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dakusan · 2 months ago

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S U R P R I S I N G S K Z O N T O U R — B A C K S T A G E

stray kids ot8 x reader | post-show sweat. backstage chaos. and the person they missed more than sleep.

🌙 synopsis: they’ve been gone for weeks—sweating under stadium lights, screaming into mic stands, hearts beating to the rhythm of a thousand voices. they’ve given everything. every night. to everyone. and then—it’s you. standing in the hallway. soft smile. no warning. no cameras. just you. and suddenly, the lights aren’t the brightest thing in the room anymore. this isn’t just a surprise. it’s home. it’s you.

💌 a/n: welcome to Tender Tuesday™. yes i made sure it's tuesday this time not like last time!!! this was written under the influence of 1 delusional daydream in a dressing room mirror and the mental image of Han Jisung tripping over his own mic pack trying to hug you. p.s. reblog this like you’re the one showing up in their hoodie p.p.s. drink water or bang chan will fly home and force-feed you oranges p.p.p.s. do yourselves a favour and go listen to the song. it’s disgustingly cute. if you somehow haven’t heard it yet—first of all, how dare you. second of all, fix that. also. watch skz react to their own mv for it. it’s unhinged. they are unwell. you will be too. you're welcome ♡

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers

🎧 » Your Eyes — Stray Kids « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:16 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Bang Chan // 방찬

The show ends in a blur of lights, sweat, and deafening screams. Chan’s still catching his breath, chest rising and falling beneath the drenched tank top clinging to his body, mic still clipped to his jaw. The rest of the boys are collapsing into couches or toweling off, high on adrenaline and crowd energy.

Chan’s scanning the staff in the hallway with that ever-present leader instinct—checking on everyone, nodding at sound techs, offering quick praise to dancers. He turns the corner near the dressing rooms.

And stops. Like, full stop.

Because you’re standing there.

In his hoodie. Holding a bottle of water. Smiling like you belong here. Which you do. But he wasn’t expecting you for another week.

“…No way.”

He blinks twice. Looks behind him, like maybe you’re a mirage conjured by exhaustion. Then his whole face shatters into the softest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Wait—no, wait—no way.”

You laugh, arms opening before he even moves.

And then he runs.

No hesitation. No chill. Just full-speed Chan, sweaty, glowing, chest heaving, launching himself into your arms like gravity gave up on him the second you appeared. His arms lock around your waist instantly, head tucked into your neck, and he just holds you.

Tight. So tight it’s like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he lets go.

“You—” his voice cracks, and he laughs into your shoulder, breathless and slightly delirious. “You’re really here.”

You nod, arms around him. “Surprise.”

“Are you kidding?” he whispers, pulling back just enough to look at you, eyes wide, glassy. “That was the best surprise of my entire life.”

You brush his hair off his sweaty forehead. “You killed it out there.”

“I missed you out there,” he says, no filter, no hesitation.

And then he kisses you. Hard. Fast. Desperate. Like he doesn’t have time to say everything he feels and this is the only language he has left. When he pulls back, he presses your foreheads together and murmurs, “Don’t leave. Not yet. I need you right here.”

So you stay. In the hallway. Wrapped in each other. As the rest of the world continues spinning—but he’s only looking at you.

Lee Know // 리노

He’s calm. Collected. Leaning against a wall backstage post-show, sipping from a water bottle and nodding along as someone from staff debriefs him on the schedule. Typical Minho—quiet confidence, unreadable eyes, dancer precision. He just performed for 30,000 people and still looks mildly bored.

Until his gaze shifts. And lands on you.

For a second, he doesn’t react at all. Just stares. Like you short-circuited his brain. Eyes flicking from your shoes, to your hoodie (his), to your soft little smile like:

No. No no no. That’s not real. She’s not supposed to be here—

Then—

“…You’re kidding.” His voice is flat, but his ears are bright red.

You open your arms casually, like this isn’t the most romantic ambush of his life. He blinks. Slowly. Then glances at the staff member, mutters a distracted, “Sorry, I gotta go fall apart real quick,” and walks straight into you.

No running. No drama. Just quiet urgency. Hands on your waist. Forehead against your shoulder. Breathing you in like you’re oxygen and he’s been holding his breath the entire tour.

“I hate you,” he mumbles.

You smile into his hair. “No you don’t.”

He squeezes you tighter. “I really do.”

You laugh. “Why?”

“Because you showed up looking like that and now I have to pretend I’m fine when I’m actually thinking about skipping every stop on this tour just to drag you home.”

Your heart stutters. And then, softer—

“…I missed you.”

He doesn’t say it loud. Doesn’t need to. It’s in the way he won’t let go. The way his jaw’s clenched and his fingers are shaking slightly. The way he presses a kiss to your neck like it’s instinct. He pulls back just enough to look at you, and for the first time in a while—he actually smiles. That rare, real one. The one he only gives you.

“You could’ve warned me,” he says.

You shrug. “Wouldn’t have been as fun.”

He rolls his eyes. Then leans in, whispers in your ear, voice low and warm: “…You’re not sleeping alone tonight. Not after this.”

And you know. Under all the chill, the deadpan sarcasm, the perfect stage face—he’s shaken. And he’s so happy you’re here.

Changbin // 창빈

He’s pacing.

Shirt stuck to his back. Sweat dripping from his neck. Still riding the post-show high—wired, panting, glowing. He’s halfway through retelling a moment from the encore to a staff member, hands flailing, voice slightly hoarse—

Then he sees you.

And it’s over.

The world tilts. The noise dies. And his eyes go wide—like someone hit the brakes on his heart.

“…No way. NO WAY—”

He stumbles forward like his feet can’t decide whether to walk or run. His arms are already out. You barely get a breath in before he scoops you up into the most chaotic, all-consuming bear hug of your life. Your feet leave the floor. Your lungs get crushed. He spins you in a full circle before collapsing against a wall with you still in his arms.

“You—” he breathes, “I’m gonna cry. I swear. I’m not joking.”

You laugh into his neck. “Cry, then.”

“I might! I literally—what the hell. You were supposed to be in another country! You lied to me!”

You look up at him, grinning. “Yeah. And I’d do it again.”

He stares at you, eyes shining with disbelief and affection and something deeper that lives in his chest just for you. And then, he kisses your forehead. Slow. Grateful.

“I missed you so much it physically hurt,” he mumbles, voice cracking.

Then, a beat later: “You’re not leaving. You hear me? You’re staying with me ‘til tour’s over. I don’t care what we have to cancel.”

He presses his forehead to yours, and for a second, he’s not Changbin from Stray Kids. He’s just Binnie. Yours. Sweaty, shaky, and so, so in love.

Hyunjin // 현진

He’s sitting in front of the dressing room mirror. Still in his stage outfit. Still glowing. Still breathing fast. His head is bowed, fingers twitching over his knees, lost in the afterglow of a stage that nearly tore his heart out.

And then—

He looks up. Sees the door open. And sees you. Standing there. Wearing his hoodie. Eyes glassy with emotion, like you’ve been watching him the whole time.

At first, he doesn’t move. Just stares. And then—his whole body shatters. He’s up. Fast. But not loud. Not running. More like a storm gathering itself—slow, trembling, dangerous in how much it feels.

You whisper, “Hi, baby.”

And he’s in front of you before you can finish the breath. Hands cradling your face. Eyes searching yours like you’re not real.

“You—” he whispers, voice hoarse, “—you came?”

You nod. “I couldn’t stay away.”

And his lips part like he wants to say something profound, poetic, worthy of the art you are to him—but instead, all that comes out is:

“…I missed you.”

Then he pulls you in and hugs you like a drowning man grabbing the surface. One hand fisting your shirt. The other buried in your hair. His body shakes.

You feel his breath hitch once. Then again.

“Jinnie,” you whisper, “are you crying?”

He laughs through it, wet and shaky. “Shut up.”

You hold him tighter.

“You always do this to me,” he murmurs against your ear. “You always show up and make me feel like I’m seventeen again. Like love isn’t terrifying. Like I deserve it.”

You cup his cheeks, wipe the tears from under his eyes with your thumbs.

“Because you do.”

And he kisses you. So softly. Like a secret he wants to keep safe. Like he’s terrified this is a dream he’ll wake up from.

Han // 한

He’s still bouncing. Literally. Post-show adrenaline, sweat-drenched tank top, mic still clipped, rambling to whoever will listen about the crowd’s energy like—

“Bro, when the beat dropped in ‘Topline’? I almost exploded. Did you hear them? They were SCREAMING—”

Then he sees you.

You’re standing near the monitors. Hidden behind a stack of towels and staff gear. You’re just smiling, waiting. No cameras. No dramatic intro. Just you, soft-eyed and glowing in his hoodie.

He stares. And then? Absolutely. Freaking. Explodes.

“NO. WAIT—WHAT. WHAT—?!”

He screams. Actually screams. Everyone turns. Staff flinches. Someone drops a water bottle.

“YOU’RE HERE?!!” His voice cracks mid-yell. “YOU LIED TO ME!! YOU ABSOLUTE—ANGELIC—GENIUS—LIAR!!”

He’s running toward you now, full anime-level sprint, and crashes into you like a human wrecking ball. Arms tight, body buzzing, face buried in your neck like he needs to smell you just to prove this is real.

You’re laughing. “Hi, Ji—”

“Don’t talk to me,” he sobs. “You’re not real. I’m dreaming. I died on stage. This is heaven.”

“You’re sweaty.”

“I’m in love.”

You giggle and hug him tighter. He pulls back just enough to cup your face, eyes wide, pupils dilated, voice very serious: “Do you realize what you’ve done? You just caused an actual chemical reaction in my body. Like—my heart rate? THROUGH THE ROOF.”

“You okay?”

“No. Absolutely not. This is the most romantic moment of my entire life. I’m gonna need to sit down or I’ll propose by accident.”

You lean in and kiss the tip of his nose. He melts. Literally folds in half. “I’m keeping you,” he mumbles. “Like. Forever. Tour wife. This is happening. Don’t fight me.”

Felix // 필릭스

He’s glowing.

Skin glistening, hair damp, cheeks flushed from the encore. There’s glitter on his shoulders and stars in his eyes. He’s still catching his breath, thanking staff one by one with the kind of gentle sincerity only Felix knows how to give.

And then he turns the corner and stops breathing entirely.

Because you’re there. Backstage. In his hoodie. Hands behind your back. Smile blooming like spring.

He freezes. No words. No movement. Just a single, whispered—

“Angel…?”

You nod, eyes already brimming with tears. “Hi, sunshine.”

And that’s it. His body moves before his brain catches up. He walks toward you slow, almost reverently—like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks. Then suddenly you’re in his arms. Pressed flush to his chest, arms wrapped tight, face buried in your shoulder as he sighs. Not out of relief—out of pure emotional collapse.

“I missed you so much,” he whispers. “Like—so much. Like every night I looked for you and had to pretend I was fine.”

Your hand runs through his hair. “I know, baby. I know.”

He pulls back just enough to see your face, cupping your cheeks with both hands like you’re made of porcelain and sunlight.

“You’re real. You’re here. You’re mine.”

And then—he kisses you. Soft. Long. Like he has nothing to rush. Like he’s home. When he pulls back, he giggles through a sniffle.

“Okay. No one tell the others but… this is the best part of tour.”

Seungmin // 승민

He’s standing by the water cooler, towel around his neck, completely sweat-soaked and still glowing with that quiet Seungmin-brand confidence. He’s mid-sip when he spots you—half-hidden behind some gear cases, just… watching him.

For a full three seconds, he doesn’t react. Just blinks. Tilts his head. Tries to process. Then you wave. And he chokes on his water. He coughs. Clears his throat. Wipes his mouth on his sleeve. Then squints like you have some explaining to do.

You walk toward him slowly, smiling like you didn’t just shatter his entire emotional equilibrium.

“You—what? You were—” He frowns. “You weren’t supposed to be here.”

“That’s the point,” you say softly.

He goes quiet. Eyes flicking over your face, your outfit (one of his shirts, because of course), the little hopeful twitch of your mouth. And something in him just… cracks. “...That’s really mean,” he mutters, eyes glassy. “I could’ve emotionally prepared. Now I look stupid.”

You smile, stepping into his space, hands finding his waist. “You look perfect.”

He scoffs. “Sweaty. Smells like a wet dog.”

“Still perfect.”

And that’s when he lets out the tiniest, tiniest sigh. Like all the fight went out of him. He tugs you into a hug, arms wrapping around your back, his chin resting lightly on your head. “Don’t let go,” he mumbles. “I’m not doing the rest of tour without this. Just so you know.”

You smile into his chest. “Noted.”

Then, softer, a whisper you almost miss:

“...Thanks for coming back to me.”

I.n // 아이엔

He’s doing his post-show ritual—sitting on the dressing room floor with his legs stretched out, sipping his drink, cheeks flushed from dancing and screaming, trying to act cool even though his adrenaline is still going crazy.

He’s giggling at something a member says when the door creaks.

He looks up. And freezes. Because it’s you. Peeking in, eyes soft, fingers curled around the doorframe like you were nervous to interrupt.

“...Hi, baby,” you whisper.

His jaw actually drops. He blinks once, twice, like his brain needs buffering time.

“…You’re joking,” he finally says.

You step inside slowly. “Not a joke.”

You expect him to run. Cry. Scream. But instead—

He just sits there, completely still. Like his soul left his body for a minute. “…You really came?” he asks, voice small.

You kneel in front of him, taking his face in your hands. “Of course I did.”

And that’s when it happens.

His whole body slumps forward and he buries his face in your neck—arms wrapping around your waist in this desperate, trembling hold like he’s afraid to break you. “I missed you,” he says, so quietly it makes your chest ache. “So much. It’s been so hard.”

You stroke his hair. “You’re doing amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

And then? He starts sniffling. “Noooo don’t say that, I’m gonna cry,” he mumbles, voice cracking. “I was literally fine five seconds ago. This is so unfair.”

You laugh gently. “Cry, Jeonginnie. It’s okay.”

