#idk it's just giving kidnappable | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yeyinde · 1 year ago

Note

touch starved reader with an oral fixation x kidnapper!Simon who’s all punishment and no physical affection? Please Simon just a little kiss? with tongues? :( (i just wanna make out with this man while my heart aches for him)

by Allah, you people are dogs. i will write the filth as usual.

DEAD DOVE, 18+ | dubcon. kidnapping. mean!Simon. dom!Simon. masking corporal punishment as affection. kissing. size kink, size difference. some thigh riding. degradation + humiliation (verbal). non-con pet play. marking (heavyyyyyy mentions of Simon biting you like a chew toy). choking. daddy kink (but in the awful, demeaning way). manipulation. forced affection. coersion. forced/manufactured dependency. brief mention of Simon stepping on your back to hold you down so he can whip you w a cat o nine tails. yanno. the usual Friday night.

idk. there's something so hot about you, completely naked, riding Simon's clothed thigh as he holds you up by your neck. tongue out, desperate for a kiss while he just mocks you the whole time.

It's survival.

At first.

A means of masking the innate horror of being stripped of your agency, your autonomy, by a man you barely even know. One you met once before (fate sealed), and now—outside of your apartment complex where he was idling by the foothold, smoking a cigarette as he leaned against the brick wall, head turned. Gaze narrowed as you approached.

Waiting for someone, you assumed, thinking nothing else about the matter.

Nothing else, except—

He looked familiar. You think you saw him before. He was staring at you. Hadn't stopped. Hasn't said a word, either. The silence was oppressive. Heavy. Your hands fumbled with the keys. Shaking. Trembling.

He's pretty, you thought, suddenly. In the way car wrecks can sometimes be. Jarring and awful and hideous, but—

Mesmerising.

Macabre. And that's what he is. Everything from the mask on his face (skulls, go figure), to the absurdity in his size, his width. The way space itself seemed to move around him, bending and distorting just to let him pass. His own gravitational pull. Magnetic. You feel it tugging on you as he pulls another lungful of smoke. Another. Another.

(like an hourglass, a timebomb, almost. you wonder what will happen when it runs out—)

He gives you the creeps. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. A visceral sense of unease curdling in the pit of your belly as he keeps staring, staring. Eyes—crystalline under the broken headlamp, washout into crushed topaz—drilling into your back, sharp enough to flay skin. Everything inside of you says to run, but your key won't fit inside the lock. Won't—

Ever.

And hindsight has always been a bitter thing, hasn't it? Cruel in her mockery. Had you known, then, that he wasn't a workman loitering by the complex, waiting for a friend; or a low-level drug dealer casting webs into the plum hewn aether, it might have saved you. Might have.

Maybe. Because he was there, waiting for you, all along.

Life has a funny way of paying back good deeds. All it took for your life to crumble down around you, rubble falling off of a shaking mountain, was kindness. Was seeing a large man in the pouring rain, already drenched. Black clothing sticking to the granite contours of his body, and offering sanctum in the shape of a rusting umbrella you found at a thrift store for three dollars.

(“here,” you said, chipper. All smiles. “i live just down the street, and you look like you need it more than i do. do you want it?”

and he—

he simply stared. stared. his eyes liquid, molten, as they carelessly dropped, roaming down the length of your body at his own leisure. leering. assessing. it was odd. weird, but—

he huffed, then. seemingly satisfied by whatever you measured up to in his head. his neck lulled back, and he gazed at you from down the crooked length of his nose, tucked neatly away under the thick band of a facial mask. skulls. how could you be so stupid?

slowly, like he was trying not to startle a mare, his gloved hand reached out, curling thick fingers around the hilt of it. he tugged once. in your stupor, you forgot to let go. embarrassment flooded in. he huffed again, quietly amused, as you untangled your numbed fingers from the umbrella.

in your distraction, he moved closer. smelled of ash, of mildew. sweat and stale cigarettes. there was something predatory in the way he slipped through space. a preternatural quiet. an eerie stillness.

you hadn't realised he was there, looming, until he rasped out, “more ‘n you could ever realise, pet.”

and you're sure why you do it. did it. but your hand slips into your shopping bag, eyes widen. heart thundering in your chest.

“are you hungry? i, uh, i just bought some apples, um—”

his eyes are lavascapes. shackles. chains. “i could eat.”)

And now—

Forced to play this strange cat and mouse of his where he treats you like soot on the bottom of his shoe, and you pretend that it's affection. Love. How godless.

Protection, he calls it.

("mine," he whispers, orison soft, into your ear. "ain't go' nowhere else to go, do you, pet? world's big. would eat a small thing like you up. safer here. wit' me. only me.")

You wonder what he'd do if you told him the biggest danger here was the madness nestled inside your head, the one that sometimes made you look at him like he was your salvation instead of the warden holding the end of your leash in a firm hand. Unyielding—like everything he does. Is.

Withholding, too. Everything must be earned. Nothing given. Nothing handed out. And you know that this is a ploy, a tactic. Subterfuge meant to chisel into your sense of self, dehumanise you. Turn you into a simpering, obedient little doll for him to play with as he wishes. You know this, and yet—

It's survival, you promise yourself as he tugs on the hook latched to your collar, testing it for weakness. Survival, when his hands—bare, bare; warmed skin against skin, you could just weep—brush over your throat, nails skimming goosebumped flesh as he wedges one, then two inside, hirsute knuckles tickling your pulse. It tightens the collar to near choking. Intentional, you know. He likes it when you beg—for air, for food, water, him.

Vile man. Awful.

(You want to roll on your belly at his feet.)

This cold, cruel touch lights a fire under your skin. It's been months since he's last done so. Always wearing gloves when he has to. Using paddles, belts, when you misbehave. Never his bare hand. Not anymore.

(“m’hand is for good girls,” he slurred, words merging, meshing together, painted with exertion. He wedged his boot against the small of your back, holding you down, and cracked the end of a cat over your bare ass, thighs. Unbothered by your howls, your screams, as the whip bit into your skin. You've never so much as been hit as a child for misbehaving, and now, as an adult, you have a madman standing over you, introducing you to something called a cat o’nine tails—a favourite in the army, lovie. “bad girls,” his boot pressed down harder, heel digging into your spine. “Bad girls get the whip—”)

Bad. Bad. Because you tried to run, to leave him. He dressed you up, called you Mrs Riley, and you—

Ducked out the back door when he turned away for a second.

Stupid. It was poor timing. A test. He set you up, measuring your loyalty to him, your commitment, and you failed. Failed.

(“this is what ‘appens when spoiled little cunts get their way too much. they act out, don't they? bitin’ the ‘and that feeds. you'll learn soon enough, though—”)

Ghost—sir, sir (master, maker, god; you'll call him anything he wants if he touches you again)—pulls his fingers away, depriving you of his touch once more. And it's all so stupid. So fundamentally wrong, deplorable, but you follow. Needy. Whining for it in the back of your throat.

It's been months. Months without touch. Without sensation outside of leather lashing across your thighs, your ass; harsh, gloved fingers digging into your jaw, braced against the back of your head, as you swallow down his cock in an effort to prove to him you've been good. So good. Can be good. His good girl.

You need to touch him. Need his touch. Ache for it, for something outside of this nook he placed you inside of, denied the privilege of living upstairs with him after you tried to escape.

You want to. Badly. Your fingers twitch. Ghost sees it. Hums.

“Need somethin', pet?”

Your mouth is dry. You swallow. It burns. It hurts. “Yes—”

“Yes, what?”

“Sir—”

Behind the mask he's yet to take off for you fully, only ever hitching it under his chin to devour your cunt whenever you've been good, his jaw tightens, the fabric bunching up.

You reel back from the look of sheer displeasure etching harsh lines into the hollow gaps of his eyes. Heart thundering. Stomach churning.

“Mas—” he cuts you off with a soft sigh. Marked with his irritation. “D—dad—”

Dad. A new one. Daddy. He didn't seem like the sort to be into this type of play, not with his sardonic, deadpan eyes. His mockery. His dessicated humour, awful and biting. You'd have sooner expected him to laugh at you—in that slow, deep hum he gives; a little chuff, full of condescension and jeer—than to get off on it. On you, kneeling between his legs with your chin braced against his palm, mouth open, tongue out, as he fucks into the tight clench of his fist, groaning as you beg daddy to give you a taste.

It's gross. Disgusting.

It's not done for anything else other than to humiliate you. To crush you under the heel of his boot—little bug—so that you will always know where your place is in this scenario. His little wife. Mother, mum—

He pulls on the leash, jerking you forward. Purrs, “good girl,” and then steps back, moving away from you. Cruel. Dismissive. You hate him, hate him—

(Need him so deeply. With every fibre of your being—)

You watch him as he goes, mourning the loss of his presence already, as he paces around your space, your cage. Broad shoulders barely fitting inside. Head ducking to avoid hitting his crown on the popcorn ceiling. It's strange seeing him here like this. Prowling. He usually comes when he wants you, when he needs to enact more merciless punishment on you for whatever perceived evils you committed (not greeting him with a kiss when he walked in, not letting him suffocate himself in your cunt when he had you sit on his face, not making him cum all over your face quick enough when you knew he had other engagements to get to—), or when he ruts, heavily, between your thighs, cold and detached. Seeking pleasure from your icy flesh, and giving nothing in return but white hot agony.

Him here, idling in your presence, is revolutionary.

“S–sir—?”

He hums, quiet. Sits in the chair as you gather the fragments of yourself littered on the ground. His mood is malleable, it seems.

You push, fingertips sinking into the putty of his agreeable temperament. “Can I—”

You waver when his sharp eyes raze over your bare body—clothes are for good girls, after all—pupils sloshing over the edges, bleeding into midnight blue.

Your body is a battlefield. Every inch of skin branded with his mark—pretty, thrawn rings of teeth tattooed in silver, haloed in black and red, desecrate your flesh: neck, collarbones, breasts, belly, thighs (a particular favourite of his), ass, mons; all bitten through, chewed up. It weeps when you move, has blood trickling down your skin. The cracking scabs make him coo, poor thing, all bloody fer me? and he licks at them, sucks, until only a pinkish wound in the mimesis of canines remains.

Uprooted, turned into something new—

His chest expands when he settles his gaze on the sliver of space between your spread thighs. Concealed in tenebrous, hidden from his leering, lecherous view. He cocks his head, considers something unknown to you. His thoughts, his mind, worlds away. Untouchable.

(only to bad girls, he’d snarled out when you asked why—)

“Testin’ my patience still?” He doesn't rip his gaze away from your cunt, speaks to it sometimes more than he speaks to you. “Thought this alone time might’a cleared your ‘ead.”

You flush. Embarrassment roiling through you. His displeasure is a palpable thing. Heavy. You hate the weight of it.

“I need—I need you.”

Another toneless hum. “‘Course you do. Ain't got anyone else.”

He's awful. Hideous. You want to rip his tongue out of his mouth. “I—I want you. Please.”

Ghost doesn't answer. You stopped expecting him to a long time ago, his moods odd measures of ebbs and flows; passive and mild, cracking terrible, awful jokes as he strokes your back, hands riveted to your skin, and then biting and caustic the next. Pushing and pushing until you lash out, snap, so he has a reason to push you down, punished and smothered under his bulk, as he ruts into you like a beast, a man starved. Tells you it's for your own good. That you need him. Would be lost without him.

Bludgeoning a hole into you wide enough for him to crawl inside of. Poisoning you from the inside out with the same nocuous rot that flows in his veins.

