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loonylupinblack3 · 5 months ago

Note

Heyy! I absolutely adore your work and I was wondering if I could make a request? A Logan x reader fic where they’re out at a bar and the reader is on the shy side, so when Logan steps aside and a sleazy man tries to get handsy with her, she doesn’t really know what to do. Logan steps in though, protective and fuming. Hope this makes sense!

If not, no worries at all and I hope you have a wonderful day, love!! 💗💗

My Hero

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: sleazy man being sleazy, the blatant ignorance of consent, small amount of violence, swearing

Word count: 2k

A/N: hope you enjoy anon <3

You hated big social events. They were your worst nightmare. You hated the amount of people everywhere and the talking and the strangers and all of it. You much preferred one on one, with people you knew and trusted.

Social events just made you uncomfortable. You couldn’t act like other people could. You weren’t easy to talk to or excited to meet strangers. You were awkward and your words came out stilted. You needed a script to follow when speaking to people, and any straying from that script left you vulnerable, confused and scared.

So safe to say these social outings the X men insisted on having weren’t your thing. They claimed it would improve team relationships by completing fun activities together, yet everyone had decided getting drunk at a club was the best fun activity.

You were strongly opposed but it was mandatory, so with incredible reluctance you let your boyfriend drag you to the club, promising to spend the whole night with you and not have a single drink.

Knowing Logan, that was a big promise, and also knowing him as your boyfriend, you knew he’d keep his word. He knew how uncomfortable you got in big groups of people, and he enjoyed the idea of helping you, of being the reason you could bear it.

When you arrived a feeling of dread washed over you, thudding music coming from the warehouse-looking building, and fractures of bright light escaping through the cracks of the door. Logan put his arm around your waist, pulling you close, and you revelled in the safety you felt from it, sticking close as you entered the club.

Loud noise immediately assaulted your senses, and you scrunched up your face as your ears screamed in protest. The music was blaring through speakers dotted all over the room, blasting you to near deafness.

You moved closer to Logan, the man tightening his grip on you. “You alright?”

His voice, barely heard over the loud music, was still a huge relief to you, your beating heart easing slightly. You shrugged your shoulders. “I’m not dying.”

He laughed at your words, his body shaking in the process. You smiled, as you always did whenever you made Logan smile or laugh, a small sense of pride flaring inside you. The good feeling helped you push forward, finding a seat at the bar. Logan sat right next to you as he said he would, and when the bartender inquired what drinks you both wanted he settled for soft drinks for both of you.

You smiled into your hands, feeling slightly giddy that he kept his word even though you knew he was going to. It was something about him deciding not to drink on one of his only nights out because it would better comfort you that made you so delighted.

Logan gently pried your hands away from your face with a smirk. “If I’m not drinking tonight you may as well let me reap the rewards for it. I wanna see that pretty smile of yours.”

Of course those words only made your smile widened, heat rushing to your cheeks at the compliment, and Logan stared with unwavering focus, a smug smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“You’re insufferable,” you mumbled, looking away.

Logan chuckled, hands snaking to your waist. “You know you love me.”

Unable to resist you turned to look at him, eyes gazing at his features, memorising every blemish on his skin. “Yeah, I do.”

Logan grinned widely at your confession, though you’ve said those words many times before. He just seemed to get a sense of satisfaction every time you spoke them, a reminder that you really did love him, and that you were his.

The sounds of commotion took your attention away, and you heard Scott’s raised voice but couldn’t spot him through the crowd, nor decipher what he was saying. Logan’s brows creased in concern and he looked like he wanted to go check it out, but loyalty to you and his promise to stay by your side stilled his restless body.

“Go,” you urged him, knowing he wanted to check up on his friend. “I’ll be fine here for a few minutes.”

He hesitated still, loyalty to two different people warring inside him. At your sincere expression, however, he leaned in close, pressing a kiss to your forehead and whispering a promise of returning soon before he disappeared into the crowd.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, turning back to the bar and staring at your brightly coloured fizzy drink, though you didn’t take a sip. You hoped Logan would be back soon, for though all your talk of being able to handle yourself you still felt vulnerable and alone, even in a room packed full of people.

“All alone there Missy?”

Your head whipped to the side to the source of the question, finding a man much older than you leaning on the bar, eyeing you appreciatively.

You shifted about nervously, swallowing thickly. You hated talking to strangers. “Um, no, I have a few friends here.”

The man raised his eyebrows, making a show of looking around the bar before zeroing back on you. “So then where are they?”

You felt uncomfortable that he was still talking to you and pathetically shrugged your shoulders. “They said they’d be back soon.”

The man nodded, humming slightly before sidling closer to you. As you were seated you couldn’t very well move away, but you longed to when you smelt the alcoholic tang on the man’s breath.

“The name’s Hiram,” he spoke, using a hand to ruffle his hair slightly.

You thought he looked ridiculous.

“Y/n,” you murmured quietly instead, because you weren’t sure what else to say.

The man, Hiram, seemed to take that as an invitation to move closer, his breath in your face and hand on your shoulder. You tried to lightly shake it off but he had a vice grip, fingers uncomfortably digging into your skin.

“Why don’t we leave this place Y/n?” he offered, hand trailing to your lower back.

You were extremely uncomfortable as of this moment and was grasping for something to say to make the man leave you alone.

“Please let go of me,” was your meek response, feeling both foolish and defenceless.

The man scoffed, hand moving to hold your arm in a tight grip. “Listen Y/n, let’s just have some fun ‘kay? You don’t need to make it a big deal.”

You ignored him, tugging your arm out of his hand and sliding off the stool, intending to search for Logan. The man was fast though, his slimy arm wrapping around your waist and jerking you towards him.

An icky, sickly feeling overtook you, the overwhelming sense of fear flooding your senses. You didn’t want this grimy man’s hands on you and certainly didn’t want his revolting breath in your face. You wanted to be home curled up on your bed with a book in hand, your boyfriend’s arms wrapped around you and his chin resting gently on your head as he read over your shoulder.

This was not what you wanted, but you’d told him that and he’d ignored it so you didn’t know what you were supposed to do now.

“Please, leave me alone-” you pleaded, desperately trying to tug yourself away from him.

He groaned like you were the one being difficult, tightening his grip on your waist to the point it was painful. “It won’t even be for that long-”

“She said leave her alone.”

Relief bloomed in your chest, even with the dirty man’s fingers still digging into your flesh. Hiram turned to look over his shoulder, eyes widened slightly at the sight of Logan towering over him, a white fury in his eyes.

He didn’t bow out immediately, however, which took guts, because a lesser man would have taken one glance at the fuming look on Logan’s face and bolted.

“C’mon man, just having some fun,” Hiram laughed, hand sliding lower down your waist.

Logan noted the movement, his jaw clicking as he stared at Hiram like he was his next meal. “You get the fuck away from her or I’ll make you.”

The man scoffed, taking a step forward, and then suddenly was on the floor, a cry of pain coming from his lips as he cradled his now broken nose. Logan moved forward, stepping on the man’s fingers as he did so, a sickening crack accompanying the action, before he was in front of you and wrapping you up in his arms.

“M’so sorry Bub,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

You shook your head but was grateful he was here, burrowing your head into his chest in an attempt to escape it all. “Can we go home?”

Logan was already leading you to the exit. “Of course. The others’ll understand.”

You were grateful as Logan drove you home, but you couldn’t get the feeling of the man’s grimy hands off you. You felt dirty, tainted, like he’d wiped mud on you and you needed to clean it off. Logan noticed your unease as you entered your shared room, and inquired gently as to what the matter was.

When you confessed your feelings, describing the awful ickiness crawling up your arms, and the phantom touch of the man’s hands imprinted upon your skin, Logan gently took your hand and led you to the bathroom, where he started filling the bathtub full of warm water, adding the strawberry essence you liked so much. He beckoned you to get into the tub and you did gently, taking each piece of clothing off and feeling the man’s hold more deeply, like he was still touching you beneath your clothes.

It made you want to cry as you sat in the tub, knees to your chest. That was until you felt Logan’s hands, marred from centuries of violence, rub your skin with the softest touch, soap coating his fingers. The realisation that he was washing you, delicately cleaning every spot of your skin with his hands, was too much to bear and the tears started falling, but Logan just kissed them all away as he continued cleaning you.

Bit by bit he cleaned you off, making sure no part of you was untouched, wiping the man away from your body. You felt relief and an undying amount of love and gratitude for the man before you. It was hard to imagine him as the formidable Wolverine, because right now he was caring for you with such gentleness you were putty in his hands.

Fully cleaned off, the man’s hold a distant memory, Logan dried you off and dressed you in one of his shirts, knowing you felt safe with your body swamped in his clothes. He then gently carried you bridal style into your bedroom, holding you with a softness you hadn’t known he possessed.

He tucked you in the sheets, made sure you were the utmost comfortable before sliding in beside you, immediately pulling you to him, your back to his chest, and just holding you. You couldn’t have asked for a better moment, and gratefully melted into his embrace, feeling the safest you had all night.

“I love you Sweatheart,” he murmured into your hair, pressing a kiss to prove his words.

A delightful shiver ran down your spine at the action and you sighed in contentment, moving further into his embrace. Things were now as they should be, the two of you wrapped up in each other as the night slowly crept by. In the morning you’d wake up to your head in the crook of Logan’s neck like it always ended up, your limbs tangled together and breathing in sync.

For now though you let your eyes droop, a smile on your lips as you whispered, “I love you too.”

Logan held you a bit tighter after the words, a desperate feeling of love and awe overcoming him, and gently brushed your hair as you fell asleep, before he eventually followed suit, with you in his arms like you were supposed to be.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine x reader #wolverine fic #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #x men #xmen #xmen fic #x men x reader #x men fanfiction #x men fic

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erosiism · 5 months ago

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𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐍 | yandere!dottore x m!reader

warnings | torture, religious imagery (if u squint), psychological horror, gore (detailed), non-com/dub-con, human trafficking & experimentation, what do u expect its dottore, no beta we die like kdj | might contain some mischaracterisation or misconception somewhere or whatever because I stopped playing genshin in 2021 lol

pairings: dottore x m!experiment!reader

summary: after creating you, dottore grows to be obsessed with the idea of you, and your perfection.

was requested by anon

THE FIRST THING YOU FEEL, is the absence of being.

It’s strange to feel so substanceless; so inhuman. When consciousness first awakes in you — when you feel the first rays of the glaring lights seeping into your eyelids — all you can do is blink your eyes, wincing.

SUBJECT 094 HAS JUST BEEN CREATED.

Your body is shivering and naked and raw — you’ve just been created. Hands rove over your body, but they aren’t lecherous: rather, the way they touch you is purely clinical, like how a butcher would inspect meat. You hear bits and pieces of words you don’t know, floating over your head. You wonder if they’re any perforations in you — whether you’re another failed experiment, another creation to discard.

Your hands are without a single blemish. You’re new.

You hear them say you’re perfect.

An experiment. A perfect experiment, after ninety-three times.

They call you 94.

You long for a name.

Your creator has not met you yet: but you’ve seen people who look exactly like him, working on you — they knock you out with pills, drugs, serums — they give you injections with thick, blunt syringes and stuff your mouth with tissue when you want to scream. They ignore your convulses and your shrieks and the tears that roll down your cheeks madly — they too, are not human. They have no emotions to pity you: and you too, shouldn’t have the capability to feel, and yet you do. Shamelessly, piteously, and horrifically — you feel human.

That is the desired result, one tells you, when you spit those words out. They tasted funny in your tongue, sitting there and rotting until you finally tossed them out. We wanted you to be human. A perfect being. You will aid Fatui greatly.

Fatui? You had echoed.

Fatui, another murmurs, the order we serve. And our master, Dottore, who you are supposed to serve.

You learn that Dottore is away in a place called Sumeru. This place is Snezhnaya, and the place you’re in is Dottore’s lab. Dottore. The name drops down honeyed from your lips, and so you repeat it: Dottore…

The master you serve.

The master you serve is named Dottore. But you will call him Doctor, one warns you.

You tuck those words in your head, and they insert more needles into you. Your skin has become an atlas of thin, small holes — non noticeable to the human eye, but each pulsing and swelling beneath your skin.

You wait for your creator to come.

You wait for your God to come.

—

You see him for the first time when crimson and carmine is marred on his cheek, and when his eyes are amused and glinting. He’s beautiful, you note, terrifyingly so. He has red eyes: blooming crimson ones — and wavy blue hair. Half of his face is obfuscated by a mask, but still you can see his lips move as he speaks his first word to you: “Y/n.”

Your heart leaps. Your creator moves towards you, his eyes inspecting you, his deft fingers moving your face to the side, checking every part of you to ensure you aren’t damaged. His lips curl up into a satisfied smile, but your brain is still reeling from the name he has called you.

Almost like he can read your thoughts, your creator grins. “Y/n,” he says in a lilting, falsely warm tone, “that is the name I give you. But the minute you step out of line, I’ll be ripping that away from you. Remember that, pet. Remember that, alright?” His touch is gentle as he thumbs at your hips, tracing circles around your skin. You swallow, nodding your head.

I’ll be ripping that away from you.

Essentially speaking, the moment you misbehave, you’ll have your own chance at humanity taken away from you.

“You will call me Doctor,” Dottore speaks slowly, his words like music to your ears, “you, Y/n…you must remember that you are incredibly special. You are the first successful weapon I’ve made. The word “human” will have to be earned — but for now, be good, alright?”

You drink his words up. By the side is a cart filled with more medication — more knives, more needles, more syringes. You’re sitting on a white bed — everything around you is white. The different clones have started to look like smudges of white to you: blobs moving and shifting around in a distance. You can’t tell if your reverence for the Doctor is programmed, or if it’s because he is your creator — but it doesn’t matter. You want him to praise you. You need it. If he likes you, he’ll give you your humanity — and you want that.

“Y-yes,” your voice wavers as you speak, “y-yes, I’ll —”

“Ah…the first order of business,” The Doctor — Dottore — says, “stitches. It appears that the ones who have finished creating you have lacked something: an organ, if you will. It isn’t something a human would necessarily have, but well…” His red eyes study you, and there’s almost sadism rampant in his eyes — “you aren’t a human, are you?”

You stay silent.

“Well, Y/n, what do you think? I’ll make it painless,” Dottore smiles, “why aren’t you giving me a reaction? It’ll be simple. I’ll cut you up, insert some things inside you, stitch you back up,” he says carelessly. “Hm. Perhaps it will be painful…but good things come at a price. With this, you’ll be a better prototype than anything else. You’ll be special — to me. You want that, don’t you?”

