okay i fear i've rewatched rick and morty like five times now and I've gotten a little too into rick sanchez fics. sue me.
this isn't written out in a full-on story format, it's too humbling to write a fully-fledged story with proper grammar and plot development about fucking rick and morty, okay, so you get bullet point blurbs
summary: you're a family friend and space beth brings you home for the holidays. you've heard across the multiverse about the asshole known as rick sanchez, but for some reason he's... different with you?
wc: ~1.6k
i made a part two!
masterlist and taglist!
✮ you're beth's best friend from high school, a version of them anyway, and one day while out exploring, space beth stumbles upon you, and the two of you grab a drink or fourteen
✮ you and space beth go on a bunch of adventures and you end up learning a lot from her, both about the universe and tech. you partner up for a lot of missions against the federation (definitely has a bit of a rick and birdperson sort of vibe to it)
✮ anyways, she brings you home for the holidays to stay with the smiths, and everyone falls in love with you, especially domestic beth (obviously). the kids love you, and you guys spend the whole day hanging out, playing games, and sharing stories
✮ you've heard a lot about rick from beth, and honestly from a lot of people around the universe, but you get an earful once you're in the smith house. you gather upon his 'i'm god' mentality and notice it in the few times you see him around the house during the day. conclusion: rick is an asshole, just stay clear of his path. but something about him piqued your interest. after all, someone who referred to themselves as the 'smartest man in the multiverse' had to be quite the character
✮ eventually, the night turns to early morning and you're all pretty drunk, so everyone starts to part ways to bed. you start to curl up on the couch when beth speaks your name, pulling you out of your haze. she offers you rick's room with a shrug, "it isn't much more comfortable than the couch, but at least you'll have a door. plus, he'll be in the garage all night anyway"
✮ you slur out a thousand thank yous, stumbling down the hallway towards the door she was leading you to. the room wasn't much bigger than a closet and tucked against the wall seemed to be nothing more than a military cot. you smirked as you took in your surroundings, quite the palace for the smartest man alive
✮ basically, you pass out pretty instantly. while all this is going on, rick is tinkering away in the garage, trying to busy his mind. he furrows his brows as his rough hands work anxiously with the metal in front of him, and memories of earlier in the day flash through his drunken thoughts. he took another swig of his flask as he recalled when he first saw you, playing downbeat with the family. your laugh had been the most innocent sound he had heard in decades, and something about you made his chest feel weird. he immediately pulled morty away without an acknowledgment towards you, hearing beth sound a 'that's dad' as he portaled out of the room
✮ anyways, rick gets an alert that someone's entered his room and he flips to his surveillance to see beth offering you his bed, a smile plastered on your face. his lips almost curl in the same fashion. almost. instead, he lets out a belch and swigs his flask again, turning back to his work. he notes how you quickly fall asleep and he lets you be for a while, continuing whatever the hell he's up to
✮ he eventually needs to get a tool from his room and he grumbles as he makes his way into the house, not understanding why he was feeling so hesitant about waking you. he didn't let anyone in his room, let alone strangers. he hadn't even talked to you yet, what about you had him so pussywhipped?
✮ so he opens the door, seeing you asleep soundly on his bed. again, part of him almost wants to smile. what the fuck
✮ he turns the light on and stares at you. he hates people in his personal space. he should be angry. but instead, he's... curious? to have you in here? he lets out a belch, "w-what are you d -bleeuuughgghhh- doing in here," you startle upwards. your eyes go wide at the sight of him and you start to trip over your words, definitely still tipsy
✮ "oh my god, i'm so sorry! i just, beth let me crash in here and said you'd be in the garage, and i know you have a thing about your personal space but she said you'd be in the garage all night so i just didn't think about it. I'm sorry, let me grab my shit and I'll go back to the couch, i'm-" "no, its fi -bleuuehghghh- ine."
✮ a beat of silence passes and you're so confused. "i just n-needed a tool, I'll be in and, in and out", and then he's gone. and he... turned the light off and shut the door on his way out? this didn't seem like the rick that had been described to you
✮ but you brush it off and go back to bed. and the next day, you carry on with your activities until you're met with the sound of rick storming into the house and yelling with a bad taste in his mouth. "what the fuck morty? wh-wh-what are you doing in my room? what the -bleuugghghh- actual fuck do you think you're doing?" "oh jeez rick, I was, i-i-i was just trying to g-grab that thing y-you were asking for. i thought I saw it in-" "ge- get the fuck out, morty. you know how i -bleeuugughh- feel about people in my s-shit"
✮ and suddenly, you can't brush it off as easily. why didn't he yell at you like that?
✮ time goes on and everyone is definitely starting to pick up on how rick is acting towards you. and just like rick, they're all confused as fuck. no one's ever seen him be so weird or so... passive with someone. nothing specific happens for a couple days, but anytime you cross paths, the vibes are WILD and everyone knows it
✮ on christmas eve, beth makes a huge dinner for everyone and you're helping set the table, and eventually she just looks at you with such a sigh and goes "okay, i have a favor to ask. i need you to go ask rick to come out for dinner," and you go to protest and be like ?? why me?? but she cuts you off and goes "listen, I don't know what the fuck his deal is right now, but I think you're most likely to survive asking him to participate in a family activity"
✮ so you make your way to the door leading out to the garage and knock hesitantly, letting out a soft, "uh, rick?"
✮ there's a beat of silence as you hear mechanics stop whirring, and you go to walk away before you're burned at the stake for interrupting him when you hear him quietly: "garage, disen- bleughgh- disengage 'family time' protocol." you step back as you hear a lot of shit being deactivated, like, an impressive amount considering a simple deadbolt would've sufficed, and eventually you hear said deadbolt being unlatched followed with a faint "come in"
✮ you walk in slowly with a light "hey", earning a grunt in response as he continues to fidget with whatever gadget he is working on this time. you walk over to his workbench and begin to let him know about dinner and how beth really wants him out there. "I think I can guess the answer already, sorry to bug you too much rick, beth just would've killed me if I didn't ask," you let out with a soft chuckle
✮ a moment passes and he's so lost in thought, and not that you could read him before, but right now you definitely can't. so you offer him a smile and go to push yourself off of where you'd leaned up against the counter before you hear him speak, "c-could you hand me that -blleugeghhgh- screwdriver over there?"
✮ "oh my god yeah, o-of course, yeah," you grab the one rick's pointing at and turn to hand it to him, and as he reaches for it from you, your fingers graze each other for what feels like a lifetime. butterflies absolutely flood your stomach and overpower your senses. you let go quickly, trying to get ahold of yourself because this is fucking rick sanchez, he isn't going to give the time of day to whatever little crush you're developing
✮ the second your hands touched, rick also got a rush of butterflies. he of course wouldn't ever refer to them as that, but his heart sped up and his mouth went dry in an instant. he hadn't felt this feeling in... jesus, like 40 years? fuck. he needed to get a grip on himself. seriously, what is his problem? you've been around him for all of three days and he's acting like a teenager experiencing his first hard-on. jesus, rick, get your act together. what the fuck is your problem?
✮ you pull back and he averts his gaze from you, turning back to his work. he clears his throat and mutters a soft 'thank you'. you're immediately bashful, smiling at him and turning to head out of the garage. just before you're fully out, you hear him speak up, "I'll b-be out in a minute"
✮ and you smile. beth was right. for some godforsaken reason, you got him to join christmas eve dinner. you exit the garage, almost running into morty and summer who's jaws are nearly on the fucking ground. you hadn't closed the door behind you as you went in, and they watched the entire scene unfold before them. morty's eyebrows contort into confusion, "what the fuck?"
i fear i have so many more thoughts and ideas so lmk if you want more because I am a deviant and a freak, thanks
EGO — CHAPTER ONE
rick sanchez x fem!reader
synopsis. you meet this weird guy and alternate versions of him try to kidnap you
wc. 4.1k
masterlist.
You don’t think you’d ever get used to the fusion of sweat, vomit and booze that clung to the bar’s atmosphere.
The Lounge was as generic as its name, fitting for a place that covered all bases of human debauchery for maximum profit. From hard liquor to exotic dancers, private rooms to the front-and-center dance floor, even drugs to blood money—nothing was off-limits. With every vice at their fingertips, you’d think the customers would find new forms of degeneracy every two business days at least, but no. Every night you stepped inside this club, you entered a time loop. The same faces, the same songs, the same drinks; a fight might break out between two people, another pair might start going down on each other on the sofas. You didn’t bat an eye at most things anymore.
