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silassinclair · 23 days

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Yandere Ghost x Reader

CW// NSFW (MINORS DNI WITH PART OF THIS POST), Dub-Con, Obsessive Behavior, Masturbation, Stalking, Mentions of Murder, Religion, Somnophilia

Introduction here for more context

Masterlist

When you spoke to Dante for the first time he felt more alive than when he was living.

You could see him. For the first time in centuries someone could see him. He could finally interact with somebody.

“Y-You can see me?”

He could never let you go now. No… this must be fate. God brought you to him! The Lord denied him access to the heavens and sent you instead!

Well, now you have a ghost following you around your own home 24/7. Tell him to leave you alone and he’ll just whine and beg for you to let him be in the same vicinity as you.

“Dante please leave me alone. I’m trying to write.”

“Amore mio, my love, please let me stay. I promise I won’t disturb you. Just let me be in your presence.”

The perks of being a ghost means Dante can choose whether to phase through objects or touch them.

Meaning he can touch you.

You’re so warm. It’s been so long since he’s felt such warmth. You’re the sun in his new life. Yes, he sees his death as life now thanks to you.

“Dante your hands are freezing!”

“I’m sorry dearest but I can’t control it. I’m a ghost after all.”

“Could you maybe not touch me then while I’m trying to work then?”

“:,(“

He’s madly in love with you, obsessed with you, and would die again for you. He prays that you feel the same way for him. But you’re just so dense towards his advancements!

“I would die a thousand deaths for you amore.”

“Please don’t do that, dying once should be enough for you.”

He cannot blame you though, no no you’re a doll! Absolutely adorable. Nothing is ever his amore’s fault.

Dante blames himself. When he was alive he could have any woman he wanted. But that was when he could show his gorgeous face. Now, he has a Venetian mask permanently attached to his face because it was what he last wore when he died during the party. If only he could take it off and show you how flawless he is.

“Dante, why do you wear that mask?”

“It was what I wore when I died, along with what I am wearing now. I… cannot take any of it off.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know mi amor but I wish I could show you my face.”

“Are you handsome?”

“Oh I’m absolutely ravishing. You’d fall in love with me immediately.”

Physical affection is his love language and not being able to kiss you is as painful as dying to him.

Your lips are so soft and it breaks his heart being unable to feel them on his.

So instead he’ll trace the lips of his porcelain mask along your neck while you sleep. He’ll touch your body while you’re vulnerable and asleep.

“I wish I could feel you… I want all of you.”

You notice some of your things start to go missing. Your bat necklace, blood red lingerie, and even a pair of your panties. It was weird. It wasn’t like you traveled and lost your things, you were always home after all.

The only room you cannot access is the attic. Dante says that it’s his private area so you respect his privacy. This was his home originally after all.

But you have no clue that he has put together a shrine dedicated to you in the attic. All of your missing things are in their respective spots in the shrine built in your name.

“If I pray hard enough will you give yourself to me as I have given myself to you?”

He’s a religious man. He believes in God and was raised Catholic. Dante prays every night, begging the lord for you to love him back.

Dante can’t stand it when you leave the manor!

He makes up many excuses for you to stay. He needs you! You’re his life! Yes you work from home and are home 90% of the time but he can’t stand seeing you go even for a second!

“Amore mio please don’t go! You have everything you need here. You still have milk in the refrigerator.”

“But I’m running out of eggs..”

“That is no problem my dear. There are many recipes you can make without eggs. I have my Mother’s cookbook somewhere. How about we try and make something together?”

“Oh that sounds cool.”

Adores your aloof personality. You don’t mind it when he cuddles you at all! Plus your smiles are rare so it makes him all the more merrier when he sees you smile. He thinks of your smile like a shooting star. Rare and more beautiful than any other star in the sky.

But he does wonder where your attitude came from. You don’t like to talk about your life before you came to the manor. The ghost wanted to know if there were any previous suitors. He has tried to pry once but you became angry. He never pried again.

“What was your life like before you came here? Any… special someones?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it Dante..”

“So was there someone?”

“Just be quiet about it already! Stop being so damn nosy and mind your own business!”

Cried for the rest of the day after that. He hates seeing you anything other than your neutral or happy self.

His green eyes glisten with tears when you apologize to him. They peer at you from the dark holes of his mask.

“Sorry I snapped at you… Who I was with in my past is a sensitive subject and I don’t like talking about him.”

“Was he a bad man? Did he hurt you amore?”

“Badly…”

He wants to kill him. As soon as he heard you say that one word he had the bloodthirsty urge to kill. It’s a sin but… but whatever. It’s for you.

Anything for you.

NSFW ONWARD, MINORS DO NOT TRESSPASS

Can’t resist you any longer. But… He doesn’t want to scare you off.

Dante wants to fuck you so badly. He’d treat you so so right! He already kisses the ground you walk on.

But he’s afraid of rejection. If you leave then it’s over. Once you’re off The Verona Manor property he cannot chase after you.

Dante may be a depraved animal for you but he’s still a gentleman. He wants you to fall in love with him as all couples in love do.

But you’re taking too long. Would you be mad if he just so happened to slip into you in your sleep? Your s/c thighs are so tempting in those lewd little shorts that hide little to nothing.

“J-Just the tip… Just a little bit.”

Slides your shorts down slowly. He watches your expression carefully, green eyes gaze piercingly at your resting face. If you just so much as whimper he’ll freeze and continue once you’re relaxed again.

Once your shorts are down to your knees he practically drools at the sight of your lace panties.

“Amore mio, did you wear these just for me? You knew I’d do this huh? Such a vixen you are.”

Massages your clothed clit with his leather bound gloved fingertips. Rubs soothing circles into you that make you squirm where you lay helplessly.

Stares at your dripping cunny like a desperate, thirsty animal who has found an oasis in a desert. He wants to lick up your slick so badly. But that damned mask is in his way.

His fingers will have to do.

Your pussy flutters around his fingers as he gently eases your hole. He doesn’t want you waking up with his dick in you after all. He needs you to get used to the feeling. You haven’t had sex in so long, you may was well be a virgin!

Dante’s dick leaks pre at the thought of taking your virginity. He knows you aren’t, you have had past partners. But he wants to imagine.

Just for tonight.

He tugs his pants down, his erect cock slaps against his tummy. The tip is red and angry, begging to be put into your sweet little cunt.

“A-Ah~ Mmggph… W-Wish you were awake s-so I could hear your pretty little moans~ I know they would sound so pretty from your lips m-mi amor-“

Whispers dirty little things into the night as he fucks your tight little hole slowly and gently.

Even when asleep you’re dripping wet for him. Your unconscious arousal turns Dante on like a light switch. But he has to maintain control.

Just the tip after all.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #obsession #dante verona #yandere ghost #yandere ghost x reader

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oopspeter · 7 months

Text

We'll never have sex

SUMMARY: Returning from a year long mission should be a relief, but the terrors from those hard months have followed you back home. Struggling to find comfort in your old ways, a certain co-worker introduces you to his own salvation-- distraction.

WARNINGS: 16+ rating for mature themes, blood, allusions to torture, foul language, minor to medium injury descriptions, weapons and violence.

WC: 3.6K

NOTES: First fic! Please let me know what you think-- it hasn't been proofread very well.

"Are you taller than the last time I saw you?" You tease, in awe of his largely built physique.

"I guess everything finally loosened after being off of the ice for so long," Bucky says rather non-chalant.

"Has the giant stick finally fallen out of your ass then?" You quip with a cheeky grin.

"Never," he shakes his head with an equally matched smile.

"And decided to evolve from that 'lord and saviour' haircut?" You motion to his new trim.

"I've decided that look only suits the holiest of men, which of course I don't qualify for," he instinctively runs his fingers through the chopped locks.

The sound of a heavy heel echoes on the polished concrete, a grand entrance for the one and only Tony Stark.

"Hermit and the recluse!" His hands spread out like an awful gesture of welcome.

"I thought you were too old for modern hip-hop references, Anthony," you push your lips into a thin line, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

"Puh-lease, as if gramps here even knows what I'm yapping about," Tony points his thumb over his shoulder at Bucky as he walks past.

Even though he was totally right, Bucky also refrained from producing any sort of a reaction.

"Here to spread anything useful or are you just trying to be a dick?" Your current distaste for the playboy was evident in your tone, but it was nothing new. Deep down inside you did feel a sense of protectiveness towards him, as did he to you.

Opening the large, stainless steel refrigerator that looked like it could hold at least six months worth of food at a single time, he snatched a bottle of lemon water before slamming the door shut again.

"Since you're back, Banner wants to do a few procedural run throughs just to check up on your health," he flicks the cap off of the bottle which goes flying into the bin. "Oh, and the Star Spangled Banner would like to see you as well-- not the Bruce Banner, but the Star Spangled one."

"You can just say Steve, you know that right?" You squint at him as he daintily sips from the mouthpiece of the bottle.

"Just proving my vocabulary has extended further than the most generic white-man name in America," he shrugs coolly, and you kinda' wanna punch him in his smug face.

The ex-soldier stands as still as stone beside you during your exchange with Tony, if you couldn't see the gentle rise and fall of his chest you'd think he was dead with the lack of noise emitting. Choosing to ignore him, the man takes the cue to leave the room, still feverishly sipping the bottle of lemony water. Once the sound of his heavy heels disappeared out of the kitchen and down the hallway, you noticed how Bucky's shoulders relax.

"Bet you're dreading being back, huh?" You allow to corner of your mouth to turn upwards slightly.

"I could say the same thing to you."

There's an unspoken tension in the air, something far from awkward but not any nearer to comfortable either. Had it been a year and a half since you last saw him? On his six month mission to Angola, at the fourth month you had been sent off on a mission of your own in the Pacific islands to track down an old HYDRA associate who had formulated a plan to obliterate the entire planet from his tiny laboratory in the middle of bum-fuck no where.. no biggie, right?

The seemingly short mission of yours turned into a solo, twelve month exhibition trying to chase a man who was half the size of yourself and almost as clever. Eventually when you caught up to him and the few friends he had made along the way, the year job was over in thirty seconds. Underwhelming.

Sure, you’d escaped death a few times, but not by the man who you’d been hunting. Turns out there were a few other undesirables along your path that you just couldn’t miss the opportunity to lock up. Maybe that was a bit of a roadblock, too.

“I don’t want to keep Bruce waiting, I’ll uh.. see you later?” It was a hopeful question.

“Certainly,” he nods his head in reply, and your heart skips a beat or two.

You blame the heart issues on being so emotionally disconnected from anyone for the past twelve months.

The appointment with Bruce was swift, you chat for more of the time than you did actually doing the check up. He prescribed you with a few pain meds, re-dressed some wounds you’d brought back with you and altered your fitness plan to better accommodate your new injuries. Bruce had a way when it came to making people feel safe, despite the fact any moment a big green monster could jump out and crush you.

There were the usual questions like, how has your diet been-- have you been getting enough sleep-- are the night terrors still occurring-- any unusual pains-- are you sexually active?

The answer has always been something along the lines of nutritious, not at all, all of the time, plenty and no.

It's hard to maintain a sex life being away all the time and locking yourself in your room when you are around, even harder trying to manage a relationship. Sure, you've dated before, dabbled in a love life or two before inevitably deciding it wasn't for you. It never will be for you.

It's far past nightfall by the time you actually decide to leave your room, walking barefoot through the long, cold halls of the tower before finding yourself in the kitchen. Your stomach growls to protest your hunger, throat scratchy and dry as symptoms of your thirst. The automatic lights flicker on the moment you walk through the threshold into the kitchen. A pristine, clean kitchen soon to become the next victim of your horrific cooking skills.

First of all you grab a glass from it's respective cabinet, running the water from the tap to fill it up. Your lips meet the mouth of the glass and you drink, quenching your thirst with a relieved sigh. The water here is refreshing, hygienic, in great contrast to what you've been drinking for the past year. Feeling the coolness in your palms you go to take another sip.

It's metallic, tastes like you've drunk straight from a muddy puddle. The water they have just thrown on your face definitely mixed with the blood dripping from your nose and clinging to your lips. Coughing up a mix of flehm and mucky water, you thrash around in the flimsy wooden chair you've been restrained to.

The room smells of mildew, wet dog fur, and something that is heavily rotting. You can blame the stink of decomposition on whatever is beneath that blue tarp tucked away in the far corner of the room. There's no light aside from a single bulb eerily hanging above your head like some old, cliché horror movie.

Your wrists hurt more than usual and this time you can't blame it on early on-set arthritis, but instead the finger-marks imprinted in a purplish green and the thick rope that rubs against them. The silhouette hiding in the dark approaches you in the light, the indistinguishable appearance morphing into that of a tall man with a mask that hid his face and resembled a smiling monkey. It would be the least menacing thing in the room if he wasn't wielding a knife as large as your forearm.

It's silent aside from the obnoxious drip from the ceiling on the tarp. Drip. Drip. Drip. The face of the knife shines in your eye, reflecting from the light of the bulb hanging from the ceiling. His feet drag along the crusty floor, it's evident he has a limp by the way he carries himself towards you. If you had a free leg or two you'd drive your foot straight into his knee to completely eliminate that problem for him, forever; but how tightly they had bound you prevented even a nudge of movement.

The masked man is close enough for your knees to touch, taking the tip of the sharp knife and dragging it across your cheek to leave a light mark that brings blood in it's wake. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of even a slight whimper which evidentially leaves him unsatisfied, because the knife leaves your face and dives into your--

"Hey, are you okay?"

The glass in your hand shatters completely, hundreds of shards diving and piercing the skin on your palm, the water that was left now drenching your socks. Were you holding it so tightly that the sudden fright made it break?

Swinging around with a crimson hand you find an equally shocked Bucky, lips slightly ajar as a physical indication of his surprise. Not even a moment later he's rushing over with a dishtowel to wrap around your bleeding hand, the white terry cloth quickly becoming stained. You can tell he's panicked by the rise and fall of his shoulders, yet you are struggling to even breathe.

The rotting and mildew is replaced by lemon disinfectant and lingering cooked onion. A dark, dank room now replaced by a pristine, white kitchen. The man in front of you is not a man who wears the mask of a monkey, but instead the one and only Bucky Barnes.

"Fuck, fuck," he has the towel wrapped so tightly around your palm. "We need Banner--"

"No!" You interrupt him, finally finding your own voice. "I don't want to wake him, please don't disturb him."

"Then what do I do?" You can tell he is trying his best to keep his composure and not snap at you for being so stubborn like he has so many times before.

"Get the kit from under the sink, wait for the bleeding to calm and I can take the remaining shards out of my hand," you instruct.

"I will take the remaining shards out of your hand," he corrects. "Keep pressure on it please."

His callous hand places your other hand on top of the towel, pushing the back of it down to apply the same pressure he was before. He's rushing to grab the kit from beneath the kitchen sink, taking his hand to shove all of the bleach bottles aside instead of carefully rummaging through.

You've already made your way to the island, taking a seat at the bar stool and leaning your elbow against the marble. It fucking stings. You have no idea how you transported all the way back into the room after shoving the memory so far down to the depths where you thought it could never recover.