What is my purpose? You want to ask, why am I different from the other people?

“And on that thought, I suppose you can withstand pain. You’re a robot — a false creation. I might have programmed you to make you feel pain, but now a new thought has occured to me: I certainly can’t have any painkillers messing up the careful system in your body.” The Doctor stares at you, hard, “but you’ll be willing to do that, right?”

Pain, you think. The word explodes in your brain. You don’t know what that word is. It’s strange to think that you understand human language: that you can somehow articulate it out, like it’s been annotated in the blood of your veins — but you can’t live it. Words have no meaning to you: after all, you have not learnt or earned them. Is pain the feeling of aching when you feel blood burst from your body? You are a machine, but yet you’ve been gifted flesh. So what exactly are you?

“I will,” you whisper, “I can.”

“Good boy,” Dottore hisses quietly, “now, be a pet and behave, will you?”

You nod your head.

—

For the next few weeks, Dottore indulges in you. He buys you sweet treats he knows you can’t taste, he comforts you when you cry, he makes you dependent on him. Soon, your whole world consists solely of him, just him, your creator. You wonder if he’s forgotten about his whole promise to “tweak” you, to perfect you, but finally, the day comes.

Dottore’s hands are gentle as he props you up the operating table. You look around, noticing that it’s just the two of you.

“The others —” you manage a shaky sentence, “they aren’t helping?”

“As advanced as they are, they aren’t me. Now that I’ve laid my eyes on your perfection: your potential for perfection, that is: I cannot risk anyone else touching you, tainting you: destroying you…” Dottore shakes his head. “Now lay down, Y/n.”

You obey, lying flat down on the operating table. You expect a subtle, soft kind of pain — the kind that you’re accustomed to: but instead, he stabs into your jugular, and you scream.

Blood — there was blood — that burst from your neck, soaking your skin. Your eyes started to tear, but still you lived.

“How interesting, right?” Dottore muses as he continues to dig the knife through your skin, “how strange. I needed to acquire quite a bit of blood to ensure that you functioned just like a human, while retaining the qualities of what a God would be like. So I imagine it’s quite painful for you. Right, Y/n?”

You’re convulsing now, screams slipping from your mouth.

“I forgot. You can’t exactly speak now, can you?”

“D-Doctor,” you rasp out, “will I be stronger after this? Will I be better?”

“Of course, my dear,” Dottore hums, “it’s just a slight tweak in your body, and you’ll be better than ever. Do you know what? I’m aghast, really, at those who call this human experimentation. I suppose in your case, since you aren’t quite human to begin with — well, you were made from human extracted parts — it’s not quite counted. But when I take little test subjects, there are some who mock me. I remember the ruler of Sumeru quite well: quite a pathetic Archon she was — saying, and I quote: experimentation is an insult to the very concept of life…do you agree, Y/n?”

Your body recovers frighteningly fast. The pain is there, but the wound closes as quickly as it has appeared. Dottore stares at it with fascination, with a small ah of gratification.

“No,” you say, words muffled with sobs, “I don’t agree.”

You feel another knife press into your skin — your belly this time. He doesn’t cut you up first — he carves into you, a bloody insignia on your skin. “With me, or with her?”

Your creator is never wrong. “Her,” you choke out.

“Bingo!” Dottore hums in delight, “correct. I’ve always believed that there is potential for weaponization. Discussions of research on beings like you have to be increased in the future. Humans have unlimited potential. It may be foolish of me as a researcher to say this, but with enough input, I might be able to reach the level of a 'god', or so people might call it. Some say it’s heresy. I disagree.”

You splutter. The surgical knife has made it past the first layer of skin: he’s flaying you alive.

Are you even alive? Can you be associated with the words of life and death, when you are not even human?

My name is Y/n, you desperately think. My name is Y/n. Y/n. Y/n…!

I’m human. Tell me that I’m human, please.

“And others say I blasphemous further against human life as a member of the Fatui, by creating clones or "segments" of myself. But really — I do have convictions. Just different from everyone else’s…” Dottore strokes your tear-stained cheek, tilting his head. “You’re such a good one, aren’t you? You aren’t even refuting what I say. The earlier ones before you — subject 43 in particular — kept making a fuss. You, however…” his eyes are gleaming. “Might be fun to play around with.”

You aren’t wriggling anymore. You aren’t shaking. You force yourself to be ramrod straight on the operation table. The knife is embedded in your skin.

“You are both machine and human, and yet you are too much and too little of both to be truly worth anything…but really, all you need to do is to stay loyal to me. When people like Capitano, Pantalone, or even Childe approach you — do not speak to them,” Dottore says softly, so softly you have to focus on his voice to hear him — “you understand that, don’t you? Because you are my perfect creation…no one else can tamper with you. Not even for a minute or second.”

You nod your head.

“Good. And now, for the matter of your heart,” Dottore tells you, “your heart, Y/n, is unlike any other. It’s an amalgamation of all the artificial blood vessels I’ve managed to make from other projects. But frankly speaking, I think you might be better without it: my clones have told me that you seem to feel too much. And weapons do not feel. They never do, Y/n.”

“I understand.”

“So — I will do this —” in one quick motion, Dottore rips your heart from your chest, holding it as thuds in front of you.

You freeze.

Your heart is there. There’s a gaping hole in your chest, and the presence of absence has made itself known. You watch as Dottore bites into it: in front of you he feasts; his mouth bloody and your heart rimming his teeth. There’s blood pooling in your mouth too, dripping onto the table. Your skull has never felt this light. Pain was present in every inch of your body, but still your heart continued to beat.

“I might need to rewire your brain too,” Dottore looks at you intently, “if your loyalty is skewed. But if you prove that you’re loyal to me, then of course, that won’t be needed.”

All you can think about is: your flesh lines his throat. But you’re a dirty being.

“I’ll prove it,” you gasp, “I’ll prove it. So don’t discard me.”

“Your desperation is adorable,” Dottore coos, “did you know I based your heart off a pomegranate? Delicate hands are required for it, to peel back later after layer. And it is red that dyes your fingers when you touch the juice sprinkling out — like blood. There’s concentration needed to break the surface, a certain strength needed to crush the seeds between voracious teeth and sip up the sweetness of the nectar. Then the juices will hemorrhage your tongue: it’s supposed to remind you of your actions. Similarly, you — Y/n — you have stained my tongue. Don’t you adore their idea?”

You nod again, weakly. “I do.”

“And on that note, I find you a remarkable project: you hardly ever scream, you hardly ever move, and your wounds heal beautifully. You’re just so perfect for me, aren’t you, Y/n? Just for me, right?” Dottore continues on, words honeyed and sweet, “oh, Y/n…” he strokes your hair gently, shushing you softly as little hiccups escape your lips. He thumbs at your waist, his face a breadth away, “you are so endearing. So flawless.”

Your skin is covering the empty hole in your chest. Dottore pulls you to the lap, steadying you, before he kisses your lips softly. His words are the knife — heaving, forceful, hungry. And when he kisses you, only then can you taste yourself, your shame, guilt, pleasure. You wonder if you taste as rotten as you feel — if there’s a part of you that can be cradled. You feel like an open wound, your guts ready to spill out. He continues to kiss you, and slowly, your body becomes the atlas of your twisted relationship with Dottore; marks and bruises scattering across your once unblemished skin, a map of what he has done.

Kisses.

Your creator has kissed you.

“My darling, my beauty,” Dottore smiles, crimson still staining his teeth, “is this not the most human action one can do?”

a/n: unedited, I apologise. sorry if it’s wonky or whatever I’m just experimenting lol || reposts, likes, and comments are always appreciated! leave a comment to tell me how it was :)

#yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x male darling #yandere x male reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #yandere dottore #dottore x reader #dottore genshin #dottore #genshin impact #genshin impact fatui #dottore x male reader #fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #eroswrites #genshin impact fanfics

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moominsuki · 1 year ago

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really fond of the fact that bakugou is really confident about himself as a hero and a man - he’s at his prime of 24-27 and his body is jacked, like he’s an adonis of a man and he’s objectively hot, all that jazz. bakugou doesn’t really think of his body in that regard: he works out but it’s for the job and he likes the general aesthetics of his body and thinks his scars are kinda cool. and they are!! very cool!! his friends think it makes him look scary (adds to his scary character which they like though :})but he likes the edgy look. a shrewd reporter once tried to insinuate that his scars were boorish and large and he shrugged them off with a snarl and the weight of his body. so yeah, he’s not insecure. not really.

it’s not until he’s interested in you does he start second guessing his physical appearance; the scar across his face looks larger, his hands suddenly feel more rough despite his quirk and he swears the blotchy cicatrix on his chest looks way worse than it did. you’ve even got him flexing in his bathroom mirror, ignoring the highlights of his muscles and fixating on what he’d now call ‘disfigurements.’

the crazy thing is, you don’t even care about any of the blemishes!! and not even getting into the fact that he’s practically blind to the way you salivate over him (that’s a whole other bridge to cross) but one day he unknowingly brings up how big the scar is across his nose, chastising it while you’re both talking by the photocopier, “if i knew the fuckin’ guy was gonna get me across the face, i woulda jumped out the damn way.”

you look at him slightly confused by his tone, eyes wide. “well, i like the scar. makes you look tough.”

“tough.” bakugou repeats, and you double down, nodding.

“nothing wrong with tough. girls - well i like tough. i mean, it’s not a bad thing! it’s kinda sexy on guys. also because you’re a pro hero. it tells a story, y’know?… it makes your face, you.”

bakugou nods slowly at that, touching his face again, your words resonating with him throughout the day. and the next. and the day after the next. and he thinks it’s so silly how worked up he gets over your off handed comment but what you think matters (much to his heart’s chagrin).

he’s so shy and so gruff at the same time. terrible romantic which is why he needs you to tell him how gorgeous he is: even though he appreciates his good looks and even though what people think shouldn’t matter but it’s different with you.

just imagining a shy, gruff twenty-something bakugou blushing at your not-so compliments is soooo incredibly heart wrenching. just imagining.

#brb eating my fist #He’s so perfect #he’s everything #༝˚૮ .♡ katsuki.#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou drabble #•• uma’s thoughts ••

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lil13 · 2 years ago

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MAKEUP OR MAKEOUT? - j. champion

You're a new makeup artist, making your debut on Scream VI. Everything seemed to be going well until you were assigned Jack Champion, who always ran late and seemed to give you nothing but problems. You were stuck with the 6 foot something, curly-haired boy for the entirety of filming, spending all too much time together. Separately, you'd claimed each other as enemies, but as time goes on soft touches and fleeting glances become too much for the two of you.

•

June 2022, Scream VI, the start of your career as a makeup artist.

Honestly, you were shocked when you were offered the position. You were 17. It was crazy to think that a big name franchise would offer you, a minor, a position in makeup for their film.

The only downside was that you despised the actor you were put in charge of.

Jack Champion, the only other minor on the set.

The first day he showed up late, spouting out apologies. But every day since then he's been late and every day since then the apologies and excuses have gotten worse. And he couldn't sit still.

It's been a month and a half of this, now mid July. You all only about a month left. Couldn't Jack get his act together?

The door to the trailer swung open, "Late again, Champion." You mumbled, glancing down at your watch.

He scoffed, "I'm aware, thanks, Y/L/N."

You two solely referred to each other by your last names. It was fitting, your first names felt too personal for people who hated each other.

You'd heard Jack complaining to the others about how he wished he had a different makeup artist because his didn't talk to him. Which was a lie. You did talk to him, just clearly not as much as he wanted.

He was already wearing his costume for the day — jeans, a light blue polo, and a jacket with a plaid lining. You didn't want to admit he looked good in it. Especially when he slid the jacket off and it revealed how the polo perfectly defined his biceps.

Especially not that.

"How is your hair always curly but not curly at the same time?" You asked when he sat down, pulling out a spray bottle, mousse, and your diffuser.

His hair frustrated you. Jack had naturally curly hair, but you always had to work so long on it every day.

He shrugged, glancing up at you. "Dunno." You shielded his eyes when you sprayed the water.

But also so you didn't have to endure his chocolate brown eyes gazing into yours. They were dangerous.

"Well, figure it out." You mumbled again, brushing your fingers through his hair to disperse the water.

Then you sprayed the mousse in your hand, rubbing your hands together and then through his hair. You stood behind him, running the product through his hair and ignoring his gazes at your through the mirror. His hair was soft in your fingers and you had to bite back the thought of your hands being in his hair on different occasions.

That would never happen.

He was famous, you weren't. And you hated each other.

Sort of.

At first, the hatred was very real. Now, he more so just annoyed you. But he also intrigued you.

Damn, Jack Champion. Him and his perfect smile and captivating eyes.

"Stop staring at me." your thoughts left your mouth.

You immediately wished you could've taken it back, but turned on the diffuser to hopefully block out any response he gave.

But your wish for him to stop staring only made him stare more. You'd noticed him staring, so now he didn't have to hide it.

Finishing his hair only took a few more minutes. You dreaded the moment you turned off the diffuser, now he could talk and you'd hear him. But he stayed quiet.

He didn't need much makeup. The directors had asked for all actors to at least have on foundation, concealer, and powder. It would eliminate any blemishes or redness, making it to where they would film the same scene over many days and have their faces looks the same.

So, that's what you started.

Occasionally, as you were brushing on the products, your fingers would graze his skin. Or you'd lose your balance and your steady yourself with a hand on his shoulder chest. The touches were doing something to you, and, unbeknownst to you, they were also doing something to Jack.

You'd two had been stuck with each other for a month and a half. Everyday, you'd spend time together. You started every morning with Jack and would see him periodically throughout the day when you were needed for touch ups.

Occasionally, you'd have to run your fingers through his hair to fix the curls or brush more powder onto his face when he'd get sweaty or reapply the foundation whenever he'd inevitably wipe it off. The touches sometimes would end up being more intimate than either of you meant for them to be.

You were nearly done with his makeup when it came time for lip balm. Typically, you'd give it to Jack to apply since it was one applied with one's fingers, but today you did it yourself to speed up the process. You needed him to leave. Your mind was swirling.

His lips were separated as you ran your finger over them. You swore you heard him breathe in quickly when you started.

There was definitely no way you'd look at him now.

"You wanna know something, Y/N?" his voice quiet when you turned to wipe your fingers off from the lip balm.

"Mhmm."

"I stopped hating you a couple weeks ago."

You swallowed harshly. That's definitely not what you needed to hear.

"Me too." you whispered, scared to admit the truth.