All that to say if there was an anomaly in your routine, you noticed. You kept a detailed mental record of your patrons as a bottle girl, so when you had no memory of a dull-looking spindly bag of bones, you were curious. Even more so when he holed himself up in the corner of the room and didn’t even look anyone’s way.
Your eyes had followed him across the floor, which his sky blue hair made pretty easy. Since then, he had joined your roster of regulars.
He usually started off with his own flask, downing it within an hour. He’d move on to neighboring customers, schmoozing them for drinks. He had to be very charming, otherwise he wouldn’t have a 100% success rate. After three hours or so of constant drinking, he’d pass out in his booth, snoozing until closing time.
After three weeks of this pattern, you were about to write him off as another unexciting alcoholic. But then he started requesting bottle service. Your bottle service, specifically.
First impressions were everything and if you wanted to secure another old man as a paypig, you had to look the part. The uniforms for the bottle service were basically lingerie and it took a minute for you to get comfortable parading around in something you imagined you’d only ever wear in the comfort of your home. Every employee’s measurements were taken for outfits tailored to their bodies so that everyone looked like they came out of a Playboy magazine. At this club, less clothing meant more money. And to you, that was all that mattered.
You tugged your top a little lower, sweetening your smile into something saccharine as you approached his table. “Hey—”
“You– you do that for all your customers?” He cut you off, barely sparing a glance.
Thrown off by his interruption but nowhere near off-balance, you laughed softly and glanced down at your exposed chest. “Only the good looking ones. What can I get for you?”
His eyes were trained on the jungle of bodies dancing in front of the DJ’s booth. “Vodka. As– as much as you c—uuurp— as much as you can give me.”
“Mhm.” You hummed. “I’ll be right back, ‘kay?”
He didn’t respond so you took your leave, putting in his request at the bar. Your gaze trailed back to him frequently. Now that you’d seen him up close, you felt as if… you felt like you’ve seen him before. Did he have a twin, maybe? Resemble someone you saw on TV?
You weren’t lying either. He was good looking, at least in that old man kinda way. A little rough around the edges, maybe carrying some heavy baggage, looking straight up miserable. He looked like he just came from the end of the world, actively dissociating with an all-too-familiar absent stare boring into the ceiling. His lab coat was especially out of place in this hovel for drunks and druggies, but it was cute that he had a mad scientist thing going on.
The bartender dropped the glass of vodka in front of you, jostling you out of your thought process. You took it back to his table, setting it down with the customary napkin. He took one look and screwed up his face. You didn’t waver under his hard glare and had a good enough idea of what he was about to say—-
“This is all you can get me?” With narrowed eyes, he picked you apart.
We have portions to follow. Can’t just give you the equivalent of a bottle in one go. But that answer never went down well. You put your hands on your hip, hoping to seem like you were sympathizing. “Just looking out for you, that’s all. How about when you finish that glass, wave me down and—”
He snatched the glass from its place on the surface and chugged it. He slammed it down, burping unceremoniously.
“...and I’ll grab you another…” You blinked, impressed at how easily he downed the hard liquor. Your smile grew despite yourself. You quickly reigned in your expression when you noticed the minute confusion lingering in his gaze, clearing your throat and grabbing his glass. “Damn.” You said before leaving to get his refill.
The next few weeks unfolded just like that.
He singled you out for whatever reason just to bitch and groan when you actually tried to serve him. No matter what you did, there was always a problem: the glass wasn’t properly filled, you took too long to get to him, he saw you laughing with your coworkers instead of bringing his drink… He was the epitome of mixed signals because regardless of how many times he said you were bad at your job, he made sure to leave a fat stack of cash behind just for you. You remember counting those bills and doing laps around your dingy apartment because his tips matched three customers’ worth.
There was one shift when the bar was so busy. You were in the process of managing multiple tables when he walked in. Lacking the bandwidth to put up with him, you tried to pass him to another coworker which did not go down well. That stubborn son of a bitch tracked you through the crowd and snatched the drinks off your carry tray.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You hissed. It would take a miracle for him to hear you over the deafening thump of the speakers, and part of you hoped he hadn’t. You didn’t mean to snap, especially not at a high paying customer.
He smiled like he knew something you didn’t. Of course he heard you. “Look at you, haha. Breaking character? Finally. Y– You think you can just pawn me off? Me? Don’t pull that shit again, or I’ll— I’ll let ‘em take you.”
What?
You watched him in horror as he nonchalantly downed all of the drinks, coughing and hacking up a storm after they blended together in the back of his throat, no doubt mixing into something unpleasant. You’ve had your fair share of threats while working here, but something about him was unsettling. That quiet, unnamed recognition you had in the depths of your mind said, believe him...
Let them take me?
Until you made sense of your situation and how to go about it, you refrained from sending others in your place when he called on you. It became easier and somewhere along the line. Call it naivety or obliviousness, if you want—it’s probably both. You even went so far as to hang around when he got blackout drunk because that was the only time he was amenable to your questions.
And one night, it worked a little too well.
As closing time approached, rules relaxed around standard protocol. You took rounds on rounds of shots with your coworkers til you felt a buzz and stumbled your way over to his table with two glasses of … something. You didn’t even know.
He groaned as you dragged a chair up to his booth but happily accepted the tall glass of whatever when you slid it to him.
You hiccuped, gulping down a good bit of your drink. You needed the liquid courage. After a deep breath, you slurred, “How… how many drinks ’re you at now?”
His eyes slowly find yours over the top of his glass, unfocused and glassy. “Don’t count. I don’t ever count.”
Your lips pursed. “Yeah… fair.” You snorted as giggles bubbled out of you unprovoked, earning a glance from him. “S’funny, I just— I dunno, I feel like I’ve seen you before.”
He slurped the last of the glass in another go. “Well, d—uuuurp— duh. I’ve been coming here for weeks. Fuck— are you a fucking lightweight?”
“Nuh-uh,” you insisted. “Before then. Before you first showed up here. I know you, I swear. You got a… you got an evil twin or something?”
“Haha… y– yeah, yeah, somethin’ like that.” He toyed with the glass, sliding it back and forth between his hands.
“Mm.” You rubbed your eyes, feeling the drowsiness kicking in hard and fast. You already clocked out of the conversation—you’d be lucky if you remembered this in the morning. Without another word you rose from your seat, bumping into the table before walking off.
He caught you before you got too far. His calloused palm snagged against the skin of your wrist, holding you in place.
“Hey, hey, wait.” He tugged you back, letting you fall into the booth beside him. He was tall; even seated, your head knocked against his shoulder before drifting to his chest. He propped you up in your drunken stupor, holding you firmly by the shoulders. If you were sober, you would have definitely been freaked out by the crazed look in his eyes. “You– you ever feel like you’re being watched?”
“Huh?” you said dumbly. When your brain realized that he was waiting for an answer, you continued. “Oh, uh… I mean, only ever by you…?”
His grip tightened, the madness in his eyes spreading into his smile. “Exactly. Exactly. Lemme tell you, I kinda have twins— or, uh… I have thousands of versions of me, all patrolling around the multiverse. You following me so– so far?”
“Uh—”
“Yeah, you are.” He dismissed your answer, or lack thereof. “Thousands of versions of me! All watching us because I had to choose the dimension where you exist after the last one went to shit. F– Fuck me, right? It’s too late to move to another reality. I– I– I’d hate to have to do that to Morty again after—”
“Morty?”
“My grandson. It– It doesn’t matter. Just–” He hiccuped, his eyes crossing as he shook off the effects of the alcohol, his weight dropping on you for a moment. “Just trust me, okay? You do know me. Not me, actually, but those other versions of me. They like you, and I mean really like you. The Rick that died here was supposed to watch you until you were gifted to one of the ‘good’ ones. I’m the Rick that took his place, so I’m– I’m here to warn you. Still following?”
Rick. You tucked his name in your memory. “I—”
“Good,” He cooed, his voice drenched with superiority. “Oh, man, maybe watching you isn’t so bad after all. I get a—uuuuurp— I get a you without having to go through all that– all that bureaucratic holier-than-thou bullshit the Citadel’s on.” He laughed, the sound worming its way under your skin and warming your insides despite the bizarre conversation.
