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gotham-daydreams · 2 years ago

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Not Tonight

[Platonic! Yandere! Neglectful Batfam × Gender Neutral! Sibling Reader]

[Warnings: Mentions of Neglect, Reader generally not having a good time.]

(Not proofread. Not too much Yandere shown. Mostly angst with Reader. Set up(?))

2nd chapter here. Chapter 3 Pt. 1, Pt. 2. [Series Masterlist]

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How many times have you heard them say that? How many times have you tried to do something with them, to share your passion — or even just have some coffee with them, only to hear them say that phrase time and time again.

"Not tonight."

Well, what if you didn't ask them during the night? What if you asked them in the afternoon, or just when they were already up and about?

"Sorry! I can't right now, patrol reeeally kicked my ass last night. Besides, I have some other things that I have to get done, but maybe next time! For sure!"

Okay, right. That makes sense. Sometimes their line of work can be tough and draining, especially when someone is trying to run Gotham to the ground that night. So what if you just try to ask them when they aren't so busy? It may really limit the times you can ask... but you'd still try. Maybe it could also help if you asked for smaller things, like if they'd just like to spend a little time with you before going out again, or if you could just hang around them for a while? Nothing big, and anything was fine. Even if it was just sitting next to them, and having some small talk. Or maybe just the sitting part if talking was too much.

You'd take anything at all.

"I'm actually heading out right now, so I can't stick around. Go ask someone else."

"Can't you see that I already have enough compang with Titus here? Go bother Drake or something, I don't care."

All you could hear was snores past the door when you went to ask. So you moved onto someone else, hoping for a yes as your heart began to squeeze.

Someone had to agree eventually, right?

You begged the Gods as you traveled down the long halls. The chills of reality creeping up on you.

"Sorry, I'm going out to hang with some friends, but maybe next time!"

"..." She just looked at you before shaking her head, and taking her leave.

"I've got something to do at the moment, sorry, but hey, maybe you could ask your old man? Oh! Or maybe Alfred. That's a good idea."

Dick was out in Bludhaven, and you didn't want to bother Barbara considering how bisy she must've been the other night. So, you had no other choice. You asked, heart bleeding from how hard it squeezed.

"Not now."

Simple, to the point, and sharp.

Bruce's words were as cold as ever, and yet the echo in the cave only seemed to make the gap between you and him feel so much bigger. Even as you just nodded, eyes pointed to the floor. Taking your leave with a soft sigh that barely escaped you.

The elevator ride was longer than you remembered. The cold chill in the air grew freezing even as you stepped out, and now stood in one of the many halls in the Wayne Manor. Portraits and pictures decorated the walls, their painted and photographed eyes staring at you. Their gaze far from soft, but at least it was present. At least they, in that way, felt present.

You swore the only times they ever smiled at you that wasn't faked, or just for the sake of appearances was in those paintings and photos. Honestly, it was also probably the most times they've even looked at you too, and as sad as it is — you did say you'd take anything, right?

A 'no' or 'maybe' was part of that anything, technically. It's just not what you were hoping for.

Sighing again, you stared up at one of the portraits, eyes shinging under the lights as everything you refused to say made itself so clear for a moment. You didn't want much, and never asked for more than what you were given. You didn't think so anyway.

You always followed the rules, you did more than just excel in all your classes no matter how hard it was for you to understand certain things, and you even tried to get into things your family seemed to enjoy without pushing too hard.

You studied up on all the pets Damian had so that you could not only care for them properly, but maybe even take care of them with him some day. You played games and read reviews on games you saw Tim play just for a chance that maybe you'd get the opportunity to play with him. You picked up boxing and have even been practicing your aim with an airsoft gun, and have also been going to certain place when you could to practice using real guns and learn about them just so you'd maybe be able to have a conversation with Jason, and even connect with him in some way. You even read nearly all the books in the library just to have a sliver of hope for something, anything.

You learned sign language in three different languages and tried to find out what Cassandra was interested in, just to have some kind of interaction with her. Even writing on small note cards in serval other languages in hopes she'd give some kind of response, even if you forgot to put your initials and such more than several times. You participated in gymnastics in hopes of getting closer to Dick. You tried to find out what Barbra was into so you could also hold up a conversation with her if given the chance. You've tried to match Stephen's energy and do things she likes and have even taken up material arts as a means to maybe be a little closer with everyone!

Yet it never seems like enough.

Your schedule was so packed and filled with activities and extra lessons of all kinds, just so that you could feel like you had something in common with someone in this family. So that, when given the chance, you'd be able to form a connection with one of them and your efforts and sacrifices wouldn't be in vain. Though that still had yet to happen.

You weren't even a vigilante as you tried to persue your own passion and dreams, and yet that one single thing seemed to be keeping you away from everyone else. The one thing you were unwilling to do for them just seemed to make the gap between you and the rest of the family grow bigger. They're constant and continuous dismissals only seemed to further that point.

Just... what were you doing wrong? Was you not being a vigilante and constantly putting yourself at risk every night really putting that much of a dent in your relationships? Did your dreams really get in the way of that? Just because you didn't want to put yourself in danger? Just because you wanted to pursue music instead?

You took up art despite not being super interested in it before. You've been reading all of your life. Your stretched, ran, exercised, cooked, cleaned, organized, sang, wrote, danced, and even sculpted. You picked up almost any hobby someone could have under the sun, even if it began to feel like a chore and a job to you, just so that you could have something, anything in common with this family.

Though now you've gone through countless 'hobbies', and dropped many more since nothing seemed to be working, it... it still didn't feel like enough. Like you had to be doing something more despite having lost countless hours of sleep, just to go through the list of hobbies you had written down that you had left to try. You even took up some sports you were somewhat interested in, and yet nothing clicked.

Though is that really surprising when no one noticed how many times you snuck out for lessons and practice, or how long you were out? When you'd even forget to return to the Manor sometimes, and anyone still had yet to notice you were even gone in the first place?

... You couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped you. It was broken in every way, and yet empty all the same. Maybe you were finally taking after Bruce, but you wouldn't get your hopes up.

You looked up at the painting as if it'd give you all the answers, and yet dismiss you at the same time. The disappointment you felt was normal to you at this point, but the aching pain that came after was always the hardest part. Yet you still stared at the painted faces as if they were your real family, and the people close to them. Looked at the calculated and skilled brush strokes as if they'd give you what your family couldn't. What they refused to give you at every twist and turn, no matter how much you tried to accommodate to them. To do things for them. To just feel worthy enough to stand by their side. To be closer to them.

Though in the end, it is only that. A painting. A well crafted piece that, no matter how skilled the artist, could never truly capture how distant and vague they felt when you were the one standing to the side. No matter how much experience the painter had, they'd never be able to express and show how this poor excuse of a family felt to you, because they were only like that around you.

Maybe you'd feel special if it didn't make you feel like you were wasting your life living like this...

Eventually, you were able to tear you eyes away from the painting. The moon beginning to rise as you were sure the Manor was becoming more empty than it usually was, as more of its visitors and residents left.

The painting itself was nice even if it was one of many that didn't include you, with the number of photographs without you in them being much higher. Honestly, it used to be one of your favorites despite how bittersweet you feel about it now.

You still remember that day, but that would be implying that you forgot the others.

Regardless, you managed to pull yourself away from the spot you had been stuck in for the few moments you were trapped inside your own head. You tried to make yourself feel a little better, and give yourself some reassurance that maybe tomorrow would be different some how, and if not? Perhaps the day after, and the day after that.

Yet it all failed as you passed by more and more memories. Some were events you had participated in, sure, but the pictures made it look like you were never there in the first place. Heartwarming moments littered the halls, but you only recall seeing them from a distance — or being aware that the moment had even happened only when you saw the picture be put up.

It was like the very universe was trying to send you a sign with your constant failures and your family's persistence, intentional or not, to keep you at a distance. You didn't even know if it was appropriate to refer to them as your 'family', and maybe it wasn't considering things, but you still weren't sure.

You had been fighting for a chance to talk with any of them about anything at all for the longest time, because you wanted to be a part of this family. You wanted to spend time with them and really give this 'new life' of yours a chance, but now that 'new' part of this life had worn off. It was hard and honestly more draining than it was rewarding at this point, but you still wanted to give it a try.

Sure, it had been years at this point and now you were just about to go into college, and when you had first arrived here you weren't even middle school, yet little to no progress had been made — you never gave up. You haven't given up. So maybe you could try for a little longer? Just... a little bit, not too much this time, and figure something out?

You almost felt a little sense of hope return to you, no matter how redundant and helpless this situation felt and seemed. Yet it all came crumbling down again when you passed by one of the rooms, and saw something taped to the door.

It was a flier for your performance. One that would be happening soon.

Since your siblings began to pay less and less attention to you as time went on, with your conversations with them growing even shorter, you opted to just tape fliers of your upcoming performances on their doors. Though only the performances you'd thought they'd enjoy, and just hoped that they would show up, if they wanted to, when you stepped onto that stage and approached the instrument you'd be playing for the evening.

You tried texting and other forms of communication at first, but those quickly stopped working and so you just opted for this, and of course it was just as effective as the others.

Alfred was really the only one who listened to your music when you performed, and you only knew that because you caught him playing one of the live performances you had done on the television one day. He not only going out of his way to record the performance, but also trying to find the channel it was broadcasted on.

Ever since you've tried to give him the correct channel number when you do live performances, but that still didn't feel like enough. You loved and appreciated Alfred from the depths of your heart and soul, but what would it take for one of your siblings or close family friends to notice you like that? What would it take for your supposed father to even care to listen to your music? To watch a performance? To not turn you away?

It was only in that moment did a new emotion fuel you. Crawling it's way up your spine as you carefully took the flier in your hands, looking it over before ripping it off the door.

This. This one small thing was all you wanted from them. Over everything else, you just wanted to see one of their faces, one time when you looked out to the crowd when you performed — but every single time, all you saw were strangers.

Every charity event, every gala, every party- that's all you were surrounded by, strangers. Even when you caught small glimpses of them, they were always doing something else, and completely off in a totally different world than your own. That distance along creating a large void-like gap between you and them, and yet it only ever continued to grow. Even when they stood next to you, it was like you couldn't be further apart.

The reality of everything was crushing. Near deadly as you could feel your chest and lungs tighten, with your fingers digging into the paper enough to tear it apart, and reaching your palms as they formed crescent moons, soon drawing blood. Yet nothing could compare to the weight of your heart, and how heavy it felt to carry in your chest.

As you finally moved on from the door, your mind raced. Memories and flashbacks filling your head as every word and notion flashed before your eyes. Barely even paying attention to where you were going, but not caring enough to pay attention.

Every dismissal and excuse thrown your way. Every head shake and blank look. Every confused look, and realization that you were standing there the entire time. Every birthday that passed with the same wish never being granted. Every celebration spent on your own. Every message left on read. Every note ignored. Every time you were forgotten. Every time you were left behind. Every time you brought yourself home, and every time they never noticed. Every night wasted, trying to come up with different things to do only for all of them to turn out fruitless. Everyday that 'maybe' never cones true. Every time you looked out to that sea of strangers, hoping to see someone you recognized, only to find none. Every hour you wasted trying to do something for them while they never once thought of you.

Maybe you'd cry if you could. Then again, maybe not.

You already had spent too many tears over failures you recovered and grew from, and hardships you faced and fought. You've already cried just a little too much during those night you just couldn't handle being so alone, in such a big place anymore. Besides, you've cried enough over people who've never once thought of you. Who never once tried to make time to even see one of your performances, or even allow you to spend a few minutes in their space.

You've given them enough, you think. Especially since after you spent years trying to just make it two thirds of the way — they couldn't even reach that one third of the gap you couldn't. They didn't even try, at least not anymore, and after you had tried to make it easy. Yet, you only hurt yourself in the end.

They never cared about you, and maybe they did once upon a time, but good does that do now when you're trying to go out of your way to make things convenient and easier for them, only for them to skip out on you anyway. No text, no call, no message, no indication, nothing. Just pure silence.

Maybe you were asking for too much, but was it really so bad to want to be loved? And by the people who are supposed to be your family no less?

