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peterparkouryo · 1 year

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lies between us | *ੈ✩‧₊˚

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

prompt: You and Peter have been frenemies for as long as you can remember.

warnings: fluff, banter, confessions, flirty peter cus why not, typos maybe, no kissies this chapter :(

word count: 3.4k

a/n: still very much in the bahamas but i felt very bad, also pls ignore how trash this is i'm so focused on my vacation lmaoo

"MJ, it hasn't even been a day."

MJ rolls her eyes, completely ignoring your words as she opens her textbook to the given page the teacher assigned.

"Knowing you, it'll take until the deadline to get this project done." She glares at you, breaking her attention away from the textbook in front of her.

"It's better to procrastinate than to do it as soon as it's assigned." You shrug, scooting close to her as she subtly furthers your bodies apart, you pout at the action.

"I don't understand how or why I managed to get you as a partner of all people." MJ sighs and you show her a sarcastic smile.

"It's cause we're soulmates." You joke, removing yourself from her bed to look around her room curiously.

Despite the two of you being (best) friends for the better part of two years, you had never been in her room. Whenever you did come over, she always insisted the two of you hung out in the living room or spent your hang out time in the city, so it really surprised you that the girl drags you into her room the minute you step inside for a project you had been assigned.

Her room amazed you and had been everything you expected from the girl given her closed off, dark, and sharp-eyed personality. MJ being the advocate reader she was, had tons of books (some which you had borrowed), posters of subjects that mattered to her, and pretty much anything you would least expect to be in a girl's room, not that it bothered you.

When you first met MJ, she was very closed off and it took a lot of hard work on your end to break down her walls just to get to know her. It still surprises you (herself included) and a lot of people who knew of MJ and were aware of your friendship how you of all people managed to crack her shell and squeeze your way into her tight circle of friendship.

"No, but you and Peter are, which is why I'm still confused about how you aren't his partner, you two are perfect for each-other." You break your gaze away from the small box on her desk to glare at her words, the girl not sparing you a glance.

"MJ." You warned.

"What did I say?" She asked in faux innocence, bringing her eyes to meet your annoyed expression.

"I'd much rather partner up with Flash than ever be in the presence of Peter Parker, and that's saying a lot." You tell her, crossing your arms over your chest, walking back over to her bed.

"Weren't you two just friends yesterday?" MJ asked, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

You stay silent, not giving the girl an answer, thinking upon her words. You settled for an eye roll as your answer.

"Right, I still have no idea how you two aren't a thing. It's almost painfully obvious you like each-other." The girl tells you, her attention on the textbook now, leaving you exasperated, digesting her words in your brain.

You and Peter have been sort of friends for a good half of your childhood, almost best friends if you thought too hard about it. You two were inseparable when in grade school up until the end of your middle school years. It happened a little too fast, your fallout was over something incredibly stupid (Peter's words, not yours), and to you, it was a serious subject you had managed to hold off, but inevitably, you couldn't take it anymore.

That something stupid being about his lack of care for your feelings, continuing without awareness to break your heart when it came to things the two of you planned, and at the last minute cancelling them for whatever that reason may be.

The excuses he gave you were half ass, so when it came time for an event you two planned, it wasn't a surprise when he said he couldn't make it, saying something about May needing him last minute or anything that deemed unbelievable.

The fact that Peter had the audacity to call your argument "incredibly stupid" when you had finally had the courage to confront his lies made your blood boil in the anger you tried so hard to keep at bay. It evidently did end your friendship for a short amount of time, and it was you who eventually apologized to him in your freshmen year of high school, because truth be told, you did miss him.

Though when your friendship was in mist of healing itself from its long deprived attention, he continued with the same broken promises he said he would plan to fix, your plans going undone because as always, he would cancel last minute.

Peter's excuses did get more believable, you'll give him that, but it didn't change the fact that it still happened. You only wished he'd be honest with you with whatever it was he did that had him abandon you when you knew he was aware of how excited you would always be whenever you two had plans to hangout.

This was an ever ongoing habit he did, which led to your on and off again friendship for what is now three years deep. You were glad when Peter introduced you to his decathlon team, allowing you to meet MJ, who, dare you say is a much more promising friend than Peter would ever be.

Not that the two of you are friends, not even best friends, but sometimes you can tolerate him on your good days when he wasn't being a borderline idiot or liar.

"I don't like Peter, like at all." You say, MJ shrugs her shoulders, and if you knew her, it was obvious she didn't believe you one bit.

"You were just making heart eyes at him yesterday, I don't wanna hear that." MJ waves off, holding her hand out, expectingly waiting for you to hand her another pencil crayon, you do with a huff.

"I hate you." You mumble, plopping down on her bed, grabbing a pencil crayon yourself.

"But you love Peter." She jokes, dodging your attempts at throwing the coloured pencil in your hand with a laugh.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Why's it always math? You hate math, and its a fact everyone who knows you, know. You were glad the decathlon team had it easy for you and made at least some units of the stupid subject understandable.

If you were on good terms with Peter, you would ask him for help, but you knew that wasn't going to be an option, anytime soon.

"Ned, what did you get for number six?" You ask the boy across from your desk, watching Ned look up at you quickly, Peter does as well.

"I'm not even past number three." Ned groans, shaking his head in defeat.

You nod, understanding his frustration. You don't know why your math teacher was out to get you, it's not like you were already failing his class, and it didn't make it better that you had other class courses to stress about either.

"I can help." Peter shows you a smile, hoping to get on your good side, all you do is glare at him.

"No." You respond, the boy's face dropping into a pout, and Ned lets out a laugh, quickly straightening his demeanour when Peter shoots him a glare.

"You're still mad at me?" Peter quizzes in confusion, putting his pencil down near his paper.

You take your time with your answer, trailing your eyes onto his paper, taking notice of his far progress. You really needed his help.

"I'm not just mad Peter, I'm furious, which is why we're not on speaking terms." You tell him, picking up your pencil just as Peter does too, with an eye roll at your words.

Ned is visibly uncomfortable, no matter how many arguments the boy has been in the middle of or witnessed between the two of you, he is always left without a say. It makes him upset you two couldn't properly work through your problems and just admit your tangible feelings for one another.

It might have something to do with that stubborn personality of yours. It was clear Peter had harboured a deep affection for you, and it goes unsaid if you liked him back or not, but given the fact you were always willing to forgive and forget, falling back into the friendship stage with Peter was a sign you might just like him as well.

"You're speaking to me right now." Peter points out, fighting back his smile when you give him a not so impressed look.

"I'm this close," You pinch your index finger and thumb together for demonstration, "To hurting you." You finish, and Peter shrugs off your words.

"You're distracting me from completing my work." The boy scolds at you in his joking manner, and you groan in annoyance, tempted to flip him off.

Both Peter and Ned laughs, and you ignore the boys, trying to figure out how to do quadric equations instead.

There's a few minutes of silence, something you're very thankful for. Eventually, Peter stands from the desk he settled in, grabbing his now finished work to turn it in. You and Ned share a look, both suffering on different problems from the same page.

When Peter returns you focus back on your work, not that you made it far, it's been a good ten minutes and now you're on number seven and Ned was on number five.

"Do you guys want to come over my house and I can help you with this worksheet?" The boy suggests, sitting back down.

"Can't, I have to help my Lola move." Ned answered, packing his things as the bell was two minutes away from ringing.

Peter nods at his best friend's words, turning his attention on you, who hadn't taken one glance at him or Ned, your gaze still on your paper.

"You can stop pretending like you're working, I know you don't understand it." Peter countered with a smirk when you roll your eyes, still not breaking your attention away from the paper.

When you don't response, Peter takes that as a sign to try and convince you a little harder, really opting to get on your good side.

He approaches you, standing next to your desk before huddling down, leaning over your figure to scan your paper.

You subconsciously scoot away from him, blocking his gaze from your paper, shielding it with your hands.

"You know, you'll have to forgive me eventually right? You always do." Peter shakes his head as the bell rings, and you grab your bag from the empty desk next to you, standing up and shoving your worksheet into Peter's chest, the boy stumbling slightly at the impact.

"Fine, but you're keeping my paper until I get there." You give in, walking pass a smiling Peter and out the classroom with an irritated mindset.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

"I knew it." Peter smiles when he opens his apartment's door to you.

It took a lot of debating to be where you were now. MJ was no help either, joking about how you two were "meant to be", so it was no shocker you that you would give in.

"You have my paper, dumb ass." You tell him, pushing pass the boy and entering his apartment.

"Yeah, but you could've like, not showed up and I would had done it for you anyway." Peter argues, closing the front door before turning to face you.

You try not to dwell too hard on that logical statement, opting to shake your head at the boy instead.

"Can we please just get this over with, so I can get back to my bed?" You plead, and Peter laughs at your question.

You follow Peter to his room, taking notice of how different it was the last time you were here (two months ago to be exact). The polaroids you had taken with him a few years back laid on his desk along with other useless items, probably related to some nerdy project he always mentioned he was working on. His Star Wars collection was getting relatively smaller as well.

You close the door of his bedroom, turning to Peter who grabbed a worksheet from the backpack that sat in the corner of his room, you blink, realizing it was your math worksheet you gave to him earlier.

Peter walks over to his desk, grabbing two pencils and you watch the boy sit on his bed, bringing his attention to you.

"You gonna stand there and look pretty or are you gonna come sit down so I can help you with this work?" Peter questions, an eyebrow raised expectingly. You grimace at his words, ignoring the annoying heat rising to your face.

You drag your feet to his bed, sitting next to him, leaving a fair, and respectful space between the two of you, accepting the pencil the boy gestures toward you.

"You understand how quadratic equations work, right?" Peter asks, and you nod with a shrug.

"I got to question seven, didn't I?" You snide, tilting your head at him in amusement.

"Yeah, and every single answer you put is...well, wrong." The boy says, and you feel embarrassed at his words.

"Oh."

"Nothing to be embarrassed about, it's a hard unit." Peter reassures, placing a hand on your shoulder for comfort.

Your head turns, lingering yours eyes where his hand laid upon your shoulder. Peter, who sensed your hesitance removes his hand to his lap, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"Let's uh," The boy gestures to your worksheet in his hand and all you do is nod, mumbling a quiet 'yeah'.

The atmosphere around the two of you shifted into something cumbrous. It was definitely something new, that much you noticed. Undoubtedly, you and Peter have had your awkward, and gainsay moments, but nothing could quite reach this level of uneasiness.

You decide to ignore the evident tension, choosing to solely focus on getting your worksheet done. The sooner, the better.

Finally after, maybe one or two (you weren't paying any attention to the time) torturous hours, Peter had somewhat managed to help you complete the majority of your paper, and you were grateful, despite not letting that appreciation show.

"Thanks." You smile, it not quite reaching your eyes, taking the paper from Peter's desk as the boy stretches.

"Yeah, don't mention it." Peter mumbles with an eye roll, following your swift figure out his room and to his front door.

Peter calls out your name and your irritation toward him is visible, which doesn't really make the boy feel better, but he thinks if he tells you what he's been withdrawing himself from confession for awhile now, you might change your mind about this hatred phase you have for him, or it might make things worst and if anything, have you loathe him even more.

When you turn around, it reminds Peter why exactly he felt the way he felt about you, despite your on going frenemy relationship, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't caught feelings for you throughout the years.

You were just so beautiful, effortlessly so. You have such a vibrant, headstrong, and imaginative personality, it was fairly easy to be attracted to you.

"I have to tell you something.." Peter starts, and you notice his nervous habit of fiddling with his fingers, and it makes you uneasy.

There's a prolonged heartbeat between you and it makes you impatience, the boy taking a relatively long time to say whatever it is he wanted to say.

"Are you gonna tell me what you have to say?" You ask him.

"We're not exactly friends right now, so if this is one of your many apologies, I think I'll pass on that and I'll be on my way." You countered, turning around without giving the boy a chance to reply.

Your hand connects with the doorknob, and you were just about to twist it before something catches you completely off guard, and you swear your eyes are practically out of your socket when they gaze to the sticky substance stopping you from your attempt of leaving.

"Wha-"

"Okay, listen, I know this looks bad, but you have to hear me out." Peter defends himself, holding out a hand and you shoot him a look as if you're a dear in headlights.

"What the hell is this?" You exclaim, using your free hand to gesture to your stuck one.

"I'm Spider-Man, but that's not what I had to tell you." The boy says coolly.

You're sure your eyes are out of their sockets at this point. It baffled you how calm and collected Peter seems as if he didn't just say a life changing sentence.

"You-, you're Spider-Man?" You question, unsure if you had actually heard the boy right, but you know you did because he said it with such ease.

"Yeah, but that's not what's important." Peter argues and you have to fight back an eye roll.

Instantaneously, something in your brain just sort of click, you raise an eyebrow as a question forms in your head.

"Is that why you can never make it to your hangouts?"

Peter blinks at your question, he squints his eyes at your question.

"Uh, yeah?"

"Peter, what the fu-"

"And I also like you!" He exclaims, almost purposely blocking out your almost vulgar language.

You don't want to believe his words, considering it's, Peter, but with the way he was looking at you with those golden brown eyes, you force yourself to give into his confession, digesting his words slowly.

There's no doubt that somewhere down the road of your on and off again friendship, you didn't think upon what it would be like to be in a relationship with the boy, but those weren't serious, more fantasy like thoughts if anything. And it's not like you had a crush on him, maybe. You'd be lying if you didn't think of Peter as more than a friend.

Maybe you did have some sort of affection for him. Maybe it was when he had helped you get on the decathlon team, or when he gave you his hoodie (which you still had) because it was raining and he didn't want you to get soaked, though you did, it was a still very thoughtful thing Peter did. Possibly you started seeing the boy in a new light in this exact moment of his confession. All it took was for him to tell you, to have you realize maybe it's been him all along.

"Oh."

"Yeah..."

You stare at Peter, who looks anywhere but at you, for an agonizingly long time, racking up an answer in your brain, you can tell the boy is extremely nervous of your answer.

"I like you, too." You smile when Peter does, his eyes lighting up as well.

"I knew it." He quips, and you glare at him.

You two gaze at each-other and you have to break the staring contest as a curious thought pops up in your head.

"So, let me get this straight," You start, Peter listens intently. "You lied for years about being Spider-Man and had me believe it was because you didn't want to be my friend anymore?"

Even if what you had asked was true, it didn't help the fact that no matter what you would always find your way back to Peter, but with the same given excuses told differently, you couldn't help but think he got easily bored of you and lied about not being able to hang out, then when the two of you had a fall out, it was no wonder why you so easily forgave the boy.

Peter frowns at your question.

"No, it's way more complicated than that. I only lied to you to protect you." Peter argues sincerely.

"I would had totally understood if you told me the truth though." You shrug your shoulder, and Peter nods.

"Yeah, but I couldn't risk it." He explained.

You nod, somewhat understanding his reasoning. Your entire friendship came and went because he was a superhero. You should be mad really, but you're all burnt out. Maybe when you're thinking more rationally, you'd find it in your heart to be more furious with the boy.

"So, what now?" You ask, and you briefly glance at the web that still contained your arm before looking at Peter.

"Well, I was thinking, um.." The boy trails off, unsure on how to ask his question, and if you knew any better, it didn't take a rocket scientist to see exactly where his question was going.

"Sure." You decide to save the boy from embarrassment.

Peter's eyes get a shade brighter, relief coursing through his body at how quickly you understood where he was going.

"Really?"

"Only if you get this web off me."

"Oh!" Peter swiftly approaches you, tugging off the substance off you as if it was as light as a feather.

You smile in thanks, flexing your hand from the uncomfortableness it settled in for way too long.

"Can I get a kiss?"

"Save it for the date, Parker."

#peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fluff

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chickenparm · 1 year

Text

Along the Way (Scaramouche/Reader)

something something scaramouche something something sucking titties something something crying something something sad sack of shit something something-

AO3 Link

Scaramouche/Reader-with-Breasts 3,410 Words - NSFW Suckin' titties, grinding, Scaramouche Crying™, heat-of-the-moment confessions

Despite his gripes about leaving Sumeru, about going back on his word to Nahida concerning his intent to stay within the country for the foreseeable future, Wanderer volunteers himself rather quickly once he catches word of your intent to return to Inazuma.

Whatever your purpose might have been, he doesn’t seem to ask. There’s an agenda of his own that brews just out of sight, and while you’re beginning to ease into tentative friendship, there isn’t much that can be done on your end to move beyond stark memories of being prone on the floor, staring through noxious gas as he laughs and laughs.

But as quickly as those memories surface, so too are they swept away by their very source.

A quirk of his lips when you cajole Paimon, something inside her still holding tightly to a wariness that encourages the pixie to take ill-timed potshots at your new traveling companion. The shift of his shoulder in a nonchalant raise in response to your question about whether he’d be alright with renting some rooms in Inazuma City. How utterly impassive he seems to be despite inviting himself along for the simple trip to a local festival.

Even Yoimiya, who has consistently shown a proclivity for dragging people out of their shells whether they like it or not, has no success in getting anything from Wanderer beyond basic pleasantries and nods of his head when she orders him around for preparations.

It isn’t necessarily out of character for him when dealing with people he either doesn’t like, or doesn’t particularly care about, but it still strikes you as odd with how he’s holding that front with you. Allowing him to follow you about like a shadow through Sumeru isn’t the promising foundation of a lifelong friendship, but he’s at least had enough history with you to let who he truly is shine through.

But even when you finish dinner for the evening and separate to go to your rooms, he merely lifts a hand to wave airily as a sufficient-enough dismissal of himself.

As Paimon curls on the bed, tucking herself against the wall to leave most of the expanse for you, she makes no note of Wanderer’s odd behavior. Rather than enter into a conversation he’d likely hear through the wall due to Paimon’s lack of subtlety, you simply decide to leave it be. Truly, if something were eating away at him that much, he’d mention it.

Right?

A sound conclusion, one that you hold as gospel when the lights dim and you settle into the plush mattress. It’s a comforting truth as you listen to Paimon’s gentle snores, the sound of the city outside beginning to quiet down, your own heartbeat slowing as sleep threatens to take you.

That simple explanation holds strong up until there’s a quiet sound from next door. If it were a grumble, a groan, even a moan - Celestia forbid - you’d ignore it rather happily. But the only way to describe it is a forcefully choked sob, barely audible as it’s muffled by both the wall between and what’s most likely his hand.

And there’s no sleeping through that.

Paimon doesn’t stir as you push yourself up, rubbing one eye while using your free hand to leverage yourself out of bed without jostling the mattress. Maybe you’re a bit too soft-hearted, especially when he’ll likely laugh in your face for suggesting he would ever stoop to the vulnerability of crying, but you can’t stop yourself from silently sliding the door open then closed.

A hiss through teeth, his breath shaking with the effort of concealment, and you’re certain he’s in some sort of trouble. From the sounds of it, the emotional sort.

With just the tips of your fingers, so lightly that if he doesn’t answer you can pretend you’d never strayed in the first place, you tap against the wooden door. Immediately, there’s the sound of fabric rustling, bare feet on tatami, a quiet inhale before the door opens just enough for a single eye to look through.

It glows in the dark, an amalgamation of indigo and lavender, ringed with the smudged red of his liner and a hint of wetness on his cheek that’s been smeared. In this, at least, you find comfort that he made only a polite attempt to hide his condition. If he had been so concerned with you finding out his distress, he never would have opened the door at all.

Words fail you, but they don’t come to him, either. Only the gentle matching of your inhale timed with his exhale, close enough that perhaps the air he discards is the very same that you bring into yourself. Long, thin fingers wrap around the edge of the door, pushing it open enough for a single body to come through. With a groan of floorboards, he backs away, and the intention is for it to be yours.

Only when the door slides shut as his gentle push does he ask, “What is it?”

It’s only asked to fill the silence. Wanderer knows exactly why you’re here. In lieu of a real answer, you bridge the short gap between your bodies by reaching forward, your thumb sweeping along the red liner that had bloomed down to the arch of his cheekbone. Holding it in the moonlight of the open window, the two of you stare at the smudge on your skin.

The sound of his swallow is the answer to his own query, thick and forced around a blockage that only exists in the depths of whatever emotion he’d been feeling. With a quivering exhale through both nose and teeth, he turns his gaze away to the bed with obvious intent to fall back at rest.

The sound of his air hitting his lungs in a wheeze accompanies the way he falls boneless to the sheets. While he neither requests your approach nor tells you to leave, you make the decision on your own to crawl next to him, shoulder blades against the headboard’s night-given chill. The shiver down your spine at the sudden temperature breaks the liminality, letting you finally ask, “Is it hurting you? Being here?”

And the laugh he squeezes out couldn’t be wrung for even a single drop of humor, only a cynicism you haven’t heard since you’d touched consciousness’ in Pardis Dhyai. It lingers until he’s out of breath from the very bottom of his lungs, nothing left inside the give. Only then does he inhale and answer, “No. Yes. It’s not the place - it’s the memories.”

And you realize quickly you never should have brushed off what you easily could’ve recognized as his discomfort. Guilt wraps insidious little fingers around your heart as you look down at him, as you willingly trap yourself in eyes that watch your every move, and apologize. The flash of his teeth in a smile is sharp and quick, jaded and absent of what little good nature he had left to offer.

“The nightmares don’t stop. Even in Sumeru. I thought coming here might… might offer some relief.”

“Cutting yourself with a knife doesn’t stop the ache of a bruise.” Your admonishment isn’t needed, but the smile loses its sheen at your words.

The blade’s edge grin turns into something saddened - almost longing as he blinks slowly up at you. “But a bruise doesn’t seem so bad in comparison, when all is finished. Facing my past here, in this way, will take the edge off of something that only exists as a nuisance. A wasp versus a mosquito.”

An odd metaphor, and a backwards way of thinking. But you know better than to refute him; Wanderer is set in his ways. Turning to the side until your shoulder bears your weight, you tuck your legs to the side and reach for him. To his credit, he only flinches minutely as your fingertips graze the skin of his forehead that’s revealed between strands of silken hair. Then, all at once, you smooth those locks back to run your fingers along his scalp.

Too familiar, too quickly. But rather than brush you away for taking a liberty that was by no means yours to steal, his eyes flutter closed and a pleased sigh leaves him. The fists that had once bunched in the sheets are now loosely clutching the fabric, losing their tension as you drag your fingers through his hair at a slow, meandering pace.

“I wish you’d told me this before.”

A noncommittal hum, then, “I’m telling you now. It wouldn’t have changed anything but make you feel guilty sooner. Killing your mood isn’t high on my list of priorities, despite what you might think of me.”

“And what do I think of you?” There’s a snag, just at the end of his hair. As he mulls over your question, you use both hands to carefully pick it apart without pulling at the root. From your periphery, you almost miss the way his tongue moves across the inside of his cheek as he ruminates. The shadow distracts you from your work for but a mere moment, but it’s enough for his eyes to open.

