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hermionewrites · 7 months

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Invaluable

THIS IS UNIMPORTANT PART 2!!!!!!!

summary: your boss finally realises what you mean, and how he feels. warnings: smoking, drinking, sexual situations (not smut!) a/n: this is based on that time aaron SNATCHES that cigarette out of the unsubs mouth and it’s hot. If you want a smut part please comment or leave a thing in my inbox. love ya <3

wordcount: 4687

The next few weeks nothing had changed between you and your boss since his confession of you being important to the team. But at the same time, everything had. He had become less dismissive once you handed him the usual bitter black coffee he gets. Instead of the usual “Thank You,” just thrown your way without a sparing glance.

Now, you were still thanked. However, he turned his head towards you, making eye contact for a slightly lingering moment before continuing on with the case and turning back to the drawing board. It was pity, you assumed. Pity for the fact that you had almost been shot and killed in a police precinct bathroom.

Another small change was the way he asked for things. He had went from harshly barking orders at you to have papers ready, collect that box of files, prep the interrogation room. To coming up to you directly, asking you quietly and politely.

On the other hand, something completely different, never happened before, your boss, Aaron Hotchner had brought you a coffee on the jet. Albeit, the rest of the team were passed out in a deep sleep. Em had her head rested on JJ’s shoulder as they slept together. Spencer had a book over his face and Morgan had his music playing in his ears.

“You’re not sleeping?” He asked as he bent down to place the coffee on the small table in-front of you. Lifting it up you take a scalding sip from the mug. Boiling hot, burning your tongue but exactly how you liked it.

“How do you know which way I like my coffee?” You ask, the shock evident in your tone and get given pointed look because the answer to that was obvious. “I can’t sleep when something is moving, car, train, private jet.” Your mouth quirks up at the last one. You see him nod in understanding and he makes his way back to his seat and to bury his nose back into the files. “Thank you.” You whisper out loud enough for him to hear but not enough to wake the team.

The rest of the flight back to Quantico was peaceful. Silence after a long and hard case was always welcome, the calm after the storm.

Silky sheets caress your legs as the loud blaring of your alarm rings in your ears. The orange beginnings of daylight peek through a small gap through the curtains. Rolling over, the blue light from your phone glares in your eyes. New email. Meeting at 8:30. Urgent.

One thing you hated about your boss was his inability to elaborate when things were important. Rushing to get ready and throwing your work clothes on as fast as possible, your mind races. Skimming over every mistake you had made in the past few months that could lead to you getting fired. Or anything the rest of the team could have done to prompt an urgent meeting.

Arriving at the office the rest of the team stand in the bullpen, equally confused.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Emily asks you as you join the huddle at her desk.

“No idea.” You reply with a shrug and the six of you turn to look up into Hotch’s office. He has the landline up to his ear and seems to be talking intensely to the person on the other end. “What do you think that’s about?”

“No idea.” Spencer echoes your words from earlier. “He doesn’t look happy though.”

Then without a word Hotch opens his office door and with no more than a nod, orders you to the conference room. It wasn’t unusual for him to look that way. Stoic, serious and unmoving.

“We’re all fired.” Pen squeaked out with a determined nod. She then marched up to the conference room, the rest of you following in her stead.

The conference room was not a stranger to long intense silence. It usually happened when one of the team had made a mistake that Strauss wouldn’t let go. Usually a mistake that your unit chief’s job was put on the line for. Hotch is sitting when you enter.

“Have we got a case?” Derek asks with a nod to the remote in Hotch’s hand. The screen behind him lit up and he stood up.

“Not exactly.” A look of disgust was commonly shared around the circular table at hearing about the heinous crimes that the team solved regularly. However, a look of panic, was rare and was prominent at what Hotch said next. “We have been invited to the FBI christmas gala.” Groans and eye rolls were shared around the table.

“We are on orders from Strauss to not take any new cases until after the event,” He continued, “As we are most likely going to revive an award.”

“When is it?” JJ asks, her chin in her hands and her hair falls over her face.

“Next Friday. We all get a plus one.” Hotch finishes and gets up, striding out of the conference room and back to his office to stare at more files until late in the evening.

“You know what this means ladies.” Penelope starts, her body pretty much vibrating with excitement. “Dress shopping!” The huge smile on her face made everything more bearable. At least one of you was excited.

A few days later the girls and you were standing in some high-end boutique, browsing the multiple colours of dresses. Racks upon racks of different cuts, shapes and lengths are everywhere. Penelope was rushing through them at a speed you'd never seen, picking out what she thought would look best on the three of you.

"Em, you just have to wear red!" She gushes and hands Emily a stack of different shades of red. "Go try them on." Pen gives her a shove toward the fitting rooms. "Same for you." She says to JJ, her pile filled with a variety of blues, pinks and purples.

They both come out one at a time, showing you and Pen all of the dresses she had specifically picked out. Naturally, Pen loved every single one they came out in, smiling every time. Until they both came out at the same time and she let out a dramatic gasp.

Emily was wearing a deep red velvet dress that came down to her ankles and was tight-fitted down her body. JJ's was light pink with light lace flowers all over in lace. It flared out from her hips and draped over her legs. "Those. Are. Perfect." She squealed at the pair as they both did a spin. They both blushed at your and Pen's extensive compliments about how well the dresses fit them.

"You guys look amazing!" You say from your seat and Emily's look turns from appreciative to mischievous.

"Now it's your turn," Emily smirks and she and JJ take their place on the plush bench that you and Pen were just perched on. JJ hands you the pile of perfectly curated dresses Penelope had picked out for you, in many different colours. You pick out all of the colourful ones and leave them on the bench. You catch the girls confused looks.

"While a gala is a break for you, I'm still on the clock." You explain and shake the black dresses in your hands. "I have a dress code, black only." You watch Penelope's face drop.

"But, that green one would look so good." She says, obviously disappointed you wouldn't get to wear the one she had envisioned you in. "Try it on for me?" She asks and gives you a look you couldn't resist.

"After, I find my one for the night." You put emphasis on after as your friend was not one for patience.

A few dresses later, varying reactions from the girls as you came out. Some 'oohs' and 'ehhs' gave you a clear opinion of what they thought. Penelope had found her dress almost instantly, it was a silky champagne with black lace over the bust. Finally, you had thought you had found the one. It was black, of course, and didn't come down too low at the bust, stopping just before inappropriate. The fabric stopped at the floor and didn't restrict your walking movement.

"Oh, that's lovely," JJ says as you pull the curtain back to reveal yourself to them.

"That is the one!" Penelope jumps up and gives you a hug.

"I think I'm all dressed out." Emily slumps against the wall as you make your way to get changed back into your normal clothes and bag up your dress of choice.

Making your way to the till, you all pay for your dresses and head your separate ways home.

The fateful day had finally come. Hours upon hours of explaining that you are not a profiler to a part of the BAU team but their PA. Then having to listen for hours upon hours on why the BAU was favoured by the director as they had a private jet and a PA. Looking good was crucial if you were a benefit, you had better be a good-looking one.

If the dress had to be black and plain with a simple shape and a boring unappealing neckline. You'd dress it up with dainty jewellery and amazingly high heels in a matching black. You had turned a simple dress that was gathering dust in the back of the racks into a sublime sleek look. The ding from your phone catch’s your attention as you grab your clutch.

It read ‘We’re outside’ and quickly you smooth down your hair one last time and make your way out of the apartment building, seeing the girls waiting in one of the SUV’s for you. Emily at the wheel with Jj in the passenger seat and Penelope in the back.

“You look stunning!” Penelope shouts from the window as you walk towards the car and you can’t help but produce a huge smile on your face.

“So do all of you.” You say as you shut the car door behind you. The drive to the venue wasn’t long, small talk being the main focus of the conversation.

“Are any of you looking for a man tonight?” Jj asks, a smirk on her face. She had brought Will as her plus one and he was currently residing in the men’s car who were trailing not too far behind them. “Or woman.” She adds, casting a small glance at Em.

“If something happens, it happens.” Emily says with a shrug, knowing that she would be approached many a time during the night.

“I’m fine with my chocolate thunder.” Pen says, her face lighting up. “But you never know.” A few hums of agreement echo around the car. “And what about you, beautiful creature of the night?” Penelope asks.

“I’m working.” It was a short answer but you didn’t miss the simultaneous eye rolls of the three others. “What was that?” You ask with a scoff, looking between the three of them.

“Oh yes. ‘Working’” Pen says, “Until you go out for a smoke.” She smirks as she says this.

“You’re just jealous it works.” You snark back, as you pull up the the grand hotel that the gala was being held in. “I am now officially on the clock.” You say, getting out of the car and opening the doors for all of the girls. At the same moment the men’s car pulls up behind you. You do the same for each of them. Each of them thank you as you open their car doors.

“I hate treating you like this, you’re our friend not our employee.” Spencer complains as you walk in on his arm. “It feels strange.”

“It’s one night. And technically I am, your employee.” You smile up at him. “Your assistant.” The room you were in was huge, the carpet was a deep red plush, the cushions on the chairs matching. The ceilings held up by marble stone pillars that towered over everyone.

You and the BAU find their way to their large circular table in the middle of the room. Not a single corner of solitude where they could not be observed by the rest of the FBI. They place their, clutches and Jackets on the table and you turn to them.

“Drinks?” You ask looking around the table.

“You don’t have to.” Derek starts but you cut him off with a hand wave.

“I am being paid.” You say sternly, “Drinks?” You ask with a stubborn tone. “The usual?” You continue and receive nods from around the table. Making your way to the bar you rattle off the teams orders. “A whisky on the rocks, a neat whisky, two glasses of house red, a glass of house white, two jack and cokes and a lemonade. Please.” You receive a nod and wait for the poor bartender the make all of those drinks. “Oh and a tray please!”

You weren’t a stranger to the looks of envy from other departments as you carried the tray of drinks to the table. Or from the patrons stood at the bar fetching their own drinks.

“I come bearing gifts.” You say and hand out their drinks accordingly around the table. Whiskey on the rocks for Rossi. Near whiskey for Hotch. House red for Jj and Emily. House white for Pen. Jack and coke for Derek and Will and a lemonade for Spencer. “Now go socialise, you important people.” You say and they disperse around the room in pairs to go and talk to the other agents. That was your queue was to go and stand in the corner of the room as all of the people who thought better of themselves, boasted about their achievements in the field and out of it.

It took thirty minutes until it was announced it was time for dinner and all of the patrons made their way to the assigned seats. Wait staff flew out of every door, brining everyone the meal they had chosen a week prior. And that was your cue to go for a smoke.

It was dark outside when you push the door open. The pebbled ground crunches under your heels as you make your way to the back of the building and there is your solace. A bench. It was wooden and was sat in the middle of a small green patch of grass.

These FBI things had been few and far between with your with the BAU. The team rather spending their time on cases and saving people’s lives rather than spending time being paraded around by the director. However, that had meant that in the couple times you had been at these things, you had a tradition.

Men loved being saviours. So when they see a poor woman, sat in the cold, waiting for her cigarette to be lit. But in reality, you had a lighter placed in your bra. Dinner had just started so you pull out said lighter and light your first cigarette and take a drag. The smoke flaying out in-front of you in the light as you sit on the table of the bench, your feet on the seat.

The team sat around their round table, slowly eating and sipping on their drinks, longing out the process to avoid the socialising that was to come again next.

“It’s just not fair how she doesn’t even get a seat at our table,” Spencer huffs as he puts another forkful into his mouth. “The team would barely work without her. She’s a part of the team.” Everyone around the table nods in agreement.

“If it was up to me, she would.” Hotch says, also continuing to eat his food and sip his drink.

“Well you could push harder for it.” Spencer says, his mood sour and he fiddles his fork around his plate as he mumbles.

“Don’t worry Spence.” Emily said from next to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “She’s just fine.” She says smirking at Jj and Penelope from across the table.

“Pump your brakes, what does that mean?” Derek says with raised eyebrows looking between the three of them. “Is she with someone here?” His eyes flit between them and waits impatiently for one of them to answer.

“Not yet.” Jj barley whispers into her wine.

“And what does that mean?” Derek pushes again and looks towards Penelope. “Babygirl, what do you know?” He asks leaning towards her and she hides behind her hands. “Penelope.” Everyone around the table was interested in what the ladies of the BAU knew about your love life.

One thing about the team was they were nosy. Specially about the love lives of the other members of the team. Behavioural analysis made it easy for them to tell when a night was spent out of bed.

“I’m not supposed to tell.” Pen squeaks, her voice an octave higher than usual, feeling the pressure of all of the curious eyes on her. But her reddening face and the pitch in her voice getting higher and higher indicates that she was going to spill and soon. Even Hotch was engaged and listening. And spill she did. “Hot rich men carry lighters.”

“And what does that have to do with sleeping with other agents?” Rossi chimes in, his hand resting around his glass and his finger tapping against the side.

“When time comes to dinner and she doesn’t get a seat at the table, she makes her way outside with two cigarettes,” Emily starts to explain. “She lights and smokes the first one while dinner is happening.”

“Then after dinner, she waits for someone to come and offer to light her second cigarette.” Jj picks up from Emily. “It’s actually quite smart.” She smiles as she finishes.

“Then they get to talking then she’s got somewhere to sleep for the night.” Penelope finishes. “The FBI is so cheap, they don’t even book her a room.” She rolls her eyes and takes another sip, clearly getting tipsy. “She never tells us who she’s been with, i’m dying to know.”

“Who would have thought she had it in her huh?” Derek says with an impressed smile.

“Literally all of us.” Emily laughs at him and wait staff begin to collect in empty plates and people begin to stand and shuffle and talk about boring corporate nonsense.

They watch Hotch get up abruptly from his chair and stride toward the bar, he doesn’t order anything he just stands there and waits for the team to disperse around the room.

“He’s not as subtle as he thinks.” Will laughs out towards Rossi who gives a small shrug before turning around and shaking the hands of agents from all over the US.

The shine of your shoes caught your attention, the patent dark material reflecting in the light. Circular rings dance across them and reflect in your eyes. Your first cigarette had long been smoked and shoved into the stones beneath your feet. You’d began to wonder if you just hadn’t gotten lucky this time round. Maybe you hadn’t grabbed the attention enough for anyone to follow you outside. Your eyes hadn’t left the ground yet, and were now tracing the irregular pattern of the stones. Just about to give in to the temptation and time, reaching into your bra to pull out your lighter.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Your head shoots up and your hand goes heck to its original position by your side. It was him, your boss. Aaron Hotchner,one of the richest and hottest men you knew. You hadn’t heard the stones rustle on the way over, he always walked quietly. His voice didn’t travel far in the large empty space.

“I thought you were meant to be a profiler, sir.” You say smiling up at him and scooting over, making room for him next to you. “Get tired of all the questions?” He sits down, mirroring the way you were perched.

“I’ve already told you.” He says, the lights that were wrapped around the leaf filled arch lit up his face in such a perfect way, you couldn’t describe it. “It’s Aaron.” He repeats from weeks ago and you see him turn towards you out of the corner of your eye. Now, it was time to test if your theory was correct.