Hah, who are you kidding at this point. You've just been living in a house full of strangers, and you're the only one who hasn't seen it yet. They've already long since cast you out, and it's only now have you come to truly realize it.

Especially now, as you stand in front of the foot of the door to the music room. Staring at the knob as if it'll turn itself.

You weren't surprised, honestly. Playing music had quickly become an amazing outlet for you, and you had always come here to seek out what little your family couldn't give you; comfort. So it was no wonder that as you collapsed mentally, you had subconsciously brought yourself here.

And yet, only one thought entered your head in that moment.

'They don't deserve to hear my music.'

Perhaps it was now that you decided they had lost the privilege to do so. After all, ever since you had started having performances, even ones in front of wealthy crowds, your 'family' had seemingly been avoiding them like the plague. Never daring to even attend one, for whatever reason, and sure you could understand why they didn't attend the ones you performed at night — but they couldn't use that excuse anymore. You have strictly been playing during the after noon, and at sunset at a push, for over three years now. You've been playing in front of crowds and releasing music for four.

So, you turned away, walking off to your room as your thoughts still stormed. Anger fueling you as you barely remembered storming into your room, collecting any valuables and belongings you had and stuffing them into a bag or two. Not caring about clothes, and only what you deemed important and meaningful to yourself as you just grabbed and shoved everything into a bag if you could.

You could clearly tell now that you obviously weren't wanted, and that no one here even wanted to do the smallest things with you. That even asking to just spend a few minutes with them was too much. So you were doing the only sensible thing, and getting the hell out of here. Moving so quickly that your breathing became uneven, but you didn't stop until you had packed everything you needed, or was important to you in some way.

You only really had a second thought about all this when you were at your window, just about ready to jump out until you paused for a second.

Looking back at the door to your room, you couldn't help but hesitate. There was only ever one person in this entire Manor who treated you like family, and actually put in effort to not only be with you, but to indulge themself in your passion. That met you at the half way mark, and even went a little over sometimes. Since even if everyone else had ignored you — Alfed was there, even if despite all of his efforts you still couldn’t handle this, and maybe that was also your own fault in some way.

You still didn't want to stay, you couldn't anymore, but shouldn't you at least say goodbye? Maybe? After everything... at least he tried.

...

You settled for second best.

Quickly, you grabbed a flashcard and wrote down something before pocketing it and moving back to the window. You may not have any equipment for this kind of thing, but you still managed to scale and work your way around the wall, and managed to reach the window to Alfred's room.

You took a little peak inside, and when you saw that he wasn't there, you opened up the window just a bit, place the small note on the windowsill, and closed it. Then, you skillfully and carefully made your way down, and snuck off to Gotham City. Making your way to a friend's place as you crashed there for the night.

Never once did you look back.

Nor did you ever feel inclined to.

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Later that night, when Alfred read the note, all it said was:

I'm sorry, Alfed. - Y/n

Just with that alone, it was like he understood everything despite the little that was said. All he could wish you was luck, and that you'd be safe wherever you went.

Suddenly, just like that. The nights where melodies would lull the residence of the Manor to sleep, and bring a temporary, mellow peace to all who heard such a tune, were long gone...

Guess they'll just have to find it, and bring it back.

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Kind of rushed at the end there, hope it isn't too bad for a first post. There's probably a lot of mistakes, so apologies for that.

#this was all written in one go #so that's fun #more angst than anything honestly #not really any yan but it is supposed to be for yan stuff #platonic yandere batfam #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere x gn reader #gn reader #platonic yandere #neglected reader #sibling reader #reader tries too hard and does their best but finds out it isn't enough #some things just aren't meant to be #but that doesn't mean they get to run around scott free either #not series

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senselessviolets · 1 year ago

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being roman roy’s personal assistant (and his obsession) would include…

Rating M

WARNINGS:

Language, sexual tension, degradation, power imbalance, Roman being Roman weird.

Author's Notes:

Pretty self-explanatory. No uses of Y/N. Some brief RomanGerri. Very much inspired by @nanabrainrot's fic series with Pervert!Roman because it's divineeee. Highly recommend it!!

Roman never saw himself as the type to have an assistant. In fact, he was the only one of the Roy siblings to not have one. Kendall, of course, had Jess, Shiv had Sarah, and even though Connor never liked to bring it up out of fear of making him seem less earnest and hardworking to his supporters, he too had a “yes man” managing his personal affairs for him.

It was following the Hungary company retreat that Gerri offered to set Roman up with an assistant. She knew of a trusted agency that would be able to help him narrow down candidates and find a person best suited for his needs.

That person just so happened to be you.

Roman absolutely wolf-whistled at the picture attached to your portfolio when thumbing through the candidates he was matched with through the agency. Gerri made him promise not to make any untoward or inappropriate comments to you during your interview for the job. Roman saw it as a ‘woman thing’ but Gerri being legal counsel saw it as a nightmare waiting to happen.

Upon meeting with you and the hiring manager, Roman scoured the internet for any information on you. Even though all of the important need-to-know info could be found on your resume or your fucking LinkedIn profile—that wasn’t enough for him.

He tore through all of your public social media accounts, saving any particularly flattering images of you (swimsuit pictures, nightclub outings, etc.) and examining them throughout the day.

Suffice it to say, you got the job.

At first, Roman doesn’t know what to make of you. He sits you at a small desk on the opposite side of his own in his office.

Personality and demeanor-wise you’re in line with what he had wanted. Physically, he was already well-acquainted with your curves and the way certain types of clothes clung to your body.

In the long stretches of silence of you two working in the same room, he imagined briefly what you looked like underneath your clothes.

At home when it was just him and his right hand, he imagined what it’d be like to tear them off and leave them in tatters on the floor.

The better you get to know each other, the bigger his private album devoted to images of you grows.

Roman starts to pry into your personal life, asking if you have a boyfriend or girlfriend. Then he makes random passes at you throughout the day. Having worked with a wide array of smarmy, gross men in the past—you were hardly phased. Because a part of you sees through the facade. You know he just wants to rile you up—to get a reaction out of you.

You realize after a while that he wants you to be repulsed by him.

This incites something within you.

Roman starts dragging you to one-on-ones with investors and having you sit in on board meetings, much to the annoyance of many.

Shiv tells you (jokingly) to run before you wind up being chased down the hallways with a chainsaw.

While waiting together outside of a rather important meeting with many high-level executives, Greg informs you of a rumor that Roman has a dick pic circulating the office. But that in particular—he had meant to send it to you.

You don’t know how to feel.

These forced attendances at random meetings turn into becoming his designated armpiece for public events and parties.

At one of them, Stewy taunts Roman, saying you’re not the only woman he pays to touch him.

You laugh loudly at this joke which surprises them both. You crack a few of your own at Roman’s expense. Some are based on fiction, the others in fact. The shame floods his cheeks but the way he grips tighter at your waist tells you to keep going. To get meaner. So you do. You get a lot meaner.

Roman’s jaw clenches for a moment. Then his lips part. You convince yourself it's just a buzz from the drinks you’ve just had; that you did not just shit-talk your boss into arousal.

But the clumsy way Roman adjusts his stance, the subtle outline of something forming at the front of his pants, and how he excuses himself to the bathroom says otherwise.

The text you receive moments later from his number confirms this; “You know what you did, you fucking bitch.”.

It’s your direct reply to that message though that makes his breath hitch;

“Show me then, you sick fuck.”

{ Feedback is welcome! }

Follow me on twt: @endlessviolets

#roman roy x reader #roman roy angst #roman roy fluff #roman roy smut #roman roy x you #roman roy succession #succession fanfic #succession x reader #succession hbo #succession #roman roy

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sleepyhollands · 2 years ago

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false god

PAIRING harry styles x reader

SUMMARY harry’s having trouble finding enough time to spend with y/n, even after she drops everything and joins him on tour. when they talk, they only seem to argue. when they don’t, they only seem to fuck.

WARNINGS she’s an angsty one— lots of miscommunication, poorly executed arguments, and general couple fighting content. BUT!! there is lots of really cute fluff at the end :> also, beware of smutty content such as soft!dom harry (my favorite), oral (f!receiving, implied m!receiving), unprotected p in v, a brief hesitation to get naked on y/n’s part, an even more brief mention of bondage play, harry leaves like one love bite, and tooth-rotting holding each other while having sex content. lmk if i missed anything!

WORD COUNT 5.5k

AUTHOR’S NOTE fun fact this was supposed to be done months ago and then literally everything that could have gotten in my way did just that. but she’s here now!! writing this was a challenge but i feel so good about it now that it’s complete and i can’t wait for you all to read it. please lmk you enjoyed by leaving feedback and/or reblogging!! special thanks to @cherryjuiceblues for beta reading for me <3 ily <3

LOVER SELECTION one-shots here.

“harry, it doesn’t matter if—”

“it does to me!”

“hey, there are two people in this relationship, you know.”

“yeah, an‘ one of ’em feels like right shit on what’s meant to be the greatest tour of his life! doesn’t that mean anythin‘ to you?”

“of course it does, i just—”

“really? ’cause y’could’ve fooled me, love.”

“harry, i swear, if you interrupt me one more time, i’m booking the next flight home.”

… tour had been going really well for harry! he was playing back to back sold out shows in some of the biggest cities in the world, with adoring fans lining up by the thousands, itching to hear him sing live. he’d already had some really sweet interactions on stage, and no crazy mishaps had occurred (he was especially proud of himself for having ensured everyone’s safety so far). just in the last week alone, he’d been nominated for three different awards for his newest album and performances. anyone could see that he was living a dream— the dream, really. the kind that only comes true once in a blue moon.

and yet… tour had been going really poorly for harry. now, he doesn’t like to complain about much; he knows just how fortunate he is, and actively tries to see the bigger picture when frustrated. but it was really hard to zoom out of his particular situation when he was so zeroed in on a particular aspect that had been bugging him for weeks— y/n.

don’t get him wrong! y/n herself wasn’t what was bothering him. it was more so her presence, and his… lack thereof.

if there’s one thing harry prides himself on more than anything, it’s being an attentive lover— even in the most innocent and platonic of ways. he tries his absolute hardest to be a supportive brother, a considerate son, a (hopefully) decent role model to those who look up to him, and especially a present, loving boyfriend. and for the most part, he’s just as successful in those aspects as he is in his career. in fact, y/n regularly speaks of how harry treats her like she hangs the stars in the sky just for him, how he makes her feel like the most special girl in the world.

but this tour was taking its toll, and harry was taking it out on y/n. he’s never been great at communicating everything in the most positive of ways— that’s where he turns to songwriting— and he’d let his emotions get the better of him after letting them build up for the past couple of weeks. he wasn’t proud of himself, but he needed an outlet.

harry didn’t mean to start the fight. but when y/n asked him where he’d been after a last minute management meeting following that night’s show kept him an extra half hour later than he said he’d be, it was like all the frustration just erupted. inadequacy is one of his least favorite feelings (next to loneliness), and being a barely-there or only-sometimes-there boyfriend couldn’t be more of a trigger for that particular emotion.

now here they were, vexation filling the tour bus around them like a fog they could barely see through, inhaling it with every breath and releasing it back into the atmosphere surrounding them. harry huffed out a sigh, arms crossed and brow furrowed as he angrily looked out the window of the tour bus to distract himself for a moment, having to mentally step away from the argument at hand, even if just for a few seconds. watching as the dark streets outside shined with the headlights of other vehicles, he found himself wishing he were in one of them. it would be nice to be in a car alone, nothing but his thoughts and some music to keep him company.

but he had real company. she was standing not six feet away from him, emulating his defensive position with her arms drawn across her own chest, jaw clenching and relaxing every other moment. when he finally turned to look at her again, he exhaled loudly.

“we were crazy to think that this could work,” he mumbled, barely audible to y/n, but she was able to make it out.

even when they fought, the girl seemed to be in sync with him, inhaling deeply, subconsciously countering his previous expulsion of breath. the yin to his yang.

“what are you talking about?”

harry groaned at her words. how didn’t she get this? “y/n, i’m never around! i wake up when you’re still asleep, prepare for the day, go to the venue, help set up the stage, sound check, rehearse a bit, and then ’m off t’go get ready for a show that lasts two hours. almost each night! i come back exhausted and aching to sleep! where d’you see yourself fitting in there?”

when y/n realized it was her turn to speak again, she said, “first off, do you think you could please calm down a little? i can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

his eyes narrowed. “like what?”