Keep going, he seems to insist. Diligently, you resume the carding of your fingers, and in return he answers you. “You’re wary of me. You don’t trust me. When you lecture Paimon about me, it’s a front to cover your own distaste. The only reason you keep me around is at Lesser Lord Kusanali’s request.”

“Partly. But if I really didn’t want you around, don’t you think I would’ve stood my ground against Nahida when she suggested we work together in the first place?” Another halfway shrug that leaves his shoulder pressed against the line of your thigh. The odd chill of his skin isn’t nearly as bad as the wooden headboard had been, but it brings goosebumps nonetheless. Neither of you move to separate yourselves, letting him leech body heat from you as the length of his bicep presses fully with how he relaxes into you.

“The only thing that will smooth over what happened between us in the past is time. I’m giving it time, and I’ll keep doing so for as long as you are. Forgiveness doesn’t happen overnight - there will always be something leftover from the wrong that was committed.”

Wanderer’s head tilts upward suddenly to look at you, your fingers at his temple dragging against his cheek now. The soft give encourages you to press further, and against your better judgment, you let the entirety of your hand come to rest at the gentle curve of his face. Though he isn’t warm beneath you, there’s a subtle darkening of his cheeks that can’t be easily passed off as clouds moving over the moon.

Cradled in your palm, the words on his tongue momentarily die. It takes a few tries for him to bring them back to life, encouraging embers to flicker enough to ask, “How long do you think it’ll take?”

The answer comes rather easily, threaded with an easy smile, “Getting closer every day.”

While those words linger in the air, syllables feeling impossibly heavy despite how honest they’d been, something beautiful comes into being. What might have been easily passed off as a sardonic widening of his lips melts into an expression that couldn’t be described as anything other than pleased.

And what a breathtaking sight it is, when his joy comes through without the delicate sheen of cynicism he wears like a second skin.

That very same smile lingers as his eyes flutter closed again, your thumb sweeping just beneath his eye, the very tip brushing against long lashes. The redness of his liner still lingers, smudged to his temples, smeared along the path your thumb had taken. Goosebumps raise beneath your palm, stark enough for you to feel in contrast to the criminal smoothness of his skin. Perhaps you’re closer than you thought.

“Should I stay? Would it… help?” When he doesn’t answer right away, your sudden anxiety over stepping through the boundary you hadn’t noticed takes over. “The nightmares, I mean. I don’t mind.”

Lids cracking open, he gazes through his eyelashes, “You don’t? What if I do?”

“Well, that’s why I’m asking.” Your face feels as if it’s on fire, burning beneath your cheeks as you turn your head away in favor of looking out the window at the steady glow of Inazuma. “I’ll just go-”

And an arm swings across his body, palm landing on the swell of your hip as he prevents you from rolling off the bed as you’d intended. His fingertips press into your skin firmly, leaving soft indents as he traps you there. “I was kidding. If I didn’t want you here, do you think I would’ve even opened the door?”

No, you suppose not. Letting your body relax again, your meager attempt to leave is abandoned, but Wanderer’s hand doesn’t leave you. The shorts you wear to bed don’t cover much, the long shirt meant to make up for it, but in your comfort it’s ridden up. His palm touches bare skin, branding you with five fingers and his intent to keep you here.

The movement had turned him, his head cradled against pillows but now facing your seated form. In a startling show of comfort with your presence, he tilts his chin down and his forehead presses into your stomach. It’s the closest you’ve been to another person for as long as you can remember, and the novelty almost distracts you from how his breath hitches in a sigh.

Perhaps that would be the end of it. He’d cling to you like this, bouncing your own body heat back at you as he greedily siphons whatever comfort would get him through the night. And in the morning, you might be tired, but perhaps his mood would lift now that the ghosts of his homeland aren’t screaming in his ears.

But then there’s a shift against your hip, his fingertips gently creeping up over the fabric of your shorts. Then a pause, almost as if he were questioning if this was fine, before creeping up even further. Beyond the band, beyond the dip of your waist, up over your ribs with a featherlight touch. Your ribs expand with a sharp inhale, and he pauses just short of something that would deliberately change exactly how the two of you see one another.

The fabric of your shirt’s been bunched up, high on your stomach and terribly close to indecency. Beneath you, watching carefully through his lashes, cheeks pinked and lips bitten between his teeth, Wanderer’s hand creeps high enough for his thumb to brush against the underside of your breast. Slowly, as if he intends to memorize the exact path he’s taken, he repeats the motion again and again.

Perhaps he was building courage, or he’s purposely taking his sweet time, but it’s almost driven you to the point of madness before he once more pushes for just a little more. The drag of his thumb across your hardened nipple, then the flick of his nail over it. The sudden sensation makes you jolt, pushing against him briefly as you inadvertently arch.

Your sensitivity should make it so you’re the one whimpering at his touch, but the only sound comes from him in the form of a reedy huff of delight. It’s almost as if he hadn’t expected you to react to him, to have any sort of inclination to enjoy how his palm now cups you, cool fingers squeezing just enough to bulge the give of your skin between his widespread fingers the smallest amount.

“Wanderer-”

“Sh-sh-sh,” He halts you, shifting closer until he’s pressed impossibly close, his forehead pressed against your sternum as his fingertips swirl around your nipple once more, “it’s okay. I need this. Need you.”

But he doesn’t bother to ask if you’re willing to give. Though, perhaps your willingness is loud and clear with how your fingers thread through the hair at the back of his head, holding him close. The scent of him is inebriating from this close - ozone and something soft and floral. It’s uniquely him, something that could only be attributed to the man in your arms that hums thoughtfully before his mouth descends.

The sharp sensation of his teeth dragging along you doesn’t have time to settle in before it’s soothed with his tongue. The flat of it is pressed against your nipple, dragging with an agonizing slowness as he seems to simply taste your skin. A pleased little sigh leaves you, the only tension left in your body being the way your hand pulls him even closer to your chest.

The encouragement is all he needs, pushing you until your back is against the headboard once more. Even sitting, you feel prone beneath him as he settles between your thighs, your shirt pushed up to your neck as he wastes no time in latching onto you again. With the sudden fervour comes a whine of your own, hands gripping at his hair and shoulder to hold yourself steady rather than to keep him close.

No, certainly he isn’t going anywhere soon. Not with how his hips rock against the apex of your thighs, hardness digging insistently against you through the fabric of your flimsy shorts. Wanderer melts into you with full intention to mold himself to your exact shape, as if the expectation he holds is for the two of you to become one singular entity - at least for the evening.

Whether this selfish want continues on into the morning, that’s not easy to tell. But as he groans through a mouthful of your breast, other hand snaking beneath your lower back to leverage his cock against you, you can’t think of a single complaint to lodge against it.

At least, not while he gazes up at you with shining eyes and flushed cheeks, longing for something that he hasn’t truly asked for but still gleans from you in some small way tonight. And he does it so prettily, so desperately that holding yourself back from letting him take isn’t an option. So you take from him as well, tilting your hips and urging him to grind against something that feels intoxicating with the promise of what could be if you went a little further, got a little bolder.

But not tonight. Not while he’s clinging to you with desperation, not while he’s vulnerable enough to seek comfort in a physical way. If he simply wants to feel close to someone, then this is enough. It has to be, because it’s plain to see in the way he moans against your skin and presses every inch of himself against you that he’s not quite in the business to be exchanging on equal footing.

Right here, right now, Wanderer can only beg and plead, murmuring words against your skin that he’d certainly deny if you ever brought them up again. “Stay… with me. Love you-”

Whether he means it or not, he doesn’t backtrack. Not while the night shrouds what exactly that might mean for the two of you when you wake up to the sun and there are no shadows to hide feelings like that in. In this room, in this bed, beneath him as he rubs himself against you, you lose your tenuous hold on yourself. As he finds his own pleasure, shaking in your grip, it’s easy enough to believe that for a single moment, perhaps he was speaking the truth.

Limp in your hold, his head lolls to the side to rest his cheek against your sternum. Worn out, emotions frayed at the edges, neither of you can bring yourselves to adequately judge whether the choice that’s been made was for better or worse. The slow drag of your fingers against his shoulder blades lulls him into sleep, gentle breaths against your collarbone that show his habit of mimicking human breathing is something he’s ingrained in himself to the point of subconscious.

While bringing up potential romantic feelings would be unwise, you at least resolve to make a stronger effort to make him feel wanted. The change that’s happened tonight doesn’t need to be as heavy as it’s threatening to be - perhaps all you really need to do is hold him a little closer, be a little gentler.

And if he does love you along the way, that wouldn’t be so bad, either.

#scaramouche #wanderer #genshin impact #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #one-shot #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #read the a/n for content tags #i can't help writing this dude in soft vulnerable moments #you literally cannot stop me #the thought of scaramouche being all up in his feels is the only reason i rise from my crypt

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starlightsearches · 2 years

Note

(if you aren't taking any more requests from the smut prompt list, ignore this ^_^)

19 + 100 from the smut prompt list with zemo pls and thanks

What I Missed the Most

19 and 100 from the Smut Prompts List

Inspired by this gif

Zemo x femme! reader

Warnings: 18+ Only (Minors DNI), PIV sex, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected sex, virgin! reader, sex work, prostitution, praise kink, soft dom/sub dynamics, creampie. Please be aware of the warnings!

It's strange to stand like this—so stiff and detached, practically naked in the lingerie and robe the madam had picked out for you. You're used to sitting coyly on the edge of a couch until someone makes their approach, skin glittering prettily in the partial darkness of the club. The room looks much too large when it’s flooded with the emergency lighting—used during the daylight hours when the club is closed—and the air is chilled with the lack of bodies.

The mysterious patron, who had everyone in such a fuss this morning, is making his way down the line with the madam at his side—a quiet, thoughtful frown on his lips. It’s difficult not to stare, but your instincts keep your eyes from resting on him for too long. You’ll have to settle for the small details you catch in glimpses.

He's well-dressed—a long coat thrown over his shoulders, and a well-fitted turtle-neck sweater beneath it. It sits snugly over his torso, hinting at a muscular build. The rest of him is unkempt in comparison; his hair just a bit shaggy, a few tendrils curling against his forehead. Most of his face is taken over by a dark beard, and he can't keep his hands away from it, scratching at his jawline beneath or dragging a palm down over his mouth. He must not be used to keeping facial hair.

"And who is this?" He stops before you, his voice low and pleasant, carrying an accent you can't identify. You do your best to look demure, glancing up at him shyly through your lashes as the madam gives him your name.

Dark brown eyes trace over your features carefully, the seconds melting into minutes under the warmth of his gaze. The intensity brings a heat to your cheeks; you find yourself staring at your reflection in his well-shined shoes.

“How much?”

The madam clears her throat awkwardly, but it's all part of her act. She could smell money on a man like blood in the water, and she always knew which veins to open first.

"You wouldn't want her, Baron," she says, trying unsuccessfully to usher him down to the next girl, "we're charging quite a price for her first time. Why don't I introduce you to Cassandra here—"

He stops her with a raised hand, tilting his head curiously. "Her first time?”

"Oh yes," the madam confides. She leans in, whispering up against the shell of his ear, so close it’s incredible she doesn’t leave traces of her bright red lipstick smudged against his skin. "I have a few loyal customers who are quite eager to, let's say, take her innocence."

She pets her bony fingers down the side of your face, and you purse your lips, trying hard not to roll your eyes. You'd hardly call yourself innocent.

“How much?”

The madam's lips stretch open over her too-white teeth, and she whispers again in his ear. He doesn't pause to think on it.

“I’ll take her.”

Your eyes grow wide, jaw clenched tight. No doubt the number she named was outrageous, preparing for his attempts to bargain. Accepting the very first offer would be insane.

"Perfect." Her voice is dripping with glee when she addresses you, "why don't you show our guest to one of our private rooms?"

You nod, taking him by the hand. The main floor of The Elysian is a veritable minefield of chintz cushions and plump couches, and you weave with him between the empty furniture, hoping he doesn't notice the growing layer of perspiration coating your palm.

The silence between you grows more noticeable as you shut the door to the sound-proofed room, the plush carpet crackling with every step.

You glance around. You haven't spent much time here, but you’re glad to see that the private rooms are a little more tasteful than what you’re used to. There's a leather couch up against the wall, and a large, low bed with silk sheets, a few multi-colored lanterns hanging from the ceiling, throwing specks of light across the bed.

He busies himself near the couch, oblivious to your presence—removing his coat and draping over the back, taking the watch from his wrist and placing it in the pocket. He pushes the sleeves of his sweater out of the way next, revealing toned forearms dusted with bronzed hair.

You clear your throat, brushing the top of one foot over the back of your calf, unsure if you're meant to be doing something.

This is your first time, after all. You were hoping for some direction.

"You may take a seat," he says, nodding towards the bed, and you do as you're told immediately, perching on the end of it, hands folded in your lap.

"I am Baron Helmut Zemo," he says, coming to a stop beside you and dropping to one knee, "but you may call me sir."

His fingers wrap around your bare thigh, hand shifting back and forth as he caresses your skin, acclimating you to his touch. He has nice hands—long, thick fingers and clean nails, and his palm is warm and soft.

"Thank you, sir," you say, addressing his hand.

"Look at me," the command is gentle, but it is still a command. You tilt your chin up just far enough that you can meet his eyes. "Is it true that you're a virgin?"

Your mouth is dry. "Yes, sir."

His fingers flex subtly, hand shifting higher. You try not to squirm.

“You don’t need to lie to me.”

Given how much he probably paid, it would be in your best interest to lie to him. If you weren’t already telling the truth.

"I am a virgin—" you confirm, and he quirks one brow, waiting for you to remember, "—sir."

The baron hums, deep in his throat. "That is good news. You see, I had selfish reasons for my choice. It has been a long time since I have been with a woman. I did not want to embarrass myself."

That’s a surprise. A man as handsome as him shouldn't have any trouble finding someone willing.

You chance some contact, stroking your fingers lightly over his shoulder, hoping you’ve found the correct balance between sympathy and flirtation. "Why so long?"

"I've been in prison for many years. A high-security facility called The Raft, for only the most dangerous of criminals."

Your hand stops.

He watches you, waiting for a reaction—surprise, or fear. You certainly feel a bit of both.

But which does he want? Some men certainly liked to feel you shiver, liked to murmur violent stories low in your ear as you perched on their laps. The feeling of their hands never left you, phantom limbs still gripping at your waist, ensuring that you couldn’t pull away, laughing at the way you squirmed. Fear sated better than sex ever could for men like that.

The baron doesn’t seem that way.

"Really?" you ask, sounding a little more naive than you feel. He seems to like it, moving his hand to the back of the neck, thick fingers wrapping around it, hot and tight against your skin.

His eyes bore into yours; with the way he's holding you, you can't drop his gaze. "Do you know what I missed the most while I was there?"

You manage the slightest shake of your head. His skin is dotted with freckles where the beard doesn’t reach, and there are dark shadows like fingerprints beneath his eyes.

“This.”

He breathes the word, breath warm with the scent of money and men, and then he's kissing you, mouthing gently at your parted lips.

Oh. It's not like you'd never done this before—you hadn't gotten such a dedicated customer base batting your eyelashes—but he is leagues better at it than the others, his beard a little rough against your cheeks, the cashmere of his sweater soft beneath your fingers.

He groans faintly, pressing closer, the tip of his nose digging in against your cheek as his tongue finds its way between your parted lips. His hand shifts from your neck, cupping your jaw, and he uses that leverage to his advantage—adjusting your movements to his liking, controlling the pace. Your fingers encircle his wrist, hoping to keep him there.

It’s not like you to get so caught up in something like this, but you find the more you touch him, the more you want to feel—a warmth like whiskey blossoming in your stomach at the thought of the full press of his body against yours.

He shifts off his knees, pulling away from your lips despite your attempts to keep him close. His thick fingers are at the buckle of his belt, unlatching the metal and pulling the leather strap free. Your thighs press tighter of their own accord, an unfamiliar anticipation enveloping your core.

“You may be a virgin, but given the circumstances I'm sure you're not completely ignorant,” he says over the metallic jingle of his belt buckle and the rumble of his zipper, “show me what you know.”

The baron steps forward, looming, coming closer and closer until your eyes are level with his waist, your line of sight filled completely by the thin sliver of skin and coarse, shining hair that stretches up from the band of his dark black boxers. Your gaze trails lower—slowly—examining him like a fine work of art, lips parting in surprise when you spy the thick bulge straining against the expensive fabric. He’s bigger than you expected.

He must notice your apprehension, a smirk on his lips staining the words he speaks next.

“Go on,” he encourages, taking your hand delicately in his own, leading you where he wants, pressing your palm against the hard length, the rush of blood and heavy weight of his cock solid beneath your fingers.

Your lips part with a pop, mouth flooded with saliva that coats your tongue. You press it between your teeth, wetting your lips, picking up the latent taste of him. It’s irresistible. You want more.

He exhales sharply through his teeth, bracing himself with a hand in your hair as you pull his cock from its confines.

Jesus, he’s thick. Even half-hard, he’s bigger than most—the tips of your fingers just barely brushing your thumb when you stroke him experimentally. You’re not sure how much of him you’ll be able to take, throat aching at the thought. The air in the room is heavy in your lungs.

“Don’t tease me, hase,” he admonishes, pulling you forward until your mouth brushes against the tip of his dick, painting your lips with sticky pre-cum. “I have no desire to be patient right now.”

Swallowing, you pull closer, taking the tip into the warm center of your mouth, tonguing softly at the slit, sealing your lips and pulling your cheeks in tight. He sighs, shifting his hips forward, filling your mouth and stretching your jaw, pressing down until your lips meet your curled fingers. Spit pools against his skin, and you spread it with your hand, stroking in the space where your mouth can’t reach.

You can feel him growing thicker, the muscles in his fingers tensing against your scalp as you begin to bob your head, sucking your cheeks in tighter.

“Oh, you’re a very good girl, aren’t you? Just like that, hase.”

You can hear the smile in his voice, it’s brightness echoed in the warmth at your core. It’s easy to imagine how he must look, those broad shoulders dropping lower, neck stretched long and tense, his molten eyes leaving cigarette burns on the backs of his eyelids and his lips parted in prayer.

As soon as you’ve pictured it, your body screams for more—desperate to watch him fall apart in your mind’s eye, addicted to the idea of undoing such an enigmatic, powerful man. Your fist tightens around his dick, and you stretch yourself farther, taking more and more until the head of his cock nudges your soft palate, eliciting a quiet gagging sound with each press. Stinging tears pool at the corners of your eyes.

His fist tightens in your hair, urging you away from him with a few whispered curses, pouring from his lips in a language you don’t understand. You do as he asks, pulling back until you’re only connected to his cock by a few strings of saliva.

“God, schatz—” he strokes his thumb over your wet and swollen lips, “you are beautiful.”

Your nails press crescent moons against your thighs. He’s breathing heavily, standing before you like a god, or an emperor. He’s the kind of man who could have you willingly on your knees.

“Thank you, sir.”

He strokes his hand down over your shoulder, eyeing the delicate lace that covers your body. “Lay down.”

You shift back against the pillows as the baron stands at the end of the bed, stripping off his sweater. He’s well-toned, but not bulky—arms corded with muscle he’s clearly put to use for more than just vanity, broad chest peppered with ruddy hair, and constellations of freckles on both his shoulders.

“Do you like what you see, hase?” he asks once he’s fully naked, standing before you without shame. He observes you closely, noticing the way your eyes travel over the ruddy skin of his neck, the gentle swell of his stomach, his cock hard and thick and ready for you. Your cunt aches at the sight of him.

“Yes, sir.” You’re unable to control the shift of your hips, the way your body yearns. You want him on top of you, want his hands at your waist, want his lips against every inch of your body.

You want him inside you.

He climbs onto the bed, stradling your body, and you support your weight on your arms in an attempt to bring your face in closer proximity to his own. His eyes wander over your features, lingering against your lips. You resist the urge to close the gap, despite the overwhelming strength of your desire. You're here to meet his needs.

But maybe your needs align in this moment—or maybe he likes the hint of desperation in your features—because he cups your jaw in his warm palm, eyes exploring the recesses of your soul as he pulls you in.

You kiss him back eagerly, letting your hands caress his neck, stroking your ankle against his calf until he grants you the contact you've been hungry for, his chest and hips against yours, forcing your body further into the mattress. You relish the wandering burn of his hands, the wildfire path from your hips to your waist to your breasts. His touch lingers there, and your skin grows warm with a rush of blood as he pinches at the stiffened peaks of your nipples.

The air punches out of your chest, and the sound it makes is embarrassingly close to a whine, your hips canting off the sheets. He leans back, watching your lips tremble as he continues his ministrations.

"I think it's time for this to come off," he whispers, leaning in towards your thudding pulse as his hands reach for the clasp of your bra. The lace tickles at your skin, stripped forward until you're bare. He tosses the garment to the side, pressing firm kisses across your jaw, down your neck.

"I may have lied before, hase," he says, and the air is filled with quiet reverence as he stares at your naked breasts. "This is what I truly missed the most."

There’s no space for you to reply before his lips are on you, lavishing the tender skin of your chest with hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses, the gentle bites in direct contrast to the sharp burn of his beard. He's fully engrossed in the task, ignorant of the way you watch him partake in this thorough worship, nibbling meticulously at the surrounding area before closing his lips around your aching nipple, sucking it between his teeth. Your back arches harshly, head thrown back, and you let his strong arms support your weight as he turns his attention to the other breast.

You dig your nails into his skin, gripping the back of his neck, hard enough to make him bleed. Maybe if you peeled the skin from his bones, he'd finally feel close enough.

“Oh god, please,” you grind against him, your voice going shrill when the tip of his cock nudges haphazardly at your cunt, “please, sir. I want you inside me.”

He pauses his assault, stills his hips which had been rocking against yours with the same unchecked desire. He stays still enough for you to catch the gold flecks in his eyes, the wet shine of spit coating the dark hairs at the corners of his mouth.

There’s a tremor in his throat, a subtle shift as he adjusts his hands, pulling one arm tighter at your waist to give the other range of motion. His fingers tremble in the corner of your vision, and whatever it is he plans to do, he hesitates.

“Of course, schatz. Whatever you want,” he whispers, committing to the movement, stroking the tips of his fingers down the curve of your cheek, and you finally understand. Tenderness like that doesn’t belong in a place like this, between people like you.

He cups the back of your neck as your spine meets the cool sheets, his other hand at your hip, sliding the lace of your underwear down off your thighs and tossing them to the side.

“God . . . you’re so wet for me.” He strokes one thick finger between your thighs, just enough pressure to part your lips and gather your slick on the tip of his finger. “Are you always this wet, hase? Do you get like this when you're fucking yourself?"

