stormz369 · 19 hours ago
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☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 20
Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader
written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, will probably get NSFW later, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!
warnings/labels: non-consensual drugging (still not reader), still dealing with themes of medical trauma, boundary crossing, non-con theming (no SA, no hard R, just ... theming), brief mention of masturbation, angst (no comfort yet) wc: 3.4k
Chapter Selection
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Eventually we parked, and Spoiler helped me out of Hood's grip. The man growled at her pulling me away, flinging himself out of the Batmobile to follow. He landed hard on his knees and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close again.
He roared; “MINE!” And soon his helmet was pressed into my hip, his fingers digging in to my thighs. He trembled against me, breathing hard. Nightwing parked his bike, setting my helmet on his handlebars before turning toward us. Red Hood growled at him as he approached, and I blushed a bit, frowning. What on earth had I done to make this guy so territorial over me? Or was it all the pheromones?
Spoiler sighed, pointing to some seating at a long table. “Well, if you can get him to chill out a bit, you can have a seat over there. Just don't touch anything.”
I nodded, resting a hand on Hood's shoulder and pushing back a little. “Mr. Hood, you're squeezing too tight…”
He whined, releasing his grip a bit. “Ahhh … s- sorry … sorry, sorry, sorry….”
“I- it’s ok. … Come on, let's go sit, yeah? You can't possibly be comfortable down there?”
He let me coax him to stand, but as soon as I took a seat he flung himself onto the floor in front of me again, nuzzling into my knee now. I shrugged, patting the top of his helmet; at least he wasn't pressed so close to my crotch anymore…
Batman took a seat at a giant computer, pulling up reports and speaking with someone called Oracle. I didn't pay attention; I didn't want to know anything I didn't have to know here. I slipped my phone out of my pocket, but there were no responses from anyone yet. No Jason, no Dick, not even Steph…
“Alright, B, where is he?” A familiar voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I looked up.
Red Robin had a small metal case in his hand. He looked over toward us, a determined look on his face. The fingers of his gloved hand slid across his face as we made eye contact and he realized he didn't have a domino mask on.
“.... Tim?!?!” My voice sounded shrill to my own ears. Batman's typing stopped and he slowly turned to stare at us.
“Shit!” He spun on his heel, clearing his throat. In a deep voice, he called out; “um, no…?”
“.... You came in here without a mask on?” Batman grumbled quietly.
“No one told me she was here!? Why did no one tell me she was here??? We never wear masks in the Cave!” Tim rambled animatedly. He turned on Nightwing, shouting; “you should have told me!”
Nightwing frowned; “I told you I had to get her to wrangle him into the Batmobile, I didn’t think I needed to spell it out for you that that meant she was coming here!”
My eyes snapped onto him, really taking him in for the first time. I sighed softly, “... Dick?… the easiest way to get me to open my door would have been to answer my goddamn text!”
Dick shifted awkwardly. “Um … oh fuck it,” He took his own mask off; “… I don't have my phone on me. Do you see pockets in this thing??”
“I'm not looking for pockets!” I blushed bright red, looking away entirely.
“... Well, since you're already figuring it out …” Spoiler slipped her mask off, smiling brightly at me. “Nicely done out there! Pound it!”
She held a fist out to me. I blinked a bit and giggled erratically, shakily fist bumping her. “Thank you?...”
“Father! Duke stole one of my cookies while we were fighting Freeze! I had 30 cookies here, now I only have 29!” Damian shouted from the other side of the room.
“... No.” I whispered, slowly turning to look. “No, no, no…”
Robin was storming down the stairs toward us, clutching my tupperware to his chest; the tupperware I had filled with Damian's ma'amoul cookies. He had an irritated little sneer on his face, a very Damian expression. At the bottom of the stairs he looked over, finally seeing me, and froze.
Tears filled my eyes as I choked out a laugh; “no… I'm not seeing that. … That's a hallucination or something, … c- cause I know … I know none of you are stupid enough to let Damian put himself in danger like that!!!”
He looked between me and Batman for a moment before running back up the stairs. With a flutter of his cape, he was gone, and I was left staring at the spot he’d once occupied. Red Hood shifted at my feet, trying to get closer to me again. I slowly looked up at Batman, typing away at his computer, and down at the man nuzzling into my lap. Only two left … and something told me they wouldn't have brought me out to get Bruce into the car.
Trembling, I gently rubbed Hood's shoulder. I could barely hear my own voice over the sound of my blood pulsing in my head; “.... Jason,” he perked up, sighing happily, “... You can take your helmet off now, sweetie.”
His arms shot up to comply. He fumbled for the latch, and after a moment he managed to remove it, throwing it across the room. I flinched at the sound echoing throughout the cave, and slowly looked down at him. Jason's pupils were dilated so wide that there was barely any color visible at all. A thin layer of sweat clung to his flushed skin, and his hair was a mess. He beamed up at me, clinging to my legs. My hands slowly made their way into his hair, fluffing it up the way he liked it, and a deep grumbling moan rippled out of his throat. He leaned into my hands, tilting his head to press kisses to the fleshy part of my palm, and squeezed my knees tightly.
“... What exactly is happening here?” I whispered.
“... We think Mr. Freeze’s experiment was meant to make the victim more compliant. When Ivy’s pheromones are in your system, you’ll do anything to … scratch the itch. So if he used them as a base for some kind of obedience serum …” Dick shuddered; “Small mercies though; it’s not nearly as effective as he meant it to be. It’s not terribly hard to resist, unless you … already want to obey the person.” I clenched my jaw.
Steph nodded; “He didn’t fully understand what he was messing with. No one does when it comes to Ivy’s pheromones, except for Ivy. And now we think the pheromones are fighting back against whatever he did, trying to return to their natural state, so …”
“So there’s a chemical imbalance war-zone going on in Jason’s body right now?” I sighed softly, stroking his cheek. Jason looked up at me with a type of unwavering adoration that made me a bit sick. It was like he wasn’t home; like something was puppeteering his body. All of his usual walls and boundaries had been turned to rubble to make space for this thing in his body to do what it pleased with him… “And you used me to control him against his will…”
“... It was necessary. He needs to be cured before the experiment gets any more unstable in his blood and does who knows what to him...” Dick frowned.
Tim nodded. “I need to get a blood sample…”
Jason either didn’t hear him, or was so far gone that he didn’t care. But I wasn’t about to let them surprise him. I made a promise, after all. I gently stroked Jason’s cheek, looking into his eyes; “... Jason?”
He moaned happily, pressing in closer. “My love~”
I could feel everyone around us cringing. “Honey, Tim needs a blood sample, is that ok?”
Jason’s eyes shifted in and out of focus as he whined, squirming. “.... Don’t like needles…”
I nodded slowly; “I know. I’m so sorry, sweetie. But it’s important. We’ve got to make you all better…”
“Better?” He blinked a bit. “... Am I … not good …” He whimpered, suddenly gripping me very tightly.
“H- have I done something wrong? I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’ll be good! Please, le- let me be good for you! I can! I can be so good! Y- You can have the blood! I’ll be good, please!” He gasped, tripping over himself trying to get closer and closer. His hands gripped everywhere, mindlessly pulling me out of my chair and into his lap, desperate to be pressed together.
“Ah! Jay!” I pressed on his shoulders, blushing bright red. “Jason, honey, it’s ok. You didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Please, let me be good for you! I wanna be good! I’ll make you so happy, I promise! I’ll do anything, I promise, I promise, I PROMISE!” He screamed, tears cascading down his cheeks, his fingers digging firmly into my ass.
“Ow! Jason, stop!” He froze, looking up at me desperately. I slowly slid his hands off my ass, letting him hold my waist instead, blushing bright red. “... Jay, … we need this blood sample. … Would you be more comfortable if I did it?”
