#donned on me like a wrench to the back of the head... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daydreamerswriting · 5 months ago

Note

hiiii!!! do you think you could do something with the gang (separately) being protective of reader? its okay if you dont want to though!!! totally up to you 💕💕

The Gang Being Protective

The outsiders x fem!reader

an: I tried to give them all different plots so it wasn't repetitive. Thank you for the request and sorry this took SOOO long. (This request is so old and this took me WAY too long I'm sorry 😭) please leave more requests guys!

W: men being gross and creepy, swearing, not proof read

Darry Curtis

Darry Curtis normally isn't one for parties, but you convinced him to go to one with you. He was, unfortunately, not having the best time. But you were. You were drinking and dancing and having the time of your life. You pulled Darry around with you as you chatted with your friends, acquaintances, total strangers, anyone.

Some time into the party, the two of you got separated. You were getting another drink and talking to a old classmate from high-school. A guy approaches you, and you immediately get a bad feeling.

"Hey sweet thing." He slurs with a smirk.

You grip your drink tighter and it takes everything in you not to show your disgust on your face. "Hi."

"You look good enough to eat. Let's get outta here, yeah?" He steps way to close to you.

Ew. "No thank-"

"No, she doesn't." A familiar, stern voice cuts you off as a muscular arms is wrapped around your shoulders.

You glance up at him. He's glaring daggers at the man who talked to you.

The man scoffed. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Her boyfriend. Now why don't you back the hell up?" His voice is stern, deep, and angry.

The guy scoffs again, rolls his eyes, and walks away. "Whatever.."

Darry turns his attention to you. "Are you alright, y/n?" He asks tenderly.

You nod. "Thank you."

"Of course, darling, you don't have to thank me." He kisses your forehead.

Sodapop Curtis

"Can you hand me a wrench?" Soda asks you as he sticks his hand out from under the Curtis's truck. The poor old thing had broke from the hundredth time and he was in charge of fixing it.

You grab a wrench out off the tool box beside you and hand it to him. "Here."

"Thank you, sweetheart."

The only reason you're here, sitting on the curb while Soda fixes up the car, is because you had come over to tell him something. You were a little nervous to tell him. You've heard stories from your friends about how their past boyfriends weren't cool with stuff like this.

"Hey, Soda?" You say while staring down at your hands.

"Yeah?" He calls back from under the car.

"I'm going with my friend tomorrow, so we have to cancel our date."

"Oh." He slides out from under the car and sits up, looking at you. "You can't go any other day?"

You shake your head. "He's only going to be in town a few days, and tomorrow is the only day he's free." You explain.

His eyebrows furrow and he looks untrusting. "He?"

You nod. "We were friends in elementary school, but then he moved away."

"Oh." He thinks this over for a minute. "It's not like a date, right?"

Youre taken aback. "What? No, of course not. We're just hanging out as friends, babe."

"Good." He nods and ponders this again for a moment. "Can I go?"

"Do you not trust me?" You ask, feeling slightly hurt.

He shakes his head. "No, of course I trust you. I don't trust this guy I've never meant. Plus, if he's your friend, I wanna meet him." He smiles. Soda did like knowing all the people in your life. He had wanted to meet your family and friends as soon as possible.

"I- I don't know. I haven't seen him in so long, and it might be weird with you there. He doesn't know you, you don't know him. I want you to meet him too, but I don't want to make it awkward with you there the whole time. Don't you think it's annoying when people drag their partners to every hang out."

"Yeah, okay. Hm.. how about I drop you off and meet him when I drop you off." He smiles, knowing that that's a good suggestion.

You smile too. "Sure. That sounds like a good plan, Soda."

Steve Randle

Shelves don't restock themselves, so Steve was stocking them while complaining to you. You ate some chips he bought you while he ranted.

"I got this job so I could work on cars, not restock shelves." He told you.

"Do you want me to help you?" You offer.

"No, no. Its my job. And I don't need us both losing our minds cause of how boring this is."

You laugh. "Okay."

He finishes stocking everything in the box he had, so he goes into the back to get another. He kisses you before going.

You crumple up your empty bag of chips and look for a trash can to throw it away in. The bell by the door rings, meaning someone entered the gas station. You find a trash can and toss the chip bag from a short distance, but somehow, you miss. So, you bend down to pick it up.

And then you hear a whistle. You think it's Steve trying to tease you for a moment, until you turn around and see some random guy. He was smirking at you too. What the hell?

"What the hell?" A familiar voice asks angrily. You turn your head and see Steve walking over to you while glaring at the guy. "Why're you whistling at my girl?"

"Hey, man. I didn't know that she'd been claimed." He raises his hands.

Claimed? You scoff.

"Claimed? " Steve says, "She's a human being, not a, fucking parking spot or something. Why don't you get the hell outta my store." He crosses his arms.

The guys shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and huffs. "Whatever." Then he turns and leaves.

"Fucking asshole." Steve shakes his head then looks down at you. "You okay?"

You smile. "Yes, thank you."

He uncrosses his arms and reaches for your hand, taking it in his. "You don't have to thank me, baby."

Two-Bit Matthews

It was a chilly afternoon, and you and Two-Bit were walking around town together. You were wearing his jacket and his arm was around you. You were talking about random stuff and laughing together. The two of you had just left a diner and were now walking to your house.

You always had a blast when you were with Two-Bit. He was funny and surprisingly sweet. He made you feel lighter and just being around him calmed you down. He was familiar.

The two of talk about school, friends, life, anything that pops into your minds. All is going great until you pass a guy who's leans against the side of a building, smoking a cigarette. He whistles at you. A somewhat small sound that was absolutely unnerving. It immediately made you uncomfortable. And of course Two-Bit heard it and noticed your change in energy.

"Has that ever worked for you?" Two-Bit asks the guy angrily as he wraps his arm tighter around you.

"Huh?" The creep looks you the both of you.

"I said, 'has that ever worked for you?' Because I'm guessin' it hasn't." Two-Bit had stopped walking and was looking back at the guy.

"I- fuck off, man." He turns to leave.

"Leave girls like mine alone, wacko!" Two-Bit calls as the guy walks away. Then he turns his head to look at you. "I'm sorry, baby." He says.

"Oh, it's okay. I'm fine." You say as you two begin to walk down the sidewalk again.

"But it's not okay. Guys shouldn't be whistling at or cat calling you, baby. Ticks me off." He lets go of your waist and holds your hand.

You squeeze his hand, appreciating his concern and protection. "Thanks for standing up for me."

He shrugs. "Don't mention it, I owed you, you got lunch."

Dallas Winston

Dallas loves to show you off. He loves getting to let people know that you're his. He loves watching other guys disappointed faces when you're all over him.

You were hesitant to wear such a short skirt to the party at Buck's, but Dallas was quick to reassure you.

"You look absolutely gorgeous. Good enough to eat, doll." He held you from behind as you gazed into your mirror. So it was settled. You wore the skirt.

Unfortunately, that meant you got stares.

One man in particular had been staring at you all night. At first, you thought you were imagining things, seeing him the corner of your eye, but you kept making eye contact with him. It was making you uncomfortable.

"That guy over there is staring at me." You whisper to Dallas, peeking over your shoulder at him.

Dallas tightens his arm around your waist. He looks in the direction you're looking. He makes eye contact with the man, causing the man to look away.

"I'll talk to him."

Only Dallas Winston doesn't "talk" to people who have pissed him off, and he's clearly pissed off. Now, you'd be happy to see this guy get slugged, but you really didn't want Dallas getting into a fight. So, you grab his hand when he starts to walk away.

"Dallas–"

"I'm just gonna talk to him, I promise." He squeezes your hand then pulls his away. He walks over the man and you lag slowly behind him, really hoping this doesn't end in violence.

Dallas approaches him. "Hey man, my girl doesn't like being stared at by creeps like you. I think should you cut it out."

The man scoffs. "Maybe she shouldn't dress like a that then. I can look if I'd like."

"She can dress how ever the hell she pleases, doesn't give you any right to watch her like a fucking creep."

Oh boy was he getting mad. You walk up behind him and put your hand on his shoulder. "Dal, it's not worth it, c'mon."

The man smirks at you. "Well, hello sweet cheeks."

Ew. "Excuse me?" You say at the same time Dallas's fist lands on his face.

Johnny Cade

Johnny trusts you mote than anyone he knows, so why was he so worried? Sure, you'd hung out with a friend for yours that happened to be a guy and didn't tell him, but that guy's just your friend, right? Well, he better be. Johnny knows that he should talk to you about it, but he's not sure how to bring it up. Luckily, you do one day while walking through the park with him.

"Last weekend I went to see this movie, Viva Las Vegas, that new one with Elvis in it, with my friend Aaron. It was just okay." You say.

He hesitates then asks, "Who's Aaron?"

"My friend." You say simply.

A faint smile appears on his face from your answer. "Well, yeah, but who is he? Why're you going to the movies with him?" He feels awkward asking.

You can tell what he's thinking about, and you feel a bit guilty for making him worry. "Oh, it's nothing bad, I swear. Me, him, and this girl, Margaret– we were all three going to go together, but Margaret never showed. We learned on Monday that she'd been sick."

"Oh," he nods. "I mean, I don't really mind that you're hanging out with a guy alone. If it was Soda or Steve or Ponyboy, ya know, I wouldn't care. It's just cause I don't know him, that's all."

"Yeah." You pause then smile. "You were jealous." You tease as you take hold of his arm.

"I'm wasn't–" He pauses and looks at you. He sighs, "I was worried about you. I trust you, but I can't trust people I've never met."

You think quietly for a moment, then make a suggestion. "How about, next time we make plans, I'll ask if you can come, so you can meet him."

He smiles and nods. "Okay, that sounds perfect, sweetheart, thank you." He slips his arm out from your grasp and instead puts in around your shoulders. He pulls you in, towards him, and places a kiss on your forehead.

An: idk why this took so long. Please leave me more requests! The more specific, the more fun!

693 notes · View notes

violentdelightsandviolentends · 7 months ago

Note

hey it's me again hi !! i was thinking about rupert campbell black in a secret relationship with younger!reader who's an actress and she's known as the good girl of uk's cinema like well mannered never partied much such a sweetheart to everyone and so so talented. also very private about her personal life, never had any scandal at all but then pap pics of her and rupert together (kissing etc) come out and it's all over the newspapers and tv. and everyone goes crazy because he's not exactly the type of guy they expected her to go for and she's so scared of the public's opinion idk ...

thank you <33

Golden Girl.

after years of keeping your private life private, everybody’s suddenly talking about your new boyfriend. when it rains, it pours.

rupert campbell black x female reader

warnings - cursing. age gap. reader is a ball of anxiety. discussions of the british media (which needs its own warning).

word count - 3k

authors note - banger after banger, erica. I had immediate inspiration when I read this request, so thank you!! I could kiss you. i’ll let rupert kiss you instead. mwah.

masterlist. inbox.

The first thing you do when you see Rupert Campbell Black is smack him square across the face as hard as you can.

“What the fuck was that for?”

His hand flies up to his cheek, jaw flexing as he tries to breathe through the sting of the impact.

“You said we’d be fine!”

“Darling… what?”

His confusion is so genuine that it only makes you angrier, ready to hit him again right here on his front step.

“You said we’d be fine, remember? You said it was a friend’s pub, that you’d never ever been photographed there, that we were safe from prying eyes. You said we’d be fine, Rupert. Does this look like fine to you?”

You slap the newspaper onto his chest with slightly more force than necessary, almost knocking him backwards. He stares at the cover for a moment that seems to stretch on forever, reading the headline again and again and again.

Nation’s Sweetheart Caught With Serial Love Rat!

There’s a huge picture on the front page of the two of you, blown up and magnified. Rupert has his arms wrapped around your back, kissing you like his life depends on it. You’re kissing him back with just as much passion, hands tangled in his hair as you pull him closer, bodies plastered together.

There’s no denying it’s you. There’s no denying it’s him.

“Look at us, Rupert. Clear as day.”

“Well, fuck.”

You look at him incredulously, shaking your head in disbelief.

“That’s what you have to say? You’ve potentially ruined my career, and that’s what you have to say?”

“Darling, no one has ruined your career. You’ll be alright. You know what the newspapers are like - they’ll forget about this in a week, or when a juicier story comes along.”

“No, Rupert. You don’t understand. God, I knew you wouldn’t.”

There’s a lump in your throat that you’re trying to swallow down, tears welling in your eyes. You’re determined not to stand here and cry on Rupert’s driveway at six in the morning, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult.

“I’m still confused, sweetheart. You’ve been on the front page of the newspaper dozens of times, haven’t you? It’s no big deal. It’s bound to happen with a job like yours.”

“You’re not listening to me! You don’t get it, and you know what… maybe you never will.”

Your cheeks are wet suddenly, emotions bubbling to the surface unwittingly. Turning on your heel, you storm off, tired of trying to get him to see your point of view when he clearly can’t. You’re halfway across the huge expanse of driveway when fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you backwards.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he pants, perplexed. “You can’t leave until we’ve talked about this. I’m not letting you go home upset.”

“I’m an idiot,” you sob, trying to wrench your arm away from his grip. “Everyone warned me. What did I think would happen?”

“Darling, you need to stop speaking in riddles and just talk to me straight. Explain to me what I’m missing here, because clearly I don’t understand. But I want to. God, I so badly want to.”

You stand and stare at him for a moment, trying to decipher if he’s telling the truth. He’s looking at you with nothing but distress in his eyes, desperation written all over his face.

“Please,” he whispers, the final nail in the coffin.

You’re throwing yourself forward into Rupert’s arms before you can think twice about it, tucking into his chest and breathing him in. He holds you as tightly as he can, murmuring sweet nothings into your hair as he soothes you.

Pulling away and wiping your eyes, you inhale deeply, trying to calm yourself down so you can talk to each other properly. You wander across the driveway and towards the house, sitting down on his stone front step. There’s something in you that doesn’t want to go inside, knowing that the familiar comfort of his home will only make you cry harder.

Rupert sits down next to you, his hand settling on your knee. The heavy weight of it helps to settle your nerves, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin.

“We’re very different, you and I. I always knew that, it’s strikingly obvious,” you begin, staring out into the rolling gardens of his property. “We’ve each got our own reputations, that are arguably on completely polar opposite ends of the spectrum.”

“Are you calling me a bad boy?”

“Yes,” you chuckle, matching his smirk. “You are. But you know that. That’s your entire public image - notorious ladies man, badly behaved but charming enough to get away with it.”

“It’s carefully crafted,” he grins, bumping his shoulder into yours. “Not everyone can do what I do, though God knows they try.”

“Anyway. My reputation is entirely based on being the UK’s golden girl. That is literally what they call me. Golden Girl.”

“I’m aware.”

“Good. They love me, Rupert. Everything I do, they romanticise it. I went to that premiere on Saturday night - for a film that I wasn’t even in, mind you - and on Monday morning I was on the front pages of the newspapers. Golden Girl Dazzles in Sparkling Silver was the headline of The Telegraph. Golden Girl Shines Like A Diamond from The Guardian. The Sun, The Mirror, The Daily Star… all of them had a huge picture of me in my ballgown on the front page.”

“Because you are a star.”

“Exactly. The entire British public idolises me. I am this perfect woman to them - innocent, untroubled, well mannered. I don’t party hard, I don’t sleep with the entire film industry, I don’t ever turn up looking less than put together. I’m perfect.”