Maybe that's been his agenda all along. Maybe. To make you want him as badly as he wanted you. Desperate, obsessive. Going so far as to follow you home, lost little mutt waiting in the shadows outside of your door until you threw him another bone. And when that didn't work, when the food stopped being enough—

He took you. Held you captive in his house deep in the wilderness. A place so endlessly green that you sometimes stare out at it—unfathomable sea of phalthos and jasper—and feel dizzy. You'll get lost out there—

just like he says.

As he turns your obsecration over in his head, you wait, supplicant to this man as you rest on your knees. Pretty pet with a golden collar adorned in gems.

Fitting, you find. With his head cradled against his thick knuckles, you can't help but shiver at the way he looks shrouded in the gloaming embers of a fading twilight. Leonine. A king perfectly at ease in this thick, caliginous atmosphere.

His eyes burn, magmatic, in the low light. Vats of endless ink. Black holes that will swallow you whole if you get too close. But he's poised. Contemplative. Assessing.

And then grips the end of the leash tight in his other hand. Tugs.

You obey the wordless command, crawling on your hands and knees to where he's spread out on the recliner. Laxed, dripping with a careless indifference as you wander to him, resting your chin on the spread of his knee.

Looking up, up, at him, waiting. Wanting.

There's so much of him—a fact that has been the catalyst to your downfall the moment you saw him standing under the awning; this massive creature. Thighs wider than the width of your body. Burly forearms. Broad shoulders. He's big. Indomitable. Thick, endlessly so. But there's a give to his body. Valleys of softness hiding corded muscle. Firm, but—

Your fingers sink into the soft give of his belly when you reach out, bracing against stomach. Pulling yourself further into the bracket of his spread thighs, inching closer to him.

He meets your reverent stare, eyes liquid along his lower lash line.

“Thought you were gonna keep me waitin’ all night,” he muses, giving another pull on the leash. It destabilises you. Your nose bumps into his sternum, and you moan at the sting.

There's a dissonance in the back of your head. A hairline fracture in the line that keeps a degree of separation between pleasure and pain. They meet against the crack in the divide, merging into a abysmal polyphony conducted by his hand.

He watches, amused, as you whimper, sniffing harshly against the burn. It's not bleeding, and not broken—small mercies, you suppose—and you let it simmer into a dull ache as you slowly clamber into his lap.

Ghost leans back as you settle, greedily taking in the sight of your thighs stretched wide over his leg, cunt pressed, tight, against the rough scrape of his jeans. The touch burns. He hasn't touched your pussy in weeks—

“C’mon,” he urges, hand spanning the width of your lower back. Coaxing. “Show me ‘ow good you can be.”

It's all the permission you need. Slowly, slowly, your hips start to gyrate, dragging your slit over the coarse material. The friction is agony. You need more—

He draws his other hand up, curls it around your neck, forcing your head back, back. You gasp, staring at him, dizzy, from down the slope of your nose. The clasp of the collar digs into your skin. It hurts. It's too much.

you don't want him to stop.

His hand is huge. It spans the entire length of your neck, thumb to your pulse, pinky grazing the hollow of your throat. It forces you to lift your chin higher just to let him fit.

He likes it, too, you know. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of his bare hand, scarred and thick; dusted with a cropping of fine hairs along his scabbed knuckles, sitting against the whole of your throat. Swallowing you up. Can feel how much he enjoys the sheer depth between your sizes when his cock twitches, stiffening more

The look on his face is appraising, anatomising. There's a cold measure of distance in his gaze. A barren polynya. You want to cross it. Chart these untamed lands until they're deeply ingrained within your being. Cimmerian effigy burning to keep you warm.

It's survival, you think, and arch into the palm of his hand.

He holds you like a doll. One hand on your lower back, pressing your cunt to thigh. The other tightening around your throat. Bare skin against bare skin, and oh, you could just cry—

But this is not what you need. What you want. And he knows. He always does. Knows the inside of you like it's written down—inked on paper. Thumbs through the makeup of you, chapter by chapter, until no mystery remains.

“Tell me what you need, pet. Beg for it.”

“Let me—” his hands tighten, choking the air from your throat. Crushing your collar against your neck. “Lemme—kiss you, please, please—”

Tighter. Tighter. The world around you swims under a thin ocean. Phosphenes swim, untethered, in your periphery, ghosting along the curve of his shoulders. He might kill you yet. Keeping going, going, until those brittle, bird-like bones in your neck snap—

You'd let him, you think, muscles falling lax. Submissive. Just the way he says he likes even though you know he fucks you harder, touches you more, more, when you act out. Misbehave.

“Kiss me?” He taunts, words abrasive. Strident. Scrubbing hard against your skin. “Ain't that jus’ the sweetest thing I ever ‘eard.”

You burn, blister. “Please—”

“Reckon I ought to. Kissed your pretty cunt ‘fore I even kissed your lips, huh, pet?”

Your chest folds over itself. Stomach knotting. Balling tight. Unease is a razor blade scraping your nerves.

“Simon—”

“Ah, ah—” his hand tightens. Vicious. Chiding. “You ‘aven’t earned the privilege of sayin’ my name, ‘ave you? Cheeky thing. Might ‘ave to take a cane to you next.”

“No, no, no—! I'm—”

“Sorry?” He mocks, cocking his head. Condescension drips from the corners of his eyes.

“Please, sir—”

“Dad is gettin’ tired of this attitude of yours, pet—” his fingers dig into your skin, hard. Biting. A warning, you know. The blunt press of a blade to your jugular. But it thrums along the suture line to your desire, a wellspool of murk coiling low in your guts. You throb, cunt clenching down around nothing. Achingly empty. “Thought we got rid of it this time ‘round. Learned our lesson.”

The words are frank, prosaic. Had you any sense of self still malingering in the back of your head, you might have struck him for the blatant disrespect. But as you struggle to reach for it, pawing around in the vacuous abyss for any fragment of who you were before this, before him, you know—without any doubt—that none exists. Nothing. He’s too ingrained in your marrow, hewn into your skin. Copper sutures holding his filament within you. Cradled between your thighs, nestled in the rotting vacancy of your heart.

He knows you. Every part—

“We did—we did, da—daddy, please—”

It’s shallow. Muffled, like he’s trying to swallow it down, but you feel it rumble through his broad chest. A guttural sound. A groan. Drenched in pleasure, in want. So thick, you could almost taste it.

He hides his need under a layer of derision.

“Such a needy thing, ain't you? Desperate little slag like you wouldn't last out there, would you?”

His hand digs into your hip, pushing you off of his thigh. Eyes skewering into the wet stain on his trousers. A huff spills out—the sound a near perfect mimicry of crushing charcoal in your hand.

“No. You'd be eaten alive. Torn to pieces. World's too big for somethin' like you.”

Mindless, dazed, you nod. Arching into him. The leather leash snaps against your chest. “Yes, yes—”

His cock presses into your thigh, hard, fat. Your mouth waters. Drool dribbles down your chin.

He smells of tinder when he leans in close, blood drenched words biting into your skin. “messy today, aren't you? Be lost without me. Tha’s why you wear a collar, isn't it?”

Pitifully, you nod. Eyes full of tears. Each word is a bludgeon into your resolve. Into your sense of self.

But it earns you his affection, and his thumb presses into the corner of your mouth, unhinging your jaw until it falls open, lax. He holds you like that, mouth lax with his hand still around your neck. The other lifts away from your lips, goes to the thick band around the bridge of his nose, slips inside.

There's no buildup to it. No lingering sense of anticipation. Practical, detached, he merely tugs it down, and lets it snap under his chin.

Your breath is punched out of your lungs at the sight of him. Barefaced. Scarred. His nose is crooked; a jagged hook with scar tissue delineating the spots where it's been broken too many times. His lips are—

Full.

Mangled.

Scars run in thick slashes over them, denting the flesh in places. Burn marks line his pale flesh. Charcoal rubs into his eyes, highlighting the whites of his lashes against smeared soot.

He's—

Pretty.

Like a car crash. Calamity. The broken remains of a town after a hurricane, a tornado, ripped it apart. Ugly, brutal. His face looks like it's been mauled by a bear, a tiger. Scarred and hideous, and—

You shiver. His eyes drop, landing on your own lips. The soot on his brow flutters down, lands on his eyelashes when he lifts his brow up mockingly. Derision curdling an awful smirk on the corner of his mouth. Crooked. Like him. Like his teeth. His nose. His boxy jaw. His lips—

You kiss him.

Can't help yourself, really. There's a pull. Gravitational. Magnetic. You need, need, to taste him. To quench this ache in your jaw that makes you want to wrap your tongue around something, play with it between your teeth. Soft and sweet—

Ghost's lips are plump beneath yours. The thick scar tissue is almost velveteen when it glides over your bottom lip. You moan into it, into the feeling; victory—however pyrrhic—swims like mercury in your veins. Finally.

And he doesn't kiss you back. Doesn't make any effort to reciprocate at all, but he's not tense beneath you. Not stunned. Or reluctant. He’s pliant. Malleable. Agreeable, willing to let you devour his mouth, his taste, as much as you want. Doting. Letting you spoil yourself on him. With him.

Because you need him, don't you?

Like the air you breathe. The food he gives you—apples, always, on rainy days; salmon and rice in a pretty bowl with your name etched into the porcelain—and the attention, the affection—

(suck my cock, pretty girl. don't make me put a gag on you—deeper, you can take it, can't you? take my fat cock all the way up inside your sweet little cunt—my pretty girl—)

—it’s all so divine.

His hands on your body, your throat, spasm. Once. Just once. Against your leg, his cock twitches. Leaks prespend into the demin. You rut against his thigh, aching for it. Whimpering—

And then he's groaning into the kiss, snarling out your name until it wedges between your lungs, syphoned in from his scorching breath. Another brand in the shape of him.

Ghost kisses the same way he eats—messy, sloppy; all teeth and tongue, and full pretty lips. Clumsy, like no one taught him how to properly hold his silverware and he's trying to mock what he saw on television. Brumish. A broken, contemptuous pastiche of sumptuosity. A starving dog, snarling around its plundered morsel. Protective. Possessive.

It coils around you. Thick, smothering.

He sucks your tongue into his mouth, catching it between his teeth. The sting brings tears to the corner of your eyes, and when you pry them open, you find him already staring at you (always, always, always—), lidded. Heavy pools of desire shaded in the brume of a winter dawn. A bonfire flickering in the distance of a whiteout. Sanctuary from the cold—

He seems to catch himself. Expression flickering. Warbling around the edges. It closes off in a blink. He pulls back. Locks into the ashlar veneer of this indifference he wears like a suit of armour.

But you saw it. It was there. Within reach—

“Need me, don't you?” He drawls, timber a needlepoint between cruelty and desire. Sultry, low. Husky. He knows what it does to you. How he can unravel you at the seams with just his voice alone. “Need me so fuckin’ much, pet. Would be lost without me—”

“Please, Simon,” you whisper, feather-soft. Cunt throbbing, pulsing. Needy. “Please—”

The strident reprimand for using his name doesn't come. His hand tightens around your throat, unconscious. A paroxysm that has pleasure carving itself down your spine, electric.

“Come get it, then,” he rasps, voice wrecked. Raw. Curling at the edges, thickening his accent until the words elide.

Hand to your throat, he drags you close. Closer still. Keeps you sat pretty on his lap as he pulls you in for a bruising, hungry kiss. Tongue shoving between your teeth when you gasp.

His kisses are always hungry, but this is different. Greedy. He devours you whole. Eats you alive. His hand falls to your lower back, holding you tight to his chest.