You went to walk away, but were stopped when his hand caught your arm. Your eyes connected and a whimper slipped past your lips, betraying you, his chocolate brown eyes held an entirely different emotion than you'd ever seen before.

"Jack." his name came out more as a warning.

You two were so different.

Your lives would forever be one's that shouldn't intersect. You practically worked for him.

Jack decided to disregard your warning, his hand moving from your arm to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. With a sharp intake of breath, your lips connected.

And even though everything inside of you was warning you not to do this, to separate now and request a change of actors for the rest of filming to stay professional, you didn't want to. This, kissing Jack, felt so right.

Your knees went weak at the passion he put into the kiss. Jack noticed, his other hand guiding your hips so you'd sit on his lap. You were still in disbelief when you sat down, just barely on him, one hand on his chest and the other in his hair.

You didn't care that you'd have to touch up his makeup and fix his hair. You were practically making out with the actor you swore you hated.

A call came over the walkie talkie you had clipped to the waistband of your pants, letting all makeup and wardrobe know that the actors were needed on set. You were sure that that announcement was the only thing that caused your kiss to break. Both of you were breathless.

Your eyes locked with Jack's once more, both of you searching each other's for any hints of regret. But there was none.

You swallowed your nerves, "I, uh, need to touch up your hair and makeup." Jack fought back the smile on his lips at your nervousness.

Jack's hands on your hips stopped you from standing up. Your eyes finding his once more, this time widened in question.

"Sit here and do it, I want you close for as long as I can have you."

You obliged to his request. Leaning over to grab the makeup products you needed, his hands sliding you further on his lap so you wouldn't fall off. You could get used to this. Being with Jack, touching Jack, felt normal.

Your fingers fluffed up the back of his hair, the curls you'd played with while you kissed. And you touched up the makeup you'd smudged, reapplying the lip balm once more, the product you'd been applying when he'd decided to kiss you.

Then you stood up, sliding off of his legs. The boy stood up too, sliding his jacket back on and walking toward the door.

Only instead of leaving, he paused, swiftly walking back over to you and taking your face in his hands — pressing his lips against yours once more.

You silently cursed him as he left the trailer, but didn't fight your smile this time.

#jack champion #ghostface #scream #jack champion x reader #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry #jack champion x y/n

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x-gabrielle-x · 2 months ago

Text

Withered Cards | IV

Pairings: Jason Todd x Reader.

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, murder, swearing, major and minor injuries, death.

Summary: Despite the many different problems you overcome with Jason Todd, you always eventually make it back to each other. Even after his death, how could you still love a man who changed so much? Even when you made a turn for the worst.

Series Masterlist

Your body still ached from the hits that Joker had blown at you only a week ago, the scab forming over your split lip leaving a metallic tang on your tongue. The bruises still had yet to heal, the purple blemishes littering your skin and serving as a fresh reminder of just how cruel and nasty the Joker really was. It had been a week. A week since your failed mission, and a week since you had last seen Robin.

You had found yourself mostly staying hidden away in your tiny room back in the warehouse, finding that it was much greater comfort than having to be around the tantalizing grin Joker always sent in your direction, like a lion baring its teeth to its prey. So of course, when you had heard a loud bang on your door with the Joker bidding you farewell, claiming he had 'unfinished business to attend', you were more than relieved to finally stretch your limbs and let your guard down; just a little.

Though even without the Joker there for the few days you had, your heart would leap into your throat whenever you thought to hear something similar to his maniacal laughter. You were constantly on edge even without him there, and Harley seemed to be mourning his absence just as much as you were enjoying it.

Sitting on a random rooftop with the glimmering city lights below did little to ease your running thoughts. The familiar chill of the freezing air pricked at your skin to which you folded your arms against your chest for a sense of warmth. Gotham had seemed to be a lot quieter tonight, a very rare occasion. Crime was low, and the usual distant sirens were quiet. You could even hear the occasional laughter and cheers from the bar just down the street.

You wished to bask longer in the silence, in your own company, but it was quickly gone when you heard the soft thuds of boots on the floor behind you.

You didn't need to look over to know that he was staring directly at you, observant and intrigued. In any other situation, you would have found yourself reaching for your knife and defending yourself against the charging enemy, fists flying and weapons drawn for blood, but this was different. Very different. There was no harshness to his steps, no attacks thrown at you, only silence.

The silence dragged uncomfortably long, and you kicked your legs back and forth over the edge of the building as you let out a long breath.

"I didn't think the Robin would be paying me a visit tonight," you kept your gaze trained below. "If I had known, I might have put on my better shoes!"

The pounding in your chest grew with each word you spoke, but if he had come to fight you, he would have done it by now.

He ignored your comment and instead came up beside you. It was then you finally turned your gaze up at him, noticing his yellow, red and green costume. The dominoe mask shadowed his face, though you could see little due to the dimmed lights of the city. He was staring right back at you, a little too much for your personal comfort.

He slumped onto the edge of the rooftop with a huff, maintaining the safe distance between you both. You had to resist from smiling a little to yourself at the silliness of it all. Robin, your enemy, the one who had made you fail your mission and make the Joker’s anger flare was currently sat five feet away as if nothing had happened.

He was playing a dangerous game, yet you were curious to see the reason of his arrival. If he wasn't here to start something, why was he here at all?

The tension was thick with something you couldn't place, but the feeling was oddly unsettling. Not because you were fearful, but because you were oddly excited for this coincidental meeting.

"Tough week?" he questioned in a tease, pointing to your split lip and the yellowish bruise poking out from under your mask. You merely scoffed at the boy before subconsciously licking the cut on your bottom lip.

"Maybe. It would have been a hell of a lot better if you had left me that vial, though," you looked at him, catching the smile that had appeared on his face triumphantly before he quickly disguised it with a bored look.

"What did the Batsy say when you handed it in," you continued. "It better have been good, considering the Joker wasn't too pleased when I returned without the one thing he had asked of me." You gestured to your eye again, his gaze lingering there for a few moments too long.

He tensed at the mention of Batman, lips twitching into a frown.

"Nothing you need to know," he mumbled out, irritation laced in his voice. You quirked a brow.

"I think I do," you laughed, though it was obviously fake. "Considering you're the reason I got my ass beat."

He ignored you, instead shifting himself so that his leg was now propped up on the edge of the roof. He tilted his head in question.

"What are you doing here, anyway? Another Joker deed or dwelling in your failure," he taunted.

"Having a breather," you were quick to reply in defense, and you noticed the way his eyes widened in surprise. He let out a soft laugh, something that surprised you considering you didn't hear laughter too often where you were, or perhaps too much from the Joker.

"Something that we have in common," he mused, and for the first time you felt a strange sense of welcoming with Robin. With anybody, for that matter.

The both of you remained at a safe distance, but his presence alone was one that confused you. Tonight, even with him a mere five feet away, you weren't worried about having to fight him, worried about hiding away, or worried about who you were raised with. It was nearly as if in this moment, you had somebody who didn't pose you as a threat. Or at least, not much of a threat.

Robin's movements were relaxed and composed, abandoned of any tension he may have held before regarding your presence.

“I’m guessing you don’t do this often,” Robin concluded. “If not at all.”

You frowned at him, slightly offended by his comment. “How would you know?”

The corner of his lip tipped into a smile, and he shrugged, flexing his shoulders in a way that caused for his suit to stretch.

“I’m here nearly every night, and I can positively say, I haven’t seen you out here once.”

“And I bet you wish you could see me, little birdy,” you fake pouted, watching him closely.

He breathed out a laugh, his eyes squinting under the dominoe mask that concealed his identity.

"Believe me, if it didn't end in you nearly breaking my nose last time, I might have considered it."

You just stared at him, your mind trying to figure him out. In all honesty, you don't remember the last proper conversation that you had with somebody. much less around your age.

"How old are you?" the question had slipped out before you could stop it.

Robin glanced back at you; a brow raised. "Not much older than you, I'd guess," he looked you up and down. "How old are you?"

"Thats not an answer," you deadpanned, ignoring him. "For all you know, I could be a sixty-five-year-old woman with insane plastic surgery."

"But you're not," he clarified. "No old woman would be able to jump off rooftops and work for criminals like him."

You cringed at the mention of the Joker.

Robin let out a low hum, and the city lights from below flickered across the right side of his face in what seemed to be like a dance.

You opened your mouth. "You're not-"

"Stop." He cut you off.

You paused. "Excuse me?"

He held up a hand, his gaze going past you. It was only then you heard the quiet grunts and rummaging from a nearby alley. You were already on your feet and moving toward the sound, steps cautious. Robin was right on your heel, and by the time you were both on the ground hidden by the shadows in the alley, you could see a hunched figure leaning against the brick wall, digging through what seemed to be a purse.

You turned to Robin, a mocking smile gracing your lips. You gestured an arm out.

"Well? After you, Wonder Boy," you said.

He frowned. "Is that some way you're going to get me distracted and then knock me out when my backs turned?"

You rolled your eyes. "No, do I look like a hero who fights purse thieves?"

He looked you up and down. "Honestly, no."

"You didn't have to answer, bird brain. Just go!"

The man who had been distracted for long enough suddenly snapped his head toward you both, snarling.

"What the hell?"

The man stood abruptly, stepping closer, though Robin was quick to move from the outstretched hand of the man. With a swift kick, the man was doubling over with a grunt and spilling the contents of the purse onto the floor.

The man growled in annoyance, lunging for Robin again, but he was quick to duck down away from the mans clenched fist before it could make contact. You, however, watched on with amusement.

"You could have been a bit more original rather than a purse thief," Robin called out to the man.

The grunts exchanged between the two continued, and you cringed at the few hits Robin had received. You had to admit, he put up a strong fight.

"Little rat!" The man yelled, holding his head where a punch managed to land before he stumbled out of the alley, disregarding the purse he previously held.

Robin huffed, brushing a dark stray of hair away from his face. He looked over, meeting your gaze as you clapped mockingly, stepping out from the shadows and closer to him.

He stooped down, picking up what looked to be an ID.

"Do you know a Lora Johnston?" He said, flipping the card in his hand.

"Can't you search that up on a special little gadget or something?"

He mumbled out something that you failed to hear.

There was a pause.

"I think you could improve on your movement," you said, and his eyes snapped to yours. Something changed in his features that you couldn't place.

"Teach me, then."

Your mouth ran dry. "What?"

"If you teach me, then ill teach you some stuff." He was quick to add, but you shook your head quickly.

"I don't need your help."

You went to turn, but you let out a yelp when you were suddenly tugged back and landed onto the hard floor.

"You let your guard down too easily," Robin teased. You only glared up at him with annoyance.

You stood back up to your feet and wacked him on the shoulder, pushing past him and walking toward the alley entrance to leave, but he quickly called out to you.

You ignored him, but he called out again.

"What do I call you?"

You stopped and turned to him, eyes wide.

There was a long pause. "Nothing," you said. "I can't give you a name."

"Well," he thought, a suggestive smile gracing his lips that you knew you'd see again. "I guess I'll just have to decide myself."

You turned again, waving a hand this time. "Until next time, birdy!"

He let out a chuckle. "Until next time, Princess!"

You remain silent the rest of the walk, your interaction with Robin nothing like how you would have imagined it. He confused you more than you'd like to admit, but oddly enough, tonight was a change, and you liked it.

You couldn't remember the last time you had spoken to somebody so casually, the sense of normality something you craved more of. Though the two of you barely knew each other, much less trust, you had hoped it wouldn't be your last interaction.

@annabellelee @stormz369

©x-gabrielle-x. Do not steal, copy or translate my works.

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vxsellie · 3 months ago

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would you be willing to write an ellie x reader fic where ellie is finally meeting reader’s parents but it doesn’t go the best. reader comes from an emotionally abusive and unstable home. at dinner they’re constantly being passive aggressive about readers weight, appearance, literally anything and they think ellie will join in but she is NOT having it.

ellie sits beside you with a pinched expression. this entire dinner has been hell, your parents continuously making comments on you. she has one hand on your thigh under the table, out of your parents' sight. it calms you a bit, but not enough to drown out their nagging voices. you fight to ignore them, reaching over the table to get another serving of pasta. ellie is fast to help you, holding the pot still while you scoop. you give her a small smile as you sit back down, a silent thanks for her aid.

your father clears his throat. you look up at the sound, making eye contact across the table. his gaze is sharp. "another plate? seriously?"

"oh. uh⎯" you begin, but you're cut off by your mother adding onto the comment.

"yeah, i'm not too sure you need a second serving, dear." she says. the nickname is a weak attempt at blanketing her harsh words, aiming to make the hit less obvious. where your father is obvious in his malice, your mother at least makes an attempt at covering it. honestly, you think that makes it even worse at times. "the grease gives you blemishes. and the calories add to your.. frame."

you frown but nod, pushing your plate away from yourself as you cast your head down toward your lap. ellie remains silent, but you notice the way her jaw clenches and her shoulders tense.

"i mean, look at ellie." your father says, pointing at her with the hilt of his fork as he chews on his third serving. ellie looks up at him, raising a brow as she tries desperately to remain respectful. he looks her up and down before turning to you. "she's managed to stay fit. ain't that hard."

your mother chuckles at this, turning to ellie with a warming smile than you'd ever seen her give you. "honestly! we try to tell her how important this stuff is but, well, she obviously doesn't heed our warnings. maybe you could try talking to her, ellie? i'm sure she'd listen to you more so than us."

ellie opens her mouth to speak but ends up closing it again, staring at your mother incredulously. there's no fucking way she just said that about you in front of her. ellie can't fathom the idea of someone seeing you this way. in her eyes, there's not a thing about you that needs changing. every little curve and scar is beautiful and perfect in her eyes. she struggles to wrap her head around the words your parents are so carelessly spitting at you. but they just don't make sense.

she glances over at you, your parents' voices fading into a bothersome sound of repeated insults.

your head is downcast, eyes completely blank as you accept their words without much thought to how horrid they are. your shoulders are hunched, lips pursed. she hates seeing you like this ⎯ shut down and reserved. she'd prefer you to scream or cry over this. your emotions and feelings are so very important to her. clearly, as it turns out, your parents don't seem to share this priority.

"ellie?" your mother calls out. ellie turns to her, patience thinning by the second. "you agree with us, don't you?"

she tries to stay quiet, she really really fucking does. but after seeing that look on your face and having to listen to your parents all through dinner, she can't. she simply cannot take it anymore. she turns to your mother with a deeply set scowl, brow knitted and jaw clenched.

