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minteagalaxea · 2 days ago

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steep (xxviii reasons) | r.r

roman and quynh . formerly john and quynh

genre: angst . smut (minors do not interact) content warnings: face-sitting . praise kink . (mild) sir kink . nb character (afab) . multiple orgasms . mentions of belly bulge . overstimulation . voyeurism . semi-public sex . (unintentional) exhibitionism . implied age gap (quynh is in their late twenties) word count: 3.4k inspiration: roman reigns' several barbs at john cena in his promos, and comparing him to "missionary position every single night" . my obsession with boba tea songs: 28 reasons by seulgi (slowed and reverb) (x) . woo by rihanna (slowed and reverb) (x) note: thank you so much to @lov3rla03 for encouraging and motivating me to write this one! it's something new to try and write for me, so i hope y'all like it!

when people asked john how he was able to remain civil with quynh after the dissolution of their relationship, he said that it was due to distance. an answer so asinine in its banality, even if it was the truth.

he traveled more, despite both of them working in the same company. long distance was fine initially, yet he could sense their unease as the tides shifted for them both. hollywood was bright in its own way, and he enjoyed the security of stability, and it meant having a cleaner style. he knew they weren’t the largest fan of it, yet quynh supported it until they couldn’t, much like the brunt of their relationship. he understood, and he let them go.

it wasn’t inherently awkward working with them now, though. if anything, john enjoyed their unnerving interview questions and unorthodox fashion when he saw them walk around backstage, and the way their makeup glowed against their complexion underneath the stadium lights on the nights they did commentary, their banter effortless riffing against corey and wade. he was content that they were blossoming, but that sweetness grew bitter at the recognition that they had to separate for quynh to grow into themselves. that bitterness only strengthened at the recognition that quynh’s metamorphosis garnered attention from others on the roster, much like a tea steeped for too long.

and, much like an oversteeped tea, with its tannins contributing to sucking the moisture out of the mouth, john resented the way those men on the roster gawked too long at them. really, john disliked the attention quynh received from one man in particular.

john had known from the start that quynh had no tolerance for mediocrity—not from others, and certainly not from themselves. they always had a thing for people with ambition, and the reality was, the most ambitious man in the company now wasn’t him—it was roman reigns. specifically, roman reigns now that he was the tribal chief.

and quynh was considerably more interested in roman in ways that they never were with john.

to be fair, john wasn’t entirely blind. it was relatively well-known that quynh had a unique ability to somehow get roman over, all attributed to the sheer amount of chemistry they shared, even if neither of them acted on anything given quynh was still with john nominally. roman’s heel-turn only seemed to amplify that preexisting dynamic, and while john admired the ruthlessness in the man now, he wasn’t sure how he felt about the new mutation of quynh and roman’s relationship, especially as it began to translate into their dynamic outside of the ring.

maybe that was the downside of having a relationship that ended as cordially as it began, john considered. with the fissures in their relationship a factor of distance more than genuine disdain or an affair. quynh never blocked him on social media, so he saw the little bits of their life they had built—tattoo appointments with roman there to hold their hand (even if they never needed it with their pain tolerance being the way it was), trips to cafés or boba shops, adventures at the beach. it was a youthful, vivacious life, one reflective of their age and the luxuries of traveling with a superstar. quynh smiled brighter in a way that they didn’t, because roman could be a dick on the best of days, and an absolute monster on the worst, but he was present.

it was a life they already built when he was away, when they were still together. the life he couldn’t fit back into after distance shaped them both.

and roman knew exactly how to push john’s buttons later on. summerslam was right around the corner, and he thought he was over it. over quynh, in a lot of ways that had him returning to that accursed tea metaphor, all because quynh loved their tea.

“twenty-plus years of missionary might have been good enough for you…but it wasn’t good enough for quynh.”

john loathed how those words lingered in his brain long after their war of words. and he despised how he couldn’t help but look at them after roman said that, surprised at the audacity for bringing up his previous relationship. and quynh merely raised an eyebrow as they sipped their tea, their wide eyes amused with their sage color contact lenses. quynh never had to say a word to throw anyone off their axis, and that artificial eye color only accentuated that skill. he wasn’t sure how they didn’t mind their relationship being exposed to the world, given their fair gap in age. not that it mattered now that they were in a relationship with a man slightly closer to their age, even if they never decided to publicize it. john thought anyone with two functioning eyes could see it, but he was probably too close to the situation.

yet, that was the thing, wasn’t it? john was too close to it. the nebulous nature of roman and quynh’s relationship allowed them to twist the wwe universe to their benefit. and it was an amazing way to generate investment. it didn’t matter what they were outside of this. everyone wanted to know what they were, and it was the greatest tease in the world.

and only one of the two of them had to take their clothes off to prove that point.

the worst thing about that barb was that john kept thinking about it throughout summerslam, and it didn’t help that any time he turned over, he saw quynh twirling their pen with their almond-shaped nails with a casual smirk as they commentated, blisteringly neutral about both men. and while that kept placing dents in john’s ego, it only seemed to make roman work harder. as if he was doing every single thing humanly possible to get quynh’s praise—praise that was damn-near impossible to receive from them.

roman earned it when he won, where quynh said that he did what he had to to beat john, and the man with the biggest ego in the wwe had the audacity to appear flustered, his eyes smoldering on theirs as they glanced at him with their body turned to their commentator team, corey and wade obviously making them laugh. john wondered why he couldn’t stop watching them.

and then he ran into them in roman’s locker room.

if there was one thing he remembered about quynh, it was that they were quiet in all aspects of their life, but especially in bed. roman, however, was pulling sounds out of them that john didn’t think was possible. soft mewls and cries tumbled past their lips as he had them on his face.

“ro, please,” they begged, voice mellifluous and luring both men in as if they were a siren, sounding sweeter than their boba teas. john could see the intricate marks of their tattoos along their skin as roman’s hands gripped their ass, moving them along as he devoured them with purpose. quynh’s body trembled, sinewy and serpentine as their tattoos, inked masterpieces of flowers, moved against their curvature like it was wearing them, rather than the inverse.

“fuck, baby, you taste sweet,” the other man growled, and john hated it. he hated how roman managed to make them crack so easily, and yet, he couldn’t look away. he should have given them their privacy from the moment he heard their sounds, but he didn’t. he resented himself for steeping in the tea quynh had made.

when they came, it wasn’t like what john was used to from them—heavy breathing and a mewl of roman’s name so lilting that roman virtually growled beneath them. small whimpers of “ro” fell past their matte blood red lips as the tribal chief took what he felt was his, tongue digging into their overworked clit and making their noises more pronounced. the tattooed man steeped his tongue into their nectar like he was trying to submerge himself into them.

john could relate, even if not in the same capacity. quynh had always wanted to do slightly more adventurous things, though they never pressed him on it due to his exhaustion whenever they were together. he could barely recall any instance where they did anything over the phone during that gap of space. perhaps it was obvious to a man as observant as roman, even if they took reticence at badmouthing him.

when roman tugged them off his face, the man transitioned them into a searing kiss. “your back piece is gonna look so beautiful,” he whispered, a note john barely heard despite not being meant to hear it. the more riveting focus was how his artwork blended seamlessly against quynh’s as his right arm wrapped around their waist. their arms wound around his neck, body arching into him as his hand traced their tattooed thighs with a reverence that bordered near obsession.

the first tattoo quynh ever got, john never showed up for, caught up in a filming shoot. they never outright said it, but he knew they were upset at him for it. the next one they got was long after their breakup, and roman was present for it. he almost wanted to think that quynh’s ink was perfectly crafted to contrast the tribal chief’s, with its dainty florals and minimalist spacing against his tightly inked polynesian patterns.

“that’s sweet of you, ro, but i want you to fuck me, please,” quynh murmured against his lips, snapping john out of his reverie as he watched roman twist their lithe frame beneath him, body prostrating and revealing the flowers on the underside of their chest, their ass pressed up against roman as he slipped his cock into their depths. john hated how hard he got at the sight of their back arching perfectly into roman’s hands as he eased himself in, bathing himself in quynh’s warmth; he abhorred reminiscing on his lifetime with them, but this wasn’t the same person.

that person died a lifetime ago, like their floral oolong did when it sat too long steeping—too long waiting for him.

john was never good at handling delicate teas in the first place. he was more of a robust type of man with his love for earl grey. quynh disliked it, its bergamot overpowering their senses. john considered that a sign in hindsight, with how they felt about his pristine image.

“gonna acknowledge me yet, baby?” roman asked once he bottomed out, hands ironically tender as he brushed their hair away from their face, almost assuring them in their worry about his exhaustion as he kissed their cheeks.

“you earned a compliment from me earlier, that’s enough acknowledgement,” quynh sniped, though their barb melted into a dulcet croon of roman’s name as he started to thrust into them languidly.

“feel good, baby?” roman rasped, hands rubbing into their hips as they whimpered their assent.

quynh replied in soft puffs, “yeah, ro. more, please, please, please.” john blinked in rapt fascination in how their body arched, and how their tattoos moved as they did; his hand wandered down to palm his own cock, visualizing quynh’s inked physique with the new piece on their back and how it would bend and maneuver along the curvature as they maintained their pose. a sight it would be.

a chuckle interrupted his actions, and john’s eyes widened as he met roman’s bemused gaze through the open door crevice. john’s eyes narrowed at him, even if he knew realistically this was his doing because he couldn’t stop watching this unintentional show. roman’s tattooed arm held quynh close as his thrusts increased in pace, his voice just for them as their mewls escalated in frequency. while their eyes fluttered shut at a particularly nice stroke, their cheek nuzzled into roman’s hand when he cupped their face as quynh’s body convulsed in that alluring way that had both men understanding that they reached another peak. roman’s entire hand would have covered their mound if his cock wasn’t in them, but he settled with rubbing their neglected, sensitive pearl to carry them over the tide.

in the after, roman smoothed their hair, pressing delicate kisses to their neck as they tried to turn and face him, a breathless smile on their face. when their eyes blinked open, john could only stare at the beautiful wideness of their brown, dilated irises. yet, quynh shied away from him, averting their gaze away from him.

“ro, wanna see you,” they lilted, voice airy and soft as they craned their face to hide into roman’s neck. john found that roman didn’t refuse them, partially because he wasn’t able to. pulling out, he moved them to place them in his lap. john could make out the two satisfied groans as quynh shifted their hips as they tugged roman into a chain of tender, reverent kisses, almond-shaped nails raking through his hair. john saw how the new position kept quynh’s artwork concealed from his eyes as much as possible in this intimate space.

only one man would ever know the intricacies and stories behind their pieces framing their body like armor. john sneered to himself that of course, roman fucking reigns would get the privilege of that knowledge as quynh pressed their lips to the man’s neck.

“are you tired?”

the question slammed into john like a bag of bricks, like the awareness that his tea was starting to become too astringent. it was a question quynh frequently asked after a match with john, as his hands ran down their waist. every time, he was—it was the only time he ever refused them. after several times, they stopped bothering to ask at all. john didn’t know a greater envy than their silicon toy, because he was too tired to take care of their needs.

roman’s response haunted him as the other man caressed their cheek, murmuring, “not for you, baby. always love making you feel good.”

“what about you, ro?” quynh returned, lining themselves up against his length and slipping down, hips thumping as his hand slipped down to their nub again, “you took some nasty bumps earlier.”

“nothing’s more important than you,” he asserted, letting them move as they pleased. john fixated on the tribal chief’s grip on quynh—firm, certainly, but never bruising. john was apprehensive and angered that roman reigns knew exactly how to handle delicate, floral teas. rarities in their world. he couldn’t hear the words that passed between the two, but his hand stroked himself, following the cadence of quynh’s serpentine shape. roman met them halfway, never fully letting them do all the work. if anything, john considered, roman remained adamant on doing the majority of the work, no matter how they ended up. gentle and the tribal chief weren’t sentiments normally paired, yet in this instance, it was.

“fuck, ro, you feel so good,” quynh whispered in between fevered kisses, their skin flushed from exertion as they rode him, their body melting into his. john silently groaned at the sight: how they threw their head back in euphoria as roman’s lips and beard brushed their throat and chest and his fingers traced their statuesque legs. “deeper,” they begged, adjusting the angle of their hips just right; roman’s hand traversed their leg and up their thigh before finally landing on their abdomen. john didn’t have to guess to decipher what it was roman was rubbing, his own hand stroking his hardness more fervently.

“like feeling me this deep in you, baby?”

“y’know i do, ro,” they whispered in between the sensual sounds of their sighs and roman’s groans, a harmony hypnotic and haunting all at once to john as he tried to silence his sounds, hellbent on capturing quynh’s dulcet moans as they begged for more.

“i’ll give it to you, baby, you know that, don’t you?” roman grunted as he sped up his upward motions, one hand splayed on their abdomen, the other on the nape of their neck to keep their curvature exposed. john imagined if they wanted to open their eyes, they would see him; however, their eyes remain miraculously shut. he’s not sure if he could handle what would happen otherwise.

upon their (at least) third climax of the night, quynh made a slightly more audible cry of roman’s name, body trembling in his secure embrace as he maintained his relentless rhythm. “ro, please,” they whined, though their words, as they always did, carried a challenge, “fill me up like you fucking mean it.”

“gotta use that one word, baby,” he challenged back, and the hair on john’s nape raised as he awaited what quynh would say, given that “please” wasn’t it.

their voice came out in a breathless mewl, body trembling above roman as they cried, “please, sir? won’t you cum inside me?”

and that fucking did it for not just roman, but john, too, sucking the moisture out of his mouth how his overly brewed earl grey tea tended to be.

while john came in unrelenting, unceremonious spurts into his jeans, roman filled quynh in a more controlled manner. roman even growled, pulling them into a heady kiss with tongue and teeth as they ground their hips against his slowly, savoring the feeling of roman inside for a moment longer. “i love you, ro,” they said sweetly in between kisses as roman moved to pull out of them. roman returned the sentiment with ease, and he hated how the two seemed to fit so seamlessly with one another, with their tattoos being the most visual demonstration of that.

john could only stare in disbelief as he took to cleaning them up, how quynh blossomed under the other man’s care as he wiped them down in between light kisses. “better than missionary, baby?” roman teased as he helped them slide their bodysuit back on, though their slacks were nowhere to be found. he wondered if roman took it as some sort of prize, but then it hit him; quynh generally disliked the sensation of it on their favorite slacks, especially given that they were made of silk.

he balked when he registered the barb as roman smirked through the opening right directly at him. quynh fixed their heels on and bundled their hair into an effortlessly messy bun, barely entertaining a glance at john before their arms folded around themselves. it stung john more than it should have, realizing that quynh in all of their understated assertion for the camera and just earlier with roman wanted to shield themselves from him. his eyes roamed down to the inkwork on their body, their floral and celestial armor serving its intended purpose as it created the impression of a serpent poised to strike at him. john pondered if this was his punishment for being a voyeur for someone he knew didn’t like having their intimate, private moments out on display.

if roman noticed the result of their hiding, he made no point to acknowledge it, merely placing a hoodie over their more slender frame. the pair shared a kiss, something gentler, but no less intense as they quietly started to discuss dinner plans. john tried to escape, to try and make himself appear as if he hadn’t just watch the two of fuck. yet, the damage was already done, as he wasn’t able to escape in time by the time both of them opened the door fully to see him. and the look on their faces was enough for john to realize that the bitterness in their tea was imminent.

quynh blinked at him slowly, and he stared back, the words dried in his throat like how he liked his tea. roman, with a starkly gentle demeanor, attempted to extricate them, akin to fishing out a tea bag that had been steeped long enough. not that quynh liked their tea that way—they always preferred loose-leaf, appreciating the delicate and patient hand required compared to john’s preference for convenience and speed. apparently, roman shared their sentiments.

as the two walked away back to the tour bus, quynh spared john one final glance before they mused, “better.”

none of them needed to know what the question was as the other couple departed with linked hands and bags on their arms. it left john to steep and brew in his own thoughts, roman’s several insults about john and missionary position and quynh’s responses to them ringing like an annoying gong. he sighed heavily once the two figures were out of his line of vision

the price of leaving a rare, precarious tea to brew too long was steep.

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pouletaulait · 4 hours ago

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If you say, you don't want to change my opinion, okay I'm gonna believe you, yet in your answer you said: "I feel quite powerless and unequipped to persuade those who already formed their opinion." Maybe you can see, how this statement might be interpreted differently? "Please, don’t take it personally. I am purely looking at the arguments in the debate, not at who made them."