He pulls back, eyes watery, lips trembling into a smile. “I love you,” he blurts out. “A lot. Just—so much.”

And then he hugs you again. Tighter. Softer. Like now that you’re here, nothing else matters. Like home isn’t a place—it’s you.

#skz #skz imagine #stray kids x reader #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #sundaysoftdrops

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crystalandparrot · 6 days ago

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Kpop Demon Hunter x Chef! Reader

Part three << Part four << Next

When Rumi, Mira, and Zoey returned home, they were not greeted by a mountain of food.

(Y/n) wasn’t cruel, however, and made the girls a very nice dinner. But after throwing away most of the food that they didn’t eat last night, (Y/n) was less inclined to make them as much as she usually does.

Speaking of (Y/n), she was currently huddled on the couch, tucked into a corner, and furiously scribbling in her journal. Different meals and their ingredients were quickly shot onto the paper, like (Y/n) might forget them if she didn’t write it down fast enough.

Sweet and savory ideas from countries around the world were written. Pork Yakisoba, Gyoza, hamburgers, pancakes, cheesecake, eclairs, fettuccine, fufu, the possibilities were endless.

Years ago, while Rumi, Mira, and Zoey were all training, (Y/n) began taking cooking classes. She was taught about cuisine from around the globe, learning everything from basic doughs to advanced decoration. She knew how to cook meat, bake cakes, and modify recipes to accommodate vegan and gluten free lifestyles. (Y/n) learned over the years that when people enjoy what they eat, when their tastes are taken into account, they’ll be more full than if it wasn’t.

“(N/n)?”

That’s why (Y/n) was writing so much. She needed to come up with dishes that would make the Saja Boys full.

“(N/nnnn)?”

If the Saja Boys were full then that meant—

“(Y/n)!”

(Y/n)’s head whipped up to see six confused eyes all peering at her.

“Yeah?” (Y/n) asked, uncurling her limbs.

“Uh…you good?” Mira asked, coming to sit by (Y/n).

“Yeah, why?” (Y/n) shut her book and placed it on the ottoman in front of her.

“You’ve been writing since we got home,” Zoey jumped over the back of the couch to land next to Mira, “and we’ve said your names like a bazillion times.”

Rumi walked around the couch to crouch in front of (Y/n), “You sure you’re okay? No pain today, right?” Rumi lifted (Y/n)’s hand and inspected it.

(Y/n) giggled and held Rumi’s hand, “Even if there were, I wouldn’t have a scratch.”

“I’m a little surprised you haven’t felt anything since that night,” Mira thought out loud.

“I’m not! We saw gold! Gwi-Ma is probably too scared to try anything!” Zoey cheered.

“I doubt it. Now would be the time that Gwi-Ma tried to throw everything at us. We need to be on our guard,” Rumi said seriously, “(Y/n) you let us know the second you feel something, even if it’s nothing or you think we’re too busy, you call us, okay?” Rumi took this very seriously. (Y/n) had been known to feel demons before they popped up, leading to a lot of close calls for the girls, so Rumi made sure to use it as often as possible. She wouldn’t let her help kill demons of course, given that (Y/n) couldn’t see them unless they revealed themselves.

(Y/n) was dependable. She was always there for Rumi—for all of them. Even though she had no weapon, she was a Hunter in her own way. (Y/n) kept the girls together, and they knew that. They relied on her to be there when they left in the morning to when they got home late at night. She needed to be there for them.

“I will, I promise,” (Y/n) placed her other hand over their already held hands.

Rumi sighed in relief and fully sat down on the rug. She released (Y/n)’s hands and then rested her head on the girl’s thighs. When she ran her fingers through Rumi’s hair, Rumi had to silence a groan from escaping her lips.

“Long day?” (Y/n) giggled.

“Interviews and rehearsals. Bobby managed to push our concert to tomorrow,” Mira hoarsely said.

Zoey gasped, “What if we can turn the Honmoon gold before the Idol awards?!”

Mira and Rumi smirked, “That’s the plan, Z,” Mira said.

“So it’s tomorrow, for sure?” (Y/n) asked.

“Hopefully,” Mira started, shrugging her shoulders.

“It will be, it has to be…” Rumi said ominously.

The three girls blinked owlishly at Rumi.

“Ooookay,” Zoey started, “so, (Y/n) what are your plans for the next two weeks?” She turned to (Y/n).

“Oh-I—“

Mira interrupted, “Cooking, obviously, Zoey.”

“Well, yeah, but—“

“I mean besides that!” Zoey interrupted, “Are you gonna paint, write—“

“Sing?” Mira added, only to receive a slap on the shoulder from Rumi.

“She doesn’t sing, remember?” Rumi whispered loudly.

“Actually—“

“Right, sorry (Y/n)—“ Mira apologized.

“Yeah, don’t be rude, Mira!” Zoey scolded.

“Would you—“

“I wasn’t being rude—“

This time Mira was interrupted by (Y/n), “I got a new job!”

Silence

“You what?” Rumi was the first to break it.

“I got a new job—I’ll still be here for breakfast and dinner! You won’t even notice I’m gone. I’m only full time for the next two weeks—while you guys are busy with the awards! You’ll be preparing for the Idol Awards and you’ll be away a lot so I figured—“

“You’d find another set of mouths to feed?” Mira asked bitterly.

“You guys aren’t around enough to even feed,” (Y/n) sighed, “I miss cooking for you guys. I blocked off two weeks just to hang out with you guys, and you won’t be here. I don’t want to just sit here and look pretty,” (Y/n) explained.

“I’m sorry that we aren’t around enough to keep you entertained, (Y/n)—we’re kind of trying to save the world!” Mira shouted.

“I’m not asking for entertainment, I just—“ (Y/n) looked around at the melancholy group, and gave up, “I need some air.” (Y/n) stood and quickly walked to the elevator, grabbing her wallet and phone just in case.

“(Y/n)…” Zoey called after the girl weakly, but the elevator doors still closed shut.

Mira sighed and put her face in her hands, “Me and my big mouth.”

“What was that?” Rumi asked.

“I-I don’t know…I guess I just got jealous…” Mira hugged her knees to her chest.

“Of (Y/n)?” Zoey asked.

“Of whoever’s hiring her. I wish we could see her more, but the Honmoon is important—“

“(Y/n) understands that—more than anyone. You know that.” Rumi put her hand on Mira’s shoulder.

Mira nodded, “I’ll apologize when she comes home…” she thought for a minute, “…do you think she’ll text us if she feels something?”

“Absolutely!”

“100%!”

“I really should not have worn pajamas outside at eleven at night,” (Y/n) shivered, hugging herself for warmth. As if on cue, a gust of wind harshly blew into (Y/n)’s face. The sharp wind almost distracted (Y/n) from the pain on her hand…

(Y/n) continued walking, unaware of the five sets of eyes following, not only her every move, but of the movement coming from the figure behind her.

A water demon had crawled from the puddle of a nearby dripping drainpipe and had been following (Y/n) since she turned the corner. As the girl readied to turn another corner, the demon crawled quickly, trying to get to its prey before it escaped.

The five figures raced forward to intervene—

SHING!

With a metallic slice, the demon was killed. Quick, effortless.

(Y/n) continued to walk ahead, wiping off her Damascus knife and hiding it back in the sheath on the side of her hip.

The five sets of eyes watched, intrigued.

“That’s interesting.” Jinu smirked.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who commented, liked, and reblogged!! This chapter is a little short, so I might post a little earlier for the next chapter. I’m sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist, please comment and I’ll add you.

I also have a bit of a request…without spoiling anything, does anyone know a good Kpop song that sounds like Your Idol? I need a few songs for much later chapters and I have a few right now, but nothing feels exactly right, you know?

I’m also looking for someone that I can bounce ideas off of, that doesn’t mind spoilers to this book. If you’re interested, please comment and I’ll PM you. It is first come first serve, however, I can’t be telling all of you spoilers. If you want to, I’ll send you chapters still in progress, drafts, and future chapter ideas. This is mainly for me because PLEASE I NEED SOMEONE TO TALK TO ABOUT THIS I’M LOSING MY MIND WITH IDEAS.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk. Until next time :)

Taglist is still open!!: @ashleygryffindor @alastor-simp @whimsiecat @nev-valkyriesdottir @kashasenpai @yuurisfavblog @dancingpotatolol @vipxl @introvertathome @luv1ayala @galaxygurlll @insideoutjulie @tyresedidujsfart @katzline @boldlyenchantingfox22 @sidewalkenforcer @maroonanddelulu @eyes-ofhell @maryloudiaries @jennypenny-19 @raineandcl0uds @bubbabobabubbles @redkitsu03 @creativecupcake @sirens-and-moonflowers @tumblblob @asakiyu @mouchie @meowsertrix @nightlark100 @snowy-violet @t-wylia @littlemissfix-itfic @call-me-prodigy @bunniotomia @the-ultimate-supreme-gremlin @desiree-lee @a-cozy-little-home @mybradontfit @waltermis

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remember-the-fanfics · 1 year ago

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Gen-Z!Overlord!Reader

• Died at 18, been in hell for a few years.

• Came in after Alastor disappeared, just before Vaggie showed up.

• You were never one to follow what everyone else did. Killing, drugs, theft, or porn.

• Kept to yourself for a few months, getting use to being dead and in hell.

• Accidentally became an Overlord after you killed one in self defense.

"In my defense, she was like super creepy and an asshole. A big one."

• The souls were free but you kept your new territory nice so they didn't leave.

• You made jobs and kept the housing in better shape, only made deals to help souls.

• Gave them a job, house, and protection. You give them a limit of a few years of the deal and if they don't mind it, they can renew it.

"Well I don't want to force them to do something, its rude."

• In return, they keep your territory nice, clean, and less violent than most. Work the jobs you made and protect your little town.

• There's been occasions were you trade souls to other overlords, either the soul did something against them or just an asshole.

• The time on the contract would restart

• To every other overlord, you are a child with a knife and to much power.

• You demolished another overlord because they thought you were weak and tried to destroy you territory.

"You ass eatting bitch-"

• You let others fight for new open territory because you're fine with what you have.

• Panicked when you got invited to an Overlord meeting.

• Apparently you had enough power to be one, then you realized you actually were one.

• It was awkward to meet the most of the overlords. Not knowing who you were to begin with.

"This is for overlords only."

"Oh, I'm (Y/n). I got invited."

• Chatted with Rosie before and after it.

• Camilla likes how you run your territory but you seem so young.

• Did apologized afterwards, introducing you to her daughters, apparently you were around the same age.

• Zestial wanted to know how you took over you territory, interested on how you did it.

• You've only meet Velvette because you need some clothes. She recognized you as the up and coming overlord.

• Throwing the clothes you had in your hands away, saying you need to be in the best lastest trend of clothes.

• You were now stuck having a fashion show as she decided what look good on you.

• While not enjoying all the clothes she had you try on, you kept being nice having conversation when she wasn't yelling at everyone else.

• Velvette learned that you were around the same age so she decided that you were acquainted enough to have her number.

• Apparently it wasn't optional for you.

• You brought back way to much clothes for one person, atleast now you have style.

• Chaotic neutral energy

• Charlie meet you after she heard that you improved a part of hell, wasn't expecting someone so young looking.

"Dying just after I turned 18 just means I look young forever."

• Laughing at your own dark humor.

"Ha...ha.

• Charlie did not find it as funny.

• Told you about the hotel idea and you were right on board.

• Thought it was a good way to stick it to the man and help people.

• Vaggie was surprised when Charlie brought back a child.

• More surprised that you're the Overlord that Charlie wanted to meet with.

• Definitely said Vaggie's name wrong for the first time reading it.

• Meeting Angel Dust after he decided to crash at the hotel.

• Not knowing what he was known for but definitely heard his name from someone.

"You're a kind of actor?"

"Of the sorts."

• After you heard what he was famous for.

"Well, he'll do him and I'll do me but never do each other."

• There was an awkward silence of confusion from everyone.

• Having to explain every reference you make.

• Vaggie made jar for everytime you make a dark joke.

• Charlie has asked you why you were in hell. You shrugged, never living a truly bad life but probably just too chaotic for heaven to handle.

• You leave every few days to check back in your little town to make sure everything was running smoothly.

• You know when something happens, feeling the souls you own in a panic.

• Having to let everyone remember why you were in charge a couple of times.

• Either with your words or actions.

• Luckily Rosie just adores your mannerisms and how you don't completely turn away from her with what or who she eats.

"You could say the food was to die for!"

• She finds your dark humor funny.

• So she keeps an eye out for you, sending letters to you every few days.

• You vist her every other week to just chat, she tells you about easy territories that you could get. You say you would rather show up some punks than have more responsibility with more souls.

• Offers food everytime, you say no thanks everytime.

• Rosie would tell you all the tea about the other overlords or her own town.

• Yay! You have an allie with an another overlord by being friends.

• Also with offering truly worse souls sometimes. On a rare occasion.

• Rosie knowing when you offer a soul to her, she would take her time with it. Enjoying every bite.

• Anyway- Sinners would come up to asking for deal when they are completely down on their luck.

• But whats following a couple of rules for free house and job.

• You give them enough warning before you would shake hands then saying you would know if they even thought of fucking your shit up.

• Putting an add for Charlie's hotel in your territory.

• Charlie almost hugged you to death after seeing it.

• When Alastor showed up, the two of you would have a intense staring contest.

• He wasn't expecting another overlord here, oh wait, you're new.

• Alastor not actually taking the hotel serious, pissed you off but he was more powerful.

• Charlie having to keep you and Vaggie from trying to fight him.

"I didn't know there was a new overlord! Charmed to meet you. Whose territory was up for grab?"

"She was a bitch-."

"I know who exactly you speak of, that's good. She never had any manners."

• Watching him summon Husk and Niffty and was shocked.

• Tried it and summoned one of your workers.

• Excited that it worked! Apologetic for interrupting their day.

"Ah ha! It worked! Oh shit it worked! Sorry!"

• You and Niffty vibe on a similar level. Charmingly violent.