"no." she snaps. you raise your head, whipping it in her direction after having been completely convinced she'd agree with them. your heart swells at the sight of your girlfriend standing up for you. "any parent with an ounce of decency would know better than to shun their own daughter for an hour straight. and, on top of that, it's just completely insensitive for you to continue to do so when you have a guest over. and to invite her lover to join in on your insults? fucking pathetic. both of you."

the room goes silent, the only sound being the ac blowing through the vent with a gentle hum. ellie continues to stare both your parents down as you hold your breath, unsure on what they'll do. you'd never even entertained the thought of speaking to them like that.

ellie then stands from her chair, the legs of it scratching loudly against the wooden floorboards. she thanks them for dinner, voice still laced with venom, then turns to you. her features suddenly soften and she holds out a hand to you, offering to help you to your feet. you take it, standing with a shaky breath, the weight of what just happened pressing hard against your chest.

"you wanna go out for ice cream?" she asks you.

your face instantly splits, a large smile overtaking your lips as your stare at her with the utmost love you could ever possibly offer. you squeeze her hand, your parents glaring eyes fading away as you focus solely on ellie. "yes please."

sorry this is a little long, this req is just so sweet & i couldn't wait to write it

#vxsellie !#ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie willams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie x you #the last of us #drabble

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mbbmz · 5 months ago

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if you’re still taking requests, would you be open to doing an angst ask? Tokyo Revengers boys with a gf who gets seriously hurt or dies because of a rival gang or something like that? I don’t mind which characters but I really love Mitsuya!

Hello honey! So I never really wrote angst, but I tried for you. You said you liked Mitsuya, here some Mitsuya food! Also did Rindou bc why not. Rindou’s part is kinda messy bc I wanted to write too much things-

Warning : Angst/no comfort, depictions of injuries, death

Mitsuya

He was running in the street, a frown replacing his usual calm expression. He had left in the middle of a Toman meeting, but at this point he didn’t care.

He had received a call from your best friend, telling him you were beaten up roughly. In his mind, he knew. He knew this was because of him, of his membership to Toman.

By the time he arrived at the hospital, he was breathless. He frantically searched for your room, a now panicked look on his face. He finally arrived in front of your room, anxious of what he would find inside. Were you even awake? Would you hate him for what happened to you? For not being there to protect you?

Eaten by guilt and remorse, he opened the door, and nothing could have prepared him to what he found.

Your best friend, crying loudly next to your limp body, your skin covered in blue and purple. He got closer, almost mechanically, silently taking your swollen hand in his.

Your heartbeat on the monitor resonated in the room, getting slower, weaker, until any noise was replaced by a loud beep.

His eyes widened. What was this sound?.. What did that mean?.. He asked himself, bathing in denial. Because he knew what that meant, yet he didn’t want to accept it. He squeezed your hand, shaking your shoulder as if you’d magically wake up and smile at him, like you always did.

But your smile was gone, and so were you.

Rindou

He wasn’t paying attention to the minutes, the hours passing as he sat in the white, lifeless room.

He had one single missed call from his brother, who must have understood where he was when he didn’t respond.

The first time he came to see you, your body was in poor state. Bruises and broken bones, even damaged organs. He couldn’t believe his eyes for a moment.

Now, the bruises were gone, the blue on your body replaced by a pale, blemish color. It made him sick to his stomach. How much it must have hurt, and he wasn’t even fucking there.

It would have been different if he had been there. He would have protected you. But no, he was at a fucking Tenjiku meeting, ignoring your calls, too busy to spare you a minute.

What kind of boyfriend was he?

He pinched the bridge of his nose, if he had answered, he would have heard your voice, your beautiful voice one last time.

No. Surely he would hear it again. Surely.

But the days passed, and each time he entered the room to see you still unconscious, he swore a piece of his sanity was leaving him.

Your hand was getting thinner and thinner, the IV barely sustaining you. He could feel your bones every time he touched you. And it hurt.

A single tear rolled on his cheek. This wasn’t a life. This was far from the life he promised you. All those moments he wanted to spend with you, going to dates, kissing you, touching you, all this would now only exist in his imagination.

Deep down, he knew. He knew you’d never wake up. Yet he wouldn’t admit it. Not until your heartbeat on the monitor would stop. He’d come everyday, staying beside you until a nurse threw him out.

He’d come everyday, until you took your last breath.

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #x reader #mitsuya takashi #mitsuya x reader #tokyo revengers mitsuya #tokyo rev mitsuya #rindou haitani #rindou x reader #tokyo revengers rindou #tokrev rindou #tokyo revengers angst #hurt/no comfort

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jolalibrary · 1 year ago

Text

circles and squares

simon ghost riley x f!reader (cod)

an: you should all thank @halfmoth-halfman for this one and our early morning chat. I heart you lots.

an: written on phone, mind any errors.

Ghost is aware he’s not the easiest person to be with.

He's an entanglement of repressed feelings, scars that run deeper than layers of skin and a need for solitude, that you seem to have slid past.

You take it all in your stride, not fazed—not asking too much—the patience of a saint.

It’s not that why he likes you. It’s that you make up rules for the two of them with relative ease. Providing him with ways to express himself without using words.

For someone whose skin is littered with only a handful of marked memories and a heart still soft, you surprise him with how deeply you understand him.

How much you just get him.

In all of his future thinking, Ghost never envisioned such a soul would fall for him—although Simon had always hoped.

Two fragmented parts of him working together, desperate to keep whatever was happening between the two of you intact. Even if he had little to give and not a whole lot to offer, you stuck around.

You say very little when it comes to his past, taking what you can with gratitude. When you’re ticking, turning over thoughts—needing something but unsure how to ask for it—you make up solutions to give him a voice.

Not a physical one, but one just as loud.

“—like this,” you explain, taking the pen from his hand, drawing a circle—small, no bigger than 2cm—onto the plain, crisp page.

The black stands out, all stark against the white paper on the chipped wooden desk. His eyes glancing up from the nib, to your eyes.

He wants to ask for an explanation, folding his arms, sighing as he runs his tongue over his teeth.

You smile.

He suspects it isn’t because you hear his sigh or because of the way he folds his arms—but because you know him.

You know it isn’t to do with impatience or confusion, but rather because you understand that the two of you squirrelled away in a room brings questions. Ones he wants to save you from, as though you’re a damsel and not a lieutenant under him.

You don’t need to protect me.

You’d said that once. Under him, your legs on either side of his thighs as your fingers brush over stubble and blemishes.

But he does.

Not just from the gossip, from the glances. But those who look for him—those who inflicted each defacement he lets you see.

If anything, you’re one of the very things he needs to protect. Keep you safe.

“If we fill it in like this,” you say, shading in the circle. “We’ll know the other person isn’t okay. We don’t have to explain to why, but we’ll know.”

He cocks a brow, not that you can see it. His mask, the one all plain black, more for the base than out in the open, hiding his expressions from you.

Ghost suspects, though, you see right through the fabric. Like you saw through him to begin with. Ignored the snark and the bitterness, saw something—someone—worth getting drenched for when you were both stationed in Europe.

He hadn’t liked the rain before then, not the scent of it—not the way it made his clothes cling to his skin, how it suffocated him. But he likes how you looked in the rain, how your face relaxed even as your hair flattened to your head. How your hand turned palm over, catching droplets like they were blessings and not something which had ruined an entire night of recon.

“Alright, but if we’re OK?” He asks.

Your head nods, drawing another circle next to it. Not filling it, just leaving the outline there.

“Not filled in means we’re okay.”

It doesn’t cross his mind what they’ll do if there’s no paper, if there’s no way in a crowded room to get across that you’re drowning. That it feels too much. That you need him.

You think about it, though. Because you always are. Always thinking of ways to make things easier, better. Ticking it off—always assessing, attempting to better things. Not for you, never for you (your selflessness knows no bounds), but for him.

An answer to his inner thought was answered a month or two later.

It’s a mess, loud voices—arguments brewing in fractions as mutinies begin to build. Price in the centre, chewing his cheek, fingers twitching, likely desperate for a cigar or even a drink as another captain chews his ear off.

The 141 rarely partner with others for this reason.

He doesn’t linger on Price. Knows if he’s needed, he’ll hear his name cutting through the loudness. So he looks for you, eyes searching, finding you pressed into the corner. Alone.

You’ve not been sleeping. Tossing, turning beside him. Fingers reaching for him, finding his side, his arm—even his fingers—as your brows knit and stencils lines into your face.

He never wakes you, just lets you take—and when you don’t take, he just holds. Clutching you close, pressing your ear to his chest, hoping the steady beat of his heart is enough.

Sometimes it is.

He suspects now wouldn’t be.

Your back is pressed against the wall, eyes down on the ground before they flick up, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

Not just because your eyes are stunning, cutting into him from across a room, but because of how you look at him: a silent calling, a beckoning, a help dancing close to your pupils.

Slowly, for confirmation, he watches as you raise your right hand, drawing a circle on your left shoulder. His eyes track it, following it as it meets your starting point. Mind drowning out Johnny, not even listening to the group of idiots next to him—focused instead on how you begin using your finger to fill in the symbolic shape.

He nods.

Feet moving, gloved hands pushing shoulders and bodies, parting the pockets of people as he moves towards you.

Ghost isn’t sure what he can do when he gets there, his pulse just thumping—following only a need to be next to you. He expects murmurs, more suspicious comments about how he’s always close by to you. Smarter soldiers recognise that he always has an eye on you if you’re close—they’re just not smart enough to identify something is already happening, and has been for a while.

As he nears you, he’s thankful he doesn’t need to ask it because you’re already keeping your eyes on him. Seeing as he gets closer that your lips are slightly parted, a little O created, chest rising and falling as you take in shallow breaths.

He wants to offer something, whether it’s his voice, presence, or anything. Which is why he asks:

“Wanna get out of here?”

He’s not sure if you expect it—not sure if you had considered it an option. Your head nodding, furiously, blinking away tears that threaten to spill as your hand brushes his wrist.

Not to take his hand—the two of you don’t do that—but to tap. Once, twice.

Thank you.

He nods. Not able to (or wanting to) stop the way his heart soars at it—at being able to provide you with something.

Give you a fraction of what you give to him: a way out, a safe place.

In time, your things begin to merge with his.

Not just on base, but back in England too. Your socks are washed with his, your back covered in one of his tees that skirts your thighs.

He doesn’t mind, for the most part, only finding he struggles with it at night. When you’re sound asleep, soft snores kissing the darkness as he turns over the many ways you could be taken from him.

Ghost sleeps less when he’s home. Most of his REM is collected in the day, sun shimmering through the blinds, your fingers drawing shapes on his shoulders.

Sometimes they’re squares—which means either I love you, or I miss you—and sometimes their triangles. The latter, he’s not sure if they have a meaning. He just draws them back on your knee, watching your lips slide up into your cheek as you try to read your book.

He likes it—the code.

The one he can say down the radio. The one he can draw on your arm when you’re both pressed together in some place in the Middle East.

Which is why it doesn’t surprise him when you shout his name, the front door being kicked shut behind you—a surprise in a carrier bag.

“I know you’re struggling.”

You say it so plainly. Not a hello or how are you, getting straight into it, watching him as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his joggers.

He says nothing either because there’s little reason to lie. He wears the truth well, the bags under his eyes worse than when he’s sent away on a solo—his need to pin you under him in the morning when sleep hasn’t been wiped from your eyes another tick against your assumption.

Retrieving the item from your bag, you place it on the counter with a tap. His eyes falling from you to them, noticing four magnets.

Nothing impressive, nothing too much. But he knows instantly what they are.

One black circle, one white circle; one green circle, one red circle.

“Naturally, I’m the colourful ones.”

“Naturally,” he snorts.

Moving towards him, you slide a hand over his hip. “They’ll live at the base of the fridge door, and we’ll slide one up—close to the top. When we remember,” you say, looking at him. “Same as the circles. For me, red is—“

“Black.”

Nodding, you try to smile. “Square.”

“Square,” he says back, quickly. Palm cupping your cheek, thumb brushing a line across it.

Wondering, as he always does, how you remain so soft, so kind. How even though you’re haunted too, you still find ways to do things for him—

“Because I love you,” you say, as though reading his mind. “It’s easy because I love you.”

Swallowing, he holds your cheek more firmly, his other hand resting on your hip.

“Y… you don’t have to say it, I’m fine with—“

“I love you. It’s why I worry.”

Rolling your lips, you sigh—soft and small—before you nod. “I know, Simon. But we keep each other safe. Yeah?”

He nods back.

Because you do keep him safe. Not wearing a mark on your skin from him—or asking him to leave one—just in case. Your name on the place the two of you call yours, just in case.

An understanding is known about the future—mainly around rings and names, just in case.

“Which circle are you?”

His lips twitch, a smile wanting to show. “White.”

“Okay, good.” Your finger begins to draw a triangle, his eyes narrowing, your lips rising into a smirk. “Bought something else, too.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, you lick your lips, eyes widening as you continue to draw it on him. “Wanna go upstairs and… see?”

It hits him only then. The deviousness in your eyes showing.

Triangle means—

“I want you,” you whisper.

He snorts, his laugh dying in his throat, wrapping his fingers around the back of your neck, bringing your lips to his.

Kissing shapes against your lips, unshaded circles, squares, and then triangles.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #ghost x reader #cod ghost x reader #cod x reader #ghost cod #cod ghost x you #ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost cod mw2 #cod ghost #ghost x female reader #ghost riley headcanon

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sinisterexaggerator · 7 months ago

Text

Hard Feelings

Hancock x Fem! Sole Survivor / Reader Insert

(AO3)

Summary: You are the General of the Minutemen. Hancock is your companion when out on missions. It's all fun and games until there are hard feelings at play, the ghoul thinking that one day you just might leave him.

Warnings: NSFW / 18+ for PiV sex, public sex (sort of), MAKEUP sex, switching, praise kink, heavy petting and kissing, fingering, biting, angst, a small domestic dispute, and negative thoughts and feelings associated with oneself (Hancock). In this fic, Hancock displays golden retriever boyfriend energy, and he is more submissive. He also experiences low self-worth, and feelings of inadequacy, which leads to doubt. At some point, he has a panic attack.