You take in his evening look, those baggy grey sweatpants a signature at-home look of his. The creased t-shirt a dark navy and border lining a compression tee from the way it hugs his torso and biceps so tightly. There are bags under his eyes like there always is, and his brows are pulled tightly together in deep concern.

Your heart does that concerning thing again. Perhaps the bloodloss?

He stands beside you at the end of the counter, the fine marble a slight barrier between your bodies. He unzips the kit with such force you're surprised the entire thing hasn't ripped. He's panicked, you can tell.

"Hey," your uninjured hand reaches out to lightly touch your wrist. "Breathe, it's okay, I'm not dying."

Bucky pauses, and he isn't breathing-- until he does. His tense shoulders drop and his face finally relaxes, then he moves your hand back to apply pressure to the towel.

The silence between you is intense and lasts for what feels like forever. You can tell there's a question on the tip of his tongue that he's too afraid to ask, and you've got a feeling you're not quite sure how to answer it either why. You're not sure why you broke the glass, or why you became absent for so long, or why you were back in that room again.

"Why are you awake?" He interrupts your escape into your own head.

"I couldn't sleep," you answer honestly. "Neither could you?"

Bucky shakes his head in reply. "No, I couldn't."

"Never can." You both say in unison.

There's a pause.

"I'm sorry for scaring you," he doesn't look you in the eyes, instead stares at the red cloth covering your hand.

"You didn't mean to," you shake your head with reassurance, offering a small smile to show that you aren't upset with him at all.

"What if I did?" The corner of his lip upturns.

"Then we'd have a bit of a problem, wouldn't we?" Your tone is playful.

"How about we leave the sparring for after, when all of the glass is out of your hand y'know," he shrugs jokingly.

"Right," you nod your head in agreeance, pulling the towel back to reveal the palm of your hand.

It's definitely not the prettiest thing you've ever seen, but not the worst either. There's only one significantly deep cut but the rest just brushed the surface few layers of skin. Bucky is quick to get to work with the tweezers, disinfectant and plasters.

As he works on mending your hand you can't help but look at his face.

Compared to the last time you saw him there's a scar or two more on his right cheekbone, a significant healed slash across the bridge of his nose, a few extra wrinkles in the corner of his eyes. The stubble on his jaw, chin and upper lip is well maintained and lacks intensity on his neck. The cropped look suits him, hints of grey coming through as a reminder of his aging body now that he has been off the all the chemicals and the ice.

Your eyes trace his side profile, from his hairline to his forehead, eyebrows to the tip of his nose, nose to his lips, lips to his chin and then back to his lips. They're pursed as a habit of concentration, blue eyes trained on the task at hand (literally).

Though it stings, it's practically painless with the way he leans into the counter to reach you. Your heart is skipping again, but this time you think you know why.

"Done," he claps his hands together. "I definitely recommend seeing Banner tomorrow though, even though I spend my weekends fixing myself up I sure as hell ain't a doctor."

"You did a mighty fine job anyways, Mr Barnes," you admire his handy work, though you definitely need that deeper cut a proper look at tomorrow. It'll definitely stop the bleeding and keep it all together for the meantime.

The tension resumes it's place between you, it's palpable.

Your stomach growls in the quiet room.

"Are you hungry?" He quirks a brow.

"Yeah, I was initially in here to cook," you nod your head and rub your forearm with your uninjured hand sheepishly. "Kinda' foiled now." You wave your now bandaged hand.

"Can I take you somewhere?" He's polite, and looks at you like an expectant puppy. You can't help but grin.

"Sure."

It’s a stones throw, or two, from the tower before you finally arrive at your destination. The roaring of his motorbike falls to silence as he uses his heel to push out the kickstand, leaning the bike on it and throwing his leg over to hop off. Reaching his hand out he offers to help you down, which you gracefully accept, placing your hand in the palm of his own and jumping out of your seat.

Dinner was gorgeous. Some little, family owned, Thai place hidden in Brooklyn, where the women knew Bucky’s name and the men shook his hand. They presented you both with a free entrée. It sure as hell made you forget about that little episode in the kitchen. The second the food met your tongue you practically melted into your seat, and Bucky laughed as if to say ‘I know, right!’

Conversation flowed easily, any moment of silent was just a cause of food being stuffed into your mouths. He didn’t ask why you couldn’t sleep, or why you were in such a state and broke the glass. Bucky knew you’d tell him when you were ready.

A shared plate of Khao Niew Ma Maung and a more than generous tip later, you find yourself standing outside of the door to your room. Laughter echoes down the empty, dimly lit hall as you keep at least a foot between you— not daring to even brush arms. His strong featured are illuminated by the shadows, and that funny feeling rests heavily in your chest.

There’s a blanket of silence that falls between you two, not wanting this quiet moment to end. You can see the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and if the super soldier hearing was true he’d definitely be able to hear the heavy beat of your heart.

“Thank you,” you break the silence. “I— tonight was lovely.”

Bucky hums. “It was.”

Neither of you move a muscle, an invitation lingering on the tip of your tongue.

You open your mouth to speak. “Do you—”

“Yes, please.”

Inside your room is sweet, the bed is made with the cosiest of sheets, books stack shelves accompanied by little trinkets you display proudly. Flicking a match you ignite your pumpkin-scented candle for a source of light, the blinds already automatically pulled down on the floor-to-ceiling windows. If the crisp, untouched sheets were not enough of a sign that you couldn’t find rest, perhaps the growing bags under your eyes were.

Respectfully he kicks his shoes off at the door before stepping on your plush carpet, shrugging off his own jacket and neatly placing it on the back of your desk chair. He’s never been in your room, no one has besides Banner who stumbled in panicked to find you a shaking mess on the floor. That’s a story for another time.

You lay on top the bedspread and rest your head on the plush pillow, hands intertwining on your stomach as you stare at the ceiling. Letting out a gentle sigh you feel the mattress dip to the right of your feet.

“You can lay with me, don’t be shy.”

He’s hesitant to do so, but you can feel the warmth of his body as he lays parallel to yourself. You can smell his cologne and it’s much nicer than your expensive candle.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” he motions with his hand that you can see in your peripherals.

“You thought I’d be happy with the Stark furniture they so kindly gifted us all when we first moved in?” You put a certain emphasis on the word, which causes him to chuckle. The bed shakes under his weight, and the butterflies flutter.

“I think I broke the bed frame on the third day,” he shuffles beside you, you can tell there’s a smile on his face that matches yours.

“Holy shit, who did you do?”

“No— no— not from that!” He’s quick to jump in and defend himself, evidently flustered. “Turns out the billionaire couldn’t spare the few extra dollars to buy something that could hold 260lbs.”

“So what, you were just sleeping and it collapsed beneath you?” You turn your head slightly to glance at his face.

“I mean I kinda’ face planted on it after I got home from a frustrating mission, and it just splintered beneath me.”

“Oh god,” you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle a giggle. “I would’ve paid to see that.”

“I was pissed,” he shakes his head, turning it slightly to look into your eyes. “I stormed through the complex and kicked open Stark’s door.”

“Did you get a new bed frame?”

“No, my mattress is still on the floor.”

“I think you need to make another complaint to head office then.”

“You bet,” he shakes his head with a heavy sigh, but the upturn of his mouth tells you that it’s the least of his worries right now.

There’s a certain tension in the air as his cerulean eyes drown in your own, nothing but the crackling of the candle wick and your combined breaths filling the void.

“Thank you, for taking me out tonight,” your eyes trace his jaw to his lips before flicking back to his own. “I—I wasn’t doing too well.”

“I know,” he nods his head in understanding. “I should be thanking you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mrs Nguyen so happy to see me walk through that door with someone other than myself.”

“Is that why she’d check on our table every five minutes despite the fact we were the only people dining there?”

He chuckles, running his hand through his chopped hair. “Seems so.”

For the first time in a very long time, you feel your lids getting heavy as your body sinks further into the mattress. There’s a warmth rather than that awful cool you feel so often, and it’s starting to become a challenge to keep your eyes open.

After what feels like an eternity of struggle you lift your head slightly to notice how Bucky’s lashes now rest on his cheeks, lips parted to let out quiet breaths. And suddenly in this moment you are safe, and everything is okay.

Your lips meet his forehead in a soft, gentle kiss. “Thank you.” Before you rest your head a little closer to his own and fall into a sleep you’d been praying for.

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sapphic-coded · 7 months

Text

I Swear That I Don't Have A Gun

You grew up in Ohio with your father, brother, and sister. Your family was small and strange. Because of that, you were picked on relentlessly at school. Until another weird kid showed up. Her family moved in across the street from you. It wasn't long until the two of you became friends. Your friendship became the light in your life. Until it ended suddenly. Rumors followed your friend's disappearance. Russian spies. You didn't see her again until you crossed paths at work.

Series Masterlist

Natasha Romanoff x fem Reader

Warnings: Violence. Reader is a messed up assassin and did not choose her codename. Childhood trauma hanging out in the background. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 5.3k

Author's Note: When writer ADHD hits, it hits. Sorry for the wait friends. Been working on this for a comically long time. Thank you for all the love and support for this series. I love that you love this. Enjoy!

Taglist: @natsxwife @iliketozoneout @newawakening9 @natasha-1million @ilovemcuff @taliiiaasteria @alowint @yerisdumbass @natashasilverfox

Chapter Seven: You Don't Know Me

Mount Vernon, Ohio – 1993

You counted the small rocks in your black gloved hand. Neither one looked the same. All were varying shades of gray. A few were smooth and round while others were rough with sharper edges. It was the best of what you could find around the neighborhood. You looked up when you heard the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow.

The ends of Nat’s blue hair spilled out of her dark gray knitted hat. Her black puffy jacket swallowed up most of her body. In her white gloved hands was a single stick. It wasn’t very long. Hardly more than four inches. Some pine needles still hung off of it. You watched as she approached while the chill that hung in the air after the first snowfall stabbed at your cheeks.

“Aren’t we supposed to use a carrot?” you asked as she came to stand next to you. You were also pretty sure that you were supposed to use coal instead of rocks.

“My mom already cut up the one we have,” Nat replied.

You certainly didn’t have any carrots lying around at home. Your refrigerator and Nat’s were so different that it was jarring the first time you saw it. You hadn’t realized how much food one refrigerator could hold when you didn’t have to make room for your father’s weekly experiments.

You looked at the headless snowman in front of you. You had spent the better part of the last two hours alongside Nat and her younger sister building the snowman in front of their house. The snowman’s base was large, round, and a bit lopsided. But it supported the slightly smaller packed ball of snow on top of it. You and Nat had done your best to brush off any dirt or blades of grass that stuck to the snow. Now you waited for Yelena to return with the snowman’s head.

You heard Nat shift next to you while you stared at the empty spot where the snowman’s head will go. You wondered what kind of person this snowman would be. It was a shame when your brother told you years ago that snowmen don’t actually come to life after they are built. There’s no singing or dancing. It was as your father put it when he overheard your conversation:

“It is a byproduct of man’s lust for godhood.”

But maybe they did come to life. In secret. Perhaps at night. You read about all kinds of supposedly fake creatures coming to life in secret in your sister’s books. If it was possible, would this snowman end up being a good person or a bad one? Would the lack of a carrot make a difference?

“Are you going somewhere?” Nat asked.

You looked at her and found her looking across the street. You followed her gaze. Outside on your driveway was your father. The trunk of his station wagon hung open while he shoved a couple large bags into it. His back remained toward you and you hoped it would stay that way. The freshly plowed street put enough distance between him and you that you felt like you could breathe normally without him noticing.

Your gaze landed back on Nat. “My father is attending a convention. It’s a tradition.”

“What kind of convention?” she asked.

You shrugged. “One for people like him.”

He would come back giddy from talking with his fellow scholars. You knew that when he returned you and your siblings would be forced to spend at least three hours trapped at the kitchen table with nothing to eat but plenty to listen to. If something particularly interesting happened, you would definitely be trapped at the table for five hours.

“You’re not going with him?” she asked.

You heard the trunk of your father’s station wagon slam shut. You looked over your shoulder and watched as your father started back up the driveway. You looked at Nat and shook your head. “Kids aren’t allowed.”

Yelena hurried around the house from the backyard carrying a mostly round snowman sized head. It was pretty impressive when she reached you guys. Since you both were taller, you and Nat carefully took the soon to be snowman head and set it on top of its cold, round body. You pushed one smooth light gray rock into the snowman’s left eye socket and then pushed a square black rock into its right. You let Yelena help you set the rest of the rocks into a wide smile. Nat pushed the stick into the middle of the snowman’s face. Then, all three of you stepped back to admire your work.

“We should give him a name,” Yelena said.

You tried to imagine the snowman’s rock eyes blinking. You imagined puffs of white mists slipping from between his rocky lips. You tried to imagine him with a carrot for a nose. “He looks like an Ian.”

You heard Yelena giggle and when you looked at Nat you saw the beginnings of a smile curling her lips.

Triskelion, Washington D.C. – 2012

Being part of a team sucks. There are rules you have to follow. Sure, there were rules back when you were working for your father. But those rules were different. You could bend and shape them into whatever you needed. As long as the job was done, your father was content. Maybe he’d nitpick if the job got messy. But you had the freedom of choice. There were so many ways to kill people. Some days your imagination would run wild with new possibilities. You had yet to surprise a target in their bathroom and drop a toaster into their bathtub while they were bathing. Then there was the old classic you had yet to try. This idea demanded the perfect costume, but tying a target to train tracks and watching a high speed train obliterate their body into nothing more but tiny bloody chunks would be great fun.

You loved that part of the job almost as much as you loved watching your target’s life drain from their eyes. But now that freedom is gone. You don’t get to decide how you are going to do your job. You are told. Ordered. The worst is when you’re not even allowed to kill your target. You remember the first time you were given that bizarre job. You remember how punchable your target’s face was. You remember how easy it would have been to just push the ridiculous man over the edge. No one would have known. But you couldn’t. You watched that opportunity pass you by and you wanted to scream.

You did scream. At Rumlow. You cornered him and demanded to know why. Why did they keep fucking with your head?

He reminded you of your role. The chains that kept you bound to these nonsensical rules. You work for SHIELD. You don’t kill targets unless SHIELD wants you to kill them. You keep to your role and you don’t raise suspicions. You live out the story Rumlow crafted for you. He found you on one of his missions. He saw your potential and peeled you up off the ground like some frozen, sick, dying, abandoned mutt. He molded you into the weapon you are now. A weapon he happily handed to SHIELD.

You hate that story. You hate it more than the stupid suit he forces you to wear. The black tactical suit covers every inch of your body from your neck down to your feet. It had taken a while to get used to the added weight of the black body armor attached to the suit. You still don’t like it. It makes you feel as if you are a child running around with pillows tied to your chest and a foam sword in your hand. But it’s the mask that feels the most suffocating. Despite being able to hear clearly from within the black helmet, you feel cut off from the world. The black tinted visor that conceals your face is full of fancy technology that often gets in the way when you are just trying to watch your target die. You hate the stupid suit. You hate that you can’t do anything without having to wear it. The only time you can strip the stupid costume off and breathe in lungfuls of air conditioned air is in your bunk buried beneath all the levels of SHIELD and fake SHIELD and real HYDRA.