“And so humble.”

“No, Rupert. Jesus Christ,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I don’t think I’m perfect. They do. And I have worked hard to keep that image intact, because that image gets me roles in the biggest films of the year, every year.”

“And I don’t fit with that image.”

“You’re a rebel. You’re tongue in cheek, you’re not afraid to speak your mind, you’re brutally honest. You drink, you sleep with beautiful women, you turn up to Parliament hungover and in last nights clothes. And people love you for it. Well… most people.”

He laughs, shaking his head at the psychoanalysis.

“We have our public images that work for us, Rupert. And it just so happens that they don’t fit with each others at all. Well, I fit yours, but you don’t fit mine.”

“Do you think everyone is up in arms because you’re dating me, or because you’re dating in general? You’ve never had a public boyfriend before. Maybe the people feel like you’ve betrayed them.”

“I do think that’s a part of it. It also just doesn’t help that it’s you.”

“Ouch. No offence taken.”

You roll your eyes at him, placing your hand over his where it rests on your knee still.

“Just being honest, Rupert. Taking a leaf out of your book, you know.”

He chuckles all warm and soft before leaning in to press a kiss to your temple, shuffling over so his side is pressed into yours. You both gaze out over the vast expanse of his gardens, looking over to the fields where the horses graze when they whinny.

“Is this a choice for you?”

When you look at him with confusion written across your face, he continues.

“Do you have to choose? Between me and your public image? Or can they coexist?”

“…I don’t know. I mean, they can’t coexist, clearly,” you gesture towards the discarded newspaper on the ground at your feet. “It’d be a sacrifice for me. I’d have to become a completely new person, adjust this persona that they’ve created in the media. I’m not a Golden Girl - I have flaws just like anyone else. But obviously, flawed doesn’t sell films. Gold does.”

“They wouldn’t have to know. We could make sure that we’re never seen together, never photographed again. It could be our secret.”

Your heart constricts at his tone of voice. He sounds like he’s bargaining, borderline pleading that you don’t walk away.

“We both know deep down that wouldn’t work. That’s what we tried - and what put us in this situation. Nothing stays a secret for long, not with the British media.”

“Well then we embrace it. Say yes, we’re together, and we’re happy.”

“And the minute we break up, they all say I told you so on the front pages, and my image is ruined forever.”

The man next to you flinches as if you’ve hit him again, body tensing up where it presses into yours.

“The minute we break up?”

“Rupert.”

“No, darling. Is that what this is? You had one foot out the door already, and this is just good reason to make it two?”

He stands up abruptly, pacing back and forth anxiously. The gravel crunches under his feet, the only sound that can be heard besides the birds chirping as they wake.

“I know what you’re like,” you say quietly. “Every time you’re on the front page of a newspaper it’s because you’ve been spotted with a new woman. I’m under no illusions - I’m not special, and I’m not different. I like you a lot, I have since the minute I met you. But I’m not stupid.”

“Is this in regards to the interview my ex wife did a few weeks ago?”

“She said she thought that she’d be it for you, Rupert. That she’d be the one to change you, that you’d finally settle down and put your party boy days behind you. And she did have that, for six whole years. Until… she didn’t.”

“So what, I can never change? Every woman I ever date is just waiting for me to fuck it up with her?”

You stand up now so you’re on the same level, not enjoying being sat beneath him while his voice raises.

“You have a reputation! You’re not oblivious to it and neither am I. Every single woman thinks that she’ll be the one, that she’ll change you and tame you and settle you down. And every single woman so far has been wrong. What makes me different? What makes me special? What makes me the exception?”

“You really don’t know?”

“What?”

Rupert takes a deep breath, striding across the driveway so he’s stood in front of you, towering and strong.

“I love you.”

You sway backwards as you struggle to stay steady on your feet, the weight of the words knocking you over.

“You… what?”

“I’m in love with you, darling.”

“Are you?” you whisper, conflicted. “Do you say this to all of them?”

He sweeps your face into his big hands, cradling your cheeks as he forces you to look up at him.

“No. This… this never happens. That’s why I’m fighting so hard for you. I have never wanted something to work as badly as this.”

“I’m not trying to paint you as a villain,” you say lowly. “But how am I supposed to know that this isn’t the speech that you’ve given a dozen women before me? You can understand where I’m coming from, can’t you?”

“Of course I can. And I’m kicking myself, because it’s my own fault that you don’t believe me when I tell you these things. My reputation has done irreparable damage to relationships in my life.”

He leans in to rest his forehead on yours, breathing each other in for a moment.

“Rupert.”

“Darling… we’ve been speaking on my driveway for an hour. You knocked on my door at six o’clock in the morning and smacked me in the face. And I am still here. I’m trying to show you that I am going to fight for this. For you. For us.”

“I don’t know what to do,” you confess gently. “I just want to curl up into a ball and cry.”

“The only thing you can do is trust me, I suppose. Trust that I won’t let you down, trust that I’ll look after you, trust that I mean it when I say that you’re it for me.”

“I want to. I want to trust you.”

“I know. I can see you do.”

You wrap your arms around his middle, soaking in the warmth that’s radiating from him. He’s in his pyjama trousers and a t shirt, all soft and worn and threadbare, and you want to burrow yourself into it and stay there for as long as he’ll let you.

“Do you want to go inside?” he asks, all muffled into your hair.

“Not yet,” you mumble into his chest. “I like the fresh morning air. And listening to the birds.”

Rupert tightens his arms around you, one hand cradling the back of your head to keep you close to him. He keeps kissing the top of your head, wishing that he could accurately convey the way he feels in the words that you’ll believe.

“Darling… do you know how many women I’ve said I love you to in my life?”

You pull away to look at him, smiling when he intertwines his hand with yours so you don’t go far. You shake your head, waiting for him to carry on.

“Two.”

“… two?”

“Two.”

You think about this for a moment, studying the gravel beneath you. A finger hooks under your chin, forcing you to look into tender eyes.

“And do you know who they were?”

You shake your head once more.

“My mother and my grandmother.”

You don’t know what to say, taken aback by Rupert’s sudden vulnerability. You’ve opened up to each other many times in the past, but never quite like this. It feels like you’re baring your souls to each other in the morning light, raw and exposing and so, so beautiful.

“What about your ex wife? All your girlfriends?”

“Nope. Never said it to them.”

“You never told your ex wife you loved her? You were married for six years, Rupert. You had two kids.”

“I know that. She’d tell me she loved me, and then she’d ask ‘do you love me too?’ and I’d say ‘of course I do, you know I do.’ I never once said the words I love you to her. I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“I thought it’d come with time. She said it to me quite quickly, quite early on in the relationship, so I thought I just wasn’t ready. I supposed that it’d come to me eventually. And it never did.”

“But you’re saying it to me.”

“I am,” he smiles, his gaze begging you to believe him. “You’re the only woman I have ever fallen in love with.”

“I remember the episode of Declan. When you said you’d never been in love.”

“Then I met you. And it all changed.”

A tear slips down your cheek as you look at him, his eyes full of hope and sadness in equal measure.

“I believe you,” you whisper. “And I trust you. I promise you, I trust you.”

Rupert leans in to kiss you, all soft and sweet and full of adoration. It’s the most tender kiss you’ve ever received, on screen or off. You’ll remember it forever.

“So what if they don’t have their Golden Girl anymore?” you grin when you pull away, sweeping your thumbs over his cheekbones. “We’ll just have to show them who we are. They’ll adjust.”

“They’ll take one look at us together all gorgeous on a red carpet and all will be forgotten. We’ll be the Couple of the Hour in no time, darling.”

“We do scrub up well.”

“Very well.”

You peck his lips once more before grabbing his hand tightly, interlinking your fingers.

“Can we go inside now?”

“Your palace awaits,” he chuckles, gesturing towards the house and pulling you along.

“Oh, Rupert?”

“Darling?”

You stop in your tracks, feeling the first rays of the days sun sparkle down onto your skin.

“I love you too.”

He looks at you for a long moment before barrelling into you, picking you up and spinning you around while you both laugh in utter joy.

“She loves me! Your Golden Girl loves me, ladies and gents!”

You’re shrieking, laughing so hard that you can’t breathe. He puts you down eventually, both of you stumbling towards the house with stars in your eyes.

“Sorry for smacking you earlier, by the way.”

“It’s alright,” he grins, slipping his hand into your back pocket. “It might just be the sexiest thing you’ve ever done.”

“You’re insufferable,” you chide, but you can’t wipe the beaming smile off your face.

You close the front door behind you, kneeling down to greet all of the dogs that come bounding out of the kitchen. Rupert watches you from across the hallway with the softest look on his face that you’ve ever seen.

“I’m insufferable, and you love me.”

“You’re insufferable. And I love you.”

you know what i’m gonna say… reblogs are gold dust, baby!! support your favourite writers and they’ll write more for you!! simple!!

472 notes · View notes

clockwayswrites · 4 months ago

Text

Annalise&Tim, Magenta, Solstice, wood fire @roanawayspoons

Annalise is an OC from my fic City Pigeons Bleed Green who showed up briefly. This is an AU where she came to Bruce right away and lived. Uh, sorry that Tim is only dubiously present... but this got in my head.

“Hello, Bruce,” Annalise called from the sitting room that she favored. It was a slightly smaller one than the family room that the would gather in, but she always said that she liked how cozy and warm it was. The Manor, as old as it was, did tend to have a chill to it that would linger in the colder months.

Bruce generally dealt with the permanent cold by wearing warm, turtleneck sweaters and Dick simply never seemed to get cold. Helena liked to steal Bruce’s sweaters, for all that they came pooled around her feet. Annalise, though, seemed to struggle with getting warm with her poor circulation. (Bruce also harbored a fear that the complications around Helena’s birth had caused permanent harm to Annalise, such as the constant fatigue that she seemed to suffer.)

The warm, golden light of the fire spilled out of the half open door to the room and it felt like coming home to step into it. He leaned against the door frame with a smile “Hello, Lise.”

“Alright day at work?” she asked as she stuck her needle in the cross-stitch that she she had been working on.

There was a fifty-fifty chance that it contained a cuss that would make Alfred tsk at her.

“Mm, holiday bonuses went out today, so everyone was in a good mood.”

“Oh, I imagine,” she said with a smile.

The kid—more a pile of blankets and flash of black hair than anything else—who was asleep against her leg shifted. She carded her delicately painted nails through their hair.

“Is one of our sick?”

Annalise hummed in confirmation. “Poor thing was chilled to the bone.”

“That—”

“B! You’re home!” Dick called.

Bruce barely had time to swing around and catch him as he flung himself over the edge of the stare rail and at Bruce’s chest. At sixteen Dick was big enough to make Bruce have to brace himself to catch him. One of these days, Bruce knew he was going to get hurt doing this (but that would hardly stop him, not when his oldest still wanted hugs).

“Hey chum,” Bruce said as he swung Dick around and into the room and set him down. Not Dick who was sick then, which would save the manor a lot of whining. “How was your last day of school?”

“Super boring. We didn’t even do anything! I don’t know why we had to go!” Dick said in a rush.

“He also got, and ate, several candy canes,” Annalise added with a little smile.

“Also that,” Dick agreed.

Bruce tried not to laugh. “Well then it wasn’t all bad, was it. Did you save one for your sister?”

“I did, but she got even more than me! Not that she ate all of them, she’s saving them,” Dick said, like it was the most ridiculous thing that he had ever heard.

“Well, if she’s not feeling we—”

“Daddy!”

Bruce swung just in time to catch his daughter, who of course had also taken to flinging herself at him ever since Dick had started training her in gymnastics this year. The catch was a little fumbled as Bruce spun back to the room and whoever it was that was sleeping on the couch.

“Who—”

“Timothy Drake from next door,” his wife explained softly and with a little smile on her face that Bruce knew spelled trouble for him. Her fingers were still carding through the child’s hair. “Did you know that he’s all alone over in that monstrosity of a house? Poor baby walked over here, in the cold, completely drenched because a pipe had burst in the kitchen. It burst because the heat had gone out and his parents wouldn’t answer his calls about needing their approval for a new furnace. In December. He wanted to know if we had a wrench so that he could shut the water main off.”

Purposefully, Bruce relaxed his hold on Helena so that he didn’t squeeze her too hard at hearing all that. “I see.”

“Yes,” Annalise said. “So I brought him inside, made sure he got warm, and then we had some tea and cookies. I don’t intend to send him back to that house.”

“Of course not, it’s freezing.”

“Ever.”

“…I’ll call our lawyers up then.”

#dc fanfic #ficlet really #good dad bruce #prompalomp

176 notes · View notes

wheelsgoroundincircles · 6 months ago

Text

Don "Big Daddy" Garlits

(From the Hotrod.com interview with Don Garlits)

“Nobody wanted to switch from the 392,” Garlits says. “I was doing great with the 392, but Frank Wylie (Dodge) said, ‘We don’t make that engine anymore.’ He wanted me to race with something the customers could buy. There were a few of us running the 426. Me, Roland [Leong], The Greek [Chris Karamasines], and a lot of people had ’em, but it was like a second car. None of them ran good. We called it the ‘elephant;’ it was a brute! You never smashed the ring lands or squished bearings like in the 392, but it didn’t go anywhere. You know, like an elephant, so big and massive, you can’t hurt it, and it just sort of plods along.”

“It all came to head for me at Columbus. I went in for a match race against Jim and Alison Lee. I ran three runs in the 8s [with the 426], the 392 ran in the 7s, easy, and [the 426] ran 191, 192 mph. The 392 was running 206, 210, easy. I won the race and had top time and low e.t. So I go up there to get paid, and Clark Radar, Sr. [the track owner] is sitting there behind this big desk, But not one thing on it except this stack of money and a .45 pistol, and overhead, this big moose that he’d shot. It was a very intimidating situation, the gun, Mr. Radar, and the moose. He says, ‘Garlits, you laid down on me. You didn’t run 200. I’m cutting your money.’ Then he shoved $500 dollars toward me with one hand, and kinda slid the gun toward me with the other, and told me to get out. Well, I did, but he cut me $750 and that was a lot of money back then.”

“I’d figured out what I was going to do,” he says. “I was going to run the 426, blow it up, load it up, and go back to the 392. Walk away from the Dodge sponsorship, the whole mess. So the next day I put 40 degrees spark lead in the thing — we couldn’t run more than 34 in the 392 or they’d split the cylinder walls. Everyone knew that, so we all ran the 426 the same. My crew was sure I was going to blow it up. They had the backup engine in the truck, ready to go. Well, I make the run, and what do you think it runs? 214 mph! A new world record. We get it back to the pits and drop the pan, expecting to see damage, and it looks beautiful, we didn’t even change the oil! So I get the wrench on the magneto to try more, and the crew is begging me not to, saying ‘Big, it’s a nice engine! It just ran a world record! Don’t blow it up!’ but I got to know, so I go for 50 degrees, and it runs 219. That was it, that was the end of the 392 for me.”

#Don “Big Daddy” Garlits #Don Garlits #big daddy #car #cars #muscle car #american muscle #426 hemi #392 hemi #drag racing

252 notes · View notes

directdogman · 10 months ago

Note

Super stoked for the Roger DLC and WILL be playing it on release, but something that’s been bugging me ever since the first few teasers was Peter, his personality feels quite different to me and my Peter obsessed friend, is there a reason for his personality change or was it completely unintentional?

