say anything.”

“You see,” Alastor hummed as he slipped the antler hilted knife back into the sheath at his waist, “Even if we just put this behind us, that wouldn’t do anything to bring them justice.”

“Bring who?” The man asked, blubbering pleas spilling from his lips as Alastor wrapped his hand around the man’s thick bicep. He was hefty, needing to lie off the fatty meats and rich sauces but far from the picture of glutton. That’s why Alastor picked him for tonight.

Not that he wasn’t slated to die at some point- he was on the list. Alastor wouldn’t look the other way, knowing how this man treated his wife. He spent more money on women of the night than he did putting food on the table for his wife and children. Men like him were a waste of air.

The least he could do was make himself useful. Alastor hadn’t been to the butcher yet and what he had in his icebox had been tossed before he left town or it would have gone rancid and stank up the house.

Meat was expensive and, after all the spending of the weekend, he would rather not take on the expense. Not that he couldn’t afford it. He could, and Laurence was due for a payment this week, anyway. It simply would have left his accounts lower than he would have liked.

Oh well, he smiled wider as he helped the man find his feet. There were always other options.

“Please, let me go.” The man’s incoherent pleas occasionally gave way to something that made sense. Alastor swallowed the urge to praise him for getting that much out.

“I fully intend to.” Alastor said with a manic, inhumanly wide grin. “But that doesn’t mean there won’t be justice.”

The ground was damp under his knee as he knelt to the side of the man, cutting the ropes that had bound the man’s legs. Crickets chirped around him, singing their songs. Alastor had learned early on not to be in front of or behind someone when doing this part.

They would get a head start, but it was too risky to give that head start while he’s on his ass holding a bloodied nose.

The man’s shoulder was sticky with sweat as Alastor turned him to face the swampy forest. One large step after the other took them closer to the forest’s edge. Adrenaline was coursing through Alastor now. Between the dangers of the bayou and the risk of a failed hunt, this was by far his favorite way to kill.

“You know,” Alastor mused, “I have been feeling very wound up since I got back.”

“Got back?” The man whimpered, trying to draw out the conversation.

“I spent the weekend away with my girl,” Alastor chuckled, “She’s a lovely gal too. Had a great time. She accepts me, just as I am. Can you believe that?”

“She accepts this?” The man’s voice was thin with fear.

“Oh, this she doesn’t know about yet. But when she does, I’m sure she’ll accept it too. You see, our love is changing her. That’s what happens when you’re meant to be together and we’re clearly meant to be together.”

“You’re crazy.” Dirt and stones crunched under the man’s feet as he stumbled.

“Ha! I am!” Alastor shoved the man forward as he laughed, “So you better run like your life depends on it.”

The man wasted no time in doing as he was told, running clumsily through the brush, tripping over roots and stumbling. The man’s panting wails carried easily over the wet ground. Alastor’s laugh chased him, hot on his heels as if it was carried on the wings of some terrible demon.

“Because it does!” Alastor finished as he watched the man disappear. That was alright, it wouldn’t take long at all to find him.

The trail was hardly a challenge to follow. Rippling waves in shallow water told a tale of where he had been and the splashing and screams told Alastor right were he was at any moment.

This was Alastor’s territory. Glowing eyes watched on as he ran through the wet forest. He tried to avoid making more noise than he had to. It wasn’t always avoidable. His pray wasn’t going to hear him coming, anyway. Not over the sounds of his own wailing screams, at least.

The man didn’t put up a good fight at all when Alastor descended on him. He had tripped and broken his ankle not even half an hour into the hunt. It dissapointed Alastor to have the challenge of the hunt cut short as he stalked through the darkness after the limping figure.

The loud shot of his rifle echoed through the forest, sending sleeping birds in into sudden wakeful flight, filling the air with the sound of beating wings. The silence was quick to reclaim the night, echos dying as quickly as the shot had woken the animals.

“Too bad, old chap.” Alastor said, kneeling to cut the clothing away from the man. “You didn’t make a very entertaining hunt in the slightest.”

The body was heavy and awkward as Alastor drug it closer to the water’s edge. It wasn’t ideal. He’d have to be mindful of his surroundings and make quick work if he would not fall victim to a killer himself that night.

Alastor used the cut shirt from the man to soak up water and wash the sweat and urine from the body. The work was meticulous. It was important to have a clean surface before he set on the next step.

Once he was satisfied that the surface was clean if waste, he tossed the shirt into the water and followed by the pants. The soft hiss of his knife leaving the sheath was music to his ears.