I'm sorry but when sb is reacting to sb elses statements, their statements are usually understood to directly relate to their mutual conversation. I'm trying to express this in the most respectful way I can: If you want to make generalized statements which are not directly relating to what I've been saying I'd appreciate it if you made a separate post because, honestly, I'm a bit frustrated at this discussion because I really try to take your arguments into consideration but when you continue to keep making assumptions about my views and opinions and misconstruing them, you keep forcing me into a defensive position which I find quite unfair. In good faith, I take it that this was not your intention, therefore I'm still gonna address some of the things you mentioned: Yes, you're right, I focused on Yashiro and not on Doumeki in my arguments about consent. After all, Yashiro's consent is the point of contention here which is why I focused on his role in these scenes. You're insinuating that I'd be romanticizing Doumeki's intentions in these scene and I have to object to that vehemently, because I never have, nor would I ever do that. Doumeki should never have done what he did. His behaviour was very egoistic, I've never been making any arguments to the contrary. In relation to your remark about Doumeki's role in this: To be honest I'm a bit confused about why you deem certain aspects to be unfit when discussing the question of Yashiro's consent: "But when given arguments in favor of dismissing Yashiro’s right to object or arguments that shift the focus away from the simple topic of consent, then I have to ask myself why this is happening." But then you again you say that the focus should not lie on Yashiro alone but on Doumeki too: "I’m questioning the approach of analyzing in depth Yashiro and bringing all the attention to him instead of Doumeki in this case." Idk, maybe I'm misunderstanding you but either we're solely focusing on the question of consent on Yashiro's side or we are not. I fail to see how Doumeki's behaviour or intentions pertain to the question of Yashiro's consent. I'm sorry if I'm making an unfair assumption here but aren't you shifting the focus away from the simple topic of consent if you're asking me to look at Doumeki instead? I agree that Doumeki and his actions have a lot of issues, yet I struggle to understand how these issues, his intentions or his behaviour relate to the question of whether Yashiro gave consent or whether he did not. If you made these statement about anything outside of this specific question, like I've said, I find this unfair because you're simply commenting on my "supposed" opinions that you don't know nothing about because I didn't get to say anything about that topic in the first place, in other words; you're putting words in my mouth. In regards to the question of consent: I think I've already made my argument about this question clear: His consent is ambiguous imo and like I've said, I think that this observation very much matters to the understanding of the story and how my opinion does not relate to any real life issues in regards to consent. Again, if you see it differently, so be it, but honestly I disagree with your moralization of my interpretation: "Stigmatization of Yashiro’s sexual past is the same as victim blaming." First off, I don't understand why you're thinking that I'm stigmatizing Yashiro's sexual past. How so? I'm not judging him for his actions, nor am I judging the nature of his actions. If anything I'm pathologizing his sexual past and yes, absolutely I am, yet I fail to see how I'm victim blaming because of that. "Without the romantic lens on, sex isn’t more morally acceptable if it’s gentle and the parts involved love each other…"

Yes, it's not, yet, again, I fail to see how this relates to anything I've said. I'm not making any moral judgements about Yashiro's nor anybody else's sexual preferences. I was making the argument that Yashiro's sexual preferences seem to have been caused by his experiences with CSA and that he therefore had no free choice in regards to his sexual preferences. Like I've said I come to this conclusion because i.a. the question of Yashiro's actual sexual preferences keeps coming up in the manga. This conclusion is in no way judgemental or moralizing, it's purely an observation. That's how this story presents itself to me. Again, by saying this I'm not making any statements about people's sexual preferences in general, nor am I implying that other people's preferences are caused by any sort of trauma or the like. "If you think that he can’t control himself or doesn’t know what he wants when he wants to have sex (which is not the case in every example given in the story), then you must think that maybe Doumeki could have had better control of his own sexual desires and could have waited." I never said that Yashiro can't control himself and I didn't mean to imply that that he doesn't know what he wants per se. I made the argument that his sexual preferences are based on his coping mechanism and that they do not appear to be indicative of his actual preferences and wishes. What I am arguing is that there are sort of two different layers, if you will, to his desires: (1) The desire caused or necessitated by his trauma and (2) his underlying/actual preferences. Yes, I do think that Doumeki should have controlled his sexual urges and he definitely should've waited. "I look at the way Yoneda draws Yashiro after sex with Doumeki and he is always at a low point. To me, it seems that the point was to bring him to break, to experience a crisis. And I am having a hard time romanticizing it."

Yes, these are low points for Yashiro but I suppose that we have differing opinions on how so. Personally, I believe that his sexual encounters with Doumeki force him to face the truth about his sexual preferences (gentle vs. violent) and the fact that he feels incapable of change (accepting love and tenderness from Doumeki which seems to be what he longs for). I believe that Yashiro's thoughts at the end of chapter 57 demonstrate this: As always I'm full of contradictions. I blame him for being cruel. But the moment I'm being treated gently, I want to run away. In spite of all of that, I can't help myself – I get into it. Humans are creatures of change. But in my case, I'm just like unchanging lifestock. Completely incapable of growth. Again, this is purely my interpretation, you're free to have your own. Lastly: "In my analyses I will continue to be critical of things, and I can’t see that as a misuse of fiction. I am grateful that you took your time to read my arguments. This remains a place open to discussions as long as we are aware that romantic views about love and sex are not superior nor compulsory to read Saezuru." I never asked you to stop being critcial, quite the opposite and I didn't mean to imply that you can't read fiction any which way you want to. As far as I'm aware I didn't suggest that a romantic view about love and sex are in any way superior nor that a romantic view is compulsory to read Saezuru. I was simply making the argument that to me personally Saezuru appears to be a romance at its core, albeit with quite a few realistic elements that's not to say that others have to see it the same way. That's really all I have to say about this. Let me reiterate that I have no intention of persuading you of anything but I feel the need to clarify these aspects. I hope I didn't come off as too antagonistic because that's truly not my intention but I don't agree with sb making assumptions about my views and stating them as facts or putting words in my mouth. If you in turn feel misrepresented by anything I said, feel free to object or comment, otherwise I think this discussion is futile, to be honest because, like I've said from the beginning, when it comes to the question of Yashiro's consent, I can see where you're coming from and I accept your opinion but ultimately I believe it's important to recognize the ambiguity in his actions/words, more so than it is to commit oneself to a definite conclusion about whether Yashiro consented or whether he didn't. Like I've said before, I fail to see how an unambiguous answer to this question might matter to the understanding of the story in the first place. To me personally, the question of how this situation pertains to the question of consent in real life is secondary. That doesn't mean that I'm opposed to a discussion about it but I don't think that the two should be conflated either which, with all due respect, that is what I think you're doing when you're accusing me of victim blaming or any such things based on my views on this subject. Again, I'm not condoning Doumeki's actions at all but like I've stated above, I don't see how the nature of Doumeki's actions pertains to the question of Yashiro's consent in the first place. Apart from that thank you for this discussion, because it helped me to organize some of my thoughts in the process of putting them into words.

Following the discussion from here. Hoping you don’t mind if I make a new post so that the other one doesn’t become too heavy. I’m answering some lingering questions, but I am also saying that I won’t be dissuaded from treating this manga differently. As said recently*, Yoneda takes such care to give details and context to the story, that it is intriguing to look into things with analytical eyes and I can’t see the problem with it. For those who maybe feel like “the story isn’t that deep”, that is more offensive to the author tbh than to me or others in fandom who write commentaries. * @dragomfry said: “It makes our analyses of her work hold extra weight because there are things that she wants us to look for and derive meaning from (rather than us trying to derive meaning from nothing to begin with)”.

So to clear this first.

I can’t quite see why this story would be distorted into something it’s not intended to be if we approach it under a romantic lens.

I am not debating people for approaching the story romantically, but - because some troubling arguments were made about the recent poll - I will say this. Rape culture takes some arguments from romantic and patriarcal views to defend the aggressors and blame the victims instead: this isn’t romanticism’s fault, but the very fact should be at least taken into consideration. [More on this below**]. So several of the reflections I was writing about framing the manga as romance rather than literary realism were prompted by this issue. And reading your thoughts about the story, I can understand where we differ so much: and that is in how we view Doumeki especially, rather than the rest. Maybe you are not romanticizing Yashiro and his trauma, but you are especially romanticizing Doumeki. For example:

I allow myself to indulge in the romanticism of it all; both of them falling in love at first sight, depressed Yashiro finally finding someone who truly cares about him, Doumeki who doesn’t back down when Yashiro rejects him, Doumeki still having feelings for Yashiro even after he shot him in the leg and pretended not to remember him, etc. There’s so much in this story that’s blatantly romantic, almost corny.

There are many aspects of the manga that I do find realistic in it’s portrayal, such as the CSA, what I don’t find realistic, however, is the portrayal of love, the romance. I find it very idealised and romanticised for the most part (i.e the falling in love at first sight (I’ll get to that), Doumeki being Yashiro’s exact type, Doumeki happens to be impotent which allows Yashiro to develop feelings for him, the fact that Doumeki is completely accepting of everything Yashiro does regardless of how Yashiro treats him, the fact that Doumeki is still in love with Yashiro after he shot him the leg, maybe he even stayed in the Yakuza world just to be near him (although who knows why exactly he did that?) Idk maybe it’s just me but I find it very unrealistic. It’s this romantic idea of „there is this perfect person out there who accepts you just the way you are and you don’t have to do anything to keep them happy, you can even shoot them in the leg and they’ll still love you, they’ll stick around no matter what it takes to be with you“.

I can’t pick and choose what I want to romanticize or not, I have chosen to look at things differently, and I am keeping the same approach when looking at characterizarion. When I look at Doumeki, I see as many problems as those Yashiro has. He is the one depressed imo, at the beginning of the story, he is in much worse shape than Yashiro. Yashiro has a support network, Doumeki was isolated in prison and kept family away when he was released. Doumeki isn’t this strong and stoic person who is in love with Yashiro and is therefore shouldering a burden or enduring abuse in the name of love. I have been misunderstood before on this, but I want to say that I look at these characters without romanticizing either of them. I am not so much interested in looking at who is right or wrong, or to paint one character in a better light and bashing another: I want to understand their differences and how they came to be, how the relationship is affected by those differences. This is why I don’t take a shipper’s approach either, I am not solely focused in their relationship, but in the story as a whole.

There are several posts where I talked at lenght about these characters, because Yoneda gave a lot of backstory, and I encourage who may be interested in checking further. Doumeki has trouble facing or recognizing reality, until reality kicks him in the face, and that is happening to him since the nurse and Aoi. So he is only observing when it suits him. Yashiro established his emotional boundaries plenty of times, and Nanahara is there to corroborate and reinforce Yashiro’s prefereces. Here are some examples, and these are from volume one alone. It is a pretty clear situation, and Doumeki understood it.

I know that people are objecting to the very idea of framing Doumeki as the aggressor in this case, but the power dynamics had already shifted at that point when things went down in ch 24-25. It is the result of an escalation that sees Doumeki hiding his feelings and his arousal, and becoming more aggressive and unhinged towards others during the investigation into who ordered the hit on Yashiro. Yoneda was painstakingly building towards that scene, while also painting a bigger picture and external plot, and there are so many details that I haven’t even touched upon yet, but nothing is filler. And the parallels between Doumeki’s arousal and his violent behavior can’t be easily ignored.

Again, I feel quite powerless and unequipped to persuade those who already formed their opinion. But when given arguments in favor of dismissing Yashiro’s right to object or arguments that shift the focus away from the simple topic of consent, then I have to ask myself why this is happening. **Rape culture does play a role, and as I said, rape culture can and does weaponize some romantic ideas about love. Or against the autonomy of the person, against choice and so on.

I find it very important that Yoneda chose to put those words in the mouth of an ex-policeman, while dressed up as a policeman, and of another abusive detective with the police. Or the fact that Inami commented on Doumeki’s father building a career to cover up his crimes. See these statements from the Wikipedia page on rape culture:

With how difficult has become to search on the web for unbiased results, I am just giving the Wikipedia page not as a source of authority, but as a peer reviewed summary that provides a starting point for research and some bibliography on the subject. For example:

I want to add that I don’t agree with the way the article frames “men” as perpetrators and “women” as victims. That should be corrected and can be misleading. Men have been historically and consistently discouraged to speak up about being victims of rape themselves and often the law didn’t even consider them. And the gendered approach contributed to make so many victims invisibile. There is so much we have to learn.

Again, this post is solely for the purpose of answering arguments or points made directly to me about how we interpret the story in Saezuru. These are my observations and reflections, the links I see, and it is possible because these things are in the manga. And last, I love love-stories. But romance - especially romantic tropes, often reinforced by fandom shipping culture - don’t always equal love to me.

#no hard feelings #I think it's important to stay open to discussion #however #I think we're talking at each other more so than with each other #saezuru tori wa habatakanai #saezuru analysis

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louferrignojrofficial · 3 months ago

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if i got the chance to interview oliver stark about 911, you bet your ass i wouldn’t waste a single question over something like ‘will tommy be jealous of buck and eddie’s friendship?’ after we have seen multiple times he isn’t, and most recently in the new episode. not to mention we’ve seen even eddie isn’t jealous of buck and tommy’s relationship, and we were shown that yet again in the premiere. there are so many more interesting things you could ask about buck’s actual relationship and that story, or even buck and eddie. but no.

#this isn’t aimed at that one interviewer but it’s just something i keep seeing #from people who clearly are holding out hope for buddie and will ask whatever they want to shoehorn it into buck’s relationship with someon #else #it’s just so boring and honestly predictable #you could ask ANYTHING???? and you choose…. that #i had to conduct a proper interview as preparation for my dissertation and i had to plan out questions properly that were fully relevant to #what i was investigating #there was so much consideration given to the questions #and once again for another research project where i had to #the questions were wittled down so much and tested and everything #obviously psychology and journalism are different but i just feel whatever we’re doing right now with interviews is just sad #911 #911 discourse #fandom wank #911 spoilers

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misspickman · 11 months ago

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cassierose for the ship ask game !!

Ship It

What made you ship it? i liked them in tt03, which you know, is truly a feat considering how terribly that comic treats both of them. but their dynamic (angry homoeroticism) managed to be compelling still

What are your favorite things about the ship? i enjoy girl antagonism from time to time. i know were all sick of the trope that teen girls all hate each others guts but considering cassie has a pretty good relationship with all the other girls on her team(s) its fun to see her just go ugh i hate this one. this one can go. theyre just fun and bitchy and i think they should hatefuck about it. but beside that theres also so much potential there ! i think you know, if anyone writing that comic actually cared about cassie or rose or about their character development, it would have been interesting to see their relationship change over time instead of getting one issue where cassie implicitly calls rose family while protecting her, and then the next one she immediately she calls her a manipulative psychopath for no good reason bc they cant figure out how to make the team interesting without having some wildly antagonistic relationship that doesnt make sense if u think about it for a few seconds. theyre never going to be besties but it would have been nice to see them go from blind hate to an uneasy truce; they dont like each other but they do, unfortunately, care about each other, and lets see where we go from that. + itd be interesting to dig into cassies hypocrisy when it comes to hating rose

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship? i guess its that i would like them to grow past mindlessly despising each other ? this is not me criticizing anyone but i feel like a lot of takes on cassierose ive seen are that they should stay in the hatefucking no mushy business❌❌❌phase which is definitely fair and true to how they are in tt03. but i do have some issues with the way they were written in tt03 (particularly cassie) and would like to see their dynamic progress from that (see rant above)

#i guess the reason im personally more interested in them sort of working through it is bc cassie doesnt have. a good reason for hating rose #i dont think its ooc but a lot of it Is supposed to be bc shes either jealous of her bc of tim (??)or thinks rose sucks bc she killed peopl #which is. she was drugged and manipulated and i think most teen titans in the superhero business should be able to handle #that sort of a not black and white situation #and idk. be more understanding. i know rose isnt super nice but maybe calling her a manipulative bitch constantly isnt the way to go #theres fun antagonism and theres cassie being just needlessly awful to her (that convo she and tim have about rose)#and i do think theyll always be bitchy to each other but i would like to imagine cassie is more considerate than this #and would eventually recognize she was occasionally just being shitty ! it would make for an interesting story ! alas #i think cassierose going from hating each others guts as teens to adult coworkers who dont really hate each other anymore #bc theyve been through so much shit together #but need to keep up the appearances of hating each other bc god forbid they admit to being kind of friends. that would be fun. to me<3 #ask #thank you. so sorry this got so long #youve given me an excuse to rant about cassierose so this is what u get<3 #sorry that the question was what i like about the ship and i just bitched about how it could be better #i guess the answer is im intrigued by the potential. also i love lesbians

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acid-ixx · 6 months ago

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Okay, how about we call Alfred dad??? Sense he raised us and practically is our dad. Sorry I keep on asking. I just am a thinker

series masterlist

a/n: don't be sorry for asking ! i like answering asks even if i do answer really slowly, so don't be afraid to send in questions ! this is a continuation to this ask.

it would actually be a given that if the reader wasn't too broken to the point that they genuinely could never consider anyone as a father figure, then alfred would be someone they would call their dad.

because at least in their 15 years they had been inside the manor, alfred would always be the one who would stand by their side. even if it's not always, he would be there for you when he could. and that effort alone is enough to consider him worthy as your father.

pre-yandere bruce wouldn't even know of your tight-knit relationship with alfred; calling him dad when you skip through the halls with him, calling him your "actual father" whenever you two would bake together, and even going as far as gifting him a mug with 'no. 1 dad!' painted sloppily into the ceramic. alfred would even teach you how to crochet, so you two would get matching sweaters for winter. although alfred wouldn't wear the sweater for the sake of formality, you would always be aware that he stores them somewhere safe and warm as some sort of treasure.

so, imagine just how heartbroken bruce would be once you are abducted by your family, calling out to your dad in your drugged state on your bed, bruce thinking that it was him that you're calling for help when all of a sudden, you make grabby-hands towards alfred, eyes hazily looking at the butler with such desperation that it feels like alfred is your actual father.

seeing you two act so close, bruce would be so, so conflicted. because at least, in the years of solitude you had spent, you find comfort in the very same man bruce considers as his father figure. but at the same time it should've been him that you call your father, it should've been bruce you look at for help and guidance, it should've been him that lulls you back to sleep, wiping the tears that run down your face.

it breaks his heart even further once he discovers all the little trinkets that you make for alfred, all the inside jokes you two share, the gifts you cherish in your cabinets from the apartment you used to live in; they were all from alfred— bruce wants to kick himself realizing that he never made an effort to gift you anything in your 15 years of living in the manor as a ghost.

bruce swears on his life that he'll make it up to you, that despite him being unable to stay the night frequently with you that he'll make it up during the day. he'll take you to business meetings, to arcades, to malls; literally anywhere to get you to bond with him as much as you did alfred.

he'll schedule holidays where the entire family is required to join and you'll be the center of attention. your birthdays will be extravagant, he would spend millions to make a show that you're his favorite child; that means he'll spoil you with gifts that pertain to your hobbies. and because your family loves you so much, please do expect a minimum of 10 gifts prepared by all your siblings and a credit card with no limit for bruce.

oh? you don't need material things? don't worry, you'll be surprised with just how meticulously your father would plan for vacations. any place you would choose would be taken into heavy consideration, even planning with him would feel like some sort of father-child bonding.

but really, he'll commit all his time and effort for you.

bruce would do everything to make you consider him as your dad.

#🍨... yael's talking #🧁... yael's misc.#series: again & again #yandere dc #yandere batfam #yandere batman #yandere bruce wayne #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere x male reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #platonic yandere #not my best work but eh

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maddilynmuse · 2 months ago

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Memory of Liar

Another fic for @mari-lair ‘s Siffrin? More like Sif’s Out AU based on this memory exclusive to it. This one got a lil long, as I think y’all can see. Also I enjoy writing Odile. Apologies for any formatting opposed, I wrote this on my computer but had to upload on my phone.

No major CW’s beyond just “Odile questioning Siffrin’s mental health.” Enjoy!

It hadn’t been too long since that one loop. That loop where they found out just how good Siffrin was at pretending to be fine. How convenient that not long after, Odile got a skill to deal with it. Memory of Liar. It allowed her to know when Siffrin was lying (albeit not by omission, but still). Ideally, it would be a niche skill at best, one to keep on for a loop or two and forget that she had-

“Hey Odile!”