He feels a lot more hot headed now, not completely the same as but similar to Steven, which feels like a complete 180 for Peter, I always remember enjoying him more in DSaF 2 because he was the more relaxed Phoney who when he had geniunely serious moments, it was incredibly impactful and gut wrenching when Peter would yell at me. 😔

Also, will Steven ever be real in dialtown please sir I miss my wif-

The comparison just always bothered me slightly.

Different universes. I should note that while Peter IS chiller in DSaF 2, if the restaurant goes under, the main consequence is that the company will get mortally wounded and he might die. The other employees will (for the most part) be fine. Peter cares. He cares if you hurt employees, he cares if you fuck up but is also willing to look the other way a few times if the fuckup isn't bad enough (without letting it slide, because he still cares what you do at work too.) I'd say his attitude at work namely stems from that, rather than the other way around. Steven does NOT care. He is literally willing to throw you under the bus to save himself and his sole goal is keeping the place open specifically so he can save his own hide, and his hot-headedness comes from that.

In DT, Peter is at the end of his rope and has had to deal with a LOT up until this point, arguably even more than his DSaF counterpart in terms of his day to day job, as shocking as that may sound. There's also WAY more on the line this time. He isn't the one that's going to face the worst of what'll happen if things continue at their current trajectory (unlike Peter or Steven in their original games.) He explains this pretty early into the DLC, which may explain why he's testier than you remember him, namely what's on the line. He's trying his damndest to fix it but is failing. He's stuck between a rock and a hard place with Roger, recognizing his bad leadership is sinking the plant but caring too much about the guy to effectively deal with it until this point.

His guard is up because it has to be, but he does have a few nice moments where it's clear how much he cares and if you listen to Roger's dialogue carefully, you'll see just how much Peter has put up with that would've made any sane person walk away. He's also noticeably nicer to Gingi if you don't waste his time and seem to actually care about Roger, and he acts closer to how he does in the DSaF 2 screenshot you showed off, though perhaps with slightly less energy (since he is, like I said, at the end of his rope.) There's even a scene in the evil route where you can identify this and use it against him in a pretty sinister way.

To mention another thing that even Gingi sees as far back as his original scene in DT: He's a natural manager who's playing second-fiddle to someone who clearly doesn't know what he's doing.

I didn't just wanna do more of the same, so I played with the dynamics a lil. Peter is in a very different role here, one that he's not exactly suited to. He's out of his element. He's inundated with work and in this scene, is thinking about the lives of the employees who are going to be laid-off in a week or so time if things don't change FAST, and while this is happening, his boss is bantering with a weird cryptid on the street and talking about random garbage.

There are times in DSaF 2, like you said, where you do see him get like this. It's not as much that his character is different in my eyes, but that the context is. This is a version of Peter who is one bad day away from having to make a difficult decision. Literally. I'll gladly talk more about it when the DLC's out (namely I could compare + contrast certain decisions he makes!) For now, I don't wanna spoil anything that isn't explicitly stated in the first major scene he has.

192 notes · View notes

scififettuccine · 1 year ago

Text

Victoria Neuman x Fem!Reader: Darts

Pairing: Victoria Neuman x Fem!Reader

Summary: Quick One-Shot Hurt/Comfort! Your girlfriend finds you playing darts in your office, and she can tell that something is up. If there's one thing Victoria doesn't like, it's seeing her girlfriend upset.

Word Count: 1.25k

Warnings: Darts (?), mentions of Homelander, mentions of Homelander being a whore, mentions of family death, glass cuts, corrupt government system, Vicky being a raging lesbian

Notes: I wrote this after playing darts for 3 hours. As you can see the concept has infected my brain. IF YOU DON"T UNDERSTAND HOW CRICKET WORKS WITH DARTS I'M VERY SORRY. (And honestly I don't know if the way my family plays is exactly right so don't come after me Dart Experts.) I know I put up a pole, and this option lost by a long shot, but half of it was already written and I needed to finish it since it was super gut wrenching <3

Your parents had added to the growing number of many unnecessary obituaries that came out of Homelander’s career. It happened around this time, ten years ago. Your parents had owned a bakery in the city, and on a hot day ten summers back, someone attempted to rob their small business. Of course, after the authorities were called, Vought added their golden boy to the scene. They must have expected some sort of heroic story, with a headline like “The Seven’s Homelander saves the lives of two elderly bakers, and keeps the beloved business open.” But instead of that headline, they weren't mentioned in any headline…Only in the obituary section of a few local newspapers due to Vought covering up Homelander’s sloppy use of his heat vision. The last you saw of your parents' bodies was the bottom half of one…and the top half of the other. You were twenty, planning your parent’s funeral all on your own from your dorm room halfway across the country. All Vought sent was a card extending their deepest condolences, signed by the company's CEO, and Homelander himself. Since then? You’ve had a vendetta against Homelander and Vought as a whole. Coincidentally, that's how you met your girlfriend, Victoria Neuman, and started working for The Federal Bureau of Superhuman Affairs.

You had been in your office all day, admittedly drowning yourself in work so you didn't have to think about it all. But once there was nothing else to drown yourself in, you cracked open another redbull and decided to play a game of darts. Since you didn't have a partner, you just decided to time yourself to see how long it would take you to clear the scoreboard: Three twenties, three nineteens, three eighteens, three seventeens, three sixteens, three fifteens, and three bullseyes. And of course…all your attempts were aimed at the sympathy card that had turned ten years old this morning. You played darts often, so you had gotten down to the bullseyes within 10 minutes. Yet the more you missed, the more you got upset…the more your mind drifted. You thought about what might have happened had you not gone off to college.

Double ninteens.

You thought about what might have happened had you just stayed and helped to better the family business.

Double sixteens.

You thought about what would have happened if you would have answered the phone when they called you earlier that day.

Shattered glass.

You gasped as the last dart you threw hit the frame you had hung on the wall, housing a photo of you and your parents holding a photo of you and your parents at your highschool graduation. You shook your head as you walked over to the mess…the dart you had thrown had pierced right through the center of the photo…right through your face. It was lodged deep into the wall, due to the force of your throw. You wanted to cry, scream out of frustration even…But a voice broke you out of your thoughts.

“Everything alright in here, pretty girl…?” You heard the voice of your girlfriend and turned around, stepping over a bit to try and hide the mess of glass shards. When your eyes met hers, there was a concerned look on her face.

“Yeah…Yeah. It’s all good, Vic. I just knocked a picture frame off the wall.” You said, desperately trying to make your voice sound a little more upbeat than it truly was. Vicky raised a brow and looked up at the dart sticking out of the wall, then over to the dart board, and then to the card that was push-pinned to the dart board. Her gaze immediately softened, and her heart dropped.

“Baby…” She started, walking further into your office so she could close the door behind her. You shook your head and turned back around, trying to pick up some of the bigger glass shards with your hands.

“I’m fine. It’s not-” You cut yourself off with a wince as a piece of the glass slit your palm. “Shit-” Vicky shook her head and quickly moved to your side. She took your hand and turned your palm so the glass you had collected would fall back into the pile.

“You’re not fine. And you’re clearly not thinking straight if you're picking up broken glass with your bare hands, you're smarter than that.” Vicky sighed, moving to untuck her dress shirt so she could wipe the blood from your palm. It was moments like these where you truly understood how much Vicky cared about you. She would ruin a perfectly white dress shirt just to wipe blood off of a small cut. “You’ve gotta talk to me, pretty girl…What’s going on? You’ve been in here all day, there's 3 empty cans of RedBull on your desk, and you just threw a dart through a picture frame. Talk. Now.” You sighed and tried to pull your hand away, to which she held it a bit tighter.

“I can’t fucking stand it. How Vought gets off scott free after every fucked up thing they do. I was twenty years old, planning my parents' funeral from my dorm room. And what was he doing? Probably getting sucked off by some higher up for ‘a job well done.’ My parents were the only people I had. I sat in the first pew of that church alone. Completely and utterly alone.” You paused to take a breath, and pointed to the card pinned to the dart board. “That’s all I got. That’s all I have to show for it. I got…what? A fifty cent card with a bogus apology and two signatures on it? My parents were-” You choked on your words. “My parents were fucking sliced in half-” Your voice seemed to have left you as Vicky pulled you against her chest, being careful of the pile of glass shards.

“I know, baby…I know.” She cooed softly, tracing patterns on your back. Admittedly, you just sobbed into her shoulder, clutching onto her blazer as if it would disappear if you didn't. The two of you just sat like that. You couldn't even say how long. It was just the two of you, Vicky whispering comforting words to you as you let the ten years of suppressed emotions finally find some relief. “You are so strong, honey…And so incredibly loved, I want you to know that. You never have to hide these things from me. Whenever you want to talk about it, I'm here. I don’t care if I’m at a meeting with the god damn president…I’ll get to you as fast as I can.” Vicky pulled your face off her shoulder, and wiped your tears ever so gently. “I love you…So fucking much. It hurts me to see you like this.” Vicky herself was almost choked up at the sight of you in such sadness. She kissed your lips softly, before she moved to press her forehead against yours, her hands holding both sides of your face. “What can I do to make you feel even just a little bit better…? Say the word and it's yours.” She whispered. You swallowed and took a breath as you placed your hands over hers.

“Ice cream…and a Band-Aid.” You replied softly. Vicky laughed and squeezed your cheeks ever so slightly.

“That's it? Just ice cream and a Band-Aid? You could have anything and you chose ice cream and a Band-Aid?” She smiled and shook her head, pressing another gentle kiss to your lips.

“Yeah…That’s it.” You replied softly.

“Alright pretty girl…what flavor?”

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

Well...what can I say? Shes my favorite. Hope you liked it as much as I did, most likely starting either Butcher x Supe!Reader or Soldier Boy x Sidekick!Reader real soon depending on the results of the pole...It's been really really close! Adieu!

#the boys fanfic #homelander #vought #the boys fandom #the boys #the boys s4 #the boys season 4 #victoria neuman #victoria neuman x reader #wlw #wlw fanfic #lgbtqia #lgbtq #hurt/comfort #billy butcher #the boys fanfiction #wlw post #sapphic fanfic

350 notes · View notes

edgeray · 1 year ago

Note

*presses my face against your tank* HELLO RAY !!! :D I AM FINALLY HERE !! MY BRAINCELLS HAVE COLLIDED AND PRODUCED A THOUGHT !!

or, er, sort of? more like a vague vibe, but i digress. basically, consider: pining arle. how does she realize her feelings for you? how does she cope? how does her behaviour around you change? does it? what is she thinking the whole time? when would she consider making a move? essentially i would like to see you psychologically pick apart this woman. go as in depth into her brain or inner monologue as you want !!! the set dressing can be canon or an au, i’ll eat it up regardless :)) and as a professional angst writer i know you can write some absolutely monstrous (/pos) yearning and i’m frothing at the mouth thinking about it 🤤🤤🤤 lookin forward to your thoughts but also take your time with it !!! godspeed 🫡🫡🫡

An Unfit Role

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Oh sev… you spoil me too much. You truly do. Somehow this turned into very ‘Arlecchino is a person'-esque and I don't know how but oh well. I don't know if this answered your questions very well, but hopefully this is what you mean by psychologically picking apart her! Was this enough pining? Content warnings / info - uhh none I think. just a lil bit of angst, 1.4k words

Arlecchino is many things. The Fourth Fatui Harbinger, a Snezynayan diplomat, the head of the House of the Hearth, and simply ‘'Father.’ She takes on many roles, and enforces them with an iron fist, every facade meticulously practiced and rationalized. Perfected as if she were an actor on a stage, every action and step is calculated beforehand. And if external factors or unpredictable variables crop up in the midst of her play? Well, a good actor knows how to improvise. Arlecchino is well aware of her roles, has memorized the lines and drilled through every movement. The Knave has many feats from each character she plays. A flawless performer, in those aspects.

A lover is not a character she can play. Someone who loves. It is a role that she cannot hope to touch, one she cannot imagine assigning herself too. She is far too inexperienced in what it pertains to. Her perception would grossly mischaracterize it, painting a rather crude display of what she knows of but doesn't know. After all, how could one act without an adequate example? No actor would want to showcase a poor impression of an original source material, an actor presents only their most remarkable qualities. A good actor knows what they cannot act, and it is this where her talents reach their limit. It is what her role as a ‘Father’ stems from; this inability to express something far too fragile and flimsy for her to hold.

Of the few showcases of others playing the role, Arlecchino is knowledgeable enough that they are simply inept showcases. The Tsaritsa, who has shown the capability to act, and yet chooses to conceal her abilities from her audience. Crucabena, an unqualified actor, whose words dripped with far too much venom for the soft-spoken voice that she used. Perhaps Clervie was the only accurate and genuine actor able to play the part, but one cannot appreciate the traits of an unfinished story. And the naive Peruere, who could hardly imitate her counterpart, was maimed by Arlecchino’s own hands. It is here that she learns that the role of a lover earns no applause, because it adds little to the plot, and so it lacks a function in her story.

Despite this, she finds herself in this scene, where she plays a character unlike her usual, an entirely new character involuntarily thrusted into her by the cruel machinations of her mind.

It is a subtle thing. First, she was just the Knave to you. But somehow, among your presence, her facade slips, and she dons another character.

She becomes a character who knows of nothing but the way her sight is captured by a singular person, a character whose dead heart begins to beat, daring to flutter back to life after it was painfully wrenched out of her chest by her favorite story's ending. She becomes acutely aware of this role when her eyes linger on you a moment longer than need be, when she indulges your empty but no less engaging conversations, when she familarizes herself with the particular fauna scent you carry. When she closes her eyes, your smile flashes through her mind, she knows she's fallen.

An actor knows when to quit, when they misfit the character they're performing. And yet her mind remains stubborn. Acting a role one does not fit will only damage the actor's reputation, and she intends on abandoning it. But it is difficult for her to dismiss how much she yearns for a warmth that the blood flames in her veins cannot bring. It is difficult to deny that she is not momentarily blinded and stunned by your beaming expression, even when you are not looking at her. It is increasingly more difficult to control the pulsing underneath her skin. This is a character she cannot control, instead, it often feels that the character controls her.

It is an unseemly, disgusting appearance for her. If it were physically possible, she would plunge her very own cursed, clawed hands into her chest, to grasp onto this fickle, volatile organ and crush it just to exhaust the remaining embers of a futile hope. If only it were as simple as that. Love is far too much of a complicated role for her, and yet it is somehow inescapable. Some sort of torment placed onto her by the archons.

She can long, she can reach, she can prance around you, but never can she touch. For love imprints its scorch marks deeper than any weapon or assault. One of the lessons her story has concluded to.

So, instead, she reduces its role to a minor character. She lets her stares remain, but she observes you from a distance. She does not dawdle a second longer besides you if she needn't be. She dresses the role of a lover as an observer. Everything she touches with these wretched, blackened hands soon turns into nothing but embers and ashes, and so the only way that you will remain is away from her.

On her desk, sits a vase with a single flower. It is your favorite flower, the flower that you smell of. It does not move from its place, nothing is done to it besides being watered. Its stem is so brittle, and the petals are far too easy to wither away.