You blinked once. Twice.
What was good about anything he just said? He just said that you would be gifted to someone. Delusions or not, did he really consider that situation to be good?
You slowly guided his hands off of you, a sliver of panic-induced clarity breaking through the drunken haze. He was obviously hammered beyond belief and spewing some fucked up fantasy.
“Yeah…” Your lips smacked together before spreading into a polite smile. “How about I get you a glass of water? Sober you up a bit?”
“What? No—”
“I think you’ve met your limit.”
His lips twisted in a deep frown, his glare unmistakable. His eye twitched; you’d obviously hit a nerve. “I don’t have limits.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” You cooed, mimicking his condescending tone from earlier. “Let’s get some water in you and see how you feel then, hm?”
“Fuck water!” He scowled, crossing his arms and slumping into the seat. “H– How d’you think you’d feel, huh? When you’re snatched from that shitty little apartment of yours in the middle of the night by a couple hundred assholes who look exactly like me?”
Now he was implying he knows where you live. That’s so great. You shook your head, standing up with your arms thrown in exasperation. “Oookay, I’m out.” Your eyes scanned the floor for security.
He rolled his eyes, throwing aside the small table blocking his path when he got fed up with his lack of coordination, floundering after you. “Oh– oh, you’re out? I’m telling you your life’s in danger and you’re walking away? You’d be stupid not to trust me, sweetie. Like– like actually the biggest idiot in the whole fucking universe—”
“Can you do something? Please?” You called the nearest bouncer. He gave you a look, eyes ping-ponging between you and the drunk old man on your heels before rolling his eyes and waving you off with the excuse of I’m off the clock or something.
“Bitch,” you muttered, pushing into the back rooms to grab your belongings. All the while, Grandpa was yapping your ear off about some bullshit you didn’t care to acknowledge any longer.
“Your best chance at freedom is me. I can’t believe I’m– that I’m wasting this much effort on an ungrateful little brat, but I’m drunk as fuck. Fuck, I’m so drunk,” he groaned, digging his palms into his eyes.
You hummed non-committedly, taking the opportunity to pass him. You almost made it to the exit before you heard him again—
“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he emerged from the back and limped his way back to you. “These few weeks, I always leave this cheap joint before you. You– you think there’s a reason for that?”
“You’re so crazy,” you whispered before pushing through the doors and hopefully, away from him. “Seriously, drink some fucking water—”
You stepped out of the club’s darkness into the soft light of the breaking dawn, the soft sunrise doing little to soothe you. This was just another aggressive weird customer, you told yourself. You glanced back to see him stuck at the doors, drool leaking from his open mouth and coating the glass.
You rolled your eyes, pulling out your phone to see when the next bus would arrive. The screen flared to life, too bright after being inside for so long, disorienting you to the point of bumping into someone.
“Sorry…” you mumbled, your eyes lifting as your vision recalibrated. You blinked rapidly as you looked up.
You paused, eyes squinting. You swore you were seeing double… triple… what was the word for five?
You peered confusedly at the group in front of you. Crazy enough, it was the guy from the club—at least, the versions of him he was talking about. These ones were dressed in some sort of military uniforms, but they shared the exact same face.
The one in a captain hat smiled, approaching you as if you were a wild animal. “Heeey, how’s it going?”
You stumbled backwards, tripping over your heels to the ground. Your ass hit the unforgiving gravel with an oof, your stuff spilling out of your purse. You didn’t even get the chance to breathe before the captain grabbed your arm and yanked you to a seated position.
“Hey—!” you yelped, kicking against the pavement, against the hands gripping you.
The club doors flew open and Rick’s silhouette leaned lazily into the light. You stared at him incredulously, your chest heaving in panic; was this another Tuesday to him? Can’t he pick up the pace?
“C-137,” the captain snapped distastefully, yanking you closer. “Of course it’s you.” You winced as his gloved fingers dug into your skin.
“Now we’ve got more work to er– erase her fucking memories. It’s not that hard to get these ones to like us, that’s– that’s the whole fucking point of this program! And somehow you managed to spook one, you big dumb piece of shit. Fucking asshole,” he muttered, pulling out a device from his pocket.
“What the fuck is happening?!” You tried to pull yourself from your captor’s grip, to no avail.
“Shh shh shh, baby, it’ll be over soon. Pr– Promise.” The captain hushed you, shooting the gun and tugging you towards the swirling green portal.
“No, let me go!” You kicked and screamed until your throat burned, but all your protests fell upon deaf ears. You put up enough of a resistance to annoy them, though, because they paused their argument to glare down at you. The captain cursed, rolling his eyes as he grabbed you up from the ground and threw you over his shoulder. You grunted as his bony shoulder stabbed your stomach, your nose smushing against the small of his back. “Stop—!”
“Shhh…”
“Is that your only line?” You grumbled before propping yourself up on the captain’s back, desperately trying to get your Rick’s attention. “Okay, I’m sorry for calling you crazy, please—can you help me!?”
Rick whipped out a flask and gulped away. “I can.”
You stared at him expectantly, glaring when he didn’t move. A slow smile spread on his lips and you realized he was probably still drunk out of his mind. You deflated, heart sinking along with your hopes. You got the message loud and clear: I can… but I won’t.
“...you’re fucking kidding.”
The last thing you saw was him shrugging.
[ ]
Your chest seized as the portal closed around you, transporting you to who-knows-where. You couldn’t even take in your surroundings from your vantage point—for a slim guy, he had strength on him. You couldn’t even wriggle with his firm grip around your legs and hips.
Passing through another portal, you were thrown into an examination chair. Your back hit the cold metal, the ache spreading through your body.
The soldier’s hands were on you immediately, pinning you down and cuffing you to the chair. “That’s it, stay niiiice and still for us, yeah? We’re gonna take care of you—”
You shook them off, using your legs to push them away. “You just—where am I?!”
“N—uuuurp—-ot important, princess. You won’t remember a thing.”
“What?” You spluttered breathlessly.
Captain Rick grabbed your chin, forcing you to stay still and face him. He squished your cheeks as he clumsily booted up a two-pronged device, pointing it right between your eyes. The heat from its whirring arms licked against your cheek just enough to make you cry out.
Another Rick entered the room. The soldiers froze, watching the newcomer with doubt. The captain didn’t even turn around, his fingers toying with the trigger as he choked out, “N– not now, busy.”
BANG!
You screamed as the captain crumpled to the floor, scooting up the chair as much as you could from his smoking body. “Shit, shit, shit—”
The new Rick’s gun whirred to life again, pointing it at… you? The chair? You didn’t know or care. You preferred to stay alive but with his shaky aim, you weren’t sure you’d make it.
Two shots rang out, and you curled up with a shriek to avoid them.
“So annoying,” Rick snarled as he stumbled towards you, discarding the destroyed cuffs and yanking you off the chair. Your legs buckled and you fell to his feet, your first instinct being to hide behind his legs, your mind spinning with fear, confusion, and the remnants of alcohol.
“You’re… you’re mine, right?” You whispered, clinging to his lab coat. “The right one?”
“...Yeah.” He answered absently.
Buzzing with adrenaline, you used his clothes as leverage to pull yourself up to your feet. Ignoring his grunts and curses, you peeked out from behind him at the blubbering squadron. He was telling the truth, you realized and began to recall the details of your weird conversation.
He glared at you over his shoulder before addressing the rest of the Ricks. “Look, I got no problem killing you all, but– but obviously that’d mean more work for me. Just don’t follow us or I’ll have to bury you somewhere.” Rick grumbled, aiming his gun at the rest.
The soldiers grimaced but didn’t move to stop him as he opened a portal of his own, grabbing your wrist and pulling you through with him.
You tumbled to the ground, the familiar club pavement scraping your knees. You hissed in pain, feeling the blood bubble out of your wounds. You were back… at least, you thought you were? Even with the familiarity of your surroundings, your breathing refused to calm down. You wobbled to your feet, using the wall for balance.
You couldn’t even sigh in relief before Rick turned, the end of his gun brushing against your forehead.
“Wait, wait, wait—” You pleaded, your body vaulting back into survival mode.