Siffrin began his usual greetings. Seems Mirabelle reminded him about the clocktower “sleepover” this time. She must be feeling nostalgic; they’d all planned to meet up at the clocktower afterwards anyways, so there was no need to send Siffrin on a quest to go talk to them all, but given how low he got, how useless he felt, it made sense for her to give him a task. Would it be too cynical to say Mirabelle was establishing a baseline? Perhaps.

“So, what will you do after?” Siffrin asked her.

After. Gems, at this rate such a thing felt laughable, but she bit her tongue well enough. What had she planned to do after this? So much time had been spent on loops and the breaking of them that leaving Dormont was starting to feel like more of an impossibility than beating the King ever had been.

“I’ll probably go back to Ka Bue,” she said. It seemed like the next most logical step. She had a home there, after all. Besides, it might be nice to get far, far away from Dormont.

“And wrap up your research?”

“Research?” Oh, right. Her fake research.

“Your research into cultures-ology?”

Had he said that last time? When was the last time Mirabelle called for a sleepover? Gems, she didn’t like this.

“Cultures-ology isn’t a field of research, Siffrin.”

“But it is the field of research you spent your life trying to create…”

“No,” she said bluntly. He looked a little put off by that, so she changed the topic the most natural way she could. “What about you? What will you do after we beat the king?” If they ever get to leave Dormont, that is.

“Come up with my own field of research.”

… huh?

Something about what he said there, it sat oddly in her gut. It felt… wrong. But how could-

Right. Memory of Liar. He was lying. Of course he was, why wouldn’t he be? She knew from the start that was likely a joke, and a joke could count as a lie, she supposed. Maybe this ability wasn’t particularly discerning. She’d have to test that too, wouldn’t she? Would it activate at anything that wasn’t true? Or would it only activate if Siffrin was actively trying to deceive?

As Siffrin walked out again, only then did it occur to her… what did the rogue intend to do when he got out? Well, a question for the others, she supposed.

------

They were back at Dormont. It wasn’t of much use, asking the others. Bonnie and Mirabelle couldn’t remember off the top of their heads, but apparently Siffrin had told Isabeau they intended to start a comedy club… That sounded considerably more likely than them going into research, but she was still inclined to double check. It was nothing wasting a whole loop over, but they’d agreed that next time they looped back to Dormont, Mirabelle would tell Siffrin about the clocktower, and Isabeau and Odile would “switch places,” so to speak. She needed to be the one to hear him, so she had to come last.

As Siffrin got up sleepily, almost tauntingly laid back, he greeted Mirabelle saying the nap was a solid 9 out of ten… The thought that their rogue was rubbing in their lack of exhaustion was illogical, something she knew all too well, but maybe she wasn’t in a particularly giving mood as she squatted in the bushes against the protest of her knee. A few more pleasantries were shared and…

“Where will you go after?”

“Oh! You know… maybe a pilgrimage? I-I suppose this all kiiiiiinda already counted as a pilgrimage, but, um… does it?” Does it if she only half remembers some of it, so much time taken over by these last few days? Or was Odile projecting here?

It didn’t matter.

“What about you though Siffrin. What will you do after?” Mirabelle asked.

Odile watched him like a hawk as he had his little smile, looking up to the sky, and, “Go on a pilgrimage too, maybe.”

“Oh! That’d be lovely,” Mirabelle said.

If only it were true.

Odile waited for them to get to the store—the store she often started at but currently housed Isabeau—forcing herself up and stumbling like a drunk from the woods, knee seizing up all the way. Mirabelle rushed over, using a bit of healing craft on her.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine, I’m fine…” Odile said, though sighed in relief at the healing craft easing the pain.

“… so?” Mirabelle said.

“He was lying. He has no intention to go on a pilgrimage.”

Mirabelle sighed but nodded. Neither of them were surprised, really?

“Can you even go on a pilgrimage if all you do is travel anyways? What’s even the difference?” Odile muttered to herself. “Ah, no use now. I have to catch up before Isabeau runs out of ways to stall.” Thankfully it was a short walk. The door was open, she simply had to linger near it.

“What will you do after?” Siffrin asked Isabeau.

Seems she was right on time.

“Eh, I’ll probably just go back to Jouvente. Not sure about rejoining the Defenders, not after they left Mira, but maybe I’ll try some clothing design?”

“Oh? I didn’t know you were interested in that. That sounds great, Isa!”

“Heh, thanks Sif. But what about you? What will you do when we beat the King?”

Assuming Isabeau did a good enough job of recapping what he said before, presumably Siffrin’s answer would be the same…

“Start a comedy club!”

… that one wasn’t true either? She’d honestly thought it might be, or at least that it was fifty fifty, but no. Almost a shame, it fit all too well. Then again, it meant more people were spared his puns…

She tuned out the rest in favor of trying to get a head start on making it to the East side of town. Siffrin tended to dawdle when left to his own devices, but still would be nice to find a way to listen in that wouldn’t be physically painful this time…

Oh right. There’s a building here, right near Bonnie. She’d basically gone blind to it, considering it no more than any other house: pointless. Though she did know the open phrase, well, the only thing of value was the “Long Thingy Thing” (as Bonnie put it), and they didn’t really need to go through the trouble of crafting a bomb at this point. That said, she did know the open phrase, so she could probably get inside, and she could hear Bonnie, but could she hear Siffrin? Then again, once Siffrin was near Bonnie, she could sneak closer.

And so she did. It went off almost disappointingly easily. Gems alive, what she wouldn’t give for something to go awry in a way that would let her dig her teeth into something again. But no, no. This was more efficient. (Everything was efficiency these days, that’s how Siffrin got so bad).

She crept closer as the two talked. Siffrin was needling Bonnie, and Bonnie was rising to the bait. Was it genuine irritation and stress, or just their mimicry of it? She wasn’t sure, maybe both. Not too long in, the question came up.

“Well what about you, Frin? What are you gonna do?”

“I’ll go to space.”

… she didn’t even need the Memory equipped to know that that was a bald-faced lie, but she supposed that confirmation was nice? Well this one was a waste of time. Best to try to slip out towards the favor tree and play her own part.

Four different answers, none of them true. Why would he hide what he intended to do after? Maybe earlier in their adventure together she would’ve assumed that it was for nefarious purposes, but if he was an assassin on the behalf of the King or anything like that, he’d probably have done something to stop them on at least one of the occasions that they killed him. Whatever happened with Euphraise usually seemed centered on him, but he always looked shocked, so it was unlikely he expected it any more than the rest of them had the first time.

So if not foul play, then why? Some charitable part of her mind wanted to say his plans were just embarrassing, but…

As they’d recently learned the hard way, their little rogue wasn’t nearly as fine as he seemed. All it took was one day of them taking the lead a bit too much for him to consider himself a useless idiot. He rarely spoke of home. Never spoke of loved ones, at least not for more than a few sentences. He’d taken losing his eye almost too well. She wouldn’t say that he was at risk of becoming a Sadness or doing something willingly stupid, but the more she thought on it, the more things painted a picture she didn’t like the look of, but couldn’t afford to look away from either.

If she didn’t know better, she could mistake him for a ghost. A spirit. Maybe even some Expression. Nothing but a being floating through to help. But she’d seen him eat, seen his blood splatter on the floor, heard his gasps and screams at hard hits. She’d seen him lose an eye. Ghosts didn’t do that. He was flesh and blood yet missing so much he seemed almost insubstantial. Was he aware of this one some level? And what could do that to a person? Gems alive, she knew he had bad memory, but maybe she should’ve been delving deeper into it. Why hadn’t she? It wasn’t like her to see something so strange, to see someone start stories over and over that never reach an end, to see him speak of things and lose his train of thought halfway through, and she just…

Never questioned this?

Gems alive, her head was pounding along with the beat of her heart, but she screwed her eyes shut and blocked the world out, determined to follow this rabbit hole down. Something was wrong here, and maybe if she could puzzle out what, if she could find the missing piece, she could somehow make him whole again and, expressions willing, maybe that’d be the key to fixing this whole mess. Maybe it’d set them free. She just had to figure out why-

“Hey, Odile, are you okay?”

She jolted, whipping her head around to see, “Gems, Siffrin. You startled me…”

“Sorry,” he said. “Thinking on your wish?”

“Hah, no, I already made that,” she said. A stupid wish to win a coin flip that came to nothing in the end. And unimportant. She had to figure out… figure out…

Had to figure out what Siffrin intended to do with his life, right? Yes, that’s what she’d been doing.

“I was just… trying to figure out what to do afterwards,” she said. Maybe it was manipulative, but if she pretended she needed suggestions, maybe he’d offer something more tangible?

“Hmm? You don’t already know? I figured you’d wrap up your research.”

No, that’s right. He already had that idea in mind, didn’t he? She let out a bitter chuckle. “I’ll let you in on a secret. There is no research, Siffrin. It was just a convenient lie to explain why I’m here.”

He looked at her with a hard to read expression. “But… huh???”

They were off balance. Good. Maybe it’d trick him into saying something real.

“Yes, yes, sorry to give the game away, but I guess I realized that if I don’t admit it now, I might never. And I wouldn’t want to actually beat the King and then have to figure out what next. Plus I figure if I have a plan for after, if I have a goal, I might be more driven to reach it. Whatever helps, yes? So, any ideas?”

He was looking at her like she’d grown a second head, clearly thrown off. “You could… actually start researching something? Or, um… aren’t you writing a book?”

“My journal? That’s just personal notes. It’d be nonsense to anyone else.”

“Oh.”

She waited but, no, they weren’t offering anything up, were they. She’d have to take the offensive.

“What about you, Siffrin? What do you plan to do after?”

“Oh, uh…” he looked around and shrugged. “I haven’t really given it much thought.”

… not a lie. Interesting…

“Oh? Why not? I mean, you’re not even from Vaugaurde, you must have joined for some reason, right?” She could list theories, but that’d likely give him an out. She was wise to his game. At least half his answers, maybe more, were just mimicking what the other person intended to do. Otherwise it’s just what they’d most likely want to hear, save for perhaps telling Bonnie they’d go to space. An interesting outlier, that one. It seemed innocuous, but maybe it was important?

No, focus now. Theorize later.

Siffrin squirmed a little and finally chuckled awkwardly, offering an awkward shrug. “I didn’t really have anything better to do…”

And gems alive, he was not lying.

“I… see.”

Maybe she should let him go, but she needed to know one more thing first…

“And after we all go our own ways, you’ll be alright, right?”

“I guess I’ll go back to how I was before.”

Not a lie, but not an answer either. “And were you happy before?”

“Of course!”

She needed to talk to the others about this.

——————

I prefer tea, but buy me a Kofi?

#siffrin? more like sif is out au #isat fanfic #isat spoilers #isat au #ISAT Odile #odile pov #memory of liar #in stars and time #isat #fanfic #mine #writing #isat siffrin #teehee

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2kiran · 2 months ago

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“FALLING INTO PIECES”

PAIRING: Spider-Man Noir x Reader Reader is a male. Bottom Noir. KINKTOBER CW: SMUT, physical descriptions of r (taller than o’hara), implied internal homophobia (noir), size kink, anal fingering

Noir was a simple man in an odd place.

According to his own perception of this alternative reality, at least.

Being a newly recruited member of the Spider Society was certainly not for a man who belongs to the twentieth century; mostly due to the existence of advanced technology no one from his time has invented quite yet. He was unaware—traditional, in his respective terms.

It wasn’t that he was judgmental of the future. He was just clueless to how everything currently functioned. Even now so when he learned that most accepted others so easily without so much of an intentional blink of a suspicious eye, he seemed to shift into a demeanor strangely experimental.

You were one of the only Spider-men he was ridiculously able to settle at ease with for an extended period of time, given that you didn’t ask too many questions and you didn’t feel the need to talk his hearing senses off.

And maybe, maybe it was also due to how... inhumanely large you were in stature.

The size difference between the two of you was stark. Hell, he thinks you stand a few inches taller than the Miguel O’hara. It was probably the reason why he appears to be drawn to you, dare he say attracted.

Right, he hasn’t thought about that part. Hasn’t come to the conclusion that he wasn’t a heterosexual man, as it was the only thing that wasn’t considered to be outrageous in his world.

But Heaven forbid, you were something otherworldly. Built like a beast that towers over him entirely, hands big and calloused while being simultaneously calculated and cautious when it came to tending to his wounds, and you didn’t treat him like he was a stray that’s originated from a nameless town.

He liked you in a way he didn’t know how to admit, and that made him fear the intruding feeling.

That realization only dawned on him as you backed him against a wall, his back hitting the bricks, his head now required to tilt up to meet your masked eyes through his goggles.

“What...” Noir begins, as if he wasn’t deliberately rubbing himself against you every chance he gets despite the danger lurking due to the presence of an anomaly you had the enough luck to capture and send back just moments ago. He swallows nervously, the separating barrier between arousal and regret blurring in the face of getting what he wants at last.

“You know what.” You scoff, leaning your forearm up against the brick wall in front of you in favor of bending slightly down to force yourself into his personal space like how he did with yours. You’re fairly certain his eyes are blown wide in excitement, but you needed to hear it from his mouth - that he wanted it.

“Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll leave and forget about all of this.”

He liked that about you, how you’re so easily considerate unlike the way your personality outwardly appears to be. For a moment, he considers it, but his core suddenly aches for your touch.

His hand tentatively reaches up, curling around your nape to tug you closer to his masked face. “No, I... I want you.” His words drawl out as foreign sin and lust on his tongue, but neither of you care. “Don’t go. This is what I want. Please.”

“Yeah?” You follow-up, your hand manages to slip down the front of his pants and you waste no time with palming his growing bulge through his boxers, “Want me to take care of you?”

Noir shakily nods his head, a choked gasp escaping his lungs when you apply the right amount of pressure around his cockhead to have his mind begin to haze. “Yes.” He manages, his hands frantically clutching onto your forearms to stabilize himself.

He thinks about how you haven’t grown downright exhausted with him yet. You keep on giving and giving to him until he can’t decide what to do with himself; his thoughts prominently melting into slick that pools at his slit and cascades down the length of his dick.

You’re knuckle-deep inside of him once more, the glove you’re using mildly dulling the pleasure but makes him brainless nonetheless. Your digit is thick and long enough for you to roughly prod at his sweet spot, with Noir eagerly asking for another one.

He’s acting as if he’s got something to prove to you. That he can take your cock, that he can make it fit inside of his tight hole. Noir gasps as you push in a second finger.

“That’s it. You’re doing good.” You praise lowly into his ear. Your frame against his is the only thing keeping him from sliding off the closed dumpster he was currently sat on - which should’ve turned him off, but he was hyper-focused on getting himself to come undone beneath the work of your hands.

He is doing good, Noir repeats inside of his head. A whimper slips his lips as he rocks his hips to provoke you into sinking in deeper. He relished in the stretch, a burn that molds itself into a peak.

Noir was yours - made for you as he had no protest despite the phantom whispers of overstimulation making themselves known.

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moonstruckme · 18 days ago

Text

Thawing Out

collab with @ellecdc

cw: modern au, some mature themes (in that it vaguely references past smut), allusion to past abusive dynamics/child abuse

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 2.7k words

Somehow, Sirius’ hand is cold even underneath the covers.

Remus wakes with it like a cool weight in the center of his chest, fingers curled slightly with sleep. The other boy’s arm is cast over you, stretched out like Sirius had been determined even in sleep to keep you both close.

You’re considerably warmer, sandwiched between the two boys in the large shirt you’d thrown on to slink into Sirius’ room in the early hours of the morning. You’re all crammed in tight on Sirius’ bed, chosen because it’s still intact whereas yours is now only a mattress on the floor (Remus hopes you don’t need to explain that to anyone in charge of your lodgings). Remus’ leg is only just balanced on the edge of Sirius’ mattress, and Sirius himself is lying with his backside pressed against the wall, cheek resting on the mattress as he’d evidently given up on trying to share the pillow at some point in the night. The sunlight coming in through the window plays prettily over both of your features, and Remus’ chest warms with something like—wait. There’s sunlight. Coming in through the window.

He nearly falls out of bed reaching for his phone.

You make a soft sighing sound, rolling forward into the space he’s left.

“Remusss,” Sirius mumbles. “Stop moving.”

“We need to get up,” says Remus, breathless. His voice croaks with sleep.

“Hm?”

“Up, up.” He pats both of you on the shoulders before devoting his efforts to Sirius, tugging the sleeping boy upright. Remus has chosen correctly, because you rouse on your own, sitting up on your elbows with a squinty, confused look Remus really wishes he had more time to admire. “We’re on in forty minutes. Did nobody set alarms?”

You sit all the way up now, eyes going wide. “We are?”

“Did you not set an alarm?” Sirius asks him. “I was counting on you two for that.”

You shoot out of bed without an answer to your question. “My phone’s in my room.” Now that you mention it, Remus thinks he can hear a faint chiming coming from the room next to Sirius’. These walls must really not be very thick. You look at Remus, very much awake now. “Forty minutes?”

“Forty minutes,” he confirms, trying to tamp down on his own panic in an effort to avoid exacerbating yours.

You nod. “I’m going to stretch. Meet outside in ten?”

“Alright.” Remus gives you a small smile. He doesn’t blame you for not thinking to return it as you rush out the door. He turns his attention back to Sirius, still looking half caught in a dream and like he might return to it at any moment. “Oi.” Remus gives him a hard look. “I have to go get dressed. Can I trust you not to fall back asleep?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sirius rubs his eyes. “I won’t miss the bloody Olympics.”

“Good,” says Remus. He starts backing towards the door, trying to look stern while silently praying there’s no one in the hall to see him in his underwear. It had been one thing in the dead of night, but now… “Ten minutes. Get some stretching in, especially that ankle.”

Sirius seems to come a bit more awake, lips stretching in a grin. “Yes, Coach.”

Remus ignores his flirty eyes, though his face feels distinctly pink as he steps out the door, making his way quickly to his own room. He’d gotten a tad bossy the night before, not harsh but certainly directive, because it had seemed at times that you and Sirius were too timid to take steps by yourselves and damn it—Remus had waited long enough for what was about to happen. So out of impatience and necessity, he took charge. Sirius’ particular enjoyment of that came as a not-unpleasant surprise.

Remus dresses quickly, grateful he doesn’t need to stretch as you and Sirius do. He fills the time instead by fetching tea and coffee from the dining hall. They don’t have any fancy coffee syrups for Sirius, but the spoiled twat will just have to make do. He finds you where you said you’d be exactly ten minutes later, already knocking anxiously on Sirius’ door.