• Vaggie has to make sure either of you give the other one a bad idea to do.

• Husk question your age when you went to the bar. Making you do the math.

"Well I died at 18, it's been a few years so old enough."

• Gave you a hard drink which you spit out after tasting.

• You decide hard alcohol wasn't for you.

• Knowing how technology was when you died making you the most technical advance Sinners in the hotel.

That's enough for now, just a thought I had when working.

#platonic hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin vaggie #hazbin rosie #camilla carmine #zestial #hazbin niffty #platonic #reader insert #charlie morningstar #genz reader

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bluesidez · 1 year ago

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GymRat!Miguel Part 2

content warning: mentions of food because big boys gotta eat, there’s a ref photo for an outfit in here that is unfortunately NOT a plus-size girl 😞 (I couldn’t find a big girl wearing an outfit like that for the life of me, but let’s use our imagination), 18+ towards the end so MDNI!

word count: 1.7k (not very drabble-like, ik) kinda proofread

Prev | Next ✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ Masterlist

GymRat!Miguel who wakes up when his 6 am alarm rings, eyes tired and bleary. His roommate is sound asleep, thank god, and Miguel is just staring at the ceiling for a good 10 minutes before he decides to move. He has an 8 am and he needs some type of breakfast before he heads to class.

GymRat!Miguel who uses the college cafeteria to his full advantage. He made sure that his dad’s money went to the highest meal plan. One free meal plan a day and a loaded campus card for everything else. He stacks his plate high with everything the cafeteria is offering today. Sausages, eggs, 2 bananas, a blueberry muffin, and a protein shake he brought from his room.

GymRat!Miguel who made friends with one of the cafeteria ladies, Ms. Beatrice, by the third week of school. She noticed how much he visited the cafeteria and always snuck him an extra treat from the kitchen when she saw him.

“I missed you last Tuesday!” she says, squeezing his shoulder when she walks up to his table. She slides a wrapped egg sandwich across the table. “I was saving some extra cookies for you, but you were nowhere to be found.”

Miguel thanks her, happy to have something light for later, “Ah, I was stuck in the library doing a group project. Sorry about that, Ms. Beatrice.”

“As long as you’re getting your education, I don’t mind,” she says, hands on her hips. “Don’t go out there skipping class now, ok?”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Miguel says, waving her goodbye. His mom would kill him if that ever happened. Not that he would tell her, she just had a sixth sense for his “fuck-ups.”

GymRat!Miguel who makes it to his class fifteen minutes early to arrange his part of his desk to his liking. Sometimes he feels so embarrassed when he needs to grab something in the middle of class, his ears hyperfocusing on every little noise he makes in quiet, crowded areas. He always makes sure to get out his laptop, a pen, a pencil, a highlighter, a notebook, some white-out, and a water jug. He prefers to be over-prepared.

GymRat!Miguel who’s feeling anxious when the sorority girls pass by his table, giggling and twirling their hair. They attempt to make conversation with him, speaking ill of the professor. He just nods along for the sake of being a gentleman. He thought the professor’s Millennial attempts at Gen Z jokes were kind of funny, albeit very 2010. He didn’t have the heart to tell them he actually enjoyed the lectures.

GymRat!Miguel who’s never been more excited for a lecture to start in his life. He didn’t know many more “wow”’s snd “that’s crazy”’s he had left in him. The noise of the ice hitting their plastic coffee cups as they struggled to get every drop out was starting to grate against his ears. He missed you and your sticker-covered water bottle. He looked over at his jug and smiled when he saw the ‘Game Over’ sticker you gifted him before the last lab. You noticed his joystick keychain and felt that his water bottle was empty.

GymRat!Miguel who declines the girls’ offer to join them on a morning jog after. He liked to work out in solitude and morning jogs with them would mean conversation. He would also have to be extra conscious about what he wore. No older lady walking her dog needed to spot him jogging with shorts that were too short for his own good and a tank top cut so deep that it was like string on his chest.

GymRat!Miguel who decides to head to the library in between class to kill time. He figured he can see if there are any science fiction he can check out to read in his free time. As he walks there, he opens Instagram to scroll. No, he has not been checking the app since this morning to see if you let him in, he’s not a freak. He stops walking when he checks his notifs to see that you accepted his follow request. He wastes no time to click your page again and is bombarded with tons of photos.

GymRat!Miguel who has to close the app immediately when he sees your first photo. It's a picture of you outside of a restaurant in a knitted two-piece. The top is open just a bit to see your chest and the long skirt is low enough to see a part of your stomach peeking through. Your smile is radiant and the caption is something about congratulating someone. You look delectable and Miguel can’t afford to run back to his dorm to let his mind wander over it right now.

GymRat!Miguel who gets another notification as he steps into his dorm room after his last class of the day and sees that you’ve liked and commented on his most recent post. It’s a mirror picture of him flexing his arm after his last work out. His shorts are riding high on his thighs and the curve of his ass is very noticeable. Gabriel had blew up his phone with voice memos of him cackling after he posted it.

“Looking good!! 🫣 Get those gains Miguel! 💪🏾”

Miguel runs a victory lap in his dorm room, thankful that his roommate wouldn’t be back until that night. He’s jumping and punching the air excitedly as if he were a boxer. If he wasn’t fearful of busting his ass, he’d do a backflip. Take that, Gabri.

GymRat!Miguel who decides to go back to your account, running on the hype of that one compliment from you. He stares at that first photo again, still mesmerized as if he didn’t see it earlier. He gives a like and starts typing.

“Wow…”

No, that’s corny.

“Loving the blue…”

Is he a frat guy?

“You look stunning”

Was that too much? He decides to add on a heart eyes emoji, afraid he might be coming on too strong.

GymRat!Miguel who goes a little further down your page. There’s a photo of you in a crochet cover up, your swimsuit peaking through the material. He groans as he slides to the next picture and the top of your cover up is off and it’s just a view of your back with your bikini string wrapped around it. Your lower half is in the water and if he can imagine it just enough, he can feel himself right behind you, taking in the view of your ass against him.

He’s hard. Again.

He decides to just let everything hang while he has the dorm to himself. His boxers are to his ankles as he sits on the bed, back against the wall. He keeps staring at your swimsuit pictures. Your breasts pushed together while you lean over the boat. Your hips swaying in a clip of you dancing with your friends. Your stomach on display as you lay in the sand, ready for him to squeeze.

He grit his teeth as he played the clips over and over again, his hand moving fast to bring him his relief. He closed his eyes and imagined he was there, watching you swaying before him. He would join you, grab your hips and let you guide him in the dance. He felt faint as he let go, voice shouting and white splattered across his shirt and fist.

He breathes fast, trying to calm down. He decides to like the photo dump and comment some aimless beach emojis under the post. It was the least he could do after using it to get off. How embarrassing.

GymRat!Miguel who jumps when his phone dings again. He was prepping to go to the gym when your response comes flying to his phone. His heart picks up when he sees you replied to his comment.

“That is so sweet of you to say! 🥺 Thank you 🥰”

He doesn’t know if you took it as a friendly gesture or a sign that he wanted you. Either way, he’s over the moon. There’s a pep in his step as he blasts Super Shy in his ears on the way to the gym. He had a new motivation to push harder in his sets.

GymRat!Miguel who tacks on 10 extra pounds during his arm workout. The guys in the gym are eyeing him in wonder and horror as he uses the 70lb weights for tricep extensions. He thinks of seeing you in lab later that week and decides to do some hip thrusts.

He can never be over-prepared.

GymRat!Miguel who decides to take a picture at the end of his work out to post on his story. He’s sweating, hair dripping towards the ends, his chest glistening. The angle is awkward as he moves the camera below him and flexes an arm for the picture. The story was meant for one girl and one girl only, so he didn’t really care how silly it looked to others.

GymRat!Miguel who almost fist pumps on the walk home when you like his story and leave a reply. He checks the private messages, grin on his face before he even reads what you have to say.

“Looks like you had a nice workout. I might have to join you next time and get some tips 🤔”

Miguel swiped the app up and texted Gabriel:

“Don’t ever question my game again”

"? Wtf are you talking about"

Miguel opened up his messages with you again and replied to text him whenever and he’d be happy to help.

GymRat!Miguel who winds down for the night, scrolling on his phone before he closes his eyes. Of course you posted a story and of course he pressed it within record speed.

It was a photo of you laying down all bundled up with a cute ‘good night’ gif moving across the bottom. You had on a spaghetti strap tank top and if your blanket wasn’t in the way, he’s sure he would see more than that.

You looked soft, adorable, kissable.

He liked the story and responded back a “good night” and closed his phone. He wanted you to visit him in his dreams once more.

dividers by: @gigittamic 🩵

a/n: tumblr mobile kept deleting full paragraphs of my draft. not happy about that because I kept losing my flow. 😒 it happened like THREE TIMES 😭

Thanks for reading! Like, comment, reblog, and tell me how you feel! 🩵

Wanna be added to the taglist for GymRat!Miguel? Comment and let me know. 🤗 (PLEASE HAVE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO. This series has been and will get even more NSFW!)

taglist: @ghost-lantern 🫶🏾🥺

#love lab drabbles 💊#GymRat!Miguel 💪🏾#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara smut #plus size reader #spiderman 2099 au #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara au #miguel o’hara x plussize!reader #miguel o’hara x chubby reader #miguel o’hara x chubby!reader #miguel x fem!reader

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redr0sewrites · 2 months ago

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🍈 A/n: all i do is think about this fish. anyways have angst bc im suffering ab the fact that he wouldnt like me if he met me

🍈 Cw: angst w no comfort, expendable!reader, wall dwellers, canon typical violence

🍈 dividers

Urbanshade hadal divison was never intended to be survivable. you knew this from the start, and yet.... you had believed anything would have been better than a life behind bars. oh, how cruel disillusionment can be. as you tread down the halls of the Blacksite, you can't help but wallow in your own dismay. each room is more mechanical than the last, sterile and grey and utterly hopeless. the only sounds around you are the faint, unidentifiable creaks and groans of the Blacksite and the rythmic sound of footprints. your two teammates from this run had already died, leaving you alone at door 48- with plenty of time to think- and think you did.

you weren't exactly sure when it hit you that everything wasn't going to be okay. maybe it was the 17th time you had died to angler, or maybe one of the many times when your teammates had left you to die in a voidlocker, or the judgement you faced from the number of failed attempts that seem to haunt you like a scarlet letter. no matter the case, your once positive outlook had now been dulled to barely a fraction of what it once was. just the thought of yet another death made bile rise in your mouth, and yet, you had no choice.

no choice. no choice, no choice, no choice. thats all that seems to ring in your head these days- you were just a useless expendable. yet another statistic for Urbanshade to ultimately profit from. the house always wins, and they certainly were not playing fair- not to you, not to any of the other convicts, and certainly not to him.

your only solace, pun intended, within your dismal reality are the people surrounding you- but more accurately, one person in particular. sure, you have many comrades that you adore, but of all the voices you hear throughout these never ending days, the one that excites you the most belongs to the one and only Sebastian Solace. no matter your name for him, whether it be Z-13, The Saboteur, The Shopkeeper, or just Sebastian, he's always ever present, overlooking each expendable with much more fervor than Urbanshade.

its more than embarrassing to admit, and you'd never utter it to a single soul, but you had begun to find comfort in the sight of his bioluminescent gaze and shimmering eska. you were quite sure the feeling was NOT mutual, if the dramatic sigh he huffs whenever you enter his shop was anything to go by, but at this point you can barely find yourself caring. there are so few stagnant things in your life, but the one certainty you can always rely on is Sebastian.

man, it really is fucked up that the best part about your life is a morally grey genetic experiment with a slight killing streak- but what can you do?

the sudden flickering of the lights snaps you from your thoughts, immediately reminding you of your location. its not like me to lose focus during a run, you think, quickly scanning the room around you. because you have unfathomable luck, (or rather lack thereof), there are no lockers nearby, forcing you to dart into the next room- to no avail. however, the tell tale sound of a scraping vent alerts you to the presence of a much different entity, one that you certainly didn't want to avoid, and you rush towards the opening in the wall. you just barely manage to tuck yourself inside when you hear the oncoming screeching, and scrabble inside as fast as you can while the howl of an angler wails past.

"fuckfuckfuckfuck FUCK!" a string of rattled curses string from your mouth as you pull yourself inside of the cavern. your entire body is shaking and your ears are ringing so badly that you almost miss Sebastian's huff of amusement- almost.

"look what the cat dragged in!" a familiar, raspy voice coos, sending a shiver down your spine.

"hey Sebastian," you grumble, slowly pulling yourself to your feet, hating the way your legs tremble beneath you. the man in front of you only grins as you steady yourself in front of him, electric blue eyes pinpointed directly on you.

"you know the drill by now, yeah?" he coos, voice so snarky you can practically taste it. you nod glumly, still catching your breath from your little escapade. your so distracted, you almost miss the sound of footsteps behind you- almost.

the sickening feeling of breathing down your neck makes you whirl around, just quick enough to watch a wall dwellers mouth closing in, about to snap shut on your face-

BANG!

the sound of a gunshot rings throughout the enclosed space, and you flinch, burying your face in your arms with a shaky yelp. you feel a slimy weight slump atop your body, but your body refuses to move. your muscles are so tense they're burning, but even the tears in your eyes seem to be frozen, completely and utterly shocked from fear. you desperately want to scream and cry, or at least kick the disgusting corpse currently laying on top of you away, but you can't. im surely dead, you think, brain filled with static. this hurts too much to be alive. this hurts this hurts thishurtsthishurtsthishurtsthis-

"argh!" Sebastian's voice rings out, snapping you from your stupor with a sharp flinch. "i missed and hit some innocent bystander," he mocks, and you feel like you're going to choke. for some reason, it's his words that break the dam, and the tears you had been trying so desperately to repress begin overflowing from your eyes. your own sobs sound so pitiful that you can't help but cover your face, and you kick the wall dweller corpse off of you before scrabbling back against the wall, chest heaving as you bury your head in your hands and sob.

theres a few seconds of pitiful silence interrupted only by your choked sobs, until Sebastian finally finds his words.

