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urdreamydoodles · 6 months ago

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hi! may i request a x-men headcanon where their SO protects them during a battle/fight? i love the idea of these oh so powerful characters being protected

X-Men x Reader (Part.1)

You protect them during a fight

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Bobby Drake, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney & Wade Wilson

Hi everyone. As you have seen the requests are closed, because I need to catch up first before reopening them. I hope you understand. And thank you Anon, I love this prompt.

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

- Logan had always been the one protecting you. It was his default mode: putting himself between you and any threat without hesitation. So when you threw yourself in front of him during a fight, claws and bullets flying, he froze for a split second. “What the hell are you doing?!” he growled, his voice a mix of anger and panic. It wasn’t fear for himself—it was fear for you.

- You didn’t answer, focusing on deflecting an incoming blow with whatever weapon you had on hand. The sight of you so fiercely determined to keep him safe left Logan stunned, his heightened senses zeroing in on the rapid beat of your heart. He hated that you were putting yourself in danger, but a small, buried part of him felt something else—pride.

- After the fight, Logan pulled you aside, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly. “You’re outta your damn mind,” he snarled, though his eyes betrayed his worry. “You don’t need to protect me—I’m the one who does that, got it?” You could see the conflict in him, the way his gruff exterior was cracking under the weight of his feelings for you.

- Later that night, Logan found you tending to your own wounds, stubborn as ever. He sat beside you, quiet for once. “Look, I get it,” he said, his voice low. “I don’t like seein’ you get hurt for me. But… thanks.” It was rare for Logan to express gratitude so openly, and the way he looked at you then—like you were the strongest person he’d ever met—made your heart ache in the best way.

- From then on, Logan learned to accept that you weren’t someone who would just stand by when he was in danger. “You’re a pain in my ass,” he’d mutter whenever you stepped in to protect him again, though his smirk betrayed his true feelings. He respected you even more for it, knowing you’d fight for him as fiercely as he’d fight for you.

Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit

- Remy was the master of charm and cunning, always finding a way to dodge danger or talk his way out of a fight. So when you charged in to shield him from an energy blast mid-battle, he was caught completely off guard. “Chérie, what you doin’?” he called, his voice tinged with disbelief and worry as he watched you take the brunt of the attack.

- You shrugged it off, focusing on getting him to safety. Remy, who had always prided himself on being in control, felt an unfamiliar pang of vulnerability. The sight of you putting yourself on the line for him stirred something deep within—a mixture of guilt and admiration.

- After the fight, Remy found you leaning against a wall, catching your breath. He approached you with his usual swagger, though his red-on-black eyes betrayed his concern. “Y’know, I’m supposed to be the knight in shining armor, non?” he teased, but his tone was softer than usual. He reached out, brushing a stray hair from your face. “Don’t go scarin’ me like dat again, yeah?”

- That night, Remy couldn’t help but replay the moment in his mind. It wasn’t often that someone would risk themselves for him, and it made him realize just how much you meant to him. He pulled you close, his hand resting on the small of your back. “You got a heart as big as the Mississippi, mon amour,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But let me take care o’ you next time.”

- From then on, Remy made it his mission to protect you just as fiercely as you protected him. Still, whenever you stepped in to save him during a fight, he couldn’t help but grin. “Dat’s my love,” he’d say with a wink, his pride in you shining through even in the heat of battle.

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

- Kurt was no stranger to danger, his agility and teleportation making him a formidable opponent in any fight. But when he found himself cornered by an enemy, only to see you teleport—or sprint—into harm’s way to shield him, his golden eyes widened in shock. “Mein Schatz, nein!” he cried, reaching for you instinctively, his heart racing at the sight of you defending him.

- You fought with a determination that left Kurt breathless, your movements precise and unyielding. For once, the usually nimble and quick-witted mutant found himself at a loss for words. The way you protected him, fearless and selfless, struck a chord deep within him.

- After the dust settled, Kurt appeared at your side in an instant, his hands gently checking you for injuries. “Why would you do that for me?” he asked, his voice soft yet trembling with emotion. When you gestured or explained that you’d do anything to keep him safe, his heart swelled with a mixture of love and guilt. “You are too precious to me,” he said, his tail curling around your waist protectively.

- That evening, Kurt refused to leave your side. He wrapped you in his arms, his warmth and the faint scent of brimstone enveloping you. “You are my everything,” he murmured, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your back. “But please, promise me you will be careful. I could not bear to lose you.”

- From then on, Kurt saw you not just as his partner but as his equal in every sense. He admired your bravery and strength, though he couldn’t help but worry whenever you put yourself in harm’s way for him. “You are my hero,” he’d tell you with a teasing smile, though the sincerity in his voice made it clear he truly meant it.

Scott Summers aka. Cyclops

- Scott was used to being the leader, the one responsible for keeping everyone safe. So when you leapt in front of him to block an attack during a heated battle, his usually composed demeanor cracked. “What are you doing?!” he shouted, his voice filled with both anger and fear as he fired a concussive blast to finish off the threat.

- Watching you fight to protect him stirred a whirlwind of emotions in Scott. He admired your courage, but the sight of you putting yourself at risk for his sake left him shaken. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said firmly once the fight was over, though his hands were trembling as he reached for you.

- You tried to explain that you couldn’t stand by and watch him get hurt, but Scott’s jaw tightened, his concern overshadowing his usual logical demeanor. “I’m supposed to protect you,” he insisted, though the gratitude in his eyes betrayed his words. He hated feeling vulnerable, but he couldn’t deny how much your actions meant to him.

- Later that night, Scott found you in the med bay, patching up a minor wound. He sat beside you, his hand covering yours. “You’re incredible, you know that?” he said quietly, his voice softening. “But please, don’t scare me like that again.” His lips brushed against your forehead, a rare moment of tenderness from the stoic leader.

- From that moment on, Scott’s respect for you deepened even further. He still tried to protect you whenever he could, but he also learned to trust your strength. “You’re my partner,” he said one day, his hand finding yours. “We protect each other.” His smile was small but genuine, a reflection of the unshakable bond you’d built together.

- Jean was always the empathetic one, attuned to the emotions and thoughts of those she cared about. During a mission gone sideways, an enemy blast was heading straight for her. Before she could react, you threw yourself in the line of fire, your shield or power absorbing the impact. Jean’s green eyes widened, and for a moment, all she could feel was panic. “What were you thinking?!” her voice echoed telepathically and out loud simultaneously, both scolding and filled with fear.

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

- The battle continued, but Jean’s focus kept flickering back to you. Even as she unleashed telekinetic waves and telepathic strikes, her thoughts were drawn to how recklessly you had acted for her sake. When the fight was over, she rushed to your side, her hands trembling as she checked you over. “You’re okay,” she breathed, relief washing over her like a wave. But then her tone shifted, more serious. “You’re never doing that again.”

- Back at the mansion, Jean sat with you in the med bay, her fingers brushing over your bandaged arm. “You know I can take care of myself,” she said softly. “But the fact that you stepped in… it means everything to me.” Her emotions were a mix of guilt and admiration, and her psychic connection to you buzzed with a warmth that made your heart ache.

- That evening, Jean made sure you rested, though she stayed by your side the entire time. “You’re stronger than you think,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But don’t think for a second that I’d ever let something happen to you. You’re my everything.” Her confession was quiet but sincere, and the glow of her powers seemed softer, more intimate, in the dim light.

- From then on, Jean’s respect for you deepened even further. While she still tried to shield you during battles, she also began to see you as her equal, someone she could rely on. “You’re my partner in every way,” she told you one day, her telepathic voice brushing against your mind like a gentle caress. “We protect each other, always.”

- Ororo was grace and power incarnate, her calm exterior rarely breaking even in the most chaotic situations. But when a battle turned dire and an enemy aimed for her while her back was turned, you didn’t hesitate. Throwing yourself in harm’s way, you used every ounce of your strength to protect her. Lightning crackled in the air as Ororo spun around, her silver eyes wide with shock and fury. “Why would you do that?!” she demanded, her voice carrying the weight of a storm.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

- Even as the fight raged on, Ororo’s attention kept straying to you, her heart pounding in a way she hadn’t felt in years. The idea of you getting hurt for her sake was unbearable, and yet, she couldn’t deny the overwhelming respect she felt for your bravery. When the battle ended, she landed gracefully beside you, her hands glowing faintly as she helped heal your wounds with a soft breeze.

- “You could have been seriously hurt,” Ororo said, her tone softer now but still laced with worry. She cupped your face gently, her thumb brushing over your cheek. “You mean too much to me to take such risks.” Her words were both a reprimand and a confession, her eyes reflecting the depth of her feelings for you.

- That night, Ororo brought you to her greenhouse, the air filled with the scent of blooming flowers and fresh rain. “I’ve always believed in protecting those I care about,” she said, her voice like a melody. “But you… you’ve shown me that love is a two-way street.” Her fingers intertwined with yours as she smiled, a rare and genuine expression of vulnerability.

- From that moment on, Ororo saw you as her equal, someone she could rely on even in the most dangerous situations. “You’re as fierce as the storm itself,” she told you one day, her voice filled with pride. “And I’ll always be grateful to have you by my side.”

- Rogue had always been careful about keeping people at a distance, her powers making physical contact a constant danger. But when a fight turned south and an enemy got the upper hand, you didn’t hesitate to step in and protect her. You took the blow meant for her, even though it left you gasping for breath. “What the hell are you doin’, sugar?!” Rogue shouted, her Southern accent thick with worry as she fought to keep the attackers at bay.

Anna Marie aka. Rogue

- After the fight, Rogue knelt beside you, her gloved hands hovering over your injuries. “Why would you do that?” she asked, her voice cracking. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be protectin’ you.” Her green eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the vulnerability in her expression breaking your heart.

- Back at the mansion, Rogue stayed by your side, refusing to leave until she was sure you were okay. “You’re the stubbornest person I’ve ever met,” she said with a shaky laugh, brushing a strand of hair from your face with her gloved fingers. “But I guess that’s one o’ the reasons I love you.” Her confession was quiet, almost hesitant, but the look in her eyes left no room for doubt.

- That evening, Rogue sat with you on the porch, the night air cool against your skin. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” she said, her voice soft. “I’ve spent so long keepin’ people at arm’s length, afraid of hurtin’ ‘em. But you… you make me wanna take the risk.” She reached for your hand, her glove the only barrier between your skin and hers, but the connection was still electric.

- From then on, Rogue made it clear that she would do anything to keep you safe, even as she learned to trust your strength. “We’re a team, sugar,” she said one day, her smile warm and genuine. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

- Erik was used to being the protector, his mastery over magnetism making him a force to be reckoned with. So when you stepped in to shield him during a heated battle, deflecting an attack with your own powers or sheer determination, he was caught completely off guard. “Are you mad?” he demanded, his voice a mix of anger and concern as he pulled you behind him.

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

- Even as he fought off the remaining enemies, Erik couldn’t shake the image of you standing so bravely in front of him. The thought of you risking yourself for his sake stirred emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years—fear, admiration, and an aching tenderness.

- After the fight, Erik confronted you, his expression stern but his eyes betraying his worry. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?” he asked, his voice low. When you explained your actions, his jaw tightened, and he looked away, struggling to hide the vulnerability in his expression. “You’re remarkable,” he finally admitted, his voice soft. “But reckless.”

- That night, Erik sat with you in his study, the room filled with the soft hum of his powers as he absentmindedly manipulated a small piece of metal. “You remind me of why I fight,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “You make me believe in something greater than myself.” His confession was uncharacteristically open, and the way he looked at you then made your heart race.

- From that moment on, Erik began to see you as his equal, someone he could trust and rely on. While he still tried to protect you during battles, he also respected your strength and determination. “Together, we’re unstoppable,” he told you one day, his hand resting on yours. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

- Charles had always prided himself on being the one who guided and protected others, both physically and mentally. During a heated skirmish, when the enemy targeted him while he was focused on neutralizing their minds, you acted without hesitation. You threw yourself into the fray, using your powers or sheer determination to shield him from harm. When the dust settled, Charles wheeled himself over to you, his face pale. “You could have been seriously injured,” he said softly, though his tone carried a mix of gratitude and concern.

Charles Xavier aka. Professor X

- Throughout the aftermath of the fight, Charles kept his composure, but his worry lingered. As the team regrouped, he observed you quietly, his telepathic thoughts touching yours with gentle reassurance. Later, when the others left, he finally addressed you. “Why would you take such a risk for me?” he asked, his blue eyes searching yours for an answer. When you replied that you’d do it again without question, he sighed, a small, bittersweet smile gracing his face.

- Back at the mansion, Charles invited you to his study. “You know,” he began, fingers steepled in thought, “I’ve spent so much time protecting others that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to have someone protect me.” There was a vulnerability in his words that surprised you. “Thank you,” he added, his voice quiet but full of emotion.

- Over the following days, Charles couldn’t help but admire your bravery. He found himself drawn to your selflessness and began to see you in a new light. One evening, as the two of you sat by the fire, he finally admitted, “I’ve grown quite attached to you. More than I ever expected.” His confession was gentle but sincere, his psychic presence brushing against your mind like a warm embrace.

- From that point on, Charles became even more protective of you, though he also respected your strength and independence. “We’re stronger together,” he said one day, taking your hand in his. “And I promise, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe—just as you’ve done for me.”

- Bobby had always been the joker of the group, rarely taking anything too seriously. But during a particularly chaotic fight, when an enemy’s attack veered toward him, he was caught off guard. Before he could react, you stepped in, using your quick thinking and courage to protect him. “Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?!” he shouted, his voice tinged with panic as he watched you take the brunt of the attack.

Bobby Drake aka. Iceman

- After the battle, Bobby rushed to your side, his usual playful demeanor replaced with genuine concern. “Are you okay?” he asked, his hands hovering over you as if afraid to touch you. When you shrugged it off and made a joke, he blinked, then shook his head. “I should be the one cracking jokes, not you,” he muttered, though his grin was tinged with guilt.

- Back at the mansion, Bobby stayed close, making sure you were patched up and comfortable. “You know,” he said, trying to sound casual, “you’re kind of amazing. Stupidly reckless, but amazing.” He fiddled with an ice construct in his hands, his usual confidence giving way to a rare vulnerability. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

- Over the next few days, Bobby couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d done for him. He started showing up more often, finding excuses to be around you. One night, as you were watching a movie together, he finally blurted out, “Okay, so maybe I kinda like you. A lot.” His cheeks flushed, and he looked away, pretending to focus on his popcorn.

- From then on, Bobby made it his mission to keep you safe, though he never stopped teasing you about your heroic antics. “You’re my favorite reckless hero,” he said one day, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “But don’t think for a second that I’m letting you pull a stunt like that again.”

- Wanda had always carried the weight of her powers, her ability to reshape reality making her a target in almost every battle. During one such fight, when an enemy’s attack threatened to overwhelm her, you stepped in, using everything you had to protect her. “What are you doing?!” she shouted, her voice breaking as she watched you face the danger meant for her. Her chaos magic surged uncontrollably in response, red energy crackling in the air.

Wanda Maximoff aka. The Scarlet Witch

- After the fight, Wanda rushed to your side, her hands trembling as she checked for injuries. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said, her voice soft but laced with worry. When you explained that you couldn’t stand by and do nothing, her expression shifted to one of awe and guilt. “You’re incredible,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

- Back at the mansion, Wanda couldn’t seem to leave your side. She sat with you in the quiet of her room, her fingers tracing patterns in the air as she used her magic to soothe your aches. “I’ve always been the one who protects others,” she said softly. “But you… you’ve turned that upside down.” Her eyes met yours, filled with an emotion she couldn’t quite put into words.

- As days passed, Wanda’s feelings for you only deepened. She found herself opening up to you in ways she hadn’t with anyone else, sharing her fears and vulnerabilities. One evening, as you both watched the stars from the mansion roof, she took your hand in hers. “You make me feel safe,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And that’s not something I’m used to.”

- From then on, Wanda became fiercely protective of you, though she also began to trust in your strength. “We’re a team,” she said one day, her magic swirling around her fingers like a promise. “And I won’t let anything happen to you. Not ever.”

- Pietro was always the fastest, the one who could outmaneuver danger in the blink of an eye. So when a fight took a dangerous turn and you leaped in to protect him, he was stunned. “Are you crazy?!” he shouted, zipping over to your side as you deflected an attack meant for him. His silver hair was disheveled, and his blue eyes were wide with disbelief.

Pietro Maximoff aka. Quicksilver

- Even as the battle continued, Pietro couldn’t stop glancing at you, his usual cocky demeanor replaced with genuine concern. When the fight finally ended, he was by your side in an instant. “You know I can take care of myself, right?” he said, though his voice cracked slightly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

- Back at the mansion, Pietro couldn’t sit still. He paced back and forth in your room, occasionally stopping to check on you. “You scared the hell out of me, you know that?” he said, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. But when you teased him about being worried, he smirked, the tension breaking for just a moment. “Don’t get used to it,” he muttered, though his eyes betrayed his true feelings.

- Over the next few days, Pietro found himself sticking closer to you than usual. He’d zip in and out of rooms, checking on you, bringing you snacks, or just hanging around. One day, as he sat next to you, he finally said, “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?” His voice was quieter than usual, and the look in his eyes made your heart skip a beat.