“when you’re acting like a child, harry! i mean, for god’s sake, i’m not nine! i can handle hanging out on my own for a few days at a time and just getting to cuddle with you at night until you have a day off. it’s not like i don’t have things to do throughout the day, too.”

while harry tended to say things he didn’t exactly believe in the heat of the moment, y/n meant every word she uttered. she really was content relaxing in the tour bus or a hotel room taking care of work on her laptop, catching up on new episodes of her favorite shows, or even going out to explore whatever new city they were in by herself. harry had breaks between show days once or twice a week, and the thought of having those days to themselves was enough to sate her desire to spend time with him. it annoyed her that he didn’t understand that, as she’d never been the clingy type and was always very self-sufficient.

“oh, i’m acting like a child, am i? right, i didn’t realize that wanting t’be present in my relationship with my girlfriend was childish, but hey, you learn something new every day, i s’pose.”

oh, y/n was really starting to seethe now. letting her arms fall to her sides with a frustrated puff, she began again.

“god, harry, you’re not childish for wanting to spend time together! i’m saying you need to realize that i’m perfectly capable of waiting for your days off to really spend time with you. you’re acting like we can’t function without each other!”

“the whole idea of you comin‘ on tour with me was to have this time together, y/n,” harry fired back. “if we’re barely going to get to see each other anyways, then what’s the bloody point?”

…

harry might have spoken too soon. at least, that’s what he thought as he laid overtop y/n on the tour bus couch, because now the point might very well be getting to just feel her lips on his every now and again.

it was late; harry had just come back from a show. usually, he’s too tired to do anything but crash onto a cloud-like mattress after all the jumping around he does on that stage, but this time all he wanted was his girl. it’d started innocently enough, with harry pulling y/n into his lap on the worn, red leather of the couch. his hands roamed along her hips and down to her waist beneath her soft hoodie (which wasn’t even technically her’s, but is it really theft if harry just leaves his clothes lying around for her to nab?), exploring the soft expanse of her skin, not straying any lower. her own hands were hidden in his curls, lightly scratching at his scalp in what she hoped were soothing motions.

harry knew he was done for once he initiated the kiss. tentative at first, he pressed light pecks along the corner of her mouth, quick and feathery, like he didn’t really care if he got to kiss her so much as he got to hold her, or simply be with her. but soon, the eagerness set in, like he wasn’t sure when the next time he’d get to have her was, and suddenly he was capturing her mouth with his own, barely giving her a chance to breathe as he tasted her. while harry never really believed in a higher power, he could have sworn he found religion in her lips.

things only escalated from there. it wasn’t long before harry was wrapping his muscular arms around y/n, so tight that he accidentally squeezed too hard, earning a squeak from the girl. he muttered a hushed but sincere “’m sorry, darling,” to compensate. one hand supported her head, the other splayed across her back as he laid her against the cushions so that he could keep loving on her on the way down. he relished her little whimpers that she tried so hard to suppress, grinning against her jawbone, her neck, any skin he came across on his journey south to more pressing territory.

harry didn’t bother removing y/n’s hoodie, opting instead to push it up past her naval in favor of gaining access to the waistband of her fluffy sleep shorts. he felt her hands tighten their grip ever so slightly on his shoulders as he hooked his fingers under it, relaxing again when he rubbed the pad of his thumb delicately along her hipbone, reminding her it was only him.

it was a thing with y/n. she loved harry, of course she did, and she trusted him more than anyone. and maybe it was the way she was brought up, or perhaps a few poor experiences with sexual partners in the past, but there was always a fleeting moment of anxiety before shedding the clothing barrier before sex. like dipping a toe into a cold lake and hesitating a little, then ultimately deciding that jumping in wouldn’t be so bad.

harry never pried. the first few times they’d slept together, he noticed her nerves, and asked her if she was sure she wanted to continue. y/n had said yes each time, and after a while, he stopped asking. but still, whenever he noticed that brief nervous shift, harry gave her a chance to change her mind.

this time, he bided his time by sponging tender kisses right above where his fingers were still half hidden under her shorts. he wanted her to feel safe, and taken care of, and he hoped his gentle touches and even breathing could remedy her anxiety. as he waited, harry’s mind drifted…. he was getting lost in the feel of her soft skin, its dips and curves and blemishes. he thought about her waist, how his hands fit so perfectly against its sides; her tummy, and how the muscles there jolted when he tickled them; and her hips… god, if y/n’s body was a church, her hips could be the altar. harry was ready to say a prayer right then, thanking every higher power for blessing him with this gorgeous girl—

“harry?” his love’s melodic voice interrupted his thoughts, and harry’s eyes snapped up to meet hers, his nose continuing to skim just above her navel. “um… you can keep going. please.”

the corner of harry’s mouth quirked upward, and y/n could have sworn she caught a glimpse of mischief in the jade of his irises, but it was gone in an instant, as he wasted no time in stripping her of her bottoms.

…

“god, h-harry,” panted y/n, her grip on his curls constricting with every lick to her core, “’s so good, oh—”

“would feel even better if y’stopped trying t’run away from me, wouldn’t it? don’t wanna have to tie you down.”

y/n couldn’t help it! it wasn’t her fault if harry’s tongue was just too good and her body’s natural reaction was to attempt to escape his grip for a little relief. if anything, he should be happy— they’d been at this for so long y/n lost count of the minutes, and after two toe-curling orgasms, one would think harry’s jaw could use a break.

but that thought flew out the window when y/n remembered who she was metaphorically in bed with.

“’m sorry…,” she whimpered, gripping the side of the couch cushion as her eyes squeezed shut.

“don‘ have to be sorry, darling,” harry mumbled against her folds, chin glistening with her arousal as he placed a soft kiss to y/n’s clit, making her jolt in his hold. he breathed a short laugh, adjusting his arms so that one held her upper thigh next to his head, while the other pinned her hips to the red leather, restricting her ability to move. “jus’ wanna make you feel as good as possible, is all. will y’let me?”

harry turned his head, nipping at the inside of the girl’s thigh, and she gasped at the brief assault on the softest skin of her body, now adorning the mark of his front teeth that she loved so much. she shuddered a breath as best she could, and harry could tell by the way her knuckles were turning white in their grip on the couch that she was trying her best to be good. feeling a twinge of guilt, he figured maybe he should offer her a second to breathe. y/n opened her eyes when she felt harry’s lips retreat from her aching cunt and the weight of his head rest against the love bite.

“hey.”

y/n cast her gaze down upon the boy (who looked far too innocent, considering what they were doing) with his cheek laid on her inner thigh, stray hairs tickling her just a tad. playfulness swam in his eyes, but there was an underlying current of concern.

“doin‘ okay?”

she nodded, gulping. harry noticed.

“because we can take a break if you want to. just say the word, okay?”

“i will, i-i promise. but… can you please keep going?”

that was all he needed to get right back into it, only with even more fervor than before. when y/n reached her third and final peak of the night, her whole body shook, and harry had the pleasure of getting to watch as he helped her ride out her high. he almost came in his pants, rutting his hips into the sofa, moaning against her core, begging her give it t��me, love, that’s it.

harry pulled back when she started pushing at his head, whining for relief as he gave one final lap at her core. he grinned at her fucked-out figure as he wiped his face on his forearm, then took her hand that had been grasping at the cushion in one of his, bringing the back of it to his lips for a gentle kiss.

“feel all right, baby?”

“mhm,” she hummed between heaving breaths, glancing at what she assumed could only be a quite painful stiffy between his legs as he sat up, “do you?”

harry followed her line of vision, offering her a chuckle and an i’m fine, using his free hand to smooth his thumb along her brow. before he could even register it, her palm slipped from the grip of his other hand and traveled down to rub against the bulge in his pants, earning a sharp hiss from her boyfriend and a deep groan soon after.

“why don’t you let me repay the favor?”

…

harry was pretty sure y/n was asleep. if she wasn’t, she was definitely on the verge— her breaths were deep and even as she laid in his hold, her head on his chest, ear pressed overtop his steadily beating heart. and who could blame her? the evening’s activities had worn her out, which meant harry had done his job properly. he was more than happy to be wide awake, running his fingertips up and down her arm, inhaling the sweet scent of her fruity body wash while she dreamt if it meant she was rested and content and happy.

moments like these made harry think they could get away with it. the long hours spent apart, the hectic schedules, the fighting. sure, it was tough, and yes, they both had a temper that rivaled one another’s for the ‘least amount of patience award’ on any given day. but every missing ounce of patience was compensated by double its weight in love. they loved one another enough to make it work.

they could make this work.

right?

…

“jesus, harry, how do you think that makes me feel? you’d honestly rather i not be here? are you actually that insecure?”

“c’mon, y/n, you know tha’s not what i meant.”

y/n felt like they were going around in circles, having the same fight over and over again. only this time, the couple found themselves in a beautiful hotel room, with a beautiful view overlooking a beautiful city. and instead of getting to enjoy it, y/n was glaring at harry though the vanity mirror, his back facing her as he tamed his wild curls for tonight’s show… which he had to leave for in just a few short minutes.

the balled up fist on y/n’s hip flew up to her face, fingers flexing to pinch at the bridge of her nose as her eyes squeezed shut for a moment.

“i can’t believe this. i dropped everything to be here with you— to support you on the most incredible tour of your career— and instead of being happy i’m here as opposed to the alternative of thousands of miles away in a different time zone for months, you’re sitting here bitching about being too tired?”

harry sighed deeply, only infuriating y/n more. “you’re missing the point. ’s not that i don’t want you here, or just that ’m too tired. ’s knowing you’re sitting around by yourself, waiting on me while ’m working, when you could be out with friends and family, or sleeping in the comfort of your own bed—”

“that you’re not in!” the girl loudly interjected— how didn’t he get this? “i put all those things aside for us, har. it’s not like i’m leaving my life behind for years. christ’s sake, the tour is over in two months! but somehow, being away from my home and routine is easier than being in the same room as you right now.”

harry contemplated his next words carefully, turning them over in his head a few times and editing any obvious mistakes, leaving the pair of them to marinate in suffocating silence for a good ten or so seconds before he finally spoke.

“y/n… i can’t be a good boyfriend and a serious artist simultaneously, okay? not while ’m on tour. i can’t keep losing sleep over how well i’m balancing—”

“okay, you know what, harry? you know what? maybe you should just leave me, then. wouldn’t that be easier? you’d be able to sleep better at night, right?”

they both knew she didn’t mean it, though harry couldn’t lie and say it didn’t hurt to hear. but she was pissed, and harry knew better than to try to reason with her when she was like this.

when she realized he wasn’t going to respond, instead electing to stare brokenly into the mirror, she continued. “you know damn well how hard i work for this relationship. i’ve flown across the oceans that have separated us, driven for hours just to get to see you for, like, one— hell, i’ve skipped some of my most important classes so we could go to shitty dive bars in the middle of the day together! yeah, remember that? i love you, okay? people who love each other are supposed to be grateful for any time they have together at all, no matter if it’s every day or once a year.”

y/n took a breath, finally cooling down after her heated rant. she took a moment to take in the sight of her boyfriend, dressed so vibrantly, feeling anything but.

“they warned us about times like this,” the defeated tone of y/n’s whisper was enough to finally get harry to say something.

“what was that, love?”

the girl swallowed the little saliva in her mouth before speaking up a mere decibel. “remember what my parents said? ‘the road gets hard, and you get lost when you’re led by blind faith,’” she imitated her father’s deep voice, and if not for the circumstances, harry might’ve laughed.

they weren’t lost, were they?

…

if there was such a thing as heaven on earth, y/n is pretty sure she’s been there. in fact, she goes there whenever harry so much as touches her.

when he kisses her shin as they lay watching a movie together on the couch, pulling her leg up off his lap and craning his neck downward to meet it in the middle. when he runs his fingers down the bridge of her nose, making an exaggerated boop! noise once he reaches the tip, gently pressing against it like a doorbell. and especially when he has her like this.

harry’s arms felt secure wrapped around y/n’s torso, her hips moving back and forth atop his own. the feeling of his cock twitching and shifting inside her while her nipples rub deliciously along his chest made her dizzy, like she had just gotten off a loopy rollercoaster. harry’s back arched just slightly off the plush mattress of their hotel suite’s bed when y/n gave a little bounce, arms constricting around her and forcing a pleased sigh to fall from her lips.

the girl hid her face in the crook of his neck, and harry could feel each and every hot breath against his skin. lost in pleasure, he let his large hands migrate from her hips down to her bum, where he gave a small pinch to the flesh, eliciting a yelp and a small jolt from y/n.