He nodded quickly, eagerly agreeing; “yes! Yes, anything. Anything you want, you can do anything you want! I’ll be good for you~”
I sighed, clenching my jaw. I felt disgusting; how was Jason going to feel about this when it was all over? Was I wildly overstepping here? I didn’t have time to dwell on it; Tim stepped forward, pressing the syringe into my hand.
“Have him roll his sleeve up.”
Jason did whatever I asked, always accompanied by eager cries of; “yes, anything! Anything you want! Anything! I want to be good!” My stomach churned unpleasantly with every word.
As soon as the sample was done, Jason was gripping my thighs, pulling me close. “I did good? I wanna be good for you~”
I pulled him into a tight hug, pressing his face into my shoulder so he couldn’t see the tears filling my eyes. “Y- yes, baby. You did good. Thank you…”
He sighed happily, the desperation easing out of his grip, nuzzling into my neck. My arm went limp, I could barely feel the cool glass vial in my hand. Tim grimaced and took the sample from me, hurriedly tidying away the equipment. Batman continued to work at his giant computer, seemingly ignoring everything happening behind him. Dick and Steph offered me awkward smiles.
“You did good too,” Steph offered weakly.
“Don’t say that. Please, just … don’t.” I sighed. I hadn’t done good here. I had used whatever Mr. Freeze had put in my boyfriend’s body to manipulate him into letting me do something he would never have been comfortable with otherwise. It didn’t matter that it was necessary, or that he seemed fine with it right now, it didn’t even matter if it saved his life. I knew I had seriously crossed his boundaries. I knew he would have a hard time trusting me again when they got him cured, and I would deserve it. Hell, if he broke up with me after this I would deserve it…
I sniffled softly, trying to keep it together. Whatever else was going on, I needed to keep it together for Jason’s sake. He could be angry with me later, and that would be fine, I would deal with that then, but for now, he was happiest and calmest in my arms. Every time I shifted he whined, desperately pulling me closer again.
“... You're not happy… what can I do?” He whined, stroking my thighs.
“Nothing right now, baby. You're perfect just as you are.” I stroked his hair, trying not to cry.
He purred softly, pressing kisses to my throat and shoulder. “Wanna make you feel good… my pretty girl~”
I blushed bright red, grateful when Dick and Steph walked away. “... N- not right now, sweetie. Let’s get you well first…”
He whined, licking my collarbone; “Mhhh. …. Please … want you …. Wanna make you feel good~ I’ll be good for you, please~”
I shivered, gently pushing him back. “No, Jason. We aren’t doing that right now.”
He whined more, looking up at me; “whyyyy?”
“... Because you don’t want that right now, baby. I know you think you do, but that’s just the pheromones.”
He nuzzled against me, sniffling. “... You don’t want me?”
I chewed on my lower lip, glancing at Batman. He seemed determined to pretend nothing was happening over here, so I leaned in, whispering; “of course I do, my love. But not like this.”
He tilted his head toward mine, trying to get a kiss, but I pulled back, running my fingers through his hair instead. He turned to kiss my palm, whining; “... don’t you love me?”
“I love you very much.” My voice cracked sharply.
“Promise?”
“I promise, I love you with all my heart.”
He pouted a bit, kissing and nuzzling my hand. “... It hurts …”
“What hurts, baby? Did you get injured in the fight?” I cupped his cheek, gently moving his head a bit to look for blood. He clung to my wrist, spreading his knees a little and pressing his hips forward. “... Ah … I’m sorry sweetie …”
He whined softly, kissing my knuckles. “Please … help …”
I groaned softly, chewing on my lower lip. I turned toward Batman, frowning. “Um … should he ….?”
Batman looked over his shoulder at us. “It won’t fix anything, but it would alleviate the discomfort for a time.”
I nodded slowly, stroking his hair. “Ok, why don’t you go do that then honey?”
He frowned, confused, and tugged my hand; “... with you?”
“No, you go ahead, I’ll be right here.”
He whined sharply, shaking his head. “Want you!”
I sighed softly, cupping his cheeks gently. “My love, we are not doing that right now. I’m sorry, I know it’s uncomfortable, but I will not do that to you in this state. Do you want to go take care of it by yourself?” He shook his head, whimpering softly; “then I need you to be very brave for me, sweetheart. Can you do that?”
He slowly nodded, clinging to my wrists. “.... ok…"
I kissed his forehead, stroking his cheeks. “Thank you sweetie~ You’re doing so well; Oracle and Tim are almost done making your cure, just hold on a little longer…”
He sniffled softly, letting me sit in my chair again and resting his cheek on my knee. “... You really still love me?”
“I really still love you.”
“... Even though I lied to you? … I lied for so long …”
I chuckled softly. “I don’t feel lied to. We’ll talk about it more later, after I’ve had some time to process. Ok?”
He nodded, clinging to my leg. “... Are you gonna leave me?”
“No, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”
“... You promise?”
“I promise.” 
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Once Jason was sedated, and the cure Oracle made -Babs, I had to remind myself- was starting to work its way through his system, Bruce led me to his office so we could talk. There he told me a very long story; Dick, Babs, Jason, Tim, Steph, Damian, Cass, Duke. One by one they took on hero personas, some under Batman's tutelage, some on their own. They had all been so young when they started, seeking justice, or vengeance, or security. Bruce smiled a little when he told me how Jason had always insisted that being Robin made him magic. That smile disappeared quickly, and I learned how Tim implanted himself as the third Robin when that magic was snuffed out by the Joker's hands. They came together for different reasons, but there was one thing consistently linking their stories; tragedy, which led each of them to the BatFamily.
“... Obviously none of us wanted you to learn these things this way. … Jason meant to tell you himself, he just-”
“Couldn't find the words.” I finished numbly. “... I understand that.”
Bruce nodded, watching me across his desk. “... Are you alright?”
“... I … I knew that there was bad shit in Jason's past. I knew it would be hard to hear. … But … He’s so loyal to you, even when he’s frustrated by you, I … I really thought you had saved him from the worst of it … but you didn't. … You supplied it.”
Bruce stilled, taking a slow breath. “... I did what I could for him-”
“You taught those children that they could be heroes. And then you allowed them to dress up like fucking traffic lights, and pointed them at psychopaths and murderers. …” I slowly looked up at his face, my vision blurring with tears; “they were children, Bruce. … Your children. … You had one job when you took them in; to protect them. … Joker may have pulled the trigger on Jason's life, but you painted the fucking target on his back. … He was a child, a child you took in off the streets. You were supposed to give him comfort and safety, not hand him on a silver FUCKING platter to the FUCKING JOKER!!!”
I shrieked; rage and sorrow bubbled in my chest like a poison, and I threw myself out of the chair. I couldn't sit still. I had to move, had to scream, had to do something! I found myself pacing the room, unable to stop the tears that ran down my face; “do parents not even FUCKING try anymore?! Why are everyone's parents so fucking terrible???!? Why can't anyone do this one SIMPLE FUCKING THING?!?! Just protect your kids!!!! Let them BE kids!!! It's not that FUCKING HARD!!!!!!” 
I tripped over the edge of a rug and landed hard on my knees and face, screaming at everything and nothing. Strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me against a broad chest, and I vaguely heard Dick murmuring, trying to soothe me. “... Y- you had… o- one … fucking … job …”
Dick rocked me gently as I sobbed. We sat like that for a long time before Bruce finally responded in a quiet, broken voice; “... I know.”
Dick stroked my back gently; “... You've had a long night. I know, I know this is a lot. It feels like too much right now, but it won't feel like that forever. … Why don't I take you to a guest room so you can get some sleep? You'll be ok in the morning, and so will Jay.” He smiled weakly, like he was trying to convince himself more than me.
“... No … nothing will ever be ok again…” I whispered.