“Ok. Aaron.” You put specific emphasis on his name with a laugh and you look over to him. “Do you have a lighter?” His eyes meet yours.

“You shouldn’t smoke, they’re bad for your health.” He says avoiding the question, maybe you were wrong. “But I do. There.” He pulls it out of the inside pocket. It was fancy, silver with an engraved pattern with his name next to it.

“This is a fancy lighter.” You comment as the orange flame shines on your face. Pulling the cigarette to your mouth you take a drag. “Lots of things are bad for your health.” Your hand passes the imaginary line between you and you hold the cigarette in front of him and you raise your eyebrow in question.

“Thanks.” He takes it from your hand and pulls it up to his face but pauses. He stares at the deep red circle around the paper. “It was a gift from Rossi, he just likes to spend his money.”

“That he does,” You smile at him and notice his hesitation. “It’s just lipstick.” Resting your elbows on your legs you tilt your head to the side, hair falling over your shoulders. “It’s safer than shaking hands or whatever Spencer says when he meets someone new.” You joke. He laughs deeply at that and finally takes a puff of the cigarette.

His face contorts in slight disgust. “Those don’t taste like I remember.” But he keeps it in his hand.

“That’s because they were incredibly cheap.” Giggling, you realise you are still holding his lighter in your hands and it shining in the light.

“So you won’t mind then?” He asks and you look towards him confused.

“Mind what?” You reply, the line between your eyebrows prominent.

“This.” He smirks and throws the cigarette on the ground and stamps it out. You make a noise of protest as you watch the small orange glow disappear.

“I’m in a right mind to keep this lighter now.” Looking down into your lap shyly where your hands lay. Fiddling and flipping open the lighter. He made you nervous, usually you were able to take charge of these men and lure them to bed without a word. However, this man, your boss, was terrifying to you as he sat there breathing steadily, while your heart raced erratically.

“You’re welcome to.” He says with a shrug and brings his hand up to adjust his tie.

“It’s beautiful out here, it looks like a wedding venue.” You were deflecting and refuse to even look in the man’s direction.

“It is.” His answers were getting shorter and shorter and your heart was getting faster and faster.

Adrenaline ran through your veins as the next words flew out of your mouth before you could spare a second to think about it. “Do you know the FBI don’t even pay for my room at these things?”

“Really? I’ll look into it.” He says and taps the side of his head and keeping it in there for later.

“Thank you.” The two of you sit in silence for a while, breathing in the fresh air and looking around the grand garden and taking note of the potted plants dotted around the place. The night was clear and the stars were out, looking close to the small fairy lights that surrounded the pair of you.

“You’re part of the team, just as much as me or anyone. They should get you a room.” He says, his pinky finger inching across to yours, laying millimetres away.

“You’re the Unit chief and they’re agents.” You laugh. “I’m just an assistant.” You continue. “I’m not-.” You realise you go to say important and your mind flies back to your conversation in the parking lot.

“Important?” He sighs and you turn towards him and he says your name in the same airy voice. His tone suddenly changes back to his normal firm one. “You know what?” He asks and you raise your eyebrows at him. “You’re not important.” He states.

Your face morphs into confusion. “What?” You scoff at him and you lean back, also pulling your hand away from the closeness of before. You stand up abruptly and start to quickly walk away from the bench, grabbing the bottom of your dress up and keeping it away from your heels.

He says your name again but this time it’s a shout. “Wait!” He shouts again and you spin around and shake your head at him.

“What! Sir!” You shout at him harshly and take a step towards him in anger.

“You’re not important because.” He starts and you roll your eyes and he takes a step towards you and the gap gets smaller and smaller. Your breath getting shorter and shorter.

“Because what?!” You shout again and wave your arms around in emphasis.

“Because.” He says your name softer this time. “You’re invaluable.” Your mouth hangs open and all of your air leaves your lungs and you stand there for a moment. Your boss had rendered you speechless once again. Staring at him with his perfectly tailored suit and that sexy fucking red tie and just his sexy fucking face. “You’re invaluable to me.”

Dropping your clutch on the floor you quickly walk at him, trying not to trip in your heels on the uneven ground. “You stupid, stupid man.” You say and the two of you hover close to one another. “Aaron Hotchner, you massive idiot!” You gasp at him and grab his tie and pull him down to you and kiss him.

It was quick and rough and you pull away after a few seconds. “Shit, you’re my boss! Fuck!” You exclaim and look up panicked, running your hands through your hair and take a large step back. Your chest heaves, as you look him in the eyes. “I’m invaluable to you.” You say dumbly and blink quickly in more confusion than before.

“Yes, you are.” He says and takes a large step forwards, putting you toe to toe. His hands run up the tops of your thighs and over your hips and land in the small of your waist. “Say my name again.” His nose runs up your neck towards your ear.

The realisation hits you then. “I’m invaluable to you, Aaron.” You say smugly and he leans into kiss you this time and he hums in agreement inside your mouth. You’re pressed up against him as his large hands on your waist have you pulled against him.

You’re own hands start to wander as his tongue enters your mouth, they slide their way up the back of this suit and into the nape of this neck and the top of his hair. “I’ve waited so long to do that.” He sighs as the two of you separated for breath.

“Me too.” You smile as the two of you hold each other. “Your room?” You ask and intertwine your hand with his.

“Definitely.” He says and you begin to walk to the back door of the hotel, you leading the way.

“I’m your invaluable assistant.” You smirk at him as you open the back fire exit door. You felt smug being invaluable to the man. The man you’d had a crush on since you’d joined the BAU.

“Yes, you are.” He repeats and reaches down to give your arse a squeeze, in your tight dress.

“Oi!” You reach down and smack his hand away with a laugh. “Just for that, you’re going up the stairs first.” You say and push him towards the staircase.

“I’ll have you know my eyes are always front.” He says and starts to walk up the steps to his room, key card already in hand.

“Mine aren’t.” Your eyes and centred directly on his arse as he walks up the stairs to his room.

#criminal minds #fanfic #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #ficlet #fluff #oneshot #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner is dumb about feelings #i’m so sorry this took so long to post i really hope you enjoy love you sillies

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 10 months

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White blossoms - Chapter 8

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

If you like this fic, please remember to reblog so that others may also see it!

Pairing: Melot x OFC (Tamsyn)

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: Angst, some more angst. Shenanigans. Historical inaccuracies, probably.

@deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @peaches1958 @peyton-warren @summersong69 @mayloma @livisss @geralts-yenn @sillyrabbit81

It was the agonizing pain in your shoulder and leg that awoke you from your slumber, and the scalding heat that soared within your body that prevented you from drifting off again, yet despite your efforts, your eyes did not open. You were only vaguely aware of your surroundings: you were lying on a bed, a blanket draped over the lower half of your body, and two voices in animated conversation relatively close to you. One of these voices belonged to Tristan, the other… your mother. You were home! You had made it! With that realization, there came no triumphant feeling, no sense of victory, or even a glimmer of hope, for the fever surged through your body once again, this time pulling you under and swallowing you into the darkness.

When you regained consciousness, the bickering had stopped, as had the roaring fires that had scorched your body from the inside out. The significant pain in your chest and leg seemed to also have subsided quite a bit, but in no way enough to put you out of your misery completely. The most comforting sensation, however, was the soft, beautiful singing next to you – presumably coming from the same person that pressed something warm and damp to your wounds. The pain it caused made you wince, and your brows draw together in a frown, both form agony and confusion.

Very slowly, you opened your eyes, the light in the room – as dim as it was – uncomfortable at first, to such an extent that it was impossible to see anything for a short while.

“Melot?” That voice. You had dreamt of that voice countless times since you had left, and now you finally heard it again. Tamsyn. There was nothing in that moment that you wanted more than to pick her up and hold her in your arms as you promised her you would never leave her side again – the problem was that you couldn’t seem to move no matter how hard you tried. It took every bit of strength you had in your body to smile as she called your name again, and then your eyelids fell shut again as she continued to tend to your wounds.

“Is he awake?” you heard your mother ask from a corner of the room.

“His eyes were open,” Tamsyn replied, “but only briefly. We should let him rest.” And rest you did, always in your dreams kept company by memories of your soon-to-be wife.

“I am terribly sorry we have to meet like this,” you said, startling her as you came up behind her.

“There is no need to apologize, my lord,” she said timidly, “I understand.” As soon as she moved to curtsy, you placed your finger gently beneath her chin and tilted her head up towards yours.

“Please don’t bow to me,” you spoke softly as you looked into her eyes. They were large, and a stunning shade of brown, you noticed, and they looked absolutely perfect combined with the collection of freckles on her nose and cheeks.

“As you wish, my lord,” she replied. Her words made you sigh, a sound which seemed to instil fear in the young woman.

“Call me Melot,” you asked her, smiling kindly as she repeated your name, her voice trembling slightly as she skipped your title for the first time. After that, neither of you spoke for a while. It felt silly, to stand there and say nothing, but you felt so utterly unsure of what to do, that words eluded you completely.

“Say something, please,” you said after a while, a low chuckle to your voice so as to hide your embarrassment at your inability to keep a conversation with the lady in your company.

“You have a beautiful horse,” Tamsyn blurted out, taken aback by your request. Her remark made you laugh louder, causing her cheeks to turn pink.

“She is, isn’t she,” you replied, happy to engage in whatever conversation that would stave off your nerves at this time.

“Is she yours?” Tamsyn inquired.

“She is,” you said, explaining how you had raised her over the course of the past four years. “Do you ride?”

“Oh, not if I can avoid it,” she said shyly, avoiding your eyes as she confessed: “I’m rather useless at it.”

From that moment on, each conversation you had with her was slightly easier than the one before, and after only a short while, you had found yourself reaching for her hand as you walked through the woods together. You were careful not to be seen, but it turned out to be impossible to hide from your friends – which is why you decided not to try. It took a few weeks of secret meetings before you dared to broach the subject of Tamsyn with your uncle, who at first rejected the notion of your courting a peasant girl wholeheartedly. It wasn’t until, through some fortuitous twist of fate – which, in your life, most often carried the name ‘Beryan’ – Tamsyn had been asked to sing at a feast in the castle, that the king learned of her beauty and talent, and he had granted you his blessing to court the young woman.

That morning you were taking care of some chores around the house that you had fallen behind on as you continued to help Yselle with the injured men. A week had passed since the warriors had returned, but Melot had yet to wake up. A few times he had opened his eyes, or he had moved his fingers slightly as you tended to his wounds, but he was never able to speak or move. The most you had received from him so far was a smile that had cost him more effort than it had been worth. Every day, you saw him twice. His mother still disallowed you access to his chambers for reasons beyond caring for him. It irked you, but only slightly, for as much as you longed to sit by his side all day and care for him, you knew it would be improper for you to do so. Thus, you decided not to push the matter, as lady Rhian was already nearly continuously occupied with the strenuous task of keeping Beryan away from her son. Beryan, on the other hand, grew more agitated about the situation with every passing day, snapping at you every time you visited her to tell her how he was doing.

“I can’t believe she refuses to let me see him for a minute!” she shouted as she paced through the corridor outside his room after having been shown the door for what must be the hundredth time.

“Young lady!” The door opened again, and lady Rhian poked her head around it to glare at Beryan. “I would strongly suggest you mind your manners! Make yourself scarce, now!”

“Can I stand in the doorway?”

“No,” lady Rhian snapped. “I have been far too patient with you, Beryan. Disappear, immediately!” You assured Beryan that Melot was going to be alright; that his wounds were healing nicely, and his temperature had returned to normal. It was strange, offering her this comfort while you yourself dreaded the moment his injuries no longer required you to check on them daily. You were certain lady Rhian would banish you from his quarters the moment your services as a healer were no longer required. As unhappy as you would be about not getting to see him anymore, you knew you would not complain: Melot’s mother was indulging you already, it would be foolish to tempt the fates.

While you worked on cleaning and dressing his wounds, you sang to him, as you always did. So far, he had opened his eyes twice, but neither of those times had he been conscious enough to reply to your or his mother’s queries. Other times, he had been conscious, but too weak or in too much pain to speak. This time, after applying the compress to his leg, you took his hand, softly caressing it as you finished your song.

“Please, continue.” Were you imagining things? Upon looking at Melot’s face, you concluded you must have been. His eyes were closed, and he looked as fast asleep as he had all these days before.

“Tamsyn, please.” This time, you witnessed the movement of his lips, though that did nothing to erase your conviction that you were slowly going mad.

“Did he just speak?” lady Rhian asked as she joined you by Melot’s bed. If she had heard it, too... The chances of you both seeing – or rather, hearing – ghosts were slim.

“I did,” he answered, his eyes still closed. You looked at lady Rhian as you felt Melot’s fingers squeeze your hand lightly. To stay put and not throw your arms around his bare shoulders to pull him close, took every bit of strength you had within you. Instead, you tightened your grip on his hand, gently dragging your thumb over the back of it, as you started singing again. Melot hummed contently, making no further efforts to speak. You watched his face while you sang, your smile widening as his eyes slowly opened.

Your singing continued as you waited for the poultices to do their work. Now that he was awake, taking care of his wounds would likely cause him more pain than it had before, when he had still been unconscious, and you dreaded the moment you would have to salve his injuries.

“God almighty, dear, I shall be glad to call you family,” lady Rhian said softly, putting a hand to the side of her son’s face, her voice breaking as she spoke to him. “My son, I was scared I had lost you for good this time.”

“Only the good die young, mother,” he said, his voice hoarse. Lady Rhian took a cup you knew to be filled with the willow bark infusion you had instructed her to make, and lifted it to his lips. As he swallowed a sip, he grimaced.

“That is absolutely foul,” he groaned.

“Shush, it’s good for you,” you berated him, swatting at the back of his hand.

“God, you women are all the same, aren’t you?” he complained – fruitlessly, of course.

You removed the compresses from his wounds after some time, and as you had expected, he winced and moaned every time you touched him.

“Melot! Stop moving right this moment!” you exclaimed after he had turned away from your touch for the so-manieth time as you tried to apply ointment to his wounds. “You are making this impossible! Stop!”

From the other side of his bed, his mother chuckled softly. “You will make a fine wife, my dear child.”

Melot continued his whining as you finished with his leg, and somehow managed to be even worse about the wound on his chest. Eventually you managed to dress his wound – if it hadn’t hurt him so much, perhaps you would have dragged it out a bit so that you may have had the chance to speak with him for a while longer. You began to gather your things, getting ready to leave, while lady Rhian walked to the door to investigate a noise she heard in the hallway. A noise that turned out to come from Gerant, Elowen and Tristan, who had come to check on Melot. Lady Rhian invited them into the room, and you hoped with all your heart that Beryan couldn’t see it.

“Sit with him while I fetch his uncle,” she said, taking your hand in hers for a moment before disappearing into the corridor.

“Kiss her, you fool!” Gerant hissed after he shut the door behind Melot’s mother and listened for her footsteps to disappear into the distance. Melot tried to get up, but you placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back onto his bed, leaning in to kiss him, instead. When your lips touched, something inside of you felt like it was finally home again; as if after many weeks of floating around in the air, your feet touched the ground at last. You heard the door open again and pulled away from Melot abruptly, thinking you were done for. Oh, if the king were to see you like this! Luckily, it wasn’t lady Rhian who had returned with king Marke, but rather Beryan, who had finally been given her chance to sneak into the room to see her friend.