- From then on, Pietro became even more protective of you, though he couldn’t resist teasing you about your heroic antics. “You’re lucky I like you,” he said one day, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Because no one else gets to scare me like that and live to tell the tale.”

- Emma was used to being the one who controlled situations, her sharp wit and psychic prowess leaving little room for vulnerability. During a battle, when an enemy’s attack zeroed in on her, she was caught off guard. Before she could react, you stepped in, using your abilities—or sheer determination—to protect her. “What on earth are you doing?” she snapped, her diamond form shimmering as she deflected the remnants of the attack. But beneath her icy tone, there was a flicker of shock and something softer.

Emma Frost aka. The White Queen

- After the battle, Emma confronted you immediately, her arms crossed and her piercing gaze fixed on you. “Do you make a habit of risking your life for others, or am I just that lucky?” she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm. When you explained your actions, her expression softened for just a moment before she masked it with a smirk. “You’re either foolish or incredibly brave. I can’t decide which.”

- Over the next few days, Emma found herself replaying the moment in her mind. Despite her efforts to maintain her usual aloof demeanor, she couldn’t help but admire your courage. One evening, she invited you to her office under the guise of discussing strategy. “You’re surprisingly impressive,” she admitted, her voice quieter than usual. “But don’t think for a second that I need saving.”

- As time passed, Emma’s walls began to crack, and she found herself drawn to you in ways she hadn’t anticipated. One night, as the two of you shared a rare quiet moment in the garden, she reached out and took your hand. “You make me feel… safe,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t say that lightly.”

- From then on, Emma became fiercely protective of you, though she expressed it in her own unique way. “You’re mine now,” she said one day, her tone both teasing and possessive. “So don’t think for a second that I’ll let anything happen to you.”

- Laura had always been the protector, her claws and instincts honed for battle. So when you jumped in to shield her during a fight, she was stunned. “What are you doing?!” she growled, her emerald eyes flashing with anger and concern. She quickly dispatched the enemy, then turned to you, her expression a mix of frustration and confusion. “You didn’t have to do that,” she muttered, though her voice was softer than usual.

Laura Kinney aka. X-23 / Wolverine

- After the fight, Laura couldn’t seem to leave your side. She hovered awkwardly, her protective instincts clashing with her feelings of guilt. “You’re reckless,” she said bluntly, her arms crossed as she tried to mask her worry. But when you smiled and told her it was worth it, her tough exterior cracked just a little. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, though there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

- Back at the mansion, Laura watched you like a hawk, her keen senses constantly on alert. She didn’t know how to process the fact that someone had risked themselves for her. “I don’t need saving,” she said one day, her voice quieter than usual. “But… thank you.” The words felt foreign on her tongue, but the sincerity in her eyes was unmistakable.

- Over time, Laura found herself drawn to your bravery and selflessness. She admired the way you faced danger without hesitation, even if it frustrated her to no end. One evening, as the two of you sat on the mansion roof, she finally opened up. “You mean more to me than I know how to say,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “But if you ever do something that reckless again, I’ll kill you myself.”

- From that moment on, Laura became fiercely protective of you, though she respected your independence. “We’re a team,” she said one day, her hand brushing yours. “But that doesn’t mean I’m letting you get hurt. Not if I can help it.”

- Wade was used to being the one who took the hits, his healing factor allowing him to shrug off injuries that would kill anyone else. So when you leaped in to protect him during a fight, he was utterly baffled. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Time out!” he shouted, pulling you behind him. “What are you doing? I’m the one who’s supposed to play human shield here!”

Wade Wilson aka. Deadpool

- After the battle, Wade didn’t stop talking about your “heroic” actions. “Seriously, you’re like my own personal bodyguard! Except way cuter,” he quipped, his tone playful but laced with genuine concern. When you rolled your eyes and told him you couldn’t just stand by, he grinned. “Aw, you care about me! I’m touched. Like, emotionally. And probably physically later if I’m lucky.”

- Despite his jokes, Wade couldn’t hide how much your actions affected him. He started sticking closer to you, his usual chaotic energy tempered by an uncharacteristic protectiveness. “You know,” he said one day, tossing a chimichanga your way, “you’re kind of amazing. And not just because you’re willing to risk your life for a guy who looks like a melted candle.”

- Over time, Wade’s feelings for you grew deeper, though he still struggled to express them without humor. One night, as the two of you sat on a rooftop eating takeout, he finally got serious. “You’re the first person who’s made me feel like I’m worth something,” he said, his voice unusually quiet. “So, thanks for that. And also for being insanely hot.”

- From that point on, Wade became even more devoted to you, though he never stopped teasing you about your heroic antics. “You’re my favorite reckless hero,” he said one day, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “But let’s make a deal: next time, let me take the hits. I heal faster, and you’re way too pretty to mess up.”

1K notes · View notes

novlr · 2 years ago

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How to Write Betrayal

Betrayal is a powerful plot element that is represented in countless stories. The gravity of betrayal brings a profound depth to character dynamics, plots, and themes alike, making it an indispensable tool for writers to explore emotions, conflicts, and the complexities of human nature. Let’s explore some quick tips on how to write betrayal!

Behaviour

Secretive actions

Dishonesty

Becoming emotionally distant

A sudden change in routine

Pushing people away

Nervous or fidgety movement

Frequent lying or making up stories

Unexpected aggression or irritability

Unjustified mood swings or emotional outbursts

Increasingly defensive

Interactions

Disturbed interpersonal relationships

Frequent misunderstandings or fights

Withholding information

Avoiding personal discussions

Insincerity in conversations

Frequently cancelling or missing plans

A sudden shift in relationship dynamics

Quick to deflect or place blame

Frequent subject changes

Gradual emotional detachment

Body Language

Avoiding direct eye contact

Defensive stance and crossed arms

Covering mouth or touching face

Shuffling or restless movements

Forcing smiles or laughter

Constantly looking around or at the ground

Stiff, tense posture

Heavy breathing or frequent sighing

Avoiding touch or skin contact

Exaggerated gestures

Attitude

A lack of concern or empathy

Increasingly personal and hurtful arguments

Erratic or unpredictable reactions

Self-centeredness

Insincerity

Dismissive or negative attitude

Callous disregard for other's feelings

A negative or pessimistic outlook

Inability to handle criticism

Withdrawal from relationships

Positive Story Outcomes

In the wake of a betrayal, a story can manifest various positive outcomes that add depth to the plot and its characters. Relationships can be strengthened, showing their resilience. Characters may discover newfound self-reliance and learn valuable lessons about trust and forgiveness, leading to an increase in empathy and understanding, personal growth, and the reinforcement of personal values. These experiences can encourage a clearer understanding of personal boundaries, prompt self-reflection, introspection, and the development of healthier coping mechanisms. Ultimately, these positive outcomes can bring about improved communication and honesty, forming the silver lining in the cloud of betrayal.

Negative Story Outcomes

The aftershocks of betrayal can reverberate throughout your story. This might include an irreparable fracture of trust and damage to relationships. Betrayal can trigger psychological trauma, leading to an increase in suspicion and insecurity. Feelings of inadequacy or self-blame may surface, and characters can experience a heightened sense of isolation. The fear of forming new relationships or trusting others can become overwhelming. There may also be an escalation of conflict or violence and the reinforcement of negative behaviours or patterns. Damaged self-esteem or self-worth may be another repercussion, and this can encourage destructive coping mechanisms.

Helpful Synonyms

Treachery

Deception

Double-crossing

Duplicity

Backstabbing

Two-faced

Disloyalty

Unfaithfulness

Infidelity

Falseness

Perfidy

Treason

Fraud

Deceit

Slander

Misrepresentation

Falsification

Chicanery

Double-dealing

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alotofpockets · 4 months ago

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Weight of the game | Daphne van Domselaar x Reader

5k celebration prompt: “Your only job today is to rest and get better.”

A/n: all my love goes out to Daphne rn, my heart broke seeing her so sad after the game. Nothing she could've done, and I hope she's doing alright. Here is some comfort after a bit of angst/hurt for my Daphne girls ❤️

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.7k

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Liverpool broke through Arsenal’s defence and in a last ditch effort, Daphne had to dive to block their shot. She got her fingertips on it, only enough to push it onto the post though. She thought that would have been enough, but then she felt the ball hit her back as she fell to the ground.

She lifted her head up to see what she had feared, the ball had deflected into the goal. An own goal, how could she have let this happen? She rolled onto her back and lifted her gloved hands over her face.

The weight of the mistake was heavy on her chest. She barely heard the whistle that confirmed the goal, and while she noticed that Katie was standing over her, with her hands on Daphne’s shoulders, she didn’t register a word the defender was saying to her.

Katie helped her up and patted her back, but not even that really came through. Daphne played on autopilot after that, yet every move she made, she felt unsure. Her body was aching from the tension she felt, but she couldn’t let herself break. Not yet. She couldn’t let the team down anymore than she already had.

Arsenal was fighting for a goal in response to keep them in the cup, but the ninety minute mark was fast approaching. Nine added minutes to try and equalise after, but still they couldn’t find the back of the net.

Five more minutes and Liverpool broke through the defense once more. Daphne lunged for it out of instinct, stretching her body, but the landing went wrong. Pain flared up in her wrist as she collided with the ground. She barely managed to push herself up with it, but it didn’t matter. She had the ball, and there was no time to be hurt. She threw the ball to Leah and went on through the pain.

Then the final whistle blew, and Arsenal had lost.

Daphne turned away from the field instantly, the weight of the game heavy on her shoulders. She walked straight to the bench and sat down, throwing her gloves to the ground, as she brought her hands to her face.

There was no stopping the tears that rolled down her cheeks. Her goalkeeper coach placed a comforting hand on her back, but she barely noticed. All she could feel was the weight of failure pressing down on her.

She blamed herself, she was the reason that they had been knocked out of the competition. As a goalkeeper she was supposed to stop goals, not make them between her own goal posts.

When she saw the team was getting together in a huddle, she got up. Not to join them, but to head inside. She couldn’t face them, not right now.

On the other side of the pitch, the team huddled up, and was waiting for Daphne to join. But they couldn’t find her. The goalkeeper coach joined them and told them to start without her. You exchanged some concerned looks with a few of your teammates, but quickly turned your focus to Renée.

Despite the loss, you spend some time thanking the fans by taking pictures and signing their stuff. The fans always had your backs, you felt bad that you couldn’t give them the win today. So, the least you could do was spend some time with them after the match.

After a bit of walking around you noticed that Daphne still wasn’t there, so you decided to go look for her.

You found her in the locker room, sitting with her head in her hands. Soft sobs filled your ears, and your heart broke a little at the sound. “Daph,” you said gently, and stepped towards her.

Her head snapped up at the sound of your voice. You noticed her eyes were red, and her face was full of something you could only read as anger or frustration. “Don’t,” She snapped. “I don’t need a lecture, alright?” Her voice was sharp and defensive.

“I know I fucked up. I lost us a chance at the cup. There is nothing you can say that will make me feel better okay.” She spoke louder by the word, making you take a step back.

“I’m not-” You started, but she interrupted you instantly. “This is my fault! I lost us the game.”

You stepped forwards, wanting to reach out to comfort her, but instead she pushed you off. Her frustrations make her push harder than she intended, as you stumble to the ground. Daphne freezes for a moment, realising what she has done, before springing into action by turning on her heels and running out of the door.

It took a moment for you to register what just happened, but the moment you do Lotte walks through the door. “What happened? I heard yelling.”

Your eyes flicker between Lotte and the door that Daphne had disappeared through. A mix of confusion and worry etched on your face. “She just ran.” Lotte looks over her shoulder at the door. “Daphne? Where did she go?”

With a nod you answer the first question. “I don’t know where she went but we have to find her, Lotte. She’s not okay right now.” Without further question Lotte helps you to your feet and the two of you head out the door together.

You’re met with Lia, Katie, and Leah on the other side, who give the two of you questioning looks. “You need to help us find Daphne, she ran off.” Concern flashed on their faces and without asking more, they sprung into action, each one of you going your own way in hopes of finding her quicker.

Eventually it was Lia who found her, curled up in a quiet hallway, knees to her chest, and blankly staring at a wall. She didn’t even react when Lia crouched down beside her. Lia started talking but knew she wasn’t getting through.

She wanted to alert the other girls, but she didn’t want to leave Daphne’s side. Leah found the two of them sitting together and rushed to their side. “She’s dissociating, I can’t get through to her.”

The girls took turns sitting with her while the others got changed, each one of you trying to get through to her, but all failing. When you knelt beside her, her eyes flickered up, the faintest recognition in them.

You whispered her name like you had done before, she blinked and you saw her chest rise and fall. A tear slipped down her cheek, but still she didn’t speak.

Leah ended up driving her home, you wanted to stay with her, but after what Lotte knew that happened, she didn’t think it would be a good idea. Leah said she seemed to be a little better already when they got to her home, so she left her to it after letting her roommate know just to be sure. A rest day might be just what she needed to get back up.

On your next training day, Daphne showed up as if nothing had happened. Yet, everyone noticed the way she moved, stiff, cautious. Her wrist still ached, but she ignored it, pushing through the drills. No one said anything at first, but it was clear that Daphne’s head was not in it.

Kim and Leah exchanged a glance, knowing that as the captains of the team, they had to step in. Kim stepped towards the goalkeeper, “Daphne, maybe you should-”

“I’m fine.” Daphne said before Kim could even finish her sentence. Kim walked back to Leah wearily, keeping an eye on her instead.

You noticed that with every save she made in training her face distorted in pain, and you could not watch any longer without stepping in. It didn’t matter that you were currently playing a round of 5v5, you decided that this could not go on any longer, afraid that she would seriously hurt herself if she kept going.

You stepped towards her, and placed your hands on her shoulders. “Enough.” Is all you had to say for Daphne to stiffen.

Then without warning, tears started flowing down her face, and her body started shaking as everything she had been holding in, came crashing down at once. The weight of the loss, the blame she put on herself, and the injury she ignored, it all became too much.

She broke down fully, barely aware of the arms wrapping around her. You held her tight as she fell into your arms.

Renée ushered everyone away to give Daphne some space, so it was just the two of you left on the pitch. You held her up as long as you could, but eventually you lowered the both of you to the ground, and let her fall into you more.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered between sobs. “I didn’t mean to yell. I didn’t mean to-”

You hushed softly, rubbing your hand over her back. “It’s okay. None of that matters right now.” Exhaustion finally took over and Daphne stilled.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home.” You said softly. “No, I need to be here. I need to do my job.” You shook your head, “Your only job today is to rest and get better.”

It took a while to convince her, but you were able to talk her into going home and spending the rest of the day on the couch and watching movies with you. Which Renée of course instantly agreed with.

The car ride over was silent, you let Daphne take the lead in that, not wanting to push her in any direction. It wasn’t until you parked your car that she spoke up again, “I don’t know how to fix any of this.” Her voice barely above a whisper.

You reach out your hand and place it over hers that was nervously fidgeting with her sleeve. “We’ll figure it out together.” With a reassuring squeeze you add, “You’re not facing this alone. You never have been, and you never will be.”

-----

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#pockets 5k celebration #daphne van domselaar #daphne van domselaar x reader #arsenal wfc #arsenal women #awfc #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal women x reader #awfc x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #nedwnt #nedwnt x reader #oranjeleeuwinnen #oranje leeuwinnen

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sunflowersandsapphires · 4 months ago

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Can I request Matt and Frank with a neurodivergent reader who rocks to self-soothe when they’re overstimulated/anxious

Hello darling! Absolutely you can. I’m sorry it took me so long to respond, it’s been a WEEK. Wayyyy too many thoughts below the cut.

Let me just say, I think both Matt and Frank would be fantastic partners to someone who is neurodivergent. They both understand the constant frustration and sense of injustice and all that.

Matt

It would take a few weeks for Matt to even realize what you were doing, I think. He can hear the movement, but it wouldn’t really seem off to him, given how much time he spends with Foggy–who never STOPS moving.

Because he doesn’t have much experience with people who are neurotypical and not stressed beyond belief, he’s sort of used to people fidgeting and doing what they can to calm themselves.

I don’t think he would bring it up without someone else prompting. Maybe Foggy or Karen says something offhandedly, catching you by surprise. You hadn’t even noticed you were doing it at the time, swaying your weight to your heels and back to the balls of your feet, your body rocking with the movement.

“Don’t worry, sport! We’re coming.” Foggy laughed, shoving his arms into the sleeves of his coat as the four of you prepared to grab lunch.

You froze, suddenly regaining your self-awareness and immediately choking on a wave of embarrassment.

“Ready to go?” Matt’s voice startled you out of your stupor, making you jump

“Uh yes. Sorry.” The apology was instinctive, habitual. A symptom of perpetually feeling like your innocuous stims were troublesome for others.

“Why are you sorry?” Head tilting in the signature way it always did when he was concerned, Matt’s hand came to rest on your arm as he scanned you for evidence of harm.

“Nothing. We should catch up.” You murmured, hurrying out of Matt’s office to follow his business partners out of the building.

He’d let you deflect, but he’d set the thought in a special corner of his mind, privately vowing to bring it up at a later time.

After Foggy and Karen had escaped the pile of paperwork in the conference room, hesitantly allowing you and Matt to sort through it without them, he’d leap on the opportunity.