First, he pulled the carcass so that the head was hanging over the bank and the body on an incline. There was no reason to believe life still was present but Alastor slit the throat deeply anyway, allowing blood to pour out, aided by gravity.

While he worked, Alastor hummed and thought of you. He wondered what your favorite cut of meat was. As he collected the rich roasts from the thigh, he wondered if you’d like similar cuts. Would you question the meats in his icebox? Would you question a taste different from you were used to?

Would you accept this side of him? Alastor didn’t think you would, not right now, but in time? He just needed more time with you. You were meant to be his.

Leaning back from his work, blood smeared and pooling around him in the darkness, Alastor couldn’t help but marvel at how his thoughts of you had changed over the time you had spent together. It happened as quickly as spring gave way to summer.

How close he had come to not finding the one meant for him. And to think, he had considered sending you away once he had gotten you safe from Laurence, sending you away from what was where you belonged.

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

68 notes · View notes

creatingblackcharacters · 3 days ago

Note

100% real genuine question:

Should relationships be different in fiction with Black characters? I have always heard to treat characters as people first and then whatever (race, sexuality, gender, disability, etc etc) second.

But reading that post about antiblackness in fandom one of the quotes said that the relationships were written as if they were white, which confused me.

Is it just saying that there were some moments that seemed inaccurate or racist because one of the characters was Black (like running fingers through hair, to name a minor one) or is there more?

Is it about how it reads to us because of the racist history irl?

I have several original stories containing Black characters and I've always tried to go out of my way to make them feel fully fleshed out and if I'm even slightly worried about one character feeling stereotypical, I try to fix it (and sometimes just add more characters that defy that stereotype. Like, one of my characters is a Black woman and as I developed her I decided she was a lesbian and leaned butch. After that I added feminine Black women, including lesbians, as well as nonBlack butches because I know the masculinization of Black people is a huge issue. Even though, this character is literally the only "masculine" Black woman, but not the first Black woman, I had written at the time, lol. )

I am probably overthinking and overexplaining. But now I am rethinking all of the relationships I have in my stories with Black characters in them. Diversity is really important to me and I hate to imagine myself contributing to racist views of Black characters...

(forgive me if I come across as a Whining White Woman™ I'm autistic so I genuinely want to know if I'm doing it wrong)

Well, if you haven't read my syllabus, I would highly suggest doing so! Because I could not possibly tell you everything you've potentially done based off of this ask 😅 but you might find some things that will help you narrow your scope in your own stories, and better your writing for the future.

When we say things like "they were written like a white person", it usually means that it's clear within the story that the character's Blackness, and therefore how they and their actions would be perceived both within and outside of the story, were not considered by the author. It's clear that the character was written to be white- which is what most people consider as the default- and then just made "Black" to fill in a box. I can tell when a character's Blackness matters to their identity, versus when I'm just reading a story with someone's blorbo with a bucket of brown paint.

Do you have Black readers? Black peers? Have you ever had any feedback about those characters- do you think perhaps asking a Black beta reader or sensitivity reader might assuage your concerns? You could always put up your fics on your page and ask directly! Be open to that feedback, though.

#creatingblackcharacters #thatsjusttips

48 notes · View notes

jazzy96scorpio · 2 days ago

Text

Daddy's Girl

Chapter 2 Love and Redemption

Description: Whoops! Looks like one night wasn't enough. 😉 You two are back at it, but things are way more complicated now. Your chemistry is undeniable, but your past is catching up to you. Prepare for some steamy moments, some tough choices, and a love story that's anything but predictable.

Pairing: You / Clint Age gap (early 20's/late 40's)

Word count: 4,400

Warnings ⚠️: Explicit adult content, strong language and sexual content, sex, some daddy/age-gap kink, oral sex, unprotected sex, SMUT, angst and fluff

The memory of Clint's touch, the raw intensity of the night before, lingered like a phantom limb. You replayed every moment in your head, the way his hands had moved on your body, the things he'd whispered in your ear, the sheer animalistic pleasure of it all. You'd never felt so… alive. So desired. You genuinely liked him, more than you probably should have, considering.

The next morning, you arrived at the video shop, a small smile playing on your lips. As you tidied up the back room, a glint of leather caught your eye. Clint's wallet. He'd left it behind. A small, practical part of you knew you should just leave it for him to collect, but a larger, more mischievous part of you saw an opportunity.