“... Come on, let's get some rest. I promise, things will look better in the morning.” He helped me up, leading me toward the door.
I paused in the doorway. Damian was in the hallway staring up at me, changed into casual clothes, that same guarded expression in his eyes that always meant he was bracing for something. I could feel my heart breaking all over again; he was so little, and it was so unfair. I turned back to look at the man hunched over his desk, narrowing my eyes a bit; “... Bruce?”
He slowly raised his face out of his hands, looking up at me. His eyes shone with unshed tears. Good.
“... Have you ever considered the idea that, if Gotham's safety can only be bought with the blood of children, … Gotham might not be worth saving?”
I didn't wait for an answer; nothing he could say would make me feel any different. He had offered up half a dozen children to live and die for the supposed safety of our city, and it meant nothing. They died, and came back, only to have to keep fighting the same fights, night by night.
Images of the scars that littered Jason's body flooded my mind. How many scars had branded the young Robin's flesh? How many were earned as the Red Hood? Did it even matter? They were both Jason; Jason who threw himself into harm's way without a second thought, taking those scars, because it was all he knew. It was what he thought he was for. Jason, who deserved so much better, but never got it. Jason, who's father knew who murdered him, but did nothing about it. Not for him, not for the next kid, not for the city. The Joker murdered Robin, and the Batman let him live.
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Divider by: @saradika-graphics
Taglist (open):
@jawdropforkpop @krys0210 @snowy-violet @superthoughts @wordsfromshona @mystic60 @iwannabealocalcryptid @morstuavitamea-a @frosty--giants @arisa191 @prized-jules @phoenix666stuff @dinonuggysandhuggus @anuttellaa @whore-of-many-hot-men
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makiswirl · 5 months ago
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can i just say. and this is probably a niche hill to die on. that i am so gobsmacked every time someone vaguely hints at the idea that jotaro doesn't care meaningfully for the other crusaders, usually particularly kakyoin and joseph, when those two actually tend to be the ones he reacts to being hurt the hardest
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like he cares for his loved ones!!!! that literally plays into his character motives in every single part he shows up in!!! stop lying to me!!!!!!!
#me.txt#jjba#i'm going to ramble in tags actually. excuse me#ok. rereading sdc and so confused at the general perception of jotaro and his friends/family. he's not NEARLY as flat or as dickish#i understand that the anime (particularly the dub) tends to slander him but even then he still clearly cares for them! i'm confused#i also understand that a lot of people dig against jotaro and kakyoin as a dynamic because 'they're popular' and that generally disliking#popular things across media is a thing that i've seen consistently everywhere but the discredit to them simply as a DUO and not even as a#pairing is so..... odd..... like they're considered to be a duo that clicks for a reason. i enjoyed them even before i got into the fandom#every time i see someone say jotaro is overrated/dull i take a shot and assume they're an anime-only or only read the manga like once btw#joseph and jotaro also have a neat dynamic and they obviously both love and care for each other. like they're not going to go around loudly#or anything but literally the entirety of the lovers and the prelude to the dio fight IS jotaro being worked up over joseph getting hurt#equally i don't know if it translates to the anime as much but joseph is VERY complimentary when it comes to jotaro. like he sings his#praises so often and reminds everyone that he's his grandson so frequently (d'arby the gamer is a good example of this). either way it's so#peculiar....... there's not enough avdol and jotaro content btw (also in canon) because jotaro obviously looks up to him and avdol jokes#around with him on the occasion they interact after their intro which doesn't start very well. it's very cute#i do think an important thing to note about jotaro's character is how he acts AFTER his intro because he's so drastically different. early#jotaro and later jotaro aren't the same character and i do not mean this in a character development way. excluding the jail incident he's#completely different and probably shouldn't really be taken into account (especially considering the amount of slapstick in araki's intros)#and i think that's really???? what people center on for his character? Which sucks balls bad!#anyways. i could ramble more about this if asked i have so much to say but sigh. jotaro cares so much for his friends and family he's not a#flat fully cold asshole character regardless of whether you watch the anime or ova or read the manga. you just have poor media literacy#i wouldn't recommend watching solely the anime for his character though. the dub also changes a lot so it's... questionable#i love the anime and it's still important for him though. also adds neat stuff. i need to stop myself. i have many thoughts on the matter#jotaro kujo#joseph joestar#noriaki kakyoin#adding in case anyone sees: i am not saying that he is perfect about this. in fact he is very ass about it with jolyne and holly and that's#very important. he also is in fact an asshole sometimes. NOT as much as you guys are making him though!#please don't get me started on how much of a dick etc people make kakyoin to veer away from the 'woobified' characterizations of him#in fact i think that's bad if not worse because it CLAIMS to be in character. hes a prim asshole at times but not that angry or dishevelled
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dracodatum-co · 7 months ago
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A not-so-young man stands in a kaiju wreckage. It just so happens that today, the 13th of April, 2024, is this man's anime premiere. Though it was thirty years ago he was given life, it is only today he will be fully animated!
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gregoryeddiesgoldchain · 9 months ago
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just once this season i need to see barbara or ava defending janine to melissa cause it's getting on my nerves actually
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gumdefense · 2 years ago
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What is it with the mangas and torturing Gumshoe
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I do like him being treated as a proper character instead of just being depicted as Edgeworth’s pet and a salary cut joke punching bag
But my god
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averyhollow · 1 year ago
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Ouizzy Can Bring Me Back (or Rizzy, or better yet, both)
Staying away from OFMD for the time being. My problems with the show’s approach to its premise, how it has chosen to depict pirate society in contrast with That Man (at least as of S1), how it handles explicit racism and whose story is served by it, and comments from DJ that reinforced my sense that there’s a certain carelessness with how some things were approached and a flippant dismissiveness towards that carelessness, are too much for me to ignore at the moment. That so much of the fandom seems to give it praise for things I think it not only fails at but doesn’t even try to do, is another factor that has made it more grating than fun.
However, the canonization of Ouizzy (and/or Rizzy) would shine so brightly that it’d dissipate the shadows that have been cast over the show for me. (FrenchiEd might bring me back, assuming I could ever find someone who would fall for That Man good enough for Frenchie.) Ouizzy would rekindle my passion for, and soothe my soul’s discontent with, the show. Canon Ouizzy would be my moon and my stars. My sun and my sky. Canon Rizzy would be a warm sweater on a cold day. The feeling of taking off my shoes when the work day is done.
Ouizzy+Rizzy+Froach+RoomPeople would be cotton candy enjoyed during a walk along the beach. A rainy day without lightning enjoyed from a screened-in porch, with hot chocolate, a good book, and a comfy chair. The second bite of a phenomenal grilled cheese sandwich.
All these things and more, would Ouizzy and/or Rizzy be to me. They’d take my issues from grievances to mild annoyances. They’d moisturize my scalp, cause my hair to retwist itself, and strengthen my edges. They’d put pep in my step and a smile on my face.
They make sense. You’ll just have to trust me on that one. I know these things. I know many things. Once you know Ouizzy (and/or Rizzy) are right, you too can come to know anything.*
*Note use of the word “can”. Anything I (apparently) don’t know, is because I choose not to know it or deliberately give an incorrect answer for my own enlightened and arcane purposes.
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joelsdagger · 2 months ago
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walk the line || one shot
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masterlist | ao3
pairing: boston qz!joel x f!reader summary: you and joel have a deal: sex in exchange for supplies. no questions asked. so what happens when you do? or joel fucks you while you’re in a headlock. that’s pretty much it. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: boston qz era, undefined relationship, mentions of sexual favors, choking, rough unprotected p in v sex, dark!joel, mean!joel [in the sense that he doesn’t let her come oops :( ], dubcon [reader tries to loosen his grip], noncon [i’m putting this here just in case], no aftercare. think that’s it. word count: 1.2k
a/n: just….don’t ask. i don’t know what this is. thank you to @papurgaatika for holding a gun to my head so i would post this looking this over, love you schmooks <3 
please heed the tags. protect your peace if this isn’t for you.