You moan into it, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. Squeezing until your knuckles blanche, joints twinging in discomfort.

After months of nothing, this alone is bliss. His taste soaking onto your tongue, drenching it in the bitter tang of sage, wheatgrass, and stale cigarettes. Intoxicating. It leaks into you, nocuous. Infects from the inside out.

His plan coming to fruition, you think. What he sought out to do all along, ever since you wandered close to this untameable Tartarean guard, and offered yourself up to the jowls of a starving beast.

He pulls away with a heavy breath, eyes charing around the edges; brittle briquette.

“Gonna be a good girl from now on? Come upstairs, be a good mum for dad? Or am I gonna ‘ave to cane this—” his hand drops, grabbing a fistful of your ass in his hand, fingers digging into the skin between your cheeks. Possessive. It cracks like a whip down your nerves. “—tight lit’le arse?”

You shake your head instantly. Quickly. “I'll be good,” you whisper into his chin, tongue flicking out to lick across his scars. The dried sweat on his skin tastes briny. Reminds you of the ocean on a brumous November evening. The incipient yawn of a ravenous hurricane gathering its lot on the shore.

Sirens blare in the distance. Fear curdles in your guts, sits heavy like a stone. An anchor.

“So sweet f’me,” he mutters, words deepening as his head falls back, letting you pepper kisses across the underside of his jaw. Mouthing along the constellation of scars. His voice is rumble. It shivers across your lips, tongue. Shakes the marrow in your bones. “Better stay this way, pet.”

Into his pulse, you murmur, “I think you like it better when I’m bad.”

You can feel the snarl brimming in the back of his throat. Your ass stings with the phantom burn of when he lashed out with the whip. It drags a whimper out from deep within your chest.

His hand tightens around your neck. A warning. “Got some guests over f’dinner tonight. Would love to finally introduce them to my sweet little wife—” deft fingers slip across the dewy skin of your folds, knuckles grazing over your drenched hole. The touch makes you squirm. “But if you’re gonna be bad, then I’ll leave you locked up down ‘ere.”

“I’ll be good,” you swear, words a hushed breath over his jugular. His finger flattens, drawls soft, slow circles around your clit. “Ah, I’ll—I’ll be so, so good, Simon—”

“Good girls deserve rewards, don’t they?” His palm flexes possessively around your throat when you nip at old scar tissue. “Maybe I’ll let you sleep in our bed tonight instead of in your dog house. We can ‘ouse together. I’ll fuck you proper—” he roughly shoves two fingers into your hole, leering when you gasp, back arching in a bow. “Know this pretty pussy has been achin’ for me, ‘asn’t it? Gonna breed it full—”

There’s static in your head, ringing in your ear. The noise distorted, pulled underwater. You think you say something, plead—no, no, no, anything but that—but his hand tightens around your throat, fingers pushing up, up into you, notching against that spot inside that makes your head swim, your vision flicker. The abyssal chasm inside of you aches, rages; its waters swell, currents frothing, slamming against the ceiling of its iron prison, and—

Simon pulls away. Fingers stilling inside of you. No friction, no relief. Hypoxia renders the world silent. Muted. Held in stasis, stagnating at the edge of a gaping precipice he holds you over, secured by the fragile curve of your neck, fine bone china.

Phosphenes swim by. The chossy wobbles.

This distance is agony. You need to be closer, closer, to crawl inside of him, to live in the brackets of his ribs, safe and protected from the world he warns you about. Stone cold. You mewl, whine—

“Gonna be my good little wife?”

Gasping with broken lungs, you nod. Nod, nod until you’re nauseous. Dizzy. Sick—

His spit cools on your lip. Your hackles raise, body shuddering in revulsion—some primal part rears, hisses it’s infectious. Wrong. Get rid of it—

“Not gonna run?”

Slowly, you lick your lips, catching his sickness on your tongue. Swallowing it down until it sinks like a stone to the bottom of your belly. Heavy, for such a small, damning thing.

How absurd, you think. How absolutely mad.

Then you whisper, paperthin, “kiss me again, please, Simon—”

And he moves. Liquid in the gloam. Made more for shadows, midnight, than for golden apricity, where the light is harsh on his face, unveiling ruins and ravines; monoliths meant to be paid tribute to in the dark. Your hands lift to his jaw when he moves in, catching your lips in a bruising, biting kiss.

His touch is searing. Owning. He isn't laying claim: no, you're already his.

It's possessive and angry. No finesse. All slate teeth and tender tongue. They slide together in a strange game; little fawn stupidly nipping at the tiger's heel. He lets you, groaning into your mouth when you arch back, hips pushing into his fingers, taking him deeper. A pale pantomime of what's to come when he lays you on his soft bed, sweet and divine, and buries himself deep.

It should scare you. Ought to. And maybe it does. Survival, you think, but you still pull him closer. Deeper. Because it’s bliss, you find. The world around you falling dead. Silent. Pulled into a vacuum. Teetering on the edge of a black hole, event horizon. He drags you in.

Simon hums, pulling you closer. Touching you—soft, sweet. Palms a gyve. Shackles, chains. His fingers lift from your neck, trailing down the slope of your throat until he reaches the golden loop of your collar's hook. His gaze glides, magmatic, down to where your leash dangles between your heaving breasts.

It's almost tender when he grabs it into his fist. When he pulls, pulls—

Your back arching. His fingers slipping deeper inside your cunt. Obedient little doll.

When he lifts his eyes, the look you find is hot enough to char bone. You taste blood in the back of your throat—

Into the seam of your mouth, he purrs, “good girl.”

—and you swallow it down with a moan.

(after all, you know better than to run from starving dogs—)

#when your kidnapper is mean and rude as hell but you've been dtf since day one: the manifesto #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #i forget where i put peoples hands sometimes and then have to go back and remind myself where everyone's at lmao #hope you enjoyedddddddddddd #i'm gonna go pour myself a glass of bleach bye #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #ghost x you #ghostdrabbles

3K notes · View notes

thelibrarian1895 · 1 year ago

Text

If your sibling is a rogue then make the best of it

I would like to think that Jason is very Hondo Onakha about kidnapping, very dramatic, fairly polite/chill to the one he kidnapped, minimal trauma, very professional overall but also very theatrical. Out of anyone in Gotham to have as your kidnapper, Jason aka the Red Hood is by far the very best person.

ALL of Jason's family whether they be legal, biological, emotional, or honorary, will absolutely try to convince Jason to kidnap them to get them out of some stupid civilian event. Whether or not Jason will go along with it will depend on several factors such as:

Does this benefit Bruce and get him out of a boring civilian event too? Then so sorry, you're just going to have to suffer!

How busy is Jason at the moment? Because being a drug lord and vigilante is actually pretty time consuming and kidnapping can be a lot of work for potentially very little gain.

What does Jason get out of it? Yes money is all well and good but Jason is rich by his own merits and can just steal from Bruce whenever, there's got to be more to it!

When is the last time Jason has kidnapped this sibling? He can't do it too often or it gets less effective. He has a reputation to maintain after all!

It may also depend on which sib is asking and what they need to be "saved" from.

Dick asks to be kidnapped from a bachelor auction charity? Ha! No chance, sorry Dickie! He will be there though and take pictures and laugh. (And also join all the other siblings who are stalking Dick and the winner of the auction in the event the winner wasn't one of the Bats or an invited member of the JL or Titans using Bruce's money) Dick asking to be kidnapped from a gala or some opening night of trendy place he's at to maintain civilian status? Maybe but the bribe has to be considerable. And it cannot benefit Bruce. Dick's normal bribes consist of taking some tedious part of an investigation over for Jason or getting intel from JL databases for Jason and the Outlaws.

Cass? Anytime and always, favorite sister who can beat him up has special kidnapping privileges, though they did stop for a very long time when some weirdos put out the theory that the Red Hood was in love with Gotham's Princess. (idk if Cass is considered Gotham's Princess in any version of canon but she is to me) Cass does still repay Jason in the form of Black Bat keeping an eye on Jason's territory when he's out of Gotham for any significant length of time.

Tim? He does owe the kid for several incidents and Tim normally doesn't abusive the privilege so he'd probably do it but there does have to be some sort of bribe for appearances sake. Tim usually gets Jason to agree in exchange for pictures of Batman tripping over his cape or in some other ridiculous position. Bonus in Jason's mind if Tim requests a kidnapping when Bruce is off world or otherwise occupied, therefore giving Brucie Wayne's reputation a hit. However if Tim wants to be kidnapped from something where Bruce is also suffering as Brucie, Tim is SOL (Tim might get revenge by getting Kon to wear Red Hood gear and "kidnap" Tim from the event if Jason refused. Kon will do it because Tim asked and also I would like to think that Kon isn't too fond of the guy who beat his best friend/boyfriend nearly to death and will mess with him if given the chance) Since kidnapping normally interferes with things that Tim wants to do however, he may instead bribe Jason to not kidnap a sibling that has asked to be kidnapped. Jason usually obliges this no kidnapping request.

Barbara? Sorry, no, he doesn't want to stress the Commissioner like that. He will, however, kidnap other people for her if she asks.

Stephanie? No Stephanie, he doesn't care what you offer, he's not kidnapping you so you can avoid your finals! Stephanie has, however, worn various wigs and been various hostages who died at the hands of the Hood in order to maintain his reputation. She gets paid in baked goods for her service.

Damian? Damian considered the idea ridiculous and proclaimed he'd never stoop so low and he would carry out his duties no matter how onerous! Damian then had to go to a Gotham gala. Damian is trying very hard to figure out a suitable bribe to get the Red Hood to kidnap him often enough that Bruce will be forced to keep Damian away from galas because of the ongoing security threat. So far it hasn't worked because Damian is very bad at bribing Jason, Jason thinks Damian forced to interact with normal people is funny, and Tim is successfully bribing Jason to ignore Damian's bribery attempts. The Red Hood has "kidnapped" Damian once, as a treat, when he thought the kid was looking particularly down about something.

Duke? Duke has yet to be made to attend any society gatherings as the solo Wayne (normally that falls to Bruce, Dick, or Tim) and can usually be spotted hanging out with Cass by the snack table at any gala or trendy event. He's not at Cass's level of reading body language but he's pretty darn good and he and Cass have reached a new level of being able to avoid annoying rich people while at parties. Duke is Cass's favorite gala buddy. Duke hasn't felt the need to ask Jason to kidnap him yet but Jason will allow the first one to be free of charge, no questions asked. After that Duke hasn't figured out suitable bribes for Jason but has realized that all of his siblings are hyper competitive and that Jason would absolutely wager a kidnapping in a competition or for a bet.

Alfred? If Alfred asked then Jason would without any caveat. Alfred will not ask however but might ask on behalf of someone else and Jason will comply.

Bruce? Jason just laughs. And if someone else is planning on kidnapping Brucie Wayne from a particularly boring business meeting or gala? Jason will actively thwart the kidnapping to force Bruce to continue to deal with social activity.

Jason usually splits a portion of the ransom money into bonuses for his goons since their original job outline is drug dealer/enforcer/mobster and not kidnapper. If they're going to get major felonies on their records, better make it financially worth it. All of Jason's goons are masked during any kidnapping event. The rest of the ransom money goes towards a charity of Jason's choosing.