But if you could choose, you’d stick with the stupid suit if you could craft a different story. Preferably one that didn’t include anyone molding you into anything. But that freedom is gone, and all you have is a boatload of memories to distract you from how angry you are. That anger burns deep inside you. It fuels your every step as you walk alongside Rumlow down a bright, busy hallway. You ignore all the data that blinks across the inside of your visor screen with every SHIELD agent that hurries by. In the beginning you had been curious, but now all the data was familiar and boring. Mostly low level clearance agents with spotless records because they never did anything but sit at their desks or hurry around places looking busy.

You walk out into a large hangar and board one of the waiting Quinjets. You spy two empty seats in the cockpit and a black duffel bag resting on one of the seats in the cargo bay. Rumlow hands you a small, black flash drive. You roll your eyes despite knowing that he can’t see your face. If he let you take off the damn helmet you could read the mission briefings perfectly fine. You didn’t need to clog up your visor’s hub with all the unnecessary tidbits of information on your targets. You hate this role.

“This one is routine,” Rumlow begins as you insert the flash drive into the slot along the backside of your helmet. Almost instantly, information clogs up your interior visor screen. “Your target is Tomek Sikora. He’s an arms dealer that SHIELD has kept an eye on.” The picture of your target fills up your visor. Tall, muscular build. Short, dirty blonde hair. Blue eyes. Mid thirties. “We have good intel that he’s operating out of an abandoned storefront in Bardstown, Kentucky. His main clientele is HYDRA.”

Your visor floods with images of your target standing with or shaking hands with other important looking men and women. A few of the faces look familiar, but the images scroll too quickly across your visor for you to be certain.

“Your objective is to shut down Sikora’s operation,” Rumlow says. “SHIELD would prefer Sikora alive, but if you have no choice, do what is necessary.”

The coded orders hidden behind his words brings a small hint of relief. A nice simple kill. You know that if you read more into the file scrolling across your visor that you could piece together why real HYDRA wants Sikora dead. But you don’t care. All you care about is watching your target die. All you care about at this moment is that you won’t be forced to watch your target walk away breathing. A straightforward mission is exactly what you need. Something easy. Sikora will probably put up some kind of fight. You’ll engage and end it when it feels right.

You pull the flash drive from the slot at the back of your helmet. Your visor clears.

“Rollins will accompany you on this mission,” Rumlow says.

Eh. It could be wors–

“Slight change of plan.”

Both you and Rumlow turn towards the open cargo bay door. You see her clearly through your visor screen. You feel the chains of your boredom lift. That familiar energy that buzzes right beneath your skin awakens. You haven’t seen her since you put a bullet through Erik’s head. Even then, you can’t count that as your official last parting. You were buried beneath your costume. She didn’t know you were there. Because if she did, she wouldn’t have let you go like that.

The weight of the costume you wear now feels heavier as you watch her ascend up the Quinjet’s ramp. She’s dressed in civilian clothes. You love the black, leather jacket that she wears over her red shirt. Dark denim jeans cover the length of her legs, and a gun sits in a black holster strapped to her right thigh. You’re envious of her clothes. You want to look into her wardrobe. You want to strip out of this stupid suit and wear anything else.

“Agent Romanoff,” Rumlow greets.

Nat. Your teeth bite into your lower lip. You know you can’t say anything. The rules of your role have been drilled into your head. You don’t speak. You only act. If anyone asks questions, Rumlow has your pathetic sob story ready to share. You know all this. You know you must comply. But you really want to say something.

Her olive green eyes settle on you as she steps into the cargo bay. You instantly miss the recognition as she looks at you. Her eyes travel up and down the length of your body, taking in your forced getup. You want her to see right through it. You want her to say your name and rip the damn mask from your face so the chase can resume.

“What’s the update?” Rumlow asks.

Her attention shifts to him. “Rollins can’t make it. He’s in medical. I’m filling in.”

Now you really really want to say something. You watch as she walks over to where the black duffel bag sits. A smile stretches across your face. You had wanted to start slow. A coffee date scheduled on a day that neither one of you needed to even think about work. But if you can’t have that, then you will happily take this.

“That’s not necessary,” Rumlow replies.

Your smile drops away, and you turn your head to give Rumlow the most threatening glare he will never see. He ignores you as Nat zips up her duffel bag and looks over at him.

“I’ll get one of the other guys to fill in for Rollins,” Rumlow continues. “It’s a routine operation, and you’re needed for more Avenger missions.”

You wonder what would happen if you punched Rumlow in the face. If you swing hard enough, there is a good chance you could knock him out. That would give you a couple seconds to say something to Nat before all hell breaks loose. You’d definitely apologize for the stupid thing you said before. And if Rumlow didn’t go down in one punch, you could always follow it up with a solid kick.

“Fury disagrees,” Nat replies.

The name sparks two recent memories of the Director of SHIELD. Both memories consisted of you standing in this stupid suit and staring at the bald man with an eyepatch while he interrogated Rumlow about you. You played the part of a lost puppy well enough despite wanting to smash your head into the closest wall.

“Besides,” Nat looks first at you and then back to Rumlow, “I’ve been dying to meet your new sidekick.”

Oh god. That one hurt.

“They’re not much of a talker,” Rumlow says.

You have so much to say.

“We’ll figure it out,” Nat replies.

Rumlow shakes his head, but finally relents. He looks at you. “Stay focused. I expect results.”

You watch as he steps out of the cargo bay and descends down the jet’s ramp. For a moment, you can’t believe your luck. You thought that Rumlow would have done just about anything to rip you away from Nat. He had made sure to keep you as far away from her as possible. But the reality of your amazing luck settles when Nat comes to stand next to you.

“Has he taught you how to fly one of these?” she asks.

You shake your head.

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll fly. You fill me in on the mission.”

This is the greatest day of your life.

The Quinjet, Kentucky Sky – A Short Time Later

You pull the flash drive free from the tablet’s port. The tablet’s screen goes blank while the hub screen built into your interior helmet visor lights up with a selection of unnecessary data about the tablet. Battery at 68%. No security update needed. Software version 3.8.27. You don’t understand why you are forced to tolerate the random extra tech. Rumlow told you it was to make your story more realistic. You still didn’t understand how something only you see makes others believe you more.

You look up from the tablet, and the extra data clears. Bright sunlight floods the cockpit. The sky outside is so blue that it is almost painful to look at. You are sitting in the co-pilot seat. The various buttons and screens stretched across the dashboard mean nothing to you. Nat has been doing all the flying. All you’ve done is find a SHIELD issued tablet and plugged in the flash drive so Nat could review the details of your mission. So far she’s asked you easy questions about the mission. Your answers are simple nods or a shake of your head. You want to say more. You need to say more. But you stay quiet. You comply with your role.

But there is sweet happiness in your forced silence. You look over to the empty pilot seat next to you. Nat left a few minutes ago to change after switching on the autopilot. You are tempted to lift up your helmet and sniff the pilot seat. You want to know what she smells like. You want to peel your black gloves off and touch the cushions of the seat. Feel the warmth left behind by her touch. A couple different scenarios float through your head and each one is far more entertaining than sitting in silence. But at least you get to be near her. You don’t have to hurry off and leave her. Despite all these stupid rules, you’ve discovered a piece of freedom that kept eluding you before.

You turn your gaze forward when you hear Nat emerge from the tiny bathroom directly behind the cockpit. She settles back into the pilot’s seat. Her casual clothes are gone. You miss the leather jacket, but the black catsuit is a warm familiar memory. You tuck the flash drive into one of your suit’s many pockets.

“Shouldn’t be long now,” she comments as her green eyes dart across the various screens and lit buttons. “About fifteen minutes out.”

There’s a moment when you taste that bitterness of disappointment. You don’t want this to end. The two of you up in the sky without anyone else to distract you. But that moment ends when you remember what’s to come. For the first time you won’t be on opposing sides. Sort of. Not exactly. But it sends a thrill through you.

“So,” she looks over at you, “Silent Type.”

You frown at the stupid codename. You know she can’t see your face, but she sees something because she starts to smile. The tablet’s screen comes back to life as you navigate to the application you need. A virtual keyboard pops up along the lower half of the tablet. Your gloved fingers are quick as you type your message. You turn the tablet around so she can read it.

Rumlow’s idea. Not mine.

Your answer seems to amuse her more as she nods.

“That does sound like a name he would come up with,” she says.

You turn the tablet to face you again and delete what you wrote. Your fingers are quick to tap out another message.

Did you choose your codename?

Her smile falls a bit as she reads your question. “What did Rumlow tell you about me?”

It doesn’t take you long to delete your question and type out your reply.

Avenger.

“That’s it?” she asks.

You lower the tablet and nod. It’s not entirely a lie. Rumlow had spent most of his time preparing you for this stupid role. That meant filling your head with a bunch of random bullshit about fake SHIELD and real HYDRA. He trained you to remember your story. He did his best to polish off the grime of freelance and make you seem more refined. He rarely brought up Nat. And when he did, he never let you think about her for long.

“I guess we’ll need to get to know each other better after this mission,” she says.

More time with Nat? This day just gets better and better. Your fingers tap against the tablet’s digital keyboard again. When you lift up the tablet, you are very interested in her answer.

What did Rumlow say about me?

“You’re his pet project,” she says as her smile returns.

You frown. You want to somehow clarify that you are nobody’s pet project, but one of the buttons on the dash lights up and steals Nat’s attention. You watch as she turns off the autopilot and takes control of the Quinjet.

“We’re approaching our target,” she reaches up and flips a switch. “I’ll set us down somewhere close. With our stealth systems engaged, they shouldn’t be able to spot us.”

You turn your head and look out at the bright blue sky. While you love the quality time with Nat, you also need to come up with a plan for this mission. Rumlow’s coded orders had been clear. Kill Sikora. If Rollins had joined you on this mission, you wouldn’t have needed to do much thinking beyond when to kill your target. But Nat’s fantastic presence complicated things. You doubt that she’s part of fake SHIELD. Which meant putting a bullet in Sikora’s head outright wouldn’t go over well. Especially if your target decides to surrender.

Your plan starts to take shape within your mind as Nat guides the concealed Quinjet towards the ground. It’s a simple plan. Draw your target away from Nat and kill him where it is just you and him. It would ruin the foreplay. You probably wouldn’t have much time and would need to kill Sikora quickly. But you’d get to talk to Nat later which seemed like a generous trade.

The bright onslaught on sunlight fades as Nat sets the Quinjet down in a clearing surrounded by eastern white pine trees. Based on the data you had skimmed earlier, the abandoned storefront your target is operating out of is just north of your location. When the Quinjet’s engines fall quiet, you stand. You leave the tablet on your seat as you head for the cargo bay. You approach a metallic box bolted onto one of the walls. Your gloved fingers type in a code on the keypad fixed to the front of the box. The front panel unlocks and opens to reveal a small armory.

Smaller than usual. No fancy explosives. Your usual selection of guns has been paired down to one: a single black Glock. You suspect your limited selection is thanks to Rumlow. You figure this has something to do with your training, but you don’t really care. You’re more disappointed in how the gun feels in your hand. You miss your Beretta. You don’t feel the same without it.

You slide the Glock into the empty holster at your right hip and turn when you hear Nat enter the cargo bay. She holds the tablet you left behind. Her finger slides across the tablet’s screen, and you watch the way her head tilts slightly as she reviews the mission data. You imagine that she looked exactly like that whenever information on you ended up in her hands. Your smile starts to return as you grab the tactical knife left in the armory and slide it into place on your belt.

She turns off the tablet and sets it down next to her black duffel bag. She lifts her hand and speaks into her wrist. “Comms check.”

You hear her voice flood your helmet and you don’t want it to stop. When she looks over at you, you nod. Her smile threatens to break you. You want so desperately to say something. You want her to look at you like she knows you. Like she did before whenever she appeared on one of your jobs. But your mouth stays shut. You comply.

It’s quiet when you both exit the Quinjet. As you make your way through the cluster of trees, you can’t help but think back to your last freelance job in the middle of nowhere. The sound of gunshots ripping apart tree bark. The smell of sweat and blood on your target’s body. The feeling of her hand around your wrist.

You stop when you reach the treeline. Roughly fifty yards ahead of you is the bland backside of the abandoned storefront. The back door is unguarded. You don’t see any cameras either. It’s no wonder why HYDRA wants Sikora gone. The lack of security is almost offensive. It’s as if your target is inviting you inside.

“We’ll split up and sweep the area,” her voice is low and when you look at her, you nod.

Perfect. As long as you find Sikora first, this mission should be easy.

“I’ll take the upper floor while you secure the lower,” she says.

As you nod, you hope that you’ll find Sikora in the storefront’s basement. If you don’t, you don’t know exactly how you’ll get your target far enough away from Nat.

You both step out of the treeline and make your way towards the storefront’s back entrance. By the time you reach the back door and press your back against the wall, you notice that both you and Nat have drawn your guns. You bite your tongue to hold back a laugh at the thought that instantly springs to life within your mind. This must be the first time you both have a gun in your hand and you’re not pointing them at each other. Now would be a great time to take your helmet off.

Nat reaches for the door handle, and it’s unlocked. You decide that it’s your target’s inflated ego that left the door unlocked and not stupidity. Or a trap. You try not to let that last thought get you too excited as you follow Nat through the backdoor.

You enter a narrow hallway. Directly ahead of you is a wide open doorway that reveals a large empty room. Remains of what was clearly a counter mark the worn looking floorboards. Dark colored wallpaper peels from the walls. The room itself is lit only by the light that spills out from the hallway. Large, thin boards are nailed across the windows. Littered about the floorboards is trash, random dark wet spots, and the occasional clothing hanger.

To your right is a set of stairs leading to the upper floor. To your left is the remains of another door. You see the hinges, but the door that clearly once occupied the space is gone. Beyond it is another set of stairs leading down towards the basement. You turn to your left and start to descend the stairs. You hear Nat ascending the stairs behind you. You force yourself not to look back as you lift your gun and keep going.

Your footsteps are quiet on the stairs. When you reach the bottom, you find yourself alone in an empty room. The lights are on. Boxes and crates are stacked against one of the walls. On the other side of the room is another doorway, but this one still has a door attached to it. As you walk further into the room, you hear a loud thud shake the low ceiling. You feel a tiny spike of jealousy that Nat found her targets while you are alone in a basement. Another loud thud shakes the ceiling again. That lingering spike of jealousy flees when the door on the other side of the room opens.

You pull the trigger the second you see someone fill up the space in the doorway. You see the person drop and no one else comes out. You move towards the open door. One quick look down at the man dying on the basement floor at your feet confirms that they are not your target. You step over the dying man and into the room. It’s a small break room with a fold out plastic table that eats up most of the space. Sitting on the table, directly in the middle, is a small, square television. It’s on and playing an old western.