Notes: Another fanfic that is completely self-indulgent. I was inspired when I took Hancock to the Starlight Drive-In for the Minutemen mission. We were briefly separated when I (sole) climbed onto the roof of the movie screen. Hancock ran around down below in a panic, thus this idea blossomed; I mention it in this post. I stole Teeth's nickname for Hancock: Hanni. ;D )

Word count: 4.7k+

A gentle peal of thunder rocked the night, just hours from daybreak, the eerie green glow of your pre-war Pip-boy casting its luminescence across the present object of your interest: a sullied movie poster. It was curling at its edges, the faded face of a starlet frozen in time with her mouth agape having snatched your attention, for better or worse, as this potential settlement had yet to be explored—there was no telling what lurked out there among the shadows.

Rita Jean Scarlett was staring into the eyes of not man, but insect, The Barfly calling out to you from a bygone era. It was an Old World tale of weird science gone wrong, filled with hubris and lessons learned all too late. Not too far off from the reality of things, you mused, though meant as fiction, actor Chip Weathers having adorned the costume of the “ghastly” monster for his starring role.

The creature had bulbous eyes and sticky clawed feet, yet wore a suit and hat. Once considered the stuff of nightmares, now things like this seemed to you like child’s play. You regularly joined in the company of ghouls; robots; synthetic humans, and even super mutants. You faced adversaries on the daily that would make prey animals of yesteryear look like teddy bears—an unnerving thought, but it caused you to smile regardless.

“What are you grinnin’ about?” a curious voice asked, the creak of worn red leather signaling his closeness; two thin arms encircled you, pitted hands smoothing over skintight, extruded rubber, shiny as the ghoul’s black eyes.

“Just about how things that used to be science fiction are now science fact,” you offered vaguely, casting a glance downward to the sight of yourself being molested, Hancock groping your tit—like any typical man—before it maneuvered lower, gliding over your belly to dip between your thighs.

“Hancock!” you breathed, your pulse quickening, loins already beginning to throb as blemished fingers stroked the line of your vault suit, teasing you at its seam.

“Hmm?” he hummed, ignoring the tone in which he had been addressed. He asked another question, even as he continued to fondle you sans mercy.

“Things like me?”

Hancock was unhurried, enjoying the sleek texture of the glossy fabric against the underside of his thumb. He was positive he was making you wet, wondering how long you might last before you were begging him to fuck you, just like a few hours previous.

However, his query caught you off guard, your mind preoccupied as your palm came to rest over John’s explorative hand, holding it firm, the ghoul taking liberty with your breasts again, cupping one’s shape to give it a squeeze.

“Things that shouldn’t exist? Like that monster up there who thinks he’s human,” he growled silkily, finely wrinkled digits pinching your pebbled nipple through that damnable suit that left nothing to the imagination, John’s prick hardening against the back of your leg.

“You might say that,” you replied without thinking, thoughts clouded with pleasure that would all too suddenly end, so careless was your answer that the ghoul recoiled.

“Really,” John flatly returned, as if for some reason not at all surprised, his warm, gentle touch leaving you longing, confused as to why he was beginning to walk away.

You turned from the ticket booth, staring after your lover as he kicked a loose rock across asphalt; it bounced, ricocheting off an overturned cigarette machine. Hancock pretended to be engrossed in the diner just up ahead, a part of the Starlight Drive-In theater, you both having been warned about raiders before traveling here.

“Hancock.” You followed closely behind; he did not pay you any mind, as if he had not heard you, acting about as mature as a spoiled child who was giving you the dreaded silent treatment.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you claimed, though it was the truth. To be asked that question to begin with seemed like he was fishing for flattery, but who were you to deny the charismatic Mayor of Goodneighbor a harmless stroke to his ego, especially when he meant so much to you.

“Is that where the “might” part comes in?” he snapped, his tone irritated; it was becoming obvious that he had not expected you to agree with him on such matters, the conversation quickly devolving.

“Is this our first fight? Are we fighting?” you asked, Hancock’s beady eyes narrowing beneath his hairless brow at the flippant way you were brushing off his feelings, or so he thought.

“Look, if you don’t want to travel with a ghoul, why didn’t you just say so— got better things I could be doing,” he groused, namely chems with his name on them.

“Is that so? Well, far be it from me to stop you from doing those better things,” you returned, not understanding why he couldn’t just forgive you for something said in passing.

“Always a smart ass,” he complained, as if Hancock himself wasn’t guilty of using his fair share of sarcasm.

Had you not been so heated, you may have remembered just how self-conscious the sociable, charming mayor actually was. His confidence was partially a façade, though he wasn’t one to normally bring down a mood with his own insecurities. Being the introspective sort meant that Hancock wasn’t afraid to get to the heart of things, even at the cost of his own self-esteem.

John had even allowed you in, being vulnerable by sharing details of his sorrowful past; it was no secret the ending had been bittersweet, if not unhappy. His own appearance had sickened him; he found it hard to believe a gal like you wanted anything to do with him, much less desire to share a bed together, especially since he wasn’t exactly a looker by human standards.

Perhaps you had failed to give him reassurance when it was needed, though temporarily blinded by your temper. Instead of trying to clear things up, you made it worse.

“You’d be one to know,” you baited.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Hancock shot back, droplets of rain beginning to descend toward the ground.

“You know what? Go over there, check that place out.” You gruffly dismissed him, pointing toward the diner. “I think we both need some time to cool off,” you added, voice sounding less than amicable toward the man whose forehead lurched, as if he had been punched in the gut.

“Yeah? Fine.” John’s feelings were hurt more by this simple demand than anything you had said thus far, Hancock behaving like a scolded puppy whose owner had treated it unfairly.

You shook your head as you watched him march away, Hancock’s red frock coat glistening thanks to a now steady sprinkle. You sighed, turning toward a slew of rusting, run-down autos, spying a shed somewhere in the distance—you hoped it had a crafting station, as your orders from Preston Garvey were clear.

---

No raiders were present, only mole rats and radroaches. Hancock had kept his distance at your request, though you weren’t so oblivious that you failed to notice the way he routinely hovered only a stone’s throw away. The ghoul was caught basking in your shadow more than once, stealing glimpses, a frown pulling down the edges of his thin-lipped mouth. Yet he would move along the moment you laid your eyes on him, as if embarrassed, not wishing to be the victim of your ire.

Overall, he seemed to be taking things about as well as you had hoped, though he had technically been the one to start it. You weren’t a mind reader, either, refusing to try and decipher his body language despite the moping, waiting for a time you felt more at ease.

Although, it undeniably tugged at your heartstrings—knowing he was suffering in some capacity—but you kept a clear head, focusing on the task at hand—building a radio relay tower from spare parts in order to reach out to others, reclaiming the theater in the name of the Minutemen with the sole purpose of making the Commonwealth a better place, one settlement at a time.

It was when another accursed mole rat burst forth from its earthy den that you yelped in surprise, drawing your double-action revolver almost a moment too late. With teeth nipping at your toes, you shot the beast, Hancock having dashed to your aid.

You glanced back at him, rattled; he seemed satisfied knowing you weren’t hurt, though his gaze lingered, as if there was something on the tip of his tongue.

After a moment, he asked, “Can we talk?”

“Not right now.” You shook yourself off, taking a deep breath to assist in the slowing of your pulse. You returned to your workstation, deciding it wasn’t appropriate to address any more personal issues at this juncture—you both had a job to do.

“Sure, got it,” Hancock said grouchily, the ghoul wandering off to continue sifting through various piles of refuse for any usable materials to add to your haul, though inside it felt as if gnarled fingers were cinching tightly around his heart. Anxiety was welling within him, as not being on good terms with you did not sit right; beneath the surface, he was a troubled bundle of nerves, though he did not want to rush you by any means.

If only you knew about the disturbing thoughts that were crawling up John’s brainpan, slithering through the cracks to possess his mental faculties, feeding them fear; unsurety, outwardly expressed by way of a sour attitude. So involved was he with the many voices collecting in his head, that he failed to notice when you had finished installing the relay tower, your instincts guiding you to the Starlight Drive-in’s once magnificent three-story screen.

You took the stairs, moving past a shoddy door to climb to the top. The sun was newly risen, a fine mist hanging over the expansive parking lot, rays of light from your planet’s star casting a beautiful glow along remnants of grass, present in patches, though the area was plagued by the contamination of rads—another item on your to-do list.

You were enjoying the view when you observed Hancock poking around the last place he’d seen you, determining you were in a better mood and willing to talk. You had planned to call out to him when you saw him run the other way, circling the diner, and then the first place you had gathered—the ticket booth where you had exchanged unpleasantries.

Confused, you continued your study of his erratic behavior, wondering if there was some unknown enemy skulking about, yet Hancock had no weapon drawn, his gait all at once frantic and without rhyme or reason, the ghoul seeming to have no particular destination in mind.

“Hancock?” you asked yourself quietly, baffled at how John was going insofar as to peek inside doorless cars, or even under them, kicking into a full-fledge run as he made his way toward your perch. He wasn’t paying heed to anything that wasn’t at ground-level, failing to notice you up high above.

“Han—” you were enthralled, the ghoul almost as fast as a feral, which was a less than comforting thought, watching as John ran a lap around the base of the screen.

You followed, pushing off the railing to walk the few short steps to the opposite side, catching him turn the corner as he looped back around. It wasn’t until you heard his panicked breathing and the terrified whisper of your name that you completely understood, gut clenching as Hancock came to a disconcerting stop.

The poor thing looked to be having a meltdown, head darting to the left and right, though the only thing visible to you was the top of his tricorn hat. He began to pace, first one direction, and then another, not keeping to east or west, but zigzagging as if he couldn’t decide where to go, or what to do.

He called your name again, this time louder, sounding more distressed. You could not tear your eyes away as Hancock fell to his knees, fingers digging into soft dirt as the ghoul appeared to be in the throes of a panic attack.

Was he—

Spurred to action, you turned toward the way you came in, quick to rush down the stairs as swiftly as your legs could carry you. You sprinted around the bend of the building, nearly bumping into an abandoned cooking station off to your right, skirting it in the nick of time; you passed behind the structure, witness to a heartbreaking sight.

“Hey,” you whispered, Hancock having pushed himself back against the wall, knees to chest. The ghoul was tightly hugging his own legs, his marred face buried in the folds of his coat.

You weren’t sure what was happening, or why, only that he seemed deeply upset he could not find you, not expecting your brief absence would have such a negative effect. The ghoul was mumbling words you could not discern as you tiptoed forward, bending down to his level to address his huddled form.

“Hanni?” you asked gently, calling him by a pet name you had given him so long ago, John’s head shooting up, onyx eyes glistening, though you dare not think he had shed tears on your behalf.

Hancock gazed at you, his expression a mix of sadness, incredulity, and stark relief. You placed a hand on his shoulder, concern marking your features, John not budging from his half-fetal position.

“I thought—" he began, voice cracking, words quavering with an emotion you could not quite define, “—I thought you’d skipped out on me,” he offered pathetically, the amount of hurt present in his eyes enough to make you feel as if you deserved to die. So devastating was the look plastered across his handsome, ghoulish face that you wanted to cry, moving to cup his ruined cheek in the crux of your palm.

“Why would I do that?” you asked, tone soft but firm, staring at your reflection within gorgeous, dark depths, as if the answer lay hidden somewhere deep inside them.

“Because I don’t deserve you; because you can do better than me,” he answered without hesitation, “because who would want to be stuck with this ugly mug; wouldn’t wish it on my own worst enemy,” he finished flatly, Hancock’s dispirited disposition arising from being rejected—that’s not to say he blamed you.

“Didn’t wanna talk, ignoring me, couldn’t find you—just figured you were through,” he continued, tone solemn, making you feel awful.

You had deeply sinned to make this man react in such a manner—that was your first thought, Hancock’s gloomy mood permeating your defenses. All the walls you had in place came tumbling down, feeling nearly sick to your stomach as you scooched forward, prompting Hancock to drop his knees, legs finding even ground.

“No,” you berated, “none of that is true.” You shifted, straddling the ghoul, your other hand joining its partner to cradle his jaw opposite. “I won’t leave you,” you pledged, placing a kiss atop his furrowed mouth. “The thought never even crossed my mind.”

Hancock searched your face; he expelled a dejected sigh, breathing out through the hollow cavity that once housed his human nose. “You—you’re the best thing I’ve got. I don’t want to lose you, sunshine. I’d be dead in a ditch somewhere if it weren’t for you, hopped up on chems,” he admitted, hanging his head. “But don’t think I would blame you for hittin’ the road. I’d manage, somehow. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to make do, so just say the word. Don’t feel obligated to stick around.”

“Is that what you think? That I would abandon you? That I would get sick of you? That I don’t want you here by my side? Hancock—” you emphasized, running your thumb over the curve of his ear, forcing him to look squarely at you with a gentle redirection, “—I mean it when I say I love you,” you lamented, kissing his raised flesh. “Please, don’t doubt me.”

John lifted his head with your help, the concave divot residing front and center brushing lightly across your cheek. He presented you with a kiss this time, his cock enlivening beneath you, unable to help his arousal at the admission of your heartfelt words.

“I won’t, not anymore,” he promised, another kiss administered, and then another, returning each touch of his lips with one of your own until they picked up in fervor, Hancock’s sly tongue subtly snaking its way between your teeth.

“That’s what I like to hear,” you cooed, warm, wet muscles intertwining in an orchestrated dance that rekindled the deep-seated ache of your loins.

“You listen so well,” you needled playfully; you had the ghoul’s number, knowing just what made him tick.

Hancock moaned a sound of gratitude, your impromptu praise causing his prick to flex, lean, wilted fingers creeping forward to place themselves deliberately along your thighs; they ran up the dips in your hips, and smoothed over the shape of your waist.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Hancock grated between avid swirls. His cock was riding up against your slinky blue vault suit—like liquid latex poured to conform to your body, it fit tight as a glove.

John held no complaints, only that you were still wearing it. Fortunately, you had ideas.

“Being such a good boy for me,” you teased, your own hands roving, exploring the contours of his slender chest and waist, sweeping back and forth; you hooked his partially corroded throat, carefully capturing Hancock between the crook of your palm, thumb trailing his Adam’s apple in a light caress.

“Not sure you know what that does to me,” he purred, the ghoul at your mercy as you gyrated your hips, your own sex succinctly aligned as you massaged his erection through faded black slacks.

“Are you so sure?” you asked, grinning into your kiss, one of Hancock’s hands sneaking along synthetic fibers for three fingers to stroke the underside of your jumper. He pushed up only slightly, cupping your mound; you felt it in your core, a subdued moan breathed straight into the ghoul’s mouth—Hancock was so turned on, it was a wonder he didn’t just nut right then and there.

“You teasin’ me, sunshine?” John panted, groping your breast, digits fingering stitchwork; you bit down on your bottom lip as you reached for the clasp at the front of your collar.