“Here you are.” Remus passes you your drink of choice. “He’ll be nearly ready, just give him a moment.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Sirius gripes from inside, sounding characteristically cheerful after a rushed wake-up.

“Oh. Thank you.” You take the drink from Remus, looking down at your other hand. He follows your gaze, and you’ve a drink carrier of your own. Three drinks identical to the ones Remus has brought.

A little laugh tumbles out of him. “Where did you find the time to get those?”

“Drinks are always my job.” You shrug, smiling a little. You look nervous, tension sewn into the muscles of your shoulders and preventing your happiness from reaching your eyes. Remus has the urge to drag you back into bed and soothe it out of you. “I went first thing. Had to rush my makeup, though.”

Since dragging you to bed doesn’t seem particularly timely, Remus settles for an ardent kiss to the top of your head. He takes the other drink carrier from you.

“You look lovely,” he says, meaning it. Your hair is smoothed away from your face, your makeup simple but dramatic, bold sweeps of eyeliner and color across your lids. Underneath your sweats he knows you’ll be wearing your costume, and the overall effect is bound to be mesmerizing enough that Remus hopes he can pay attention to your routine. “Extra drinks never hurt anyone.”

“Alright!” Sirius’ door whooshes open. He’s made up similarly, formidable slashes across his eyes and face set in determination. “Let’s go.”

He takes his coffee with a brief thanks. If the flavor isn’t to his liking, he doesn’t complain. This ritual, the stretched-taut tension of going to compete, should feel like coming home to Remus, but he can’t help but feel a bit odd.

If he’d taken the time to imagine what waking up next to you and Sirius would be like, it would probably have gone a bit slower. Soft rousings, lazy kisses, maybe a fond argument about who had to get up to get tea before you all decided to stay in bed just a little while longer. Not, perhaps, quite so much of this rushing, with none of you talking to each other and Remus fighting to keep up as you and Sirius speed-walk towards the competition.

He’s just caught sight of the boards when Sirius stops short. You falter beside him. Both you and Remus trace his gaze back to where two people, a man and a woman, are advancing on him with a steely resoluteness Remus knows but can’t place.

“Sirius Black.” The woman seems to be leading the charge, a stormcloud of dark hair and hateful eyes. “Horrid, ungrateful child!”

Remus blinks. The movement feels slow and dumb. You snap out of your stillness, taking several steps forward—not just in front of Sirius, but towards the woman.

“Get out of here.” Your expression is as fierce as Remus has ever seen it. The woman’s stare catches on you for a moment, a frigid flicker of annoyance, then dismisses you. “What makes you think you can just—”

“Thousands of pounds on skating lessons,” she seethes, the cold hiss of her voice somehow louder than anyone else’s. “The best tutors, private training facilities, and after all that you neglect to invite your own family—”

“He doesn’t have to invite you to anything,” you snarl.

Family, thinks Remus. Yes—the dark hair, the cool, scornful eyes—this woman is Sirius is his cruelest form. His mother.

“Sirius doesn’t have to go anywhere with you,” you go on, fervent. “You lost that privilege, both of you, you—”

Sirius never talks about his family. Ever. What does it mean, that they’re here? The way you’re speaking to them—you know them, you’ve met before, but there’s certainly no kinship there.

“—need to leave. Leave him alone—”

“Quiet,” Sirius’ mother spits. Her voice is like the twigs of a barren tree rattling against each other in the wind, harsh and grinding.

Remus looks at Sirius. He doesn’t at first know why, realizing only after he does it that he’s waiting for the other boy to stand up for you. To move his body in front of yours, fiery and protective, the way he always does. But Sirius looks rooted to the spot, his expression frozen and eyes just slightly widened. A weight sinks into Remus’ gut as he remembers what you’d told him the night after he got in Sirius’ face for the first and only time.

It’s not my place to tell you about what his life has been, you’d said, hedging. You can shout at him all you want, but just stay away from physical stuff like that.

Remus looks at Sirius’ mother, all cold fury as she tries to get closer to her son. You, continually stepping into her path, eyes blazing like some goddess of guardianship and inner strength. And Sirius, as passive as Remus has ever seen him. Afraid.

“That’s enough.” Remus hardly recognizes his own voice when it comes out. It’s harder than any he’s used as your coach, harder even than the one he’s used on himself. Sirius turns to him in surprise, but you keep your eyes on the woman in front of you, unyielding. “No one,” he says, “no one, regardless of their relations, comes in here and harasses my athletes. You will leave, or you will be escorted out.”

If possible, the woman’s expression grows colder. “How dare you. My husband and I are—”

“You two,” Remus ignores her for a moment, softening his voice some to address you and Sirius. You turn now, eyes flickering to Sirius first as if to check he’s okay, “go get ready by the boards. I’ll meet you there in just a moment.”

There’s not much left for you to do to get ready, but Remus knows better than anyone the importance of having a clear head before competition. Neither of you need to be here for this.

Remus waits as you nod, going back to Sirius and looping your arm through his before continuing towards the boards, keeping yourself purposefully between Sirius and his mother all the while. Remus watches you go, and then he turns to face Mrs. Black.

Remus has never gotten to kick anyone out of a rink before. It’s a significant mood-booster. The way Walburga—he’d learned her name when she’d shrieked it at the staff no less than a dozen times, endeavoring madly to gain some favor from her surname, which Remus had never heard before Sirius but in Walburga’s mind apparently ought to have the lower classes bending over backwards—had screeched and threatened as she and her husband had been dragged out was almost enough to make Remus regret sending Sirius away so he couldn't witness it himself. But, of course, Sirius is always better off with you.

Evidence of this arises as soon as Remus finds you. You’ve both shed your sweats, your matching costumes and makeup making you look nearly a mirror image. Sirius’ head is cupped between your hands, your foreheads bent together as you whisper to him ardently.

“Fuck. Them.” You push your forehead into his.

“Yeah.” Sirius’ brow is furrowed, his eyes closed. “Fuck them.”

There can only be a minute or so before you’re supposed to go out and perform, but Remus hangs back. Letting you have this, he thinks, might prove more effective than anything he could say.

“They don’t deserve you,” you tell Sirius firmly, “they never did. You’re here because of your hard work, not because of anything they gave you.”

Sirius takes a breath. Pushes it back out. “I know.”

Remus’ heart gives a painful squeeze for the both of you. As though by some sixth sense, Sirius looks up, blue eyes landing on his.

“They’re gone,” Remus says. You let out a breath, expression easing, but Sirius only nods. Remus draws closer. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Sirius replies. He turns, catching sight of the staff member coming to tell you it’s your turn. “Let’s do this.”

Remus watches you two go out onto the ice, hoping he looks more confident than he feels. He doesn’t doubt your ability to perform well—he never could, after all he’s seen from you these past several weeks—but you’re angry and Sirius is something else, neither of you collected enough to summon the focus you need to pull this off. Remus forces himself to take a deep breath as you finish your loop around the rink and come to a stop in your starting position, telling himself he’ll be happy for you no matter what.

He should have had more faith in the both of you.

As soon as the music starts it’s like the confusion of the past few days is wiped away entirely. You’re the same as you were, as you’ve always been, gliding alongside each other like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. The only difference is that the energy between you that’s always been there has shifted ever so slightly. Still love, but fuller now. Actualized.

Your costumes, gauzy layers of deep indigo, billow behind you to create the impression that you’re actually painting on the white canvas of the ice, each step a brushstroke done with intention and artistry. You and Sirius sweep around each other, undulating and circling and drifting apart before coming back. Your blades hit the ice after each jump like a crash of cymbals, perfectly on beat.

Towards the end of the routine, Sirius takes your hand in his. You start to circle him, backwards, one skate off the ground. Remus tenses as Sirius lowers himself into a squat, looking at you down the length of your arm. There’s not so much as a flicker in either of your expressions as he lowers you all the way.

Remus draws in a sharp breath of cold air.

You adjust beautifully, your training taking over to guide you through a move you’ve never practiced, back arched and skirt fluttering in front of you. You go through a few rotations that way before Sirius lifts you up and propels you seamlessly into a spin. The death spiral finishes out flawlessly.

For just a second after your spin, you catch Remus’ gaze, eyes smiling as if to say, See?

He beams.

Remus is still beaming when he meets you in the kiss and cry, feeling soppy and ridiculous and overwhelmingly proud.

“That was brilliant,” he says, taking you by the shoulders when you make it to him first. You’re smiling too, radiant, eyes sparkling as sweetly as the day he met you. He squeezes you warmly. “Brilliant.”

He catches hold of Sirius next, cupping his neck with both hands. The other boy’s eyebrow twitches, a sheepish smile coming to his face.

Remus laughs, “Prick,” and kisses him in the center of his forehead.

You make an ill-contained squealing sound, throwing your arms around them both. “I knew you’d do it,” you say, putting your lips to Sirius’ cheek, overflowing with happiness. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Sirius gives a short laugh. He’s no doubt enjoying the onslaught of affection, but he rolls his eyes anyway. “Yeah, sure. Just ask next time.”

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scrumdidiliyumyum · 1 month ago

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Something special |

@lotsofstuffsblog hope you all enjoy!! :> Prologue -> Part 1 -> Part 2 -> Part 3 Yan!batfam x Neglected!reader

A cold, harsh wind flew through the streets of Gotham, just outside the police station, camera flashes going off and helping to illuminate not only the police officers, but the young child that they had surrounded.

A small child stood, one with a small stature, and a face that told anyone passing by that they had seen far too much for their age. And, of course, that child was you. Y/N L/N.

As you stood there, shivering despite the heaters best efforts, you stared hard at the ground as if to try and separate yourself from the people flocking around you. After your mom died, people hadn't really given consideration to you. To them you were just another child that had lost their mother to the cruel streets, something far to common to be normal.

You were originally sent to a child-care center, somewhere you could be kept until further notice. The only problem, well, was that you didn't really have anyone else to take you. Your mom, mama, was the only one who really cared as much, or even at all about you. That was that, and you were going to be sent to an orphanage, just like the other poor kids that lost their parents.

Well, that was the plan atleast.

When your mom died, and you were brought to the police station after having to be dragged walked to the car by two friendly police officers, you had run into someone, Commissioner Gordon. The way he scrutinized your face, as if you had reminded you of someone had been weird. Well, until he made you take a DNA test.

"Hello there Young Master," a soft voice said from behind you.

You turned your head to the side, and saw an elderly man, the perfect example of a butler, smiling at you. But, the longer you looked into his eyes, you could sense the inner turmoil he was experiencing.

You were like so lifeless. He could tell from the way you mindlessly stood there while he talked to the officers, or strode to the car, passing by the news reporters, ignoring the continuous questioning. You ignored it all, eyes blocking out people from questing what could possibly be going through your mind.

When Alfred started the car, and started to drive off, he pondered on how you would affect the future of not only the Wayne family, but the vigilantes of the city. Would they welcome you? Or consider you a anomaly? Perhaps-

Oh.

As Alfred looked into the rear view mirror, he could see small droplets falling down your cheeks, which eventually turned into a steady stream of them. A vulnerability you hadn't been able to show coming forth, a trait he recognized from another young boy he had once raised, many moons ago.

"Young Master?" He whispered to you softly, your sobbing paused as your head snapped up towards him, "...Yes?" His eyes softened as they connected with yours in the mirror, he could see the way you were scared, all the uncertainty that would come with this new home of yours.

"Are you excited to meet your new family?" You paused to think of what to say, before settling on a quiet, "No." After which, you looked away and resumed your sobbing.

In any normal situation, he would've laughed at your honesty, but considering this wasn't normal, he let the two of you sit in comfortable silence. Your honesty, the ability to hide your thoughts and emotions already at such a young age.

You really were your fathers child.

You could feel your heart thumping wildly in your chest, no matter how many times you tried to tell yourself that everything would be alright, it was so hard to believe so as you stood infront of the towering doors of the Wayne manor. As a distraction, you clutched Alfred's hand as hard as a 7 year old possibly could, as he lead you inside the dark and mysterious manor.

Being inside didn't help at all, doing nothing more than making your nerves work overtime, especially when you looked down the dark halls that seemed to lead to nowhere, or the staircase that seemed to stretch for miles upon miles, and for the first time since you were here, or even brought to the police station you thought-

Where's my father?

Instantly you looked around wondering where the man that was displayed as a generous and charitable man was this entire time.

"That's going to be my father?"

"That is your father."

You stared up at Commissioner Gordon for a brief second before returning your gaze to the T.V. , and there he was, in all his glory, Bruce Wayne, the man who gave all he could to the world, after having the world take so much from him at such a young age

Gordon paused for a moment thinking of what to say next, "I know, it's nerve wrecking being thrown into a whole n'other world, yeah? You'll be okay kid, I promise you." He then raised his and ruffled your hair before leaving you to your own devices.

"Master Y/N," Alfred started, "I'm sorry master Bruce couldn't be here for you at the moment, but he had pressing matters he unfortunately couldn't abandon." He stared at you to see your reaction, but as soon as you were going to respond,

"Hey Al," you peaked from behind Alfred and saw a young man, maybe in his 20's walking towards Alfred before pausing after seeing you hiding behind him. He stared at you for a moment before questioning, "who's the kid?" Alfred shifted his attention to Dick, "the new Young Master, Master Bruces child."

Dick's eyebrows went up for a second, before quickly shuffling over to me, "Hey, nice to meet you kiddo!" He ruffled my hair roughly before lowering it and moving his attention back to Alfred, "B needs me to help him with the.." he paused and glanced towards me "stuff. So I'll come back and hang with you in a little, okay kid?" He quickly started to rush down one of the long halls.

"Honestly..." you could hear Alfred mumble before sighing and grabbing your attention, "Let us go and find a place for you to settle down in, alright?" You nodded and followed after him while he led you to what was to be your room.

After walking for what felt like miles, passing walls so big that little you thought would swallow you at any moment, paintings you thought would come to life and drag you into their world with them, you had finally reached your room, one with doors that had door handles you could barely reach. Alfred opened them for you, and pulled you alongside with him.

You looked around, observing the big space, filled with nothing but a bed, T.V. and nightstand. A room that was bigger than your entire apartment, something that made you even more nervous. But not wanting to bother Alfred any further, and be able to wallow alone for the first time in who knows how long without the fear of prying eyes, you looked towards Alfred.

He gave you his full attention as you whispered, "I'm fine, so can you please go?" You both knew that that wasn't true, him from the look in your eyes, and you from the pit you could feel forming in your stomach.

"Understood Young Master. I will be leaving now but, if you need for anything, please just call." He started to head out for the room, hesitating for a moment, with an unsure look in his eyes, but turned his back, leaving you alone in the dark room.

The family was difficult to bond with.

It was after the excuses upon excuses that began to pile up so much, that you always knew word for word what one would say, or the quick glances that were sent your way as someone walked past you, or even the way some ignored you, completely pretending you didn't exist, further cementing the idea that you were nothing more than a shadow to the people that should've considered you family.

Dick, he was a kind man, always willing to lend a helping hand and be there for others. Well, everyone except for you. He was an enthusiastic man, known as the acrobatic, the man that lights up people's days with jokes and charming smiles. He gave you those smiles, the same fake ones he gave to anyone else that wasn't his family. Excuses on how, " I'll hang out with you later kiddo!"

Promises that were never fulfilled. You really did hope that one day they would be, but as a kid, taking all the love you could get out of someone, you believed him and his charming smiles, atleast he smiled at you, right?

Tim, a tech savvy, was in simple terms, a genius. Someone who's mind was never turned off, always at work. Someone who's quiet, and yet always observing, something that unsettled you when you first met, the way he quietly scrutinized you, as if sizing up how important you were, seeing if you were worth his time and the effort.

Clearly, you weren't, as instead of the excuses you were instead met with silence, as if telling you, 'I really couldn't care less about you.' So, you took it as it was, and with little efforts here and there, tried to stick to your lane.

Jason, the bookworm, one that read things that were educational to things that were political to even language guides. He was a man that had a hardened exterior, closed off to people, becoming another person after his death. It wasn't talked about in depth, mainly Alfred wanting to spare the gorier details.

Surprisingly enough, he was alright to you. He acknowledged you, and despite the fact you longed for so much more it was enough to know that someone saw you. He would wave, or nod his head on some days, but all it did was leave you wanting for more, a hug, hell, a high five. But, it was fine, you were used to feeling fine. It was something you found yourself feeling ever since you got here.

Damien, someone you were so so excited to meet. You pushed aside the faces that came to mind when thinking of all the other times you tried bonding with people in the manor, and held hope. You guys were related, by blood, something that may not matter to some, but mattered to you, being able to bond with someone in a way you couldn't with anyone else.

But, when you hovered by him during his first appearance in the manor, the cold look on his face told you just how much he despised you despite only just meeting you.

His eyes narrowed before taking a breath, " You're father's other child?" The way he had said other child made you jump in a way you didn't like, and before you could respond, all you could feel was the harsh shove he sent your way. You yelped as you fell into a table bruising your hip.

"Master Damien, Have respect." Alfred's voice came out calm, but the look he gave him along with the warning in his tone said otherwise. Not taking his words to mind, Damien simply scoffed and looked at you in disdain, "you're nothing more than a whores child, so back off." The sight of his back towards you felt all to familiar.

It was obvious, the looks, the words, the shove. But feeling desperate, wanting something to cling onto, something to love, something to replace mama.

You pushed through.

Barbara, a polite, but distant lady. Also another tech savvy in the family that was introduced to the manor by Dick. She was often helping the family with god knows what on those computers that she and Tim seemed to stick to as a life-line. And before you knew it, you would see her fairly often.

She would say hello, but would abandon you for the first person she saw, or go towards one of the many computers in the manor to once again, do god knows what. But with how fed up you were starting to get, you found myself almost not caring on what was so interesting on the other side of that screen.

Stephanie Brown, a kind and mischievous girl that seemed to lighten up a room from the moment she walked in, though the mood always seemed to dissipate when you walked in she always tried her best to seem friendly. She would crack a joke here and there, but always looked like she didn't know how to talk with you. Sometimes she would just avoid you entirely.

Though, on the days you did run into her, giving her no choice but to talk and smile, you could tell with the amount of experience you had under your belt, that you weren't her object of interest.

