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kneelingshadowsalome · 6 months

Text

Christian Woman

(König x Nun!Reader)

Word count: 6.4 k Tags/warnings: Pining intensifies, religious despair intensifies, minor injuries, treatment of wounds, crying, enthusiastic kissing, König gets a few boners. 18+ for eventual smut in this story.

A/N: Don't tell me you wouldn't get horny scared too if you saw this tall guy suddenly emerging from the shadows in his full war gear :) There's a cute date night and a lot of angst in this chapter too, I tried to summon an actual plot here... As always, I need to explain why they’re bonking! But smut is coming, next and last chapter will be full of fluff and steamy first times (Reader is virgin!)

Part 2

You have a feeling that this is the last day you’ll see him.

The stranger from the Austrian Alps, the kindest mercenary you’ve ever met – the only mercenary you’ve ever met – the giant soldier who now carries a piece of your heart with him. You wonder if he even knows he owns it.

The morning prayers and mass are a chore and bring you no comfort, and the usual dawn bliss is gone. You find no delight in singing with your sisters, and withdrawing to your cell for solitary prayer feels like stepping back inside your own personal purgatory.

You’ve been in heaven and in hell for days now. Maybe since the moment you met him...

But at the same time, you know it must’ve been the Lord who brought you together. There must be a reason for God to make you two meet, you refuse to think it’s only because He wishes to tempt you. There must be a bigger plan; the connection, as sinful and carnal as it is, has to serve some higher purpose.

And you wonder if you’re going mad, because your most sinful thought is that you actually see God in him. It’s just your lower instincts speaking, a demon of some sort that tries to misguide you because no man is like Lord Jesus.

And yet, don’t they always preach that you meet Him in every person you meet? And that through you, other people meet God too…?

This reasoning feels much better. It solidifies the mercy you’ve longed for during the brief weeks you’ve known this man who brashly calls himself König. You want to believe that he carries a spark of the Divine in him, and that you hold a grain of the Virgin Mary’s compassion and love in you.

You decide to hold on to this thought: that you were meant to meet so that you could come to know God through each other. For in König, you see a suffering God, a crucified Christ who rises against evil by offering himself to the cruelty of men. Somehow, the image of him as a mortal man starts to twist into a divine, dark trooper, someone who battles the forces of the evil in this world.

And this reasoning leads you to think that it is only natural that you, a Sister of the Faith, have helped him find some rest and relief in the middle of his work. It’s pretty clear that König has found some solace in your company, and even if things have ventured into a forbidden area of low, simple lust, it’s not dark enough to taint the beauty and grace you've felt together. As long as you hold on to this purity, nothing can go wrong.

While praying for both of you that morning, you find yourself replaying the smiles and touches König has given you these past weeks. You know you will drown yourself in memories after he's gone because they are all you’ll ever have of him.

And they're more than enough.

Or at least they should be…

You feel a tiny dagger of guilt push into your heart, the place reserved for Christ, when you’re assigned to do some spiritual reading instead of helping out in the kitchen or organizing the small library. The appointed texts are about falling into temptation and sin, reminding you about the consequences of such actions. You read the passings with a heavy heart and then slip out to meet König, possibly for the last time.

You wear your everyday clothes to the café, and König says nothing about your sudden moral choice, only gives you another longing, enamored once-over. You keep him at arm’s length, both physically and emotionally, and the effects of this unexpected cold shower are immediate. The man doesn’t even try to disguise the sad, puppy-eyed stares he shoots your way.

You hate it that the bright, playful air of your meetings is gone, and your heart is tearing itself apart in your chest because the only thing you wanted was to spread joy into his world. Even the Lord seems disappointed in you being so cold-hearted, and you can’t bear to see His sadness and suffering in König’s eyes.

You get offered not one, but two coffees today, and a large piece of dark chocolate cake that tastes of pure sin. He talks about how he would love to write to you, but you tell him you can’t be in correspondence with a man who isn’t your brother or father. König isn’t even married, so it would only raise questions – you would find yourself reading spiritual texts about lust and sin until it drives you crazy.

“I’m leaving early tomorrow,” he finally reveals with a voice thick with sorrow. “Can I see you before I go...? One last time?”

“I’d love to, but… I’m sort of being watched,” you say, slowly coming out of your shell to make it clear that you’d want to spend the rest of your life with him, but you simply just can’t.

Your weak, apologetic look is like a dose of confidence shot through his veins because the face opposite of you brightens immediately. König’s whole posture gets a hopeful uplift.

“Just for a little walk...? To see what the city looks like in the evening?”

“I don’t know if I can make it… I have to work until six... And attend the evening prayer at seven. And then silence starts at eight…”

You’re wringing your hands under the table while you explain, hoping König will come up with a solution to this dilemma.

“We can go for a walk after silence, then,” he shrugs.

“I–I can’t just escape from the window.”

“...Why not?”

You look at König; he looks straight back.

The man’s serious about you sneaking out your window at night; he’s actually serious, even if there’s a dark, playful smile rising on his lips.

“I can help,” he grins.

Your heart cracks open, it shoots full of light only more and more with that smile. König doesn’t need to ram a door down and shoot his way through your chest; all he has to do is sneak inside your heart and take the place that belongs to God. You don’t even feel the difference as he makes himself at home.

Well, actually, you do... It’s like your Christ’s love and mercy have finally come to flesh and blood before you. They're materialized in the man sitting opposite of you, bouncing his knee excitedly and grinning like the most innocent little devil on Earth.

You find yourself whispering “Ok”, and the whole world shifts.

You take a step towards something forbidden but great, your whole heart starts to sing along with life. You haven’t even done the actual thing yet but you’re already filled with bubbling laughter and excitement. If only your friend could see you now, about to do things she probably did when she was fifteen...

But everything feels so right that it can’t be a sin – if it is, it just so happens to be the most natural, most divine thing to do too.

If this is the last day you’ll ever see him, you can surely steal a tiny moment for yourself and forget about rights and wrongs for a moment. Just forget about the rules, and live in the actual world for a few hours, breathe the worldly air, see what normal people do and pretend you’re one of them, for just one night.

…

You feel like Cinderella when picking clothes for the evening.

You rummage through the only closet in your room – during the time that should be spent in silent prayer before bed – and notice you still have your old jeans.

They’re light blue and still fit; actually, they fit more than well... You know that König’s eyes will be glued to your butt when you’re not looking.

You have completely forgotten how nice you look in jeans, and it’s the Devil talking, making you admire yourself in tight denim like this. You never cared about how you look before; you certainly never gave much thought to how men see you or if they’re checking out your butt or breasts. Now you’re grooming yourself like never before, trying to decide what to do with your hair as if your life depended on it.

You choose a simple, black t-shirt to pair with the jeans and not make it too obvious that you’re trying to flaunt yourself. It hugs your form but is otherwise plain, and for some people, your choice of clothing is probably their regular work outfit. To you, it feels like you’re about to go out to seduce everyone.

Everything’s so tight and earthly; everything’s so… there. Visible... Touchable.

Lord, have mercy on me. I know I’m weak. But please let me have this, just this once…

And König has seen you without makeup all this time, so what on earth has possessed you to lament the fact that you don’t own a single case of lipstick? You’d kill for a few sweeps of mascara, too, just to bat your lashes at a silly man.

It’s not a date, you remind yourself.

It’s not a date... It’s not a date. You’re just going to have a short walk with him.

And you fear that accepting König’s “help” was a mistake. If you get caught with a man on the convent perimeter, you’ll get your ass thoroughly whooped…

Can a man of his size even keep quiet?

He probably suggested it so that you wouldn’t chicken out of this. If König is at your window by 8 and there’s no sign of you, he’ll probably just come in, throw you on his shoulder and jump out. He knows where your window is located now, and surely has some questionable skills due to his profession, skills you know nothing about, but you’re still about to have a panic attack from pure excitement when the clock strikes 8.

You push the window ajar and settle on the sill to keep watch, gasping when you hear his familiar accent down below as soon as the window is open.

“Kätzchen...”

“König…?”

You peek down and meet his stupid, grinning face – God, he’s so happy to see you kept your promise. His eyes are shining, his fingers interlock to help you have something to place your foot on.

“Here, kitty, kitty…”

You could easily jump out the window without hurting yourself, but of course he wants to help you since you were so kind to tell him where he could come and "pick you up".

But to see that playful smile and hear him trying to coax you out like you’re some skittish little kitten…

Could a grown man get any more silly?

You wiggle yourself out the window, trying to ignore the fact that he’s probably staring at your butt, still grinning like crazy while you do it.

SupportING your entire weight like it’s no trouble at all, he helps you down. You’ve never been this close to him since you bumped into him: you have to take support from his shoulders as you search for a footing, and he scoops you in his arms the minute both your feet are safely on the ground.

“I knew you’d come,” he purrs with joy, and you place your hands on his chest – not to keep him at bay, but to touch him in a way that is as appropriate as possible when a man is hugging you like this.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you whisper, still unsure if this is the best or the worst decision of your entire life.

“Kitty… Live a little, hmm?”

You have to crane your neck to look up at him – you’re not sure if you’re in the embrace of Jesus or Lucifer because the warmth of those eyes compare to the love of God, but they also make you weak and helpless. Whenever you’re with your sisters, the feeling is pure, pristine love, not a surge of complex emotions and thrill like it is with König.

“You’re a bad influence,” you breathe – König only laughs, and the grip around you tightens.

“My lady. You’re the one who climbed out the window.”

“Because someone would’ve probably thrown small rocks on it if I hadn’t…!”

“Natürlich. And if that didn’t work… A serenade or two. Do you like love songs?”

You look down at his chest, smiling, heart fluttering at the thought of a silly Austrian man serenading under your window. You have no trouble imagining him singing something syrupy in German, waking everyone up with his racket.

“You’re crazy, did you know that...?”

“Sure. They tell me that all the time at work. Aber du… Du bist süss.”

“...What’s that?”

His smile only widens as he takes in your lips, your neck, the tight shirt that finally gives him something more to look at.

“You’re cute.”

…

The whole evening is heavenly.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted from a date and more.

He doesn’t take you for a short walk, oh no. He takes you out to eat, at some lively restaurant where they serve delicious, artisan, wood-fired pizzas. You have créme brûlée for dessert, and König gives you his strawberries when he notices you eat them first, but only on one condition: you have to let him feed them to you one by one.

He buys you a rose: a big, red, plump one. No man has ever bought you flowers before, and even if you love lush, abundant bouquets, the fact that he chose you a single red rose after you’ve spoken about the beauty of simplicity, doesn't escape you.

König hasn’t only listened to you these past few weeks: he gets you. And how symbolic is it that he chose a rose that’s also tied to all the mysteries of God?

You walk the streets with a flower in one hand and his palm in the other. It's a holy trinity of him and you and the Great Mystery, it’s passion and it’s thorns, it’s blood and beauty and pain, and you feel like he just gets you; he knows you through and through.

You pass by an outdoor bar with live music, and the place is so crowded that people are dancing on the streets. No cars honk as they slowly pass by the scene, the music and the laughing, dancing pairs make even the grumpiest passersby smile.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that König pulls you to him before you get to escape the scene. You’re drawn flush against his chest, hips colliding with his, hands finding each other in a slow sway that has never even seen the steps of Latin dances.

“Nuns are allowed to dance, no?”

He smiles dreamily, enveloped in the same sweet haze as you.

“Not with a man,” you correct, but don’t even bother to push him away. Instead, you let König guide his hand down your waist and draw you closer. If this isn't a date, you don't know what is...

“I can take the blame,” he says. “You can tell everybody it was me.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” you laugh.

“Why not?”

His eyes are glued to yours, making you warm all over, so much so that you feel like you’re burning from the neck up. You guide your stare down to his chest, then over to the quick heartbeat on his neck.

He's nervous, too... Your cruel soldier is nervous, and kind, and shy because he's pressed against you.

You rest your head there on his chest, watching the golden sunset far away, painting the rooftops with a genial glow. Your heart is made of molten gold, too, as you allow yourself find a home in his embrace.

“I can take your sins,” he promises above you. “Jesus did that too, right?”

“You’re not Jesus,” you smile against his shirt – black, always black...

“Are you sure? I would go to hell for you.”

Your dance comes to a halt as you swallow and lift your gaze. The smiles are gone now, both yours and his. He’s so close now he could touch your lips with his if he wanted to.

And he does want to.

You don’t shy away as he leans down to kiss you. It’s chaste at first, a slow exploration, but then he opens your mouth with his, demanding, hot, intoxicating. You melt in his arms, and he somehow supports you through it all, turning the dance into an embrace and the decent little kiss into a full French one.

It’s hot and wet and slow, so, so passionate that your knees are about to give in. You devour him back, feel how he grows hard against your stomach – the swelling erection makes you dizzy before you come to your senses, but only barely.

You break away an inch, panting into his mouth while he’s panting into yours. What a blessing that you don’t own any lipstick; both of your lips are red without it…

“This is–”

“Inappropriate?”

His voice is husky, and sends a flood of wetness down between your legs. Your heart is racing, but you can’t even note how terribly alive you are before he attacks your lips again.

The kiss is even more desperate than the first one, and the slow urgency is gone. His mouth leaves you without air, and then – he wraps his arms around you and picks you up from the ground like you weigh nothing. Your hands get squished somewhere between you, naturally coming to cup his face as you kiss him back.

It’s eager, pure lust, so powerful and needy that it scorches through your chest and ties your heartstrings into tight little knots, makes your brows knit together, too.

He grunts into your mouth, sensing you’re more than up for this after all. You let him see the full depth of your hunger and your lust, just waiting to be released and taken – made love to until you’re both sore and messy and limp.

God… This is better than God…

You hear whistles and whoos in the distance, some men yelling, “Let’s go!” and “Get a room” while they pass by. Realizing you’ve fallen into a dream trap of strong arms and needy lips about to depart tomorrow, you know it's something you could have had years ago, perhaps, but not anymore. You'll lose everything if you break your vows tonight: basically, you’ve already broken them, but no permanent damage has been done.

You can still turn back if you turn back now…

You push yourself away, push him away, heart clenching when you see his adoring, love-drunk, half-lidded stare.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, fighting back tears as you come down from your high. “I just–I can’t…”

He breathes labouriously, still clutching you against him, holding you in the air like you’re the thing he has searched for his entire life and now, finally discovered… Only to be told that he now has to put it back where he found it.

You’re crying by the time he sets you down, and you have no heart or will to pull away. Instead, you bury your face in his chest and cry your fill in his shirt. It’s soon damp from your tears as König hugs and supports you through his own stoic heartbreak.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry…”

You repeat it until you can’t repeat it anymore, bawling in his chest while the world around you continues to spin despite your heaven and hell, despite your vows, despite your stupid devotion. The world revolves like it always has, as you choose a crucified man over the one who’s flesh and blood and holds you through your pain.

“Kätzchen, don’t cry,” he pets your hair while you sniffle and tremble in his embrace. You know this is not the last time you will cry your heart out over him, but knowing it doesn't help you when he offers you his last, bittersweet comfort.

“It was a good dream while it lasted...”

…

The rose withers in your cell.

You turn it upside down and tie it to the curtain rod to prevent it from dropping its petals. It dries beautifully and keeps its bloodred colour, now reminding you of both Jesus and him.

There hasn’t been a word from König in months, and of course there hasn’t. You denied his wish to write you, and the dried rose is the only thing left of your time with him.

In the first weeks, it’s hard to keep up a charade. You show up to prayer, work and mass with red eyes, revealing to everyone that you’re going through a loss of some sort. Somewhere during the first week, the abbess summons you to meet her and you brace yourself for a scolding.

God knows you don’t need the rebuke, and when you close the door and turn to face the symbolic mother of the convent, you end up breaking into tears right in front of her.

“Whatever you were up to, my child, I am glad that it is over now,” she says with all the gentleness of the world.

“Me too,” your voice breaks, and when the abbess extends her hands, you go to her, fall to your knees, and have another heartwrenching cry with your face in her lap.

You’ve denied yourself love and mercy for days, expecting to be expelled or shamed or ridiculed, but mercy is what you’re offered now, even after you’ve sinned.

The abbess caresses your hair just as softly as König did just days ago, and the fact that her kind gesture reminds you of some silly, infatuated soldier, only makes the breakdown worse. You bawl like a little child who’s deprived of candy, and you don’t even have the strength to berate yourself for it.

“I hope you haven’t done anything irredeemable...?”

“No... Nothing happened,” you sob and look out of the rose window, desperate for sun while your head rests on a gentle but distant lap.

Nothing happened except the most sinful, beautiful, lustful kiss of your life... Nothing happened except that you saw this man every time you could, held hands with him, swam in his smiles and affection, and went to bed with thoughts inappropriate for any human being.

“The world tests us in many ways... But Lord never tests us. He only loves us.”

Something in that sentence finally quenches the neverending flow of tears. Your muscles start to relax, and you remember that this is the eternal truth: to surrender, over and over again, to a power far greater than you.

The abbess never asks for details about what you have done. She never tells you you have sinned; you don’t need to be told that. The punishment has been dealt already: whoever ties herself to this world and its temptations will suffer exactly like this when the passion and excitement ends. The key to escaping its grip is to simply let go first, once and for all, surrender to the love of God, and trust that everything fill fall into place eventually.

“You must offer your mind and body to work now,” the motherly voice speaks above you. “Work, time and prayer will ease your pain.”

…

Work, time and prayer do ease the pain.