When you return to the dying man laying in the doorway, you find him dead. The man’s lifeless eyes stare up at you. His mouth is slightly parted. His hair looks greasy. He looks about as old as any average college student. The sounds of the western playing on the television fills up the quiet as you stare down at the dead man. The sounds of shouting pulls you out of your odd stupor.

You step over the dead man and hurry back towards the stairs. You quickly climb back up into the narrow hallway and start towards the stairs that would take you up to the upper floor when you see it. You are standing at the base of the stairs when you see a body falling. You see their arms first as they come up, and you see how their legs trip over each other. You notice a mop of dirty blonde hair right before it smashes into the first uppermost step. The body falls hard down the stairs with a series of sickening crunches. You take a few steps back when you notice the body picking up some speed. When the body finally reaches the bottom of the stairs, it rolls over once and stops.

Sikora lays at your feet. His neck is bent at a terrible angle. His blue eyes are wide open. You see a piece of bone poking out from his forearm. Your gun lowers at the sight of your target’s still body. You feel numb at the sight of it. No satisfaction. No sense of pride. Not even relief. You don’t know how to feel when you step over your target’s body and ascend the stairs. That strange feeling persists as you find Nat standing near a table. Littered across the floor are six bodies. You can’t tell if some are alive or not, but you feel the corners of your lips curl into a smile. Nat doesn’t have a scratch on her. None of the bodies scattered across the room were a challenge for her and you just want to run up to her and kiss her and hug her tight because it makes sense. One piece of your life hasn’t changed. She’s still your friend even if you can’t act like hers.

As you walk further into the room, carefully stepping over fallen bodies, Nat closes up a black laptop that is sitting on the table. Her smile melts away any lingering numbness hanging on from seeing your target’s body.

“Good work,” she says. “SHIELD will be here in ten to clean up.”

You savor her praise before looking at the laptop again.

“Just a little side project,” she says after following your gaze. She picks up the black laptop and moves towards you. “You ever have bourbon from here?”

You shake your head.

“Then we’re making a quick pit stop before we head back,” she says.

You follow her, and you can’t help feeling like you are back in Ohio. It’s as if school is finally letting out and you two have the rest of the day ahead of you. You want this day to last forever. You’d rather her know it’s you, but if this is all you can have, then you’ll take it.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfic #my fanfic #fic: i swear that i don't have a gun

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hisaacswrites · 9 months

Text

See, Soap is a bartender. Well, he’s actually whatever his boss says he is while he gets used to civvie life again, but right now he’s a bartender. And before that, he was SAS. In both professions, being able to read people is invaluable. And even before that, Soap had always been good at getting a feel for people, at reading a room and seeing what’s underneath it all.

Which is why he’s been keeping an eye on the bar’s back booth. There’s a couple there. A bombshell of a woman and a hulking mountain of a man. For all intents and purposes, they look like the stereotypical lovesick couple who’ve had a bit too much to drink to understand the boundaries of acceptable PDA- The woman is draped across the man’s lap, her hands are wandering across and under, her lips working furiously over his skin every chance she gets in between sips of her drink and eyeing the crowd.

But something sets Soap’s senses on edge. Something is wrong.

Maybe it’s how stiff and awkward and downright uncomfortable the man looks.

Maybe it’s how the woman keeps shoving drinks into his hands despite his clear reluctance, watching him like a hawk until he finishes the glass.

Maybe it’s how the man subtly flinches every time the woman touches his bare skin with her oxblood nails. Or how he tries to hunch in on himself when she’s not focused on him, how he seems to be pressing back into the seat as if he could disappear into the upholstery.

Maybe it’s the panic in his eyes, the resignation on his face, the ignored “no’s” that Soap can read on his lips even across the dark room.

Something is wrong.

So even though the man is built like a brick shithouse and looks like he could bench Soap without breaking a sweat, and even though he has scars across his face and knuckles that prove he can take care of himself, and even though Soap can feel the aura of “leave-me-the-fuck-alone” radiating from him-

Soap still approaches the man when the woman stumbles her way to the bathroom. Because something is wrong and he’ll be damned if he ignores his intuition.

So Soap goes over under the guise of picking up the empty glasses, undeterred by the man who’s unfocused gaze is boring holes into the sticky table. He picks up the glasses and plays it cool, rapping his knuckles to get the man’s attention, as if taking his order for a refill.

Asks the stranger if he needs an angel shot.

It takes a moment for the man to respond, for him to understand what Soap is asking. But when the man’s shoulders slump in relief and gratitude shines in his dark eyes as he nods up at Soap, looking like a lost child staring up at their salvation, Soap knows he made the right decision.

The woman returns, sliding into the booth and spreading possessively over the man’s lap when Soap asks him how he wants his drink.

The “On ice, please,” spoken in a rough and tired baritone has Soap nodding and heading back to the bar with a grim but determined expression.

In a few minutes, he’ll head back to the table and tell the man that something is wrong with his credit card and he should come with him to settle the tab. He’ll take the man to the back office, safe and secure, and get the woman an Uber of her own. He’ll learn that the man’s name is Simon and that he’s been in an abusive relationship with the woman for two and a half years. Soap’ll learn that she physically, mentally, emotionally, financially abused Simon, that she controls his every move, that she cost him his job, she wrecked his car, she killed his cat-

But right now he’s grabbing a refrigerated bottle of water and a bag of crisps, dropping them off in the back before putting his best apologetic-server face on and heading back towards the booth with the “bad news” about the man’s card.

First, he has an angel shot to deliver.

A brainworm drabble that’s near and dear to my heart. Abuse comes in all shapes and sizes and doesn’t discriminate against gender. Please keep your eyes peeled, your ears sharp, and your hearts open to those who may need help, including yourselves. A part of me wants to make this a full fic, but I’m not sure. For now it’ll live with the other brain worms.

#call of duty #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #fanfic #fanfiction #ghostsoap #soapghost #writing #drabble #brainworm #angst #tw abuse #angel shot #simon ghost riley #simon riley #john soap mactavish #john mactavish

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skzhua · 1 year

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Can I request Minho and y/n having a really heated argument and she says something she doesn’t mean and he gets really emotional and y/n feels really bad and he leaves to go for a walk to think and when he comes back she makes it up to him 💕

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Office worker!Lee Minho x Company Heiress!Reader

Genre: Aftermath of runaway from arranged marriage, angst, fluff.

Word Count: 2,925

Warnings: Swearing and sad asf.

A/N: I was totally supposed to do my essay due for Monday but I gave up because Minho is on my mind 24/7.

You married for love. You had to remind yourself that, you married for love and not for business. So how come did you feel like your marriage was falling apart?

Lee Minho was his name. He started to work at your company only a few months after you became team supervisor as you were slowly going up in status to be prepared to become CEO. Your mother was one of the rare women to have built her own business without the need of a man and you admired her for that.

But back to Minho. He was attractive, there was no denying that. You caught on quickly that he was sleeping around with the other female workers. You didn't despise him per say, but you definitely held a dislike to him as an employee. But as you worked together more and more often, you discovered a broken man who wanted nothing more than to work his ass off to build himself up from the lower-class part of the city.

That was how you fell in love with him. Being in position of authority, you kept it secret for months with a few steamy sessions done in the corner of your office. And when your mother announced you that you'd be married to the almighty heir of the Seo company, you had no choice but to comply. It was good for your image and good for your numbers to rise.

But like any typical story about a business heiress falling in love with someone with a lower status, you ended up walking away from the altar to run back to Minho. All of your future that was planned out for you was gone and given to your younger brother instead. You got married with only your close friends who approved of your relationship as your guests and had been for almost five years. Since then, you lived happily a few miles away from the city and worked as an accountant. It was definitely a shift from your previous life but you managed. As for Minho, he worked in a law firm as a secretary. Nothing extravagant, just enough for you to pay the bills.

Or so you thought.

"Good evening, my love." Minho greeted your with a kiss as he stepped into your house. "How was your day?"

"I got more paperwork due but I think I can manage to finish it if I keep working extra tomorrow evening."

Minho paused from putting his things away. Loosening his tie, he approached you and grabbed you by the waist.

"Tomorrow is our anniversary, though."

"It's the 12th, no?" you asked, placing your arms around his neck.

"We got married on the 11th, honey." he chuckled and then placed a peck on your lips. "You could ask your boss to give the work to someone else, no?"

"You know I can't do that." you sighed. "We can celebrate it tonight or the day after instead."

He scoffed. "No, I don't think we can."

You cocked your head to the side. "Minho, please."

With a heavy sigh, he shook his head in exasperation. "I wanted it to be a surprise but I reserved at the best restaurant in the city and I even booked a night at the hotel for us to relax. With the spa included."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh indeed." he noted, pettiness in his voice.

You felt bad, so bad. But at the same time, you weren't going to leave out work for you to have a romantic getaway. You had bills to pay and you actually found it unreasonable for him to be paying something you knew you couldn't afford.

"I'm afraid you'll have to cancel."

His hands automatically left your body and he removed your arms from his neck. His jaw clenching, he headed to your kitchen and pulled out a bottle from your refrigerator. Not any bottle, the exact bottle of champagne you drank at your wedding ceremony.

"Min..." you exhaled. "Where did you get that?"

"I bought it last week, actually. My boss was kind enough to pay me double for a day only so I can get you this." he explained before placing it on the counter. "My point is that if I can compromise with my boss, you can do the same."

You shook your head. "Mrs. Moon is not like Mr. Bang. She doesn't sympathize like that, especially if it's about that aspect of our personal lives."

"Be reasonable, Y/N. We haven't gone out on a date in months and you work like a slave for that woman. All I'm asking for is a day off for us to spend quality time together."

It totally made sense what he was saying. However, you couldn't do that for him. Deadlines were approaching and you were afraid you'd get fired if you didn't meet your boss' expectations.

"I'm sorry."

He scoffed again and put the bottle back in the refrigerator, slaming the door shut. "I'm sorry for wanting to spoil my wife. I guess I have some calls to make tonight."

He left to the study room, not even wanting to look at you. All of these years, he worked his ass off to show you that running away with him was worth it. Every extra penny he made was saved for you. He had done so much for you and so little for himself.

"Minho."

He looked up from his phone. "What is it? I'm making calls to cancel because I can't even get one night with the one I love."

"Okay, now. Drop the attitude."

He chuckled sarcastically. "I'm so sorry for being disappointed, really. You truly have no idea how much I put into this relationship."

It was your turn to huff at his words. "I'm sorry but I'm the one making sacrifices for us. I gave up an entire life for us to be together. Maybe you should remind yourself that sometimes."

He walked closer to you, now hovering your small figure. "I'm well aware of what you did which is why I thought doing this would be worth celebrating our union. Turns out it doesn't mean that much to you as it does to me."

"I never said that. I appreciate it, I really do. But you know very well that we simply can't afford it."

"How come was I able to pay for it, then?"

"By cutting off on our groceries. Don't think I didn't notice you stopped spending for your lunches."

At that point, the both of you were fuming and Minho was hovering you more and more as to seem like the bigger person. "And then you say I don't do enough for us, sure."

"We can't keep living like this. I love you, I swear, but working is more important right now. We need money."

"We have it."

"We would have had it if we didn't leave everything behind five years ago."

You saw him gulp. "Are you saying you would have prefered staying in that toxic environment?"

"Maybe. Marrying Seo Changbin wouldn't have turned out like this, that's for sure."

Another gulp made his Adam's apple bop. This time, he didn't have anything else to add. You had crossed the line and it hurt. You couldn't believe that you let yourself say those words. This was the exact thing Minho was afraid of and here you were, making his nightmare a reality.

"If that's what you want."

He stormed out of the room and went to the kitchen. You followed him and watched as he grabbed his keys and his blazer he had previously gotten rid of minutes ago before it all went downhill.

"I'll be at Jisung's."

"Minho, I'm so sorry."

"Whatever. You said it, the harm is done."

Before you could say more, he was already out the door. Dropping on one of the dining room's chairs, you let the tears flood out of your eyes. You cried and you kept on crying, you didn't know for how long. When you started to come back to reality, you forced yourself to make a quick meal since you had not eaten for the entire day. You really did force yourself as the hunger was close to nonexistent.

You tried to work a bit, but with it being the cause of your argument, it only made you feel worse. You didn't even know why you told him that as you never regretted leaving the business to be with him. If anything, this was the best decision you had ever made.

After hours of trying to forget about what happened, you checked the time to see it was a little past midnight. This was a good 5th anniversary for sure... Helpless, you took out your phone and dialed the first number that came to your mind.

"Y/N?"

"Hey." you said, your voice still shaky.

"Are you okay? What are you doing up so late?"

"I could ask you the same." you chuckled but your tone remained the same. "Am I bothering?"

"Of course not. What is it?"

"I..." a sob took over and interrupted you.

For the nth time that night, you were crying. Jeongin was lowkey panicking from the other side of the line. He, himself, still had work to do but he wasn't going to leave his big sister in her sadness. He was one of the few people to keep contact with you despite your mother having cut ties with you. He offered to help you financially many times but having grown up with the independence your mother taught you, you refused each time.

"Do you want me to come over?"

"No, I know you have a lot to do." you sniffed. "I just need to rant I guess."

"I'm listening."

You told him everything: from the start of your financial arguments to your indecent comment. Jeongin said nothing and let you talk for what seemed to be hours. At some point, you heard him closing a door and you felt bad he had to leave the office without having finished his work.

"I'm so sorry for bothering."

He sighed. "I told you, you're not bothering. And if there is anyone you need to apologize to right now is your husband."

"If he still considers me his wife." you scoffed. "You have to admit, though. Spending so much just for one night is crazy."

"He loves you, Y/N. Of course he wanted to treat you a night for yourselves."

"But we can't afford it." you repeated.

"Are you going to understand he doesn't care? He'd be the poorest man on Earth and he'd still buy you flowers when he could."

You bit your lips in shame. Jeongin was right, you were the one being unfair here. Minho had told you on many occasions that you could get a better job with your reputation but you told him you didn't want a job for being known and for your skills instead. But you were more worth than this stupid accounting office job. And even your brother offered you side contracts that paid well, but being the stubborn woman you were, you declined. Looking back, you realized you were the problem.

"You think so?"

"I know so."

You sighed. "Even if I do understand now, he won't take me back for saying that. I hurt him so much, Innie."

"You'll manage, Y/N. You always do."

The conversation ended with these words as he needed to go to sleep. As for you, you were more awake than ever. Going back to the study room, you noticed Minho's agenda was still opened. Luckily, he had noted down the place and time he reserved for the two of you. Not even worrying about the fact it was 2 in the morning, you called Minho's boss to ask for a week off after briefly explaining your situation, Mr. Bang was more than happy to help and he crossed off Minho's name on the schedule for the rest of the week. You then wasted no time to call the hotel to book the room for extra nights, making sure that breakfasts and others were included. The last thing you had left to do was to quit your horrible job. You were more willing to accept your brother's contracts than to come back to see Mrs. Moon's face again.

As morning arrived, you hurried to pack your things in a luggage and make yourself look nice although you hadn't had one minute of sleep. To your surprise, you received a text from Minho. It was very brief and distant as he only informed you that he'd come around 7 to get his things to move temporarily to Jisung's.

