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yandere-daydreams · 4 months

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tw - non/con, manipulation, mentions of breeding, and unbalanced power dynamics.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's ecstatic the day his owner, Suguru, brings you home. He's the pinnacle of a spoiled pet, constantly showered in toys and treats and affection, but his owner's a busy man, and he tends to sulk when left home alone. He's had other companions before, another leopard hybrid who nearly killed him before being released back into the wild and a black panther who somehow proved to be a worse influence on Satoru than Satoru was on her, but you're supposed to be more permanent solution, another hosuepet to keep him company when Suguru can't. You're a sweet little housecat, all wide-eyes and raised ears, but still, Suguru wouldn't be surprised if you're begging to go back to the shelter less than an hour after meeting your new roommate.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who falls in love with you immediately. Suguru practically has to keep him in a chokehold while you explore your new home, eventually curling up on your new bed. Satoru's on top of you as soon as he gets loose, purring obnoxiously while he runs his bristled tongue over your cheek. Suguru's half-convinced that your first day's going to end with bloody claws and bandages, but you only nuzzle into his chest and knead at the blankets underneath you. Satoru's a difficult cat to put up with, and Suguru's relieved that you, at least, find him tolerable.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's absolutely massive compared to you. The tips of your pointed ears barely reach his collarbones, and your wrist is only as thick as his fluffy tail. His favorite hobby quickly becomes carrying you from room to room despite your softly mewled protests, and he's not happy unless he's pressed against you as closely as possible. He used to force himself into Suguru's lap whenever possible, but now, he's unbearable unless you're sitting pretty in his. He doesn't even complain when you lose your temper and dig your little fangs (barely half the size of his - a poor imitation of a real predator's) into his arm, just grinning as he tugs at your ears and pinches your cheeks. He's not exactly a wild animal, but he's still at the top of his food chain. You're not quite a mouse, but you might as well be, compared to him.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's calling you his mate after less than a full month. You don't know what it means, often parroting it back as more of a question than a term of endearment, and Suguru just brushes it off as Satoru being deliberately irritating. He keeps it up, though. even after you start refusing to respond to it.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who starts introducing you to new "games". You know you don't stand a chance against him, but somehow, he always manages to goad you into roughhousing, into squirming as he pins you under his full weight. He likes to dangle things above your head, to see how long it takes your instincts to get the best of you before your chest is pressed against his and you're pouting so adorably as you jump and bat at his hand. Sometimes, when you fall asleep mid-grooming session, he'll let his mouth wander lower than it should, and you'll wake up to his tongue lapping over your chest, his face buried between your thighs in a way that leaves you teary-eyed and warm. You've tried to tell Suguru, but you always get embarrassed and end up mumbling something as vague as 'Satoru's being mean to me, again.' In the end, Satoru only ever gets a slap on the wrist and a new reason to tease you, next time Suguru turns his back.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who fucks you whenever Suguru isn't home. He planned on waiting for your first heat (delayed by your shelter suppressants and the stress of a new home), and he knows he's not supposed to, but he just can't get enough of having your smaller body curled up underneath his, your tail thrashing from side to side as he lazily rolls his hips against yours. You tend to whine, at first, to go on and on about how weird it feels and how much it hurts, but as soon he gets his cock inside of you, all those complaints tend to go away. It's almost funny, how easily your stupid little kitty mind gets all hazy and cockdrunk. He always loves you, but he loves you most when you're drooling and purring for his cum, begging him to breed you properly between hitched moans.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's not even mad when Suguru catches him bouncing your half-conscious, fucked-out body on his cock. He wants to be the best possible mate for you, and he couldn't do that if he wasn't willing to show you off <3

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #hybrid au #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #yandere jjk #yandere gojo #yandere gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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shotmrmiller · 1 month

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1.8k of what was supposed to be a drabble, oops. same au as this just different situation.

there he is.

the titan the crowd calls Ghost. a creature who seemed to have crawled out of the abyss itself, rage etched into the very marrow of his bones. scars crisscross his arms, chest, and back— souvenirs of battles both won and lost. no one knows much about him. no real name, no past, no future. blank.

a void.

just like his sunken eyes, the only thing anyone can see from behind the midnight black skull balaclava that clings to his face like a second skin. (does he even remember what he looks like underneath?) he stands in front of the club's owner in ragged clothing: a tattered wifebeater that's been stitched, torn, and re-stitched. his pants have strained seams and patched knees. his boots are high cut, made of worn, scuffed leather with laces in the front, pulled tight. functional.

he's terrifying. most here come to fight for glory, for redemption, for escape. not he, though. reverent whispers claim this is all he knows. that he fights like a cornered, wounded beast, with no discipline nor strategy. just primal hunger and unmatched ferocity.

and that's who your idiotic, egotistical boyfriend wants to fight. granted, he's a pretty damn good boxer. not that you'd know much about that, you're simply parroting what you've heard his coach say. but this isn't boxing. no one here wears a padded helmet, with comfortable gloves and silky shorts. the fellow with the mohawk currently fighting isn't even wearing a mouthguard, for fuck's sake.

there are no fucking rules, no referees, no honor, no mercy.

your shoulders rise up to your ears as you tense at a nasty blow the pretty one you've come to learn is named gaz gives mr. mohawk. it splits his lip instantaneously, crimson dribbling down his chin and onto his barrel chest. he should be in pain, but there's only a glint of madness in those bright blue eyes of his. the crazed smile he gives gaz is all blood-stained teeth.

your boyfriend taps you on your shoulder, making you jump. "i'm gonna go talk to mr. price now that he's no longer busy."

what?

"no! you can't be serious!" the metal chair you were seated on screeches as you shoot up and run after him, feet slipping on the mud-slicked floor. "hey! wait!"

he reaches the tall, burly man(broker?) with the antiquated mutton-chop beard before you do. the tailored suit clings to his large frame, molding to his mountainous shoulders and tapered waist. his polished shoes are pristine, unlike the surface he's standing on that's littered with wager slips and sodden with cheap beer.

"don't. be smart, fight smart. you can't possibly— did you see the way the one with the mohawk took a hit to the face without flinching? he's insane! they all are!" you flick your eyes to mr. price. "no offense."

he chuckles low. "none taken, sweetheart. soap's a vigorous man, is all."

soap. gaz. ghost. they've all got bloody fighting nicknames. meanwhile, the only thing your boyfriend's ever been called is dearie by his elderly neighbor.

"your pretty girl's right. i'd steer clear of the pit. this ain't no place for a sheltered bloke such as yourself." his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, yet it felt like a facade. the evenness of his tone had dread crawling up your spine.

"boss." you squeak at the deep voice that comes from beside you— accent thick on his tongue.

mr. price waves a hand dismissively, the rings that adorn his fingers glinting under the dim light of the overhead lamps. "it's nothin' but a couple a'folk placin' their bets."

the look of unfettered stupidity flashes on your boyfriend's face as he turns his head and realizes just who mr. price was talking to. "if it isn't the masked specter himself."

stupid. stupid stupid stupid. god, your boyfriend came in one piece but he's going to leave in bloody pieces if you don't stop him. "stop," you hiss. "this ridiculous stint of yours is over." as is this sorry excuse of a relationship. he'd been a sweet guy at some point, or maybe you were just blinded by his good looks. "sorry for the bother, mr. price. we'll be taking our leave." tugging on your boyfriend's sleeve, you try to lead him away but he stays anchored in place, posturing like a peacock; chest out, shoulders squared and head held high.

he looks at ghost as he challenges him. "name your price. anything, i can meet."

how he can be so blasé in the presence of this bastion is beyond you. ghost stands tall, his shadow engulfing you whole. you can feel the weight of his presence, a crushing force pressing against your sternum. he doesn't speak; and honestly, he doesn't have to. ghost's silence spoke volumes.

"he's not interested, see? let's just go before we're thrown out on our arses."

but your boyfriend doesn't concede. if anything, it only adds fuel to the fire. "not good enough for you? eh? is that it? think yourself untouchable just because you're king of the underbelly?" he goads.

your cheeks are hot, scalding with embarrassment. he's starting to garner attention from the audience that's supposed to be watching the current fight.

and then ghost breaks said silence. "i don't want your money." his rich voice reverberates through bone and marrow; it rattles your very core. "you didn't work hard for it, i can tell. golden spoon runt."

your boyfriend's eyes ignite with anger. for a moment, you thought he was going to swing on the spot, but then, like a wisp of smoke, it dissipated. his fists unclench, his jaw relaxes. "what do you want, then?" he questions.

ghost tips his head your way as he keeps his gaze on your boyfriend. "her. i win, she's mine."

you should've known your now ex would agree. nothing would keep him from accomplishing his goals of 'putting the big dog down' as he so eloquently put it. now you're firmly sat right next to price on the stands (because you will not be calling him john anytime soon, no matter how many times he corrects you) essentially as his hostage.

"nothing personal, sweetheart. i'm a businessman, after all, and the prize walkin' out the front door would be bad for business. hope you understand."

no, you don't. so you tell him as such.

"tha's alright. simon'll take good care of ya, i promise."

"is there any particular reason you're so cocksure of your simon winning?" you manage to ask, your voice fragile.

he takes a thick inhale of his cigar before answering. "unfortunately for you, i've seen it all— the broken bones, shattered dreams, and—" you watch tendrils of smoke unfurl from his mouth, "adversaries who never walked back out."

spectators have already begun to huddle around the cage, puffing on cheap cigarettes. they all look desperate, eyes gleaming with greed. this time the one collecting wagers is a blonde woman, older in age, with her hair in a low bun and a puffer vest. "that your wife?"

he curls a large hand around my shoulder before twisting to look at— "laswell? no. don't swing tha' way." price gives you a gentle squeeze.

oh. you can feel warmth creeping up your neck. "sorry. didn't mean to- er. i didn't know."

"'s'alrigh'. her wife's nice enough. you'll like 'er.'' her wife? the confusion must've shown because he rumbles out a laugh. "no. it'd be me barkin' up the wrong tree. i—" he tightens the grip on your shoulder, "like whatever's pretty to look at." his words from before resounded in your head.

'your pretty girl's right...'

the heat that'd receded now stung the tips of your ears. whatever words you want to say are lodged in your throat but thankfully, you're saved by the bell. literally.

the rusty thing tolls and the crowd hushes their voices and stills their restless shuffling. first walks in your ex (idiot), looking exactly like what ghost had called him earlier— a golden spoon child. his shorts are glossy, even under the flickering, sickly light that falls over the cage. his boxing gloves are a vibrant red, pristine as if right out of the box. (you don't remember soap getting his pretty face broken by hands with gloves, but whatever.) he looks perfect, like something out of a hollywood movie.

and so out of place.

unlike ghost who's just stepped into the ring— who commands the attention of all within the hazy room. he fits right in with the rats who scurry around in the bowels of the city. he moves like the shadows that cling to the dark corners, his steps silent as whispers. a haunted being— one the world above with its neon signs and bustling crowds has long forgotten— has made his home down here.

ghost bumps his mma gloves with your ex's boxing ones, in a show of surprising sportsmanship.

the bell tolls once again, and the fight begins.

and just as quickly as it began, it ended. you blink, momentarily displaced, because there is no way what just happened is real. there hadn't been no real fight. it'd been one devastating blow to the side of your ex's jaw that ended everything. he hadn't stood a chance. it—

"'s done. sorry, love. but simon's headin' this way to claim his prize." price gives you a sympathetic pat to your back. "i swear it on my life he won't harm a hair on your head."

what?

ghost barrels through the roaring crowd and comes to a stop before you. "you're with me, now. best get used to it." shock blurs your vision, or maybe it's the fact that you've been hoisted up and thrown over a shoulder that did it.

it doesn't matter. the one you came here with is currently lying limp on the stained mat, his mouth hanging open a little awkwardly. is he broken? you're put down on a bench in a large dressing room that has only one tall locker in it with a tiny ghost sticker on the front.