Jason has also kidnapped people who are not his family or family adjacent. Barbara thought her dad could use a vacation at one point but he didn't have the PTO for it so Barbara had the Red Hood kidnap him. James Gordon experienced the weirdest kidnapping of his life that included some of the best food he'd ever eaten, an extremely soft bed, his pile of books that were on his reading list, and access to the sports games he'd meant to watch. The ransom was successfully paid after he had a week to relax. Gordon was then, as per protocol, allowed time to relax after his "harrowing" event. Barbara forced him to take the time. Strangely enough, some politicians who had been giving the Commissioner a hard time were suddenly very quiet when James Gordon came back, well rested, well fed, and ready to get back to the grind. It, of course, had nothing to do with the very polite emails with pictures attached that they all received while the Commissioner was very publicly out of the way.

Oliver Queen, when he was visiting Gotham, was kidnapped by the Red Hood. He was released after the ransom was paid and specifically he was released back in Star City. Mr. Queen was unavailable for comment after the incident but some sources say that he was cursing bats for some reason.

Lois Lane found herself kidnapped by Red Hood and ransomed by the Daily Planet while Superman was off world. Lois Lane returned safely to Metropolis and published a shocking expose on Luthor's latest scheme. Her sources for the article remain a secret.

Bruce is very grumpy about the whole thing, not just because Jason won't help his poor father get out of the stupid social event, but also because Jason being technically a rogue like this makes it very hard for him to successfully argue that Jason should let himself regain legal living status.

2K notes · View notes

cosmosluckycharms · 2 months ago

Text

Bug like angel incorrect quotes yet again

miguel version

honestly could also be read as non bug like angel idk

Kidnapper: We have your daughter

miguel: I don’t have a daughter?

Kidnapper: Then who just asked for warm milk and made us cut the crusts off her sandwich?

miguel: Oh god, you have spider!reader

spider!reader: This is miguel, he's… not my assistant, some other word.

miguel: I’m her carer.

spider!reader: Yeah, my carer. he cares so I don’t have to.

spider!reader, trying her first ever cup of coffee: I am ENERGY!

miguel, an avid coffee drinker, on his twelfth cup of the day: Someone slap me awake or I am literally going to fall into a coma in ten seconds.

miguel: spider!reader, can you help me? All of my clothes keep disappearing for some reason.

spider!reader, wearing a hoodie that's 5 times bigger than her size: Spooky.

spider!reader, very tired: Can I sleep in your bed?

miguel: *half asleep* spider!reader, this is a queen-sized bed. That means it’s for *gestures vaguely to himself* the Queen.

spider!reader: School sucks.

miguel: I know, but you have to do it so you can get a job.

spider!reader: What are jobs like?

miguel: They suck.

spider!reader: Holy shit, miguel, do you know what this means?!

miguel: Kid, whenever you start doing this, nobody knows what you mean.

miguel: Are you ever going to listen to me?

spider!reader: Yes. Absolutely.

miguel: When?

spider!reader: When you're right.

miguel: Why are you like this??

spider!reader: I used too much "No More Tears" shampoo as a kid and I haven't felt a single emotion since.

spider!reader: You believe me?

miguel: spider!reader, you’re the last good person on this planet. I‘d believe cartoon birds braided your hair this morning.

miguel: What are you doing here?

spider!reader: I could ask you the same question.

miguel: I live here. This is my house.

spider!reader: I should probably ask you a different question.

miguel: I'm going the fight the next person who insults spider!reader.

spider!reader: I hate myself.

miguel: Alright, square up.

spider!reader: Bitch.

miguel: Blocked.

spider!reader: Wait unblock me I need to tell you something.

miguel: Unblocked.

spider!reader: Bitch.

miguel: I can never give spider!reader shit because I’m jealous of them. They look at their life and say, “Sweet! This is perfect!”

miguel: I look at my life and say, “Welp. Time to get drunk.”

spider!reader: I want a trip down memory lane.

miguel: *proceeds to grab every warrior cats book they have and sets them in spider!reader's lap*

miguel: I heard you needed these?

spider!reader: YES! ALL OF THEM!

miguel: In the past year you have managed to piss off the LAPD, ATF, CIA, FBI-

spider!reader: NBA.

miguel: …?

spider!reader: Snuck into a Cliffords game.

spider!reader: I got grounded for a whole week just because I came home late.

miguel: Well, you deserved it. I mean, getting everyone's hopes up like that and then showing up again.

miguel: You’re alive.

spider!reader: No need to sound so disappointed.

spider!reader: Why does my arm shake and turn bright red when I’m eating dirt?

miguel: Why are you eating dirt?

spider!reader: Did I ask you if I should eat dirt? No, so answer my question.

miguel: spider!reader, no.

spider!reader: spider!reader, yes.

spider!reader: Here comes the lightning!

spider!reader, whispering: You've got to imagine it coming out my fingertips, wherein I am an almighty wizard.

miguel: Ok, currently imagining that. Hmm, not bad. Not bad at all.

spider!reader: Am I in trouble?

miguel: Take a guess.

spider!reader: No? miguel:

Take another guess.

spider!reader: So what’s for dinner?

miguel: I can’t tell you, it’s a soup-prise!

spider!reader: …

spider!reader: Is it soup?

miguel: I soup-pose it could be! *winks*

spider!reader: Please, enough with the soup puns!

miguel: Wow, you’re soup-per mean.

spider!reader: STOP! *one hour later*

spider!reader: It’s fucking tacos?!?!?!

miguel: spider!reader, are you drinking… drinking hydrogen peroxide?!

spider!reader: It says H2O2! That means it’s the sequel to water!

miguel: spider!reader, I beg of you. Please, PLEASE go to the doctor.

spider!reader Hey, I'm sorry. Is this OUR stab wound?

miguel: *Turns on the kitchen light*

spider!reader: *Sitting at the table, eating bread*

miguel: It’s four in the morning.

spider!reader: Turn the light back off.

spider!reader: I’m the smartest, wisest person in this group.

miguel: Really? Then why is your hand stuck in a vending machine?

spider!reader: I paid for my Mars Bar, I’m getting my Mars Bar.

spider!reader: *is throwing stones at miguel's window*

miguel: You have a phone for a reason, spider!reader!

*THUD*

miguel: DID YOU JUST THROW YOUR PHONE AT MY WINDOW?!

miguel: *very seriously* You need to stop doing weird things to cope with the stress. Going outside might help.

spider!reader: I went to the park today.

miguel: There you go! I hope you got something from that.

spider!reader: *opening their coat* This duck.

pt 1 cause theres gonna be more i js ran out of image space

#spider bat!reader #miguel x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #spiderman 2099 #platonic #x teen!reader #x child reader #miguel ohara #spider reader #spider!reader #father figure #father figure miguel

290 notes · View notes

phoenix-eclipses · 3 months ago

Text

Chocolate Covered Love

Picking your nephew up from school three days a week was an easy job. You got to spend more time with your nephew, but one of the benefits you weren’t aware of was his teacher.

Teacher! Koushi Sugawara x GN! Reader

5.2k words

Warnings/notes: fluffy, maybe OOC idk I've never written Suga, one of Suga's students is your nephew, Valentine's Day special

@nectardaddy asked for Suga fic recs and I wasn't sure which they had read, so I decided just to make my own <3

When you had first agreed to pick up your nephew after school, you had never considered where it would lead you. Your sister had just started a job that would create conflict with her picking up your nephew, and your brother-in-law could only do so on Thursdays and Fridays due to his own work schedule, so you were the next option they thought of before falling onto a babysitter or after school program. With the promise of monetary compensation and more time with your nephew, you took up the offer in a heartbeat.

The first day you arrived was the most difficult. While they had been informed of you being another trusted individual to pick up your nephew, there was a more thorough process to ensure your identity before you could welcome him into your waiting arms. But the smile on his face when he saw you made it all worth it.

It soon became routine, the receptionist would welcome you every day you’d pick him up and you’d leave with him in your arms, heading to your sister’s house to spend time with him before she got home.

One day though, when you arrived the receptionist simply told you to head into the classroom as your nephew was busy talking with his teacher and may be a moment.

“Mr. Sugawara will know you’re not some kidnapper if you’ve made it this far,” was all she waved you off with when you voiced your concerns. Left with no other option, you found yourself for the first time heading to the classroom. It was what you would expect for an elementary class, decorations scattered around the room with different lessons. The whiteboard covered with a lesson, soon to be erased due to the end of the day. Over to the side, a teacher’s desk was set where you could see your nephew engaged with a conversation with his teacher. It was mostly one sided, your nephew rambling on as his teacher listened.

You found yourself awkwardly standing in the doorway. From a distance, you find your eyes entranced by the teacher, a small grin on his face while he listens intently to whatever your nephew happened to be rambling about. It was only when you had to squeeze out of the way as a child raced out of the room that you were able to move your eyes away from the man briefly. It only took another moment before ‘Mr. Sugawara’ found his eyes landing on you, which makes your eyes meet his for the first time. He gives a smile, but there’s some confusion laced in his expression as he stands up fully. His attention on you shifts your nephew’s focus as well and you soon find him running towards you, barely giving you a chance to prepare before he launches himself at you. When he’s safely held in your arms, his teacher stands before you, the confusion mostly gone with the familiarity your nephew greeted you with.

“Hello, I had heard Kenji was getting picked up by someone else, but I don’t think we’ve had the chance to meet. I’m Koushi Sugawara.” He offered a small bow and a bright smile, a slight bit of mirth in his eyes watching your nephew happily stay in your arms.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Sugawara,” you gave him your name and explained your relation to Kenji which he gave a small, understanding hum.

“It’s nice to meet you, but I suppose you must be wanting to go now, have a good day,” he finishes his statement with your name, the sound sending a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. You give a small bow to him, holding tight onto your nephew while doing so, before leaving the building.

It’s not until your sister gets home from her job that you complain to her for the lack of warning about your nephew’s teacher. His very, very attractive elementary school teacher.

You had originally hoped that would be the first, and only time, you’d find yourself standing before his teacher. While he was definitely your type, you were embarrassed to even admit to anyone besides your sister that you found your nephew’s teacher attractive. Fate would not have it your way however, as soon everyday you’d find yourself back in the classroom picking up your nephew and speaking to his teacher. Overtime, you find conversations flowing easier and even head into the class naturally without being instructed to.

This routine with him fell in so naturally that when you walked into the classroom one day to find a sub in his place, the only thought that went through your mind was how you didn’t have any way to contact him in case something was wrong. You left that day, your nephew in your arms, and a slight sour taste in your mouth.

The next day, it was with some embarrassment that you arrived at the school with a thermos filled with soup. It wasn’t anything special, you’d never claim to be a cook, but you spent your day on call with your mom to try and recreate her recipe that she always cooked for you and your sister when sick. You had spent some time before leaving your place pondering on whether or not to actually bring it. There was no guarantee that he was absent because he was sick, there were plenty of reasons someone could miss a day of work, a funeral, an injury. You also didn’t have any guarantee that he was back to the school today either, there was a possibility you were bringing this thermos of soup just to walk into the classroom and see the sub in his spot once again.

Those thoughts were difficult to toss out, sticking in your mind even as you walked in the doors and greeted the receptionist. She didn’t even comment on the thermos, simply giving you a wave as you walked to the classroom as normal. The door was open, welcoming you in and immediately you see the man in question, crouching down while talking to your nephew. You find yourself standing in the doorway, just like the first time you ever saw him, studying his form as if something would pop out and confirm whether or not he was sick. This only ended when his voice reached your ears, your name coming from his mouth as he looked over at you with his smile.

“Hey Sugawara!” you greeted, struggling to cover up the fact you were looking intently at him. “Missed you yesterday, everything all good?”

There was a slight tease in your voice, hoping that it covered up the concern you felt yesterday. The small chuckle he gives you makes it feel like it did the job well enough.

