Miscommunication

Miscommunication

Gamzee x Standoffish!Reader

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Life wasn’t always kind, it didn't wait for people to catch their breaths, it didn't let you get used to what it threw at you, and it certainly never slowed down. Life had taught you the best thing to do was to meet it halfway and keep trudging. You had built a calloused exterior over time to deal  with it. The sort of exterior that pushed people away because you couldn’t bring yourself to accept a hand held out in your direction. There was always some clause, some string, attached and you’d be damned before you fell for it. So for all of life’s pitfalls you’d hardened yourself against the potential. It worked as long as you didn’t count all the people you never meant to rub wrong- which you rarely did. If people were meant to be in your life they'd chip away at the walls you'd been steadfast in reinforcing, though you could admit to yourself you often made it far harder for people than you meant to. A small sacrifice for protection against getting hurt again.

Or so you had told yourself.

You’d been happy to be a prickly douche to whoever so much as looked at you for too long, snapping and glaring at every little thing life threw at you, and then you'd met Gamzee. The most spaced out, laid back motherfucker you had ever seen. Nothing fazed the troll. No barbed comment, no sneered look, no potential fight. It was as if he lived in a perpetual bubble of chill and good peace. After awhile it seemed almost cruel on your end to be mean to him at all. You’d been looking for a roommate to share your apartment with- rent was getting tighter each day and you knew it was only a matter of time before a check finally bounced- and Gamzee had simply made himself right at home. 

You had wanted an Alternian roommate specifically to guarantee they’d mind their business so you could mind yours. Too bad Gamzee never got that memo. Or maybe he had and simply ignored it. Just like he’d ignored your attempts to make him leave you alone and stop letting himself into your room to “hang” or sprawling along the couch to be in your personal bubble. No matter how many times you snapped and snarled and attempted to get him to do as everyone else did and fuck off he had remained. In fact the more you tried to scare him off the more he seemed to make himself right at home. It completely baffled you at first as to why you couldn't make him leave and then slowly you had begun to accept it. 

Begrudgingly and with the same level of discomfort as someone having their teeth pulled. 

That seemed to be all Gamzee needed to get truly comfortable. The minute you had begun to see Gamzee as a friend and start to open up to the clown he’d dug his claws in with all the glee of a child refusing to let go of a beloved toy. He invited you everywhere with him, sometimes not even waiting for an answer. You had thought it the desperate actions of a quadrantless troll- until he finally introduced you to his “palest of diamonds”. Karkat was like looking in a fucked up funhouse mirror. The two of you snapping at each other and pushing away in all the similar ways. It was no wonder Gamzee had seemed so comfortable with you. He had a type! And apparently you fit the bill. It had taken much longer for you and Karkat to get acquainted than it had with Gamzee but when you did it was clear the clown had used the same tactics he was using on you now to get Karkat as his moirail. 

A complete and utter disregard for your stubborn and standoffish nature. 

Though according to Karkat your long term roommate had a dark side, one you hadn’t seen and was hard to believe, but sometimes you thought you caught glimpses of it when he thought you weren’t paying attention. Calculating lucidity that would flicker in his otherwise stoned and glazed over eyes. It was easy to dismiss. 

But today you were reconsidering that dismissal. 

It had started out all the same. You’d had the day off work and had taken to lounging on the couch with your phone using the TV as background noise. Whatever conversation you had started out having with one of your few friends had devolved into archaic memes and had long abandoned coherence a good fifteen minutes or so ago. Gamzee would be home soon, you had memorized his schedule out of necessity from the times he’d wandered into the bathroom to grab some of his things while you had been showering. The mortification had been brutal and your landlord had banned changing the locks in the apartment for reasons lost to you. So the bathroom lock remained broken and you had memorized Gamzee’s schedule as a consequence. Since then there had been no mortifying bathroom mishaps. Not that Gamzee had seemed bothered at any point, he hadn’t been creepy about it either, just grabbing his things as if you weren’t there at all. You weren’t sure whether to be grateful or concerned but had settled uneasily on grateful. Today was no different than any other when he got back. Humming and chuckling to himself as he shed off his jacket and left it on the floor when he came in- another losing battle with him- before wandering into the kitchen without a care in the world. It was as if he hadn’t even realized you were home as he rooted around in the fridge for what you assumed was faygo. The two of you would have to go grocery shopping sometime soon, food and drinks were getting low again. You could hear him shut the fridge with his hip and the soft hiss of carbonation as he unscrewed the lid on his soda and wandered into the living room where you were still curled up on the couch. For a moment neither of you said anything and then you could feel as his eyes slid to and over you. Again that rare lucid clarity came to his eyes in a brief flash before it was replaced by the ever present glaze as he smiled wide to see you. 