"did you... is he dead?" you ask, pulse quickening.

"no. either dislocated or broke tha' jaw of 'is only."

you sputter when metal clinks on the surface of the wooden table he's currently leaning his weight against. dusters? "you used fucking dusters?"

he turns his head and looks at you, piercing and intense. "you and i both know i didn't need anythin' to knock his teeth down his throat, isn't tha' right, pet? eh?"

his knuckles are calloused and heavily scarred, the little finger bent at an angle even when straight. "don't worry 'bout him, you're with me, now." he shrugs on a plain, black jacket and heads for the door. "try to leave and i'll jus' find you again. don't make this any harder than it has to be."

welcome to the rat king's domain, sweetheart.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x f reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you

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vanderilnde · 4 months

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NEED to know what happens after butcher!Simon beat the guy to pulp 😭 Does reader ends up insisting to tend his split and bloody knuckles hence bringing him into her apartment and Simon just decides that it's his second home now. Cause wdym it's not? She practically invited him in?? He's her problem now, like a stray.

“and Simon just decides that it’s his second home now / he’s her problem now, like a stray”

OHHHHH MY GOD????? SO FUCKING TRUE ANON!!!

When the pounding had petered out, you weren’t allowed to leave your flat. Simon’s parlance held an undercurrent of finality, so you listened. Listened to the soft rustling and thudding on the other side of your door, the grunts of labour let out by him. And when he was done, when only a crude, mulberry outline of blood coagulated into the carpet outside of his flat, you called him inside.

You decided to refrain from asking any questions.

You just seated Simon at your dining table—which he seemed to giant—and brought out the first-aid kit from under your sink. The mellow, winking light of your kitchen flutters over the split skin of Simon’s knuckles as you clean them out. He doesn’t wince and doesn’t flinch. The only reason his fingers twitch is to curl them further into your palm, stealing your warmth.

The silence is snapped with your quiet question. “What if someone reports you?”

“They won’t, Trouble,” Simon mumbles. “They know who I am.”

Your deluged brain catches onto only one word. Lazy and heavy how it slips past Simon’s lips, pools into his mask. Your eyes flicker up, skittish. “Trouble?”

“Seem to bring it with ya,” he shrugs. Simon leans back in your chair, the fleeceback of his trackies tightening around his thick thighs. “Fitting, innit?”

A sound—somewhere between sheepish and bemused—peals out of you. It’s parroted by Simon, taking the form of an almost-chuckle, but is quickly succeeded by a sharp wince. His face twisting like the tail of a kite, his eyes squeezing shut.

“Simon?”

He grunts. His crystalline curls stiffly sway as he shakes his head. “Fucker punched me. Landed on my lip.”

It’s an undertaken desire that tells you to lean forward and unhook Simon’s mask off his ear. You have the inkling he’ll maul you if you try, but truthfully, you know that Simon won’t bite the hand that feeds him.

He’s pliant and malleable under your touch. Almost kittening into your palm, an obedient dog as you loosen Simon’s mask from his chin, letting it dangle from his cauliflower ear—a materialisation of his dubious past—and brush against his jaw.

A hint of fear ephemerally colours Simon’s eyes. He’s naked, bare, under your gaze. A confessor at the feet of an apostle, praying for proclaimed absolution. Hoping you’ll overlook his scars and dimpled skin, hoping you’ll take him in for the stray he is.

You reach out, grazing Simon’s face. Raising a cotton wad to his busted, thin lips. It permeates the elements of a kiss. Your gauze against his puckered lips, soaking him up, his blood, into your bandage.

Simon’s a lost dog. He keeps coming back. Though it reads like it, it isn’t entitlement. It’s taking possession of you.

It’s simple, really. Simon just wants to be pet, and he just wants to please.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #cod mw2 #simon writing #writing

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lizardsfromspace · 5 months

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Why is just about every online radical group virulently sex-negative now? And in identical ways. You don't have, like, communists - on the whole, some do, tbc - framing their criticism of porn in terms of worker exploitation. They're parroting the same talking points about "porn addiction" TERFs do, and they're parroting the same talking points evangelicals do, etc.

I say sex-negative instead of anti-porn since while they claim to be the latter they seem to believe online porn is like, some conspiracy to rot the minds of everyone, and they react to entirely normal examples of sexuality by screaming bloody murder about how the poster is a porn-brained addict who should die. And I mean really normal. As in, "someone expressing attraction" normal. It's weird to see how widespread this is now across the entire spectrum

#politics

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katsumox · 11 months

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hihi!! idk if ur reqs are still open but :,) thinking about jason coming back from a really bad patrol, like he's all bloody and bruised and shit. cleaning him up even when he insists he's fine and kissing his bruises, just like a lot of comfort. sorry if this makes no sense LMAOO i've never requested something before!! tysm for reading have a nice day <33

thank u for the request my love !!!!!! reqs for jason r always open<333

this is roommate!verse because hngghhhhhh okay anyways !

“Oh honey, I’m home,” a sarcastic modulated voice rings out from the balcony. You don’t even have to look up from your spot on the couch to know it’s Jason.

“Don’t ask me where the redheads are,”he continues, “Thing one and two are off doing… fuck if I know.”

His voice is tight with irritation and poorly disguised pain as he all but limps into the living room.

Your eyes widen at his state before your mind settles into work mode.

“Shirt. Off now,” you say, jogging to the bathroom for the med kit stashed under the sink.

“No warm welcome, huh,” Jason teases as he tosses his helmet to the ground. He hisses as he tugs off his shirt, exposing the bruise-littered expanse of his musculature.

“I’m fine,” he rumbles, “No life threatening cuts or nothin’. Just…” he trails off with a sigh as you apply the cold antiseptic to his wounds.

He shuts himself up, despite the quiet whines of discomfort clawing at his throat. He watches you work as he fights the urge to snake a hand around your waist and keep you there, pressed snugly into him.

“Just one more,” you mutter, tapping at the gash near his jaw, “Wonder Woman bandaid?” You ask, looking up at him with those big doe eyes.

He grunts in confirmation, eyes flitting from your form to something off in the distance.

“Let me kiss it better,” You coo as you press the bandaid to his jaw.

Jason frowns as he looks around the apartment’s living room. It’s dark and empty, save for the two of you.

“Thought we couldn’t do the whole PDA thing in shared spaces,” he rumbles, a smirk playing on his lips, “You’re breaking the rules.”

“Fuck rules,” You hum, “No one gives a shit about rules.”

You press a kiss to Jason’s jaw, right next to the bandaid.

“Fuck rules,” Jason parrots, slinging his strong arms across your hips.

You kiss the J shaped scar on his face before standing on your tip toes to let your lips ghost the yellowing bruise under his eye.

He exhales, watching you intently as you press feathery kisses down his bruised neck and collarbones.

His eyes stay glued to your lips as you kiss the now-scarring wound on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Jason airily murmurs to no one in particular, “No one gives a shit about rules.”

#my writing !🏛️🧁#batboys x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd #batboys x reader #batboys x y/n #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x black!reader #jason todd fluff #jason todd reader insert

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seethesin · 7 months

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green eyed monster

pairing: Vampire!Hazel Callahan x F!Monster Hunter!Reader

tags/warnings: sexual content, hazel & reader are 18+, supernatural/vampire au, jealous!reader, teasing, blood kink, biting, praising, fingerfucking, clitoral stimulation (18+, mdni)

a/n: sequel to vampires everywhere! enjoy 😌

Ever since you met Hazel in her mausoleum, you couldn't get enough of her. It was against your nature to let her roam free, but how were you supposed to dispatch her when she was mouthing your cunt like it was the only thing keeping her on this earth? You never experienced a fraction of the pleasure she provided before and selfishly, you allowed whatever this... situationship was to continue.

"You know, this place was not what I was expecting."

For a bar dedicated to monsters, you were anticipating something more… monstrous. Instead, The Last Drop looked and felt like any nightclub you’ve had the pleasure of attending. Vampires, werewolves, ghouls, and everything in between coexisted here peacefully. No one was sloppy and miraculously, no one started a fight. You deferred your inquisitive gaze to Hazel, wordlessly asking for her validation of your observation.

Instead, she was bobbing her head along to some unnaturally sounding house music, grin wide as she nodded over the bartender. There were no words, just a cacophony of noises and beats that pumped through the sound system.

It wasn’t your place to judge her music taste, no matter how bombastic.

“Oh it’s great in here,” she replied joyfully, starting a tab for the both of you. She was still nodding her head around and if your circumstances were different, it would have been endearing.

Ironically, you two were under the guise of a ‘couple.’ More specifically, a vampire and her willing feeder. The idea of it made you gag, but it seemed like the best way for you to get in without being swarmed.

Hazel's arm draped loosely over your back, hand sprawled on your barstool to cage you to her side. Her actions could be read as either possessive or protective—both serving as a reminder that you were now in the belly of the beast. You didn’t resist and instead, leaned in closer.

“What do you want to drink?” Hazel asks and you shift your attention back to her and the undead bartender already reaching for two cups. His skin was deathly pale and his veins were completely visible. There were gashes on his arms and a chunk of his skull was missing. The thought of his bodily fluids accidentally dripping into your cup made you shudder. You looked away quickly, more focused on picking around the skin of your nails.

“Surprise me.”

Hazel nods, looking back at the bartender.

“Okay, Randy. Give me a bloody mary and whiskey sour.” You scrunch your nose, elbowing Hazel gently in the side.

“Whiskey sour?” you parrot incredulously. She begins to giggle before pulling you in closer. Her hand grips your thigh; a warning to those around you both as to who you came with and who you will be leaving with.

It makes your clit throb.

“Because you’re such a sourpuss.” You roll your eyes and Hazel takes your reaction as a tiny victory. "Loosen up!"

But that was the thing. You couldn’t.

You still had a job to do, one that required the vampire’s assistance. You were here to collect a bounty for a renowned werewolf named Nimue. The payout was too great to ignore, even after splitting it in half with Hazel. Thankfully through the grapevine a la The Last Drop, Hazel had a contact that knew more.

That contact was in the form of her ex-girlfriend.

To specify further, Hazel's werewolf ex-girlfriend, Stella-Rebecca.

Apparently, she knew everything there was to know about your target: what she liked, how she spoke, the demeanor she held. Her expansive knowledge would be appreciated, especially when a few million dollars was on the line.

"What type do ya want?" Randy's gravelly voice cuts through your thoughts and you bring your gaze between him and Hazel. "Or do you just want it from her?"

He gestures to you and you stare at them both. Suddenly, the insinuation becomes clear and you jerk back in surprise.