“sorry, baby,” he laughed, “couldn’t help m’self.” harry gently flattened his palm against the now tender skin, rubbing there softly in an attempt to soothe the little ache he left. when he felt satisfied, he shifted to rubbing between her shoulder blades instead, his other arm still wrapped around her lower back as she returned to her previous rhythm above him.

y/n could tell harry was enjoying himself. his groans alone were evidence enough, not to mention the little utterances of “shit, darling,” and “so good t’me,” he frequently let slip. but perhaps he just needed a bit more to reach his high, because without warning his hands were on her thighs, gripping tightly as he began to thrust upwards into her at a much quicker pace than she had originally set— it had her seeing stars in a matter of mere seconds.

“oh, god— harry,” y/n gasped out, gripping the edge of the plush pillow by harry’s ear. she could feel him hitting that special spot inside her with every snap of his hips, and she couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling back into her head, muscles tightening all throughout her body.

“almost there, angel… just…,” harry’s thrusts began to slow, becoming more deliberate, and now he was moving her hips to grind against his each time they met, sending y/n over the edge.

y/n’s moans were long and drawn out as she came, body spasms making her hold on more tightly to harry for stability. she didn’t even hear him finish, too busy reveling in the euphoric feeling of cumming in his arms, surrounded by warmth and love and feeling the safest she had in a long while.

it was moments like these where y/n couldn’t fathom how she’s ever been upset with harry. he was perfect, lying here under her unsteady body, breathing deeply not only to catch his breath, but to take in the smell of her. she wanted this for eternity. and if this was heaven, then surely hell was when they fought with each other.

…

y/n thought she was dreaming at first, not used to being roused from her slumber by anything other than her well-timed alarm and the occasional bark of a dog on a nearby street. she expected that after blinking the sleep from her eyes a few times, the vague image of her favorite boy would dissipate, and she’d fall back into the comfort of her warm pillow. but when she squeezed them shut once, then twice, and her boyfriend’s face was still a foot away from her’s, brushing his fingertips up her nose and along her brow, she set aside her exhaustion in exchange for confusion.

now, harry knew better than to wake y/n up. in most circumstances, she’d tell him off, or gently kick at him to get him to leave her alone. he found it rather endearing, and it’s one of the reasons he’s so protective of her in her sleep— always holding her close to keep her safe, shielding her eyes from any light intruding on the space she lay, making sure both their phones were set to ‘do not disturb.’ but he had to make an exception, just this once.

“darling,” she barely registered his whisper, “wake up f’me, please?”

a whine fell from y/n’s lips, her eyes scrunching shut as she turned her body away from him, which harry knew was code for let me sleep, for fuck’s sake! a smile graced his lips at the action, jotting down a mental note to make this up to her later.

compensating for the newfound distance between them, harry scooted closer to her. he kneeled on the floor next to the bed, close to the pillows she rested upon. he laid one arm against the mattress, perching his chin on the back of his wrist. using his free hand, he continued to brush his fingertips lightly against his love’s cheek, her jaw— all along her face, really. god, her loves her face so much.

“please, baby?”

harry had just come back from one of his best performances yet— the crowd’s energy was unmatched, the chemistry between him and his band members was palpable, and he’d managed to not get hit with any flying objects all night! but what really did it for him was the fan project he was surprised with at the end of the show. thousands of people in the room wore light-up bracelets that shone pink and blue during one of his favorite songs, ‘love of my life.’ if harry’s heart had been any more full in that moment, it might’ve exploded right there in his chest.

he had been on cloud nine for a moment. but soon, realization washed over him in a way that squeezed at his lungs, stealing his breath for a second. the love of his life was somewhere miles away, probably sitting in their hotel room watching a comfort film, oblivious to anything he was feeling on that stage. he just wanted to go home to her and gush about what had happened, and how he wished she’d been there, and how it made so much sense that it would happen during ‘love of my life’ because it was the perfect representation of the amount of love he had for his, and how if she’d have been there, he would have looked directly at her and smiled the whole time.

it made him realize how bloody stupid he was.

in retrospect, the conversation he’d needlessly just woken y/n up for could have waited until morning. but then harry wouldn’t have been able to sleep if he didn’t tell her he was sorry right away.

a groan sounded through the room, followed by the ruffling of bedsheets as the girl turned back over to glare annoyedly at harry. he let out a soft laugh at her behavior.

“’m sorry, baby. know you jus‘ wanna sleep right now, but ’s it okay if we talk for a mo‘?”

“now?” y/n asked in a gravelly voice.

“now, m‘ love.”

with a soft sigh, she relented, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes with her knuckles. harry caught the motion, bringing his hands up to pull hers away from her face. he didn’t like when y/n did that, as she always managed to do it too roughly. instead, he held her smaller hands in his own, getting up to sit on the edge of the bed, facing her.

“what is it?” y/n asked through a yawn. harry looked at her for a moment— really looked at her— before responding.

“i’m sorry.”

it took her a moment to register his words. “for waking me up?”

harry laughed that dreamy laugh she loved so much, and it almost made up for the fact that she was up at twelve thirty in the morning. “no, y’little minx. not for that. well, yes, for that, but that’s not what i meant.”

“what are you sorry for, then?”

harry looked at her with an expression y/n couldn’t place. it look him a few beats to speak. “i… i’m sorry i was such a prick before. i love that you’re here, an‘ that i get t’see you when i’m off. know you put aside a lot for this, an‘ i ruined it with m’own problems. didn’t mean to.”

y/n’s features softened at the boy’s sincerity, and if it weren’t for the warmth his hands encapsulating hers provided, she’d have reached out and held his face, peppering kisses over every dip and curve.

“i know you didn’t…. i’m sorry, too.”

“for what?”

“i should’ve listened better. you were trying to tell me how you felt and i just disregarded it. that wasn’t very nice of me, either.”

the right corner of harry’s lips tugged upwards, morphing his mouth into that little half-grin y/n adored so much. “think we can get past it, darling?”

the girl scooted forward the tiniest bit, harry’s magnetic pull too hard to resist. though they were the only two in the room, she whispered, “i’ll forgive you if you forgive me.” harry liked how she made something so simple sound like a secret deal between them.

harry’s half-smile quickly quirked up, completing itself, and y/n swooned over his dimples and adorable bunny teeth. a short and quiet breath of a laugh fell past his lips, and for a moment, he just looked at her. but his gaze caught a glimpse of uncertainty in her eyes, and his grin faltered a bit.

y/n was always good at hiding her true emotions when she wanted to. not when it really mattered, don’t get her wrong— she wasn’t one to take anyone’s shit. but at dinner with her parents or meetings at work, she was able to pretend she wasn’t exhausted or annoyed. it never worked with harry, though. he could read and understand her like his own lyrics, and tonight was no exception. he saw through the mask of humor at her uncertainty, and a pang of guilt bloomed in his chest.

he let out a sigh as he beckoned her forward by gently tugging her hands, still in his, toward him. “c’mere, baby,” he said softly, pulling his love into his lap. y/n curled into him, knees tucked upward into her chest as his strong arms found purchase around her frame, holding her tenderly but securely. one of harry’s large hands held the back of her head against him, her ear right over his heart, listening to it beat for her.

“love you like crazy. you’ve no idea.” he peppered light kisses to the top of her head, so softly she might’ve missed one or two. “thank you for comin‘ an‘ s’porting me. means the world, honestly.”

“i’m happy to be anywhere with you, har,” she replied in a voice honey-thick with sleep. “even if it’s just for a few minutes. always so happy to have you.”

harry closed his eyes, laying back into the pillows, bringing y/n down with him so that she was laying overtop his sturdy body, inhaling his every exhale.

“you have me,” he said, though he was almost certain she didn’t hear him, likely already pulled into the void of sleep, drawn in by the comfort of harry’s arms, his smell, him.

“you’ll always have me.”

taglist (final time using the old one, see new link in bio): @fahsey @caswinchester2000 @lmaotshollandd @jackiehollanderr @nervousdadmode @amii-nyc @skitmix @auggie2000 @voguesir @yourgoldengirls @hunnybunimdun @lolooo22 @atoris-fantasy

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luveline · 2 years ago

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𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you and miguel accidentally move in together when the girls in the spider society dorms are mean to you —a ficlet featuring a reluctantly infatuated miguel and a carefree, ditzy spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 1.5k

cw mature themes. mdni

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You're laying in Miguel's bed when he gets back to his dorm room. Or, just his room. He'll be living here for the foreseeable future. It took him some time to calibrate to seeing you among his things, in his bed, but worst of all without your suit —it's like seeing you naked. It catches him off guard every time.

You look oddly quiet, though you aren't asleep. He knows that doesn't make any sense, that quiet isn't something you can see, but without your suit it's like stripping back a layer of chaos. In a pyjama pack from some Nueva York department store, you've little cartoon characters on your shorts, and a bigger one across your chest, the lilac purple background pretty against your skin. Your hand is tucked under your face, your phone in the other. You're swiping through a match three game with a small panda mascot that cheers, "Wā sāi!" every time you clear a line.

You smile and click another button. Miguel bites back his own, letting the door close with a metallic shushing.

"Hey," you say, without looking up. "Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"I thought asking that would get me a better answer than, 'how are you?'"

"I'm fine."

You laugh under your breath as he makes a beeline for his closet. "See," you say, like it's very funny, "what a useless question."

"How are you?" he asks.

He turns off his suit. Abruptly naked, Miguel is past caring if you see him. He wasn't shy to begin with, and it's nothing you haven't seen now.

Finding you a room to stay in away from the mean girls in your dormitory turned to letting you stay with him until he had a chance to find one, which then turned to you sleeping in his bed because you'd already kissed, so what use was having you on a futon? Which turned to kissing in bed, which turned to other things. Peace, for once. Sweaty hours spent with his armed wrapped around your shoulders, your front, his face pressed into your neck. The hours after, your hands in his hair, your lilting murmuring against the shell of his ear.

He didn't mean for it to happen.

He can't say he regrets it, either. Though it scares him.

"Cariño?" he prompts, stepping into a pair of sweatpants.

"Sorry, what did you say?" you ask, setting your phone down on the bedside table.

He can't be mad at the phone for distracting you. That's the whole reason he got it for you, purple and shiny and foldable, something he knew would draw and keep your attention when he's not around. You're having a hard time making friends, and there's not always stuff for you to do within the Society. It was a gift for himself as well as you, he wanted to know you weren't sitting alone in your room (his room) with nothing to do.

"How are you?"

"I made you a charm for you phone," you say.

You insisted he have a phone too so you could text him. He groaned, complained, grumbled, but it is the very best part of his day when he gets to turn on his stupid pink phone and see you've texted him a photo of the bedroom floor, one of your crafts in front of you, a socked foot and naked ankle in the corner of the picture.

"That's not how you are," he says after he's pulled on a t-shirt. Miguel treks back into the main part of the room and sits at the bottom of the bed. He pulls your feet into his lap because nobody can tell him not to, quick to press a thumb into the arch of your foot. You're wearing fuzzy socks. "That's what you did. How are you? You didn't come and see me today, what's with that?"

"Sorry, I made such a huge mess earlier I had to clean and it took hours and by the time I was done I thought I better shower." Your smile is magnetic.

"It doesn't have to be spotless."

"It's not my room. I'm not an asshole."

Miguel's not used to this… anymore. And things are different with you than they'd been before: you know him for who he is, this version of him, the mean, short-tempered, spiky him, where Gabri and her mother had known someone else. Still him, still real, but different. His head aches whenever he remembers —and he remembers all of the time— but being with you helps that. You're not her, and you don't have to be.

You know Miguel at his worst, and you like him anyway. It has to count for something.