He’s being rough. Rougher than the countless times he’s fucked you before. 
In the time since you and Joel started this whole arrangement, you never needed to tell him to fuck you at a blistering pace. He just did it. 
Because you and him are the same. He told you that once. He said that you and him are two sides of the same coin. Both of you are always keeping your walls up and people out. Always keeping everyone at arm’s length. It made this arrangement easy, simple. 
There was just one rule: Nothing personal. A rule you happily got on board with. Getting personal is not really your thing. You learned that it was easier to survive at the end of the world without having someone to care about. Staying detached worked for you. You didn’t care enough about Joel Miller to even bother giving him a second thought. 
At least, that’s what you wanted to believe. 
A few minutes ago, you made the mistake of doing just that. 
You got personal. Flicked open the glass casing and pushed the big red button. Nobody gets personal with Joel Miller. Most importantly, you don’t. No. Never you. And now he’s punishing you. Maybe he’s punishing himself too, because he didn’t stop you. Didn’t stop this.
He’s being brutal, intense, and mean. And usually you could handle it because, like plenty of times before, you wanted him to.
But this time, you didn’t.
Your cunt is sensitive, and it hurts; it burns more and more with every rough snap of his hips; warm liquid pricks at your eyes in discontent. Your swollen cunt betrays you, squeezes around his wide girth, and he grunts against the shell of your ear in response. You’re sure he thinks you're begging him for more. To him, the swift flutter of your cunt is a silent tell to pick up the pace. 
And he does. Relentlessly. 
With every unforgiving thrust of his hips, knocking the wind out of your lungs, and the firm hold of his forearm against your neck, compressing your throat, you were barely hanging on. Black spots spatter across your vision, and your eyes slip closed; tears of anguish streak down your cheeks.
It’s too much. You choke on a sob, and your hand comes up to his left arm, weakly tugging at it, attempting to make space between the crook of his elbow and your neck to suck in an ephemeral breath of air. 
Instead, he tightens his grip on you; his left arm pulls you into his chest, and his right hand moves heavily to the top of your head as he brutally fucks up into your throbbing hole. Your head dips back beneath his chin, and the crown of your skull stings as the plastic clip hanging out at the bottom of the valve of his gas mask digs into your scalp.
Your failure to follow his rule — his only rule — had pissed him off so immensely that he didn’t even waste a second to remove his mask.
His muffled voice cuts through the thick haze that took over your mind. “Stay,” he orders through gritted teeth, and you obey.
Because he’s teaching you a lesson.
With him, you mind your tongue.
With him, you do as you're told. 
With him, you don’t ask questions.
With him, you don’t get fucking personal. 
And with your head locked between both of his strong arms and his fat cock hammering your cunt, punching at your cervix — forcing himself in — he makes certain of that. Makes your mind go fucking blank. Because when your sloppy cunt is stuffed full of his cock, your mind goes fuzzy, and your body goes limp in his hold, you are in no position to question him. To pry. To challenge him. To fight him. A brutal, shattering reminder that Joel Miller calls the shots.
And Joel doesn’t say a word. Not this time. Not when he’s using your body as a way to cope with his anger — to get himself off. It’s all breathless groans and grunts that tell you your holes are enough to satisfy him. And for a moment, you can’t help but wonder if this is how he always saw you — a means to an end.
Maybe you felt the same way about him.
You don’t have time to dwell on it because then you feel it — he twitches inside your aching cunt, signaling his rapid release. He hisses as he pulls out of your wasted hole, his length bobs against the crease beneath your ass, smearing your sweaty skin with your mixed wet. His cock throbs against you as his seed spills onto your quivering legs, coating your inner thighs, and leaking onto the tattered, moth-eaten mattress. 
You whimper pathetically as his arms release you, and your shuddering form falls forward, crashing into the dusty mattress beneath you. Your chest heaves as your hand comes up to the column of your neck, your weak fingers pressing at the sharp, searing pang there. You don’t doubt your skin has already begun to smart. You cough profusely as your lungs fill with air, a humiliating attempt at catching your breath. 
Joel’s left hand comes down beside your head on the mattress, cushioning his fall as he hovers over you. He groans as his other hand replaces your cunt, and with every fast, wet pump of his fist, the pulsing tip bumps against your skin; his release now paints the small of your back.
A first. 
And in the back of your mind, you try telling yourself it’s his way of claiming you — that he still wants you after you stepped out of line. Your stomach lurches at the same time your cunt flutters at the thought. You’re not sure how you feel about it, but you do know you feel empty without him inside you. And other than what happened here, he typically makes you feel good. Leaves you satisfied before he chases his own release.
Today, he didn’t. He used your body as a means for punishment, and you let him. A penance. For crossing the line he told — you both agreed not to overstep. 
A few moments later, you’re pulling your distressed jeans over your cum-coated thighs while your glassy eyes watch Joel as he zips up his own, his eyes fixed on the molded wooden floor in front. “Joel,” your voice hoarse and raw. 
He peers up at you beneath his lashes, the sunlight clawing through the taped-up window catches on his eyes; the amber in his hazel irises glowering in the light. 
“It won’t happen again,” you whisper.
“No,” he leans forward, grabs his gas mask you didn’t notice he pulled off, and the orange pill bottle you were meant to deliver to him without sticking your nose where it didn’t belong, and he grunts while he moves to stand, “it won’t.” 
And only when his heavy footsteps fade down the dark hallway of the abandoned building on the outskirts of the QZ, leaving you alone to stare back at the pale, rotten wallpaper with a painful and pleading ache between your trembling legs, do you realize exactly why no one defies Joel fucking Miller.
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sttoru · 1 year ago
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dad!Toji losing megumi on his sight in a grocery store.
⟣ tags. dad!toji x female reader. fluff.
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“where the hell did that brat go. . .” toji sighs in frustration as he makes his third trip around the numerous aisles, peeking through each gap between to see where his son could’ve possibly hid.
you had been gone for one minute to grab something you had forgotten in the car, leaving your husband and son alone at the grocery store. you thought toji would be more than capable of keeping an eye on megumi during the time you left.
he did succeed for a couple seconds, but then somehow lost sight of the little boy. it happened out of the blue—even for someone as quick as toji, his child seemed to have disappeared into thin air, without him noticing at all.
“tsk, just wait ‘til i catch ya..” toji scoffs and makes quick strides. the other customers seemed to scurry off to the sides as the dark-haired man passes them—the reason for this being his bulky and tall body and that cold yet pissed off expression on his face whilst walking forwards.
of course, toji was still secretly worried for megumi. he didn’t want to think of the worst case scenario at all. he needs to stay calm and collected in such situations. panicking will do him no good.
toji passes by a pit of plushies, paying it no mind until he hears a soft, muffled giggle from that same area. he stops in his tracks and turns his head to the right. that voice was one he could recognise from miles away.
“oh, y’re so done.” the dark-haired man mutters under his breath and digs through the many plushies, hands looking for the source of that giggle. there were a couple strands of dark blue hair sticking out from between the big stuffed animals and toji wasted no time, “c’mere, brat.”
he uses a bit of his strength and fishes out a child from under the pile of softness—his child.
“papa!” megumi squeals and was holding onto a plushie: a cute black dog one. it seems like he had waddled off and climbed onto the box to grab that specific plushie, but couldn’t get out afterwards, “papa, waf! waf!”
toji sighs and holds megumi up by the back of his shirt, walking back to your shopping cart. he gains some stares due to the obscure way he was carrying his son around, though megumi himself couldn’t care any less as he cuddles up to the plushie in his tiny arms.
toji puts the little boy in the baby seat and grabs onto the stuffed animal, tugging at it; “gimme that. ya can’t have it ‘cause ya ran off without tellin’ me.”
megumi whines and pulls the toy back in his arms, giving toji a pleading look. his lips formed a desperate pout and his eyes were starting to glisten with tears that appeared on his waterlines.