“Out with it,” The command is tender but stern, very classic Matt.

“Out with what?” Playing dumb worked sometimes, easier than an outright lie in front of a breathing polygraph machine.

“You’ve been biting your tongue since before lunch.” Apparently your go-to strategy wasn’t going to work this time. “What happened? Did I say something?”

The fear simmering below his concern caught your attention immediately. You had to answer now. “No nothing like that, Matty. I just..got in my head.”

“About what?” His wandering gaze is so earnest, you cave immediately. You tell him everything. The way you always felt different from those around you. The confusion and constant frustration when you inevitably misunderstood people. The pile of issues you had with various sounds and textures. The need to rock back and forth in place when you were nervous or overwhelmed, and the shame that forced you to stop when someone laughed or criticized you.

As always, Matt listens. Asks a question here or there, to help himself understand, but he seems to get it. There’s no judgement in his eyes, only total acceptance and a blaze of protective fury.

Once he knows about the stim, he would fiercely defend you in public. Scold people for staring and encourage you to do whatever you needed to do to feel comfortable.

Frank on the other hand would notice it VERY quickly.

This man is capital O Observant so he spots the rocking before you’re even together.

He has weird fidgety things he does too so he’s not judging whatsoever. He’s not interested in dissecting the root cause if it’s not hurting you or anyone else. So he jots it down in his mental notes about you and moves on past.

I think he’d also pick up on the soothing nature of it, notice that you seem calmer when you allow yourself to stim. So when he catches you in a bad mood or in a stressful moment, he’d pull you flush against his chest, one hand cradling your back while the other cups your head, and he’d rock the two of you together. (If you need to rock alone, he’d absolutely let you. But this personally would be nice for me so I’m including it lol)

If anyone ever commented on it, they’d find themselves on the other side of a MURDEROUS stare, urging them to quickly apologize and move on with their day

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pomefioredove · 1 year ago

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HII i saw your event! reading the prompts list gave me too many ideas to send but OKAY maybe you can pick whichever stands out to you the most:

"you're a bad idea, but i like bad ideas" with jamil

or any of the following lines with vil:

"your lips would look so much better on mine" / "smiling is the second best thing you can do with your lips" (sorry you've written so many vil requests already but i just CANNOT get enough of this man)

TYSM in advance!

since we have another jamil fic coming soon, I will do another vil. for the vil fans

summary: "smiling is the second best thing you can do with your lips." type of post: short fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, established relationship, fluffy, vil being a teeny bit protective

"You should smile more; it looks good on you,"

The first year's comment sits in the back of your mind all day.

It had started off as an innocent group photo with your class, and ended with a Octavinelle student you hadn't really spoken to dropping that and walking off.

You assumed it was supposed to be a compliment, but something about it didn't sit well with you.

"Do you think I don't smile enough?" you ask, carefully studying your reflection in the vanity.

The dark room is lit by various sweet-smelling candles, warm light sending flickering shadows across your face.

"Hm?" Vil hums, putting out the match he'd been meticulously lighting each with.

The scene is perfectly romantic. Your boyfriend doesn't often get whole nights off, but he takes full advantage of the ones he does.

"Of course you smile enough," he says, his eyes turning to you. "...Why?"

"No reason," you lie, though you know it's useless. He can read you like the back of his hand by now.

Vil walks over to the vanity and pulls you to your feet. "You're a terrible liar," he brings you to the bed and pats the spot next to him for you to sit. "Now..."

"Tell me what's wrong, hm? I won't be able enjoy myself if I know something is bothering you."

Ugh. You can't tell if you hate or love how he can see right through you.

"It's nothing. I'm over it, anyway,"

He raises an eyebrow, almost amused by your deflection. "So someone said something, hm? About your smile?"

You're not getting out of this one any time soon. You sigh.

"Nothing... bad, per se. Someone just... tastefully implied I don't smile as much as they think I should,"

Somehow, that seems to bother him. His smile drops, and he goes quiet for a few seconds too long.

"And why is it any of their concern?" Vil asks.

"...Tsk. You would assume the other housewardens would teach their students some manners..."

You observe his expression carefully, watching it go from nonchalance to unease, to annoyance, and then back to neutral with a little sigh.

"...And they upset you?"

"Not really. I was just a little self conscious about it,"

"Don't be," Vil says, cupping your face in his hands. "You don't owe them any of your attention. Besides..."

A faint smirk graces his lips, and he draws you a little closer.

"Smiling is the second best thing you can do with your lips,"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #queued

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mrsfancyferrari · 5 months ago

Text

His Feast

Summary: LH44 + slow feasting on you

Song: Pipe · Christina Aguilera

Author’s note: Thanks @urfriendlywriter for the prompt idea. Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 3.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

The way you moved had become a carefully choreographed dance, a soft sway designed to conceal more than it revealed. Every morning, the ritual started with the oversized t-shirt, the one that swallowed your frame whole, a deliberate shield against prying eyes - and the eyes you felt most drawn to, those of Lewis.

You hadn’t always been like this, a creature of shadows and loose fabric. There was a time, not so long ago, when you’d pranced around in shorts and tank tops, comfortable in the skin you inhabited.

But somewhere along the line, a whisper of doubt, a chorus of insecurities, had grown into a deafening roar in your mind.

Lewis, with his infuriatingly open affection, only heightened your shame. He’d always been vocal about his appreciation for your body, for the curves and the dips that you were now so desperate to hide.

He’d trace the line of your collarbone with a soft finger and say, “You’re stunning, you know that?” His words, once music to your ears, now felt like a spotlight, exposing every supposed flaw.

You tried to deflect his compliments, to change the subject with a nervous laugh, but his gaze always held a knowing tenderness that made your heart flutter and your cheeks flush.

You’d started avoiding mirrors, your reflection now a source of painful scrutiny. The gym had become a prison, each session a grueling exercise in self-loathing.

You’d catch Lewis watching you sometimes, his expression a mix of concern and confusion, and you’d quickly turn away, ashamed of your attempts to shrink, to disappear.

You knew you were being ridiculous, but the voice in your head was relentless, painting you as flawed, as something less than beautiful.

One evening, you were getting ready for a quiet night in. You pulled on an old, baggy sweatshirt, the one that Lewis had jokingly called your ‘hibernation tent.’

He was in the kitchen, humming softly as he prepared dinner. When he came into the bedroom, he paused, his smile faltering.

“You okay, love?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“Yeah, why?” you replied, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt.

“Just…you’ve been wearing this a lot lately," he said, his eyes lingering on the oversized fabric. "And the jeans, even when it’s warm. Everything seems so…covered.”

You felt your chest tighten. You wanted to lie, to tell him you were just cold, but his gaze was too understanding, too perceptive.

“I’m just…comfortable,” you mumbled, looking away.

He stepped closer, his hand lightly touching your arm. “You look comfortable, sure, but you don’t seem comfortable. Are you…are you hiding from me?”

His question pierced you like a shard of glass. You couldn't hold it in anymore. “I’m not as beautiful as you say I am," you blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips. "I... I see things in the mirror, things I don’t like. Things that you think aren’t there, but they are.”

His forehead furrowed, his touch becoming firmer, yet softer. "What things?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. "Tell me.”

You hesitated, the shame rising like a tide. “My…my tummy, the way my thighs look, my arms…everything.” You closed your eyes, the tears threatening to spill.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. When you opened your eyes, he was still looking at you, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made your throat ache. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, shame washing over you in waves. “I’m sorry," you said, your voice cracking. "I know it’s silly but…”

He stepped forward, pulling you gently into his arms. “Don’t you ever,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair, “Don’t you ever apologize for feeling something. And please, never call what you feel, silly.”

You clung to him, burying your face in his chest, the tears finally escaping. “I just want to be the person you see,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt.

He held you tight, his hand stroking your back. “I see you, love,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I see all of you. And all of you is beautiful. It’s not just what’s on the surface, though that is stunning obviously, it’s also the way you laugh, the way you care, the heart that you have. That’s what makes you beautiful. Do you trust me?”

His question hung in the air. You looked up at him, your eyes red and swollen. “Yes,” you said, your voice barely audible. “I do.”

He smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made your heart ache in the best possible way. "Okay then," he said, taking your hands. "Let’s do something about this.”

The room was a symphony of shadows and candlelight as Lewis guided you to the bed, the soft glow playing over his chiseled features, painting a picture of raw masculine beauty that made your knees wobble.

The air was thick with anticipation, charged with the electricity of a thousand unspoken words. You felt the heat of his gaze as he took in your form, the hunger in his eyes making you quiver with a need so deep it was almost painful.

"Take off your clothes," he said, his voice a gentle command that resonated through you like a bass note from a distant cello.

His eyes never left yours as you fumbled with the buttons of your blouse, the fabric sliding away to reveal the swells of your breasts.

He watched you with the intensity of a hawk eyeing its prey, his pupils dilating as your vulnerability laid bare before him.

The fabric of your skirt whispered against your legs as it fell to the floor, leaving you in nothing but your lacy underwear. He took in the sight of you, his breath hitching slightly as he traced the edge of your panties with the tip of his finger.

"Do you know how much I love watching you undress for me?" he murmured, his voice a soft caress that made your stomach flip.

You nodded, feeling a blush creep up your neck. His touch was like a brand, leaving trails of fire in its wake as he gently eased down your panties, revealing the dampness between your thighs.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin, and whispered, "I want to show you just how much I crave you."

And then he did. His mouth found the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, his teeth grazing the soft skin as he kissed you.

His hands roamed your body with a confidence that made you feel like the most precious treasure in the world, each caress a declaration of his love for your every curve and dip.

His thumb slid between your folds, teasing your clit, as he whispered sweet nothings about your beauty into your ear.

You moaned as he slid a finger inside you, his movements slow and deliberate, drawing out the pleasure until you were begging for more.

He added another, filling you up as his thumb continued to dance over your swollen bud. The feeling was almost too much, a delicious agony that made you arch your back, desperate for relief.

"Look at me," he ordered, his voice a gruff whisper. You met his gaze, his eyes dark with lust and something else, something deeper.

Something that made your heart stutter in your chest. "See what you do to me," he said, gesturing to the bulge in his pants.

You couldn't help the smug smile that curved your lips. You knew you affected him, knew that he wanted you as much as you wanted him. But seeing it laid bare like this was intoxicating.

He took your hand and placed it on his hardness, his eyes never leaving yours as you squeezed gently.

"Take off your bra," he said, his voice hoarse. You complied, the fabric falling away to expose your breasts to the cool air. He cupped them in his hands, his thumbs teasing your nipples into hard peaks.

His mouth followed the trail his hands had set, kissing and nibbling his way down your body, leaving a path of fire in his wake.

When his mouth reached your breasts, you thought you might die from the pleasure. His tongue flicked and swirled around your nipples as his hands kneaded and squeezed, the sensation sending bolts of pleasure straight to your core.

"You're so responsive," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "I could play with these all night."

Your body was a canvas, and he was the artist, painting strokes of pleasure that had you writhing beneath him. You felt the tension coiling tighter and tighter, your orgasm building like a storm at sea, ready to crash over you at any moment.

"Lewis," you breathed, your voice a plea.

He pulled away, a wicked glint in his eye. "Not yet, baby," he said, his voice low and husky. "There's so much more I want to show you."

And with that, he stood and began to strip away his own clothes, his body revealed inch by glorious inch. You watched, transfixed, as he shed the last of his garments, his erection standing proud and thick, a testament to his desire for you.

"Are you ready?" Lewis murmured, his gaze never leaving yours.

You nodded, your eyes wide with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. The weight of his question was palpable, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest.

This was the moment you had been waiting for, the moment where you would let go of your fears and insecurities, and let him love you completely.

"Good," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very air. He stepped closer to you, his naked body a sculpture of desire in the flickering candlelight.

The heat of him washed over you, making your skin prickle with goosebumps, and you could feel the tension in the room ratchet up a notch.

With a gentle touch, he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. "I'm going to show you just how much you mean to me," he murmured. "How much I love every inch of you."

His mouth met yours in a kiss that was at once tender and fierce, a promise of the passion to come. His tongue slid against yours, teasing and tasting, as his hands slid down to grip your hips.

He stepped closer, the length of him pressing against your stomach as he lifted you onto the bed, never breaking the kiss.

You felt the softness of the sheets beneath you, a stark contrast to the hardness of his body above. His weight was a comfort, a reassurance that he was here, that he wasn't going anywhere.

"Look at me," he said again, pulling away slightly so he could gaze into your eyes. "I need you to see me, to know that this is real."

You nodded again, unable to find the words to express what you felt. He positioned himself between your legs, his hands sliding over your thighs as he bent his head to kiss you again, his tongue tracing the line of your jaw before moving lower, to the hollow of your throat.

His kisses grew more urgent, his teeth grazing your skin as his hands roamed further, one hand finding its way back to your breast while the other slid down to cup you between the legs.

You gasped as he began to rub you in slow, firm circles, the pressure building as your body responded to his touch.

The first wave of pleasure hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you and leaving you gasping for air. You clutched at the sheets, your body arching off the bed as Lewis watched you with hooded eyes, his own desire evident in the tightness of his jaw and the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

He whispered sweet, filthy things into your ear, his voice a dark symphony that sent shivers down your spine. His mouth moved to your neck, his teeth scraping gently against your skin as his fingers danced over your clit.

You felt his cock nudging against your entrance, the blunt tip probing gently as he kissed a line of fire down to your chest.

"I'm going to make love to you now," he murmured, his voice a velvet promise. "I'm going to show you just how beautiful you are, how much I crave you."

You nodded, unable to form coherent words, your body already singing with pleasure. And then he was inside you, filling you up in one slow, deep stroke that had you crying out his name.

His eyes never left yours as he began to move, his hips rocking into you with a steady rhythm that had you seeing stars.

The sensation was exquisite, a perfect blend of pleasure and pain as he stretched and filled you, his every movement a declaration of his love for your body.

You could feel your walls clench around him, desperate to hold him in, never let him go.

You watched as he took his own pleasure, his eyes dark with passion, his jaw tight as he fought for control. And when he finally let go, when he came with a roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room, you felt a sense of accomplishment, of belonging, that was unlike anything you had ever experienced.

He collapsed onto you, his weight a comfort as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "You're mine," he murmured, his voice muffled. "All of you. And I'm never letting go."

And in that moment, you knew it was true. You had found your home, in the arms of the man who had just shown you that love was more than just a feeling; it was an act of worship, a celebration of the beauty that lay within.

"I'm yours," you whispered back, your voice trembling with the intensity of the emotions that surged through you.

Lewis pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt or hesitation. Finding none, he kissed you again, this time with a tenderness that made you feel like the most cherished person in the world.

His cock, still hard within you, throbbed with the beat of his heart, and you felt a renewed sense of connection, of unity.

"I want you to come again," he murmured, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. "I want to feel you shatter for me, baby."

With gentle coaxing, he began to move again, his strokes long and deep, his eyes never leaving yours. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, and you could feel your orgasm building once more, a crescendo that threatened to overwhelm you.

Your breath grew ragged as you chased the peak, your nails digging into his back, leaving marks that would serve as a testament to the passion that had consumed you.

His own breath was hot and uneven against your neck, his body tense with the effort of holding back, of waiting for you to reach that perfect moment.

And when it came, it was like nothing you had ever felt before. It was a symphony of sensations, a maelstrom of pleasure that tore through you, leaving you shaking and gasping beneath him.

His name was a litany on your lips, a chant that matched the rhythm of his hips, the pounding of your heart.

As the last vestiges of your climax faded away, he kissed you softly, his movements slowing to a gentle rock as he allowed you to come down from the high.

His arms tightened around you, and you knew that in this moment, you were where you belonged.

He rolled to the side, taking you with him so that you lay entwined, his cock still buried within you. "I love you," he whispered, the words a soft benediction against your ear.

You turned your head to look at him. "I love you too, Lewis."

He kissed you again, a chaste peck that held more promise than any grand gesture could ever convey. "Now, let me show you just how much."

And with that, he began to move again, his touch tender, his kisses reverent. This time, there was no rush, no urgency. Just the two of you, lost in the sweetness of each other's embrace, exploring the depths of the love that had brought you to this place.

The night stretched out before you, a tapestry of passion and pleasure, and you knew that no matter what the future held, you would always have this moment, this perfect union of bodies and souls.

"Look at me," he said again, his voice a gentle coax. You obeyed, your eyes meeting his, the intensity of his gaze making you quiver.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "So perfect. And all mine."

Your insecurities were a distant memory as you felt the warmth of his love surrounding you, a cocoon of acceptance and desire that made you feel more alive than you had ever been.

And as he brought you to the brink once more, and pushed you over the edge into oblivion, you knew that you had been reborn, not just as a lover, but as a woman who had finally learned to embrace her beauty, her passion, and the love that she had been so desperately seeking. . . .

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mypoisonedvine · 1 year ago

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NEED to read zemo/bucky/reader and I feel like you would nail it!!!! maybe with 98?? LOVE YOU J.D!!!!!!!!

oh my god I haven't written a threesome in SO LONG and of course this turned into a whole oneshot UGH. oops

98: "what happens next in your fantasy?"

warnings: smut (18+ ONLY!!!), threesome, oral m and f receiving, spitroast, overstimulation, hair pulling, slapping, degradation and praise, brief mention of smoking?, basically just nastiness with almost no plot at all!!

word count: 4.4k

100 random prompts - send me a number and a character!