You decided to take it to the restaurant. It was a long shot, but you had a feeling he might be there. As you walked across the parking lot, your eyes scanned the rows of cars, searching for his familiar vehicle. And then you saw him.

He was sitting in his car, the engine running, but he wasn't going anywhere. And he wasn't alone. Another woman was with him, leaning in close. Too close. They were kissing.

A hot, possessive kiss that made your stomach clench. Jealousy, sharp and unexpected, pierced through you. You knew it was just one night. You knew it probably didn't mean anything. But still… it stung.

You forced yourself to walk closer, trying to appear nonchalant. As you got closer, you noticed something that made your anger falter. The woman was pregnant.

Suddenly, making a scene seemed… wrong. Not for your sake, but for hers.

You approached the car, your face carefully neutral. "Clint," you said, your voice even. "You left your wallet at the shop."

He startled, pulling away from the woman. His eyes widened in surprise, then quickly shifted to something unreadable. He took the wallet from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. "Thanks," he mumbled, his gaze darting between you and the woman.

"No problem," you replied, giving them both a polite nod. "Have a good day."

💔

You turned and walked away, your back to them, your heart a heavy weight in your chest. You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn't look back. You didn't want to see the expression on his face. You didn't want to know what he was thinking. You just wanted to get away, to escape the sting of rejection and the realization that maybe, just maybe, you'd been a fool to think it could be anything more than just one night.

Later that afternoon, the bell above the video shop door jingled, and you saw him. Clint.

He walked in, looking a little sheepish, a little… desperate. "Hey," he said, his voice tentative.

"Hi," you replied, your voice clipped, cold. You couldn't believe he had the nerve to show up after what you saw.

He could feel the chill radiating off you. He walked behind the counter, closing the small distance between you.

"I… I wanted to apologize," he said, his eyes searching yours.

"Apologize?" you scoffed, crossing your arms. "For what, exactly? Leaving your wallet? Or kissing another woman in broad daylight?"

"Both," he said quietly. "I messed up."

"Messed up?" you repeated, your voice rising. "That's putting it mildly, isn't it? You spent the night with me, you… you…" You couldn't even bring yourself to say it. "And then, the very next day, I see you kissing someone else. Someone pregnant, no less!"

"I know, I know," he said, his voice laced with regret. "It wasn't right. I'm so sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cut it, Clint," you snapped. "What did you think? That I wouldn't find out? That I wouldn't care?"

"I… I wasn't thinking," he admitted. "I was an idiot. I really wanted you. That night… it was… something special."

"Special?" you scoffed. "Special enough to forget you have another girlfriend? Special enough to forget she is pregnant?"

His face fell. "I… I should have told you," he said. "I'm married. My wife… she's due in a few weeks."

The anger inside you flared. "You're married?" you hissed. "And you have the audacity to come here, after everything, and tell me that now?"

You slapped him, hard, your hand stinging. "Get out, Clint. Get out of my shop. Get out of my life."

He flinched at the slap, his eyes filled with pain. "Please," he said. "Just let me explain—"

"Explain what?" you interrupted, your voice trembling with rage. "Explain how you lied to me? Explain how you used me? There's nothing to explain. Just go."

"I really… I care about you," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"Care about me?" you laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Don't lie to me again, Clint. Just go."

He looked at you for a moment longer, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and longing. Then, with a sigh, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, shaking with anger and hurt.

Later that night, the walk home felt miles long. You were so tired, so messed up. All you wanted was sleep, oblivion. Just to shut everything off for a while.

Then, headlights. A car pulls up beside you. Guess who? Clint. He rolls down the window, calling your name.

You flip him off without a second thought. "Fuck off," you mutter.

He gets out of the car, looking… what? Guilty? Desperate? Hard to tell in the dark.

He grabs your arms, pulling you close. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice low. "I really do care about you. I can't stop thinking about you… about that night…"

You slap him again, a sharp, stinging slap. "Just… stop," you say, your voice shaky.

He doesn't even react to the slap. He just kisses you, hard and fast, like he can't get enough.

"I want you," he whispers against your lips. "I can't get enough of you, babygirl."

He pulls back a little. "Come on, baby… let's go for a ride."

You hesitate. He whispers, "You're mine, babygirl…"

He opens the car door. "Please," he says, his voice softer now. "Just…let me talk to you.."

And even though you know it's a terrible idea, even though you're still furious with him, you get in.

"What do you want, Clint? Tell me and make it quick," you say, your voice tight. "Before someone sees us."