"You take your bloody mary with actual blood?"

Hazel deadpans to you, brows quirked upward.

"How else would I take my bloody mary?"

Randy cackles, delighted at your naivety. He presses a glass cup into a fountain behind the counter, filling it partially with coagulated blood.

"No antigens for you, eh, Hazel?" She smirks, shrugging simply as he adds vodka, juices, and a few sauces and spices you can't make out into the glass. He connects it to a shaker, shaking roughly before pouring it out into a cup.

"I'll take what I can get."

It only takes a minute or two more for both of your drinks to be finished. You drink yours easily, but can't help your curiosity as you watch Hazel suck down the nasty combination. A whiskey sour was definitely the way to go.

Back to business. "Alright, what does Stella-Rebecca look like?"

Hazel gives a throaty hum, putting her cup down.

"She's a brunette: short, curvy, and—oh."

"What?"

"She's uh, she's already here."

"What?" Quickly, you scan the bar around you for a woman with any of the traits Hazel described. "Where?"

"Right there." Hazel's hand is on your hip, guiding you towards the right where the door is.

Stella-Rebecca was a smokeshow.

She walked with an air of confidence. Her head was held high, as her black heels clicked on the hardwood floor. She wore a form fitting, flattering emerald green dress with a black clutch wrapped around her wrist. Her full face of makeup was immaculate and Hazel needed to tug you back to keep you from gaping like a lunatic.

“She’s your ex?” you ask in a high pitched whisper, peeling more laughter from the vampire’s throat.

“Yes ma’am.”

“She’s—” Incredible. The silent compliment hangs on your tongue, but Hazel didn’t have to read your mind to know what you were thinking. It makes her smile as she watches Stella-Rebecca slide into the empty barstool next to her.

“Oh my gosh, Hazel! It’s been like, forever since I’ve seen you!”

She leans forward, snatching Hazel into a hug by her shoulders. The tight grip makes Hazel's eyes go wide and you can't help but smirk. For a split second, you wonder which of them would win a fight, one-on-one.

Stella-Rebecca lets her go and immediately, her attention is on you. You anticipated a dirty look or a roll of her eyes, but instead, she flashed you a bright, toothy smile. Your heartbeat stutters—no wonder why Hazel dated her. She's pretty and nice.

"And who is this adorable thing?" She simpers, tone genuinely sweet as she leans closer to get a better look at you.

You introduce yourself quickly, taking mental note of how unnaturally her brown eyes glowed in the dim lighting. She goes to shake your hand after introducing herself and you can feel her manicured, claw-like nails against your skin. Past instances with werewolves never lasted this long and that fact alone unnerved you.

Hazel's grinning at your exchange and you suddenly feel very anxious. Your hands weave together, thumbs bouncing off one another as Stella-Rebecca turns her attention back to the vampire.

"I like her, Haze."

Haze. Something about the familiarity of that pet name makes your stomach turn. Your blood thumps against your ears and you bite down on the inside of your lip.

"There's a lot to like," Hazel muses charmingly, causing the other girl to giggle as if Hazel was referring to her. Flush crawls up your neck to the tips of your ears. You didn't want to admit it, but you were jealous of their relationship. Even if they weren't dating anymore, they acted as if they were picking up from where they left off.

"I appreciate you came by on such short notice, Stella-Rebecca," You interject quickly, catching both girls off guard. Hazel quirks a brow at you, staring intently into your eyes. After a moment, a ghost of a smile tugs on her lips.

She knows.

Blunt fingernails dig into your hip, pulling you even closer. Hazel wears a devil-may-care smile as she turns back to Stella-Rebecca.

"What can you tell us about Nimue?"

Thank god for Stella-Rebecca.

Seriously.

Every question you and Hazel asked she answered completely and swiftly. You weren't sure if there was a personal vendetta between her and Nimue, but Stella-Rebecca did not hold back with each answer she gave. With the information you collected through a series of voice memos, you felt more confident than ever in your mission.

However, it seemed like you held back the entire interrogation. Your jaw was perpetually clenched every time Hazel and Stella-Rebecca laughed over an inside joke or reminisced on old memories. Your palms ached from the constant half-moons you dug into your skin. The way they looked at each other held so much history that it made you nauseous.

You didn't speak during the car ride back to your home, nor did you say anything to each other once you stepped inside. Luckily for Hazel, you had already invited her in previously. She was able to follow you in without leaking blood from every orifice of her body.

Your carpets get to live another day.

"Is there uh," Hazel starts, watching as you settle onto your sofa and scroll through the dozens of voice memos you recorded from earlier this evening. "Anything you want to talk about?"

"Nope." Your lips purse at the end, popping audibly. "Maybe you should ask your girlfriend if she wants to talk."

Hazel approaches you slowly like one would a cornered animal. Her footsteps are light and you were convinced you saw her smile through your peripherical vision.

"You know I can read your mind, right?"

You don't respond.

"So that means I know what you're thinking."

"What am I thinking then, Hazel?" you finally snip, causing her grin to grow. You blink and she's already leaned forward, centimeters from your face. Her breath fans against your lips and reflexively, your tongue darts out to wet them.

She chuckles.

"You've been thinking about how much you want me," she purrs, her lids heavy as she stares at your mouth. She wasn't wrong and it makes you grit your teeth. Blush dusts your cheeks and you glare at her.

"Fuck you."

"We could if you'd stop being a sourpuss."

Your hands connect to Hazel's shoulders and you shove her down onto the sofa. You crawl on top of her, straddling her hips before leaning in to kiss her. Hazel's sneering into your kiss, swallowing your lips before flickering her tongue in between them.

The air around you turns ten degrees warmer around you and you paw at one another. Both of you shed your clothing, ripping layer upon layer from your bodies and discarding them on the floor.

Hazel is now sitting up, back pressed against the cushions as you remain mounted on her lap. Her mouth is between your breasts: kissing, biting, and sucking the delicate skin to the point of drawing blood. Her dexterous tongue laps it up eagerly, causing a string of moans to squeeze from your throat. Her dominant hand slips underneath the waistband of your underwear as her middle and ring fingers rub against your slit.

"Were you this wet all night?" she whispers against your chest and you don't respond.

Instead, you weave your fingers through her brown tresses. Once they're ingrained, you give her hair a firm tug, making her grunt. It's enough of an answer for her and she buries the digits easily into your cunt, humming in pleasure. You straighten, lifting your hips just enough to give Hazel more room.

"Good girl." Your eyes squeeze shut at the praise while another moan bubbles from your chest. "Can you continue being good for me tonight?"

You nod. Hell, she could have asked you to streak around your neighborhood in that husky voice and you would have nodded until your neck snapped.

As a reward, her fingers curl inside you, pressing against your fleshy walls and you whine. Your hips grind down further on Hazel's hand, greedily stealing as much friction as you can. Her other hand grips the fat of your ass, keeping you still while her lips meander up to your neck. A playful but stern bite comes soon after and you gasp, pushing your hips into hers. Hazel's fangs pierce your skin and her tongue washes over your skin to soothe the damage.

"Fuck, Hazel," you sputter, burying her face between your breasts as your knees begin to dig into her hips. You're so close. "Touch my clit too, baby."

Her laughter vibrates against your chest and she dutifully complies. You feel her thumb brushing against your clit as she continues to fuck you. The sensations begin to overwhelm you and involuntarily, your body starts to shudder.

"Like this, princess?" You don't trust your voice and instead nod, soon realizing that she couldn't see you doing so.

After a moment, you choke out a: "Feels so good."

"Then you'll love this." Her lips latch onto your nipple and your eyes roll back as soon as you feel her suck.

Hazel was right.

You cum with a shout, your body going rigid as you grip her hair for dear life. Her hand on your ass loosens so that you can wriggle your hips and ride out the remainder of your orgasm. Slowly, you find yourself coming back to reality. You hear Hazel's lips smack together as they pull away from your breast. A lazy, impish smile tugs at her lips as she stares up at you.

"Feeling better?"

You're still panting, eyes fluttering open as you hold onto Hazel's shoulders. Slowly, you lift your hips to allow Hazel to pull her hand back. Her slick-covered fingers are already in her mouth and unabashedly, you watch her suck them clean.

"Better," you agree, tilting Hazel's head up. She looks up at you and eagerly accepts the kiss you press on her lips. You last like that for a few moments longer before you break the kiss.

"You know," she starts and your brows arch expectantly. "If this is how you get when you're jealous—"

"Do not finish that sentence, Haze."

The both of you blink in surprise, not expecting the nickname to sound so natural coming out of your mouth. You can't stop yourself from blushing and Hazel cups your face, forcing you to look at her. She beams before peppering more kisses against your skin.

"You keep calling me that and I'll do anything you want."

"Anything?" Hazel nods curtly and your fingers wrap around her wrists. She watches you intently as you contemplate your next sentence. A wave of confidence washes over you suddenly and you look her right in the eyes.

"I want you to take me out after we find Nimue and collect her bounty."

Obviously, Hazel was not anticipating this request by the way her eyes widened. She recovers quickly, blinking away her shock before grinning dumbly.

"Like... on a date date?"

You can't help but giggle at the childish wonder in her voice.

"Yes, Haze, a real date."

She yanks you forward into an embrace and you realize now just how cold her bare body is. You shiver as her hands slide up your naked back, the steel of her rings searing your skin.

"I think I already have some ideas."

#bottoms 2023 #bottoms movie #hazel callahan #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan x you #lesbian #wlw #lgbtq #smut #fanfiction #fanfic

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theeblackmedusa · 10 months

Text

he's cute

summary: "he cute. ain't right for you, though."

pairing: fontaine x black!fem!reader

warnings: 18+, language, smut, bit of a breeding kink, fontaine's kind of toxic if you squint, needles/sutures, descriptions of blood/violence, use of n word (idk why i'm warning about this but yuh), also there's a lot of AAVE in this so if you "correct" my grammar in some of the dialogue pls don't 💀

He knew he shouldn't be here, but he had nowhere else to go. He was hurt and tired and wanted you to fix him up because he always seemed to heal quicker when you did it.

Fontaine swallowed the lump in his throat as he raised his hand to knock on your green door. You were the only person in the world that made him nervous and he fucking hated it. It had been that way since you were kids. He could face any bully, stand up to any unfair teacher, but his mind went blank when it came to you.

He inhaled as deep as he could manage without sending a stabbing pain through his body before tapping his knuckles against the wood and then returned his hand to his stomach to hold his bleeding wound. A few long seconds passed before your voice came from inside.

"Who is it?"

"It's me," he grunted out weakly.

The locks clicked and Fontaine prepared himself for the wrath you would unleash when you opened the door and let your eyes fall on him. He did his best to stand up tall when the door began to creak open, but it was no use. He looked like shit either way.

"What the fuck, Fontaine?!"

Usually, you'd be concerned when Fontaine showed up on your doorstep bloody and bruised, but all you could feel at the moment was frustration. He'd told, no, promised you that the fighting would stop and that you wouldn't have to see him at his lowest anymore, but it was like he couldn't stay away.

"Got in a fight-"

"Really? I hadn't fucking noticed!"

Fontaine ignored you as you ranted about how he wasn't keeping his word when he was supposed to always keep his word to you. He couldn't focus on how upset you were because it would only get him upset with himself for making you that way.