"are you- crying?" he asks exasperatedly, voice twinged with mockery. "you can't be serious," he rasps, and you flinch again.

"can't you just- shut up?" you choke, yet the broken sound of your voice and tears streaming down your face make you sound much less confident than you intended.

"bub, the only one of us howling and whining is you," he snarls, eska glowing menacingly. "im sure all of this is soooo hard for you and your intact human body," he sneers, malice dripping from each word.

"wha- what, you think this shit is easy?" you snap, voice rising in anger. "we're literally fucking dying! every damn day! this hurts, Sebastian-"

"womp womp! you think you're the only one who's died down here?"

"no, but apparently you do!" your damn near screaming now, and a part of you feels guilty, but an even larger part of you is burning with righteous anger. "its not my fucking fault that your so damn selfish you can't even recognize the suffering of those around you! just because your not even fucking human anymore doesn't mean you can't have empathy-"

click.

the second those words left your mouth, regret began to bubble quickly in your gut- but not as quickly as Sebastian drew his gun.

"get the fuck out of my shop."

"w-wait, i didn't-"

"GET. OUT."

you swallow shakily, eyes still burning with tears that continue to stream down your face, even as you grab the keycard off the table and slink carefully back to the vent. the whole time, Sebastian keeps his gun trained on you, his sharp gaze piercing through you like a volley of arrows.

you send one final glance in the direction of the man, eyeing the loaded gun with miserable resolution before slipping inside the vent, exiting the shop without even buying anything.

meanwhile, Sebastian seethes. who were you to tell him to care? your sobs hurt his ears, and your whining pissed him off to no end. it didn't matter that you were one of his most loyal customers, didn't matter that he secretly awaited your arrival to his shop every run with thinly veiled excitement. none of that mattered. he hates you, the same way he does any other expendable- so why does this hurt so much?

A/n: STUPID FISH THAT I HATEE!!! i was plagued with the realization that i would probably piss him off- either by being too nice or too mean- and decided to write about it. i hope this made you depressed bc it certainly made me depressed!! i might make a pt 2 where they make up if anyone wants that. (pls say yes i need the excuse chat)

#pressure sebastian #sebastian pressure #sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #pressure #roblox pressure #pressure roblox #sebastian solace pressure #pressure fanfic #sebastian x ominis #sebastian solace roblox #sebastian solace x oc

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deadsetobsessions · 2 years ago

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Your name is Tim Drake and you are nine years old.

Today, tomorrow, and soon, you're going to save Robin.

----

Tim stares at his reflection on the sink tap. It trembles, along with the plane, as he contemplates his situation.

His face is rounder, now, with unfamiliar baby-fat rounding out the sharp lines he'd come to expect. Even with the subpar reflection, Tim can tell that his dark eyebags are all but gone, replaced with youthful skin.

Magic. He's being quite literal, seeing as he's been tossed into the body of his younger self at the hands of a crazed magician.

He could find a way back... or he could create a completely different timeline by fixing everything that went wrong. It's not like he has anything to go back to, anyways. That crazed magician was actually competent and killed everyone he ever cared about. Tim barely got away with his life. He could go back to save that shell of a world- surrounded by people whose minds were broken beyond magical and medical repair- or stay here, fix his own personal troubles and cut off the magician before he could start with his world domination bullshit.

Well, Tim already has an idea of what he wants. So he begins a list, after having oriented himself.

Save Robin

There's no point trying to convince Bruce that he knows where Jason's being held. So, Tim finds himself on a plane to Ethiopia a day before Jason's meant to die. This was long before Barbara even thought of being Oracle, and the tech is ancient in his hands. In short order, nine year old Tim has a trust fund with millions in it, all siphoned from billionaires like Lex Luthor and his own parents.

Tim toddles back to his seat, after washing his hands because he still can't shake the extra bit of paranoia that came with a missing spleen. Oh. Tim blinks guilelessly at his seat neighbor, smiling like Timothy Drake, Angel of a Son as he reels from the realization that he still has his spleen.

Tim adds another box to his list:

Keep Ra's away from my spleen, creepy bastard.

What else...? Ah, the League of Assassins.

Damian

Tim pauses. Holy crap. Damian's only six right now. Tim moves Damian's box upwards in urgency. Tim might have a mildly antagonistic relationship with his younger brother back then, but he wants baby pictures of his siblings, dammit. He's gonna put that photography expertise to good use if it's the last thing he does.

Watch over Z, Owens, Pru

'They're alive!' His mind screams. Cold rationality slaps the sentimentality down with a quick 'But they won't be if I fail.'

His mind wanders to Dick Grayson. He scowls as something pops up in the back of his head.

Catalina Flores

Contact Nightwing- in space

He's gotta call Dick back from that Teen Titans mission, Jason's gonna need all of the support he's going to get.

Find Cass

Train Steph

Save Duke's family from Venom

Tim taps at that last point. He'll save them. But that might mean Duke might never join their family.

But he'll be happy and Tim... will deal with it. He'll be the only one mourning, anyways. To end on a lighter note, he adds something that he should have done ages ago.

Give Tam a raise.

Tim sighs as he gets out of the airport, the hired escort he found and vetted, delivering him to a predetermined hotel. They think his parents are already inside. He laughs and does not say anything to make them think otherwise. He has so many things to do, Tim laments as he settles down to track the Joker's movements. Here. That's where Jason's being held. Being tortured.

He can, however, knock two things off his list in one go. Tim picks up the burner phone he acquired. He doesn't have time, or else he would have done this sooner and saved them all the trouble.

[RR: Are you in Ethiopia yet?]

[Deathstroke: Payment confirmed. In Ethiopia.]

[RR: Third building by the docks.]

An hour.

[Deathstroke: Confirmed. Target spotted.]

Ten minutes.

[Deathstroke: Target eliminated. Bringing Robin to Safehouse.]

Twenty minutes.

[Deathstroke: Basic first aid applied. Leaving.]

[RR: Secondary payment sent. Confirm?]

[Deathstroke: Confirmed. Pleasure doing business with you.]

Tim sprawls on the king bed. He sighs a breath of relief. He'd check on Jason in person, if he weren't paranoid about leaving traces that would get back to him. Tim's pretty sure that Deathstroke's going to get hunted down in the near future, regardless, so he made sure to add a huge tip on top of the extra fees for burning one of Deathstroke's safe houses and the emergency first aid. He taps into the rudimentary camera Deathstroke had given him the access codes to, to stare at Jason's rising and falling chest. On a further table, the Joker's head laid in a preservation box.

He bypasses all of the security on the Teen Titan's tech to send Dick a message.

[Robin has been retrieved from the Joker. Contact Batman for details.]

Then, he sends Bruce the location of the safe house. Tim spends the rest of the day staring at Jason and watching his father in another timeline break as he huddles close to the broken body of Tim's Robin.

Timothy Drake destroys the burner phone.

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 6 months ago

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@dr-reids-fidget-toy#omg I didn’t know that about comic bucky that’s rlly cool

Starting a new post because I have off-topic Thoughts. Comic!Bucky contains fascinating commentary on the Cold War, WWII, and the media representations thereof. MCU!Bucky is (by necessity) pretty watered down. In the Brubaker comics, Bucky isn't brainwashed, at least not in the classic Marvel sense. He's just this guy who believes in the absolute rightness of his country, and has been in combat to support the U.S. since age ~14... and then he gets blown up by a missile, loses his memory, and Department X tells him "his country" is the USSR. So now he's the Winter Soldier. Nothing else about his personality or his politics changes. The Winter Soldier we see in the Brubaker comics is definitely a villain — he kills indiscriminately, kidnaps civilians to get his way, murders Rick Jones out of petty spite. But his personality is basically the same from childhood.

This is Steve remembering Bucky as a kid during WWII:

Brubaker retcons Bucky's role, from "kid sidekick who rushes in first and gets kidnapped, needing Captain America to rescue him," to "kid agent who infiltrates bases first, so that Captain America can follow him." With the memory loss, Bucky goes from slitting throats and setting off bombs for Uncle Sam, to doing it for Mother Russia. He's always been as cold and as willing to kill witnesses as he is as the Winter Soldier. It just never made the news reals.

And that's the other half of his retconned role: being propaganda for other child soldiers (e.g. Toro) who join up in his wake. This is Bucky and Steve watching a Cap and Bucky recruitment newsreel:

As an adult, the real difference isn't that Bucky is Soviet now; it's that he doesn't have Steve holding his leash anymore. To be clear, comic Winter Soldier also isn't free to come and go as he pleases — he's kept in a freezer between missions, he's probably not paid, he's in Department X — but he also has far more agency within the latitude of his orders. He's not dead-eyed and tortured by guilt like we see in the MCU. He goes on side quests to kill other Buckies. He argues constantly with Aleksander Lukin (the comic equivalent of Pierce). He complains about the inconvenience of not just sniping Steve in the head to steal the Tesseract.

Brubaker's point, throughout the comic, is that we have been lied to about World War II being "noble" or "good" or the story of the U.S. saving the day. And that that lie is used to prop up everything from U2 spy planes built with 100x the budget for education, to the Patriot Act nullifying the Fourth Amendment. Because not only is "WWII was a noble war fought without atrocities" nationalistic bullshit, but "Soviets are fundamentally different from us" is too. Bucky's continuity of character reveals both at once. He's a walking Soviet superweapon. Why? Because he was a walking American superweapon first, starting before he was old enough to shave.

Anyway, I get why the MCU had to change his backstory. You have to a) remind the audience who Bucky is, b) show-don't-tell why Steve is sad Bucky is trying to kill him, c) get across the idea that Bucky doesn't want to kill Steve but feels he has to, d) use Bucky to develop Steve's character, and e) set up a way for Bucky to get un-brainwashed. All within the span of ~30 minutes this movie has for this plot, amidst all the other plots. MCU!Bucky plaintively asking Pierce who Steve was, only to get slapped in the face, is sort of like AniTV!Tom constantly pawing at his ear: it quickly gets across that this character isn't acting under his own volition, in a way that minimizes audience confusion.

Plus: it's a Hollywood movie. It wouldn't get funded if it was too critical of the U.S. military. Movies are always, by definition, more conservative than other media because of their need for funding. And the MCU makes a decent effort to incorporate at least some criticism of the U.S., having Zola be involved in Operation Paperclip and having him (while working for the U.S.) order Howard Stark's murder. But a computer ghost reciting dry facts about the CIA recruiting Nazis doesn't have the same gut punch as watching the "good guys" send the literal child to knife his fellow child soldiers during WWII would have had.

#nothing to do with animorphs #u.s. negativity #bucky barnes #winter soldier #ed brubaker #captain america: the winter soldier #marvel 616 #mcu #propaganda #cold war

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honeyhoneypp · 10 months ago

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Think Only About Me

Things One Piece men would say during sex

You felt so good, they loved your face filled with pleasure and loved your naked curves, everything was so perfect. They couldn't stop themselves from letting you know how good they felt.

NSFW!!!

Female pronouns! degradation + praise kink

================================

L U F F Y

He’s always loud, he doesn’t care if someone hears him or not, he is not even thinking about that right now, all he’s thinking about is how good you're making him feel.

He would be honest with his words, he always asks you how you're doing because he wants you to feel good, but sometimes he could be rude with his words, you just have to tell him so he could do better next time.

================================

“Shit… It feels so good, keep going, don't stop.”

“Want me to make it bigger, pretty girl?”

“A-Agh, ____… Are you sure you want me to make it bigger?”

“You’re… Ah- So damn wet”

“Please… Do that again… It’s called squirt, right? Please squirt again for me”

“Your ass looks so delicious from here”

“Yeah… Just like that, this feels okay with ya’?”

“Don’t cry, you said you could take it. Don't be a crybaby now”

“What is this bump on your tummy?”

“Oh, this is my cock? Shishi that’s so funny”

“Keep saying my name like that… I don't know why it feels so good when you say my name”

“____… I-I’m so close to cumming, wanna cum inside of you”

“It feels so tight”

“Oh, fuck. Huh? They're going to hear us? So what?”

“Y-You’re making me feel so good... I feel like I'll cum already”

“You look so beautiful... Makes me wanna cum…”

“I-I don’t know why you’re making me feel this way”

“Aw. Cmon pretty girl, don't put your hands on your mouth, wanna hear you, it makes me feel good and it's funny when you sound like that”

Nicknames he would call you

Pretty girl (I don’t see Luffy calling you something else other than your name or pretty girl)

Z O R O

He isn't that loud, he only whispers since he doesn't want any of his crewmates to know that he’s making love to you, that would be embarrassing for him, I mean he should be focused on other things, not on this!

Of course, he loves the noises you make, but sometimes you're too loud. He is kind of more on the sadistic side meaning he can be rude a lot of times with his words…

================================

“Fuck… this tight ass pussy is killing me”

“Shhh, they'll hear you”

“Shut the hell up!”

“I told you to be quiet… you don’t want me to be mean with you, right?”

“How can you be so wet already?”

“You look so nasty, I like it”

“I’ll make you feel so good”

“You don't tell me what to fucking do”

“Are you that starved for my cock?”

“You need to shut your damn mouth or they’ll hear us!”

“You like it when I talk to you this way? You’re such a damn freak”

“Fuck… fuck… fuck… my beautiful woman…”

“Look at you, doll. You look so beautiful and cock hungry”

“Cmon, you can take my whole cock, right?”

“Yes… you can, take everything like a good girl”

“Mhmm… you’re such a slut… such a slut for my cock”

“You want me to pull your hair? You damn pervert”

Nicknames he would call you

Slut

Good girl

Woman

Babydoll

Pervert

Doll

S A N J I

He is another one that doesn’t care if his crewmates hear him. In fact, he wants his crewmates to hear how good you’re making him feel or how good he’s making you feel because he’s a freak and a whore.