They ease all pains, but it takes almost six months to stop thinking about him every hour of every day.

You’re proud of yourself when you find out one day that you haven’t thought about him at all. He just now crossed your mind when you remember how he used to smell: of salty seabreeze mixed with intoxicating musk, the scent of excitement and safety all in one.

You could almost swear you catch a whiff of that particular scent in the yard when you go and water the flowers one evening, but it can’t be: he’s gone, and there’s nothing you can do about it, nothing you even want to do about it because you already made your choice. This path leads you to greater peace of mind in the long run, and you know you made the right decision even if it hurt you and König.

Sunsets still remind you of him, the colour of rose and gold mixed with endings, but the memories are now laced with bittersweet love rather than blunt despair and pain. The times you spent with him are a collection of brief, blissful moments, and you treasure every single one of them in your heart. You still pray for him, not every day, but nearly every day. You touch the rose when the hurt reaches its peak, but the last time you did that was almost a week ago.

And you thought you had forgotten his scent, but apparently, you have not. In fact, it seems to drift to your nose again, which is odd because you’re outside, after all…

“Kätzchen.”

A whisper is hissed from the shadows just as you’re about to straighten and investigate, because either you’re going crazy or then there’s someone here who smells exactly like him.

You startle and almost drop the watering can, staring straight into the shadows under your window. The tallest man you’ve ever seen steps out from the dark in full combat gear, and while you can’t see his face because it’s covered with a draping black hood, you recognize it’s him simply from the way he moves.

“Don’t be afraid. It’s me,” he rasps and tries to straighten from the slightly hunched position he’s in, but immediately falls back, then slants to lean on the wall. His gear is dirty, and he holds the side of his stomach with one hand, the lively blue eyes either drunk or very very tired.

“Dear God… What happened to you?”

You abandon the watering can and rush to him; it’s useless to ask if he’s injured when, clearly, he’s trying to prevent himself from slumping to the ground.

He’s enormous and intimidating even when wounded, a soldier loaded with ammo and weapons and protective paddings and guards, wearing a hood and a helmet and a radio of some sort, his tactical gloves bloody and eyes droopy. The weapon by his side is almost half as tall as you, and God – is that a grenade strapped to his vest?

“I got compromised,” König looks down at the wound but doesn’t remove his hand. He looks so different, like another man entirely when he’s not dressed in his customary olive green pants and a casual black t-shirt. He seems even buffier now, even taller, so terrifying that you wonder if you ever even knew this man.

You must look like a frightened deer because König mistakes your horrified look as sweet, simple concern.

“Don’t worry... They have it much worse, I assure you,” he says with his usual grin – you can hear it from the way he says it that he’s smiling. But it’s so weary now, so exhausted and frail compared to his confident, playful laughs and that husky voice with which he spoke to you after your kiss.

“I came to ask for help,” he continues under his breath, wobbling even when leaning against a wall. “You’re the only one I can… trust.”

“Of course, anything. I will do anything I can.”

His eyes smile down at you from behind the executioner’s veil. It’s that same devoted stare you’ve been trying to dispel for months now. You give yourself a quick mental shake, then tell him to wait here while you go in and call for an ambulance.

König bounces off the wall and seizes your hand, telling you he can’t go to a hospital and that, if anything, he must avoid any kind of public places. You don’t ask any further questions, even if you know you’re in a pickle now, and not only because those glacial eyes are making your knees weak again. There’s nothing much you can do: he’s wounded and still in danger, saying he can’t trust anyone else. Of course you have to help him in any way you can. If he says it’s not safe, then you must help him get somewhere where it is safe.

And besides, aren’t you a nun? You’re supposed to help those in need.

So when he asks you if there are any motels or a bed & breakfast nearby, you say you know just the place.

It makes your heart bleed that König takes support from you while you slowly make your way down the street. A man of his size, a body trained to withstand whatever his job throws at him, seeking support from a frail little nun… It’s a joke, indeed, and a horrid one.

When you get to the small place run by a humble old man, you don’t know who to feel more sorry for: the elder behind the counter or König, desperately trying to stay on his feet.

“I mean no trouble,” he says while pushing an unnerving amount of money across the table. “I just need a place to rest.”

The receptionist’s eyes dart to you, then back to König, who still has what you suppose is a loaded rifle dangling by his waist. The safety is on, probably, but there are also knives and grenades strapped to his person, and with that hood, he mainly looks like a terrorist of some sort.

“She’s here to help. See...? Bride of Christ. Even less trouble than I am.”

You try to smile reassuringly as the man risks a better look at you now instead of being fixated on König or his weapons.

You must make an odd pair, a soldier and a nun... The old man probably has a ton of questions in his head right now.

“No shooting,” he says to you, but his words are directed at König.

“No shooting,” he promises. “No mess if no one knows we’re here. Ok...? You’ve never even seen us.”

The receptionist nods. Then he extends a trembling hand and takes the money, and hands out a key without taking any check-in information.

You go to König and help him up the small stairs and into his room paid with bloody money and a menacing appearance. The fitted carpet is old, and floral patterned, the room small and adorable and meant for visitors far more petite than König. The bedspread is old-fashioned and floral too and has never even seen blood, of that you are sure when König lays himself down with a grunt.

You spend the next minutes – or hours, you can’t tell – in a tunnel-visioned fog as you do exactly as he says.

You help him out of his gear and weapons and lay them aside quickly but gently, you cut his shirt with an ugly-looking knife, then get a watered towel for him to press against the wound. You rush back to his tactical vest and search for a first aid kit and some medicine, and start to treat his wounds per his advice.

The sun sets in the window, and you patch up your injured soldier with care, trusting his word when he says it’s only a flesh wound and that it looks far worse than it is.

“I should get shot more often,” he purrs when you’re cleaning the rest of the blood off his skin.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scold, trying to focus on your task and not the vast plates that make his chest. Or the thick abs, right there under your fingertips… Or the fact that he has incredibly narrow hips, and a luscious breath of dark hair leading from his navel down and underneath the waistband of his pants.

You suppose this is what your friend calls a happy trail...

And it does make you very happy.

You don’t dare to look beyond that because the pants he usually wears aren’t as tight as these, and you fear he’ll catch you checking out his junk in an attempt to see if your friend was correct about his size.

To your blessing – or your curse – you don’t even have to look straight at it to see he’s having an erection. You can actually see from the corner of your eye how König grows hard while you’re treating him – it’s right there, a robust tent that rises beside you while you concentrate on wiping off the blood.

“Pay no mind to that,” he says thickly and completely without shame. “It just happens… Can’t control it.”

He breathes a bit too heavy for someone who’s lying down, and you fear it’s because of the blood loss. But then you start to suspect it’s probably because all the remaining blood has gone between his legs… He doesn’t even try to tone down the heated, obsessive stares he shoots your way, and you suppose he’s either missed you very much, or then there’s a fever rising after all. You’re not sure if you’re glad or disappointed that the bullet didn’t scrape his leg instead.

“I missed you,” he says like he just read your thoughts. He whispers the sentence slowly and with purpose, saying it like a long-withheld secret.

“I missed you too,” you whisper back.

Gosh… Here you are, a silly little nun who’s tried to get over a crush for six months, crying after him at night and caressing his rose during the day. You’ve been petting a withering flower some mercenary gave you in hopes of getting into your pants, you’ve fawned over memories of a few smiles and a kiss, all the while the said mercenary has killed people for money and now got shot. He came here to work again, but never sent a message, he only came to see you when he was injured…

...And you’re glad he did. If a bullet was needed to bring him back to you, then you’re grateful for it, no matter how horrible it is.

“Did you ever… find someone?” You ask while keeping your gaze fixed on his navel instead of the raging bulge in his pants.

“Someone, who?”

“Someone to hold hands with.”

He gives a strained laugh. “Ah. No. No time for that.”

You swallow, and slowly guide your eyes to his.

“Are you still happy with your crucified man?”

Ouch.

“I… I don’t know.”

His brows knit together; you can see it even in the dim light of the table lamp, you can see it even if there’s some godforsaken black war paint all over his face under that hood.

There’s a distant hurt in his eyes before he blinks softly, slowly.

“I wrote to you, Braut Christi... Many times. Never sent the letters… They’re still in my room, at the base.”

Your heart skips a beat.

He hasn’t had “time” for women, yet has written you letters all these months. He’s written letters while you’ve caressed a rose….

You wonder if hearts can find each other, even through a distance, and if you’ve felt the urge to go to the flower he gave you at the same time König has gotten the desire to write another letter to you. It’s bittersweet, like this whole thing between you two, the mystery that both brings you together and rips you apart.

“I wish I hadn’t… I wish I...” you start, but can’t bring yourself to finish.

“Liebling. I should’ve sent them anyway.”

You go get rid of the bloodied paper towels before you start to cry in front of him.

God… You’re not only in a pickle, you’re neck-deep in trouble, and you only notice you forgot to wash your hands when you return to him.

He reaches for your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Peace settles in, even if there’s blood on your hands and the man you adore is lying next to you, patched up with the help of a first aid kit when he should be lying in a hospital, receiving treatment and care.

There’s a knife and a pistol tucked under the bedspread, next to his hand, and the fact that he’s still prepared to fight anyone who tries to come through that door underlines the fact that you two come from very different worlds. König is more than just a rose buying, coffee offering gentleman, he's more than just a silly guy who threatens to sing serenades under your window if you don’t come out to play with him.

You’re not sure if you’re more enamoured or scared.

“You’re an angel,” he rasps from the bed as you try to swallow the tears that refuse to go down.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

A teardrop falls on the innocent floral bedspread as you wish you were in this room as a married couple instead of an injured, horny soldier and a childish nun in love. Spending your honeymoon or something, getting some rest after an eventful day in town, choosing this absurd old Bed & Breakfast as your place to stay for the night.

You wish you were doing anything else than treating his wounds, lethal or not.

“Are you crying?”

His voice is gentler than you even remembered. Six months of despair have turned him into a dark, alluring trickster when he’s really just a man, a big, amazing, tender man who’s multifaceted, multitalented, and always kind.

He's about to fall asleep, and it’s no wonder. The events of the evening have left you drained, too. You kneel beside his bed, too tired to even sit on a chair, wondering if he’ll die from his wounds tonight or get hunted down by the people who still want him dead.

“I wish you would stop killing people... I wish you would stop getting killed.”

You must look silly, kneeling beside a giant soldier’s bed, crying and holding his hand between yours as if praying. But his eyes smile at you, and while you’d want nothing more than to see his face again, you realise you kind of like König this way. Masked and menacing and mean to his enemies, but stripped down to his soul when he’s with you.

“I wish you would stop praying... And start living,” he mutters gently.

“Praying helps sometimes,” you whisper.

In truth, you wish you’d start living, too. You always thought you were brave when you said ‘no’ to the world. Perhaps you were only running away from it…

The hand is warm but not feverish. His breaths start to even, and his lids get heavier; his thumb gives you a small caress before he drifts off to sleep.

“Perhaps that’s why I’m still here, Kätzchen.”

#könig x reader #könig x you #könig fanfiction #konig x reader #konig x you #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig x fem reader

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gremlingottoosilly · 7 months

Text

The only thing you want to do is... [Price x fem!Reader]

Price broke his hand on the last mission. Fortunately for him, his caretaker is just as adorable as she is eager to help him in every way.

CW and tags: Legal age gap, power imbalance, daddy kink, pervert!Price, obsessive!Price, coercion into sex, handjob (m!receiving)

Word count: 3246

This work on AO3

You’re such a sunshine, it hurts.

John Price never considered himself to be a good man. He did what he had to do to protect his country, to ensure that big bad terrorists are kept at bay, and foreign militaries are ending up where they belong – somewhere in the ditch, with reports stating KIA an anonymous bullet drugged out of their skulls.

His job was just that – a job, something that had to be done because he knew that someone else, someone worse, would gladly take his place in case of retirement. The captain can be considered a fucking angel compared to some people he is working with – no one would ever dare call him evil when people like Graves still exist out there, hunting for innocents.

But you’re so fucking sweet to him, he simply can’t handle it.

When his arm got injured, and he was forced to get on leave for at least a month – he tried to argue for something less, but Lasswell silently pointed out that he hadn’t had a break in the past five years, and she would kick him out of his own Task Force if he’d continue to refuse – he got assigned a caretaker by Kate recommendation.

John was fully expecting some old lady, probably a retired officer or field medic. Maybe some burly man with too much time on his hands and the ability to give really nice massages under flights of bullets. Perhaps, worst case scenario, he would be assigned an actual; nurse that wouldn’t buy any of his shit – that amount of whiskey he drinks is prescribed by his therapist, smoking cigars in the apartment is a nice form of relaxation, and he actually doesn’t need help and can go in service back again less than in two weeks.

But, the Captain got wee ol’ you, all nice and warm, and adorable, and too fucking young to have anything to do with his apartment.

You’re nice, warm, fresh out of college, where you got some recommendations about rehabilitating veterans back into normal lives. Probably was writing a Thesis about something as dumb as “Healing PTSD through flower crowns and little touches”. You chirp your way into his heart and refuse to go out – just like Kate promised to him, you really didn’t allow him to do anything on his own.

God, it was infuriating – how much he wanted to simply grab your shoulders and kiss you. Or kick you out and find someone else to take care of him, someone boring, someone of appropriate age. Without dumb, bright eyes and cute smiles, without enthusiasm, that can only be seen in unpaid interns and college graduates who still believe that the world is fair and nice.

You cook his dinners and clean up his apartment – as small as it is, never having a family or any other reason to make it even slightly bigger – and you do this with such a wide smile on your face it actually makes Price question basically everything he knows about young ladies doing charity work. You must be paid triple because you fold his underwear in neat little cubes and refuse to accept his help. Always chirped something about his hand like he can’t kill a man with his teeth only.

— I can fold my own pants, love.

He presses his body against the doorframe of the small bathroom – looks at your ass so shamelessly bent over the washing machine. You’re folding his dried clothes, and he can only pray that you aren’t slowly resenting him for being such a disgusting old man. He knew he looked good for his age, 37 years in this world molded him into something that many young women would consider hot – even though his beard is unkept and his hair grew a bit longer since he couldn’t be arsed to do anything about it, and his dominant hand is broken.

— We don’t want to sprain your hand even more, right? — Everythin’ is alright with my bloody hand…

— Lady Lasswell said I shouldn’t listen to you like this, sir. Sorry.

— Little minx.

— Me or Lady Lasswell?

John looks at you, so eager and cheerful, and he just wants to…he can’t, of course, he stops himself before he even forms the thought because it’s dirty and you don’t deserve this, and your shy smile as you laugh softly and push the last of the laundry in the neat pile on the washing machine.

You look too eager to please, and he has an idea – the one he will never act upon. Maybe will entertain himself later, stroking himself in some abandoned base deep in the snowy tundra, trying to remember your warmth as if a sinner like him can even comprehend your light.

God, you got him so bad, he starts thinking about good ol’ Jesus again. You really are a side to behold, aren’t ya.

He looks at you again – you’re so easy to please. You cook for him, the smell of home cooking that he almost forgot, all the ingredients you invited yourself to buy when he left his card for you. You didn’t think it was weird, not a single mischievous bone in your body – if anything, he was casually prompting you to go and buy yourself something nice, something as compensation for all the trouble you endured for him.

Instead, you went out of your way to cook for him, to make him tea like he wanted it – without sugar, but with a small amount of milk poured into a cup that is probably the most expensive thing in this whole place except for his weapons.

The problem is – John Price doesn’t really like it when people are taking care of him. Not because he is shy or insecure, god forbid, but because he knows that if a pretty young thing like you is going to show him kindness, he will take a fucking mile and make you run from him as fast as you can. He has desires, he has needs, something that pretty good girls like you should know nothing about.

You’re so eager to please that you’ll probably jerk him off if he were to whine about his arm being broken and his inability to get himself off because of it. Which, in turn, gives him an…idea.

Price was never a good person – he isn’t the worst guy either. He sees your reactions, that adorable heat of your face when he brushes his knuckles over your cheek in an affectionate manner. How you are biting your lips every time you have to fold his underwear, when you cook for him, and he presses his body against yours, rocking his hips just gently enough to not make his arousal obvious. John knows you like him in more ways than just one – he doubts that such a lovegirl like you would ever agree to take care of a grumpy military man like him.

He wonders where your father is – probably out of the picture if his precious daughter is almost crying from a desire to please a guy like him. He wonders if you have a boyfriend or if you’re seeing someone else – if you’re a virgin or you already had a series of disappointing sessions with blokes that have no idea how to behave with an angel like you.

Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be taking care of a SAS captain – did your superiors forget to tell you just how girl-hungry men like him are? That he didn’t even bother to find a wife, and the loneliness of a single life will make him fucking explode if a girl as pretty as you were in the vicinity of that perverted old dog. You must be stupid – or so insanely naive, it’s not even funny.

He licks his lips, staring at you again. He is certainly isn’t a good guy – not the worst either, but it’s up for debate. He wants to hold you close and say all of those pretty good things he knows you want to hear. He also wants to push you as close to him as possible and just fuck that pretty girl until you’re begging for him to make you his wife. He’d always laugh at the thought of other military commanders and higher rank soldiers having sugar babies – especially the mercs and their fucking inability to keep a girl who isn’t tied to their paychecks. But now…he might just pay for your adorable pout and eagerness.

Might make a call to that one masked arsehole and ask how the hell he keeps his questionably young wife around without breaking her legs. Visibly, at least.