Cassandra, quiet and aloof, but always watching and taking in the world and its people around her. When she was brought into this already big family, you were on the way to all hope being lost. But, when you learned of her illiteracy you found yourself wanting to learn with her. You could see yourself learning to read with her, helping her and reading late at night under a blanket fort.

You thought, maybe for once, effort would be enough, though it never was, was it? From the way she passed by you once you had walked up towards her giving you nothing but a hard stare, it was like you could hear your heartbreaking.

Duke, another boy, God how many children was father going to bring into this cold desolate manor before giving you the attention you deserve?- was a nice difference from the other ones that resided here. He didn't have a hidden agenda, or just looked you in the eyes and lied to you, but was just...distant. not like Barbara's distant, no, he would sometimes start to talk with you then just...stop. It was weird, like he was afraid to actually talk with you.

But nonetheless, he was nice, always giving you a smile in passing and not like the fake or strained ones everyone else gave you, a real genuine smile. It really was a simple gesture, but something that you hadn't realized you desperately needed.

Terry, he was a funny and charming guy. He could think up jokes in a flash, and seemed like a chill, but smart guy. You could see it in his walk, and in his eyes. But he was someone you knew from the get-go you could never reach.

He was someone who, despite his..affiliation with father, was someone who had a normal family. One dad, one mom, and one brother, at the end of every day when he came home he knew what to expect, a kind loving home. And deep in your heart you knew you could never be apart of that.

He would often look past you on his way to who knows what, which was fine. You were quiet when it came to people in the family, and would try to just walk past without looking up.

Kate on the other hand, was someone you didn't want to even attempt to talk to. She was brutally honest, a seemingly common trait in the Wayne blood, and never afraid to show or say what she thought.

Other then to you that is.

Unlike Dick who brushed you off with the promises of another day, or Damien who glared and spouted venomous words every chance he got, she gave you pity.

You could see it in the way she looked at you in passing, the way she could see the burdens on your shoulders, far too many for a kid as young as you. Sure, being a Wayne means having those burdens, but by having so many people around you it would seem lessened in a way.

But not for you.

You could tell by the way she would speak without hesitation when it came to Dick or even father himself, but hesitate when it came to you. And in all honesty, it completely sickened you. Not in a, 'I hate you' way, but the unfamiliarity of being pitied by someone made you queasy.

The funny thing is, your mom would always scold you, tell you that making eye contact is necessary when talking with someone, but in the few times you've been able to talk with her, you could never will yourself to no matter how many times mama's voice rang out in your head.

But, nonetheless, she's related to your father, so because of that she-

Oh.

Thats right. Your father.

Your father, he was well, you honestly didn't even know. He was always off doing something else, something that was apparently more important to him then his own blood child, atleast one of them anyway.

You were curious though, some days when you looked at yourself in the mirror, wondering what features you share with him, or late at night when you were alone with nothing but your thoughts, you wondered stuff about him like, 'does he have a favorite food? Does he like to exercise? Does he like to play pretend like you and mama used to?'

Sometimes one part of you wonders if he would ever play with you if you asked, if he'd be willing to put aside his duties for a little while to play with his child.

But the other part of you already knows the answer to that question.

You knew you would never hold a candle to the people that lived here. That you would never be as athletic as some, or have the same brains as others, but you so desperately wanted to.

You wanted to be able to share your accomplishments with your family, to have them show you off with pride look at you with nothing but admiration and love.

And you tried.

You really did, you pushed and pushed through until everything hurt. Ran in track until your legs would give up, played piano until your fingers felt like they would snap, painted until the once beautiful paintings didn't at all make sense to you.

Your mama, you missed her so much, would tell you that no matter what, the eyes were a window to the soul, something that told you more about someone than any words could.

So why is it that your family's eyes are always so cold and closed off when you look into them?

HI HII I hope you guys enjoy!! Please let me know how it was!! :D

#yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #platonic batfam #platonic yandere #reader insert

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kquil · 2 months ago

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PERFECT MATCH PART 2

PAIR. : poly!marauders x female slytherin reader

SUM. : despite being from Slytherin, as a fellow prankster, you give the marauders a helping hand

LENGTH : 1.2k

PART 1 | NAVI.

NOT PROOFREAD OR EDITED

Peter had blown their cover, and now the boys were running from Slughorn, who had caught them red-handed, switching the necessary ingredients for the next potion class. They should have known that Peter wasn’t the best choice for a lookout, considering he was the first to get caught and promptly given detention with Filch. As they were running away, however, their camaraderie lingered when Peter called out to them, hoping they wouldn’t be caught.

The remaining three marauders make a valiant effort to run away as fast as possible. Remus stays a good few metres ahead of James and Sirius, his hidden athleticism sparking in only the most dire straits. Despite the potential threat of detention, the three grin widely through the chase; Sirius has the gall to laugh at the sheer amount of fun he’s experiencing. The freedom to break the rules and run freely from the consequences – only light penalisation in his eyes – was invigorating. None of them believe they would ever willingly stop their practical jokes, even Remus, no matter how much he denies it.

Racing through the halls with their youth pumping through their veins, Remus, James and Sirius make it so that Slughorn is considerably far behind them before slowing down. Between laboured breaths, they try to sort out their next move but quickly run out of time. Slughorn was quickly approaching according to their map and they resorted to hiding in a darkened hallway they don’t normally walk down. Consumed by the rush, they had managed to make it down to the dungeons just as you stepped out of the hallway they had barely hidden in.

They weren’t very good hiders but it was amusing so you kept your lips sealed despite your mischievous nature urging you to press them with questions. Your answer came swiftly in the form of Professor Slughorn, out of breath and keeling over with sweat drenching his brows.

So that’s what’s happening~

Immediately understanding the situation, you step out of the hallway to face your gasping head of house and restrain a devious giggle at the sight of the marauders’ widened eyes. They’ve seen you, see them hiding. They’re also familiar with your artfully scheming ways likened to their marauder group’s mischief; the fact that you’re a Slytherin, however, doesn’t bode well. Fuck…were you gonna out them?

You don’t need any prompting, already directing the professor before he’s managed to catch his breath, “Oh Professor~ by the way, if you’d really like to know…” Slughorn eyes you after finally catching his breath. Through the fog of his exhausted mind, he finds himself eagerly awaiting your direction, almost having forgotten why he was in his current state in the first place, “they went that way,” you point to the right, the opposite direction of the three tricksters. James, Remus and Sirius release a collective breath of relief but remain eager to see how the interaction may unfold further.

“Who did?” Slughorn asks, trying to navigate the smog of fatigue clogging up his brain.

“The marauders,”

“They did?” your potions professor brightens at the revelation. You guess he’s finally rediscovered his initial intentions. But woe is me~ can he trust you so easily?

“They did what?” you tilt your head innocently, casually continuing the conversation as if you hadn’t just thrown him for a loop with that curveball of a question.

“Went that way?” he points right, perplexed at your sudden change. It seems Professor Slughorn was still foggy in the head from his sapped stamina and the boys had to bite their lips from bursting out laughing – you’re a menace.

“Who did?” you ask, pulling the most innocuous expression the boys have ever seen a Slytherin muster. Have you grown more beautiful since their last interaction? They can’t help but keep staring at your sweet face and pretty, pouty lips…

“The marauders!” Slughorn insists but you continue your oblivious stance.

“What marauder?”

“But didn’t you just say?-- Oh never mind,” Slughorn gives up the chase and turns with a dull swish of his robes. For now, he’s satisfied that he, at least, managed to get Pettigrew. As soon as Slughorn was far enough away, you turn back to the crouching marauders and give them a wink, signalling that the coast was clear.

“My fair lady!” Sirius dramatically bows down and kisses your knuckles, “How may I ever repay your kind gesture?”

“Hmmm…” you seem to seriously contemplate his playful words for a moment, though Sirius doesn’t mind, he’s more than eager to pay you back for saving his hide. “Let’s see…” You press your hand flat against his chest and slowly move down. The sultry overtones of your gesture make Sirius’ heart pound as he, Remus and James stare wide-eyed and gaping at your soft hands fondling their close friend’s chest. Suddenly your hand becomes a blur as you pull back his robe and steal a licorice wand from his inner breast pocket. “This’ll do~” you chirp innocently and begin to nibble on your newly acquired snack. “I can always count on you to be generous, Siri,” your wink sends a dangerous heat crawling up Sirius’ neck and exploding across his pale cheeks. This has never happened to him with a girl before! He’s supposed to make you flustered!

Turning to Remus, you make a gesture with your hand as if to say ‘pay up’. However, when the tall brunette merely stares at you in wonder with a small, amused quirk on his lips, you raise a brow, “I know you’re loaded, Lupin. Gimme the goods,” and just like that, you also have Remus turning bright pink. How can you be so nonchalant and not realise the embarrassingly sexual innuendos underpinning your words?! Remus surrenders a peppermint toad.

James was the last one of the three you turn to as you pocket Remus’ liberal offer. “You don’t have to ask me, for anything,” James chuckles and easily provides you with a handful of Fizzing Whizzbees. With a victorious smile, like a cute little squirrel who’s happy with her hoard, you pocket James’ addition and lean forward to brush a kiss along his sharp jaw.

“I knew I could count on you, Potter,”

James was floored. Sirius had to lean against the wall and Remus was limp against the large window sill. All three stare with a mix of surging admiration and boyish wonder as you walk away with a skip in your step. You’re so happy, you even begin to hum a soft little tune to yourself.

“...wait… how come only James gets a kiss?” Remus asks, bringing Sirius back from his dazed state. James merely smirks in triumph – he’ll remember the softness of your pretty lips against his skin forever~

“Dearest!” Sirius calls, already jogging after you. “I think you’ve forgotten something!”

“Yeah,” Remus adds with a cheeky grin, leisurely making his way over with James at his side, drawling in his Welsh accent, “gives us a cusan,”

“What’s that?” you’ve stopped, curious as to what he may mean. From his tall height, Remus leans forward, bending at his hips and whispers in your ear.

“That’s a kiss, sweetheart,” he steals one anyway at the base of your ear, where your neck and jaw meet. The high sensitivity of the area makes you squeal in surprise, only to be kissed by Sirius too, who aims innocently for your cheek.

NAVI.

A/N : because of @urmomw4ntsme 's recent ask of wanting to see a Slytherin reader, it got me thinking about this request that i wrote last year for my 1k milestone. I couldn’t sleep until i finished writing this so it may not have the best grammar so please excuse me for that. this was also inspired by this interaction between Alice and the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland.

#james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #poly marauders x reader #marauders x reader #poly marauders #marauders era #slytherin reader #marauders era fanfiction

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buckets-and-trees · 6 months ago

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EVERY MINUTE OF IT

Characters/Pairings: Alpha!Bucky x Female!Omega!Reader Word Count: 4k Summary: Claimed unequivocally by Alpha Bucky Barnes, leader of the growing HYDRA faction, that's not the end of it. But what exactly is in store for you? What will it mean to be his Omega?

Content/Warnings: omegaverse; reluctant attraction; power dynamics; mild manipulation; threats; dirty talk; explicit smut: spanking, vaginal fingering, biting, rough sex, choking, edging, orgasm denial, slapping, spitting, oral (male and female receiving), unprotected vaginal intercourse and insemination, dacryphilia, overstimulation, erotic picture taking

Author Notes: Part three to what I never planned on being a series - the Alpha Bucky April drabble was only 500 words, the next part hit 1.5k, but this... well, let's just say this Bucky absolutely had his way with both me and my muse. This one will be a make up to tick orgasm delay/denail for MARCH of @buckybarnesevents Build a Bucky Bingo ; and the dialogue, alpha, and pet prompts for the second week of Hot Bucky Summer (thought this was going to be a short little thing I was going to whip out before week two had finished, but alas hahaha).

A/N 2: We've seen only a bit of his rough side up to this pont, but in this part we will truly see mean Alpha Bucky. Don't say I didn't warn you - here and with the actual content warning list.

A/N 3: I tried not to write any plot with this porn, but a minimal amount forced its way in.

He had made good on his threat, using your body for pleasure and for show under the full moon until there was no one left to watch, but you were not sure he had been keeping close track, instead merely taking you over and over until they grey hours of dawn. You had been too exhausted to register anything much after that – being carried away, a car ride, being tucked into a bed.

You had woken up in the afternoon alone.

Alone for the first time in three days.

On hearing you make your way to the bathroom someone had brought in water and left an impressive spread of food that lasted you through the afternoon and evening. You grazed and slept.

Your body and mind had been pushed beyond all previous limits, and so the sleep and rest had been most of those first few days after the full moon and the conqueror’s bonding ritual.

But now, a week on, you are tired, restless, and impatient.

You were in a spacious penthouse, you had been offered many luxuries, well fed by a personal chef, attended to by an assistant, your only restrictions being denied access to a phone or internet and barred from leaving the premises.

Should you have chosen an unplugged retreat or vacation, it would be perfect.

After contemplating and debating internally all morning, at lunch you make your decision. You finish yet another delicious meal, wipe your mouth with the beautiful linen napkin, and then set it down next to the bone china and plated gold utensils. The staff begins to move around you, and your assistant approaches.

Before she can say anything else, you take a deep breath and say, “I need to see him.”

There’s no question of who you mean.

She nods. “I’ll make the request.”

Whether pet or prisoner and left alone for more than seven days, you do not believe your request will be seen as any sort of priority, so when you see the more formal dining table set for two for dinner, your mouth drops open for a moment, and you stop in your tracks.

You turn to your assistant – even though she tries to afford you most of your privacy, she is ever on the edge of your presence. She looks as surprised as you. “I was given no response other than that they’d take the request under consideration.”

You nod, then pace, padding barefoot across the hardwood floor in front of floor-to-ceiling windows, until you finally hear the rustle and then commotion of activity that announces his arrival.

Your heart races, but it’s only a few more moments before the large and imposing alpha, Bucky Barnes, appears in front of you.

“Omega,” he says with a mere nod of his head, no pretense.

Your eyes narrow a fraction, wary of his seemingly easy demeanor. “Alpha.”

“Shall we?” he asks, and motions to the table.

You nod and take a seat as he does.

Within seconds, the meal is brought in by two attendants and the chef, and Bucky thanks and praises them very simply.

He occasionally looks at you, regarding you, but does not speak.

Before long, you huff, and he looks up sharply, pinning you with his steel blue eyes, harsher than at any point since he’d arrived. “What?” he demands.

“What is all of this?” you start, gesturing your hand to indicate the penthouse. “And where have you been?”

He sets down his knife and fork and straightens a little more. “Is it not to suited to your liking? You can change anything you want. This is your place.”

“My place?” you ask.

“Yes, your place. It is not far from the place I’ve taken up residence.”

The revelation is not surprising, but somehow more irritating. “And what? You’ve had me and now you’re discarding me?”

“I should have thought you’d want your own place.”

Maybe you should want your own place, away from him. And yet…

“I should be wherever you are.”

“What?” he scoffs. “So you can be embroiled in my affairs and bring me down? ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?’”

The accusation wounds you, though you know it’s only logical – and you know what you’re thinking and feeling isn’t logical. You have determined to put off thinking about it.

“I’m not your friend,” you state, trying to keep your voice as even as possible. “but I’m not your enemy either.”

“What should I call you then?” he challenges.

You raise your chin a fraction. “I’m your Omega.”

He doesn’t speak or move immediately. Instead, his eyes somehow fix you even more intently. There’s a burning in your chest under his scrutiny, but you remain still.

Finally, he stands and moves toward you, the two of you never taking your eyes off the other.

“You are my Omega.”

He comes to stand behind your chair, and you remain unmoving. He takes your chin in his left hand and tilts your head to expose your neck to him. He leans down and noses along your jaw, inhaling your scent and putting your body on alert. You feel the curling tendrils of want stir in your core, already awakening for him. He tilts your head even more and draws his teeth along the side of your throat, causing a shiver you can’t suppress, and he chuckles darkly and licks at the fresher of the two bonding marks he gave you. His hot tongue, insistently pressing at the bite elicits a small noise from you, and your right hand shoots up to card into his hair. Your full omega side wants him, has started to slicken your pussy for him already, you can feel it. You know your alpha can smell it.

He bites over the mark, but not roughly enough to break the skin, and you arch up for more, but he pushes himself back up, away from you and the crook of your neck.

“So needy,” he remarks, “I like this.”

The first few days you’d spent with him, he’d kept you full of his cock, tortured with pleasure, overwhelmed, exhausted by him and the recipient of a seemingly insatiable lust unleashed on you.

This feels like the predator is going to play with his prey, and you bite your lip. He pushes your head, tilted to the left, to the right to drop into his other hand, clearly testing your compliance. It’s gentle, but it’s dominant. Back to the left, then to the right, and then he dips to nip at your ear, and you gasp.

Bucky releases your head from between his large hands then pulls your chair away from the table. “Up.”

You stand. He puts one hand on your hip and ushers you around the edge of the table and to the side, in the middle, and turns you to face the wide expanse of mahogany and its centerpiece of fresh flowers – white peonies, white roses, white hydrangeas.

“Put your hands on the table,” he instructs.

You press the palms of your hands onto the smooth, dark wood. Your omega side is ready – even eager – to comply, but with your own long game to play, you know you must play out whatever game he desires now.

“Arch your back,” is his next direction.

Keeping your breathing even, you do, hips jutting away from the table, on display for him.

The back of his hand lands at the nape of your neck, and he drags his knuckles slowly down your spine. Your body rocks back, seeking more, as he reaches the small of your back, and he hums in self-satisfaction.

While his vibranium hand plants itself on your hip, he moves the other around to skim slowly over your stomach, then up your rib cage, and to your breast. He gropes the round flesh through your shirt and bra, but the fabric does nothing to quell how the pressure stokes the fire growing in you.

You feel the heat of him press up your back as his hand moves now up your neck, turning your head to kiss him. You push back against him, and he ruts his bulge slightly into your ass. Your lips are hungry in the kiss, but it’s like he only provided his lips for you to kiss him, receiving what your lips want to give. He moves his hand back down to your chest, but this time slipping beneath the neckline and going flesh to flesh to palm your breast. He kneads diligently, almost methodically, and you know all of this is designed to warm you up, tease you, get you burning for him. He’s still largely a stranger to you, but you also know you can’t resist him. He’s spent so much time already playing with your body. He knows where and how to touch you to make you respond to him after those first days and nights spent naked with him.

Bucky moves again, ending the kiss, drawing away from your back and removing the hand from your breast. You whine, but that hand goes to the small of your back again, the vibranium hand squeezing your hip as he forces you spine to resume the curving posture for him once more.