You shake your head, although you can tell based on his tone that he already knows. He adjusts, shifting the bulk of his weight onto his thighs, removing his hips from yours and you stifle a whine at the loss. It breaks through your parted lips moments later as he presses the head of his dick against your swollen entrance.

He lingers there for a moment, stroking gently between your folds; there's not enough force behind the movement for him to slip inside you—only enough contact to make you squirm.

“Do you think you’re ready for me?”

You’ve never felt more ready for anything.

You can feel the pressure of his eyes, and so you know he must see the way your brows crease as your cunt stretches to accommodate that first, thick inch, must notice the rhythmic tensing in your core, the tremors in your thighs. You know he hears the strange cry that bursts from you—an intoxicating mixture of pleasure and pain—because he stops, petting a hand over your hair.

“You can take me, hase. I know you can. Relax.” His breath is hot against your neck, and there’s a hand at your hip, holding you in place. “Relax.”

He mouths at your neck, tracing a meandering path to your lips. He moves closer, and closer, the tension draining from your body, putting a slight shift in your hips.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he warns, but the message is lost on both of you, his mouth fully on yours in a messy, desperate kiss. His thrusts grow more fervent, a little chorus of moans echoing in the space between you—his deep with attempted restraint, yours high and aching. You can feel the thrum of his heartbeat under your hand.

"You’re doing so well, hase,” he says, once he’s finally fully seated inside you, “tell me how it feels.”

You manage a breathy moan. The world is dark on the inside of your eyelids.

He gives you a moment to adjust, and you need it—overcome with a fullness you can’t quite comprehend. Your cunt bears down on his cock, muscles clenching like you’re trying to find the edges of him in the dark, like you’re trying to keep him in place.

You close your eyes tightly, hard enough that white spots appear in your vision, jaw open wide. You can’t imagine how devastating it will feel to be empty again.

His hands are harsh at your cheeks, biting against your skin. “No, hase. Keep your eyes open. Look at me.”

You don’t dare disobey, not that he gives you the opportunity to do so, his grip on your jaw tightening, the full force of his eyes on yours. He doesn’t let go, thrusting in and out of your dripping cunt, filling the room with the measured sound of skin against skin. His hips never stutter, his pace never fails, pounding you into the mattress as the friction builds into a white hot heat in your core.

He’s absolutely relentless.

He stares openly, intent on cataloging your every expression—from the slightest twitch in your temple to the wide stretch of your lips. You watch his eyes roam your face, watch the thin sheen of pride and sweat bead across his forehead with every successful moan he loosens from your throat. You’re only getting wetter—each thrust echoing with the wet splash of your cunt. You can feel it dripping down the curve of your ass, pooling beneath you.

He grunts, the first hints of his restraint fracturing, his jaw tight. “God, schatz. You are a miracle.”

His body moves against yours, adjusting your position, posing your body like a marionette with his free hand, his other never leaving your jaw. Your knee presses higher towards your chest under the weight of his palm, and you feel the burn of the stretch at the mouth of your pussy, every sensation heightened as he thrusts into you at this new angle.

Your neck stretches back, forcing your head against the pillow, and you can’t decide if there’s a ringing in your ears or if those noises are coming from you, in time with every thrust. The borders of your body grow blurry, dissolving as more and more of you is consumed by the feeling of him. Every muscle in your body goes tight. He’s so deep you can feel the head of his dick nudging at your soul.

“Are you close, hase?” he asks, and you nod into his palm, tears dripping from the corners of your eyes.

His whisper reaches you through the oceans of your pleasure. “You can cum, schatz. Go on. Let go for me.”

The light inside you breaks once he’s given permission, pouring out in jagged shards, leaving no part of you untouched. Chill air brushes against sweaty skin, your back arching from off the sticky sheets, cunt clenched tight around his cock, holding him deep inside you. You feel remade, taken apart and put back together by his steady hands, forged anew under his warm, soft lips.

Your body fizzles, the result of some chemical transformation you don’t understand, only partially aware of his continued thrusts, the warm spill of his cum as he’s buried tight in your pussy, chest heaving against yours and his hand at your neck.

Puffs of hot air from his lungs dissipate against your collar bone, cooling the thin sheen of sweat that coats your skin, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you over him like a blanket holding you close until long after it dries. His fingers trace soft patterns over skin, tapping a melody only he can hear.

You give up on keeping your eyes open. His chest makes a comfortable pillow, with the untroubled beat of his heart and the safe harbor of his arms. It’s tempting to allow yourself to drift off; your heart twinges at the idea that you could fall asleep and wake up in his arms.

Like every other man, he must be able to sense the thoughts of commitment, because he sits up, shifting you from his lap—gently, at least. You can’t help the whine you let out when he slips his cock from inside you; your body left emptier than it had been before.

He smirks, sitting at the edge of the bed with his eyes directed between your thighs. Your skin grows flushed—feeling the slow drip of his cum slide out of your aching cunt. Your legs move to close, a sick feeling crawling over your skin. It feels wrong to have him look at you now that he’s gotten what he paid for.

He slips his fingers in the space between just before your thighs meet, catching the dripping spend on his thumb, spreading it across your tender opening, just barely brushing your clit. Your lips part with an unbidden moan.

"Still so needy, even after i just fucked you, hase?” he asks, the corner of his mouth turned up proudly, “that's good. I like my women insatiable."

He stands, all business as he grabs his clothing from the floor, reassembling his wardrobe. “We should be going,” he says, “there are places to be; I can have someone collect your things.”

He doesn’t notice your confusion, shrugging his coat over his shoulders, only turning back to you once he’s reached the door.

“Aren’t you coming, hase?”

“Coming? With you?”

“Of course, if you’d like,” he says. “You’d be taken care of, for as long as you choose to stay.”

There’s a warmth in your bones at the thought of it, even if it doesn’t make sense.

“Why me?”

“Schatz,” he walks back to you, petting a finger under your chin, “when I find something I like, I must have it.”

Tagging a few people who seemed interested: @reiaux, @valquiria3000

#hemut zemo x reader #helmut zemo x you #helmut zemo #helmut zemo fanfiction #baron zemo #baron zemo fanfiction #daniel brühl #helmut zemo smut #baron zemo smut #mcu fanfiction #tfatws #requests #my writing

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descendantofthesparrow · 2 years

Text

Ber!Rewrite x Tightrope- oneshot /part 2 - Arella

*Based off chapter 20 of Tightrope! Does not follow TR canon at all! Pls read the original it’s so fukin good.

It was just supposed to be a supply run, that was it! Just to get supplies for the lack of them they had now due to the flush of new people within the base. Food, water, medicine, and clothes that’s all they were going for; and it went badly.

Cordelia had gotten hurt by Jay, by a spiked chain-whip he had, and it had ended the run early. But they still needed more supplies so Lia offered to go again due to her resilience to Mal’s tactics, Uma agreed but had Gil and Harry go along, Rose offering to come along as well.

“im immune to magic, and I have a trident. Plus I’m not known to them at all, if need be I can head out alone.” was what she said, making Uma smile a bit as her late-counterparts shell necklace glowed on Rose’s neck, as if agreeing with her. But it seemed as if Rose had another reason to leave the base, but she didn’t reveal if she did, but Uma wished her husband and best friend good luck, sharing a nod with Rose as she followed behind the boys and Lia.

Rose had used the shell necklace to create an opaque shield over the four of them to hide them from sight, allowing Harry, Lia, and Gil to grab the supplies they needed without much worry. Rose constantly looked around, mostly towards dark corners and high areas, as if looking for someone or on high alert.

Soon the four had gathered a good amount of medical supplies Lia leading the way down the back hall that seemed to lead into another building, a grocery store most likely. Just as the four stepped through the door, Rose stopped, her eyes turning red almost instantly and the voices in her head screaming to run or to get ready for a fight.

“This is wrong” Lia whispered, suddenly trying to back up and out the door they had come from, her instincts had told her the same thing Roses had. “back, go back!”

Rose twitched as the lights turned on, the four not daring to shield their eyes to give their enemy the chance to attack. “too late fer tha’” Harry growled, glaring at Jay and his guards as they walked towards them, cursing as both of their exit points were now out of their reach, guards blocking both.

“oh, so you do have a brain!” Jay taunted Harry, a malicious smile on his face that fell slightly as he looked to Rose, whose red eyes and scarlet jacket threw him off a bit. He pushed down the shiver that wanted to go up his spine at the glare Rose was giving him and looked to Harry and Gil “aww, so no shrimpy or shrimpy jr this round? How disappointed, I was hoping to get another lick on your little brat.” Rose audibly growled, the voices demanding Jay’s blood.

He glanced at her uncomfortably, he prided himself on his instincts, and they told him this ‘new’ woman was dangerous. Very, dangerous. But for now he ignored her, drawing his attention back to his target, the winged woman who glared at him between Harry and Gil.

Harry snarled after Jay spoke those nicknames he so wholeheartedly detested, drawing his hook out and pointing it at Jay, baring his teeth at him. “yer formin’ a long list with every breath yeh take Jay, more reasons ta send yeh back ta’ dragon breath with a hook in yer mouth!” at this; Gil got ready to fight, and Rose stood to her full height, her necklaces shimmering as Rose twitched her fingers, ready to summon the trident.

Lia turned, blasting away the guards who blocked the doorway behind them, about to yell for her friends to run, but Harry was already rushing Jay, sword out and Hook at the ready, their swords clashed as they met, Harry’s eyes alight with rage as Jay grinned at him, meeting his strikes as Harry twisted around, trying to get revenge for his daughter’s injury at the hands of the man in front of him.

Gil fought the guards as Lia did the same, Rose rolled her neck and held her hand into the air, golden light extending from her palm, one end forming into three prongs. The light caught Jay’s eye and he nearly gasped, his distraction costing him a good slice in his arm. Rose smirked at Jay and slammed down the butt of the fully formed trident into the ground, the flooring under her cracking and folding away from her as it toppled guards, shelves, and even Jay. It shook the light fixtures above, the support beams groaning with the effort to keep the ceiling up.

Gil, Lia, and Harry looked shocked but impressed, her show on the day of her arrival clearly only showed a fraction of her power with the trident. Rose flipped the trident in her hands, red eyes looking to some guards that were trying to rush her, and with three quick movements, the guards were dead. Lighting following the blood trailing back to Rose who smirked at Jay and the guards who now cowered at her. “what?” she chuckled darkly, resting the width of the trident on her shoulder; tilting her head dangerously “did you really think you were goin’ to win? How cute~”

Harry easily beat back Jay as Rose, Gil, and Lia took care of the guards, though Rose was the only one of the three to permanently take care of them, the other two simply knocking away or knocking out the guards.

Rose and Lia glanced at each other at one point and Rose nodded, sweeping her arm out and with a wave of teal magic, pushed back a wall of guards into shelves. Rose grabbed Gil as Lia pushed Jay back and grabbed at Harry “we have to go, now! Before they call in reinforcements or whatever it is they got planned!” Harry looked nearly feral, trying to get back to jay to stab his hook through his upper jaw, but Lia forced him back, Rose catching his collar and pushing him to the door with Gil.

“go now!” Rose snapped, Harry flinching down a bit at the tone of her voice, following Gil to the door with Rose and Lia close behind. They all sprinted towards the door, a spiked chain-whip narrowly missing Lia as it hit and destroyed an abandoned shelf next to her.

“Harry, Gil, Rose; keep going!” Lia yelled to them as she turned to face Jay, the three sliding to a stop as Jay walked toward them, spinning the spiked whip in his hand as he grinned maliciously.

“not without yeh!” Harry yelled, moving the bag of supplies to his side to get ready to fight Jay again, but Lia shook her head and Rose forced the boys to move back, her hand moving to her waist where a chain sat, her eyes locked onto Jay.

“you two go now, you must get those back to base. We’ve got this.” Rose said, and Lia knew there was no help in trying to get her to go with them, Rose was staying to help. Harry and Gil tried to protest again but with a red-eyed glare from Rose they told them to make sure to not die and ran, Harry still wanting to stay.

He glanced back for only a moment, his eyes catching onto a metallic gleam up in the rafters, glowing red eyes staring down from the rafters. ‘wha-?’ he nearly said aloud, but he didn’t have time to get a better look, running with Gil out the doors and back to the base.

Jay stopped a good 20 feet in front of Lia and rose, a smirk still on his face as he swung his arm around and whipped at Lia, Rose doing the same with the chain on her waist, the chain uncurling and a sharp hook attachment whipping out and battering back Jay’s weapon. Jay looked shocked, not expecting the quick reaction or the counterattack.

Rose stepped in front of Lia, having a feeling that she was what Jay was after, spinning and moving gracefully as she attacked Jay, the hook end of her chain slicing into him; his legs, arms, face, torso. He cursed, blood dripping down from his eye as he tried to fight back, his chain-whip getting entangled into Rose’s hook-dart. She smirked, pulling back with a strong tug, and Jay was disarmed other than his sword which was sheathed.

He panted for breath, glaring at Rose as she smiled at him, her red eyes gleaming under the lights. Then he smiled as he heard a shuffle from behind him, tilting his head and grabbing a gas mask from the top of his head, then pulling it down. “feeling tired yet?”

“I don’t know” Rose taunted back, looking around him and smiling “are you?” Jay looked confused and turned, jumping back as multiple explosions suddenly erupted from ahead; his guards screaming then going deathly silent. Smoke then slowly filled the room, and it wasn’t the sleeping gas Evie made. He looked up, suddenly hearing a humming noise coming from the sudden darkness ahead of him, armored footsteps slowly coming closer, heavy and almost unbalanced.

The smoke cleared just slightly, revealing a girl who looked to be around 15; ocean blue eyes, braided black hair, a red cropped jacket, black pants, a skull-tank top, And the hook symbol on her left breast pocket. She tilted to the side, crossing her arms and blowing away her bangs. “hi?” she said, her voice young and with a thick accent to it…one that sound like…Harry’s.

Her eyes suddenly were overcome with red, she smiled, one that was not sane, throwing her arms out and whipping out two grenades, pulling them up to her mouth and taking off the two tags with her teeth, she threw them towards Jay; both soaring over him and landing on the two guards who were coming up behind Rose and Lia. They screamed and flew back, pink smoke erupting from where their bodies now lay.

The girl clicked her tongue as she walked towards Jay, taking a pistol from her thigh and spinning it in his fingers. Jay looked down in a panic, seeing two sleep-gas containers at his feet, he picked them up and threw them at her. The first one she dodged, the 2nd she destroyed with her pistol with deadly aim; she suddenly leaned back as one of the guards appeared out of the smoke, his spear lodging into the ground just in front of her as he landed.

The guard looked up and gasped, the girl's gun pointed directly at his head. She fired and the guard successfully, somehow, dodged the bullet. But it didn’t matter, the girl kicked him back with surprising strength and he collapsed a few feet away, using the spear in the ground she grabbed it and leaped towards the guard, slamming into his head with her feet.

Another guard whistled to Jay, tossing him another container of the sleeping gas and he prepared to throw it and Rose and Lia, who were standing there watching the girl fight, Lia much more shocked than Rose was at her arrival and skills.

Suddenly, he was shot, he gasped tumbling to the floor as multiple shots started to ring out through the large room. he turned over with intense effort, eyes widening at the mini-gun the girl had that hung off her shoulders, her eyes alight with mania and a grin on her lips as she took down the rest of the guards, all falling dead. Jay decided it was too risky to be here anymore and he rushed to stand, gasping in pain as he stumbled up and out of the abandoned grocery store, leaving Lia; his target, Rose, and the girl behind as his guards all died at the hands of her.

Rose closed her eyes, the voices all laughing with delight as blood was spilled, then she called out “Arella!” the girl suddenly stopped, her finger twitching away from the trigger of her gun. “that’s enough, they’re all dead.” The girl, Arella, stared at Rose as she walked towards her, her red eyes fading back to light blue as Rose stopped in front of her. Then Rose smiled, leaning down and kissing the girl's head “good job honey, you saved us” Arella grinned, her eyes shining.

“uhhh” Lia suddenly spoke up, flinching back with her wings spread as Arella perked up and adjusted her mini-gun to point near Lia “who-who is this?”

“my daughter,” Rose said, pushing down the barrel of the mini-gun and cupping the back of Arella’s neck “Arella; she must've come here with Arwen and I, but got separated.” Rose curled her arm around Arella’s neck, the teen tilting into her mother's side and closing her eyes. “now Arella, this is Lia, a trusted friend…okay?”

“Fine” Arella muttered; pulling away her gun and letting it sit on the back of her hips, following her mother out of the store with Lia in tow, Lia staring back at the scene in pure horror/awe at the sight Arella and Rose left for the next guards to discover.

Cordelia stared in confusion, awe, surprise, and…another emotion she couldn’t describe as she looked at Arella work on making more grenades, all shark-like and painted with odd graffiti. Gabby had gotten used to the idea of there being a counterpart version of herself, Arwen; the daughter of Gil and Jane. In fact the two had become close as true sisters, Arwen even getting Matilda in on the sister thing.

But-now having her own? And one that-clearly had something-fucked up in her brain? It was…so weird. Arella had never known her father, only her mother, her Harry had died before she was born and she had been passed down the madness curse that her dad had, voices in her head constantly plaguing her and making her-twitch, talk to them, making her kill, or crave to spill blood.

Apparently, Rose had this same curse, though-not the in same way Harry or Arella did, hers was…willingly taken on, while Harry and Arella had no choice-cursed at birth.

Arella suddenly looked up, her eyes following something, Cordelia turned, seeing her father walking towards the ship, seemingly not noticing Arella staring at him. “it’s not ‘im” Arella suddenly said, turning back to her grenades, more forcibly clicking some gears together. “it’s not!...he’s dead, forever. We all know it” Cordelia saw tears brim in Arella’s eyes and she quickly wiped them away “im not weak.” She growled out, glaring at something that wasn’t there.

Cordelia stood, feeling something solidify in her. Arella locked eyes with her, looking unsure. Cordelia walked over and sat down in front of her, leaning on her hands “hi”

“….hi?” Arella said slowly, fingers twitching as she grabbed a hot wire to connect her trigger to the ignitor.

“Arella right?” Cordelia asked, smiling as Arella nodded distractedly, continuing her work on her weapons “cool, im Cordelia…you probably know that though huh?” Arella just shrugged, setting one of the finished grenades aside and starting on another, Cordelia admired the shark style of the top of the weapon. “I like the bombs”

Arella glanced at her, then her lip twitched “yer trying really hard ta bond aren’t yeh?” Cordelia let out a small laugh, rubbing her back of her neck.

“is it that obvious?” Cordelia said quietly, pointing back towards Gabby, Arwen, and Matilda as Arwen tried to teach Matilda to use her fae magic, the younger girl flopping to the ground in a ball as Arwen made a large gesture, Gabby laughing as Arwen facepalmed. “I just…I don’t know, like them we’re kinda…sisters? Same dad n all” Arella froze at that, swallowing harshly as her hair covered her right eye, red flickering in the ocean blue of her iris. “Arella?”

Arella didn’t answer, gathering her stuff and standing, walking to the corner of the base her mother had made their little nook “Arella!?...was it something I said?” Cordelia asked herself, squeaking a bit as Rose set her hand on her shoulder “Rose?”

“Her father is…a sore spot for her,” Rose said in a sad tone, her thumb spinning her wedding ring around her finger, sitting down next to Cordelia “I know you want to get to know her but…she’s…as you know, not mentally stable, the curse prevents that. And bringing up Harry just aggravates it, take it slow okay? Don’t try to rush with her, she’ll only freak out.” Rose smiled and patted Cordelia's back “Give her a day or so, she doesn’t hate you just know that, she’s just…unsure of you” Rose stood, walking off to her corner to comfort her daughter as Cordelia stared at the one grenade left on the table, teal and gold etchings all over its surface.

Cordelia nodded to herself, standing and running off to Arwen and Gabby, who were still trying to get Matilda to loosen up, maybe they had some advice on how to bond with counterpart sisters?

-end-

this takes place after the ‘do it for her/him’ berxtr fic that is still in wip mode rn, so whenever i post that, just remember in the ‘timeline’ its before this. oh, and Arwen is no longer a kid, due to Arella existing, shes now a 16 year old teenager. :3

@disneyfan50 @thetimelordbatgirl

#harry hook descendants #disney descendants #ber x tr #tightrope #bad end rewrite #crossover with a crossover with a fanfic of a fanfic #arella hook #arwen legume #lia hawkins #blood #death

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chabby4memes · 2 years

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More exposition yay! (Pls read it all or just Ignored it, I genuinely want to hear Opinions on this)

First off Slashertales, they can come in many sizes, but aren't as big as their counterparts, they can grow from 4ft to 8ft, and aren't that special, and tend to Cake in six main varieties

Bull's-eye Slashers; they are pretty big, but still only ever seem to reach 8ft, compared to their other variations- Bull's-eyes tend to Live in close knit groups called Target Ranges, The leader is decided through strength, as they pride themselves in battle prowess over all else.

Kelpie Slashers; Mainly living in Asmodeus, Kelps don't tend to have a good rep, Known for Tricking and Lying for whatever reasons they may have, Living around abandoned rivers, they display a certain kind of resourcefulness rarely seen in Slashertales.

Tax Collector; These Slashertale are notably less battle equiped then even the Kelps, which is most likely due to their inland habitat of Belphegor and Sathanas- These Slashertales are friendly and normally gifted at Numerous subjects. They are most notable for their Scales almost looking like a Tuxedo.

Glooms; the Smallest variety of Slashertale, Glooms are 4ft to 5ft, and Venomous, they take pride in their hit and run method of Combat, infact, it's far from rare to see Glooms for packs and join with Target Ranges for Protection, they are swamp dwellers and often Kill leeches for dinner.

Magnet Field; Magnets tend to be well, In large groups, they mainly stick to Pandemonium, due to the massive amount of Electricity caused by frequent thunderstorms. They are The Most powerful type of Slashertale generally, but are beaten out by Land Sharks due to the only skill being lightning based.

Land Shark; Land Sharks, or better known as Carpets, are a Desert dwelling Slashertale almost exclusively found in Belphegor, their rubbery hide gives them a solid advantage against Magnets- they are characterised by the blue star on their snouts and the blunt claws on their limbs.

Annihilabucks next, being wandering souls, they need speed and strength, and have a more middled height range as such. From 6ft to 9ft.

Busters; these are the Kings of Annihilabuck, they're strong and fast, but, with a great power, comes a greater caveat- and that's their abysmal senses, lack of hearing, bad smell, poor eyesight, they have it bad. But hardly anyone crosses their path to find out.

Swashbuckler; These Annihilabuck found that Sea exploration was their gig and are highly aquatic, their seafaring ways make them Popular with All, as a Fact. They can't spend too much time on land because they will dehydrate. Also, they kill Kelps that follow them.