"It's not not your room," he says carefully, hand running up your leg to your knee. He strokes back down, a lazy back and forth.

"I know I've overstayed," you say, "but that's your fault."

"That's my fault."

Miguel pulls your legs down enough to make your head flop off of his pillow, hoping for a disgruntled grunt or a whined, "Miguel." You stay flopped on your back and don't say anything, to his displeasure. He sighs and pulls you bodily into his lap, scooping you up with little energy expelled.

"I forget how strong you are," you say, in his lap like a princess carry, eyelashes kissing the skin under your brows as you look up at him.

"How can you forget?"

"I don't know, especially when you toss me around like a half full sack of flour. I think I have a bruise from your hand last night," you say, pulling your leg up across the other, knee away from him where you're in his lap to show him the underside of your thigh. Miguel tries not to blush at the memory, but the ghost of a dork at his core knows how salacious it is to have your girlfriend in your lap with her shorts pushed down, showcasing skin you bruised during a particularly rough moment. "Can you see? It feels sore."

A mottling of wine-stain contusion in the shape of his hand indeed takes station at the base of your thigh. It's not bad. If you had better enhancements you'd have healed by now, but your particular spider wasn't anything special.

"Perdóname," he says under his breath, brushing over it lightly with his thumb.

"It doesn't matter, don't be sorry, I was just wondering if it was really real." You let your leg drop heavily on top of his. Nothing but adoring shines in your eyes as you smile. "I don't care, Miguel."

"I didn't mean to–"

"I know."

He lifts his chin as you sit up in his lap. You kiss his neck, his jaw, and the skin below his ear, your smile audible as you murmur, "I liked it. I kind of like having the bruise, too. Don't feel bad."

He'd felt the opposite of bad in the moment. "You're sure I didn't hurt you?" he asks quietly.

He doesn't look down, can't, not until he knows. You comb your fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. "I'm sure," you say. "As if you could."

"Oh, is that how it is?" he asks, trying hard not to laugh.

"That's so how it is."

He finally faces you again, pretending like he might gear up for a fight. He holds your gaze, brows set, eyes severe. "Show me the charm you made me," he demands.

You laugh through your nose and climb out of his lap. "You're gonna love it. It looks like a jellyfish."

He can't imagine how having a jellyfish charm hanging from his phone will go down with the girls, but he finds he doesn't mind. Having something you made with your own two hands is too special to pass up.

“I made one for myself, too,” you say, digging through your box of beads to find the charms you made. You turn around holding both to your chest, your pride endearing.

“Yours isn't on your phone.”

You flicker with an uncharacteristic bashfulness. “Well, I only wanted to have them if we both had them, and I don't know if you’re okay with having one. It’s sort of loud.”

“If loud bothered me, you’d know by now,” he teases. He holds out his hand, gesturing when you don’t take it. “Come on, come back. Show me how to put it on my phone case.”

All his added sweetness is worth it to feel your smile as you clamber back into the space between his thighs and duck your face into his neck, hugging him quickly, arms thrown around his neck. “You’re the best,” you say quietly.

He really doesn’t feel like it, but hearing you say it is a load off. He relaxes under your weight, thinking your shared cohabitation might be one of the best accidents he's ever had.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed!! if you did and you have the time, please think about reblogging <3

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endlessdreamworld · 8 months ago

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For the Yandere alphabet with Aventurine: B, C, D, F, G J, and Y, please.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling? He's already such a messy guy in his day to day. Whatever low needs to be sunk to, he'll see it as a right of passage and enthusiastically drop as low as he can. Hell, he'll even take a second and give a little wave to anyone watching on the way down.

Each new sin is another notch on his belt, and a small price to pay for another piece of you.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them? If it ever got to the point that abduction needed to happen, the situation would be unsalvageable. He's been kept against his will, and captivity breeds defiance. Defiance turns into resentment and loathing -- none of which is conducive towards a loving environment.

Any misbehavior worth punishing leads towards to self flagellation. He'd gladly take on the burden of bearing your punishment, since it's his failure that's causing you to act this way.

It was part of the unspoken deal he made with you (in his head) after all. What kind of man would he be if he punished you for something that was his fault to begin with?

Of course there are lines in the sand...

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will? He's very much keen on letting you keep all of your independence per the above reasons. Aventurine's got some uncrossable lines as mentioned above. If you stay away from those lines then there's very little to worry about.

He wants to give you things, experiences, memories. He wouldn't want to deny you those opportunities.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back? He'd feel a lot of things. If it's gotten to the point where you are physically fighting him, it would feel like an act of psychic violence. You'd be brutalizing his psyche and ego, but in the heat of the moment, he'd even be proud of you.

Look at you behaving so fiercely, showing your teeth to the lion in its den. It reminds him of well... him.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape? Everything is a game to Aventurine. He's a gambler for fucks' sake. The world is just a series of games, one after the other. It's a black and white binary of wins vs losses.

There's a part of him that wants to see you try, to see just how much fate favored him. It wouldn't be out of a sense of enjoyment, but as an act of soul searching and selfish validation of his own existence

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope? Jealousy is a waste of mental resources, and it would cloud the bigger picture. He might lose a hand here or there, but the game isn't over. It doesn't matter what happens as long as he wins the pot.

If he were to feel jealousy, it would only be in the middle of a panic -- the kind of panic that only kicks in when he's staring defeat in the eye. In this state, he needs to play his cards very carefully to make sure the situation hasn't gone completely out of control. As long as there's still one more hand to play, he doesn't need to do anything drastic.

Right?

#yandere aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine x gn reader #yandere hsr #yancore #yandere x you #yandere x gn reader #yandere x reader

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angrythingstarlight · 2 years ago

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Ok wouldn’t it be funny if Malyshka tried to call his bluff, and said ok to moving into her little apartment. Like to see if he could last without his servants, personal chefs, mansion, etc

Bucky would have done it.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader.

AN: Unbetad drabble. Part of the Bumblebee series.

Bucky can be comfortable in any situation. Sure he has a gorgeous home with walk in closet bigger than your bedroom and teams of people willing to cater to his every whim.

But it wasn't always like that for the mobster.

He had a period in his childhood that was brutal after his father made some bad investments and lost everything. Bucky was already in the midst of being trained to take his father's place as pakhan when it happened.

He learned some hard lessons during those years. They shaped him in ways his father never anticipated and are a big reason why he acts the way he does when it comes to spoiling you.

Bucky would have moved right out of his mansion and into your little apartment. And he would have been happy with you.

It would have been quiet evenings spent in the living room with him reading your newest book aloud while you try to not combust from hearing his deep voice bring your fantasies to life. Early mornings in the kitchen making you breakfast. Lazy weekends spent in your room as he convinces you to cancel your plans and make new ones that involve you, him, and your bed.

It would have been him fitting into your space like the final piece of a puzzle, making the picture complete. His suits next to your dresses, his fantasy books lined up to your romance novels, his cologne on your dresser, briefcase on the living room table.

It would have been late nights bandaging his bruised knuckles while he confesses things to you that no one, not even his most trusted men knows, trusting you with everything. Including his heart.

It would have been Bucky leaving a surprising amount of weapons around your place. Asa just in case, he said when you pointed out the guns strapped under the table and behind the headboard, the various knives strategically scattered throughout the small space. It would have been discovering the other reason why he has a thing for knives after you played with one of his favorites. One wildly salacious afternoon left you with a new appreciation for that knife as well.

It would have been watching him fix everything in your place, shirtless with a sheen of sweat across his tattooed chest, trying not laugh as he grumbled about you not letting him get rid of your landlord.

It would have been discovering that he sleeps better when you're next to him. That he doesn't have nightmares when you're touching him. That he will always wake up when you leave the bed no matter how quiet you are. That he prefers to start his day with kissing you.

It would have been learning the hard way that your shower is a little too small for shower sex. And that nothing, not even nearly falling on his ass would deter Bucky from finishing what he started—he's still proud of the fact that he made you orgasm even while you were laughing so hard you almost cried.

It would have small fights that taught him that he can't stand it when you're angry with him, and he doesn't have it in him to stay mad at you. It would have sweet makeup sessions filled with love confessions and sincere apologies.

It would have been everything Bucky could ever want because all he has ever wanted was you.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x black!reader #mafia!bucky x black!reader #mafia!bucky barnes x reader #mafia!bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x black reader #sebastian stan x reader

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mikkomacko · 1 month ago

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need a blurb of mob nico coming home to reader teaching luke how to tame and style his curls

Omg ok so I’ve always tried to keep reader pretty vague that way everyone can have they’re own perception of what she looks like haha

But I mean my girl is Italian so her hair would most like be textured/wavy/curly ya know??

I can so see Luke coming up to her one night at the bar and just being like “your hair looks really nice.”

And she’s smiling, a little caught off guard but flattered by the compliment. “Thanks Luke, that’s so sweet.”

“Do you-I mean like what stuff do you put it your hair to make it look that nice?”

Reader is so eager to sharing her product line up because her and Johnny have perfected it. Like it’s immaculate. So she’s getting all excited and listing off stuff and Luke has no idea what any of it is. He just nods until she stops talking and then goes kinda shy.

“Do you think you could teach me? Some of the boys have been saying my hair looks bad and that I should comb it or something but it just gets bigger when I do that!”

And oh my goodness reader’s whole day is made. She’s so excited, making plans to take him to the store to pick stuff out and then he can come to the house and she’ll show him how to use everything.

He comes over early Saturday morning for his little beauty lesson and because this is such a big deal, he even gets access to the overly large bathroom attached to reader and Nico’s bedroom.

Which is where Nico finds them when he comes home from his run, shirt damp with sweat and plastered to his skin uncomfortably. He just wants to get in the shower, get dressed for the day, and then spend the day lounging around with his girl.

Unfortunately he’s stopped by the sight of Luke sat on a stool from the kitchen, a towel wrapped around his shoulders and wet hair dripping down his forehead.

“Uhhh what’s happening here?”

Her and Luke both freeze, turning to him with the same deer in headlights look. Reader smiles then, waving the bottle of leave in conditioner in her hand.

“Luke is learning,” is all she says and Nico just nods, moving into the bathroom and perching against the counter to watch them. His clothes are drying and feel odd and gross on his skin, but he doesn’t care.

Because it’s actually entertaining to watch her explain everything to Luke, to make him tip his head upside down while she scrunches mouse into it and then curl the shorter pieces by his face with her finger, and even when she puts two claw clips in the wet ringlets on top of his head.

“For volume,” she explains simply, that look of pure concentration on her face that makes her look so cute. And Luke is hanging on her every word, like a school child, obediently nodding his head and asking questions.

Nico remembers the first time he watched this exact same routine, listened to her tell him about everything and while Nico knew she sometimes hated doing it, he loves her hair when it’s naturally styled, just a bit frizzy and curling around her face and neck.

He always wished his hair wasn’t so pin straight, so flat all the time. So yeah he admires it, admires her, and if he pictures this same moment in the future with mini version of him and her instead of Luke sat in that chair, well then that’s his little secret for now.

Afterwards, when Luke’s hair is mostly dry and he’s given up on trying to figure out the diffuser, he’s looking to Nico with his mouth parted in shock. “Did you know so much work went into this?”

And Nico is laughing. “Yeah man. I watch her get ready almost everyday.”

#mob boss nico hischier #him and i chats

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youwannadance · 29 days ago

Text

i can't stop thinking about Lou's interview. so many of the things he said keep me up at night. so i'm gonna take you for a ride in my little clown car under the cut. that being said, i still think interviews don't matter that much. what matters is what's on the screen and it's obvious where that is going....now let's go 🤡

what backstory? like at the very least we're gonna learn more about Tommy next season, but i'm expecting something next episode too. right now, i expect the last scene of next episode be all of them talking about Bobby, sharing what he meant to them (not too sure how much of it we'd see tho) with Bobby's ghost watching them and smiling, which i'm getting from a bts picture that absolutely doesn't need to mean that and an interview that could've been just Lou yapping

this just has me all 👀

then we have all of the talk about love. which.......i'm clowning okay? was Lou told "act like you're watching the love of your life"? is that his own interpretation of what's going on between them? (in that case - it's still interesting. because the last time they had a conversation, it was interrupted by the military. and it was a simple "i'm doing it for you too", not "you're the love of my life" kind of thing. would he call buck the love of tommy's life based on that? 🤔) or are we about to have something that's gonna kill us the next episode?