“We’re only getting started, Omega. Be patient.”

You huff, and he laughs.

The fingers of both his hands slip into the top of your waistband. He slowly pulls your pants and underwear down over your hips, and down your legs to mid-thigh. It restricts your bottom extremities, and that plays into the mental game he’s clearly playing with you. His hands move up the back of your naked thighs, and then palms your ass with both hands. He squeezes both cheeks, goes back to palming them again, then withdraws his right hand and slaps that cheek harshly. You jump and yelp, but he merely goes back to palming and squeezing, soothing the smacked flesh. Then another slap, and you hiss at the sting over the first sting. His vibranium hand continues groping your round flesh, but instead of soothing the second smack, his flesh hand dips down to your dripping hole, where he inserts two fingers, then quickly adds a third.

“Alpha,” you moan, and your head falls back, eyes closed both to hold back a couple of tears and to soak in the barrage of sensations.

He doesn’t answer, but his fingers continue dipping in and out, slow and shallow.

He delivers another harsh slap, immediately returns to the maddening fingering until you’re keening and trying to hump his hand.

Abruptly he grips your hips with both hands and turns you around to face him. The cool metal hand grips you by the neck, tilting your face up helplessly to him, and this kiss is messy, demanding, teeth nipping at your lips. You kiss him back as well as you can as he is in full control of your head and holds you where he wants you. Both your hands hold tightly to his forearm, and you squeeze.

His other hand goes to the cut of you again below, but there’s more fervor there this time. He plunders your mouth and plunders your pussy, and you’re losing your breath, but you have no wish for him to relent as you feel the powerful orgasm you crave building and barreling towards you. His fingers curl against the spongy spot on your inner wall, this thumb is demanding against your pulsing clit, and his tongue is licking dominantly into your mouth. You’re trembling and clutching at him, moaning, only when your breath hitches, inches away from bliss, he pulls back.

You cry out as he looms over you. His smirk is cruel, and his eyes spark with fire.

“Alpha!”

He licks his one of his fingers, just one.

“Alpha, please,” you groan.

“My well-mannered Omega,” he coos. “We’ll make a mess of you yet,” he says. You’re unsure whether it’s a threat or a promise, but you have no space or time to think as he moves you again, hoisting and pushing you by the grip on your chin around and away from the table until your back is flush against the wall.

Bucky pushes you down to your knees, pinches your mouth open, then spits on your tongue. "Swallow it."

You don’t think, just swallow as his eyes bore into yours as he towers over you.

He strokes his thumb over your cheek – nearly a caress, and you can’t help leaning ever so slightly into his touch. Then his thumb moves from your cheek to your lips, tracing them before pressing down to open your mouth again. He inserts two of the fingers that had been in your cunt into your mouth, and you close your mouth and begin to suck without him having to say so. The look on his face shows his approval. As you suck, there’s something so soothing about, the weight of his fingers pressing down on your tongue, the stead rhythm, that it that lulls you even further into a state of submission for him. Your eyes begin to droop.

He chuckles and withdraws his fingers, wiping them on your face. “Don’t want that so soon in our evening.”

He begins to unbuckle his belt, and you reach for the button and zipper, but he bats your hands away and slaps your cheek.

You look up sharply at him, reaching to soothe your cheek.

“Ask nicely for your Alpha’s cock, Omega.”

His first nights with you were about physical domination. This is the other half, yielding, submission.

You think best how to ask, before saying, “Please let me put my lips around your cock, Alpha.”

He unbuttons his trousers but keeps his eyes on yours. “Tell me how you want me to use your mouth, Omega,”

“I…” you bite your lip. You aren’t a stranger to sex, but speaking so directly about it isn’t something you’ve done with any of your partners in the past.

Bucky lowers the zipper. He pushes the band of his boxers down far enough to free his cock, and you whimper. He fists his arousal slowly. “You want it, then tell me what you want exactly. You’ve already let me use your body in so many ways, we both know you want more. What are you craving?”

You wait only another beat before answering, “Want you to fuck my throat.”

You are impressed at the evenness of your own tone in that moment, and his lips tick up as well.

Bucky widens his stance, then leans down to wrap his left arm around your head, holding it – almost cradling it – in the crook of his elbow. The he pushes his cock to your lips, you open for him, he pushes in, and starts truly fucking your mouth. The first few thrusts are slow, but insistent. He fills your mouth with more of him with each of those first thrusts. Then the head of his cock hits the back of your throat. He thrusts out and in again, again, again. His other hand strokes your cheek. Then he slaps it, and you groan around his cock.

“Mmmm, fuck you feel good,” he echoes your groan. “Gonna take all of your alpha’s cock down this pretty throat,” he says, and his hand moves down to your neck, feeling himself push in there.

Your eyes are tearing up, and the tears quickly start to spill over as he continues to use your throat, never removing himself completely now that he’s overtaken your mouth. He slaps your cheek twice in quick succession and you sob around his cock as you can manage. It’s hard to breathe, and your chest heaves. You brace yourself against his thighs, and he straightens and pulls out of you.

Bucky moves quickly, taking you by the shoulders and tossing you into the middle of the floor – rough but not violent.

“Clothes off,” he barks, but it’s he didn’t need to employ an alpha command to get you to comply. You barely have enough time to discard your pants and underwear the rest of the way, and only manage to get your shirt over your head in the time it takes him to get naked.

He’s on you the next instant, covering your body with his. With his chest pressed down against yours, you feel how his breathing is just as heavy as your own, glad he’s not as unaffected as he’s tried to play this encounter.

You hitch your thighs up around his torso and squeeze your knees around him.

But he doesn’t give you what you’re most anxious for yet, instead pausing to study your face.

“Such a pretty mess,” he admires.

Heat pulses through your body, his praise undeniable to your omega side.

He dips his head to lap up the salt of some of your tears, tongue dragging slowly up your cheek. When he draws back again, he merely looks at you. His eyes seem to be looking for something, but you don’t know what. You try not to give him anything outside of this moment.

His pelvis is lodged between your hips, so you squirm beneath him, hoping your hot, dripping cunt will call him back to your pressing needs. He groans and drops his forehead to yours, another sign he’s not as cool and detached as he was at the outset.

“Please, please fuck me, Alpha,” you beg.

“Fill you up with my cock? With my seed?”

“Yes, Alpha!”

He draws his hips back and you reach down and help line up his cock with your hole. He spears in with no mercy, and you don’t need or want it. You groan together as he fills you completely.

Your mouths meet again, and it’s a combination of rough messy kisses, nipping and bites, licking, mingled heavy breaths. It’s primal and unhinged, and there’s no thought to it as he continues to fuck you.

The pace at which he thrusts is relentless and just what you need, but also not enough.

You want more and you whimper and beg through kissing for it.

Bucky continues fucking you and pulls away from your lips, but in no way is he done overwhelming you. Leaning heavily onto his vibranium arm planted next to your head, he moves his other arm and presses his inner wrist up and down your neck insistently. The sound that escapes your mouth is broken and needy as the flooding of his scent directly In and around you engulfs your senses. Then he’s also sucking on your original bonding mark until you are a heaving, panting, crying mess, clawing at his back, unable to even put coherent words together to beg for him.

His shifts just enough that his pubic bone grinds down against your clit as he pounds into your pussy. You are practically vibrating with the impending orgasm, and as your alpha can undoubtedly sense that through the bond, he bites down on your mark, and you scream and fly into your release. Your walls clench hard around him, and he growls through two more powerful thrusts before he shouts, and you feel the heat of his seed star to fill you up. He pumps and pumps until he’s left every drop he can inside of you, then collapses on top of you.

He doesn’t move, pressing you down with all his weight as you both recover from the ecstasy you’ve just experienced. You almost move to stroke your fingers up and down his spine, but you quell that impulse. You do allow yourself to keep your hands on his back though – still, but connected to this man, your alpha, who dealt you such rough but undeniable pleasure.

Finally, Bucky pushes up off you, but surprises you when he scoops you up and carries you away bridal style, heading toward your bedroom.

“Alpha?”

“You really want to live under the same roof?” he asks.

“Yes,” you answer simply.

He glances down at your face, brows furrowed, then looks back ahead as he heads down the hallway.

“Okay then.”

“Yes?”

“Yes,” he affirms, entering your room.

He tosses you onto the bed, and crawls up over you again. He reaches beneath your back to unclasp your bra, and you let him pull it from your shoulders and toss it off to the side. Closing the gap between your bodies, you relish the feeling of his bare chest against yours, his chest hair teasing your nipples. He grips your chin yet again, this time with his vibranium hand, and looks into your eyes with a steely, cold stare.

“If you’re anything other than the good omega I require, I will send you back here, but it won’t be like this last week has been. You will be in absolute exile. Don’t test me – there will be no chances.”

You give a single nod of your head.

He pushes up and leans back then, kneeling above you.

“But you don’t want to jeopardize or risk that, do you?”

“No, Bucky.”

It’s the first time you’ve called him anything other than alpha and he clocks that, you see the flash of acknowledgement in his eyes.

“You want to be with your alpha, you want the limited freedom you know I can give you if I choose to, but you also have your own agenda”

It wasn’t a question, and you know you can’t fool him – you know he is too smart for that, and you know he knows you are intelligent in your own right. He made it clear when he closed in on your people’s territory that’s why your compliance and claiming you as his omega was part of the deal of surrender to spare any more bloodshed.

“Cross me and your future will only be visitations when I require you to service my ruts.”

You don’t doubt his threat.

“Do we have an accord, Omega?”

“Yes, Alpha.”

The words you two exchanged the fateful night of that initial surrender.

He nods.

“It seems fitting to seal it by kiss.”

You sit up and then kneel before him on the bed, he bends his head down to kiss you. It’s fervent, solemn, but he cuts it off before it develops into anything more.

“Stay here,” he orders, sliding off the bed.

That was an alpha command – wholly unnecessary except to remind you of his power.

You scowl at his retreating form, then huff once he’s out of the room.

He’s quick, and when he comes back in the room, he is slowly stroking his cock with one hand, and holds his phone in the other. He steps up to the edge of the bed.

“A kiss here, as well,” he says, pushing his hips forward.

You crawl to him, lower your head, and kiss his cock. He nods at you, indicating he expects more. You take the tip of his semi-hard cock into your mouth, lave your tongue around the tip, and then suck, looking up at him. He takes a few photos, moaning at your ministrations.

“Fuck you couldn’t look more pretty and more ruined,” he whispers. He tosses the phone down, then pushes you off him and back onto the bed, manhandling your hips to get you planted in the center of the mattress with your thighs splayed open obscenely.

“Only fair for me to finish sealing the agreement and kiss these lips as well.”

He dives in like a man starved, despite the rounds you’ve just finished. He pulls your next orgasm quickly from your fluttering pussy. You would be surprised, only you’ve come to accept that he has already acquired a dangerous – and delicious – knowledge of your body.

He looks up at you and grins and then goes in immediately for another.

You try and push him away and close your legs, feeling overstimulated, but he growls and roughly forces your thighs open again.

“Your one chance of being my good omega is already begun. So, you’re going to let me eat the pussy that belongs to me until you’re a sobbing overstimulated mess and think you can’t possibly take any more, but you will. And since this should be the last night we ever spend in this bed, when I’ve had my fill of lapping at your sweet, dripping cunt, I’m going to see if I can’t fuck you hard and long enough to break the bed.”

You can only hope your gamble to deal with the devil of HYDRA will not be your undoing.

full Fine Line Collection

Everyone check your pulse, please. Mine is gone.

I'm not saying this is officially a series, but I think we HAVE fallen into a collection territory... Unless y'all are through with this Alpha Bucky...

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

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #alpha bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #female reader #aspen wrote something #fine line collection

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bitchlessdino · 1 year ago

Note

hello! 🤍 can i request a bad boy type wonwoo having a soft spot for also a cold type reader?

like they always acting so cold towards other people and even both of them acting like they hate each other.

and people are like "oh there is no way they can date", but wonwoo is only kind to reader and viceversa even without them noticing

Oh, and they dont even realized their feelings until reader feels jealous when they saw wonwoo with someone else and thats when they realized about it, but are afraid to said something since reader doesnt know how wonwoo will react

Kinda angst maybe, but fluff at the end

take your time btw! 🤍 it is also totally okay if is not possible, hope you are having an excellent day 🌸

Pairing: wonwoox gn!reader Genre: slight angst, fluff, slice of life Word count: 6.3k tags: mentions alcohol, childhood au, biker!wonu, frienemy!wonwoo, possible love triangle, reader called a bitch, presence of violence and imminent danger, analogy using car wrecks, mc and wonwoo stilling living with their parents as adults because that's normal ok, kinda messy, intimates kisses Summary: Hard to maintain a good acquaintanceship if it started off on the wrong foot, but Wonwoo tries to do just that, no matter how much you resent him from childhood. Now reunited as adults, you're questioning whether your negative impression of him has stuck since being away or have you grown up just enough to realize how much between the two you have changed? author note: this was collecting dust but finally she is here. just in time for wonwoo to be in my bias list 🙂

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @goblinvern @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @6969lilithcat @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch

You will never willingly be associated with Jeon Wonwoo.

His mom had just happened to be someone your mom knew. Someone that she hadn’t talked to or seen in a long time. Long enough to have built their own families and have their kids without realizing it. It was as if they fell back into place. A long-time childhood friendship that quickly rekindled in a grocery store one day. From that day on, your families were inseparable. As long as they were still friends, you’d see each other every day.

“Why would I babysit some weirdo kid? I have better things to do.”

The problem was he wanted nothing to do with you.

When you met him the first time, you were a child barely getting around to a bike without training wheels, and Wonwoo was meeting the first stages of fungal acne. He was a bit older than you were then and his mom had given him the duty to look after you, the neighbor’s kid. The neighbor’s weirdo kid.

His mom bragged to yours about how good of an older brother he was to his younger brother, Seonwoo, but that seemed that seems to be his limit. Having freshly turned a teen, it all made sense. Wonwoo didn’t know you, and all of a sudden in his growing years he’s stuck taking care of a kid he knows by association. Understandably, he’d have that teen angst.

You didn't mean to overhear. You just happened to eavesdrop behind a pillar that day in their obnoxiously nice house when you came across him and his mother talking privately. Admittedly, you hadn’t made the best impression, but you were any kid in their single digits: annoying, talkative, maybe skeptical. But you were a kid. A kid that got their feelings easily hurt.

Despite saying such hurtful words, Wonwoo listened. He treated you with care–consideration almost–following his mother's orders, but you didn't make it easy for him. Every group breakfast, every dinner, every ride to school. You became relentless. You knew how he really felt about your situation after all. Your mind was made up at that point.

If he wanted nothing to do with you, you wanted nothing to do with him.

“Keep walking.”

Your eyes barely glaze over at the unfamiliar figure before waving off your hand as if dismissing a nuisance, which in this case was accurate. The unsolicited stranger scoffs, getting up from his unwelcome seat, hacking and spitting on the spot on the floor next to your chair. “I don’t fuck with bitches anyway.”

You roll your eyes as you shoo him away with the flick of your wrist again, then feel another unwanted presence join you in your once peaceful solitude. You tightly shut your eyes in frustration before taking a deep exhale, finding silence impossible under your circumstances. “I don’t want to hear it, Jeon.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” you hear Wonwoo arrogantly chuckle, shrugging off the thick leather off his shoulders and setting them on his lap as he takes a seat.

With your back turned to him, you imagine the pristinely lit smile on his face he gives when he’s amused, a rarity in these parts with the exception of you, someone he’s known long enough to recount every blemish that once appeared on your face. He watches you finish the rest of your drink, the bob of your throat shifting before you pull the glass away from your lips. Your resting bitch face is still intact after all these years.

“Good, keep it that way.”

Wonwoo could have chosen to keep the peace as he said he would, but it was just too easy with you. Even after you’ve left for college and come back, he acts as if nothing has changed. In his eyes, you were still that same angsty kid who always has something snarky to say when he’s around. And man, did he always have just as smart a rebuttal. “It’s just, that was the fifth guy you’ve scared off—course, the guy was a moron—but you like dying alone, Frosty?”

Frosty. The Snowman. Much unlike the jolly creature, however, you were given that name being somewhat of a cold character, particularly to Wonwoo and anything he witnesses face the wrath of your harsh but honest judgment.

You begin getting up from your seat, scowling at the abhorred nickname, the prediction of this dinner a mistake an accurate calculation. “Should’ve known you’d run your mouth. Tell mom I’m heading to the store across the street.”

Your mother was so proud to have you back home for a period before you’d find a new place again, and she insisted on holding a small intimate gathering at bar type restaurant. That meant sharing the space with other patrons, the Jeons, and unfortunately Wonwoo, who only grew more irritating than you last remember.

“I’ll tell her, but I’m coming with.”

The caretaker role he was bestowed upon so long ago seems to resonate with him still, insisting on trailing behind you with nonchalance. To which you answer with a brash:

“Fuck off.”

Your eyes go to the back of your skull the nth time tonight before you’re off on your stroll, noticing the annoying scrap of Wonwoo’s heel following behind you after he waves your mom and the rest of the party farewell. You ignore him, darting towards the antique shop that warms your stomach with nostalgia, hearing the wind chimes clang when you enter with a cool musk breeze to follow.

“That all you have to say to me? Even if you hate me, there has to be some…sentiment.”

You finger through the old hardcovers, eyes scanning over the aged wood of the shelves until they move on to the glossy wood of the cuckoo clocks on the walls. “Not even a little bit, Jeon.”

There’s the breathiness of his scoff that lingers in the musk air. He crosses your arms, the leather rubs loudly against itself. “Well, that’s sad to hear,” he responds, not sounding sad at all.

“Don’t you have an actual sibling to bother? Why are you being a nuisance to me?”

He simply shrugs. “Seonwoo isn’t back from his work-study just yet. Plus he’d be happy to know I kept you company.”

Unlike Wonwoo, Seonwoo was actually tolerable, pleasant even. If you were envious of Wonwoo for anything, it was having a nice little brother like Seonwoo. You weren’t exactly close but he was a nice kid, a lot nicer than Wonwoo anyway, and not at all that annoying kind of nice that chirps every two seconds.

You sigh. “Now that’s actually sad to hear.”

“I knew you’d say that. You always liked him better than me.”

Only because you never liked me in the first place.

“Mmhmm.”

“Oh my god, Wonwoo?”