— Sir? Planet calls for Captain Price.

You giggle when you are waving your hand around him. Shit – looks like he zoned out for a hot minute, leaving you free to stare at his face, the fantom red spreading across his skin as if he is actually embarrassed to be caught like this. He isn’t, of course, he is stronger than some girl trying to get a rise out of him. He thinks he is stronger, at least.

You wave your hand in front of his face again, and the insects are kicking in – captain grabs your hand, not even caring that his supposed helplessness stems from the fact his dominant hand is still broken. He has no problems keeping you in place with just his left hand – and you almost look scared when you understand that you literally can’t move.

Your innocent smile turns into a pathetic whimper when he squeezes you even more. Bruises, no doubt, are starting to form already – well, it should be your fault. Good girls are usually smarter than teasing an old dog like him, even if you’re trying to play innocence. He knows what you are.

His future special girl that is. A wife, if he plays his cards right…and the captain was always good at poker.

— Shite, love. Sorry.

His smile mirrors yours – an innocent display like he didn’t almost break your wrist in his hold. He is still squeezing your hand, but not he slowly presses his lips against your knuckles – thin, dry lips gently caressing your skin in a gesture that you should never accept from a guy who kills people as a job. Who saves people, too – but a good guy with a gun is barely an upgrade from a bad one.

He kisses your fingers and finds heaven in the feeling of your soft skin against his lips. You are certainly embarrassed, and this is exactly what he wants – an old pervert trying to get in the pants of a cute girl who just wants to take care of him without any strings attached. He just has to make this whale thing complicated, isn’t he?

— It’s okay, sir. Just thought I lost you for a second.

— Not a chance.

Your smile looks a tad bit mischievous – that is, or he is simply hallucinating from painkillers he is forced to drink every morning because you refuse to let him feel pain even though he is used to it. You are acting like he is a soft doll made out of pink ribbons and soft plushes, not a seasoned soldier with his own thoughts and ideas about what he can do about your desire to please him. He might just use your eagerness – his cock has been pitching for too long without female attention, and he usually doesn’t indulge in shitty one-night stands in some sketchy pubs, but he can make an exception for now. For you.

You smile awkwardly, still trying to get your hand out of his grasp. Little minx, teasing him like he can’t just push you on this exact washing machine and fuck you like a slut you are. Poor girl, you probably don’t even know what kind of thoughts he has in his head – even though your eyes tell him something your lips cannot articulate.

John acts on his instincts, and they usually don’t deceive him.

— If you want to help so badly, I can think of another way.

— Is that so, sir? You’re going to get him in so much shit with Lasswell, he doesn’t even know how he is going to get out of it after fucking her best little protege. Would have to marry you – like it’s not his end goal, like he doesn’t want to make your care for him a tad bit more permanent. He has done so many good things for humanity, why can’t he be a bit selfish and get himself a little something to make this place feel more like home?

He thinks of a pretty thing like you, heavy with his kids, cooking something nice and hearty in his house – not this crappy apartment, of course, he’d buy you something in the countryside, away from terrorists and public squares, with good schools and greenery all around.

You lick your lips and tilt your head to the side. He is daydreaming again.

— If you want to make me relax so badly, love, there is something I need help with…

Beating around the bush like this isn’t in his character – but he knows that you’re a good girl, maybe way too good and proper. He can’t just shove his dick in your hand, it would be too unpolite.

He has to prepare you, it’s a slow sniper mission where he needs to approach you as gently and quietly as possible – he still holds your hand in his, a phantom of his lips tucked away on the softness of your skin.

Then he places his hand on his growing erection – as awkwardly as he can operate with only using his left arm as a helper.

Price might not be the master of espionage, but he also didn’t get his rank for not being able to do cover missions under pressuring circumstances and lie in the faces of people who trust him. Not be the best person, of course, but he gives you a choice. You have all the power now – even with his weapons safely stashed in his bedroom, he knows he won’t ever try to force you. He won’t have to.

— Help your captain, eh?

You’re embarrassed, shy, scared even – your hands are trembling, fingers tracing the outline of his cock with morbid curiosity he never thought he’d find this adorable. You don’t stop and don’t try to fight him – like a little animal, nervous and terrified somewhat, you’re slowly indulging yourself in something that you actually shouldn’t.

He lets go of your hand and allows you to continue on your own – like a good girl, you only nod and slowly duck your palm in his boxers. He’d say that the way he is rock-solid just from looking at your ass and pouting on your face is weak, but he can afford to be a bit pathetic after so many weeks without the ability to jerk off. With your watchful gaze, he just couldn’t find it in his heart – or the only remaining working hand – to do something to help with his raging crush on this adorable social worker who comes to help him.

John is many things – a war hero, war criminal, the captain, and the butcher of many who may deem his actions irredeemable. He made peace with not being the poster good guy and often dirtying his hands just to keep the world clean – and he knows that, in the end, he deserves a pretty young thing to jerk him off while he kisses your hairline and whispers sweet nothing with that beautiful accent of his.

— This is not very… appropriate, sir.

— Bullocks, love. You’re helpin’, that’s why you’re here.

You’re nervous when your hand, squeezing his shaft firmly, goes up and down on his cock. You’re trying to find the rhythm in his quiet grunts and little moans, not having too much experience with pleasuring men who you like this much. It’s fear of disappointing him that makes you go wild, that approving gaze of his every time you press your soft fingers against the head of his cock and squeeze a little.

He is throbbing in your palm, pre-cum leaking on the small of your fingers – naturally, you lick it as slowly as possible, not breaking the eye contact.

Price moans.

— Bloody hell, luv…so good for daddy.

The name makes your ears burn, the desire growing in your stomach – you fight the urge to drop on your knees and take him fully in your mouth. This isn’t what he wants, you think, so you just continue to squeeze him more, making sure he is satisfied with every little movement your hand makes. You lick your lips and continue, feeble attempts at containing the rhythm with shaky fingers.

— I just wanted to help you with your life, not…this.

He chuckles, unharmed hand presses on the small of your back to fix you in place. You lick your lips, understanding that he is not going to let you go this easily – you don’t want to behave like this, of course, it’s against the terms of your contract and your agreement to help him without feelings attached, but he moans so deeply for you, hips are buckling to fuck the firmness of your hand like he is ready to use your moist, prepared pussy.

God, what are you even thinking about?

You don’t know if you should be doing this, but the captain is not letting you go – and you can’t even do anything against his wishes, can you?

— We really shouldn’t be doing this.

— Quiet. I’ll help you out after my hand is healed, eh? — This isn’t what I’m talking about, sir.

— Now, let’s not use that here. I’m sir in the field, not here.

He is manipulating you as hard as he can – he can feel the tension in your eyes and the way you’re squeezing his cock, and he wants nothing more but to simply push you harder, make you fall apart in his hold like a precious porcelain vase. You’re sensitive and shy, just perfect for a bastard like him – his only regret is that the dumb cast on his right hand won’t really allow him to relax to have sex with you properly.

He will pay you back later – on your back, on your knees, on your tummy, moaning his name as he plunges his seed deep into you. It was about time he’d settle down with a pretty wife of his own – he can afford you, certainly.

— I can’t call you daddy, it’s embarrassing…

Your shy words are what send him over the edge. John Price was never a good guy to begin with, but your little pleas are enough to make him cum – and it’s certainly one of the biggest sins he has ever committed. Cute girl like you shouldn’t be so embarrassed about jerking him off, but here you are.

Your hands are covered in cum as he continues to release his seed, only sad because he wasn’t able to breed you properly – that’s the agenda for the time when he finally is freed from this dumb cast. Might just ask Lasswell for extended leave.

— You’ll just have to get used to this, love. Not letting you go after this.

You can only whimper when he kisses you – possessive and tender at the same time. A silent promise of making you his dumb little wife.

#cod #yandere price #price x reader #captain price #john price #captain john price #yandere cod #call of duty #cod imagine #cod fanfic

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kenlvry · 1 year

Note

LISTEN TO ME RN HEAT ME TF OUT STANS GANG + CRAIG DOIGN THE LIPSTICK TREND FROM TICTOK WITH READER

the lipstick trend with stan and craigs team

an, I AM LISTENLING ANON DONT WORRY. no idea what you mean by heat out though 🤨 , 17-18 and gn reader but use of her in tolkiens

kenny

he was the one who suggested it, it came across his fyp one day and he sent it to you "lets do this come over rn." "you asked, why dont you come to my house? 🤨" "why don't i cum in your mom" "HUH 😧" "im here."

you both definitely argue on what lipstick you should wear "okay but i don't even use pink lipstick" "well you should" "its light colour its not gonna appear" "well fuck 😒"

the process of kissing his face is wild, he would suggest to do his lips as the first place "KENNY HOW ARE WE GONNA DO THIS TREND IF YOU KEEP TRYING TO MAKE OUT WITH ME" "ITS NOT MY FAULT"

after like2 hours you finally get the lipstick on his face. now the tiktok was even harder he wouldn't stop laughing. you'd give up and he apologises while laughing

thank god you guys were able to finish it under 1 hour it turned out really good, at the end of the video he kissed you and you wanted to cut that part but he said keep it for like and its true the comments were all about the kiss on the last clip

kyle

okay he too wanted to ask you first but he was kinda shy and waited for you to ask and you did!! woohoo for kyle

"kyle wanna do this" "OKAY" he insists on picking your lipstick and picks the ugliest colour like what 😐

to him there was no such thing as an ugly colour buy it didn't suit your face so no way.

the process of it was calm, he at first wanted to put on the lipstick for you but you looked like a clown has mans never put on lipstick??

he watches you as you kiss him and reapply lipstick and then kiss him again, he feels like a princess fr 🤭🤭

he hasn't seen his face yet so when you record and he saw his face he laughs out loud, "LMAO WHY DO I LIKE THAT??" "WDYM"

you would tell him to take off his hat which he refuses but you looked too cute, when it posted cartman was first to comment and you can already tell what he commented "ew gay" your followers defended you two though 🤭

stan

stan blushes internally when you ask him. "sure im down" DEEP DOWN HE WANTS KIDNAP YOY AND KEEP YOU TO HIMSELF

"what lipstick do you think matches me best, pink or red?" "id say my tip colour" "WHAT 😧"

he has to hold in the very urge to puke every time you kiss him because like you look so cute omg.

he looks in the mirror and is js like "damn, i did it". HE LOVES IT SOOOO MUCH YOU CAN TELL HE'S BLUSHING ONGG ‼️

he even directs you like "do here next, okay now here" its so cute 🤭🤭

when you record and the camera pans to him, he smiles and covers his face blushing bc he can't contain it. it was such a cute video and got iver 2 mil likes. cartman definitely commented "i bet you had to change your clothes 10 times"

cartman

"cartman lets do this" "what." "wdym? cmon its cute" "y/n no offense but that is the most gayest shit i've ever seen" " NO ITS NOT UTS CUTE" "my reputation is at stake if i do that be so for real" "okay I'm asking kyle then" "lets do it."

he actually been wanting to ask you for weeks now but doesn't know how so winwin. you take your absolute time picking your lipstick and he couldn't be more done with "hurry up this doesn't even effect anything" "shut up cartman if i use the right one people will ask what lipstick it is and i get views"

picking a lipstick was already a big deal just imagine the process "ew gay not on my lips" "cartman 😐" tbh he wish he could just make out with you rn but yk how mans is

now recording is even more a hassle "JUST SMILE IS IT SO HARD TO CRACK A SMILE" "NOT WHILE IM LOOKING LIKE THIS" the most he does is wipes your lipstick off and then he just gives a 🙄 look until the end of the video

the comments are just him getting teased at clydes commenting "NAHHH CAN'T BELIEVE HE AGREED TO THIS" kyles is "i can tell that this took a long time" and then wendys is "is that cartman or a clone of him". cartman is pissed af at the comment, he told you his reputation is at stake 😒.

he actually has it saved downloaded and also is his live wallpaper sooo.

butters

butters is the one who asked you this " um y/n can we do this? 😣" while twiddling his fingers, "OKAY"

he's all giddy and smily during the process, after every kiss his blushes intensifies and by the end of it he is just.. 🔴

even though it is the most simplest video ever he has to have a tutorial, he is asking questions for everything man, how do i wipe the lipstick, what do i do, do i smile when its on me , do i laugh??

you tell him what he thinks he should he and he starts kissing you bc rn the sexual tension between you two is intense (to him atleast, he thinks thinks hand holding is already intense)

everyone comments on how cute he is and yk how tiktok is so people comment "does he whimper" "submissive who?" and hes likw WHATTTTT 🧍

clyde

when you suggested this he nodded so hard his head probably was about to fall off. "clyde you wanna do this" "DO I???" ..... "well.. do you?" "i mean yeah it's like a way of- yes i wanna do it"

he loves any lipstick you wear so he lets you pick. after every kiss he looks in the mirror and kicks his feet giggling and you just stand there 🤨

he also tries to make it a makeout session like kenny, when you kissed on his lips he holds your neck and literally makes out with like cnon we have 9 more

when you first hit record and yk how the guy has to wipe your lipstick off, nah he grabbed you by the chin and slams his lips with yours "WHY DIS YOU DO THAT??" "its called content,you wouldn't know with your 9 likes and 70 views"

well you kept the clip and everyone in the comments were talking about it "need a boyfriend like you y/n" "why can't my boyfriend be like this" clyde is obviously gloating bc he had the idea.

tolkien

most romantic man you know, is the first to ask you. "y/n can we do this?" "OKAY BOO 😝"

"hmm which lipstick do you think babe?" "i think every lipstick makes you pretty, it doesn't matter if it doesn't suit you because in my eyes you look beautiful in anything ☺️" "what if i wore kim kardashians 2013 met gala dress" "might have to rethink what i said"

he smiles while you kiss him here and there, every once a while he kisses you back, it was such a cute moment for you two😝🤞🤞

when recording he looks at you while smiling during the whole video and it blew up fast because of that

"the way he looks at her" "wishing he was like this" "you got the bag that man is inlove", it blew in seconds fr

craig

"craig lets do-" "okay" "i didnt even ask you yet" "I'll do anything if its with you" "what if i asked you to have a threesome" ".....if its makes you happy idk.."

idk about you but i think he acts like he doesn't care but inside he is so happy you asked he's been wanting to ask you this but doesn't know how to start up the convo

he doesn't care what lipstick or where you kiss him, its just the way you press your lips on him and look at it then quickly reapply to do it again because it wasn't pigmented enough.

when recorded, he doesn't just wipe he makes you turn to face him by grabbing your chin, and he doesn't let go and just looks at you with those yk siren eyes.

people are simping over him ong "damn girlie share for us" "you mean OUR boyfriend" "tryna find someone as hot as him" and you are pissed fr he laughs at you cursing out the people, like bae dw my eyes only fo you 😝🤞

tweek

"tweek, wanna do this?" "but what if I can't remove the lipstick stain" "tweek what dw i have makeup remover" "WHAT IF THAT DOESN'T WORK 🤯🤯" "TWEEK"

okay so the lipstick may turn out ugly bc of how shaky he is but ITS OKAY BC ITS TWEEK DUH, "a-are you sure you dont want to redo this?" "tweek its fine"

he insists on redoing it the 2nd try turns our worse because he's even more twitchy because of how close you are☺️☺️☺️

his face is just red because he keeps wiping it off with his hands so you can redo it and its obvious too

recording it was so funny because you can't stop laughing at the smudge lipsticks

when posted the comments were so cute but... uh questionable some were "the way the smudges are so obvious 😭😭❤️" or "wishing my future relationship will be like this 🤭" and some were just "tip colour when?? 😜"

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mrpenguinpants · 1 year

Text

Overdue Bills

— He knows your fake relationship with him was made purely for beneficial reasons. After everything was said and done, you both went your separate ways. So why does he keep coming back to you?

— Alhaitham, Ayato, and Kazuha

-> Part 1: Please go out with me for tax benefits! -> Not connected but can also be read: I refuse to fall in love out of spite [ TBA ] [Masterlist]

Does this feel rushed because it is. I assumed everyone wanted a continuation but I plan on writing another fic using the original prompt but for different characters. The titles have nothing to do with the fics but I really wanted to title this, we've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty.

Alhaitham

There's only so much Kaveh can handle before he hits a breaking point and this might be it. A few months ago he overheard the librarian ask a stranger how their boyfriend Alhaitham was doing, to which he nearly broke his neck in how fast he turned. From the long pause and the plain answer of, "he's fine", which Alhaitham most definitely isn't given how much work the sages are dumping onto their scribe, Kaveh came to the conclusion that you're another creepy admirer or an attention-seeking leech. While Kaveh wouldn't call Alhaitham something as close as a friend, the man at least deserved to know there was another deranged person spreading lies. He assumed Alhaitham would confront you, knock some sense into you, and that would be the end of it. But because Alhaitham operates on a level that's incomprehensible to Kaveh, instead you've both entered into a fake dating relationship that he honestly believes is a horrible idea. But Alhaitham is his roommate, not his friend, and he doesn't have the time or care to facilitate a non-existent love life. But lo and behold the next time he sees you, there's a silver-haired man is hovering nearby looking at you with the closest thing to love his stoic face can make. Things are only weirder when Kaveh brings the sight up to you, saying that you're both taking this fake dating in stride and he's honestly impressed at how Alhaitham really put his all into this performance. Only for you to look at him as if he's grown two heads. You and Alhaitham stopped dating weeks ago.