"I shouldn't have said anything, okay?" you whined, hoping he'd drop the subject-- and Zemo walked in right then, which seemed like the perfect opportunity to change the topic.

"What shouldn't you have said?" Zemo pressed, and you sighed.

"It's-- it's nothing," you shook your head, "I just had a really weird dream last night."

"About?"

You wanted to end it there, but Bucky had to chime in, of course. "Let's just say, this dusty old apartment was getting to see some action for the first time in a few decades," he informed Zemo proudly, who smiled knowingly and continued his walk to the kitchen.

"Ah," Zemo nodded, "I see."

"I swear, I've never had a dream about you like that before," you explained to Bucky.

"I wouldn't take it too personally, James," Zemo suggested as he poured himself some tea. "The subconscious is a completely unpredictable place. We can dream about almost anything, whether or not we desire it in waking life."

"Well, see, that's the weird part," you admitted, shifting nervously in the chair as Bucky stared at you. "You were there, too."

That took his attention away from the tea, certainly; he set down the kettle and came back into the sitting area, leaving his cup behind. "Still, many people believe dreams have meaning... I happen to be one of those people," he added.

"You didn't mention that before," Bucky frowned at you.

"Well, I was going to..."

"I was there, doing what?" Zemo pressed.

"Sitting in the corner reading Machiavelli," you joked. "No, you were, you know... part of it..."

"How was it?" Zemo asked instantly, getting yours and Bucky's eyes on him then.

"Huh?"

"In the dream, having both of us," he clarified, "did you enjoy the experience?"

"U-um, I mean, I don't really remember..." you coughed.

"I don't think that's true," Zemo grinned. "You're wearing it on your face now— is that why you couldn't look at me this morning in the hallway?"

Your face got warmer. "Do I normally look at you?" you deflected.

"More than you realize," he answered cryptically.

"So, it was good," Bucky assumed. "It's obvious, you can just admit it."

You did hesitate, biting on one of your nails, but you nodded, and they both smiled. "Yeah, it was... it was really good..."

"Which one of us was better?" Bucky wondered. "It was me, right?"

"You were... I don't know, you were just different," you shrugged.

"Ugh, that's such a cop-out," Bucky rolled his eyes. "Don't be afraid to hurt his feelings."

"No, really— it's hard to compare," you insisted. "You were sort of, you know, sensitive and... patient, and you—" you looked at Zemo— "were kind of... intense."

Zemo smirked. "I've been told that before, actually. I mean, by people who got the real experience."

Bucky looked with a concerned expression over his shoulder at Zemo. You found yourself biting your lip for a moment.

"I know you won't answer this question, but I have to ask," Zemo began, "did you climax?"

"Oh god," you whined, hiding your face behind your hands.

"See? She did," Zemo smiled, maybe wider than you'd ever seen. "Perhaps even more than once."

"Please shut up," you groaned.

"Holy shit," Bucky smirked, "you really liked it, huh?

"What do you say, James?" Zemo prompted, looking at Bucky, and making you get a little wide-eyed. "Shouldn't we give the girl what she wants?

"Isn't that, uh— I mean, wouldn't that be... weird?" Bucky stammered, cheeks flushing.

"You're so sheltered," Zemo mocked with a small laugh. "Sharing a partner is very thrilling when the correct amount of trust is involved."

"Wait, wait— it was just a dream, I wasn't, you know, suggesting it," you explained nervously.

"I know," Zemo replied, "I am."

There was a tense pause, where all you could hear was your own beating heart.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Zemo offered, “I know it’s a strange thing to say. Just come here, darling.”

Though your legs were shaking, you got up off the chair and approached him slowly. He met you in the middle, reaching up to quickly caress your jaw when you were close enough. Bucky seemed to watch the whole thing in disbelief. “I-I’ve never—” you began.

“It’s alright,” Zemo assured you softly, “I won’t judge you, or mock you— there’s nothing wrong with what you want.”

You nodded slightly, another form of silent permission, and he leaned in to kiss you— gentle at first, but strong enough to make your knees feel a little weak. He deepened it quickly, putting a hand at your waist as his tongue began to tease your lips… but just when you pressed into him, ready for more, he pulled away. He smirked at the way you leaned forward for a moment, but then he looked over at Bucky— you couldn’t quite read his expression, perhaps a bit of disbelief and… more than a decent share of arousal.

He stood up, and stepped up to you two, and you could tell he was in over his head— but you pulled him closer by his shirt, sighing as your hand felt his chest through the black fabric. “I— I’m not sure how to—” he mumbled.

“Me either,” you smiled, “just kiss me, Bucky…”

He did, though he seemed slightly less confident about it. What started as a shy and soft kiss turned into something more almost instantly— something hungry. He pulled you closer by your waist, he slipped his tongue into your mouth; it was clear, somehow, that he had been waiting for this chance for longer than you realized.

You gasped into Bucky’s kiss when you felt Zemo’s lips on your neck. There were four hands on you, running over your body, and you were struggling to keep track of which belonged to who…

Zemo pulled you off of Bucky and spun you around, kissing you roughly again. He was less careful this time, and he was reaching up under your shirt as well; you whimpered a bit, arching your back instinctively and pushing your ass into Bucky’s— oh fuck, he was hard. You couldn’t believe how worked up you were already.

Zemo groped at your chest, purring as he tweaked a nipple between his fingers. You whined and pressed your legs together, feeling him smile before he broke away to look at you with a sparkle in his eye.

“So sensitive,” he praised as he pushed your shirt up to get a good look at you; he sighed at the sight, both hands cupping your breasts and massaging them carefully. “You’re so beautiful…”

When his hands moved down, Bucky’s took their place; you shivered a little at the metal hand’s cool touch, but it was actually more of a relief than anything considering how hot you’d become. He was a little more aggressive with the way he touched your tits— if not quite rough. He was panting in your ear as he held and rubbed them; and Zemo was already pulling your pajama shorts down, exposing you even further… god, why did it turn you on so much.

“Look at you,” Zemo praised with a sigh, running his hands up and down your body. “I know you must be so wet already, darling, look how desperate you are… you’ve been wet since you woke up from that naughty dream, haven’t you?”

You didn’t have to answer— he was already putting his hand between your legs, exploring your folds, both of you groaning at how slick and sticky you were. “Fuck, I can hear it,” Bucky noticed, and you clenched inside as he said it.

Zemo gently pushed a finger into you— but you were so wet it didn’t even feel like a push, it felt like your hole just sucked him in. He was looking right into your eyes as he did it, but that was a little too much to handle for you, mentally, so you let your eyes fall shut just before he slipped the finger back out again.

"Feel inside her, James," Zemo encouraged, "she's so warm."

Bucky sighed, rubbing his fingers around your entrance. "I-I'm going to," he mumbled in your ear, "but... not 'cause he told me to or anything."

You whined when two vibranium fingers pushed inside you, making you lean back against Bucky while Zemo’s hands pushed your shirt up even higher, giving him better access to put his mouth on your tits. “F-fuck,” you sighed, putting a hand on the back of Zemo’s head as he swirled his tongue around your nipple— he was incredibly, annoyingly good at that, but then again, so was Bucky with the way he gently opened you up with his fingers. “Oh my god, just like that,” you panted.

“Who are you talking to?” Bucky wondered.

“Both of you,” you whined, “fuck, don’t stop.”

Zemo moved his mouth to your other nipple, suckling harder at it, making your hips rock on Bucky’s fingers; and Bucky growled approvingly, starting to thrust them a little more confidently inside you. “I can’t believe you didn’t soak through those shorts, doll,” Bucky whispered in your ear, “you’re drenched. You wanted this that bad?”

You could only nod dreamily, too lost in the feeling.

Though you weren’t sure how they coordinated it, they both stopped touching you at the same time; you whined quietly, clenching inside as you longed for either of their fingers to fill you again.

“Take the rest of it off,” Zemo instructed you— but it wasn’t too firm, more just a… friendly suggestion. “Let us see all of you.”

Stepping out of your shorts that had fallen to the floor and pulling your shirt up over your head, you tried to fight the urge to cover yourself— after all, here you were naked in Zemo’s living room, with two fully clothed men eyeing you up and down. It was hard not to feel… scrutinized.

"What happens next in your fantasy?" Zemo purred.

"I-it's not my fantasy, it was just a dream," you insisted.

"Then let me ask you another way: what happens now?"

Instead of answering with words, you simply sank down to your knees in front of them, keeping eye contact with Zemo as you started to open his belt.

The smug look on his face should’ve driven you crazy, but it only pushed you further; Bucky, thankfully, seemed to get the idea of what was going on and began to open his belt and jeans for you. You loved his eagerness, even if the way Zemo seemed content to just let you do all the work was a turn-on, too.

Soon enough, there were two hard cocks in front of you. Just the idea of that was already intimidating— but both of them, at eye-level, was actually nearly overwhelming. You took hold of them both, stroking slowly to try to wrap your head around this as easily as you could wrap your hands around them.

Not sure where to start, you did a mental coin toss and found yourself leaning towards Zemo first, wrapping your mouth around his tip and letting your eyes fall shut. Zemo hummed, pushing your hair back as you bobbed your head. You only sucked him for a few seconds before switching over to Bucky, though you tried to keep a hand stroking each one while you moved back and forth.

It felt filthy and strange and surreal, but your biggest concern was that you were going to get so wet you’d start dripping onto the floor or something.

Yes, you’d watched porn like this before, but you never really thought you’d end up doing it— especially with these two. You felt pretty comfortable assuming they never thought this would happen, either… but they got into it shockingly quickly: soon, you weren’t even the one deciding where you went, they simply got more and more impatient and began to guide you back and forth. You blinked your eyes open a few times to look up at them, but in the end you found yourself totally lost in it, just leaving your mouth open them and letting them take turns fucking it until you weren’t sure who was who anymore.

Not much was said (least of all by you, with your mouth full) aside from a few mumbled curses here and there— except for one moment, where Zemo seemed to mutter to Bucky: “I don’t think she expected to like this so much.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. You were drooling, with tears striping your face— a side effect from repeatedly choking on both of them— and you were nearly desperate enough to rub yourself

Though you weren’t sure how or when Zemo had gotten in your head like this, you had to admit it was convenient right now; “You want more, don’t you?” he noticed, and all you had to do was nod before they pulled you up to your feet. Zemo bent you over quickly, before you’d even really found your balance, and stood behind you.

You gasped as Zemo’s cock slid inside you suddenly, holding on tight to Bucky’s arms for balance— immediately you were rocked forward with hard, needy thrusts.

“God, she’s so fucking wet,” Zemo hissed. You hadn’t really heard him talk quite like that before…

You groaned at the feeling, amazed at how easily he fit inside, but clearly all the anticipation had prepared you well. Bucky only let you have a second to adjust before he shoved your head back down and pushed his cock into your waiting mouth. You were happy to oblige, though, and sucked him even more eagerly than before with fast bobs of your head and more pressure from your tongue.

Bucky’s fingers tangled into your hair, and his hips pushed forward to fuck deeper into your throat; you heard him groan, but it was muffled as he bit his lip. You gagged, and they both moaned lowly. “I can feel when you choke on him,” Zemo informed you with a grunt, “your little cunt squeezes me tighter.”

It must have been Zemo’s hand that slid up your spine and held onto your shoulder— it must have been Bucky that reached down to feel your tits— but if was your hand that ended up between your legs, rubbing your clit quickly simply because you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore.

“So desperate,” Zemo mocked— or praised, maybe? The difference was hard to define. “You want to come?”

You hummed in agreement around Bucky’s cock, before he forced you to choke on it again. You never expected him to be so aggressive, nor how much it would make you crave even more.

“If you want a turn with her, James, you’d better take it now,” Zemo offered, voice thin as he tried to catch his breath. “Any more of that and I won’t be able to stop myself again.”

Bucky roughly pulled you off of Zemo and sat back on the couch, turning you around to face away from him and pulling you into his own lap; that doll nickname felt a bit more literal when he tossed you around so easily.

You gasped as Bucky slid inside, and moaned as you realized you could so easily feel the difference between them. “Fuck!” you cried out loudly, louder than you really meant to, as Bucky instantly began bouncing you on top of him; you were trying to move with him, but he was so much stronger and basically just using you however he wanted… it made you moan even more and roll your eyes back in your head as you realized that. “Fuck, Bucky, oh my god—”

“See how much louder she screams for me?” Bucky grinned.

“That’s because her mouth isn’t full this time,” Zemo countered with a laugh. “That can be corrected.”

Bucky was certainly much more… impatient in the way he fucked you; Zemo, meanwhile, was as controlled as ever as he guided you to lean forward, gently opened your mouth, and slid just his leaking head inside. He purred as you suckled at the tip, looking up at him with watering eyes.

“Can you taste yourself?” Zemo asked you with a smile, humming when you nodded around him. “You really soaked me, darling— I expect you to be a good girl and clean all that off.”

You moaned at the praise and took him deeper into your mouth, using your tongue to lick up every drop of your own wetness off of him. You surprised even yourself with how shameless you were, pulling your mouth off to run your tongue over him instead, moaning as you licked him clean.

Bucky fucked up faster into you until you could barely focus on the task before you, but you still found a way: you kept Zemo’s cock in your mouth and let him hold your head, keeping you steady while Bucky moaned louder and thrusted harder.

You moaned more and more around Zemo until he pulled you away and you gasped instantly. “Tell me how it feels,” he demanded harshly, holding your head up by your hair.

“So good,” you yelped, “it’s so fucking good!”

He surprised you with a slap across the face, but you moaned right away. “Fucking whore,” he spat. “Look how badly you need to be treated. You want to come, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, “yes, fuck, please—”

“Well, James,” Zemo hissed, “aren’t you going to help her?”

Bucky sighed and moved one of the hands on your hips down between your legs, rubbing you quickly and harshly. Your thighs were shaking instantly; actually, pretty much all of you was shaking.

“She’s coming, James, don’t stop,” Zemo barked out another order, holding you tight by the jaw and looking right into your eyes. “I want you to come until you can’t possibly take it anymore,” he explained with a growl, “don’t tell me to make him stop until then, is that clear? Show us how much you can take, nothing less.”

You nodded as best you could with him holding onto your face, and tried to lean in to put your mouth on his cock again, but he held you there.

“No,” he corrected, “I’d rather get a good look at this.”

Bucky’s hand on your clit was relentless, the pressure almost too intense for you to take— but you had to take it, you had no other choice. It started off almost slowly, a gradual descent into the numbing pleasure of your orgasm, but it didn’t stop; Zemo already made it clear he wasn’t going to let it stop until you were at your limit. Your moans were shaky and broken from how hard Bucky was fucking you, and your eyes were rolling back already but you could’ve sworn you heard Zemo chuckle at the sight of you. Did you really look that fucked up?

“Good girl,” he purred, “keep going. You can take more.”

You whined louder, higher, sharper; you weren’t sure how much more you really could take of this, but you wanted to do as you’d been told and not tap out until the absolute last second.

You knew you were crying, only because you felt the hot tears running down your cheeks. You heard Zemo encouraging you distantly, but you couldn’t quite make out any words, just the dark and sweet tone of his voice. You heard Bucky, too, groaning deeply while you felt his fingers digging tighter into your hips. Could he feel everything he was putting your body through?

“Fuck, stop!” you heard yourself blurt out, and instantly Bucky’s hand moved away— but his thrusts didn’t slow down. It was just the right amount of relief, and you blinked the blurriness out of your vision. It was almost like part of it didn’t even really hit you until then, until the aftershocks reverberated through your body.

“That’s it,” Zemo praised, “you’re alright, we’ve got you.”

“Oh god, o-oh god,” you sobbed, shaking uncontrollably— they were both holding you up, you would’ve toppled to the floor if it weren’t for them

“Fuck, m’gonna come,” Bucky groaned.

“Inside,” you gasped, even with how little mental clarity you had in that moment. “I want it inside.”

“Fuck,” he said again. “That’s so— god, baby, look what you fuckin’ do to me… I’m gonna come inside you.”

“Yes,” you begged with a sob, Zemo grinning as he watched you.

Still numb and clenching uncontrollably inside, you felt the way he pumped harder and harder and harder— until it slowed down and he let out the most delicious, long groan. You whined, but smiled, as he loosened his grip on your hips and relaxed under you, his moans and heavy breaths seeming to drip with satisfaction. “Fuck,” he said, one more time, deeper than ever, before falling back on the couch limply.

Zemo lifted you off of Bucky— apparently a little sooner than he was ready for, because you heard him hiss as he slipped out of you— and guided you with him onto the couch, pulling your back into his chest. He knelt behind you, kissing the back of your shoulder as watched you try to come back to reality.

“I should let you rest for a moment,” he noticed, “but you don’t want me to, do you?”

Weakly, you shook your head.

He moved in closer to you and you felt his cock, still wet with your spit, rub against the inside of your thigh— and even after all that, you arched your back deeper in invitation.

It made you blush when Zemo slid into you again, thinking about him filling you alongside Bucky’s load, especially with the way he groaned lowly into your ear. “You want me to fuck his come even deeper into you?” he taunted, and you whined but nodded. “I thought so.”