(It is a reminder, every time she sits at her desk. Oh, how'd she like to stroke the patels with as much tenderness as she could muster. How'd she like to cradle it in her hands, this source of life, despite being so delicate, is so beautiful. How'd she like to be able to wake up everyday, and view upon this blossoming flower. But she is not a gardener. She knows nothing of how to make a flower bloom.)

Humans are the only viable actors for the role of a lover. A curse is not.

(In her dreams, sometimes you are in place of Clervie. Yet, like Clervie, the only moment she is able to cradle you is when her sword impales you. She will not let another flower wilt, she will not burn another flower.)

It is why you baffle her. Why do you gaze upon her with that expression, as if her claws are not one one more inch from piercing your skin and ripping into your flesh? How do you take her hands in yours, somehow slotting them as if they were always meant to, when they’re soiled with vulgar blood? Her cutting words and sharp tongue, how do they not dissuade you? How do you see her blackened skin, and not be driven away by such a mark of impurity and depravity?

How could you not tell that she is improper for the role that you seek?

She wonders if a flower is a poor description of you. She wonders if you are instead a Sundew ensnaring a spider, unwilling to let it escape. No, perhaps that is not fitting for you, because you are unaware how effortlessly she can char you–unaware of the imminent danger that comes with keeping such a venomous creature.

Arlecchino is many things. She is a coward, if only for you. She cannot abandon her role, but she cannot perform better, floating in the state of inadequacy that she so despises. Playing a lover makes her foolish, and it is a compromising role.

She is foolish, but she is despicable. She is selfish. And though she is perfect actor, even performers must fail to succeed. One day, her mental will and patience crumbles. She requests you into her office, your doe-eyed expression widens when she gives you the flower that sits lone in a glass vase on her desk. She tells you that you plague her thoughts, every feeling and emotion is muddied when they concern you, a culmination of things not within her grasp, not within her control.

It is your performance that finally teaches her what she lacked before: playing the role of a lover requires another. It is a role dependent on another character, otherwise it cannot succeed. It matters not how experienced one is with the other, as long as the characters are committed to it.

There is another lesson that she learned from you.

“I cannot act as a lover.”

“Why must you act to love me?”

Love is a fickle, unpredictable thing. There is no words to be practiced, no actions to be scripted.

Arlecchino is many things. A lover may be one of them.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fanfics #genshin fics #arlecchino #edgeray.writes #edgeray.requests

207 notes · View notes

its-echo-song · 5 months ago

Text

Plague AU Ch 6.

This is a POV switch :)

At first glance there is a yearning, one that carries me toward him without thought. Three lengthy strides, a hand in the beginnings of reaching out toward him as if all other troubles have been swept aside by his sudden appearance. But before I reach my destination, grab him by the hands and let my reservations crumble to dust, my eyes fall on the sketchbook held within them.

I stop short- my stomach churning in a sudden anxiety, anger, irrationality. He’s in my home, why is he here? Why did he show up while I was gone? Why did he take it upon himself to search through my things? Logic cuts through all delusions, excitement, any part of me that would’ve been happy to see him.

“What- what are you doing?” My eyes will not leave the book in his hands, as if I’m being pulled into the way his calloused fingers wrap around the edges of the page. Rough with something far too delicate, like the book may tear apart just by being held by him. “Why do you- that’s my-“ I swallow, stepping forward and reaching for the sketchbook.

He pulls away. My eyes snap up to meet his and he looks almost as shocked as I feel.

“Donald- give that back!” I reach again and he dodges again. I become aware of the fact that I’m shaking now, anger feeling as if it’s gnawing at my bones. “Don-“

He furrows his brow suddenly, demeanor shifting from a dazed shock to frustration. “Why?”

“Because it’s mi-“

“No! You know what I’m asking! Why!?”

“You’re being childish! Just-“ I reach once again and he lifts the sketchbook into the air, far out of my reach.

As if it’s not enough of a absurd gesture to be in my home in the first place, as if it wasn’t enough to look through the one thing I know for a fact he knew I didn’t want him to see- now he’s leveraging his physical attributes against me, keeping one of my most beloved possessions out of my grasp.

I start to grab at his arm, trying to bring it within reach. The damn man is so muscular he barely moves at all, a wall of strength and defiance staring down at me with a growing agitation.

“You said you were afraid I’d abandon the project-” “I’m not talking about this-” “You are and I’m not giving this back-” He shifts, his weight uneven enough for just the right amount of time for me to cause him to stumble slightly. He lets out a sharp swear as his reach dips for a moment and I reach with my other hand. He grabs my wrist with his one free hand, shuffling slightly so I have to adjust my footing or fall, letting out a small sound of effort. I shuffle back slightly, wrenching against his grasp on my wrist- to no avail, not that either one of us would be surprised at that result. “Let me go!” I pull back with my full body weight, feeling his grip tighten on my wrist slightly. “Stop trying to fight me! I just want answers!” At this point, I must admit, rationality has abandoned me. The sheer frustration at the situation has created a strong resistance to reason, I don’t want to concede and admit defeat. I don’t want to give him the damned satisfaction. I glare up at him, satisfied at my flustering him being evidenced in the flush on his face and how his eyes widen slightly. “What a shame, I won’t give them.” He sets his jaw, taking pause to give me a withering look of frustration. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?” I reach for the notebook with my free hand again, trying to push myself into him and knock him off balance enough to gain some sort of advantage- he stumbles back a step before sighing and grabbing that wrist in his free hand as well. He spins slightly, stepping forward with my hands held above my head. I try to keep the space between us, attempting to hold my pride despite the obvious loss I’m suffering.

I step back several paces in time with his advance before I feel my back land flush against the wall. He pins my wrists up against it, leaning into my space. I stare up at him, suddenly feeling entirely out of my depth. My eyes linger on the sketchbook for a moment before meeting his again and I have to swallow back my nerves. “Are you ready to give up?” He asks, something in his tone far less hostile and perhaps more tired. “No. I didn’t do anything wrong.” “That’s what you think?” He scoffs, shaking his head and looking to the ceiling for a moment before returning his gaze to me. “Your hypocrisy is insufferable.” “Then why come back!? Let it be!” He leans closer, mere inches away from my face. “Because-” There’s a moment of hesitation, he struggles with a few words before forcing out a low “you’re driving me insane.” It's at this instant that my body seems to catch up to the situation, suddenly I’m aware of his grip on my wrists, the warmth of his rough hands, the fact that he’s not holding me tightly enough to actually cause any discomfort. My heartbeat starts to race, a thrumming in my ears as I stare at him, as the words catch up to me. “Don’t be ridiculous I-“

“`Ridiculous? I don’t even know your name. Who are you?”

“That’s- you don’t need to-“ my heartbeat is resting in my throat now, he’s close enough that I can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

His eyes flicker down to my lips as I talk, I hate that I notice it, I hate that I flush at it.

“Tell me your name.” He demands once again.

Tension lingers suspended in the few seconds it takes me to answer, something within me suddenly wanting to rise up to the challenge- a sudden rush of giddy glee in the frustration I cause him.

“Make me.”

He stares at me blankly, seeming to process what I’ve said. I expect more anger, to get a rise out of him, instead he lowers the hand with the sketchbook down to his side. Then he drops the book with an unmistakable sound, one that sends a slight shock through me. His eyes lock onto mine, he takes a breath in before whispering so softly I have to wonder if I’d imagined the word leaving his lips. “Tell me.” My heart skitters in my chest, for a brief second of time I wonder if I might be drunk for the way my head spins. He raises his free hand up to my chin and gently grabs my face, making it impossible for me to look away. I can’t avoid noticing the smaller details, the way his chest is heaving with too-fast breaths in sync with mine, the high flush upon his cheeks, his dilated pupils as his staring bores holes into my soul.

“Harvey.” It’s like a confession, something I feel deep shame for, something I wish I could leave behind. The security of being unknown crumbles around me as he smirks down at me. “See? Not so hard-” “We're done. Get out.” I come across far more defeated than I intend, weaker than I’d want to.

“Unfortunately for both of us, I need answers”

“You’ve got your damn answer, let me go!” I strain against him and he grits his teeth, squinting at me. “No- I got one answer and you’re still avoiding the issue-” “There’s no issue! Nothing but your delusions-” “My delusions?! Mine?” An accusation, one that makes perfect sense to me. I’ve been far less than a doctor should be, acting without thinking, letting my desire overtake my sense. “Yes!” “You started this!” “So-so let me end it!” “No!” “Why? Just- let it be!” He shakes his head, letting out a laugh that very nearly chills me to the bone, wry and exasperated. “I tried that. You’re the one who won’t leave me alone.” “What? I’ve-” “Every day- every day my mind wanders back to you. I can’t stop wondering what I did wrong- I can't stop thinking about… How am I supposed to just- how am I supposed to just walk away?”

“It’s- it’s just research…” A pathetic lie, one I’ve told myself plenty of times. Then, with hardly a warning, our lips collide. Heat floods through my body in an undeniable spark of need, the flush on my face deepening as he pulls his hand off my wrists and slides his arm around my waist. He pulls me close, flush against his body, and instinctively my arms wrap around his neck. I find myself pulling him into me, a carnal desire to be held, needed, wanted, consumes me to the core- I forget myself, all else seeming to melt away. The only thing that matters is the firm pressure of his hand against the small of my back, is the heat of his body against mine, the strength of his hand wrapped around the back of my neck. Then he withdraws, sudden and just as shockingly as when he’d started the kiss- I find myself wishing he hadn’t torn himself out of my grasp, left my hands feeling strangely empty, my chest feeling cold. “Is it still just research?” He asks, almost with a sense of triumph in his tone, still breathing with a quick rise and fall of his chest, still flushed and looking as if he’s a starving animal and I’m his next meal. Still being far, far, too easily swayed. Still proving that I could never make a new life for myself if I were to remain in his presence. Still hauntingly beautiful, painfully wonderful. Still far too much of a liability for me to be comfortable around. “... Yes.” Any joy he might’ve felt falls from his face, replaced by disgust and colored with hurt. He says nothing, just steps backward away from me as if I’d transformed into some hideous beast, something utterly repugnant, sickening. Perhaps I am, I feel as if I may be someone worthy of such a response.

Then he turns, walking out of the house without even glancing back at me. I’d expected the door to slam shut, some sort of last word, but instead he closes the door gently and I am left standing in the cold room alone. I can’t bring myself to move just yet, instead I look down at my sketchbook where it lay on the floor. I hate it, everything within it, the proof of words thrown at me with such malice that they take permanent residence in my mind.

There’s no intelligence in a man who cannot separate his love for his science from his subject.

It seems I’ll never be an intelligent man, simply a hurtful one. I crouch down and pick up the sketchbook, thumbing through the pages- so many are filled with drawings of him. So many failed attempts at catching the spirit of the man who sat before me, so many times I’ve cursed my hands…

I sigh, trying to swallow back the tears in my eyes as I look over the sketches.

I cannot live like this.

I light a fire, kindling it to a blaze, and cast the sketchbook into the fireplace.

I watch as the flames lick at the pages, charring and devouring them, curling the edges in on themselves until they’ve been turned into ash. I tell myself, so it burns away the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, the way I’d memorized him, every laugh line and callous.

I wish I felt warmth in this, but I simply watch it all burn and feel further from myself with each passing moment. In the end, though, it’s what’s best.

Nobody needs me to practice medicine on them, or attempt to- I couldn’t even find myself in a physician's course of study. No, a simple artist and nothing more- taking on a plague doctor's task out of reckless disregard for my own life… he’s better off not knowing me at all.

#donny tunajsgross #donnytunajsgross #stardew valley darvey #darvey plague au #fanfic

46 notes · View notes

druidwolf21 · 8 months ago

Text

Thought I'd try something a bit different

Consumption

Sanguinius/F reader

Content warning

Blood

Sexual content

@moodymisty @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @lemon-russ @beckyninja

@jaghatai-khock

So boom I did another one cos I needed it out of my head. This was on a 20 minute train ride home so it's very rushed

Please let me know if I'm annoying you tagging.you lol?

Sanguinius turned to look at you as you walked towards him, the ruby dress he had helped you don shimmered as you moved, accentuating every curve. He shook his head gently, before reaching out for you, pulling you into his chest and nuzzling into the top of your head, breathing deeply to take in your scent.

"you seem a little out of sorts, my angel?"

"not at all, my sweet thing" he mumbled as he closed his eyes and focused on the soft feel of your body against his, your warmth and fragrance filling his head and wrapping his mind in a blanket.

You pulled back slightly and looked up at him, one of your hands reaching up to cup his face as you brushed golden locks from his cheek. Looking deeply into his eyes and frowning slightly. Before you could speak again, He caught one of your hands with his own and kissed your wrist, reveling in the feel of your pulse point against his warm lips. He kissed down your arm slowly, dark eyes staring into yours as you watched breathlessly.

He finally moved to your lips, capturing them with his own in a forceful display of affection. dominating you completely, he suddenly spun you , pulling your back to his torso and using his free hand to pull your head to the side, exposing the pale slender curve of your neck.

"sanguinius" you breathed, swallowing dryly as you felt his tongue trace your jugular.

"sssshhh" he muttered, nipping at your neck, gently drawing blood as a hand moved down your body, feeling every inch as he explored your form. His wings quivered and curled, capturing you against him with no escape.

"I will take you how I want" he muttered, roughly wrenching down the corseted front of your dress to fondle a breast, the nipple pert and tender as he flicked and pinched. "Whenever I want"

His other hand remained in your hair, a thumb gently tracing circles across your scalp as his lips danced across your neck. Your whimpers driving him forward, he released your tender flesh, only to tear the rest of the gown away.

"sanguinius I"

He silenced you with a rough tug on your hair, tracing his long fingers down your stomach, feeling your chest and stomach heaving at his ministrations.

He continued to suckle on your neck, nipping and nibbling, lapping away at the trickle of blood that flowed from the wound.

Ignoring your mewls, he slowly slid his finger down to your core, raising his lips, still stained red from your blood he whispered "already so wet for me, so ready to please your lord"

"sanguinius please"

He gently circled a finger around your clit, ignoring your soft hands as they grasped his arm. Your gasps and moans driving him into a frenzy as he slid a finger inside you, feeling your wet warmth around his fingers, feeling you buck against him as he slid in and out of you, finding that sweet spot you often begged him for. He let out a low grumble, grinding his dick into the curve of your arse, his lips locked to your neck as you shuddered against him.

"come for me, come for my little thing" he growled.

"s a n..."

Your body shook against him and became still.

Sanguinius blinked

And shook

And fell to his knees

The fog on him brain had lifted, his thoughts no longer shrouded in a dark mist as he looked around him.

You lay limp in his arms, arms hanging weakly and eyes glossed over. Your neck was a vicious painting of bruises and blood as your head rolled away from him. The dress he thought he had stripped from you still clung to your pale frame, intact but the vermilion silk soaked and stained with blood and saliva.

Sanguinius stared down at your body, clutching to it like a drowning man. He throat dangerously constricted as he brought your body up, pressing his ear to your chest, hoping, praying to hear something.

Anything.

A scream ripped from his throat as he clutched you to him, wings flaring open he raced to the door, slamming it open with a crash.

He tore through the corridors flashing past serfs and Astartes responding to his howls without a sideways glance, racing to the medical bay.

Please

Please.

#primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #warhammer #sanguinius x reader #warhammer x reader #sanguinius

114 notes · View notes

animereaderinsertwriter · 21 days ago

Text

we give what we can give (and take what little we deserve)

ch 5

pairing: alpha!kakashi x omega!reader

tags: omegaverse, arranged marriage, angst and fluff and smut, plot twist!

description:

Kakashi agrees to marry an omega princess-- the adopted daughter of the daimyo. However, what he agrees to and what he gets aren't exactly the same thing...

Excerpt: “You’re hurting me,” she cried, those glistening tears making glittery tracks down her cheeks. Her pain wrenched at his heart even as he held her fast. “Let go, let go!”

“If I let go, are you going to hit me?”

“No,” she sniffled piteously, and like a fool, Kakahshi let her go.

She poked him in the eye and made a break for the door.

masterlist

ao3

Kakashi woke suddenly.

Battlefield sharp, he strained his ears to listen to the darkness for what had woken him, but heard nothing. With slow, sure hands, he felt his way to his mask, donned it, and slipped out from beneath his covers. Kakashi moved, shadow-like, towards the door to his bedroom, then down the hallway towards the stairs. He approached his wife’s bedroom door, and found it ajar. Pooled on the floor like a puddle of dark indigo water was her silk robe— odd, surely, because no matter her mood, there was one thing Kakashi knew about (Y/N) for certain from living with her for weeks. She liked things nice and orderly.

After a quick scan of her room, Kakashi descended the stairs. As he concentrated on the sounds of the house, he could make out the tell-tale thwack of hard fists and forearms against a wooden training dummy. A week ago, he had assembled it at (Y/N)’s behest and set it up in the room that she had claimed for her study; now, he crept silently towards the room, feeling watched, hunted.

He slipped quietly up to the door. It was slightly ajar, allowing a sliver of golden light to filter through in a long, angular shape on the hallway’s shadowed floor. Even from a few feet back, he could smell the tea-earth-rain scent of his wife, thick and heady in the air from her sweat. Curious, he peeked through the crack in the door, and was not disappointed by what he saw.

(Y/N) was in her own world. She wore a pair of shorts and a mesh armor shirt, no doubt borrowed from Iruka, and her lips were peeled back in a ferocious snarl as she moved through the forms of strikes on the dummy. Had she shinobi strength, it was likely that she would be cracking the hard wood with the force of her blows— but, as it was, she was likely bruising her own flesh more than doing any harm to the dummy. Still, her form was good. After she had trained with Gai a few weeks ago, she had taken up more and more time training, and her form showed it. Kakashi allowed himself a moment more of watching her before he decided to interrupt.

“Yo.”

Her head whipped around, her eyes sharp and chest heaving. Sweat slicked strands of hair to her forehead, and Kakashi was sure he was imagining it, but her incisors seemed to gleam in the low light.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, stepping forward— but the innocent gesture was met with a snarl. (Y/N)’s lip curled upwards in a fierce baring of teeth, and her scent flared sharply.

Interesting.

Kakashi took another cautious step forward. It was one step too many.

Fierce, (Y/N) threw the full force of her body behind a wild punch aimed at his face. Kakashi caught it easily, and managed to dodge a wicked kick to the abdomen in the process. Truly enraged then, she threw a desperate punch with her other hand, but Kakashi caught that too and held her fast. Inarticulate, she snarled again and again, teeth bared and body writhing. At this range, her scent was almost a taste, and, like bowstring bent by a master archer, her body was taught within his grip, poised to unleash death if only she was released.

“Let… go,” she managed, her tongue barely escaping the sharpness of her incisors.

“Why?” Kakashi kept his tone light, but his meaning was deadly serious.“So you can attack me again?”

As he spoke, he leaned forward, and she lunged, snapping with her teeth. She only just missed his nose. For all her trouble, though, she only found herself held in an altered taijutsu hold with his strong arm around her neck, pressing against her windpipe, and his legs tangled in hers.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he groused, pulling her closer when she struggled even harder— but then her ass brushed against his half-hard dick, and she froze. She repeated the movement, trembling, and it dawned on Kakashi that there was a perfectly viable explanation for what was happening.

“Oh… oh.” She moved again, and he groaned, cursing his stupidity. “That… makes sense.”

His wife was in heat.

He moved his hands from her wrists, relocating. One snaked its way between her legs, the other resting at her hip. The hand between her legs began stroking her sex from hole to hood, brushing her clit through her clothes, and she began to shake even harder.

“Do you think you can come on my fingers?” he asked, knowing his breath on her neck would make her shiver. He moved his hand beneath her waistband, feeling the feverish heat of her skin beneath his palm. “I need you coherent, but that’s not going to happen unless you get some relief.”

She whined— it was likely that fingers had little to nothing to do with what she wanted— but then one long digit entered her to the knuckle, and she seemed to find merit in it. She chased her high like a horny teenager humping her lonely pillow, like a sex goddess in the frenzy of her own delight, and Kakashi scraped cloth-covered teeth over her neck as he worked his wrist to finger-fuck her. Losing himself a bit, Kakashi began to rock his hips into the delicious pressure of her ass against him, chasing that almost-fucking feeling until, jarringly, he found himself shoved away and (Y/N) crawling in a rather undignified manner as far away from him as fast as she could manage it.

That wouldn't do.

Kakashi flickered in front of her, blocking her way out. The sharingan, he noticed, was open now, and his pretty wife stared at it with a mix of animal fear, trepidation, and desire. Suddenly aware of his body’s intense reaction, he forced himself to breathe deeply and suppress his scent. He needed to reassure his omega that she was safe, that he would not hurt her. But— how?

An idea came to him. On instinct, he knelt before her. Oh, that heat-scent of hers was already altering his thoughts and desires, making him want to press his face into the apex of her thighs. He was in so much trouble.

“Come, princess.” His voice sounded rough even to him. “Let me make you feel good.”

His wife eyed him warily— as well she might; he wanted her more with every second that passed— but eventually, she lowered herself to her knees as well, seemingly willing to engage in mirroring him.

“That's the way.” He reached out a hand, spreading his fingers wide so that she could see that he was unarmed. For a while, she did not move, taking her time to stare into his eyes, but eventually, she brought a hand up to touch his.

“Good. Easy, now— can you move a bit? Onto your back, maybe?”

She studied him for a only a moment before indulging him, and Kakashi couldn't fight off a grin

“Brave girl.

Moving slowly so as not to startle her, Kakashi began to peel off the spandex shorts she wore, careful that her underwear remained where it was. With barely contained eagerness, he leaned over her, aligning their sexes, and with his masked nose brushing his wife’s bare one, he pushed against her to create that electric, toe-curling friction that would weaken even the bravest shinobi.

“Open your mouth,” he said, aware that he was being increasingly less reasonable and level headed about this than maybe he ought. “I want you to suck on my fingers.”

Moaning, his wife wasted no time in sucking his longest finger down to the knuckle. Caught between rocking his hips into her and trying not to come from the feel of her mouth around his fingers, Kakashi counted it a blessing that she came hard and fast just from that humping, delicious friction, shuddering and shaking and breathless. He held her tight through her tremors, and when her body had stilled, she looked up at him with frightened eyes that broke his heart.

“Kakashi?”

“Yes, princess?”

She blinked hard, as if to dispel some dream. Then frowned more deeply, her chin trembling as though she might cry.

“Did I just…”

She trailed off, then scrambled to sit up, almost slamming her head into his chin on the way up. Kakashi held her shoulders, soft but firm.

“You just attacked me, yes.” Kakashi spoke in slow, easy tones. Best to keep the poor thing on an even keel lest she decided trying to kill him again seemed like a good idea. “And then you just came harder than I've ever seen anyone come before from a little dry humping— though, to be fair, I'm fairly certain— that is, well— you are in heat, aren't you?”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened, horrified, then she hid her face in her hands.

“Hey.”

Kakashi put his hands gently around her wrists, peeling her palms from her face.

“It's alright. Hormones make everyone a bit strange. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

She boggled at him.

“Kakashi-san!” she scolded him, incredulous. “I attacked you! I took a swing�� no, several swings!— at you! And in your own home! I had no right—”

“You haven't hurt me, and this is our home,” he insisted, caressing her face. His thumb brushed over the ridge of bone where her cheek met her eyes. She really was so unfairly beautiful. “No offense, but I doubt you could hurt me. No harm has been done, my wife— and I owe you some care for how well you’ve taken care of me during my recovery.”

She shivered again.

“I should go away. I mean— I shall go away. For my heat, I mean. To— uh, a clinic.”

Kakashi’s chest tightened.

“You’re certain?”

“Uhm— yes.”

Kakashi rocked back, settling his weight on his heels, flabbergasted. Was he truly not preferable to a stranger to her?

“It's settled then— and so easily.” He tried to keep his feelings out of his voice. Sotto voce, he added, “Incredibly easily, it seems.”

She shook her head. The heat was returning, fogging her faculties.

“I… I'm not sure I understand. Are there… are there not… facilities that I might use here?”

Kakashi's teeth ground.

“There is a clinic, and it offers any and all the things you might need. I'll be happy to escort you there.”

Something was wrong. Her scent was sharp with distress, and she began to look a bit sick.

“I have offended you.” It was not a question. “Forgive me, husband, I meant no offense. I don't feel well.”

Kakashi softened immediately, clamping a firm hold over his chakra control for his scent. What the hell was he thinking, letting her know his disappointment? Not that he had meant to— but he shouldn't be feeling it at all. How she wanted to deal with her heat was her business, and rightfully so. They were little better than strangers. She owed him nothing.

“No, I should be the one asking for forgiveness.” He pressed his forehead against her, closing the sharingan. “I’m being selfish. You should spend your heat wherever and however and with whomever you feel the most comfortable. I just…”

Kakashi closed his other eye, exhaling. Bonehead alpha foolishness, all of it.

“What is it, Kakashi?”

He reopened his good eye. Looking at her there, sick and sad and shaking, what could he give her but honesty?

“You’re my wife. It's my responsibility to help you; I'm oathbound to it, not to mention—”

Kakashi didn't need to finish.

“You owe me nothing,” she told him, reaching up to touch his hair. As she twirled a long silver strand around her finger, Kakashi's skin tingled. “I am oathbound to care for you in sickness and in health, and, well— I doubt it would all be, ah, gentle enough with me to safely be with you since you haven’t fully recovered yet. I, uhm…”

The sharingan fluttered open of its own accord, traitorously reflecting the interest that Kakashi was trying so desperately to hide.

“It's sort of always been my secret, but my heat makes me… aggressive. I wouldn't subject you to what I'm like during even a regular heat— but I've been on suppressants for a while now, and there's no way of knowing how bad it will get this go around knowing that I've come off of them. There's probably more of what you got earlier to come, and with you being chakra depleted, I don’t want to cause you any undue… stress.”

Kakashi clung to his chakra control for dear life. His nails bit into his palm with the force of his resolve. He would not lose his composure, no matter how the alpha in him howled for it.

“A secret for a secret, then.”

He lowered his face until his mouth was next to her ear, his voice slow and rough and full of promise.

“I like my women with a little teeth on them.”

She whined again, high-pitched and breathy. Kakashi wanted to lick her all over.

“Please.”

The word was barely spoken, but Kakashi heard it nonetheless.

“Please what, princess?”

“Please. I just—”

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and clung hard to them as if seizing driftwood in a riptide, and Kakashi held her close in turn.

“I know,” he breathed into the skin of her neck, his cock so hard it ached, “I know it's hard, but I need an answer before you slip back into heat-fever. Can I take care of you?”

“I—I don't want to— to hurt you.”

Oh, how the wrongness in Kakashi sang at that dark promise of sharp-edged fulfillment! His hips bucked against his will, and (Y/N) gasped in desperate, surprised pleasure.

“You won't hurt me. I doubt you could.”

“Kakashi—”

“I won't beg you.” Kakashi pressed his mouth against her ear. “I won't— but I want you. Will you have me?”

Her chest was heaving. Wetness slid down her cheek, dripping from her jaw to her neck. Her distress was understandable, but Kakashi hated to see her cry. Through his mask, Kakashi kissed her temple with all the tender affection in his heart, and something within her seemed to shatter.

“Yes. God, please— yes.”

The relief Kakashi felt was instant— but ever greedy, he pressed for more.

“I want to kiss you.”

(Y/N) blinked.

“Wh-aa-t?”

“I want to kiss you— but without this.” He tapped his mask. “Would it be okay if I blindfolded you?”

Her brows knit.

“Blindfolded…?”

Kakashi dangled his hitai-ate in front of her.

“It would just be until I'm done using my mouth. We don't have to, but—”

He cupped her cheek with the palm of a calloused hand.

“I want to kiss you without my mask on.”

“A secret for a secret…” (Y/N)’s voice was soft as her hands found their way into Kakashi’s hair once more. “I've read the first Icha Icha book from your bookshelf— you know, the one with the clones?”

A thousand fantasies flashed before Kakashi's eyes at once, and eagerly, he said,

“Yeah, I know the one. It's my favorite.”

“So… why not make a clone and have him cover my eyes for you? A blindfold might slip, or…” she colored slightly. “In my heat, there might be a temptation for me to remove it that I can't fight. Your own care and attention would ensure your protection.”

Could she be any more perfect? Thinking of his comfort at a time like this, but then— did that mean? Surely she wasn't asking—?

“Don't tempt me,” he said hoarsely. “We haven't had the proper space and time to talk about this kind of thing.”

It was too late, though. The heat-flush was already creeping back into her skin, and (Y/N) was a woman accustomed to getting what she wanted when she wanted it. Kakashi never stood a chance.

“There is nothing to talk about. Give me your clone, alpha-san.”

Kakashi flashed a hand sign and breathed a sharp, breathless,

“Kai.”

Nothing changed. Not a genjutsu after all, then. (Y/N) cocked her head to the side, confused, and Kakashi smiled. A few hand signs and sharp murmur later, and there was a second Kakashi kneeling beside him.

(Y/N) looked at him— both of him, back and forth— suddenly elated, greedily, salivating.

If this is a dream, Kakashi thought, squeezing his cock through his pants, I hope I never wake.

Tired, spent, aching, Kakashi watched as (Y/N) kissed one of his clones, sucking on the poor thing’s tongue while its counterpart fucked her from behind, its too-big hands over her eyes. From his seat against the wall, he had the perfect angle to view her naked body as she took his clone’s cock over and over again until, inevitably, she broke away from the clone in front of her to cry out for more and deeper and harder. Kakashi— and his clones— had learned from experience that nothing could soothe that ache except a knot, and not even then would she be satisfied. Mad with want, she would grind back on his knot, fucking herself with it though it had to hurt, and then, with sobs of dissatisfaction, she would cry for another until one of the Kakashis would give in and let her suck him off just shy of knotting in her mouth. It was a process that had repeated itself in endless iterations for a few hours now, and Kakashi was beginning to get worried.

I'm ruined, he thought, watching his clone knot his wife, overspilling come dribbling onto the dark wood of the floor. I can never go away on missions again for fear of missing this.

Kakashi was glad (Y/N) had agreed not to go to the clinic. He could never share this with anyone— never, never, not ever. The sight of her like this, wrecked and ruinous, was for him and him alone. His wife should never be so wanton anywhere but the home of his clan; her pretty knees should never kneel anywhere but the soft rug passed down through generations of his family, surrounded by luxury bought with bloodshed, raided from the homes of the weak and unworthy. She was a princess, a ruler by nature if not by blood— and Kakashi would ever keep his conqueress in comfort with the spoils of wars won and enemies slain.