Seven o'clock was nearing and you were nervous. You wanted everything to turn out perfectly and you certainly hoped he wouldn't walk away again. You needed him, more than anything.

Seeing the car pull into your parking lot, you instantly got up from your seat and grabbed your bags. You looked as if you were ready to leave for a while, which was the case.

Minho unlocked the door and stepped inside the house, not expecting to see you. But when he did, his eyes immediately got darker. Then, he studied you for a little longer and saw you holding firmly onto your luggage.

"You're leaving?"

You kind of wanted to mess with him for a bit but with your literal marriage being at stake, you didn't and shook your head instead.

"We are leaving."

He didn't look any better than you. His eyes had bags under them and his disheveled hair was a sign he didn't even shower. He still had the same buttoned shirt he usually wore at work but it was much wrinkled.

"What are you saying now?" he sighed.

"You are right, I'm not being reasonable. I blamed all of my problems on you because I was so used to succeeding by myself. I didn't realize that you booked a night for us because you care much more about our relationship than I do."

He exhaled loudly. "At least you're admitting it, good. You're leaving me now?"

You shook your head vigorously. "I could never leave you, Minho. I'm terribly sorry for what I've said because I didn't mean one bit of it. I love this life with you, I am just too much of a stubborn to enjoy it like I should."

He frowned from your words and uncrossed his arms, a sign that he was more relaxed. "What do you mean like you should?"

"I resigned from my job."

His eyes widened. "No, Y/N. I never wanted you to quit for me... again. I was only mad for having to cancel everything, that's all."

He walked up to you, now holding your face so carefully, almost like he was scared you would break in his grasp. This made you feel so much better, it was a sign he still cared.

"I'm not doing this for you, it's for me. You were right, I'm not happy there."

You didn't realize tears came out of your eyes once more until he started to rub your cheeks. "So what is this we are leaving thing about?"

"I booked the hotel room for the week."

His grip on your face tightened slightly. "I'll have to be the one to tell you I can't now."

"I called your boss, he's fine with it."

"You're actually so fucking stupid." he huffed.

You saw a small smile forming on his lips. Still brushing off your tears, he leaned closer slowly. Until he kissed you. Not sure if you were still on bad terms or not, he did pull away quickly.

"You do realize we really are broke now?"

You laughed. "Not exactly. I'll take Jeongin's contract and – or – get an actual good job."

"Damn you and your stubborn ass." he shot at you with a grin. "You're finally making logical choices."

"I'm sorry it took us fighting for me to snap back to reality."

More tears falling, more of him brushing them away. "We're okay now."

"I really thought you hated me now."

You suddenly broke into more sobs again. The lack of sleep was definitely apparent. Minho held you closely, stroking your head as he shushed you calmly and peppered your forehead with kisses.

"I could never hate you. You get on my nerves sometimes, but it'll never be hatred."

You looked up at him. "You still love me?"

He chuckled. "Of course I still love you. An argument isn't going to end everything we build for the past five years."

You cried some more, of happiness this time. Minho laughed at how sensitive you were but didn't let go of you. He kissed you again, wiped your tears off for you again... He wanted nothing more but to protect you at that moment. You were rarely this vulnerable in front of him and he was simply honoured you trusted him enough to let yourself loose.

"Happy 5th year, my love." he whispered into your ear.

"I love you so much." you said, hugging him tighter.

"I love you more." He pulled away and grabbed both sides of your head. "How about I go pack and we enjoy our week together?"

"I'd like that."

He excitedly ran to your shared room and you let out a chuckle as you watched him. Your life was far from being perfect, but what you had with him was. You weren't going to take it for granted, not when he still loved you albeit your stubborness.

#stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids scenario #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids lee know #lee minho #lee minho x reader #lee minho scenarios #lee minho fanfic #lee minho angst #lee minho fluff #skz x reader #skz scenarios #skz lee know

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cardierreh15 · 6 months

Text

So Anxious

Another story for Kinktober! (Again I’m not really following a list lol I’m doing my own thing) Enjoy babies 🤎🧡

***I do not give anyone permission to repost or copy my work!!!

Warning 18+: Cursing , Alcohol Consumption, Dry Humping , Fingering , Smut , Alien/Human Sex , Praise Kink , Dirty Talk , Role Playing (Superman & Goddess) , Suggestive Behavior/Dancing

Pairings: Clark Kent x Cardíerre James (Nicki Minaj)

Description: Cardíerre & Clark throw a Halloween Party!

Word Count: 3.8K

Song(in order): Water by Tyla , So Anxious By Ginuwine

One Shot

Cardierre sighed heavily as she looked down at her watch. She grumbled to herself as she pulled the sandwich tray out of the refrigerator, ‘Where the hell is he?’ Clark wasn’t the type to be unpunctual. He was pretty good with time.

She couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he was concerned about his costume. But she assured him that he didn’t have to show up with a costume. After all, this was just as much his party as it was hers.

Her phone chimed on, alerting her that her guests were now arriving. Putting her worries to the side for just a moment, she clapped her hands together, jumping up and down in excitement.

‘One second!’ She rushed to the downstairs half bathroom and adjusted her cleavage in her bra and her skirt.

The doorbell rang once before she practically ran to the front door. Unlocking the door, she pulled it to the side in a hurry with a happy grin on her face. She was hoping it was Clark, but in fact the complete opposite. She raised a brow, perplexed about this unexpected arrival.

‘Bruce? What the hell are you doing here?’ He wore a regular black tailored suit with a trench coat. Nothing out of the ordinary from him. She should’ve expected that.

Her close friend stepped from the side of the house with a devious grin. She was dressed up as Mystique from X-Men. Painted down to every detail and every accessory, she put Jennifer Lawrence to shame. ‘Now why would you think we’d pass this up hmm?’

Cardi screamed happily as she extended her arms before the girls embraced in a warm hug. It had been quite some time since they’ve all seen one another. She was residing in Gotham still and since Cardi’s promotion, it was hard to take some time off to go see her closest friends.

‘Oh my god! I’m so glad you guys were able to make it! I was preparing for the worst out here!’ She giggled before looking over at Bruce and raising a brow, ‘You couldn’t get him to dress up at least?’

‘I tried. Trust me.’ Helena giggled as she gave Bruce a gentle elbow at his arm.

‘Wishful thinking. He’s been like this since we’ve been kids. Come on! Go inside and make yourself at home!’ She stepped to the side and smiled even wider when a few more guests walked up her walkway.

Stepping out of the way completely, she told everyone to make themselves comfortable and that they could help themselves with all the snacks she’d made and had catered for them.

Standing on the porch, she let out a heavy sigh as she looked at her watch once again. It was 7:45PM. He was extremely late.

Rolling her eyes, she stormed back into her house to see that the party was in full swing. People from her job, old and new friends were making conversation with one another. This was all going so well and it was so perfect. She was just missing her most important piece. Her man.

Helena walked over to her, her head falling to the side as she noticed that something wasn’t right about the place. But with the somber look on her friend’s gorgeous face, it immediately clicked. ‘Hey, where’s Clark?’

Cardierre sighed and shrugged her shoulders, ‘I don’t know, Lena. It’s 10 til and he hasn’t shown up yet. What if the bad guys got to him? And I’m here helpless…’

‘What? Girl, ain’t nobody snatching Clark big ass off of the streets. He’s built like a goddamn tank and not to mention… There's something about him that stands out from everyone else. Ain't no way they’d pick him.’

She scoffed at the joke, trying not to laugh but she was right. ‘Yeah… He is a big guy ain’t he? Ion know I just know he’s not irresponsible like this. I know he said he didn’t like his costume but.. It’s not that deep. Hell, I don’t even know what the costume looks like!’

‘Well, you know men. They’re probably harder on themselves than anyone else. You see the shit didn’t work with Bruce.’ Helena jerked her chin towards Bruce who stood secluded in the far right corner of the room by the kitchen, ‘That fool gave me the ultimatum of not going if I forced that Magneto costume on him.’

The girls cackled with one another for a second. ‘Here. Where’s your phone? Go call him? It is the last Saturday before Halloween. There’s a ton of parties being thrown and he is probably just sitting in traffic.’

She let out a gentle sigh and nodded, ‘Yeah. You’re right girl. I’ll go call him now.’

As soon as she picked up her phone another Ring camera notification chimed on her phone. She opened it up to see a tall being pacing back and forward by the garage. They sported a huge black cape. She assumed that it was another guest who probably got lost or was just nervous as hell to walk into the party. Perhaps they thought they’d look ridiculous!

They couldn’t have been that bad. There was the Scarecrow from The Wiz here, Mystique, Johnny Cage from Mortal Kombat, A Mickey & Minnie Mouse…And about a dozen more characters. And then there was Bruce… dressed as… Bruce.

No one could look as ridiculous as he did in this moment. Sticking out like a sore thumb.

She placed her phone down before she walked towards the front door. When she walked out to the porch deck, she took a deep breath and walked to the right side where the individual was standing there like a statue. ‘Hey! You know the party is on the inside right? Why don’t you come inside! We have beer, liquor, food,... candy?’

He didn’t speak for a long moment before slowly turning around to face her. ‘Cardi.’

Her heart fell to the pit of her stomach. ‘Clark!? Baby, is that you?!’ She quickly rushed off of the deck and stopped in her tracks. She took in the moment to really drink him in.

‘Well…’ He said as he extended his arms for her to get a good look at him. ‘What do you think?’

Other than the fact that he was drop dead gorgeous, she couldn’t understand why he looked so much like the one the world knew as Kal-El. She couldn’t even explain the enthrallment she felt for him at this moment. Just swooning like a teenage girl admiring her crush.

Completely speechless.

‘I knew it. I look ridiculous.’ Clark sighed as he placed one hand on his hip and scratched the back of his head.

‘What?! What? Baby, baby no!’ She rushed over to him. ‘You just… you look just like him.’ She snaked her arm around his small waist as she reached up to cup his jaw. ‘You look amazing.’ Cardi grinned before her happy brown eyes studied his eyes for a second before they drifted down to his chest. There sat that infamous “S” but in silver.

‘Since when did Superman wear black? Where did you even get this?! Is this the costume you were so concerned about?!’ She asked in wonder.

Clark was shaken out of his thoughts with her voice. He looked down at his chest as she traced the intricate detailing of the letter. It even felt familiar. ‘As far as I know… he doesn’t. But actually I…’ he paused for a second, ‘I had a friend make this for me.’

Perhaps he called his father his friend.

‘Well, it’s beautiful. And Unique! Most certainly puts that Bright blue to shame. I bet if he were here, he’d probably try to shake you up for it.’ She giggled.

‘Probably.’ Clark laughed as he reached his hand behind her head; his fingers getting lost in her blown out hair. His other hand rested on her hip. ‘You look absolutely irresistible right now. I think it might be a little harder to focus with all these people around tonight.’ His grin remained.

‘Oh? Are we playing a little game?’

‘It can be whatever you want it to be, baby.’

Cardi bit into her glossed bottom lip before she pulled his face down to meet her in a tantalizing kiss. Slipping her tongue into his warm mouth, she welcomed his in return as they held onto one another a little bit tighter.

Then, when she broke the kiss, she let out a deep breath before letting out a giddy giggle. ‘C’mon.’ She said as she grabbed his hand and started walking backwards, ‘We can’t keep our guests waiting.’

Once inside of the party, all eyes were on him.

Bruce stood up straight, his stormy blue eyes damn near popping out of his head, ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.’

Helena looked up from pouring two glasses of Pink Whitney and lemonade to see Cardi and Clark walking into the party. A huge grin of happiness curled on her face but also, she was admiring how amazing his costume looked.

She walked up to the both of them, ‘Wooow. Damn Clark! How much are they paying you at the Planet?! That’s a good lookin’ costume there.’ She grinned as she took a sip of her drink.

‘Thanks– Helena. Since you're here, I’d assume Bruce has come too, yes?’

‘Mmmhmm. He’s over there in the corner hidin’ like a Bat in a cave. You should go speak to him.’

Clark’s eyes landed on Bruce who was staring at him with a “BE FUCKING SERIOUS” glare written all over his face. ‘I’ll go say Hi. He doesn’t look like he’s having a good time. Maybe I should cheer him up.’ He looked down at Cardi, ‘Be good.’ He winked.

‘No promises!’ Cardierre grinned as she watched him walk off to be with his friend. A smile plastered on her face like the joker. She was so infatuated! It was as if what she was sad about earlier never even mattered.

Helena stared at her friend for a second before looking over at Clark. ‘Well, what happened?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean did you scold him about being late?’

‘No. I’m not his mother, Lena.’ She sighed softly before continuing, ‘It was exactly what I thought it was. The costume. He swore up and down that he looked ridiculous.’

‘What? Ridiculous? Do you not see your man?!’ Both of the girls looked over at Clark talking to Bruce. Yeah, they were gawking.

‘Are those all his muscles?!’ Helena asked curiously, squinting her eyes trying to better her vision.

Cardi’s mouth fell as she tried not to laugh before slapping her friend on the arm, ‘Yes! They are! As far as I know anyway.’ She giggled.

Helena giggled as she held the second cup out towards her, ‘Here. You drink this. It’ll take for me to shove this cup down Bruce’s throat for him to drink this mess.’

‘Thanks.’ Cardi giggled before taking a big gulp of the strong drink.

After a little while longer, the party was jumping and thumping! People were all around, dancing, singing, eating– having the time of their lives! Clark and Bruce pretty much stayed glued to one another’s hips the whole night. All until Cardierre got a little bit looser than usual.

Water by Tyla started playing and she began to let the music take over her body. She was dancing with Helena, rocking and grinding her hips with her friend. And once she caught Clark’s atlantic blue eyes staring at her through the crowd, she placed her hands on her body and began to caress herself.

Helena decided to turn up the notch to make Clark lose his mind. She took the water bottle off the bartop and poured it down Cardierre’s back and her chest. ‘WHOOOOO!’ The guests began to cheer as she rolled and rocked her hips like a belly dancer.

‘AYO CLARK! COME GET YA GIRL!’

Clark and Bruce watched closely as the scene unfolded before them. Clark reached out and carefully grabbed Bruce’s shirt, ‘Control yourself… Your woman is here.’

Cardi laughed happily as she and her friend gave one another a high five. She then skipped off to the kitchen to make herself another drink. They ran out of plastic cups so that would require her to go in the pantry.

She pulled the door open and walked inside to grab the unopened container of cups. When she turned back around, Clark was standing at the door with his big, sturdy arms folded across his chest. His head was cocked to the side, eyes wandering her body that was covered in a thin sheet of water with a few drops here and there.

‘I know what you’re doing and you’re not going to get away with it, Cardierre.’

Ooh! Her government! He meant business.

‘I-I don’t know what you mean, Clarky-Pooh.’ She gave him a goofy grin. ‘Now, can you get out my way so I can tend to our guests?’ She carefully pushed past him. But not before he could grab her by her arms and pull her back into his brawny frontside.