All Rounder; All rounders are the third and final variety of Annihilabuck, these are 70% Majority. They have soft Shells and kind disposition, for the most part they travel with Busters to assist them in the 'ultimate journey' the goal of Rounders us to have fun and go places, due to this life, they rarely find partners, and almost never settle down.

Lumberdime are Bulky, but still lack the strength of their larger counterparts, often enough partnering with Slashertales to Cover more of each weakness, growing from 7ft to 13ft, they are where size truly starts getting noticed.

Sea Angel; These Lumberdime are Always ready to help those lost, Angels tend to Live in pods underwater, and are primarily freshwater, they grow to 10ft-12ft, sharing traits with whales and dolphins, they are gentle giants and always have time for those in need.

Skittle; Skittles are Lumberdime with a more Feline Appearance, they are the smallest of the variations- staying at 7ft-8ft, they are far more energetic then their counterparts and often enough can be seen volunteering for Charity races as a use for their speed.

Minos; Minos Lumberdime are quite Standoffish, and mainly Solitary, if not Solitary, they can be found with their Family. They are Inlanders, and do not swim like a Sea Angel- Minos won't accept the company of weak people, And seek the greatest challenge they can find. They are 12ft-13ft tall.

Heat pad; Heat pads are a Lumberdime variety almost exclusive to Mammon, They evolved over time to have glands that produce Heat from Movement over time. They are 10ft-12ft tall and Tend to Move around abundantly. They can be found in Belphegor, but are way lazier, due to not needing to Create heat like their cousins.

Tumble Weeds; Tumbles are a Klutzy kind of Lumberdime, That of which evolved from their time aboveground- where they found themselves to be powerful, yet grew Lazy, because of this lack of work, they have lost many traits of theirs that the Minos still have, Both of them come from Mining Lumberdime, a now extinct variety, they are the same height range as Minos.

Round-Snout Joe; Round-Snout Joes are a Variety of Lumberdime that share many similarities to the Kirin and Lung from Lungmen- they have Exuberant personalities! Most of them live in Higashi or Lungmen, and are Abovegrounders- though, some are Found in Lucifer, City of Pride- they are good-natured, but have a tendency to also be snooty and rich, it's best to tell them to their faces- they are medium! Ranging from 8ft-11ft tall.

Boomer; Boomers like Explosives, which sets them aside from other Lumberdime- they are on the big end from 10ft-12ft tall- Similarly to Skittles, Boomers have the traits of a different race, the Perro. They are Kind but also silly, and infamous among many Joes for their rowdy behaviour and lack of awareness when it comes to their Explosive fueled Behaviour. For the Most part, they are considered good, if not Wily members of society.

Party Animal; PAs are a feared Variety of Lumberdime, they were exposed to human teenage culture, yet never grew out of it, to the point where after years, they are considered Lethetic Lumberdime- More Human then Monster, they are often Ostracised from the Underground in fear of them causing parties. They are the same height as Skittles, though can be a little taller.

Now for Slumbermuth, these towering Monsters were frontlines for the War of the Ark- and as Such are few in number, their height ranges from 8ft-22ft (without Mutation)

Smirking Bandits; Bandits aren't as bad as their name suggests- especially consider that their namesake is derived solely from the black stripe over their eyes, and Neck, they are quite small often peaking at 13ft. Their main skillset consists of lightning based attacks.

Boom-Boxes; Booms tend to be extremely loud, and have little to no hearing as they grow up, they are notable for passing down an attack style known as First Impression. They range from 14ft-16ft- they have a very vibrant and hearty style, and tend to enjoy eachothers company.

Sea Devils; A Sea Angels arch-enemy, Sea Devils have a tendency to bully the weak, often ganging up with Swashbucklers to bully young Angels when they get involved. Devils are on the smaller end, however, making them less threatening then they could be. They are around 10ft-12ft in size.

Flame Wraith; one of the Very rare Ambrosiac Slumbermuth, Flames tend to Live in Mammon, as it is where they are most Welcomed, despite their name, They also tend to have a biological affinity towards Ice Magic, Water Magic and Poison. They are so Rare that they are Treated as Deities, though some are, this may also scare the Flame off, leaving the City in distress.

Lone Wolf; Loners are From Syracuse-Mammon, They are normally Part Lupo, or very Rarely, Part Vulpo, They are Gang Wolf Slumbermuth that have lost their family and grown Bitter or even Sombre due to their loss, they are 14ft-16ft tall.

Gang Wolf; Gangs are the Same as Loners in most ways, except they still have their family- Though a Biological difference in Magic affinity has been found during recent studies on the behaviour and strength of these two Sub-classes.

Rangers; Rangers are by far the Most Bizarre Variety of Slumbermuth, they are almost always Cocytic and rarely Lethetic, they come in five colours, Red, Pink, Green, Blue, Black and Tend to form Squads of one of each, though, On rare occasions, a Yellow may be present instead of Pink, or a White where a Black may be. The red Will always be the leader- each Group has a Theme, from Dinosaurs to Historical figures. They are minute, which may be the reason they for these groups standing at 8ft-9ft tall.

Whistling Scales; Whistlers are notable for the Formation of the Common Scales on their Backs, Rather then them Rubbing the Scales on their backs to Gather Electricity, these ones Use the Wind as a Power Station, And Specialise in Aerial Combat, They are 18ft-20ft tall.

...

Notable Features;

Rangers always have team names, normally based around the Theme, a Pastry Based Ranger team may have a name like Christmas Pudding or Apple Crumble.

Party Animals are the Only Majorative Lethetic type of Lumberdime.

All Swashbucklers favourite food is Creme Egg chocolate, there is no known reason for this.

Boomers share parts of their appearance with Foxes depending on their area of residence, this is Most common in Beelzebub.

Gangs of Land Shark and Clutters of Magnet Field can be seen having turf wars in Belphegor.

Flame Wraith cannot be seen in Belphegor.

Every Sub-Race of the Kor-Margwathian variety can be Lethetic, Cocytic or Ambrosiac, but not every sub-class, a good Example is PAs, Party Animals cannot be Ambrosiac, the same way that Boom-boxes cannot be Lethetic.

A Ranger without a Group is called a Sheriff.

A Group of Rangers can Combine to make a temporary Mega-Muth.

Rangers can write and speak at least one language that doesn't use the Latin alphabet, Most Learn Russian, while some Learn Arabic or Even Korean.

Mega-Muths look like a Mega-Mogus.

Mutations are most Commonly found in Annihilabuck and Slumbermuth.

Sea Angels tend to fall for Sea Devils, though, This is rarely reciprocated.

Sea Devils hate the fact they need water.

Sea Angels are normally Omnivores, but some are Herbivores.

Among us is a Popular game Among Rangers, so they base their Mega-Muth, and Muths on Among us memes.

Fun fact, Rangers are based off of not Only Power Rangers, but other Shows like Gundam, A rare Variety of the Red Leader-Type Rangers called a Lagann and one called a Gurren, they are huge.

Muths and Mega-Muths are a Reference to Zords and Megazords.

If a Smirking Bandit has a Sunglasses like Shape on their face, they may actually be a Plumed Bandit, which is a Variety of Bandit found in Snowy regions.

While a Lone Wolf is Natural, a Sheriff is not, a Fallen Ranger is a Ranger that lose it's group, but a Sheriff never got one.

#worldbuilding #Shifted-Fable-Overgauge #Kor-Margwathian #Lol exposistoon

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1kook · 4 years

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skirt chasers - drabble i

a skirt chasers drabble bc they are my fave fictional couple to date <333

tags: coupley and domestic, jk’s terrible attempts at seducing via text, making out, dry humping, spitting (ik idk what came over me), too much talking for this to be sexual pero hey here we are wc: like 3k

entirely based off jungkook from bv3 that man had NO right to look that good and the holy jirkenstocks (jungkook birkenstocks). wont lie this has been completely written in my drafts since November (yes 2019) and i hoarded it under the belief i would make this a whole part 2 which i did not

que dios los bendiga <3

Much to everyone’s dismay, Jungkook’s spring break in Vegas with the boys is cut three days short when Jimin’s dog sitter suddenly cancels, citing a case of homesickness as enough cause to abruptly go home. When you first hear news of this, you’re preparing yourself for the return of a mopey, useless Jungkook, too drained from four glorious days in Las Vegas to carry on. What you’re not expecting is the mysterious text he sends you before boarding a five hour flight with no service (he was cheap).

kook still on vegas lockdown. Have that pussy ready when i get home

“The fuck does that mean?” Chaeyoung is the first to see the message, your screen lighting up on the kitchen counter beside you as you scrub through a mountainous pile of dishes. You try to play it off, after all, Chaeyoung had seen parts of you you hadn’t even seen, but there was no worse embarrassment than having your homegirls see your clown of a boyfriend’s ridiculousness. “He’s so romantic,” she swoons, and you shoo her away from the offending device as you wipe your hands down on your t-shirt.

you for what?? One 20 second round 🤥

Chaeyoung suddenly cackles from over your shoulder, and you swear your soul leaves your body.

You don’t get a response until exactly five hours and thirteen minutes later, your phone vibrating like crazy on the edge of your bathtub, and if you hadn’t given it a hearty kick and sent it flying across the room, front screen shattering into the most intricate spider web of glass shards, it would have fallen into the water. The terror.

kook pls pick me up

kook also haha. U r soooo funny 😑

You’re halfway to the airport, idly sitting in traffic and giving the public a free, Beyonce-like experience of The Script’s Breakeven, when you realize you’re not wearing any pants. You’re not exactly sure which part of Jungkook’s long t-shirt had tricked you into believing you were decently dressed, but you’re not too mad. After all, Jungkook’s trip with the boys had been a last minute decision that did not take into consideration your never-ending thirst for your boyfriend, so a little payback never hurt anybody.

He’s sitting on top of his suitcase outside the airport when you get there, cute Birkenstock-clad feet swinging back and forth as he waits for you like the good boy he is. He crouches down by the passenger window, “Uh, yeah, is this the Uber?”

You can’t even bother hiding the smile that consumes your face, and it only grows tenfold when he finally gets in and immediately leans over the center console to kiss you. “Look who’s finally back from their little bachelor party,” you murmur, eyes lidded dangerously low when he breaks away.

“Oh, the party where I accidentally sleep away my life-savings to a stripper named Aries and then have to go home and beg for my wife’s forgiveness?” He responds immediately, devious pink tongue swiping out to lick at your bottom lip.

You snort. “Joke’s on you, because our hot pool boy kept me company and treated me better in four days than my husband had in six years,” you mumble, finger looping into the silver chain around his neck to pull him close again.

“Not our hot pool boy,” he whines, smile pressed adorably to your lips.

You almost retort, but a ten-second horn blast from the car behind you has the two of you jumping three feet from each other, like teenagers caught making out in the school parking lot.

Just as you’d predicted via text, Jungkook barely has the energy to walk up the steps to your apartment, much less fuck you like he’d promised. “Fuck, stop being healthy and let us take the elevator,” he grunts, pushing his suitcase onto the final platform leading to your floor.

“Nope,” you concede. “The stairs give me a good view of your ass going up.”

He shoots you a scandalized look, like you’re an old man who’d just catcalled him on the street. “Pretty sure that’s my line.”

It’s when you’re unlocking the front door, sending out a little prayer to the heavens (Chaeyoung) for the blessing of an empty apartment, that he notices your lack of proper clothing. “Oh, hell no,” he groans, immediately crowding you against the armchair nearest the door.

You laugh, struggling to turn to face him as he nuzzles his face into your neck. “What seems to be the problem?”

He sighs against the shell of your ear, and you’d be a liar to say it didn’t send a gush of wetness to your core. Jesus, just a single puff of air from Jungkook was enough to turn your coochie into a Fruit Gusher. “Not your sexy legs again,” he whines, and you giggle when he presses those pouty lips to yours.

“Thought I was supposed to have this pussy ready for you,” you tease, tilting your head up until your noses brush against each other. Jungkook lets a soft huff of a sigh go, eyes fluttering shut at your close proximity.

There’s a hand that creeps along the back of your thigh, fingers pressing into the soft skin until he finally guides it upwards, hitched over his hip. The new position has your body curving backwards, tilted over the edge of the couch as he continues crowding closer and closer to you. “Baby,” he whines, and the tone and sudden usage of your favorite nickname wipes the teasing smile off your face. “I missed you so much,” he purrs, in that tone that says he knows he has you under his complete control, all he has to do is take care of you.

Still, you try to put up some sort of a fight. “I’m sure your eyes were kept entertained in Vegas,” you retort weakly, not even bothering to hide the jealousy in your tone.

Jungkook laughs, before puckering his lips and smothering you. Instantly, you throw your arms around his broad shoulders to pull him closer. His hair tickles your face from how long it’s gotten, and when you brush it back, collecting it into a makeshift baby ponytail, you can’t even enjoy the sight because Jungkook is pressing his rock hard member against your inner thigh.

“You think I’m a cheater?” He muses when he finally pulls away, a little entranced by the saliva that coats your lips in a thin sheen. “Couldn’t be even if I wanted to.” Before you can ask what that even means, he’s hauling you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his tiny waist, his cock now cradled between your thighs, right where you want him most. You moan immediately, head lolling backwards at the touch you’d craved for days. “Feel that? No one gets my dick hard like you do, baby.”

Even though his adrenaline is on one hundred, and he’s clearly blinded by his lust, Jungkook still sets you down on the bed like you’re made of glass. Any comments you may have made are smothered by his lips on yours, fingers gripping your waist like it’s the first time he’s ever touched you. When he pulls away, his eyes are dark and his breath is a little heavy where it fans against the lower half of your face.

“So pretty,” he huffs, rolling his hips against yours. You groan, eyes rolling back as the familiar feeling of your boyfriend between your legs consumes you. Jungkook presses his mouth against the skin of your neck, where the faintest sheen of sweat had begun to form the moment you unlocked the front door.

If you thought you were loud, the sounds leaving Jungkook’s throat are teetering on the edge between a pornstar and a yodelling-enthusiast. You can’t help the smirk crossing your features. “Are you really gonna come?”

Jungkook was many things, and drama queen was definitely very high on that list. He gives you the most scandalized expression, stopping the movement of his hips to scoff. “As if,” he snorts, but you know that little eyebrow furrow a little too well.

You snort, reaching down to his sides as you try to discreetly urge him to start up again. “Baby, your jaw is twitching,” you point out, a soft whine leaving your lips when he shifts your leg up. It’s this same sound that has him finally moving again.

“Yeah, well,” he groans, one hand deathly gripping into your hip now, pressing you down onto the bed so hard you feel the comforter will swallow you up any minute now. “I just got my wisdom teeth removed, ‘member?”

Your retort is briefly cut off by the cry you let out when he ducks down to suck a mark beneath your jaw. “M-Months ago,” you weakly respond,

Jungkook ignores you in favor of using his Hulk strength to fold you in half, groans borderline animalistic as he grinds his cock into your soaked panties. His jaw is tight like you’d said, but you can tell he’s holding himself back. He hated coming before you, seldom doing it unless it was one of those rare days where he wanted you to pamper him.

“Fuck,” he grunts, swallowing your pitiful whines before pushing his tongue down your throat. There was something sexy about your boyfriend being so turned on that his saliva production was off the charts. “You’re gonna ask me to do that thing again, aren’t you?” He predicts.

All you can do is nod, and Jungkook smirks. “Ah,” he says, much like a doctor would, and you comply, mouth wide. You see the muscles beneath his jaw twitch, and a moment later he’s leaning over you with puckered lips, a glob of saliva begging to drip down.

The moan that catches in your throat has him smiling, tongue peeking out to cut the bridge of saliva that connected the two of you, and you want to tell him you love him, but then he’s raising his eyebrows at you, motioning for you to swallow, so you do. “Absolutely filthy,” he grins, and then returns to thrusting against you.

As much as you liked to tease him, he’s good at fulfilling the sexual aspects of his boyfriend role, and he guides you to your orgasm moments later. Of course, he does so by toying with your tits just the way you like, lips pressed firmly to yours as you become a boneless heap beneath him. “That’s it, pretty baby,” he murmurs, pressing one final kiss to your lips before he’s shifting back onto his haunches, tugging you closer until the backs of your knees are cradled carefully in his elbows.

Despite your transcended state, you love watching Jungkook get himself off, and your eyes flutter as you watch him thrust sloppily against your soiled panties. They’re soaked by your own arousal, and had Jungkook’s sweats not been as dark as they were, you’re almost certain you’d see how they stained.

He comes a moment later, body twitching and fingers tightening against your skin. His chest heaves, head lolling back as he tries to regain his senses. Silence envelopes the room.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You blurt, no longer able to pretend like something isn’t completely wrong.

Jungkook rolls his neck out, a satisfying crack resounding, as he angles to look at you again. His tongue is poking against his cheek in that cocky way it does sometimes, and he furrows his brows at you. “What?”

You shuffle up onto your elbows, motioning towards him with the vaguest wave possible. He blinks. You groan.

“What did you do?” You question, and immediately his eyes go wide and shiny in that way they do when you’re reprimanding him and he doesn’t see the wrong in his ways.

Cute little lips forming a pout he remains as confused. “Nothing? We really just went to fuck around and get drunk—“

“Kook.”

“You don’t actually think I cheated, I thought we were just joking? Unless…” he trails off, doe eyes suddenly filled with fear. “You weren’t?”

“Jungkook—“

He intercepts you, “did you do something while I was gone? Who was he? Or she? Wow,” he huffs to himself in disbelief. “I don’t even know you well enough to know if you’re into more than just men.” The frown on his face is getting deeper with each word he utters and you almost can’t believe how dumb he could be. “No wonder… am I a terrible boyfriend?” He asks, voice louder and more concerned than it’s been all night.

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” You say, and Jungkook looks just as lost by your response as you are with his. “Because I’m talking about whatever this is,” you explain, reaching up to drag a hand through his dual-colored locks.

They’d been carefully tucked under his bucket hat when you’d picked him up, a tuft of blonde peeking out from in front of his ear. It wasn’t until he’d tipped you over the side of the couch that it had tumbled off. Of course, at the time, there had been other pressing matters at hand than wondering why your Hannah Montana blonde boyfriend had returned as Todoroki, which is why you’d waited until now to revisit the topic.

Jungkook doesn’t move for a solid ten seconds. Then, as if processing the emotional episode he’d just given you, he gives you a sheepish smile. It’s one of those smiles where his lips press together thinly and cutely and the apples of his cheeks seem like the squishiest things in the world. “Oh…” he says, voice soft and nothing like the man that spit in your mouth five minutes ago. “You like it?”

#jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #kpopwonderlandtag #ksmutclub #bts smut #jjk smut #mine #what did i even use to tag with lolol #sc universe #skirtverse #skirtfic

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comphersjost · 4 years

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All for You | 2 ➸ Brady Tkachuk and Matthew Tkachuk

hi, its 3 am, and i couldnt stop until i finished this. ik i promised yall another part on thursday so im sorry this is later then i was hoping. i hope you enjoy it :) i took a different approach to brady here than ive normally seen, let me know how you guys like it!!

It’s been 4 and a half months since that day in the basement. With Christmas just days away and Matty on a flight back home, you and Brady take a risk, leaving Matt to wonder where he went wrong.

word count: 4.6k

warnings: this is really angsty yall, like actually, smut, sir kink, brady is Mean, uh moral ambiguity sorta (thinking abt someone else during sex), d/s undertones sorta, unprotected sex (be safe), oral (m on f), some choking, alcohol (wine), sex under the influence, pls ignore any typos fkakldfa

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

masterlist

Even with how utterly fucked the situation was that Matt had found himself in, there was one thing he couldn't stop thinking about. It was the way his logo and his last name and his number rested against your back that drove him insane.

It was burned into his retinas.

Even now, on a plane back home to St. Louis it was all he could think about. Every time he closed his eyes it was you you you.

It had been months since he had seen you. Nearly 5 months had passed since that night in the basement. And it killed him.

He was in a slump. Everyone knew it. He knew it, his teammates knew it, the damn front office knew it. And it was because of you.

His teammates had quickly put together your absence at any sort of gathering and Matty’s sulking. 4 and a half months later he resembles a shell of the man he used to be.

He had called, of course he had. Over and over, hoping, pleading, praying to any deity that existed out there to hear from you again.

Matthew’s prayer was answered one day, when he had come out of practice to find a text from you. His heart rate accelerated, time felt like molasses as his phone camera ID’d his face. As the facial recognition unlocks his phone, the message is revealed.

Please stop calling me. And tell the boys to stop too.

The text tears his heart to shreds. It was the last straw. Before he had been mopey, but now - now he was spiraling. His play was abysmal - a shit show on the ice really. He drank until he blacked out every time, not even looking at another girl.

He had contemplated going to your work, but decided a player in the middle of a slump having a restraining order filed against him would not go over well with the Flames management. Every time he went out for the most mundane task, groceries, dry cleaning, he couldn’t help the hope that he would run into you. Even if you didn’t give him the time of day it would be enough for him to just see you.

He hadn’t seen you since that day. Not for lack of trying, though. Matthew had been to all the spots you used to frequent—the grocery store you love, the clubs you two used to go to, even the 7/11 you had both been to after the both of you got so drunk that you could barely walk. You weren’t on the flight you had booked back together. In fact, he had no idea about anything that’s been going on in your life, his mom just told him that you’re okay and that was all he got.

Now it was 3 days before Christmas and the idea of seeing you again both filled him with dread and also made him feel more alive than he had in months. He was equally utterly terrified and buzzing with excitement. His hands itched to hold you again, though he knew there was a bigger chance of you slapping him than letting him kiss you the way he wanted.

As Matt stares out the window at the clouds, he lets his mind wander. He wonders how you're doing; are you okay? After everything that happened did you pick up right where you left off? He wondered if you missed him, if he was on your mind as much as you were on his.

He still wondered if you loved him back.

“Mom, I really just, I really want to stay home and do nothing tonight okay? I'm tired.”

Your mom rolls her eyes at your attempt at getting out of going over to Tkachuk’s house tonight. You’d been trying since 9 am.

“Honey, I know you said you and Matthew don’t hang out anymore, but he won't be there!” she tried reassuring you, “Brady and Taryn will be there to hang out with you until Taryn goes to spend the night with the Johnson’s.” That made you groan even louder - you had to be alone with Brady. Great, now you had to steel yourself for a night of utter humiliation.

Brady isn't even downstairs yet when you enter the Tkachuk’s threshold, Chantal’s call for her kids brings Taryn down in an instant, ever excited to see you.

“Y/N!” she squeals, running down the stairs, “You're here, you're here!”

“Y/N?” you hear faintly, and then the slam of Brady’s door and rapid footsteps. He nearly slides down the stairs, freezing at the bottom when he spots you. Taryn lets you out of her embrace, leaving you to stare wide-eyed at Brady. Unsure how to navigate your way out of this situation, you keep staring at Brady as your parents and Taryn follow Chantal to the kitchen.