Alhaitham isn't stupid. There's only so much rationalization he can turn to and so many excuses he can make but at the end of the day, he has to admit that he never works better than he does sitting beside you. At first, he reasoned that it was because people didn't bother him as much and you knew how to be quiet. Perhaps that's why you've skyrocketed in his requirements of friendship despite the fact that you both weren't really friends. But then he couldn't sit alone without getting restless. There’s an empty space beside him that constantly makes itself aware in his subconscious. One that screams at him that he wants you to be there, not just because you can scare people away.

It's a slow realization from there starting with him comparing you and Kaveh. For as much as he and his senior argue back and forth almost every time they meet, Alhaitham considers Kaveh an excellent mirror to him that can push his thoughts to go further. But you're different. That realization turns into contemplation when you actually listen and take his advice. Every scholar is egotistical to some degree, there's a lot of pride to take into your research, and having your weeks of hard work be written off by a blunt statement gets people angry. Alhaitham would be the first to know, he's been on the receiving end of that anger multiple times. Yet when he points out a section in your thesis to be incorrect, you simply tilt your head thinking before agreeing he was right. Crumbling your paper, ready to start all over again without any fuss. Still water versus the wave that Kaveh is. While some would call that boring, he finds it charming.

The nail in the coffin is when he catches himself labeling the chair next to him as yours. He can't justify that one and he's suddenly confronted that he severely underestimated how much he's grown to like you. He originally agreed to the idea to keep his comfortable routine without any interruptions and your introduction would fix his issue of suitors but you've played your part so perfectly that he fell for it. He was tempted to stop talking to you altogether, cutting the deal off entirely and never speaking to you again. But you're not a saint and just as he realized his feelings, your thesis was done and you left abruptly before he had any time to prepare. A glaring empty spot mocking him. Only to come back with your stacks of books and a nervous smile that Alhaitham refuses to acknowledge makes his heart beat just the slightest bit quicker.

He knows you can hear the whispers that you and Alhaitham have gotten back together. Yet you haven't said anything and he politely chooses to not say anything either. The rumors certainly haven't stopped you from acting differently and he doesn't know if that's a good thing. He knows your language is touch but now he wants to be the one near you this time. That way the first person you’ll speak to is him. By now he’s fully aware of his feelings and how far they’ve developed for him to actually start feeling possessive. So the next time you lean against him to show him a particular paragraph of a book, he wraps a hand around your waist, disguising it as him shifting you to the side so he can get a better angle to read. Under his hand, he can feel how tense you become at the casual touch, how your eyes jump from him to the floor, before relaxing and continuing on.

In hindsight, he knows by all rational reasoning he should just confess to you and get it over and done with. But there's something exciting in the way you look at him with calculating eyes that he stares back at unflinching. He thinks of it as payback for you strolling into his carefully planned life and making a mess. He’s simply allowing himself to indulge in it. Now every time you greet him with a wave, he offers a smile. When you want to drag him somewhere by the cape, he slips his hand into yours stating you'll stretch the fabric too much. And when you need to whisper something in his ear? He'll practically be in your lap with how close he leans in even if there's no one else in the room. He knows eventually you'll catch on to what he's trying to do, what he's trying to say. You've been practicing for months sitting beside him. It's finally when he invites you to the pavilion that he can see the realization on your face that Alhaitham clearly doesn't consider you just a friend. The look of bewilderment goes back and forth with suspicion before finally settling into an amused huff with the smallest of smiles.

It's late enough into the day that he knows the only people lingering in the Akademiya are either passed-out students or scholars too wrapped up in their work. All consideration he's taken to make sure you're both uninterrupted for this moment. And what a moment it is. The pavilion itself is beautiful with its blue and green stained glass windows that reflect the evening sun. The yellow flowers swaying gently in the breeze add just enough color to not be irritating. Kaveh might need to retract his statement that Alhaitham doesn't know a thing about romance because it's painfully obvious what's about to happen.

"Any more and people might get the wrong idea you know," you say as you lean against the white wall. The look of confusion is gone from your eyes, replaced with mirth. It does not make him shudder.

"About what? The library is cramped with people and the pavilion is quiet," he says like it's an off-handed comment before turning around, leaning his weight against his elbows on the railing as he turns to the side to look at the view this specific pavilion provides. "Although I can understand where you might have drawn that conclusion. I can assure you nothing like that will happen. You're not my type."

He can physically feel you bristle even though he isn't looking at you before your footsteps come closer and closer until your form is right in front of him. He still refuses to look at you but he can tell the moment you see his poorly hidden smile. He hears you let out an amused huff before you bring your hands up and settle them against the railing as well. Only you've decided to cage him in between your arms and it makes him turn to you, raising a brow. He's already lost the moment he turned but the cheeky grin you have is worth it. You look really cute when you're smug.

"If I had any interest, it would have died a long time ago. You're the worst fake boyfriend I've ever had so I can't imagine how insufferable you'll be as a real one," you shake your head exasperated but there's a small entertained look that tugs at his heart. That you know what he knows and he knows what you know. A similar feeling of understanding that he's gotten so used to. One that lets him act in such an irrational way.

"You've had others?" he asks as his arm comes off the railing to settle around your waist. You don't push him away, easily following along.

"For such a pretty face you have such an awful personality," you sigh disappointed yet the arms that cage him move to settle around his neck, twirling the silver hair at the base of his neck as you lean closer until there isn't space between the two of you.

"Oh? So you think I'm pretty?" He tilts his chin slightly down, his lips brushing against yours.

"You must have selective hearing." With your faces so close, he can see the excitement in your eyes. He's sure that he is the same. So he ignores the pleased look on your face and leans in.

Ayato

Ultimately, he's just a passerby. He decided on a whim to go along with some absurd act because he thought the sheer dread and embarrassment on your face was amusing and he wanted to see more. By all accounts, your temporary date wasn't too bad. It felt a bit refreshing being with someone that looked like they rather throw themselves in the nearby sea than stand next to the refined Yashiro Commissioner. But otherwise, that's the end of your relationship. With a few words here and there, he managed to spin the absurd story into his favor and reign in the disaster your little stunt might have caused. He's grateful that you so easily play along with him. Not a single complaint about how he lies through his teeth that someone was bothering you so he extended his help so this individual would leave you alone. It makes both of you, mostly him, look good. How people rush to make sure you're okay while your expression flickers between guilt and embarrassment is far more entertaining than anything he originally planned during this outing. But at the end of the day, you have nothing to do with each other and he owes you nothing. Your presence is ultimately inconsequential in the stream that is his life. That is until one day your relationship changes to stupidity and heartfelt sincerity.

It starts off as a joke. Ayato tends to latch onto small things that give him a momentary break from his busy and stressed lifestyle and duties. Plus there's something lighthearted about this situation that he doesn't want to let go of just yet. Unfortunately for you, Ayato's newfound joy is sneaking up on you and sending you into an early grave. The first time it was an accident, you just happened to be easily jumpy, but the second time though? The resounding screech of terror never fails to make a smile appear on his face and you're convinced that he's a sadist. He doesn't even have to try that hard, his steps are silent even against the crooked stone path that he can waltz up right behind you. But his absolute favourite part is bending down and whispering what exactly his fiancee is so interested in. It always leads to embarrassing talks of you politely asking him to not refer to you with that title anymore that he swiftly blocks by mentioning that, wasn't it you who called him your fiancee first? You should take responsibility.

He thinks your reactions are cute even if you're a bit vulgar in language, although to him that just adds to the warped sense of charm he finds in you. Thoma nearly chokes on his own spit when Ayato perks up at something behind him, suddenly dropping the calm facade of the Yashiro Commissioner and something more genuine before calling out to a "fiancee". Thoma whips around to see a stranger speaking with Yoimiya before their eyes lift and lock with Ayato's and their expression immediately sour. He doesn't think he's ever seen anyone show such a disgusted expression and he can't help but wonder what his lord has done this time. Before Thoma can say anything the stranger picks up a firework ball and hurls it at his Lord who easily sidesteps the attack, the resounding death threats only making the blue-haired man laugh.

It's fun. You're fun to be around. The entire situation is silly and ridiculous and it feels nice. Ayato had to grow up too fast, become an adult too fast, and shoulder the burden meant for later years. Something as small as a nickname, an inside joke, something he can bring up to spite someone just for the fun of it is nice. Perhaps that's why he refuses to let go and finds himself returning to you.

It's all a joke. There's no way Ayato can actually take your hand in marriage. Not with your differences in status. You think that's the only reason people entertain the idea, why he even entertains the idea. To get a reaction out of you that he can relentlessly tease and it's all so stupid. That is until he receives a different reaction that leaves him lost and confused.

You stumble upon him in the aftermath of another one of his assassination attempts. He was perfectly fine, not even a speck of dust on his white coat yet you were nearly in hysteria. Panicked hiccups as you sob uncontrollably into his chest, your tears doing far more damage to dirtying his clothes than an attempt on his life. He tries his best to console you but you can't seem to stop the tears and as much as he values staying dignified, he's almost at his limit. Hand already poised to yank you off until he falters in both mind and body when you suddenly turn your head up and he sees the expression that you hid away in the lapels of his coat. The feeling of the annoyance of having to wash his coat flew out of his mind at the sight of your teary eyes and downturned lips. A small, very small, part of his heart beats just a bit faster. An even smaller part that was buried under the title of Yashiro Commissioner perks its head over someone who was crying for him. Even though you've both talked multiple times, you and he aren't close enough to be considered friends, at least in his eyes. Yet you're currently looking at him as if you're the one that's been attacked because of the simple fact that he could have been hurt. It's...strange.

He doesn't say anything as you usher him into your home to fix up whatever injuries you happened to have conjured in your mind. He's never stepped foot into your residence and he's honestly glad he hasn't because your home is...disheartening, to say the least. He thinks the estate has more life than what was supposedly something you called home. It's not that your place is poor, you're not sleeping on a slab of rock, but it's empty. Like you don't have anything at all. The only thing you seem to carry is your small pile of books. Worn but well taken care of. So he doesn't say anything as you fuss over him, doesn't say anything about the horrendous first aid kit you bring, and bids you farewell at the door of your home. You smile at him widely and tell him to take care of himself. But when he turns to leave, he risks one last peek at you, just in time to see you close your door. You aren't smiling anymore. He stops walking.

It starts to escalate from there. The following months of sudden change are so abrupt that he has no choice but to follow along. He wants to see every expression you have. If that isn't enough, he'll find new ones for you to make.

Ayato's first impression of you is charming but in a pitiful sort of way. You have to be an airhead, you must be considering your shared first meeting. How you didn't realize your mistake and went along with everything is beyond Ayato. You and Itto are almost on the same level of denseness but while Itto does everything with blind confidence that the situation has changed because of him, you are the opposite. Wandering into your own mess as you ignore all the warning signs until it's too late. But you're also honest and upfront, two traits that Ayato has come to value immensely. He finds you endearing, so much that it's starting to overfill his teacup. So with a silent smile, he asks a question.

"Why don't you become my fiancee?"

The noodle slips between your chopsticks, a loud unflattering splat against the table echoing through the silence as you stare at him slack-jawed. He begins to worry that he's accidentally sent you into a stroke because one of your eyes starts twitching.

"Huh? Are you being for real?" you ask deadpanned. He can't help but chuckle under his fingers before resting his chin on the palm of his hand. It feels nice to be able to rest his elbows against the table without someone reprimanding him for his lack of manners. He finds your dry reaction far cuter than the blushes and swoons from the ladies that the elders forced him to take out.

"Be my fiancee." he pauses before continuing as an afterthought. "For real this time."

You pick up your fallen noodle, chew, swallow, and then point your chopsticks at him. Not convinced in the slightest. "Even if you haven't picked out a fiancee you shouldn't joke about that."

"Really?" he fakes surprise, "Then how come you're on a date with me right now?"

You choke. He pushes his teacup towards you, who takes it and gulps down half of its contents in one go. The glass clinks loudly on the table when you put it down yet it doesn't distract him from the sheer disbelief on your face as your ears grow red. He thinks out of all of the expressions you've given him, he likes this one the most.

"This isn't-It's not," you attempt to say, spluttering the entire time that remnants of the tea you just drank wet your lips.

"Yes, it is. Why? Is it bad? Do you know enjoy being taken out to dinner? I can easily arrange for something else instead," He reached over with a napkin to wipe your face. It only serves to make you more embarrassed that he's treating you like a child as you push his hand away lest you combust on the spot. There's no immediate answer. He can't tell whether you're actually considering his offer, or if you're refraining from throwing your chopsticks at him.

"No thanks. If I've learned anything it's that you'll only torment me until I die. I'm starting to think I like you even less," you grumble, shoving more noodles into your mouth.

Ayato is a strange man so he doesn't wait for the water to spill, just tips the cup over and starts again. This time he waits for you to swallow before saying anything, he doesn't want you to choke again.

"That's unfortunate. I adore you, you know."

Kazuha

While his feelings and words were true, he resigns himself to the fact that your relationship was a one-and-done situation. Impulsiveness isn't one of his qualities but as he reflects on his time with you, he gets a bit flustered at how hard he fell. He had just met you and yet within the span of a couple weeks, you managed to fill out the empty parts of his heart. He tries to rationalize that it was just the timing. He had been on the run for so long, his thoughts always chained around Inazuma, and upholding his promise to his friend. But then you happened to crash into his life, quite literally, and everything slowed to a stop at that moment. Originally it was just to protect you from a clingy admirer but then you started asking about him. What his hobbies were, what kind of dreams he had, and whether or not he would like to learn how to fly. Every day and night sitting beside you on the crow's nest, the gentle sway of the waters rocking the boat, and the backdrop of noise down on the deck was the most serene Kazuha has ever felt since he left Inazuma. But all things must come to an end eventually and even though Kazuha knows that this might be the end, you look so hopefully at him that he can't help but try to push the end to tomorrow. He just needs to garner the strength to move.

Beidou asks if he's sure about his decision to leave the Crux and wander on his own. It's not nice to make you wait even though she knows you and when you say you'll wait, you're going to damn wait no matter how long it takes. But he reassures her that he's still not ready. As much as he wants to run over the water back to Liyue, he doesn't want to bring along conflicted and aimless feelings. But he will hurry, he's been running for so long, he can run a little further for something and someone for himself. It's a bit selfish but Beidou gives him an exasperated soft smile that lets him know it's not a bad thing. Although with each passing day Beidou's ship ports, it gets harder and harder for her to break the news that Kazuha is still not back. Beidou does her best to reassure you that Kazuha isn't stringing you along, she would have drowned him in the ocean if he was that low of a guy, but she can tell that with each visit your expression grows more and more distant. Watching how you're the first one to rush down the wooden bridges with a hopeful expression that one-day Kazuha might be there only to leave with a sad smile. It makes her want to track her problem child down and bring him back to you. Not that she has any idea where he wandered too.

He ends up in the forests of Sumeru. His keen sense of smell aids him as he treks through the wilderness until he meets a strange forest watcher and a girl in green. Their a bit of an odd pair but so is Kazuha and they become fast friends. Apparently, his calm demeanor is a breath of fresh air and it's enough that they don't pry into his history. Although there are moments when he can feel their eyes on him. Perhaps living in the forest has led them both to be aware of subtle changes far better than Kazuha can smell. It starts when they trek towards the small lakes and waterbeds to gather niloptala lotus for Tighnari that he sees it. An anemone flower. Soft white petals with a dark blue center sway in the breeze as he stands watching it move. It's Collei who approaches him and explains white anemone flowers, also known as windflowers, symbolize sincerity due to their delicate appearance. According to mythology, the anemone flower was created when Aphrodite's mortal lover, Adonis, was killed and from the spot where her tears fell to the ground, an anemone emerged. She says that he might enjoy that last bit of information to use as inspiration for his many haiku poems because he's looking at the flower as if he's fallen in love. Although she warns him that when fresh, all parts are poisonous.

When Inazuma finally calmed down and Thoma informed him that he was no longer a wanted man, it was the second time Kazuha could take a deep breath and relax. He was free from running and could focus on the future. He won't lie and say that his thoughts didn't stray back to you every night. He's been gone for months and he wonders if you still remember what he looks like. But now he has to ask himself the hard question if he's ready to see you. Unfortunately, he doesn't get to make that choice.

He sees you at Port Ormos by chance, speaking to a silver-haired man before you cut yourself off mid-sentence as your eyes lock onto his. Even with everything Kazuha has been through, he feels scared. He knew he would eventually return to you but now that you're here, is he not ready? Or is he scared? He knew that asking for you to wait was selfish, that one day he may return with your hand in someone else's. Maybe that's why you're all the way in Sumeru rather than the high mountains of Liyue. All these emotions reflect back to you and he can see it, your fists are trembling even as you gaze back at him with conviction and determination. The sun shines right behind you, creating a gold halo over your tousled hair. But it makes the shadows of your strained expression darker, your eyes gloss over your jaw tense, and everything about your posture screams please don't disappoint me Kazuha. Then it's gone. Your attention back to the silver hair man, pretending as if nothing happened. You'll wait until he's ready but you won't acknowledge him when he's not. And Kazuha. Kazuha runs away.

"There you are."

Kazuha looks up to see Tighnari sitting at the table facing the entrance that Kazuha has stumbled through. It's late into the night and because his heart has more room to bear, he feels guilty that Tighnari stayed up to make sure he returned. Before he can apologize Tighnari raises a hand to stop him, sighing before he gestures Kazuha to sit down. Fiddling with his pouch he takes something and slides it across to Kazuha. An Inazuma charm. The same one you gave him when he left.