She gasped at the sudden movement, looking up at him as he pressed his hardened member against her back. He looked down at her with a slightly amused look on his face, ‘Do you see what you’re doing to me? Ever since I saw you tonight I’ve been thinking about bending you over that dining room table.’

Cardi giggled as she licked at her lips, ‘Baby, not in front of the guests.’ she pressed her ass against him once more and grind her hips on him, ‘I’m sure you can wait til the party’s over…’ She stopped, ‘Right?’

Clark closed his eyes, letting out a frustrated grunt before his forehead rested on top of her head. ‘Yes..’ He sighed as he released his hold on her. ‘I can wait. Go ahead and do your thing. Let me adjust myself.’ He let out an embarrassed sigh as he stepped into the pantry and closed the door.

Letting out an evil laugh, she walked back to the central area of the party to see Bruce and Helena getting well acquainted on the dancefloor. She smiled softly, so happy to see both of her close friends developing a relationship. She thought it was cute.

Shortly after, she felt Clark place his hand on her hip before placing a cute little kiss on her cheek then her head. ‘Are you having a good time baby? Was it everything you expected it to be?’

She smiled softly and looked up at him, ‘And more. Our first Halloween party and everybody looks like they are having a wonderful time. Most of all though,’ She turned around to face her lover, ‘I’m glad you’re here.’

‘Yeah?’ Clark smirked as he wrapped his arms around her waist, ‘Well what you gonna do to make use of my presence?’

‘Why should I tell you when I can just show you?’ She raised a brow with a dark, drunken smirk.

Clark looked away, letting out a chuckle before looking down at her once again, ‘Alright. That’s it.’ And he quickly scooped down, wrapped his arms around her thighs and threw her over her shoulder.

‘AHHH! CLARK!’ Cardi giggled out loud before he landed a smack on her ass.

‘Hush!’ He exclaimed as he walked out of the kitchen and walked through the crowd.

Bruce and Helena watched as Clark carried Cardi across the room.

‘Oh! Everyone! Enjoy the party! Just got to have a conversation with my woman in the bathroom!’

Cardi laughed as she gave the room a thumbs up.

***

Clark placed her down on the sink before he walked over and locked the door. Slowly turning to look at her as she adjusted herself on the sink. ‘I’ve warned you already. Why do you insist on teasing me all night mama? How is that fair?’

‘Because I think it’s funny. Plus, I wanted to see how long Superman can go before he loses his shit over me.’ She grinned as she slowly spread her thighs.

‘Well it didn’t take long now did it? You got what you wanted. Now it’s my turn.’ He said darkly as he closed in the gap and stood between her thighs. ‘Goddammit. I’m an lucky son of a bitch huh?’ He growled as his large hands caressed her thick smooth thighs.

‘More like blessed… Now, stop talking and give me a kiss daddy.’

Clark grinned as he placed another animalistic kiss upon her lips. His hands desperately reached up the sides of her thighs and tugged at the hips of her panties then dropped them to the ground. He reached between her thighs as he broke the kiss, resting his fingertips on her erected nub, ‘You’re warm and wet… are you ready for me? You think you can handle me, Goddess?’

She grinned darkly, her eyes glaring at him with pure desire, ‘What’s a man to a God?’

He chuckled seductively, ‘I figured you’d say that.’ And he shoved his middle and ring finger inside of her. Easily finding a warm and cozy home there as he curled them upwards.

‘Fuuuck.’ Her head fell back against the mirror as she felt her body grow numb with pleasure. ‘Yes, Superman!’

He used his free hand to pull her top down, exposing her pretty perky breasts. Not wasting another second, he quickly wrapped his lips around her nipple.

‘Shiiit.’

Clark was so damn hard he could probably cut through rocks. But the way he was going to use her… he was going to have to ask his Lord and Savior to forgive him.

‘Aaaah, fuck Clark you’re gonna make me cum.’ She gripped the edge of the sink for stability. She began to heave and hiccup as her body began to succumb to his magic.

‘Ooh already little Goddess?’ He hissed through his teeth as he rubbed at her G-spot faster, coaxing her orgasm out of her. He then used his thumb to rub her clit with the pad of his thumb. He groaned against her soft, supple tits.

‘OH! FUCK!’ she exclaimed before she placed her hand over her mouth, watching as he practically stole her orgasm from her. But she wasn’t mad.

He smirked as he pulled her hand down away from her face, ‘Goddesses deserved to be heard.’ He reached behind himself and unzipped his suit, pushing it down to his knees. He was standing at full attention for her. ‘Don’t you agree?’

Finally coming down from her powerful orgasm, she let out a shuddered sigh and nodded, ‘I do agree.’

Grabbing her hand, he pulled her down from the sink, turned her around and placed her knee on the cool porcelain. He moved the skirt from off of her and smooth his hand over her ass. He then landed a hard smack against her rump.

‘OOP!’ Cardi giggled and looked back at her lover. ‘Is Superman going to show me that brute strength?’

Clark smirked and grabbed his member, ‘Is that what the Goddess wants?’ He pressed the tip of his member against her honeyed slit and began to sink her hips into her.

Cardi let out a sharp gasp as she embraced his length. Her head fell back to look up at him as he bottomed out into her. ‘Augh! Uh-huuuh.’ She breathed out, clenching her teeth together as she braced herself for the work he was about to put on her.

He grabbed her jaw, as he leaned down and slipped his tongue into her mouth. He began to roll his hips into her at a slow and steady rhythm. He hummed against her lips as his free hand reached up to grope at her breast.

She moaned into his mouth as he began to pick up the pace and adjust the rhythm of his hips. When she broke the kiss, she kept her eyes on him as her brain tried to keep up with the pleasure her body was enduring. ‘Gods baby! You feel so fucking good!’ She gritted through her teeth as she leaned forward to grip the sink better.

‘Yeah? Damn you’re so fucking tight baby. Ugh, you take me so fucking well.’ He groaned as he landed another smack on her ass before placing his massive hands on her small waist for stability.

‘UGH! Fuck! Oooh you’re gonna make me cum already! Hoooh my goood! Yessss!’ Her walls began to spazz and throb around his member; making it tighter for him and more sensitive for her. She gripped the sink tightly as her orgasm began to rock her from her core.

Clark laughed crudely, taunting her as he fucked her through her orgasm, in turn doubling the pleasure she had from the previous one. ‘Look at you. You’re so fucking beautiful baby. Such a good little Goddess for me?’

‘Yes! I’m a good little Goddess daddy! Ugh, fuck!’

‘That’s my little Goddess.’ He reached forward and gripped her hair, pulling her back towards his torso. ‘You think you were just going to wear that costume and not get punished for it?!’ He growled in her ear as he plunged into her harder and faster.

Unfortunately for Cardi, she was practically wheezing as he went in on her. Taking deep breaths and groans, her mouth felt like cotton. ‘N-no!’ She mewed out like a kitten. It felt so goddamn good, and she just knew the after care would be immaculate.

‘I can’t hear you little Goddess.’ He huffed in her ear, ‘You’re gonna have to speak up for me!’

‘NO! CLARK! PLEASE! DON’T STOP, PLEASE!’ she begged as she reached back and dug her pointy nails into his muscular thigh.

He wrapped his strong arm around her waist, hiding his face in her shoulder as he felt his own milky orgasm sneaking up on him too. ‘Fuck. Does Superman’s little Goddess want him to breed that pretty little pussy?’ He then bit into her shoulder gently.

‘Yes! Please, please Kal-El! Fill me up!’

There was something about her calling him by his Kryptonian name that just turned him on so much more. Perhaps it was the way her southern accent rolled with it. It just sent him on a quick downward spiral. His hips bucked sloppily as he began to tense up. ‘Ugh!’ he gritted his teeth together as he held her body close to his, emptying all of himself into her. ‘Uhhhh fuck!’ His thighs trembled, his knees buckled.

Cardi let out a heavy breath as her body relaxed against his. ‘Fuck.’ Then, she looked back at him with a drunken smile spread across her lips. ‘I fucking love you.’ She laughed.

‘No more than I could possibly love you Little Goddess.’ He chuckled tiredly as he placed a sweet kiss on her lips.

***

After the couple freshened themselves up and put themselves back together, they walked down the stairs to rejoin the party. It almost seemed as if they weren’t missed because the party was still full of life!

Clark and Cardi shared one more kiss before splitting up. He went to hangout with Bruce as she went to grab a bottle of water from the cooler.

‘Well if it ain’t Mr. And Mrs. “Mink, Mink, Mink”.’ Helena walked up with her hands on her hips, ‘You know I heard yall loud and clear right? Hell, most of the party did.’

‘Oh.’ She giggled and gave her an apologetic smile, ‘I’m sorry but, you can do whatever you wanna do when it’s your house.’ She teased.

‘I knew your ass would say something so asinine.’ Lena retorted, ‘Let’s just enjoy the rest of our night. Who knows when we’ll be able to see each other again after tonight.’

‘Sounds like a plan to me.’

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deadpool15 · 6 months

Text

Underwear?

"Hello, vlog. I'm currently in the kitchen. You can obviously see that if you have fucking eyes. I'm sorry, sometimes people will be slow. So, a couple of things have happened, first being I got MARRIED." Lyric says while smiling at the camera. "I've just been sitting in my house, living life. I got married in January, so it's been like a couple of months and I know what you thinking your this man done turned our girl into a fucking housewife. No, well shit I mean, the dick is good soo." I laugh while walking towards the refrigerator to grab out the ingredients for the pasta dish I'm making. Just a little simple meal, because I mean you got to save the best for last am I right. Yall know I'm right.

I managed to score me a 6'2, beautiful ass model and actor combined. Yea, that shig was definitely on my bucket list, I mean I was thinking more of a tall women like that video game with the zombies but, shit it's not like I fell short or anything. I met Byeon during Paris fashion week, during a bathroom accident. And by that I mean I walked into the wrong fucking bathroom because I was distracted and lost as fuck. I turn about towards the camera after explaining the situation. "I mean, I'm pretty sure that shit happened to everyone before to all of you. Agree with me, please. The sad part is this isn't the first time I've walked into the wrong bathroom. Let me live, ok. So, back to the story."

Flashback

"Omg, I'm going to fucking piss my pants. I'm too old for all this running and shit. A bitch is about 4'11, therefore I'm not athletic enough either. Sir fucking move." I practically scream at the random man blocking the entrance, ofc he tries to stop me but I pay him no mind, and immediately run into a stall. "This stupid fucking dress." After about what felt like 12 minutes I was able to use the bathroom. I walked out only to walk face first into a door, I looked up and saw a face. "Shit, dude, you are basically built like a wall. Wait, isn't this the women's bathroom, or do you identify as a women. If so, I'm totally sorry, ma'am." He looks down at me smirking before I notice this is the most beautiful man I've ever seen. "Shit, dude, you look like you were made by AI, I mean young lady."

It takes me a moment to realize he is speaking to me. Fucking beautiful specimen. I know his dick is big. Wait shit no what's wrong with me. Well, I'm obviously horny as shit and he could totally fix that issue. "This is the men's restroom, or you lost?" I look up at him basically staining my fucking neck shit this dude is tall, he could totally break my back. Wait, stop it. This is the men's bathroom, which explains why that dude tried to stop me from coming in here. "Yea, I am lost, sir. I was trying to find the womens bathroom, though that's obviously too late since I've already used the bathroom, and well, you know."I should walk you back them, just in case you get lost and wander into another's men's bathroom and some other guy gets the chance. Strange girl." I blush while looking around the bathroom." "Yes, you should be kind, sir."

Present

I start mixing all the ingredients while I finish telling the story, smiling at how the memories make me feel. "So. I'm just gonna let this cook for 30 minutes, and it should be done. I had already prepared the recipe last night, so everything is pretty much good. Anyways, how yall doing? Oo shit, this is a vlog, not a live video. Yea, I'm just gonna edit that out. I don't need yall thinking I'm slow and shit." As I finish speaking, my phone starts going off, and someone is literally blowing up my phone. "Acting like I owe child support in this bitch. I don't claim any foreign. Oo shit yall it's just my MAN." I smile once I see the contact.

Myman- Hey baby, are you busy ?

Mymam- Are you even up, I know you don't wake up til like 4 in the afternoon.

Myman- I was just checking in, baby. We got a break on set, and I told the staff that I had to speak with my wife.

Myman- There is this random girl that kinda won't leave me alone, not that you need to worry, though. I handled 👏 it.

Babycakes- I'm up

Babycakes- Who tf is bothering you, baby? If I need to come out there and check a bitch I will.

Myman- No, baby, nothing like that, I promise, just a little flirting.

Babycakes- Say no more say no more say no moreeee

Babycakes- I'm on my wayyyy

I gathered everything and headed to the car, and before I knew it, I made it on set. "So, since they still kinda filming, I can't bring yall. We'll I can I just like can show yall shit to be honest. So, I mean yall can we my man. My husband. So, let's go." I get out of my car walking up the security guards who greatly remember me and allow me in without a fight. "Omg, yall I thought I wad gonna have to be the anger black women in this bitch, anyways let's find our target." I walk pretty much all over the set saying him to everyone including Lee Yoon-mi. "It's my favorite strong girl. Guys, look at my girlfriend." She laughs hysterically at my comment. "Hello, to Lyrics vlog, stop saying I'm your girlfriend before your husband tries to take us apart." I kiss her cheek while hugging her, asking where would Byeon be right now. "He should be in his trailer. He heard you were coming and got all excited and locked himself in there, saying he was waiting patiently for his love." I laugh at how dramatic he is before telling yoon bye, leaving to finally get to him.

I spot the trailer that lists his name on it before knocking. "Are yall excited to see him, I mean, I am." I wait a while before I hear him at the door, "I told you all. I'm kinda busy." He opens the door staring at me wide-eyed. "To busy for me, sir." Byeon immediately grabs me and yanks me into the trailer, turning off my camera before I could introduce him to everyone. "I fucking missed you so much," I stare at him shocked since he is literally smelling me right now. He grabs my ass while pushing me further through the trailer, "You look so pretty. It's too pretty to walk out of the house. Fuck other people probably saw you didn't they?" "Ofc, they saw me baby I had to ask for your location, duh? What's wrong?" He grabs my jaw while pushing me against the Makeup table. "Don't sass me right now, I've been waiting forever. Sitting here hard thinking about fucking you until you can't walk. Seems like I didn't do a good enough job last night. Let's fix that."

"W-wait baby, we can't do that here," though it seems like my voice means nothing to him because he has already pushed me down bending me over. "But what if they hear, and I'm pretty sure you have to be on set soo- "Come on baby, don't make me beg. You know you want it to, and that's why you came here dressed up for me. All pretty for me." Before I can protest further, he starts fingering me slowly, causing me to moan out loud, and he stops. "Your sensitive baby, why are you sensitive? That would mean you were touching yourself earlier. Shit your already about to cum. I'm gonna have to punish you for that."

#byeon woo seok #strong girl nam soon

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endlich-allein · 10 months

Note

QUICK, I'M DESPERATE! SHARE A FACT (or two) THAT YOU FIND INTERESTING ABOUT TILL THAT YOU THINK PEOPLE DON'T TALK ABOUT ENOUGH!