“Yes,” she hissed, pulling the hair of the clone she was kissing, keeping its head close to hers. “Mm, fuck— kiss me, kiss m—”

It cut her off with a bruising kiss. Fierce, incisors distended, she bit the clone’s lower lip hard enough to make it groan, and Kakashi shuddered.

Such aggression— another reason to be glad she had decided against the clinic. Kakashi doubted anyone in Konoha, however qualified, could have kept pace with his sweet she-wolf. Kakashi himself was covered head to toe with scratches and bites and bruises, sore all over from the unusual use of his stamina, and it was taking considerable effort to keep his clones from dissipating in poofs of orgasm-induced smoke. By his reckoning, such passion might well kill an ordinary shinobi— and, what was worse, she was so heartbreakingly tender in her moments of brief lucidity that Kakashi wanted to fuck that softened version of her even more than he had her lustful counterpart.

“Another secret,” she had demanded of him, all night and well into the day, chest heaving, eyes full of tears— and he had indulged her, trading those smallest and benign of his unspeakable truths for ones of her own. In the throes of passion, Kakashi had told her things he'd never spoken aloud. Foolish things, things that never mattered, things that had always mattered. Each of them, he unfolded to her in strictest confidence, and in turn, he received the small, writhing confidences of hers: his “I joined ANBU at thirteen’s, ‘my father killed himself because of the village he would gladly have died for’s, and ‘I was a horrible child’s were met with ‘Mariko-san, my piano teacher, was my only real friend until I came to this village’s, and ‘I’ve always wondered if my father really loved me’s and ‘I have never felt like I belonged anywhere’s. The pain of their pasts— the howling darkness of their lonely childhoods— matched each with the other pace-for-pace, his war and her isolation conjoined. Kakashi had never felt so seen, so felt, so deeply understood.

“Kakashi!” his wife cried, half-screaming as she rocked back into his clone. Since he and the clone in front of her were both masked, the clone behind her had uncovered her eyes— and, though she surely did not know which one of him was the real one, her eyes found his across the room as she pleaded. “Kakashi, please, please—”

The Kakashi behind her removed its mask and kissed her lewdly, drawing her back to sink more deeply onto its knot. Kakashi watched distantly as the clone’s tongue plunged into her mouth, and, watching, he felt the phantom of her lips suckle there, as though he could still taste the warmth of her spit. The Kakashi in front of her, unable to help himself, teethed at her bare breasts through his mask, and— Kakashi noticed with shiver— pressed his tongue against the navy cloth where it brushed her nipples. That clone knew damn well that it was only stoking her fire, and that it was nearing its own corporeal limits, but neither it nor the real Kakashi cared. Kakashi watched on hungrily, popping another soldier pill in hopes of recovering faster. Sharing (Y/N) with anyone, even other versions of himself, was only palatable for so long.

Gingerly, Kakashi raised himself to his feet. With slow steps, he slipped over to his clone, touching its bare shoulder with his hand. It looked up at him, curious at being disturbed from its task; Kakashi knelt beside it, touched its neck, its chest, its belly. Reminiscent of his lonely teenage years, Kakashi caressed the copy of himself, following a trail of silver hair to his cock. With a little spit and a firm hand, he stroked his clone; it sighed and shuddered beneath his hand, and, in the shadow of its jaw, Kakashi placed mask-covered kisses that he knew would make himself shudder later.

“You've done well.” As Kakashi spoke, the clone touched him in turn, coaxing his erection from half-mast to full hardness. It was a miracle he could even manage it. “Has she hurt you badly?”

Behind the tiredness, his clone’s eyes were hungry.

“Not nearly enough for my liking.”

Kakashi knew what his copy meant. That feeling was an echo of his own heart. (Y/N) had marked him and used him and exhausted him— but she had not bonded him. He ached for those teeth of hers to sink into the junction of his neck and shoulder; terribly, he longed to have her Mark on him, to be bound to her forever at the very soul. It was a foolish thing indeed for him to want, only having known her for a relatively short while, but then, why shouldn't he want it? On paper, they already belonged together. What difference would it make to give truth to the legality of their marriage?

“I could do it,” said the clone who was knotted, stuck within her. His words were garbled by the swelling of his canines. “She wants it. She would give you her Mark if you initiated the bond.”

This Kakashi also knew— but it was not uncommon for an omega in heat to want things that they may not want otherwise. So she had begged to be bonded an hour ago. Who said she would feel the same way in another hour? She was currently halfway to sleep, poor thing, collapsed against the chest of the clone behind her. She was in no state to be making any kind of life-altering decisions.

Then again…Kakashi wasn’t not under the influence of friendly sex chemicals, and the desire to allow a bonding between them was so strong that he longed to give the thought wings and let it fly. Perhaps she was just responding to a desire that had already been there. Perhaps, in being his constant companion for hours on end, she had found something worthy in him as he had found in her. He’d known of bonds that had come from less. After all, Kushina-san had bonded Minato-sensei unknowingly years before they were married, from a scratch on his arm— an unlikely coincidence, but a happy one. It had not lessened her claim on him, nor her love. It mattered not whether they were in love because they were mates, or mates because they were in love. That love was strong, enduring.

Even at the end, Kushina had loved Minato, and Minato had loved her back.

“It would be foolish,” he sighed. “We can't.”

“We can,” his clone observed, poking his nose rather cutely into (Y/N)’s hair. “You won't.”

Well, there it was. The other clone, eager to put its two cents in, leaned its forehead against Kakashi's.

“You've never done a foolish thing in your life. Aren't you even tempted to try it, just the once?”

Kakashi shook his head.

“You've done well,” he repeated. “Take a break and eat some soldier pills. We’ll take care of her while you rest, and once you're able, she'll need food and water.”

The clone sighed but acquiesced. Its comrade, who was making itself comfortable cradling (Y/N), shifted to allow Kakashi close enough to inspect her and the place where they were joined for any abnormalities. With gentle hands, Kakashi cleaned both of them as best he could,

“Ka—kashi?”

(Y/N)’s eyes cracked open. Though she squinted blearily against the exhaustion Kakashi knew she must be feeling, he could still see the intense dilation of her pupil. With great care, he cradled her face, gently shielding her eyes from the light streaming in through the windows, and answered her quiet plea with the softest part of his heart.

“Yes, my wife?”

He would give her anything now, if she asked for it. Conqueress indeed.

“Can I have… another secret?”

“Of course.”

She closed her eyes then, sinking back into the clone that held her. Kakashi traced the line of her throat with the pad of a finger.

“I've never been in love before,” he confessed quietly, letting his finger rest on her pulse. It was slower now than it had been, but still hard and fast as her heart ached and churned with her heat. “I'm afraid I won't know it when I've felt it.”

For a moment, he didn't think she heard— but then her reply came, and Kakashi wished he had denied her any more secrets.

“Why?”

He pulled his hand away, but the damage was done. Powerless, enthralled by her, he told her the truth.

“I think I might have loved a girl once.” He paused, noticing (Y/N)’s shiver. He touched her come-swollen belly and found it too cold for his liking. Thighs aching, he leaned over to pick up his torn flak jacket and used it to cover her before continuing. “I wasn't in love, I don't think, but… I did love her. I didn't know. I didn't know how to know, and then—”

The words caught in his throat. (Y/N) cracked open an eye, and as though by magnetic attraction, the admission was dislodged.

“And then I killed her. She— I put a chidori right through her chest. I didn't mean to, but I did.”

“Your partner— Rin?”

Kakashi wasn't sure how (Y/N) had come by that name. He also wasn't sure if he wished she had never spoken it, or if he wanted to hear her say it again.

“Yes. I think she loved me, too, but Obito—” how caustic that name was even now, how much it chafed at him that his teammate’s eye, so full of power, was threatening to cry!— “loved her more and better than I ever could. He loved us both more, like only an omega can. To him, everyone was clan, everyone was pack. He never met anybody he didn't love with his whole heart, but Rin— she was special. I wish I could have loved her like he did, with that same depth of feeling. If I hadn’t been a stupid, angsty teenager, if I had just—”

Kakashi cut himself off. (Y/N) had asked for a secret, and he had given her too many. His hand drifted to her jaw, cradling her face; gently, he moved it so that he could press his face against the scent gland at her neck, taking comfort from her presence. As he did so, her arms wrapped around his neck, drawing him closer.

“Love isn't something you feel,” she murmured, stroking his hair. “It's something you do. I think you loved her plenty. I think you loved them both.”

That logic didn't make it any better. In the end, he'd killed Rin, failed to save Obito— the details didn't matter enough to outweigh those facts. How was that for love?

“Don't torture yourself.” (Y/N)’s eyes were fully open now. It wouldn't be long until her heat overtook her again, but for now, she was lucid. “You were a child. You were wounded, grieving. Don't you think they knew that?”

“Doesn't matter. They're both dead now. I'm the reason for it, stood to gain from it.”

“Happenstance.” Her chest heaved with the effort, but she straightened, forcing Kakashi to sit back on his heels. “There was a war on.”

With her movement, the clone behind her shifted. The motion revealed the loosening of its knot within her, and (Y/N), shaky as a newborn fawn, detached herself and began moving on her knees to close the distance between Kakashi and herself. In the process, the flak jacket that had covered her fell off, and the clone, exhausted, poofed out of existence, leaving them alone together— both bare, naked in flesh and in soul. With shaking hands, she cupped his cheeks over his mask. For a moment, she just looked at him. Then, with trembling tenderness, she kissed his eyelids, left, then right.

“A secret for a secret.” Her breath brushed his lashes, and Kakashi opened his eyes, unable to remain bereft of seeing her. She was close to him— too close— and he was struck with the desire to count her lashes one by one. “I have killed before. Not as much as you, perhaps, but I have done it enough to know that there is nothing that it can mend. Rather, it cuts and tears and bedraggles you until you are unrecognizable. War begets killers. Killers beget death. Death begets itself in bastardous, incestuous, selfward unions until there is nothing left. You and your friends… you were shinobi. Killers. Death caught them and missed you in a stroke of chance. Just rotten chance, that's all.”

Her words were a riptide, and Kakashi had lost his footing. He did not know if he should feel hurt or relieved, enraged or soothed.

“Chance?” his voice sounded raw. “You really believe that? You really think that they died for no reason other than—”

“Yes.” She moved impossibly closer until Kakashi could feel the spend that was dripping from her leak onto his thighs. “It could just as easily have been you that died. I might not have been there, and I might not know war the way that you do, but I have seen its face and kissed its hands for a chance to cut its throat. It does not discriminate, not by sex, not by goodness, and not even by skill. So yes, it took your friends by chance. You have nothing to do with it. You are a survivor not from merit, but from pure dumb luck.”

She kissed his brow, seeming to swallow more words that she could not bear to say.

Kakashi didn't understand.

I have killed before.

War… I have seen its face and kissed its hands for a chance it cut its throat.

Just who had he married? What had she been through? He ached to know, longed to ask— but she had truly not asked more of him than he could give, so he would not ask more of her. Instead, he pulled (Y/N) close and held her there, letting her settle into his lap. As she did so, her head rested in the crook of his shoulder, and her weight settled heavily on him, as though she had no strength with which to hold herself. Right on time, his clone popped its head around the doorframe, wearing (Y/N)’s pink-and-green polka dotted apron over its naked body.

“Food’s ready,” it said, eyes drooping more than Kakashi's own naturally heavy-lidded gaze. “Tried to rest, but…”

Its eyes slid to (Y/N). Kakashi understood. He doubted he'd have been able to rest with a heat-scent as strong and lovely as hers either.

“You're dismissed. I've got her for now.”

The clone nodded, grateful, and then it was gone in a puff of smoke. The chakra-being’s memories hit him like a freight train, and he threw his head back as his cock twitched in heaving, dry orgasm. After a few minutes of recovery, Kakashi turned weakly back to the omega in his arms and asked,

“Can you walk?”

He felt rather than saw (Y/N) shake her head.

“My whole b-body hurts. ”

“Alright.”

It took some effort, but Kakashi managed to stand directly to his feet without letting go of (Y/N). Once he was on his feet, her legs wrapped around his torso, he brought her past the shadows of the hallway and into the kitchen. His clone, bless it, had already set the table with bowls of soup, so Kakashi took the nearest seat and balanced (Y/N) on his lap.

“You need to eat,” he murmured into her ear. “Come, sit up. I'll feed you, if you'd like.”

(Y/N) pulled away from him, and Kakashi reached around her to ladle some broth into a spoon. He lifted it to her lips, watched as she drank it, and repeated the process. Once she kept some broth down, protein was next, then the vegetables that she could bear to eat. By the time it came to that, though, her skin was beginning to feel warmer, and her mind was becoming more restless and distractible; there wouldn't be much more time until she would be ready again, and Kakashi hadn't yet eaten.

“M’sorry,” she said as her tremors returned. Tears were forming at the corners of her eyes. “I can't con-control it like I u-used to, before suppressants.”

His hands cupped either side of her face, his thumbs moving to collect her tears.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He held the desire to kiss her, face bare and maskless, close to his chest, refusing either to release it or indulge it. There would be a time for him to reveal his face to her. That time had not yet come. Soon, perhaps, if feelings between them continued to grow— but not now. “I said I would help you, didn't I?”

“Yes, but—”

She looked behind her at the unfinished bowl meant for him. Kakasi drew her back to him with a hand on her chin.

“But nothing. I need less to live on than you think. Besides,” he grinned, “there's always soldier pills and ration bars.”

She scowled weakly at him.

“You hate them. You said they taste terrible, I remember.”

“Sure they do,” he agreed, “but this is an S-rank mission. I've eaten them for worse reasons— and besides, you get used to the taste. It's nostalgic.”

Her scowl deepened, and Kakashi couldn't help but laugh.

“Don't be cross with me, my wife,” he soothed her. “It's best we get the worst out now before the evening.”

As Kakashi saw it, the plan was to glut his wife on her desires until she was exhausted, and then he could wash her and himself both and go to bed for the night. He just hoped his stamina was up to the task.

“You should close that,” she said, nodding at his sharingan, morose. “I’m a mess— do you really want to have this recorded forever?”

“You're beautiful,” he told her sincerely, watching her pretty lips close around the spoon once more. “I wanted a pretty wife, you know. If you weren’t, I thought I’d leave you at the altar.”

(Y/N) gave an incredulous laugh.

“You aren’t serious…?”

Kakashi nodded, grinning.

“Oh yes. But then I met you, and you were, and more. So much more than that, my wife.”

“Oh?” her brows rose, and she perked up slightly. “Say more. Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“You're a dream.” Kakashi ladled more soup into the spoon, returned it to her mouth. “You've got a brilliant mind, for starters— not just in terms of wit, but also in terms of wisdom. Don't think I didn’t notice how you ran interference for Neji and Tenten, or how the plans you’re making with Iruka-sensei are to nurture the village, expanding and enriching us with your talents. You’re so kind, too. Even in the middle of your heat, you’ve shown me that. And then, of course—”

He returned the spoon to the bowl, and brought his hand to rest on the side of her face.