He's silent for a moment, then starts the car, pulling away from the curb. He finds a secluded spot down a dirt road, deep in the woods. He shuts off the engine, the silence broken only by the chirping of crickets.

He turns to you, his face in shadow.

He takes your chin, gently tilting your face up to his. He notices the tears you’d been trying to hide. He wipes them away with his thumb.

"Why, Clint?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper. "Why did you do this to me?"

He kisses you, a soft, apologetic kiss at first, then deepening, his hands cupping your face. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

"From the moment I saw you… I wanted you, babygirl. I wasn't thinking about anything else." He starts to make excuses.

"I just… I want you," he says, his voice laced with desperation.

"What about your wife, Clint?" you ask, cutting him off.

He hesitates. "Please understand I want you..I want to do this…I wanna be with you …Please...I really do. But… I can't leave her now." He promises he’ll be with you, eventually. He whispers that he loves you.

"This isn't love, Clint," you say, your voice hard. "You just like to fuck young girls, old man."

His face hardens, a flicker of anger in his eyes. "You're right," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "And you're mine, babygirl. Mine to use."

He grabs you, lifting you onto his lap, his grip tight. He kisses you roughly, possessively. You try to pull away, but his hold tightens, his kisses becoming more insistent, more demanding. You give in, finally, succumbing to the heat between you.

He pulls up your dress, ripping your panties in the process.

"Goddamn, babygirl," he breathes, his voice thick with lust. "You're perfect. Absolutely perfect."

He quickly unbuckles his belt, his cock springing free, huge and throbbing, glistening with pre-cum. He kisses your breasts, licking your nipples, teasing you until you moan, your hands tangling in his hair.

He pulls the seat back, reclining it almost flat. You straddle him, facing him, your hips resting against his.

Then, in one swift movement, he guides his cock inside you, stretching you, filling you completely. "Fuck," you breathe, arching your back. "Yes… Daddy…"

You start to ride him, bouncing hard on his cock, your movements fueled by a mixture of anger and desire. He holds you tight, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your rhythm. He kisses your neck, biting gently, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

You grip his hair, kissing him back just as roughly. "I fucking hate you, Daddy," you whisper, the words laced with both anger and desire.

"And I love you, babygirl," he replies, his voice thick with lust.

He kisses you, cupping your face in his hands. "Come on, sweetie," he murmurs, his eyes burning into yours. "Cum for me, baby. Show me how much you want it."

He starts to thrust harder, faster, his cock pounding against your G-spot. "Yeah, that's it," he groans. "Scream for me, babygirl. Tell me how much you need me."

He whispers filthy things in your ear, things that make you blush and tremble.

"You're so fucking wet for your Daddy" he pants. "I can't get enough of you. I'm gonna fill you up with my cum, make you drip with me."

He reaches between your legs, his fingers finding your clit, teasing it, driving you closer to the edge. "Come on, baby," he whispers. "Let it go. Show Daddy how much you love it."

"Oh, fuck, yes," you moan, arching your back. "Harder, Daddy, harder. I'm gonna cum."

He speeds up, his thrusts becoming relentless, each one pushing him deeper inside you.

"That's it, babygirl," he grunts. "So fucking good. You're going to be a mess for your Daddy."

He reaches down and grips your ass cheeks, pulling you closer, grinding his cock against your clit. "Tell me you love it, baby," he demands. "Tell me you're mine. Tell me you belong to Daddy. Say it."

"I love it, Daddy," you gasp, your body trembling, on the verge of climax. "I'm yours. Fuck me, Daddy, fuck me harder. I'm so close…"

He groans, his own release close behind. "Fuck, babygirl," he pants. "I'm gonna cum." He thrusts one last time, deep and hard, and then he explodes inside you, his hot seed gushing into your womb.

You cry out, your body convulsing as you come again, a loud, shuddering orgasm that echoes through the car. His cock pulses inside you, hot and thick, spilling his cum deep within you. You feel it surge through you, a warm, overwhelming sensation. He collapses against you, his breath ragged. "Fuck," he whispers. "You're so fucking good. Mine. So full of me."

"You'll miss this pussy when I'm gone Daddy." you murmured to him.

You pull back, the shared intimacy shattered. You slide over to the passenger seat, the leather cool against your heated skin. He stuffs his cock back into his pants, the silence in the car thick with unspoken words. You dress quickly, the lingering scent of him a phantom presence on your skin.

He lights a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his face. He offers it to you, and you take a drag, the smoke a harsh comfort in your throat.