FAILURE TO DO SO WILL LEAD TO MY DEATH...or well...not death, but at the very least gentle disappointment....

THANKS!

OKAY !!! HERE ARE A FEW ANECDOTES I LIKE ABOUT TILL. THERE ARE PLENTY OF OTHERS, BUT THESE ARE THE FIRST THAT CAME TO MY MIND :

— Till loves SMALL dogs. He loves animals, we know that, and he's already had dogs of all sizes. But he loves small dogs, very small dogs. A man built like a refrigerator who loves small dogs, that's a strange image... ;

— Till spent all the money he received after the Fall of the Wall on gummy bears. He loves sweets, has a sweet tooth and you can sometimes bump into him in candy stores ;

— Till loves parties, but it's been reported several times that he's not very comfortable when he's the center of attention. For example, for his 20th birthday he organized a party and didn't want his parents to be there. The party was in full swing when Werner decided to drop by to see if the house was still standing. He found his son, sitting alone in a corner with a sad expression on his face and a bottle of vodka ;

— Till had written a great many poems (some say over 5,000, but I don't have the source) before someone discovered that he wrote ;

— Till had a very sweet nickname: Donuts. Richard had nicknamed him Donuts because Till kept asking him to make him donuts, and as the ingredients were expensive, they kept stealing them ;

— Till loves Christmas time. What's more, it's a chance for him to show off his kleptomaniac skills by stealing Christmas trees in the forest ;

— Till and Flake have had many adventures together, including once at an awards ceremony, when a celebrity and his five bodyguards attacked our two Rammboys. This resulted in a fight, 2 against 5, and of course they lost and were kicked out. Actually, it was more like 1 vs. 5, as Flake yelled at them to stop beating Till and go after him instead...;

— One day, while babysitting his grandson, Till was shopping and flirting with a cashier, but his grandson wanted chewing gum and kept asking for it: "Grandpa, I want chewing gum". Till was a little embarrassed ;

— Till has a long scar (among many others) on his left forearm because once, when he was young, he tried to open a tin can without a can opener but with a knife because he was so hungry ;

— Till and the Rammstein boys were very poor when Rammstein started. They recall in 2004 :

"Flake : Do you remember how we stole ducks in the village? We knew that they were fed corn flour, so the gizzards were cooked with corn, it worked very well.

Till : It's true, yes! When Rammstein began, we lived, as in prehistoric times. Next to our house was a railway line.. At dawn we went out to collect corpses of animals left from the night train: the train always kills two or three animals, it is only necessary to find them. These we also ate . Well, not only them, of course. We also caught fish in a trap. It’s much easier to concentrate on music when you are not worrying about where to find money for dinner."

I HOPE YOU WON'T BE DISAPPOINTED AND STOP YELLING AT ME 🤣

#anon asks

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matchbet-allofthetime · 11 months

Text

Okay here's some of my personal RE HCs because no one is stopping me.

These are in no way like the be-all-end-all for hcs (everyone has their own ofc and i have so many overlapping concepts, so feel free to share!!) but I wanted to post these anyways

This is really long, so...

Enjoy under the cut!

Wesker

───✦ He/They ───✦ Pansexual, demiromantic ───✦ Agender (gender is meaningless for him personally) ───✦ Built like a god damn refrigerator. Just a fucking rectangle of a man. ───✦ Ik this is canon but I love it, so I'm adding it anyways- he originally covered his eyes with his glasses to hide the emotions he deemed his greatest weakness and later did it to hide irritation and his eyes ───✦ I think part of the reason he did it was because Chris came to him looking like a kicked puppy one day after Wesker scolded him and Wesker got the softest look on his face for Chris, so he always wore glasses from then on ───✦ He's super proud of Chris and wishes, despite everything, that they could be like old friends again. He misses how carefree and nonchalant Chris used to be before all the outbreaks hardened him into more of a machine than a man ───✦ Actually really hates Umbrella, but tolerated them and used their resources for his own experimentation and ideals ───✦ I know that in canon, he's about 6' 3" or 190 cm, but I think he towers over everyone at somewhere around 6' 5-6' 9". He isn't built like a boulder like Chris is (pun intended) but he IS taller and I like making height differences more dramatic ───✦ He really loves rain and fog. ───✦ His AW Model Samurai Edge has his initials carved right under the short barrel of the gun, right where you attach a silencer- and he has Chris' initials carved right in front of the trigger. He thinks of it as a way for Chris to 'keep him doing things in the right direction'

Chris

───✦ He/Him ───✦ Bisexual ───✦ AKFHSKFNEJ THIS MAN IS MASSIVE. He is super huge. Fuck canon he's 6' 5" because LOOK AT HIM IN RE8, PLEASE- ───✦ Asian-american (his facial features in vendetta? pfft, please, this man is asian. I think Korean personally.) The name Redfield is of Scottish origin, but I think his american family fled from scotland to escape the British regime similarly to what my family did ───✦ Canonically can't read during a flashback, which is probably referring to him being unable to read sheet music specifically, since he's trying to read the sheet music at the grand piano- but this just makes me think he's a slow reader and has dyslexia ───✦ I think he's super flirty but also is oblivious ───✦ Adhd all the way ───✦ Super messy handwriting because his mind moves faster than his hands, so it's just the messiest half-cursive scrawl ───✦ Looks like a grinning felon on his license and has since he got his learner's at like 15. He just keeps looking more like "yeah I committed that crime and I'll do it again" every time he goes in for a renewal ───✦ Really loves cars and armoured vehicles in the same way Leon loves motorcycles ───✦ Hates Leon's drinking habit while Leon hates Chris' smoking habit ───✦ They come together eventually to help the other stop their addictions and it mostly involves lots of snuggles and pancakes ───✦ Really loves that Ethan is Canadian because Ethan can and will special order authentic maple syrup solely so Chris is happy and he loves authentic syrup so much he can damn near drink it straight from the bottle

Krauser

───✦ He/They or He/Him ───✦ Bisexual ───✦ German-american (as a German-american myself, it makes sense based on his name and his need to do busy work (his off-days merc work) just to feel like he's doing something worthwhile. In German culture, being able-bodied and able to work is a super big societal standpoint that is thankfully changing some) ───✦ He's actually an incredibly anxious individual. He finds the cut-and-dry rules, schedules, and regulations of the army and the relative-freedoms of his mercenary work are good for him regulating himself ───✦ He really likes Leon. Thinks he's a good kid (even though they're so close in age) and wishes him well in life. ───✦ Loves snakes. So much. It's on his blade and he hated killing that snake to protect Leon during the Darkside Chronicles cutscene, but Leon mattered more ───✦ Part of the reason he's such an ass and so cold is because he doesn't like many people and has difficulty interacting outside of yelling at them to train them or smart-mouthing people who deem themselves his 'superior' ───✦ Actually really doesn't like the government for a lot of reasons ───✦ Had a second blade custom-made for Leon so they could match ───✦ Really likes cuddles and is a human heater

Merchant

───✦ He/They/It (sometimes refers to himself as 'we', sort of in the local-english dialect kinda of way, as in a singular 'we' but I also have a theory regarding the blue/purple flamed lamp you always see with him, but that's a whole can of worms) ───✦ Pansexual, panromantic ───✦ Nonbinary. Can be amab or trans afab, but prefers being deemed more masculine ───✦ British-english; just likes to travel the world ───✦ Older than he lets on and joins the Duke for dinner a few times a year. They bond over shared experiences and intriguing customers ───✦ Long dark brown/straight hair, tied into a ponytail down the base of his head. ───✦ I think he's either really scrawny or he's fluffier and stockier under his coat than he appears ───✦ He has facial scars, mostly consisting of a few slashes from knives or similar and a scar that curls across the left side of his face ───✦ This particular scar ruined part of his lips and shows some of his teeth even when his mouth is shut, which is one of many reasons he wears his mask. Can't go around scaring his customers, can he? Bad for business! ───✦ His eyes ARE blue, but in fact glow under low-light conditions and glow when he's under intense emotions (ex. stress, anger, extreme happiness, etc) ───✦ They flash this sort of red-orange similar to Wesker's eyes when he's irritated too or when he gets impatient, but it's easy to miss ───✦ He also has a weirdly long split tongue and the further up it you go, you start to see these soft little barb-like features. They curl and stretch whenever your fingers brush over a particularly flavour-sensitive spot or press too hard ───✦ Really good at cooking ───✦ Has a special interest in weaponry of all kinds and enjoys working with his hands ───✦ Incredibly fond of Leon and makes sure he's well taken care of whenever he gets the chance ───✦ Autistic

Ethan

───✦ He/They ───✦ Cisn't (amab or afab, but I lean toward amab) ───✦ Canadian/american ───✦ The shadow thing on his face is actually caused by his 'death' in Louisiana. He's not sure why it happens and can kinda turn it off, but it follows his face regardless of light conditions. In darker/fully dark environments, all you have a chance of seeing is the glint or even sometimes glow of his eyes. You only see the ring of colour of his eyes during these moments. ───✦can and will scare people with what remains of the megamycete- ie making himself look a little too cryptid-like ───✦ Similarly to the Lords (primarily Salvatore Moreau) he has these tentacle-like appendages that can sprout from his back that he uses to freak people out. The Lords still aren't so used to it ───✦ Has adhd and autism ───✦ IT tech genius, computers are his special interest ───✦ He is a sarcastic ass when he wants to be and gets even more feral and angry now thanks to the megamycete ───✦ He is super tired and has insomnia issues half-thanks to Louisiana and the Village and half-thanks to his natural insomnia problems (mood my guy) ───✦ Like smart-assing Heisenberg frequently, but also enjoys having long philosophical or tech-related convos with him ───✦ Surprisingly close to Chris and later Leon ───✦ Finds the Merchant hilarious

Leon

───✦ He/him or he/they. I sometimes write him a cis amab sometimes trans. Often trans. Nonbinary?? Idk, but I like him being a gnc type guy. ───✦ Bi or pan, but demiromantic and demisexual too ───✦ Struggles with his own touch-starvation and even now, loud noises scare him a lot when he's not on the job. He's always worried about another unprepared breakout like the events of RE2 ───✦ Romanian/american (a thought I've had since RE4 2005 back when I played the game in like,,, 2014. I find it funny now that his remake model is Romanian from what I understand lol) ───✦ Still has remnants of Las Plagas running through him, but his blood kinda neutralized it to make a 'perfect monster'-type effect. ───✦ As a result of this, he can essentially 'shift' his body in weird ways and create the equivalent of the arms on the Los Iluminados insignia (yanno, with the four arms kinda like a mantis or facehugger has? yeah, that) ───✦ He doesn't like that it happens but he finds the older he gets, the more used to it he becomes and the more he uses them in sticky situations ───✦ Adhd and autism; really oblivious to social cues which is part of why he jumps into everything headfirst and why he doesn't flirt well. But he tries ───✦ Very soft and can sleep through a nuclear explosion

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a-strange-inkling · 1 year

Text

Day 22: Christmas Dinner

Chicago, Illinois 1988

“You’re hogging her!” Wayne exclaims from where he’s sitting on the couch, his hands out impatiently. “Let me hold that little munchkin.”

“No!” Eddie replies just as fiercely, only half joking when he tucks his infant daughter closer to him. “You just had her! She’s mine! I made her!”

“And I kept you alive long enough so you could make her, boy, you owe me,” Wayne counters warningly as he stands. “I can still kick your ass, you know, now hand her over!”

“No! Chrissy!” Eddie calls, putting up his foot to stop his uncle. “He’s trying to take my baby from me!”

“You get to hold her all the time, let Wayne have a turn.” she tells him from where she’s working in the kitchenette. “I need your help over here anyway.”

“You heard her!” Wayne quips.

Eddie puffs out a good natured smile, rising from where he and Olivia were cozy in the armchair and gently passing her to her great uncle.

Wayne chuckles in triumph and delight when those beautiful dark orbs turn up to him. Livvy’s a sweet, quiet child, all eyes. “Precious little blessing,” he coos, sitting back down with her. “Good lord, this brings me back.”

“Baby thief.” Eddie mutters, coming up behind Chrissy, who’s straining boiling water out of a pot. “Just watch, he’ll never give her back now.”

“He’s only got her till tomorrow afternoon.” she points out with a smile. “You let him hold that baby as long as he’d like.”

“Ugh, fine…” he mumbles. “What do you need me to do, sweetheart?” he scratches the top of her head from behind, making her smile up at him, arching her head up like a cat at his touch.

“You can start mashing… Oh! Check your chicken first!” she replies hastily.

He winks back at her as he grabs an oven mit. “I’m never going to live down last year, am I?”

“…You did set it on fire.” she giggles as he peers into their little oven. The bird is getting golden, but no grease fire in sight. Always a plus.

“Yeah, well, I’ve already set myself on fire this year,” he reminds her, motioning towards his hair with a tight smile. “Hopefully I’ve met my quota.”

“Please, do you know how many times he almost set the trailer on fire, Chrissy?” Wayne asks, in between making faces at Livvy, coaxing a quirky little smile out of her. “Take a guess.”

“Heh, just go ahead and tell her,” Eddie claps back at him with a grin and a careless wave of his hand as he starts mashing the boiled potatoes. “She can’t leave now, she’s bound by contract.”

“I’m going to say…” Chrissy looks him up and down. He wriggles his brows at her playfully. “Five.”

“Nine.” Wayne corrects.

“Eddie!” she gasps in astonishment.

“Nine?” Eddie snaps his head up in confusion. “Please, it was only ever seven.”

“You’re forgetting the pop tart,” Wayne reminds him. “And that time your dang amp overheated.”

“Oh, yeah…” he admits with a small snicker, looking upward in amusement.

“Are you counting the time when he built that bonfire…”

Eddie clears his throat loudly, shooting Chrissy a sharp warning look, making her slap a hand over her mouth, muffling a laugh.

They all sit down at their little table with the traditional Munson spread of roast chicken, refrigerated dinner rolls, mashed potatoes and green bean casserole. A meal Wayne always managed to put together for Eddie every year, despite his grueling hours at the plant. Quaint, but very hearty. Chrissy loves this meal because last Christmas was the first one where she was able to eat as much as she wanted.

“Christ, Ed, you were such a troublemaker.” Wayne muses as he hands Olivia to Chrissy so she can strap her into her highchair. “This little one is much too sweet for the likes of you.”

Eddie smiles smugly at that, remembering all of those times he was picked up at the school or the hospital or the police station and how Wayne would rant the whole way home about how he couldn’t wait for him to someday have a kid of his own so that they would put him through everything that he put Wayne through.

“Heh, that’s right! I lucked out, old man, she’s an angel, just like her mother.” Eddie crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair. “Guess they're just not getting those messages of yours upstairs.”

“You just wait, kid.” Wayne points his fork at him. “I’m praying on my knees every night for your next child to be a little boy just like you.”