He ignored you and invaded your personal space, forcing you back until you hit the wall of the club, the rough brick exterior scraping your exposed skin.
“Still think m’crazy?” he mumbled lowly, pressing the cool tip of his weapon against your skin. “Huh? You– you believe me now?”
You sucked in a deep breath, your mind racing at a mile a minute. He saved you, didn’t he? What was happening?
The metal pressed harder, making your vision blur. “Y-Yes,” you whispered, breath catching. “Yes, I believe you!”
He hummed, eyes narrowing like that wasn’t a good enough answer. “Those guys’ve been camping out here for the past few weeks. I told you they liked you. B–B– But see how I took care of them?” He chuckled under his breath, mentally patting himself on the back as he stood tall and proud. “Yeah, if– if I didn’t step in, you’d be a glo—uuuuurp—-rified barbie doll for the next Rick that bribed the Council. You need me.”
Barbie doll? “I… I don’t understand….” You admitted softly. At this point, you realized there was weird sci-fi shit going on and Rick, as weird as he was, may be the only one with the answers you needed. Considering he fended off your would-be kidnappers, your fucked-up attachment to him was growing exponentially.
“S’okay. You don’t have to understand, I can do that for you. I’m the– I’m the smartest man in the universe, baby, so… As– as long as you trust me and do as I say, okay? Say it,” He hiccuped, tripping over his feet closer to you. “Say you— fuck,” he cursed, his eyes squeezing shut as the sun rose behind him and overwhelmed his drunken senses, “Say you need me. ‘Cause you do. You– you need my protection. Say it.”
The barrel of his gun dug into your forehead. Your breath quivered as you answered, “Okay, okay, I need you! I need you, I need your protection, just— please.”
“Say you’ll listen to me.”
“I’ll listen! I promise!”
He ignored your pleas and held the gun there, like he was hoping it’d leave some sort of mark. “Ap– apologize for… for being a bitch back there.”
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your eyes screwing shut.
A moment passed before you felt the pressure lift from your forehead. You exhaled slowly, almost in disbelief. He pocketed his gun, running his hands through his wild hair. His dead eyes found yours once more.
“Let’s see if you’re true to your word. You’re moving in with me. Can– I can watch you better that way.”
You stared at him for a second. A laugh slipped past your defenses before you could stop it, but died off when he raised an eyebrow, unimpressed and unamused. His silence alone was a threat.
“You’re serious.” You frowned.
“You just said you’d listen.” He shot back, his patience growing thin.
“That’s a crazy ask! Move in?” You retorted. “I don’t even– I don’t know you!”
“If I wanted to kill you, you’d have been dead before you even saw me walk inside. But hey, if–if– if you wanna be an easy target for those guys, be my fucking guest. Would definitely m– make my life easier.” He threatened. You 100% believed him. “I’m being good here, for fuck’s sake! You said you don’t understand and you’re acting– and now you’re acting like you know enough to go against my advice?!”
“I…” The words caught in your chest—were you really doing this? The logical part of your brain tried to claw your agreement back into the depths of your throat, but his glare forced it out. “Fuck. Fine. Fine!”
His frustration died down, a smile growing where his scowl used to be. “Good. Was that so hard? Anyways, let’s– let’s go. It’s good you don’t have a lot of things back at your apartment.”
Of course he knew that. You were starting to think he knew everything.
I was thinking about why I liked yanderes so much, and I came to the realisation that I really enjoy the horror/thriller aspects of them. So that’s what I’m going for in this series!
I’ve always been a huge fan of anything horror; books, films, games, etc. and I just really like the idea of being chased in the dark by a obsessed and deranged guy who would do anything for me ✌️😔
I wish there was a way to include multiple asks in one post 😭
Clark would be the sweetest and greenest flag yandere ever ❤️ he’d do anything for darling, except letting them go. But luckily he’s pretty harmless, I don’t think he’d ever be mad at darling, even if they somehow escape the farm. Which would be near impossible, he’d check up on them way too often 😭 and yes, no one would suspect a thing!! Once Clark has his eyes on darling, their fate is sealed…
saiki is, evidently, not the most socially aware person alive: from his psychic powers starving him from the human experience to his mind-reading rendering him unable to read body language and understand tone or hidden meaning in words.
thus, when saiki finds a wife who, as per his request, wears a germanium ring that silences her thoughts to him, he's a mess.
not only that, saiki's social ineptness really comes to light when having to face you, who he actually experiences emotions around. him dealing with those emotions as someone who felt very little before was a sight to behold.
[ silly note drabble: i bet saiki, who can't really express himself well physically or verbally, makes up for that with using a ton of emojis over text. he's not expressive or emotive and feels bad for it so tries to make up with it via things like "🙂❤️" in response to something romantic or "😛" when he's hungry or something. he really tries! ]
you always try to be very understanding about [his social awkwardness], always being open and clear about communication, etc.
however, you have seemed to get saiki to develop a silly little habit.
every time saiki did something sweet or convenient, you would give him a little peck on the cheek.
when he brought you dinner, you thanked him and pecked him. when he got you water, you thanked him and pecked him. when he gave you his jacket, you thanked him and pecked him.
in total misunderstanding that the kiss was just a natural little affectionate instinct, saiki thought that the cheek-kiss was some sort of reward. subconsciously or consciously.
thus, every time saiki does anything (of that sort), he pauses and draws his face near you in expectancy.
like a dog awaiting a treat after doing a trick.
saiki isn't the most affectionate guy. the want to be physically touchy doesn't completely elude him, but having the sudden urge to kiss or something isn't common for him.
thus, your random affectionate gesture to him became positive reinforcement.
that wasn't your intention at all and you, once you realized what had become, gave it a hearty laugh. saiki got embarrassed.
...and yet he still continues to do it. old habits die hard!
"nico where were u" um... what... i've been here the whole time... "no nico you were gone for a fucking week where have u been" WHATTTT LITERALLY MADE THAT MARRIAGE DRABBLE YESTERDAY STOP GASLIGHTING ME!!!!! STOP!!!!!!!!!!! GUYS!!!!!!!
i'm joshing of course. sry i've been so busy bro the summer is always so insufferable. i've also been a lazy bones
do u giys want to hear about my love for vampires because i'm losing my mind over vampires. boy me fighting the urge to write shitty vampire saiki fanfiction is one of the greatest battles in mankind we should write an epic about this OMG HAVE I GUYS TOD U ABOUT MY LOVE FOR GO FOR IT NAKAMURA EVERYTIME I SEE MEDIA ABOUT IT I START UNCONTROLLABLY SHAKING WITH JOY IT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY GUYS I NEED A FUCKING SEASON TWO OR I'M GONNA LOSE IT MY LITTLE GAY BOY I NEED CLOSURE I CRY AND SCREAM
why is this note longer than the drabble itself. Oh my god Guys Sorry.
btw what should i do for my 200 followers milestone. Or should i do 250. i dunno. VAMPIRE KUSUO no. it should be something that benefits the public. not traumatizes it. Ok. Ideas. Mama Nico Need Ideas.
saiki k taglist (comment to be added!): @skeletaldino @puppysandrainbows @aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa444 @handwrittenscripts @cutepuppy1845 @loafsoobin2 @heyits-you @i-bitch-you-bitch @starrrforeverheart @iridoscopy @blurredkissesx @mjfr @dragemballz @mari-ana-grande @lovelyrosesxoxo
Bard is not overly affectionate in public, but he's always touching you somehow.
Maybe a hand on your back.
Or his arm brushing yours.
Possibly standing close enough that you never have to wonder where he is.
He worries about you constantly and tries very hard not to show it. Every "be careful" is really an "i love you."
His children adore you.
You catch him smiling at you when he thinks you're not looking.
The kind of man who brings you an extra blanket without saying a word.
...kisses your forehead when he's tired, acts annoyed when you fuss over him, secretly loves every second of it.
"I can take care of myself, bard."
"Never said you couldn't."
"...then why are you staring at me?"
"Can never get enough of your beauty, darlin."
✧ Thranduil
Acts as though he is above romance.
Absolutely is not.
He remembers everything about you.
Your favorite flowers mysteriously appear in your chambers, notices when you're cold before you do, loves having you beside him during feasts and meetings.
His affection is quiet and elegant...