He pushed past you as you cursed at him for going out and "being stupid" again.

"Isaac still ain't learned to keep his lil punks away from-"

"Always Isaac. Always Isaac! The way y'all fight, I'm surprised it ain't turned to fucking yet!" you laughed bitterly as he carefully lowered himself onto your couch, groaning all the way down.

"Why you all dressed up?" he questioned, switching the subject in hopes that it would make you stop fussing.

You looked good. Really good.

"I got a date, who should be here any second now, so you need to get out before he comes."

Fontaine scoffed at the fact that your pretty black dress and sexy red lips were for someone else. You should be his, but you can't be. Not with all the shit he gets himself into. As bad as he wants you, he can't put you in a position to be hurt just for being important to him.

"Date?"

"The fuck are you, a parrot? Yes, Taine! I have a date!"

You shut your door and stood in front of him, taking in the sight of him.

He looked truly pitiful, cuts and bruises forming on his dark skin. His shirt was soaked from the blood coming from his gash and he looked exhausted overall.

"What happened?" you sighed.

"Just a lil stabbin'. Nothin' I couldn't walk off-"

"Taine-"

"That's all it was," he told you.

"Did anybody-"

"Nah. Ain't nobody got killed," he assured, knowing your concerns.

It had always been a fear of yours. You hated all the violence and death, but more specifically, you hated the thought of that violence and death coming back to bite Fontaine in the ass one day. This neighborhood was full of hotheads and you'd hate for one of them to make Taine a target because somebody died at the hands of him or somebody he was associated with.

"You can't keep doing this, Taine,"

"I won't."

"Promise me."

He shook his head, pushing his hand deeper into his wound for pressure.

"You know I can't do that no more. I hate breakin' my promises to you."

Before you could respond, there was a knocking at your door and you rolled your eyes.

"That the date?" he asked, turning his head to the door.

"Probably," you huffed. "You and your bad fucking timing, Taine. Go hide in the back bedroom or something."

His eyebrows raised in amusement. This was becoming a game for him.

"Oh, you hidin' me and shit? Fuck nah, I been around the longest he gon' have to accept that," he argued. "Matter fact...come in!"

Your eyes widened at his antics and you searched for the closest object to throw at him, but your door was already opening to reveal your very confused date for the night.

"Fuck you," you mouthed to Fontaine before turning to the door.

Your date wasn't even looking at you. Instead, his eyes were planted on Fontaine, who, despite his battered and bruised state, had his grillz on full display as he smirked up at the other man.

"Kalen, hey," you finally greeted, an awkward attempt at breaking the tension in the room.

"This how you roll?" he asked, using a hand to gesture to the bloody man on your couch.

You shook your head, hoping to defend yourself.

"I know how this looks, but I promise to explain later! I-"

"You got other niggas on ya couch and you tryna explain shit? I'm done with yo ass. Thought you was tryna start somethin' for real, but you out here with other dudes."

Kalen was one of the resident hotheads, and arguing with him was pointless.

Fontaine quietly grumbled something that you refused to pay any mind to as you watched Kalen turn right back around and leave, slamming your front door behind him.

You inhaled deeply, Fontaine still mumbling under his breath about how you need to leave "bitch ass dudes like Kalen" alone.

If he wasn't one of the closest friends you had, you would have shut his ass up with a punch to the mouth by now. All you wanted was a night out with someone who could potentially get your mind off of a plain and simple fact: You and Fontaine were not and would never be together.

Every time you thought about it, your heart cracked, but it was something you had to accept. He didn't see you in the way he saw other women, so you'd have to settle for men that couldn't hold a candle to him.

"Could you shut the fuck up, Taine?" you snapped, walking to your bathroom to get the first aid kit.

The faster you patched him up, the faster he would get the fuck out of your house. Next time, you just wouldn't open the door for him. That would save you a hell of a lot of trouble.

"You always get with these bum niggas and get mad when they show that they crazy!" he yelled from the living room.

"He only got that way 'cuz you brought your bullshit to my house!" you shot back, pulling the bathroom drawer open with so much force that you were surprised you hadn't ripped it straight off. "I could have been having a peaceful night with him, but no! I'm here with no man babysitting your ass!"

He rolled his eyes at your sass and began struggling to shrug his jacket off as he awaited your return with the first aid kit. After his jacket, his bloodstained shirt followed. Now, he was shirtless and trying not to let his blood spill all over your couch, knowing that you'd stab him again if he messed it up.

Finally, you returned with a warm towel, a sewing kit, matches, and first aid. You had half the nerve to put it all away and kick his ass out on the street and let him fend for himself, but you cared too much. You always did and sometimes you hated it.

"Hold this," you ordered, shoving the matches and sewing kit into his lap before you took a seat next to him, making sure to plop down and make him jerk slightly.

"The fuck is wrong with you?! Be careful!" he gritted out, glaring at you sharply.

A sarcastic laugh escaped you.

"You aren't careful out there in the streets getting stabbed and shit. Why should I be careful with you now?"

He didn't respond, too exasperated with the night he'd had to entertain any of your taunting about it. He simply turned to you to allow a better angle for you to start cleaning him up.

You pulled out the towel and started dabbing the large, deep cut that spanned across his stomach. It almost made you feel sick. If it had been too deep, he wouldn't be here with you right now.

As you cleaned him, it was as if he could read your thoughts. He sensed your mind racing one hundred miles per second as you went through the "what ifs" of the night. He knew it was impossible to erase those thoughts for you. He was a drug dealer, after all. There was danger in the job, but he could help pull you out of them briefly.

"So, why the fuck you goin' on dates with these lames?" he questioned, exhaling in a vain attempt to fight the stinging of the towel on his injury.

You shrugged.

"Need someone to talk to, I guess," you responded shortly, not keen on telling him that these "lames" were unworthy attempts to make up for the fact that you didn't have him.

"You got me, Yo-Yo...Slick," he replied.

You shook your head. You and Yo-Yo were close, yes, but you and Slick? Not so much. It was like talking to a crazy uncle that should have been put in a retirement home a long time ago.

"I need...something else, Taine."

Dick, you thought.

You were starved of touch and you were getting desperate. You needed intimacy and you were searching for it in men that weren't even the one you wanted it from.

"Like?" he pressed as you put the towel down and began to burn the end of the sewing needle, preparing to stitch him up.

Fontaine was a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid. He knew what you were getting on about, but he liked to hear you say things. Sometimes you wondered if your embarrassment amused him.

You huffed, knowing that he wasn't going to drop it.

"I don't know, Taine. I just need something new. The vibrators ain't cutting it anymore...I need a man, sex," you admitted in frustration, warmth in your face as you tried to fight the embarrassment of your confession.

"You was finna fuck Kalen tonight?" he laughed, attempting to cover up the panic he felt inside at that revelation.

"Maybe not tonight, this time was just gon' be a date!"

Lord knows you won't take me on one, you thought, pushing the needle into his skin to start the sutures and making him hiss.

Fontaine's fingers curled into the arm of the couch as you stitched him up, eyes screwed tightly shut as he tried to steady his breathing.

If he hadn't pissed you off so bad, you'd imagine if this is how he'd look if you were on your knees for him, taking him deep into your throat and making him lose his breath.

"He cute, but he ain't good for you," Fontaine rasped through gritted teeth, finally breaking the silence that had fallen between the two of you.

"But you are?" you snapped.

"I ain't say all that," he defended.

"But that's what you meant."

Silence took over the room once more as you finished the stitches and examined your work. Once you assured that you'd fixed him up properly, you grabbed an alcohol wipe, ready to clean up the more minors scars.

"I just...Ion like him, (Y/N)."

You shook your head, gently wiping a scrape on his shoulder and sighing.

"Taine, if you didn't have every bitch in this damn neighborhood begging to sit on your dick, maybe I'd listen to what you have to say on this," you started. "But, I just wanna have fun and fuck around. Not worry about if somebody's good for me or not."

He couldn't fight it this time. Usually he could hold his tongue, keep back that confession that was constantly trying to rip through his body, but this time he couldn't. He couldn't stand the thought of you in somebody else's bed or kissing on someone that wasn't him. He wanted you, and he needed you to want him.

"We can't have fun and fuck around?" he asked you, grabbing your wrist and stopping your movements.

Your heart was beating in your chest rapidly. It was as if it was banging its fists against you in an aggressive plea for you to free it from your body.

You averted your eyes to anything else but him. They settled on the floral print in the curtains until he used his other hand to grip your chin and make you look at him.

"We can have a lotta fun, baby. What you say?" he suggested lowly, leaning into you so close that his lips were just barely touching yours.

You could have all of him if you wanted. You could've had him a very long time ago, but there was always that unspoken thing between the two of you. The elephant in the room that you two mutually decided was invisible.

"Taine," you breathed out.

"Let me show you how much fun we can have."

You weren't in control of yourself. It was as if his eyes had paralyzed you. Now, you were just his little rag doll as he lifted you in his lap and turned you so that your back was to him. You couldn't recall the exact moment it happened, but all you knew was that his hands were now groping your breasts over your dress as he attacked your neck with hot kisses.

"Them niggas out there can't make you feel the way I can, mama."

You shuddered at the nickname. "Baby" had been something he'd called you casually for as long as you could remember, but "mama"...that was new. And it made your stomach do a somersault as you imagined it.

You could picture yourself as a mama for his children. Waddling around plump and being pampered by him for carrying his baby. A soft moan escaped you at just the thought and he grinned into your neck.

"You like that? You wanna be a mama?" he asked, running his thumbs over your nipples until they hardened.

You almost broke your neck nodding in response.

"I can make that happen," he told you. "Fuck my kids into you. Make you mine for real."

An aching grew between your legs at that. You'd be trapped with him forever. No matter what went down between the two of you, you'd always be his, always have a piece of him. The thought shouldn't turn you on as much as it did, but you could feel your panties soaking from it.

"Take this off for me," he instructed softly.

You obeyed without question, standing up to slip out of the black dress. Seconds later, you were in nothing but the lacy black underwear you'd put on "just in case" you decided to let Kalen get somewhere.

Fontaine frowned at the panties and reached forward gripping them at the band before tearing the fabric. If he hadn't been spewing that shit about making you a mommy, you would have been pissed. Those were expensive.

You were completely bare in front of him and a little self conscious, but Fontaine was staring at you like you were the lottery and he'd just won. You were perfect, dark skin glowing in the moonlight that shone through the curtains, thighs that he couldn't wait to get between. How on Earth could he have resisted you for so long?

"Shit, mama. Don't think I can wait to get inside you."

You couldn't wait either. You'd been needing him.

"Then take that shit off," you told him with a sickeningly sweet smile, nodding to his pants and belt.

He only chuckled low in response and did as told, unbuckling his belt and throwing it to the side somewhere. Next, he lifted his hips, wincing as he lowered his pants down to his ankles.

Before he could start on his underwear, you were lowering yourself to your knees in front of him and pressing your cheek against his thigh. He shivered at the feeling of your warm breath.

After what felt like forever, you lifted your head, pressing a kiss to each of his thighs before pressing one to his hard cock over his underwear.

Fontaine sighed as you brushed your lips against him, teasing him mercilessly.