Everything felt so… sticky, in a disgusting but sexy sort of way; you were overly-sensitive inside, each thrust feeling so good with the fading sensitivity of your orgasm still present. You leaned back against Zemo with a sigh, letting him hold you close and fuck you however he wanted, more than happy to just be his toy now.

“Look how cute you are when you give in to me. You want me to use you, don’t you?” he noticed with a groan, and you whimpered but nodded ‘yes.’ “Of course,” he growled, kissing along your neck with more and more of his teeth each time. “You want me to fuck you however I want?”

“Yes,” you sobbed.

“But this isn’t about what I want,” he explained. “This is what you wanted.”

“Oh god…”

“You wanted us both to fuck you, at the same time. One cock isn’t enough to satisfy you?”

“Not anymore,” you admitted with a sigh, and he started to thrust faster and harder into you.

It turned very quickly from slow and sensual to rough and ruthless; he wrapped a hand around your neck to keep you close as you moaned and cried, anxious already to come again. “Touch yourself,” he ordered with a hiss in your ear, “make yourself come around my cock.”

“F-fuck,” you choked out, but slid a hand over your body and between your legs to obey him quickly. You were already so fucking close, and you knew you shouldn’t go so hard on yourself when you were so sensitive, but your desperation made you really rub hard and fast in search of that growing tension. “Yes, fuck, m’gonna— oh god—”

“I know, darling,” he cooed, “just let go. It’s alright, I’ll hold you— come for me.”

You didn’t literally black out, but you did sort of… lose time, in that moment. It was like you were just floating in pleasure for a while and then all of a sudden you were laying back on the couch and you weren’t even sure where Bucky had gone and Zemo was proudly holding your legs open.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he informed you, and you blinked back at him shyly.

You expected the warm, sticky feeling as their come leaked out of you… what you didn’t expect to feel was Zemo’s mouth on your pussy, eagerly lapping it up and sucking on your clit as your eyes shot open and you gasped and moaned with surprise.

“Dude,” Bucky grimaced, “that’s fucked up…”

Zemo just hummed and took his mouth off of you, giving Bucky a confused look. “She tastes amazing,” Zemo defended, “maybe even better after our… contribution.”

You laughed a little at the description, until he leaned down and latched onto you again, making you gasp and run your fingers through his hair. “Fuck,” you whined, bucking your hips against his face. Your clit was already overstimulated, and the way that he flicked it with his tongue made you shiver all over.

Your hold on his hair made it a little easier to push him away when he sucked too hard on your sore clit; he was more than strong enough to keep going, but he stopped anyways and let you push him back with a smug, slickened smile. “You really should try it, James,” he encouraged, “you’ll only want more once you do.”

Sighing in relent, Bucky knelt down in front of the couch— yes, at some point he’d gotten off of it, and you were too high on orgasm dopamine to notice it— and Zemo helped you adjust your hips towards him so he could just dive right in.

He gave one long lick over you first, making you shudder, and seemed to get more excited and aggressive quickly as he held onto your thighs and started to push his tongue inside you. “Oh god,” you whimpered, and Zemo watched proudly for a moment before turning his head to kiss up your leg.

“Poor thing,” he cooed between gentle presses of his lips to your skin, “you probably thought we were done with you, didn’t you?”

You were on the couch nursing a cup of tea, your feet resting in Bucky’s lap on top of the pants he’d changed into after his shower; Zemo was on the balcony having a cigarette. That was the scene Sam came back to, and he seemed to notice something was off just by the way he raised an eyebrow as he entered the living room. “Hey guys,” he greeted. “What did I miss?”

“Not much,” Bucky shrugged, “just a pretty quiet morning…”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo smut #bucky x zemo x reader #bucky x reader x zemo

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panerasbox · 2 months ago

Text

—Urgent Supply Order

Pairing: Ava Coleman x fem!reader.

Genre: Fluff.

Word count: 729.

summary: prompt: keep their name out of your mouth!

A/N: I’m always nervous when I write for a character for the first time. I hope this is okay!

The teacher’s lounge was a humid box of burnt coffee, stale air, and conversations no one really wanted to have. The only thing preventing you from hurling your mug at the wall was the comforting realization that Ava was on the other side of the building, causing delightful mischief somewhere far away from here.

Until you heard her name, loud and smirking, slicing through the noise.

“…Probably why Ava gets away with everything. Flash a smile, tilt her head, poof—no real work.”

You didn’t even have to turn around. The voice was unmistakable: the substitute. The one who tried too hard to be liked, said “fam” unironically, and once brought in a guitar to “connect with the youth.” He was still talking.

“I mean, I get it. She’s hot. If I were the —”

“Get her name out of your pathetic mouth.”

Silence. Full stop. Your mug clinked against the table as you stood, not bothering to hide the edge in your voice.

He blinked. “Whoa. Didn’t know she needed a bodyguard.”

You stared him down. “You didn’t know she deserved basic respect, either, but here we are.”

A cough. A chair scraped. Nobody backed you up—but nobody laughed with him either. The sub muttered something and made a show of leaving like he had somewhere better to be. You knew a retreat when you saw one.

You didn’t sit back down. Your untouched coffee cooled in front of you while your pulse thudded against your collarbone.

There’d be an email by 4 p.m., probably with the words “tone,” “concern,” or “not the place.” Worth it.

You barely made it three steps out of the lounge before nearly colliding with her.

“Hey.”

Ava stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking like she’d been there longer than comfort would allow. Her expression was unreadable, but her presence was unmistakable—bright, sharp, Ava.

“You good?” She asked, as if she hadn’t just heard you verbally rip someone apart for her. Like she didn’t already know the answer.

You nodded, stiff. “He was being a dick.”

“I heard,” she said, tone dry. “I was gonna let it slide. Then I heard your voice go full ‘scorched earth.’ Had to come see it for myself.”

“I don’t like when people talk about you like that.”

Ava smiled, slow and sharp. “Damn. Chivalry isn’t dead—it’s just hot and repressed.”

You rolled your eyes, but your pulse was still racing, and you knew she could tell.

“I’m not mad,” she said.

“I know.”

“I’m not embarrassed either. Honestly, that was the most action i’ve seen since I made a kindergartener cry for calling me ‘the mean lunch lady.’”

“She was five.”

“She had judgment in her eyes.”

A beat passed. She stepped closer, close enough for her voice to drop into that low, teasing register she saved just for you.

“You scared him.”

“Good.”

“I liked it.”

A slow smile crept onto your face. “I know.”

Ava’s eyes sparkled, her posture still casual but her focus laser-sharp. She brushed her fingers against your wrist like it was nothing—but it wasn’t.

“You always gonna defend me like that?” she asked.

“Every time.”

“You better. If I’m risking carpal tunnel typing ‘urgent supply order’ every time I wanna see you alone, the least you can do is throw hands.”

You laughed, a little louder than intended.

You looked at her, really looked. Past the show and the snark. Past the constant deflection. And she let you.

“I hate that we can’t be real,” you said, the words slipping out like a breath you’d been holding for too long. “I hate pretending you’re not everything the second someone else walks into the room.”

Her smile faltered, then softened.

“Yeah,” she said. “Me too.”

Then she grabbed your wrist, and your stomach flipped because that look in her eyes wasn’t for show anymore. She pulled you down the hall with no explanation and zero subtlety.

“I swear,” she said, half growling, “if I don’t kiss you in the next fifteen seconds, I’m going to throw a Chromebook.”

She tugged you into an empty classroom, shut the door, and kissed you like she meant it. Like she was tired of pretending. Like you were the only person in the building. Probably the city. Maybe the world.

And for a minute—maybe you were.

#ava coleman #abbott elementary #ava coleman x reader #gxg #fluff #panerasboxfic #janelle james #wlw fanfic #archive of our own #fanfic #oneshot: ava

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alexanderlightweight · 3 months ago

Note

Hope your day is going well!

Prompt: jealousy but stupid

These boys are both smart but irrationally jealous over an object or sensation lol

ty Anon, today was kinda rough for the whole house but we're all getting through it and Nightshade got to go out on an errand which he gets really excited about and that always makes everyone smile.

i had a lot of fun writing this prompt :) and I really hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it!

<3 lumine

Alexander looks stunning.

He always does but not once has Magnus tired of gazing upon his features, his body clad with different clothing or bare, he is perfection incarnate to Magnus.

Now his loose curls are nearly falling into his eyes, tousled despite Magnus’ heavy hand in styling and the blooming night jasmine tucked behind his ear. It’s to be expected though, Magnus was unable to keep himself from pulling Alexander into countless kisses even after they were both ready.

They were late, as they usually are but no one is surprised. It’s practically guaranteed at this point. It isn’t as if they haven’t tried to be on time. But Magnus is weak in the face of his beloved and getting ready early just gives Magnus more time to lavish affection upon a dressed up Alexander.

Even now, with Alexander only a few feet away as he and Ragnor playfully bicker — Magnus still isn’t sure how they sound so argumentative when they’re agreeing with each other with increasing fervor — Magnus finds himself full of longing.

Alexander’s shirt clings to his back with the covetousness of a lover and Magnus both applauds his earlier choice and laments. It should be his skin pressed so close that not even a breadth of air lingers between them, his body keeping Alexander warm instead of silk.

It’s with a sigh that he accepts the drink Cat hands him, his eyes lingering on the mark he’d left on Alexander’s deflect rune, nearly hidden by the collar of his shirt.

Perhaps he should have finally coaxed Alexander into wearing a collarless dress-shirt. Something to show off the marks Magnus had left behind rather than this one that so rigidly hides away the proof of Magnus ardor.

“Why do you even come to these events?” Cat’s voice is laughing and soft, making sure that no one else can overhear. “You spend the whole time wishing you had him back at your lair.”

“I’m not wishing we were home,” Magnus tells her. Abensently sipping from his glass even as he wishes his fingers could be as closely entwined with Alexander’s as the rings Magnus had asked him to wear. “

“Really?”

Magnus finally tears his hungry eyes away from Alexander to see Cat’s eyebrow arched mockingly, her lips curved in coy smirk.

“I wouldn’t mind being back home, or somewhere else. Anywhere really as long as he’s there with me, but that’s not why.” Magnus sighs and Cat’s eyes soften with concern at the sound of his melancholy. Dearest Catarina knows him truly, summoning another drink for him before his first is even finished and he discards the now empty flute with a snap of his fingers.

“Alexander isn’t simply my husband at these events. He’s also a liaison from the shadowhunters politically speaking and places like these, where diplomats aren’t normally invited, are rare opportunities for both the Downworld as a whole and Alexander.”

“And you think he’d mind if you were there for politics?” Cat asks and she’s confused because as she and Magnus both know, Alexander equally loathes being parted from him.

“No he wouldn’t mind.” And Magnus knows he’s sulking but he can’t help it. “But Mirai contacted me and let me know that she was being flooded by fire message complaints. Apparently he’s intimidating enough on his own, but he’s even less approachable when I’m ‘draped over him like a dragon with its hoard’.” Catarina’s quiet snort turns into a soft melodious laugh as she gives up holding back.

“And you can’t deny that’s true.”

Magnus sighs because while he hates admitting to causing anything that would hinder Alexander’s success, he’s hardly going to lie to himself. Or anyone else about something he’s completely unashamed of.

“And I can’t deny it’s true. So I asked Ragnor to pull him aside for a conversation and even now they hesitate to approach him, just with me watching him.” As frustrating as it is, he’s also amused and pleased by just how well his presence protects Alexander... even if perhaps it’s unnecessary just this once.

Cat sighs and wraps her arm around his shoulders in commiseration of his sorrow. Only Catarina and Ragnor have ever indulged him in such things and he loves them both dearly for it.

“Come over here with me for half an hour, I’ll distract you enough so he’s approachable and then you can steal him away when you’ve met your limit. I’m sure half an hour is still enough progress for Mirai to get some relief. Besides, Alec’s as hopeless as you are and if you stay here and make eye contact with him your little plan will really be over.”

Magnus turns back to look again, the possibility of catching Alexander’s gaze immediately far more urgent than any other thought, only for Catarina to tighten her grip.

“Looking back will only make it harder,” she reminds him and he gives in, even as he reaches out, letting his magic connect with the various artifacts Alexander is wearing.

Even apart, at least he can be as close as his magic, especially the delicately grown jasmine fed from his own magic that lays across the shell of Alexander's ear and kisses his brow.

this is the in his wake, petals fall verse which is very much bamf!couple malec who are the denizens of their respective fields and very much entirely enamoured with each other and Alec really like his greenhouses and his flowers and Magnus loves to indulge him so yeah that's the verse its in ^_^

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #in his wake petals fall #in his wake petals fall vs #shadowhunters #malec #alec lightwood #magnus bane

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tinydefector · 1 year ago

Note

Could I request some human and Rung nsfw scenario? Maybe Rungs curiosity about human anatomy gets the better of him

Divine

Did I use this to write Wings of Primus AU yes, yes I did.

Wings of Primus AU

Rung x Human reader

Word count: 3.9K

Warning: Smut, religious experience. #Valveplug

Request and ask open, read pinned post

Rung masterlist

Rung's optics fixated on the human's back, his gaze drawn to the mesmerising sight of the gears and orb shifting and glowing with an ethereal light. As he observed this phenomenon,curiosity intertwined with a sense of guilt that gnawed at his spark. Every Time he saw them a small part of him felt guilty over the fact it was his wings that had fused to them.

How had this come to pass? How did the gears and orb become fused with the human's form? These were mysteries that tugged at Rung's inquisitive nature, but the fact that ancient Cybertronian technology had melded itself to a human did intrigued him.

A smile tugged at the corners of Rung's lips as they turned to look at him, their concern evident in their gaze. They sensed something was amiss, perhaps noticing his lingering optics and the weight of unspoken thoughts that hung in the air.

"Rung, is everything alright?" their voice is filled with genuine worry. Rung's optics flickered, momentarily caught off guard by the directness of their question. He quickly composed himself.

"Of course, my dear," Rung replied, his voice gentle yet tinged with a hint of wryness. "Just lost in my thoughts, you know how it goes. How have things been since Ratchet's examination?" He offered them a small, reassuring smile, attempting to deflect their concern.

“ It went well enough, getting sick of constant check ups, he can't really do much about the orb, it doesn't hurt, it's just kinda there, occasionally it transforms into wings, just don't understand why so many tests are needed” they reply.

Rung listened attentively as the human shared their experience since Ratchet's examination, his wry smile lingering on his lips. Their weariness and frustration over the constant check-ups is understandable and Rung couldn't help but empathise. After all, he was the reason this all happened.

"It's understandable to grow weary of the constant tests and examinations," Rung acknowledged, his tone sympathetically. "Ratchet's thoroughness can sometimes feel excessive, but he truly wants to ensure your well-being. As for the orb, he's worried for your safety."

It was a phenomenon that defied conventional understanding, and Rung couldn't help but be fascinated by it, He had encountered many enigmatic phenomena during his long existence, but this fusion of technology and organic matter was a rare occurrence, but this was different, it wasn't the same as techno organic, terraformers, no this was a part of primus that had literally melted into their body. It sparked his analytical mind, he himself did not know how it came to be, prompting him to ponder the possibilities and implications of such a unique integration.

"I can't help but be intrigued by the melding of organic and mechanical elements within your form, does it affect any of your functions?" Rung asked, his voice carrying a tinge of worry.

"It was kinda hard to get used to when it first latched onto me, kinda learnt my lesson not to go looking at shooting starts again, but it only hurt for about a week and it was sore joints due to extra weight, but don't know how Cybertronians work on the inside but its like its keeping my body healthy, it healed over the burns and fixed anything it rewired, kinda feels natural now"

He knew that living with something as extraordinary as the orb's fusion could be both a blessing and challenge.

“Rung your staring, is everything alright your not having a short circuit are you, do I need to get one of the medics?” They ask, head tilted while they move closer to him.

Rung had always been adept at masking his emotions, burying his own turmoil beneath a facade of calm and composure. It was a skill he had honed over vorns, allowing him to maintain a professional front.

However, the guilt continued to linger within him, a persistent ache that he couldn't easily dismiss. He couldn't help but feel responsible for the situation, The weight of that guilt pressed heavily upon him, tugging at his spark.

Rung's gaze returned to the gears and orb on the human's back, his optics tracing their intricate movements. He yearned to understand, to unravel the mystery that lay before him. "Yes, everything is alright," Rung reassured them, his voice softening with sincerity.

Deep down, he knew that eventually, the truth behind the gears and orb on the human's back would come to light. And when it did, he hoped they would forgive him. “Well back to the lesson I guess You did ask me to help you understand human anatomy, so guess you're gonna have to bear with me as we go along" they state. "So.. where do you want to start?"

He watched as they walked closer, their presence bringing a sense of warmth and familiarity. Rung's gaze softened, his wry smile transforming into a more genuine expression.

"As for where to start, I believe it would be best to begin with the basics," Rung suggested, his tone thoughtful. "Let's start with the major anatomical systems,”

Well humans have the skeletal system, that's our bone structure, muscular system which is our skin muscle mass and a few organs of ours, cardiovascular system, our heart and vein systems, pretty much the main ones we have." They grab Rungs servos as they guild him to different body parts explaining what they were and used for. Rung's knowledge of human anatomy was limited but enthusiasm for learning was evident, his desire to expand his knowledge.