“Everything’s alright, I just needed a day off. As much as I love these little rascals, it’s nice to get a little break every now and then, y’know?” Despite the joking nature of his words, you can’t help but find slight eye bags. You find yourself wondering if they were always there and you had just never noticed them before.

“Ah, well now I feel a little silly…” you let out a small chuckle. He gives you a small hum, clearly prompting you to continue. “I thought you may have gotten sick. I mean, you work with kids all the time so I’d be more surprised if you didn’t get sick occasionally… so I made you some soup. It’s not anything special, but my mom gave it to my sister and I whenever we were sick.”

You held the thermos out, fighting back the thought of just turning away and never speaking to him ever again. There was a splash of surprise in his expression before his smile widened and he grabbed the thermos from you.

“Even if I’m not sick, I appreciate it, thank you,” he spoke your name once again and you felt the butterflies return. He placed the thermos on his desk, next to his bag.

“Can… I ask a really stupid question?” your heart was racing as you spoke, begging for the floor to swallow you up as his eyes returned to you. His first response was a laugh, before he spoke up.

“Now, now, I tell the students all the time that there’s no such thing a stupid question, so go ahead. What’s bothering that pretty head of yours?” he leans against his desk, both of you hardly paying attention to your nephew who wandered away to play with some of his classmates who were still in the room. You felt as though the butterflies had welcomed some friends in at hearing him call your head ‘pretty’. You struggle to collect yourself before speaking up.

“Well… I was wondering if there was some way I could be in contact with you? I know you’re assigned a phone number to the phone in your classroom, but for when you’re out… or if something happens! I mean, it might be easier for you to contact me than to reach out to my sister and for her to then have to contact me if it’s not a Thursday or Friday…” you find yourself rambling, tossing out words as you struggle to form an explanation without crumbling in front of him. This only stops when your hands are enveloped by his own.

“Hey now, let’s take a deep breath, okay?” his gaze finds yours easily, squeezing them lightly. It easily ends your rambling and when he takes a step back, his hands leaving your own, you find yourself missing the warmth. “...hm, contacting me outside of my school number… my school email might be a close second but I don’t always have the notifications on.”

Despite the way he acted to be contemplating, you had a feeling he was just playing with you because after another moment of letting out a small hum, he pulled out his phone and offered it to you. “Might as well go with the most convenient, hm?”

You fight off a blush as you take his phone, typing in your number with shaking hands. He takes it back with a soft smile, typing in what you assumed to be your name. There was another silent moment as he continued typing and you felt your phone buzz. He gives a wink before pocketing it.

That was how you found yourself returning to your sister’s house, your cheeks aflame. Your nephew none the wiser to why you kept staring at your phone so intently.

There had been no plans to send him any messages that day, hoping for it to not appear like it meant something more to you - it definitely did - but as you were preparing dinner with your sister, your phone buzzed once again. Unaware of who it could be, you told your sister to read it aloud as you were cutting tomatoes. However, it takes her a moment to even read the message because she starts laughing instead, making you confused. She read the name first, which was enough for you to feel your cheeks start to burn once again but she continued, ignoring the fact you told her that she didn’t need to read it anymore.

“‘Thanks for the soup, it’s delicious. I’ll definitely bother you for the recipe when I’m sick.’ And he even put a heart!” She’s barely able to keep herself from laughing as you find yourself trying to hide your face. “When did you even get his number? And soup? Please don’t tell me you bought some store soup to give to him!”

“Of course not!” you turn and pout at her. She simply gives a pointed look, clearly waiting for you to give more context. “...there was a sub yesterday and I was worried that he was sick, so I had asked mom to guide me through her recipe because it always made us feel better when we were sick. He wasn’t actually sick yesterday, but he still said thank you for it.”

“...and?”

“And what?”

“And how exactly did you get his number, hm?”

“I asked him for it… because I thought it’d be more convenient for him to inform me of any issues that happen to Kenji during the day than for him to call you only for you to have to call me,” you put the knife down to turn to face her, trying to defend your story.

“Uh huh, and you totally couldn’t have just noted down the phone to his classroom and given him your number to use for that. Or.. I don’t know, given it to the receptionist instead?” There’s silence in the room before you sigh, giving in. She laughs at you. “Well I don’t think Kenji will be complaining if you start dating Mr. Sugawara, that man has become his favorite teacher.”

“I said nothing about dating him!”

“But you were thinking about it. And I’d say you have a pretty good chance if him giving you his number says anything. Everyone knows that man is attractive, I’ve heard my fair share of the parents talk about him,” she waves your phone around as if to emphasize her point. “So, what do you want to say?”

“...you can just say that I’ll happily share it with him-”

“Boring.” She cuts you off before you can even continue. “Please, let’s make some attempt to flirt with the poor man.”

“...how do you even flirt in response to that?”

She lets out a groan, shaking her head. “You’re helpless…”

She doesn’t say anything else as she starts typing. You immediately move over to her, peeking over her shoulder to look at what she was saying.

“Don’t say anything weird.”

“I won’t.”

With your supervision - a lot of anxious adjustments - the message gets sent out before she guides you back to the tomatoes. You dice the tomatoes, the message burned in your mind as you anxiously await his answer.

‘Why would I give you the recipe? gotta give you some reason to want me while you’re sick, even if it’s just soup delivery’

Messaging Sugawara, or Suga, he’s now forced you to shorten it to, was a constant in your life now. You’d send each other a morning message, he’d send a little update during the school lunch break - a thing that started as an update on your nephew but now focused on the man - and even send each other good night messages. It even began to turn into early morning and late night calls, usually featuring one of you two falling asleep on the phone. You in the morning, unused to waking up so early in the day, and occasionally him at night due to getting up so early for the school day.

This advancement was why when his number popped up on your screen the day before Valentine’s Day, you didn’t question it when you answered the phone.

“Hey Suga! Earlier call than normal, missed me that much?” you tease lightly, the show you were watching paused in favor of talking with him. There was silence on the other end for a few moments, raising some confusion. “Suga…?”

“Hi, sorry sorry,” there were some noises in the background as he spoke. “Are you free right now?”

“...yeah? Is everything alright?” you’re already sitting up off the couch before he even gets the chance to speak.

“Could you come to the school to help me with something, please?” his voice is a little hesitant, clearly embarrassed for whatever he needed.

“Sure, I’ll be there in ten minutes, is there anything you need? First aid? …soup?” you’re grabbing your shoes and putting them on while you’re speaking, trying to keep your tone light to help with his hesitancy. It works when he lets out a soft chuckle.

“No, no, nothing like that. You just need to bring yourself, I just think I bit off more than I could chew tonight and had no one else to call,” his voice is more sure now. You fight off the butterflies at the idea that you were the one he thought to call out of anyone else he could know. You weren’t even sure what he wanted from you, for all you know he could secretly be luring you to the school to kill you, but even with that in mind, you’re soon driving over to the school.

Arriving at the building at a later hour was strange. While it was only two hours from when you’d come to pick up your nephew, the building was noticeably empty compared to how it normally was. The door was locked, but after a brief knock a janitor appeared at the door.

“Ya here for Mr. Sugawara?” there was a knowing look in his eyes as he held the door open for you once you nodded your head. “All the way down the hall to the right, ‘s the kitchen.”

After a thank you to the man, you follow his directions to where the kitchen was. Your thoughts swarming with why Sugawara would be in the kitchen, and why he’d be asking for your help. They circle back to the idea of him planning to kill you, maybe cooking you into a soup of your own and the janitor was his accomplice. A chuckle escapes your lips, echoing slightly throughout the empty halls as you arrive at the kitchen and step in through the swing doors.

The moment the door is out of your line of sight, the reason for his call makes sense. Throughout the room, bowls of chocolate, strawberries, and even some other treats are scattered about. By the stove top is Sugawara, intensely staring at a pot of what you assumed to be chocolate given the evidence around the room.

“Suga…?” you call out while walking over to him. When he turns to face you, laughter escapes you before you can even help it. Splotches of chocolate on his cheeks and even his forehead. He simply pouts at you, attempting to wipe it away. His hands manage to wipe away some of it, but smeared the rest. You grab a paper towel, wet it, and reach over to wipe his face for him. You hold lightly on his chin to keep him still while you wipe off the spots of chocolate. “I don’t think you’re a strawberry.”

“Are you sure, maybe I’d be delicious?” his easy grin returns to his face, ignoring the state the kitchen was in. “Thank you for coming…”

“What’s even going on? Are you asking someone to be your Valentine or something? I don’t think you need this much chocolate and strawberries for a single person,” you gesture to the bowls full of strawberries prepped to be coated in chocolate. Despite your words, you find yourself severely hoping that it wasn’t the case. You obviously hadn’t made any steps towards being considered valentine material for him, but you wished he’d ask you instead of whoever he was considering.

“No, nothing like that. Most of the staff here, myself included, like to prepare things for the students. Normally I can get away with those packaged candy hearts or maybe a thing of candy for each student, but we read a book that had chocolate strawberries in it and now they won’t stop mentioning them any chance they get. I thought it’d be nice for them to all get their own chocolate strawberries but… I’ve never made them before,” he lets out a sigh, leaning against the nearby counter, staring at the mess he had made.

“That explains why Kenji came home one day asking if we could make some!” you pointed an accusatory finger at him. He holds his hands up defensively, but he can’t help but laugh. His own laugh makes yours come out as you lower your hand and smile at him.

“Yes, yes, I admit that would be my fault. Though you would not be bothered today if Kenji hadn’t told me you had made him some,” he teasingly baited out, pointing the blame to your nephew.

“Oh yea, it’s truly Kenji’s fault for having such a cool relative who happily learns how to make chocolate strawberries for him,” you bump into him jokingly when going to investigate the pot on the stove top. Just a simple glance is enough for you to let out a small laugh, but you force it down while turning the stove off. “Do we have free reign of the kitchen or is there anything I should make sure not to touch?”

“Free reign, as long as you don’t break anything,” he spoke while peering at what you were doing. Paying him no mind, you grab another pot, letting the other sit on the stove top to cool off. You fill it up with some water before setting it on the stovetop and turning on the burning to let it boil. Once it’s boiling, you turn down the heat and move one of the bowls of chocolates over it.

“This is a double boiler. You could just toss them in the microwave as well, but I prefer this method since you can keep a constant eye on it while it melts. You’ll want to occasionally stir it,” you direct him over by the stovetop with a spoon before taking his spot, leaning against the counter. “You’re here to learn, not admire me making the chocolate strawberries for your students.”

There’s an eyeroll in response, but he listens, stirring the chocolate occasionally. You both chat throughout the time it takes to melt the chocolate. Once it’s melted, you help him coat each strawberry with chocolate. On top of just ones covered in chocolate, you find some sprinkles to coat on some to make them more exciting for the students. Time seems to flow smoothly as you spend nearly two hours making them and then cleaning up the kitchen from the disaster that had stormed through the room before you had arrived.

“Thank you, again. I almost thought I was going to have to go to the store and hope they had some candy left at a decent price,” he let out a sigh, returning to lean against the counter again.

“It’s not a problem, just means you owe me,” you tease lightly, moving beside him. “Maybe I’ll require you to inform your students that you needed my help, hm?”

There’s a moment of silence as he stares ahead, thinking. A part of you is tempted to speak up, promise you were teasing but when his eyes move to you, every word is gone. “Say… I have one thing that could make up for it. Do you want to come with me somewhere?” He offers his hand out to you.