"Cut that shit out," he warned, eyeing you dangerously.

You smiled before pressing another kiss to the tip and bringing your hands up to the waistband before curling your fingers underneath.

"So bossy," you sighed, pulling his underwear down and letting them fall with his pants.

"Yeah, the boss say get ya pretty ass up here and take a seat."

Your core throbbed at the demand and you raised yourself up to straddle him, fingers gripping his cock and aligning him with your entrance.

Fontaine captured your lips in his, getting a taste of you before he took you. There was no going back. You both knew it.

Finally, you lowered yourself on him, both of you groaning from the sensation. The stretch stung in the best way as you tried to accommodate his size. You had to sit still to adjust, forehead resting against his until you got the courage to move.

Your pace was slow at first, still adjusting to the fullness of him inside of you, but soon, your speed increased, hips rolling against his as you rode him.

Fontaine wasted no time getting his hands back on your tits, massaging one while he worked his mouth on the other. He was addicted to them, watching them bounce as you skillfully worked his cock.

Eventually, your arms found their way around his neck as you leaned on him for support, ass bouncing as you fucked him. Fontaine cursed, letting his hands fall to your bottom to spread your cheeks more.

If the stab wound didn't kill him, you sure fucking would. He raised his hand and brought it back down, striking your ass and revving you on. He'd keep the desperate whimper you let out at the blow in mind.

"Yeah, that's it. Twerk that pretty ass on my dick, baby."

Your ass slapped against his thighs as you rode him, desperate to reach your high. You were so close. You began to feel weak, and he could tell as your pace slowed down.

"I got it, baby. I got it."

He wrapped his arms around you, stilling you against his chest as he began thrusting his hips into you, the tip of his cock hitting a delicious spot inside you that made you want to scream.

You could feel your orgasm coming like a tsunami ready to crash into you. All that was escaping you were incoherent noises as Fontaine fucked you stupid.

"Tight pussy squeezin' me," he grunted, words becoming slurred as he approached his own climax. "Let that shit out for me, mama."

As if you were hypnotized, your body responded, orgasm washing over you as your walls contracted around him, bringing him to his release as well.

Fontaine spilled into you, warm cum coating your walls as you went limp against him. His hips slowed before stopping completely and he let out a long exhale as he tried to recollect his thought.

"You have fun, baby?" he finally asked when he caught his breath.

If you had the energy, you'd slap the hell out of his cocky ass, but he'd just fucked you into exhaustion and his cum was steady leaking out of you, making a mess all over your inner thighs, so you went with the next best alternative.

"Shut the fuck up or I'm taking them damn stitches out."

•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

let me know if you'd like to be added to either a john boyega or teyonah parris taglist bc i'm about to go crazy with them

tags: @wakandas-vibranium

#fontaine #fontaine x reader #fontaine x black!reader #fontaine x black reader #they cloned tyrone #john boyega #fanfiction #fanfic #black writer #theeblackmedusa🐍🐍

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kaeyas-beloved · 6 months

Text

a shot in the dark

Character: Wanderer

— his fourth and final betrayal…

CWs: gn!reader (no pronouns), ANGST, hurt/no comfort, death/murder, guns, Apocalypse AU, Wanderer is referred to as such and as Kunikuzushi

val’s no sympathy november masterlist

Started laughing like Light Yagami at work just thinking about the pain I’m about to inflict :)

“You promised me!”

Eyes the colour of a midnight sky - the same eyes you've spent the past few years memorizing, learning and getting lost in their depths during sleepless nights - bubble with tears.

At first glance his expression portrays anger, but you’ve known him long enough to know that there’s more to it. He’s angry, yes, but he’s not angry at you, not really. No, if anything he’s cursing out the world more, for doing him wrong once again, for torturing him by ripping you away from him. Everything he’s ever known feels as if it’s crumbling around him, the barely concealed tremble in his irises telling of the turmoil he’s fighting and losing to.

Denial quickly takes over, your body getting shaken by the shoulders. He starts pleading with you to cut the act, that the joke isn’t funny and never was. Ideas and theories cloud his mind; they say if you cut off the infected part of the body in time you can stop the transformation from human to zombie.

Yet, as he grasps your arm in a firm but not bruising grip, all it takes is one look at the bite on your forearm to know there is no saving you, not with how bloody and discolored the skin around it is. This is the end.

A soft sniffle echoes in the quiet night, his voice softer than before, the note of defeat unmistakable, "You… you promised…"

You did, and faced with the reality that you can't keep that promise, you wrap your arms around him. Whispers of hushes and apologies fill his ear; you're sorry for not being more careful, for acting before thinking, for leaving him alone in this shithole of a world. There will never be enough words or sentences in all the languages to convey the agony you feel at what you're putting him through.

Even though you pull away from him you keep a firm hand on his cheek; you have to make sure he's looking at you when you say what has to be said.

A broken smile appears on your face, your eyes darting all over him, committing each detail to memory, "You're not going to like what I have to say next…"

His reaction is immediate, tone all bark and no bite, "then don't say it at all! Fuck, why didn't you ask me to come along!? Then you could've saved that little girl, I would've dealt with the monsters and you'd be fine right now!"

For a moment you remain quiet; there's truth in his outburst, but you were the one in charge of scavaging today. Your group had scouted a particular place for a few days; no one had taken anything and the volume of zombies was near to none, all that was needed was one person to go raid the place, and you were the lucky sucker.

A tear slips down your face; it’s not like you want to say what comes next, it’s more of a need. As much as you hate to think it, everything from that moment on was business.

Pulling back fully, you reach for his limp hand while stretching to unclamp a gun from the holster on your waist. Anyone with a brain knew what you were about to say, and he didn't like it one bit, eyes sharpening into a glare. Retching his hand from you, Wanderer steps back, shaking his head vehemently.

“No.” He’s firm on his stance one the matter, voice deadly serious as he looks at the weapon you hold out to him. He won’t; he can’t. It takes you parroting the words he said to you before for him to even hear you out. all it takes is a second to stand in front of him again, setting the cool, heavy object in his shaking palm.

"You promised me that if this ever happened, you'd end my life before I turned." In one big step you’re in front of him again, setting the cold object in his shaking palm. Suddenly it feels like he’s holding the weight of tons.

“God I wish I could kiss you right now… I want to so, so bad,” you whisper, leaning your forehead against his, your noses brushing. You push the silencer attachment into his other hand, "but I don't want to infect you, so this little contact we have will have to do."

"I love you. I love you so much and I never want you to forget that. My dear Kunikuzushi..." Tears roll down your cheeks freely now as you gently rub under his eyes, “please, do this for me. I don’t want to hurt anyone…”

You’re hurting me, he thinks, but deep down he knows this must be done. It’s what you want.

He doesn’t say much as he nods, grabbing into your wrist again. This time it’s not with the urgency or hope that things could still be salvaged; this time it’s with the deep rooted need to comfort you, “I know you love the stars… I think it’s only right that you get to see them for all they are one last time.”

You’re silent as he drags you to a wide open clearing, the grass reaching just below your knees. The tiny gasp you let out was involuntary, as every time you see the night sky it steals your breath away. Even when you’ve seen them a thousand times in this very spot, they never fail to let you escape from your current reality. How fitting… the perfect place to forget the impending end.

Wanderer is deadly silent beside you as he screws on the silencer, refusing to look at you. He knows if he does he’ll fall in love with your wonder filled gaze all over again and back out in a heartbeat.

While looking around and taking in each twinkle of light, you hear a murmur from beside you, barely intelligible. You hum, asking him to repeat himself.

“I love you too.” He says clearly that time, “I’m sorry for not saying it enough.”

Smiling softly at him, you cup his cheek again, “I know. It’s alright, you didn’t have to say it for me to know you love me.”

In an instant you’re pulled into another hug - your last, you bitterly realize - and you wrap your arms around him without a second thought. God how he wants to kiss you too, he wants to say a proper goodbye.

“Go enjoy that stars…” he whispers to you instead, reluctantly letting you slip away from him.

Kunikuzushi was a sharp shooter, known for always hitting his target. It was a trait he took pride in, but as he aims for the back of your head now… he doesn’t know exactly how to feel, knowing what will happen, able to picture the next few minutes in his mind.

Eyes the colour of a stormy night follow you as you walk into the middle of the field. Silently he counts to thirty, then continues to count. By time he reaches fifty he sees your shoulders ease up, your head tilting this way and that, no doubt looking for constellations.

He chose then to pull the trigger, feeling sick to his stomach as he watches your silhouette fall, knowing that you won’t be rising next to him in bed come tomorrow morning.

Tag list (both regular and event exclusive): @spoopy-fish-writes // @that-enby-alien // @xenuuu // @kaeyaloml // @mariposa666haruka // @quackquackmfs // @kunikuzushiii // @genshin-impact-writings // @ventisweetheart // @lordbugs // @leena-shi // @ari-the-wr1ter // @xiaos-wife // @milkwithspiceyicecubes // @stygianoir // @francisnyx

@kaiserkisser // @multipleshadesofblue // @moloteco-real // @kithewanderingme // @scaramood // @kochothehoe // @ii-lily2 // @esuz

#val’s nsn #wanderer x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin x you #wanderer x reader #genshin impact x you #wanderer x gender neutral reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x gender neutral reader #genshin angst #genshin wanderer #genshin fanfic #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche angst #wanderer angst

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ddejavvu · 1 year

Note

hi again!! perhaps for multiverse monday a spiderman!au with james potter where since he always busy fighting crime and stuff he keep’s showing up late to date nights with reader so he’s kind of forced to confess why and reader is completely okay with it <33 (could even be like ‘yeah i know jamie you left your suit out on the floor last night’) thank you love!!

today is multiverse monday, send me any au you can think of! :)

If James had really wanted to keep his secret, perhaps he shouldn't have come in through the window, perhaps he should have used the front door. But he barrels in through the open window anyways, panting and huffing and puffing, "Angel!"

"James!" You parrot his tone, eyes wide as he crashes onto the end of your bed. His hand is ashy, and the black dust rubs off on the fabric.

"I'm sorry," He pants, "I was- I need to tell you something, I didn't mean to miss movie night! I promise I'll make it up to you, I- I just need to confess."

"Calm down," You urge, taking his ash-stained hand and brushing your fingertips over the stuff, "Take your time, Jamie, I'm not mad."

"But I feel bad," He coughs, the sound thick and heavy in his chest, "I- I'm just gonna say it. I- I know this sounds crazy," He grips your wrists with wide eyes, and for a moment he does look it, "I'm Spider-Man."

You blink once at him, unphased, "I know."

His brows furrow and he squints, "Huh? What do y'mean, 'I know'?"

"I mean, I know," You shrug, "You're not very good at keeping secrets, Jamie. Little bottles labeled 'web fluid' go through the wash in your pockets, you just crawled in through the sixth story window, and you left your suit on the floor of the closet last night."

"You know. So you're- so you're not mad?" He's barely able to get his mouth to work, chest still heaving and lips agape.

"Not that you've missed movie night," You shrug, "We can watch a movie whenever we want. About the web fluid thing, though, if one of those bottles pops open in my washing machine ever again, I'll become a supervillain and fight you."

You glare at him with an impressively vicious furrow of your brows, and he's more scared in that moment than of any of the bad guys he's fought in the past.