Brushing a strand of hair from your face, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, giving you jewelry because it reminded him of you.
Everyone in the woodland realm knows he adores you. He believes they are being subtle.
Nope.
He gets the softest look in his eyes whenever you laugh.
"Your majesty."
"Hmm?"
"You've been staring at me."
"Have I?"
"Yes."
"Then perhaps you should stop being so alluring."
✧ Thorin
The definition of "acts annoyed because he's in love."
He grumbles every time you worry about him.
Immediately does whatever you asked him to do (that's sooo not him, you've literally made him evolve)
He's icredibly protective...duh??
Stubborn beyond reason.
Loyal beyond reason.
And once he loves you, that's it. There's no changing his mind.
He secretly loves when you sit beside him while he works.
He loves hearing your voice even if neither of you are talking about anything important.
His rare smiles are reserved mostly for you.
Ohh he absolutely melts when you play with his hair.
...but don't tell anyone.
"You're staring again."
"Am not."
"Thorin."
"..."
"Thorin."
"...continue talking."
✧ Fíli
Golden retriever prince 100%
Absolutely shameless about loving you.
He compliments you every chance he gets.
Loves holding your hand, loves wrapping an arm around your shoulders, loves having you close.
Loves giving you kisses on your nose >-<
He's constantly trying to make you laugh.
The type to dramatically throw himself across your lap after a long day.
And tells everyone how wonderful you are.
Everyone.
Would fight a dragon for you, like the sweetheart he is.
And then brag about how impressed you looked afterward.
"Fíli."
"Yes?"
"You're smiling...still"
"Because you're you."
"That's ridiculous."
"I know."
✧ Kíli
Somehow even worse than Fíli.
He flirts with you constantly...never misses an opportunity to tease you.
He follows you around whenever possible and thinks your reactions are adorable.
He lovesss making you blush.
Surprisingly so so sweet when you're upset. The first to notice when something is wrong. The first to make you laugh again.
He's addicted to cuddling, no doubt in my mind.
If he could spend all day with his head in your lap, he would.
"You missed me."
"You were gone for five minutes."
"Exactly."
"Kíli."
"...so you did miss me."
✧ Fíli & Kíli (bonus)
You don't get a moment of peace.
Not one...
They just adore you.
Together...
*Slowly dislocating*
Loudly...
Constantly.
If one of them is teasing you, the other is helping. And if one of them is cuddling you, the other appears five seconds later.
They compete for your attention.
They both lose...poorly.
Because eventually they're both laying on top of you.
Fíli calls you beautiful.
Kíli calls you gorgeous.
Neither ever stops (but who's complaining?)
They're sooo protective, affectionate, and completely devoted.
Everyone in erebor knows exactly how much they love you.
"Move over."
"I was here first."
"That's not fair."
"Says who?"
"Says me."
"Boys."
"Yes?"
They both say in sync.
"Both of you behave."
MY WORK IS MY OWN AND I HAVE OWNERSHIP OF MY CREATIONS. DO NOT STEAL, COPY OR REPOST!
I adoredd Yandere Faramir, do you perhaps have any other thoughts about him rattling around?
Tw: yandere, allusions to forced marriage and stalking, poor Faramir needs a hug and a therapist
Always - he, Éomer, and Fili are my favorites from lotr (can you tell I like blonde men?), and Faramir itches that scratch of a man that is too self-aware to be obviously dangerous while simultaneously in too deep to really pull himself out of the obsession he's developed.
And this manifests in many different ways - there's obviously the stalking, the intense fascination he feels to understand your psyche and actions, the strength of his physical and emotional attraction to you that leaves him disoriented and unsettled.
But there are also ways that are slower to creep up - things that take time to develop, habits and feelings that Faramir finds himself falling into more and more. And while many of them are subtle, like immediately scanning you over for any sign of bruises, scrapes, limps, or any other indication of an injury every time he sets eyes on you, others are more glaring. One, in particular, will become known to you fairly quickly once your 'friendship' with Faramir really begins.
('Friendship' if only because finally, after weeks and months of following you around like some pathetic creep, he'd finally gathered the courage to actually approach you and develop a relationship. Friend is certainly not the word he'd use to describe his feelings for you, as dark and twisted and all-consuming as they are, but it's a good stepping stone. A good segwey into making you more comfortable around him, giving him a chance to get to know you in ways that simply watching and collecting your things can't supply him. A change to be in your life, really, to be known as more than simply the younger Captain of Gondor. And, of course, a chance to feel the warmth of your body against his fingertips when he sneakily reaches out from behind you to lightly brush them against the dress fabric of your back, his exhale sharp and uneven because oh, how is your skin so very warm even under so many layers?)
It starts small: you're sitting beside Faramir one day on a stone bench overlooking one of the many alleyways of Minas Tirith, his every muscle flexed in an effort to both bar himself from reaching out to touch you, and also to subconciously make himself appear bigger, more muscular, better.
The comment you'd sent him had been meant well, a small compliment to his knowledge of history and Gondor's customs. It'd been sweet, really, and for a moment it had Faramir clearing his throat, his muscles somehow growing even more taught under the scrutiny of your praise.
You flatter me, and I thank you for it, though I am not nearly as knowledgable in the ways of battle. I've made many a mistake and have much to learn. His reply is spoken with a soft smile, though it flattens out significantly as his words taper off.
He flinches slightly when you reach out and lightly smack his arm, flashing him a look and telling him you're too self-critical. Your many, many strengths outweigh any flaws you percieve within yourself.
And perhaps it'd been the way you were looking at him, as if you were peeling past the layers of defense and physical appearance and really seeing him, as he is, in his most raw and vulnerable state. Or perhaps it'd been the way you'd breathed out his name before you'd spoken, the syllables caressed by your tongue and lips in a way that made shivers race up his spine, the sudden urge to reach out and brush his thumb against the soft skin of your throat and pulse nearly making him follow through. Regardless, through the rushing of blood in his ears and the sound of his heart pounding, a distinct feeling of pride sat heavily in his gut, the knowledge that at least you thought he had some worth twisting pleasantly in his stomach.
He hadn't meant to repeat a similar incident a week later. But at the self-depricating comment that slipped from his lips about his lack of natural charisma, your scoff and rather insistant claim that he was magnetic in a way that's difficult to explain, like a ship finding its way to dock even under the cover of night left his heart racing and mind running haywire. He hadn't even realized he'd said such a thing - or that you'd been listening closely enough to hear the grumble under his breath.
And yet your determined expression and the way you grasped his hands between your own softer, smaller ones had left him swallowing harshly, that familiar sense of shy pride and exhilaration rolling through him in waves.
And from then on, though Faramir isn't especially proud to admit it, he begins nearly fishing for compliments from you. The self-critical thoughts and feelings are easy enough to voice, and he grows addicted to the way you step in to immediately contradict and redirect his claims. And call him less of a man, but the concept of you defending him, his honor, his character, showering him with such pretty words aimed at him and only him leave Faramir with a light pink flush across his nose, his breathing heavier, his fingers twitching at his side because oh, oh god, say that he's strong again please, tell him that you feel safe with him and that you need him and that's perfect and everything you desire and so, so utterly yours and yours alone -
It becomes an addiction, really, to receive praise from the one person he cherishes it from most, and so you'll find that you're nearly constantly having to throw these compliments out to him. And when he peeks at you from the corner of his eye, through the wavy blond wisps of hair sitting against his temple, something in you will crack.
After all, you're not blind to the rumors that Denethor is not an equitable father, and you've come to care deeply for his youngest son. He's your friend, companion, the man who looks at you as if you've hung the moon and stars in the sky - a man who looks at you like he wants you, even if the notion is rather frightening at times with the palpable intensity radiating off of him.
But that look - it's so raw, reverant, like you're giving him something more precious than life itself, and perhaps you too are weaker than you'd care to admit, because you absolutely love just how responsive he is to a few simple words from you. It's endearing, and while you know Faramir is a battle-seasoned warrior and scholar, throwing him a compliment or two to garner this reaction out of him strokes your ego more than you'd care to admit. A captain of Gondor, an important man whose future very possibly includes taking over the Stewardship of the nation, so flustered and hooked onto a few simple words from you?
It's the stuff of your wildest fantasies, so you indulge him, singing his praises and even letting a hand linger for a beat to long against his bicep as the honeyed words slip from your lips. Brave, strong, wise...