"Rung your staring again, is there something on me, do i need to get ratchet to check my back again?" They ask while quickly turning around while attempting to check the orb.

Rung blinked, momentarily snapped out of his contemplative state. He couldn't help but chuckle at the human's playfulness.

"My apologies, my dear," Rung replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I was simply lost in thought, pondering the various similarities between humans and Cybertronians."

"One striking similarity lies in the presence of sensory organs. Just as humans have eyes to see, Cybertronians possess optics. Similarly, humans have ears for hearing, while Cybertronians have audio receptors. The ability to perceive the world through these senses is a shared trait."

He paused for a moment, allowing his words to settle. Rung's gaze softened, his expression thoughtful. "Furthermore, both humans and Cybertronians possess a central processing unit, so to speak. For humans, it is their brain, while for Cybertronians, it is their central processor. These neural centres enable complex processes, allowing for consciousness, decision-making, and emotional experiences."

Rung's voice carried a hint of excitement as he continued to unveil the similarities.

"And let us not forget the significance of the spark," Rung added, his voice taking on a reverent tone. "Just as humans have their hearts, the spark serves as the core of a Cybertronian's being. It is the seat of their life force, their essence. The spark is what defines a Cybertronian, just as the heart defines a human." One of his digits press lightly against their chest as he processes the sound of their heart beat, so similar yet different from a spark pulse.

Rung can feel the wings calling to his spark again as if they were calling though their heart. As the alluring feeling echoed in his processor, Rung couldn't deny the sharp pang of desire that surged through his circuits. His optics drank in the human's form, appreciating the unique beauty that lay before him. He leaned back in his chair, trying to maintain his composure despite the rising heat in his spark. Rung's gaze remained fixed on them, his optics betraying a mixture of curiosity and desire.

"I must admit, I find myself wondering about the intricacies of human interfacing," Rung confessed, his voice lowering to a more intimate tone. "It is a concept that Cybertronians are quite familiar with, as it serves as a means of connection, pleasure, and profound intimacy. I was wondering if humans have something similar" He wanted to delve deeper into the human experience, to explore the nuances of their desires and connections, and how different they are from Cybertronian.

They meet Rung's optics. “Rung, are you trying to proposition me?” They ask with a laugh, teasing him. Rung's optics widened slightly at the human's teasing response, caught off guard by their playful accusation. a rare display of embarrassment that betrayed his composed exterior. He quickly regained his composure, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Ah, I assure you that my intentions are purely intellectual," Rung replied quickly, shaking his servos while trying to save face, his voice laced with amusement. "As a psychiatrist, I have a natural curiosity about the intricacies of different species' experiences, including the concept of human interfacing." He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in before continuing, his tone retaining its intimacy and sincerity. “Oh I'm not helping my case” he mumbles.

They laugh, head thrown back as little snorts come from them before they settle. “I'm just teasing Rung, I promise, but your face oh my God it was priceless” they continue to giggle. Rung's optics flickered with a mix of relief and amusement “ cheeky i see” a gentle smile crossed his lips a hint of wryness lingers.

"you certainly know how to keep me on my pedes," Rung replied, his voice returning to its usual calm and composed tone. "I must admit, your playful nature caught me off guard for a moment there."

“Please continue Rung i just couldn't help myself” they reply waiting for him to continue his line of thought.

"Cybertronian interfacing is a deeply personal and profound act, encompassing both physical and emotional connection," Rung explained, his voice gentle yet filled with wisdom. "It serves as a means of not only pleasure but also forging intimate bonds and strengthening relationships. I was more curious if humans have a similar concept." He states while pressing his glasses back up his face.

“Well humans, we call it intercorse, sex, love making, reproduction. Kinda depends on the person but it's a mix of doing it for Fun, pleasure, stress relief, commitment to another or to have kids” they explain to Rung as he listens in rather fascinated.

With that, Rung leaned back slightly, his posture relaxed and open, “ so rather similar to Cybertronians” he mumbles before he looks back at them. 'They crave you' the words echo through his processor making his servo clench onto the arm of his chair, reminding him of the hidden desires that now threaten to consume his thoughts.

"I'm open for you to learn more, take a more hands on approach, just be gentle, don't ruin my clothes'' they respond. It nearly takes Rung off guard again, His optics widened ever so slightly. His spark fluttered with a mixture of anticipation and caution.

"Only if you are certain," Rung replied, his voice steady yet tinged with a touch of warmth. "I assure you, I will be as gentle as can be, and I'll do my best to avoid any mishaps with your clothing." He allowed his servo to rest on their leg, his touch light and cautious. Rung's gaze remained fixed on the human, his optics filled with a mixture of curiosity and wonder. He was acutely aware of the privilege bestowed upon him, the opportunity to learn and explore the depths of human interfacing.

"Before we proceed, I must emphasise the importance of clear communication," Rung continued, his voice soft and earnest. "If at any point you feel uncomfortable or wish to stop, please let me know, or we can adjust accordingly. Your comfort is of utmost importance to me." With those words, Rung's servo shifted slightly, the touch remaining gentle as he removed their shirt. His optics drank in the sight before him, captivated by their skin, the scared marks that run across their skin from the wing mechanism.

Rung's gaze lingered, his optics filled with a mix of guilt as he traces the scars before his digit runs along the ever shifting orb. He awaited their response.

"I'll let you know Rung” they reply, the give a come here motion to him waiting for him to lean down. When he does they lean up and kiss him.

'They are yours to Claim Primus, they wear your wings to present themself for only you' the echoed words linger only for him to hear. Rung Slowly moving, examining and studying their soft form. His servos and digits continued to explore the human's form, his touch gentle yet purposeful. Each reaction, each sound that spilled from their lips, fueled his desire to provide pleasure and to elicit even more of those delightful sounds only for him to hear. Rung's spark pulsed with a mix of anticipation and a growing hunger.

As the human moaned his name, louder and more desperate, Rung felt a shiver of excitement ripple through his frame. It was an affirmation of their desire, "stunning," Rung breathed, his voice laced with a mixture of desire and affection. "Let's move this to a more comfortable place. Rung stood, their body clinging to him as he swiftly moved towards the berth. Rung felt a surge of delight as the human clung to him, their smile reflecting their eagerness for what lay ahead. He savoured the sound of their small squeal

Rung's spark pulsed with anticipation as he led them to the berth he discarded his glasses on the bench as he laid them onto the berth. their bodies pressed intimately against each other. The urging whispers echoed in his audials, Rung gently lowered the human onto the soft surface, their combined heat and desire filling the air around them. His optics drank in the sight before him, a beautiful and willing form laid bare, their pants discarded and their need evident. The moans that escaped their lips fueled his own desire, spurring him to explore further.

"Is this alright?" Rung murmured, his voice husky with desire. With a gentle touch, Rung's digits pressed against their entrance, a wave of pleasure coursing through both of their frames. “Yes, more than alright” The desire in their voice, their plea for more, stirred a primal heat within him, urging him to grant their request. Rung's own arousal was evident.

With each deliberate movement, Rung explored their softness and elicited more moans from their lips. He revelled in their responsiveness, digits pressing deeper and stretching them open, they buck into his hand "Please, Rung," pleads spilling from their lips, their voice laced with a desperate need.

Rung's spark surged with a mix of adoration and desire as he responded to their plea, his touch becoming more focused and deliberate.

Rung continued to explore, to bring them both closer to the precipice of ecstasy. Their shared desire and trust fueled his own arousal, but his focus remained on their pleasure, on guiding them towards a peak of bliss that they both craved.

His little human moans and begs for more. The wing mechanism releases and the metal wings transform, Spread out across the berth from the human's back the wings flutter in delight against their back.. Their legs shake each time Rung's digits thrust back into their soft velvet walls.

'They are ready, claim them, claim them as yours Primus,' Rung's optics widened in surprise and disbelief as the wing mechanism on the human's back released, transforming into metal wings that spread out across the berth. His spark skipped a beat, a mix of awe and realisation surging through him, they looked stunning with his wings, very different from when he last wore them but yet they suited them so well.

His processors whirred, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and desires swirling within him. Rung knew that his wings were a manifestation of who he was, a symbol of his duty and purpose.

"Divine," Rung murmured, his voice a mixture of reverence and uncertainty. Rung's digits continued their thrusting, his touch seeking to bring the human closer to their peak of pleasure. Their moans and the trembling of their legs fueled his own desire, “that's it, let go overload for me” he whispers against their ear.

"Please, more" they moaned, their voice filled with a mix of need and desire. Rungs' other servo comes up to cradle their face. He slowly pulls his digits away moving so that he could be as close to them as the size difference allowed. Rung's own arousal surged, his spark pulsing with a mix of longing and restraint.

Rung moves with purpose and care, his interface plating releases as he slowly presses up against them. “Are you alright?” he asked again only to receive a nod as they try pulling him closer. He slowly presses into their smaller body, the sudden heat and pleasure that hits has him groaning loudly.

"Rung!" They cry out loudly as run sinks into them, arms shooting up to grip onto him. His servo moves Their legs, shifting to rest around his hips, slowly he starts to move and starts thrusting. Their back arches off the bed, wings fluttering and sprawling out more as moans fall from their lips.

Rung's spark surged with a mixture of desire and adoration as the human cried out his name, their voice filled with a potent combination of pleasure and need, need only for him. The sight of their back arching off the bed, their wings fluttering and sprawling out more, stirred a primal heat within Rung, this was for him, they had come to him.

Rung's thrusts were deliberate and measured, aimed at bringing them both closer to pleasure. With each movement, he elicited a symphony of moans and gasps.

“Your stunning, my stunning divine" Rung calls out, his voice laced with desire and tenderness.

The human's moans echoed in his audials, their pleas for more spurring him on. Rung's own arousal surged, his pace quickening as the intensity mounted. The tighten of their body have surging towards the peak of bliss.

He relished every reaction, every gasp and moan that fell from their lips. Wishing he could have them on repeat, he could melt just from how their eyes water, how they bite their lip as pleasure takes them.

Rung's voice became a low and soothing presence amidst the growing intensity.

"Let go, my dear," he urged again, his voice filled with a mix of desire and tenderness. "I've got you. Please come undone for me"

Together, they succumbed to the overwhelming wave of ecstasy, their bodies trembling with the intensity of their release. Rung held them close, venting heavily. ‘His’ wings enfolding them in a gentle embrace as they rode out the aftershocks of their shared pleasure.

They choke out as Rung lifts them up, resting on his knees as he pulls them up with him. Through hazed eyes it's like Rung's plating is Gold, the wings cling to him and for a brief moment when their orgasm hits, they see him. A glimpse of the bot Rung once was.

Gold and silver plating blue markings down his faceplate. Their hand extends to trace one of the diamonds of glowing blue.

Gently, Rung held them close, his touch and embrace a grounding presence amidst the ethereal moment that had just passed. His optics met theirs, a mixture of warmth and deskre shining within them.

And as they remained in each other's embrace, basking in the afterglow of their shared pleasure, Rung held onto their exhausted form, Their head resting on Rung chassis panting as he rolled them so he's laying down. The wings flutter and twitch but make no move to transform back. fingers tracing lines on his plating, it's the orange now, not the shimmering gold they had seen before.

The question that escaped their lips was soft and filled with curiosity, their voice carrying a sense of wonder. "What... what are you?"

Rung's optics softened as he contemplated their question. "I am Rung," he replied, his tone gentle yet resolute. "A psychiatrist aboard the Lost Light, here to help guide and support those who seek solace and understanding."

He paused for a moment, allowing the weight of their question to settle in. The significance of their vision and perception was not lost on him. It spoke to the depth of his spark.

"But I am more than that," Rung continued, his voice carrying a hint of wry amusement. "I am a being who has lived and experienced much more than others give me credit for. An old spark, if you will. Older than most"

He shifted slightly, allowing the human to remain comfortable in his embrace as he continued to run his fingers along their frame. The sensation of their touch, combined with their question, stirred a mix of emotions within Rung.

"I am a bot who has walked many paths, witnessed the ebb and flow of countless lives," Rung explained. "I was once known as Primus, keeper of the all-spark, the divine essence that flows through all of cybertron."

"But I am also just Rung," he added, his voice filled with warmth. As Rung spoke, his touch remained gentle and comforting, his fingers intertwining with theirs. The significance of their vision and their perception of him as the bot he once was, Primus, held a profound impact on their shared experience.

"You have seen something special," Rung concluded, his voice filled with gratitude. "A glimpse into the depths of my being, the intertwining of my own spark. and the divine."

"The wings, they are yours aren't they?" A mixture of emotions swirled within Rung, a sense of awe, nostalgia, and a tinge of sadness. He had thought those wings were lost forever, a relic of his distant past. But now, seeing them once again, merged with another being, it was a profound revelation.

"Those wings were once mine, a part of me from a time long ago." He carefully reached out, his fingers tracing along the edges of the wings, feeling the familiar energy pulsating through them. It was a bittersweet reunion, a reminder of who he once was and the journey he had undertaken since then.

"I never imagined I would see them again," Rung continued, his voice tinged with a wistful tone. "To witness them melded with another, it is a testament to the resilience of them, but I'm sorry it was you they joined with” the remorse in his voice is evident

"I'm not," they whisper, “they brought me here so i have to thank them, i just wasn't expecting this. Wasn't expecting the God of Cybertron playing therapist to a ragtag mixed bunch” they reply, it makes him chuckle as he pulls them further up his chassis. “you have me there my dear”.

___________

Have some funnies

Rung and The human sitting together after.

Human: so… your Cybertron's God?

Rung: *sighing* I was once, but I'm not anymore, I gave that part of myself up long ago.

Human: …. I fucked the God of Cybertron who's also my therapist….

Rung: *looking away embarrassed* please it sound bad enough as is

_________

Human: …..

Swerve: what's wrong squishy, you look like you have been through alot need a drink.

Human: I fucked God

Swerve: *raising his optic ridge* pardon?

Human:*having a panic attack* I fucked Primus Swerve, oh God I fucked an alien species God

Swerve: *looking worried* Was he a good Frag?

________

Human: Rung... I don't have to worry about having a cyberhuman God child do I

Rung: *slightly confused* I don't believe that will be something to worry about, why.

Human: ahh earth religion thing is all.

______

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bellaxgiornata · 9 months ago

Text

Compliments

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x fem!Reader Word Count: 1.4k [Tuna-Tober Masterlist]

Tuna-Tober Prompt: "Are you blushing?"

Warnings/tags: 18+; mentions of sex, sheer fluff, making Mikey blush, naked cuddling in bed

Summary: You notice the way Michael always reacts when given a compliment and you quickly wonder what would happen if you showered him with multiple at once.

a/n: Mikey deserves to be showered with compliments on the daily and you cannot change my mind. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Shivering beneath the sheets, your eyelids slowly opened. Soft, faint morning light was seeping past the plain navy blue curtains as you lay along the bed, your body partially curled in along itself. Goosebumps had already begun to dot your skin just before you’d fully stirred awake, the chill of Michael’s bedroom the most likely culprit for you waking just as the sun had begun to rise. Craving his body heat, you nestled a little further backwards into his body behind you.

Last night had been the first night he’d ever asked you to stay over at his place, but you had not anticipated just how needy Michael would become when he awoke in the middle of the night with you in his bed. You weren’t going to complain about the pleasant ache that you could now feel between your thighs, smiling at the memory of Michael half-awake as he buried himself into you over and over, but as another involuntary shudder raced through your body, you regretted not dressing before falling back asleep last night.

A hand cautiously smoothed its way over your bare hip and your body startled beneath the touch, jumping slightly in surprise. Head rolling along the pillow, you spotted Michael’s shy smile greeting you from where he lay along his own pillow behind you. His eyes were half-lidded and creased at the corners, that lone dimple in his cheek present on his tired face.

“G’morning, pet,” he greeted groggily. “How’d ya sleep?”

“Good,” you answered, rolling over in bed to face him. “Even better thanks to that midnight interruption.”

“Mmm,” he happily hummed out, his sleepy grin growing. “I'd have to agree with ya, that definitely helped me sleep better. And now it's a perfect mornin’ wakin’ with ya here.”

“It is,” you agreed. “Except I am absolutely freezing in here,” you told him, playfully pouting as you inched a bit closer to his naked body. “I will never get used to the constant chill in the air here.”

Michael’s expression shifted from sleepy to concerned as his dark brows furrowed together. “I'm sorry, pet. I didn't realize ya were cold. C'mere,” he said, his hand on your hip tugging you closer to the front of himself. “Let me help ya with that.”

Allowing him to draw you right up against his body, you reveled in the heat radiating off of him and seeping into the front of yourself. Wrapping your arms around him beneath the sheets, you smiled back at him as he slipped one of his large, warm thighs between your own. His body heat alone was quickly chasing the chill straight out of you and it had you further relaxing against him.

“How's that?” he asked. “Better?”

“Mmm,” you hummed pleasantly, one hand tracing absent patterns along his back. “Much. You're like a furnace, you know that? Or a giant space heater.”

“Oh I am, am I?” he questioned with a grin.

You nodded, your fingers still brushing the tips of your nails affectionately back and forth across his back. You swore you saw him shudder a few times when your fingertips passed alongside his spine.

“A really handsome, really sexy space heater,” you teased, shooting him a wink.