“Hi, B,” you say meekly, unsure of how he’ll receive you after so long.

“Hi, buttercup,” he responds, a bright smile pulling at his lips. It’s all he needs to take a few quick steps in your direction and draw you into his arms.

“I missed you so much, buttercup,” he whispers against your hairline, “More than you know.”

Despite his warm welcome, the night is tense. You still don't know what he thinks of that night, not wanting to ask him in front of your families - well, most of your families anyways. You didn't even let yourself think about what would happen when you saw Matthew at the next dinner party. You sat at the table and ate your food, barely speaking to Taryn and answering Keith and Chantal’s inquiries about your life in Calgary with a tight smile.

You’re so zoned out trying to make time go faster you barely register your parents telling you that they’re going out with Keith and Chantal.

“Mom, wait-”

“Y/N,” she warns, looking at you with that look, and you sigh in resignation. She smiles at you, a silent promise to make it up to you.

Taryn had left 30 minutes ago, announcing that she had somewhere to be before leaving as quickly as she could, uncomfortable with the palpable tension between you and Brady.

You watch your parents leave, wincing for a moment at what awaits you when you turn around. To your surprise, what greets you is a glass of wine hovering in front of your face.

You take the peace offering gingerly from Brady’s hand with a tiny smile. And it’s a really bad idea, the way you let him keep refilling your glass, and his own, let him draw you in during The Grinch on the couch, let him hold you tight under the blanket that was covering the both of you.

You can hear your common sense screaming in the back of your mind when you snuggle closer into Brady’s chest. It’s near 11 now, and your parents are still together, laughing and drinking in the living room of your house before Keith and Chantal are supposed to head to the airport. You're cuddled up to Brady, shifting every few minutes to try and get closer, even though nearly every inch of your body is practically glued to him.

He hums when you shift again, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. “Gotta go home,” you say, your voice muffled against him. It’s not like you haven't spent the night with him before; you just haven't since that night.

“Probably,” he mumbles, arms tightening around you. “But I don't want you to.” And like, you've had way too much wine and you should probably go before Matty gets here cause you really can't handle that conversation like this so you push off of Brady, standing up but stumbling, wine sloshing over the lip of the glass and splattering on your pants.

“Fuck,” you hiss, the red wine surely staining the gray leggings you wore. Brady takes the glass from you, placing it on the table and stabilizing you with his other hand.

“Go change upstairs,” he says softly, looking up at you with those eyes you're such a sucker for. “Stay.”

And - how can you say no to that? You can't, because it's Brady and you're so damn easy for him it didn't matter what he’d asked you to do, you would do it without a second thought.

That's how you find yourself stumbling to Brady’s bedroom, barely finding your way to his bathroom to change out of your stained leggings and wipe yourself down. You rummage through Brady’s dresser, searching for - there it was. A pair of Brady’s sweatpants from high school that he stopped wearing approximately 2 months after he got them [mostly because he couldn't find them (mostly mostly because they were either in your room or on your body)].

You place the worn sweats on top of Brady’s dresser, fumbling to close the drawer and find your balance. Someone clears their throat and your head snaps towards the doorway. Brady is leaning against the doorframe and through the fuzziness of the wine, you register the thought that he looks so good like this - in his comfort zone.

“Hey,” he says, pushing off the doorframe towards you.

“Hi,” you whisper back, eyes too focused on Brady moving towards you.

“We should give it a shot,” Brady husks, hooded eyes trailing down your body and back up again. Suddenly the room feels too cold, the oversized sweater you had on stopped at the top of your thighs, barely covering the pale pink panties you were wearing. The sweater paws gave an air of innocence around you that Brady knew was fake.

“What are you talking about?” you whisper meekly, both concerned about what was going on in that head of his, and intrigued.

“You know how you feel about me,” Brady states - which isn't entirely true anymore, but you don’t interrupt. “I don’t know how I feel about you, and neither of us actually knows if this-” he motions between the two of you “-is it for us, so I say, we give it a shot and see how it feels. Let’s give it until we go back?”

When did he get so close to you? Brady’s taking more steps forward, and you’re taking as many steps back, until the back of your thighs hit the corner of the bed and you instinctively sit.

Which - in retrospect, was probably a mistake, because now Brady towers over you even more than before and now - you’re really intrigued. His fingers trail over your jaw, thumb swiping gently across your bottom lip.

You part your lips out of habit, eyes widen when you realize what you’ve done. Brady laughs darkly when he catches your slip up, stroking your face affectionately.

His thumb slips between your lips for a moment, and your eyes flutter shut as your cheeks hollow around him.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, and you do, opening your eyes to stare up at him again; Brady, your best friend. He smiles proudly, murmuring a soft, “Good girl.”

The words are uttered at the same time he withdraws from your warm mouth, wrapping his fingers gently around your throat. You can’t help the whine that escapes, mortified when Brady’s grin widens.

He leans down, mouth next to your ear to whisper, “Matty always did like it when they’re needy. Needy girls drive us crazy.”

Really, the thought of Matt shouldn’t be driving you crazy, but it is. And when you feel Brady’s nose nudge against yours, his mouth just millimeters from you - your biggest fantasy for nearly 20 years - you knew you were going to hell.

A needy moan escapes your throat before Brady’s hand tightens around your throat and you give in, looping your arms around his neck. You pull him down to meet your lips, nearly clawing at him in your desperation.

Faintly, you think that this is a bad idea, this would only hurt you more later on.

But the longer you kissed him, the less you cared about the consequences. You wanted - you needed Brady so fucking bad right now you were willing to deal with whatever the aftermath presented you with. Brady’s other hand finds the bottom of your sweater, slipping underneath the fabric to lay against your rib cage.

You needed more.

“Brady,” you whine as you break away from his lips, tugging at his hoodie. “Need you.” Brady chuckles darkly, tugging you by your throat to kiss him again.

“Ask nicely,” he husks against your mouth.

“Please,” you whimper again, pulling harder at the fabric to just get him closer. “Please, Brady, I need you so bad.”

“Try again.” Brady pushes you - nearly tosses you really - further up the bed with a snarl, ignoring the yelp you let out at the suddenness of his mood shift. You stare up at him, eyes wide and lips parted. You're unsure of your next words.

“Please…Daddy?”

A cocky smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. “Not quite.”

You think for a moment, watching him bring his hand behind his back and pull his shirt over his head. The dark look he gives you makes you shrink, as if to say ‘Still?’.

Suddenly your eyes light up, and Brady can see it. He's already on the bed, crawling up your body as you attempt to control your breath. The words are barely out before he's kissing you again.

“Please sir?”

Brady groans into your mouth when he hears you say the words, slotting himself between your thighs to grind his hips against yours. You mewl into his mouth when his clothed cock catches against your clit, pushing your hips up against him for more. He growls as he pulls away again, swatting your thigh as a warning.

“Careful, princess,” Brady warns - voice low and dangerous - and his grip on your hip so tight you knew there would be bruises in the morning, “or I won't be.” His words are thick with intention, both a threat and a promise.

“Yes, sir,” you breathe shakily, letting yourself fall against the sheets to look up at him.

Brady’s eyes soften for a moment, reaching up to brush your hair out of your eyes. “Hi,” he whispers, leaning down to steal a kiss.

“Hi,” comes your response. He steals another kiss before pulling away again, and you can't help but think that he looks beautiful like this.

I love you. I'm in love with you.

You want to say it, the voice inside you is screaming it. It’s screaming for you to say it, and Brady is looking at you almost like he wants you to too.

The feeling of his hands pushing your sweater up distracts you from your plight. Brady’s movement is slow, and he’s looking at you intensely, giving you time to stop him. You only nod, and the softness is gone as soon as it had come. You lift your arms to help him bring the material over your head. He tosses the sweater to the side, catching your wrists when you reach for him. He guides them back over your head, smirking as you suppress a shudder when he leans in a whispers against your mouth. “Be a good girl and keep your hands there princess.”

You nod quickly, grasping the sheets in anticipation. Another slap to your thigh has you rethinking.

“I’m sorry!” you gasp. “Yes, sir.”

Brady hums in acknowledgment, kissing down your throat until he’s staring up at you from the valley between your breasts. You whine softly when he pulls a nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing the harden peak before soothing it with his tongue. His hand is pinching and pulling at your other nipple, making your noises significantly louder. He alternates, playing with your nipples until they're swollen and sensitive and sore.

He sits back on his heels to look at you, hands on your knees now, sliding up your thighs. His eyes roam your body unabashedly, while his fingers play with the waistband of your panties. There's a burning look in his eyes as he says, “You're gorgeous. You're so fucking beautiful.”

You don't know why hearing him say it makes you tear up. Brady had told you that you were pretty before, that you cleaned up nice, always telling you how hot you were when he'd see you dressed up before events. He was your own personal hype man but he'd never called you beautiful.

Not like this.

Not like Matty.

The thought makes your blood run cold.

“Please,” you mewl, starting to reach for Brady before remembering what he told you. Your hands fly back above your head, twisting in the sheets, whispering, “I’m sorry, sir, I forgot.”

Brady smiles softly, slipping his finger under the waistband of your panties, tugging on it before letting it snap back against your skin. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss softly at your stomach. “Trying so hard to be good for me.” He shuffles himself backwards as he kisses his way down your body, sliding your panties down your legs at the same time until they've fallen to the floor.

“Wait,” you say softly, causing Brady to pause, his expression quizzical. “Please, I need you.”

Brady grins wickedly. “Just a taste princess.”

It turns out, ‘a taste’ actually means Brady edging you with his tongue until you were nearly crying. He's brought you to the brink three times now, each time getting you closer and closer before pulling away. At this point he's holding your hips down and your hands are as tangled in the sheets as you could get them, not wanting the repercussions of disobeying.

Brady’s tongue is sliding through your folds again when you finally break.

“Please!” you sob, tears finally sliding down your cheeks as your back arches from the pleasure. “Please, Brady, please, sir, please please, I- I need - please just - fuck - please.”

Brady hums against your cunt, the vibrations tearing a scream from your throat. Suddenly the warmth of Brady’s mouth is gone, leaving you chasing him with a buck of your hips. He pins you back down again easily, his lips glistening as he smirks. You hate the way the sleazy look on his face does it for you.

It reminds you of Matt.

You whine again, wiggling your hips as much as you could in Brady’s grip. “Please just fuck me,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. You feel his lips press against your hip, smiling against your skin.

“Anything my girl wants, she gets,” he murmurs against your skin.

My girl. The words echo over and over again in your head. My girl my girl my girl.

Two words you've been waiting years to hear come out of his mouth, and the only thing you could think of was how you liked it better when Matty said it.

Your eyes stay shut as Brady kisses up your body, fingertips dancing over your skin. His mouth finds yours, emptying your brain of all other thoughts but him.

“You ready for me, pretty girl?” he asks you, a hand coming up to stroke your cheek gently, wiping your tears away. Your eyes flutter open, to look at him, nodding as you bite your lip. His thumb tugs your lip out from between your teeth as you feel the tip of his dick brush against your thigh. You didn't even realize that he had taken off the rest of his clothes, but you weren't complaining. Not with him so close like this.

“Please,” you whimper, and after stealing another kiss, Brady sinks into your heat.

“Fuuuuuck,” he groans, gripping the back of your thigh to spread your legs even further. “You're so fucking tight, fuck you feel so good.” Once he’s bottomed out, Brady leans down to kiss you, swallowing your desperate noises.

He gives you little time to adjust, and really - you don't need it considering the way he tortured you with his mouth and fingers. You're whining into his mouth as his hips move against you, the drag off his cock inside you so fucking good after being denied like you were.

You're close already, and Brady knows, delivering sharp thrusts and hitting a spot inside you that made you see stars.

He finally breaks from your lips, breathing heavily as his hips slam into your cunt. “I'm so close,” you tell him, gripping the sheets above your head so hard you feel like you might rip them. “Please, please let me cum, sir, please.”

It seems like Brady finally thinks you've had enough torture, because he brings his hand from your thigh to your clit, rubbing quick tight circles. “You've been so good for me baby,” he grunts, his other hand holding him up so he can look down at you. “Come on baby, you can touch me now, come on princess, cum for me.”

That's all it takes to send you over the edge. Your hands come flying from above your head to grasp at Brady, his shoulders, his back, tangling in his hair, anything to just touch him. You cry out as your orgasm hits, your back arching under Brady as he relentlessly fucks you through it.

You faintly register Brady’s filthy encouragement in your ears, telling you how good you are for doing what he says, for not touching him this whole time, for cumming for him like this. You writhe against him as you feel him spill into you, grunting as he fucks into you, chasing his orgams with shallow, sloppy thrusts. It feels like you've been riding your high forever; your vision is blurry when you finally come down.

Brady’s breath is hot on your neck, his hands stroking your skin gently as the two of you catch your breath. He shushes you gently as you moan when he pulls out of you. Brady practically collapses next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging you into his chest. He peppers kisses across your skin, nudging his nose against your cheek to grab your attention.

You can barely turn your head, suddenly so tired you feel like you'll pass out right that second. “Hi,” he murmurs, kissing you gently. You hum and bury your face in his neck.

“‘M sleepy,” you mumble against his skin, eliciting a soft laugh from him.

“Then sleep,” he says, before smirking devilishly, “don't worry there's lots more where that came from, but in the morning.” You snort at his words, squeezing the back of his neck before burying your fingers in his curls.

“Night, B,” you mumble.

“Goodnight, buttercup.”

Matthew was going to kill his brother. He was going to straight up murder him. On top of not being there to pick him up from the airport, he also didn't answer any texts or calls from Matt.

So yeah, when Matthew got home, he was going to kill Brady. When the Uber finally pulls up in front of him, Matthew is nearly halfway done with his plan to get away with it.

He fiddles with his phone as the driver pulls away from the curb, scanning the random notifications that he had popped up when he got off the plane. It's when he opens up Instagram that he really pays attention, the 3 stories in a row at the top of his feed catching his eye.

Taryn’s, yours, and Brady’s. Against his better judgement, he taps Taryn’s magenta-rimmed profile picture. The story takes a moment to load, but when it does, he sees a picture of you in front of the Tkachuk’s Christmas tree. You had your arms out in a ‘ta-da’ fashion, the fingers barely poking out through the sleeves of your sweater. Taryn’s caption reads “didn’t need an angel for the tree cause we already got @y/n/y/l/n”. He can't help but smile fondly, so distracted by how cute you look that he just stares at you until the time is up - but not before pressing on the screen so he could screenshot the photo.

Your first story was a repost of Taryn’s, a simple white heart emoji in the bottom corner. The second was a shot of the TV in the Tkachuk’s living room displaying the Grinch’s title. The caption reads “heart grows two sizes bigger when i’m home :)”. The location is tagged as St. Louis, with Taryn and Brady tagged in the corner of the photo. The third post makes his blood run cold, it's a video of you and Brady, your back against his chest as you lay on the couch, the caption the cross-eyed emoji and Brady’s handle. Brady is facing away from the camera in the beginning of the video, your eyebrows raised as you wait for him to notice. When he does he laughs and reaches for your phone. The video cuts off there.

Matthew taps the left side of his screen to replay it, an unpleasant feeling twisting in his gut. He doesn't want to watch Brady’s story, but he taps the right side of his screen anyways. It's a photo of you on the couch, one knee pulled up to your chest with the other in Brady’s lap, and a glass of wine in your hand. Your hair is piled into a messy bun on top of your head as you wink at the camera and make a peace sign with your free hand, tongue peaking out of the corner of your mouth.

Matt screenshots the picture.

He’s angry; angry because his brother left him stranded at the airport. Angry because he said he hadn't spoken to you either, that you didn't answer any of his texts and calls since that night. He's angry because Brady managed to get you back, and Matt didn't.

Matty’s angry because he loves you, and he's pretty sure you still love Brady.

When the car finally pulls up to the house, he’s almost relieved. He notes that the lights are off downstairs as he lets himself in, pausing when he sees your shoes still by the door. The glow of the TV is visible in the living room, and as Matt pads towards it, the uneasy feeling grows.

There's two partially filled glasses of wine on the coffee table, as well as yours and Brady’s phones. He taps on Brady’s phone, revealing the unread texts and unanswered calls from Matt, as well as an unread text from Chantal, telling Brady that he would have to be the one to pick up Matty from the airport.

The pit in Matt’s stomach only deepens as he climbs the stairs, duffle bag in hand. He goes slowly, trying to prolong his inevitable heartbreak, but it doesn't change what he sees at the top.

Brady’s bedroom door is half open, the light from the hallway streaming in.

Matthew knows it's a bad idea when he takes one, two, three steps and he's in front of Brady’s door. He takes a deep breath and pokes his head inside the room. The sight nearly knocks the wind out of him.

You're tucked under Brady’s arm, your nose squished against his cheek and your hand curled around his neck. He can see the bare skin of your back and stomach pressed against Brady’s bare torso. A blanket covers the both of you from the waist down. Brady’s hair is a mess, and so is yours, and suddenly Matt feels nauseous.

He feels like he would do anything - anything - to make the feeling in his chest go away. It feels like pressure, too much pressure, in his chest, and he nearly clutches his heart. The blood is rushing in his ears, he can't breathe, he feels dizzy.

Why does it hurt so much?

Before he can think it through he’s stumbling to his room. He kicks the door shut behind him, tossing the duffle back on the floor near his bed. His hands are reaching for the backpack on his shoulders and pulling out his laptop before it even hits the ground. He doesn't even sit, placing the laptop on his bed and bending down to type into the search bar.

He barely pays attention to the final amount when he hits “confirm” - he has more money than he knows what to do with anyways. The moment it’s done he sighs, watching the Gmail notification light up on his phone.

“Flight Confirmation, December 23rd, 2020 11:25 pm

St. Louis, Missouri to Calgary, Canada”

#hehe #matthew tkachuk #brady tkachuk #calgary flames #ottawa senators #nhl imagine #hockey #smut #matthew tkachuk imagine #brady tkachuk imagine #angst #all for you series

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cherienymphe · 3 years

Note

The thing that really frustrated me in particular about ScarJo's casting in Ghost in the Shell is that it became a breeding ground for bad discourse. This is a long rant pls feel free to ignore lol.

I got into so many arguments with people, being an Asian American woman. There were so many ignorant takes and often went like this:

"It's an American remake! So why does it matter they cast a white woman?"

Um.. because I'm American, too? I know, crazy how people who look like me exist here. And also, the movie still takes place in Japan, uses Japanese aesthetics, and has Asian side characters. I'd actually be less upset at the casting of a white woman if they retold the entire story through a different cultural lens, sort of like how the American remake of the The Ring reframed the movie so it would work with an American audience, especially since ghost stories are so culturally driven. But they didn't do that.

"Japanese people from Japan liked ScarJo's casting."

Well yeah, of course Japanese people from Japan didn't mind it... They don't need to fight for representation in their own country like Asian Americans do.

"Okay so if you want to see Asians in movies so badly, just watch movies from Asia."

Motherfucker did you listen to a thing I said? I'm not from Asia. That's not to say I can't enjoy Asian films, but there will be a lack of cultural connection for me there. Why does it bother you so much that I want to see people like me in movies from my own country?

"Why is race so important to you anyway? I don't choose my favorite characters based on how much they look like me. I'm more nuanced."

Ah, spoken like someone who's never had to fight for representation in their own country. Look, I relate to non Asian characters all the time. But when there's a character who sees the world through a similar cultural lens that I grew up with, it just hits differently. I feel seen. Rarely do I feel seen like that here. Is that nuanced enough for you?

"Well white characters get turned into POC all the time and you don't see us complaining."

Um, 1. yes, a lot of you do, and 2. 90% of leading roles in Hollywood exist for you. I'm sorry they took one away. That must be really fucking hard for you. Meanwhile, a lot of studios refused to make a movie adaptation of Crazy Rich Asians unless they made the female lead white, saying people wouldn't be able to relate to it otherwise. And like. How do you think BIPOC folks have felt since... forever?

Agreed with all of this. The whole thing was so frustrating and annoying and I’m literally getting war flashbacks rn 😭

#asks

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ssavanessa22 · 3 years

Text

Warnings: micro aggressions, cannon type violence if there is anything else pls message me of send and and

A/n: this used to be a Spencer fic so I had to changed the genders I might have missed some Hims

i want to see her only her"

"And who are you referring to" emily coldly replied

"oh come on you know who I'm talking about the exotic one, I will only talk to her. you know she seems cute, sexy even a bit submissive"

Emily gritted her teeth and sharply replied

"no you will not speak to agent y/n and you will definitely not be questioned by agent y/n you will answer the questions I have for you"

"ohhhhh I see now someone has a little crush, well if I do have to talk to you I'll just speak about all the thing I want to do with her. Oh she is pretty isn't she? her figure her curves I bet you like those don't you? I don't even she like her type but oh would I love to nibble on her skin like a piece of chocolate"

At this point emily was seething I don't think anyone on the team has ever seen her so angry with and unsub. I mean part of me finds this hot like really attractive seeing her get mad and furious with and unsub but I didn't expect him to say what he said next.

"I don't know who raised you...oh wait no one did you have never been loved your entire life by anyone your mother was too busy turning tricks to care about you and you father treated you like a punching bag and the bastard you truly are."

Silence grew on the other side of the two way mirror everyone was in utter shock,just when we thought emily was done dragging him to filth he decided to sharpen her words like a knife and plunge him in the heart.

"and you know what don't ever and I mean ever speak about agent y/n in that way ever again you lack of respect for women specifically black women is disgusting. i know you had to raise yourself so maybe the lack of manners and human decency you have comes with the lack of love and affection you received as a child, but she is not exotic she is not a piece of chocolate she is a person. and you will treat her like one or so help me God I will be bring Wrath and fire down on you so hard that there will only be a shell of an impotent man left where you wretched Being used to reside."

I was utterly speechless me and emily we are friends obviously and I would defend her just as much as she defended me as well,but this the way she was threatening the unsub the way she spoke about me it was different. it was like it came from a need to protect me it's almost like she wanted to protect me like this was out of love I mean we did flirt. And she is a good friend we hang out outside of work without the rest of the team obviously I know she was a good looking girl but she never showed any interest in me so I just left it as just a bit of flirty banter. this however was so much more I didn't know how to react or what to say but my gaze at emily through the two way mirror was broken by hotch's voice.

"y/n you need to go in there and take prentiss hisemotions control this interview we will never find out about those body's if Prentiss pisses of the unsub."

"Hotch are you sure you wanna do that I mean the unsub had clearly taken a liking to y/n this could go wrong, this could go bad really quickly " derek interjected

Ignoring both of them arguing on wether I should go in or not I left the interrogation room to get a tight work skirt from my go bag in the conference room adjacent. I walked back to the rest of them team derek and hotch still discussing whilst rossi tired to defuse the situation I saw the unsub and Reid shooting daggers straight at each other whilst me spencer and jj watched this all unfold. I started changing from my ill fitting trousers into the skirt then I undid a few of my blouse buttons and pulled up my bra making my cleavage even more visible then usual. then I took down my twists which had taken me at least 30 minutes to put into a bun in the first place thinking to myself I'm so gonna have to ask jj to help me do this up again after and I flipped my hair back letting my twists fall naturally on to my shoulders and back.