“yeah, stare at me all you want with those big bug eyes—y’re not gonna get that.” your husband shakes his head and grabs the plushie again, taking it away from his son to put it back.
megumi reacts to this by curling his chubby hand around toji’s index finger—still with that cute pout on his lips whilst trying to prevent his dad from stepping away. it’s specifically those shiny blue orbs that seem to mellow toji’s heart to the point he almost gives in.
“…”
you come back after five minutes and spot your family back in the candy aisle. the duo didn’t appear to have seen you yet since they were busy picking out some sweets for later.
“hi, my angels.” you creep up behind toji and tap his back. he instantly steps aside and your (surprisingly) super excited son comes into view.
megumi was smiling widely and that’s when your eyes land on something in his arms.
“oh, you got ‘gumi a dog plushie!” you gasp and seem to get excited for your child—megumi giggling right alongside you, “how nice!”
toji rolls his eyes, though wasn’t about to admit that he eventually did give in to megumi’s adorable tactics. he gently flicks the little boy’s forehead and looks back at you;
“didn’t get it for him out of my own free will.” your husband grumbles and then continues to squish megumi’s cheeks together using one hand, “this little brat threatened me.”
“i’m sure he did.” you chuckle and nudge toji’s side with your elbow. you knew just how much of a softie really is for his son.
“i’m not lyin’,” toji replies with a sigh and pushes the cart ahead, you following next to him with a smile, “he threatened me with those big eyes of his. i’m tellin’ ya, that stuff is dangerous.” —for my heart, he adds in his head.
you couldn’t contain your laughter as you hear your lover’s words. your gaze then lands on megumi, who was contentedly staring up at both his parents, cuddled up to the big stuffed animal.
“good job.” you gave megumi a thumbs up and ruffle his hair as a reward. the kid sticks his tongue out and almost looks proud of the fact that he got his way in the end.
toji really was just a big softie for his son. and for his wife as well, of course.
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malachitezmeyka · 2 years ago
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I absolutely love writing about Suiren from the POV of characters who don’t know her well/at all, cause it always leads to describing how confident she seems and her devil-may-care attitude and the aura of cold calmness and precision that always surrounds her, when in reality the poor girl hasn’t had a chance to relax since she was 7, represses all her emotions except anger and is so chock full of unaddressed trauma that her brain is in constant overdrive and she’s this close to snapping at any given moment
#it’s why none of her relationships end up working out#once the girls she dates dig deeper than the hot looks and attractive self confidence and see the nervous wreck hidden beneath - they bail#which obviously doesn’t help her case at all and actually just pushes her to repress more#the one time she’s exactly like her father and it’s when she covers up the chronic depression with an ‘I’m hot and I know it’ attitude#how I’m gonna write her recovering from all of this I don’t know#Midori is actually in a similar boat#except it’s ‘oh she’s so sweet and adorable and hardworking and always happy’#when in reality she’s so terrified and anxious and has extreme self doubt and a severe inferiority complex#I think Pema and Opal would be the first people to notice that about her#that the girl who’s always happy to help and puts a smile on everyone’s face with her mere presence is actually just a front#maybe Jinora too though she wouldn’t try to talk to her about it#not that Midori would want to talk about it either#everyone can already see how much of a failure she is compared to her sister she doesn’t need to state it out loud to someone#(to be clear that last tag is her thought process not my opinion I love Midori to pieces#why am I typing all this out at 2am do I have nothing better to do#like sleep#apparently not#anyway rant over#might add to this later#I love talking about my OCs can you tell#original characters#the legend of korra#seeds of the red lotus#sotrl#sotrl suiren#sotrl midori
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peachesofteal · 9 months ago
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Simple Math / Part Seven
Simple Math masterlist
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Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.8k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Brief suggestive content, sex dream. Mentions of domestic violence, stalking. Hospital setting, nurse!reader. Feelings of fear, anxiety. Mentions of stress and weight loss. Soft dads. Little bit of flirting. Simon is... Simon. You get caught in a spell.
Johnny knows this is a dream. 
It’s an odd thing, to be conscious of it, to know you’re dreaming but still unable to control your actions. It’s like watching a movie of yourself, but also being yourself, directing your body without having a say in what it’s doing. 
He knows this is a dream, because you’re in it. You’re in their home, in one of Simon’s oversized sweatshirts, boy shorts rucked up over the little lightning bolts that arc across your hips, the underside of your cheeks. You’re smiling at him too, like you belong in there, like it’s yours too, and his heart swells, growing to a preposterous size.
“There’s my bunny.” He pulls you into his chest, mouthing up your neck and over your jaw. Your skin tastes like sugar, and when he gets to your lips, his hands shift, sliding down your back to grab two fistfuls of your ass with a groan. “Missed ye.” 
“We missed you too.” His fingers trace the edge of your panty line, barely dipping into where you drip for him. “Come to bed, Si’s waiting.” You whisper, stifling a moan. 
“Johnny.” Simon calls him, too loudly. He wants to hiss, snap at him about not waking the baby. “Johnny!”
His eyes blink open. White ceiling stares back at him, and he turns his head, finding Simon with a bemused look on his face. 
“I was havin’ a great dream.” Johnny grumbles, latching onto him. Simon scoots closer, lifting the back of his hand to his lips with a secretive smile, dotting kisses down to his wrist. 
“I know.” 
 “- and he has access privileges, as long he’s not interfering with care, he’s allowed to be in the room whenever he deems fit. Obviously, in cases where he shouldn’t be, like burn debridement, he’s fine with stepping out, but you should expect him to sleep here.” The nurse nods, nervously peeking over your shoulder at Simon, who’s lurking in the hallway, staring through the glass at the transport techs getting Johnny settled in his room. You catch her eyes, motioning to redirect her attention, and she mumbles a meek apology. “They have a daughter, who Johnny has been mostly separated from since he got here, and he’s hoping to see her often, since she’ll be allowed to visit more freely now. I told him it wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Okay.” Her toes tap against linoleum, weight shifting from foot to foot, and you resist the urge to sprint back to her boss and demand someone else. Fuck. Why does Nora have to be on maternity leave? 
“This is my favorite patient.” You warn her instead, dropping your voice low, pitching it brazenly serious. “I don’t ever want to see him back upstairs again, and that’s going to depend a lot on you.”
“Okay, okay.” Her work phone rings, and you jerk your head in dismissal, not quite finished, but not seeing a need to continue to harangue her, either.
Simon glances at you from down the hall, head turning once you’re alone. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t call to you, or say your name, but you’re helpless to the magnetic yank of his presence, a beam of gravity dragging you closer until you’re shoulder to shoulder, looking into Johnny’s room. He’s asleep, dark lashes feathered against his cheeks, blissed out and nearly snoring. “This will be great.” You say quietly. “He can see Penny almost as much as he wants down here. There are far less restrictions, and he’s doing so well, there’s nothing to worry about it.” He doesn’t say anything, just watches you with the x-ray vision that peels you open. Like he’s digging around in your head again.
“D’you have a minute?” You blink at him, graceful words dried out and missing.
“Uh, I… yeah, I’m technically off now so. Sure?”
“Have a tea with me? I’ll meet you outside the café, on the patio. Ten minutes alright?” Have a… have a tea with him? 
His eyes are heavy. They’re lasered, locked onto yours, brows knitted together in something soft, some form of emotion that you don’t understand, framing his face above the mask. How can you say no? 
“Okay, sure. Ten minutes.” You try to hide how your hands shake, tucking fingernail to palm, squeezing tight.