@hellcheerxmas

#hellcheercountdown #hellcheer countdown #hellcheer #eddie x chrissy #eddissy #munningham #chrissy x eddie #hellcheer fanfiction #hellcheer fanfic #old haunts #hellcheer xmas

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muses-morii · 7 months

Text

Three Words

It's time for FANFICTION WITH SOAP! Haha, just a little thing for @knightfeared, just because. :)

~ Three Words ~

“I like it when you smile.”

Moonlight played over the walls, filtering in through the curtains and casting dancing shadows over the room. The soft rumble of traffic and the low hum of a refrigerator broke the silence of the small apartment. Not only was it quiet, but very little moved within; a fan whirred and turned back and forth in the bedroom. Out in the living room, papers on a coffee table fluttered with the faint breeze coming through the open window. “But I love it when I'm the reason.”

Laying on the couch, one knee bent upwards with the sun flickering along his body, was a powerfully built young man with silver-white hair. He wore white socks and dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt with the number seventy-seven up by the shoulder in yellow. An arm lay draped over his eyes. His other arm, bearing a dark blue wrist brace, hung over the side of the couch, fingers grazing against the floor. “I can't do everything.”

Somewhere in the apartment, a phone began to ring, the musical tone a catchy, victorious sort of fanfare from a video game. Drawing a deep breath, the arm over his eyes moved, his hand coming to rest on his face. Riku opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling, making no move to get up and answer the still ringing phone. “But I'd do anything for you.”

The phone stopped ringing and he closed his eyes, breathing out slowly through parted lips and running his hand through his hair.

“You loved me.”

The corner of Riku's mouth curled upward and he drew in another slow breath as a tear slid down into his hair. Somewhere in the apartment, the phone started ringing again and he opened his glassy, sea green eyes again, another tear dripping down the side of his face to dampen his hair and the couch cushion.

“When I couldn't love myself.”

He sat up, turning his head to look at the phone ringing on the side table by the couch, lips trembling with his smile.

“I will find you.” Reaching over, Riku picked up the phone with one hand and wiped at his tears with the heel of the other. The phone continued to ring, its cheery, victorious tune making the soft moonlight feel warmer somehow. “In every lifetime.”

The phone stopped ringing and he gently touched the missed calls notification on the screen, lightly tracing the letters of the contact name with a finger tip.

“You keep my feet on the ground.”

There came a sudden knock on the door and Riku looked quickly to the side, his grip tightening on the phone, breath hitching in his throat. “And I keep your head in the clouds.”

Another knock sounded on the door along with a shout of his name and tossing the phone to the side, Riku stood up from the couch.

“I can't stop thinking about you toady.”

He stepped around the edge of it, hurrying towards the door, his apartment suddenly feeling so much bigger than it ever had before.

“Tomorrow.”

The closer he got to the door, the further away it seemed to be. There came another knock and another shout of his name, this time the voice uncertain and even a little hesitant.

“Always.”

Suddenly the door was there and riku practically ran into it. Fumbling with the door lock and handle, he struggled to get his voice to work, to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth so that he might speak, so that he might let the person on the other side know he was there. “If I know what love is.”

Yanking the door open, he stared wide eyed at the beautiful, brown-haired man standing on the other side. Blue eyes looked at him in surprise and then in worry and then a hand was touching his face, his name falling from the mans lips. “It is because of you.” Reaching out, Riku cradled his visitors face and stroked his cheeks with his thumbs. He heard him asking if he was okay and the truth was...

“I'm at my happiest.”

Drawing him into his arms, Riku hugged him tight and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, eyes closing as he held him close. “When I'm with you.”

Arms circled around him, hands resting on his lower back. Holding, loving and protecting him with something only they had. “I love you.”

#knightfeared #SoRiku #Riku || Sora #Riku x Sora #Love story #One shot #Soap Writes #I hope this makes you smile!#<3 #shippy shit

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mild-lunacy · 4 months

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The Women in Refrigerators

I've been reading a fantasy that's not a romance by an author I didn't know for decades (for whom I make exceptions), and it's the Tuyo series I recently talked about considering. I was thinking further about books I used to read before my romance fixation began, many more of which had been written by male authors, and the issues that led me-- again and again-- to quit those books in disgust. These are books I really enjoyed-- I considered them well-written, fun, engaging. I'm still a fan of Jim Butcher and Robert Jackson Bennett and haven't written them off entirely in my mind. I plan to come back to them, but. But. The trust has been broken, with these and other male fantasy and sci-fi authors, more than once. More than twice. Many times.

Thinking about how they broke my trust-- Bennett and Butcher specifically, but also others-- I realize what they have in common is the use of fridging, or the Women in Refrigerators trope.

If you read the book(s) in question, it's not like it stands out so horribly-- I mean, there's a plot reason for what happens to kill the female love interest. (Though in one egregious case I remember, the female main character dies after she actually has a baby, with the man who becomes the male main character after her death). It's not like I can't see why the woman 'has to die'. And yet-- mysteriously-- the male best friend almost never dies. The male love interest almost never dies in a non-romantic fantasy/sci-fi that nevertheless has a love interest, written by a female author. It's always that the men feel the need to do this. It just never clarified itself to me that this is what led me to quit reading and retreat to fanfic and/or romance, again and again.

In the case of Jim Butcher, this is an author I had trusted for decades (since the Dresden books are an old series). He has killed a love interest before, but she wasn't a major character, so it wasn't so bad. It's okay to kill minor love interests-- to be clear, plenty of female authors, even female authors writing fantasy romance do this. By 'minor', I mean they aren't super integral to the series, the books don't set them up at any great length, and they're 'just' a love interest.

For example, Sarah J Maas really loves killing off early male love interests in all her fantasy book series-- like clockwork. Same with Kim Harrison. The thing is, though, these early lost love interests-- while painful-- are nevertheless very clearly not that important overall. I don't even know how to explain this properly-- but there's a way to kill off love interests that doesn't feel gross. I don't know if I'd call it 'respectful'. Maybe? The Kim Harrison Hollows books have Rachel's vampire boyfriend, Kisten, die early on. It's a big character impact moment for Rachel, just as Dresden's girlfriends die and have an impact on Harry Dresden. But not so much of an impact on him. Or perhaps it's just a more self-centered kind of impact, possibly.

I don't want to tempt fate, but I'm reasonably certain female authors in general, and Maas or Harrison in particular, wouldn't kill off one half of an 'endgame' pairing. They'd face a reader rebellion, of course. But it's not even that.

I think it's the way these women die, and how they die no matter how important they are. No matter what, the feeling becomes, a woman is just not that important. Not even if she's the main character (though that's going a little far, to be fair).

It's not that I'm saying endgame pairings should have to be sacred or untouchable. It's more subtle than that, although maybe I'd even argue that. If you've spent book after book setting up a character arc and a relationship and built many arcs on top of it, to just discard it is disrespectful both to your characters and your readers, who've been there every step of the way. I guess it's just this sudden realization that they're 'just' characters, and on top of that, 'just' a love interest, and even, possibly, 'just' a female character. That last part is almost certainly uncharitably harsh-- it's just impossible to avoid the feeling.

The thing I like about series about a single character-- the thing I look for entirely outside any interest in romantic pairings-- is just this feeling of being with characters in other worlds that I know well, that I'm enjoying spending time with. They're my friends, almost. I'm 'friends' with Harry Dresden, in a sense, moreso than a 'fan'. And this is the context in which things happen. It's not that I take things personally, but rather that I want things to resolve in a way that's satisfying and comfortable, even if death is involved. With the death of Kisten in the Hollows series, that comfort is about the main character's memory of Kisten, the way he's framed and understood and contextualized later on. Just like in real life, death exists as part of the tapestry of life, and sometimes it's sudden, shocking and raw. But in stories I enjoy, it is... appropriate.

It's a hard thing to explain, except that I know when there's a lack of that respect, that sense of appropriateness. And I know this happens with some regularity with male authors writing about women. How very cliche.

#pointless rambles #me myself and i #reader response #writing #fantasy #romanticism #rachel neumeier

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fzzr · 1 year

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Interviews with Monster Girls and Approaching Disability

Content Advisory: I don't know what I'm doing here when it comes to talking about disability, so I'll probably say something stupid. Sorry in advance, all I can promise to do is my best. Likewise as a straight cis man I can't talk about the Gender Stuff from lived experience, so my views will necessarily be from outside. Be aware that there's gender stuff with an eye to how women are treated in general.

Demi-chan wa Kataritai (Interviews with Monster Girls, henceforth "Demi-chan") is a 2017 anime about a high school biology teacher teaching and learning from his half-human half-monster "ajin" or "demi" students about facing social and practical difficulties in life due to the realities of one's body. Or to put it more simply, it's about disability, through the lens of monster girls.

The Vampire - Medical Disability

Vampires need no introduction. Creature of the night, lives on blood, arguably the most iconic horror monster. In Demi-chan, vampirism is basically diabetes, anemia, albinism, and a collection of other quirks all rolled into one. Hikari Takanashi keeps her government-issued blood in a personal refrigerator. She needs to take extra precautions to protect her skin and eyes from the sun and is sensitive to hot weather.

Hikari is supported without question or resentment by her family. When the urge to bite people comes up, her sister allows Hikari to gnaw on her arm a bit. Hikari is brilliantly blonde, so her father bleaches his hair a bit to make her stand out less. Her mother supports the family, and the extra expense involved in raising a half-vampire isn't even a topic of discussion.

In another time Hikari would have been treated like, well... a vampire. Thanks to a more understanding public and advances in technology, she's just like any other girl.

The Dullahan - Physical Disability

A dullahan is a person with a detached but otherwise perfectly functional head (think "Headless Horseman"). In Demi-chan, they represent physical disability. Kyouko Machi's moment to moment life is defined by having to carry her head with her everywhere. She's essentially missing an arm any time she's walking around. It takes Hikari pointing it out for anyone else to realize making her carry the school-standard bag is dangerous, prompting the school to give her special permission to use a backpack. She has a custom harness to hold her head at chest level so she can use both hands while eating. She typically rests her head on a pillow when seated, and has to use her arms to physically point her head at people when listening or speaking.

Among the three demi students, Kyouko gets the most attention as more of a specimen than a person. Whether it's wanting to touch the flame where her neck would be or just asking sometimes intrusive questions, it's clear that people, even the most well-intentioned, are less respectful of her bodily autonomy than they could or should be. Other times people will deliberately avoid topics that would require them to acknowledge her physical limitations as though they don't exist.

Dullahans may be more accommodated than they were in the past, but the world is still structured on the assumption that they don't exist. Despite being an afterthought to the built environment, Kyouko is just like any other girl.

The Yuki-onna - Psychological Disability

A yuki-onna, or snow woman, is a person who emits physical cold when under emotional strain. Yuki Kusakabe is at a new school in a new town and her powers are doing new things. Her anxiety and fear of becoming too close to others leaves her socially isolated. Her resulting non-participation shows some of the complexity of psychological disability - it doesn't mean you physically can't do things, but the collective actions of those around you means you are excluded nonetheless.

Yuki is seemingly shy not because she doesn't like other people, but because she is afraid that if she gets upset around someone the cold she emanates will physically harm them. It's not a stretch to understand that as representing the fear one may have that opening up about your problems burdens others, so isolation is preferable. A bit of practical examination eventually shows that her cold doesn't hurt anyone - herself or others. This doesn't suddenly cure her anxiety, of course. She just becomes more willing to open up and hang out with people.

This one doesn't land as well as the others, because it seems to imply that you just need a good few friends to eventually have people get you and then you will be fine. Additionally, her nature as a yuki-onna means she is also easily overheated in hot weather, which is one thing that brings her together with the other demis. I don't think that necessarily is part of the allegory, but if it is it's saying it's not healthy for her to avoid uncomfortable feelings (cold) altogether.

Society expects us to keep unsightly emotions out of the view of the public. Yuki can't hide hers, but her peers come to realize that under the anxiety she's just like any other girl.

The Succubus - Being a Woman

Ok, this is the spicy one. The fourth demi in the show is teacher Sakie Satou, a succubus. In Demi-chan a succubus is a woman who has a supernaturally compelling erotic effect on anyone who could be attracted to her. (They give gay men as an explicit example of people immune to succubus charm.) In parallel with the three students, we have to look at her demi nature as a form of disability as well. The show is very clear that the only functional difference between Sakie and any other woman is the magnitude and range of her attractiveness.

Just as much as the other demis, her life is shaped by this fact about how she was born. She wears loose clothes that cover her whole body beyond hands and head at all times in public. She is hyperaware of her surroundings at school so that she doesn't bump into a male student and need to deal with the results. She takes the first train in the morning and last train in the evening for the same reason. She even has to live in a detached home (not an apartment) because when she's asleep she leaks erotic dreams. Her yearning for romance is stifled by the worry that she will never be able to tell if someone really likes her or just her succubus charm.

Society has not moved very far to make room for Sakie. The flashback scene from her school days where she makes use of martial arts and social intimidation to reverse a dangerous situation is played for comedy, but left implied is how differently it could have gone. Succubi are considered the most dangerous ajin by the government. Cops regularly check on them to make sure they're not deliberately causing issues by using their charm to provoke an assault. There is zero consideration that using your charm is not a crime, committing assault is. The agent in charge of Sakie treats her almost like a daughter. One imagines that if she wasn't one of the "well-behaved" ones, that parental relationship would be far more punitive.

Maybe someday the world will advance and Sakie won't have to tiptoe through each day for fear of one misstep ruining her life. For now, she's just like any other woman.

The Outsider

Tetsuo Takahashi is none of the things the various demis are. Indeed, at first he sees them primarily as a subject of biological and anthropological curiosity. Sometimes he's making genuine discoveries, but other times he's learning things about the demis that they have always known. In one telling moment, Tetsuo gives Hikari a long speech about the things he's "figured out" about what a vampire needs to do to protect themselves when outside during the summer. Hikari responds by asking him how many years he thinks she's been a vampire.

It's Tetsuo's relationship with Sakie that makes him stand out. Multiple times during the show he is exposed to her succubus charm, either due to physical contact or her dropping her overly modest style around him. The society around them would seem to accept that if that happens a man is allowed to turn into a lust goblin and it's not his fault if he does. Tetsuo does so such thing. This isn't because he's not effected by the charm, but because that's not how you act with other people, no matter how erotic you find them.

Conclusion

Interviews with Monster Girls says that disability isn't a trait of a person or a group of people. Disability is people - individually and collectively - choosing to act in a way that means some people are less worthy of participation in society than others because including them would be inconvenient. It also doesn't settle for "well I'm not getting in their way" as an excuse. Inclusion isn't just removing barriers, it's also reaching out and actively bringing everyone along, together.

Final Words

This one isn't really a review, so I'll skip the usual scores and comparisons. However, I do want to note that the show itself has some problems I didn't get in to, like how a significant portion of it is a grown man (a teacher, not a doctor) having teenage girls in his closed office doing sometimes physical examinations of them. Don't go in expecting something uncomplicatedly enlightened, there's still some Anime Bullshit to be found.

#demi chan wa kataritai #interviews with monster girls #anime #disability #disabilities #medical disability #physical disability #psychological disability #original post

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