"Okay," He breathes, an incredulous smile overtaking his features, "Okay, that's- this is good! This is great," He surges forwards to press a kiss to your lips, one that's only slightly bloody, "I- You know!"

"I know," You affirm, smearing the red substance off of James's cut, "And I also know that you need a shower and some bandages. You hop in, and I'll get the first aid kit. Deal?" You pat his thigh, and he nods breathlessly.

"Deal. I- Thank you," He kisses your temple as he darts for the bathroom, and you hear his voice echo around the tile, "My god, you know!"

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jinkicake · 1 year

Text

Jealousy, Jealousy.

Scaramouche has to process betrayal all over again.

A/N: I decided to combine the two scara jealousy posts into one big post so it can be read all together >:-)! I had to write desperate (pathetic) scara, i truly am sorry. im tots excited to pull for him, i have 150 wishes for him!

WC - 2.3k

TW // hints at noncon,, pyscho scara,, verbal abuse,, crazy scara,, yandere scara

~~~

Scaramouche didn’t notice it at first.

He didn’t predict that one of the guards he personally hand-picked to protect you would end up being soft for you as well. There were clear instructions for none of the four personnel to speak with you, no matter if you spoke to them. Their jobs were clearly stated as to watch you and guard you.

Anything else that you needed was something Scaramouche himself could personally deal with.

How couldn’t he have noticed it before? The lingering stares, the fact that as of late on multiple occasions the guard would return later than the rest. Scaramouche feels his entire body melt into molten lava, he’s fuming inside as he cracks a dent in his wooden desk.

He’ll make you both pay for this affair, the guard will die and you will suffer until you’re begging him to take you back.

The first part had already been dealt with, the guard was long gone in a dark cell the second Scaramouche had even begun to be suspicious. He remembers the fear in the bright eyes of his subordinate, he took pleasure in torturing him until his body could no longer take it.

No matter how much the man denied the allegations of the affair, Scaramouche didn’t believe it.

“Wake up, wench,” Scaramouche is not light with his anger as he swings open the door to your bedroom. The room disgusts him and he remembers how he gave in to your begs for a private space. He was a fool back then, he won’t ever make that mistake again. How many times was that guard in here? How many times had he laid in your bed?

Scaramouche takes pride in how you jolt out of your sleep, flinching against the blankets. Your startled appearance is tinted with the effects of heavy slumber and it takes a few blinks for you to notice the man in the room. The pungent irony smell grabs your attention before Scaramouche’s bloody appearance.

You know for a fact that the blood isn’t his.

“W-What’s wrong?” You try to keep your voice quiet and level, seeing that he is as active as an open minefield. Navigating Scaramouche in such an angered state is the most dangerous thing you have ever done.

“I’m fine.” He replies, eerily calm but the slight twitch in his eye gives his unhinged state away. “You should be asking your little boyfriend what is wrong,” The way he spits out the word boyfriend, lacing the world with venom, makes you flinch.

“My boyfriend?” You parrot back, tilting your head slightly in confusion. The way you feign innocence is enough to push Scaramouche over the edge as he grabs your wrists tightly in his hands.

“Your beloved guard, you filthy whore,” He grins at the thought of the man now being thrown into a prison where he will never see the light of day. His initial plan to kill the other man was stuffed deep into his draw when he thought about how he could make him suffer every single day, death would be too kind.

Your eyes widen in realization, heart dropping at his threat.

“What did you do to Ivano?” You make the mistake to glare up at him, anger now fueling your entire body. “Whatever you think you know, it’s wrong.”

His hand lets go of your wrists, rising high and you’re sure that he is going to slap you until his hands fist in your hair and he presses his face mere inches away from yours.

“I know that you’re a slut, a whore, unloyal to me and this marriage.” The loud boom of his voice only serves to make you angrier and you kick your limbs to try to get him off of you. If you had been in a clearer state of mind then perhaps you would have seen the tears in his lashline or the way his body was shaking with betrayal.

“Are you implying that I have cheated on you? I have done no such thing!” You yell back into his face, hands now roughly pushing at his shoulders.

“Don’t lie to me,"

“You believe that I cheated on you with Ivano?! The one who is married to Tonia, my friend? You’re a fucking fool!”

Scaramouche doesn’t listen to your reasons, he refuses to as he pushes your thighs widely apart and settles in between your legs.

“Your pathetic words mean nothing to me. I will teach you to be loyal, I’ll fuck it into your brain until it is the only thing you know. You will enjoy this.”

Scaramouche’s anger is something you’ve always been able to handle well. At times when he explodes in his expressive manner, you’re there to help ground him. Never before have you been the target of his anger, a mere pinpoint for him to release all of his frustrations on.

He never gets angry with you, not like this.

Even in your frozen state with your fear-clouded mind, you can still feel how his hands tremble with uncertainty. Each time the Harbinger had touched you before in the past, he did it with no regard for your wellbeing. He took and took until he was tired, ripping clothes and holding you down with his sheer strength. This time, your softest of movements cause him to falter in his steps.

“You love me. Say that you love me.” His eerily leveled voice is hinted with desperation, clipping the ends of his words as he stares expectedly at you. Scaramouche waits for your answer while gripping your thighs painfully tight, pushing the muscles apart. “Tell me!” His voice roars throughout the empty room, bouncing off the walls and causing the room to shake. He needs to hear it, has to hear it.

“I know that you love me, unloyal whore.” Scaramouche murmurs this more to himself as his voice drops to a more quiet tone, now to a whisper. “You love me, love me, love me,” His chest rises and falls with each breath, the sound of his erratic breathing is the only noises being produced in the room.

There’s not a single noise outside because all of the guards are down. Each one is beaten and lying on the floor against the wall from where the Harbinger threw them. You’re all alone with him.

The more Scaramouche touches you, the more you start to squirm. You ache and kick your legs as he begins to kiss your neck but your strength is nothing compared to his (even when weakened). He pins your wrists to your sides and continues his ministrations, thin lips creating harsh marks on your skin. His touch is bruising and nothing about this is delicate.

“Dear, please listen,” You try to explain yourself, you swallow your pity and bite your tongue to avoid telling him off but the Harbinger ignores you. It seems that no amount of pet names or your kindness can get through to him just yet. He growls and nips at your skin in an effort to get you to shut up. “you must understand, I was merely helping Ivano-”

“I know exactly what you were doing with him, you were spreading your legs and letting him dirty you up.” Scaramouche pulls away to glare down at you, grimacing at his own words. It’s almost as if your touch has started to burn him with how he winces under each flex of your limbs. “None of that matters now, it will be fine.”

There’s no attempt for you to grasp the situation as it slips between your fingers, there is nothing you can do to try and fix this. He doesn’t let you even as he is falling apart.

You know everything about him is off despite how hard Scaramouche is trying to appear normal. It is seen in the way his lips press together to avoid trembling, and how his eyes nearly shake under the stress of the weight he is feeling. Never did you imagine that you could affect him like this.

You’re causing him to break.

“I know what to do,” Scaramouche’s chest rises and falls with each heavy breath, he’s almost panting as he moves to settle between your legs. The wave of your betrayal drowns him the more he touches you and Scaramouche tries to remind himself that fucking you is nothing new. He struggles to remove your panties and fumbles with the material against his thins fingertips. His eyes dart between your underwear and the sheets, he looks everywhere but your face.

“Nothing happened between me and-” You want to clear this up, you have to clear this miscommunication. Scaramouche has other plans and digs his nails so harshly into your thighs that the crescent shape will be left there for days, bruised and bloody.

“Say his name again and I will bite your tongue off.” He doesn’t look at you when he utters his threat, instead, he keeps his eyes low and his vision hidden behind his lashes. “Stay still and quiet, whore.”

Listening to exactly as he demands would be a lot easier if his voice wasn’t so weak and if his conviction wasn’t so frail.

Scaramouche fists your panties within his hand and tears the material off of your body, letting it snap against your skin to finally get rid of it. The more he forces himself, the harder it becomes for him. At the sight of you splayed out for him, at his mercy, bottom bare and (unwillingly) submissive to his touch, Scaramouche finally begins to tremble all over.

His shoulders shake with his overwhelming nerves and his eyes drop to the sheets, darting all over the place except for you and your body.

“I hate you,” He murmurs weakly. Slowly, he presses his forehead to the sheets on the other side of your thigh, his hands fist tightly as he pounds them against the bed. “I HATE YOU.” The anger from before has come back stronger than ever as he moves in a flash to hover over top of you again. His finger is pressed into your chest, accusing you of your infidelities as he screams in your face. “You’ve ruined me.”

Despite your current dislike for the man, despite all the insults he has thrown in your face and all the harm he has inflicted on you, you have no choice but to hold him together. You don’t want to hate him.

You gently wrap your arms around his shoulders and hug the sixth Harbinger. Scaramouche tries to fight you, he thrashes under your touch but ultimately gives in and falls into your chest.

He doesn’t deserve your kindness, he doesn’t deserve your pity but, you can’t help but give it to him. There is a part of you that wants to ease his hurt, to soothe his ache even if he doesn’t deserve it.

“I took an oath on our wedding day,” You quietly tell him and softly run your fingers along his shaking back. “to be honest and faithful to you for the rest of my days.” Scaramouche’s fingers twitch against your bicep, bluntly digging into your arm as he awaits your next words. “I wouldn’t do this to you, no matter how much you must want me to.”

Scaramouche pushes against you again, this time placing his palms flat against either side of your head before moving to look you in the eyes.

“Why would I want something like that?” He snarls at you, lips curling in anger but you can see the red tinting his eyes and the streaks on his cheeks. “You’re an idiot, a good for nothing partner who can’t stay loyal to me.” You gingerly lift your hand to his face to cup his cheek.

“Why would I cheat on you?” Your calm voice makes his eyes widen and the honesty in your eyes slowly puts his broken heart back together. “Tonia’s birthday was two days ago, my dear. As her friend, I helped pick out a gift.” There is a method to your words and how you purposely avoided the guard’s name so as to not upset your husband any further.

Scaramouche’s face transforms from anger to something of disbelief, it’s as if he’s grimacing with the way his face scrunches together. He dips his head and allows his hair to cover his face entirely.

“Is that all?” He whispers and waits for your reply. Scaramouche presses his lips together to stop himself from trying to poke holes in your excuse because, for once, he wants to believe you. The Harbinger waits and pretends that your answer won’t have a catastrophic effect on the rest of his life.

“It is true.” You quietly murmur back as your thumb starts to stroke his cheekbone. The tenderness of the action causes your husband to freeze above you, eyes widening in shock at how gentle you are being with him. He watches as your face morphs from that of tenderness to a frown. The purse of your lips makes his breath hitch. “Do you really hate me?”

It’s Scaramouche’s turn to frown now. He mulls over his words, eyes staring holes into your sheets as he thinks and thinks.

He hates how weak you make him.

He hates how dependent he is on you.

He hates your stupid smile and your explosive hair and your pathetic laughter.

He hates how much he loves you.