“Hey buddy! You all up and got the day off?”

“Yeah. Figured I’d just relax.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.” He was still smiling that crooked smile as he hooked one long leg over the top of the couch and began climbing over it. You watched mildly unbothered by whatever strange fancy had struck him now as you continued sharing memes on your phone with your friend. Unfortunately that was all the acceptance Gamzee needed to plop onto the couch and then flop directly on top of you.

“Gamzee what are you doing?” You asked calmly. Maybe a little bit tiredly knowing from the start that it was a losing battle. 

“I’m just gettin’ my cuddle on.” He replied cheerful as ever. One arm snaked underneath your back to wrap around you as he began slowly inching his way up your body to rest his head on your chest. He’d had the fortunate thought to tilt his head so you wouldn’t be gored by his long goat-like horns. But it didn’t stop him from snuggling himself closer. Sighing heavily you set your phone aside and wrapped an arm around his neck. 

“Didn’t we have a talk about this yesterday?”

“I dunno. Did we? I just wanna get my motherfuckin’ cuddles on. Feelin’ all sorts a clingy lately.” 

“What do you mean?” You asked curiously but Gamzee’s mind was clearly already drifting away as he snuggled into your hold. One of his hands dangled off the couch with the bottle of faygo and you hoped he wouldn’t drop it. It took forever to clean up and you’d just cleaned the rug not even three days ago. For a while the two of you just laid there, Gamzee’s ear twitching as he listened to your heartbeat. His clawed fingertips on the arm wrapped around you tapped what you figured must be the beat of your heart on your side. You were half asleep underneath him, the chilled weight of his body helping calm you, when he finally shifted. You glanced down at him and found his chin resting on your chest as he looked up at you. Again that lucidity had returned to his eyes as he watched you. 

And then the unthinkable happened. The thing that turned your thoughts on the clown upside down. 

He slid in closer and before you realized what he was doing he had pressed his lips to yours. The first thing you registered was that they were cold, the second thing had been the slick slide of the greasepaint he wore as his mouth moved against yours, and the third was the way he was still staring at you. His eyes were still open, still watching, as he pressed his mouth to yours insistently. Your sound of confused surprise was muffled as he shifted his head just so and his tongue licked across the meat of your bottom lip. Eyes wide and shocked you tensed and he nipped lightly at your mouth before pulling away a more smug smile on his face. 

“You taste like popsicles.” He told you voice pitched strangely. Swallowing nervously you struggled to find words to even say to him. 

“Gamzee?”

“Hm?”

“What the hell was that for?” You hated how meek you sounded but the shock had been too great. He’d never even given you an inclination he saw you as anything more than a good friend.

“A motherfucker can’t just all up and kiss his matesprit?” He asked, clearly confused. 

“Your what?” 

His eyes suddenly went as wide as yours, a startling look on his face as he seemed to struggle to keep them open most of the time. 

“Oh shit.” He breathed, “I forgot to ask you.”

Comfort

Somewhere you could hear distant music, the notes soft and faint to the point you could delude yourself into thinking it was only in your head. The music coupled with the open window and the gentle breeze that would sway through your curtains created a sort of softness to the atmosphere. Or maybe it was the lethargy caused by the summer heat. You could never be too sure on that one. Laying on your bed you continued to lazily card your fingers through soft white curls. He’d fallen asleep some time ago and you were pleased to know he was getting any decent sleep at all. His weight was a comfort, head pillowed slightly below your chest and one arm wrapped underneath you around your waist. Had someone told you he was cuddly you might have laughed, but in a way it made a strange sort of sense. He was a twin after all, once upon a time he’d been so close to another as to share the same womb. You wondered if that was a thing with twins, if they’d spend their whole lives craving that sort of closeness with somebody. 

It had to be lonely if so. 