“Mely!” she said – probably without thinking, because Melot scowled at her and Gerant and Tristan snickered.

“Did she just call him Mely?” Tristan asked his friend, who answered his question affirmatively.

“Dear God, you look awful,” she said as she sank to her knees next to the bed.

“You sound surprised,” Melot rasped, his voice as hoarse as before, but now even weaker, signalling that he was growing tired.

“Your mother wouldn’t let me see you,” she explained.

“And I still do not permit it!” Everybody in the room froze as they heard the voice behind them. “You, young lady, cannot be in my son’s bedchamber unattended, especially when he isn’t properly dressed!”

“Mother,” Tristan interjected before anyone else could, “might I call to your attention the fact that you invited Gerant and his wife into the room with us to act as chaperones?” His remark seemed to calm lady Rhian a bit, though she was still fuming at seeing Beryan in the room. Behind her stood king Marke, equally upset at the display before his eyes.

“Get out of here, now, lady Beryan,” he spoke slowly, “and I will tell no one of this. You will not see my nephew again until he is out of this room, understood?” “Yes, your Majesty,” she said timidly as she bowed to the king and hurried out of the room.

#melot fanfiction #melot #melot fanfic #melot x ofc #tristan + isolde #henry cavill characters #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill

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vole-mon-amour · 11 months

Text

3x12, a mix, part 1.

The episode has been downloading on me for longer than 1 hour. Even the preview screencaps kind of spoiled some key points for me (I think). Anyway. Here we go babes. If Phil said they don't know if it's time to say goodbye yet, we MAY have a chance for s4. Fingers crossed.

(deep breath) Okay. Okay, whatever happens, I'll have to work with that.

What a woman. What a kitchen. Taking notes.

"It's that I refuse to accept that you're not coming back." SAME. It IS possible to come back.

I see how they're playing with TedBecca, giving the shippers the ability to fill in the gaps. However, I'd rather take Ted and Rebecca talking the entire night or playing some games or whatever, completely platonic. The idea of them kissing and having sex scares me bc it would ruin a perfectly good friendship. Those two are platonic soulmates. Platonic. They're really cute and sweet as they are.

*thumbs up emoji* Brendan is the real one for this. I'm still ugh about Beard and Jane, he should totally get out of that relationship. Fast forward the episode:

??????? Fucking LEAVE her. I don't understand why this relationship is still a thing!

<3 Beard is the real fucking one. So eventually, we get TedBeard endgame, huh? How about we start Trent x Ted x Beard? Trent doesn't have to date Beard, but they both love Ted very much. And since Beard was there long before Trent showed up, "This is my boyfriend Ted. And this is Ted's boyfriend Beard."

The fact that Keeley keeps one of her bags in the trunk instead of the passenger seat next to her?

Hannah and Juno are right, if and when Brett smiles, it's the brightest and warmest smile ever. His entire face lights up. All those wrinkles, all that warmth. A drawing study would be so interesting.

In this scene Roy looks at Keeley's lips once. In the boot scene Roy looks at Jamie's lips trice. Three. damn. times.

I like how Keeley is deliberately avoids Roy in a romantic sense and keeps him at some distance. Good for her!

The way Trent looks at Ted. The way he is immediately at home with the Diamond Dogs group.

<3 Hilarious. Ted and Beard are really meant to be. Buy hey, are they really gonna leave before Roy joins them for at least ONE Diamond Dogs meeting?

SCREAMING.

Keeley is so— Yeah, she and Rebecca would've been a lovely couple. Her and Higgins' reactions are a journey & I love how Keeley squeezes Rebecca's knee (?) when Rebecca says that she genuinely doesn't care anymore about Rupert. Good for her!

"It's only 49%" Idk about you, but it feels like A LOT. Plus, Rebecca's inability to think when it comes to Ted leaving and not coming back, so the question of "How much would I get if I sell the entire club?" aka "I'm not sure if I can deal with this without Ted & I'm not sure if I WANT to."

Why is he smiling like that? Why does it feel so passive aggressive? Roy this episode so far goes from smiley to angry to smiley again. What is going on? Is he running to Jamie in between those so Jamie can cheer him up and Roy can continue his day? Is Roy the local Helga?

This show, you guys.

Trent, sweetie, you know that the love of your life is going away? Right? He's so cute :(

Roy singing under his nose is !!!

There are SO many nods to Trent being queer, are you telling me it won't be addressed? PS: Now I want a Richmond mug.

Roy is totally daydreaming this episode. What's going on? It's kind of inconsistent. Like, yeah, he was all like "And she looks very nice" in the previous one, but he's like this even when he's not with Keeley? Huh? I'm confused. If the explanation is not Jamie (I can't stop thinking about Phil's "People might they they have a wild affair") then idk, it's kind of OOC for Roy.

#natiswatching #ted lasso #ted x trent #ted x beard #roy kent #trent crimm #rebecca x keeley #roy x jamie

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writer-ann-artist · 1 year

Text

5 Years to Grieve, 5 Years to Love

»»————-　♔　————-««

Summary: 5 years, 5 years is how long we've lived without my brother and father. Now my brother is home and I couldn't be happier, after all we're twins. But he has secrets, things he won't tell us. I want to make his transition into home life better so I give him his space, and hopefully I can keep my secret safe.

»»————-　♔　————-««

"No don't go, stay." I roll over away from the sunlight and face the man I have fallen for.

"I wish I could, but I've been gone all day and night. I'm sure Ollie is missing me, Thea, too." I draw unseen images upon his bare chest.

"Fine leave me all alone." I'm dramatically pushed as my lover rolls away from my touch. I giggle at his theatrics. Worming my way back to his front I nuzzle into his neck.

"Oh, Malcolm. What will I do with you." He moves his head away from mine, but before I can pout he gives my nose a light kiss.

"Love me."

"Unconditionally." Is my response.

»»————-　♔　————-««

I made it home before anyone else, well except Walter. He decided to visit our home before Mom came. Only for me to see his gift for her behind his back. I wink at him in understanding so he knows I won't tell Mom. Prepping my face and body for the day, I find the perfect clothes and make my way downstairs. I find Tommy and the whole family in the foyer.

"Sweetie you made it home. How was your night?" Mom asked as she gave me a hug and forehead kiss.

"I'm sorry, I got busy." I told her honestly, my original plan was a short visit to see my 'friend'. Tommy hits Ollie's shoulder announcing he was going to talk.

"Oh yes busy, who you were so invested in conversation."

"At least I have friends outside of family." He fakes pain and holds his chest.

"Ow, dang. You don't have to go so hard." I couldn't help my giggle at seeing his theatrics.

"You're such a dork."

»»————-　♔　————-««

Tommy made plans for Oliver and says I absolutely, have to go. At least my inability to socialize will be something that hasn't changed for Oliver. Before we could leave mom tells me that my flowers were delivered.

"Oh, yes! Thank you! Would it be a problem to have someone put them in my room for me?"

"Of course, sweetie. They are already on the way." I quickly ran up and kissed her on her cheek. Then made my way out the door to meet Oliver in Tommy's car. As soon as I was in the car Tommy waved to our mom and drove straight to town. As he drove he explained to Oliver all that he missed. I had the impression that Oliver wasn't too interested in what Tommy was talking about. So I gave him my hand over his right shoulder so Tommy wouldn't see. But then he noticed the silence.

"Are you two doing your twin telephone thing? Cause I'm feeling left out."

"It's telepathy, Tommy." He made a mocking face at me through his rear mirror.

"It's annoying. Come on talk! You've been gone for five years be curious, be excited, something please." There was only a short pause before Oliver spoke again.

"So who is this mystery man of yours?"

"Ah, you see Ollie. That is the million-dollar question. No one knows and she won't answer." Tommy spoke for me making the situation sound worse than it was.

"Is that so?" Oliver squeezed my hand making me look at the side of his face.

"I'm not being selfish, trust me, Ollie. It's better if no one knows." I had to stop myself from mumbling.

"It's ok, tell me when you're ready." My twin rubbed my hand soothing my worry about him thinking the worst.

"See Tommy, that's how you're supposed to react."

"Now that's not fair he can read your mind." Oliver asked Tommy to stop at our father's old factory.

"I don't know why you want to be here Ollie, it's depressing." I felt the same way as Tommy, but not for the same reason. The last time I was here my father was alive.

"I wanted to see something familiar." Before I could comfort Oliver a van pulled up and a stinging sensation shot through my neck. My surroundings quickly turned to black, and my hearing dulled into silence.

»»————-　♔　————-««

I woke up to me and someone laying down beside me. There were deep voices saying words I couldn't make out. Along with the voices popping and grunting could be heard. My vision cleared enough to see Oliver's blonde hair. He was away from me sitting up. Dark figures surrounded him, hurting him in some way as his head would move in quick motions. I can't get anything out of it as my vision fails me. I fall back into the darkness only to wake up in my living room. Mom cradling my head, Thea holding my legs, and Ollie sitting in front of me.

"My everything hurts, what happened." I groaned hearing how raspy my voice became. Ollie held a glass of water for me. I smiled at the bendy straw.

"You were kidnapped sweetie, and the tranquilizer they used had Detomidine." Mom answered me as I sipped from my bendy straw.

"Ew" I heard Tommy's voice from behind my Mom and Thea.

"Tommy, your still here?" I tried to move but instead, my brain did some flips. Mom helped me lay my head back on her lap.

"Had to make sure my best friend was ok."

"Ha beat that Oliver." I tried to wave him off but instead, Oliver caught my water I almost dropped. Once he had removed the water my head stopped spinning. This allowed me to sit up on my own.

"Are you okay?" Mom asked full of worry. I held her hand in mine as I addressed her.

"Yeah I'm fine, I just want to sleep." Thea helped walk me to my room and Oliver followed close behind. Thea layed me down when Ollie spoke.

"Wow! You are really special to someone." I can only laugh into my pillow as I was still very tired. Thea combs my hair out of my face and speaks.

"She is really in love with him, Ollie, I only wish to meet him."

"So no one has met him yet?" I roll on my back and try to look up, but just shut my eyes again.

"It's difficult to explain, but like I said it's for the best." The only reason Mom and Thea know I'm even dating is that he insists on sending me gifts.

"Just sleep, sister please." So I did.

»»————-　♔　————-««

I was grateful, really, for Oliver's insistence on having a party. After he and Dad went missing I haven't had much to look forward to. Not that Thea or Mom did either. But they were able to cope better than I had. I decided to wear a silver floor-length dress. The high slit in the dress made it easy to show off my white pearl strap wedges.

»»————-　♔　————-««

After a family picture for Ollie, I spot Malcolm through the crowd. Calmly and swiftly I turn to my family and dismiss myself.

"I'll be back, I see a few faces I haven't greeted yet." I head in Malcolm's direction but keep my distance. Through our eyes we speak, he leads and I follow. He leads me to an unoccupied hallway in the house. Malcolm turns around letting me walk close to him. Once close enough he opens his arms allowing me to fall into his arms.

"I'm sorry about what happened, angel." He speaks into the crown of my head. His lips pressed into my skin making me hum.

"I'm fine, unfortunately, Ollie had it worse." Before I could pout about Oliver, Malcolm pulls me out of the hug to hold my face in his hands.

"Yes, but I care about you more. You look beautiful, my love." He stares into my eyes, saying so much more than his words. At least I think he is.

"And you are looking dashing tonight, Merlyn. Now is that for me or the family." He chuckles and wraps his empty arms around me. The gift bag on his occupied wrist taps my body as it sways from his movements.

"Oh my love, ever so eager. Yes, it is for you and your family's gift is with the others." I blush as he stares into my eyes.

"You shouldn't have." Though I'm in heels I still need to lean up on my toes to kiss this man.

"Please wait to open it later tonight. It's special." He spoke against my lips. Oh, how weak he makes me. Only for him though, no one else can make me feel the things he can.

"Oh my gosh, Malcolm! Next week.."

"Is our fourth anniversary." He sways with me as all I can do is stare lovingly at him. His hand reaches my face and he speaks in a whisper.

"I hate keeping you hidden in my life." I lean into his hand. I hate it just as much.

"I know, would it be so bad now? After so long?" I know my lip is pouting out. I can't help it as I look up to Malcolm.

"I don't know, but your brother being back may make it difficult. Not to mention the recent attack on you both." I hum sadly into his shoulder as we sway. I slowly pull away and look at the man.

"I should put my gift in its proper place." As I walk backward pulling his hands with me as he stays put. Once both our arms are outstretched I make a move to hold his hands. At the last second, I snag my gift off his wrist.

"Always so formal. I'll see you later." My lover chuckled at my actions as I moved further away from him.

»»————-　♔　————-««

Later that night in my bedroom. I almost run into my room when I was finally able to retire to bed. Behind closed doors, I kick off my shoes and beeline to Malcolm's gift. I take the card out of the bag and begin to read his handwritten sentiment.

'To my love, my light, the best thing in my life. I wish you everything the world I can give. For now, I give you this, I think you will like it. From your glorious lover, Malcolm.'

"Oh my gosh, Malcolm. What did you do now?" I open the paper bag to find many prices of tissue and black rose petals. Finally, a black velvet box falls out.

"You would think I have enough jewelry."

"I think you will make an exception this time." I nearly jumped out of my skin and on my ankle. It did hurt a bit, but nothing I wasn't used to.

"Oh my god! You can't do that! I almost died." He only laughed and stepped closer to me. He is really good at hiding in plain sight. Once close to me, he grabbed hold of my hand.

"My sweetness." He moved his hands to hold mine and the box.

"You need to be aware of your surroundings,.."

"I know, I know. I live a high-profile life and being kidnapped twice just proves that I need eyes in the back of my head." I hold in my scoff as he neals down and holds the box up.

"Malcolm."

"Please my love, let me talk before you panic. I never thought I could love again. Especially after Rebecca,.."

"Malcolm,.."

"My beloved, again. I have learned to love you. You as you, not you you showed the world or your family. The true unfiltered, you. I know at first we were just looking for something physical, but I fell for you. And I fell hard, and I know you feel the same. So my light, my love. Please say you'll be my wife." I lean into Malcolm and sit on his knee. I remove one hand of mine and hold his neck. I lean forward and right before I kiss him I give home my answer.

"Yes, Malcolm." When our lips touch he slides the ring onto my finger. We pull apart and I breathe out my words.

"I love you."

"I love you, my light."

#🖤🔪🐈‍⬛shyanns #arrow cw #malcolm merlyn #malcolm x reader #merlyn x reader #fem reader #cw arrow #malcolm merlyn x reader #reader not described #if you find the reader has a name please tell me #it started as a self-indulgent peice #don't shame me

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floatingonalowvibe · 1 year

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Chapter one of Bernard x ftm reader

I knew I was going to hate going over to my dad's house. He was an absolute asshat, and even charlie knew that. He was never there for me when I was a kid, and whenever he was, he was always distancing himself. And ever since I came out to him, I feel like he's been acting like I'm not even his kid anymore. So, I prepared for the worst.