“You are very beautiful. And as if that wasn't enough—” he trailed his hand from her cheekbone to her throat, then down to squeeze at the heated flesh of her breast, “—you keep surprising me with the damnedest things, like suggesting the decidedly crude and lascivious use of clones for pleasure. Absolutely obscene, and every pervert’s desperate dream, I'll have you know.”

“Oh?” She shifted, pressing her chest further into his hand. Kakashi rewarded her with a squeeze of her breast, then a gentle pinch to her nipple.

“Yeah.”

“Crude and lascivious, but worth the chakra depletion?”

“Undoubtedly.”

She smiled at him, but in a moment, her expression sobered.

“I owe you a secret.”

Oh, that. Kakashi had quite forgotten. He smoothed stray bits of hair away from her face.

“You don't have to share one this time if you don't want to.”

“No, I need to.”

She studied the floor for a moment, then looked up to meet his eyes once more.

“I think I am beginning to love you, Kakashi.”

Kakashi was silent after that— but if he held her a little tighter, caressed her a little gentler after that, no one else need know save him.

One evening at the end of his wife’s heat, something began bothering Kakashi.

It had been a slow day for her heat, but (Y/N) lay beside him in bed exhausted nonetheless. The windows of Kakashi’s bedroom were open to let in the cool night air, and the moonlight fell softly over her features. He turned under his blankets and propped himself up on his elbow so that he was looking down at her, cataloging the way her lashes kissed the smooth curve of her cheek and the gentle lines of her face as she snoozed. As he watched her sleep in that pale light, he knew she was the kind of woman they wrote poetry about. She was a picture-perfect dream. He almost hated to disturb her, but…

“Princess, are you awake?”

“Yes, darling,” she mumbled, scooting closer to him with half-lidded eyes. Darling— yes, that had slid its way into her vocabulary sometime during the week. Kakashi wasn’t sure how he felt about it, but for good or for ill his blood sang every time her mouth formed the word.

“How did you know Rin’s name? And how the sharingan works, with recording?”

“I don’t know,” she yawned. “I must have read it somewhere or heard from someone, I'm sure.”

With that, she turned over on her side, facing away from him, as if that was all there was to say.

But Kakashi knew better. He knew that could never have been the case, because he had searched desperately for even one clue about how to use the damn thing lodged in his eye socket, and he happened to know that no such book existed outside of the Uchiha compound, if any had survived the massacre. It was little and less that he had said of the sharingan’s ability to record even outside of combat; so guarded was the Uchiha clans’ secrets that he’d had to experiment on his own to discover its full capabilities, and once he had figured it out, he had only told a handful of people, none of whom were likely to have repeated it. And as for Rin… what happened on that mission wasn’t exactly common knowledge. People knew, yes, but discourse on the subject had died long ago. Even the records kept by the village were vague. That information would certainly not have been in any book she was likely to have read… unless she had studied him.

“Princess?”

“Yes?”

As he readied himself to speak, he noticed something in the shadow of her hair. He did not reach out to touch it, but with a sudden, bitter certainty, he reached out with an undetectable tendril of chakra to reveal his horrible suspicions.

A seal. There was a seal at the base of her skull. The lines were faint, almost invisible, but they were there.

“Nothing,” he said, feeling cold and sick. “Sleep well.”

No matter how hard he tried, he could not shake the sudden feeling of uneasiness that had overcome him; sleep, when it came, was too long-awaited and too short lived. His dreams were fitful, anxious, and more than once, he woke in cold sweat, shivering and wishing he could be anywhere else in the world than beside the woman he was beginning to feel too much for.

The next morning, when an ANBU woke him gently from his sleep, he did not wake (Y/N). He only left a note saying that he was going on a mission, and when to expect him back. Even as he watched her lovely face smooshed against his pillow, he could not make himself feel the affection for her that had visited him for the past two weeks. The glow of the honeymoon— if it could be called that— was gone, and all he saw was a woman that he did not really know.

#hatake kakashi #kakashi imagines #kakashi x reader #kakashi fanfiction #omegaverse #alpha!kakashi #kakashi smut #omega!reader #arranged marriage #smut #angst #fluff #strangers to lovers #lovers to enemies #enemies to lovers

23 notes · View notes

grimicarus · 3 months ago

Text

18+ MDNI

This is just smut. Smut with plot. (Little bit plot, as a treat)

Gender ambiguous!reader x Violet Sorrengail x Xaden Riorson

Usually you preferred to watch. And who could blame you, really? With Violet crying out so sweetly against the mattress, back arched up and pressing her delicious tits into Xaden’s chest while he took her hard and fast, it’s a delectable sight.

But sometimes you like to get involved too. At first it’s cursory, holding Violet against you, her bare back to your chest, one arm over her belly and the other fondling a breast. Crooning into her ear while Xaden fucks her into your lap.

“‘Ow’s that, Pretty Bird? ‘S our Big Man fucking you proper?” While she moans and wails and sings for the both of you, maybe tugging Xaden down for a fierce kiss, all teeth and tongue, sloppy and wild while he rearranged her guts in a way you had dreamed about occasionally.

“Please, please,” She’ll slur, eyes rolling into the back of her head while she tries to tug you into her own kiss, like the greedy bird she is, yanking on your hair roughly as she writhes under your arm. Silly bird, doesn’t she know she’s already getting everything she’s asked for?

Maybe next time it goes a little further, and you’ll kneel between her thighs, eating her out with a ferocious desire while Xaden strokes her hair. Mumbling degenerative filth against her aching cunt, stretching her out for him like the loyal ‘friend’ you are. And if you tongue his name against her clit? Well, no one had to know. No one except you and Violet, who was wailing and writhing, and almost kicks you in the face before you grab her leg and wrench it to the side until it burns.

“Now now, Pretty Bird. Don’t be getting Violent on me.” Your smile is all teeth, and you nip her thigh punishingly as she first apologizes, then wails when you return to her cunt with a doubled ferocity, pushing her over her first peak, then her second, and pulling away just before her third. “Don’ cry, Pretty Bird, the Big Man hasn’t gotten a chance at this sweet pussy, now ‘as he?”

And you never really mention the way you keep Xaden an arm’s length away, refusing to let him touch you, really, beyond kisses that are fierce, and passionate, and not anything more than what you would do outside of the bedchamber. Never mentioning the way you worshipped at Violet’s altar, keeping Xaden in the corner of your eye as you fucked a toy into her weeping pussy, shying away from his shadow’s ever-so-subtly because you just weren’t ready didn’t like him like that.

And what did it matter, really, if you had to share her with him? When you still got to make her cum again and again and again, flooding her thighs and sheets and chair and desk with her slick.

You fall in love with Violet first, but eventually, Xaden starts to grow on you too. Like mold. He’s frustratingly thoughtful. Never tries to touch you beyond the kisses you’d allow, never even attempts anything more, content to worship Violet at your side, the perfect lover to the woman you serve with fervour. It’s not surprising that you begin to soften to him, wall’s dropping one by one until it’s you getting fucked in Violet’s lap.

From behind, the first time. Your elbows by her head, your hands tangled in her hair, her legs wrapped around your waist while Xaden gradually sinks into you, stilling there. Like he’s hesitant to move, letting you get used to the weight and pressure of a thick cock deep in your guts after so long of refusing to let anyone even sneak a hand between your thighs. And Violet, gods, perfect Violet, grinning up at you like the cat that got the cream as she grinds her slick against your toned abdomen.

“‘S ‘at all you got, Big Man?” You grunt once you adjust to the feeling. And then he starts to move, and you see now why Violet fell so hard and fast for this cock. You’re not as loud as she is, you think, but you do drop your head into the crook of her neck, mouthing at the pale skin there that bruises so easily.

And you drop one big hand down to her clit, needing to pass this pleasure on in some way because you don’t know how to wrap your head around the idea of it being yours alone. Not when your Pretty Bird is tucked underneath your massive torso, your teeth dug into her neck feeling like they’re home with her legs around your waist. They’re likely burning at the stretch around your torso as every rough thrust of Xaden’s hips against yours grinds her cunt into your abs.

“F- uck-!” You groan, wrenching your teeth free as Xaden shifts just enough to drill into that sweet spot that makes your entire body shake, tears welling in your eyes as you take in fully what happened. What’s been happening.

Somehow, this small pretty bird you met fluttering up the stairs to the parapet had gotten your massive form wrapped around her little finger. Somehow, this big man who had threatened your bird, scared her, who had been there when you were dragged bleeding and half conscious to the healers after being attacked in your sleep, had gotten you on your knees for him. Somehow, someway, somewhere along the road, you’d fallen in love with the both of them.

“Xaden-“ You whine, and you can feel the way his hips stutter and pause, and his cock jerks inside you before he doubles down on his punishing pace. Fucking into you until your elbow’s have to lock up to keep you from crushing your pretty bird’s form as you say his name for the first time since you’ve met. “Violet!”

“Say it again.” He demands in your ear, snaking a hand into your hair tentatively at first, and when you moan he tugs your head up and away from your pretty bird so she can watch the way your eyes roll and your jaw hangs. His other arm wraps around your chest so his hand can support your throat, somehow holding up your massive form on his own as he fucks you stupid.

“X-Xa-Xaden-!” You whine, struggling to keep yourself together, limp and held up only by Xaden’s arms and cock, Violet taking her legs away so he can get up flush against your back. Fuck, you practically scream when she presses a hand down to where he’s rearranging you, squeezing a finger in alongside his cock curiously. You reward her curiosity when she crooks her finger just right, and kisses you so gently, by actually screaming, and shuddering, and shaking, as you fucking cum harder than you ever have before.

It’s life-changing, and it has you silent from your pleasure as your vision whites out. Never have you cum from someone else’s ministrations- it was hard enough to do it to yourself, and somehow Xaden and Violet had done it the first time they managed to get you sandwhiched between them.

It’s after the clean up, when you’re snuggled up between the two- not on the outside anymore- that you realize just how fucking gone you are for them. And for the first time since showing up here you burn to tell them your secrets, to spill those impossible words that you knew they would never believe. And Xaden’s thigh twitches where it’s hooked over your waist, his hand drifting to stroke your hair while Violet snores against your chest. His gaze burns into you when you turn slightly to watch his face, still awake, seemingly unaffected from the way he had rearranged your guts. The ass.

For a scary moment you’re scared he’ll ask irrational; there’s no way he knew, and your chest burns under Violet’s silver hair because you know if he asked you’d spill all your secrets for him. In this moment, with the memory of him between your thighs and your belly full of his release; your ribs might as well be pried open into a blooming flower of bone and blood and guts with your heart exposed to his searching eyes.

But he doesn’t say anything. Just sweeps some hair out of your eye, pressing a kiss to your temple and holding you and Violet safe against him.

And suddenly, you are no longer an outsider looking in on the love between your dearest friend and her once enemy. You’ve somehow fitted yourself into the bed alongside them, and it makes a tear sneak down your cheek, one that’s sweetly kissed away by the big man who once got all up in your business and never found his way out.

#fourth wing #xaden riorson #polyamory #18+ mdni #mdni #violet sorrengail #oh my god #i don’t know what this is #but I love it #continuation of that other post I made #mmmmm #reader is big and touch starved and also emotionally constipated #honestly on the fast track for becoming a straight up oc atp #how do i tag this #not proofread #not much else i can say

26 notes · View notes

violettavonviolet · 4 months ago

Text

Jaytim soulmate fic rec's

hey guys, in honor of valentines day, I'm making a whole host of soulmate fic rec lists for different fandoms.

All fies are completed, the wordcount goes up as you scroll, and do mind the tags! Leave the authors some love and if you have a specific ship or tag you would like a rec list for, shoot me a DM or an ask!

You were never a saint (and I love in shades of wrong)

Violettavonviolet

Summary:

Jason fucking Todd, storms the base on a one-man mission to free Tim and he’s feeling way too giddy for the situation he’s in.

His cell-door gets kicked in, and there he is, a gun in each hand, menacing and ruthless and splattered in blood.

Look—could it have something to do with Tim's latent abandonment issues? Sure. But he’d literally never seen anything hotter than a guy breaking into a villain’s base just to rescue Tim. Because he noticed, because he did something, because he sunk to his knees and carefully drooped his leather jacket over his shaking form, because he picked Tim up with so much fucking ease and carried him to safety- because, this was his soulmate.

or: Tim and Jason are soulmates, they make it work.

DAY 10: YOU SAID YOU'D NEVER LEAVE

DC, Jaytim, teen, 3.5k

In Gotham's Stars

Myoneloveismusic

Summary:

Across a thousand different lifetimes and a thousand different universes, Tim Drake and Jason Todd always seemed to find each other. But that didn't meant they always stayed together. Some worlds were kinder to the pair, while others did everything in their power to keep the two apart. Being soulmates is never easy, but when Jason and Tim are willing to fight for what they want? There's nothing that can stand in their way.

Jatyim, dcu, teen 4k

A Marked Difference

Skalidra

Summary:

Most people are born with a simple name etched on their skin. Sometimes in another language, if their marked is foreign, but always readable. Tim Drake, heir to the Drake kingdom, on the other hand, has only a stamp of strange letters between his shoulder blades. A name, surely, but in a language that no scholar or mage has ever been able to identify for him. That is, until Ra's al Ghul, the Demon's Head, claims it as his own from centuries past.

Now, Tim has to find proof that he's lying, or that the etching of his own name on Ra's' skin is faked. That, or belong to him for the rest of his life. He knows what he'd prefer.

DC, jaytim, teen, 6.2k

Stripping Down

njw

Summary:

Tim turns to him with a quick, shy smile before rapidly climbing the pole, waiting for Jason to position himself under him. “Like this?” he asks, arching his back, gripping the pole tightly between his shapely little thighs and beginning a slow, grinding descent. Jason did not realize until this moment it was possible to be so jealous of a fuckin’ pole.

Oh fuck, I’m gonna die again. Of embarrassment or blue balls, just take your fuckin’ pick.

“Yeah, Baby Bird,” he says, almost not recognizing his voice for how throaty and deep it sounds right now. “Just like that.”

Dc, jaytim, mature, 20k

Sanctuary

chibi_nightowl, PoisonBasil

Summary:

Jason has a brief moment to notice he has blue eyes that match the sky overhead when his soul wrenches, reaching out to snag and entwine with Tim’s.

What. The. FUCK?

Tim blinks quickly, brows narrowing as he takes note that something is happening but not sure what. But Jason does. He’s a dragon born and bred, he knows what this call is, the throbbing pulse he now feels alongside his own. Stories told to him by his parents before he was stolen from them are coming to life and all he wants is to scream his pain all over again.

A soul bond.

His soulmate is a fucking human.

DC , jaytim, teen 24k

Brothers, Bonds, And Best Friends

Lumeleo

Summary:

When Robin and Superboy the younger disappear during what was supposed to be a routine patrol, their families will stop at nothing to find them. Unfortunately, both Batman and Superman are off planet, and with Dick donning the cowl, it falls upon Tim and Jason to team up with Superboy the older to find their respective brothers. Their only clues point towards the League of Assassins; however, not even Tim could predict the latest scheme Ra's has set up.

Meanwhile Jon and Damian find themselves trapped in a pocket dimension - and when they find a way to escape, they aren't sure they should. Surely it's enough to only save one person, right?