His hands find your hips again and gently squeeze against your sides. Scaramouche is a prideful figure and he’s not sure he could ever confess his love to you verbally after the embarrassing hurt he just suffered (at the fault of his own hand). But, he can show you.

“After this, you’ll never ask such a ridiculous question ever again.”

The two of you will be alright, you’re sure, as alright as you could ever be.

taglist - @ilumination @etherisy @eliciana @lumid0rk

#Scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #genshin angst #scaramouche angst #yandere scaramouche #if you wanted smut im sorry but I cant write n0ncon

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the-broken-pen · 5 months

Text

“We absolutely should not be doing this,” the hero whispered, but there wasn’t any heat to it. The other end of the line rustled as the villain laughed.

“There are a lot of things we shouldn’t be doing. Namely, I shouldn’t commit felonies, you shouldn’t talk to a felon…” their friend trailed off.

This time, the hero was the one who laughed. Outside, a bird began to chirp with the sunrise, and the villain sighed.

“Time distance.”

“Time distance,” the hero agreed, and by god if the miles weren’t a wound in itself.

“You should sleep,” the villain murmured. The hero hummed.

“Probably, yeah.”

Neither of them hung up.

“If I promise to call tomorrow, will you go to bed, please? For me?”

The hero sniffed, eyes heavy as the sun peeked through their blinds.

“Promise?”

“Pinkie.”

The hero slumped backwards. “I won’t hang up though.”

The villain laughed, softly, with an affection the hero didn’t want to think about.

“I’ll do the heavy lifting, once again,” but the hero knew they smiled as they said. The line clicked off.

—————————

“Hey, Sunshine. Committing nefarious acts of kindness and good deeds, I take it?”

“Hey,” the hero was breathless, hand pressed against their side. It came back bloody.

Any humor dropped from the villain’s voice in an instant.

“You’re hurt.”

The hero managed a pathetic laugh, flinching.

“Just a little.”

“It doesn’t sound like a little.”

The hero eyed their wound, swallowing.

“Absolutely just a little.”

“It’s a good thing you’re the kid of a hero, because love, you absolutely suck at lying.”

The hero tried to pretend something didn’t warm in their stomach at the endearment.

“I have…bandages. And antiseptic. And some good old natural dirt to rub into it if all else fails.”

The villain sighed on the other end of the line, and the hero knew they were rubbing their brow. For some reason, despite the pain, it made the hero grin.

“I’m fine,” they promised, and when the villain stayed silent, they said it again. “I’m fine.”

“If you die I’ll be mad at you.”

“Fairly certain that is the wrong sentiment for a villain to have towards a hero—“

“Has the bleeding stopped?”

The hero slapped some tape around the edge of the gauze, blood still dried around the edges.

“Yes.”

The relief was palpable.

“Good. Go to bed.”

“You’ll call again?”

“Promise.”

The hero smiled.

“Pinkie.”

The villain hung up.

—————————

“You wouldn’t happen to have a flamethrower I could borrow, do you?”

The hero blinked, holding the phone away from their face for a moment.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, don’t be, I just need one,” the villain snorted, and a loud crash sounded in the background.

“What on earth are you doing?” Concern rolled in the hero’s gut. The villain laughed.

“You’re going to want plausible deniability sunshine.”

“Right,” they paused. “But why a flamethrower?”

“It has flames, it throws them, what else could I ask for in an object?”

“I can throw flames.” Even though the villain couldn’t see it, the hero let a spark flicker on their finger tips.

“And again,” the villain’s voice lowered. “What more could I ask for?”

The hero didn’t have a response to that, but the villain somehow, like they always did, knew that.

“Any bruises I should know about?”

“And what would you do about them? You live on the other side of the country,” the hero teased.

“I can steal a fighter jet in less than half an hour.”

The hero blinked at the seriousness in the villain’s tone. They laughed, nervously.

“Please don’t do that.”

The villain sighed. “You ruin my fun.”

“I haven’t arrested you, so I think that should get me brownie points.”

“You live on the other side of the country,” the villain parroted.

“I could get there faster than a fighter jet,” the hero said. The villain snorted again.

“Will you—“

“Call again? Pinkie.”

The hero smiled. “Promise.”

The villain hung up.

—————————

The hero picked up the phone on the third ring, smiling.

“Hey trouble maker, what’s—”

All they got in response was a pained wheeze.

“Villain,” the hero said, gut plummeting. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” the villain bit out, breath short. “I’m okay.”

“You don’t sound okay.”

The villain gave something that was either a laugh or a sob.

“Mhm.”

“What’s going on,” their voice broke, and the villain fell silent.

“It’s going to be okay,” they murmured. And the hero knew.

Innately, in a painful, wretched way, they knew.

“My dad is there.”

Their dad, the superhero. Their dad, who had forbidden them from ever speaking.

Their dad, who wanted the villain, their villain, dead.

The villain made a quiet noise of ascent.

“I’m coming—”

“You won’t make it.”

The hero stilled.

“How bad is it?” Their hands were shaking. They couldn’t find their suit, why couldn’t they find their suit—

“Too fast for a fighter jet,” the villain tried, voice too light and wet with tears.

The hero slammed a drawer closer, throwing open the door to the basement, searching for something, anything.

“I can be faster,” they grit out, breathless. Their chest hurt.

“Not that fast.”

“Please,” the hero sobbed, and on the other end of the line, the villain did too.

“Don’t do this to me.”

“I don’t want to,” the villain swore. They coughed, and it was a deathly thing.

Something slammed in the background on the end of the line, and the hero’s fingers clenched around the phone.

“What was that?”

The villain let out a pained whine, phone crackling as they shifted away, before their voice came over the speaker again.

“I’ll call again tomorrow.”

The hero’s face was wet.

“Promise?”

The villain let out a small sob, but they still sounded like they were smiling, soft with affection.

“Pinkie.”

The hero didn’t mean to say what came next.

“I love you.”

The villain didn’t even pause, breath hitching. “I love you too.”

The line crackled.

“Sunshine, I need you to do something for me now,” the villain rasped, voice choked with pain and tears and love and fear. “I need you to hang up.”

The hero forgot how to breathe.

“No—”

“Please,” the villain took a sharp breath through their nose, and it sounded painful. “Just this once. I can’t do it this time.”

“Villain,” the hero began, but the villain cut them off as something crashed in the background once more.

It sounded like a building falling.

It sounded like the hero breaking, too.

“Sunshine,” the villain pleaded. “Just once. I’ll-I’ll call you back. I swear.”

They could both taste the lie.

The hero sniffed.

The villain sobbed.

And for the first time, the hero hung up.

The villain never called them back.

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tamamita · 7 months

Note

What do you think is broken in the liberal mindset to see this devastation happening and even their weakest boot-licking criticisms of Israel must be laced with "BUT HAMAS IS ALSO JUST AS BAD" platitudes?

The means to which to end the occupation. Rather than offering anything of significance, they're more concerned about moralizing the issue within an ahistorical and decontextualized framework. Rather than to understand the catalyst behind the occupation and the oppression of the Palestine, the liberal is too naive and busy pearl clutching. It's frustrating, because they're simply parroting each other, handwringing at the concept of settler innocence, rather than to consider 75 years of bloody occupation and ethnic cleansing. Liberals and global northers, with all the privileges and benefits in the imperial core, think they know what's best for the Palestinians and assume a patronizing and dehumanizing language, continuously chastising violent resistance when violent resistance is a conclusive response to occupation and settler colonialism.

They're useless, they do nothing to help the situation. Violent resistance is reactionary and historical and the means to which to end occupation and apartheid. Moralizing the issue behind the line of settler innocence does nothing to address the actual issue. People will die, that's true, but there's nothing that can be done about it in the context of colonization! The amount of pearl clutching I've seen from these people have done nothing to improve the situation. This isn't about who's good or bad, this is about who is occupied and who is the occupier. Radicalization is a natural phenomena in which people are subjected to under the duress of oppression and occupation.

The lib constantly attempts to rationalize peaceful resistance, which never works, it's been tried and it fell (see Great March of Return). Violent occupations must be met with violent resistance. Why? Because violent resistance have worked in the past and is showing us that it still does: Israel is weak, their army is a bunch of paper tigers, they couldn't stop a bunch of militias from overrunning the place, the world won't stand by as people are being murdered, there is no safety in Israel, whether you are Jewish or non-Jewish, as shown by recent surverys. Israel have continuously shown its true colors by being a genocidal state, concerned with the extermination of the Palestinian people, the world knows this and are gradually severing their ties with the settler entity. Israel is at a loss here, it got enemies everywhere.

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crownedghostprince · 8 months

Text

Two Queens on a Chessboard (Descendants) pt 1

Evie x Female!Reader.

Fandom: Descendants.

(Y/N) is the daughter of Snow White. She’s been attending Auradon High for a little while now and Prince Ben, (the future King of Auradon) just declared he’ll be bringing over four VKs (Villain Kids) to help them choose their own destinies and not what their parents want for them. (Y/N) loves all things girly, cute, pink and fun...but she didn’t know “all things girly” included liking girls themselves.

Requests: Closed. Requested: no.

Warning(s): None, this is just a cute, gay romantic and fluffy story.

Note: In this Evie is not at all related to Snow White or anything, as in this Timeline the Evil Queen did not marry Snow White’s father. Instead, she attempted to date her father and when he died he left a will claiming her to be trustworthy of everything he possessed until his daughter (Snow White) was of age to inherit it all (18) and that’s how the story goes in this world.

I hope that’s not confusing and enjoy!

Word Count: 2,700+ (roughly)

[First Person Perspective]

(This incredible picture of Evie belongs to ‘lilicohirukoma’ on Tumblr. Check her out, she has some fun relogs and other posts!)

I carefully observed as birds glided effortlessly across the sky, flapping their wings against the warm sun. The sunlight drifted through my open window, lighting up my sketchbooks and coloured pencils. I did my best to keep the wind from blowing my reference pictures off my desk as I drew the parrots above to the best of my ability. Their coloured feathers that lit up the world as they passed it by were my favourite thing about them. I was supposed to be getting dressed for the day, or at least doing something more productive, but I felt too at peace to move.

It took my mother knocking at my door to get me away from my desk to let her in. Her pale skin came into view as the door swung open. I reluctantly met her brown eyes as she spoke, clearly upset, “(Y/N) you should be dressed already! I don’t care for these Villain Kids, or whatever Prince Ben is planning with them, but I’ll be damned if I let you leave the house not looking like royalty. I swear, sometimes you forget you’re my daughter.” She scolded, entering my room and shutting the door behind us so she could dress me in the outfit I chose. “Look at this! It’s so pink the pink tax could charge you twice for it!”

“Very funny, mother.” I rolled my eyes and started to undress, letting her pull the pink dress over my head as she continued to comment on it. While we were both distracted a couple of the parrots from earlier flew to the windowsill and watched.

“There’s so many frills I can’t see the bloody hem! Do you think they added enough sparkles? I swear this dress has more sparkles than the Fairy Godmother’s magic spells.”

“I think it’s a charming dress.”

“Charming? Charming would be blinded by this dress’ glow!” She scoffed, continuing to do up the corset and back bow. The dress I chose to meet the Villain Kids in was a cute 1950s, Rock ‘n’ Roll inspired dress with the skirt reaching my knees with lots of frills, a bow in the back and lots of sparkles. The top part of the dress was shaped with a scoop neckline and a simpler design aside from the corset so the skirt could catch people’s eyes first. The skirt was the main focus of the dress and the top simply blended quite nicely.