A shrill voice beckons from the store entrance, an older version of a girl from your adolescence runs towards you both. “I thought I heard your gorgeous voice. Gorgeous face as well as always, how are you?”

Gina also grew up in the same neighborhood you both did and was typically nice, but around Wonwoo, she seemed to lose all train of thought since all her eyes could train on was him. She bats her eyelashes the same flirtatious way several years ago, and instinctively her body is drawn to him like mosquitos to blood, drinking in masculine appearance for all its worth.

If you were anything like her, you’d get it. Wonwoo is an attractive man by society's standards, but the truth of the matter is you can’t stand him. And you know deep down he can’t stand you. His fake politeness isn’t fooling anybody. Okay, that is a lie. His fake politeness doesn’t fool you, but his limitless charm made everyone else weak in the knees.

“Good, good.” He nods cordially, a smile drained from his face only leaving a straight stare, eyes only landing on Gina momentarily before they return to you.

Gina finds his gaze’s target before the light is slightly dimmed from her initially bright eyes. “And you too. Oh gosh, you must’ve got back too. Can you believe we’ve both graduated from college?”

You wonder if she does, considering you did graduate from the same university.

“Yeah, it’s…crazy.” You answer, sounding unintentionally sarcastic.

Gina awkwardly chuckles, eyes back on Wonwoo as if they never left. “All we need is Seonwoo and it’s like the musketeers again, huh?”

Hardly the musketeers when she only ever stalked Wonwoo the entire time. You’re surprised you didn’t find she didn’t follow him all the way to the bathroom too.

Wonwoo’s cold expression is a steel cage that lacks interest. He blindly nods, mumbling “sure,” and not giving any other sign of continuing the conversation.

“Well, you guys should totally make it to my housewarming party. I’m inviting all the other guys from the neighborhood. Invite Seonwoo too! It’ll be a nice way to catch up.”

“We’ll think about it,” Wonwoo answers, giving her another curt nod.

“I’ll be really, really grateful if you did.”

There are stars in her eyes, like a treat is dangling in front of it, that treat being a six-foot body of steel and perfect Wonwoo.

“Right,” he grunts.

She finally waves you both goodbye before making it past the glass doors with a quirk in her step.

You continue to peruse the rest of the store, picking up that one wooden statue that’s never been sold, or if it has, it keeps getting returned. It makes you wonder if it’s cursed. “Just reject her already and let her move on. Even I feel sorry for her.”

“I’m not ready for the aftermath of all that.”

You really have to unlearn that eye roll of yours. You could tell it’s giving you a headache. “Of course you aren’t.”

“You’re not going, are you? The thing she mentioned?”

“This the first time you met me? Of course, I’m not going. You are?”

He shrugs. “A party never hurt anybody.”

“Without an address?”

He pulls out his phone with a notification as clear as day, Gina’s Instagram handle ushering him with details of where the party whereabouts. “Who said I didn’t have an address?”

“She really needs to find a hobby.”

Wonwoo chuckles, tucking the phone back in his front pocket. “Ready to head back now? Unless you want to look through the store a second time.”

You groan. “Stop policing me. I’m going home.”

“I’ll take you.”

You raise your brow. “On your fucking death trap? No thanks.”

He scoffs, crossing his arms, the leather of his jacket speaking out of turn again. “You say that as if people aren’t begging to the back of my Harley.”

“Only people with a death wish.”

That goes on for some time until you make yourself walk the mile before your feet give out. Wonwoo obviously is the first with a smile on his face before he forces you to get the rest of the couple miles on the back of his bike, which was admittedly prettier in person than the photos your mom showed you.

There’s a bitter taste in your mouth as you get on—no doubt regret—questioning the proximity. “Hold on,” he says, to which you answer, “fat fucking chance.”

Your spiteful words are wasted as you find yourself tugging on him as you speed off on the vehicle from hell on the freeway.

“You’re an asshole!” You scream from your lungs.

“And I told you to hold on!” He screams back, a wide smile on his face you have no way of seeing.

You desperately wrap your arms around his torso, your life flashing before your eyes like a movie. All you hear is the wind in your ears while the traffic lights are hardly visible through your tightly shut eyes. You feel your soul leave your body, thinking nothing but the idea of an afterlife. If there was one good thing about the predicament you’re in, it’d be that he can’t see the terror in your eyes. He doesn’t know how much you want to scream bloody murder.

Before you know it, you arrive home safe and sound, the gas stopping at the curb of your house. He abruptly uses the bike break and you crash against broad shoulders, and you exude bumbling idiocy as you cling to him like a baby with separation anxiety. Oxygen finally enters your brain and you recognize your compromised position, forcing your grip off of him. You unbuckle and shove his helmet into his lap as you get off, a permanent scowl on your face.

“Fuck you.”

“Glad to see you haven’t changed, Frosty.”

You don’t forget that encounter back then and you never get a chance to with your mom finding any excuse to see the Jeons day after day since your arrival. If that perfect apartment with affordable rent were to drop at your feet at a perfect time just when you so desperately needed it, it’d be now.

“Bring that in over next door. The Jeons will be thrilled to see their fridge stocked. And remember I’ll be gone until the morning.”

“We just gave them homemade wine yesterday. Mom, just because they live next door doesn’t mean we always have to plan to meet. We see them anyway.” You grab the cumbersome container of whatever it was anyway and hold it to your side like like a football, a strained expression on your face.

“You need to understand the value of lasting relationships. That’s why you’re still single, honey.”

You roll your eyes, groaning as you trod off, not wanting to start up another one of lectures why you're in your mid-twenties room with hardly any men in your books let alone in your court. Better off facing Jeon Wonwoo again than that, you guess.

You knock on their familiar white door, awaiting an answer from the other side. Soon enough you hear a masculine voice, but a voice that isn’t quite Wonwoo’s. The boy's fresh face on the receiving end piques your interest, an expression telling of a life of light and ease. Seonwoo stares back at you with a smile before politely waving. “It’s good seeing you! Been a minute.”

You find yourself returning a gesture, relaxing your arms. “It has. Mom wanted to send things over. Again.”

“Of course. Come in.”

You leave the box of goods in their fridge, feeling the presence of the younger Jeon follow behind you like a benevolent puppy. “Did you get in yesterday?”

“This morning. Early flight.”

You grin. “Singapore doing you good, I see.”

“Nothing like home though.”

You softly chuckle, “Yeah, there isn’t.”

Your conversation is cut short with another family coming down the stairs, one that looks ready to leave. They meet your eyes in amusement and his steps begin to falter in turn. “I saw you yesterday.”

“Don’t you dare make a joke about me missing you. It wasn’t funny any of the first five times.”

He’s smug as expected, entertained by the fact you’ve kept count. “I won’t, but it won’t make it any less true.”

You scoff. “Live in reality for once in your life, Wonwoo.”

“I will when you do.” He comes to the kitchen—briefly passing by you to do so and grazing your forearm—to fill a glass of water and downs it, his signature jacket thrown over his shoulders. He let out a refreshed sigh in your direction and put it away as soon as he finished. “I’m leaving now. When you change your mind about missing me, I’ll be at Gina’s party. Might actually find some fun there while you’re at it.”

The door closes behind him dramatically and your attention is right back on Seonwoo, the successful bystander. “Your brother is annoying.”

The young man smiles, finding the nostalgia in that small event. “Reminds me of the good old times.”

“Well, I should get going.”

“You’re going to the party too?”

You shake your head. “Not the slightest bit interested. Just trying to keep myself busy while I’m still in town.”

“Plan on leaving already? You just got here.”

“I can’t live on my parents forever. Need to make a living of my own you know.”

He softly laughs, a warm light enveloping his presence. He always seems to emit pure joy. Like there was nothing that could ruin this kid's day. “Nice to see you haven’t changed. Still self-reliant.”

You can’t help but smile back, “… Wouldn't be me if I wasn’t. I'll see you later, kid.”

You walk back home and go on with the rest of your afternoon by carrying on the duties of a college graduate with no job: endless job hunting. You let yourself go on that way for an hour, already bored by rereading your applicant details and sending in copies and copies of cover letters and documents. Your eyes have started to see stars shooting from either corner, warning signs of mental fatigue.

Shaking the numbing feeling, you shut off your laptop and notice the time on the clock. In the back of your mind, you’re remembering that party Wonwoo ended up going to. These parties weren’t by any means rare, but it had been some time since you let yourself give into environments as such. You said you wouldn't go but in dire situations of weary silences, perhaps it would hurt to take a second in a new subsubspace. Something to take off the edge of the weight of your undetermined future.

Against your initial better judgment, you force yourself out of that house to enter that very party you said you wouldn't go to. So like Gina to make an event over a normal thing like this. You don’t put much thought into what you wear and leave the house and when you arrive late as you were, you are unsurprised by the huge turnout. Five seconds in, you’re already regretting the 10 bucks you paid via UBER to get there.

The house was so Gina. As expected of one of the daughters of the wealthiest families in town. As you enter, all you hear is music, loud and rambunctious voices and laughter, and shouts of barely adults chugging whatever concoction in those house party solo cups. It all quickly reminds you of college and high school, times in your life you were relieved to know were over.

Why did you decide to come again if you knew this was going to happen?

You try ignoring the voices that seem to recognize you, evading and walking through the place for a potential drink to buzz you out of self-consciousness. If you were going to be in a place like this, a drink was warranted by all means.

“Wonwoo, come on!”

Gina’s voice, easily distinguishable, resonates from the other end of the room and sees how her presence bounces like a kite in the wind. You look in the direction of her gaze to find the person she seeks, ultimately having Wonwoo being dragged by the wrist, his hair sweeping the swift breeze of her force. You were a bit relieved to see him, someone who is more similar to you in ways you’d never willingly admit.

You feel the urge to approach, curious how he’ll handle this one, but intentions all change of a brisk move, changing setting immediately. One second Gina looks up at him with doe eyes that speak longing and ache, another second her arms are looped around his neck and she pulls his lips against hers, massaging against them naturally as if rehearsed. Your feet stop, watching the unsightly scene like it’s a car crash as if in slow motion, taking you only a second to realize he hasn't yet let go.

Slowly then quickly, your chest pulls up like a marionette doll before it drops in a lump, repeating until the sound of your heart is rapidly pounding into your skull. You don’t understand it, but you don’t want to either. Swiftly, you duck back and turn your head in the other direction, having seen enough.

Then panic ensues.

People are harder to brush through than you realize. Colliding each one was like speed bumps in your way of a smooth departure. You were bound to have one person take a drunken offense to your rash movement and there it was: a subtle push that led to a spilled drink that stains the shirt of a man big enough to frighten children if he approached.

“Watch the fuckkk ya goin’!”

You don’t bother with the importance of apologizing or even acknowledging him. You realize it too late when he pulls at your collar back towards him, strangling you at the throat.

“S…stupid bitch can’t even see…fucking ruin my—hic—deink”

Your hands come around his grip, attempting to pry him off. “L-let me go. The fuck?”

“The fuck you say to me piece of shi—ah!”

He finally releases you when Wonwoo appears from behind him, tossing him out like an old ragdoll with no weight. The drunkard comes crashing down to the hardwood floor and before he realizes the cause of it, said cause whisks you away with his gril looping around your wrist.

“You’re going home right the fuck now,” Wonwoo grumbles, dragging you out of other guests' way and right out of the door, once again leading you to his motorcycle. “Bike now.”

“Wonwoo, what the fuck—“

“You aren’t an idiot. You knew what was gonna happen if I hadn’t stepped in. Now get on before fee fi fo fum finds out we left.”

“I’m not getting on that death trap again!”

His glare pierces right through you. “I know you'd rather be at home than here. Especially with the probability of becoming a statistic. Get on.”

He is right for the most part and even you’re seeing through your nonsensical defiance. Reluctantly, you follow his lead, knowing he’s left you with no other choice. You endure another near death experience, this time clutching on to him less resistantly unlike last time all the way back home. It is when you’re at the foot of your door you only realize the keys that were supposed to be in your pocket but left on the kitchen counter instead.

“Shit.”

Wonwoo quickly puts the pieces together. “No key?”

You shake your head, embarrassed slightly over your feeble appearance. “No, and mom won’t be back until the morning so I’m screwed.”

“Alright. You’re sleeping over.”

You scoff looking back at him, wondering whether he’s in the right state of mind to make that call. “You’re kidding.”

“Not unless you’re okay slumbering at the footstep of your door.”

Another choice made of your hands. You discouragingly follow after him as he unlocks the door across the street. Seonwoo was evidently still home with his loafers by the foot of the door but dead asleep upstairs in bed.

“You take my bed. I’ll take the couch,” he offers nodding in the direction of the living room.

“No thanks, I’ll take the couch.”

He groans, giving that irritated look. “Don’t be difficult and just sleep in the damn bed.”

You huff, strutting over towards the couch. “Sleep in your own damn bed, Jeon. Stop treating me like you’re my babysitter.”

He follows after you, crossing his arms like an annoyed mother, “You’re really gonna be like this?”

“I’m not being like anything.”

“You know what?” He grabs the throw pillow off the couch, “Fine. We’ll share the couch.”

“Excuse me?” Your eyes narrow back at him.

The smug smile on his face says it all, knowing there was no rebuttal to follow. “Neither of us will take the bed, we’ll both will take the couch.”

Before you can argue, he ascends the stairs for more bedding and comes back to toss you a blanket and pillow. He keeps one of each for himself, sprawling on the other end of the massive couch, gesturing you to do the exact same. Cautiously, you mirrored his image, crawling under your borrowed blanket. Despite your feet not touching, you couldn’t help but feel suffocated by the close proximity, forcing you to crunch up your legs and bring your knees close to your chest.

Wonwoo’s eyes drop in place, nuzzling into his thick blanket. “Good night.”

“Whatever.”

He softly scoffs with a smile, basking in the silence. Meanwhile, there was you, wondering why you listened to his instructions so willingly. You sigh, your eyes glued to the ceiling counting every bump and curve of its textured surface.

“This is stupid it’s literally 10 pm”

“Sounds like bedtime.”

You peek back at him, his eyes still closed. “You did not go to a party to plan on sleeping at 10 pm.”

“You don’t know what my plans are. Sleep now.”

“I could’ve handled it, you know,” you argue.

“I bet you could’ve,” he responds dryly. “Wasn’t gonna take that risk though.”

“I’m serious…you didn’t have to, especially since…”

“What?”

“You know,” you take a moment to form the words, “whatever that was with Gina.”

You hear him scoff, shifting on his side of the couch. “Nothing was happening with Gina.”

You let out a parched laugh, in disbelief of the words leaving his lips. “Wow, that lie comes so easy, does it?”

“Believe what you want. It’s not what you think anyway.”

“You’re so…obnoxious,” you sputter.

“Thank you.”

“So when did that happen? You and Gina?”

He huffs hot air out of his nose.“There’s no me and Gina. I don’t know what you saw, but…it’s nothing.”

“You were kissing.”

“You could call it that.”

“For a while,” You add.

“Just enough for her to find closure.”

“And did she?”

“Saved your ass before I could find out.”

You have no response to that and you let the silence take over for a few minutes. After those few minutes, Wonwoo was the one to break the peace.

“You asleep yet.”

“No, it’s not even 11,” you answer exasperatedly.

“Well, I'm tired.”

“Go to sleep then.”

“You should sleep before I do.”

“Why?”

He shrugs, “I'm supposed to take care of you. It’s what your mom would want.”

“Why? I'm a grown adult.”

“I don’t think an explanation is needed.”

“Ever heard of personal space?”

“Make some smart decisions and I’ll consider it.”

“You’re such a dick,” you grunt, turning away from view.

“I’m only trying to protect you.”

This shit again. You pushed yourself up from the couch to sit up, fuming in his direction. “Because your mom asked. Okay, I get it, but you’re not obligated to anymore because I’m your mom's friend’s kid. Just stop.”

“That’s not why–”

“Stop lying–”

“I’m not fucking lying,” he says matching your stance. His gaze meets yours in anguish, urging you to drop it.

You scoff, lying back down in a sleeping position with your back turned towards him. “Whatever.”

“...Despite popular belief, I’m actually concerned about you sometimes.”

“I guess…I don't entirely find that hard to believe.”

“Thank you. It’s not like I hate you.”

“Sure,” you answer, voice basted in sarcasm.

“I don’t.” You hear his body shift back down on the couch, finding comfort between the leather cushions.

“Then why are you such a dick.”

He sighs. “Sorry.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“...Sorry.”

You ponder to yourself, wanting to turn back the clock to the earlier conversation for unknown reasons. You turn your body, seeing how his body mimics your body seconds ago, back turned, eyes closed, and facing the couch. “So if not Gina–”

“There’s no one,” he cuts off, “I mean, I'm not seeing anyone.”

It reassures you. Not that it should’ve. “Okay. I believe you.”

“Okay.”

You’re unsure when you drifted off, you only remember it being mid-conversation that your vision started to blur, followed by darkness and soon the light of the following morning. You wake up in Wonwoo’s house unexpectedly alone, quiet enough to hear the sound of a pin dropping. You enter the kitchen, parched, and you find a plate of food. You approach cautiously, catching a glimpse of the note, immediately catching on to why it was so damn empty.

Went to get stuff done. Keep yourself entertained for a bit. - Wonwoo and Seonwoo

With an impish grin, you quickly run your fork over and over into the balanced meal and nourish your body, but slow down as your subconscious reminds you of last night's events. It wanders to your impulse to attend a party out of sheer boredom, stumbling upon an unexpected scene, before immediately trying to escape it before you are caught. The kiss becomes a scene stuck on replay, playing the image like a broken record. You did not black out, though you wish you had, considering your uncalled-for badgering of Wonwoo’s relationship status you shouldn’t have cared less about. Yet do.

You try bruising it off if you can help it, quick to leave, and relieved to find your mom home to let you in. Your day begins a new, and with a new day, she already has stuff for you to do. You’d be annoyed if you weren’t so grateful to be let back in home, remembering to grab your keys this time as you left the house again following her request for grocery shopping.

You drink in the town for the first time since being back, questioning yourself why you hadn’t done it earlier. The block isn’t that different since you left, perhaps more greenery and flowers, but otherwise everything looked the same. Same old town, same old stores, the only thing difference was the people. Fine lines got deeper, toddlers now taller, and you now a stranger. Even the grocery store has changed managers, one adolescent bag boy at a time.