“Go somewhere with you? Are you planning to murder me in some forest?” You accept his hand, smiling when he lets out a light chuckle at your words.

“I mean, if I destroy the evidence none of my students will know I needed help making their treats,” he jokes back while walking with you out of the kitchen. Despite him knowing he didn’t need to hold onto your hand, he holds it naturally, as if it was meant to be like this. He first guides you to his classroom, where he grabs his bag and thinks for a moment before releasing your hand, asking you to stay in the room while he runs out briefly, bag in hand. You find yourself missing the feel of his hand, but it doesn’t last long when he returns and immediately envelopes yours with his once again.

With his bag in hand, and your hand in his other, you both walk out of the building, ignoring another glance directed at you by the janitor who had let you in, and head to his car. He opens the door for you, waiting for you to comfortably sit down before closing it and walking over to the driver side.

When he gets in and closes the door, you speak up, “Do I get to know which forest you’re going to dispose of the evidence in?” Another laugh comes from him, and he shakes his head lightly while putting his key in and starting the car. The bag in his hand is carefully set in the backseats before he puts the car in drive and starts on wherever you both were headed.

“I fear not, it’ll spoil the surprise of where you end up. But I promise it’ll be worth it,” you give him a pout in response, but all he does is offer his hand to you once again while his eyes remain on the road.

It takes about twenty minutes before he turns into a parking lot of a convenience store. He ignores the confused look you give him, turning the car off and hopping out of the car. You watch as he runs to your side of the car, opening the door for you with a grin. “I promise this isn’t our destination, I just thought it’d be nice to have some food, haven’t had dinner yet.”

You hop out, thanking him for opening the door for you. However, you manage to open the door to the convenience store before him, grinning at him while you hold it open for him. He rolls his eyes, but does enter the store thanks to you. You follow behind, glancing around, as if something would jump out and explain where exactly you both were going.

“Haven’t I told ya kids to eat some real food?” a gruff voice comes out. You turn your attention over, finding an older man looking pointedly at Suga who holds his hands up innocently with a grin.

“C’mon Ukai! It’s been over a week since I came.”

“And most people don’t come here every week! ‘Specially when they work twenty minutes away,” despite his tone, the man is already pulling out a meat bun and stuffing it into a bag.

“Actually, I need another,” Suga speaks up, directing his gaze to you. Seemingly for the first time, the man behind the counter seems to have noticed you. There’s silence for a moment before a newspaper is rolled up and hit against Suga’s head.

“The hell you mean?! You’re out with someone and you’re offering ‘em my food? Didn’t we teach you kids better?” he shoos Suga away, who goes deeper into the store looking for something. “God, can’t believe this kid. Please tell me this ain’t your first time going out and this is where he brings ya.”

“Oh! Well, we aren’t a thing…” you try to explain. The man just raises a brow at you, making you stumble over your next words. “Promise! I just helped him with a few things today so he’s taking me out- wait oh god is this a date…?”

The last bit is mostly muttered to yourself but the man hears you, cackling to himself before leaning over the counter to speak with you. “I’d say so. So you better make sure your next time is somewhere much better, if not come back ‘ere and I’ll make sure to teach that boy a lesson for you.” He gives you a wink before Suga returns to the counter, a basket of stuff covered with a blanket.

“No looking, that’s cheating,” Suga waves your gaze away, making you pout but you listen and turn away. Once everything is bought, he carries the bag in one hand and holds onto yours with the other. “See ya next week Ukai!”

“Yea, sure- wait no you better not be back here again that soon!” the man shouts back as you both walk out the store. Suga laughs while guiding you back to your seat. He says nothing while you sit down but he reaches over you, placing the bag in the back seat before buckling your seat belt for you. Your cheeks heat up as he simply winks at you before stepping back, closing the door and going to his seat. The moment he starts the car, his hand finds yours once again and you are on your way to your final destination.

It’s only another ten minutes before he pulls into a small parking lot. The building seemed to be closed, but when you both get out, Suga, carrying both bags, guides you off to the side where there’s a grass clearing and a view of the sky. The sun slowly setting and you could see as some stars took their homes in the sky. You find yourself entranced by the view and by the time you look back at Suga, he’s spreading a blanket on the ground and you catch the view of some snacks in the convenience store bag. When he realizes your attention is back on him, he pats a spot on the blanket that he sits next to.

“It’s beautiful out here,” you comment as you sit down by him.

“It is. I used to come here in high school. It was a nice jog for practice and the view was always a great way to destress,” he leans against you lightly while looking at the sky with a smile. “I’ve never taken anyone else here.”

Your gaze falls back on him, a little shocked at the statement. It takes a moment before his eyes look at you, a hesitant smile on his face. He pushes himself back a little, turning to his school bag and he pulls something out but keeps it behind his back when he turns to you. Despite the darkening sky, you find a note of red on his cheeks as he looks at you. He utters your name lightly, hesitance written all over his face.

“Can I ask you something stupid?”

“Suga, you of all people should know there’s no such thing as a stupid question,” you give him a gentle smile. By now, you’ve fully turned yourself towards him, patiently waiting for him to speak. When he stays silent, you reach out for his hand that’s not holding something behind his back, squeezing it. He takes a deep breath, finding your gaze before he speaks.

“It’s a little embarrassing to ask with something you helped me with but… would you be my Valentine?” behind his back, he pulls out a box full of some of the chocolate covered strawberries you both had made. However, unlike the ones you had sporadically covered in sprinkles, there was candy letters spelling out your name and a few had little hearts on them. “I know it’s the day before, so I might be a little late… but I thought I’d ask anyways. I promise this isn’t everything I planned.”

His cheeks seemed to become even more red as he spoke. Your smile widened, accepting the box before placing it on the blanket beside you. And while the sun disappeared from your view, before you sat Suga coated in moonlight. The man who taught your nephew about the same chocolate strawberries you were gifted. The same man, who just as promised, presented you with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in the morning instead of your normal morning phone call. And on this Valentine’s Day, you fell back to sleep in the morning, in the arms of your Valentine.

Divider Credit: @cafekitsune

Notes: this is my first official like full fic on here so I'm like a little nervous to post this... but I hope you guys enjoyed! Again first time writing Suga so he may not be the best but shhh

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq x you #haikyuu x you #sugawara x reader #sugawara x you #sugawara koushi x reader #sugawara koushi #koushi sugawara #sugawara hq #gn reader

156 notes · View notes

thephantomsdream · 6 months ago

Text

so I've been reading real published romance books and they cannot fill the void that ao3 and company do fill, but they did give me an idea. ok, lmfao, hear me out. (I've had this in my drafts for way too long, i decided to release it because why tf not)

content: alien!141, soulmates!141, abduction, intergalactic human trafficking, space shit; very vague idea of anything ever; probably made up alien names; writer is at work while dealing with annoying costumers so it's rushed and dumb.

imagine:

Good ol' you, in your house, unaware that in the deep, vast universe, trafficking also existed. Not long ago, a reptilian race found out about our warm bodies, interesting features and intelligent yet primitive brains, and started to abduct and sell men and women to rich buyers. It was good business, especially considering our side of the universe wasn't even aware of extraterrestrial life, so they couldn't even guess where they disappeared! The treaty and all intergalactic laws were vague about us. "Let them be" meaning "Let them fuckers figure their shit out, lol idk".

Well, as you can understand, the Sheh'deauz (lmfao stay with me) decided to in fact not let us be. So back to lovely you, yeah?

Home alone, playing videogames or something, when suddently you see some flashes of light out the window. It was weird considering it wasn't raining but you remained calm, as you assumed maybe a storm is approaching? Mainly, you couldn't give a shit but the moment you heard scratching and hissing outside your door, you panicked. Long story short, your house slowly started filling with an invisible gas that just made you pass out, but you did see your door opening, same weird blue-white light emanating from under it as it did, and a scaly leg entering your home as you fell on the floor.

You figured, as the genius that you were, that you were, in fact, not dreaming as you spent many hours (days? felt like days) in a cage. Very oddly technologically advanced. In another strike of genius, and of course, after seeing your kidnappers, you figured it was a spaceship and you were in some deep sci-fi shit. (maybe after laughing and asking them where are the hidden cameras. i would...)

After throwing tantrums and having the ugly multi-colored creatures mock you and hiss at you, you kinda gave up and sat by the very human bed you've been given and allowed time to pass. You were given food every so often, a toilet nearby, water at your disposal. But you feared for your life.

Well, let me tell you something. You have the luckiest misfortune of all, really. Or maybe, just maybe, things are meant to be this way. Maybe it was all meant to happen like this. Allow me to explain.

In another corner of the universe, four of the greatest warriors of the Intergalactic Army frowned at a holographic screen. A female alien, older, still beautiful, ethereal looking, skin creamy white with some lavender edges and striking blue eyes was frowning back.

"You're fucking kidding me." Their captain said (in a different language than ours but your writer here is multi-lingual, don't worry), getting closer to the screen. She just nodded, rubbing her forehead.

"Where is that again?" Asked another.

"So like—" a third one, this one with a distinct accent compared to the others, tilted his head incredulously. "They're our cousins genetically?"

"You can say so." She groaned. "The Council decided to not touch that part of the galaxy. They are being observed. Fucking hell! They were going on the right path."

"If they don't destroy their own planet before." The captain muttered, voice tired and coarse. In his many, many years lived, he's seen it happen again and again. Greed and stupidity almost whipped their race, so he's been following the Terrans close-by, as close as a mere Intergalactic Task Force Captain (stick with me lmfao) could follow.

"So what's the plan?" The tallest one asked, mask made of what others assumed was one of his most dangerous prey's skull was placed on his face.

"We give them hell." Captain commanded, Laswell nodding.

"Stay close, at the outskirts of their galaxy. We intercept any package and find their buyers."

"What do we do with our lil cousins then?"

"Eliminate any witnesses."

Shit went down really quick. You figured they were preparing for something as the guards by your cell somehow summoned some advanced looking chairs from the walls to strap themselves on and hissed at you mockingly, as they've done before. You just sat in a corner, by the bed, and wanted to cry. You were going through all stages of grief every few hours and it was getting exhausting. You were just now starting to understand how dire your situation was and how little chances you had of going home.

They turned off the main lights and a thousand scenarios crossed your mind. It was as if they were bracing for something. You frowned as you saw the guards tense as some alien hieroglyphics appeared on a holographic screen. It looked... like a countdown... You grasped the bed, trying to brace yourself for something. And good that you did because it felt as if the ship collapsed with something.

It basically shook you off to the ground, and while you'd think this was supposed to happen, you quickly realize it wasn't since the guards unstrapped themselves from the chairs and started shrieking as alarms suddently blared. After that? Seconds and it was over. Two white blasts ended them both, hitting them exactly in the middle of their ugly skulls. You did not hear any footsteps but you saw a shadow approaching your cell, so you scurried closer to your bed and now presumably magic shield that will block blasts that melt alien skulls.

The barriers from your cell unlocked, sliding to the sides and someone jumped in front of you. Someone big, dressed sleekly in black, although you could swear the edges of his frame looked transparent for a second. It was big, yet had the complexity of a human so you stayed locked in place, big scared eyes on the person pointing a big son-of-a-bitch gun at you. You heard it growl and speak something shortly, and the hairs on your whole body pricked.

World stopped for Price as he cracked another neck, just after locking eyes with the leader of this "cargo" ship. He was about to take a step forward to gently guide this person towards personal enlightenment by confessing all the information they needed, even if it would be involuntarily, when Soap spoke... well, growled just one word in their comms.

"Mate."