He loves it when you treat him like a dog, he loves to beg you so you can make him feel good, but he can also be on the dominant side if you ask him to. He's so sweet with his words, he’s always telling you how beautiful you look

================================

“____, p-please don't stop… I'm so close”

“My love, your boobs look so beautiful”

“Y-Yes, ____, I’ll do anything”

“Just please let me cum”

“You want me to go faster?”

“Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so tight it's killing me”

“How does that feel? D-Does this feel okay with you? You like that, sweetheart?”

“A-Ah, shit… You are taking me so well, my love, good job, sweetheart”

“Please keep saying my name… I-I feel like I'm about to cum”

“Don’t hold yourself back, sweetie… Please cum on my cock… please give it to me”

“You look so beautiful when you’re bouncing on my cock”

“Y-You want to take my whole cock? Are you sure?”

“Fuck- good job, my love. You’re making me feel so good”

“____, please do whatever you want to me… yes! Just like that!”

“Want me to go faster, pretty girl?”

“L-Let me eat your pussy, please, I beg you”

“My love, don’t hold yourself back… I want to hear your beautiful moans”

“Doesn’t matter if they can hear us.”

Nicknames he would call you

Pretty girl

Sweetie

Sweetheart

My love

Princess

Angel

================================

Please let me know if I made spelling mistakes, some things don’t make sense or got their personality wrong!

#monkey d. luffy #one piece #one piece x reader #roronoa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #monster trio #fanfic #smut #one piece smut #praise and degradation #roronoa zoro smut #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji smut #monkey d luffy smut #op smut #anime smut #roronoa zoro x reader #monkey d luffy x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader

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scivors · 10 months ago

Text

Andre Nikto head canons

We have little information about Niko but here's what I've gathered..

((Also I'd like to kindly add, hi, hello, my name is Mika and I am a Bosnian. The chances of me adding some accurate slav head canons are always high but never low!!🙏🏻 ALSO IM TERRIBLY OBSESSED WITH NIKTO SO IF ENJOY THIS AND YOU WANT DATING NIKTO HEAD CANONS PLEASE LET ME KNOWWW))

Genuine head canons:

Andre Nikto (Никто) is a (scary) Russian military man, roughly 193/194 centimetres (when you compare him to Simon's height) He suffers with acute dissociative disorder (better said DID) yet is still serving the military cause of how he preforms during battle.., so the military still views him as a ideal soldier for combat despite his disorder..

No hate but from what I've seen in some art works claiming it's his "face reveal" you people have to understand that under his mask, his face is disfigured.. so, no he won't be an attractive super model under that mask of his..

I don't think you people are aware how badass Nikto is as a character, almost SIMILAR as Ghost who's in the military for the same reason as everybody else, to risk their life.

Although judging by Nikto's voice lines, he doesn't care who he's killing..if it were up to him, if his teammates serve him zero purpose he'd care less if they die..(after all, you're just a target..) but being a professional, he can't allow that to happen to his teammates

If you look up closely, Nikto wears a military uniform that is different from everyone else with MP-0 written on it. Now if you don't know, MP stands for Military Police (enforcement agencies connected with, or part of, the military of a state.) and zero next to it meaning "nothing" and this is important which is what Nikto refers himself as..

Yeah so about that..

I have a theory about Nikto's nickname

After being captured and brutally tortured with whatever sick tendency mister Z had in store for him. It was Mister Z that couldn't really get much Information about Andre.

They would start torturing him while repeating to Andre that he's nothing, he's no one, what he is is nothing but what he is is everything. Those words play in the back of his head and they never seen to go away.

(This is extremely relevant cause Mister Z tried to get to know a bit of Andre by looking through some research come to find his citizenship and language are censored making him a nobody. Keep in mind, if he found any information about Andre viewing from personal life etc. it will be used as blackmail..)

After recovering his scars and taken to therapy after 7 years he was diagnosed with DID

NOW moving on to the DID part

(What I said about the fact that people overlook Nikto's disorder, I mean it..

Some don't really write about his disorder which is fine but when someone does it gets messy. )

Alters aren't easy to deal with, it's actually gonna haunt you till the day that you die cause there's no cure for it. And in Nikto's case it's from PTSD and Nikto is very aware of his alters..

Let me tell you how Nikto's disorder affects him. Switching can be consensual, forced or triggered, Nikto values silence as much as the next person cause he's dealing with much inside his head already. The kind of guy that would "watch TV" while dissociating with a 100 yard glare with very slow blinking and a slight headache..

There are times where his personalities would correct him when hes referring to himself (example: I'm up..(his personality correctes him) WE'RE up..)

"He made us do this" (and other voice lines I can't recall..)

Maybe cut bits of an apple with a knife and eat it while watching TV..

He has medication prescribed for him but he didn't wanna depend on medications cause they're just drugs..they're nothing to him but just drugs..

He has dissociative amnesia too, sometimes he would wander around confused maybe even annoyed. The amnesia appears to be caused by traumatic or stressful experiences endured or witnessed..Although the forgotten information may be inaccessible to consciousness, it sometimes continues to influence behavior

Like I said he likes quiet people, someone who doesn't waste their air on small talk..

Example; don't really talk to him about the weather, unless you have something interesting to say but if the conversation is gonna go nowhere , don't talk..he finds that a waste of time

People assume just because he's Russian that he likes vodka, he doesn't like vodka...-He doesn't like any alcoholic beverage cause it makes his problems a lot worse,...maybe If you were lending him some as an offering, he'll take it but he has SOME self control, he's okay with coffee, though..

It's relevant cause he stays awake at late hours since he finds it difficult to sleep, he'll stay up late with no music, nothing, just a silent room. It doesn't matter if he tries the military tactic where you just close your eyes and turn off your thoughts, it's very different when you have voices screaming inside your head...

Despite everything he's still intelligent, so being smart + strength + sharp reflexes and you got yourself a criminal

Death doesn't phase him, but to him death is like sleeping, he's not scared of death considering that he's been through hell those past few months.

He likes the simple things, don't complicate anything..because he's quick with catching an attitude..be blunt and forward and stumble over your words..

Nikto shows confidence in the battlefield,just like König, except he has a high rush of adrenaline and will laugh at the enemies death.

Fun fact: in this one comic Price calls Nikto "psycho"

And it's without a doubt that he is one.., a sadistic, sociopathic, psychopath

After splitting, his alters can and will get more aggressive and do more harm and damage to others cause they're doing the most at protecting the host.. (depending on the alter, some wanna protect him while some wanna hurt him)

Oh by the way about the intelligence part, I mean he has a good good memory with remembering faces..

He doesn't like people looking at him funny, he'll get angry really fast and annoyed at the same time.., he won't show hesitation when it comes to approaching you and asking you what are you looking at (it's like trying to avoid eye contact with a homeless man Infront of a store, that's how scared you would be)

He's slow with jokes or any form of humor that you throw at him??? You'll be excited to tell him a joke, and when you do he just looks at you and tells you never to do that again..,or just straight up tell you he doesn't get it...??? and probably trying to explain it either he gets it or not he'll still tell you that it's not funny

He doesn't argue, or he does? Arguing with him will costs you avoiding getting objects thrown at you so you can get out of his sight..tragic, now you have a teammate that hates your guts and won't apologize for it.

#nikto x reader #andre nikto #cod nikto #cod mw2 #nikto #modern warfare #modern warefare ii #call of duty nikto

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13tinysocks · 3 months ago

Text

My Dead Girlfriend

You're different, more than all of them expected. It's saddening for some, boner inducing for others. He likes the way you try to blow his brains out. The head of the GDA sees an opportunity. [Invincible Variants x reader]

[Part one] [2] [Ao3] [4] [Chapter Index]

3 * Narcan Blues [6.4k]

"I'm tired of walking away to lose you,

I take my Adderall with milk and sugar,

I'm gonna be okay,

get the fuck out of my way."

Alcohol - FIDLAR

The defense wing was gone. All the engineers were sliced through. Only a handful of staff left compared to the hundreds stuffed into the Pentagon. So much blood he could taste the metal. So much death and destruction and all from one person. Now smashed into his floor. Re-animen called off. Donald hovered behind him, mechanical body exposed.

If one Invincible could do that and there were how many of these little bastards? The world was bent over, spanked, and properly fucked.

Communications with most world leaders had been cut due to death or satellites being smashed. Plan B through Z had been used and flicked aside like flies. But then, there was this very unexpected and hopefully fortunate turn of events.

Cecil Stedman leaned over the desk. Dozens of screens showing him the few remaining CCTV feeds of the area in question. The few living staff busted their asses, tracking the variants. Six of them converged on one singular location. They hadn't been together since they'd first zapped into reality. No portals opened and it didn't seem like one would anytime soon.

He watched, listening to the crackling feed from the cheapest cameras business owners could afford. At first, he thought the prison-smashing, New York flattening freak was going to kill you on his lonesome. Then the rest came, one after another. Couldn't forget the one watching in the sky.

They didn't converge on you like hungry wolves. They spoke and then the strangest, best thing happened. One of them dropped dead. Killed himself on a whim, at your say so.

"I need everything we've got on her, now." He said to no one in particular, but heard the remaining staff scramble behind him.

"You should sit down Sir," Donald said. "You're running on fumes." He held out an alcohol soaked rag.

Cecil took it, pressing it hard to the bleeding slit in his head. A sliver of his skull was exposed to the air, blood gushing and rolling into one of his eyes. Not that he could see out of it, his vision was spotty and limited to begin with, his orbital had to be fractured. Flaxan bastard.

"Can't, so you better get to teaching me on how to run on fumes."

Donald didn't smile. Cecil hated himself for the jab but apologies were for later, way, way later.

He watched the newcomers rush in. Dog Girl, Psychopomp, Mercy, Running Man, and The Amazing Kidult. A handful of nobody scraps that surrounded his one and only hope for the planet. They were going to be torn to shreds.

Cecil was counting on that.

"How's the teleporter?" He asked.

"Almost online, sir!" Someone shouted across the room. "I dunno if it'll be stable-"

"Define almost." He didn't care about stable.

"Three minutes!"

"God damn it." These nobodies weren't going to distract them that long. But his staff was doing all they could, fast as possible. He had to move onto the next step in the hasty plan he was gluing together with popsicle sticks.

***

They waited, though the action had already started. When one is a Viltumite- so fast, so powerful- watching lesser beings run at them felt like slow motion. Not from fear, but from the monotony of it all. Waiting for something interesting or challenging, but the best they get is a punch that doesn't even tickle.

The Amazing Kidult was a stretch of a contingency plan. He was more useful if you had to pretend to be somebody's mom, trust, the situation had arisen before. If you have to get into a preschool to kill one of the teachers, who was actually a drug runner who didn't deliver on the goods, he was useful. Nobody would let some random adult in, so Kidult would shift from his thirty-year-old self to whatever age you needed.

Freaky, sure, but he could've done a lot worse with his powers.

You hadn't wanted him to answer the phone, but here he was. Throwing himself first into the fray. Thirty going on five to duck under an unenthusiastic punch thrown by Mohawk. Soon as he was in the clear, under the guy's legs, he was five going on thirty. Growing with a fist aimed straight for Mohawk's balls.

He was freshly twenty when Mohawk grabbed him by the throat, snapped his neck with a twitch of the hand. He dropped Kidult, cringing, "Weirdest dude I've killed in awhile." He kicked Kidult away, sending his corpse into the smoke of New York.

Dog Girl lunged for Shoulder Pads. Going from your everyday Twitter-scrolling, Contrapoints watching, EDM mixing t-girl, to ginormous fucking werewolf. Maw open wide enough to bite him in half. Shoulder Pads isn't even a blur, one second, he's about to die, the next he's behind her.

When shot, a dog does one of two things. Die quietly or let out such a pathetic sound it makes you want to kill. But when a Dog Girl's head is separated from a Dog Girl's body? That sound made you want to throw up.

"Pathetic." He says, "But I'm not surprised (Y/n) enlisted the likes of you."

You didn't have time to unpack what that meant. Your finger shoots towards Lensless-or as you now thought of him, Boner Boy- too busy holding his suit out above his dick so no one could see the outline of his arousal.

"Kill him!" You say, eyes locked onto Running Man's goggles.

Instead of looking horrified at the idea of fighting with a hard-on, Lensless grins. Running Man, a C-tier hero at best, zipped forward. Nowhere near quick or strong as the late Red Rush, but that didn't matter. He had what Red Rush didn't. An energy shotgun, so powerful he blasted straight through a kaiju last fall. Honestly, the only reason he was so high in your book was because of that gun but you couldn't tell him that- he's got a temper.

Round and Round Lensless he ran, a gray blur. Shotgun powering up and up and up.

Mohawk made his way toward you. "Look, babe, you know I appreciate a good ass-kicking, but this is just so lame; it's unnecessary! You know you can't fight me."

"Cover me!" You tell Mercy. She's in front of you, solar-powered caduceus staff spinning in hand.

Round and round and round. Lensless head spun following his to-be attacker, laughing, "So are you gonna hit me or what?"

You blinked. Just blinked, but when you opened your eyes, Mercy's blood was shooting out of her esophagus like a fountain. Top half of her head splattered God knows where. Tongue twitching, bottom jaw pooling with blood as she fell to her knees then to the ground.

Mohawk stepped over her into your personal space. You stagger back, head reeling, stomach churning. You should've done this earlier, but got too preoccupied with the contingencies. With the backup plan that was blowing up spectacularly in your face. "Kill Yo-"

You feel it coming. Your head whips to the side as vomit forces it's way out of your throat. Bitter as it was going down. You sway, head pulsing.

"Does being near me make you that sick?" Mohawk laughs but there's little humor in it.

"Yes." You gaggle out, spitting out the last of the bile. Hand in pocket, cracking the top off another bottle of codeine. It was a bad idea shotgunning one, puking it out, and shotgunning another. Some of the first had been absorbed into your system. Adding onto that absorption was prime real estate for death by overdose. You had no other options. Overdose or be tortured to death by a guy with your ex's face.

Ker-ack!

The top of Running Man's body sails over head. Going splat on a building behind you. His legs are still moving around Lensless, who just held out his arm and cut the guy in half.