Michael chuckled lightly, his gaze briefly averting from you as he glanced just over your shoulder. Biting your lip, you'd caught on once more to the way he usually seemed to react to your compliments. Always with a soft, nervous laugh and sometimes a deflecting comment before he looked anywhere but at you. You quickly found yourself wondering what would happen if you suddenly complimented him repeatedly.

“With a very skilled mouth,” you mischievously added on. “A beautiful, talented mouth.”

“Oh, is that so?” he replied, his eyes hesitantly meeting yours again. “So I take it yer first night stayin’ over was grand then?”

“More than grand,” you answered, noting the way he changed the subject. “I never realized you were such a great cook. And you even clean dishes despite my insistence to let me take care of them. Ever the gentleman, Mikey.”

Michael shrugged sheepishly, the sheets slipping down his shoulder at the movement. “‘M not sure if I'd say I'm a great cook, but I'm glad ya enjoyed dinner last night. And o'course I wasn't goin’ to have ya clean up after.” He cleared his throat, his eyes once more darting away from your own. “If yer…not in a rush this mornin’ I'd happily cook ya some breakfast.”

You caught the nervous tinge to his tone when he'd asked you to stay longer this morning. As if he expected you to want to wake and immediately dart out the door instead of lingering and spending more time with him.

“I'd love to have breakfast with you, Mikey,” you told him, watching as his face brightened at your answer. “Though after how you repeatedly took care of me last night, maybe I should be the one making you breakfast this morning. You know, as a thank you for dinner and the multiple orgasms that followed.”

Grinning coyly back at Michael, you teasingly waggled your brows at him before shooting him another wink. Michael huffed out a laugh, his eyes once more flying to land somewhere just past where you lay. You were about to say something more, but then you noticed a slight tinge of color in his cheeks beginning to peek through his beard.

“Michael Kinsella, are you blushing right now?” you asked in surprise.

Another little nervous chuckle fell from his lips as he ducked his head, entirely averting his gaze. Unable to resist how sweet his reaction was, you tugged him tighter to yourself and Michael quickly buried his face against your neck in an attempt to hide, his beard pleasantly tickling your skin.

“Yer bein’ so nice,” he mumbled. “‘M’not used to it.”

“Well get used to it, Michael,” you told him, leaning forward to plant a kiss to the top of his head. “Because I'm going to tell you how amazing, intelligent, sweet, handsome, and brilliant you are all of the time. Because clearly you haven't been told all of that remotely enough and I have a responsibility to change that.”

“Ya do, d'ya?” he asked, his voice muffled against your skin.

“Mhmm,” you hummed back, your hands still soothingly brushing up and down his bare back beneath the bed sheets. “Until you believe it. And then even after that.”

Michael made a noise that sounded like something mixed between a sigh and huff. You giggled before placing another kiss into the mess of his dark hair.

“Yer too good for me, pet,” he said, lips brushing your neck as he spoke. “Don't know how I found ya.”

“Yes you do,” you countered with a laugh. “You saved the poor tourist struggling to find a coffee shop and now you're stuck with me.”

“Best damn decision I ever made, too,” he replied with a chuckle, face still hidden against your neck. “Ya just looked so damn cute wanderin’ ‘round Dublin confused, but I couldn't let ya continue on strugglin’.”

“And now you're giving me mind-blowing orgasms,” you teased.

A burst of deep laughter came from Michael, his body shaking against yours. You smiled at the sound, one of your hands reaching up to affectionately play with his hair.

“Dunno ‘bout that, pet,” he said once his laughter had subsided. He withdrew his face from your neck, his eyes finally meeting yours again. “But how ‘bout I make us some breakfast? How d'ya like yer eggs?”

Your bottom lip rolled between your teeth as you bit back a smile at him trying to change the subject once again. “Fertilized,” you joked.

Michael rolled his eyes, but the smile grew on his own mouth. “Ya goin’ to be like this all mornin’?” he asked.

“Yes,” you answered. “Because I love seeing the beautiful smile on your face where it belongs.”

Another bit of red tinged Michael’s cheeks at the compliment before he loosed another chuckle and glanced away. Smiling triumphantly to yourself, you settled in for a morning of complimenting him at every opportunity that presented itself.

Michael Kinsella One Shot Tag List: @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @shiorimakibawrites @wkndwlff @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @stilldreaming666 @will-delete-this-later-probably @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @sunflower-tia @kezibear @loves0phelia @millennial-birkin @steve-chandler @flowher

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella fluf #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella #kin bbc #Tuna-Tober 2024

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choerypetal · 1 year ago

Text

The Couch / Dean Winchester

summary: Dean and you had always harbored a fondness for each other, which became evident one night on Jody's couch when he found a way to express it during Jody's intervention at the dinner table.

ps: english isn't my first language so i apologize for any grammar errors

xo'

Jody had extended an invitation for dinner to the three of you. What neither of the boys knew was that this casual gathering swiftly transformed into an intervention, with Claire and Alex joining in. As you observed them enjoying the meal, a sense of unease crept in, heightened when Jody broached the topic of protection. Suddenly, Sam, Dean, and you found yourselves choking on your food, taken aback. "Um, excuse me?" Dean was the first to break the tense silence.

"You heard correctly," Jody's expression bore the gravity that none of you dared to challenge. With precision, she redirected the conversation to how she had stumbled upon unsettling items in Alex's bag. While acknowledging the discomfort of confronting such matters, being a girl also meant being privy to them, and a part of you felt relief knowing that Alex and Claire had Jody for these discussions—a resource you lacked.

In reality, it was Dean who helped you lose your virginity. "Helped" was an understatement; even in your mid-twenties, the notion of waiting for marriage felt long overdue. The memory was vivid: in the dead of night, with Sam in a deep slumber in the other side of the living room. Sleep eluded you, and with Dean nearby due to staying at Jody's, the proximity intensified. Coupled with your nearing ovulation, it was evident your libido was peaking. You were undeniably aroused, yet with the boys constantly present, suppressing any gesture or moan became a challenge, particularly when Dean's eyes cracked open slightly.

Dean observed the entire scene discreetly. He noticed your arm beneath the covers, your hips shifting, and your breath growing heavier. What he didn't realize was that he too felt the same arousal stirring within him. His shaft hardened, and he couldn't resist the urge to grasp it, seeking gratification in the moment. It was then that your eyes met, hesitation lingering before you confessed to him that you had never experienced sex before. To Dean's delight, he vowed to ensure that the experience would be memorable not just for him, but for you as well.

"Earth to Y/N," Claire's voice broke through your thoughts, prompting you to snap out of your reverie, cheeks flushing. A mischievous smirk played on Claire's lips as she continued, well aware of your distraction. "I think she was daydreaming," she teased, but you quickly shook off the implication, feeling Dean's gaze upon you. It was the same caring look he always gave, checking in to ensure your comfort, whether it was about speed or pace. Despite any imperfections in the method of 'protection,' Dean excelled at making you feel cherished. "You okay?" he asked, concern evident in his voice as his fingers lightly brushed your hand, offering a reassuring squeeze, to which you nodded in response.

"I'm sure she wasn't. Let's not deflect now. If we can't talk about it, maybe we shouldn't be doing it, right?" Your eyes widened at the question, inadvertently revealing your discomfort, while Dean nearly choked on his food again with a startled "What?" Despite not wanting to gross out Jody, he simply shrugged and glanced at you before continuing, "I mean..." Just as he was about to elaborate, Jody's eyes widened in realization, catching onto the unspoken understanding between the two of you. "Setting a good example!" she exclaimed, almost in a panic, prompting laughter from Alex, Claire, and Sam, who found the situation amusing. With Dean and you seated at the opposite end of the table, the awkwardness escalated. "And where was it?" Jody inquired, causing your muscles to tense as you recalled it took place right in this very house during one of Jody's trips. You nervously gulped, murmuring your answer while taking a sip of water, inadvertently prompting Jody to respond to the question herself.

But what she didn’t know was that whoever you had spent the night, was seating just next to you.

"On your couch..." Her expression morphed into one of disbelief, unaware that the lucky guy was actually present that evening. Despite her high expectations, she pressed on with another question. "Like a one-night stand? Or someone from work?" She almost seemed reluctant to hear the answer you were about to give. As if you were expecting to give one of those options to loosen her worry. Dean on the other, glanced at you a moment, signaling for you not to reveal it. Instead, he took the plunge and confessed. "Me."

First, Claire choked on her water, followed by Jody, their expressions a mix of uncertainty as she barely left her gaze at you. Especially from expressing you were in hope of waiting before marriage. But it was true. "It is true..." Your voice was soft, the kind of vulnerability that Dean cherished. It stirred something within him, turning him on immensely. He couldn't be prouder knowing that tonight, with that look on your face, you would be in for a delightful surprise.

"Well," Jody appeared somewhat taken aback once again, unsure of what to say next before redirecting her attention to Alex. "Please, for me. Don't follow their example, and for the love of god, don't end up on the couch either." There was a hint of obvious disapproval in her expression, eliciting chuckles from all of you as the conversation shifted back to hunting topics and other matters.

As everyone retired for the night, despite the slightly abrupt end to dinner, you managed to finish the meal Jody had graciously offered. She had invited the three of you to spend another night at her house, recognizing the need for rest after a morning hunt that warranted a good night's sleep. However, Dean had other plans brewing in his mind.

As you slipped into your gown, Sam settled into an actual bed—the one Jody had made sure you and Dean would sleep on. Dean's smirk was unmistakable as his gaze lingered on you while you attended to your last-minute night routine in the guest bathroom. "You know," his voice was husky, unable to tear himself away from your presence, a habit he adored observing. "Oh, I know that look," now it was your turn to gaze at him, rolling your eyes in an attempt to feign innocence at his remark. "But what if Jody..."

He chuckled, drawing closer to you with his arm enveloping your waist. Despite the temptation to kiss you once more and fully express his feelings, to officially declare you as his, he resisted. "Shhh," his thumb gently traced your bottom lip as he met your gaze, then glanced towards the couch. "Alright, cowboy. But don't make me have to silence myself."

“Oh don’t worry, darlin’ I’ll make sure you don’t.”

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pekoehoneyncream · 8 months ago

Text

Ghoaptober # 31

Prompt: Knife

Words: 1500~

TW: Allusions to Torture (sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

This is the last one folks! All good things must come to an end, I suppose. This has been really fun to do! It's been great to stretch my writing skills, I feel like I improved over the course of the month, at least I hope I did, I definitely had to do less grammar and spelling corrections as we progressed, so there's that.

I wanted to thank everyone who's left such kind comments for me, you're feedback really does mean the world to me, Thank You!

If you want me to write more please do drop me an ask, I'd love to hear from you!

And with all of that said, onto the fic

Enjoy!

A shriek echoed out from the microscopic kitchenette crammed into the back of the disused officer’s rec room that the one-four-one had co-opted, Ghost and Price launched off the sagging sofa towards the noise. They charged into the kitchenette, Ghost wielding a knife and Price his hand-gun, ready to end any threat to their Sergeants.

There was no threat, just Soap trying to hide his awkward blush in his mug of coffee while Gaz stared at him with something close to abject horror.

“Tav, mate, what the fuck is wrong with your tongue.” Gaz demanded, willfully ignoring that he’d just screamed like an arachnophobe confronting Shelob and the fact that his superiors hadn't hesitated in running to his hypothetical rescue.

Price huffed and reholstered his gun, Ghost putting away his knife much more slowly. “Just what exactly is going on?” He demanded with an edge to his voice that suggested he was already regretting that he’d asked, “Why are you screaming over Soap’s tongue?”

“Well, Cap,” Soap started with a lewd tilt of his eyebrows and a goading grin,

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gaz cut over him with a biting tone, “but, I didn’t expect to be confronted by the fact that Soap is an actual fuckin’ demon on a casual Thursday afternoon, Price.”

“Garrick, we talked about this,” Price scolded,

“Yeah,” Ghost agreed, “Johnny can’t be a demon, his rosary'd burn him.”

“Wha!” Soap sputtered in sheer disbelief, “Youse thought Ah’m a demon?!”

“No one’s that lucky, Tav.” Gaz said with flat seriousness, “There’s gotta be some kinda something going on.”

“Would a deal with a demon make you demonic?” Ghost mused in an exaggeratedly ponderous tone, casting his gaze up to the ceiling tiles so that the flabbergasted expression Soap’s face was stretching into couldn't make him laugh.

Gaz perked up, snapping and pointing at Ghost in a eureka-esque motion, “Yes! That’s totally it!” He exclaimed, practically bouncing on his toes with his triumph.

“Riley-”

“I cannae make a deal wit’ a demon!” Soap cut over Price, slamming his mug down to free up his hands for incensed gesturing, “Mah Grannie would disown me!”

“Then how do you explain-” Gaz flailed a hand in the direction of Soap’s mouth, lacking the words to describe just what in fuck was going on in there, “-that!”

A look of cartoonish offence slid onto Soap’s face. Ghost watched him brace his hands on his hips and draw himself up to his full height, hamming it up. Trying to make it into an easily deflected joke. Concern kicked at the back of Ghost’s sternum, if Johnny was deflecting it meant the real answer was nothing good.

Ghost had learned early on that Johnny was one of the most open, shameless, oversharing freaks that walked this earth. He had watched Johnny laugh his way through retelling stories and anecdotes that would have sent consummate exhibitionists blushing through the floor on multiple occasions. Ghost had also been quick to cotton on to the fact that it was for the best to follow up on the topics that Johnny tried to deflect, as they were generally things that would have a therapist crying and Johnny really was better off getting them off his chest. Ghost usually let it go and tried to circle back around to those deflections when they were alone and Johnny was feeling safe, but with Gaz latched onto this like a starved dog with a butcher bone, that wasn’t an option.

Sure, Ghost could probably distract Gaz and help Johnny wiggle out of this, but debriding old wounds is always a good team bonding experience.

Gaz and Soap had stagnated into their usual pattern of bandying insults back and forth. Having a grand time of pretending to be sputtering in high dudgeon whenever the other would quip back with something particularly clever. Ghost cut his eyes to Price, and jerked his chin at Johnny upon catching the Captain’s eye.

Yes, Ghost wanted Johnny to talk about it, but he didn’t want his boyfriend upset with him either.

“Right,” Price cut in after giving Ghost a roundly rancorous look, “Soap, why is Garrick accusing you of having a demonic tongue. Without!” He hastily amended when Soap turned overblown fuck-me eyes on him, “any chirpsing if you would.”

“Aye, right. Uh-” Soap hesitated, staring down at his feet and rubbing at his nape as he tried to gather the right words to explain this, “Reckon he mean’ this.” He gave up and just stuck his tongue out.

Soap could admit that he got a bit of a kick out of watching their uncomprehending looks warp into horrified incredulity when his tongue split down the middle. He wiggled the two sides up and down in opposite directions of each other and briefly twined them into a coil to drive the image home, then retracted it back behind the safety of his teeth with as much casual finesse as he could muster.

There was a beat of silence, then a cavalcade of questions. Soap’s personal favourite was Ghost’s ‘how did I not notice?’ said in the tone of a man on the edge of a revelatory breakdown. A close second was Price’s muttered ‘that can’t be within regs.”, but topping the charts for sheer volume was Gaz.

“What!” He shrieked, “What the fuck! When’d you get that!?” his voice dripped with a queer mix of awe, horror, and morbid fascination.

Soap hummed uncertainly, casting his mind back, swallowing against the phantom taste of blood creeping up his throat to pool at the back of his mouth, “Mus’ a been aroun' twenty-sixteen? Some’hing like tha’,”

“Twenty-sixteen.” Price muttered, mentally rifling through Soap’s file, there was something about that year that had the klaxons spinning up in Price’s subconscious, “Not October twenty-sixteen?”

“Aye,” Soap nodded, keeping his eyes on the ground, “Tha’d be the one.”

“Corporal MacTavish was detained by enemy forces eighth October twenty-sixteen and was successfully recovered twelfth October twenty-sixteen. In enemy custody, Corporal MacTavish was subjected to physical maltreatment, most notably manifesting in substantial damage within the oral cavity. Injury permanent but non-disfiguring. Corporal MacTavish states that no intelligence was provided to the adversary while in custody.” Price quotes -impressively word for word- from the truncated after action report that had been the script for far too many of his nightmares, “That October twenty-sixteen?”

“Got ‘er in one, Cap.” Soap confirms, idly grinding his tongue between his teeth, “Yanno, they did offer tae fix it. The medics.” He spoke on just to break the heavy silence that had conquered the room, “But they’d have had tae open it up again, cause it’d been cauterized, so Ah said no' tae bother.”

They'd told him that as it was a 'non-invasive procedure' only local numbing would be provided and Soap would not be letting anyone else come at his tongue with a knife unless he was unconscious, dead, or dying.

“Tav," Gaz pressed out slowly, hesitantly, “That’s fucked, mate.”

“Aye,” Soap nodded, staring down at the kitchenette’s cheap linoleum. Blinking to force the floor back into dingy tiles when his brain tried to twist it into stained concrete. He huffed a small flat laugh, more to force the scent of iron and dank stone from his nose than anything else, “Aye, twasn’t mah idea ae fun neither.”

“Johnny,” Ghost drew his name out into a devastated whine and lunged forward to coil around Soap in a protective embrace. Heart splitting at the shakiness he could feel in Johnny’s shallow breaths as he clutched his boyfriend to his chest.