Even long finished with grocery shopping, you’re still wandering the center of town, circling in steps of the alternating tiles of the ground. For a moment, you free yourself from your thoughts, your worries, your ambitions, and live in the moment. It had been so long since you felt like this. You expected the feeling to emerge in college but that had been just another thing on your plate and suddenly you’re reminded of Wonwoo. Knowing him, he’d like this sight of you, proud to see you experience another emotion for a change.

Then your eyes flit back to the scene several meters from you. He reappears in your vision just as he has in your thoughts, only now Gina embracing him, squeezing the life out of him just as the life is squeezed out of your chest. He meets your eyes, his pupils expanding, before lightly pushing the poor girl off of him, but not in enough time to stop you from trying to escape again.

“Hey!”

You ignore him, letting your feet take you where it guides you. You’re blind to the incoming obstacles, brushing past pedestrians, shoulder everybody you meet, and you barely register the busy road before your feet make an unexpected halt. You hear the blaring honks until you’re pulled out, face crashing into their shoulder, arms coming around your in strong enclosure.

“Are you stupid? Why are you running into oncoming traffic?”

You shove him off, heart beating louder in your chest than any bike ride he’s taken you on has, and you’re seething in an emotion that you never expected to be in. Never in this lifetime at least. “Wonwoo just stop. Please.”

“I’m not doing anything. I don’t get why you’re trying to push me away.”

“I’m just sick of this. Of you. I can’t do this.”

“Why? Why? What do you think this is?”

“Just, leave me alone, Wonwoo.”

He sees you trying to walk out on him again and he doesn’t let you. Taking you by your arm, he pulls you towards him, leaving only the width of your forearm as his gaze pierces right through you, brimming with a mix of concern and utter anger. Frustration. Impatience.

If there was one thing about Wonwoo, he may have looked like he came from an anger management class, but he did manage it well. When he didn’t, your feet would feel glued to the concrete, frozen in the fire of his eyes, for once fearing what the man had to say.

“You know what? No. I’m not letting you do this? I don’t understand what’s going on or why you hate me so much–”

“God,” you groan, “it would be so easy if I just hated you.”

“Then what is it? You don’t hate me. You don’t like me. What? I’m wracking my brain trying to understand you–”

You don’t let him finish. You aren't sure what was in the breakfast you had today but you find yourself pulling him by the collar to meet his lips only to push him away in that instant, barely a whisper of his presence in your mouth. You clamp your hand over your mouth before finally treading away shocked by your actions, scurrying away.

He doesn’t follow you and you don’t blame him. You retrieve your once-abandoned groceries from the intersection to then find your way home. Rain is close to follow, drenching from head to toe. As if things couldn’t get any worse.

When you get home, you’re alone once again. The door shuts with a clang and you’re left in your self wallow, regret burning the back of your throat. Your back slid against the wood, a deep exhale expelling from your lungs. “So that’s what’s wrong with me.”

Like clockwork, you feel a knock erupt from the same door. Conceding to whatever was on the other side, you brush yourself up from the ground and turn the knob, only to be taken aback. Wonwoo, wet like made from glass with his locks swept over his head, stands before you panting. On either hand is a bundle of flowers barely protected in the cellophane it came with when he bought them and his cell phone he’s death gripping in his hand, no doubt damaged by the rain.

You blink back at him, lips parting in confusion. “Wonwoo…You’re wet.”

“Likewise.” He invites himself in and sets the flowers on a table nearby, not even for a second letting his gaze stray from yours. “You left me hanging there. Kiss a guy and walk away like he means nothing?”

You shake your head in disbelief, processing this, him. “Why are you here…with flowers?”

“I really do have to spell out everything for you, don’t I?” he responds smiling.

The squelch of his shoes trod in your direction, the invisible string connecting you two shortening. Preventing your evasion, you feel the palm of his hand against your back and your lips crash in a lingering reunion. The squeak of his slippery leather doesn't make it past your ears, distracted by the heat of his lips in the clash of the coolness of his rain-stained skin.

Your hand crawls up his neck to press him closer, feeling the strength of his arms wrap around you tighter before shutting the front door effortlessly with his foot. He lets you pin him against the door, lips tight bound to yours, and relief settles in his stomach as you show no sign of pulling away. He finds himself whispering a word of gratitude in every language, smiling against your lips. “No more excuses…I’m not letting anyone get in the way. Not even you.”

You finally break out in a smile, brushing it against his lips before reclaiming them, not minding the wet leather.

You spend the rest of the day in each other’s company. You put away the groceries before the room temperature worked against their favor and got yourselves changed out of your rain-dampened clothes, throwing them in the dryer. Even if he lived right next door, you allow him to wear your most oversized shirt after he insisted he should, watching the cotton fabric cling to his broad shoulders with the hem just hitting him at his hip bone.

Man, he’s a large man.

“Kinda snug.”

You scoff, crossing your arms in an attempt to hold yourself back. “You can get clothes next door. You’re just a few steps away.”

He grins, approaching you. “It’s raining…I could get sick.” His long arms land on either of your shoulders, reminding you of that cat that knew too much in a childhood cartoon. “You don’t want me sick…”

“You wouldn’t get sick taking two long strides to your house, Jeon,” you respond, rolling your eyes, unable to meet his.

“But you’d take care of me if I was, right?”

You roll your eyes, accepting his advances of a hug and feeling his chin fit in the crook of your neck. “Kiss a guy two times too many and he follows you around like a stray cat.”

He grins. “You like it. Don’t act like you don’t. You probably even like my bike and you’re not telling me.”

“Okay well, no. Those are two separate matters.”

His arms wrap around you tighter before reuniting your lips, such tenderness and sweetness in his gaze as he thumbs over the curve of your cheek. “You don’t deny that other thing.”

“I thought was already point blank. You know, when I didn’t push you away, kicking and screaming.”

“Yeah, but,” he shrugs, his cheekbones only getting higher. “Hard to come by something nice from you. I want to hear it.”

You sigh, giving in. “Fine.”

Your head fit between the divide of his chest, hearing a quickened pulse underneath it. You close your eyes as your hand strokes against his back. “I have… feelings for you. Maybe for once good feelings. Just don’t get cocky about it.”

Overwashed with calm joy, he takes you tighter, inhaling the soap in your hair. “Too late.”

#svthub #wonwoo #wonwoo angst #seventeen wonwoo #seventeen #jeon wonwoo angst #seventeen fanfic #wonwoo fluff #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #jwon wonwoo fluff #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo fanfic #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x you #wonwoo x y/n #jeon wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x you #jeon wonwoo x y/n

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lxmelle · 4 months ago

Text

Those letters for his students was like Gojo’s way of showing consideration for them.

That’s what Geto Suguru, the “Gojo translator”, would say to them, if he was there.

I mean, there was a reason they were best friends - Geto understood him the best. He helped him learn how to (and the importance of) connecting to others - how to not be lonely.

It was the same in the scene with Kuroi. Right before he shouted for Gojo over the time, he just instinctively knew how to connect with Gojo and helped others with sympathising with Gojo.

I didn’t play the JJK game but I think the undercurrent dynamics is similar. Their bond. The exclusivity. Love. The whole breakup was about their friendship. The change the new generation got was also due to the path forged by them. As it stands, Gojo is shown to be largely misunderstood and nobody aside from Yuta has shown much affection for Gojo. Maybe Yuji ... to some degree. But I digress.

Maybe it’s an unpopular opinion, but considering how Geto-centred Gojo’s GIGA Character book was, he was likely influenced by Geto’s strong protective love for his “family”.

It makes sense to me that Gojo thought it would be important to put the students’ minds at ease with any thoughts/questions about their family. Hence the letters to help tie up loose ends.

Megumi was shown to be thinking about his father, whin he assumed was out there somewhere. Even if he didn’t want to know, there is a subconscious level of unfinished business from thinking this. And to know that Gojo killed him, may have helped him realise that his sensei had his back all this while. He was worth protecting all this while. That chapter of his life can truly close.

And just how bloody typical of his sensei, who has no “delicate-ness” about him!

As a sensei, and as a person, Gojo always protected others from his own personal concerns. He and Geto both stubbornly lived & fought “alone” because this was just their belief as the burden of the strongest = to protect others. The line was drawn and Gojo only ever wanted Geto to understand him, hence his conversation in 236. Only ever needed Geto by his side: hence his only complex was Geto leaving him behind.

We see this in how Shoko felt distant from them both. Stating in her inner monologue how she could never love either of them, but she was there - insinuating what they had between them was not something she could give (love) but her friendship was there if only Gojo let her in. And we see it in how, when she tried to connect with Gojo post-unsealing, by including Geto’s body as someone to be retrieved, he was a bit taken aback, starting his sentence with a long pause “……...” and keeping it simple / not elaborating (だな - it’s like the equivalent of a “yeah” but implies agreement).

Also, the fact the students and others can joke and call him an idiot, etc. means he really hid it well. Gojo protected them all. (As a teacher and adult should, I guess.)

I’m reminded of this scene.

Geto helped Gojo empathise & “not bully the weak”, but to also consider what else may be important... even if they may not think so themselves.

Until they receive what they thought they didn’t want, only to realise it was what they needed after all.

Cuz… y’kow: people (especially children) don’t always know what they want or need.

Sometimes what you want isn’t what you need. What you need isn’t necessarily what you want.

Gojo & Geto lived through that too... didn’t they? On so many levels… wanting, needing, denying, losing, yearning. Carrying their burdens they had nobody to share with. Making decisions on their own. Giving to the other a piece of their heart. Sacrificing themselves. Accepting each others loneliness as their own. Thinking they were better off loving the other by being apart.

The painful lessons that shaped the way for the new world. Children given the protection from The Strongest Sorcerer of the Modern Era. Granted a world with fewer curses for 10 years due to the Strongest Curse User.

Children who had adults to guide, protect, and care for them.

Children who do not have to be killed for the mistakes of others, who were forced to commit sins, or for being born a certain way.

I think every single sorcerer who were adults helped the kids in some way. The layers and layers of this story is just... overwhelmingly beautiful.

Much remains to be seen now. I’m worried that Yuta will have to live in Gojo’s body and that Kenjaku’s eerie words of Yuta being “the next Gojo Satoru” will extend beyond that battle.

People on X seem to be speculating whether a world without curses will exist (going back to jjk 0 and Geto’s ideals). What of the barriers without tengen? Some question reality as we are being shown - is it an elaborate dream? Hm.

I hope for the plant/flower trio at least... Megumi and Yuji can use their shared tragedy as vessels who committed sins to bond and support one another. Nobara is a great buffer and heroine in her own right. Their dynamics are really amazing. Independent, yet so bonded.

I’d love to see Gojo & Geto at peace. I guess whatever happens, chapter 236 is a bit like salvation. And doesn’t Megumi’s smiling pic (above) look similar? If these two smiled as if they had no regrets , we can assume Megumi smiled sincerely upon receiving the letter, too.

As long as Gege doesn’t do anything to change it.

Please please don’t. They deserve a reward for their hard work and sacrifice!

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twisted-wonderland-but-gayer · 2 months ago

Note

Hey I was wondering would it be possible to do the dorm leaders with an s/o that suffers from Essential tremor.

And Essential Tremors is a nervous system condition, also known as a neurological condition, that causes involuntary and rhythmic shaking. It can affect almost any part of the body, but the trembling occurs most often in the hands, especially when doing simple tasks, such as drinking from a glass or tying shoelaces.

I have it and I was just wondering how they would deal or help with it

Disabled Yuu

I actually know a bit abt this but I did keep it vague as I don't have it myself. I also hope to do more disabled ayuus fr. I made Yuu assertive and exasperated in some parts– like Honestly if ur being an ass or demanding info abt someone's disability you have full right to return the energy.

I avoided the whole fixing thing in this too– though Azul’s part does bring it up. Platonic as I focused more on the hand aspect. Azul is Pre Overblot!! Hence why hes 2x as sleazy. I didn't Malleus cause it came out corny af. Also this is old and I wrote this on no sleep. Sorry this took so long I have like 70 reqs. Enjoy.

***

Riddle

Since the first Unbirthday party you shared with Heartstabyul he got educated very quickly on the subject. He sees you shakily bring a cup to your lips and guiltily assumes it was because of his overblot. He doesn't blame you, I mean come on, he tried to kill you after all. It was then you explained to him your condition

Since then, he actually read up on it in his own time. He's honestly one of your biggest supporters– though you do need to remind him at times you don't need coddling. Still, you can appreciate it…

“Prefect.” You pause and turn your attention to the housewarden beside you. “Your tie is unkempt today. Will you allow me to fix it?” He asks thoughtfully, not wanting to intrude or risk coming off as rude.

“Ah, can you really? I'd appreciate it.” You presented your neck to Riddle, allowing him to reach over and adjust for you. His gaze was focused as he untied it, re-wrapping it with perfection as if it were second nature. Given his upbringing, you don't doubt it is.

“Thank you by the way, today I just didn't have the energy to deal with it.” When he's finished you pull away and nod at him. “Of course. Should you ever need help with anything in the future let me know. I'll be glad to help.”

Leona

Leona doesn't notice and doesn't really care. It's only when you share a room with him where he sees it, watching you tremble from where you lay. You have a blanket and the dorm is warm. Why are you shaking?

“Look at you trembling in the lion's den. Do I scare you that much?” He quirked an uninterested brow at you as you turned your head to him.

“... It's a neurological condition…” You spoke bluntly, hoping that would be the end of it. “So it causes you to tremble like this?”

“Yeah pretty much.” Leona merely hummed, and the subject dropped. No invasive questions. No taunts. No pity.

He's not mothering you or bending over backwards in the future and don't expect him to. It's clear you've been able to handle yourself well enough. Still, he takes it into consideration. He'll bite his tongue when you take a bit longer to do things.

You don't need to be babied, but when he sees you struggling to open a wrapper of some sort of a candy he offers his hand “Give it here. I'll help you out” You wordlessly handed over the candy and watched him slice through it with the claw on his thumb.

“Tch. You make me do too much…” It's an insincere remark as he hands off the candy bar and continues on his way.

Azul

“... I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you correctly Azul, can you repeat what You said?”

“Cant believe your ears?” Azul wore a smirk as he put a hand on his chest, speaking once more with his confident tone. “The Mostro Lounge has quite a special deal just for you, dear Prefect! A special cure to your ailmen–”

“That's what I thought you said.” Azul paused for a moment taking in your annoyed tone. Did he miscalculate? “Something the matter Prefect–”

“Azul.” You now looked at him with a cold glare, clearly pissed. Azul swallowed, steeling his anxiety behind his businessman persona though the slight widening of his eyes gave away some of his true emotions. “... Yes, Prefect?”

“Why the fuck do you think saying that is okay?” You couldn't tell right now if your hands were trembling from your condition or rage. “Are you dense?” you ask, voice harsher.

“N-no, Prefect. I'm sorry if anything I said has caused you offense…” The deepened glare silenced him. “Think for a moment the implications of you wanting to cure me, and even if I did accept then what? You'd seriously hold something as sensitive as this over my head? Would you even be able to cure it long term?”

How badly you wanted to tear him a new one and let him have it, insults resting on your tongue. Instead, you sighed, exhausted from this conversation already. It wasn't worth your time.

“I'm not some ‘charity’ case though I doubt you know the meaning of the word. I don't need your ‘cures’. Just… leave me alone from now on. Don't talk to me, don't approach me.” you turned away and sped off, more frustrated than ever.

It would take until after his overblot for an apology.

Kalim

Oh Kalim… he really does mean well but…

“And this spoon is designed for shaky hands!”

“I don't need…”

“And these are silk ribbons you wrap them with!”

“Thank you but–”

“And these magical devices are to help check blood pressure–”

“Kalim.”

Kalim blinked and tilted his head, still in the middle of putting the excessive amount of gifts into your hands “Ah?” He blinked for a moment. “Ohhh I know that tone, that's the same one Jamil uses when he tells me I go overboard…”

Kalim's brows knit together and he rubs his head through his white hair. “Did I go overboard again?” He's so genuine it's hard to be mad at him.

“... A little. Hey‐” You hold Kalim's face and pat him on the head. “Thank you though. It's very sweet of you to look out for me, but… I don't need all of these things. I'll be alright okay?”

“Oh! Okay! Well if you ever need anything I'm here!” Kalim pumps his fist then turns to the massive pile of boxes behind him. “So um… what should I do with these…?”

"Donate them maybe?”

Vil

Another example of doesn't really care. He inquired about it once, asked some polite questions and left it at that. There's no need for him to bother you.

When the VCD tournament comes around and he spends more time with you, he takes note of how it affects you. Many expect him to make comments or give you products to take care of your hands more, and he does, however he would have done that regardless of your condition.

Your disability doesn't define you and you're capable on your own. You don't need an able-bodied outsider to tell you what to do or how to feel. A really good ally.

As he collects all the data on how your condition affects you specially, he's able to give you some welcome help.

“This potion is good at helping with seizures, but it can also help with your Tremors. I will show you how to make it.”

Idia

“So your hands can't stay still? Oof, bad RNG.” He immediately realizes he used video game terms out loud and dies just a bit.

Really it's only Ortho that inquires about it. Your body's not any of Idia's business so why should he care? After all, how many times has he seen you irl? Yeah lol, he's cool. He barely knows you aside from a few random encounters on a bad roll.

However Ortho cares. He cares a lot. And he's always trying to find ways to potentially help or cure you. Idia watches his little brother researching every book he can find on your condition and sighs.

“There's no cure right now Ortho. now even magic. Besides that's Yuu’s choice, isn't it?” He shrugs and looks off to the side apathetically.

Sad beeps come from the humanoid. “Yeah I know that… I think I upset them but I didn't mean to…” The child's mournful expression suddenly perks up.

“But! I'm not trying to do that! I'm researching the best way to make a game controller!”

“A game controller? Isn't that pretty easy?”

“Well yes but…” Ortho pauses, reflecting on his earlier conversation. “I asked Yuu if they enjoyed any video games and they said that they do. However, it's hard to play certain games because of their hands. So!”

Ortho shows Idia the 3d model he sculpted in his program. “I'm working on one that will work for them.”

“Working on one that works for them…” Idia looked to the side. He couldn't imagine a world without video games… and he doesn't have much to do… and he supposed the Prefect is okay…

“Send the file to me. I'll get to printing it.”

#twst × reader #twisted wonderland x reader #disabled yuu #leona kingsholar x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #idia shroud x reader #kalim al asim x reader #brixuen2008

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