I'm bringingmy walkman, and all my favorite cassettes. Green day, nirvana, the classic grunge things, as it usually helps me calm down.

It was currently 6pm, and we were heading over to his house at 8. So I decided to start drawing.

Nothing in specific, just wanted to get some thoughts out. For the next few minutes, I filled the page with eyes, all staring in different directions, all stretched out. I have no idea why, but drawing weird eyes just brings me peace.

My peace was broken when I heard a knock on my door. Before I could get up to open the door, Neil opened it, giving me a smil

"Hey sport! You ready to go over to Scott's place?"

I loved it when he calls me sport. Neil is a really nice guy, he's help me with a lot of things in my life. "I guess so." I said with a shrug.

"Well, just remember, if anything happens, you can always call us and we will be there."

I gave him a smile and a nod. He nodded back, ruffling my hair before he walked out. I sighed. Neil knows how hard it has been for me coming out as trans, and how my "dad" doesn't really understand it, so he chooses to ignore it. He sometimes calls me my preferred name, but he rarely uses the correct pronouns.

I glanced at my clock, it was 6:45 now. I got up from my chair, putting on my jacket. It was an old one I got from a thrift store, as most of my clothes where from there. It was black, and on the sleeves it had yellow stripes. It was one of my favorite items of clothing I own.

I grabbed my walkman, plopped down on my bed, popped in a cassette with a bunch of my favorite songs, turned the volume up, and just sat there, trying not to make up fake scenarios in my head about what could go wrong.~timeskip brought to you by my inability to figure out what else to write for that scene ~

Scotts burnt the turkey. And everything else tasted like shit. I tried to help him cook things, but I was pushed out of the kitchen when I tried.

We just got back from Denny's, I had my leftover milkshake in a to-go cup, sitting in the passenger seat sipping on it.

Once we got home, I was really tired. I've just had a really rough few months and it's really been taking a toll on me. And the fact that the entire day Scott was missing the point of me correcting him on my pronouns. I started to head inside, holding Charlie's hand. The kid doesn't deserve the family he got. He's too kind and sweet for all the arguing and comments that Scott makes.

I was waiting at the door, as Scott was fiddling with the keys trying to open it.

"Hey, is it ok if I take a shower?" I ask"Yea, just don't use all the hot water."

As soon as the door gets opened, I grab my bag that I left near the couch and go upstairs.

~after the shower~

Once I got out of the shower, I could hear Scott reading a book to Charlie, The night before Christmas to be specific. I poked my head around the corner of the door frame, causing Scott to stop reading. I walked in, and gave Charlie a kiss on the forehead. I ruffled his bowlcut, making his nose wrinkle up.

" 'night bud." I said, walking away.

"Night N/N!" He responded.

Even charlie, an eight year old, can grasp the concept of being trans. And yet a full grown ass man can't. But hey, they both grew up in different times, so they were raised with different views. Or at least that's what Neil tells me every time I get mad about it. But the way I see it, it shouldn't matter how you were raised, you can still chose not to be an asshat and use the right goddamn name and pronouns.I knew there was only one spare room in his house, so I decided to find some blankets and a pillow and bunker down on the couch.

As I was laying down, Scott comes into the living room where I was. I took a silent deep breath, prepping for the worst.

"Goodnight, M/n."

"Goodnight Dad."

And with that, he was gone, going upstairs.The way he said my name was like he was being forced to say it. But it's better than being deadnamed.

I rummaged through my bag until I found my water bottle and my pills. Neil had prescribed them to me for what he thinks is depression and anxiety. At first, I thought he was just being overdramatic until he started to list off the symptoms and it hit me like a truck how much he was right. I downed the pills, my body shaking due to the horrid taste.

As I lay down, I felt my eyes become heavy. I knew I would sleep good tonight

#santa claus #the santa clause #bernard x reader #bernard the elf

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senior70 · 2 years

Text

On the Training of a Human

Dogs, small children, cats, and other pet animals appear to have the propensity to quickly learn how to train their humans, those odd but necessary things in their lives who feed and water them and deal with their excretory issues.

These humans seem to think that they are the ones who are the trainers, and that is as well, for it saves them from the embarrassing realization that it is they who are, in fact, being trained.

I should say at this point that, being a dog myself, I can only really speak for my own kind, but collective familial observations lead me to believe that what applies to me does so for several other animals who live with humans.

One of the most important things in my life is food, so the first important thing to train one's human to do is to regularly provide food, preferably more than once a day. I do, grudgingly, understand why they do not just leave food readily available, though I do regret the occasion I managed to rip open a new bag of food and eat almost the entire contents before being stopped. I fear that single incident confirmed their plan to have a specific "feeding time" for me.

"Specific", humans. Get that? I am a creature of habit, repetition and routine, and I wish to be fed on time - promptly. I have done fairly well in that training, but my humans sometimes sit at their computers or work diligently on their hobbies and forget the time. At that point one is forced to take punitive action. They have learned to respond when I nose my empty bowl noisily across the tile floor and leave it in the middle of the doorway, but, really, they are not easy to train.

I have seen those "dog food" adverts on TV and, regrettably, most humans now think think that we dogs can thrive on that bland stuff that comes in bags and tins. But, we have far greater gastronomic sensitivity than that. You see us gobble our 'dog food' and attempt to eat all manner of dubious things we find on our walks, but it does not seem to register that this is because we are hungry and have no choice. The smells of human food are wonderful and so much more to our taste. We thank whoever invented gravity, for humans are occasionally careless and drop things on the floor. Though some humans try to stop us, it seems to us only common sense to let us clean up. We live at floor level after all. Oops, hold it there, my human just dripped soup across the kitchen floor….

Chocolate! I just love the smell of chocolate, caramel ice cream, the maple topping on doughnuts, the .... So, who are those insensitive humans who wrote those books that say that sweet desserts are not good for dogs? I say "let's bite their ankles or 'accidentally' pee on their feet". Grrrrr.

Humans have long failed to comprehend that we dogs are a great deal more intelligent than we sometimes pretend to be and our senses hundreds of times better than theirs. You don't see us wearing glasses and hearing aids as many of them seem to need, and their sense of smell is appalling. They really aren't designed that well.

We respond to Training, at least when we see some advantage in it, not because we are submissive and always wish to please, but because, though sometimes a ridiculous nuisance, it is ultimately the best way to meet our own goals - usually food or treat related. We can sit and roll over and appear to be willing to do truly stupid tricks to amuse them and let them show off to their friends. Personally, I draw the line at being dressed up in some costume that they think is cute. Non cooperation and apparent inability to get my neck or my feet through the right hole is the best strategy in such cases.

We dogs, like all animals, poop quite a lot and it is important to us to find just the right place to do it. Poop isn't just poop. I carries important information for us and other dogs on our circuit. A quick sniff of our poop is a medical check up for us and tells us exactly what state of health we are in. And, a quick sniff of the backside of other dogs we meet tells us far more about our acquaintances and adversaries than humans can tell of each other by a kiss on the cheek or a handshake.

It is utterly fascinating to watch a human poop. What a performance. It is a spectacle of which we never tire. First, there is often only one place in the house they can poop or at best two or three, a very limited choice in our opinion. They head to this special place, often after a rather noisy message, a little like distant fireworks, tells them to do so, and we follow as spectators. They wear these things called clothes and have to pull them down around their ankles before sitting on a special hollow chair. For some reason they object strongly if we take a quick sniff between their ankles, so it is perhaps better not to check after all. And then they tear pieces off that roll of paper beside them and perform strange contortions. A nice patch of grass or a carpet with a good pile is all we need if we get the post poop itch. Another extraordinary thing is that humans have to poop in water which is a great limitation in our opinion. As said, it is a spectacle worth watching and part of our entertainment for the day.

I guess that because humans tend to only sleep lying down in the dark in a special place, they feel that we should have a special place called Bed, too. Actually, it is a nice touch. We like to have our own special spot, but they must have noticed that we can sleep almost anywhere and at any time. Unlike those always busy humans, we have the time to sleep and dream, usually about chasing squirrels and other fun stuff.

Life in a human abode is not too exciting for a dog. There is not much to do much of the time. Humans always seem to be rushing about and looking vexed at all they feel they have to do, the opposite extreme to ours. Being let out for a pee is a small highlight. We have humans trained in various ways to let us out at fairly regular intervals. We can actually hold it in for hours during the day as well as at night but haven't let humans realize this. So we get to sniff and explore for a bit, selectively deaf to our name being called from the door, and sometimes we get lucky and find a bone or some other rotting food dropped by a crow or a raven.

Our real highlight of the day is "Walkies". Some of us get more than one walk a day - lucky dogs. We wait all day to hear that key word walkies, at which we are wide awake and raring to go. My humans avoid the word "walk" by saying "perambulation". I can't read a dictionary but it really doesn't take us long the connect the dots. We are brighter than you think. Now, a real dog walk is for us not the human on the other end of the leash. Smells are wonderful and need to be investigated and then of course we need to let the neighbourhood community know we are alive and well by peeing a drop or two on every pee spot we come across. All this takes time, so we need to train our humans to stop on command of the pull on the leash and let us go about our social business. But we do need to keep going. Humans stop to chat with other humans too much, leaving trying to summon up the patience to wait it out. It seems that many humans tire easily and head back home just as we get in the swing of things. These "two block walks" are not nearly enough for an inquisitive dog. As an aside, it seems that though we can poop anywhere in the garden, poop beyond the boundaries of the abode cannot be left where we dropped it. They carry blue or green plastic bags that smell of flowers - so artificial. It is rather fun to back up under a prickly bush to poop and then watch one's human crouching and stretching to reach it. Odd habit really. I have no idea what they do with all our collected poop.

One of the things sometimes hard to understand about humans is their attitude towards other humans. To us dogs are dogs. We come in many shapes and sizes and look quite different from each other, but we know we all canine and derive from our wolf ancestors and differences do not matter to us. Same thing for humans. They come with slight cosmetic differences but they are all human, they all poop the same, they all pat and stroke us dogs, yet make much of these superficial differences. Beats me. A lot of fuss about nothing it seems to a dog.

Dogs do wonder a bit why they are sometimes unfairly maligned by humans. They say "you look like a dog's dinner." Well, what is so bad about my dinner? There is never enough, but I like it. Then there is the phrase "you dirty dog.". Excuse me, I spend part of every day grooming myself. I have to rely on my tongue so can't reach everywhere of course, and some of the places I can reach seem to offend humans. They are so sensitive and full of inhibitions. We have none. Then there is the phrase "he's going to the dogs". These phrases are all hurtful to us dogs and we don't deserve it at all.

"It's a dog's life" so it is said.

senior70. June 2022

#133

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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 2 years

Text

Packed Bags | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi, friends! This is hella angsty- enjoy :)

Send me your comments, suggestions, and/ or requests!

Tag list: @beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @glxwingrxse @psychoticmason @deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy @lonewolf471 💘

Warning: anxiety, PTSD

-------------------------------------

Bucky unlocked the front door of your shared apartment and pushed it open, feeling a slight resistance as the door swung open. As he made his way inside, he saw the thing he'd always feared: your packed bags. The sight of your large suitcase and backpack ripped his heart from his chest with sharp, jagged nails. The void left in his soul was quickly filled with panic and shame, leaving him with a sense of hopelessness he'd never experienced.

He had always known deep down that, one day, you'd get fed up with all of his guilt and self hatred and PTSD- he just hadn't realized it would happen this soon. He wondered how long you'd been planning to leave him and what the last straw had been for you. He wracked his brain for what he could've done to push you out the door, but he simply couldn't decide on one thing. He was always dealing with something, whether it was night terrors or anxiety or an inability to share how he felt- 'any one of those things', he thought, 'could've been her breaking point'.

He dropped his keys to the ground and hurriedly strode through the apartment in search of you, calling out to you over and over again, each utterance of your name more panicked than the last. When his search came up empty, he called your phone but got no answer, sending him into a full on anxiety spiral. Nothing made any sense- why were your bags there if you weren't? Why weren't you answering your phone? Why-

The sound of your voice pulled Bucky from his trip down the dark rabbit hole, drawing him toward the front door on autopilot. "Buck?" you called as you noticed the ajar front door. He stood a few feet away, staring at you with hopelessness in his eyes. "What's going on? Why is the door open?" you asked, but he didn't seem to hear you. His voice came out as a shaky, broken sound that tore at your heart as he spoke:

"Hey- hi... um, are you- are you leaving?”

“I mean, not right this second,” you laughed, “but yeah.”

Bucky’s world tilted violently on its axis. “Baby, I… p-please don't. Don’t go. Whatever I did- I’m sorry. I promise I'll fix it. I'll be better... just please don't leave.”

“Buck-”

Desperate pleas furiously pushed their way out of Bucky’s. “I can't imagine my life without you, sweets. I'll do anything you want, just don't-please don't leave me".

As his voice trailed off, he searched your face for any sign that he'd convinced you, but found nothing. A deafening silence shoved its way in between the two of you, driving Bucky mad. He couldn't stop himself from rambling on to fill the quiet, still attempting to win you over. The words fell quickly from his mouth before his brain had the chance to approve them:

"I know how it sounds- me begging you to stay like this. I know it's completely- it’s completely pathetic,” he paused only to wipe his nose on his sleeve. “But I just can't- I don't know what I'll do. I understand if you don't want to be with me anymore, but I'm just asking for a chance. If you give me a-"

The sensation of your body crashing into his stopped his broken hearted rambling. Your arms flung themselves around his neck and pulled him close. Your face rested against his beck. And even if this was your ‘goodbye’ hug, Bucky loved the feeling. A deep sigh left his chest as he desperately threw his arms around your waist, keeping you as close to him as he possibly could.

"Buck..." you whispered, "I'm not leaving you." You pulled away ever so slightly, just enough that you could look him in the eye. "It's the weekend of the 18th- I'm going to see my sister, remember? I got all my stuff packed and realized I didn't have any tampons, so I had to run to the store real quick".

A pink hue began filling his cheeks and he let his head droop, screwing his eyes shut out of pure humiliation.

"I'm so- wow, that's embarrassing," he said. "I don't know what happened- I saw your bags and you weren't here so I called your phone but you didn't answer and I… I panicked, I guess. I’m sorry.” The shame dragged his every feature downward. And if you didn’t have a reason to leave home before, Bucky worried he’d just given you one.

"Hey, you don't have to be embarrassed," you cupped his face and ran your thumbs over his cheekbones. "And you don't sound pathetic. I'm sorry I scared you, I didn't realize I'd forgotten my phone till I got to the store. I'm sorry, Buck".

He shook his head, completely unable to process anything aside from the sharp twinge of embarrassment that filled his chest. A gentle hand lifted his chin until his eyes met yours, the pure shame impossible to miss. "There is nothing that could make me leave you, I promise. You're the love of my life, Barnes. You're kind and sweet and- you're everything I've ever wanted. I don't ever want you to think that you have to beg me to stay, cause I'll be here till you beg me to leave."