It doesn’t escape him.
You grow more afraid with each day, that nothing does.
The paper cup cradled in Simon’s outstretched grip is like every other paper cup you’ve seen before, drank from a thousand times, with steam wafting from its rim and aromatics spilling out into the air. “Sorry.” You blurt, reaching. His fingers brush against yours, warm contact momentarily stunning you. ‘Thanks.” You lift the tea to your nose, inhaling deeply.
Irish breakfast. With milk. Your favorite. 
“How do you know what tea I drink?” You don’t mean for it to sound so suspicious, or aggressive, but it does. It’s nearly accusatory, but doesn’t affect him. He merely shrugs in response.
“I pay attention.” An engine turns over in the carpark, a small car sweeping across the lot as it turns out onto the street. You watch, feigning mild interest, trying to get a closer look at the driver without appearing too fixated. “So.” He sips, and then removes the lid, vapor rising from the top in a delicate little dance. “How long have you been at Addenbrooke’s?”
“A few years.” The answer is effortlessly supplied, like you’re under a spell. Your eyes go round. What are you doing? Crow’s feet crinkle at the corners of his own, and you manage a shaky smile.
“What brought you across the pond?” He jokes, velvet, soothing lilt in his voice.
“Work.” It’s easy to lie about this, the fabrication usually used in casual conversation almost every day with patients and new coworkers, people who are interested in you being from somewhere else, having a different accent, different education, customs, the whole lot. His jaw moves behind the mask, and before he can push the question further, you rush out your own interruption. “Simon, I want… I want to talk to you about something.”
“Sure.” He nods. “What’s on your mind?”
“It’s… the other night Johnny said something about,” Your face is nearly scalding, embarrassment laden lump stuck in the back of your throat. “about you and him, and… me, I guess…” you trail off, eyes darting down into the tea.
“Go on?”
“He said that you guys think I’m special, and you- you said-“
“That we’re here for you.” He finishes, nonchalant.
“Right.” You breathe a little easier, knowing he knows what you’re talking about, words picking up steam. “I want you to know that it’s totally normal to feel this way. It happens a lot, you know. Patients and, or their family members, loved ones, they get attached. This affection starts to happen towards a member of the care team because we become that person who… provides care, twenty-four seven. So, you and… and Johnny, feeling like you have this attachment towards me, it’s very normal. Not a big deal.” You finish in one big breath, cutting your ramble short. His cheeks swell behind the fabric, like he’s smiling, eyes squinting again.
“That’s not what this is.” That’s not… what this is? What does that mean? 
“What?”
“Transference. That’s not what is happening here.”
“How do you…”
“I’ve had years of therapy.” He sighs. “Are you uncomfortable?” Say yes, the girl in your head screams. Tell him you need it all to stop. That you don’t like them, that it’s inappropriate. You know how this will end. 
“No.” You don’t know why you don’t acquiesce to your own good sense, why you ignore the very clear boundaries and rules that have kept you alive this long.
“Bunny, I need you tell me, honestly, if you are uncomfortable.” He levels you with an intense look, seriousness bleeding from his irises to yours. You press your palms flat on the table, quelling their trembling.
“It’s not… it’s not you. Or Johnny.” You whisper, eyes slipping shut. It’s easier that way, to just close them, to hide. To pretend you’re somewhere else, to block everything out.
What the fuck are you doing right now? Your brain screams, but your heart wails.
What is it like, to be loved like that? To be known like that? To be held in someone's heart, cherished and protected? 
“Sweetheart,” Simon’s voice is low, calming, and when you don’t answer, one of his hands folds over yours. “are you with me?”
“Yes.” You peek at him, and then fully let yourself look around, steadying the rancid fear that permeates through your body. “Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize.” He hums, hand still over yours. It’s warm, and broad, big thumb stroking a slow circle into your skin. “Is today your Friday?” You nod.
“It is, yeah. I’m… I’m looking forward to catching up on some sleep.” He straightens in the chair, shoulders and torso so unbelievably wide, like a long forgotten mythological god. Or the trunk of a massive tree.
“Will you have dinner with us, tonight?” The last of the orange red dawn spills over the crest of the buildings, and the world spins, cold sweat breaking out down your back. 
“What?”
“Dinner, with us. I’m picking up takeaway for Johnny from his favorite place as a celebration, for graduating the ICU. We’d love to spend some time with you. Get to know you, if that’s alright.”
“Oh, I…” Say no, you have to say no, shut this down. It’s too much risk. 
“No pressure. Just, hanging out, talking. As friends, if you like.” Butterflies thrash in your stomach so violently your knees bounce, and your heart leaps, pitching itself off a cliff like it wants to die.
“Okay.”
“Great. I can pick you u-“
“No! No, I’m fine. I have some errands to run after I get up for the day so, I’ll just meet you here.” It will be just like going to work. No harm, no foul. You can hang out with them, and go home, just like you’re at work. It doesn’t mean anything. It won’t. 
You barely sleep. You pace, you nap, you thumb through endless craigslist listings in faraway cities for apartments, you read. You take the long way through the city back to your flat and slowly sift through pieces of your life that you want to keep. Your quilt from home, that’s been tucked away on a shelf. A sentimental trinket that belonged to your mom, also hidden in a drawer. These things that can be removed, without being noticed.
Not that it matters.
He hasn’t been here. Not since the sick shit he pulled with your underwear. It makes you curious when you inspect the undisturbed tape on the back side of the door, the light dusting of baking powder on the bedroom carpet, but not surprised.
It’s not unlike him, to make himself known and then suddenly disappear, the endless mind games partially intentional, and partially something not even he can control.
After all, duty calls.
He could still be in the city. He could still be watching. You don’t know anything for sure.
“Three things you cannot outrun in this world, babe. Death, taxes, and… me.” You mumble it to yourself, the same words that live in your head, in his voice, repeated, pulling a pair of scrubs from your dresser.
But you had been running, and still had your life to show for it.
It doesn’t matter, you know how this will end. 
You’ve changed your clothes five times. You hem and haw in front of the mirror, trying not to look too closely at any one piece of yourself, switching shirt and pant combos until you finally settle on your usual, a pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt. They’re high waisted, because low rise is not even within the realm of possibility for your hips, and you appreciate how they fit, even if they may sit a little loose right now, given your recent stress levels.
You look fine, you decide. You look professional. You don’t really look attractive, in any way, but the scars on your torso are hidden, and with a little bit of make-up, you think you look presentable. At the very least, you don’t look like you’re half asleep, which is exactly how you feel.
Not like it matters, you chide. This isn’t a thing; it’s just hanging out. You’re going to put an end to this entire charade, tonight.
The train is quiet, and you’re extra watchful. Every face, every movement is logged, every jacket or hat or hood is inspected. Posture, skin tone, height, of every person you pass or see is tabulated and run through your mind. Your brain, a supercomputer in its own right, does it all, seamlessly. It wants to protect you, it keeps you on guard, it can look at a crowd of twenty people all facing the opposite direction and locate a potential threat, just by the shape of the shoulders.
You don’t see him, you don’t feel him, your skin doesn’t prickle, and you let the lack thereof bring you peace, if only for a few moments.
Johnny’s floor is bustling. You wave hi to those you know, checking in with his nurse for a moment, letting her know you’ll be hanging out for a bit. She doesn’t even bat an eye, thankfully, and you try to settle yourself as you turn down the hall.
You’re not prepared for what you find when you knock on his door and slide it open, breath catching for a moment, and you scramble to cover your initial balk.
Their daughter is here. She’s cuddled up on Johnny’s good side, the one without the burnt tissue or recovering surgical wound. She’s asleep, wearing a black onesie covered in skulls, her head tipped back and mouth open, chubby cheeks and sweet little face perfectly content. She’s got her entire fist wrapped around one of Johnny’s fingers, holding it right under her chin like she’s afraid he might vanish while her eyes are closed. “Hey, bun.” Johnny whispers, smiling so wide, two fingers stroking through the wispy curls on top of her head. “We snuck in a visitor tonight.”