JJ winked at me as I reapplied some gloss onto my lips smacking them together, I walked past hotch and derek who's discussion was clearly starting to turn into a heated argument. I began to open the door which led to Emily and the unsub before I could go in derek finally turned to me saying

"y/n where are you going?"

I sternly replied "to go make a unsub admit to murdering 15 girls oh and don't worry boys I'll be fine or have you forgotten that this is my job" I cheekily smiled and walked into the interrogation room

"You said you only wanted to talk to me so here i am talk to me"

#doctor spencer reid #wattpad #spencer reid angst #spencer reid #black reader #female reader #confident #criminal minds #mgg fic #angst #fluff #smut

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walkerwords · 4 years

Text

“The Fall of a King” Negan x F!Reader

GIF CREDIT: https://gfycat.com/delectablelinedindianjackal

Request from @thanossexual : Can you please write Rick x Reader where Y/n is Negan's right hand and she totally takes the crown from his head when he tries to kill Rick's people. Let's say that she is Simon's weakness and that's why he didn't do anything to help Negan. No one did because all of them knew that she was their true leader but she hid in Negan's shadow because no one would listen to a woman. She tells Negan that he can go fck himself and goes with Rick to Alexandria to help them. (Glenn and Abraham live pls)

Word Count: 6015

Warning: Swearing

Song I Wrote To: “You Should See Me In A Crown” by Billie EiIish

Note: Okay, confession time. I didn’t actually make this a Rick x Reader because i sort of didn’t remember too...fuck. But they do talk briefly and the rest is there. and i changed it a bit, but Negan gets taken down. Sorry, if i royally fucked your request, I’ll pay more attention next time....oh god.

------

You walked through the corridors of the Sanctuary, your boots soaked in the blood of your fallen fellow Saviors.

As you passed by the other inhabitants of the factory, they bowed their heads toward you. Not quite kneeling, but showing you respect nonetheless. You ignored them as you headed up a dark staircase. You only had one destination in mind and if he was in a meeting then they would have to come back another time.

Arriving at the door to his bedroom, you knocked twice. You heard a muffled “come in” on the other side and you pushed into the room. Negan stood by the windows watching over his kingdom. “Well?” He asked, keeping his back turned.

You walked over to his desk and slammed down a shell casing. Negan looked over his shoulder, raising a single brow. “They’re all dead,” you said simply. The anger that passed over his face was clear and you knew it was only a matter of time before he bashed someone’s head in with Lucille.

As Negan stared at the casing, your thoughts went back to what you had seen at the Satellite Station. Some new group had broken in during the night and slaughtered every one stationed there, slitting their throats in their sleep. The last time you had seen that much fresh blood was after your family had been killed. That was right before Simon had found you and brought you home to the Sanctuary where you’ve been ever since.

“No survivors?” He asked, bracing his hands on his desk.

“None that we could find,” you explain, sitting into your right hip. “Whoever did this, they have a shit ton of firepower.” You watched as he rubbed his hand over his bearded face, trying to stay calm. “There’s something else,” you said.

“Tell me,” Negan said, his gruff voice very low.

“There’s a connection to The Hilltop,” you said.

“How do you know?”

“One of the men who walked the perimeter radioed me and told me that Gregory was having issues controlling his people. Some brothers got greedy or didn’t come through on a delivery. Your men ordered them to bring Gregory’s head to the outpost in exchange for the other brother. Seems like they brought a head, but it wasn’t Gregory’s.”

“Jesus,” Negan said, “so these assholes cut off some dude’s head as a decoy?” You shrugged.

“I bet it was just a Biter they found, but yeah, the whole thing was a ruse.”

“The Hilltop has new allies? Another community?”

“That would be my guess,” you said, nodding. “Some new place with good fighters and a lot of ammo. Our people have been through Hilltop multiple times, if they were hiding an armory like that, we would have found it. Besides, you know Gregory, he’s a coward and he’d be too afraid to lie about having guns. Especially to Simon.”

“Well he’s not much of a coward if he’s havin’ these dicks to his dirty work, is he?”

“Probably not,” you said, collapsing into a chair behind his desk. “I bet it was the same people that blew up the bikes.”

“Would make sense,” he agreed. “Son of a bitch!” He growled as he paced. “I’m gonna kill them, all of them.”

“Let’s not rush into anything, Negan,” you said, carefully. “The last thing we need is more dead Saviors.”

“So, what? You want me to just sit on my ass while these assholes shoot more of my men? Is that what you want, (Y/N)?” Negan said, turning his fury filled eyes on you.

You were unbothered by his demeanor. You knew Negan almost better than anyone. When Simon had brought you to him in the first place, he had tried to intimidate you, but you had grown up with men like him and he never scared you. Negan picked up on your lack of fear pretty quickly and took a liking to you.

He started you out on simple jobs. Mostly running the fence and keeping the workers in line. Though, when someone had tried to attack Frankie, you had taken the man down in only a few moves, breaking the guy’s back. Negan had finished the bastard off, but that single action had promoted you to Savior immediately.

Slowly, you got more and more responsibility and the rest of the men and women began to look to you for leadership whenever Negan wasn’t around. Simon, especially. You were now Negan’s right-hand woman and probably the only one in the factory bold enough to call Negan on his temper and in some cases, his utter bullshit behavior.

“That’s not what I said, Negan,” you said slowly. “But if you go after these people and it turns out that they have more artillery than we know of, we're all screwed. Hell, they could have more RPGs, bigger explosives, more guns, or even more people. They took out nearly every man before the alarm went off. So I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to fuck with them until I had more information.”

“Didn’t realize you were givin’ the orders now,” he said as he approached you. Negan leaned over you, bracing both of his hands on the arms of the chair you sat in. His dark eyes drilling into yours.

“Never said I was,” you told him, not breaking eye contact. “Not everything is as black and white as you think it is, Negan.” He slammed his hands down, trying to intimidate you, but you remained as still as a statue.

“I make the decisions, I decide who dies, (Y/N),” he growled. “Isn’t that why you’re still alive?”

“Don’t!” You yelled, pushing him back. He leaned back from you, letting you get up as he watched you, the anger still present on his face. “Don’t you say that shit to me. This whole ‘intimidation’ bullshit doesn’t work on me. Threats don’t work. I’m not some little girl you can scare, Negan. I’m not one of your wives and I’m definitely not one of your bitches like Dwight who laps at your heels. You asked me to go check out the outpost and advise you on our next move. Well there it is, I advise that we make sure we know who we’re dealing with before we start shooting or in your case, swingin’.”

You were out of breath as you finished your speech. Negan stared down at you, his arms crossed. You could tell he wanted to hit something or even someone, but you also knew that he'd never lay his hands on you. He had tried once before, but after you said no as soon as he tried to kiss you, he had backed off immediately. However, now you weren’t so sure his furniture was going to survive the rest of the day.

“Anything else?” He asked through a rigid jaw.

“I think someone should take out Gregory. We both know he’s an idiot. He’s become a liability,” you explained. Negan was silent for a few moments before taking a few more steps back and gesturing to the door.

“I’ll think about it,” he said. “Get out.” You didn’t have to be told twice. Walking swiftly, you exited the room and headed straight for the nearest staircase, needing to get as much distance between you and the bossman as possible. There was only one person you wanted to talk to right now and you knew right where to find him.

You found Simon in the hall outside of his room.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he greeted with a wave. You didn’t answer him as you pushed past him and into his room. He followed you as you flopped down on his bed with a sigh. “Was it that bad?” you glared at him through narrowed eyes. “That would be a yes.” Simon took a seat in the chair across from you.

“What is the point in him even asking me for help? Every time I give him advice, he ignores everything I say, Simon. I don’t even know the point of it all anymore,” you vented, staring up at his ceiling.

“Careful, girl,” he said, watching the door.

“Oh, calm down, Simon,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “You act like he has superhuman hearing.”

“Some days, I really think he does,” Simon mumbled, kicking his feet up. “Maybe you should just keep your head down for a while?” You sat up on your elbows, staring at him. You and Simon were as close as ever. You knew he had feelings for you, but you never felt that way. However, he was the closest thing to family you had right now and you trusted him with everything you had. The main problem was that he was as loyal to Negan as anyone. He took the phrase “I am Negan” to heart and damn anyone who disagreed with him.

“You’re asking me to lay down like a damn dog?” you asked, your brows raised.

“Only for a little while. You know, just until this whole new group situation is figured out.”

“I’m the one who should be figuring out how to handle all of this! Negan trusts me to handle all the dirty work, but all he seems to care about right now is making some kind of head-bashing spectacle. Fear-mongering only goes so far, Simon,” you explain, falling back onto the bed.

“What are you saying?” he asked, concerned.

“He wants this new world to prosper. He’s saved people and protected children and women and he’s done a lot of good, right?”

“Of course,” Simon agreed.

“Exactly, so why is it that the only way he thinks to get people to work for him or invest in this new world of his is to threaten them with death and or starvation, etc.? Do you not see how wrong that is? Ruling with an iron fist has never worked in the past, I don’t know why he thinks it’ll work now.”

“Because it has?” Simon offered. You scoffed.

“Yeah, for now,” you said, getting to your feet. “Face it, Si, one day shit is gonna hit the fan and people are going to stop being afraid of him.”

“So what do you propose, (Y/N)?”

“Nothing right now,” you said, heading for the door, “but I wouldn’t expect Negan to always be the one in charge around here.”

-----

After a couple of weeks of nothing, you were getting worried.

Negan had kept you out of meetings when he would meet with Arat, Simon, and Dwight. He had also recalled the outpost leaders and even began sending out scouts. Whenever you would see him walking around the compound, he would simply walk away and grin as his followers fell to their knees before him.

When you had asked Simon about it, he brushed it off as “guy talk” or something completely unrelated to what had happened at the Sat Station. You knew he was lying. Simon was the worst liar you knew and it was becoming blatantly obvious that something was about to happen.

The day came not long after your talk with Simon. You were lounging around in your room, trying to get a few hours of rest before you had to go back on guard duty when a knock came at your door. “It’s open!” you yelled. You looked up from the book you had been flipping through to see Sherry enter your room and quickly close the door behind her. You didn’t know her that well, but she was the only wife you tolerated. Especially knowing why and how she had married Negan.

“Something has happened,” Sherry explained, rushing over to sit down on the bed next to you. She looked almost frantic.

“Sherry, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” you asked, looking over her quickly, but she was shaking her head.

“No, no, no,” she rambled, “it’s not me, it’s Dwight and Negan, and the others.”

“Okay, calm down,” you said, grabbing her shaking hands. “Start from the beginning. What has happened?” Sherry took a few deep breaths before she spoke.

“Negan ordered Simon and Dwight and bunch of the other outpost leaders to set up roadblocks,” Sherry explained. “The other group, the ones that took out the Sat Station?” you nodded, “They’re on the move and Negan wants to ambush them.”

“They’re on their way here?” you asked, confused, but Sherry was shaking her head.

“No, they’re headed towards Hilltop,” she explained.

“Sherry, how do you know all of this?” you asked. All of this was privileged information. Only the Saviors close to Negan knew specific details about plans. Sherry hiked up her dress and pulled out a radio she had fastened to her thigh.

“Frankie and I took this about a month ago from Fat Joey,” she whispered, “We’ve had it to keep an eye on what’s going on.” You stared at the radio, surprised. The girl had guts, you had to admit. She pressed the radio into your hands.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” you asked, reading the worried woman’s face.

“Daryl Dixon,” she whispered.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” you asked.

“Do you remember when Dwight, Tina, and I escaped?” she asked and you nodded your head. “Well, when we were running, we ran into this man, Daryl, and Dwight tried to rob him. He took his crossbow and then tried to get his motorcycle. Hell, we held him at gunpoint as we escaped through the forest. Eventually, he fought back and stole the bag we were carrying.”

“The one full of insulin,” you nodded, remembering Tina was diabetic.

“Right, well once he realized what we had stolen...he brought it back and tried to help us. He then told us he was from someplace that could take us in. He was relatively clean, had food, weapons…” she said, trailing off, waiting for you to catch up.

“He’s from the other community. The new one?” you realized.

“Yes,” Sherry said. “Daryl helped us when he didn’t know us and he helped me bury Tina. He’s a good man, (Y/N).”

“Why are you telling me this, Sherry?”

“Because before I came here, I heard on the radio that Dwight had taken ‘the archer’ captive. Shot him in the shoulder and took him along with other members of the group. I think we both know what happens next once Negan starts to round up people from a community. Remember what happened at Hilltop and then the story about all those men and boys killed?” You did remember. You weren’t a part of the Saviors when that particular attack had happened, but Simon and Arat had told you the stories. It was one of the reasons that you didn’t follow blindly behind Negan and kept a lot of the Saviors close in your confidence. You knew it was only a matter of time before something similar happened again.

“He’s going to make an example of these new people,” you figured and Sherry nodded.

“Look, I don’t care about the others, but Daryl saved me and he tried to save Tina. He didn’t have to return the medicine to us or offer us a chance to go with him, but he did. I don’t want him to die and I do not want to enter a war with people that were probably just trying to do something good.”

“Sherry, they killed an entire outpost of people,” you reminded her.

“Right because all of the Saviors are saints,” she said and you knew she was thinking of Negan and more importantly her husband who was introduced to the iron once they had been taken back home. “(Y/N), you and I both know he is out of control. Negan is unfit to lead us any longer.”

“I go up against Negan and I die,” you told her, letting go of her hands. Sherry was again shaking her head.

“You have a lot more people in your corner than you think,” she said, getting up. Sherry walked over to your desk and picked up your sawed-off shotgun. She tossed it to you and you caught it easily. “I know you think the same way as I do, (Y/N), so please, do something. If not for me then for all the innocent people that are forced to work here and fear a monster.”

Sherry’s speech vibrated through your bones and as you stood from the bed, a small smile crept on your face. “Sherry, if this goes wrong and I die, I’ll haunt your ass,” you promised. Seeing that you were on board, she smiled back.

“So, don’t get killed.”

-----

You set out not long after you and Sherry talked.

Fat Joey was on watch and you barely had to sneak past him to get to a bike. The man was clueless and while you were always allowed to leave the Sanctuary, you didn’t want anyone tipping Negan, Simon, or Dwight off that you had left. Sherry had said she would cover for you as long as she could, buying you as much time as possible. It was official, you really did like that girl.

Strapping your shotgun to your back, you kickstarted the bike and took off towards the main stretch of road Sherry had heard indicated on the radio. Said radio was on your belt along with another pistol and duel blades were in your boots. You were armed for a fight and one that you knew could happen. Fear entered your gut as you rode. While you weren’t exactly afraid of Negan, you knew he had a lot of power. You only hoped that Sherry was right and that you had more supporters than you initially thought.

Stashing the bike just under an overpass, you went on foot. You needed to stay invisible as long as possible. Any kind of tip-off would ruin your plan and considering you only had one, everything needed to be perfect. An hour or so later and you found one of the roadblocks. Simon’s voice was the first one you heard.

Keeping an eye on the Saviors on the perimeter, you snuck through the brush and got within earshot. On the road was Simon along with the main group of men he commanded. Across from your people was a large RV. People stood out in front of it, all armed. Simon was taunting a man that stood at the front of the new group. He was handsome, tall, had a bit of beard, and he looked at Simon as if he were something less than human. You instantly knew that this was the new group.

Getting closer, you looked for anyone that resembled Daryl on either side, but you couldn’t see anyone that fit Sherry’s description. You then knew that “the archer” was indeed Daryl and Negan already had him. You watched the exchange a little longer before the leader of the opposition, ordered everyone back inside the RV and they took off back down the road. Simon then signaled for his men to move out. You snuck away from the edge of the trees, moving deeper into the woods.

You knew how all of this would work. Saviors would continue to corral the group along the road, keeping them from getting to Hilltop. It was a tactic you had helped develop all to insight fear and paranoia. It worked on smaller groups and then Negan would lay down the law, give a speech, and then let them go with the promise Saviors would be taking their stuff. However, none of those previous smaller groups had slaughtered Saviors before. You just knew this was going to get bloody.

You didn’t bother trying to track down the other roadblocks. Instead, you waited by the radio trying to figure out where the final place was going to be. Negan liked large areas that he could use to put on a show. It also needed vantage spots to watch for Biters and needed to provide areas to block in the hostages. A literal nightmare.

You walked through the forest as the sun dipped below the trees, keeping your eyes and ears open. Any time you heard a noise, your mind went to Negan. Your nerves were getting to you and all you could think about was him finding you and making an example of you. You don’t know when he had stopped trusting you, but from your last meeting, it was apparent that he didn’t want to look to you for advice any longer.

It was completely dark by the time you heard where the final spot was. You trekked through the dark woods, keeping light on your feet. You only had to kill a few Dead as you moved through the darkness. You were getting more and more anxious, but you kept a steady hand on your gun. Hearing an engine of a large vehicle, you slipped towards the treeline to see the same RV from before. You couldn’t make out what they were saying from where you were, but soon they began to move. The RV drove off North as a larger group stayed behind. You watched as they placed someone, a woman, on a makeshift stretcher and headed into the woods.

You realized that the RV was a decoy, but you also knew that it wouldn’t work. Negan was too smart. You followed the group through the woods, always staying parallel to them. Whoever was laying on the stretcher was not doing well at all. You figured she was the reason they were going to Hilltop as they had a great doctor, the brother to the one at the Sanctuary. That thought made you a bit sick. These people weren’t going to team up or anything, they just needed to help a sick woman. You tightened your grip on your gun and hurried through the trees.

It didn’t take long for the ambush to happen. You circled back, careful not to come across any of the Saviors that rushed at the group. You watched as a clearing up ahead was instantly illuminated with headlights. The group tried to run, but men were on them in a matter of seconds. They all panicked, clearly underestimating their enemy. Simon appeared next, walking towards the leader. He ordered the man to drop the stretcher that held the sick woman.

One by one, the group complied and set her down. Simon then took their weapons, keeping that sick smile on his face. Sometimes you really worried about your friend. You couldn’t tell if it was all an act or if he truly enjoyed tormenting people. That would be something you would have to figure out and soon.

Simon ordered the entire group to their knees. They were all lined up before the RV that you knew was always going to end up there. A single man knelt by the vehicle. A scared, shivering man that Simon forced over into the line-up. Moving closer, you watched as Arat opened the back of a van, and out came three more people. A young Asian man, a dark-skinned woman, and a man with shaggy hair and blood dripping down his arm. You instantly identified him as Daryl Dixon. Sherry was right, he was definitely someone you would notice.

The Asian man struggled on the ground before his eyes met those of the sick woman. “Maggie?” he gasped and she cried as she looked at him. You looked at her closer and noticed how her hands stayed right on her stomach, almost as if she was protecting herself. It was then that you remembered that the Doctor Carson who lived at Hilltop was an obstetrician. Rage entered your veins as you realized she was pregnant and something was definitely wrong. Your anger only increased when you saw that next to the shivering man was a kid.

The boy had to be around sixteen or seventeen and judging by the way the leader kept glancing at him, you figured he was his son. You thought of your own brother who had died as a teenager as well and your teeth ground together as you watched this boy stare at Simon with pure anger. You knew that this boy had seen some terrible things and you were willing to bet that he wanted to kill every single Savior in that clearing.

It wasn’t long after that Simon announced Negan. You stayed in the shadows as Simon yelled, “Let’s meet the man!” You stared as Negan exited the RV, Lucille on his shoulder, and a grin on his face. Simon stepped back to let the boss have his audience.

“Pissing our pants yet?” Negan said, “Boy, do I have a feeling we’re getting close. Yep, it’s gonna be Pee Pee Pants City here real soon. Which one of you pricks is the leader?” Simon pointed to the man from earlier. Negan approached him, swinging the bat. “Hi, you’re Rick, right? I’m Negan. And I do not appreciate you killing my men. Also, when I sent my people to kill your people for killing my people, you killed more of my people. Not cool. Not cool. You have no idea how not cool that shit is, but I think you’re gonna be up to speed shortly.”

You slowly reloaded your weapon, getting ready. The other leader, Rick, stared up at Negan, sweat blooming on his brow as your boss continued. “Yeah, you are so gonna regret crossing me in a few minutes. Yes, you are. You see, Rick, whatever you do, no matter what, you don’t mess with the new world order. And the new world order is this, and it’s really very simple, so, even if you’re stupid, which you very may well be, you can understand it. You ready? Here goes, pay attention: Give me your shit, or I will kill you.”

You moved.

You stepped out of the trees and fired your gun into the air, shattering the tense and terrifying silence. Saviors all turned their weapons on you as you stepped through the cars. However, once they saw it was you, some lowered them immediately. Negan looked over at you, tilting his head. He let out a slow whistled. “Well, shit!” he bellowed as he looked at you moving closer. “There you are sweetheart! I was wondering when you’d join us.”

“Guess my invitation got lost,” you sneered, stalking towards him. You stopped just on the edge of the line-up, placing yourself between Negan and his hostages.

“Finally here to take me up on that offer I proposed to you all that time ago?” he asked, leering at you. You lifted your gun and cracked open the barrel, letting the shells drop to the ground.

“That is never going to happen, Negan,” you said tossing your empty weapon to Simon who caught it on instinct.

“Well, then what the fuck are you doing here? Because I’m in the middle of the something, (Y/N), and you know how much I hate being interrupted,” he said, leaning back. You ignored him and glanced down at Rick who was looking at you in confusion. You then looked down the line to see Maggie, clearly still in a lot of pain.

“You,” you snapped your fingers at a Savior. “Water.” The man, you think his name was Matthew, tossed you his canteen. You moved past Negan and he stepped out of your way, clearly amused. Slowly, you crouched down before Maggie. She stared at you with wide eyes, her hands still clutching her stomach. You removed the cap of the canteen and made a show taking a long sip of the water to show it wasn’t contaminated before offering her the bottle. “It’s okay,” you whispered, gently. Maggie reached out with a shaking hand and took the water, lifting the bottle to her lips.

You stood then and turned to Negan who was now glaring at you. “What the hell is this, (Y/N)?” he said, pointing Lucille at Maggie. You made a barrier between him and her.

“Don’t you dare point that thing at a pregnant woman, Negan,” you spat, getting your courage back. His brow furrowed as he looked at Maggie and then back at you.

“Again with giving orders, Darlin’!” he yelled, shaking his head. “I thought we shut that shit down!” You shook your head, moving towards him.