"You dropped it when you were running through Port Ormos like you had stolen something. I had to convince Cyno that you weren't a thief but you're going to have to apologize to Collei for scaring her like that," he huffs as he settles back into his seat, watching at how Kazuha raises a wary hand to pick up the charm like it'll break under the slightest pressure. It makes Tighnari soften around the edges, the worried lines of his face smoothing out as he rests a hand on the samurai's shoulder. "Are you okay Kazuha?"

It only serves to bring a pained smile to the man's face, shaking his head. No. No, he's not alright. He hasn't felt "alright" in months. He's lived his life thinking that as long as his blade was by his side, he could continue moving. But now it feels like he's slowly dying. Poisoned from the core. He thought he would be able to approach this like he had always been. That he thought he understood what he was doing and trusted the wind to guide him. But now he's confronted with his accountability and he doesn't know what to do but run. Back into the silence of the forest until he can't run any further. Collapsing onto the cold ground as he heaves for another breath. Every moment up until now replays in his head, becoming more vivid no matter how long it's been until he can smell your fragrance. It was a similar feeling to when he lost his friend, this lingering pain. It's why he decided he needed to leave first. He always assumed he remembered because of guilt. Guilt that he asked you to wait, guilt that he wasn't the one that was ready, and guilt that even after all this time he hasn't entered the border of Liyue. Yet no matter how long he goes, this feeling of guilt only remains for you until he doesn't know if that's the correct emotion. If what remains in his heart truly isn't guilt, what is this emotion that keeps him looking back at his memories of you? He doesn't know. It's his first time feeling this way.

"You're in love Kazuha. That's it."

---

There's a sudden ruckus on the ship deck that has Beidou draw her head up, her letter to Ningguang momentarily paused as she listens carefully to what her crew is so noisy about. Their voices are muffled through the thick wooden walls of her office but it doesn't sound like they're in any danger. Either way as the Captain she should check out what everyone is so excited about. She shoulders her fur-lined shawl back on and slams the doors open.

"What's got you all so- Kazuha?!" Beidou nearly chokes midsentence to see her sentence when he spots that familiar white and red hair. Even though it's only been a few months, he looks so much older than she remembers. When he said he wanted to do some soul searching, she didn't think it would make him look so...mature. It's not that his outward appearance is any different, he's still got that adorable baby face, but the air around him is tranquil rather than still.

"Captain, it's good to see you again," Kazuha smiles and gives a small wave. His hand is free of bandages letting her see the electro burns that scar his skin. She politely doesn't let her eyes linger on them for long, that's all in the past anyways. So she grins ear to ear and yanks the poor man into a headlock and a giant slap on the back. Her official way her welcome a trusty companion back.

"About time lover boy, let's get you home."

---

Not me throwing canon personalities and good characterization out the window to push my smitten agenda.

[taglist] <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@genshins1mpact @creatorofstars @xoneaboveallx @timmyitsmeeee @raingoesboomboom @duhsies @thegayrubberducky @isa-solasun @afoxesgreed @yuuki4646 @angel-luv-04 @inlovewithwaffles @maddymints09 @moonssandstars

@tigerpriestess @endurablerose @ayakohana

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 month

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AITA for faking my death to get out of an abusive relationship?

Tw for verbal + mental/psychological abuse and suicide

I used to be in a discord server with some friends, there were about 40 people in it, only around 20 who were actually active. It was a while ago I can't remember. I was in that server for about 4 months.

From the start, people would occasionally get mad at me over something I didn't do. About every month or so someone would start a rumor about me and make the whole server gang up on me, I'd tell them it was false, but everyone would still avoid me for the next couple days.

I never did anything wrong, but I was always the center of the drama, and when I asked one person, R, why, he said he didn't know and that I didn't deserve so much hate.

About a week later R was talking in the vent channel about how I had manipulated him. I DMed him to ask why, and he told me it was because I asked him if he was my friend. I thought it was fucking stupid because it's not manipulative to be paranoid, but I pretended to be sorry because I didn't want him to be mad at me.

The server also had a bot where you could submit anonymous messages, and lots of people would use that feature to make up things about me to ruin my reputation.

After a while I left the server and only stayed in contact with a few people. However, every couple days another person would tell me I'm a monster and gaslight me into thinking I'm a terrible person, and every time I asked why they hated me they didn't give me an answer.

My only real friend, T, showed me some messages from the others after I left the server, and a bunch of people were making up stories about bad things I had done to them, and people who I had never even spoken to were saying that I had abused them and was dangerous.

Once someone told me thay they understood all the things R had said about me weren't true, but said it was still my fault anyway, and even told me that R had done nothing wrong (he lied about me in front of the entire server and is the reason I lost all my friends, and he yelled at me and called me evil because I was suicidal), and then they accused me of faking having amnesia because I had flashbacks.

Eventually, only four of my "friends" hadn't blocked me, and they almost never talked to me. Everyone kept calling me a terrible person because R spread lies about me and everyone else believed him instead of me.

It was to the point where I couldn't go one day without someone sending me death threats or trying to guilt trip me with false information, and I was getting very sever flashbacks of the stuff R had said to me, and I started failing classes because I couldn't focus on anything.

Eventually I had had enough, so I tagged them all in a tumblr post about how I was going to kill myself and then logged out of both that tumblr account and my old discord account forever.

(Also about a month after I had left, I got texts from irl friends, and it turns out someone on the server found the contact info of people I knew in real life just to ask if I was dead or not. And that scared the shit out of me.)

I've left out a lot of details of the abuse because of amnesia. I have a mental disorder which makes it hard to remember things, plus the brain often blocks out traumatic memories, so I'm sorry if some info feels missing.

The only reason I feel like I might be an asshole is because once I was gone, all of them switched targets and started to harass T. They said they hated him for being on my side, and sent him death threats on anon because he was mad at them for killing his friend. They started treating him the same way they treated me, and called him a horrible person but refused to give a reason as to why, and if I had stayed around they would've left him alone.

@should-be-dead (made a sideblog so I get notified when this is posted)

#aita #am i the asshole #suicide cw

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python333 · 10 months

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your writing is literally the best in the cod fandom. we need more injured reader angst. it's too good

don't breathe — python333

— — — —

synopsis [reader] gets buried alive after refusing to give intel to enemy soldiers and *slips up and writes reader almost dying again* oops how did that happen haha

relationships platonic!price & gn!reader.

characters cap. john price.

word count 2.7k

warnings suffocation [reader], just generally really depressing thoughts, near death??, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note aww tysm :(( dont say its the best im gonna get a complex LMAO but i appreciate it!! and yes i agree injured reader angst ftw :3 i present to you: reader gets very injured and theres a lot of angst and its basically just you suffering for a good 3/4 of the fic while the last quarter has the actual comfort!

“Hello?” You try again, your voice cracking and your tone as desperate as it can get, “Please, God, say someone can hear me.”

You’ve been trapped in a casket for about five minutes now—at least, you woke up five minutes ago. God knows how long you’ve been stuck in the stupid thing, but realistically, it’s probably been much longer than five minutes.

The last thing you remember from before you were buried is being in the interrogation room of some small terrorist group’s facility, one you and the others were led to believe was abandoned weeks ago.

Unfortunately, whoever gave you the information must’ve either had incredibly outdated information or was setting you all up for failure, because the facility was very much not abandoned and was instead full of enemy soldiers.

You all had already gotten into the building before you knew that, because of course you all had to be in the same spot at the same time—practically sitting ducks for the enemy—and of course you all had to be clueless about the possibly hundreds of people in the facility until it was too late.

As far as you know, everyone managed to escape. Everyone but you. They didn’t mean to leave you behind, of course they didn’t, they were more focused on just booking it out of the facility. However, because of that, you were now stuck—you assume—several feet underground in a casket that has a limited amount of oxygen that drops every time you take a breath.

You let out the breath you’re currently holding and suck in another deep breath, holding it as you think. Your strategy of holding your breath until you no longer could mostly worked, but it wouldn’t for long, you knew that soon you’d suffocate in all of the carbon dioxide gathering in the enclosed casket.

You don’t know how long you’d been unconscious in the casket, breathing in oxygen carelessly in your slumber, which made the whole situation worse. You didn’t even know how much time you had left.

You hate to waste your breath checking your comms, but the enemy soldiers had accidentally left your earpiece in your ear—the small device apparently going undetected under their radar—and you wanted to make the most of it. You move your arm from your side and press onto the PTT button on your earpiece, wincing a little at how cramped the casket was.

“Does anybody copy?” You ask again, staring up at the almost pitch black space above you, “I repeat, does anybody copy?”

It’s a vain attempt at contacting your team, really. You don’t know if they’re thinking about you, if the signal is going through, if they even have their earpieces on—you know nothing, and that terrifies you because you really don’t want to die right now but there’s literally nothing else you can do besides helplessly talk into your earpiece, not knowing if anyone’s listening.

Your lungs start to burn and you let out the breath you were holding, taking another deep breath and beginning to hold that one. The air feels… thick. It’s starting to get harder to breathe, and you know you shouldn’t panic but you can’t help the few worried thoughts that come to the forefront of your mind.

What am I going to do when I run out of oxygen and the only thing left for me to breathe in are my own discarded breaths? What will I do when all there is to do is suffocate? Am I going to try, in one last desperate attempt, to break out of the casket, or am I going to just lay here and die? Will my team try to find me, or will they forget about me? Have they already forgotten about me?

Before you can listen to any more of those depressing thoughts, a voice comes from your earpiece.

“H—lo? [c/n]?” It’s hard to tell with the static and the cuts in between the words, but you think it’s Price talking.

“Price?” You ask immediately, all thoughts of preserving your breath forgotten. “Holy shit, you can hear me?”

“Je—s— whe—e—” He cuts out for a moment and your stomach drops when all you can hear is static for a moment.

“You’re— You’re cutting out, Captain, what did you say?”

“Wher— —re you?” It takes you a moment to realize what he’s saying, your mind working much slower than it usually does, but once you do you shake your head negatively despite him not being there to see you.

“I don’t— I don’t know,” You respond, taking a deep breath before adding on, “I think I’m underground, I just know I’m in a casket and it’s getting harder to breathe and—”

“Okay, o—y,” You hear Price’s voice crackle, his voice becoming more distant and sounding almost muffled to you, “Sa— —ur bre—th, I’ll try to g—t some—e to track your— —tion.”

With the constant cutting out of his words and the distortion of his tone, you can barely register or process what he’s saying, and that only panics you more but you refuse to let your emotions get the better of you even in the state of disorientation you’re in, so you keep holding your breath.

A minute later, Price’s voice crackles through your earpiece again.

“Okay, we’ve got your loc—tion,” Price’s voice sounds… oddly far away, “We can—”

His voice slowly becomes muffled, and you release the breath you were holding without realizing it, slowly blinking up at the ceiling of the casket. A sort of haze falls over your mind and you can barely even hear Price anymore before you suddenly snap back to reality and hear his now much clearer voice loud in your ear.

“[c/n]? [c/n], are you still there?” You recognize his tone now, and you’re just a little shocked at the sheer amount of worry in it.

“Haven’t moved an inch,” You breathe out, before lying, “You cut out for a second for me, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s okay,” Price reassures you, “I said we got your loc—tion and we’re hea—g out th— —w. It’s not t— far away from where —e alre—dy are, we’re ba—ely three clicks away.”

“… Clicks?” You ask, your eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“Yes, clicks,” Price replies, sounding concerned, before hesitantly asking, “… You know what those are, right?”

“I don’t—” You struggle to find words for a moment before you speak again, your own voice starting to sound distant, “I don’t think so?”

“What do y—u mean you don’t thi— —o?” Price asks, his voice sounding freakishly close, “Are you okay?”

“No, yeah, I’m fine,” You lie through your teeth, not wanting to worry Price further, “I just… how far away are you?”

“Just ab—t two cli—ks now,” Price says, before pausing and clarifying, “Two kilometers.”

Two kilometers… how far is that? “And that’s… is that far, or?”

“No, it’s not too far. It’s just a mi—te away, we didn’t ge— —o far before Laswell got your loc—tion,” Price tells you, “We’ll be there soon, ok—y? We’ll get y— —ut of there.”

“A minute—” You cough and feel tears pricking at your eyes from how hard it is to take another breath, “A minute?”

“Yes, a minute— [c/n], are you okay?” Price asks again, before laughing nervously, “You know what a minute is, do— —ou?”

“...” You struggle to answer the question, thinking long and hard for a few seconds before hesitantly answering, “… Yeah, I do, sorry. It’s sixty seconds.”

“Why’d it take you so long to answer?”

“I don’t know, I’m sorry, I—” You take a few shallow breaths, and feel a headache start to build up, “How far away are you guys?”

“We’re alm—t there,” Price promises you, “The heli’s ab—t to l—nd, and we’ll dig you up, and—”

Why is it so cold? Price’s voice cuts off and when he stops talking you realize that you’re shivering. You ball your fists up and can’t even feel your nails digging into your palms, your hands having gone numb from the cold, and realizing that makes you discover that your lips feel numb too.

Your ears start to ring and you feel that uncomfortable pins and needles feeling in your hands, the sensation slowly traveling up your arms, making you both wanting to peel off your own skin and also grateful that you can at least feel something besides the cold.

In the midst of your thinking, you hear muffled thumping coming from above you—whoever buried you couldn’t have buried you anything below six feet.

“—llo? [c/n]? Are you still there?”

You bring your hand up, the movement slow and sluggish, and you try to search around the side of your face for your earpiece. You eventually find it and when you do you press against it until you feel the PTT button being pushed.

“Still here,” You confirm breathlessly, coughing again as you take a few more shallow breaths, “I think I’m running out of— of… what’s the fuckin’ air that you can breath in, it starts with an o…”

“… Oxygen?”

“Oxygen, yeah,” You slowly blink up at the ceiling of the casket, “There’s— I think— I don’t… I think… I think I’m gonna pass out, Captain.”

“[c/n], don’t you fucking dare,” Price growls, “You stay awake, I swear to fucking god.”

“I can’t—” You take a few more shallow breaths, before coughing, the tears escaping your eyes reaching the corners of your mouth.

You can hear Price briefly talk with someone else, his voice the most serious you’ve ever heard it, before he talks directly to you again, “How much longer do you think you have before you run out of oxygen?”

It takes you a moment to register the question, but when you do, you answer, “Uh… I don’t— I think… maybe a few more minutes? I can’t tell, it’s just hard to breathe, I can’t…”

“Okay, okay,” Price softly says, gusts of wind blowing into his mic as he talks, “Give me a second, okay? We’re almost there, kid, we’ll— we’ll be there in just a minute, we just passed over you, I just need you to stay awake.”

“In a minute,” You repeat to yourself, before taking a deep breath, hoping that you have enough oxygen to make it out of this casket because you really don’t want to die here, not when there’s help just a minute away.

After what you assume is a minute or two, instead of thumping, you hear something cut into the dirt above you. The sound, however, is heavily muffled, so muffled to the point where you don’t know if you’re hallucinating or not.

Is that a symptom of CO2 poisoning? Hallucinations? You lay still in the casket and can’t help but release the breath you’d only just taken, the ringing in your ears starting up again and growing louder faster than they had before.

Your entire body is numb, your chest is heavy, and you can feel a sort of fog fall over your mind. You can distantly hear Price yelling through your earpiece, but you can’t find it in yourself to respond, instead simply laying there, your blinking starting to slow down before it eventually stops, leaving your eyes closed.

—

For a moment, you think you died and went to heaven, which would be weird, considering all the things you’ve done in your life. Not saying you’d go to hell, just saying God would probably hesitate for a second before letting you in through the pearly gates.

You blink awake, slowly but surely, and the first thing you realize is that you can feel things again. You tilt your head down to the bump under the white bed sheets laid on top of you, and squeeze your hand into a ball, watching the bump move and feeling your fingers dig into your oddly sore palms.

You let out a sigh of relief and pull your hand out from the sheets, bringing it up to your face and feeling the oxygen mask that’s been placed over your mouth and nose.

“Don’t mess with that,” You hear a voice say to your right. You turn your head and see a very tired Captain Price, dark eyebags hanging under his eyes and arms crossed, his hands having a white knuckle grip on either one of his elbows.

“…” You don’t say anything, instead you simply stare at him until he sighs and gets up from his seat. You watch silently as he leans over your bed and bends down, before pausing, and then quickly snaking his hands under your back to pull you up just enough for him to properly hug you.

You reach up with shaky hands and tentatively hug him back, not nearly as tightly—not that you don’t want to, but you physically can’t with how weak your arms are right now—but with just as much sincere affection. You can feel Price’s beard rubbing against your neck and hear his small sniffles as he embraces you tightly.

Maybe it’s his sniffling, or the way you can finally feel warmth for the first time in what feels like forever, or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s holding you with so much care and affection that it almost makes you burst at the seams, whatever it is, it causes you to tear up as well.

Those tears quickly become sobs that bubble up in your throat and crawl their way out of it, forcing you to tuck your head into the crook of Price’s neck and muffle your sobs in it, muttering a small ‘sorry’ after each one.