Your eyes drifted to your ceiling, the stars you’d placed there sometime in your youth when things were simple and you had yearned for the vastness of space to swallow you whole. Even pain, even suffering, had seemed simple then. But that had been long ago and you would never know how to explain to that younger self of yours what had led to your current situation. You couldn’t really explain it to anyone at all. Nails lightly scratching along his scalp you tried to recall when this closeness the two of you had had started but that moment was a blur amongst soft niceness you’d shown him since you had known him. It was in your nature to be kind and you had long stopped trying to deny yourself the urge to tend to others. Just as it had been in your nature to be cruel so that you could not be hurt. 

In his sleep Pietro shifted, tightening his hold. A freed hand shimmied under your body, curling loosely around a shoulder blade, before he settled. Wrapping an arm over the lean expanse of his back you let him curl close and intimate. Despite the intimacy there was no desire there. No lust. Just a warmth from the unspoken trust between you. In all the time you had known him he had been a friend and an enemy and a companion. A myriad of complicated truths and history between the two of you. 

An old friend.

Watching him now in his vulnerable sleep your eyes found the scars that peeked from underneath his shirt. The faded burns of hateful fire, the jagged scratches of war, and the stinging straight slashes of betrayal. When you had first tried to know him he’d been wild-eyed with stolen youth. Expecting a knife in the back that you never gave. He was cruel then, cruel in his suffering for fear of much the same. You had your moments of cruelty too back then. Time and experience had curbed that cruelty and dulled it with compassion and melancholy. He carried with him a great never ending sadness behind quick wit and sharp barbs. Once, when he’d been vulnerable and you had simply been there he spoke of a community afraid to love him in fear he’d be snatched from them. Of a time and place where his differences didn’t just affect him but his entire family. How he strived to embrace his own culture with the hope it would be brave enough to embrace him back. The fear his mother had, his aunt you would learn but she had always been his mother in his eyes, that he would be taken from her simply because he looked different than what the world thought the Roma should look like. That one day someone would snatch her own child from her and claim he’d been stolen from them instead. You would have liked to claim that you’d had an intelligent reply to that confession but you’d been younger then and newer to the world- suffered in different ways to the man that would become your friend- all you had been able to do was listen and offer him a hand to hold. Miraculously that had seemed to be enough for a while. You had educated yourself after that, made a better effort to understand so that he wouldn’t have to explain at every turn. 

Perhaps that had been a turning point between the two of you, one of many. A genuine attempt at understanding him when he felt isolated. Or perhaps that had been a mere moment and the turning point had been something else. Either way you had gotten to know him and he in turn had gotten to know you. Despite the terrible things you were both capable of, despite the way you had both hurt each other at times, despite every hurtle and thorn and fight between the two of you somehow you had managed to hold onto each other. You would never be sure if the way you wordlessly let him in and out of your life was healthy, if the hurt between the two of you ran deeper than either of you were comfortable admitting, but you had your moments. Moments as soft as this where the two of you were simply people. Simply seeking comfort. You could live with that. With knowing that Pietro found comfort when he needed it not just from his sister but from a friend. 

Even at your most terrible you had never denied him that. Even at his. Maybe that made you foolish, but you couldn’t deny that it could be sweet. Rubbing a hand over his back you closed your eyes, letting the afternoon heat lull you. In your bones you knew something would call him away, that some disaster or world altering tragedy would ask for him, demand his help in blood. But for the moment it was you and him in the safety of your childhood bed, a moment suspended in time and softness. For now there was the surety of comfort, the steady weight on top of you and the warmth of skin. A togetherness you rarely shared with anyone else. 

For now that was enough.

Rodimus x Professional!Reader Pt. 3

Warnings: This one is definitely smutty.

This is entirely from Rodimus POV.

Part 1- https://www.tumblr.com/morsartis/712466508763299840/rodimus-x-professionalreader-pt-1?source=share

Part 2- https://www.tumblr.com/morsartis/712534482204377088/rodimus-x-professionalreader-pt-2?source=share

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“Please let him know that if he fails to follow your direct orders again he will be transferred regardless.” His voice was cold. Far colder than he’d ever wanted to use with you. “I’ve transferred the documents to you for review. Good night.”