I had chosen matching pink high heels, my nails were done with an almond shape in a very light pink colour. Imagine white but with a tinge of pink, that’s the colour. I was in love with the outfit and I even did my hair in a cute 1950s curly side bun hairstyle with a cute pink bow in my hair. Can you tell I love pink? I chose silver jewelry to match, a simple necklace and bracelet and some studded earrings.

But back to the present moment, my mother had finished doing up my corset and my outfit was finished with the added jewelry that she helped me put on. She looked me up and down and shook her head. “How did we go from my blue and yellow to your blinding pink?” She sighed, putting her hand to her cheek as she tilted her head. She doesn’t like pink all that much, she says only Aurora and her child, Audrey, should dress in pink as it’s ‘their colours’.

“Mother, you know I’m not a big fan of yellow. Besides, I do wear blue! I was just in a pink mood today.” I explained even though we’ve had this conversation many times.

“I know, darling. I just sometimes wonder who you get your personality from. You don’t really act like your father or I at all.” She stated completely ignoring that fact that I do many things she did at 17 years of age. I guess she just blocked out those memories like most parents.

“Well, sometimes a little sugar needs some spice.” I simply replied by saying our phrase. She was always considered the sweetest princess and queen, which she was, and when I grew up to be quite more lively and sassy I was nicknamed her ‘spice’.

“Well, Little Miss Spice better grab her purse and leave for school if she wants to meet those Villain Kids so badly.” She smiled. I returned her smile and we both turned to my desk where my pink purse was and we noticed our audience. The two parrots from earlier were there, but a squirrel, a bluebird and a doe had joined the window, watching with interest.

Like my mother, I naturally attracted animals and got along wonderfully with them. But sometimes it was a bit unnerving to realize you’re never truly alone when you live right near the forest. Oh, right, we live on the edge of Auradon, just outside a magnificent forest filled with many creatures - magical and non-magical - in a cozy castle. It was more a mansion styled as a castle, but the comment stands.

“I’ll, uhm, be on my way then.” I cleared my throat and grabbed my purse, giving the animals all a pet before turning back to my mother. She sighed and gave me a quick hug, being careful not to smudge my makeup and eyeliner.

“Just promise me you’ll be safe and you won’t get too close to any of those children.” She looked at me sternly. Although it would be more intimidating if she wasn’t slightly shorter than me.

“I promise, mother.” I smiled and kissed her forehead before jogging out the door and waving, “Bye!! I’ll see you tonight!” I skipped down the halls and a couple of the house mice joined me before running from our cat, Sherlock.

♡ ~~~~~~ ♡

Finally, I arrived via limo to Auradon High. Kids my age had already started gathering and the band was practicing before the kids arrived. I stepped out, “Thank-you, Mister Desmond!”

“Have a lovely day at school, Miss White.” He waved with his soft smile.

“I will! Goodbye!” I closed the door and skipped up to my two best friends: Jane and Elin. Jane was the daughter of the Fairy Godmother and Elin was the daughter of Elsa. Elin has ice powers like her mother, except her powers are smaller in scale and easier for her to control. Well that’s what she told me, but I’ll never know for sure. “Hey, Elin! Hey, Jane!” I called, finally skipping up to them.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” They both greeted - Jane a little more nervous than Elin.

“Are you excited to meet the VKs?” Elin asked excitedly. Her soft blue eyes lit up as she smiled and finished braiding her white hair. It was pretty long so it took her some time but it was always so worth it. She was almost as good as Rapunzel’s daughter when it came to braiding hair.

“I’m really excited to meet them! I really hope they don’t cause us any trouble...I feel like they’ll be really cool to befriend!” I answered, bouncing up and down a little.

“I’m not thrilled. I hope they leave as quickly as they come.” Jane gulped, nervously picking at her fingernails - an anxious habit she’d had for a while now. I took her hands and squeezed them slightly.

“Don’t worry I’m sure they won’t bother us much. They’ll probably think we’re all too prissy and princess-y to be worth bothering.” I reassured her. She smiled slightly but still looked worried.

“I’m more concerned about my mother forcing me to meet them and be near them more than I would like...” She whispered uncertainly. We both looked over at her mother who stood beside Prince Ben and his girlfriend Audrey at the front of the gathering, just in front of the band. My mouth formed an ‘O’ shape as I realized what she meant.

Her mother was always so extroverted and confident and Jane was the total opposite, being more on the shy and reserved side. “I’m sure she’ll take it easy on you, vennen.” (Darling) Elin reassured her in her thick Norwegian accent, placing her hands on Jane’s shoulders and giving her a little playful shake which elicited a little giggle from Jane. “Besides, if you stick with us, we’ll protect you from them!” Elin grinned and gave the air a couple fake punches to prove her point.

“Yeah! And I’ll wear so much pink it would make any Villain gag from 30 meters away!” I laughed and Jane cracked a smile. Before any of us could joke around any more a hush fell over the group as Fairy Godmother clapped her hands three times like a primary school teacher and then shouted orders.

“Everyone hush!! Listening ears and smiling faces on! They’re coming down now! Look bright and lively everybody! Here we go!!” She cheered and we all did our best to match her over bubbly personality. Jane passed Elin and I some small flags made for occasions like this. We excitedly waved them in the air as everyone cheered and the band started up once again. It wasn’t the best welcome song, but it was pretty impressive considering they’d only had a week until now to practice.

The limo pulled up and the chauffeur opened the door. We watched two boys tumble out, hushing us all with their arguing and battle for some piece of cloth. Eventually a purple-haired woman stepped out and then followed a gorgeous blue-haired woman. Her outfit, her hair, her smile - she was absolutely adorable. I couldn’t stop staring and Elin had to physically close my dropped jaw with her hand.

Elin chuckled and gave me a discreet thumbs up, having hinted at me being bisexual in the past. But...I always denied it. I blushed and avoided eye-contact, my eyes slowly drifting back to the gorgeous girl rocking a stunning blue outfit and looking like she was a princess straight out of a fairy tale book. I was especially in awe of her style. She clearly had a good sense of fashion and she held her head high with confidence as she walked.

Her dress was a strange, but gorgeous, mix of leather with a blue jeans-inspired design and something similar to what the ‘Evil Queen’ from my mother’s past would wear. She had a cute headband that matched and her whole outfit looked handmade, down to every seam. She wore a contrasting red apple necklace; black, finger-less gloves and matching black and white tights. Finally, I noticed how her hair was slightly curled, a bit like mine currently was, but her hair was fully let down and swayed in the gentle breeze. She seemed ecstatic to be here and looked at everything like a small child seeing their biggest wish come true.

Elin snapped me out of my daze once again and we all watched as Fairy Godmother greeted them with her usual happy-go-lucky, primary school teacher attitude and then she introduced Prince Ben and Princess Audrey. Prince Ben made sure to greet them all individually by shaking their hands and welcoming them, pausing a bit on the purple-haired woman and then continuing on afterwards. I couldn’t see Audrey’s face but ever since her betrothal to Prince Ben I assumed she was pissed he wasn’t giving her all his attention.

Although that sounds ridiculous, I know Audrey very well. She’s a very arrogant, ignorant woman who loves power and fame and money. She cares little for other people, especially those actually in need of aid. I remember watching once as she offered no food to a begging woman. I made sure to buy some extra bread and cheese for the lady. It wasn’t much, but she was thankful and that made me smile. But for Audrey to pass her by without even acknowledging her? Horrible.

We watched as Fairy Godmother wrapped it up and finished talking with everyone. Prince Ben and Princess Audrey began leading them to the school, giving them a bit of a tour and talking about the history whilst everyone else in the area scattered and cleaned up any confetti. I caught eyes with the beautiful blue-haired woman and we both paused for a second. Even from a distance I could tell she was the daughter of The Evil Queen and she could probably tell I was Snow White’s daughter. I felt my cheeks heat up and all I could do was smile, curtsy and wink and then quickly catch up with my friends.

♡ ~~~~~~ ♡

“Pleaseee that was so embarrassingggg!!!” I whined into Elin’s pillow. Elin laughed in amusement from her office chair. Elin was staying in a dorm room with Jane at the school as she travelled very far to attend and Jane stayed in the dorm room because she hated travelling such a long distance to school every day.

“I’m sure she found it cute, vennen min.” (My friend) Elin shook her head as she spoke. I looked up from the pillow more and stared pointedly.

“I assure you she probably did not, liebling.” (Darling) I tossed the pillow back onto her bed before standing up from the floor. I brushed my clothing off and checked how I looked in Jane’s vanity mirror.

“How do you know? You don’t! In fact...there’s only one way of truly knowing.” Elin grinned. I watched her from the mirror as I fixed up my makeup before deciding to ask the dreaded question.

“And...how would I go about finding that out?” I turned around and Elin stood up excitedly.

“At school tomorrow,” She grabbed my shoulders, “Introduce yourself and get to know her.”

“I--...I mean you’re not wrong, but...how would I even go about approaching her?”

“Well if you see you share a class, greet her then! Maybe when you’re both leaving and also see what other classes you share!”

“Elin, mausebär. (Mouse) That’s incredible thinking! You’re absolutely right! I can just meet her at classes and then move from there!” Elin and I giddily did a little dance on the spot.

“That’s the spirit!! Overcome your fears!” She cheered, her soft blue eyes sparkling with delight. She began tossing little snowflakes above us like confetti. “Jippi!” (Yay) She cheered.

We spent the rest of our time together with Jane, enjoying our lunches, joking and dancing around and doing each others hair whilst watching some movies like ‘The Devil Wears Prada’ and ‘Gentlemen Prefer Blondes’. We had a lot of fun like we originally planned. This day spent together and movie night is how we usually spend our last day before school. My mother’s fine with me staying out until midnight, so I was able to do that again.

I tiredly said my goodbyes to Elin and Jane, hugging them both before I followed Fairy Godmother to the front door of the school. We talked quietly, careful of the sleeping students. “I’m glad you and Elin are friends with Jane.” She smiled softly, looking up at the moon as we waited for Mister Desmond to arrive. “She’s so shy and closed off. I still remember the day she came home from middle school, ecstatic and talking fast. She was so happy to have friends she didn’t say a single word correctly.”

I grinned, remembering how I first met Jane by walking into a wall right in front of her and balling my eyes out immediately at the slightest drop of blood that was created by the impact. She’d always been such a kind person. She leapt straight into making sure I was okay, screaming for Elin to help us both when poor Elin herself was lost. Luckily our gym teacher was nearby and helped us get to the nurse’s office where we all sat crying and apologizing.

It was a silly way to meet, but I wouldn’t change it for anything else in the world. I was so distracted talking to Fairy Godmother and thinking back on my childhood days with Elin and Jane, I completed missed the four students hiding in a bush just outside the school - waiting for us to leave so they could sneak back inside. When I finally spoke up to Fairy Godmother about how we met, as Jane never coherently told her mother, I also missed Evie’s soft smile as she pictured the scenario I was describing.

It was a perfect night and a perfect start to a new school year...and a future relationship.

♡ ~~~~~~ ♡

(Part 2 coming soon!)

#evie daughter of the evil queen #descendants x reader #descendants #romance #girly reader #evie x reader

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