“We didn’t do anything, Negan. We haven’t done shit in a while. I used to be your right hand, but you clearly don’t see the need for me anymore. Tell me, Boss, when are you going to use that thing on me?” you asked, pointing at Lucille.

“Oh, I’m thinking about it right now,” he sneered. You rolled your eyes as you began to circle him.

“You know, when I heard about this little gathering, I was hurt that I wasn’t included. I mean, I was the one that invented the whole roadblock thing in the first place, right? And imagine my surprise when I find you doing this,” you gestured to the line-up. “You’re an asshole, Negan, but since when do you torment a sick, pregnant woman and a fucking kid?” you asked, pointing to the boy in the hat. Negan goes to speak, but you shush him, surprising the shit out of him.

“I’m not finished,” you said, smiling at him. You then turned to Rick. “Rick, was it? Look, Rick, I don’t like all this unnecessary drama and the whole ‘I’m the alpha male and you’re my bitch’ scenario. If I had it my way, I would have met with you and you alone and discussed all of this like civilized fucking people. Am I pissed that you and yours murdered a bunch of my people?” you shrugged, “Meh, they weren’t the best company anyways.”

“(Y/N)...” Negan warned, but you just placed your finger against your lips, telling him to shut it.

“Let me ask you something, Rick,” you said, kneeling down to his level. “This is all Gregory’s fault, right? He offered you something, maybe food or medicine, if you took out Negan and his men.”

“Somethin’ like that,” Rick said.

“Well, here’s the thing about that little weasel, he lies. He knew about the other outposts and our main set up. He played you. In fact, I bet he did it just so we would focus on killing you instead of taking more from Hilltop, Kingdom, etc. However, I don’t like being fucked with and Negan really hates it, but unlike the brute behind me, I’m not a total sociopath.”

“Dammit, (Y/N)!” Simon called and you gave him the finger over your shoulder.

“Now! The fun part!” you said, getting to your feet. “Boss!” You called, looking at a very annoyed Negan. “Do you wanna know a secret?”

“If it will get you to shut the fuck up,” Negan said, knocking Lucille against his boots.

“You see, there is a little bit more to a story you’ve been told,” you said as you walked towards Dwight that stood behind Daryl. You clapped the scarred Savior on the shoulder. “Dwighty boy, here, actually knows this one pretty well,” you said, pointing at Daryl. “Daryl was the one who helped Dwight, Tina, and your wife Sherry keep away from our men all those weeks ago,” you explained. “Hell, he even tried to help Daryl and even thought about joining him and Rick at their wonderful community.”

“What?” Dwight said, shoving your hand off. You ruffled his stringy hair and then you noticed the crossbow in his hands. Negan glared at Dwight, his grip tightening on his bat.

“Don’t worry, Dwight, Sherry told me everything,” you explained. “She’s a good one, it’s a shame you couldn’t keep hold of her!” You then kicked out at Dwight’s knee, sending him down. You snatched up the crossbow and weighed it in your hands. “Oh, I like this!” you kept hold of it as you approached Negan. “You are such an idiot, you know that? Look at these people, Negan! They’re just trying to survive and you wanna punish them for it? Like we haven’t killed people? You are not above any other person.” You then raised the bow to line up with his chest. “But shit, maybe you are below me.”

Negan lunged for you and you quickly stepped back, tripping him. Negan fell to the ground and your foot aimed for Lucille. You kicked the infernal bat from his hands. “Get on your knees,” you said, pressing the bow to the back of his head.

“You’re gonna regret this,” he spat.

“No, I don’t think I will, Negan,” you said as he sat on his knees, trying to keep his dignity. “You see, this has been coming for a while. I didn’t know how it would go exactly, but then your wife gave me the idea. Isn’t that adorable? She told me to do something and hell, I was thrilled to do just that. There is a new leader now, buddy, and you aren’t it.”

“Simon!” Negan yelled, but Simon shook his head.

“Sorry, Negan,” Simon said, “I’m not gonna pretend to follow you anymore.” Smugness entered your body. More and more Saviors then began to lower their guns and step forward. Sherry was right after all. Arat came through and pointed her gun at Negan, nodding to you.

“Seems like I’m the Savior now,” you said. Simon received Lucille and offered her to you. You tossed the bow to him and took the bat. “Give that back to Mr. Dixon, will you?” Simon nodded and went to give Daryl back his weapon. “Oh, I do love the feel of this!” you said, swinging Lucille around.

“Take your hands off of her, you bitch!” Negan bellowed. You kicked out at his back, sending him to the ground.

“Language!” you yelled with a laugh. You then turned to a worried Dwight. “Oh, Dwight, don’t worry I’m not going to kill you. No, that is something that will happen because of your own stupidity. I give you maybe a year before the Biters get ya. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Sherry is perfectly fine.” You then noticed a vest on his back and Sherry’s words came back to you. “That vest isn’t yours either, is it? Give Daryl his vest back would ya, Dwight?” The man tore it off and threw it at Daryl who was only watching you. “Y’all are free to go,” you said to Rick and his people. “Get Miss Maggie to Carson.”

“Why?” The boy asked you, claiming your attention.

“What’s your name, kid?” you asked.

“Carl Grimes,” he said.

“Rick your dad?” he nodded, “Well then, Mister Grimes, let me explain something to you,” you said as you rested your foot on Negan’s leg, pressing hard. Arat never moved her gun from his head. “I hate men like this,” you said, pointing Lucille at Negan, “and I am so fucking tired of people trying to rule over the Living while we are always fighting the Dead. Y’all are smart, well-trained,” you looked at Daryl, “incredibly great to look at,” you threw him a wink, “and I never liked the people at the Sat Station anyways. Fuck, I may have done the exact same thing as you did if I was in your position. So, here’s how it goes now. You leave and I don’t take your shit because that stops right now.”

“Looks like the Queen has taken the crown,” Simon said smugly. You smiled at him.

“Negan won’t be seeing daylight for a while, my new friends,” you said to Rick and his people. “There’s been a change in management.”

Around you, all the Saviors began to kneel, bowing their heads to their new leader. Negan swore at you from the ground, but you ignored him. You had always been the true leader and now he was finally seeing it. Kneeling down to his level, you grabbed Negan’s chin. “Tell me,” you said, “are we pissin’ our pants yet?”

TAGS: @thanossexual

#the walking dead imagines #twd imagines #negan imagine #badass reader #reader insert #daryl dixon imagine #maggie rhee #glenn rhee #carl grimes #rick grimes #the walking dead #the walking dead imagine #walkerwords

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imma-potatoo · 3 years

Text

Blond Janus Darkside Headcanons

I noticed how I haven't written down any info on the dark sides (Wrath, Apathy, Depression, Remus and pre-AA Virgil). More will be added.

Masterpost

Taglist:

@mother-snake, @writerstrashbin, @psychedelicships, @cryptidwriterdotcom (ask to be removed or added)

Wrath

Leader of the dark sides

Can induce a blind rage

When the rage is happening the recipient cannot control what they say or do and react simply on their first thought

The rage becomes stronger the more angry the person becomes

Wrath can't bring someone out of the rage. He can induce it but the person has to come out of it themselves

He has almost no control of Apathy because of that due to his lack of emotion

Likes to wear a partial suit. Finds that the coat is restricting and makes more complex movements hard

Still owns the coat. Just never wears it.

Symbol is tattooed on his left wrist

Orange and black color scheme. Like this:

Immediate reaction to almost anything is to yell.

Loves huge parties

If he's going to make a point, he makes it loud and clear. Often in front of other people so they can see what happens if you step out of line

Rules the dark sides more like a dictatorship then a family or of equel footing

Believes that they have to bend Thomas to their will and that the light sides are complete fools who will only destroy Thomas life

Wants Thomas to take what he wants and not to worry about who he leaves behind

If Thomas has to kill a politician to get what he wants? Sure go ahead. As long as he gets what he wants

When angry, Wrath is ruthless

He'll take your deepest fear and taunt you with it until you snap under the strain and comply to his every whim

He refuses to take no for an answer

Because of his hatred for the lights; he takes it out on Janus

He's big on public humiliation

If Janus would step out of line; well, he doesn't need all of those scales does he? He's sure Apathy would love to see the reactions if you rip some off

To aid in the control of the others; Wrath has complete control over the food supply

When the others are listening and followings orders. Good, they get to eat properly

When they don't? Your options are moldy bread or cheese that has been out in the open for about a month.

Him and Apathy eat like kings while the others decide between food poisoning and starvation

Likes to take words of affection and make them have a negative meaning (ex: the word Love.) after beating the hell out of someone, he would make them look directly in his eyes and says that he loves them... And he makes them say it back

He hates it when the others cry

Says that they're doing it for attention and that they should shut the fuck up

Apathy

Second in command

Can nullify peoples emotions. Leaving them feeling like an empty shell. The effects normally break after an hour

If Apathy knows your name he can control you like a puppet

White and black outfit. White shirt with black suspenders and pants.

Doesn't show where he keeps his symbol (its on his right ankle, its more like a tattoo then a patch)

Has a deep obsession with fire

Owns a zippo (a lighter that flips open)

Often feels empty due to his function. The fire makes him feel warm, feel more human (as human as the sides can be anyway)

Doesn't quite understand emotion. He understands the basics of it (cry = sad, laugh = hqppy, yell = angry.) but the more complex reactions confuse the hell out of him. Crying out of happiness is one of the things he will never understand.

Because of his lack of understanding of emotions; Apathy tries to understand through making others feel said emotions

Wants to know how someone would react when you break a precious item? Time to find a couple photos.

Will someone scream when you waterboard them? Hm well, only one way to test that.

Opinions change like a flip of a switch

One day he'll help you make dinner with a plastered on smile. The next he'll knock you out and burn you with his lighter with that same smile

Has only properly laughed twice

The first time was when Thomas accidentally laughed at someones funeral (he couldn't cope that the person was gone and his default reaction was to laugh)

The second was after the three of them (wrath, depression and him) shut off the heating to Janus' room and locked him inside

In order to understand things he doesn't know; he does experiments

He's not allowed to experiment on Wrath and Depression has no fun reactions. So he has his fun with Janus instead

Kinda likes it when blood stains his dress shirt

Because its warm. The warmth that once came from the person now belongs to him and it eases the cold empty feeling only slighty and temporary but its warm

He's indifferent on the lights. They're a little too perky for his tastes

Depression

Third in command

Doesn't really get a lot of say with decisions

Can erase certain memories (he doesn't use it very often)

Wears a medium blue dress shirt, brown leather suspenders with a black bowtie.

Normally keeps his sleeve rolled up

When crying; his eyes leak black

If the tears hit your skin, its a 10% chance that you could collapse and start spewing your insecurities while your eyes leak black

Symbol is on the back of his neck

Doesn't really mind not having the control that Apathy and Wrath have

Less work for him to do anyway

Couldn't care about the other twos blatant abuse of Janus

He sees it as a way to keep Janus in line

If Virgil wanted to play father figure he can go ahead. But that doesn't mean he has to be kind

Respects and looks up to Wrath

Normally just follows the lead of the others

He's the epitome of the duckling following the leader

Wrath has steak and potatoes for dinner? Depression also wants that too

Wrath says that they need to bend Thomas to their will? Well duh! Of course!

Wrath says that Janus has been out of line lately? Well why don't we break his leg again to show him a lesson

Most of the time, the food restrictions have no effect on him bc he listens to Wraths every word

Virgil

Was the second in command before he left

Opposed Wrath on his more extreme tactics

Has the ability to control shadows and others own Anxiety

Hated the dress code that Wrath insists on having. What kind of person wears suspenders and a dress shirt daily anyway?

Still wears the stupid things anyway because Wrath said to and he's not in the mood to get beat

Symbol is tattooed on underneath his shirt. The left side

After adopting Janus he lost his position as Wrath's right hand

Kinda pissed him off when he got demoted. Not bc of the loss of power. But bc he couldn't protect Janus as well

After adopting Janus he became the 4th in power (after Depression)

Remus

Is the epitome of don't give a shit

He has the power to conjure things and cause intrusive thoughts

Half the time he ignores the dress code completely

Typically opting for his normal clothes but does own a uniform as well

(if anyone has a better photo of this outfit pls pls pls DM me. I've looked through hundreds of photos and this is the best dark green dress shirt with suspenders I got)

Symbol is tattooed on the swell of his back

Gets practically no opinion on dealings or decisions with plans

Remus is a indifferent party. One moment he'll help you. The next he'll stab you in the back

He mostly just works with who can give him what he wants the fastest

He actually feels pity for Janus

Not like he'll ever act on that but he still feels a bit bad for the guy

Remus is kinda like that uncle at family get togethers that no-one talks to or cares about but he's always there

Janus

Oh boy, where to start?

Has the lowest rank out of every other side

His power (the ability to make people unable to talk) can only be used on the light side of the mind

He is also unable to heal immediately on the dark side

Meaning that he has to treat his wounds the old fashioned way

Doesn't really like the dress code

Only gets to wear his normal outfit when he's visting the light sides

Blond hair (wow! Really? Not like its the the name of the au!!)

His patch isn't a tattoo

This boi has the biggest fucking sweet tooth you could ever imagine

He is also so fucking short

His shoes have lifts to make him taller

He's cold blooded

When he gets focused, he bleps

This is turning fluffy-

He is literally covered head to toe in scars

Almost no skin was left untouched

Lying is a defense mechanism for him. He's deceit! He can lie his way out of anything!

Heavily disagrees on Wraths views

Thomas should get ahead, of course he should. But that shouldn't come at the price of someones life or the cost of his reputation

Hurting someone to get ahead in the short-term is only going to harm you in the long term

To hide the bruses, he applies thick layers of makeup and illusions if he's on the light side

Hasn't gotten a good sleep in years

He's terrified that someone will break into in bedroom while he's sleeping and finish him off

Or that they'll cut the heating again and he'll slowly freeze to death

Or that they'll drag him out of his room and chain him up somewhere to become nothing but a punching bag

He has agoraphobia (fear of open spaces)

Hasn't had positive touch since Virgil left

He has venom. Its very lethal and only activates when threatened

When angry, his eyes glow yellow and his canine teeth grow sharp and long that they stick out of his mouth slightly like fangs

Was meant to be a light side and function as Validity and Societal Self Preservation. But the dark sides found him first and brought him back with them

Virgil is his father figure

Doesn't really know how to feel after finding out that he's not a dark side

He does feel really really lied to and betrayed

But... Virgil is his dad. Virgil raised him

How could he be upset?

Writes down all of his thoughts and complaints in journals that he keeps in his room

He started writing journals when he was very young, so there is hundreds of them

Honestly doesn't know how to feel about him being a light side.

He's mad at Wrath. He knows that. But he can't do anything because his powers don't work on the dark side

He might as well be powerless.

When on the light side (so when all his powers work) his powers include: silencing others, the ability to repress sides/ make them unable to appear to Thomas and illusions.

His title is technically Validity with the added function of societal self preservation

Still goes by Deceit anyway

----

Has three brands burned onto him via Apathy

Is on his left ankle. Its his snake symbol. About the size of your fist

On his right bicep. The word "monster" in bolded writing. About two fingers in thickness.

Left chest, above his heart. The words "Property of the Dark Sides" in cursive text. The writing sits in a box.

All the brands are extremely painful for Janus if touched. Brand #3 is the brand he hates the most

His scales are more in patches then a perfect 50/50 split down his body

More will be added in the future.

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ambitcxious-a · 3 years

Text

* ABBEY LEE KERSHAW, FEMALE + SHE/HER | you know ADELAIDE MONTSERRAT, right? they’re 27, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, TWO YEARS? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to EVE BY KAT CUNNING like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole FAWN-EYED, BOWED LEGS, EXPENSIVE CHAMPAGNE thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is OCTOBER & 30TH, so they’re a SCORPIO, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( lenny, 24, est+2, she/her )

tw: depression, eating / psychological disorders, animal abuse, drugs

ABOUT.

name: adelaide montserrat

nickname: addie

age: 27

pronouns: she/her

occupation: socialite, philanthropist, prodigy ballerina

gender: cis female

sexuality: bisexual

The Montserrat established themselves in Barcelona, Spain, over millennia ago, known as fierce leaders and ruthless business men, quick to make a name for themselves the trading and exporting business, while the women in the bloodline were promptly pushed aside from books and history, hiding somewhere between a stove and their husband’s fists.

Adelaide Montserrat was different, that’s what everybody thought - she was graceful, even as a child, she didn’t cry, even as a toddler, and she never ached for her mother’s arms, even as an infant. An early bloomer of exceptional talent, she could dance as soon as she could walk. And yet Adelaide was never one to develop long-lasting or intimate relationships with her peers --- people never seemed to be comfortable sitting with her for long. Maybe it was because there was never a girl there to begin with, and intimacy betrayed the act: there was no child, only a pale, wide-eyed zombie, always hungry, always empty.

If you dared to pry beyond the red curtains, you’d not find the delicate creature strangers saw twirling on the stage, but the bottomless edge of an abyss, waiting to swallow you whole as it looked back with smiling teeth. Little Addie, once a girl with pink tutus and ballerina shoes, was never one to be meddled with - while she could easily captivate the hearts of her peers and teachers with red cheeks and a clever tongue, there was nothing warm or kind about the little girl whose parents held so close she nearly choked to death.

Adelaide was the product of a one night stand and poor lack of judgement, or so her mother liked to recount. Her father — whomever he was, was a married man with a lot to lose, and her mother might not have known much — but she knew alimony payments would beat whatever he was willing to offer her in order to get rid of Adelaide. So, she kept the baby, and even then --- she was unbearable. Adelaide kicked, day and night, as soon as her legs could muster, like she couldn’t stand to be trapped in the womb a moment longer.

They were living largely, manors and pools and cocktails, while Addie grew up receiving the best education money could buy, alternating between hunting and horseback riding on weekends, and training classical instruments such as the cello and piano in her spare time. Being praised for her dedication and skill, for some time, she indulged the idea of becoming a professional pianist, if only to please her parents, but the idea was soon took a backseat in her mind when she discovered just how good she was at ballet.

Adelaide had always been more of a shiny trophy to flaunt at parties rather than daughter or grandchild to dot upon, so by the time she was 13 her family was quite happy to ship her to Paris, if it meant she would enroll in the prestigious Paris Opera Ballet School and make a name for herself. She’d still come home to visit on holidays, that was until her mother moved to New York in order to appease bachelor number three: CEO of Belmont Entertainment Industries (BEI), one of the largest record labels in the U.S, with a side of illegal activities they didn’t really care to discuss at dinner.

It didn’t take long for Addie to make an impression, she was dedicated — hungrier than the other girls, always willing to push a little further, go a little deeper, die a little more. All of the shouting, the groping, the self-hatred, she never broke. Had it been not for her ego and pride, she would’ve been flawless. You’d assume being the young and on the spotlight meant competing for attention - but she never competed. She never even considered it a competition. She won, plain and simple. You see, Adelaide didn’t lose, because she tailored the game to her whims and batted her heavy set of lashes to make it seem fair. And if she did lose - the game be damned; she’d destroy it and any evidence of her failure. She didn’t want to be daughter, or something for men to gawk at, or a pretty glittered thing for little girls to worship. She wanted to be something else. Anything other than this empty shell, dripping with self-loathing , cloaked in a veil of perfectionism. Something that wasn’t rammed into this golden mold before she even took her very first breath.

Fueled by her own insecurities and desire to obtain perfection, paired with the crowd of rich kids that were offered to her as friends growing up, it didn’t take for things to escalate; by the age of only fourteen, drugs, alcohol and kicking each other in the stomach while crouching over the toilet was considered as an act of solidarity. All that deep-rooted self-hatred had to spill someway, somehow, and what are friends for if not offer you relief from the agony of routine?

It was easier to strap on those old ballerina shoes and put on a show until her toes were bleeding, than to try and show them what was behind the curtains. People don’t want to know what’s behind the curtain — they think they do, until they see it. To live in blissful ignorance is a gift, one she was denied. And all jewelry in the world, all praise, all money and countless designer bags she accumulated over the years could never fill up that gaping hole, that detachment she felt towards the outside world and inability to connect with things and people - even those supposedly closest to her.

With age, Addie learned how to put on a show, be it at home or on a stage; that’s the magic of a ballerina, to empty yourself of that hatred, all that pain, all that ugliness and fill yourself with stories other than your own - while whatever had been good and soft rots inside you .

And while she made a name for herself, starring role in all the big plays, working with the best and only the best, the tabloids would instiguate: who is Adelaide Montserrat? The reincarnation of the Virgin Mary to some, the dutiful daughter to others, is she a saving angel or a spoiled heir? She used to laugh, like it was a game - like the answer wasn’t there at all . Maybe what she truly was, was a game of smoking mirrors - a fragmented image, bouncing from broken piece to broken piece, scattered into so many tiny, pretty pieces, that when she looks into a it, the reflection that stares back is unrecognizable.

Adelaide was never their perfect little doll, tied to strings, sitting still waiting to be manuevered . For some time she had watched, prowling quietly in the shadows, observing, learning. She found distraction and excitement in the shadows, drugs, married men, booze, pills - and when those didn’t cut it, she dug a little deeper.

So the child prodigy suddenly moves back to the home, with a ring on her finger and a skeleton on her closet, all to shield from the rising scandal and nonsensical, if you were to ask, accusations of pushing a fellow ballerina down a flight of stairs. Alas, the show must go on, and Adelaide had no plans to stay out of the spotlight for long, or take the fault for somebody else’s imbalance. With some reluctance, she agreed to lay low, but just for how long she’d able to tolerate it, that was anyone’s guess.

Parents often say kids will “grow out of it”; their fits of rage, their apathy towards other children, their unwillingness to share, their manipulative, spoiled ways of obtaining the things they want- but Addie never did. Somewhere inside there’s still that little girl who’d rather break her toys in half than to share it with other kids. Who’d bump into other little girls at school to watch them fall, and tell the nurse they tripped. The little girl who’ll sit in an empty throne, all alone, built with the bones of the people she once claimed to love.

here’s some wc ideas i thought might be cool, but ofc feel free to come brainstorm!!

husband - it was a marriage of opportunity rather than love, at least for adelaide - a way to deflect attention, however how he feels is completely up to you. she’s manipulative and charming, but can also be extremely cruel if even mildly contradicted

bookclub ( 0/5 ) - just women she hangs out with while trying to fit in and “have ties with the community”. she usually sucks at bonding and sharing, so this could make for some interesting dynamics

lover - adelaide switches it up every couple months, but maybe she has a soft spot for them? maybe they’re also in a relationship? maybe it’s all fucked up and adelaide likes to be nasty, what the fuck else is new

ex - lover - fed up with adelaide? me too. join the club.

childhood friend - i feel like she might’ve permanently scarred this person for life by ( animal abuse tw ) killing a bird in front of them or something. adelaide was truly a fucking... terror as a child, and i doubt she was a good friend, bc she still isn’t

prodigy that she’s taken under her wings - maybe a young person who loves ballet that she decided to mentor out of the kindness of her heart? *coughs boredom coughs*

drug dealer - probably has a crush on them bc they indulge her bad habits ngl

idk man giv e me s t u f f !!!

also romantic connections are open to men and women pls. the only straight she is is a straight up bitch.