He left your quarters quickly after that, the anger on your behalf feeding into the possessive hunger seeing you in such a state had caused. If he had stayed longer he feared what he might do as it was Rodimus stumbled into his room in a daze, the sight of your pretty red panties seared into his mind along with a still lingering emotion of possessive rage. Did you even realize it was the same red as his paint? Did you wear the pair often? His mind jumped to the times he had to sit through boring meeting after boring meeting with you, had you been wearing those panties then? That bra? His fans kicked on at the thought. The mental image of you in the lacey fabric had him groaning in arousal. He knew it was wrong, that he shouldn’t, but his hand found his interface panel latch without a thought and soon his spike was pressurizing at a near alarming rate. Servos wrapped around the base of his spike Rodimus hissed and sighed. He could see it in his mind’s optic, you bent over his desk while he was glossa deep inside you. Crying out for him so prettily, little pleas of ‘sir’ and ‘captain’ and ‘Rodimus’ falling from your lips. Mind too far gone to even worry about that sorry excuse for a commander. Those panties pooled around your ankles as your legs shook. You’d be so tight around his spike, he wasn’t even sure it’d fit. Just the tip might be all your body could take and it was that thought that had his hips jerking in arousal. Would he have to fuck you in his holoform? Would you like his holoform? He’d used it so rarely but when he had humans had seemed to think he was attractive. Attractive enough to hit on at least. He bit down on his lip to stifle a particularly loud groan at the idea of his holoform fucking you in the backseat of his alt-mode like those old Earth movies liked to show. Your pretty valve- there was a human word for it but his mind was too far gone to come up with it- snug around his spike with your legs wrapped around his hips. The moan that left him at the thought of your eyes all teary and hazy from lust and pleasure bordered on pornographic. Would you claw at his back? Beg him to fuck you against his own seats? Rodimus turned his optics back online abruptly realizing he was still leaning against the door of his room jerking his spike like an adolescent sparkling having their first dirty fantasy. Venting erratically Rodimus shuffled towards his berth and flopped down on it. Propping one leg on the berth and the other on the floor he let his helm fling back against it with a clang. Servos finding his spike again offlined his optics to the thought of you riding his holoform, still wearing those panties and bra. The panties had been pulled to the side so he could thrust his spike into you and the bra had been pushed up so he could mouth at your chest. He could taste the sweat on your skin, feel the burn in his scalp when you tugged his holoform’s hair. A new thought came to him unbidden as his overload neared. The fantasy changing to him watching you shamelessly rut against his spike like an animal in heat. His spike is big enough you’re able to wrap your thighs around it for leverage and the pressure and feel of your skin against his spike has his hips stuttering. You mouth at his tip, sucking and licking like its all you can fixate on as your body grinds and grinds and grinds against his spike. Your eyes meet his as you swallow what little of his spike you’re able to and start humping his spike hard and fast. Its over as quickly as it began. Rodimus overloads all over his own servos and hand your name barely bitten back as his hips undulate of their own accord. Even his valve gives a gush of transfluid as it throbs with want. His entire body seems to spark with that arousal. He’s still ridiculously turned on but the fantasies his mind wants to feed him now are far worse than his previous indulgence. He locks them away quickly, never to see the light of day again.

Happiness Will Come To You.

Compliment Part 2

Peter Maximoff x Reader

Tagged: @floraroselaughter

It’d been weeks since your rather awkward encounter with Peter, well maybe awkward wasn’t the right word for it. Hindsight had been a bit of an eye opener for you after that day and you had spent that time growing more and more embarrassed with yourself. It wasn’t that you were ashamed of it, not at all, in fact it was more the urge to keep doing it that had caught you off guard. Watching Peter the way you liked to do had revealed he didn’t have many friends and certainly even less compliments. Your one off handed compliment had seemed to brighten his week and as you watched him revert back to his old self you couldn’t help but feel… Sad. Everyone deserved compliments. While you yourself hadn’t been on the receiving end of many compliments that didn’t mean others weren’t deserving of them. Your mother had drilled into your head to be the change you wanted to see in the world and mostly you just wished people were kinder to each other. Especially with all this mutant nonsense that seemed to be cropping up. Perhaps you were tenderhearted with your belief that one should do unto others as they’d wish others would do unto them, perhaps you were overly optimistic in the hope that humans and mutants could coexist. You weren’t sure. 

But you did know that you liked seeing others happy. 