And by the time that you realize just how deeply these words truly run for him, your support only fueling his obsession tenfold, it'll be too late to rescend them. Because by that point he's already sweet-talked you into the wedding, his proposal intimate and still rather shy, his fingers shaking around the ring and a near-constant stream of your name mixed with thank you and I love you ringing in your ears as the heavy gem sits upon your finger.
Because by that point he's already got you wrapped so tightly into his arms that you can barely breath, his fingertips nearly digging into your skin as he promises to keep you safe, to not let anything ever hurt you, to not let another living soul even touch you.
It'll be too late by the time that you realize you haven't seen the light of day in a week, cooped up in the grand abode Faramir was left, guards stationed outside your bedroom door.
Far, far too late - but keep singing him those sweet words, and perhaps you'll see the depths of his devotion and dependence on you reflected back in those blue eyes of his. After all, your kindness is part of what drew him to you, like a moth to flame.
Summary: Headcanons for how the Dwarves + Bilbo feel about physical touch (Platonic + w/ gender neutral reader)
A/N: Y'all I'm not even a Bifur fangirl but his is SO CUTE?? omg I was kicking my feet writing that
Bilbo is just flustered in general, so if you consistently find a way to touch him, he will get unbelievably jumpy. He is expecting it, but also in disbelief that someone would want to touch him so much that it surprises him every time. The man blushes from ear to ear, especially if you're a taller individual. He would eventually come to terms with it after therapy sessions with himself and clumsily seek it out himself in the form of sweaty hand holding and awkwardly resting his hand on your shoulder when you're crouched at your bedroll or stoking the fire.
Thorin is very much a pat on the shoulder type of guy, but he isn't too touchy. He's totally fine with the bumping and shoving that comes with the rambunctious roughhousing of the Company's dwarves, but he doesn't really participate. He mostly gets bumped into when the others get careless, otherwise they try to avoid him. What he finds most strange is the gentleness of your touch. He's used to the firm and rough disposition of dwarves, but the way your fingers press so softly against his skin, as if he would shatter under any more pressure, brings him an odd sense of clarity. His mind heavy with responsibility and anxiety clouding his vision, your warm palm pressing to his neck as your fingers lay across the back of his neck pulls him from the fog and it's like he's breathing for the first time. He becomes a big fan of kissing your knuckles; it's the kingly thing to do.
Balin has become less touchy in his old age. When he was younger, he was a bit like Bofur in his jovial nature. Shouting drinking songs with his arm slung around a friend's shoulder or putting someone in a playful headlock; he definitely isn't a stranger to expressing himself through touch. However, he's old now and that man's back hurts. He said leave me the hell alone, I got arthritis and chest pains and a herniated disc, LEAVE ME BE ୧(๑•̀ᗝ•́)૭ Bro creaks when he stands up. That's why you like to give him little massages whenever you've stopped to rest. He was surprised when you first offered your help, said you noticed him wincing on the journey and might be able to fix it. The man felt brand new; you've got magic fingers, friend. It's like he's that young dwarf again, bouncing around during meals with Bofur and rubbing circles into the back of your hand in the small hours of the night as the Company winds down to sleep.
Dwalin is lowkey very touchy. He's very touchy in the usual manly sense; clapping a friend on the back, holding you in place to check for injuries, stuff like that. He likes hugging people, but that's a little too showy for his tastes. Plus, people don't often move to hug him, so he just doesn't offer. He isn't against cuddling you in bed, though. He'll never admit it out loud, but he sleeps the best whenever you're embracing.
Kili is the type to always be leaning on someone. Always nudging or poking when telling jokes, and he loves hugs. I imagine his mom cuddled him and his brother a lot, so he's used to just hugging everyone. He'd also walk around with his arm slung over somebody's shoulders all the time. His favorite thing would have to be your hand in his, though. Feeling the curve of your knuckles, the raised flesh of an old scar, the smoothness of your nails. Most of all, how soft they feel in comparison to his, calloused by years of drawing a bow.
Fili is touchy, but in a subtle way. Leaning in close while the group is talking until his shoulder bumps yours, a reassuring hand on the back when he sees that worried look on your face, or grabbing your upper arm to stop you from tripping. He's always looking out for others, and he's so engrossed in connection that he finds himself constantly touching someone. It pisses Kili off sometimes, but Fili loves to ruffle his hair when they're joking around. His favorite way to touch you is forehead kisses. Gently pushing your hair away from your forehead(I like to think that touching foreheads is an old dwarvish custom type thing used as a hello or goodbye, sort of like when Dwalin and Balin headbutt as a greeting.) He thinks it's very intimate and it makes him feel close to you.
Dori is mother. He constantly fusses over Ori, straightening his clothes, fixing his beard and tidying his buttons. Especially if they are being hosted by someone, Dori will float around and pick at everyone, making sure they are at least somewhat presentable. He's a very tidy and proper dwarf, so that is mainly where physical touch comes into play. That being said, he doesn't really participate in big shows of affection like hugs. He secretly gets really flustered; not as easily flustered as Bilbo, but he will shoo you off if you're overwhelming him (what a tsundere lmao). Most of the time it would be you initiating any type of touch but he always gets that little spark in his eye when you need your hair put up. Just by looking at him, you can tell he is something of a stylist. He absolutely loves braiding intricate designs into your hair. Sometimes you'll whine; you're feeling a little hot, a simple bun or braid will be fine. He will hear none of it. Threading his fingers through your hair, he separates the strands into sections and each time you ask, a few hours later your head is a masterpiece of delicately pinned and plaited swirls and patterns.
Nori is a sneaky little flirt. Being something of a trickster, he loves pushing the other dwarves around to annoy them. The ole tap their opposite shoulder and act like it wasn't you is the go-to in his repertoire. His touch has a similar charm when it comes to you; he'll sneak up behind you and blow on your ear just to see you jump, or squeeze at that sensitive spot on your side to get a squeak out of you. He's constantly poking at you just to tease. You'll get so worked up and flustered throughout the day. You're beyond embarrassed and frustrated by the time you lay out your bedroll, but he acts as if he didn't do anything as he grins at you.
Ori is shy, but unknowingly clingy. The Company settles for the night and gather around the fire for dinner and he is glued to someone's side. Personal space isn't a thing, but has it ever been? He's always been like this. He will sit right next to anyone, thighs and knees bumping. The same applies to when he gets frightened; he'll grab your sleeve with shaky hands like a little kid. However, when it comes to you, he is very aware of personal space. You hand brushes his and his face is beet red. You sit anywhere near as close as he would, he's just lost his place in his book. His brain just short circuits and he has to recalibrate his brain to even comprehend that you're speaking to him. Whenever he gets more comfortable though, he would love resting his head on your shoulder (or vice versa).
Oin is the consent KING! Since he's a practiced healer, he's very aware of how some people do not appreciate being touched. He tends to keep his hands to himself unless he's doing some medical work. Even then, he is very steady and methodical to maintain an air of professionalism and avoid making anyone uncomfortable. Since he's hard of hearing, he tends to lean into people when they're talking which sometimes results in some shoulder bumping, small things like that. That being said, he would have to warm up to more intimate touching. Of course, he wouldn't mind you touching him at all. He appreciates a squeeze of the shoulder in passing, but he is not about that PDA action. However, he is really gentle in private. Soft caresses, cradling your head as he strokes your hair.