“I see.” Your heart trembles.
“Fell asleep right away, next to her Da. Been missin’ him these past few nights.” Simon chuckles, patting Johnny’s leg gently, affectionately. There’s a bag of take out on the table behind him, as well as what looks like an overnight bag, a purple duffel stuffed full. “Price is on his way to pick her up.” Penny gurgles, eyes blinking open in a sleepy daze like she knew they were talking about her.
“Ye’re alright, sh-shh, wee lamb.” Johnny coos. She’s half soothed by his words, but the lights in the room are far too bright, and her small noises waver into a cry, frustrated and tired. He tries move her, cradler her higher up his chest, but his face falls with pain, and Simon swoops in, pulling her into his arms. “Bunny, could ye-“
“Would you-“ They both try to ask at once, and you flounder once you realize the intention, a cranky, sleepy Penelope being pushed into your arms.
“I-“ she wails, interrupting you, bending you to her will without fuss, and you hold her closer, rocking side to side, humming above her ear. Just like the NICU, like a patient, like your stint in L&D, it’s fine, it’s-
“Sorry, sweetheart.” Not fine. It’s not fine. Heat burns in your belly. He can’t call you that, not when you’re holding their baby. “Thank you.” Simon says over his shoulder. He’s moving Johnny, lowering the bed slightly to help reposition him, and they speak quietly to one another, voices low enough you can’t make out any of the words.
“I can help you with him, if you want.” He waves you off.
“I need the practice, won’t have you around all the time anymore, yeah? And once he gets home…”
“Ach. ‘m not paralyzed. Jus’ uncomfortable.” Johnny glowers, pouting, and you roll your eyes, rhythm steady, gently bouncing, letting Penny cuddle into your chest, snuggling her face against your arm and side. She’s beautiful, precious and sweet, cooing herself back into a light slumber, and you smile despite yourself, still rocking after her eyes start to shut. “Knew she’d like ye.” He says softly, and you glance up, surprised by the intensity of their focus, heavy gazes fixed on you.
“She’s very sweet.” Your lips twist.
“She is.” Simon agrees. “We were happy to get her some time with her Da. Good for both of ‘em.” His fingers find Johnny’s cheek, and then their hands meet, a palm pressed to lips, a whispered a I love you. 
An intimate moment, as you stand there with their baby in your arms.
“Alright, now that ye’ve done the hard work by gettin’ her back down,” Johnny gestures, urging you to step forward, and you carefully place her back in his arms. For a moment, your faces are level, and you get caught in his eyes, nerves strung so tight they could be a tightrope. “I’ve got her.” Weeks in the hospital, and he still smells like cedar and oranges, woodsy citrus that envelopes you, your lashes fluttering on the inhale. “She likes ye.” He murmurs, breath warm and tickling over your cheek.
“Well, she’s...” you straighten, hands smoothing down the front of your top. They’re moist, somehow, and you tuck them behind your back. “She’s a good judge of character, I guess.” Simon’s phone vibrates, Johnny’s plush smile turning dour, and he sighs.
“Okay baby girl. It’s time.” She cries a little, readjusting to Simon’s hold, and he slings the purple duffel over his shoulder, promising to be right back. Johnny nods, eyes downcast, and his face twists once the door shuts, cheeks turning red, staccato, hiccupped breaths coming fast.
“Hey.” You whisper. “Hey, Johnny.” The chair at his bedside creaks under you, and you lean forward, fingertips lightly caressing the tape residue that still sticks to his skin. You should clean that off. 
“’m alright.” His shoulders roll, chin jutting out, brilliant blue gleam in his eyes returning, like storm clouds rolling off after rain. He’s silent for a beat, pinky finger folding over yours. “How was yer day?”
“Oh, it was… fine.”
“Simon said ye were goin’ to catch up on some sleep?”
“Yeah, I didn’t.” You laugh, and he smiles. “I feel okay though. Still awake at least.”
“I’m glad… ye came. I’m sorry if the other night, I was too… forward.”
“That’s okay. You’re just… so flirty, I don’t even know what to do with myself.” You tease, expecting to get a lighthearted quip in response, or a laugh, but he gives you neither, only a serious, sympathetic expression.
“I didnae mean to make ye uncomfortable. Felt terrible, when ye ran off, I-“
“I’m fine, Johnny. You… you didn’t. I mean, it was just… confusing, this is… this is a lot.” He nods.
“I know it is.”
“And you don’t even know me.” His brow creases, focus narrowed in so tightly on you, white walls, white hospital blanket, white everything falling away in a spiral of color.
“I know ye better than ye might think." He cracks a smile. "We want to, if ye’d let us.” No, you don’t. You almost say it. Almost promise him that knowing you would be the stuff of their nightmares, that they have no idea what they’re trying to bite into, or bite off, a near guarantee that it would be than they could chew.
“Well, no harm in making new friends, right?” You entreat weakly, and his eyes flash, ethos of an entire life that you have no knowledge of slipping through, and the dark severity rumbling in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine.
“Aye, bun. Especially when they look like ye in a pair of jeans.” 
Dinner is an idyllic affair. Johnny’s favorite takeaway turns out, is Indian, like yours, and the three of you talk for hours, trading bites back and forth, laughing and listening to stories, discovering little bits and pieces about their lives while running interference on personal questions about yourself, allowing them to dip in skin deep, skimming off the top but never getting further. They tell you about themselves, Penelope, their jobs, how they met, and Johnny confides in you about his sketchbook collection, pages upon pages of charcoal and pencil line work, portraits of Simon and Pen covering each page, landscapes, and the occasional cartoon. Your spine eventually starts to wilt, muscles liquifying into goo that can barely hold you upright, and you curl up in the armchair, chin on your palm, listening to the ebb and flow of their voices as they tell you a particular story about how they came to find their current home, a near slapstick comedy about an interaction with the previous owner. Their voices soothe your restless mind, wrap you in a cozy embrace that feels so safe, so comfortable that you can’t fight the languid, siren call of sleep, eyes drooping into darkness, drifting away on their melodies, content and too tired to rationally put together what’s happening. At some point, something covers you up, knit warmth that is tucked in around your shoulders, your feet, a tender touch on your neck and cheek. A whisper of affection soothes the unease that lurks in the background of it all, and you fall into it lazily, farther into the hold of sleep, something your brain and body are desperate for.
When the lights go dim, you don’t even realize, already lost to the sand of slumber.
Around midnight, you wake with a start. Your heart is racing, triple timing in your chest, and you squint in the dark, trying to parse together where you are, what happened.
Oh no. Oh god, did you fall asleep on them? Did you fall asleep in Johnny’s room? 
Simon calls your name. He’s settled in a recliner, head turned your direction, mellow light from the little lamp spilling across his features. “Are you alright?” Your mouth is dry, the web of sleep that holds you in suspension finally starting to wane, fuzzy clouds in your head trying to clear without much luck.  
“How long was I out?”
“Four hours.”
“I’m so sorry.” He shakes his head.
“Wanted to let you sleep. I know you were tired, and Johnny was out almost immediately after you.”
“Th-thanks.” Your back groans, muscle and bone grinding together, stiff from sleeping in a cramped position for hours, and you’re surprisingly unsteady on your feet. Simon’s out of his chair in a second, turning around the end of Johnny’s bed to offer you a hand, his other lightly resting between your shoulder blades.
“Easy.”
“Sorry… just… think ‘m more tired than I realized.” It’s dark, and you’re disorientated, woozy, tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, limbs and lids still heavy and desperate to fall back asleep.