"Why do they never think that I can just do that and it's over?" He scoffed, running the hand that had just killed Running Man through his hair. Blood clinging to the locks like gel. "So boring."

You see the mass coming in hot. Running Man's gun barreling toward your head. You drop the bottle, half drunk, and hold your hands out to catch it. Mohawk is too busy trying to get his fingers under your chin to notice. The Phantom was busy liberating Psychopomp's arms from her body. Others noticed, Lensless raced, followed by Shoulder Pads. In the sky, the Viltrumite watches. Interested in you and your well-being, of course, but if you couldn't handle a gun flying toward your head- you couldn't handle him.

To his pleasure, you catch the thing. Fumbling before twisting the gun into the right position, ready to fire at will. The thing pulses with purple energy, humming.

Lensless stops, chest centimeters from the shotgun barrel. "Whew, thought I'd be picking your teeth up off the ground!"

Mohawk is shoved out of the way as Lensless came in way too hot, spitting a, "Watch it, dipshit."

Shoulder Pads stops behind him. Aware of the gun buzzing, vibrating in your hands. He wasn't afraid, more so curious. Watching you tilt the barrel up, aimed straight for Lensless's head. You really were different. Daring enough to point a gun a version of him (again), any version of him, despite his royal linage, despite his power. The sight was like a slap across the face, but he did nothing to stop what was coming. If Lensless died to you and his own foolishness- he deserved death.

In another universe, one with a Mark Angstrom hadn't taken- the same energy crystal slapped into the gun was fired straight at Omni-man. Sending him crashing through concrete. Hurting him, even just a little, was no small feat. Something that could hurt him? Imagine would it could do to his son, not yet fully grown into his powers. But you didn't know that, none of them did. If Lensless knew, he wouldn't have moved anyway.

"Reminds me of old times." As the gun's power apexed, Lensless smiled and leaned down. Putting his left eye into the barrel hole, his hips undulating. "I've got an itch actually, mind pulling the trigger for me real quick?"

Blammo.

You fall back, hands burning, shoulders aching, gun launching itself out of your hands, clattering thirty feet back and breaking useless against the concrete. Lensless shoots back as well, five, six, feet- holding a hand to his left eye, blood seeping between his fingerless gloves.

"Man-" His laughs are breathy, wanton, "Oh man, I think you really got me there." His hand falls away, "Is it bad?"

The light brown of his eye had split in two. Oozing vitreous tissue down and around the exposed bone of his cheek and lower eye socket. All the flesh and fabric around his eye had singed away. Leaving a pulsing, angry chasm. Blast so hot it'd cauterized most of his blood vessels. The few that remained open bled like rivers into the sea.

He pokes at one half of his eye, "I can still kinda see." He hums.

"You asked for that one dude," Mohawk said.

"Don't call me, dude, dude." Lensless says, though he's smiling. Shreds of eyelids twitching, trying to close around the mess.

"See, this is why you should be wearing goggles." Shoulder Pads commented. "Look at you. What use are you to my empire half blind?"

Phantom let Psychopomp drop, still screaming, rolling on the ground, legs kicking like a de-winged butterfly. He stepped closer but not too close. He felt hot, too hot, just being on the same planet as you. Too close and he'd burn to a crisp. Too far again and his heart would ice over.

He knew you weren't the same person. You just looked like it, moved like it, sounded like it. He didn't believe in second chances either but still, if there was a second chance for you and him- how could he pass it up? Angstrom had made a good argument. "You miss her, I can see the loss has hit you hard." He'd thrown a punch, though Angstrom was already gone. Behind him. "Do you even remember what it was like to hold her?" Another punch. "Do you want to remember?"

He did. So very badly.

Because he didn't recall the taste of your lips. It'd been so long. Five years, two months, three days without you felt like the thousands of years his father said he'd live. Being near you now, reversed time. The reveal of you, this you and your truth, was violently fast, too quick to process. It felt like a joke, like the rug had been pulled from under his feet. But he could fix it. Could make you whole again the same way you'd do for him once he got you alone.

"You know you're not the only emperor of Viltrum here, right?" Mohawk said.

Shoulder Pads stiffened, pouting slightly, "I assumed we all were. I wasn't aware so many of us were weak enough not to take the throne." He shot a disgusted glance toward Lensless, who was still poking at the remnants of his eye.

Talking like you weren't here, like they hadn't just shredded through your contingencies like cheese to grater. Your mouth screws into a sneer. Fingers digging into rubble so small it felt like sand. You rose, albeit wobbly. "Hey, pirate, come'ere."

They stared in confusion a moment. "Oh! Are you talking to me?" Lensless pointed at himself. "Are you giving me a nickname already?" He was in front of you but you hadn't seen him move. The damage was worse up close. You could smell the burnt flesh. He leaned in for a kiss or just to violate your personal space. "Would should I call you? Sweetums? Hot lips? Babygi-"

You shoved gravel into his eye socket. Pressing, twisting, scissoring your fingers to get the dirt in all the cracks and open veins.

"You like that?" You snarled, though it sounded slurred. Stomach churning with sick. Head throbbing from the drugs.

"Fuuuck!" Lensless stumbled back a pace. "Fuck, fuck, fuuuckkk." He's moaning, groaning, in pain. Good. Satisfaction rises in your chest. "I think I just came."

***

Cecil's lips pushed in. Ninety seconds was all the distraction they got. All he could hope for was the degenerate version of the planet's strongest hero didn't snap her neck for that. He'd call on Mark for help if he could, but Mark was busy fighting off two versions of himself in downtown Tokyo. One in red and white, the other in the classic yellow and blue. He watched on split screens as the other Marks surrounded you. As their Mark fought for his, Eve's, and the people of the city's lives.

Tokyo was the first city hit. They came out of green portals above Japan and got right to work. Mark and Eve were on a date in Osaka when this whole mess started. Just flown in after a job well done in New York. Tired from super speed, ready to get down to relaxing.

It had been a good thing in Cecil's eyes, the kid was a loose canon these days, but he still saved hundreds at the time. All those people he saved were definitely dead now, based on how things went. The destruction was too catastrophic to contain. The other versions of him were too quick, too bloodthirsty. New York was practically defenseless with the people currently on his payroll.

Cecil couldn't help either of them like this. Even when he could, he'd have to choose who to go to first. (Y/n) seemed like decent shot. Still, Mark was Mark, he was practically Invincible. Not going for him first would be one hell of a gamble he'd have to be absolutely sure about. "How much longer?"

"Ninety seconds!" A tech called.

A minute and a half to make a decision that could make or break the planet. Just another Tuesday.

"Sir," Donald shifted behind him, fingers fast on a keyboard as he pulled up the file, "That's (Y/n) (L/n). File says her and Mark used to date, sir." He swallowed. As the GDA it was their job to know everything about everyone important. Superheroes and villains top of the list, terrorists, politicians, and importantly, their connections. Dangling a husband or child in front of any one of those people could get them to do damn near anything. So the database was kept, a background thing, a backup.

Though everyone who worked in that department thought it was useless and hated working on it- today they'd earn that paycheck.

"Tell me more," Cecil said, because to be honest, he had no idea who this girl was.

"They were together before Mark developed his powers. Very briefly after. It's likely they split after she started working for Machine Head." Donald said.

Everyone thought the government couldn't possibly know and see everything. They could. Machine Head was a thorn in Cecil's side, but so small and insignificant when it came to the matter of the entire planet, he'd done nothing about it. Local criminal empires were for local heroes to deal with, not Cecil Stedman.

Cecil's finger tapped his bicep, arms crossed over his chest. He watched the battle between Mark, Mark, and Mark shift. Eve's leg was snapped like a twig, she went down hard and useless. Their Mark was on her, trying to carry her away while local heroes stepped into the fray. He broke through the atmosphere, screaming for help. Leaving just in time to see the local talent get shredded right through.

He hadn't killed a single one of them, whereas the city gutter rat had. Cecil swallowed, eyes switching back and forth, "Great. I'm sure his ex'll wanna work with us."

"Probably not, but Sir, what those versions of Mark are saying implies they're not exes in their universe." Donald nodded to the screen. The Mark's surrounding her in a semicircle. Bloodied. One screaming about cum.

The decision was made. The bait was too good to pass up. Eve would live without immedatate medical attention.

His fingers curled into his sleeves. "Someone not working on the teleporter- get me powercuffs, Narcan, the most noise proof headphones we can find, and a muzzle, preferably the same we used on the first re-animen, I like not killing myself."

***

"Get away from me."

He does, you wish he hadn't. Up close you couldn't see his bottom half so well. But as soon as he stepped back, you can see the imprint of his dick softening. See the wet stain on his lower abdomen.

The sight is... you don't know. You felt sick in a way that couldn't be from the codeine overdose or the life or death situation in front of you. Guts twisting in disgust, a disgust you had seen in others. You were unsavory to people around you, but interesting, like a pet they could discipline. Something they desired against their best interests. But the way he was looking at you with his one good eye, was beyond desire. He looked like he wanted to crawl into your chest and rut on your ribs.

You didn't know how to feel, but his companions not being cool with it certainly helped.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Mohawk said. "That is- wow, dude. Do you have brain damage?"

"A little." Lensless eyes unfogged from your control, but not from lust.��

"A little?" Shoulder Pads questioned. "You've just been disrespected and you've come in your pants- what do you mean a little?"

Lensless shrugs. "Means what it means, dude."

The Phantom edged closer. Fingers twitching. Tempted, very, very tempted to rid Lensless of his other eye.

You hear a meow, he comes out at the worse time. Caligula bounding from the rubble, meowing and curling himself around your ankles. You bend to grab him. A rush of wind and Lensless is in front of you, holding your cat. Stupid thing is purring with a hand ready to snap his tiny neck.

"Will you use your powers on me if I kill 'im?" He gasps, realizing something with a grin, "Would you cry too?"

He'd gone from lustful to violent in a millisecond. Actually, scratch that- he was both at once. He just saw another way to get his rocks off.

To answer he question, yes and yes. He can see it in your eyes. He's going to do it.

Until a fist cracks his jaw, loosening his hold enough for Mohawk to take the cat.

"Jesus, dude! Relax."

Lensless laughs, rubbing his jaw, the punch barely fazing him. "Don't act like you care about that thing."

"I don't," Mohawk says, Caligula rubbing on his arms. "Killing something this weak is below us."

"Maybe below you but not me." Lensless reaches for the cat. Mohawk jerks back. You can only watch. Scared if you say something he'll kill your sweet, idiot baby. "Aww come on, you're no fun. Don't you wanna see her cry?"

Mohawk's gaze slides over you. Considering. Then he's gone in a crack. Returning just as fast, but without Caligula. He opens his mouth just before you start to scream, "Your ugly pet is fine. We'll get it back before we leave, okay babe?"

You don't know if you believe him. You want to but you're stuck on the promise of 'when we leave'.

Blood was rushing in your ears, you could barely hear yourself say, "Psychopomp, get up." She did. Balance wavering, blood spurting out where her arms should be connected to her body, pulsing to the beat of her heart. "Revive the others."

"Hell no." She said. You'd forgotten.

A note about mind powers. Generally, they don't work well on other people with mind powers. Even if it's mind powers to raise the dead. And another thing that was working against you- you'd dated, very briefly, four years ago. Two months of sex and coping with your new life. Not finishing high school because of your jail sentence and your new role as Machine Head's grunt. Not going to college, not being with Mark.

She wanted to go the distance. Go clean, build a life together. Lesbians are fast with those sorts of decisions. You couldn't, wouldn't. You tried to force her to forget you on your two-month anniversary. Just to find out, psychics have a hard time controlling other psychics. The breakup was a huge blowout. Her calling you every name in the book. Unbelieving that she wanted to move in with you. Demanding you give her Caligula because she was the who wanted him in the first place.

You kept the cat. Cleansed your phone of her number. Didn't cry over the loss in your life because she wasn't shit. She was a nobody grunt The Order sometimes called on. It made missions with her tense, but you dealt with it.

Until.

You'd almost died too many times to count. One of which was a deal gone wrong where your bodyguard wound up dead. Your head was next on the concrete chopping block, still dripping with the blood from his neck. You escaped with quick wit, but it scared the shit out of you so bad you redialed her number as a contact. Saved it as contingency twenty-seven. Assumed if you'd call she'd come. Another thing about lesbians, they have a horrible time getting over an ex. Then you never called or texted, forgot about her and who contingency twenty-seven was besides a panic alarm.

She hadn't said anything today when you called, just came to where you said. Everything had gone so quick you hadn't had time to process that she hadn't been controlled. That she was who she was and somehow, even though years had separated your relationship like the grand canon, she came for you.

"You're letting yourself die because I didn't take you back?" Usually, you kept relationships, even one night stands, under wraps. You didn't kiss and tell. Except, being ridiculously high was not your usual.

That gave the bickering between the Mark's pause.

Her lip twitched. "You killed my brother, asshole." Oh. She didn't come for you in a romantic sense. She came for revenge, first for the city, then for you.

The dark cracks in Phantom's heart deepen. Mohawk smirked, still getting used to the idea that Dregs was not a cute hero name. Shoulder Pad's legs flexed, ready to move, to slice off Psychopomp's head for how she spoke to his pet. The Viltrumite in the sky lowered a degree to hear the drama that much better.

Guilty as charged. "No, I didn't." You lie, because her little junkie brother didn't pay what he owed so yeah, Machine Head had you kill him. "Multi-Paul did."

"Multi-Paul was in prison when he went missing." She was swaying. Soon to die if she didn't do something.

"Not every Multi-Paul." You counter, absolutely full of shit. "Are you really going to let yourself die over an assumption?"

Her knees looked ready to give when she said, "Up n'attem."

Light blinded you. Made Lensless groan and fall on his ass. The light was gone soon as it'd come.

The dead rose. Bodies not healed, still dripping and oozing, but crackling with the anger of the recently deceased. "Mercy, fix me."

The headless body rose her caduceus staff high before slamming its end to the ground. More light. Your headache worsened despite the codeine supposed to be suppressing it.