Glóin is gruff, but not nearly as nonchalant as Dwalin. You try to hug him, the guy is grumbling and begrudgingly pats your back as if his pride will be crushed by a simple embrace. Literal drama queen. It's like the big awkward man energy; he's keeping up this façade of a strong, stoic type but he constantly breaks character. He'll be cracking up at a joke, clapping one of the boys on the back, or awkwardly pat their shoulder after they kill more orcs than him in a fight. Peak dad energy, actually. He's amazing with kids, obviously. They'll climb all over him, tugging at his beard but he tolerates it and doesn't get frustrated. He absolutely gets flustered when you touch him, but he tries to play it off like he isn't embarrassed. He doesn't have a problem touching you, though. His hand is on the small of your back whenever he can get it there, and he loves to cradle your cheek in one hand just to look at you. (Also this mf is absolutely little spoon and you cannot tell me otherwise) OMG he would also carry around a little braid of your hair in a pendant or something and Gimli always thought it was a powerful symbol of connection because of dwarvish customs related to hair yatta yatta and that's why he asked Galadriel for her hair, since it was a prominent symbol to him growing up or something eurrghh ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡
Bifur touches everyone a lot since he can't verbalize everything effectively. It's a lot of little nudges to get someone's attention, gently moving someone to get past, or a pat and nod to say hello. He adapted to using body language to convey his thoughts, so he's comfortable touching others but is also conscious of how they feel about being touched. He's almost like a pillar of the Company; he's looming close by to offer a comforting presence, or a quiet shoulder to lean on. He tries to have constant contact with you, whether that be holding hands or just sitting with your shoulders smushed together. His touch feels quiet yet overwhelming. It's rough but gentle, warm but sends a chill up your spine. He's very romantic in how he traces lovely words onto your skin, whispering secrets to you without ever saying a word.
Bofur is so affectionate. He loves his fellow dwarves without shame and will show it in any number of ways no matter how many people stare. This dude ABSOLUTELY boops noses. Just imagine Dwalin being super serious about something just for Bofur to go *boop* and promptly sprint away Jack Sparrow style as Dwalin Michael Myers walks after him while the rest of the Company cackles. Somebody is cold, Bofur's got two arms for ya. Somebody is tired, Bofur's got a shoulder ripe for the sleepin on. And he will absolutely put his head on top of theirs. If he isn't hugging on someone else, he's on you. He's always happy to wrap his arms around you and do anything aforementioned, but he does get a little nervous sometimes in more intimate settings. He's all charm when he's tucking your hair behind your ear with a wink or pressing his hand to the back of your neck to bring your head closer for a forehead kiss, but he melts whenever you lay your head on his chest and play with his hands. He gets a tickly feeling and finds himself rubbing his neck as a sheepish chuckle falls from his lips.
and last but not least
Bombur is the hug master. You are absolutely encapsulated in a Bombur hug, I don't care how big you are. He's not particularly touchy but hugs? He's there. He gives little pats of appreciation on the back or the knee, not much besides that. With you, however, THE CUDDLE MONSTER. You will never sleep alone again. Not that you would complain, he just strokes your back and in minutes you are dead asleep. It's impossible to stay awake when he's so warm and soft. He is unbelievably warm, so you wouldn't even know it was winter in his arms. He doesn't get flustered when others touch him, but a kiss on the cheek will have him red as rubies on Mars.
Destiny is cruel with its toys (Thranduil x gn!halfelf!reader)
This is the first time I write for Thranduil, so I hope you'll enjoy 🥰
This is a very angsty short fic about reader knowing Thranduil is their soulmate, but him not noticing it.
I promise I'll write something less angsty next time 🙈
Warnings: no proof reading (and English isn't my first language), ANGST, mentions of war, mentions of loneliness and being unloved, no real happy ending
The first time you saw Thranduil, you were the general of a human army. A very smart and skilled one.
You were actually half an elf. Unfortunately the elfish side of your family never loved you. It stung because you would have loved them very dearly.
You didn’t know how to be more "elvish". Therefore, Thranduil barely noticed you; you were just another human in his eyes.
The first time you saw Thranduil, you knew he was meant to be your soulmate. You knew you were meant to be his. The way he talked made you shiver. The way he held himself drove you crazy with pride and want. He was everything you could ask in a mate.
But he was happily married. And you knew better than to try anything.
You were too unworthy of him, you thought.
In the end, the first time you saw Thranduil, you did your job and won a war by the Elves side. Despite your victory, a bitter taste lodged in your mouth and heart: Thranduil didn’t even acknowledge how amazing you did.
When you went back to the kingdom you served, you thought it would be the last time you would see Thranduil.
He didn’t even say goodbye. But why would he, when you didn’t exist to him?
Time passed by and there was not a day you didn’t think of the first and only time you saw Thranduil.
You missed the life you could have had with him.
One day his wife died.
And one day you got betrayed and lost everything. You were not a general anymore and you had to run away.
He became a bitter and violent king.
You became a cruel mercenary.
You were both lonely and unloved.
You kept thinking about him, while Thranduil wondered if he would ever be able to love again.
You offered several time to work for him. And at some point, you ended up in his army.
You stood so close to the light, and yet you were kept hidden in the shadow. Thranduil never realised you were in his kingdom or that he already met you.
Destiny is sadistic, you thought day after day.
After years, you couldn’t stand the situation you were in: almost touching happiness but never fully reaching it.
You decided to leave Mirkwood. You needed a forever home, not an uncomfortable shelter.
When you resigned and announced the news to Thranduil's general, the King happened to appear at that moment.
Destiny didn't want you to end this little game so soon.
Your eyes truly met for the first time.
He froze before quickly walking to you.
Until he spoke.
Like in trance, he cupped your face in both his hands. Warmth spread through your whole body.
Suddenly you were in a very pleasant dream. The happiest of dreams you ever had.
"You've got *her* eyes." he whispered
You understood that Destiny would never stop toying with you.
And you understood that if your soulmate ever loved you, it would only be through his love for his dead wife.
Lord of the rings writers. I love you all. PLEASE. where are the various lord of the rings characters x reader??? Cringy headcanons??? ALL of the fellowship x reader?!!!! Yandere even??? everyone in love with (y/n)???
(A/n: She's BAAAAACKKKK! didja miss me? I missed you guys TT, but I'm back now, and so is the next installation of WAYSOWM, enjoy! ;) a little late, but dang was this one hard to write.)
Why's your family trying to connect so hard with you after so many years of neglect? Well . . . I guess its not all that bad- why are they staring so hard???
(Masterlist)
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"From the top, no bullshit, no lies, what happened? Who are 'they'? And what do you mean lose me?"
No one answered, but you only had your eyes on one person.
Bruce met your stare head-on.
You kept your gaze on Bruce, mouth set in a firm line. You'd be getting your answers tonight, no matter what it took.
"So? You all were so loud just a second ago, what happened?"
Dick cleared his throat,"(Name), calm down, you're gonna strain yourself and push back recovery if you don't breathe. We'll explain," he swept a look across the table, "promise, but not at the expense of your health."
Your patience was wearing thin, "Okay then explain, fuckface." It was clipped, just as short as your current sanity.
Bruce raised his eyebrows in surprise, you didn't often speak like this to anyone, let alone your family. But most people didn't irk you like they currently were either, so you felt like you had a pass.
Jason snorted, looking at you with…was that pride? Tim just furrowed his brows, eyes flicking between your own, scanning for fog or fatigue. Damian scowled, but didn't lose the appraising gleam in his eyes.
And Dick just winced, continuing on, "Okay, do you remember anything from a few days ago? Around Thursday night? You might not have been awake, but your lights were on when I came around so…"
He came around your room on Thursday night?
Why?
Your room was out of the way, there was no reason for him to be around there. But there was also no apparent reason for anything that had happened recently so you pushed that question to the side and probed hard for anything that stood out from a few nights ago.
The concussion definitely wasn't helping you with your search, and neither was the stubborn silence from the others while you thought, eyes fixed to the basket of rolls at the center of the table.
You sighed, irate and impatient, "No Dick, I don't. Why don't you enlighten me?"
Sue you, your head hurt, no one was making any sense, maybe you were getting a little cranky, it was your right.
Tim jumped in now, so you would either get the most convoluted or dumbed down explanation possible. For your sake, you hoped he chose the latter.
"You don't remember any loud sounds? Maybe some loud whirring or a mechanical clang?"
You shook your head slightly, frowning. You did hear some thumps, but that wasn't any cause for concern in this madhouse.
Tim pursed his lips, "Okay, that's fine, maybe something to check out if its related to the concussion but…"
Now the fucker was mumbling to himself. Why couldn't these people just give you straight answers, honestly?
Bruce finally opened his big mouth, "That night, we were visited by versions of ourselves."
You pulled a face, "Like clones? Or like ideal versions of yourselves? Or is this more like a metaphorical thing where you all just had really similar dreams….I'm not following what that has to do with me."
Bruce didn't show any signs of annoyance at the interruption, instead continuing to just stare at you, tense.