*insert a screenshot of him calling them soulmates that got lost somewhere 😂*

also - just remembered that Buck said something similar imo - brought up marriage and called his relationship with Tommy the most transformative relationship of his life. just putting that out there, idek where i'm going with that 😂

then we have this. the long pause before he says "Katey", during that, her smile grows bigger and bigger. and then his smirk when he says "from when i watched, i mean, there's - you don't just get rid of a spark" (something along those lines). i find his body language during this moment fascinating. i'm reading it as "Katey, i'd love to yap about all of it and give you all of the answers because i know you'll like it, but i just CAN'T DO THAT". but what do i know? 🤷🏻‍♀️

besides of "something that's true", we also have the whole highlighted quote here, which again, has me all 👀 being vulnerable? COMMITTING you say?

POST FUNERAL you say? we all thought (or like from what i've seen) the funeral would be at the beginning of the episode, but it was at the end. which completely changes the meaning of this. is he telling us that he's in the last episode? and all of what he said is going to happen then, in some form? nevertheless, it's very interesting....👀. i'm not even sure Tim knows what he wants the next season to look like, so all of this needs to happen in the next episode. i don't think it needs to be 30 minutes long scene, but i think at least some of it has a chance of happening. i'm too scared to speculate on how the reconciliation is going to look like, but i think Tommy could open up about how much Bobby has meant to him to Buck. at least a little bit.

then we have this lol. again, does it scream "i can't talk about all of it right now" to someone else, or am i reading too much into it again?

and the interview ends with Lou saying that we'll like what we're going to see in the next episodes. i'm not sure about this like at all, but doesn't he only know about scenes he's a part of? well if that is the case, then he was last seen in the funeral episode 🤷🏻‍♀️ nothing much to "like" there, is it? AND, i think he knows people are excited about BuckTommy. so like, is he trying to give a hint of what's about to happen? 👀 is he talking about the show in general, because he loves to be a part of it? 👀 nevertheless, what i take away from that is that it ends in a good way, either for Tommy or for all of them (i mean, either he's talking about Tommy or the whole show - i mean there's gonna be plenty good things happening next episode 🤷🏻‍♀️). and again - the last time we saw him was at the funeral...

but now i'm done yapping lol. i went all out with this 🤣. i could, and mostly likely am, at least in some parts, be wrong.🤷🏻‍♀️ i'm trying to maintain my reputation of the biggest clown to ever clown anyways.

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #lou ferrigno jr #911 speculation #i was so nervous about posting this lol but it’s out there now 🤷🏻‍♀️

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moderninfatuation · 8 months ago

Note

I am totally interested in seeing how you write Leon Kennedy and Luis Serra (my two favorite male characters of the RE universe), but I don't think I can provide any interesting prompts. The most I can think of, right now, is either of those characters and how they would survive the apocalypse with the reader. But, that's a bit vague. Uhm, is Leon Kennedy meeting up with a scientist reader who's dedicated to finding a cure an interesting prompt? (Probably not, huh?) Or Luis Serra surviving with a reader who's holding him captive for some reason (like a reader that gives Ada wong vibes?)?

note: hello :) I do find your prompts interesting, but now I need to make sure I do your favorites justice >< let me know what you think! I definitely think I could describe the actual interaction between you and the characters more, but it always takes me so long to get to, so i might make just have to make a second part

════════════════════════════════════

Scientist!Reader with Leon and Agent!Reader with Luis

characters: Leon S. Kennedy and Luis Sera, seperate

tags: sfw, agent!reader, scientist!reader, gn!reader, kidnapping, references to drugging

════════════════════════════════════

Leon & Scientist!Reader

Finding a cure for anything within current times is hard, of course. If anyone is intelligent enough to realize that, it’s probably you. Once a junior scientist held in high esteem by one of the bigger pharmaceutical companies in the area, you’re now forced to dig through the rubble of what was once lined up office spaces and laboratories, the logo of the company you worked for looming over you from what is left of the buildings as if it were threatening to crash down on you one day. That doesn’t stop you from trying, however, much to the dismay of most of the people who used to be your higher ups. You feel like there is constantly someone on your back, just waiting for you to be careless so they can strike down your attempts to help - that is all you wanted to do, but it seems as if right now, helping earns you more enemies than it does allies.

Leon is among the very few individuals you trust enough to tag along. He found you, crawling through what was once a cooling room, the glass of what used to be syringes and test tubes crackling below your weight as you scour for anything that could be of use later. The place was positively trashed as the scene was fled just a few months ago during the initial outbreak, but you decided to come back anyway, always on the lookout for anything that moves and anything that breathes. You nearly passed out from the shock when suddenly, Leon stood behind you, telling you to raise your hands while you could only hear his heavy boots on the tiled floor and the click of his safety catch. It made the hairs on your nape stand.

It used to be a little hard to get a proper read on Leon. He was quiet at first, too busy keeping an eye on your surroundings as well as you while he was escorting you out of the building. What if you were infected after all? What if it is just an elaborate trap to get him out of the picture? There was always a shadow of suspicion following him around. However, you get it. They’re out to get you once you’ve seen too much, and you and Leon perfectly fit the picture. It gets easier to spend time around each other once the both of you let the realization sink in.

Ever since, you’re a duo like no other. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s a grown ass man, you’d say he’s attached to your hip; like a gun ready to be pulled when you’re in a tight spot. That is most he does when he follows you, actually: showing off his combat skills when it gets dicey. You’re thankful, of course, but you also managed to do it just fine on your own… or at least, that’s what you’d like to say. Truth is, you almost got your head crushed one or two times in the past because you were too focused on a gleam coming from a crack too tiny to put your arm in than on the dangerously tipped storage cabinet barely supported by said crack. Leon is just the guy for the job: holding up furniture, fighting off the infected, hell, ever since he’s warmed up to you, he even likes to joke around, hoping to get a laugh from you despite the differences in humor.

Leon can be stern with you, too. It doesn’t feel right to call it scolding, but he will furrow his brows and tell you to be more careful at even the slightest injury. He also insists on bandaging you up if things get bloody, not letting you do it yourself. If you push and complain hard enough, all he’ll do is raise his eyebrows in surprise, hold up his hands defensively and take a few steps back to let you do your thing - and to partially to keep himself from raising his voice. He would usually follow it up with a little quip too, just to defuse the tension, but also to see your reaction. His smug expression betrays him right before he drops the dreaded “Right, you’re the doctor-” before you have to remind him for what feels like the hundredth time that you’re not a doctor, as if the lack of a doctorate still matters now.

While he doesn’t know much about “science-stuff”, as he calls it, Leon knows enough to join the conversation. He likes to join you at your desk, asking questions and pointing at your equipment in the dark of the night, only illuminated by the wiry desk lamp and occasionally his flashlight when he gets bored. There have been times he fell asleep right next to you, too, snoring softly with his head hanging low and his lips slightly parted. He smiles gently and congratulates you with friendly shoulder bumps and pats on your back whenever you’ve made a new breakthrough or discovery in your research. His support is the most valuable you could get right now, especially since he’s competent enough to go out and get more supplies for you without, well, dying along the way. You have found your own kind of normalcy as the city around you gets rebuilt over time, a cure closer than it seems thanks to your sleepless nights and Leon’s eagerness to help.

════════════════════════════════════

Luis & Agent!Reader

You decided to take the harder path in life, it seems, but it was never really a decision, per se. You’re merely a product of your surroundings and circumstances… but it certainly was a decision when you took on your very first job to steal. It could just be a one time thing, right? A swipe of your hand when nobody seemed to look in exchange for cash that’s worth twice the amount of whatever you have to take. Your career took a dark turn once you realized that there is no coming back from the downward spiral that becomes clearer as your jobs go from theft to smuggling to assassination. So, the only solution is to keep going, to keep your head up high and to not look back. Let the paycheck distract you.

A new job you had the pleasure of coming across is significantly more risqué, but also rewarding like no other. Your enigmatic new ‘employer’, if you could even call it that, sends you out to kidnap someone in exchange for protection. Not a first, exactly, but something tells you this is much more serious than your previous jobs. Now here you are, brushing the dust from the abandoned factory building’s roof off of your shoulder as ex-Umbrella scientist Luis Sera sits in front of you, struggling against the bindings supposed to keep him still while the empty potato sack obscuring his vision muffles his grunts. Not his first kidnapping, judging by the way he doesn’t even try to call and scream for help.

Luis groans in confusion as his brain slowly recovers from the Rohypnol you used to make him pliant and easy to carry. His eyes get adjusted to the spotlight shining directly at him, and for a second, the both of you make eye contact. You step out of the way before the laptop you set up takes a picture of your newest (and only) captive, ready to send it to your boss. “Mierda…” is all you hear from Luis for a long time, slurred as he immediately looks around for any means of escape. Yes, this guy definitely has experience. But why him? Upon first look, he just looks like any other biologist you had to sneak past. Lab coat, eye rings, the stubble that comes once self care becomes luxury in the face of deadlines.

You’re quick to find out that Luis is talkative, effectively destroying one of the very few scientist stereotypes you were aware of. Some people talk just to calm their nerves, but if he does it for that reason, he’s very skilled at keeping up the facade of extroversion. Some attempts of “Care to tell me where we are?” followed by a quiet “Eh, not the talking type, I see…” before he goes silent again for… what, 5 minutes? You almost regret pulling the potato sack from his head. He even asks for a cigarette at some point, to which you scoff in reply.

Hours pass as you realize that you’re not here to scare him or to “get him out of the picture”, so to speak - you’re on a mission to hide him. You aren’t given more details by your boss, except that you should probably keep Luis tied up. You’re more open to conversation now that you know you’re stuck with him for… unspecified time. Once you give him some input on the current situation, leaning onto the shoddy table behind you to get comfortable, you see him relax visibly. “Ahh, so you can talk! Was getting afraid we didn’t speak the same language.” he teases, a smug expression decorating his face now. He seems like an entirely different person now. And the worst part? He sees right through you, despite your attempts to remain calm and quiet. “I’m starting to feel like I know more about this situation than you do…” The hint is all he needs to earn himself a glare over your shoulder as you hope for further instructions appearing on the screen in front of you.

Your hands are less than gentle after an hour of convincing that he won’t run off leads to you cutting open his bindings. “Thank you.” Is all he mumbles before standing up, idly wiping his thighs and stretching his legs. It isn’t exactly professional to deny the orders given to you, but he doesn’t seem like the type of guy to initiate fist fights. He runs circles in the small room, patting his jacket for a lighter and his pants for the cigarettes to match before lighting himself one, exhaling smoke into the cold air surrounding you. The evening continues like that. You can’t help but be… charmed by him and the way he hums to himself as well as by his useless attempts at conversation with you. He occasionally looks over your shoulder, nagging you with a “There’s a far more efficient way to use-” as he reaches out for your keyboard while you can only watch and rest. It’s not like he’s checking your messages or anything, right? Occasionally he wanders off too far, followed by the noise of metal on metal and the shuffling of feet as he explores the building, only to find his way back to you.

════════════════════════════════════

#resident evil headcanons #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #luis sera x reader #luis serra x reader #luis serra x you #gender neutral reader #gn!reader #gn reader

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loycos · 7 months ago

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my head's a bit clearer, some thoughts about act 3

-my biggest gripe is episode 7- cool idea, love the concept of peaking into a different universe and seeing what our characters couldve been under different circumstances, but a WHOLE episode. when you only had 9 episode in this season, that already feel like theyre moving at a neck's pace. for a universe that ultimately doesn't matter to the main universe where the story takes place. the fact it had timebomb made it feel extremely fan service-y.

-no emotional resolution to a lot of characters. viktor and jayce are the only ones i can think of that felt like they got the screen time and care for an actual emotional closure.

-isha wasn't even mentioned in this act. in general she was already a martyr for jinx's character development but guys can you make it less obvious.

-it started in act 2, hence why i was so jaded on it, but it continues here: just where the fuck the political drama between 2 cities go? the conflict between zaun and piltover took a back seat since episode 4 and never came back. the resolution to it isn't bad per say, but when u got so little focus on it in the finale it just feels rushed.