He leans over, kissing you one last time, a lingering, almost desperate kiss. "Don't hate me, babygirl," he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. "I love you. I'll always come back to you."

"No," you say, your voice surprisingly steady despite the turmoil inside. "This is the last time, Clint. Take me home."

He nods, his expression unreadable in the dim light. He starts the car, and the drive back is fraught with tension, the silence heavy with the weight of what just transpired. As he pulls up a block from your house, he reaches for you, a silent plea for one final touch.

"No," you say, pulling away from his grasp. "Clint, please. Don't. Don't come around again. I'm weak for you..I know I'll give up every time you kiss me... Don't do this to me."

You get out of the car, resisting the urge to look back. You can feel his gaze on your retreating figure, a mixture of sadness and something else, something darker, lingering in the air.

You don't turn around. You know if you do, you'll succumb to his pull once more, and that is a dangerous game you can no longer afford to play.

💔

Weeks passed, each one a slow ache. You'd see Clint around town, he'd try to catch your eye, to speak to you, but you always looked away, a wall of hurt and confusion between you.

Then, one night, walking home, you saw him. He was on a deserted street near the old hotel, his face a mess of blood and bruises.

And he was holding a baby. A tiny, bundled-up baby. In his other hand, he clutched a small saw. Fear and adrenaline surged through you. You ran towards him.

"Clint! What happened?" you asked, your voice trembling. You looked at the baby. A boy. His son. Then you looked back at Clint, your heart pounding in your chest.

"They… some bastards," he stammered, his voice hoarse. "They wanted me to do something for them. A job. I didn't want to. They… they took my son from the hospital."

"His… his mother?" you asked, dread creeping into your voice.

"She… she died during labor," he said, his voice cracking.

"I'm so sorry, Clint," you whispered, reaching out to touch his arm.

"I have to get out of here," he said, his eyes wild. "I have to get him safe. Just until morning, then I'll figure things out."

"Come to my house," you said, surprising yourself. "You can clean up there."

"Your dad…" he hesitated.

"He's on night shift," you said quickly.

You took the baby from his arms, cradling him close. He was so small, so fragile. You led Clint to your car, and drove to your house in silence.

He showered, and you gave him some of your dad's old clothes. He looked exhausted, but relieved. You fed his son, who was ravenous.

"Thank you," Clint said, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for everything." He paused, then moved closer to you, his eyes searching yours.

He kissed you softly, tentatively. "I… I still love you, babygirl," he whispered. "I need you to come with me...I can't live without you.."

You looked at him, then at his son, sleeping peacefully in his arms. You knew he couldn't do this alone. And despite everything, a part of you still cared for him.

"Okay," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'll go with you." "I'll pack my things."

He nodded, a flicker of hope in his eyes. He held his son close as you went to gather your belongings.

As you were trying to leave the house, the front door opened. Your dad, Robert, stood there, his face a mask of fury.

"What the hell is going on here?" he demanded, his eyes fixed on Clint.

"What are you doing in my house with my daughter? And… whose baby is that?"

"That's my son," Clint answered, his voice steady despite the tension.

"Dad, I love Clint," you said, the words tumbling out. "I'm going with him."

"You're leaving with him?" Robert roared, his voice shaking with anger.

Clint stepped forward, his expression surprisingly calm. "Robert, I'm sorry but I need your daughter," he said, his voice steady. "I love her. I promise I'll protect her. I won't let anything happen to her."

Robert was silent for a long moment, his eyes searching yours, then Clint's. Finally, he looked at Clint, his voice low and dangerous. "She's my everything," he said, his gaze unwavering. "Hurt her, and I will find you. And I will kill you."

You took Clint's hand, and together, you walked out the door, leaving your father standing there, his face a mask of pain and anger.

❣️

Hours later, you found yourselves in a small hotel room in a neighboring country. The baby, exhausted from the journey, was finally asleep. You looked at him, his tiny features so like Clint’s. "He's beautiful," you whispered. "He looks just like you."

Clint pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you tightly. "I missed you," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. He kissed you, a deep, hungry kiss that spoke of longing and desperation, his tongue tracing the outline of your lips before plunging inside.

"God, I've been craving you," he whispered against your mouth. "I haven't been able to think about anything else. You're like a drug to me, babygirl. A sweet, delicious poison."

His hands moved quickly, deftly, removing your clothes, his eyes never leaving yours, burning with lust. "You're so fucking beautiful," he breathed, his gaze raking over your naked body. "Every curve, every inch of you… it drives me wild."