“Get this off me,” you instructed, fumbling with the pull of your zipper.

“Is that a request?” Hancock asked cheekily, though he did not expect an answer.

“An order,” you responded, feigning authority, Hancock doing as he was told, though there was a hint of a smile crawling up the side of his face.

“Yes, ma’am,” the ghoul chortled wryly, watching as you shed your suit like a second skin. You ushered it past the arc of your shoulders, the slopes of your breasts, to the base of your hips, leaving yourself half naked and assailable; John was unable to help his amorous stare.

“You’re so beautiful,” he declared, moving to knead doughy flesh, mouth finding your throat; Hancock sucked the sweat off your flawless skin, his other hand working its way underneath what was left of your vault suit, two fingers dipping into your already soaked cunt.

“Fuck,” he hissed, slipping in and out, thumb pushing itself between the folds of your labia to rub your throbbing bud.

“Yes, let’s,” you returned, swirling your hips, riding Hancock’s thick fingers as you clumsily moved to untie the flag wrapped about his narrow waist.

“Right here?” he asked, perplexed. Though not one to argue, being out in the open without cover was dangerous; he knew better than anyone the risks of the Wastes.

“I want you,” you answered, as if that in and of itself was all he needed to hear. You knew there might be consequences, but at that moment, your hormones were the ones in charge, a sharp gasp escaping as John’s fingers curled against the anterior wall of your sex.

“I’m all yours, love, forever,” Hancock vowed, following your example. He hastily unbuckled his pants after releasing your tit with reluctance, pushing apart the flaps to withdraw his glaring hard on; precum was already seeping out the slit at its head.

“Promise me,” you insisted, lifting up off your thighs—and Hancock’s fingers—to shimmy the rest of your suit down toward your knees. It might be a little awkward, but you were too desperate to care, taking up the ghoul’s girth in the breadth of your palm.

“Cross my heart and hope to—”

“Don’t you dare,” you protested, shoving your tongue back into John’s mouth, guiding his cock inside you. You sank down onto your haunches, inch by delicious inch, his variegated shaft filling you full up.

Then, the ghoul went rigid. “But sunshine, what about—”

“Shhh, that’s it,” you whispered, though Hancock hadn’t done anything to warrant a reprimand. It was your own descent that had you crooning, dipping forward to feel that delightful pressure snug against your walls.

“Not sure you wanna end up like—”

“—I took one a few hours ago, remember?” The darling man was more concerned with your well-being than even you; you could physically feel the tension leaving his body, John relieved to know you had things under control.

“You do love me,” you stated breezily, flicking the tip of your tongue inside the helix of the ghoul’s ear; Hancock shuddered, both his hands returning to your hips, touch featherlight, prompting you to press your palms against the partition behind him to prop yourself up on either side of his head.

“Wouldn’t mind you turnin’ Ghoul,” he replied throatily, thinkin’ spending an eternity with you sounded like the best damn thing a guy could ask for.

Hancock watched with bated breath as you rose up to enshroud him in your shadow, breasts level with his eyes. He groaned his appreciation, seizing your right nipple between puckered lips, John’s bony hips pushing up against the round of your ass. The ghoul sucked diligently, dull nails clawing gingerly into supple, human flesh, incapable of keeping a straight face.

“What was all that about not doubting each other?” John huskily reminded you, the point of his tongue flitting against your sensitive skin. He returned to suckling, as if a babe latched to nurse, the hand left idle finally slipping down your thigh. Hancock spread your lower lips apart with the underside of two fingers, a third taking its place atop your thrumming clit, engorged with blood.

“Shut up,” you urged, wanting him to belay speaking for fear the moment might spoil, Hancock grunting in indignation before he bit down lightly on your nip.

You gasped a broken breath, cunt rising to the head of his cock. You dropped back down; Hancock bottomed out, sequestered in the deepest part of you, snug as anything, the ghoul hypnotized by your pretty writhing.

“Why don’t you make me.” Hancock intensified the patient revolutions of blotched fingers, dragging you down by compressing your cheeks with his thumb and index; you slumped your shoulders just enough, angling to meet his current height, tossing your arms about John’s neck to humor him with another passionate kiss.

“Done.” You rocked forward, feeling Hancock’s sizeable member immured to its base. Indecent sounds kept each other company, the squish of your conjoined loins combining with the wet, obscene spirals of your whorling tongues. It wouldn’t take much longer to climax, your slick cunt tightening its grip on John’s rock-hard cock.

The ghoul’s chest heaved between ragged breaths, Hancock practicing his self-control. He didn’t want to cum until you did, sliding his palm up to carefully cradle the small protrusion distending your lower abdomen.

Feeling the outline of himself inside you was nearly too much to handle, a visible tremor preceding what was to be an early warning.

“I-I can’t hold back, angel.”

“Wait,” you countered, guiding the ghoul’s head toward your breasts, driving his noseless face into your cleavage; Hancock’s tricorn shifted backward as he followed your lead. He vested himself in the cocoon of your limbs, moaning his approval, grabbing onto a fistful of ass as your back arched in pleasure.

You opened your eyes to gaze at the sky—it was pale blue and cloudless, for once.

You came hard, the flat of John’s palm supporting your spine as you released your ecstasy to the heavens, the ghoul’s tepid seed discharging in spurts to paint your inner walls white; his ejaculate had been offered as payment for your lovely little song.

The ghoul felt overwhelmed and full of deep affection for you; Hancock’s teeth bore down on beautiful, unblemished skin; he broke capillaries, drawing your blood to the surface, leaving his mark in the form of a dark red welt.

You gasped at the bite, Hancock ensconcing you tightly in his arms, both of you allowing your orgasms to run their course. His grip was a comfortable vise, brittle nails burrowing into lithe flesh with almost paradoxical tenderness; John was always so careful with you.

From an outsider’s perspective, the embrace of a ghoul meant certain death, with the expectancy you would be rent into unrecognizable pieces. Such a pose as you presented now was questionable, one that evoked alarm from bystanders, settlers who had followed the beacon to their new home, expecting to find the general of the Minutemen, but not like this.

“Ghoul!” someone shouted; you heard the shuffling of leather, the clink of metal.

“No!” you yelled, protecting your lover with the entirety of your body, encapsulating his slight frame. You shielded his vitals with your bare back, hunkering down to speak to these newcomers over the peak of your shoulder.

“He’s not feral!” you growled, hating that you had to defend him, knowing how John must feel at this moment as he gazed up at you with surprised, wide eyes. You cared not that a horde of people had seen you naked; you only cared for Hancock, determined to preserve him and all his parts.

In reality, the ghoul was seconds from tears, knowing—without a doubt—that you had meant what you said. You were guarding his wretched life with your own without question, willing to die to keep him from harm, just as he gladly would have sacrificed himself to see you live another day.

A day, he thought, that might have been better off without him, but now he was glad to be alive (in some form or another), swallowing hard against the knot in his throat, eyes never once leaving your impassioned face.

“We’re together; we came here together, and we will leave here together, do I make myself clear?”

A person stepped forward, separating themselves from the crowd. “Yes, General,” they said, having fortunately, or rather unfortunately, recognized you.

With a sigh of relief, those gathered departed. John practically smothered you, so forceful was his hug that it nearly choked the air from your lungs.

Hancock didn’t know what he’d done to get someone like you, and he was afraid to ask. If there were any powers at be—something, or someone—watching over him, he supposed he’d owe them one, but for now he was more than happy to count his blessings. And the sad thing was, everything, all of it, could be a dream—or one long, hallucinatory chem-trip. If this turned out to be nothing but a fucked up Jet flashback, he’d just as soon never wake up.

“I’ll follow you to the end of the Wastes,” Hancock blurted, voice strained and rasping, fingers; arms; chest tightening as he spoke against soft tufts of hair. “You and me together, the world ain’t got a prayer.”

Despite what had just transpired, you cradled him against the bow of your neck, oblivious to the inner workings of his mind, only wishing to absorb him, for him to live in the space between your ribs that stored your heart. All you wanted was to keep him safe for all time, knowing that he deserved the world, though the ghoul would most certainly outlive you.

It was a melancholy thought, if ever one existed, but you did not allow your mind to dwell. “Sweet man,” you murmured, “it doesn’t stand a chance in hell.”

—-

Fallout Masterlist

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angel-of-the-moons · 1 year ago

Note

When you get the chance do you think you could write a Miguel x chubbyF!reader ?

(It's my first time requesting and I wanted to try and give like an idea of it)

Miguel saw the reader in the library and she caught his eye and he went on about what he was doing until he grabbed the same book as her and it just happened to be both of their favorite books and they ended up talking about it and maybe going to a coffee shop after?

The Very Grumpy Spider

Miguel x Chubby/Curvy!Fem!Reader

TW/CW: None

Taglist: @tojishugetiddies

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

Miguel was hiding away from the world in the most unlikely of places. It wasn't his home, or his darkened office at HQ, or the labs at Alchemax.

No, it was the library. It hardly had any foot traffic, and the libraries of the world were quickly becoming obsolete with their actual paper books in favor of all the digital files you could simply download online these days.

Which is why it was perfect for him to hide in.

It was quiet, almost no people, and his favorite reading nook had the comfiest chairs. Hell, sometimes he'd sit in the bean bag chairs and nod off a bit.

Today he was browsing the shelves labeled "Classics -- Science Fiction".

His large fingers drummed on the spines of each book as he weighed the decision of which one to read, his glasses perched low on his nose. It seemed silly, that someone who has superpowers would like something as simple as science fiction, but these books were a big escape from the abuse he and his little brother were witness (and in many cases victim) to.

It was also the library he'd run off to back then, too.

It was a sanctuary, a sweet, private Sanctuary.

Miguel was so warped in his thoughts that he didn't notice somebody was now standing right next to him.

Not until a small hand reached out and they both touched the spine of the same book.

An omnibus of sorts containing all the stories of a series called "Dinotopia" by an author named James Gurney, a little over a hundred or so years ago. Miguel as a child had silly fantasies of finding such a place and now the stories were a source of great comfort when the stress of his life became a bit too hard.

"Oh! Sorry!" You say, awkwardly snatching your hand back. "I... Er. Didn't know that anybody else liked... uh, nevermind."

You were... cute. Not obnoxiously made-up like many of the women he's met; you were very minimal makeup and he could even see a few blemishes here and there.

Your body was not rail thin--again, like most women he's known--you were soft, your clothes hugged your body in a way that showed that you had little rolls that spilled over the top of your jeans, your legs and arms a bit on the thicker side, and your round little face definitely set you apart.

And Miguel found himself quickly liking the sight.

He lowered his hand and shook his head with a soft chuckle, "Ah, no, it's alright. I'm surprised anybody even knows these books exist."

You smiled sheepishly up at him, dimples in your soft cheeks as you did. "Yeah... My grandpa used to read these to me when I was little. It's hard to find them nowadays and the copies I had got ruined when my apartment flooded..."

"I used to read them as a kid, myself." Miguel smiled at you as he plucked the book off the shelf, looking at the illustrated cover; protected by a dust jacket but the cover was faded with time, the pages slightly yellowed.

"They were a nice escape."

"Oh! Yeah... They--they are." You say as you watched him turn the book over in his massive hands. Hell, they were so goddamn big that the thick volume looked like a tiny booklet. And oh, did you try to ignore how strong they looked.

Miguel sighed and held the book out to you, "Here. Far be it from me to keep someone from reading a favorite, huh?"

You held your hands up, waving then a bit. "Oh! No, no, um... It's okay. You can read it."

You both stood there, blinking at each other in an awkward silence.

Until you both broke out into soft laughter and Miguel lowered his hand that still clutched the book.

"...We're just going to go back and forth about this, aren't we?" He asked.

"... Probably." You giggled, rubbing the back of your neck.

There was another pause, until you decided to break it.

"Um... well. We can... Talk about it?"

When he tilted his head at you with raised eyes you felt yourself flush. "I--! Well, I just mean that, um... Er. It's unusual to find anybody that knows about that series because it's so old, so, I mean..."

He laughed again, and god, did it sound wonderful as it tumbled out of his lips. He fixed his dark eyes on you and smiled. "Sure. I don't have anywhere to be for the rest of the day."

You swore you could see that his eyes glimmered a different color as he spoke, and your heart slipped a beat.

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

You and Miguel chatted for what must have been close to three hours. You'd even gotten so close as to read the book together; or, well, a few of the stories in it here and there.

You guys had sat so close you could smell his cologne and aftershave.

Meanwhile Miguel could smell your sweet, cherry-like perfume. Hell, he could even smell your lip balm (it had notes of honey) thanks to his super senses.

He loved watching you move, he would often take his eyes from the pages to scan your form, looking at how soft and plush you were. He had the most intrusive thoughts about laying his head in your lap and just letting you run your fingers through his hair as you read the book aloud to him.

Oh, your thighs looked like perfect napping pillows...

He was gorgeous, and he found you absolutely beautiful. You were cute, funny, and quirky, whereas you found him intelligent, witty and kind when he spoke to you.

Something beeped on Miguel's watch and when he looked at it, he grunted. Lyla was asking him when he was going to just ask you out, because apparently she'd been eavesdropping covertly through his watch.

Yeah, it had been hours.

"Is that, um... A call you need to take?" You ask hesitantly.

"No, it's just my assistant checking on me." He turned it off and lowered his wrist, smiling again at you, and he felt something gnaw in his stomach when he saw your hopeful expression.

Fuck it.

"Hey... Would you like to get a coffee?" He finally asked you directly.

And oh, the little error-code face you made was just precious.

"Oh!" You shake your head softly, and smile up at him again. "Sure! I--I mean that is I'm okay with with that, and... uh."

Miguel stood, the book once again in his palm and he extended his hand to you politely to help you out of your seat.

Witty and chivalrous. It made you positively weak in the knees!

"But, um... are you sure?" You ask, following him to the check out counter.

He smiled at you over his shoulder, waving the book.

"Of course. After all, how else are we supposed to finish reading this together?"

#🌙 answered #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #miguel x you #miguel ohara #across the spiderverse

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swappedandtrapped · 3 months ago

Text

Rent Help - Part 3

As always, character consistency is hard for me. Just go with it.

I wake up again. Every time I wake up, I have about a minute of peace before my brain starts to boot and realizes where it is. That minute of bliss is what has kept me going recently. It's the only part of the day when I don't feel so… Wrong.

Waking up unwillingly, I go to the bathroom to wash my face. When I arrive, I realize it's been about a week after the car crash and I still can't get used to seeing Roy when I look in the mirror.