-i loved the cait and jinx scene. but like, that was the resolution to it??? after act 1 thinking about it disappoints me. im not against a conversation being the climax to a story, but that is, and im not joking, the ONLY conversation these 2 have in the show one on one. in general the jinx\cait\vi arc ends with 1 conversation per duo (well caitvi got one fight and one very steamy sex scene but u won't catch me complaining). and after act 1, idk i think i wanted just a little bit more. im biased though- the jinx\vi\caitlyn dynamic is my favorite part about arcane. the teasers for s2 always had them front and center so i assumed it'll play a bigger part in the story???

-i felt like what the show was at its core, which is the conflict between the sisters and the cities, was completely sidelined this season. in general i can't really tell what the main theme of the show is anymore. but yeah look at the resolution to the jinx and vi story.did it feel like it had the emotional impact u expected? cause i felt like it was underwhelming.

-sevika?? didnt speak since episode 4???? huhh???

-maddie was pointless. why was she there?? i don't understand the point of that character. i dont understand her motives. she ended up not mattering at all to caitvi's story. the only thing i got from her inclusion is "caitlyn fucks" but is it that THAT important??? of a character trait??? to add to caitlyn of all people?? in THIS season??? this belongs in the realm of fanfiction.

-a lot here felt like fanfiction actually. every silco inclusion (except of him in the cell with jinx), the whole "nobody dies au" they threw in the middle, even the caitvi sex scene (IM NOT COMPLAINING THO). the caitvi scene at the end was dialog out of fanfiction, wtf was that.

-why did caitlyn lose her eye? im not like against the idea on a base level but losing an eye is very symbolic, and im not sure what its supposed to represent here. caitlyn is an observant person, its a big character trait for her. so youre basically saying she sees less now? that she's more laser focused? i sure hope not. wasnt her whole arc with giving up of revenge about seeing the "bigger picture"? her sacrifice didn't feel in character, because caitlyn is not really a "fight to the death" type of character like ambessa is. if she made that sacrifice for something like love, or for the betterment of other people, that would be more in line. idk, you couldve made me on board with it but im just very meh on it. also caitlyn only really emotes through her eyes, it sucks that we get even less of it now?? though i guess it doesnt matter at this point.

-what was the point of the enforcer that looked like vander?

-ambessa was so wasted in these last 2 acts its crazy. where's the "you have to be the fox and the wolf" mindset from her? she felt like she was wolfing only with no wit anymore by the 3rd act.

-mel????????????? it was. uhhh. maybe you shouldve saved it for another series, riot. but in this show, waste of time. the fight she had with caitlyn against ambessa was cool tho.

-i sound like im a hater but u have to understand. s1 of arcane was a political drama and a character study show. seeing all this discarded for magic and time travel shenanigans on like 4 different fronts was so jarring it took me out of the show multiple times.

-cant believe im saying that, but i wish they'd try to stick closer to the characters' current state in the source material (the cursed game). someof it felt out of left field and done for shock value, which isn't why we love the story or these characters to begin with.

good stuff:

-caitvi sex lmao ill take it babyyyyy

-jayce and viktor's scenes at the end were powerful.

-as usual, the visuals were phenomenal. the animation is gorgeous. fortiche u made this show what it is and youre still its saving grace.

-thank god they dropped the warwick\vander plot

-i liked the implication of the conclusion to jinx's story, even if it felt a little inconsistent with the character.

-the ending to jinx\vi\caitlyn was poetic and i did love it, even if it was rushed and didn't really hit the emotional highs i wanted it to.

#arcane #arcane spoilers #arcane season 2 spoilers #that was a ride #this wont top the original but u can always just watch the first 4 acts and then skip to the caitvi sex #which is what ill be doing probably revisiting this show #ill give this a rewatch and probably wont be so harsh on it after but those are my first impressions

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shut-up-danny-kun · 1 year ago

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I've read hundreds of Star Trek TOS fics by now and it never ceases to amuse me how many different ways there are to fuck up Spock's characterization...now hold on just a minute - this post has a more interesting point than “fanfic writers stupid”, I promise you.

Every time, it's a spin on the massacre wheel. It's kind of amazing. Will he be overly emotional to the point where he's not himself anymore? Will he be so cold it's unpleasant and kind of hard to understand how he's lived to this point? Will he be extremely horny for no good reason? Will he speak in a way that sounds complety wrong?

I chuckle and shake my head. Of course, I KNOW what Spock is like, and MY interpretation of him is the most perfect and correct one. Obviously. He's just a very nuanced character, formed by many people in an unconventional way, with traits that seem to contradict each other at first but ultimately form a rich and unique character that so many people fell in love with specifically because he's so complicated...

Or...is he?

Let's entertain the idea that there isn't one correct interpretation of Spock, that all of these messy bits of characterization are not part of a bigger picture, but...just what they are: a product of many people with starkly different visions, working on a show that refuses to properly develop its characters. What then? Well, then Spock is a Rorschach test. Each viewer connects the random dots in their own way, and ignores the ones they don't like.

Let's use an example: me! In my interpretation of Spock (the most correct one, of course) he is, first of all, gay and on the asexual spectrum, reserved, largely uninterested in casual flirting or sex. When he is interested in the aforementioned things, he tends to be quite ashamed of it.

Makes sense, right? I can show you plenty of evidence for why that could be true. However, in the beginning of the first bloody season, Uhura sings a song about how Spock is actually kind of a heartthrob who likes to drive women insane with how hot he is, and Spock smiles. He smiles at her, as if agreeing and being very amused by all this! This interaction goes against pretty much everything I think about Spock. So what do I do? I explain it away in the most bizzare fucking way possible. See, Uhura and Spock are friends (there is no evidence for this), and Uhura knows everything I've just told you about him (through telepathy I guess? Not like he'd ever tell her!) and she's just trolling him (why would she do that? That is NOTHING like Uhura!). I need to do some Olympics-level mental gymnastics here, the opposite of Occam's razor.

“But Danny,” I hear you say, “it's just the start of the show! They hadn't figured out his character yet!”

To which I say: you can say that about anything! You can blame it all on a bad writer for that episode, and ignore virtually any scene that doesn't jive with your headcanons. It's there, and I can't ignore it.

So...how am I different from the people that want Spock to be thar heartthrob Uhura is singing about? That evidence is as much a part of canon as my favorite lines. Well, I'm not any different, that's the thing. And all those writers I complained about also have a point.

It's kind of a nihilistic take, I know, but maybe the reason Spock is such a cultural icon is because he is...whatever you want him to be: just concrete enough to spur on your imagination, yet vague and contradictory enough to let your brain fill in the gaps.

Don't get me wrong: I absolutely do not believe in this. In my mind, it just so happens that I'm one of the, like, 5 people ever who truly understood Spock (and one of them is Jim Kirk himself). But I still think it's something worth thinking about next time you're mad at a fic.

#star trek tos #spirk #s'chn t'gai spock #spock #tos spock #character analysis #dannytypes #takes

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mtkay13 · 2 years ago

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The one and only Qi Ye trio!

[ID: A digitally painted portrait of Helian Yi, Jing Beiyuan, and Zhou Zishu from Qi Ye. Helian Yi stands impressively while moving up stairs, golden light falling over him so he casts a shadow over the other two. Jing Beiyuan is sitting below Helian Yi, smirking at the viewer and partially backlit, while Zhou Zishu is standing upright with a slight smirk behind Helian Yi and fully in shadow. The original version has the same composition but different color palette and design details. End ID] (thank you @nebulations for the ID)

Details on the painting, meta and more below!

So this piece is actually a "remake" of a much older drawing that I made right after I had finished reading Qi Ye:

First, I want to elaborate on the drawing itself. I usually don't like to detail the symbolism and ideas that I put in my art, simply because I don't want to impose a reading and I'd rather everyone gets their own; but following some discussions I have decided to do so for this one.

The main theme of this illustration is glory, power, and the ascention towards it. The principal symbol of it is, of course, the stairs going up. I used light, directly, colours and positioning to signify each character's relationship to those themes.

Helian Yi is the one in the light, ascending upwards, in red clothing. Helian Yi's power, as future emperor, is in the light, visible, going towards the heavens as the son of heaven himself--to enact his heavenly duty. Part of his face is in the shadows, and his being casts a broad shadow behind him for, of course, a lot has to happen in the shadows for him to reach the throne. He's looking behind as his ascension comes with dread and paranoia, never being able to fully trust anyone.

Jing Beiyuan is sitting on the stairs, uninterested with the climb towards power itself, uninterested in the glory. The thin line of light on his figure means that among Helian Yi's closest allies, he's the one using his title and influence; light grazes him even if he doesn't want it to. His presence in Helian Yi's shadow signifies how he, along with Zishu, is quite literally behind HLY's ascension. His gaze is knowingly directed towards the watcher.

Zhou Zishu is entirely in the shadows, doesn't exist in the light. He's standing tall on the stairs but not facing upwards because his own way towards power isn't following the traditional path of having one's name being remembered in historical records. He is at his most powerful concealed in the shadows and doesn't look directly, his gaze unreadable.

The main reason I decided to repaint it was because I wanted it to match my current style and, more importantly, my current mental image/character design for them. Jing Qi barely changed since my idea of him was fairly clear from the start, but Helian Yi and Zishu went through much bigger changes.

For Helian Yi, it was mainly a question from taking him out of Jin Wang's robes to get him his own. I really like Jin Wang's wardrobe in SHL, which is why I initially wanted it for HLY, but nowadays it simply doesn't correspond to how I picture him anymore. My understanding and/or envisioning of Da Qing's fashion has changed a bit as well, so I wanted to reflect that. In the original, he more seemed like a kid in vaguely chique robes that were too big for him LOL. His face was afforded a bit of refinement as well, especially since my big Qi Ye spread.

Jing Qi's robes are just a tad less flashy somehow--which wasn't so much planned as just... another design I had in mind. I still really like the first version of the robes but, oh well. His face is a bit more defined now, and overall more details in the quality of his clothing and in his hair piece.

Zhou Zishu...... well, haha. His original design was quite unpolished--a vague mix of SHL!Zishu and some random hakama I barely worked on. He was also very slim and had big eyes, which I just don't see anymore. He's bigger now, by quite a bit, both in height and musculature, and I made him look just a bit older as well--simply because he is older than HLY and JBY by a few years. I much prefer his current expression which is a tad more vicious but also a bit harder to read (I think). His robes, hair shape are much better defined and thought-out, and I am happy with the subtle shading on his face.

That's it!! Thanks for readiinngggg as always!

#qi ye meta #qi ye #helian yi #jing beiyuan #zhou zishu

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ajesterwrites · 3 months ago

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17. game night

summary: damon reveals his true intentions. jeremy has an outburst and caroline finally snaps.

pairings: damon salvatore x fem! reader, brief stefan salvatore x fem! reader

warnings: mild violence

word count: 2.4K

author's note: just a gentle reminder that I accept all forms of constructive criticism

IN JUST AN HOUR, the sun had disappeared.

You sat at the bottom of the bleachers, surrounded by screaming supporters. Coach Tanner's voice blared through the speaker, rallying the crowd by promising to crush the opposing team. Then he congratulated his new star player, eliciting even more whoops and cheers. Stefan stood among his teammates in a unified line. In response to the applause—and a few curious looks from his fellow players—he forced a humble smile.

You gazed at him, your hand instinctively reaching for the necklace. You'd just gotten it an hour ago, and now it felt as a part of you as your own heart.

Unease rushed over you. If this gesture was romantic...you couldn't stand the thought. And not because you didn't feel...something for him. It was because you did. It was selfish. Stupid.

You couldn't afford to get that close to someone. And Stefan had been through so much. If he saw how distant you truly were, it'd only hurt him more. You needed to sever these semi-romantic ties before it trapped you both. But how could you when your new silver heart made your real heart flutter?

Sighing, you rose to your feet and weaved through the crowd. The game hadn't started, and maybe a quick walk to Jenna's SUV would ease your nerves. Besides, you hadn't eaten much today. That dream you'd had of Ryder and Damon the night before had shaken you more than you cared to admit.