He let his forehead rest against yours with a sigh, feeling the anxiety slowly recede from his chest. "Well, that's never gonna happen," he joked with a small smile. Once again, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into the warmth of your body. His heart was still hammering in his chest, prompting you to stroked his hair lightly to help him calm down. "Come on, let's go sit on the couch," you offered, "let me hold ya for a while".

He resisted your efforts to pull him into the living room, arguing that you'd be late for your flight. "I still have plenty of time babe," you assured him, "and besides, I don't really wanna go, anyway. I'll tell my sister there was an emergency and reschedule. She'll understand". Bucky remained still, furrowing his brow at your idea.

More guilt trickled into his chest cavity and he shook his head in disapproval, "I don't want you to miss out on seeing your sister because of me..."

"Buck, you're my life, now. You're my partner. And I don't know about you but, after that, I personally think that me staying and spending the weekend with you is probably a better idea than me leaving. Agreed?" You gave him an expectant look until his resolve crumbled and he finally allowed you to pull him onto the couch. He rested his head on your chest and wrapped his arms around your waist, relishing in the feeling of your body against his. "I'm not going anywhere," you whispered as you played with his hair, "not ever".

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mywritingonlyfans · 3 years

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Untitled

this short fic is about: a needy/emotional reader being fingered by dami.

warnings: it’s smut (you know what to do and i can’t like stop you, so just be careful (?) idk. fem!reader x damiano david. ps. i’m sorry if you already read something similar before bc i really like that fic so i decide to rewrite it with dami.

Your back hurts from the time you spent working at your desk.

Stress was running through your body, resulting in tears of frustration pooling in your eyes. Even so, being enfolded in Damiano’s arms made things endurable.

“Gonna tell me what happened with you, little one?” The tip of his nose slid down your neck, fitting his face into your shoulder.

The weather was cold. Your body, dressed in minimal clothes, was wrapped in between the covers that were now being shared with Damiano. He tried to accommodate you in his grip, in a delicious mixture of his scent along with his warmth. Fully dressed, in his open blazer and tailored pants, he let you squeeze him into your figure.

“Nothing at all," you sighed. "It was just a bad day. I’m feelin’ like pure shit.” He laughed, causing a sweet vibration in his chest that made you feel at home.

Words wouldn’t describe how grateful you were that he came home and went straight to you, without worrying about his own affairs first; or even removing his clothes to lie on the bed with you.

“D’ya wanna talk about it?” He whispered, placing soft kisses on your neck.

You dazed as soon as his teeth found your flesh, growling in his ear, “no. I’m hurting, 'm too tense.”

He sniffed at your inability to form sentences in the moment. Lovely sight to his eyes. Holding your face in his hand, he glued his lips to yours as you involuntary nestled your cheek in his palm; just like a puppy.

“So needy. I though you were simply sad darlin’.” He rubbed his thumb on the corners of your mouth, lowering his fingertips across all long your body. “I guess I'm gonna have to fix this, huh?”

You didn't answer him. Not that you need to. Honesty, you were guiding him to that. His touch were melting you inside. No more words were needed for him to understand that you were craving to be taken care of by him.

Your fingers grazed the soft skin above his underwear. Your breath speed up while his weight was put on top of yours, not in an exaggerated way but in a delicate one, his heaviness brought you comfort. He attacked your lips again, this time deepening it; putting in a fight with your tongue. You sank your head into the pillow, enjoying his taste on your mouth.

The calluses of his fingers danced on your lower belly, providing you goosebumps. “Dami,” you held his face, breaking the kiss and leaving a thin line of saliva connecting the two of you.

“Uh-huh,”

“Touch me,” you breathe out, putting your hand over his, pushing it down. “Please.”

Damiano knew what you needed, however hearing the words come out of your mouth was fascinating; inviting. So he always awaited you to verbalize what you wanted him.

“Gladly,” his murmur being muffled as he sucked on the skin of your collarbone. “So sweet.”

A delightful euphoric ardor filling your chest when you feel his fingers caress you, in smooth and slow circles, along to the marks he left on your top.

You dropped your head on his neck, depositing bites on his shoulder, while he dipped his fingers in your folds.

Your growl filled the room along with the wet noises you made. “Does it feel good, angel?” He kissed the side of your face at the same time that you clutched your arms around his shoulders; shoving your nose on his shining blazer.

As you muttered an incoherent agreement, he removed his digits, teasing the edges of your entrance with his tips, then pushing at you in a fast pace.

You clasped your fingerprints in his hair, holding his dominant hand while closing your leg in a reflex act.

“You’re so good, babe. You’re doing so good for me, taking my fingers so well, making ‘em all warm and moisturizer.” He said in a hoarse voice due to his altered breathing.

Touching his fist lightly on your inner thigh, he made you spread yourself for him again. He pressed his thumb on your clit, rubbing it firmly, increasing his movements inside you.

“Dami,” you cried out, noticing your throat getting dry by each breath.

You held on to him tighter than before, feeling your stomach tingle as tears formed in your eyes.

“Don’t you hide from me, babe. Let me admire how good I’m makin’ you feel.” He kissed your cheek, watching you lay your head back on the pillow.

Your breast rose and fell fiercely, your bottom lip caught in between your teeth as you tried to keep your eyes open for him.

“That’s my girl.” He curled his fingers in you, dropping strands of his hair fall on your forehead. “Keep your eyes open for me, baby girl.” He said as soon as you threatened to close your eyes.

You nodded, looking at him, taking note of how inviting his pink and swollen lips were. He smiled sweetly, a nice contrast to how he was making you feel, starting to widen his fingers just to close it right after; rigid like a scissors. You groaned loudly, ignoring what he had asked and closing your eyes tight. He laughed, shutting you up with his lips while your legs went limp as you messed up his hand.

He rubbed you until your breathing calmed, drawing lines around your groin with his thumb. “Better?” He asked, watching you open your eyes. You nodded, pulling him lazily to yourself for more kisses.

He played with your tongue, pecking your corners every once in a while; letting you soften into him. Squeezing your thigh, after giving it a quick but hard slap, he brought his index finger up to your lips, outlining them. You took his finger in your mouth, with his pierce eyes stuck on you as sucking it lightly; making him let out a deep sigh. You tasted yourself on him until he pulled his finger of you, sealing his lips with yours one last time. He pulled you onto his chest while you felt your body electrified by him, you wrapped your legs around his, fitting one of them at the height of his waist, feeling your bare stomach in contact with his now cold belt as his hand ran down your back.

“You want more, angel?” He whispered, watching you grinding yourself on him.

You lifted your head, blood rising to your cheeks. “Yeeep.”

#maneskin #damiano david x reader #damiano david #damiano david smut #fanfic #fiction #imagines #writing #fluff

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outofangband · 2 years

Note

Could I prompt ‘blankets’ or ‘warmth’ for maedhros please? I love your writing!

from this prompt list here! I'm still accepting them!

Thank you so much, anon! I hope this is ok! Let me know if you want anything else!

CW: aftermath of torture/captivity, medical stuff mentions, some internalized ableism and trauma. I do go into it a bit more in the author’s note but obviously no obligation to read that.

Masterlist

Mithrim

"You are cold, Nelyo." It is not a question. The Noldo lord surveys his nephew critically before his expression softens. Nolofinwë is forced to squint slightly over the bandage over his nose and one side of his face. It is nothing like the bandages over Maitimo’s body, around his wrists, ankles and neck still raw from shackles, thinner sheets over healing cuts along his chest and back coated with drying salve. The younger elf’s condition had been stabilized but he was still very ill. The cold could only be exacerbating this. It was unclear what exactly was causing it; Nolofinwë had seen in these strange lands a dramatic rising of temperature when a creature was ill but he had only ever seen one suffer such from the cold upon the Hellish ice. The central fires were lit and Nolofinwë had ordered one to be built in the healing wings but clearly it was not reaching the room yet. He walks to the chest of drawers in the corner, aware of how Maitimo’s gaze follows him with a wary interest. “Blankets,” he says gently as he takes out two more warm ones. His nephew’s wariness doesn’t fade, to Nolofinwë‘s slight dismay. He offers them to Maitimo still folded before realizing how difficult it will be to manage this one handed. Not wanting to draw attention to this, he instead spread them over the frail form of Curufinwë’s eldest son.

“Tell me if you need another,” he says softly, knowing that Maitimo will not and deciding then to return later to check on him and ensure he was warm enough. The younger elf gave a curt but polite nod, he was still regaining use of his voice and had been ordered to rest it whenever possible. Nolofinwë looks at him for another moment before somewhat reluctantly turning from the room.

... “You are cold, Nelyo.” There is no denying this. Maitimo shifts uncomfortably under his uncle’s gaze and then feels a twinge of guilt for doing so. Nolofinwë has treated him with kindness and grace, considering the circumstances. He is only now becoming aware of just how much Nolofinwë and his host have suffered on the ice.

Maitimo’s guard goes up again when his uncle turns and walks to the chest on the other side of the room. His heart is racing, he realizes with some alarm and embarrassment. He doesn’t entirely understand what has caused this reaction and he quickly brushes aside any explanations his mind might try to offer.

“Blankets,” Nolofinwë holds them up to show him and he gives a quick nod, hating how his almost paranoia is so visible to the older elf. He crosses back and starts to hand them over before hesitating. When his eyes flit to Maitimo’s right arm, Maitimo feels his own eyes automatically travel there as well. Nolofinwë shakes his head and offers a small smile before covering Maitimo with both blankets. They are heavy at first when they settle over him and don’t seem to increase his warmth.

“Tell me if you need another,” Nolofinwë says. Maitimo gives him another nod, starting to feel rather overwhelmed again.Frustration tears at him. He knows he is exhausted, is far from recovered but still his inability to navigate even the most mundane interactions is disheartening. Though, Maitimo thinks bitterly, his awareness of this inability is perhaps an improvement from the state he had arrived here in.

Maitimo keeps this to himself as Nolofinwë looks him over once more and leaves. He fidgets with the edge of one quilt with the fingers on his left hand and tries to clear his thoughts.

The blankets are starting to feel warmer.

Author’s note: there’s a reference to my story about Maedhros getting used to the healing quarters in Mithrim

(author’s note: I mentioned in other post Angband fics/posts that Maedhros is very wary for others to know that he needs something in the aftermath because of how dangerous that was. He also is utterly unused to being able to make requests or changes to his surroundings and circumstances. Captivity and torture all but destroy someone’s understanding of that. So that’s in part why he’s overwhelmed. I have lots of thoughts on this stuff as is probably obvious, a lot of it is in the post angband tag but feel fee to ask about it as always!)

#Maedhros #Fingolfin #The Silmarillion #post Angband #short writings

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Oblivious

Valkyrae (Rae) x Reader (Gender Neutral) ft. Corpse Husband

Warnings: None

Genre: FLUFF, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: In the most desperate of times, we may or may not be used to hearing the phrase ‘Beggers can’t be choosers’ which is exactly why Y/N’s found themself asking the most hopeless of cases when it comes to love and romance - Corpse, for help.

Requested by Xara. Hi darling! Thank you so much for this wonderful request you’ve sent me - I love writing for Rae (excuse my bi excitement, I’m just a HUGE simp) and I can’t thank you enough for giving me the opportunity to do so. Sorry it’s been two months since you requested this but here it finally is and I hope it makes up for the wait. Love, Vy ❤

“Corpse, I’m in desperate need for help.“ I don’t even bother with a friendly or even polite greeting. Being best friends for as long as we have, Corpse and I excluded the politeness that comes with phone calls a long time ago, especially when calling with an emergency. Though, let’s be honest, if I’m calling him on the phone and not on video chat like I usually do, it is an emergency.

“Given that you’re asking me, I can imagine how desperate you are.“ He has the audacity to laugh in response, causing me to roll my eyes.

Now, don’t get the wrong idea - I love Corpse with all my heart. Him and I have been through A LOT together considering we know each other since we were teenagers. However, there are some instances in life when he simply doesn’t get me. Not that he doesn’t try to, he does and does so very hard, but he rarely succeeds. Trying is what matters, of course. Given that he is my only close friend, I can only ever turn to him with my problems though I try my best not to bother him too much, but when things get REALLY tough, I can’t help but go and vent to him. Luckily, he’s always been very understanding, but it may be because he feels like he owes me for all the times he has turned to me with his problems. I’ve tried to explain that he shouldn’t feel such a way, but that’s rather hypocritical of me cause I feel the same way.

Alright, enough digressing, back on track!

“Desperate doesn’t even begin to summarize how I feel.“ I sigh, plopping down on the couch in my living room, kicking my feet up on the coffee table as I cover my eyes with my hand. “Brutally miserable is, I think, the correct term to use here.“

I hear Corpse let out a quiet ‘oof’, one I think he hoped I wouldn’t hear. “And what led you to finally give in and ask for help, not that I can offer you much?”

I can’t help but snort at that, a snort that serves as a replacement to slapping myself across the face. “Rae texted me yesterday asking if I’d like to play Minecraft with her and I took THREE HOURS to respond! Not on purpose, I just couldn’t think of something good to say!” I know I sound like a whiney kid, but I think I’ve passed that threshold LONG ago. Of course, this whiney kid version of me only surfaces around Corpse and Corpse only. No one else is allowed to see me like this or that would legit be the end of any sort of pride I may have left in me.

“You mean you couldn’t choose between ‘Sure, I’d like that!’ and ‘Of course, I’d love to!’? Please say yes.“ Corpse already sounds disappointed and he hasn’t even heard the worst of it yet.

“No and sit tight, it gets worse. I...“

He cuts me off, “Wait, no, don’t say it. Let me guess - you turned her down? Keep in mind if you say yes I’m hanging up on you.”

I remain silent, pinching the bridge of me nose and cringing as hard as my facial muscles are willing to allow. I can’t say yes, not cause he’ll hang up but because admitting it makes it more real, and the more real it is the more depressed it’ll make me and I will go back to being a self-deprecating mess that refuses to be productive or properly functioning - aka ‘Whiney Kid Maximum’.

“I’m hanging up.“ Corpse says after waiting five seconds for my response that only comes in the form of dead silence which is more than enough of an answer in and of itself.

“No, please don’t!“ I squeak out despite my agony, “I’ll never break the cycle if you don’t help me, Corpse! I’m a hopeless case!“

“You’re a hopeless case with or without me, Y/N.“ He states, angering me ever so slightly. “Not only cause you really are, but because I have nothing useful to offer you. Not even a single advice. Even if I did, giving it to you would by hypocritical when considered how bad I am on this field myself. Hell, the very person you’re head over heels for is my personal matchmaker. If anything, you should be asking her how to swoon her...“ He pauses.

So does my brain.

For a second we’re both quiet, the silence on the line suggesting big plans are being developed - well, not on my end but still.

“Now there’s an idea...“ He mutters more to himself than to me.