After each ‘sorry’, Price responds with, “It’s okay, let it out, sweetheart, you’re okay,” and those reassuring words only make you cry more because God, you didn’t even think he’d find you, yet here he is, letting you cry into his neck and is reassuring you after every apology that it’s okay.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” You mumble a litany of apologies into Price’s neck, your breath stuttering and hitching as you try to hold back your sobs. Price only shushes you and rubs his hand up and down your back in a comforting gesture, bringing his head up to kiss the top of your head.

He tucks your head under his chin, “Don’t apologize, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

And fuck, you know it’s just words, but it only makes you cry more.

Your sobs eventually stop, leaving you hiccuping against Price’s neck, silently crying as he continues to rub your back.

“I thought you died,” He whispers, his hand stuttering on your back, “I thought you died and I was going to dig up your dead body, when you didn’t answer me.”

You stay silent, letting him continue, “I thought you were dead when we dug you up and needed to feel your heartbeat for myself to confirm that you were still alive.”

He pauses for a moment before continuing, “I’ve been here ever since they put you in here. I haven’t slept, I’ve just stayed here, waiting for you to wake up so I could tell you that I—”

He chokes up for a moment before taking a deep breath and continuing, “I’m sorry for not even thinking to drag you out of the facility with me when we all ran out. You were— you were right there, and I couldn’t just grab your arm and take you with me, I just had to leave you behind and I—”

“You watched me while I was asleep?” You ask quietly, your eyebrows drawing together.

Price pauses and pulls his chin off of your head, and pulls you away from his neck so he can properly give you the most incredulous look he can pull, before saying, “I’m pouring my heart out to you and apologizing for practically leaving you for dead, and that’s what you’re worried about?”

“Well, I’m not worried, I’m just—” You shrug, not knowing how to explain it. Price sighs and chuckles quietly before tucking your head back under his chin.

“You’re insufferable,” He mumbles, sniffling a bit.

“… I forgive you, by the way,” You say after a moment of silence, “I didn’t really blame you in the first place.”

“You had the right to.”

“Sure I did.”

“But you didn’t blame me.”

“Right.” “…” Price stays silent for a moment before pressing another soft kiss to the top of your head and saying quietly, “You should blame me.”

“Maybe,” You mumble back, “But I won’t.”

Later, maybe an hour later, if the others see you asleep in Price’s arms while he keeps your head tucked under his chin and rubs your back affectionately—no they don’t.

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dqrciedaily · 2 months

Text

baby arsenal headcannons, arsenal wfc x teen!reader

a/n: i am so so so sorry that this isn’t an actual fic but i’ve left yous without anything for like two weeks so take this 🥰🥰🥰

warning - this isn’t proofread so pls ignore any mistakes x

1. she is maths no.1 public enemy - literally will stare at her homework for two hours instead of actually trying it. then the next day at school she gets in trouble for not doing it but she genuinely couldn’t care less because she’d rather have them email lia than try do trigonometry

2. her tiktok reposts and twitter likes have fans speculating like there is no tomorrow - she’s definitely liked transfer rumours on twitter before as well as reposting things she shouldn’t be and she reposts things that happened way back way but people think it’s about her current situation, leading to some very concerned fans in her tiktok comments and instagram requests.

3. baby girl has stina and laura wrapped around her finger - she’s cold? stina’s gonna give her the jumper she’s wearing. she’s hungry? laura’s up to make her something to eat, even though maus is perfectly capable of doing it herself. they’re basically on her beck and call.

4. she always curses out players in german on the pitch - when she was younger her brothers taught her the art of cursing people out in german then speaking in english to confuse them. however this did not work when arsenal played chelsea and she went flying after a tackle from nüsken, who very obviously understands german, leading to maus getting a yellow.

5. which leads to the next point which is that she gets her fair share of yellows - giving katie a run for her money, although most of hers come from back chatting the ref and not from actual gameplay, although she isn’t afraid to put in a heavy tackle here and there.

6. her + kyra = little shits on steroids - on the first media day of the season they decided to put y/n and kyra in three of the same interviews, let’s just say absolutely nothing productive happened until caitlin had to come in to do an interview with the two of them.

7. she’s lia’s no.1 reason for her early gray hairs - firstly maus is awful at answering phone calls, so if she’s out with her friends and lia needs something best believe she cannot contact her. secondly the amount of emails the school sends her may send lia into overdrive, she genuinely couldn’t care less if y/n didn’t do her homework as long as she’s passing all her classes, which she is (besides math but lia doesn’t need to know that.)

8. y/n has the best outfits - her instagram feed is filled with mirror pics of her outfits and they’re all just so good!!! she’s known for her fashionable clothes throughout the woso community.

9. she gets really really really nervous when doing interviews by herself - she already refuses to do orals in school because they stress her out too much, so after her first full 90 for arsenal she gets called to do an interview and poor girl is swaying from side to side the entire time, stumbling over her words and overall looking like a deer caught in headlights.

10. the first time she brings a girl or boy home lia gets a group of the girls to pretend they’re over for dinner without telling y/n - so then when y/n gets home she sees most of her teammates there and very hastily shoves her ‘friend’ upstairs, before going over to the girls who all tease her. then when she’s upstairs in her room with her ‘friend’ they all take turns coming upstairs to walk past the closed door to hear what they’re talking about.

11. she is a hugger of note - the first time she meant all the girls minus her shy demeanour she hugged every single teammate she met. she is also a massive cuddler, on the team bus she makes ours sit in the window seat (much to the brunettes complains) then uses kyra as a pillow which 1. forces kyra to be quiet because she doesn’t want to wake y/n and 2. she can’t move around the bus as she wants deciding to annoy everyone which the other girls are very thankful for.

12. her first crush on a girl was laura freigang, who she had seen around the german youth camps before - she even told her parents at one stage that she was going to go to penn state just like lau did but that phase was short lived when she then developed a crush on one of her teammates in her age group instead.

13. in another life she’s a dj who lives in ibiza - literally no explanation needed, she truly is a party animal at heart and would go to all the festivals and raves possible during the off season.

#darcie’s drabbles #woso x reader #woso imagine #arsenal wfc #arsenal wfc x reader

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cranberryjuice-posts · 3 months

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- Clarisse La Rue HCS! -

An - im having writers block but I wanted to post something so have some head cannons I’ll have my next fanfic out shortly!

Clarisse is the type of character who doesn’t believe she deserves love so when you show up in her life she has to gas light herself that she doesn’t like you

Her pride and joy is not only her spear but also her natural battle abilities

Loves to show off Especially if someone she likes is watching

I feel like for a good part of clarisses early life she tried to convince herself that she wasn’t gay and only liked men but when she arrived to camp half blood and realized it was ok to be a lesbian she could accept that as herself

Didn’t come out. Like people had ideas that she was queer but to her it’s none of their business who she likes to kiss or date and nobody dared to ask her what her sexuality was

When she started dating you then people’s suspicions were confirmed that she was in fact gay

Clarisse is a private person and while she does hide her emotions and true feelings she does love showing you off. PDA isn’t important to her but she does love giving you the occasional kiss or two but none of the cheesy stuff since she still has a reputation to up hold

Since clarisse got into a relationship the amount of hurt kids at camp started to go down maybe because she found a new and healthy way to express her emotions or maybe because you get mad every time she hurts someone unjustified.

She likes to bake but will forever keep that a secrete.

She won’t admit it but clarisse likes to wear makeup. She’ll complain when you offer to do it but actually loves it.

When you first kissed clarisse accidentally Said i love you and then refused to speak to you for a week because she was embarrassed

Dividers credit

Latest updates on Palestine

#lesbian #wlw #clarisse la rue #clarisse pjo #clarisse x reader #percy jackson fanfiction #clarisse larue #clarisse my beloved #percy jackson show #pjo fandom #clarisse x female reader #clarisse la rue x reader

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 1 year

Note

Could you do the reaction of yanderes hashiras when they see the male reader vomiting in disgust/rejection after the hashiras kissed him?

Rejecting The Hashira’s Kiss | Yandere Kimetsu no Yaiba X Male Reader

Whether it was a misread moment or just someone having the audacity to put their lips against yours; they are met with a solid rejection. Even if you refuse them they have no plans to stop their pursuit. All this is just a minor obstacle…yep…just..a little pothole in the road of your love:

Rengoku Kyojuro

He doesn’t ask

He just goes right in

Catching you off guard as he firmly kisses your unmoving lips

“BLEGH! Ew what’s your problem?! Kyojuro!?”

“I DID IT FOR GOOD FORTUNE!”

“Good Fortune my foot! Don’t go kissing people who don’t want to be kissed!”

He’s not discouraged at all

in fact, this only spurs him to try harder to gain your affection

Or hopefully shooing of any one else who’s interested

He doesn’t bother licking his lips but I certainly see him putting his lips up to different things to…compare

“THIS MELON IS COLD NOT AT ALL LIKE (Y/N)’S LIPS. WHICH ARE WARM! AND SOFT! AND IRRESISTABLE!”

“Sir, are you going to pay for the fruit or not?”

Shinobu Kocho

Is probably tending to you after a mission

And she just can’t help herself

You were just looking so cute with your broken arms

So she just went for it

“Ew um can you not.”

She stares blankly at you

Before doing it again

“What are you going to do? Stop me?”

She’s going to spend the rest of your stay showing you how little you can do in comparison to her

And how powerless you are to defy her medicinal ‘ailments’

Leaving you bedridden for however long she pleases

Seating herself on your waist too weak to buck her off

“Don’t think for a moment you can stop me, you are mine and I’ll have what I want of you when I want it.”

Uzui Tengen

Flamboyant as ever he’s not one to hide his emotions

Or what he wishes to do

So when he goes for the kiss he kisses deep

Completely disregarding the world’s take on social customs

“I’ll be flamboyantly missing you on my mission, farewell my gem.”

The kiss is deep and while you may pull away he’s keeping a firm hold on your waist

Letting his fingers graze against your butt

When you pull away to spit Tengen makes a note of it

And will dive back into capturing your lips

“Don’t let any of me my sparkling saliva out of your mouth, otherwise I’ll have to punish you~!”

Sanemi Shinazugawa

It takes a lot to hype himself up to do this

Despite being as prickly as he is

he blushes and gets week in the knees around you

So when he moves fast to kiss you he’s embarrassed when your lips curl in disgust

“Ewww…that was so gross.”

He’s so hurt

But that sadness morphs to anger

And when demons don’t cut it

He’s fighting you

“WHEN SOMEONE GIVES YOU A KISS, YOU KISS THEM BACK!”

Mitsuri Kanroji

Love is her element

So of course, she’s going to kiss you as soon as she feels like the mood’s been set

When you reject her, she is reminded of all the times such a thing has happened before

“Oh…you didn’t like that…huh?”

She’s hurt so so hurt

But her tears are so pretty

So perfect you’ll cave

That is if her guard snake doesn’t come for you first

“Y-you’re s-sorry..hm..i-i’ll definitely feel better if you give me a kiss though…please?”

Obanai Iguro

He’s hesitant to even come near you

Often preferring to watch you from afar

He usually thinks he’s lesser than you

A monster in every right that is protecting his beauty in the shadows

So he’ll wait until your sleeping or so high on medicine that you can’t recognize him

“Y-yuck..”

“...I am sorry.”

So crestfallen he probably won’t talk to you out of embarrassment despite you’re actual cluelessness

“Kabumaru love is cruel..isn’t it?”

Giyuu Tomioka

Nobody likes him anyway

And when he’s shoulders deep in his obsession for you he stops caring

He no longer lets being likable by anyone stop him from what he wants

“-ick! Eww, I can’t believe you–”

“I can hardly resist you (Y/n), even if you hate me.”

Nothing’s off the table

But he pretty much is willing to do whatever it takes

He’s witnessed so many die at the hands of demons

He doesn’t care how you feel

That will not be your fate

“It doesn’t matter what you think of me. I’m not letting you free.”

Gyomei Himejima

He can’t see your beauty which he cries about often

But thanks to his lack of sight you let him feel your face

“If only for my mind’s eye, may I?”

“Yeah Gyomei no problem.”

It’s his dirty little pleasure

Curious about your figure

He holds you steady holding your shoulders

And he accidentally let’s his lips brush against your own

He gets the message when you pull away

He knows it’s probably out of disgust, but he can delude himself into thinking it was out of embarrassment

And that let’s him smile in his lonesome

“My apologies was that your lips?”

Muichiro Tokito

He thinks being the young kid he is, you won’t mind

When he jumps up to give you a kiss

And when you recoil asking him what that was about

He’ll wistfully sigh because you didn’t react the way he wantedyou to

“Don’t friends kiss each other before they leave.”

He feigns ignorance as he mulls upon your rejection

He figures he’s got time to convince you he’s worthy of your kisses

And then he forgets

Aiming for a kiss again with some other excuse to pursue his little crush on you

“I think of you like a brother…don’t family kiss each other?”

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prettyboykatsuki · 1 year

Text

not so little | t. shouto

✮ tags ; gn!reader, minor age-gap (4 years), sfw

✮ wc ; 1.3k

✮ a/n ; this is not the most original idea ever so sorry but i wanted to write my take on it

"Seriously," Touya leans on the door frame of Natsuo's room, self-satisfied smile on his face "You're crushing on...Shouto? Our Shou-chan?"

You cover your face with despair at your predicament. You can't believe you're actually telling either of them. It wasn't like you were planning too. In what universe would you even think to do that deliberately?

But Natsuo is frighteningly good at grilling you about things when you refuse to tell him. Ever since he found out about your crush, he made it his lifes mission to harass you about it. You were careful, damn it. You didn't even actually tell him, he used to his annoying deductive reasoning to figure it out. You tell Natsuo everything.

He knows about every weird medical problem you've ever had, every partner you've ever dated, and every weird fit of crying you've ever cried in your life. He's your confidant. Your best friend. So he knows there's only two sorts of crushes you couldn't tell him about.

If it was on an ex or if it was on one of his siblings. His first guess was Touya - but he figure you wouldn't be this embarrassed about that since you often wolf whistle at him when you're in the house.

Then he guessed Fuyumi, because you're still embarrassed by how pretty she is. When you said it wasn't her - he was briefly stumped before settling in a shocked silence.

"...Are you crushing on Shouto? Seriously?"

Your embarrassment told him he was right, and now you're sitting in his room and hoping the world will swallow you because you're crushing on your best friends little brother of all things.

In your defense, it wasn't always like this. You didn't see much of the youngest Todoroki at all growing up. He was in his dorms for most of highschool and Natsuo spent most of his early adulthood ducking his parents house entirely. You only met him properly when he turned twenty. They're only living together now for Touya.

You kind of wish they weren't - since it'd save you the trouble of being embarrassed twice. You've been seeing Shouto a lot recently, since you've been coming over to hang out with Natsuo.

Shouto is not the 16 year old boy you always made. He's 22 and he's got tall and lean muscle. He's polite but sweet and strangely - much funnier than you could've ever predicted. He's genuinely very kind but most of all - he's been very direct on telling you that he likes you.

You don't think anyones ever pursued you like this in your life. Both of your last relationships ended amicably but neither of them had been this...direct with you ever. Shouto is very direct, actually. Direct in telling you which honorifics to use, and telling you how nice you look, and saying he misses you often. You've been dismissive. Even you're not so desperate as to openly pursue your friends little brother.

But again, he's not so little anymore. He's taller than you now, and he's got lean muscle. He always smells great. He is incredibly pretty in the fairy prince kind of way. This is by far the worst crush you've ever had to endure in your entire life. You've tried to forget.

But just last week he walked you home after patrols, speaking casually and kindly and good god - what is with the broad-shoulders? When did that even happen?

You want to die. You want to disappear into a black hole. You want to scream and cry. Why you're crushing on a boy 4 years younger than you? Why is Todoroki Shouto of all people make your heart flutter?

"Seriously... I mean I knew he was flirting with you pretty brazenly but," Natsuo looks like he's holding back a grimace. If you weren't holding back tears, you'd hit him "...Shouto? Like...really?"

"Didn't know our little angel was such a casanova. Crazy world we live in."

"Neither of you are helping." You say exasperated. Natsuo leans back on his palms, sighing a little. "Do you think I wanted this?"

"It's not the end of the world," Natsuo offers thoughtfully. You give him a meaningful glare from the corner of his bed but he doesn't budge "I mean..I guess if I got to pick who he dated, you're not at the very bottom of the list."

You kick his side. "That's so backhanded."

"He doesn't want to admit you two are a good match," Touya says thoughtfully, unwrapping candy from his pocket. A habit he picked up trying to quit smoking "He'll be lonely if you date Shouto."

"Shut up, Touya."

You ignore both of them for a minute trying to get your bearings.

"You think we're a good match...?"

Touya laughs hard "Is that all you heard? Poor Natsu, already being abandoned."

Natsuo shoots Touya a glare.

"Touyaaaa," You drag, reaching over to tug on the bottom of his shirt "Elaborate."

"And feed your delusions?" He says, clicking his teeth "Fine. Only because it's funny."

Natsuo hmphs, and you look at him apologetically. You two will have to talk about it later. Touya rolls the candy in his mouth, pulling his shirt up to scratch at his abdomen.

"Dunno. You're like... probably one of the only people who's not gonna treat him weird cause he's a good little hero. That brat... it's probably best for him to date someone normal and civilian-esque. Not like being a hero is the most important thing in the world to him."

You flush a little. This is really, really bad. Natsuo gives you a disapproving look. You look back at him a little softer.

"I won't date him if he's off limits." You offer. Touya coos at you both.

"Well aren't you darling."

Natsuo groans, laying flat on the floor.