When the light faded, Psychopomp had arms again. She'd gone pale from blood loss, still staggering. She held out her arms, sleeveless and baby-skin smooth, hands glowing as brought back more of the dead.

Dog Girl was first to rise, blood still spilling out of her neck. Kidult stood, body facing forward, head facing back. Running Man hobbled forward using arms as legs, guts trailing behind him like streamers. Then there were the civilians. Wes and his coworkers, innocent streetwalkers, alley lurkers, anyone and everyone within a hundred food radius.

The pièce de résistance? Seventeen, shambling to his feet, fists twitching shut.

"You're kidding me." Emperor Shoulder Pads sneered, launching forward to put a hole through Psychopomp. "You're seriously making us kill you again?"

But you'd though ahead, you started speaking the second Psychopomp stared necromancing. The word, "Stop," out of your lips before he could move more than two inches.

He stills. Hovering an inch off the ground. Body shaking with effort to throw off your control. Eyes wild on you, animal angry.

Lensless let out a whooping cackle. "Oh thank God! I thought we were already done! This is gonna be awesome, I've never killed a zombie before!" His muscles tense under his suit, weight shifting as he decides who to pounce on first.

His yelling makes your ears twitch.

"Be still." You tell him and he is. You turn to the next, "Stay," and the next, "Don't move." You leave out the one in the sky. He hadn't posed a threat yet.

You flex your fingers, telling Psychopomp to bring the troops in. Let the zombies get in their first hits before your hold weakens. Which it already was. Nose bleeding, balance wavering, you were so sleepy and heavy-limbed despite the situation. Your heart slowing and vision blurring at the very edges. You knew what it meant.

The dead move like a wave. Slipping past you, leaving brushes of blood where they made contact. Fists and feet and bloody stumps came down on the versions of your ex. You refreshed your hold with the same turns of phrase. Bending down to grab the half-drunk bottle and finishing it to hopefully help.

Throat roadkill raw. Ready to puke again, but you force your stomach to steel. You could puke when they were dead.

Except, the zombies, superpowered or not, leave no marks on the Mark's. Save for Seventeen, currently walloping the everloving shit out of Lensless. Socking him again and again, twisting his head side to side with every punch. Jiggling bits of his remaining eyeball falling to the ground.

You'd have to step in more. Despite the sleepiness washing over you. The blur worsening. Your lips feel slow, tongue heavy, "Hey you," You say to none of them in particular, "Kill eachother."

The first command you'd set snaps. Lensless is first to move, lunging to Phantom with a cat's yowl. Leaving Mohawk and Emperor Whatever to duke it out. They shear through bodies of the dead. Leaving them deader than before as they move. Throwing punches, kicks and tossing each other into buildings.

It lasts about nine seconds before your hold is gone. The command too taxing, too much, too many people at once.

They stop all at once. Expressions varying from pissed to entertained.

He's on you in an instant. Hand on your throat, holding you feet above the ground. "You-" Shoulder Pads snarls. You kick at the air. Choking around his hand. "Fucking-" Vision goes from blurry to blackening. You hold onto his wrist for support. "Dare?"

You try to command him, but you can't. Voice box pressed firm to your larynx. His grip is bruisingly hard, but you know it's absolutely nothing for the likes of him. "I should kill you for that."

The others were coming. Fists raised. Snarls tight. Even the holier-than-thou angel in the sky was going to touch down. All of them, ready to punch the shit out of him. Not thinking it'd kill their precious in the process.

Zombies clawed at your feet. Psychopomp reached out, grabbing your ankle, trying to pull you down but only making you feel like a rubber band. Death came from all sides, it'd be quick, but man it'd hurt.

***

His people met up with Mark. He and Eve were en route. One problem solved.

"How much longer?" He shouted, standing over the teleporter. Techie's arms like blurs.

Donald returned, holding only souped-up headphones. "The light room is ready with everything, sir."

"Forty-five seconds!"

Cecil threw the headphones on. Speaking loud because he couldn't even hear himself, "We don't have that much time, send me now!" He stepped onto the teleporter platform, hitting the big red button on its side before the techies could protest.

***

Everything happened so fast you couldn't register it. One second four guys were about to hit the guy choking you out so hard it'd shatter your body- the next- you were in a while room falling on your ass. Psyhopomp still holding to your ankle, both of you breathing heavy. The zombies that were touching either of you dropped instantly dead- again. Parts of them that were there seconds ago melted to the floor.

"Good." A cool voice said, "I was worried it'd do that to you guys instead."

A hand you hadn't noticed falls from your shoulder. Wrinkled and pale. He steps away, giving you much needed personal space. "Cecil Stedman, head of the GDA." He's tall, frail, and wearing the chunkiest headphones you'd ever seen. "We need your help."

You move slowly, like you were moving through the same syrup you'd just drank. "Fuck you." You don't know who he is, what's going on, but you didn't want to hear it. You wanted to kill. You wanted to see the fucker who threatened your life die. You didn't want to be here. "Send me back."

Your threat is a lot less impactful as Psychopomp almost vomits on your shoes. You scoot back with a snarl, though Cecil doesn't seem to mind.

"I can see your lips moving kid, but I can't hear you." He taps the headphones. "Got a look at what you can do and I don't want that pointed at me any day."

Psychopomp scrambled to her knees then to her feet. "You-!"

Cecil held up a hand, "There's no one to raise from the dead here, save it. I'm not your enemy."

She swayed, foot to foot, still reeling from blood loss. "You better not be lying."

"Still can't hear you. I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess you're angry. You can be, at them, not me. We need your help, the both of you, to take these Invincible's down. Can't say we'll let you go after that, but you'll have jobs working for us." His gaze slides meaningfully over you, "And not on the streets."

In your increasing stupor, you slur, "No, send me back. I've got- I've got to kill 'em all."

He watches your lips move but does nothing to act on your behalf. "Look kid, we're really low on options here, so do me a favor and stop scowling. This'll go a lot easier for you if you cooperate."

Your vision goes blacker and blacker. "Send me back." You can't even put power behind your words anymore. Arms going limp by your side. You lay back, heaving, feeling yourself trying to duck and bob the effects of the overdose, "Send... send me..." You pull a bottle from your pocket, fingers too weak to uncap it.

"Jesus." Cecil says, "You're going blue. Narcan her, now."

There are hands on you, though you can't see them. All you see is white, Cecil, and Psychopomp.

Your head is tilted back, neck supported in a gloved palm. Something plastic is shoved into your nose. The spray shoots down your nasal passage, burning all the way. A scream ripping through your throat before the plunger is all the way down.

Bone deep. The ache is in everything. Behind your eyes, inside your marrow. You're lying on your side, vomit spewed out on the floor in front of you. Esophagus on fire. The world comes back into focus with your heart beating erratically.

Cecil is crouched in front of you. "I know now's not the best time," he says, voice gentle but face hard set, "but I'm really gonna need you to work with me."

You feel Psychopomp behind you, holding you steady on your side in case you seize. The hands on you are gone.

You peel your face off the floor, lucky it wasn't sticky with puke. Cecil holds out a hand to help you up. "Kill him." You say.

Psychopomp lunges over your body. Hands posed to wring Cecil's neck. "I was hoping you wouldn't do this." A gun flies out of a hidden torso holster and connects with Psychopomp's temple. You don't hear the crack, but she crumples. "Get the muzzle."

There's an order on the tip of your tongue, before you can look to find out who you're ordering, before the words can come out, a monstrosity of a muzzle is thrown over your jaw. A rubber stopper shoved between your teeth. Leather straps pulled tight as the muzzle is locked tight around your head. You claw, trash, kick but the invisible hands hold you down.

"I'm sorry we have to do this," he says, not looking sorry at all.

He touches your shoulder. "Take us there." He says to the emptiness.

You are gone.

Then back, in a different place. Green everywhere. Clear blue sky ahead. A quaint town all around you. Abandoned.

You're on the ground. Grass soft under your bloodstained sweats. Cecil stands over you, his invisible men holding your hands behind your back.

Cecil looked down at you, "Tristan De Cunha." He says, "Most remote island on the planet. Used to be a town before the US Government bought it back in twenty-twelve. The safest place on the planet to be- for now."

You writhe, uncaring about geography.

Cecil lets the headphones slide down to his neck. He presses a finger to his ear, "Muscle and bone density?" He asks.

"That of an average human," comes a flat reply. Nothing special about you.

Cecil nods to himself, suspicion confirmed. "Good." He nodded his chin toward something behind you. "Don't let her hands free while you lock 'er up."

You're pulled ass backwards. Heels dragging, the only part of you touching the ground. It's no use. They're strong, and though you can't see them, they outnumber you three to one. Cecil follows, frowning.

You're pressed to a cold pole, moss crawling up the sides. At night its bulb used to come alive after sunset but now, on this southern island God knows where, it does not. Your arms are thrown behind your back. Something heavy is locked around one wrist. Secured so tough it nearly cuts off the circulation. You try to free your other arm, but just like the other, it is locked into the device. The pieces are sealed together in a massive metal cuff made for a berserker- not you.

The invisible soldiers step back. Their boots pressing imprints to the grass. "Thanks, boys." Cecil nods as they zap away. "Teleporter's fully online now." He says to himself more than you. "Look kid, I'm gonna do something you're not gonna like." If you could talk you'd ask 'more than you already have?' Reading your eyes, he says, "Things'll get worse before they get better. Just remember, after this you'll have a job with us."

From his pocket comes a phone. He taps to the camera app and starts recording, only his face in frame.

"Invincible, the people of Earth surrender." It's a lie, through and through, "No more military might will be sent your way. All governments are to stand down effective immediately. The planet is yours." The message could've ended there but instead he pans he camera down. To you muzzled, cuffed to a pole, uselessly fighting against metal and concrete. "As a show of good faith, we have (Y/n) (L/n) waiting for you on Tristan De Cunha island. Two thousand five hundred miles east of Buenos Aires, one thousand five hundred miles west of Cape Town. We will make contact within the hour after she's been collected for negotiations." He ended the recording, pulled his hand through his remaining hair and sighed. "It's about the most obvious trap I've ever set but it just might work."

He sent the recording off. "That'll be playing on loop on every speaker and screen round the whole world in two minutes." His smile is wry, tired, uneven with scar tissue. "Don't let the fame get to your head." The smile drops as soon as appeared, "If they unmask you, don't do anything stupid. I'm sure I don't have to tell you twice, but these people are dangerous." You glare up at him, willing his head to explode. It doesn't. Your breathing is heavy. Saliva pooling around the muzzle bit. "You've got about ten minutes before they're all here so uh, brace yourself. We'll be watching."

He disappears in a bolt of white-blue. You are alone, but not for long.

#invincible x reader #invincible variants #invincible variants x reader #mohawk invincible #viltrum mark #phantom invincible #emperor mark #emperor invincible #lensless mark #mohawk mark x reader #emperor mark x reader #lensless invincible x reader #rea wrties #mdgf #header is an unfinished piece of mine lol #gotta get me some of that old man cecil... im a lesbian but yeah...#anyway you are now bisexual i dont make the rules i CAN NOT write a heterosexual mc

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absolutedestinyapocalypsse · 8 months ago

Text

When Harrow is very obviously grieving, (and also when he wants to gaslight her) John tells her to make soup about it, to focus on the little things, to take it day by day. When asked to help with the lobotomy, Ianthe tells Harrow that the worst is over- she's a lyctor now, and she should try and move forward instead of sticking herself permanently in limbo. These are not terrible pieces of advice to give a grieving person; if actually practiced, they might even be helpful. Except for Harrow, they are the absolute worst things you could possibly say.

None of what happened to her should have happened, of course she doesn't want to accept it and progress further into lyctorhood. Everything is terrifying and new to her, of course she won't find peace in "the little things". John is actively trying to fucking KILL HER, of course SOUP isn't going to help! Like obviously the general grief advice isn't gonna work for Harrow because she's in a psychological horror book and is being haunted and is grieving jesus christ herself, but also, does it really work that well ever? Does being told to move on actually ever in any circumstance help the person move on? Or does it just make them feel more broken, more inadequate, more lonely?

Sure, focusing on little things that give you joy and trying not to ruminate on the past are on paper productive ways to cope, but its also the LAST thing a grieving person actually wants to do. Telling someone to simply forget about what they went through and who they lost, to just focus on the boring and isolating minutae of everyday life instead of the world-ending tragedy they've experienced feels impossible. To do it would be like betraying yourself, and the people you lost.

Most of the book is Harrow knowing that certain things would probably make her feel better if she would just try, being told constantly that if she would just do x y or z, things would fall into place and she would be less broken. She doesn't even remember WHY she feels like this, but she does, and it's all-consuming. Lyctorhood is the scale by which her "normality" is measured, and she is failing SPECTACULARLY. She refuses to set aside Gideon's humanity and significance in her life to use her as a battery, and that makes her weak and a failure in the eyes of the other saints.

But by failing to move on, she ends up actually preserving (??? who actually knows man) Gideon's life. For the classic grief advice to not only be unhelpful to her personally also ACTIVELY MALICIOUS/ HARMFUL PLOT WISE is such a great 180 to me. Instead of a "grieving character comes to terms with loved one's death for the Greater Good and moves on because its the Right Thing To Do" narrative, we get a kind of bereavement revenge fantasy. Harrow's complete refusal to move on stops Gideon from actually fully dying. And she does makes soup, not to cope with the constant terror she's living under, but to EXPLODE her tormentor from the inside out. These things probably aren't "good" for Harrow, or for anyone dealing with grief. They do not make life easier for her, and they do not make her a lyctor, but they are honest and they are SO satisfying. Having the power to bring back the person you lost, even at great personal detriment and to explode everyone who hurt you with your mind is i think the perfect power for someone in mourning and i love that htn let Harrow have it. There is no greater good to be served, no larger moral about loss to be told. The objective is not to see Harrow heal from loss, it's to see her by sheer determination and force of will, refuse to fucking lose.