You rummaged through the trunk until finally, you settled on a bag of chips. You slammed the trunk shut and turned to leave—only to find yourself mere inches away from Damon Salvatore. Your soul jumped from your body. His electric blue eyes widened teasingly, as if trying to bewitch you. You frowned. "What are you doing here?"

Damon leaned in like he was telling you a secret and whispered "I'm hiding from Caroline."

Your frown deepened. "Why?"

"I needed a break," He shrugged. "She talks more than I can listen."

"That could be a sign," You said, scowling. What an asshole.

"Well she's awfully young."

If you weren't confused before, you definitely were now. "Not much younger than you are."

Damon chuckled. "I don't see it going anywhere in the bigger picture. I think she'd drive me crazy."

The way he said it, reeking with arrogance, like you were just going to agree made your body blaze with anger. Caroline was many things—a complete chatterbox, for sure, and she could be kind of tactless—but she was a great person and a wonderful friend. You wouldn't trade her for the world. And she was so into Damon—she was wearing scarves to "try something new" which was definitely code for "Damon likes it when I wear these so now I'll wear them forever." And here he was, talking about Caroline like she was some sort of pest. As if he hadn't pursued her. And if he disliked her so much, why did he go on a sort-of double date with her just last night?

"I'm sure you understand," Damon went on.

You scoffed in disbelief. "If you really feel that way about her, then maybe don't be a dick and stop leading her on." He opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off. "Caroline and I have been best friends since the first grade, and maybe you don't understand because you're too busy terrorizing Stefan, but that means something to me."

"Duly noted," Damon said coolly. "I'm sorry if I offended you, that's not my intention."

You scoffed again. "Yes, it is. Otherwise, you wouldn't put an alternate meaning behind everything you say."

Damon smiled, his eyes soulless and calculating. "You're right," He mused. "I do have other intentions. But so do you."

"Really?" You glared at him. Right now the only intention you had was to slap that arrogant look off his face.

He hummed in agreement as if he knew everything about you. "I see them." He leaned forward, his smirk deepening. "You want me."

You'd never scoffed so much in a single conversation. "Excuse me?"

"I get to you. You find yourself drawn to me. You think about me when you don't wanna think about me. I bet you've even dreamed about me."

You hated to admit it, but for a moment, your scowl cracked. Flashes of the dream invaded your mind. That sly look he'd had in his eyes when you'd pulled away from him...

You gazed at Damon, locked in place. How did he know? How could he see through you like that?

"And right now..." His voice was buttery and smooth, trying to slither his way into your mind and disarm you. "You wanna kiss me."

He leaned in, smirking, eerily similar to how he had in your dream. Like he'd been thinking that you'd wanted to be held, undressed, and kissed by him—not Ryder—all along.

That's it. Your palm struck his face faster than you could comprehend. He slowly turned his face to yours, and you hoped the slap was as jarring as it felt. That stupid smirk was gone completely. You stepped closer to him, giving him the exact distance that he craved, and looked him dead in the eye. "I don't know what game you're trying to play with Stefan here, but I won't let you pull my friends into this. And I don't know what happened in the past, but let's get one thing straight: I am not Katherine."

You stormed off, your palm stinging, and didn't dare look back.

You were still steaming as you joined the crowd at the bleachers. Bonnie caught your eye from across the field and waved enthusiastically. You returned a huge smile, but it quickly vanished as soon as she looked away. You couldn't believe what Damon had done. Using Caroline? Trying to kiss you?

Memories of your first meeting sharpened in your mind. His weird staring contest with Stefan, how he'd seemingly tried to drive a wedge between you and his brother by mentioning Katherine, the way he'd kissed your hand with ulterior motives. He was toying with you. He was trying to get under his brother's skin. That's why he'd crashed the dinner.

Caroline could talk for ages—it couldn't have taken much to convince her to agree. She probably didn't even know what his intentions were.

You huffed. How had you seen anything human in him? You thought you'd had a heart-to-heart in your kitchen, but that was impossible. Damon didn't have a heart. He was a callous, spiteful asshole who saw pawns instead of people. You were all just pieces in a game he'd concocted to beat Stefan. Last night, you'd played along. But him trying to kiss you behind Caroline's back was your last straw.

Just as you felt the urge to scream, a sharp CLINKKK ripped you from your fury. Your blood turned to ice. The last time you'd heard that sound...ceramic crashing against iron bars. Chamomile splashing against the cold ground. Your shrieks when in the sweetness, you'd tasted something else—something thick, metallic, and...red.

"TYLER!" A girl's voice screamed. Vicki. Your head snapped toward the sound. But through all the red clothes, accessories, and pompoms, it was nearly impossible to see anything. Her next words made your heart pound. "Stop, you're hurting him!"

You pushed through the crowd, ignoring the dirty looks and sneers. Your brain latched onto Vicki's cries like it was a string pulling you to the scene.

"Enough, he's down!" Another voice shouted. Stefan.

You zipped across the field, running on pure instinct and adrenaline. A horde of people had crowded around the scene, desperate to get a view. You shoved them all aside until finally...

You stopped in your tracks. The color drained from your face. Jeremy was laying on the ground, blood trickling from his lips, smearing his face. Tyler stood over him. His eyes were wide and enraged, aimed at Stefan, who was trying to intervene. But all you saw was red. Literally.

How dare he make your brother bleed?

You surged forward, determined to give him a taste of your fist, when you noticed Jeremy flip onto his stomach. You hadn't even seen him grab the bottle—but suddenly he jerked to his feet. Everything happened so quickly, you couldn't tell who had done what—someone had thrown a punch, someone had spun around, and you thought you'd caught a glimpse of Matt's blond hair—but in only a split second, Stefan's hand had taken the brunt of the bottle, and Tyler Lockwood was on the ground. Warm, thick blood splattered on your arm. Your stomach churned. But then you remembered where the blood had come from.

"Stefan!" You rushed to Stefan, your heart in your throat. He curled his hand into a fist like he didn't want you to see the damage. But you had seen it. And it made you sick.

“Raven!” Bonnie and Caroline screamed in unison, running toward you.

“What just happened?” Caroline exclaimed, her eyes hysterically darting around the field. Somehow, in all the chaos, Matt had intercepted, and was shoving Tyler away before he could do more damage.

“Tyler,” You responded, not tearing your eyes away from the wound. “Let me see your hand. Seriously, how bad is it?”

"I'm okay," Stefan said calmly, but it only made you panic more.

Your head whipped toward your brother, his wild eyes all too familiar. You stepped closer to him, your lips parted in shock. Your nose burned with the stench of liquor. "Are you fucking crazy?" You exclaimed. "You could've killed him!"

"Well, I didn't," Jeremy muttered, shoving past you. You grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

"You hurt Stefan!" You shouted. "He was only trying to help you!"

"I didn't need his help!"

"So you stabbed him?"

"I'm fine," Stefan assured you. "Really."

You gripped his hand. "No, look at what he did to your hand!"

You pried his fist open and gasped.

The blood...it was gone. There was a faint reddish stain where the blood was supposed to be. But it was like nothing had happened. You looked up at him, frowning. "What...but...you were bleeding-"

"It wasn't mine."

"I saw it!"

"It's not my blood," Stefan swore, a strained smile on his face. "He missed."

He wiped his hand on his dark pants. You tried to think. The only ones close enough to draw blood were him, Jeremy, and Tyler. But Tyler hadn't been bleeding...had he?

You swallowed hard and pinched your forehead, rubbing your temple so hard that your skin might peel off. Panic flared within you. The stadium lights overhead seemed to swirl.

After Jeremy saw that he hadn't hurt Stefan after all, he scoffed. Like you were just some liar making up stories to make him feel bad. "First Vicki and now this," Jeremy grumbled.

"If you don't want sympathy, fine, but at least apologize!"

"I'm fine," Stefan said gently. "Really."

"Well someone's blood is on me!" You shouted, frustration searing your insides.

"That's nothing new," Jeremy hissed and stormed off. Your sifted through your memories. No. This couldn't be right. You paled. Stefan getting cut was so vivid in your mind. Which meant two things: either he was lying or you were hallucinating. You weren't sure which explanation was worse.

You'd conveniently wiped the blood on your clothes, which were so deep red that you had no way of knowing if blood was on it—at least, you thought you wiped it on your clothes.

"Y/N...what's he talking about?"

You slowly turned around. Bonnie and Caroline were staring at you. Bonnie's eyes were as wide as saucers. Caroline frowned, as if finally seeing you for the first time. Her voice quivered. Fear spasmed in her narrow blue eyes.

"What happened with Vicki?" Bonnie asked. Her voice was barely above a whisper. She looked at you like she'd seen a ghost.

Vicki stood several feet away, her eyes glistening with tears. She looked at you frantically and started to explain, but no one looked at her. All attention was on you.

You shrank beneath their gazes. The horror. The confusion. You'd seen those faces before—on Jenna, Jeremy, and....Ryder.

Under the spotlight, you were swept away in a current of images. The blood you were sure you'd seen on your arm….your mind flashed to the car accident…blood floating in the water…beating Vicki to a pulp until she was coughing off blood…blood splashing on your white hospital gown. “Y/N?”

"Y/N..." Stefan called out tenderly. He must've seen the panic on your face. You barely heard him over the pounding of your heart.

Your friends' gazes burned into you, demanding answers. Immediately, your brain went into overdrive, trying to think of anything—anything at all—to stop them from probing deeper.

"You need to break up with Damon." The words flew out before you could stop them. Maybe a part of you didn't want to. Caroline blinked out of her shock. Your shame slowly dissolved, but when her confusion morphed into hurt, regret slammed into your gut like a ton of bricks.

"What?" Caroline's voice cracked. Your stomach twisted.

"Care, he's not good for you," You urged, trying to keep your voice steady. "You deserve so much better and-”

"Just stop."

"Caroline—"

"At least Damon actually wants me around!" Caroline shouted. You pleadingly glanced at Bonnie for support, but she was spaced out, ruminating on Jeremy's outburst. “Admit it, Y/N! You just want us to need you!”

“That’s not true–”

“Yes, it is!" Caroline shouted." It’s why you left, isn’t it?”

“I…" You tried to speak but your words faltered. How could you be so stupid? To abandon your friends and expect them to forget? You knew you deserved it—every yell, every insult—and when you'd first come back, you'd wanted Bonnie to hate you. But now that it was happening, your heart tightened in your ribcage. "Caroline...no-”

“Even Vicki knew you were going," Caroline said bitterly. Angry tears sprung in her eyes. "Vicki. Bonnie and I are your best friends and you left without saying a word. Do you have any idea how that felt? I tried to be understanding because I knew you were going through Hell but I was worried sick about you! Bonnie was losing her mind!”

“I-I didn’t mean–”

“You didn’t mean what?" Caroline snapped. You stepped back. "To abandon us for the entire summer? Because that’s what you did. And when you came back, we had to find out from your little brother.”

“I know," You whispered, your eyes clouded with shame. "I messed up. I just…I didn’t know how to approach you. I thought you would’ve moved on-”

“Moved on?” Caroline repeated, her voice sharp with disbelief. “How could you think we’d just move on?” You had never seen Caroline look so hurt and angry, not even when her dad had suddenly moved out with no warning. Your words failed you. You stood there, frozen in a stunned silence. Caroline scoffed and shook her head. Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked away.

Bonnie peered at you sympathetically...and it only made you feel worse. "You okay, Y/N?" She asked.

“Yeah, um…” You nodded quickly, fighting back tears. “You should, um…you should probably go check on her. She needs a friend.”

You turned away. Stefan stepped in front of you, his eyes soft with concern. "Hey," He said gently and reached for your hands. His touch felt like an anchor on glass. You pulled back.

"I want to be alone," You whispered, hoping that if you spoke quietly enough, he wouldn't hear the way your voice broke. You didn't wait for a response. You knew he would support you no matter what, but right now, you didn't want pity or kindness. You just wanted to escape.

And so you stalked toward the parking lot, moving as fast as your legs could take you.

Chapter Eighteen

#damon salvatore x y/n #damon salvatore x reader #stefan salvatore x fem!reader #stefan salvatore x reader #caroline forbes #bonnie bennett #jeremy gilbert #tvd x reader #tvd x you #tyler lockwood #matt donovan

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