I study my new reflection. I stare at my skin blemishes on Roy's dark skin. My big Brown eyes underneath my thick eyebrows. My nose in the middle of the face that is now mine… When I open my mouth to brush my teeth, I see a crooked array of yellowish rectangles. I cringe realizing I'm actually tasting Roy's mouth and teeth 24/7. Roy didn't have a spare toothbrush, so I had to use his old one. Disgusting. I hate this so much. Why doesn't he take care of himself?

When I return to his room to get dressed, I sigh in frustration. During the last few days, I finally understood why Roy felt comfortable walking around without his shirt on. I was just too hot. ALL THE TIME. The meat and fat of his stocky body type kept the heat trapped within me. If I had a shirt on for more than 5 minutes I would start sweating and smell Roy's scent even more.

So just like he did, I elected to spend the day shirtless again. It's not like anyone would see me. Well except for… Me.

After trying to explain to Roy in my body what happened, he's gotten cold. I mean, I would too. I was practically begging him to remember, but when I'm in Roy's body, it's pretty hard to convince someone who he really is.

"I'm coming back late." He states in a premeditatedly cold intonation. "Ok," I reply in the same manner. I didn't see the point to initiate another argument. convincing him is impossible. "I might bring someone back with me. Please don't be weird when she's here." "Ok. I reply again. But missing any sense of my old self, I ask: "Someone I know?" "None of your business Roy." I cringe at the sound of that name. "And also, you don't know any of my friends. They're MY friends. Even if you… Think otherwise…" He goes out, leaving me alone in the flat.

Like a punch in the fucking gut.

Which reminded me, I'm hungry. I order an extra-large Pizza so Roy's stomach would leave me alone. Roy had an apatite I couldn't ignore easily. At first, I fought off his habits, unwilling to accept the new situation. But as the days went on, I gave in to most of Roy's habits. Like eating too much of this junk. I look at my body and feel shame as I admit I lost the battle against Roy's needs.

Later, I lay on the sofa, investigating Roy's phone. Thankfully, he locked his phone with Face ID, so I didn't have to guess any passwords and was able to unlock it. Every time I have some time off, I study his phone and learn a bit more about Roy's schedule and connections.

You see, I did swap bodies with him, but I didn't acquire his memories. So, I try to avoid all contact until I get the hang of whatever relationships he had in his life. "Yes, it's me. I'm Roy." I say to myself, trying to fake his tone. Even though I hear his voice, it still feels fake.

But today, after going through all his texts, I began looking through his notes app. I find there grocery lists, names of bands he wanted to check out, some foreign language I still can't read, and also something with the title… "Research"? What's this?

I open the file and my eyes widen. It's a long note, riddled with an assortment of semi-related bullet points regarding… "POWERS"!?

POWERS

possible timed cooldown? variable? Tested times: 5 days (17/05) 8 days (15/09) 6 days (12/11)

only post 24h mark???

ignore. no cooldown. instance of instant swap back. There's another condition.

Note the eye glow at optional swap time. Starts fading. Possible relation to condition?

Ignore. Doesn't fade.

Best swap triggers: visualize face, focus on identity

He was researching his swapping power. I guess Roy didn't receive a handbook with this ability, so he tried to mark the triggers and limitations he confirmed to be true. This was a goldmine. Maybe there's a limit on how long we can stay swapped?

Wait. If I'm Roy… I have his powers! I can swap us back!

I read the whole file, attempting to figure out exactly what conclusions Roy had and what I needed to do to return to my body. It looks like he could just will the swaps to make them happen, but there was some sort of condition that prevented swapping back at some times. Roy named it "The Condition", and going by his note, he didn't figure out what it was.

I immediately try to follow his technique and will the swap to come. I visualize my body, focus on my identity, but 20 minutes later, I'm still stuck in Roy's flesh. When I looked in the mirror, I still see his regular brown eyes. No glow or anything.

Does this 'condition' he mentioned apply to my situation? Am I just a moment away from retrieving my life back? I need to figure out what it is.

Going over Roy's notes I began piecing together a picture of Roy's swapping experiences. Some were willing, some were not. Some were functional, but some were for no reason at all other than to swap. But after a few hours of going over the cases, I started noticing a pattern.

While swaps were able to occur at any time, reverse swaps would never work on days of a full moon or new moon! That's the only explanation! It fits in every swap Roy documented in this file. This must be it!

But then I stop. Wait, today isn't a full or new moon. Why am I not able to swap us back?

A new fear rushes in as I hear the apartment door open. "Yeah, and then we… Oh, hey Roy," says Roy in my body accompanied by a girl I used to know. She waves politely at me with a certain reservation. I guess he warned her about me… "So it's the last door on the left." He points to the bathroom. "Thanks. It'll be just a minute." She says, closing the door after her.

Roy in my body leans silently on the wall, checking his phone for messages while he waits for her to finish. I look at him with envy.

But then I see it. His eyes. That Glow. It was subtle, but it was definitely there.

I don't have Roy's swapping power.

He does.

It swapped along with his body.

Tears start forming in my eyes as I realize the only hope I had of getting back was never an option. Roy looks up from his phone to me. Seeing my pathetic face in ruin. He makes an expression I can't decipher. Maybe empathy, but probably pity.

My friend exits the bathroom. "Hey," Roy turns to her. "Wait for me in the car, ok? I need to close a small thing with Roy. "Sure. Don't be long." She said going out the door. "I won't." He answers.

We look at each other for a few quiet moments. "Listen, are you gay or something?" "What?" I ask confused. Still in tears. "You want to be me. You cry when you see me with girls. I can add 2 plus 2 you know." "Fucking ass." I spit out. He duped me into this mess. He should rot in hell. "Don't be a bitch man. This can't-" "Bitch!??" I cut him off. "This is all your fault! I'm like this because of you!"

I charge towards him. I'm stuck like this because of him! I needed him to know how much I suffer because of his recklessness! But Roy was quick enough to get out of the way.

"Ok Roy. Fine. You started this." "Fuck off!"

I charge again, and Roy slips to the side again. I stumble and crash onto the living room floor and feel great pain in my back. I scream in pain and frustration. This fucking weight. I start sweating again and smell Roy's body stench, but I can't concentrate on it. I feel my body grounded by another body.

"That's IT Roy!" He yells at me from above. He prevents me from getting up. God dammit why didn't Roy ever go to the gym? "Get off of me!" I shout. "Say your name." He commands me as I struggle. "Say your name Roy." "I'm telling you! I'm not Roy!" I cry out. "It's the deal man, it's the swap deal!"

My face explodes with massive pain. Roy punched me in the fucking face.

"SAY YOUR NAME." "You can still have it! You can still swap us back! Please! Remember!"

Bam. Another one. I hear my nose crack and start feeling the blood.

"This is going to keep happening until you say your fucking name Roy." "You're hurting me! Please! Your eyes! I can tell you have your power!"

This time it was a punch from the right. My head is spinning.

"You know what? Even if I did have this power, I would never swap with you!" He shouts at me. "You are PATHETIC." Punch. "You stay to slob at home. You have no friends. You're an ugly motherfucker that can't even accept who he is!" Another punch.

But he's right. This is me now. I can say whatever I want but the fact remains. I'm in his body, and I'm here. Permanently. And even if he could swap us, he will never do it after this."

"For the last time. Say. Your. Name." "Roy." I whimper. "Louder." "Roy." "Now the whole sentence. Shithead" "My name is Roy."

He lifts me and pushes me in front of a full-length mirror.

"Now say it like you mean it. Tell it to yourself"

I look at my pathetic excuse for a body. I see a chubby guy with a bloody face. I see black hair all over covering a dark skin.

"My name is Roy Alamin." "And don't you fucking forget it."

#body swap #male body swap #male body switch

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coralinnii · 1 year ago

Text

❋ If you’re a villain, then let me be your accomplice ❋

↳Reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy part 2

feat: Rook

genre: drama, slow burn romance, smitten fools,

note: sequel to reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy Rook ver., historical fantasy setting, sculptor!reader, reader is referred to as “Ma artiste” and “Mon amour” by Rook, no pronouns used with the reader, mentions of beast hunting, 1.8k word count

While it refers to fictional beasts, this touches the controversial topic on hunting which can be sensitive to people. I’m not trying to claim that my own opinions or the opinions in this fic are right and you can have a stance against these opinions. Despite the controversy, I still decided to add this into the story because this world is supposed to mirror the era when this was practiced by people of the time and with Rook as a canonical huntsman, this fits the story well.

I choose to be transparent that this topic will be in this fic and if you are uncomfortable, you are free to ignore this story because I would rather you decide your comfort levels than have people read my story.

Random note: when my laptop died, all my banners are gone so yea…I changed my character banners again

series masterlist

To your dismay, you found yourself facing the consequences for the actions of an obsessive character that convinced the famous knight Rook Hunt to be your fiancé.

Begging the Hunt family, you managed to settle a deal to repay the dowry the Hunt family paid to annul the engagement, since losing this engagement would cost their side more than yours.

Thankfully, the era of this world was the rising age of artistic revolution and the aristocracy was itching to find the newest trend of beauty and creative innovation, which you enthusiastically took as an opportunity to build your name in the field of art as a sculptor, starting off with simple desk ornaments to breathtaking statues.

Perhaps it was your silver lining that your still fiance Rook was a well-known admirer of all things beautiful as with his keen eyes, your sculptures stood out among others due to the added details of your subjects that your fiance pointed out as you work. You were confident in your skills but you owe it to Rook for enhancing the realism in your sculptures.

Initially, guilt ate away at your conscience for not only the forceful engagement you placed upon the knight (even if you weren’t directly responsible) but for also taking his help with your commissions without any benefits to himself. But the green-eyed man did not ever allow you to dwell in such thoughts.

“Non, ma artiste! Your works of art are the fruits of your passion and hard work that cannot be replicated. I may have given some notes here and there but the beauty of each masterpiece you created can only be brought out from your skillful hands.”

Rook smiled as he held your hands, still dirtied with bits of dried clay. The gaze of his bright green makes you feel somewhat self-conscious. You were a noble but you must have ruined the softness of your skin due to your long hours of work and stress. You tried to pull your hands back in embarrassment but your fiance held them firmly in his own gloved pair.

“Every scar, blemish, and crack is a show of your strength, mon amour. I could get lost tracing the lovely lines of your hands if you allow me.”

No matter how many others have praised you or your work, you couldn’t help the unique warmth in your heart that only appears when Rook sings them. But you chalk it up to your body reacting from old feelings held by the original character. It must be, right?

Your commissions have thankfully slowed down enough to give you a well needed break. You were curious to what might taking up the attention of the nobility right now which was how you learned about the bi-annual “Hunt of the Beasts” event.

You were initially terrified to learn the existence of magical beasts in this world and the danger that resides in the dense forests and mountainous lands that borders the kingdom. In order to maintain the beast population for the safety of the people and resources, the imperial family hosts an extravagant event for the knights and local mercenaries in the kingdom to vanquish the beasts. Some may call it barbaric or cruel, but for the safety of the villages and farms that reside near these beasts’ territories, it was an unfortunate necessity that is at least maintained by the imperial family to avoid excessive hunting that disrupts the delicate balance of the population.

Rook was a frequent participant of the hunt and of course he was going to be a participant. Typically, partners of the participants would attend the event as spectators waiting by the designated zones among other visitors. However, you were too new to this world and this will be the first hunt for you where you will surely come across images you weren’t sure you were prepared for.

Giant beasts…even thinking of their corpses. It’s too overwhelming.

You expressed your discomfort with Rook and despite his experience as a seasoned participant, offered words of understanding to you. The knight suggested that you could sit out from the event and he could explain to any curious busybody that you were not feeling well.

Once again, Rook warmed your heart with his words but there was some guilt still left behind within you. Despite the loveless engagement, Rook has wholeheartedly supported you in your passion and your work despite his own inexperience in the field, but you couldn’t bring yourself to accept something that he as a knight and huntsman took pride in. You allowed your fear win over and it left a bitter feeling in your heart.

The day has finally arrived and the dense forest that bordered the kingdom was busy with attendees of all status. Many have come to join to spectate and support the brave men and women who have trained to battle the dangerous beasts that lurk within the land that was darkened by wild greenery. Aides from the imperial palace watched over the event as participants were informed of the rules of the hunts; what to expect, what to capture, and what to avoid lest they choose to face punishment.

Rook surveyed his surroundings as he finished his last preparations. He saw both familiar faces and newcomers that hope to make a name for themselves today. Tents were filled with important families and even visiting guests from nearby lands either to observe or participate themselves. But he doesn’t see a glimpse of your figure.

Not that he expected it. He respected your choice not to attend the event. It could be that he has become too desensitized by the presence of beasts and monsters due to his work that he has forgotten how frightening it could be for a civilian to witness them in person.

Maybe during his hunt, he could find some wild flowers to bring back to you when he visits you later. Would you feel better if he did? You had such a conflicted expression on your face last he saw you so maybe a bouquet of rare flowers could brighten your mood, even bring you some inspiration for your art. Would you feel grateful, perhaps even smile for him as you call his name in appreciation…

“Rook.”

Ah, he could even hear you right now.

“Rook?”

A rare occurance, Rook was actually spooked to suddenly feel your presence behind him. The blonde knight did not sense you standing there, with him…at the Hunt of the Beasts.

“Mon amour, you surprised me!” His green eyes almost couldn’t believe it. “I thought you’d chose not to attend this year.”

To be fair, you’re surprised yourself. The whole idea of this event still feels unreal to you and your fear of witnessing something you’re not mentally ready for is still there. Even so…

“I want to support you, like you always have with me” you whispered shyly but Rook could clearly hear your voice at this distance. He then saw in your hands a small woven charm bracelet, a common blessing given to participants like him.

During the Hunt of the Beasts, traditions came about among the participants and non-participants. Those who participated in the hunt would offer their game as an offering to their lover as a show of devotion and strength to protect them from harm. In addition, non-participants could give a blessed items to the participant of their choice as a show of admiration or to wish them safety during the hunt.

You noticed the knight’s gaze and you felt more nervous than before. As this was your first attendance, this was also the first time offering a blessing to someone. When you told your servant you were going to the hunting event, he graciously gave you a woven bracelet and suggested that you offer it to your “lover”, much to your embarrassment.

But then you noticed the knight more closely and saw that he already had a number of bracelets and ribbons peeking out from his left arm sleeve. You supposed despite his eccentricity, Rook was still a very talented knight and quite attractive to people of all social status. Even if he was technically a taken man, this did not stop admirers from showing favour towards him with blessed charms and ribbons.