#tlt gender studies #not rlly gender more grief #but i wanna tag all my meta the same #none gender with left grief #the locked tomb #harrow the ninth #htn spoilers #harrowhark nonagesimus #harrowhark the first

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syntheticsymp · 4 months ago

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OK, I’ve been obsessed with that man for YEARS and that post about Nikto is one of my biggest headcanons (although there are also other drugs that do the same thing but do the opposite by increasing libido… so I’m sure if he/they knew they’d switch him off immediately, just so he could have his precious little thing shaking and screaming desperately for him, lol). So, figuring he still has dysfunction issues and is a very proud man, I think he’d be pretty good with his hands… I mean, he doesn’t need his dick to make you cum and he’ll prove it… (although I wouldn’t mind using it as a pacifier… ehh… just saying…).

*forehead kiss* Babes, I love the way your brain works. I am obsessed with this. Just thinking about this scenario gave me so many ideas. Nikto is one of the characters I love writing most for because his personality/personalities are so complex. I'd love to hear more of your headcannons because this man deserves more in-depth analysis.

If Nikto’s libido was high, god save his girl. He's not a kind man in the slightest, meaning you'd practically be a living sex toy for him. Round after round, not caring if you passed out on him, which you did many times.

Luckily, his medication was switched back about a week later after he got on it. But not before you were thoroughly molded to fit his stupidly thick cock. You sported a small limp for about a month, but Nikto didn't seem to mind carrying you room to room. It was the closest he could get to apologizing to you.

However, going back on his regular meds came with another problem. His ED was far worse than before. He went to KorTac’s doctor for it, but after being told there wasn't a good solution unless he wanted to go off meds altogether, he put that doctor’s head through a wall. His poor girl would stay empty for a long time. That's what truly irked him, the idea that you would forget how he feels inside you. That you would see him as inadequate. It didn't matter how many times you assured him otherwise, the voices in the back of his head were loud enough to speak over you.

Nikto was never good with affection. The two ways he knew how to show it was either physically doing something for you, or sex. Now that the latter was off the table, he was trying something more… your speed. It wasn’t really working. He wasn’t exactly one for change.

You, on the other hand, were growing used to him. His violent mood swings, what to do during his episodes, everything. The life you had before him was fading the longer you stayed locked inside with him. You started minding this less and less. After all, he claimed he loved you.

Though, he could only give you the closest thing to love he was capable of, if he was capable of love at all.

His hand lazily pet your head as he read some book in Russian. You were perched between his legs, cheek resting against his thigh, lazily pressing kisses to his soft cock. You alternated between that, licking fat stripes down his shaft, and sucking on his one remaining ball. He had lost the other during Mr. Z’s torture, that much he had told you. Occasionally, he'd give you a grunt of recognition, communicating that he appreciated your actions. Though, his lips stayed shut.

This wasn't for sexual reasons. He got nothing out of this, no pleasure aside from the knowledge that he had you wrapped around his finger. Which, oh, he loved seeing you so desperate that you'd suck so diligently on his cock, soft or not. But you knew the truth. You knew this was a tactic to keep you close and quiet while he read his book. You didn't mind, not really.

At least whatever medicine he was on now kept his libido at a dismal. Keeping up with him otherwise would be a nightmare.

Most of your nights with him, when he wasn't disassociating or trying to kill you, were like this. Quiet. Content. Nikto and his little pet. No brutality bleeding over from his job, no voices convincing him to choke you out, just silent affection. He was trying so hard to prove he wasn't rotted on the inside, that he loved you.

Then, Krueger decided to make a comment at work. That man was single-handedly the reason for most of Nikto’s bad moods. Usually, Nikto could block out his partner’s constant dirty jokes and babbling about old war stories, but some things he took a little too personally.

“How’s that little birdy of yours doing?”

That was enough to stop Nikto in his tracks. How had Krueger known about you? It wasn’t like Nikto had told him, or anyone for that matter. You were his, his to keep, his to protect. If your name got out at work, you could get hurt. Nikto knew the consequences of loose lips all too well.

So, Nikto didn’t answer. A glare would do.

He greatly underestimated his teammate’s need to harass whoever was closest. Most people assumed Nikto was the cruelest of the duo, when in reality, it was Krueger. He may hide it behind his signature toothy grin, but Krueger was downright evil, if evil truly existed. The only reason he hadn’t been fired was because he was a valuable asset. KorTac needed its monsters. No sane person would go on the missions Krueger and Nikto did so willingly.

“She’s cute,” Krueger continued. “If she ever needs a proper fuck, send her to me. Poor thing deserves someone who can actually make her come.”

It had been a joke. Nikto knew that. He worked with Krueger for long enough to know how the Austrian messed around. Still, that didn’t stop the comment from replaying in Nikto’s mind over and over. The voices whispered it to him over and over.

Even two days later, when he finally arrived home from deployment, it was still on his mind.

He could make you come. He had done so before, on the rare occasion that the medicine didn’t betray him. Sure, it hadn’t been recent, but he could. Besides, you cared about him anyway. You promised him you did. You wouldn’t lie to him.

Right?

He willed his brain to shut up as he took off his muddy boots, puttng them in their place by the door. It was late. You were probably asleep by now. He could simply get your reassurnce in the morning.

But, then again, why should he have to wait? He had been patient enough when finding you, carefully stalking you, bidding his time before bringing you here. Now that you were his, he shouldn’t have to wait.

Nikto didn’t care to use his stealth training when he moved through his house. He lived there, after all.

He pushed the door to his bedroom open, only to find it empty. Once again, the voices started whispering their honeyed poison.

She must have left us!

You were foolish to leave her.

Krueger was right. You couldn’t please her. You’re the reason we are alone.

Using the heel of his palm, he hit his temple. Did it help? Not really. But it gave him a reprieve, the feeling of physically beating the voices in his head back helping in its own way.

“Nikto?”

He snapped out of his daze. The voices receded. They weren’t far, just at his fingertips, but quieted enough that he could hear you through the fog.

“Yes.” His words were detached, like always. “It is us.”

You were sleeping on the couch, the pink blanket he had purchased for you when you first ‘moved in’ wrapped around your shoulders. You must have stayed up late watching one of your silly TV programs again.

“Are you…” It was important you choose your next words carefully. Nikto was never ‘ok’ and if you brought that up, it would cause a conversaion you did not feel like having at three in the morning. Asking about his deployment would only lead to reliving the memories, and then send his mind right back to that mindset. “Are you my Nikto?”

He nodded. Yes, of course, he was yours. Not the violent alter ego, not the one that wanted to watch you squirm and cry. No, he was the closest personality to sane that existed in his mind.

Sitting up a little straighter, you scooted over to the side of the couch, then pat the spot beside you. Oh, to think six months ago you were doing whatever you could to escape him.

Instead of joining you, Nikto took off his mask. You no longer stared at his scars, they had become more familiar to you than any normal facial structure. The chunk of missing flesh where his cheek once was, exposing his teeth, and the chemical burns that singed off most of his ear and molded part of his eye shut was simply the only face you knew. His short hair was messy with sweat from being hidden in that mask for so long.

Then, he placed his hand on the back of your neck, leaning down to meet you. He pressed his lips to yours forcefully, parting his lips to allow his tongue to slip through. He didn’t waste time when it came to tasting you, he never did.

The sleepy moan that escaped your parted lips was the closest thing a monster like him could get to heaven. Your mouth was warm in a way he was always chasing, hoping that it could somehow thaw the cold that had taken over his heart.

With your half-closed eyes and sleepy state, he quickly had you pinned to the couch, his hands shoving the blankets to the side.

You pulled back for just a moment to breathe before he pulled your back in. He needed to forget about the battlefield, about Krueger, about the voices constantly reminding him of himself. He breathed you in, lungs rattling, the long, scarred-over slit on the side of his nose causing a familiar whistle,

He kept you caged, pressing his crotch against yours. Only to find, once again, that he was soft.

He pulled back, hissing beneath his breath. Your eyes were wide, your eyelashes fluttering in a way that was so delectable. He wanted to fuck you, he knew he did. So why couldn’t he?

Maybe Krueger was right. What kind of man was Nikto if he couldn’t even fill you with his seed? Not that he wanted any of those snot-filled brats, but with you, he still wanted the option. He wanted you all round and pretty for him.

Instead, you were stuck with something broken. A damaged man who had thought he was worthy of you. You were his, he made sure of it. Yet there was always that doubt.

Seeing he had stopped, you started to scoot out from under him. Only for his hand to find it’s natural place on your throat, squeezng enough to keep you still. You had been in this position enough times to know that the worst possible thing to do was to fight him.

“You have been good for us while we were gone, yes?” He hummed, his Russian accent always seeming stronger after he had been gone for so long.

With the pressure on your windpipe, you could only get out a few words. “Yes. I-I have.”

The corners of his lips twitched up and his scars twisted in a way that looked painful. “Then a reward is overdue.”

Your eyes widened as his hand went to push up the shirt you had stolen from him to wear. Like always, you weren’t wearing pants. He never allowed you to, and always threw a fit if you did. Another one of his strange rules. Even if he couldn’t use your pussy the way he wanted to, he still wanted access.

He swiped his finger agonizingly slow up your slit, not entering, simply collecting your slick.

You shuttered underneath him, an action so innocent he couldn’t help finding so beautiful all on its own. All your little reactions, he had them committed to memory.

“Nik-“ You squeaked, nearly going cross-eyed. He hadn’t been intimate with you in a way that stimulated you in a long time. It had only made you that much more desperate.

“Needy thing,” he tutted. “Did you miss us that much?”

The words falling from his lips did nothing to distract you from the way he pressed his thumb against your clit, rolling the bundle of nerves between his fingers. The scars and ridges embedded into his skin rubbed against you in a way that was impossibly perfect.

“Yes!” You blurted out, “I missed you, all of you, so much!”

Tears began to form behind your eyes, and for once, they weren’t caused by pain. He inserted his pointer finger, slowly sinking it into the joint as your walls clenched around him. It wasn't as thick as his cock, but it wasn't bad. With his thumb, he kept stimulating pressure on your clit.

Back, years ago, when Nikto was still ‘Andre,’ he had been a bit of a playboy. His face was handsome in all the right ways, with a sharp jawline and nice facial harmony. Girls, and a few guys, often had interest in him, but he rarely reciprocated any genuine feelings. Nobody ever said he was a good man before he became a monster. He had left many girls crying after breaking up with them, not so much as batting an eye at their tears. But that experience gave him something. The man knew how to use his hands.

Granted, he hadn’t had to in some time, but he certainly remembered. Besides, it wasn't too hard to please you.

He curled his finger inside of you, causing you to squirm beneath him. Then, he started pumping.

Each motion was slow and deliberate. When he was having sex with you, the few times he could, they were all rapid and frenzied, like he was more animal than human. Whatever he was giving to you now was different. Soft, but causing stars in your eyes.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, clinging desperately. It wasn't like you to get worked up so easily, but something about his languid touch, how his finger fit inside you, was other-worldly. The fabric of his hoodie was bunched in your palms as you moaned beneath him.

Warmth pooled in your stomach.

Then, Nikto suddenly pulled his hand away, leaving you as empty as you were before.

“Hey!” You squeaked out, sitting straight up, only for him to push you back down.

The look in his blue eyes was familiar. Dangerous.

At that moment, you realized something. This wasn’t truly for you. Nikto wasn't trying to get you off just to make you happy, even if it was some twisted type of ‘reward.’ He was doing this for himself.

“You do not come until we say so.” He bit out the words like they owe him money, his R’s rolled in a way that was simply delectable.

You nodded quickly, doing whatever it took to get him to continue.

And, after a moment, he did. He resumed toying with your clit, his easy thrusts, he even threw in a second finger once he thought you could handle it. You picked up on his rhythm, practically humping his hand. Perhaps you truly did miss him.

Your first orgasm came easy. Hot, thick spurts of cum slid down his hand, wetting the cuff of his hoodie, leaving you breathless. You expected him to pull his fingers back out after that.

He did not.

He picked up right back where he left off, the aftershocks of your orgasm leaving you even more sensitive.

“Hang on, wait,” you tried to say and move away.

Only to once again find his free hand on your throat, holding you down. This time, he was not as kind to your pussy. His thrusts got deeper, harsher. And those damned baby-blue eyes were fixated on the way you took him. The way your cunt swallowed his fingers, the cum sqeulching as he pushed in, made him swallow.

“No.”

Making you cum once was not enough. He had so much lost time to make up for. Curling his fingers in, thrusting so deep he swore he could feel your womb, sloppily making out to swallow your moans, it was all he ever needed.

You lost count of how many times you came. He did not. A chorus of your screams and his rough, Russian words filled his home. Luckily for him, the two of you were far enough away from society that nobody would walk in. He didn't have to hold back or muffled your pretty voice.

The night dragged on for hours, his hands never seeming to get tired. Nikto had the training of a soldier and the endurance of one as well. Not even the devil himself could pull him off of you. All he could do was stare at you, never growing tired of your expressions, the ratio of pleasure to pain finally at a balance.

It was around seven in the morning when Nikto decided he was done with your reward. You had passed out around twenty minutes earlier and couldn't take another round, not even unconscious. So he scooped you up and finally, finally took you to bed. While he didn't need sleep, you did.

He brushed your hair out of your face as you lay in his lap. You were just awake enough to tug gently at the elastic of his pants.

With a small twitch of his lips, Nikto did as you wanted, and pulled down his pants just enough to free himself. Even after everything he did to you, every mind-numbingly hot face you made, he was still soft.

But, for whatever reason, he no longer felt guilty about it. How could he, when you sleepily slipped the thing into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip, just wanting to have him there.

This was probably his favorite ‘welcome home’ he had ever received after a deployment. His fears had been wiped away so easily.

Nikto had no clue why Krueger’s words had gotten to him. Clearly, Nikto could make his precious little thing cum as many times as you needed, as many as he wanted. And you seemed more than happy to fall asleep on his lap, face buried in his crotch, using his cock as a pacifier. He was wrong to ever doubt that.

You were made for him just as he was made for you. Forever and always, you were his.

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