“Ah’m alrigh’,” Johnny assured, but the tear-fighting sniff he tried to conceal in Ghost’s pecs said something different.

“You’re alright,” Price agreed, laying a grounding hand on Soap’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Gaz poked at Soap’s sensitive sides to force a wet giggle out of him, “Course you’re alright, Tav. You’ve got us and if those fucks aren’t already dead I’m sure Ghost is drafting up like ten different plans for how to track ‘em down and kill ‘em slow.”

Ghost was glad that Gaz’s joking was making Johnny feel better, and gave an intrigued pensive hum into the fluff of his warhawk to play along.

It was actually fifteen different plans.

“Okay. Okay.” Soap barked, shaking them off once he was absolutely positive that he wasn’t about to start bawling like a bairn as soon as they let go, “Mah goddamn coffee’s gonnae be fuckin’ cold now ye muckers.”

“Do you want me to make you a new cup, so you don't have to microwave it?” Ghost offered, love surging within him for the wide blue eyes that swung his way.

“Would ye, mo chridhe?” Johnny begged prettily.

Ghost hooked a thumb under his balaclava, lifting it over his mouth just long enough to press an adoring kiss unto Johnny’s lips, then turning away to make him the promised fresh cuppa, fluidly stealing his mug to dump and refill it.

Both men were content to ignore the way Gaz faked a retch over their sappy mush, as he practically stepped on Price’s heels following after the Captain on his tactical retreat back to the sofa.

Thank You For Reading!

Some nice hurt/comfort to round off the month. It didn't make it into the fic but the reason that his captors split Soap's tongue is because he wouldn't stop talking back, just a fun fact for y'all.

Did anyone want me to make a masterlist for all of these? with ratings and short descriptions or something? there's already links to the full series on my masterlist, but that just has the prompts, so I was wondering if a masterlist would be helpful. Let me know!

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

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jumpywhumpywriter · 3 months ago

Text

Stoic Whumpee Delirious With Fever Spills Trauma to Caretaker

Warnings: mentions of torture/branding/gutting/whipping, past trauma, scars, trauma dumping, severe fever & infection, gruff/stoic whumpee

This one is directly inspired by a prompt I found from @wisteria-whump that they are letting me use (you can find the prompt HERE) and of course, despite me having 20+ WIPs already, I dropped everything to binge-write this at 3:17a.m -- I have no self control whatsoever. When the world of writing calls, I must answer!

Whumpee was... different from the others that had been rescued from Whumper's base alongside him when it was raided. He was injured far worse than the others when he arrived at the recovery facility, but... he was somehow tougher than them. It was the thing the caretakers were quickest to notice, how Whumpee always brushed off their concern with snarky remarks or humor, powering through recovery mostly on his own -- whereas the other prisoners were badly shaken up and traumatized, terrified even of the people who had rescued them -- they were unpredictable and scared all the time.

But Whumpee was an enigma. How could someone so severely injured be so stoic and collected all the time? If someone ignored all the wounds and scars on his body, you wouldn't be able to tell what he'd been through. He didn't act traumatized, and it had all the caretakers both baffled and curious.

He was the easiest to deal with out of all the rescued prisoners, though, since they didn't have to waste time coaxing him out of cowering in a corner to treat his wounds like the others.

Whenever the caretakers showed up for the daily checkup to change gauze and wound dressings, Whumpee would just... tolerate it. It was clear he didn't enjoy being poked and prodded in areas that hurt, but he was known to grit his teeth and endure it in silence. It made the caretakers' jobs easier.

Caretaker was Whumpee's primary assigned caregiver -- the one who always brought his meals to his rooms three times a day and helped him walk around when it hurt too much for him to move from bed -- though Whumpee usually brushed her off and ended up doing it alone regardless of her insistence in helping him, and regardless of the amount of pain he was in.

Whether his refusal to accept help was through pride or shame, Caretaker never knew.

Whumpee's file had been the most extensive of all the rescued captives -- a detailed description of his wound assessments, signs of all Whumper had done to him in the torture room that had been busted by police.

The caretakers at the rescue facility had frequently asked him about what he went through, prying for any valuable information, but Whumpee would always deflect the questions and never told any of them the true extent of what happened. It was clear he didn't want to talk about it, and eventually the caretakers had given up trying.

But then... one day Whumpee fell terribly ill. One wound that got badly infected, and that Whumpee had stubbornly hid until the symptoms were too much to conceal anymore.

Caretaker had only discovered how sick he was when she brought him dinner one day, finding him sprawled out in the bed covered in sweat and trembling, face flushed and skin burning up with fever.

Whumpee either hadn't had the time or the energy to wipe off all the sweat to pretend everything was fine before she showed up. But now he was caught -- and Caretaker was furious. Furious that he let it get this bad without notifying her. Furious that he was too darn stoic and closed-off to admit when he was suffering and in pain.

Caretaker took a deep breath to calm herself as she approached Whumpee’s bed, setting the plate of food down on the nightstand and sitting on the edge of the bed.

Anger wasn't what Whumpee needed right now. So Caretaker forced any frustration from her voice when she spoke.

"Why didn't you tell me something was wrong?" She asked quietly.

At first she didn't think Whumpee was awake, but then his eyes cracked open to peer dizzily up at her, glazed and distant.

"Didn't think... it was that bad..." Whumpee mumbled with a groan. "My side kinda hurts... reminds me of that time when Whumper stabbed me there. That hurt kinda bad too."

The comment was so random and casual that Caretaker had to double-check to make sure she heard it right as Whumpee spilled that bit of trauma as if it were no big deal. He didn't even sound sad about it, just... matter-of-factly. A statement, not one meant to earn sympathy or pity from Caretaker -- thought Caretaker still felt bad for him anyway.

"I wuz always his favorite to play with," Whumpee slurred, smiling deliriously. "My snarkiness got me in trouble sooooo much... Whumper hated that about me. My wittiness and defiant sarcasm. He spent the most time on me during torture sessions, more than the others. Yeah, good times..." He laughed weakly, his voice trailing off into an incoherent mumble before he could be understood again.

"Have you ever been branded by a hot iron before, Caretaker? I wouldn't recommend it -- it sucks. I know from experience." Whumpee giggled weakly, clearly totally out of touch with reality and having no awareness about what was spilling out of his mouth.

"Then there was that time Whumper took it too far and almost gutted me in a fit of rage after I mouthed off at a bad time -- he didn't think I'd make it after that. But he somehow kept my organs in and cauterized the wound to hold it all inside. It was nice, actually, because he left me mostly alone for a week after that to recover enough for him to be able to hurt me again without risking killing me."

Whumpee lifted up his shirt with a lopsided grin, revealing a long, ragged gash with old scarred burn marks around the edges that stretched from his chest all the way down to his belly button -- and Caretaker shuddered, picturing him sliced wide open like a butchered deer, screaming in agony as Whumper cursed and shoved his organs back in.

It was absolutely mortifying to even think about. How could someone do that to a person?

"Hey, at least I got a cool scar out of it!" Whumpee laughed weakly. "Makes me look tougher than I actually am. I'm secretly a coward, you know -- just good at hiding it after my time with Whumper. Because showing fear always excited him and made the torture worse for me. I'm honestly scared to death in this new place, but I think I do a pretty good job of controlling my emotions, wouldn't you say? Whumper would be so proud. He'd call me a clever brat and then whip my back to bloody ribbons. Heh."

He was rambling on and on, Caretaker growing more and more horrified the more trauma he spilled. She gaped at him in sheer disbelief of what he'd gone through -- and survived.

Her curiosity was growing alongside the horror, and a nasty part of her wanted to take advantage of this brief glimpse of vulnerability to finally get some of the answers she'd wanted ever since his arrival. To get some insight into Whumpee's past and fully understand what he went through. Better understand Whumpee.

But this wasn't right, she told herself. The curiosity was overwhelming, but she'd never forgive herself for taking advantage of Whumpee's state of feverish delirium and weakness -- it would make her no better than Whumper.

And she was kind of freaked out to be honest, by how wrong it felt to see Whumpee so carefree and open about his past.

She was realizing more and more just how out of it Whumpee was, not acting like his usual self -- and Caretaker knew that if she let him share now she was going to regret it later. It would betray Whumpee's shaky trust in her, destroy the slim amount of progress she’d made with him during his recovery.

So despite her desperation for answers, she picked up the plate of food from the nightstand to use it to distract Whumpee and keep him from casually spilling more of his trauma.

Caretaker was curious as hell about Whumpee's past... but she just knew it wouldn't be right to find out like this.

She stacked pillows beneath Whumpee’s back to prop him up so he could eat, and gently placed the plate of food in his hands.

"Thank you," Whumpee mumbled, and Caretaker was once more left surprised. During her entire time caring for him since his rescue, not once had he said thank you. He would always just grunt stoically in acknowledgement whenever she finished dressing his wounds, and that was usually the extent of his gratitude.

"...Bread?" Whumpee said with a suspicious frown, eyeing the single slice of toast on the edge of his plate. "I don't like bread. Once Whumper shoved it down my throat until I choked and passed out. I learned my lesson after that -- I don't eat dry bread-like foods anymore. Ick."

"Oh! I had no idea." Caretaker apologized profusely, struggling not to let the horror show as she swiftly snatched the toast from his plate and wrapped it in napkins so he couldn't see it anymore, setting it aside to throw away later.

Whumpee was all smiles again when she looked back at him, face red with fever and hair plastered to his forehead with sweat as he picked up his fork to dig into the rest of the meal -- scrambled eggs and mashed potatoes. But he hesitated once the fork was in his hand, staring down at it blanky, his mind clearly wandering somewhere else.

"Whumpee?" Caretaker said quietly, and it was enough to snap him out of it.

"M'sorry," he slurred. "Just reminds me of the knives Whumper used to torture me. They were made of metal too."

Whumpee eagerly dug into the food right after with not a care in the world, leaving Caretaker to grapple with all the traumatic information she'd been told.

Whumpee had been so... casual talking about his torture. It was so out of place with the normally guarded person Caretaker was used to seeing. The young man who dodged questions like bullets. Not... not this version.

"This is good," Whumpee mumbled around a mouthful of egg. "Whumper never let me have good food -- he rarely let me have food in the first place, actually."

So that explained why Whumpee had been so emaciated during his rescue, Caretaker noted. She'd originally thought he'd just been in so much pain at Whumper's base that eating hurt and wasn't worth it. She didn't realize Whumper had given him no food whatsoever for days at a time. It was barbaric.

"Whumpee... I understand," Caretaker sighed softly, diverting his attention away from the trauma once more. "But you shouldn't keep talking. Save your energy and rest -- I'll talk to the doctor about putting you on antibiotics to get rid of that infection."

"M'kay," Whumpee hummed in agreement, eyes cloudy and lost.

The antibiotics worked wonders in the end, and Whumpee slowly got better.

While Caretaker worked on gaining his full trust to get answers from him -- the right way.

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @written-in-the-stars135 @neverthelass

@starz8nk @redwinesupanover @whumpisgoodwhumpislife @theforeverdyingperson

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enkvyu · 2 years ago

Text

ask game — prompt from this request

“you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

there’s an extra thump in gojo’s heartbeat.

his hands are sweaty even though he’s swiped his palms along his jeans a million times. he feels light headed, perhaps due to the sun peeking through the train window, and his thoughts are playing bumper cars inside his skull.

his mouth is dry, his body is begging him to relax his stiff posture, and he’s nervous. too much blood is rushing to his brain and not enough air is entering his lungs. he thinks he might need some water, but he's worried that if he tries drinking it'll just dribble down his chin.

you sleep peacefully through his panic.

the gentle rumble of wheels along rails lulls you into a shallow sleep, not the kind that has you wishing for a deeper slumber, but just enough rest for your heart to slow and your breathing to deepen.

your pillow is soft. it’s sturdy against your cheek and smells really, really nice, like fresh laundry hung out under the summer sun. it’s also warm, which is an obvious bonus. you snuggle into the heat, exhaling softly when you’re comfortable.

a sudden incline of the train track makes the carriage jolt, and your eyes widen at the shift in gravity.

“what’s happening?” your words slur together as you lift your head from your pillow to survey your surroundings.

you find gojo sitting beside you, oddly rigid and close by.

“why is your shoulder next to my head?”

gojo clears his throat, his eyes darting to you then away. “no reason.”

accepting his answer, you yawn and stretch your arms above your head. your hands collide with the compartment above and you’re once again reminded of where you were.

“when’s the train arriving?” you ask.

gojo flips his phone around to check the time. “you were asleep for forty minutes, so we still have an hour to go.”

“an hour? that long?”

“that’s why i said you should have let me warp us there instead.”

“i’d rather die.” you immediately decline. “last time i let you teleport us to the mission site, we ended up in california.”

“california is a great place!”

“our mission was in finland.”

gojo huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. the gesture blocks you off and you know he is sulking.

it's clear your words have wedged its way deep into gojo's heart, leaving a wound that'll only grow and become infected if you don't soothe him with flattery. “maybe next time, okay? sometime after you’ve mastered your technique which, i'm sure won't take long since you've always been so competent.”

he remains quiet, but you can almost see his ears perk towards you.

"the most competent out of the lot of us!"

he shifts closer, though his arms are still crossed at his front.

"throughout heaven and earth, you alone are the competent one?"

he finally turns over to you, loosening his posture. there's still doubt in his eyes but it is as expected; dealing with a sulky gojo was never going to be easy. “if you don’t trust me, you can just say that.” he pouts.

“okay, i don’t trust you.”

he tilts his body further away from you.

you're quick to reach over and hook your hand under his arm, pulling it towards you in hopes that he'll face you once again. you made a mistake, a slight slip of the tongue and now your progress had been reset. "my bad! but seriously, aren't you tired of playing the victim all the time?"

"excuse me?"

"i mean." you bite your lip, sealing away any more harsh remarks that might leave your mouth unintentionally. "you... are crazy cool! you're the best, gojo. i deeply apologise for my words earlier."

his mouth hangs open. "i think the one who's crazy is you. how do you always find something to complain about?"

"you're telling that to me? as if you weren't treating this entire train ride like your own personal therapy session. i did not need to know how much you struggled on the toilet this morning."

"it's a sign of being unhealthy! that's a very big concern!"

"one that you can bring up with shoko, not me." you easily deflect. "i could not care less about your health even if i tried."

"you are so mean."

you shrug. "i think you're just being a pissy boy."

"you kiss your mother with that mouth?" he asks. "and she lets you? even though her child is a mean, spiteful, terrible person?"

he doesn't appreciate how his eyes flicker down to your lips at the mention, suddenly growing conscious of how he had begun to lean in during the heated conversation. you look none the different, face carved into your usual expression of disinterest.

it irks him.

wasn't it unfair how unfazed you seemed whilst he was running a marathon in his head? wasn't it simply annoying how much you looked like you were falling asleep again, even though his thoughts were held captive by the sight of you?

"where did you think my attitude comes from in the first place?" there's a lazy grin on your face that only makes gojo heat up even more—because it made him mad, not because it looked good on you, he tells himself.

"if you kissed me i wouldn't like it." he says, then immediately slaps a hand over his mouth.

you give him the strangest look you can muster. "sorry?"

"i mean, because, i'm saying i wouldn't like it because you are such a mean person. that's all i'm saying, there's nothing else i'm trying to tell you. you're a horrible person. that's what i meant." gojo splutters. "not because i want you to kiss me. that would be such a strange thing to say. which is why i wasn't saying that."

there's a silence that fills the carriage, broken only from the hum of the train. gojo thinks he can hear his brain explode in the absence of sound before you finally burst out into laughter.

"oh my god, gojo! i never thought you would be the type of person that gets flustered over something like talking about kissing." you say around your giggles, smothering them with your palm as you watch gojo grow red. "especially since you brought it up."

gojo hisses, turning away to rest his chin on his hand, elbow on the aisle armrest. he pointedly ignores your attempts to get him to face you. "me neither." he mumbles into his hand.

"it's kind of cute."

"shut up."

"you're getting redder!"

"ignore it."

you only quiet down when a few minutes passes, making snide remarks at his oddly still state before sighing in satisfaction. you check the time on your phone and note that there was still a long way to go before you arrived. placing it on silent, you tap gojo on the shoulder. "wake me up before the train gets to our stop, okay?"

he makes a noise that you take as agreement, considering that he won't bear to look at you, before adjusting yourself and closing your eyes.

the train ride is silent save for your silent snores and the internal monologue of gojo's breakdown. his body grows stiff when he feels a pressure on his shoulder.

looking over, he finds you using him as a pillow again.

the embarrassment of his earlier words and his slight realisation that you made him feel weird, made him feel warm and nervous all over, makes this action deadly. with his heart racing, he sighs and shifts around so that you were more comfortable. the gesture is appreciated, and you sigh softly in your sleep.

the sight of you is pure torture and gojo finds himself unable to chase sleep as easily as you do. he stays awake until the train halts at the station, ignoring your question on why he looked so tired.

i'll write the other requests tmrw !! i'm sorry that this doesn't rlly have much to do with the prompt but i think i'm starting to lose my mind

#% ask game #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo imagine #gojo drabble #gojo scenario #jujutsu kaisen #jjk

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