After having worked yourself into an embarrassed mess over the compliment a few weeks ago it took you some time to work up the courage to try it again. This time however you took your time formulating the compliment you wanted to give. It’d be something small, insignificant to most, but something only someone who was watching might think to give. Arguably you knew he was self conscious of certain things. It was quite obvious in the way he acted what made him jittery. So there you were in your shared class with your chin in your palm as the teacher droned on in the background. Peter seemed to be developing heterochromia in his eyes, that pale blue ring to them more visible now than before. But you had already complimented them. You didn’t want to come off as a broken record. Instead you had zeroed in on his hair. Years of watching your mother straighten her own hair had given you a clue what natural straight hair and ironed straight hair looked like. As track season had begun and Peter had taken to it you’d noticed that his hair had gotten almost curly at the roots. Why he’d hide such a thing didn’t make sense to you but you figured that was just something he did. His eyes darted to your own and he tensed clearly not expecting you to be watching, giving him a warm smile you hummed to yourself in thought. The smile was what made him pause. His lips parted to speak and you were reminded that he also had nice lips. They looked soft despite most likely being chapped. Kissable. That particular thought was set aside for later. 

“You’d look nice with curly hair.” You spoke, interrupting him before he could speak himself. The soft incessant tapping of his foot paused. For a moment he merely stared back at you. He blinked the words setting in slowly. But just like the last time you complimented him that barely there blush threatened to rise to his cheeks. His face was more round than other boys, betraying a youth that hadn’t yet left him in favor of puberty. He cleared his throat after a moment, eyes darting nervously around the room to see if anyone had heard or was paying any attention. Or perhaps he was looking to see if you’d been set up by someone. That thought rather hurt. 

“I look weird with curly hair.” He mumbled after a moment. His hand scrubbed over his face and you couldn’t help but smile a little more. 

“I think you’d look handsome.” You shrugged. To your fascination that blush deepened, his face reddened in such a way that you could clearly see the pink. Those interesting eyes darted between you and somewhere off to the side as if trying to think of something to say. Something to refute your claim. But you continued to gaze at him with a warm smile. 

“You have nice lips.” He blurted out your eyes widened the same time his did. That blush now a bright flaming unmistakable red as he ducked his head. “Fuck.” He hissed to himself. 

Huh. You thought past the embarrassment. You tried not to immediately deny the compliment as sudden as it was. Had he been staring too? Your face felt warm as your smile curled a little at the edges with the heat. Going more crooked as the embarrassment set in. Taking a steady breath you willed your voice not to crack. 

“Thanks.” Your voice swelled with that bashful feeling threatening to overwhelm you. Gnawing on your cheek you glanced away. When you glanced back you found him staring right at you, some strange expression on his face you couldn’t place. Unsure of yourself you shuffled nervously in your seat. Strangely enough you could have sworn you saw his pupils dilate but that was silly. 

He cleared his throat suddenly and flipped erratically through the book you were supposed to be reading for your class. Taking that as your cue you opened your own book and flipped to where you’d marked the pages. Self consciously your fingers trailed to your lips. You couldn’t help but let out a silent huff of amusement at what an awkward pair the two of you must have made. As the teacher continued to talk you glanced shyly back up at him and found his eyes. 

“I like your jacket too. It’s cute.” 

He shuffled around in his seat, teeth digging into his lower lip. A pretty deer in headlights. 

“I like the little hearts you doodle in your notebook.” He blurted and then flushed red yet again. It was clear he hadn’t meant to say that either. The confession caught you off guard, you didn’t think anyone noticed the little absentminded doodles you drew when you were struggling to focus. Much less noticed enough to realize what they were. Which meant that somehow Peter had been watching you like you had been watching him. All without you having noticed at all. The heat in your face returned but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. 

“You do?” You asked, unable to hide the bashful tone of your voice. Those wide eyes skittered across your face and you wondered what he could possibly be thinking. 

“Yeah.” He answered plainly. “They, uh, they’re cute. I mean…” He trailed off clearly trying to think of something to say and grasping at straws. Taking pity on him and on yourself you found yourself stretching your leg out to rest your ankle against his. The featherlight touch had his foot immediately stilling, freezing him momentarily in place before he swallowed so hard his adam’s apple visibly jumped. 

“Thank you.” You told him genuinely. It was strange how that was the compliment that caught you the most. An unwitting admittance to being perceived by someone else. You had gone to pull your leg from his when his leg suddenly twisted to lock yours into place. Shifting so that the back of your ankle was pressed against the front of his. A new, surprising, development. Did Peter… Like touch? Did he want it? In all your time observing him you hadn’t noticed a preference for or against it. But if he wanted touch… You forced your leg to relax against his. Letting it rest there as if it were the most natural thing in the world as you turned back to your book. For the rest of the class period the two of you stayed like that. Ankles locked together harmlessly under your desks.