"Ugh. It's not like I can just say no. It's enough of a miracle that Shouto is showing interest in anyone. And if he misses out on true love, even if it's," He gives you a sideways glance and shakes his head "Even if it's with you then I can't actually stop it."

"I'll reject him if you tell me too."

"What kind of older brother do you take me for?"

"Yeah, what kind of older brother do you take him for?" Touya mocks, laughing to himself "Aren't you just a saint, Natsu?"

"Touya, I'm gonna throw you out of my room."

"Ooh, someone's mad."

Before Natsuo as a chance to come back, the sound of the door opening from the living room downstairs floats up. Shouto calls out. You feel your heart almost fall out of your ass. Touya, delighted, is the first to reply.

"Shou-chan, we're upstairs."

You make a gesture of violence towards Touya who replies by pretending to jerk off then giving you the middle finger. You don't have time to collect yourself before Shouto is upstairs. He's back from patrols and he's a little sweaty. You feel heat creep-up up your neck.

"Touya-nii, do you still—oh," Shouto smiles soft as he realizes "It's you. I didn't realize you were here."

"I came in after class."

"Alone? You should've asked me to walk home with you."

You flush. Touyas' snickering is not helping you at all.

"Isn't that out of your way?"

"It's fine. I do stuff like that a lot," You're almost disappointed until he tacks on "But it's you so it's alright."

You look up at him wide-eyed. He gives you the ghost of a smile. God you're screwed. Before you can reply, Natsuo clears his throat.

"Go wash up. You stink." He chides. Shouto immediately goes back to being a little brother, nodding his head.

"Okay. Then," He looks at you directly. You're so screwed "I'll be right back."

You wait until Shouto is finally down the hall, listening for the bathroom door to thump shut before falling back into Natsuo's bed. Touya breaks out into a fit of laughter as Natsuo sulks in the corner.

But all of it feels like white noise when you compare it to the sound of your heartbeat, thudding hard in your chest.

#todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #todoroki fluff #bnha fluff #writing tag #this idea im sure has been done a million times but i just wanted to write my own version im sorrryfdjd

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auroreliis · 9 months

Note

Batfam would have to do research on my special interests if they want to win me over fast but also the thought of super serious Bruce and Damian watching/reading jojos bizarre adventure is really funny to me

Absolutely they would. For you, they would binge every show, play every game and read every paragraph of a book just to have something in common with you. They would all do it for different reasons, but in the end, you would have to listen to them outnerd you.

Bruce's regard for your interests is wholesome. He genuinely wants to know what makes you happy, what you do in your free time, what you could talk about for hours. In order to be able to listen to you talk for hours, he surrounds himself with your interests. You like this artist? He buys a few of their most popular albums. This game is entertaining to you? He either tries it out or watches you play it. There's this film you're excited about? He watches it with you.

Although most of your interests are different, he does actually find himself enjoying anything you enjoy. Perhaps it reminds him of you.

Dick has this one fear. He believes that no matter how persistent he is, if you aren't reciprocating his clinginess, the two of you will grow apart eventually, so he never leaves you alone, even when you beg him to. It isn't really a secret, as he makes it quite obvious, but he hopes you will one day embrace him as he embraces you. You probably get sick of him and tell him how boring he is, which shatters his heart completely.

Now he has to figure out a way to spend time with you, but he needs to make sure you are also enjoying his company, lest you hurt him with your cruelty once more, so he researches every last fact about your interests, be it an activity, a game, a book, a person, he knows everything about it. Dick doesn't want to make it obvious that he only found out this information the night prior, so he cautiously needs to start a conversation.

He most likely waits until you are occupied with your interest before walking up to you, "Hey, is that _____? Wow, I used to be obsessed with it as a kid, I'm suprised you even know it, it isn't that popular and it's quite old." He pats your head and sits down next to you, grinning as you start rambling about it to him. You are actually talking to him. It worked.

Jason is careful when sharing his interests with you. He needs to preserve his reputation as your cool older brother and usually people don't share his interests, so when he finds you reading a classic book, he seats himself nearby, waiting for you to finish reading. Once you're done, he makes sure you enjoyed the book before fanboying about it. You immediately notice how much of a nerd he is. He also recommends similar books or ones he thinks you would enjoy as well. In the end he pulls you into so many fandoms that you stop listening when he recommends books. You've already got like 40 more to read.

Tim does not have this problem. The moment he knew you existed, he educated himself and has kept up with your interests ever since. "Just in case", or ,"Just because", he said, typing a summary of JoJo's Bizarre Adventure. "I might as well", he takes notes while binging One Piece. This guy is clinically insane. Fortunately for him, he can now start conversations with you very easily, since he knows everything about your interests (and everything else about you).

Side note: If you refuse to spend time with him even after he did all that for you, the following outcomes are possible:

Either you pity him and spend time with him or Dick tries and fails to guilt trip you, only to end up forcing you to spend time with poor Tim who was awake for a whole week just to impress you (Tim frantically nods along with anything Dick says).

Damian takes great pride in having things in common with you, so as soon as he notices you being fond of something, he surrounds himself with it. You have a favourite colour? He creates a few painting with specifically that colour. You like a certain animal? He will try to adopt one. Damian would, of course, never admit it to you, but he desperately wants you to notice that you two have similar interests (As in, you have an interest and he pretends to also like it just so you maybe talk to him).

If you don't talk to him, he will become more aggressive with his attempts of having you notice him, perhaps randomly coming into your room to paint, claiming that the lighting there is better. Or he asks Bruce to adopt a certain animal during dinner. His attempts are obvious to you, but he doesn't know that.

Cassandra wouldn't really need to share interests with you. She's always close to you anyway. While she does speak to you every now and then, she is perfectly comfortable with sitting in your proximity in silence. However, if you ever asked her to, she would research anything you need her to in order to rant or ramble to her. As long as she has her eyes on you, anything is fine.

Stephanie immediately goes to Tim for help, knowing that he went insane and made a bunch of summaries and notes. First, she makes fun of him, then she apologises, because he threatened to take the notes away, she then complains about how much there is to read before finishing the essays Tim wrote, giving herself about a week. Steph then talks to you as if she didn't go through all that trouble just to have a topic to talk to you about.

Dick told Barbara all about his shenanigans. She even helped him figure out what you're interested in, even researching about it herself. She isn't as intrusive as the others, instead waiting until the moment is right, not wanting to scare you away or overwhelm you. Perhaps if you're alone, she'll come up to you and start with small talk, only really mentioning your special interest if it's involved somehow. Overall, she is the least feral of the bunch (in this situation, at least).

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sflow-er · 1 month

Text

It's Eurovision week, and for the first time in over twenty years, I won't be watching or engaging.

As you probably know, the global BDS (Boycott, Divest, Sanction) movement has called for a total Eurovision boycott due to the EBU's refusal to ban Israel.

The ESC has been a beloved part of my spring since I was little, and it's really fucking upsetting not getting to enjoy it this year - but that's just it. I know it won't make any difference whether one person chooses to watch or boycott, and that my watching it wouldn't even be registered as a view if I just watched the TV broadcast instead of the stream, but I can't imagine any set of circumstances in which I would enjoy it.

Back when the contest was held in Tel Aviv, I "bought myself a license to enjoy it" by donating to the UNRWA multiple times what I would've normally spent on voting, but no amount of donations would be enough to do that now. Not when every artist will be styled using the products of an Israeli beauty brand (Moroccanoil, a major ESC sponsor and likely a major player in why the EBU wouldn't even consider a ban), and when Israel itself has made its participation a political statement. The only reason their public broadcaster KAN agreed to change the lyrics of their entry, which originally referenced the Hamas attack and is still was called "October Rain" but has now been renamed "Hurricane", was this:

The president [of Israel] emphasised that at this time in particular, when those who hate us seek to push aside and boycott the state of Israel from every stage, Israel must sound its voice with pride and its head high and raise its flag in every world forum, especially this year. (The Guardian, 07 March)

Singer Eden Golan has also said that she believes her "participation is part of a very important mission for the country" and that she expects to begin her compulsory military service soon after the contest:

I still haven't enlisted in the army, and when I return from Eurovision, I'll report for my first call-up. In the first year as a returning resident, they don't call you, but that year passed and I was summoned – and my draft was postponed because of Eurovision. Doing army service is a mission, and I want to take the auditions to the military bands. (Israel Hayom, 22 April)

Yes, really. It's more likely she'll be some kind of PR ambassador for the Israeli army than be sent to Gaza with a gun, but still.

Many people are also upset about Palestinian flags being banned from the arena, and I'm not happy about it either, but I do think it's more or less understandable. The arena is a closed space, and any kind of altercation that might be sparked by those flags would be a big security risk. And at least if we are to believe executive supervisor Martin Österdahl, they haven't actually changed the rules; signs and flags with political messaging were always banned, and in this time, the Palestinian flag does send a powerful political message.

Then there's also the security risk associated with the event itself. Malmö is one of Sweden's most diverse cities, which also has both Jewish and Palestinian communities. According to a survey published on 4 May, 47% of city residents intend to avoid crowds during Eurovision. Mass protests and counter protests are expected. Events such as Quran-burnings by right-wing extremists are still allowed in the name of freedom of expression, even though the terror threat level in Sweden had to be raised to 4 out of the maximum 5 last year/this past winter due to precisely these kinds of provocations, and tensions will be running high. So even if the event itself manages to look as glitzy as always on TV, it will still be shadowed by what might be happening outside. Will there be unrest? Violence? How will the police respond?

There's no enjoyment to be found in any of that, no being "united by music" (the ESC slogan, which is a joke at this point). At least for me.

That being said, I do not judge you if you plan on watching. I understand that it's a huge annual tradition for many of us, and in these times, we need all the joy we can get. I also understand that it can feel like empty virtue signalling to boycott something when millions of others will tune in regardless - although it is good to keep in mind that this isn't some silly boycott started by social media activists on Xitter. It's a serious effort by the BDS movement.

I would challenge you to think about how you engage, though. If possible, watch it on TV instead of on stream, so your view won't be logged. (You could even consider waiting until the show gets posted on Youtube instead of giving views to the official stream, but I get that you probably want to see it live.) Try to abstain from hyping the contest or your fave entries on social media, and also from voting. Consider donating what you can afford to a charity that provides aid to Gaza instead (here's one list I found with a quick search).

And finally, spread awareness of the flip side. Don't be lulled into complacency by the claims of "Eurovision isn't political" when Israel itself has made it very clear it is - and do not make fun of people who want to sit the contest out this year or belittle their efforts.

#as a finn i am now incredibly glad we didn't win last year #my condolences to sweden for having to be at the centre of it all #eurovision #esc #eurovision song contest #esc 2024 #boycott divest sanction #boycott eurovision #euroviisut #not yr

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dalekofchaos · 3 months

Text

Friendly reminder. Bruce Wayne hung up the suit and retired after THREATENING someone with a gun and this was his reaction.

And then his immediate reaction is to shut down and close the Batcave and his only words were. "Never again"

A truly tragic, but fitting way for Bruce’s career to end. Powerful stuff. Batman's career ended the same way it began: with a desperate man wielding a gun

Batman choosing not to be weak like Joe Chill >>>> Batman going on a killing spree because fighting crime is hard.

And by the way, since Zack Snyder says his inspiration was Dark Knight Returns, I got news for you, TDKR Batman doesn't kill either.

Zack Snyder is a complete blithering fucking idiot.

his statement on Batman just lines up with what I’ve seen from all of his work. He likes the idea of the comics he makes movies out of but he doesn’t actually understand their themes. A Batman that kills is pointless. An edgy Superman is not only the most boring way to write him, but doesn’t make any sense without the wholesome one. That’s why injustice Superman/brightburn/Plutonian/omniman/homelander kind of make sense in their own ways because the original exists to compare them to.(mostly also boring though) His take on watchmen was pretty much devoid of any of the actual commentary from the graphic novel, but instead was just a dark justice league that were pretty bad at their jobs. Rorschach was just framed as a kind of unhinged Batman, but still a badass that does good, which is wildly generous compared to the way he’s originally written. I can understand turning your brain off and coasting through an action movie, but his fans are delusional if they think he does any of these stories justice. I wouldn’t take any of his comments seriously if they would stop letting him make these mediocre movies.

Zack Snyder is all flash and no substance. His films are visually stunning but utterly lacking in compelling storytelling.

The point of Batman is he cannot 'stoop to their level'. He HAS to be better, he HAS to believe these criminals can be rehabilitated, because if he kills them, he becomes just like them. With his wit, his intellect, he could future proof the city against crime ever happening by just killing the criminals before they commit crimes based on probable statistics and similar themes. But a Batman who refuses to kill is a murderer by inaction. Every time he chooses not to put Joker in the ground, he's allowed him to slaughter dozens, hundreds more, just for a laugh. Batman is equally guilty for every one of those deaths, because he could simply kill the Joker, and stop him from ever killing again. But he doesn't. Snyder saying Batman can kill, Batman SHOULD kill, is to say that without batman doing so, or being able to, he is just as bad as the villians. Except dipshit doesn't even have his Batman kill The Joker. "Oopsie daisy, Joker got out and bombed a hospital full of people, sowwwwyyyy, I put him back in jail again dunt worry TeeHeee :3". And then next week we do it all over again. OR. You kill the Joker, and he never hurts another person again. Which is why Jason Todd works so well as a counter to batman, and SHOULD be what Snyder is looking into. The reason why Zod works so well as a villain is because Humans are flawed apes who cant be trusted to govern themselves and should be conquered, and Superman, a literal God, could fix all that, but doesn't, because of Hope. Its foolish, childish even, to consider that a solution. And when placed in the vacuum of a comic book it works because you have to suspend disbelief, and forget that Superman let a city full of people die while he punched Zod through skyscrapers.

If you want Batman to kill people, just go and read one of his 1784956th copies that kill people. Go read Midnighter. Go read Punisher. Go read Moon Knight. Go read Peacemaker. Go read Nighthawk. What is stopping you?

I'm sure all those characters have brought about the peace and prosperity and the crime-free society that a "killer Batman" was supposed to. "Punisher would clean Gotham in under a week", right, just like he cleaned Marvel's New York, didn't he?

It has to be Batman specifically the one doing the killing? The number of superheroes that kill is nowadays much higher than the number of heroes who don't. Remember how Hawkeye spent the better part of his existence being the most anti-killing Avenger? Nowadays he is known as a super-assassin that "never had a non-kill rule". Should heroes who don't kill go extinct?

I like that Batman doesn't kill people. I feel no need to turn him into something he isn't like it was done to Hawkeye. If I wanted a Batman that kills, I would go and read one of the thousand "Batman who kills" out there.

Batman should not kill and should never kill.

"Gotham would be better off if Batman just killed The Joker"

You. Miss. The. Entire. Point.

Bruce Wayne lost his parents to crime and Bruce Wayne is a child who died alongside his parents and was reborn as a creature dedicated to insuring it never happened to any other child. He made a vow never to reduce himself to the criminal scum’s level or to Joe Chill’s level. He never kills for a reason.

Batman not killing is what makes him so compelling, if he kills criminals, there is no moral conflict, he is no better than the Punisher, Wolverine or any other dark edgy hero. Hell, if he starts to take a life, Batman is no better than Ra’s Al Ghul.

In the Daredevil Netflix show, Frank Castle told Daredevil this “That’s not how this works. You cross over to my side of the line, you don’t get to come back from that. Not ever.” That alone is why Batman should not kill, not even The Joker. Bruce Wayne is not Frank Castle, stop trying to make him Frank Castle. I mean…Stan Lee was absolutely disgusted when someone called The Punisher a hero, Frank Castle is a murderer, not a hero. How is this so hard for people to understand?

I don’t want to hear that Batman killed in the old comics and I don’t want to hear Elseworld stories. It’s an established fact that Batman does not kill and it’s a big part of his character.

Guess what? We already got a Bruce who killed The Joker, it happened in the Burtonverse/Schumacherverse and he was disgusted with himself. “So, you're willing to take a life.” “Long as it's Two-Face.” “Then it will happen this way: You make the kill, but your pain doesn't die with Harvey, it grows. So you run out into the night to find another face, and another, and another, until one terrible morning you wake up and realize that revenge has become your whole life. And you won't know why.”

A huge part of Bruce’s character is that he doesn’t kill, no matter what. Same with Clark. But edgelord writers from the New 52, DCEU and the Injustice abominations think it’s cool to make heroes kill. Heroes should not kill. You can’t be a hero and a killer. IT DOESN’T WORK THAT WAY!

Guess what would happen if Batman kills The Joker? The Joker wins. The Joker and Batman are each trying to prove a point to society - and really to us, the readers. The Joker wants Batman to kill him because he perfectly embodies chaos and anarchy and wants to prove a point to everyone that people are basically more chaotic than orderly. This is why he is so scary: we are worried he may be right. If the Joker is right, then civilization is a ruse and we are all truly monsters inside. If the Joker can prove that Batman - the most orderly and logical and self-controlled of all of us - is a monster inside, then we are all monsters inside, and that is terrifying. The Joker is terrifying because we fear that we are like him deep down - that he is us. Batman is what we (any average person) could be at our absolute best, and the Joker is what we could be at our absolute worst. The Joker’s claim is that we are all terrible deep down, and it is only the law and our misplaced sense of justice that keeps us in line. Since Batman isn’t confined by the law, he is a perfect test case to try to get him to "break.” The Joker wants Batman to kill a person, any person, but knows that the only person Batman might ever even remotely consider killing would have to be a terrible monster, so is willing to do this himself and sacrifice himself to prove this macabre point. Batman needs to prove that it is not just laws that keep us in line, but basic human decency and our natural instinct NOT to kill. If Batman can prove this, then others will be inspired by his example (the citizens of Gotham, but again, also the readers), just as we are all inspired every day to keep civilization running smoothly and not descend into violence, anarchy, and chaos. This ability to be decent in the face of the horrors and temptations present all around us is humanity’s superpower, the superpower of each of us. The struggle of Batman and the Joker is the internal struggle of each of us. But we are inspired by Batman’s example, not the Joker’s, because Batman always wins the argument, because he has not killed the Joker.