#cod scenarios #cod x reader #141 x reader #alien!141 #alien!141 x reader #soulmate!au #soulmate!au on crack and make it harem x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader

367 notes · View notes

vikkirosko · 11 months ago

Note

Hi. IDK If you're all right with this request or if you're up for doing it. But can you do? How would helluva boss characters Blitzo, stolas, and Moxxie react to finding out their s/o got hurt instead of stolas because the people took the wrong person who was meant to be Stolas. And since s/o won't give any information or show any weakness, as a last resort now rendered defenseless, Andrealphus resorts to a cowardly act, stabbing a sharp blade into their s/o shoulder and breaking their ribs, savoring every moment of there pain showing it as a warning to them. Also they can't go into the hospital room to see s/o because of the media. What would they do and say about what happened to their s/o.

Headcanons Severely injured

😈 Blitzø x Reader 🐴

Blitzø was calm about the fact that you were gone for a long time. He was sure you were late until he got a call from the hospital. You were there in a serious condition and his number was recorded as your emergency contact. Blitzø was shocked by this news, but when he arrived at the hospital he couldn't even get to the entrance. There were a lot of journalists there and all he had to do was look for another way to get to you

He had to climb up a drainpipe to get to the window in your room, but the sight of you lying unconscious made his heart clench. He didn't leave your room, and when you woke up, he was apologizing for not being there. Blitzø did not know exactly what happened to you, but he intended to find out and find out who did this to you. When you came to your senses, you told him about what happened to you, but your story made his heart sink. You've been through something terrible

You were captured instead of Stolas, but they realized it too late. You knew that a certain aristocrat was involved in this, but you had no idea what his name was. You just called him the Snow Queen. They couldn't find out anything from you, so this aristocrat stabbed you in the shoulder and broke several of your ribs. These were the injuries you knew for sure, but there could have been more

Blitzø was not going to forgive this.He intended to avenge you, because someone dared to hurt you. But first he wanted to wait until you were fully recovered. He couldn't let anyone try to hurt you again, or worse, kill you

😈 Moxxie x Reader 🎶

Moxxie witnessed you being kidnapped. He couldn't let anyone hurt you and rush to your aid. However, when he got to you, he realized that a little more and he would have been too late. He was able to get rid of some of the kidnappers, but the main one managed to escape. Moxxie wanted to catch up with him, but he had more important things to do. He had to get you to the hospital as soon as possible, because you were seriously injured

When he brought you to the hospital, the doctors quickly took you away, but he couldn't even come to the entrance. The reason for this was the journalists. You were kidnapped instead of Stolas and there was a big fuss about it. Moxxie tried his best to get to you, but it was simply impossible to do it through the main entrance, so he went in through the back entrance, hurriedly looking for your room

He sat in the hospital corridor in front of your room for several hours. Moxxie was waiting for you to come to your senses, after which he was allowed into your room. He was sitting with you, very worried about you. He was your personal guard, afraid that someone would try to kill you in the hospital

Moxxie understood that what happened to you could happen again. Maybe someone would want to get rid of the witnesses. You claimed that some aristocrat was involved in all this, which means that you could really have been killed to save your reputation. Moxxie wasn't going to let that happen

🦉 Stolas x Reader 🎩

Stolas knew that his ex-wife would not let him live in peace after the divorce. But he wasn't thinking. That you'd be kidnapped instead. You were dear to him and the last thing he wanted was for you to get hurt because of him. Stolas tried to find you, but when he found out where you were, he got scared. You were seriously injured and you urgently needed to get to the hospital. Stolas took you there and paid for the best room for you. He was lucky that he managed to enter the hospital, because the exit from it was quickly blocked by a crowd of journalists

Stolas was sitting with you in the room where you were unconscious. According to the doctor, you had a knife wound in your shoulder, several broken ribs, bruises and several other minor injuries. But the problem was also that you lost blood and needed time to recover. Stolas was even ready to take you to his house and take care of you if necessary, but he was ready to cry with happiness when you woke up

You smiled faintly at him and said you were glad he was okay. Stolas was much more worried about you and wanted you to rest. However, you said something that worried him even more. You said that Andrealphus was involved in the kidnapping and it was he who broke your ribs and it was he who stabbed you in the shoulder

The thought of his ex-wife's brother doing this to you made him angry. Stolas wasn't going to forgive him for that. He may have to come into open conflict, but he was willing to do it for you. You were very important to Stolas and he didn't want anyone to hurt you

#Helluva Boss #Helluva Boss x Reader #Helluva Boss headcanons #Blitzø #Blitzø x Reader #Moxxie #Moxxie x Reader #Stolas #Stolas x Reader

141 notes · View notes

preciouslandmermaid · 1 year ago

Text

I’m thinking about Amy Pond this morning and how Moffat didn’t give her any identity outside of The Doctor (and Rory).

Like series 5, we go through this whole thing where Amy “gets her parents back” and we literally NEVER see them again. And then Amy’s childhood friend, who we had never heard of, is revealed to be tied to the Doctor as well.

She’s shown to be a successful model during series 6, but that fact doesn’t go anywhere. We don’t see her friends. We don’t even know if she HAS friends.

River Song also has a similar problem—her story is intrinsically tied to the Doctor. And although Amy and River are technically mother and daughter, we don’t really get to see that, like does River come around and visit her parents when not traveling with the Doctor? What do they talk about ??

And on the note about children, iirc, Amy can’t (?) have any more children due to what her kidnappers did to her. But, on the same hand, it was never said that Amy wanted children or was upset that she missed out on the opportunity to raise Melody (it’s literally never mentioned again).

All the of NuWho companions, save for Martha, wanted to travel with the Doctor forever and ultimately their stories end in tragedy. I get that.

But then other companions, like Rose, Martha, and Donna - they all had people OUTSIDE the Doctor, which grounded them, tied to their humanity, to their earthly humanness.

I love Amy, but she is subjected to some poor writing choices. I know the viewers can fill in the blanks - we can assume she and Rory have lives outside traveling with the Doctor. But without seeing these people, it’s hard to connect when let’s say Earth is threatened. When the cyber men were trying to take over, Rose was concerned about her mum ! And we were too! Because we saw her mum and saw how much Rose loved her.

I know Amy’s arc ultimately ends with her “choosing Rory” (I guess because idk this wasn’t made clear when she married the guy idk).

But, consider this, consider how much more impactful her story would’ve been if she had like - I dunno - a sweet grandma who would tell her bedtime stories. The grandma gets some quips in about The Doctors fashion choices.

Rather than the Doctor realizing the Ponds are getting older (Amy’s glasses), it’s Amy realizing that her grandma is getting older, and the allure of traveling the stars is fading. She realizes that she wants to have her own child to tell stories to. And she wants her grandma to be alive to share in those stories. Hell, maybe she still finds a love for writing and becomes an author.

Amy makes the choice (much like Martha did) to leave the TARDIS. Rory comes too (I do think Moffat disliked Rory but that’s another topic). The Doctor is welcome to visit.

And when he does, he sees a slightly older Amy Pond, carrying a child that looks just like her, towards her grandmother in a wheelchair in the garden.

They let each other go. Unlike Rose and Ten who simply couldn’t let go because of the deep love they had for another.

The Doctor and Amy (or maybe it’s just Amy) have “grown up”. Amy has made a choice FOR HERSELF. After everything she’s seen, endured, all the trauma and suffering and grief - she creates her own happy ending.

It’s 8:00am right now - so who knows if this makes sense.

#amy pond #doctor who #blogging about 2010 dw what is happening

159 notes · View notes

somuchwatersoclosetohome · 1 month ago

Text

good morning good morning good morning a la hugo

ok i'm going to try and dump as much as i can remember about last night before i need to head out for today but i will definitely forget things so this might be a 2-parter

warning this is SO LONG i apologise in advance

✨ it's almost time to say goodbye, ta-ta and fare thee well, it's almost time to bring the curtain down... ✨

spoilers for stage/fright 04/04

le general observations

we are officially in last weekend territory

turns out i was sat next to miranda hennessy's husband but i was too shy to say anything hur hur

also turns out we were sat behind 4 empty house seats that were reserved for sir ian and co. but he didn't come 😔 imagine that

hahaha oh dear my bf was SO BAFFLED BY THE ENTIRE THING he even asked @silverview why do you find this funny 😭 i gotta actually credit you for not completely outing my rs appreciation 🙇‍♀️ so yea turns out it's still just my dad that i can count on irl to stan in9 with me

act 1

ok now i've had it incepted in my head that there's sexual tension between anna francolini and reece's character in the opening theatre scene I CAN'T UNSEE IT I'M DIGGING IT

idk if she's done this every time but this was the first time that i was sat on the right-hand side of the auditorium and when anna goes to spend a penny tonight she mimed walking down the stairs behind the rows of seats and that got a good laugh ahahah

in BCDR they'd obviously forgotten to put the bag of hats for the interview sketch in the right place on stage so steve has to disappear off stage for a few seconds like "give me a sec" to go and retrieve it!! ha

other ppl have noticed this but i feel like reece has definitely dialled up tommy over the course of the run so that tommy is actually now more physical and funny as well as cantankerous haha... the "not about the crisps" line has definitely got more exaggerated each time

i'm always just in awe of how much emotion they both manage to put into this one night after night. the "you almost died len" is just always ☹️ loud crying

kidnappers scene

ok well this has to have its own section for this episode right? i could do a whole separate POST about this bc the hostage was fucKING SIR IAN MCKELLEN

this is also probably the sole section that my bf enjoyed bc he likes LOTR lmao

where do i even start, there were so many gems in this section that i will definitely forget something excellent

i mean when len says "tell him what you've been in", sir ian just puts his hands behind his head and says "where do i start" lmaoo man knows he's a king

when they first take off the hood obviously the audience goes wild and starts screaming and hollering

when he's listing off the things he's been in(!) he looks at len and says "you look like the sort of person that goes to the theatre" and steve does his exaggerated barry baggs nodding ahaha, and then he looks at tommy and says "you look like the sort of person that stays in and watches tv"

len obviously knows him from the lord of the rings, aka the lord of the minge / the whore of the kings

there's a whole gag about both sir ian and reece both having done the dressers, where reece/tommy is like "i think you were better than me" and sir ian replies "yes i think i probably was" 😭😭😭

when reece/tommy does his lil bunny hops about knowing how to answer a phone, sir ian looks out into the crowd and is like "the acting you get on this stage..." semi-sarcastically

the whole phone call situation was unbelievable. sir ian just straight up says "i don't do spanish" hahaha, and then was like "geordie is really hard, can i do welsh?" to which his credit he did an ok job of

when he does the flamenco he literally stands up to TAKE HIS DRESSING GOWN OFF and obviously everyone is going wild again and then mimes starting to take his shirt off ahaha

he actually does a pretty mean flamenco and even some (and i can't believe i'm saying these words in relation to sir ian mckellen) booty shaking

the trumpet does work!! it makes sounds... a little toot was heard

the improv song went something like "i love you, you love me, you are mine, inside number 9" to which everyone inc. reece and steve were like !!! awww

at one point reece just fully says "this [his mustache] is falling off"

when len goes to the kitchen and asks if he's hungry, sir ian fully just gets a banana out of the dressing gown pocket and starts eating it on stage??? and then throws the skin out into the front row for someone to catch??? imagine that. i'd be framing that banana skin

he then does a TON of audience work lmao, starting with "how much have you all paid to be here?"