Mortified, you tried to hide the small bracelet as you put on a smile. “Since it was tradition, I thought I should bring you something but I should have guessed that you would have plenty of blessings from others. Adding more would probably be burdensome-“

You flinched slightly when you felt your hands being captured by another pair. You saw Rook’s gloved hands stopping your own but he had such an unreadable look in his eyes that you couldn’t tell what was on his mind.

“Rook?” The call of his name seemed to have woken him from his trance as Rook quickly gave you a smile before he spoke.

“Mon amour, I would be honoured to receive your blessing.” Releasing his grip on you, Rook removed the glove on his right hand where unlike his counterpart hand, was empty. “Would you please place it upon me?”

Nodding your head, you gently wrapped the woven bracelet around Rook’s wrist, careful not to tighten the knot too much since this was Rook’s dominant hand. You tried not to think too much about how he allowed your blessing and only yours on his right hand and not with the rest on his non-dominant hand.

“It doesn’t mean anything.” you tried to focus on something else and rested your eyes on Rook’s hand. It was not often you see it as the blonde-haired man tends to wear gloves as part of his uniform but you could see the rough calluses and scars littered about his fingers and palm. The skin of his hand was smoother than you expected (probably due to his friendship with the Schoenheit heir) but you can tell how hard Rook must have trained to be as skilled as he was today. How diligent this man is which earned the respect of many. While caressing his warm hand, you absentmindedly echoed the words he once spoke to you.

“Every scar, blemish, and crack is a show of your strength…How beautiful.”

Realizing what you just said aloud, you quickly let go of Rook’s hand before rushing to create distance between the two of you (when did you get so close to begin with?!).

“There, all done!” you did your best to hide your embarrassment with a smile. “I’ll be in one of the tents until the hunt is over. I wish you luck!”

With a quick bow, you rushed into a tent that was open, too flustered to look back and face your fiance.

A shame, really. Because you missed the opportunity to see a rare image of Rook with a rosy shade blooming across his cheeks and ears.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst imagines #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #rook hunt #twst rook x reader #rook hunt x reader #villainess au

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astralnymphh · 11 months ago

Note

imagine ellie and best friend reader rough housing like tickling each other and ellie’s elbow slips so she falls on top of reader with their faces inches away, breath fanning each others lips. and then ellie hesitantly brushes her lips against theirs before kissing them 😭

DAILY CLICK FOR PALESTINE

PALESTINE MASTERPOST

ISRAELI THEMES SURROUNDING TLOU

omgg ellie definitely tumbles herself into these situations 'round the clock. perhaps it's a stroke of bad luck— or good fortune? i mean, giddy as she is for you, love–sick as her guts flip for you, there's a lick of a chance that possibly the universe is just.. nudging her in the bountiful direction! ellie won't entirely agree to that hypothesis, suggesting that the starry blanket of the cosmos above her is damning her, plating her a serving of personal grudge like she'd done something unforgivable; but that case runs rotten the moment it is spoken.

cradled in your eyes, the significance of the situation gleans as rather adorable and hilarious, in a good way! the vulnerability that shivers her skin, the outflowing heat of her cheeks yelling at herself and you for being in the way, the gulp that bolts down her throat so audibly, and her pale pine eyes: trapped like a rat in a cage, flickering around for answers, amends, anything.

but then it clicks together: breathing electricly past each other's lips as your chest expands and squeezes you for more, the inching of her face gone weary from stranding in mid–air, this is so damn cliché. so damn stereotypical. in fact, it's so perfectly played out, you could just—

be kissed.

"mmph!" what had begun as your giggle, snuffs into a fly–buzzy hum. vibrating alike to a harp on her lips now pancaked to yours, and softly hungry as they pinch and roll.

between ellie's skull, notions have shifted. in the balmy moment of it, suckling the noise right from your throat plastered itself as an achievement. her spine tingled with a good meaning, thinking your sweet sound was not a yelp of bombshell, but a tune of agreeance. her blemished auburn brows cheered to that, same as the ends of her smile, curling to the sensations. spit splits and shares, the taste of her buries itself in the overside of your tongue, and the sounds hotten your ears with a throb of your own positive meaning: a blessing met.

your lips awaited this kind of thing, for months at most, but had no clue on how to articulate the moment. set it in motion, quicken the passion to possess you. tell her you just might find her fucking gorgeous. commit the act of confession.

shit, what did ellie just commit?

an uprise of shuffling knees pulling up the length of the bed rustle into your head before a wet crackle, "mmpht—" parts your mouth and draws a shoelace of mixed spit, only for it to curve and drape your chin. and of course, it would be too forward and kind to wipe it clean with her icy thumb, "fuck, fuck, fuck." so she scurries her humiliation like a fan to dry it, and drifts herself out of your space. carries her body backwards onto her butt, plopping and sitting in a widespread criss–cross with her head drooping to conceal.

a lovers cower, you could only imagine the little emotions puppeteering her face— weak and wilted, cute as any quaint flower decorating the grasslands. ellie tugs her mouth into some sort of open–mouthed, mild frown, letting calm airs spill heady of rushed worries, and digs her brows deeper upon her eyes, folding wrinkles written with thought. it's not viably apparent, (the embarrassment.) but it is intuitively understood. she just made a move she wouldn't have made in the first place. if it wasn't so perfectly presented. if you weren't.

a stammer goes a long way, "fuck, i'm so— so um, god— i read it all wrong— just, ignore that." she huffs, and puffs, and blows her luggage of excuses out.

goddess praise you, for being so sickenly smooth.

"need a second try?"

apologies if this felt rushed or it's missing some oomph. haven't written a blurb in a hot minute!

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donttxtathebeach · 23 days ago

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Y/N Williams’ No-Makeup look| Vogue Beauty Secrets

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The camera fades in to reveal a serene, sunlit room. The soft glow of candles flickers against the neutral-toned walls, which are adorned with tasteful beach-inspired decor—lush plants in woven baskets, a few minimalist artworks, and delicate seashell accents. A gentle breeze wafts through the open windows, carrying the scent of the ocean. The sounds of distant waves crash softly, adding to the calm ambiance.

Y/N is standing in her master bathroom with a sweater over her dress in order to make sure nothing comes in contact with it. . Her skin glows with a fresh-from-the-beach radiance, and her hair is naturally tousled as if the breeze had just kissed it. The room feels peaceful and bright, reflecting her coastal, laid-back lifestyle.

She smiles warmly at the camera, looking directly into it as if inviting you into her world.

“Hey, everyone! Welcome back to Vogue Beauty Secrets. It’s Y/N here, and tonight I am out at my Charleston home with a close friend. We’re keeping it low-key, cooking dinner, and enjoying each other’s company. So if you happen to hear him in the background, just ignore him. Nothing too special... but I thought I’d share my skincare and no makeup, makeup routine with you tonight. I usually like to go for something super natural and fresh.” She smiles, her tone warm and relaxed. “Let’s start with skincare because everything begins with good skin, right?”

Step 1: Cleaning

Y/N reaches for Renée Rouleau AHA/BHA Blemish Control Cleanser, a gentle yet effective cleanser that’s a staple in her routine. She dispenses a generous amount into her hands and lathers it up.

“So, first, I always start with cleansing. I’ve been using this Renée Rouleau AHA/BHA Blemish Control Cleanser for a while now, and it’s just perfect for me. It’s super creamy, and it doesn’t strip my skin, so it feels hydrated after I wash it off. It’s gentle enough for everyday use, and I love how soft it makes my skin feel.”

She massages the product into her skin in soft, circular motions, her fingers gliding over her face easily.

“The texture is so creamy and luxurious, and it helps to remove dirt, sunscreen, and any makeup leftover from the day. The key for me is always to feel like my skin is clean but not tight or dry. That’s why I love this one.”

After she rinses, she gently pats her face dry with a soft towel, taking a deep breath as if enjoying the calm moment.

Step 2: Toning

Next, Y/N grabs Fresh Rose Deep Hydration Facial Toner. She pours a little onto a cotton pad and sweeps it gently across her face.

“This toner is my absolute go-to. It’s hydrating and calming, which is perfect for me because my skin tends to get a little dry. I love how it really preps my skin for the next steps—leaving it feeling soft, fresh, and ready to soak up whatever comes next.”

She swipes the cotton pad across her forehead, cheeks, and neck, letting it absorb naturally.

Step 3: Serum

After the toner, Y/N reaches for her Caudalie Vinosource S.O.S. Thirst Quenching Serum, applying a few drops into her palm before pressing it into her face.

“Now for serum. I’ve been using this Caudalie serum for a while, and it’s so great at adding that extra layer of hydration. I tend to get dry patches, especially around my nose and chin, so this is a lifesaver. It absorbs quickly, and I love how it leaves my skin feeling smooth and plump. Plus, it’s got this nice calming effect, which is key for me.”

She presses the serum into her skin, working it in slowly as she looks in the mirror.

Step 4: Eye Cream

Y/N then picks up Dr. Dennis Gross C+ Collagen Brighten & Firm Vitamin C Eye Cream, applying a small amount underneath her eyes.

“Eye cream is something I never skip. I tend to get dark circles from long days or jet lag, so I love this one. It’s brightening and firming, which helps with puffiness and dark circles. It’s lightweight, so it doesn’t feel heavy under makeup either.”

She gently taps the eye cream into her skin using her ring finger, pressing it delicately into the delicate under-eye area.

Step 5: Moisturizer

Next, she grabs Dr. Jart+ Ceramidin Cream and massages it into her skin.

“I’ve been using this moisturizer for a few months now, and I really love it. It’s rich, but it sinks in quickly and gives my skin that smooth, plump feeling without being greasy. It’s the perfect base before makeup. And since I’m going for a natural glow tonight, this one is perfect.”

She massages the product into her face, making sure to get her neck as well, working it in gently with upward strokes.

Step 6: Sunscreen

Even though she’s staying indoors, Y/N applies Supergoop! Unseen sunscreen SPF 40.

“SPF is a must for me, no matter what. But I’m not modeling. I’m home and in the sun a lot, so skin protection really no matter where you are is something that means a lot to me, even with how nicely my skin tans. I just don’t want to have any risks. This one from Supergoop is so lightweight and doesn’t leave any white cast. It gives my skin the protection it needs without weighing it down, and it’s so smooth under makeup. You really can’t skip this step.”

She massages the sunscreen into her face, giving her skin a final layer of protection for the night.

Step 7: Lip Balm

Finally, Y/N applies a light layer of Laneige Lip Sleeping Mask to her lips.

“I can’t go without this lip balm. It’s so hydrating, and it keeps my lips feeling soft all night. Plus, it has this really calming, fresh scent that I love.”

She gently presses the balm into her lips, making sure they’re moisturized and plump.

Y/N takes a moment to admire her fresh, dewy complexion, smiling softly as she looks at herself in the mirror.

“Okay, that’s my skincare done! My skin feels so refreshed and hydrated, which is the perfect base for a simple, fresh makeup look.”

Makeup Routine

Now, she reaches for her makeup products and begins with Saie Slip Tint, a favorite of hers for its lightweight, natural coverage.

“Alright, let’s move on to makeup. For the no-makeup look, I’m all about using minimal products that enhance my natural skin. This skin tint is perfect—it’s super light, has SPF built in, and gives just enough coverage to even out my complexion.”

She dispenses a small amount onto her fingers and applies it gently across her face, blending it in with light taps of her fingertips.

“I don’t want to cover everything—I just want to perfect my skin and keep it looking fresh and natural.” “My skin is actually super sensitive, and I have found whenever I had shoots, they would put foundation on my skin. I would break out really heavily, and so I like stuff that’s lighter on my face just because I try to go for a more natural look all the time, and I’m not always wearing make-up."

Step 1: Concealer

Next, she grabs Glossier Stretch Concealer and applies it to areas she wants to brighten: under her eyes, around her nose, and any spots or redness.

“A little concealer under the eyes always makes me feel more awake. This one is great because it’s creamy but doesn’t feel heavy. It blends beautifully and covers just enough to give me a fresh look.”

She blends the product in with her fingers, focusing on areas that need a little more attention.

Step 2: Bronzer

Y/N picks up Dolce Glow Contour Self-Tanning Sculpt and applies it to her cheeks, jawline, and forehead.

“For a natural look, I love using this contour stick. It’s really easy to blend and gives me just enough warmth to define my face. It’s subtle, but it really adds a nice, natural-looking contour but while also enhancing my tan.”

She blends it in with her fingers, making sure the contour looks soft and seamless.

Step 3: Blush

She then grabs MERIT Flush Balm Cream Blush in “apres” and applies it to the apples of her cheeks, tapping it in gently.

“Blush is essential for that ‘I’ve been in the sun’ look. This shade is perfect—it adds a soft flush of color with a bit of shimmer, so it looks like you’re glowing from within.” "I don’t know how popular this is, but during the summer I actually don’t use blush, I just use cherries. Whenever I was growing up and we were in Greece, my mom would always have cherries on hand, and she was like, These are great for blush, and me being me. I wanted to do whatever my mom was doing, so that’s like a staple I use during the summer."

She smiles, adding just a hint more to get that perfect, radiant flush.

Step 4: Brows

For her brows, she grabs a spooly and runs it through her brows to define and shape them.

“Brows are really important for a natural look. And because of my mom’s genes, I have a lot of eyebrows, so I just brush them and not really do anything to them. I just shaped them with this call it a day."

Step 6: Eyes & Lips

Y/N finishes off with a sweep of YVES SAINT LAURENT Lash Clash Extreme Volume Mascara and Kylie Cosmetics lip liner in "cinnamon" and Clinique almost lipstick in “black honey,” giving her lashes a natural lift and her lips a glossy, plump finish.

“A little mascara and lip liner, and we’re done! The mascara is just to lift my lashes and open up my eyes, and the liner and almost lipstick give my lips that soft, shiny look that I love.”

Final Look

She smiles at her reflection, clearly happy with the natural, radiant look. “And that’s it! Simple, fresh, and effortless—just the way I like it.”

Y/N grabs her phone as it buzzes, smiling softly as she looks down. “Someone over their is a little impatient. so I’m going to get cooking!” She stands, carefully taking off her sweater.

“Thanks for hanging out with me tonight, guys. I hope you found some inspiration in this simple, natural routine. Remember—skincare is key, and feeling comfortable in your own skin is the most important part of beauty.”

“See you next time.”

The screen fades to black, leaving the peaceful vibe lingering in the air.

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