Batman not killing matters. Batman stories to me are the ultimate tale of turning pain and suffering into something positive. That is a story that everyone can relate to because let's be honest here. The world can suck. I've experienced and probably will always experience feelings of fear of depression of anger of angst. It's in my nature as a human being to experience those things. It's in all our nature it is what we choose to do with that pain that we all feel that defines us. Batman chose to turn all those negative emotions, he feels into a symbol that can bring people. Hope that Batman will save us from pain but more importantly hope that we can all be Batman. Why do we fall? And Batman Begins explains this best “Why do we fall sir? So that we can learn to pick ourselves up.”

Yes, Bruce Wayne is a flawed crazy person. He is at times mean stubborn and even abusive but he is still good. He is still someone we can aspire to be. We can try our hardest to be Superman but no human being can fly, but we can still try to be Batman We can all try to turn our pain into something good when I see Batman killing people or fans saying he killed before and he should kill The Joker, It pains me. It actually hurts my soul. Batman is not about finding a way to kill evil. But try to redeem it. His mission is an impossible task. Maybe he should kill people. Maybe he should kill The Joker, but what makes him fascinating what makes him a hero Is the fact that he has that moral code and stopped himself from crossing that line That's why I always looked up to Batman even as a kid despite all the adult subtext or mature themes superheroes are for kids. And killing is not Batman and it is not Bruce Wayne. This is why I hated the portrayal in the DCEU and the Burtonverse and why I really hated the implication that Batman killed The Joker in Batwoman. A Batman who kills is certainly not Bruce Wayne, that is an interpretation of Bruce Wayne that completely misses the point of Batman. It's easy to kill. Batman does not make the easy choice… Batman does not kill.

#DC #Batman #Batman Beyond #Bruce Wayne #Anti Zack Snyder #Anti DCEU

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exhaslo · 6 months

Note

I love your work so muchhhh <333

Can you do one where it's like you and Miguel are dating and it's only been like a couple weeks and he finds out you have an eating disorder and he is really supportive :)

(Also can't wait for more of puzzle pieces I love it <<<333)

Awe thank you!!! Also, sorry this was so late, holiday season got me working like crazy!

Also, not sure which eating disorder you want me to write, so I'll write this one based off a personal one.

Warning: Mentions of eating disorder, fluff

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

Am I pretty enough for him?

Am I thin enough?

Am I even good enough?

A shudder escaped your lips as you stared at yourself in the mirror. Yet another day went by as these raging thoughts consumed your mind. No matter how perfect your life was. No matter how perfect of a boyfriend you had. You always worried that you were still not good enough.

Your stomach rumbled, causing you to groan lowly. You had skipped breakfast and were now planning on skipping lunch. You needed to get thinner. You wanted to be perfect for Miguel. You wanted people to believe that you were good enough for him.

You glanced at yourself once more in the mirror. You looked fine. As long as you looked the part, it was fine. Checking the time once more, you hurried. Miguel was going to pick you up and take you out on a date.

Hopefully there won't be a dinner option.

--------

There was a dinner option.

You kept your smile towards your loving boyfriend as Miguel walked you into a nice restaurant. You were so happy to find someone like him. Miguel was tall, strong, handsome and so kind to you. No one had ever checked all of those boxes.

"Wow, this place is beautiful. How'd you find this place, Miguel?" You asked, staring in awe at the architeceture.

"Well, I get a lot of recommendations from my coworkers that I usually tune out," He told you.

You chuckled lowly, finding his dull humor cute and funny. Miguel worked at Alchemax, one of the largest companies in the world. He was a great scientist, honestly an actual genius for his age. All the more reason why you had to be perfect for him.

All eyes were on Miguel. He was well known for what he did at Alchemax, that and he was the CEO's son; something that he did not like to admit. So money was also not an issue for him. Another secret box you had to check off.

"Order whatever you want. I was told the food here is amazing," Miguel said as he started with a drink. You hesitated,

"Oh, I'm not really hungry. Maybe just an appetizer." You lied. Miguel watched you order a water,

"Are you sure?"

"Yep!"

--------

Miguel kept staring at you as you scanned the menu. He furrowed his brows, observing your every movement. Miguel did not want to say anything yet, especially not in public. Instead, Miguel decided to order a bunch of food for himself.

"All of that?" You nearly gasped. Miguel resisted a chuckle,

"I had a long morning. Need to refuel, you can help yourself to try any of it." He offered.

Miguel saw your hesitated smile before you refused his offer. Once the table side bread came in, Miguel watched as you nearly drooled for them. He swore there were tears forming as you held back from eating. As concerned as he was, Miguel knew better than to ask you here.

He didn't want you to cry in public. Miguel didn't want to hurt you in anyway. There had to be a reason why you were holding back. Miguel was understanding. He wanted to know what you were thinking. What you were feeling.

"Wow, everything smells so good," You whispered as the waiter placed the mountain of food in front of the two of you.

"Enjoy," Miguel hummed as he stared at your salad, "Hm, looking at it now, I don't think I can eat all of this alone."

"B-But why did you order so much?!"

"It looked and sounded good," Miguel chuckled towards your reaction.

You looked so cute when you were eager to try something new. You were just perfect to Miguel. The smile on your face as you did anything new with him was enough. Just your touch alone was enough for Miguel.

You were the best thing that had ever happened to him.

And Miguel wanted to make sure that he was being a good boyfriend to you.

----------

Dinner was both amazing, yet horrible. Your stomach was hurting so much because you were starving. All of that food just made you want to cry. It looked so good, but if you even took a bite, you knew that you would gain so much weight.

"(Y/N), now that we're alone, may I ask you something?" Miguel asked softly as you sat in his car.

"Sure,"

"Why are you forcing yourself to starve?" His voice was low as he turned to face you, "You look exhausted, baby, and pale. I'm worried for your health."

"Ah-"

You were at a loss for words. Before you could even process a response in your mind, your tears rolled down like a broken dam. Your chest tighten and burned as you tried to control yourself. Your breathing shallow as you whimpered those sad sobs you've been holding back.

"Baby, don't cry. Come here," Miguel pulled you into his embrace, rubbing your back, "How long have you been holding this in?"

"I-I just...I'm not good enough for you. I need to lose weight. I'm too fat." You sobbed into his chest. Miguel stroked your hair,

"You're perfect," Miguel sighed softly, thinking about his words very carefully, "Starving yourself isn't the way to lose weight. You're just hurting yourself."

"It's the only way I can. I...I can't eat anything or..."

"(Y/N), eating a healthy meal won't make you gain weight. No matter what you look like, I will always love you."

"I...But-"

"How about this, for every meal I eat...You eat." Miguel offered, wiping your tears away with his thumb.

Your heart raced with fear as you looked at Miguel. You couldn't eat. You just couldn't. You were convinced that everything was going to make you gain weight. You had to eat less. You needed to lose weight for him.

"You're perfect, (Y/N). My perfect girl," Miguel whispered as he pecked your lips, "It hurts seeing you in pain."

"You say that now...But when I'm overweight-"

"I'll love you just the same." Miguel said firmly, "We'll start slow. Easy and simple foods then we can move on to bigger meals, okay?"

"...Small...right?"

"Yes, small."

You fiddled with your thumbs as Miguel kept comforting you. You could still feel how hot your cheeks were from crying. Your eyes stung and you were parched. Sniffling lowly, you glanced at your wonderful boyfriend,

"...I am...a little hungry..." You whispered. Miguel smiled as he put his seatbelt on,

"Is soup a good small start for you?"

"I'd like that,"

--------

From then on, Miguel helped you eat more little by little. With each meal he praised you and comforted your looks. Miguel helped your self esteem every day. His loving comments and actions helped you finally eat normally.

Eventually, you were finally able to look in the mirror without shame.

Sometimes you still had those thoughts of starving yourself, but you had Miguel to wash them away.

You were fine, just the way you are.

Always will be.

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Hope you enjoyed it! Like mentioned, I just used a personal issue of mine since I wasn't sure what disorder you wanted to me write about since everyone has something different.

But to those of you out there struggling, I know it hard. I still sometimes starve myself, but you're not alone! Please eat something! Start small! When in doubt, soup is my always go too!

Especially Pho. I will eat the shit out of Pho.

Anyway, stay safe and healthy out there!!

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #miguel x y/n #miguel x you

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abbyromanoff · 1 year

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hey babes! could i request a story based on this version of unholy (Nat's pov)? r has no idea her partner is doing something unholy and ofc, Nat knows everything so tells r. or maybe r just finds it out herself. (Nat wants r to be hers for a long time and r is actually also into Nat but she thought Nat does not like her that way stuff like that maybe) if you could also add some smut in there that would be awesome👀 thank you so much! <3

also i hope you're doing okay and taking care of yourself<3

Unholy

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x afab!reader

Word count: 1819

Warnings: smut, kinda toxic!Nat, housewife kink, pet names, cheating, kinda dubcon, praise kink, degrading kink, fingering, cumming untouched, small daddy kink (like 2-3 times), think that’s all

No one is permitted to steal, copy, or reblog my work as their own!!

“Seriously, Y/N? Everyone knows it except you!” You stopped in your tracks, your back facing the older woman who was giving up on informing you of the truth.

“No. No, you don’t get to dictate my marriage, Nat! You don’t get to ruin us all because you feed off of it. You feed off of others' pain, I’m not letting you do that to me too.” You both were pacing and ended up in the living room. You sat on the couch, your head in your hands as you rubbed your temples. Nat hesitantly sat next to you, wrapping one arm around your back and the other grasping your knee. You tried pushing her off to no avail; she was always much stronger than you.

“Y/N, you need to listen to me-”

“And why would I do that? Look, I know about your feelings for me, you make them pretty fucking obvious, but that doesn’t give you the right to destroy my happiness just so you can have me.” She sighed, looking down at the floor as you continued to stare at her side profile. She was deathly alluring and so very seductive, but this was wrong on so many levels. You were married. Your wife would most likely be home in less than an hour and greeting you with a kiss as always.

“I need to start dinner before it’s too late. If you’d like to stay with us that’s fine, but I advise you don’t go near me anymore.” Deep down you both knew she was right. You had heard of your wife’s cheating scandals while she was on business trips or even right next door. The man, Vision, had always been close to you and Wanda, but you never thought your wife of all people, the same one who’d bring you home flowers three or more times a week, would have an affair. You trusted her, or so you thought.

Natasha was sick of your defiance and stormed after you, determined to make you believe her one way or another.

“Do not walk away from me when I was not done talking to you, Y/N.” She used your full name, you’ve never heard those words leave her mouth. You turned to look at her with a cold gaze, at least your best shot of one. Your teeth were clenched together and your fists were gripping the stove handle with a deathly hold.

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do in my own house, Natasha.” She took a step forward, cornering you in between her and the cooking appliance.

“Your house? Or Wanda’s?” You looked at her with widened eyes, your hand just begging to be connected harshly with her face by now.

“Don’t go there.”

“Oh, but I think I will. You see, I think I know why you’re trying so damn hard to prove to me that I’m wrong when you know I’m right, we’re all right. You can’t live without her. She was the one who bought this house with her money, she’s the one who buys the groceries, she’s the one who pays the bills while you just set the table for her every night like a good little housewife. Is that what you are? Just a pathetic little wife to Wanda that gives her everything she wants? You’re so far gone that you refuse to accept the fact that she’s been fucking that guy for the past seven months, but you knew all along, didn’t you? But you knew you were nothing without her. I mean, you don’t even have a job, Y/N, how would you ever make it in the real world except for slutting yourself out to any businessman who wants it?” Tears threatened to escape your eyes at the harsh words, but she wasn’t exactly wrong. You didn’t have a job, you relied on your wife for all funds and she didn’t disappoint. It’s not like you didn’t want to support yourself, but Wanda had already convinced you years ago to be her perfect housewife and while you completed your job with ease, there was always that want of more. You felt like nothing without her, and you were starting to truly believe it.

“Get out.” Was all you were able to muster out. You heard a scoff as Nat shook her head before locking her eyes with you once more. You refused to stand down or show your fear, you kept your eyes in line with hers just like she was doing now.

“What?”

“I said,” You paused, gritting your teeth and leaning in so her face was nearly touching yours. “Get out of my house.” She placed her hands over your clenched ones but only received a slap on the cheek. She tumbled back a few steps before chuckling to herself.

“Fiesty, huh? That’s okay, I don’t mind.” You rolled your eyes and tried to point your attention to the pot boiling on the stove. That was until the woman came up behind you, placing her hands on your hips and her crotch against your ass. You tried paying no mind to her, you really did. But that was nearly impossible as she grinded her body against your backside. She bit her lip as the fabric of her undergarments rubbed just perfectly against her clit. Her hands traveled your body, landing on your breasts and palming the soft skin.

“Fuck, Wanda’s such a fucking idiot for letting this go.” You hated to admit it, but her touch was fascinating. You wanted more, you needed more. And her degrading words from earlier didn’t fail to leave a wetness coating your thighs. You couldn’t help but imagine this situation another way, being Nat’s housewife and having her come home to use you like this - like you were a toy. Like you were nothing but a hole for her to use when she needed it. She was wealthy, very wealthy at that. She was the CEO of a large investment company and, while she didn’t like to brag about it, you knew she had more than enough to support herself. All she needed was a sugar baby like you by her side to spoil immensely.

When you let out a small moan as she tweaked your abused nipples she slyly smirked to herself. “Awh, you’re liking this, aren’t you? You like the thrill of it? Knowing that your wife could walk through that door any second now and see her innocent little girl being used?” You shook your head, trying to come up with a reply until you were interrupted by a gasp leaving your lips. You were so lost in the feeling that you hadn’t even noticed one of Nat’s hands moving down your stomach and into the waistline of your panties. She teased the band of your undergarment by pulling it back and letting it slap your skin. You bucked your hips at the sudden shock. She continued her voyage, slipping her fingers into your panties and grinning when she felt your wetness coating her fingers.

“Nat, stop it.”

“Hm, I don’t think that’s true, love. You tell me you want me to stop, but the way you’re grinding on me tells me otherwise.” You hadn’t even noticed how you had started mindlessly rubbing yourself onto her. Her fingers would just graze against your clit and cause chills to run down your spine. You attempted to stop yourself, but your body was moving on its own.

“That’s it, fuck yourself on daddy’s fingers.” You moaned at the title she gave herself and did as she asked, letting yourself succumb to the pleasure of her digits on you.

“Tell me how it feels, baby girl.” She placed her head on your shoulder, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume that had her addicted from the beginning.

“It- it feels good, really fucking good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You leaned your back into her front, grasping her arm and holding onto her for dear life. You could feel her muscles tightening beneath you, only being able to picture how she must’ve looked completely bare, all of her muscles shining and on display. Her fingers teased around your hole before she eased two of her digits inside of you, the feeling still not being enough.

“Oh, fuck!” You whimpered loudly, quickly being shushed by the redhead behind you.

“Shh, sweetheart, I don’t want anyone but me hearing these perfect melodies.” Her lips pressed against your neck, leaving a small trail of her red-stained lipstick before she connected them with your own, one of your hands grasping the side of her face and pulling her impossibly closer.

“Please, daddy, please fuck me.” You whispered against her lips, feeling her hot breath against yours. She bit her lip before diving back in for more, requesting access with her tongue that you soon gave her. You felt a third finger prodding at your entrance, your nearly gaping hole letting her slip in with ease.

“Look at how well you’re taking me, baby.” You looked down, still feeling her sloppy kisses against your cheek. You were restricted from seeing her thoroughly with your now ruined pants still on, but you watched as her hand moved at impossible speeds inside of you.

“Your ass looks so fucking good in these jeans. God, you’re gonna make me cum already.” She could feel her stomach tightening and the coil becoming unbearable. You were the same, being so close to the edge that the orgasm you were so desperately chasing was the only thing on your mind besides the beautiful woman giving you it.

“I want you to cum with me, Y/N. Make a mess of me, darling.” You threw your head back on her shoulder, her lips continuing their assault on your neck as she released, her hips creating slow yet hard thrusts against you. It was crazy how she didn’t even need to be touched to finish, but you weren’t going to complain.

“Oh, love, you’re so irresistible, you drive me mad.” She could feel your cum painting her digits and soaking your panties, knowing the only thought in your fucked-up mind was her.

“You believe me now?” She asked after moments of silence that was filled with both of your heavy breathing. You gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. I always have, Nat.” The thought was saddening, to say the least, but you knew that as long as you had Nat by your side, everything would be okay.

“Well, why don’t we put on a little show for when your wife comes home then?” You both giggled, rushing to the couch after you turned off the stove. She lied below you, watching with mesmerized eyes as you removed your shirt, leaving you in nothing but your white bra.

“Why don’t you let me thank you this time?”

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