"Versions of us from other worlds. They had been sent here by a rogue from their world, and needed our help getting back and catching the man. The inter-verse transport machine made a fair bit of noise while charging, I'm slightly concerned that you don't remember hearing it."
You remembered suddenly that you had been watching something that night, headphones in and sobbing into your pillow when the main character's dad started taking drugs to understand his son better.
There were layers to that you didn't want to unpack, but the main point was that even if you should have heard something, it was plausible that you just missed it.
So you nodded, following along with his story thus far.
"I was doing something, move on."
He just paused for a second, clearly filing that away for later.
"Alfred had come down to check injuries for the group before we sent them back and I'd asked him if we'd woken you up from the sound of the machine. At that…."
Bruce didn't often leave his sentences unfinished, but here he left space for one of the others to fill in.
Surprisingly, it was Damian that stepped up to bat. Perhaps not so surprising, since Damian had never shied away from the harsher truths.
"At that, they stopped completely—even the other me." From the way he said it, you got the idea it was specifically his own reaction to the news that had stuck with him.
"Their world runs slightly ahead of ours. Eight days, to be exact. When the rogue sent them to another world, the idiot messed up and sent them backwards in time, too."
Tim piped up again, "It's an easy mistake, one we had to be careful about when making our own version of the transporter. We had to figure out sending them back not only to the right world, but also to the right time."
Why did they always choose to go on every tangent except the one you were interested in?
"That's great, what does that have to do with me?"
Jason sighed to you right, sounding just as exhausted with the conversation as you felt. But his voice had a different quality to it, something much more hushed than you'd heard in years.
"In their world, you died on Friday."
Oh.
Well that sucked.
You sat there, stunned, letting the scene at the table just wash over you.
You were meant to die on Friday? The Friday that just passed? The Friday you had plans to go get a haircut and visit the park again afterschool?
If you died on Friday how could you study for finals next week? How could you beat the Enderdragon or finally gotten better at Ultrakill like you'd promised yourself months ago?
You still had so much to do, how could you have died on Friday?
And with that you drifted, mind reeling, trying to grapple with the idea of your life cut so short. Death was scary, and to think that it had grabbed you in another world, when you had so many hopes to fulfill and regrets left to settle…
Bruce was snapping his fingers in front of your face when you finally connected your body and mind again. He had knelt down next to your chair, face pulled into something distinctly concerned.
His voice came back to you like waves crashing on a beach.
"(Name)…."
"(Name) sweetheart…."
"back to me…."
"care of you…."
"(Name)?"
"(Name)?"
You came back to yourself with the last call of your name, slightly louder than the others, only one question on your tongue.
"H-How did I die?" It was quiet, wavering so unlike the tone you'd had before.
You felt Jason's solid palm on your shoulder, a grounding weight as he answered somewhere above you.
"Scarecrow attack on the subway, you were one of the casualties. You were on your way to school when it happened."
Now things started to make sense—the impromptu breakfast, Bruce's insistence that you miss school, the whole family coming together that night for dinner.
"But I didn't see it on the news?"
Dick's voice, so gentle, so forlorn, from across the table, "Nightwing and Red Hood managed to capture Scarecrow before sunrise. We had enough evidence of his plans to put him away before he could really hurt anyone."
Oh, well that made sense too.
The only thing that didn't make sense was why they were still taking care of you like this. Stopping the attack was one thing, and you could find it in you to be grateful that they saved your life. But then what was with the museum visit and the special dinner from Alfred and the careful nursing you back to health?
Maybe if they'd cared about you before, you'd understand, but they didn't.
Did you have to die for them to start caring?
That thought was devastating, like a big black hole opened up in the bottom of your ribcage and pulled your heart down down down. Your throat was tight, your eyes started to burn, your food churned uncomfortably in your stomach.
"I don't understand." God you felt like a little kid again, so far out of your depth, unable to keep up with the family you'd once considered your own.
Bruce was rubbing circles on the back of your hand, another grounding point.
"What don't you understand, sweetheart"
He'd called you sweetheart as a child. Among other pet names—honey, darling, bug—god was it weird to hear them again.
"So what?" you really wished you could project confidence into your voice, desperate not to bear your neck to the world so easily.
Bruce's face contorted again, and your father looked so, so sad.
"Ask, honey, ask me what it is you're thinking. Let me in, let me fix what I've broken."
The others shuffled out of the room silently as you shook in your seat, leaving you and Bruce alone in the dining room. Later you'd appreciate it, but currently it felt like being trapped in the bullpen.
"You don't care. You never cared," you were parroting what you'd already said, but they meant something different now, something less cynical and more raw.
"Why is it that I had to die for you to speak to me. I-I don't know you anymore, not since you left me." The tears were flowing freely now, headache pounding at the pressure of your emotions, cascading over your cheeks.
"You left me! I was so young, and I needed you, and you left me! Why wasn't I enough? I would have done anything for you. I would have gone anywhere, worn any cape, been anything if it meant that you would just look at me."
Bruce was crestfallen, and it was with shocking clarity that you realized you could read him. You still knew him and after all these years you'd never forgotten what it felt like to understand him.
"I've been so alone in this house. I don't know anyone here. I fill the gaps myself, but god, Dad, I'm so tired. And I'm so alone."
Not many people could read Bruce Wayne, and you thought you'd left that club long ago, but evidently not.
It was in the pull of his brows, so alike your own.
It was the open grief in his eyes, ones you'd seen in another color in the mirror.
It was in the slump of his shoulders, the same ones you used to fall asleep on after galas.
"(Name)…I'm sorry. I'm sorry for a hundred things. I wish I could go back in time and beat some sense into myself. I wish I'd listened to Alfred when he told me I was doing the wrong thing."
Alfred? Alfred knew? Alfred cared? Another thing to unpack later.
Bruce continued on, determined, "But I have the rest of my life to offer you apologies, tonight I'm going to give you promises, ones I intend to keep."
You just kept sniffling, focusing on a spot on his collar instead of meeting his eyes.
"I promise I'm going to be there for you from now on. I'm going to fulfill my responsibilities as your father, and I will never let you go again."
Pause. Never? What an odd thought.
His words were constricting instead of comforting.
You wanted a father, but not one born out of guilt.
Your death had been thwarted, so why was there still the feeling of a collar tightening around your neck? You wanted to rebuild your relationship with Bruce, not be thrust into whatever echo of the past he saw when he looked at you.
"You're mine, not in the way that the others are, but in the way that you are. Do you understand, sweetheart? It's okay if you don't right now, it's been a long night."
No you didn't understand. What did that mean 'not in the way the others were'? It was a little strong for a promise made so easily.
You shook your head, uneasy with the 'promises' you'd been made.
He just pulled you into his chest, cradling you with one large hand on your neck, "Lets get you to bed, you're due for another round of painkillers soon."
"Don' want them," you groaned, the few times you'd woken up after taking Bruce's meds you'd felt a syrupy tug at the corners of your brain, hard to shake off.
A thought struck you, one you kicked yourself for not realizing before. And then you kicked yourself again because there was absolutely no way you were right about what you were thinking.
Bruce held you tighter, almost trying to fuse the two of you together, "I promised I'd take care of you, didn't I? That means not letting you neglect your health. You're taking medication tonight, and tomorrow when you wake up, we'll have a long conversation about certain changes that need to be made. But that's for when you're a little more up to it."
Medication schedule, huh? Two little pink pills that made you oh so sleepy? Blame it on the concussion addled haze in your head, but that was real fishy.
But Batman? Bruce Wayne? Doing what you thought he was doing?
No…right?
And changes? What changes?
Warning bells, the same ones that rang when you'd first gone to brunch with your father, started ringing again, cutting through the rest of your thoughts.
Yes, you wanted changes, but not like this. Yes you wanted to reconnect with your family, but not like this. You didn't want to die. You didn't want to be concussed. You didn't want to feel like you couldn't breathe, caged in Bruce's arms.
"No more pink pills," you rasped out against his sternum, testing at the hold of your new restraints, "make me feel gross."
You might not be a Bat, but it was common sense not to willingly take sedatives, no matter how carefully presented to you.
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(A/n: Again, in all honesty, this chapter gave me a newfound appreciation for angst writers because omg is it hard to write a scene where a character's bearing open their heart without squirming uncomfortably in your seat. Anyway, as always, all feedback is appreciated and well loved!!!)