Jaytim, dcu, mature 57k

(This fic I can't add anywhere else, but I feel like it fits anyway! )

Souls for Cheap

kieran_granola

Summary:

When Jason gets a magical injury, he needs the help of an expert. Lucky for him, Constantine is willing to assist.

They both get a bit more than they bargained for in the process.

3.7k dcu, jason/constantine mature

#vio's recs #fanfiction recommendation #dc #jaytim #Tim Drake #jason todd #soulmate #romance #fanfiction

40 notes · View notes

milliesfishes · 11 months ago

Note

have we considered the secret really angsty option with this kidnapping stuff… billy being taken and when the regulators get him back to you, he’s been drugged and he is crying talking about his family and how he misses them and he’s never opened up to you about it before

౨ৎ꣑ৎbilly is kidnapped and drugged౨ৎ꣑ৎ fem reader x billy the kid

The contrast of the hour before was nearly frightening.

You had been curled up in your favorite chair swathed in a blanket, letting the warmth and crackle of the fire soothe you into your dreams. The day had been long and arduous, and for hours you'd looked forward to this. As far as you were concerned, the day had ended, and you allowed your mind to ease into the thoughtless fantasies.

A rough knock on your door had thrown a wrench in all of it. Startled by the noise, you rose, abandoning your cozy spot beside the flames. Who would darken your doorstep at this hour? The sun had long kissed the sky goodnight and humbled itself below the earth.

Swinging the door open, hoping whoever it was wouldn't mind you were in your nightdress, you were shocked by the sight behind it. Charlie, one of your lover's friends and a fellow member of the Regulators, was balancing a haphazard Billy with an arm around his shoulder. His expression was harried, his demeanor tense.

He said your name once, and your eyes widened in alarm. Stepping aside, you allowed a berth wide enough for him to pull Billy inside. Grabbing his arm, you assisted in guiding him to the chair on which you'd been previously sitting.

Once Billy was steady, you whipped to Charlie, concern brimming in your eyes. "What's happened, what did he-?"

"He was taken. Early this morning," Charlie explained, removing his hat and running a roughened hand through his hair. "We only got to him an hour ago. Bad fight."

A hand flew to your mouth, and your eyes fastened to Billy. He was slumped over, swaying slightly. Worry struck your being like a bolt of lightning, and you tore your gaze away. "Taken?"

"They gave him something...I don't know what it is or how long it's gonna last..." Charlie's words were tripping over each other in haste to get them out. His eyes were on his friend as well.

At that, you moved forward, nudging Billy over so you could sit beside him, on the edge of the chair. He lifted his head, recognizing you, and his forehead dove to rest against your shoulder, the sharp breath drawn from his lips like a cut to your heart. "What do you mean they gave him something?"

"Laudanum, likely." Charlie's arms were folded, and he shuffled on his feet in a troubled way. "He's been out of it the whole time we've had him."

The information weakened you. Feeling as though the shoals of life had strangled you, your hands shook as you held Billy to your shoulder. He let out a strangled whimper, and you ran your hand gently through his hair, trying to soothe him.

"I'm sorry for bringin' him here...I didn't know what to do, but he was sayin' your name over 'n over on the ride..." Charlie's arms fell to his sides and he looked helplessly at you, the fear you felt present in his eyes as well. "He needs you."

He needs you. The words tapped into an unseen reservoir held within you, one there hadn't been an opportunity to pry open for Billy. He had always been the protector, the one who stood strong and steady. Here you took something akin to a wedding vow, to protect him as he did you until death did you part.

Nodding firmly, you looked back at Charlie. "I've got him. Head on home to your wife. I'd wager she's worried about you."

The man nodded, donning his hat and tipping it at you before exiting, shutting the door behind him. Once you were alone, you turned to Billy, rubbing his back and speaking softly. "My love...how are you feeling? What do you need from me?"

"Hold me baby, hold me," he murmured, burying his face in your shoulder, hands grasping you desperately like a life force. You indulged him, pressing your lips to the side of his head and roving your fingers over his neck.

"You're okay, you're safe," you whispered to him, and he gave a dry sob, lifting his head and looking at you with watery eyes.

"You're here...you're alive..." Billy croaked, his hands moving to your waist and pulling you closer, so you were sitting across his legs. Now he was holding you as steadfastly as a child held its teddy bear. You allowed him to do what he wanted, whatever would bring him comfort.

"Of course I am," you murmured, stroking his hair, tangling your fingers in the curls at the base of is neck. "I'll always be here for you."

"No...can't say that...can't promise that..." His words were slurred, and you cupped his cheeks in your hands, surveying his watery blue eyes. "Mama said that 'n she wasn't..."

The mention of his beloved deceased mother ate at your heart. He so rarely spoke of his family, of their loss when he was so young. Billy's early years were raked with tragedy, and it was a wonder he had stayed so kind and good through it all. The drug in his system had worn down his defenses, leaving him diminished in your arms.

You pressed a kiss to his head, desiring only to keep him close. Billy was nearly trembling, and you smoothed your hands over his shoulders. "It's alright. I've got you."

"Mama 'n Joe...and my daddy..." Billy muttered, tears filling his blue eyes like the summer sky. "I want 'em back..."

Your heart broke nearly in two, and you hushed him, smoothing his hair back and kissing his forehead. "My love...let's get to bed. Sleep will help."

Somehow you managed to guide him to your room, setting him down on the mattress and kneeling to tug off his boots. You tugged at the buttons of his shirt, slid his trousers down his legs, all an attempt to ready him for sleep. He said not a word all the while. silently gracing the wall with his stare.

The way he spoke of his family. You could have cried at the fact of it all. Billy often kept past as past, not revisiting it or letting the whispers of it linger. But the wounds ran deep, and you had long suspected that he hadn't dwelt on them long enough to let anything heal. The inexplicable sadness that flowed through you at the prospect only made you want to hold him even closer.

Discarding his clothes, you climbed into bed with him, sliding your arms around his waist and burrowing into his body, hoping it was helpful in even the smallest of ways.

Billy was responsive, reaching for you and pulling you close, his nose in your hair. He sniffled, his next words soft. "I can't lose you too."

"You won't," you promised, words steady as you could make them. "I'm not going anywhere."

His body was growing heavy in your arms, and you lightly trailed your fingers up his back. Billy maintained a steady illusion of his strength, even when the walls were thin and susceptible to history's wrath. Even in his darkest hours he had never confessed anything like he had tonight to you.

The hold of the drug had unearthed his pain and fear. Any resolve he may have had at the beginning of the night had wilted away like dried rose petals, leaving the bud of his despair open and vulnerable. You would cup your hands around it, keep it close to your heart for the storms brewing ahead.

Infinitely, you wanted to console him. To wrap him in your love and lay him in a garden to hold him forever. Your Billy had been through more than you could imagine, tossed about destiny's will.

But you would be his safe harbor in the storm if he so desired. Billy was the very force that held you to the earth, and you wanted to be for him all that he was for you.

Softened breathing gentle as butterfly's wings told you he was asleep, and you sighed in relief. When morning came you would hold him as tight as he wished, pray for his peace and then attempt to put it together yourself.

He was there when you needed him. Your heart beat solely for him, and so you would be too.

#I really hope I did this one justice <3 #billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid fanfiction #billy the kid x you #william h bonney fanfiction #william h bonney x reader #william h bonney x you #william h bonney imagines #billy bonney #billy the kid fanfic #billy the kid imagine #billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid imagines #billy the kid fic #billy the kid fluff #william h bonney imagine #william h bonney #milliesfishes billy

63 notes · View notes

illusory-nomad · 7 days ago

Text

04 Revolver - Cheater's Den

Secret agent! Aventurine x Criminal!Reader | Revolver masterlist

Word Count : 1410

TW : violence, blood, cigarettes, minor cursing (?)

The room Aventurine was led to was fancy, but slightly dim. A large poker table sat in the middle, surrounded by bodyguards donning crisp black tuxes, and sunglasses. On the other end of the table sat Mr. Corneo: a middle-aged man with an expensive designer suit, rings on his gloved fingers, and a cigarette between his lips.

"Ah, the famed Mr. Aventurine," Corneo grinned. "What a surprise."

"Corneo," Aventurine nodded in response, plastering a smile on his face.

"Please, have a seat," Corneo gestured the chair on the other end of the table. A bodyguard pulled it out for Aventurine, and a waiter came bringing a glass of seemingly expensive champagne. "You're very well known due to your luck, Mr. Aventurine. You win game, after game... The moment I heard word of you joining my little tournament, I knew you'd be the one to face me."

"Oh, you flatter me, Corneo," Aventurine laughed, swirling his glass.

"But—" Corneo smirked— "I'm afraid your winning streak ends here."

Aventurine hummed at that, amused by the other man's claims.

"A simple game of poker, if you will," Corneo grinned, holding out a deck of playing cards. "If you win, I'll grant you one wish. But if I win... I get to keep your prized possession."

Aventurine laughed at that, throwing his head back, "prized possession? I'm afraid I have nothing of the sort."

Corneo's gaze narrowed at that, though his smile never left his lips, "oh?"

"But sure," Aventurine waved dismissively, "let's jump right into it."

"Very well then," Corneo nodded, a smirk on his lips as he shuffled the deck. "House rules: my deal."

On the contrary, the situation with Y/N was... Chaotic to say the least.

Guests started bolting for the door the moment Corneo's men started trying to grab Y/N. Chairs were flung around, tables were flipped, and broken glasses were all over the place.

Y/N moved as fast as she could, fending off Corneo's burly men on her own. The first man lunged for her. She sidestepped, driving her heel down onto his foot. The man grunted and staggered, giving her the opportunity to grab his wrist, twist hard, and slam his hand into the wall with a satisfying crack.

When she turned around, the second man was already on her, grabbing her shoulder. She pivoted and elbowed his ribs, smirking at the sharp gasp that left his lips. Y/N then spun low and swept a leg out, successfully hooking his ankle and dropping him flat.

The third man was faster than the two, his fist cutting the air. She ducked, barely missing the attack. However, the man caught a fistful of her hair, yanking back hard, "Got her—!"

Y/N snarled, and drove her heel as hard as she could down on his foot. The man cursed, loosening his grip, giving her the chance to drive the back of her head into his nose. Blood splattered everywhere, and he reeled back.

There was no time to rest, however, as the men kept closing in. Y/N backed up, breath sharp, heart hammering. Her earlier elegant appearance was now disheveled. One strap of her dress slipped down her shoulder, but she didn't care.

One man grabbed her wrist, she managed to wrench free. Another grabbed her arm, she hissed and shrugged it off. Unfortunately, she wasn't fast enough when a fist slammed against her temple.

The world spun for a second as pain bloomed on the side of her face. When she pulled herself together, the men had closed in. One tackled her, sending her crashing against a table. Cards and chips burst into the air, falling like confetti. She tried to get up from the floor, breaths ragged, but a heavy boot pinned her shoulder, making her grunt.

"Feisty," the man pinning her down smirked. "We're taking you to the boss."

Y/N spat blood onto the floor.

The doors swung open, and in came a handful more of Corneo's men, "boss, look what we found."

Aventurine turned around out of curiosity. Terrible mistake.

"Y/N!" He quickly shot up from his seat. His eyes were wide with panic when he saw how disheveled and bruised she was, held back by two men.

"Y/N, eh?" Corneo smirked, noting the blond's panic. "A friend?"

Aventurine mentally cursed at himself. He let his panic take over, and now Corneo knows his possible weak spot.

"Acquaintance," he tried to correct through gritted teeth. However, Corneo was no fool. He merely hummed, tapping his finger on his armrest.

"We believe she is the infamous Revolver, sir," one of his men spoke up. Aventurine paled for a second, and though he tried to mask it, Corneo had noticed first.

"I see," he mused. "Acquaintance, huh, Mr. Aventurine... Then I suppose you won't mind wagering her as your chip."

"What?"

"You heard me," Corneo gestured to Y/N. "If I win, I get your pretty little friend here."

"Hey, I didn't agree to this—"

"Shut it," one of the men holding Y/N hissed, stomping on her foot and making her hiss in pain. Aventurine clenched his teeth, gaze averting from Y/N to Corneo. The man sat there cockily, holding up his playing cards.

"Well?"

Aventurine sighed. He gave Y/N a quick assuring glance, then sat back down, "fine."

"Wonderful," Corneo grinned. "Then let's begin."

Aventurine watched closely as Corneo shuffled the deck. Too neat, too precise. He noticed the way the other man's thumb flicked as he dealt the cards not from the top, but rather from the second: second dealing.

Cheating bastard. Didn't even try to hide it.

Aventurine's lips twitched into a smirk as he received his two cards from Corneo, then watched as he dealt himself two cards, and placed five more on the table. Aventurine was nervous. He often was when gambling. But this time, it's different: he had no chips to clutch onto. He couldn't hold onto the chip Corneo had forced him to wager: Y/N. Yet, he still had to keep that smirk on his face to hopefully fool Corneo into thinking he's still confident, even when he was clearly panicked earlier.

"Shall we start?" Corneo spoke up. The first three cards hit the table: 10 of spades, jack of spades, queen of spades.

A beautiful start. Corneo's smile grew wider.

The fourth card revealed shortly after: king of spades.

One more card, and it could be a straight flush. The tension grew thicker, yet both players wore the same cocky expression. The difference? One had fear swimming deep in his eyes.

"Care to sweeten the deal?" Corneo leaned in. Aventurine's gaze flitted to Y/N, being held by his opponent's bodyguards.

"Already did," he drawled, keeping his gaze on Corneo.

The final card slid onto the table.

Three of diamonds.

Some of Corneo's men sighed in disappointment. Y/N clicked her tongue. Aventurine's gaze softened, as if saying, 'bummer'.

Corneo, however, had a wolfish grin on his lips. His fingers flicked subtly, a practiced second-deal slipping an eight of spades into his hand.

He wasn't as subtle as he thought, though, as Y/N saw. Her gaze met Aventurine's before she tried her best to use her eyes to signal Corneo's trick. However, the blonde merely gave a slight nod: it's okay.

"Now then, this has been a tense game—" Corneo laughed, standing up as he laid down his hand— "but I'm afraid it's over."

Nine of spades and eight of spades. A flush.

His bodyguards clapped for him. Y/N clenched her jaw. A flush wasn't unbeatable, of course, but it's still a good hand.

Aventurine, however, remained smug.

"Ah, yeah, it's over," he turned his cards over.

Ace of spades and six of hearts. A royal flush.

The room went quiet. Corneo paled at his opponent's hand. His eyes darted to the deck sitting innocently on the table. His second-deal should have buried that ace out of reach. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"T-that's not possible," Corneo stammered. "That's—!"

"Funny thing about luck," Aventurine grinned, tapping the ace of spades. "She likes me better."

"B-but I... I made sure..." Corneo continued to splutter, eyes darting everywhere. When Aventurine stood up, he stepped back, falling into his seat. "It wasn't... How did you...?"

A moment of silence. Aventurine slid his hands into his pockets, then smiled coldly, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Now... About that wish."

A/N : I'm so sorry for being slow thank you everyone for being patient with me!! I'm on holiday now, so hopefully I'll have more time to write!!

Taglist (open): @tainted-artist4161 @arxxq @arishal28 @reixtsu

(Bold : can't tag ;-;)

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail au #hsr #hsr aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #aventurine x y/n #aventurine x you #kakavasha #kakavasha x reader

11 notes · View notes