“No!“ I shriek fearfully, “Please, if you love me even the tiniest bit, Corpse, don’t put me in a situation where I have to be alone with Rae! Not IRL not in a Discord call - not in ANYTHING. I close up and end up seeming unfriendly and rude because of my inability to talk to her like a normal human being! I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just can’t do it! So please don’t make me.“

I maybe can’t read minds, but hell if I can’t at least have a rough guess of what’s on my best friend’s mind - I know he’s already scheming and coming up with odd solutions to my problem - some of which will cause me more problems but let’s not even mention those. That being said, I need to prevent him from actually carrying out any of his absurd schemes, otherwise it’s game over for me.

“Hmm, ok fine, but only cause I wanna spare you your own awkwardness. Consider it charity.“ He sighs, the disappointment even more evident now.

I sigh too, but I do so in defeated relief. It’s bittersweet, to be honest. “Thank you.”

“Don’t.“ He says sharply, “Don’t thank me. It’ll make me feel like I’m encouraging your behavior.“

Well, screw my feelings, I guess. I’m left on this battlefield alone, aren’t I?

Corpse hanging up the call confirms that I am, indeed, alone.

* * *

“Hello?“

“Are you still in bed, for the love of God? It’s noon!“ Not only did he have the audacity to wake me up with his phone call, but now he has the audacity to judge me on my sleeping habits as well. Some darn nerve he has.

“What do you want, Corpse?“ I grumble out, groggy and now grumpy too. The last thing I need is the only person I can turn to turning on me. Especially not now. I don’t need his or anybody else’s judgement of me or my life, it’ll hurt too much.

“I want to know how long you haven’t showered, Y/N.“ He barks back, causing me to roll my eyes. “And when’s the last time you actually ate something healthy and nutritious and not just greasy takeout?”

“I showered last night!“ I straighten up and frown, feeling offended despite his questions being justifiable. I think that’s exactly why I’m pissed off, to be honest - he knows me and my habits too well. “And you’re just being hypocritical on the eating part!“

“Whatever.“ He mutters, allowing me to feel at least a tiny sense of victory for having proven him wrong, “Get your ass up and come play Minecraft with me, you need to be cheered up asap.“ He continues, much to my dismay. “And don’t even think about saying ‘no’. If you do, just remember, I have your address and a strong will to kick your ass into shape.“

“Into shape? We’re going to the gym or something?“ I’m honestly confused and intrigued now. Maybe the gym isn’t such a bad idea, I’m sure I could become really good friends with the punching bag.

Corpse sighs exasperatedly in a way I can basically hear him roll his eyes as well, “Not that kind of shape, Y/N. Just get on Discord, seriously, I’m worried about you.“

That sentence strikes a nerve. Something about that genuine concern in his voice reminds me that I still need to move on from focusing so strongly on just my failures, no matter how big or small, and keep pushing forward, if not for myself then for the people who care about me. For Corpse especially, seeing as how he’s sort of been my babysitter ever since my feelings towards Rae started to consume me whole and suffocate me. I don’t know how or when it happened, in fact I can best describe it as the Titanic: I was doing ok and then instead of hitting an iceberg the iceberg of feelings hit me and I started sinking. Corpse was there to offer me a hand to help me keep at least my head above the surface. He can’t pull me out of the water but he’s not willing to let go either. I’m afraid holding on like that will tire him out to the point of letting go of me completely, but I’m afraid of sinking too. You see my dilemma here, no?

“Ok, give me twenty minutes.“

I would have probably continued sleeping or just chilled on social media, refusing to get out of bed for at least another hour, but the debt I feel towards Corpse is stronger than the desire to be a slob so I motivate myself with every power my fragile mind can fish out of the void and push the covers off me, shivering at the drastic change in temperature around my body now that I’m exposed to the rather cool air in my room, my pajamas hopeless at providing me with any warmth.

Twenty minutes later sharp, I’m seated at my desk, in front of my computer with my headphones on, taking one last encouraging breath before entering the call where Corpse is waiting for me.

“Yo.“ I greet him half-heartedly, drawing invisible abstract patterns on my desk with my finger as if I’m avoiding eye contact with him IRL.

“Glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of punctuality at least.“ He chuckles, sounding a lot more pleasant and a lot more like my friend Corpse and less like sergeant Corpse Husband who was speaking with me on the phone earlier.

“Very funny.“ I murmur in my now common brooding manner, “Anyway, enough about me, how are you doing? Anything interesting happen since we last spoke?“

“You mean in the past ten hours? No, nothing interesting apart from that I managed to catch a few z’s.“ He replies as I join the Minecraft server, managing to get a smile out of me.

“Hey, that’s nice to hear! Good for you, Corpsie.“ I say, honestly proud and happy for him.

“Yeah, and just so you’re not calling me hypocritical on the topic of eating, I’m currently cooking myself lunch.“ He points out, now just straight up peacocking, “On that note, I got a pot on the stove so you’ll have to excuse me for a sec.“

“Please go. Don’t set your apartment on fire the first time you cook” I snicker, leaning back in my chair and fetch my phone to kill the time while he’s gone to tend to whatever attempt at a meal he has prepping in his kitchen. I feel bad for his stomach, and his kitchen, already.

“Corpse? Hi!“

Oh no. No, no, no, no, no - tell me that was an auditory hallucination and I didn’t actually hear that just now! TELL ME!

“Rae?“ I blurt out, almost falling backwards out of my chair, eyes wide, jaw hanging slightly.

Just then I get a text from Corpse:

Consider me dead and carry the convo. I know you’ve got this, Y/N

Oh that prick is gonna get it!

“Y/N? Hi! Sorry, Corpse didn’t mention you’d be playing with us, but it’s so nice to be hearing from you! It feels like it’s been forever.“ Rae replies, cheery and enthusiastic as ever, just like the absolute sweetheart she is.

With Corpse absent from his position, without his metaphorical hand holding mine, I’m metaphorically sinking and drowning. Maybe the drowning part isn’t so metaphorical after all, considering I actually am drowning in all the thoughts produced by my mind at the moment. A mind that’s going completely haywire, might I add.

“Hehe, well, funny thing, he didn’t tell me you’d be playing with us either.“ I chuckle anxiously, already breaking out in a nervous sweat. I solemnly promise to kill Corpse first chance I get, that way he’ll at least be dead for real.

“He set us up, huh? What’s his game, where even is he?“ Rae asks, properly confused as she should be.

All on-point questions, hun. And I can’t answer any of them logically.

“Um, you know, he’s off doing...something.“ And there go my conversational skills out the window, I hope they send me a postcard one day.

“Whatever, enough about Mr. Ominous. Tell me, what’s been keeping you busy?“ Oh crap, this is the question I’ve been fearing. Mostly cause I’m not prepared for it. “Actually no, let me rephrase: Why have you been avoiding me recently?“

‘Oh crap’ squared. Tripled.

“Whaaat? Avoiding you? Where’d you get that idea?“ I’m aware of my high pitched voice, but it’s not like I can do much to tone it down. Every part of me is in critical panic mode and rationality has accompanied my aforementioned conversational skills out the window.

“I don’t know, Y/N. Ignoring my texts, leaving me on ‘Seen’ and then declining my offer just to accept the same one coming from Corpse - can’t really blame me for finding it shady.“ She replies, her words making me wince and hide my face in the palms of my hands as though it’ll shield me from Rae’s brutal honesty and forthrightness.

“I’ve been...bad at replying to everyone lately, nothing personal, I swear.“ Yeah, that sounded convincing, good gosh-darn job, Y/N!

“Why’s that?“ Something about her tone suggest she knows I’m lying and is just humoring me and my agony. I don’t know if to thank her for it or wish she’d just rip off the band-aid and confront me head-on. In that case I’d have only one of two options: freeze up or spill my guts. Honestly, I don’t know which is worse. “I thought you’d reach out to me, given you’ve found yourself in a pickle.”

I frown, confused and wary like I’m walking on thin ice over a pool of sharks, “Pickle? What pickle?“

“Corpse mentioned you needed dating advice.“ She replies simply as though it should’ve been obvious and as if it’s the most casual, regular and normal thing. Little does she know...

“Um, yeah, I guess you can call it that.“ I murmur sheepishly, my cheeks reddening.

“Who’s the lucky girl?“ She asks, the excitement now replacing the previous suspicion she was fronting, making me nervous as hell.

My heart skips a beat, “How’d you know I’m crushing on a girl?“

“Uh...“ She stumbles over her words, pausing to collect her thoughts and formulate a response, “Corpse told me!“ When the reply finally arrives it’s as high pitched as mine was earlier, suggesting something ain’t right.

I stay quiet, my mind and heart racing which is quicker. My leg is bouncing, my fingers are tapping the keyboard rhythmically as I rack my brain, pushing it to put the pieces of this enigmatic puzzle together, connect the dots.

When it finally does, I’m left with a horrific end-result, a realization that makes me go pale as a ghost, “He told you who said girl is too, didn’t he?” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I keep the tone low so she doesn’t notice how shaky it is.

It takes her a few seconds to reply, but when she does I kinda wish she hadn’t, “Maybe...”

My first instinct is to excuse myself from the call, pack all my kitchen knives and drive to Corpse’s house but with my limbs having lost any and all feeling in them that is practically impossible. So, I settle for my second instinct which is hiding my face in the palms of my hands as though they can shield me from the immense embarrassment Corpse has set me up for.

“Listen...“ I start, not sure where I wanna go with this, “You don’t have to say anything, I get the hint. No need to bother with a gentle reje-“

“I like you too, Y/N!“ Rae cuts off my rambling with a melodic laugh, “I’m sorry, but you can be very oblivious sometimes, and I just wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine for a bit. Sorry if I freaked you out.“ Judging by her tone, she’s not sorry at all. In fact, she’s one step away from bursting out into laughter.

“Trust me, ‘freaked out’ doesn’t even begin to describe it.“ I sigh, exasperatedly, sinking into my chair alike a deflated balloon. “You and Corpse are gonna pay for that heart attack you led me to the brink of!”

This time, she doesn’t hold back, letting out the laughter she’s been holding back this whole time, “I don’t know how Corpse will do that, but could I pay my dues with a brunch on Friday?”

My eyebrows shoot up, “Miss Valkyrae, is this you asking me out on a date?“ I ask teasingly - aka with more confidence than I feel.

Please say ‘yes’. Please say ‘yes’. Please say ‘yes’.

“I don’t know, what do you think, Y/N?“ She asks, tone just as teasing as mine.

“Hey, I’m not as oblivious as you claim I am!“ I argue light-heartedly, “Does 2PM work for you?“

“Any time works for me.“ Rae replies, a smile blatantly evident in her voice. A smile that unleashes a flock of butterflies in my stomach.

And just like that, I have a date with the girl I’ve had a crush on for the longest time. It happened so fast it’s practically a blurred part in my mind, but one thing I’m sure will be crystal-clearly imbedded in my mind forever is that brunch on Friday. Just then, I get yet another text from Mr. Schemer himself.

That wasn’t so hard now, was it?

Some nerve he has, I swear to God.

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jusananimehoe · 4 years

Note

can u write something for feitan finding scars from self harm on his s/o? he enjoys torture and pain and its interesting to think how hed react to something like that one someone he cares about/loves

This turned into 1700 words, fucking hell, I got too carried away, but this subject hits very hard with me, so hopefully I did it justice. I absolutely believe Feitan is capable of caring, even loving, but it’d be a very different kind of love than what most would be used to.

So, enjoy, hopefully xxx

warnings for blood, blood kinks, self-harm mentions, mentions of general mental health issues.

Also; feel the need to mention that if any of you are suffering in any way, shape or form, my askbox is always open xxxx

How did I get here? You sighed, sinking further into the empty bathtub, trembling from head to toe as shame threatened to drown you, the horrible, but familiar ball of disgust was swirling wildly in your chest as you eyed the door nervously, praying he wouldn’t find you, like hell. You bit down on your lip as the doorknob turned slowly, you’d locked it, though you’d also known it wouldn’t keep him out, when had anything ever kept him out?

You allowed the smallest of smiles as your mind wandered, to all those months ago when he’d first come over your balcony, on the twenty-fifth floor at your apartment complex, eyes a little wild, hair a little windswept, aura radiating malicious intent. He’d smirked at you like some kind of deviant, eyes raking over your form, taking in the way your legs trembled, barely holding you up, enjoying your fear, perhaps a little too much, but gods, he’d looked so beautiful. Had you fallen in love with him in that very moment? Perhaps, perhaps it had been later, with how patient he had been, how willing to take things at your pace he had been, the space he had given you, it had all been such an experience, especially since you were well aware, he was a complete and total sadist.

He’d wanted to hurt you, you knew he wanted to hurt you, even to this day, and sometimes you even went willingly, more often than not these days, it was you who went in search of him, desperate to feel the stinging bite of his whip, or the wet, burning pain of his claws raking through your skin, like butter. He’d been more than willing to oblige you, of course, losing more and more control as you gave more of yourself to him with every passing day. You were grateful, you realised, laughing softly at the absurdity, grateful that he’d stolen you away in the middle of the night, and locked you up inside this place he sometimes called home, to be his own personal little toy, but what a life it had been so far.

And now I’ve ruined it all.

You whimpered softly and hid your face, pressed firmly against your knees as the door opened slowly, allowing the dark-haired man to slip inside without a sound, eyes locking on your form instantly. You couldn’t see his eyes burning into you, but you could defintley feel that loaded gaze, and a tremor racked your body as you sniffled quietly. It had been a moment of weakness on your part, a lapse in memory of exactly why you had always been so careful, though he’d seen you stripped down on many an occasion, you’d always dutifully covered the hideous marks up with the make-up that he’d supplied you with when you’d asked. The shame that wracked you now was deep, all encompassing at your own stupidity. He’s going to throw me away, no doubt about it

The scars on your legs had not faded over the years, mostly because you were a repeat offender, despite trying to get help multiple times, nothing had really ever made a difference, and you had tired of people always looking down on you, with their pitiful eyes, “oh but we understand what you’re going through”, or, even better, “why would you do something so revolting to yourself”? The scars had eventually just become a normal part of your body, and since you were too riddled with anxiety to ever really connect with anyone, they’d never been an issue, until him, of course. You’d been tired, too tired to remember your morning routine, and now here you were, hiding in a bathtub as he walked slowly towards you, you fought the urge to cry, or laugh at how pathetic you were.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

The smallest ones were just pale lines across your upper thigh, the worst, the ones you had done in your most extreme episodes of self-hatred, were raised, bumpy, purple lines, that stood out a mile away, and you shook and cried quietly at the thought that he’d seen them, ghosted a finger over them, even, before your mind had screamed the realisation at you, which, in turn, had led to your very undignified bolt from the bedroom you’d recently begun sharing with him.

A soft touch against your throat had you shivering and biting your lip hard enough to draw blood, will he just get rid of me, or maybe even kill me? The gentle finger trailing down your neck forced a tiny little whimper from your throat, and a low growl rumbled from his chest in response as he swung into the tub with you, landing silently, to sit behind you. His hot breath on your ear had your eyes fluttering as he pulled you back against his cool chest, hands gripping tightly at your thighs even as you made a choked noise of distress at the action. A hot tongue ran slowly over the sensitive skin along your jaw, and you gasped quietly, leaning into him further as his teeth bit down harshly, eliciting a shaky little groan from you as you felt something wet dripping down your neck. His tongue ran over it instantly, shuddering as he cleaned the stinging wound carefully, nails drawing slow circles over your scarred skin even as you watched shakily.