He kissed you all over your body, lingering on your breasts, his tongue teasing their sensitive tips, making them hard and aching. "Mmm, you taste so good," he groaned. "Like honey and sin." He gently laid you on the bed, his gaze burning into you.

He knelt between your legs, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your inner thigh, sending shivers down your spine. He kissed your clit, slowly, teasingly, licking it until you moaned, your hips lifting off the mattress, begging for more. "Oh, Daddy," you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair. "Fuck me, Daddy. Make me scream."

He then stripped off his own clothes, his body lean and hard, a roadmap of muscle and sinew. He knelt above you, his cock throbbing, glistening with anticipation, pulsing with need.

He teased you with the tip, brushing it against your swollen pussy, making you gasp with need, a wet heat blossoming between your legs.

"Ready for me, babygirl?" he growled, his voice thick with lust. "Ready for Daddy's cock?

You were so wet, dripping with desire. He slid in with a hard, deep thrust, filling you completely. "Fuck," you breathed, arching your back. "Yes… Daddy… Fill me up."

He moved slowly at first, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, making you feel small and vulnerable, yet utterly consumed by him.

"God, you're so tight," he groaned, his breath hot against your ear. "So fucking good. You're going to beg me to stop, but I won't."

He moved faster, his thrusts becoming more insistent, more demanding. You clung to his back, your nails digging into his skin as your pussy clenched around him, milking his cock with every push. "Fuck, yes," you moaned, your hips rising to meet his. "Harder, Daddy, harder. I need you. I need your cum."

He came inside you with a guttural cry, his cock pulsing deep within you, his hot seed flooding your womb. "Fuck, babygirl," he gasped, his voice thick with pleasure. "You're mine. All mine. You belong to me. You're my little slut."

He stayed like that for a while, his body still trembling, kissing you deeply, savoring the moment, his lips lingering on yours. "You're so fucking good," he whispered against your lips. "The best pussy I've ever had."

He pulled out slowly, his eyes watching as your juices, mixed with his cum, dripped from your pussy, staining the sheets. "Damn, baby," he whispered, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "You're a beautiful, dripping mess. Just how Daddy likes it. Gonna mark you, babygirl. Gonna leave my mark all over you."

He leaned down and kissed you softly, his lips lingering on yours. "I love you," he murmured, his voice filled with a tenderness you hadn't seen before, a promise of something more, something darker. "You're mine now, babygirl. And I'm never letting you go."

You whispered "I love you too Daddy."

That night, for the first time, you fell asleep in the same bed, wrapped in each other's arms. He was gentle, so different from the rough, demanding lover he could be. He was caring, tender. He whispered that he loved you, he thanked you for understanding, for staying with him, for not leaving him when he needed you most.

"I hope so," you replied, your voice soft but firm. "I hope you never leave me, Clint. Or… or cheat on me. Because if you do, I'm gonna call my dad, and he's gonna kill you. I mean it."

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through you. "I promise, babygirl," he said, pulling you closer. "I'd never do that to you. From now on, I only have eyes for you. And my heart… it's all yours.

💓

Two years have passed, and life settled into a new rhythm. The fear and uncertainty gradually faded, replaced by a fragile sense of normalcy. Then, one morning, you woke up feeling… different. Nauseous. Tired. And then, the test confirmed it. You were pregnant. You went to doctor, it was a boy. Clint was so happy when he find out.

The sun streamed through the window, painting the small house in a warm, golden light. It was a picture of domestic bliss. Jason, your older son, was sprawled on the floor, engrossed in building a magnificent tower of colorful blocks. In your arms, Mateo, your newborn, nursed contentedly, his tiny hand clutching your finger. He was fast asleep, his little chest rising and falling gently.

The front door opened, and Clint walked in, a broad smile lighting up his face. He’d found a steady job as a contractor, and the stability had done wonders for him.

He was different now – calmer, more focused, a real partner. He’d been so incredibly supportive during the pregnancy, taking care of you and Jason, making sure you had everything you needed.

"I'm home!" he called out, his voice filled with warmth. He came over to you, bending down to kiss you softly. "Hey, beautiful," he murmured, his eyes full of love. He then kissed Mateo on the forehead, his touch feather-light. "Missed you guys so much."

He ruffled Jason’s hair playfully. "What are you building there, buddy? A castle?"

Jason grinned, showing off a missing tooth. "Yeah! It's gonna be the biggest castle ever!"