#irvingintro

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rvmmm21 · 4 years

Note

An alpha/omega rv pairing (you choose!), dark theme, but with a twist? :DD

haha wow, that’s such an open request. all i can say is, trust in the twist, and i hope you enjoy.

tw : mentions of killing.

...

“Get her!”

The words ricochet off the walls of the omega’s foggy mind; other than her heart going berserk in her rib cage, the only sounds she hears are the echoey squeaks of her shoes as she bolts down the dingy corridor. It’s too deathly quiet. Who’s meant to be chasing her? She doesn’t know, but she sure as hell isn’t standing around to find out. She’s forcing her stamina well past its breaking point now; eyes swollen and bloodshot, the hammering pulse in her ears causing a dull thrum in her surroundings. She ignores it and pushes on. Anything to get away.

Why do the hallways stretch twice as far when you’re running for your life?

She has no sooner rounded the corner, when strong, sinewy fingers wrap themselves around her right arm.

It’s over.

With a sharp tug, she’s lost her footing, and the force sends her staggering backwards right into the wall. There’s a deafening crack from where solid plaster meets cranium, and the girl slides down to the ground in a painful, temporary daze. The world spins like a broken carousel, whirling in and out of focus; the two shadowy outlines of burly men reaching down to grab her barely registers through the haze clouding her vision. Her brain screams for her to put up some sort of a fight, but her body refuses to cooperate.

They’ve pinned her to the floor before she’s had a chance to recover.

The concrete is dreadfully uncomfortable, and the cold rattles shivers down her spine. Shouting and kicking dissolves into whimpers and shudders when she sees her.

The reincarnation of the evil itself.

Joohyunie… please, no...

Blood-red lips twist into a devilish grin as she watches the omega trapped at her feet.

“Hold her down,” she snarls, stalking over to the helpless girl, “little omega’s time is up.”

The warmth, the comfort, the overall humanity of her girlfriend is gone. Replaced by some animalistic demon using Joohyun as a mere conduit, controlling her from within her empty shell. Hot tears well up in her eyes when she realises there’s nothing left of the woman she once loved; her alpha.

She searches her dark, vacant gaze as she begs for her life.

“… no! p-please, Hyunie, it-it’s me!” she cries between weak struggles, trying hard not to pass out as Joohyun towers over her, “it-it’s… it’s Seungwan, it’s Wannie! p-please, it’s your Wannie… don’t d-do this, pl-please, I-I love you, baby… I l-love you…”

But all she’s met with is Joohyun’s maniacal expression looming over her, tearing a pitiful cry from her heaving lungs. The dam breaks and tears finally fall. In a half-hearted final attempt at sparking her shattered memory, Seungwan strains her neck up, tenderly pressing her trembling lips to the cold, stagnant ones above her. It isn’t even a kiss, it’s one-sided; hollow.

If she is to die tonight, then so be it. At least she’d take the memory of Joohyun’s lips against hers; her favourite, her alpha.

Hopeless eyes screw shut, desperate to feel something, anything.

She knows it hasn’t worked when she feels no warmth in return, and bony fingers curl around her throat. Seungwan opens her eyes to the same dark, vacant pupils staring down at her, unmoved. Her limbs begin to jerk involuntarily, the lack of oxygen sending her body into panic-mode; she feels the pressure on her trachea increase. It won’t be long now, a sheer gloss coats the image of the empty alpha above her, slowly and deliberately cutting off her air supply in her death-grip.

The weakest smile traces her lips as her world falls out of focus for the last time.

“Good work, men,” Joohyun sa – AI! AISH! OW!”

“Oi, what was that for?!” author yells, removing the pillow she was just harshly whomped with, mid-sentence, “it was just ending, you idiots!”

“You serious?! For making Joohyun unnie kill me!” Seungwan screams, jumping up and down on the sofa, making Joohyun grab at her ankles. The younger girl falls back down with a yelp, immediately wrapped in her unnie’s arms as she strokes her hair to calm her breathing.

“And for making me say ‘good job men’ after,” Joohyun adds, the disgust in her tone surfacing at the cringe-worthy one-liner. She’s clearly got her priorities sorted.

author looks at the two girls sitting across her in the living room, one on the verge of ripping her hair out, and the other gracefully sipping her peppermint tea, totally unbothered.

“Hey, the task specified ‘dark theme’,” she says, defending her plot as she walks to the kitchen to grab herself a tub of ice cream, “so you can’t get mad at me, hey. I’m just fulfilling the people’s sick, twisted wishes.”

Seungwan spoons a dollop of vanilla-mint chip out of author’s tub before she can protest.

“Ugh whatever, just make me the killer or the alpha or something next time. Why do I always have to be the bottom.”

Joohyun shoots author a knowing smirk before tackling a grumpy, oblivious Seungwan onto the sofa. The younger girl tries to fight back but she’s soon on her back, writhing under Joohyun’s merciless tickling fingers, the pitch of her shrieks just short of being sampled for the latest dog whistle. After a couple minutes, Joohyun stops, letting Seungwan catch her breath while she places a chaste kiss to pouty lips.

“Do you even need to ask?” author quips smugly, licking her spoon clean.

Red-faced and messy hair, a defeated Seungwan storms off into the kitchen to get a cold drink, leaving the other two laughing behind her.

...

mum, mum look i’m in the same room as wenrene!

#red velvet #wenrene #red velvet scenarios #trust in the twist #yay i'm part of red velvet #anon #ask #red velvet imagines #omegaverse #red velvet omegaverse #kpop scenarios #girl group scenarios

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ambroseias · 4 years

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「lorenzo zurzolo & male/questioning」⇾ ambrose , elijah, the junior horton student’s records show that he is an virgo and 21 years old. he is studying classics and econ, living in noland and can be charming, diligent, self-centered & vain. when i see him i am reminded of clenched teeth, pyrrhic victories & a laugh that comes to haunt you. ⇽「momo & 20 & est & any pronouns.」

“all stories are about wolves. all worth repeating, that is. anything else is sentimental drivel.” - margaret atwood

hi it’s momo ur resident mess and this is adapted from a previous intro i did so pls dont make fun of me if u catch mistakes. if u like this, i’m coming into ur dms to plot and, if u don’t, i’m still yearning for connection with ur chara. pls. come validate my cliched average bacchanalian icarus bitch, toxic faerie princeling, dark academia fuccboi, dorian grey in the FLESH.

full bio to be found HERE bulleted bio below

AESTHETICS.

sunlight on skin in the morning, like ribbons of gold gleaming between tousled sheets. he throws his head back, laughing. if you do not love him, then you will now. clothes, always pressed. hair, meticulously in place. a dog-eared copy of a streetcar named desire in the crook of his arm. lies. they come so easy to boys like him. lies. tinged honey sweet to hide the fact that there is nothing but teeth behind them. you’ve seen his face in a painting somewhere, you’re certain. and if not, then it haunts you in your dreams. kisses that always taste like champagne, no matter what time it is. if you cut him open, he’d be more red wine than blood. secrets. there is something he’s not telling you. secrets. something rotten behind that sweet-faced grin. walden and thoreau in place of a father figure. choosing dickinson instead of the mother he had. clenched teeth. pyrrhic victories. he wins, always, but at what cost? climb into his chest, now. ignore that miraculously still-beating heart. feel how hollow it is here? he has tried to fill this emptiness his whole life. he has never succeeded.

BULLETED BIO

TW parental issues

first off, say mommy issues into a mirror 3x and this bitch appears behind u like the demon he is

‘that’s it. thats the chara.

im jk but not rlly. eli is the only child to one of radcliffe’s esteemed feminism + gender studies professor (prof. vivianne ambrose) and their relationship has always been... rough

it’s not for lack of love. it’s just that-- sometimes, people are too alike. and it’s hard to apologize and express the love that you feel.

halfway “ignored” by his mother, he’s spent his entire life trying to gain the attention and love of everyone around him. he definitely tries to shift his personality to be the person u want him to be--- but can only really settle on pretentious intellectual + wild child

so ig what i’m trying to say is that ... he’s the duality of man if both dualities were the WORST and most pretentious

mostly, what’s happened is that the people who like him really like him. and the people who don’t-- he refuses to spend the time of day on.

+ like ! i guess the best way to describe him is bright, glittering, hard to look at directly.

he wants u to want him.

but he doesn’t want u to know him

classics n econ bc honestly, he wants to be a professor like his mom and teach classics or theatre BUT he refuses to admit it so he’s getting a double major in econ and telling himself he’s gonna be like a politician or lawyer or some other slick shit

he... ............... would make a good politician probably.

but still.

he rattles off a list of dream roles he wants to play. hamlet. coriolanus. oedipus. caesar. creon. gatsby. some are leads, some aren’t. but most of all-- “they’re tragedies,” you say, “you really like tragedies that much?”

he laughs glibly. “no--” he says, “god, of course not. but they’re the only things i can play. look, i know what i look like. i know what you think of me. deep down, you want nothing more than to see me suffer. on stage, you can.”

“and off-stage?“ you ask tentatively. his eyes flash green, his lips press together almost imperceptibly, “oh come on. look at me. no one’s ever going to deny me of what i want.“

it’s a lie, of course. but it’s a good one. and it’s one that he goes to sleep telling himself.

pls i beg u!! yes, he’s terrible, but, deep down, i think he wants to be good. i think he wants to be soft. but the only time he ever got his mother’s attention was when he was doing something wrong and it’s made his perception of how love is supposed to be— skewed.

he definitely FEELS like an old soul, but he also probably has a very active thirst instagram using oscar wilde and margaret atwood quotes as captions

i hate him dearly pls

IMMA ADD MORE WANTED CONNECTIONS

people who have studied under/knows his mom -- ur too close. everytime he sees u he flinches. he’ll walk in during ur consultation with his mother and the two of them will stiffly update each other on their day and ur like god dang what a weird ass relationship. alternately, he’ll sit outside his mother’s office while ur doing consults. and u can’t help but wonder... god... what kind of mom, would make her child wait.

friends/enemies/etc. from childhood --- he grew up near the university has always been around town

wld die for a childhood crush on him or from him, but likely from him bc that’s cute af

a childhood friend that has always been his ride-or-die, even though they’ve definitely grown apart bc elijah has a fear of Emotional Intimacy!! but u knew him once and u know... there’s a real boy behind that layer of pretense.

step/half-siblings !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! --- his mom might have remarried! his bio dad maybe is lurking out there with another family! who knows!

a tormentor --- for anyone who knows the ambrose family, its’ not hard to see that the relationship btwn mom + son is strained. and like-- that’s something eli is always gonna be sensitive abt. ur chara knows that eli isn’t the hard shell he pretends to be. he’s just a soft boi longing for approval + that scares tf out of eli

people who eli hates -- mostly softs who remind him of his own failure to become completely unfeeling

rlly pretentious friends

unpretentious not friends

party friends

litcherally anything

neighbors

one night stands

fwbs

exes (elijah is tentatively pan, but objectively hates labels)

i live for apartment plots so pls hit me up if ur chara lives in noland

#ruhqintro

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queerhargreeves · 5 years

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Big Brothers Need Help Too

Diego’s usual stoic silence lasts longer than normal. His siblings take notice, because of course they do.

sOOO tumblr ate the inbox request?? a wonderfully kind anon asked me to write a diego-centric fic where he doesn’t talk for a while and the siblings take notice!! i’ve been in a writing rut for a while, but this prompt broke me out of it. dear anon you are like my diego-angst soul mate!!! so pls, if you’re out there and wanna talk diego......im all ears!!

The Hargreeves siblings have been together post apocalypse for a few months now. And they’re mostly okay. They’re alive, and that’s all the matters right? Well, almost everyone is. Grace and Pogo are gone, but billions of lives are not. Hell, even Ben is as back as he can be. They’ve spent the last few months healing in their own ways.

It’s been a tough six months for all of them. Vanya’s training has been long and intensive, but she’s gotten stronger. Her siblings have forgiven her for everything even if she hasn’t fully forgiven herself. She probably never will. Diego insists on giving her a ride to every rehearsal, making sure she gets to the auditorium and back safely. Allison and Klaus drag her out of her room and makes her join them on their nail party nights; even if she usually settles with a clear top coat or nude color she will happily paint Klaus’ nails nine different colors.

Luther, the most aloof and ignorant of them all, has finally started to accept that he is a victim of trauma: A victim of Sir Reginald Hargreeves, just like his siblings. He’s been ashamed of being seen for so long that he would purposely isolate himself from his brothers and sisters. He knows what he’s done to hurt them, what Reginald drilled into his brain was the correct thing to do. He’d flinch at any contact with his siblings, retracting so quickly as if their touch burned him. They all notice, because of course they do. He’s getting better about it though. With Klaus sprawling his legs over his knees on the couch and Diego’s shoulder massages after their sparring, how could he not. Their casual touches is slowly bringing the big man out of the shell that he’s never stepped foot out of before.

Allison’s life as America’s Sweetheart came to an end. The power that destroyed her life has been forcibly stripped away. This new loss, this disability, is something she’s had a hard time coming to terms with. Her brothers and sister help her in every way they can. Diego was the first to go to an ASL class with her, the rest of the siblings promptly went after. Vanya would always offer her voice to talk to her daughter, to be her interpreter.

Five, the man who went through literal hell for the sake of his family, is now learning how to actually exist. Being a person is so much harder than he had ever imagined. He was focused for so long on one thing: surviving. Five never really thought about what to do after that. He doesn’t remember a life before ashes, fumes, and a sea of nothingness. He doesn’t remember a life before killing, before taking orders. Diego is the first person to notice when Five gets lost in his head at the dinner table, his fork shaking lightly in his hand and his eyes looking far off. He’s somewhere else. Diego would simply lay a gentle hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. It was grounding. Five doesn’t quite know who he is yet, but shopping trips to the mall with Allison and Klaus and movie nights with Ben and Vanya are certainly good places to start finding out.

Ben, although he’s only able to be corporeal for 7 hours max a day, has had to do his own adjusting. Sometimes he forgets he can be seen, touched. The touches can be overwhelming, the locked eyes too intimate. Diego and Klaus are patient with him. They understand that sometimes he just wants to be corporeal and alone and they give him the agency he deserves to do so. But he’s grateful to be apart of his family again even for a little while at a time.

Klaus has been sober for six months, the longest he’s ever gone since he was 13. He has never been able to go longer than 30 days without relapsing so 188 days is a huge feat. His siblings have held him through the terrible dope sickness, the bone rattling shakes, the nausea. Allison would silently tuck herself in his bed in the middle of the night after hearing him scream in the middle of the night, muttering heart wrenching words about war and his lost love. He’d sob in her embrace as she’d run her hands thru his curls, whispering kind affirmations until her throat begged her to stop. Diego would and has dropped anything to take the man out on a late night drive. Klaus wouldn’t even have to say a word. All it took was one look at his brother for Diego to know he needed to get out. The house, the mausoleum, had so much history - there were just too many of them. It didn’t matter where they went, Diego would drive for hours until if it meant Klaus would fall asleep in silence and safe.

Then there’s Diego. The now ex-vigilante has been one of the most solid constants for his siblings over the last six months. He’s been there for them through each of their traumas, their coping, and their recovery. He’s been an anchor for each of them in his own way, never asking for a thank you or any recognition of the sort. Diego has always been the softest of them all, not that he would ever admit it. Before their rankings were enforced, before they were taught that emotions were a sign of weakness, Diego was the most empathetic of the bunch. He’d pick Vanya up when she fell and scraped her knee in the courtyard, helping her over to their mom for a band aid. He’d always play tag with Luther and would let him win when he could see he was getting frustrated at losing. Diego was always a good, kind brother in his own way.

Which is why it shocked Klaus that no one noticed until now. Diego had never been much of a talker unless he was angry and felt the need to be defensive. His nonverbal communication was usually enough. And he’s been less angry, working on his impulse control and actually thinking through his feelings instead of immediately acting on them. A silent pat on the shoulder, a hug, a nod towards the door to signal a car ride was all it took for his siblings to know his intentions.

But this? This went beyond Diego’s usual causal stoic silence.

The siblings were sat around on one of their three living areas, the only one with a TV. Diego, Klaus, and Ben were on the three seater couch with Diego cushioned in the middle. Vanya and Allison curled up on the floral loveseat and Five and Luther sat on their own recliners. They were watching Disney movies, per Allison’s instance that Five be educated on some of the classics he had missed out on. They were on movie number two, Bambi. Vanya and Diego’s favorite.

“Hey Di,” Klaus started, voice soft as looked up from his place on Diego’s chest to meet his deep brown eyes, “Why is Bambi your favorite Disney film? It makes sense for Van, but I wouldn’t expect something like Bambi to be your cup of tea.”

Klaus could feel Diego’s body tense at the question, pursing his mouth in thin line before he settled on a quick shrug of his shoulders. Klaus cocked his head, not finding that answer completely satisfactory. There was no witty comeback, no snide remark. No backlash. Why isn’t he saying anything? The more he started to think about it, the more he realized something.

Diego hasn’t said a word all day. Wait, scratch that. He actually can’t remember the last time he heard his brother say anything. Something that hasn’t happened since they came home from an interview where Diego stuttered through an answer and was forcibly shoved in the tank for 36 hours.

“C’mon bro, this is a safe space and all.” Klaus shifted from his spot on Diego and straightened up, turning his body so he could look his brother straight in the eyes. “Tell me. Why is this your favorite movie?” He asked again, louder this time. Diego didn’t know how long ago the movie got paused but what he did know is that he wished he didn’t give Five the remote privileges for the night.

“Diego?” Vanya piped up, her voice small but full of concern. “What’s wrong...are you..?” She trailed off. This was so unlike her big brother.

Diego opened his mouth, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His tongue was jammed in his mouth and nothing but strangled grunts escaped his lips. He gave up after a few moments, closing his eyes tight and sighing softly. He started to shrink in on himself, his usual usual strong presence turning into anything but.

“Oh Di.” Ben wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

Diego gave another shrug, his body releasing some of the tension he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Diego, how long has this exactly been going on?” Five asked cautiously, his voice lacking it’s usual edge and snark.

The six siblings watched as their brother struggled to form words. They all saw the shame start to wash over his face. He was becoming more red as each second passed. Diego started to close in on himself, but Ben’s arm was keeping him from completely slipping away. They knew he was almost scared of their reactions of what would come out of his mouth.

“Please, Diego we just want to help. It’s...it’s okay. Like Klaus said, safe space.” Luther affirmed, leaning forward from his seat and placing a firm grip on his knee and giving it a light squeeze. Allison cleared her throat until Diego met her eyes and gave a gentle smile.

“Please, we love you.” She signed and mouthed.

He took a deep breath, trying to remember what his mom told him all those years ago. Just picture the word in your mind, right? He knew his trigger letters, he knew to speak out the exhale of a breath if his stutter was particularly bad.

“S-since M-mon-m-monday.” He managed to get the answer out, his hands curling in tight fists and leaving moon imprints on his palms. God, this was a lot harder without Grace here.

Vanya eyes immediately narrowed at her brothers frustration and in one swift motion she plopped herself criss cross applesauce right in front of the man before he could break skin. She gently ran her hand on his knuckles and started massaging his wrist until he slowly released the firm grip.

“Monday?! Bro, that’s six freakin’ days!” Klaus exclaimed, his eyes widening.

“Diego, why didn’t you tell us? It’s just - you’ve helped us all so much. Like, with everything. Let us help you this time, yeah? I know you like being the strong, big brother all the time but it’s okay. You don’t think any less of me when you help me, right? Or Five?” Klaus stressed. Diego shook his head.

“Right! So don’t wait so long to confide when stuff comes up. I’m sorry I didn’t even think to see how you’ve been coping? We’ve all been so caught up in our own lives that it just. It shouldn’t of slipped - it won’t happen again.”

Diego nodded again, letting out a soft scoff.

“I-I-I th-thought I c-could g-get over it alone. But w-w-with-without m-mom…”

“Without mom, it’s hard, right?” Vanya finished a few seconds after Diego stopped, making sure she wasn’t speaking over him.

“It won’t be the same, and I can’t promise we’ll be as good as her. But we can try. All of us.” Five assured, the other five siblings agreeing and nodding their heads.

“It’s n-not that I-I-I don’t trust y-you guys,” Diego paused, thinking carefully on how to word the next statement.

“I-I just d-d-didn’t w-want to w-worry you. I’m s-sorry I didn’t s-say a-any-anything.”

“Honestly? I’d be lying if I said I’m not worried, Di.” Klaus started softly, “But we don’t have to go through this shit alone anymore, remember? You of all people should know that. You’ve taken me on more drives the last few months than I’ve been on in like, my entire life. You take Van to every rehearsal, you’re the best at ASL so far. You’ve always had the biggest ‘protective big bro’ energy and I’m sure even Lu over here can admit that.” To which Luthe agreed with a “true, true” at the statement.

“But that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to lean on us when you need to.” Klaus ruffled Diego’s hair, causing a quiet giggle to erupt from the man.

“I think this calls for a Hargreeves group hug, no?” Allison whispered softly and signed.

“GROUP HUG!” Ben exclaimed, wrapping his other arm around Diego. The rest of the siblings jumped up and squashed themselves around each other, not daring to move for another 30 seconds.

“I-I know I c-c-can h-hold my b-breath, b-but I d-don’t think F-Five can.” Diego’s voice was barely audible, muffled from the center of the pile.

“Oh Diego, always the observant one.” Five gasped as they disbanded, heaving dramatically.

“I think Di deserves remote privileges for the rest of the night, no?” Vanya grinned, running her hand through her hair.

“The honor is yours. But please, no more Fight Club.” Five pleaded.

“Fine. K-k-karate k-kid.” Diego retorted, yanking the remote off the chair and collapsing back on the couch. Five rolled his eyes, but his tiny grin and prominent dimple always gave away his lack of annoyance.

“Karate Kid it is then.” Luther agreed.

Yeah, so maybe they weren’t perfect. But they were the only people who could even begin to understand what each other went through. They knew each other through and through. They knew each of their flaws, their insecurities, their defense mechanisms. That meant nothing goes unnoticed, but that always meant that nothing would go unsupported. The seven of them would be there for each other always - the spent entirely too long tearing one another apart. And they saw how that could’ve ended. They weren’t going to do that anymore, the Hargreeves made sure of that.

#diego is the best soft brother....#diego hargreeves #tua #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy fanfiction #fanfic #tua fic #diego centric #sibling bonding #allison hargreeves #five hargreeves #luther hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #ben hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #fic

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