He nuzzled into your throat then, and you turned slightly, before finally lifting your head to meet those eyes you loved so much, shivering at the intensity you found there, shivering when he leaned in to claim your mouth in a slow kiss, tongue surging forward into your mouth as he pulled you closer, tugging you around to straddle his slim waist, nails turning to claws, digging into your hips with a grin as you groaned against his hot mouth, shuddering against him as he clawed at your skin, slowly, with patience, and a care you knew he showed only to you. His eyes burned as he gazed down at your soft figure, eye twitching as he battled with his own self-control, tongue swiping over his lip as he squeezed the bloody claw marks.

His eyes snapped back up to your face then, and seemed to read the uncertainty there, the indescribable terror, at the thought of being abandoned by the only person you’d ever met who seemed to understand your need to be punished, to be hurt, to be pushed to the very limit of consent. His forehead touched yours gently, stormy eyes locked on yours as you breathed him in, comforted by the tangy smell of copper and blood that clung to him, strange to others, comforting to you. You bit your lip and took a risk, eyes flicking down so you didn’t have to see his reaction.

“I’m afraid that if I let you see every side of me, you’ll be disgusted”, whispered so softly you almost hoped he wouldn’t hear it, but judging by the tightening of his grip, the way his claws dug further into your supple flesh as you shivered, he’d heard you just fine. A warm mouth pressed against your jaw then, before moving up your face, across your cheeks, over your nose, pressing against your mouth, before tangling his tongue with yours again, slowly, like he was mapping out the inside of your mouth in intricate detail, leaving you gasping against his mouth when he finally pulled back to look at you, expression unreadable.

His eyes fluttered, his mouth turned down in a slight grimace before he opened it slowly, “I-“, he cut himself off, appearing frustrated by his inability to find the correct wording, his left hand moving up to card his now soft hands through your hair, lost in thought for a moment, considering carefully as you waited with bated breath, body trembling against him even as he tugged you closer, hands running up and down your arms to address the little bumps now appearing on your skin, when had it got so cold?

“I-“, he began again, still looking a touch uncertain as he tilted his head, eyes focusing on you with a seriousness that knocked all the breath out of your chest, “I-like-broken-things”, he managed to say, voice as monotone as it always was, and yet, you could feel the sudden emotion behind it, his desperate desire to get this right. ” Find-them-interesting”, he continued before shaking his head swiftly, looking annoyed with himself, “beautiful”, he amended quietly, “find-them-beautiful”. You trembled, nose brushing against his as your pressed closer to him.

“Maybe-that-is-why”, he began slowly, face scrunched in concentration, eyes a little wider than usual, “why-i-find-you-beautiful”, he finished, averting his eyes instantly, clearly uncomfortable. You shivered, arms trembling as you sat in his lap, hands running slow up and down his bare chest, eyes wet with unshed tears as you took it all in, he wasn’t leaving you. Your mouth found his a moment later, nails digging into his back and raking down his skin as he hissed underneath you in pleasure, claws returning to your hips again.

He claimed your mouth hungrily as you ground slowly down against him, moaning loudly into his mouth as he grabbed your ass, sharp claws breaking the skin with ease, pressing hard enough to leave a scar, for sure. “Only-me”, mumbled against your bare shoulder as he bit down, hard, drawing a desperate little squeal from you as you tugged on his dark locks pleadingly. “Only-I-hurt-you-now”, he finished before biting down viciously again, groaning as the taste of blood filled his mouth.

Your head collapsed against his as you trembled and gasped, body like a live wire against him as you went boneless, too enraptured in all the emotions, all the pleasure surging through you to really pay much attention, though you forced your brain to form a coherent sentence, knowing he’d be expecting a confirmation.

“Yes”, whispered softly against his hair as your breathing grew more laboured, “yes, only you”, enjoying the contented little hum against your stinging shoulder as he smirked slowly against your bloody skin, already bruising a dark purple under the sharp bite of his teeth.

“Only you, Feitan”.

#feitan #feitan x reader #feitan smut #feitan portor #phantom troupe #hunter x hunter #hxh #some fluff maybe #slightly soft feitan #but not really #fluff #smut

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lostandalonetogether · 3 years

Text

Talk {Mando x F! Reader}

Rating: +18

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: SMUT (inappropriate thoughts, praise kink?, bondage if you squint, breeding kink(no squinting required), yearning, riding) my inability to stick with a tense/pov

Comments: Alrighty so this one is entirely from Din’s point of view, thinking about all the filthy things he wants to do to you, while the two of you sit in hyperspace and you ask him questions. Also known as, Din tells you his name, and realizes how badly he wants to rail you. Din’s a giver and has tattoos and that's that. Italics are Din’s thoughts/imagination, also the smut, so if that makes you uncomfy, that’s where it is. (Listen to Talk by Hozier if you want the vibes)

MASTERLIST

“Teach me Mando’a.”

Din looked over at her from his place in the pilot seat.

“What?”

“Teach me! Mando’a is an important part of your culture, and whenever we see other Mandalorians, you speak in Mando’a and won’t translate for me,” you explained your reasoning behind the request. He looked over at you in his co-pilot seat. Your arms were crossed and you were staring at him, expectantly. You were too cute.

“Maybe we do it on purpose.” He absolutely did.

“Well, that’s just mean. Don’t you want me to be able to joke with Paz the way you do?” You asked, almost pouting. Din snorted. That was the last thing he wanted, another Paz to ride his ass. Although, he didn’t think he’d mind it if you rode him.

“I’ll teach you a couple words and phrases, but that’s it,” he said, watching you grin out of the corner of his eye.

“How do you say ‘child’?”

“Ad’ika.”

“How do you say friend?”

“Buryc’ya.”

“What does cyar’ika mean?”

Din paused, “it means beloved, or sweetheart, or darling.” He waited for some reaction from you, but none came. Just a quiet hum and your next inquiry.

“What’s a di’kut?”

“Why? Where did you hear that?” Din snorted.

“You called Paz that once after he was telling me some jokes. He seemed to think it was funny.”

Din did in fact remember calling Paz that. He had been telling you sex jokes in mando’a, knowing you wouldn’t understand and when he realized, Din told him to mind his business. “It means idiot.”

You smiled at that. “I have one more. What does riduur mean? I heard Paz ask you something about it.”

Din swallowed. Paz had indeed asked him about it, more specifically, when he was going to get his act together and ask you for riduurok. He could still hear Paz’ taunts that he’d steal her if Din didn’t get a move on. Din nearly punched him.

When he said he’d teach you a little Mando’a, this wasn’t something he’d predicted. You were a smart girl. He just had to hope you didn’t put too many of the pieces together.

“It means spouse or partner,” he whispered.

A vision of you beneath him appeared behind his eyes: you laid out for him, later on after you recited the mandalorian marriage vows. You traced the ink on his skin, kissing the scars left behind from countless bounties. You discarded his helmet and smiled softly. Your hands caressed his face, tracing the lines and down the ridge of his nose. You littered his cheeks with kisses before you let him kiss his way down your body, pressing his lips on every inch of skin that was available. He buried his face between your legs, casting one arm across your torso to hold you down. He didn’t stop until you were screaming his name.

“That’s it riduur, cum for me,” he coaxed you gently before diving back in with his fingers and tongue working to make up for every second the helmet separated him from you. After you came on his tongue, you dragged him up to you, crashing your lips against his, rolling your hips against his length. You could feel his cock pulsing against you. You rolled him on his side and straddled him, lowering yourself onto him and letting him rut up into you as you rode him slowly.

“That’s it, riduur,” you groaned for him, “eyes on me. Eyes on me.” You dropped your forehead to his as he sat up and wrapped his arms around you. You let him envelope you full in his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist, sitting in his bunk and rutting into each other with all the love you could manage.

It wasn’t lost on him that in these visions his helmet was discarded, forgotten on the floor of his ship. Sometimes you were blindfolded, but more often than not, you were wide-eyed, staring up at him from his bed. He tried to shake the images from his head and in doing so asked you the question he’d wondered since he met you.

“Why do you never ask my name?” he pried, gently. He looked at you under the soft light of the stars. You were looking up at them streaking by the Crest in hyperspace.

“It’s yours to give as you see fit. Your creed is yours to keep. I will not make it any harder for you than it already is. I have no right to ask until you choose to tell me,” you explained. There was a softness behind your words he couldn’t detect.

“And what if,” he asked, turning to look at you directly, “I gave it to you.”

“Gave it to me?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” he said, smirking beneath his mask of beskar. He watched you squint your eyes at his helmet and read into his tone. He loved your eyes; they were so expressive, so easy to read. They were beautiful.

“Your messing with me aren’t you- you’re joking,” you huffed. You crossed your arms and satt back in the co-pilot chait, pouting.

“I could never mess with you, sweet girl.”

You turned in the chair to stare at him straight in the helmet. Din was always struck how you looked him dead in the eye every time. It felt like the helmet wasn’t there, like you could see through it. Through him.

“Don’t play with me, Mando. Don’t dangle something in front of me. I can take it if you never tell me, I’m a big girl. But please, please don’t toy with me.” Your eyes were as expressive as ever, holding back as much emotion as you could manage. But a bit fell through the cracks. A bit always fell through the cracks, the sadness, the longing, and something else. Something Din didn’t dare name. Love, it just might be love.

“Din. Din Djarin.” He said it as if it was common knowledge, something you should have known all your life. You stared at him, silently, almost as if you were debating to say it aloud. Din made the choice for you.

“Say my name.” His words came out more like an order than he intended. He tried to soften it as much as he could, trying again, “say my name, please cyar'ika.”

“Din,” you breathed his name into the room and it felt like he was hearing it for the first time. He heard his own words in his head, saw the vision clearer than day. He thrust into you hard and slow, drawing out the most delicious sounds from you. “Say my name. Only my name, Mesh'la.” He brushed the hair away from your face as he continued his movements. You whispered his name as he laved kissed across the expanse of your chest. “That’s it. Fuck, your soft, like you’re made for me.” You cried out his name, begging him sweetly as he picked up the pace, his fingers dancing up your sides. “Just like that.”

The vision shifted again and he saw you looking down at him as he rested his cheek on your inner thigh, biting gently. You tugged at the binders that kept your arms above your head as you grinned down at him.

“Din, don’t tease me.”

“Let me take my time with you, riduur. Fuck, I’ll kiss every inch of you before I let you go,” he smirked back up at you. You squirmed, trying to break free. Din slapped your inner thigh, causing you to moan on impact. “You like that, cyar’ika?” he questioned, kissing the spot he’d hit to leave a mark on your skin. His thumb rubbed slow small circles over your clit. “You like when I mark you?”

“Yes, yes, please Din,” you gasped, “please.” Giving in, he kissed his way up your body, paying special attention to your tits, before taking your face in his hands and kissing you. It might have been sweet if not for the binders keeping your hands from running through his curls. He kissed you long and soft, letting his hand trail up your arm to where they were bound to his bed. He released them and eased into you in one motion, letting you hold onto to him as you cried out his name.

“Din.” The name never sounded so sweet. He could almost hear you whispering it in the dark, calling him to the bed you shared. He could hear you saying it lovingly above him as you ran your fingers through his hair and tugged on it. He can hear it as if he was slotted between your thighs, hands cupping your tits as you moan his name like a prayer.

“Why does it sound so nice coming from your lips?” Even as the words slipped out of his mouth, he cringed. There were so many better ways to say it but he couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. You snorted and shot him a look that could only be described as bewilderment with a hint of entertainment.

“I’m trying to sound refined,” he said quietly. “It’s not working, is it?” He watched you hide your smile behind a hand.

“I wouldn’t say it’s not working, more that it doesn’t suit you.” Your eyes danced in the starlight. “I think the more ‘man of few words, rough and rumble’ suits you better. Don’t you?”

Rough and rumble, eh? His imagination flashed the image of you cuffed in the cargo hold, arms above your head while he had his way with you. You, crying out his name as he sinks into you, fingers toying, teasing your nipples. He could practically feel you writhing as he snapped his hips into yours. He could almost hear you begging as his hand comes down on your ass and you gasp for him.

“I suppose so,” he coughs, after realizing he was quiet for far too long. “You should get some rest, mesh’la. You’ve been up for a long time.”

“Wait, what about mesh’la? You call me that all the time,” you questioned him. Din shook his head.

“That’s enough Mando’a for one night,” he chuckled softly. “Go sleep in my cot. It’ll be more comfortable.” You nodded and stood.

“Come on, ad'ika. I can’t let you sleep in a chair when you have a perfectly good bed downstairs.” You swiped the kid out of his seat and turned to look at Din. “Did I use it right? I can call him ad’ika?”

Din let out a small laugh, and nodded. “That’s right, cyar'ika, he is cuun ad’ika. You’re learning.” Your eyes lit up and your grin spread across your face as you cradled his child on your hip.

“Goodnight Din. Get some rest soon, okay?” You murmured, rocking the child and beginning to descend the ladder to the hull.

Din looked at you with the child and one final image ran through his head. He nearly choked at the idea of it.

You, laid out on his bed in the covert, begging him to put a child in you. “Fuck, you want me to fill you up sweet girl? Want me to fill you until you’re swollen?” He panted out, shifting your legs to his shoulders. The new angle made you cry out and cling to his arms. He grit his teeth and sucked a small bruise on your neck. “I’ll fuck you until I’m positive it takes. Want me to breed you, mesh’la? You’re gonna carry warriors for me.” You babble your agreement, eyes screwed shut. “Maybe I should just keep you bred all the time? Huh? After this one, I’ll fill you right back up. You can keep one on your hip, one at your breast, and round with the next.” You surged and kissed him with a ferocity Din hadn’t expected but reciprocated fully.

It shifted again, this time he was coming home from a bounty and you’re holding his child on your hip, your stomach already round with a second while grogu clings to your leg. You smiled and laughed as all three reached for him in excitement.

The thoughts hit him in such quick succession it felt like he’d been punched in the gut. It felt like someone was laying on his chest, like she was laying on his- fuck. He couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t ask you for riduurok until he was sure, positive you would want that too. The kid liked you too much for him to mess things up. But he couldn’t keep pretending he didn’t fall asleep thinking of you.

Din was well and truly fucked.

Reference:

cyar'ika- darling, beloved, sweetheart

darasuum - eternity

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum (nee kar-TILE garh dah-RAH-soom) - colloquial: "I love you." (lit: "I know you forever.")

Mesh'la- beautiful

cuun ad’ika- our child

#the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian #mando #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x f!reader #star wars #star wars fanfiction #fluff #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #baby yoda #song fic

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consumeconstantly · 4 years

Text

Bring Me To The Precipice of Victory

1| 2 | 3(you are here) | 4 | next

Summary: When Batman departs— just for a short time, just to patch things up in Gotham— things go horribly, horribly wrong in Paris.