Clint spent a few minutes playing with Jason, laughing as the tower of blocks inevitably tumbled down. He then came back to you, sitting beside you on the sofa.

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. "How are my boys doing?" he asked, his gaze tender as he looked at Mateo, still sleeping peacefully in your arms.

"They're good," you said, leaning into his embrace. "Mateo's been a little fussy today, but he's finally settled down."

"He's growing so fast," Clint said, his voice filled with awe.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. It was your dad, Robert. He still wasn’t completely comfortable with Clint, but he’d come around, especially since Mateo was born. He wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy with Clint, but he was undeniably happy to have two grandsons.

Robert spent the afternoon playing with Jason, showering him with attention. He even managed a small, almost grudging, smile in Clint's direction.

As the sun began to set, and the boys were both playing quietly in their room, Clint came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

He kissed you softly on the neck. "I'm so happy, darling," he whispered, his voice full of emotion. "I have everything I’ve ever wanted. You, the boys…this."

He turned you to face him, his eyes shining with love. "I'm gonna make so many babies with you, darling," he said, a playful glint in his eyes. "We're going to have a whole football team!"

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Oh, really?" you teased. "We'll see about that."

He pulled you closer, his lips brushing against yours. "I love you," he murmured, his voice filled with tenderness. "More than anything in the world."

"I love you too, Clint," you whispered back, your heart overflowing with happiness. You finally had your happily ever after.

Thank you for the reading 💜

Please like, reblog and comment. ❣️

Send me your request and reviews I appreciate that.

Previous chapter

#pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal clint #clint (freaky tales) x reader #clint (freaky tales)#clint x reader #pedro pascal smut #clint freaky tales smut #SoundCloud

37 notes · View notes

nadeleine888 · 1 day ago

Text

Fighting and forgiving

Minors do not interact!!! 18+

Smut at the end but nothing crazy

Summery: Daryl and reader have been married for a few years and when Daryl shows more attention to the other people in Alexandria that need help his wife feels forgotten and left out, they get into a huge fight but come back together

Warnings: Daryl being an asshole, reader being a bitch, kissing, tongue fucking, Daryl eating you out, Daryl being the sweetheart he is, talk of break up,

Word count: around 1,600

You and Daryl have been married for almost three years now you never had a huge wedding mainly because you can't in the apocalypse but you were both happy with that, he found a simple band ring with ' I love you forever ' engraved into the inside and you got him a simple thick black band ring. You guys would fight every now and then about stupid things like not shutting the toilet seat or not putting the lid on the milk all the way but nothing was as bad as the argument you two got in today.

You were enjoying your day until Daryl comes home from hunting just to leave again and go on a supply run with Rick. To say you were pissed was an understatement, you loved him to death but you were his wife for Christ sake can't he show you a little attention. When he got home around 7 at night you're waiting, dinner long forgotten and cold on the table. " When was the last time you kissed me? Or stayed more than an hour before you left to help someone else? Or when was the last time you stayed sleeping in bed with me and I didn't have to wake up to a cold bed?! " You yell at him. " What does that have to do with anythin?" He asks his voice rough from years of smoking and that was another thing that made you see red, he was killing himself by smoking and drinking so much and he never stopped even if you begged him. " It matters that I am your wife and completely strangers see you more than I do!!" You yell and his gaze darkens as he crosses his arms and stands taller than you. " Yes you are my wife but they need me..." " And I don't!!!??" You yell. " You do but..." " But what?!" " But they aren't as self sufficient as you are!" He yells back.

" So just because they can't wipe their own ass means it's on you to do it for them!!?" " No but it's the right thing to do!" " And giving love and attention to your wife isn't!?" " I never said that woman! Ya twisting my fuckin words and I'm sick of it!! Sometimes I wish I never fuckin married you!!!" You stop yelling at that staring wide eyed up at him " is that true? You wish you never married me?" You ask your voice shaking as you try to hold your tears back. " Yes! Sometimes I wish I never even met ya! Sometimes I wish I never asked ya to be mine! You need to get this through your thick fuckin head! I may be your husband but I have other priorities!" He yells. " Fine if you wish you never asked me then your wish is granted!" You say taking off your ring and throwing it at him. He catches it and that's when he realizes he might have gone too far but he's still too high on his ego to admit he might have been wrong to say those things.