"i could be at home watching reruns of my work"

his chat goes on so long that len literally comes on over the speakers like "oh sir ian, i wonder what would happen if you went in that wardrobe" bc he was not showing ANY signs of getting up to look in there 😂😂😂

he does that gag and the second time is like "oh i wonder if i should check again", and going in is like "if this is the last time i see you all, goodbye"

at one point he does mention sir derek jacobi and said something like we've done a lot of work together or smth?? whatever he said made me think MAYBE sir derek is going to be one of the final hostages???

len actually doesn't go crazy w/ the celery today? no falling to his knees in any case LOL but it still cracks reece up ofc ofc

sir ian's parting words for the boys - "i come from the legitimate side of the entertainment industry... the next time you come to the wyndham's at the stage door i hope they say... YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" cue everyone losing their shit

when they throw the body down the stairs one of the shoes flies off and reece sort of nudges it before their shrug. idk man it was funny

act 2

this is broadly the same as i have seen it, though i'm almost sure reece nearly breaks after his 'good morning' entrance... in any case he's definitely smiling

i feel like the bit where hugo's sat somewhat sprawled on that stool (🥵 ahem) and says "comfy?" to suzette has definitely been dialled up

the line when hugo comes back in and is like "you want a second opinion do you, take me through the case file", the way reece delivers this is just SO GOOD it's so funny

the leg amputation took WAY longer than usual, idk if there was something up?? so anyway the "almost done" line was funnier than it usually is and suzette even had to adlib some new lines to cover up this section haha

the "get away" to abby is a great addition and always gets a good laugh

steve breaking 😭😭 i was looking out for the point where he misses his cue more this time and it's just so well done

okAY i did finally catch the line about mincing about outside the stage door this time LOL...

... but alas still did not catch toby's line before the light falls

stage door

it was nice to finally see you @misskite!!! the dedication is unreal

this went suuuuper quick bc the line was actually super long. they did get a lot of gifts but i'm surprised more ppl didn't have flowers?? seeing as i'll be mighty surprised if they come out after either of today's shows. saying that i also didn't bring flowers lol BUT already gifted them stuff way earlier in the run

and then omg once they'd finished and walked back down that lane towards their taxi reece says 'see you tomorrow' to the group of us standing there LOL perceived

and then steve starts blowing tons of air kisses at everyone??? like i said before, pembo oppa is the fanservice master and i'll have nothing else said about it

if that's the last time i see them (until september lol) then 💓💓💓 what a treat and a joy and a privilege

#stage/fright #stage fright #inside no 9 #inside number 9 #inside no. 9 #in9 #reece shearsmith #steve pemberton #anticipatory sadness for the last shows

41 notes · View notes

that-smallinjured-bowylamb · 4 hours ago

Note

Just finished reading this and I LOVED IT!!!

May I ask for another part but with Jade, Kalim, and Silver??? Pwetty pwease??? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

If you read this, thank you for taking the time to do so and please have a nice timezone!!!

A/n: Hihi!! Srry I just woke up a few minutes ago!!! And sure I can! Thank you for the request, @onegianthotmess !!! And thank you for the kind request!!! Love your pfp btw!

💋🪽Wifey material, but can still kick ass💋🪽

Characters: Jade Leech, Kalim Al-Asim, Silver Vanrouge (omg I'm so terrible at writing Silver-)

Warning ⚠️: fem!mc is the warning itself, OOC(cuz I'm not sure if I wrote it right.. I mean, hc, yes?), I'm terrible at describing fights (help), maybe slight cussy as well??, Reader takes a random brick somewhere (Jade's part), violence(?), <-idk it's just the guy bleeding, Jade is a warning bc I said so (and his stupid gorgeous face), idk what else is in here, amazing Grammer/j, it is not accurate since it's future 🫶, idk what else to add.

Fem!Mc [<-but the kid calls you momma bc u give off those vibes.]

The last part here <-💋🪽

Jade Leech (When was the last time hisui-dreamer was active on Tumblr??)

You and Jade were a very happy couple, a bit too perfect (ahem). You are a very sweet and dedicated wife, yet you tend to forget things. Oh, no worries, my dear~ sit back and relax, he'll do it for you. He insists. But, of course, in the end, you'll give him a nice reward. The two of you are just lovey-dovey behind closed doors or subtly outside until both of you had [insert name]. [Insert name] was almost like a Jade 2.0 (when will there be a timeline your kid gets most of your genes? Idk), but had the same fcking compassion for mushrooms as your husband... oh dear heavenly fathers... but it's okay, you still loved them. [Insert name] was kind of like you, having the same hair color and that distinctively obvious black hair strand from Jade's [If your hair is black or dark, just pretend the strand is longer than the rest of the hair, and tends to stick out]. So, your kid was sweet... And cunning asf. Floyd liked calling the kid 'sea bunny' but since the kid was a half-mer (<-eel), it was an inside joke... now, how would you feel if your man/kid got hit/kidnap?

Your man gets hit:

•Idk how that happened. But, let's say he got caught off-guard for once and didn't expect the weak looking client to jump him like that.

•Well, isn't that interesting? And, to think that this client was capable of packing a punch-

•Oya?~ who's that- *A brick being thrown at the assailant with sound effects.*

•Ah... Well, if it isn't his lovely wife coming to the rescue!~ and, to think that you had this wonderfully fierce side of you? How delightful. It felt like he was at the courting stage all over again.

•So fiery, so protective... How come you haven't shown this behavior in a while? He'd love to see more of it. Come, after this, let us go to a private dinner, yes?

•So Cue to weeks later from the incident, he's here just spoiling you, oh. Don't mistaken him for being afraid of you, no, no, what a silly thought. He's just... a bit more infatuated than usual...

Kalim Al-Asim

•No, he isn't planning anything (other than torturing the poor soul that you had to deal with) he just wants to spoil you.

•And keep you to himself, making sure you wouldn't have to deal with 'those' anymore.

When your child gets kidnapped:

Your child isn't really going to get kidnapped. Rather, it was the opposite. It was the kidnapper getting kidnapped. No, your child isn't weird, they're doing the right thing, momma! Look! Aren't you happy?

So your child gets hit instead.

•Jade is enraged. No one should be touching his family. Not his kid, nor his wife.

•So imagine he masked all that, but then you bolted in again.

•With an aluminum bat with spikes. (Club? Bludgeon?) Sprinting toward the assailant with the speed equivalent to a horror movie chase.

•Oh, my. You're wearing the formal dress he gave you when you two were attending an important event! How interesting it is, seeing you wear it now. And in that state of anger as well. Ah, and look at his child, giving you words of encouragement. He beams, revealing all razor-sharp teeth he has. His co-workers trembling, because WTF? WHY IS THAT FMAILY FILLED WITH PSYCHOS?? They really thought you were the normal one (but comparably saying, you ARE the normal one in the family of Leech).

•Then you went back to normal (and no, let your imagination go wild with whatever happened to the guy you hit with the bat..), oh, it's playtime! C'mon [insert name] let's go to your favorite location! Yayayay!

•Yes, a normal family...

Your man gets endangered (<-yes):

So, you were doomed by the narrative bc you're being married to a merchant's son. Not only that, he's the HEIR to a massive FORTUNE. So, what I'm saying in short is... you're cooked. Especially your child. But you two can watch out anyway (maybe not Kalim, but you). But Kalim is emotionally intelligent (hc), so, he's not entirely dumb about his situation either. He's worried you'll be next, getting poisoned, assassinated, kidnapped for ransom, blah, blah, blah... yeah, you had to shut him up for that. And you two eventually had a kid. [Insert name]. Or more, depends. But, nonetheless, what's happen is your man/kid gets hit/kidnapped?

•He knew this would come, but he didn't know exactly WHEN. But it did anyway, so as he was preparing- what?

Silver Vanrouge

•You were there, tackling armed men. Throwing one assassin to the other (<-accidentally kissed), threw the other one downstairs(<-broke his spine and more), another one was hanging on the ceiling (<-doesn't know how to get down bc equipment broke), the rest was being whooped by you.

•Oh...guess he didn't need it anymore! (<-what was it? Don't ask me.) Haha! Whoa! You can fight!??! Hey, teach him! Or both our child! Haha! That being said, the family said no (bc Kalim doesn't need too, the next heir as well. But, shh you snuck the kid out to practice), so let's not tell anyone what you and your child do at night, okay? You totally weren't teaching the kid how to swiftly attack your beloved archenemy. Haha, never.

•Okay, maybeee a little. But hey, never too careful in this family, right?

When your kid gets kidnapped:

•Fuck no. The kidnapper should've heard about the motherly beast of Al-Asim (whom, is you),and they should know. NOT to touch your child, right? But...money... well then they die like [dumbass] men.

•So que to you snapping one of their necks, choking some of them, half of them killed themselves bc they didn't wanna deal with you, most of them pissed their pants seeing you, then getting crushed by a big-ass pillar (dk where you got that from), and using one of their men as a weapon itself.

•Uhm, well...nvm they're letting your child go now... IS THAT A BLINKY- *POW POW POW POW*

•Kalim arrived just in time to see his wife and kid safe. Phew!- wait. Huh?

•How are you guys- nvm. He remembered now, you probably pulled the gun on them. Well, uh... now he knows his wife is fully capable of protecting his family! No, he does not want you to be an servant. You are his wife, not maid. Get back here, and cuddle with him.

You and Silver lived happily ever after. A simple life, a simple house, Silver financially supporting you, and the cycle of love (between his parents) happens all over again. With you being his sweet and dedicated wife, although tending to forget important things, you know you'll never forget to wake up your important Silver, and [insert name]. Actually, [insert name] looks a bit like you, and has the eyes of their father. They have your dedication and tendency to forget, while they also have the determination, soft-spokenness, humility, and kindness from their father (And sweetness from you). So what happens if your man/kid gets hit/kidnapped?

Your man gets hit:

•Ain't no way.

•huh. You really think you could be slick with all that? No. Don't touch Silver dumbass.

•Though, personally thinking, I don't think he needs much protection so let's say you and Silver team up and jump the guy (Silver was doing the talking, he was holding his feral wife back...) but when he couldn't get the message? Oh no, all of a sudden. His hand slipped. Oh, and if they hit Silver's wife? Wallah. That guy asked to meet God.

•So after the entire conflict was over (personal crash-outs, BBW-ing the guy, doing a sumo stance, literally every martial art mechanism) the guy (crawled) ran away.

•Safe to say no one messed with you or him.

•Never.

Your kid getting kidnapped:

Okay so maybe your child was sleeping (like Silver), and unfortunately, Silver was sleeping. He didn't know there was a stranger coming in to take his kid away, thankfully you were awake. You heard the scream, Silver woke up to a very normal morning of you beating the shit of an intruder...

•Ah...What a fresh start in the morning. Really. *Watching you throw hands with somebody while spitting bars of insults.*

•What? You said that [insert name] almost got kidnapped? Ah, well it can't be helped when he felt the feeling of uselessness in him. Because he couldn't protect his child. What kind of father is he?- "Silver! A little help here!" Yes, he's on it.

•*Unsheathes sword.* No Silver, not like that/j

•But anyways, after this, the child was safe, "Momma!" [Insert name] cried out. The child was safe, you were safe, and lastly, Silver's family is unharmed.

•But he must be vigilant from now on, though.

The End

A/n: OMG IM SO SRRY FOR POSTING THIS IT WAS MEANT TO STAY IN DRAFTS??? BUT ITS OKAY ITS DONE ALREADY

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #kalim al asim x reader #jade leech x reader #twst silver x reader #im a dumbass #BUT HERE YOU GOOO 💋💋💋

42 notes · View notes