He doesn’t know if he can come back from realizing that Marinette and Ladybug are one and the same (and that his daughter has died more times than he can count.) (all biodad bruce are posted in chronological order but can be read as stand alones)

______________________________________________

The moment of peace, of solidarity, that Batman shares with Ladybug up on that rooftop at night means the world.

After a minute or two, Ladybug pulls back, tear tracks down the sides of her face, eye and nose red. She takes another minute of silence,hugging herself in the muggy Parisian air. When she next opens her eyes, Batman can almost imagine that Ladybug never cried at all.

But he knows that's not true. Ladybug seemed so fragile in his arms. He can imagine— he can imagine Dick in her place, broken over Jason’s death. Tim losing his parents. All of his children facing insurmountable odds with no team by their side. Alone.

Ladybug is not alone, but functionally, she may as well be. He’s watched the fights. He’s analyzed them. Ladybug is always, always the leader. She strategizes with Ryuko and Viperion, but Ladybug is who everybody looks to for an answer when things don’t work out the way they want them to. She’s the one with the plan, the backup plan, the out. She’s the one who swoops in to save the day.

She’s also the one who has racked up the most hours on the battlefield. Even Chat Noir, her partner, only has three quarters of the hours that she’s put in. For most of the other members of her team, she puts in double, sometimes even triple of what they do. Over the course of six years, there have been a little under two thousand battles, lasting from under an hour to over five hours. Ladybug has shown up for every single one, without fail. That’s not even counting the patrols that they do; although Ladybug is given a lot of flack for not patrolling as often as Chat Noir, there’s a fundamental difference in how they patrol. Ladybug is methodical, Chat Noir is volatile.

He’s not a bad superhero when it comes down to battle, but the two of them are fundamentally different. Ladybug sees her time as a superhero as a duty. Chat Noir seems to view it as a time to unwind— and while that’s worrying, considering the information he’s gathered on the Miraculous Team so far points to the majority of them beings teens or young adults— it’s not what is needed to deal with the Paris situation.

Perhaps one of the easiest ways to see these differences is during patrol. Chat Noir uses patrol time almost seems to be an outlet for stress. He entices whoever he’s on patrol with to race to random places in Paris with no rhyme or reason. Whenever he comes across crime, he stops it, but Ladybug— Ladybug searches for crime.

Ladybug has a team and she trusts them with her life, but she cannot trust them to be responsible. That is perhaps the worst possible thing that can happen. And through the videos that he’s watched, it’s clear that the hours she puts in do affect her, and fairly heavily.

Whoever she is, she’s young. Too young to be in battle untrained, because they are untrained— despite being in the field for years, all of their basic form lacks and tells anybody with an experienced eye that they’ve never had formal training in martial arts.

When Batman and Ladybug leave the roof, they leave on a better note than where they started. Batman is still upset that Tom and Sabine are dead, but he cannot attribute it solely to Ladybug’s negligence. He admires the young heroine for rising to the occasion when there was nobody else to help. He has no doubt that with the resources and training that he can provide him and his operatives already on the case, Hawkmoth will be revealed in no time at all.

He’s right, but in the worst possible way.

It’s largely a mistake on hiss part-- he gets a notification that the Joker broke out of Arkham again, and Hawkmoth and Pavona are missing for the time being. Though Ladybug has made a mistake in not taking Pavona out immediately, she and her team have won every akuma and sentimonster battle. The logical course of action is to go where the most danger is.

Bruce does not have any predictive powers. There is no way for him to know what’s going to happen. But when he and his team finally catch the Joker and put him away again-- a feat that takes just a little under twenty four hours, extreme concentration, and a good number of injuries-- Batman finally gets a chance to breathe. The adrenaline from facing off against the Joker’s latest scheme fades. Batman reclines in a chair as Alfred binds his wounds and passes him pain relieving pills while he gets stitches in his abdomen.

He checks the news in Paris.

He almost drops the device that he’s using to view the news.

Marinette’s existence has been hidden from his family. With Dick, he was more concerned about his existence as Robin, rather than informing him that he had a sister. As soon as he started contemplating bringing up Marinette, Batman and Robin had a bad break. Then Jason came along, troubled and angry. Bruce didn’t want to introduce Marinette into the mix then because he was volatile.

Jason died due to Batman’s incompetence. Bruce grieved the loss of his ward; Batman was never allowed to mourn the loss of his second Robin.

Tim felt unworthy as the only child Bruce didn’t pick up off the streets, and Damian-- well, Damian was Damian. First he had a superiority complex the size of the Grand Canyon, and once he got accustomed to how they handled things in the Wayne Manor-- though Tim would argue that Damian is still not used to this kind of lifestyle-- he overcompensated every single mission and needed a remedial course on How to Interact With Other Humans 101. Add the overarching concern of Marinette being exposed to his vigilante life style and being unprepared for it, and he was never able to tell his children that he had another biological kid. A daughter.

When the news that Sabine and Tom died reached his ears, he told everybody he had business in Paris without elaborating what. With Wayne Enterprises opening a Paris branch of their R&D specialising in European artifacts, it was easy to draw connections that weren’t there.

“Bruce, you need to relax. Business in Paris can be dealt with later, you need to take the time to heal,” Tim says.

A clip in his shoulder from a bullet, knife wounds on his torso and legs, a sprained wrist. Whatever chemical experiment the Joker got his hands out still pumping through his veins. “I need to go-- it’s important--”

The pain relievers Alfred gave him earlier were also a sedative.

Tim catches him before he passes out.

He wakes up three hours late through sheer force of will.

“Paris!” Bruce jolts upright, still in costume, lying prone on a medical cot in the Batcave.

The first thing that catches his eyes is the red and black flying across the screens.

Ladybug.

His kids are all watching the screens with abject horror.

“Is this,” Tim wets his lips. “The business trip that you were on?”

Bruce drags himself out of bed, adrenaline washing out any residual pain. He doesn’t have the capacity to respond, he needs to get to the zeta tube, he needs to get to Paris, Ladybug is bleeding, the city is in shambles, and Marinette--

One of the news sites up on the screen declares the arrondissements that are obliterated. The one that houses Tom & Sabine’s Boulangerie is amongst their number. An approximate death toll fills the static.

-- Marinette is likely among those lost. He has lost another child due to his inaction. Due to his inability to push through, to look forwards and predict the future and the consequences of his actions. Marinette is another Jason, but if Ladybug doesn’t get it together, she’ll be gone permanently. And Ladybug is little more than a child. She can’t handle it, not by herself, not with her team. She needs an experienced hero, and Batman will be there for her, be the one leading the charge against Hawkmoth as the civilians hide in their homes and pray for her Miracle Cure to reverse the damage.

Dick places a hand on his shoulder. Bruce tries to shrug it off, but his fingers dig into the place where the bullet clipped his flesh. The pain is just a reminder that if he does not get to Paris now, there will be thousands-- no, millions-- more who feel this pain. How did Marinette die? Was it an akuma? Did the rubble of one of the destroyed buildings fall on her? Did Ladybug even try to protect her?

“I need to go,” Bruce growls.

“You can’t. While you were out, the majority of the Justice League prohibited all travel via zeta tubes. Nobody can get into Paris right now.”

Bruce knocks Dick’s hand off his shoulder and turns to his eldest. At the very least, Dick and the rest of his children look solemn. Damian’s gaze is fixed to one of the screens that shows Ladybug. “A city is in danger, millions of lives are at risk, Marinette--”

His daughter is dead. He can’t bring himself to say it out loud.

Standing by idly is the last thing he’ll let himself do.“Who put out the order? I’ll get them to reverse it.”

Dick moves so he’s between the zeta tube and Bruce. “B, you don’t understand. If you go to Paris right now, you’ll get akumatized.”

“I can handle my emotions.”

Jason points at the upper right section of screens that’s replaying past footage. “I wouldn’t bet Paris’ survival on it. Not when more level headed superheroes got on the scene first and failed. They really don’t need any heavy hitters getting akumatized. Not when Superman put three members of their team out of commission.”

Superman arrived on the scene first; it took a matter of seconds for him to get akumatized. He was responsible for razing down three arrondissements in no time flat. Ladybug had to call for a Lucky Charm in order to get her hands on some kryptonite, which forced her to recoup after her time ran out.

Black Canary arrived next. Then Red Tornado.

Both were akumatized in mere minutes.

“After Red Tornado got akumatized, Wonder Woman led the charge to put the rest of the zeta tubes on lockdown,” Duke says, grim. “All we can do now is hope that these Parisian superheroes can pull off a win.”

Bruce stumbles over to get a better view. He remembers Ladybug, small and slight in his arms. A child, crying over the loss of her pseudo parents.

A warrior, bloody and bruised and broken.

She is one of the last ones standing.

King Monkey and an ox themed hero both died at Superman’s hands. The former got in the way of his laser beams, the latter a victim of super strength and getting thrown through two buildings and having their necks snap at an unsightly angle. Chat Noir was also sent hurtling through the air, and the only reason he was still alive was because Ladybug alighted from the sky and grabbed him before he got sent through a building in his unconscious state. Black Canary came shortly after, apparently informed of the Superman situation and carrying kryptonite.

She didn’t last for long either. Almost immediately after helping Ladybug and Ryuko bind Superman in such a way that he couldn’t escape,

Pegasus got hit by Black Canary’s sound waves and Chat Noir’s residual injuries from his fight with Superman forced him into a state of unconsciousness. Queen Bee and Carapace were able to pull off a win against Black Canary, but not without serious injuries. Ryuko faced off against Red Tornado alone, which normally would have been a thing of awe, but in the grander scheme of things, was a huge issue, as without her, the Miraculous Team functionally lost all of their heavy hitters. Rena Rouge and several Miraculous users that clearly had never been in battle before were the ones left to hold their own against the scores of akumatized Parisians.

The only ones left to hunt down Hawkmoth and Pavona were Ladybug and Viperion, and the former was already on her third use of Lucky Charm.

Ladybug pulls out her communicator, dodging an attack.

“Can we get sound on this?” Jason grips the closest table.

Dick shakes his head. “Zatara says there’s already enough interference just trying to get these images. And for some reason, Dr. Fate refuses to get involved with any of this.”

Bruce’s phone rings. He doesn’t pick it up on the first ring, too focused on the ongoing battles. He does take his phone out of his pocket to silence it the next time, but when he presses the sound off, an image comes through.

“Bruce.” Ladybug’s image comes through crystal clear, and it doesn’t make him feel any better. Ladybug, blood dripping from her mouth, costume torn open, hair burnt, wild eyed.

He opens his mouth to speak, but the image goes blurry as she moves to avoid several attacks pointed towards her.

“Before I go, I--”

“Watch out, LB!” Bruce lifts his eyes to the screen that displays Ladybug and Viperion in battle. The spotted heroine gets pushed out of the way of a laser, but the snake themed hero takes the hit.

The ambient noise coming from his phone is strong; he can hear blades clashing in the background as Chat Noir, already on his last legs attempts to hold off Darkblade. Screaming from civilians, a strangled sob from Ladybug. “Viperion.”

Ladybug comes back into view. Blue eyes filled with rage.

“If this doesn’t end in our favor, you need to make sure that Hawkmoth and Pavona do not acquire both the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous. Do whatever it takes to prevent that from happening.” She blinks, retreats into herself, and Bruce wonders if he’s seeing the girl behind the mask.

“And If I don’t get to see you again--” If I’m dead, the words go unspoken, “I really did want the chance -- I-- you’re a good man. A good father. Your daughter-- she loves you. She really, really does. Stay safe.”

The transmission cuts off. On the screen in front of him, Ladybug closes her communicator, closes Viperion’s open eyes, and strides to the epicenter of the akumas. Blue fire flashes in her irises, and for a moment, she’s staring directly at the screen. And Bruce knows those eyes. He knows them.

The next second, all of the computers simultaneously die.

Bruce is numb. No-- no.

He is nothing.

All his children-- no, not all his children, Marinette is missing, Marinette is Ladybug, and she’s out on a field that he can’t see grappling with magic forces strong enough to incapacitate Justice League members like their powers and abilities are inconsequential-- stare at him.

“That was… Ladybug?” Tim’s brow furrows. It’s clear that he’s thinking up a hundred different reasons why Ladybug and Batman are connected, why he’s the last person she calls before going into a battle that could very well cost her her life.

“My daughter.” The words are ash on his lips. An existence he’s never acknowledged. Not out loud. Saying it brings a sense of finality to the room. An impending death. “My daughter.”

Nobody asks how long he’s known or when he met her or why he’s never brought it up before. Everything is fuzzy. Floating.

For a while, there’s silence.

“Zatara says there’s too much interference to get the picture back up,” Dick opens his messages, frowning.

Damian still stares at the screen Ladybug looked at directly, frozen.

Bruce picks himself up and moves. He may not be able to use the zeta tubes, but he has a private jet and a license, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do something.

It takes two hours too long to get to Paris. He shaved five hours off the flight length due to superior technology, and another hour and a half off due to sheer force of will.

The landing is not a pretty thing, but Paris is already in shambles, and there’s no way that the ATC will approve his landing, so Bruce picks out the flattest looking spot of rubble before his jet meets the ground.

According to Tim and Duke, who stayed behind in case this turned out to be an attack spanning multiple cities, the battle ended mere minutes before they landed. Dick manages to get Zatara to broadcast the image in the cockpit of the jet, and on the screen lay three prone bodies. Gabriel Agreste, whose body type fits that of Hawkmoth, Lila, and a third that Bruce does not recognize.

A bone sticks out of Marinette’s arm, the connected hand crushed and hanging limp. The opposing ankle is twisted almost fully backwards. She is covered in blood and ash and filth. There is no victory in her eyes. Only weariness.

In her good hand, she holds her yoyo.

She raises her eyes skywards-- the roof of the Agreste mansion is blown clean off-- blinks slowly, and throws the yoyo into the air.

“Miraculous Cure,” her lips read.

The corpses in Paris rise from the dead. Rubble reforms into buildings. The ashy haze that covered the city disappears.

Ladybug looks like she wants to disappear, too.

She collapses, instead.

Nobody is there to catch her when she drops to the floor.

@biodad-bruce-month

Maribat tag list(to be added onto this pls send me an ask/dm): @our-precipreciousss @my-dear-friend-anxiety

Who Are You (and what will you become) tag list (to be added here just comment): @anjuschiffer @theunquiet-dead @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @cresentmo0n @allulily @myazael @zalladane @rebecarojas07 @keepingupwiththemalfoys @frieddonutsweets @all-mights-asscheeks @thornalchemist23 @trippingovermyfeet @jiso-lee @redscarlet95 @ira-sairain @screechingflapbiscuitpeach @ramos123 @cutechip @theunquiet-dead @sleep-deprived-aroace @enternalempires @lilkymilky @woe-is-me0 @officiallydarkgeek @miyla-lokidottir @queencommonsense @demonicbusiness

mb for not doing tag list right away i forgot i had these cued up already

#bio!dad bruce wayne month 2020 #maribat #what are dates #what's going in order #time? i don't know her #i'm always late #marinette dupain cheng #bruce wayne #bio!dad bruce #angst

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