He storms out of the house, pocketing the ring. Walking far away he takes his crossbow and leaves the safety of Alexandria going hunting to blow some steam out. Meanwhile you're crying your eyes out having just lost your husband because you wanted love. After 5 in the morning Daryl returns to Alexandria and walks to Rick's place he knocks on the door. Rick answers a few minutes later " what's up.... Daryl? What happened?" " Me and y/n got in a fight..." " Well I'm sure she's not really that upset" " trust me she is..." " Sure but shouldn't you try talking to her I mean sure it's a fight but she's still your wife" " no...no she's not" Daryl says pulling out your wedding ring from his pocket showing Rick. " Oh .... Yeah man come in stay as long as you need" Rick says moving aside to let Daryl in finally understand the state he's in.

The first week is hard on you, you spend most of your time crying in bed, while he goes out on hunts throwing himself into work to forget. The second week you still feel terrible but it's slowly getting better while he's getting worse he spends hours on end outside the walls away from everyone. The third week he doesn't leave his bed in Rick's house only to use the bathroom. By the fourth week you're still broken and will never love again but you get out more and continue your job in the gardens. Fourth week for Daryl is the worst, he can't eat, sleep, anything without seeing, hearing, smelling, feeling you. All he wants is your body in his arms but his ego won't let him go to you.

At the one month time apart he can't take it anymore and one night while it's storming out and he knows you'll be inside, he finds himself walking over to your guys old house seeing you knitted on the couch through the window he feels a strange sense of need and comfort. He walks to the door letting himself In. He closes and locks the door kicking off his shoes and dropping his crossbow he walks Into the living room where you look up from your knitting to meet his eyes " you want something?" You ask colder than you wanted to sound. He opens his mouth but no words come out, he walks over picking up your knitting and sets it on the coffee table. He lays down on the couch over your body laying his head on your soft breasts. He snuggles into your warmth and you can't help yourself feeling productive and happy.

You subconsciously reach up and have gently started playing with his hair which has him groaning in pleasure. He buries his head in your neck and whispers ' I'm sorry's' into your neck, you softly whisper back I forgive you which makes him perk up and meet your eyes. He reaches behind him into his pocket pulling out your ring he holds it out a silent apology and question for forgiveness. You accept the ring sliding it back on, you wrap your arms around him protectively kissing his temple. You both fall asleep like that comfortable in each other's arms again. You wake up with him still in your arms, you smile to yourself as you lean down kissing his forehead as he starts to stir awake. He leans up connecting your lips in a passionate kiss, you find yourself humming softly into his lips.

As the day goes on Daryl doesn't leave your side once even when you go out on watch duty he follows like a lost puppy and stays by your side the whole shift. He's constantly apologizing and kissing your neck and hair and forehead. You are constantly forgiving him and reassuring him. As the sun starts to set over Alexandria you and Daryl end your shift and head home where you make dinner together, he puts on an old record player to some old country music and spins you around the kitchen. You sit down to eat and hold hands over the table as you enjoy your meal. After dinner is done he picks up the dishes and starts cleaning them while you dry them and put them away. After everything is cleaned up you turn around and wipe down the kitchen counter and Daryl comes up behind you wrapping his arms around your waist he buries his face on the crook of your neck.

His kisses start getting more passionate and hungry. He spins you around and picks you up placing you on the kitchen counter and slowly starts removing your jeans. You can't help but spread your legs for him. He gets your jeans and panties off and then he leans down kissing your lips before kissing his way down your stomach to your thighs then up to where you need him most. He attaches himself to your lower lips and your head falls back in pleasure as he sucks and licks on you and eats you out like a starved man. He sets a gentle but passionate pace as he dives his tongue into you curling his tongue he hits that spot inside you that has you gasping for air and seeing stars. " Mmmm fuuuck Daryl I'm close" you cry as you grab onto his shoulders. " Cum for me baby" he says pulling his head away to say then dives back in making you cry out as you cum.

After you finish he licks up your mess and connects your lips you can taste yourself on his lips it's salty but has a bit of a sweet addicting taste to it. You rest your head in the crook of his neck as you catch your breath. He gently pulls your panties and jeans back up then scoops up your body bridal style. Carrying you up the stairs and opening your shared bedroom door then closing it and walking over to the bed laying you down, he pulls off your jeans again and top. He removes his top and pulls it over your body, tucking you in he removes his jeans and socks then climbs under the covers behind you in just his boxers. He pulls you back into his hard chest. One arm is under your pillow under your head and the other is over your waist resting protectively over you as he spoons you. And that's how you both fall asleep.

Hope y'all liked it let me know if you did ❤️

#daryl fanfiction #daryl x reader #twd daryl #daryl dixon

25 notes · View notes