“I’ll drive you home.” His keys jingle, and you know you should reject him, refute this presumption, push him off, but you can’t string the right words together in your mind, can’t bring yourself to truculently pull away.
So, you don’t. And to your surprise, your shock, it feels… nice. You let him open the door for you, get you settled, you listen to his music on the way, city flying past outside the window, quiet hour of the night crawling by. You let him help you out of the car when you pull up to the curb, and when he asks if he can walk you up, your rational pugnacity is nowhere to be found.
“This is me.” You gesture to the door, fumbling in your wallet for your keycard.
“How long have you been in the hotel?”
“Oh, not long. Reno just started so…” His head turns, surveilling the hallway. You’re in an end room, far from the elevator but close to the stairs, as requested, and there’s a camera that sits on the ceiling, green dot consistently blinking. He glances at it, then back to you, head tilted.
“Are you safe here?” The world goes cold. Your stomach roils, blood draining from your face, and you try to hold yourself steady, mind turning over a million times. You’re overreacting. He’s just asking in a general sense. He doesn’t know. He couldn’t. Breathe. Deep breath. 
“I uh, yeah. It’s got a deadbolt.” Along with a door stop alarm, and a security bar. He steps closer, so close that you can smell him, fresh laundry and musk, something spicy lingering there, something dark and enchanting.
“Are you in trouble, little bunny?” You’re in his shadow, beneath the stretch of a mountain, shielded by it, by a monolith so large it could blot out the sun. It overwhelms you, slows the racing pace of your mind, and you try to sort through the merry go round of feelings that are all trying to push their way out of your mouth.
You’ve never felt this. Never felt this… desire, to entrust someone with your life. Never felt this… attraction, this hold that the two of them have on you.
It makes you want to trust them. Makes you want to lay it all out and beg them to help you. Makes you want to close your eyes and leap, praying they’ll catch you.
It’s wicked. It’s dangerous. It’s a fool’s errand.
It’s unfair. 
“No.” You whisper. You can’t look at him, and time slows in the silence, your anxiety piquing. Of course, he would assume something is wrong, after witnessing the panic attack. Don’t read too far into it. 
“But you wouldn’t tell me if you were, would you?” He’s pragmatic, yet still kind, watching you with intent. It doesn’t allay any of the stress that’s building up the back of your throat and closing it, cutting you off from the oxygen you desperately need.
After an eon, he sighs.
“Okay, sweetheart. You can keep your secrets. For now.” You choke. 
“I… I should probably-“ you jerk your head towards the door, half turning away to swipe your keycard.
“Alright.” He moves carefully, dipping low, and you stand immobilized, confused and quivering as his cloth covered mouth presses a slow kiss to the top of your head. It’s like he’s bewitched you, cursed you, and you can’t do anything but stand there, stunned. “Thanks for coming tonight.” You’re a deer in headlights, a rabbit in a scope.
“Simon.” His name is the only thing you know right now, and it comes out reedy, almost a squeak.
“Get some rest. We’ll text you tomorrow.” He pushes the door wide, arm snaked behind your shoulders, and when you don’t move, he urges you forward, an encouraging hand on the small of your back. Your feet blindly stumble through the motions, searching for the light switch, for your sanity. “Goodnight, bun.” He hums, and the door clicks shut, leaving you alone, staring at the beige-yellow paint on the wall.
The afternoon trains are packed. It makes your skin crawl, not because you dislike busy or hectic places, but because there are too many eyes. You force your head to stay up, casually scrolling past the faces that are turned every which way, keeping your back to a corner or window as often as possible. You’re not sure you even needed to take this route, the one where you loop around and change trains twice, but… old habits die hard.
You’re lighter today, mentally. It’s in your steps on the stairs, the way you tilt your face up to the sun, how you bounce and bob a little along to the rhythm in your headphones.
You try not to read into it, too much. You tell yourself it has nothing to do with the good morning text messages from Johnny and Simon, or the hilarious back and forth between them after Simon sent a god-awful joke to the group chat. It has nothing to do with the heat that spreads through your fingers to toes when you think about Simon last night, kissing your forehead.
You slip inside your apartment, popping your headphones free, glancing at the tape and the door jam, before setting your bag on the counter. You idly sort through some mail you left out the other day. Junk, junk, junk, nothing taxing or important, nothing work related or-
A shadow moves. It flickers against the wall by your bedroom, growing larger, stalking closer to the kitchen, to where you stand, frozen, heart pounding in your ears. 
This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. 
“Hey there, sugar.” He croons, the thick, Texas accent unmistakable, and you breathe his name in horror.
“Phillip.”
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guiltyasdave · 17 days ago
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every breath you take
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pairing: Dave York x f!reader
summary: Dave is investigating a case, but ends up being much more interested in the target's girlfriend.
word count: 1.7k
tags/warnings: dark content!!! stalker!dave, non-consensual voyerism, more things that i don't want to spoil, but if you don't like dark stuff you won't like this okay?, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, divorced dave, allusions to smut, angst
a/n: ...i was in the mood to try my hand at a dark dave, so i did :) written for @punkshort's au challenge, where i got detective!dave, which i took and ran with lmao
so much love to @sizzlingcloudmentality who has received a thousand voice notes over this, kept me from killing everyone, and gave me the idea for the final twist <3
follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)
dividers by @saradika-graphics 🤍
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It had started the first time Dave heard your voice, ringing through his headphones as he was sitting at his desk, taking notes on last nights’ recordings. He had just taken on the case, a promise of quiet observational work, gathering evidence. The only requirement to stay invisible. Easy enough.
Your name had popped up in the case file. Romantic partner. Female. Involvement unclear. A note in the back of his head, filed away. That was before he knew you. 
Before he sat at his desk, headphones on, not breathing for what felt like hours. Before he unfroze, straightening his back, digging through the file for a photograph of you. Staring at the blurry pixels, at the sweet smile directed at your boyfriend. 
His line of work had long lost the excitement it gave him when he first started, the buzz that he had once felt when after months of investigation, a case was solved. But this. This was new, this was fun. 
He found himself listening so much more intently when you were present, waiting for your name being mentioned when you weren’t. 
There hasn’t been much fun in his life since the divorce. Not seeing the girls nearly as much as he would like to. Coming home to an empty house in the evening, no traces left of the family life that he always prided himself with. One could say that he’s lonely, he guesses.
It’s late in the evening, his car parked in front of the unassuming suburban house, perfect with a white picket fence, the porch surrounded by carefully maintained flowers. Your work, as he knows by now. It’s so easy, imagining you in his house, so similar to the one you’re living in now.
He should be paying close attention to your boyfriend, should monitor his every step, should take notes, photos if necessary. Instead, his eyes are glued to you. 
Watching you move from the living room to the kitchen, picturing you in the same rooms in his house instead. Reaching up to a cupboard, crouching down in front of the oven, moving around the counters. He grits his teeth when your boyfriend comes up behind you, crowds you in, his hands all over your body. Lips against your neck. You leaning into the touch, a soft smile on your lips. That should be him. 
Maybe, if he tries hard enough, later tonight he’ll look at his own kitchen counter and see you there. Maybe he’ll be able to pretend, even for a moment, that your sweet, sweet smile is directed at him. That your voice rings out with the sound of his name instead of the douchebag that calls himself your boyfriend. 
You deserve so much better. Someone to take care of you, to keep you safe. To love you the way you should be loved. You deserve someone like him and he doesn’t understand how you don’t see that. How you don’t look out the window, spot him across the street, and just know. The way he did. 
Of course things didn’t work out with Carol. How could they, when you were waiting for him? 
But you don’t look out the window. You turn around, a laugh on your lips. Silent, from his vantage point outside of your house, your life. But he knows the sound, knows how beautiful it sounds, how it always brings a smile to his own face. He has listened to it over and over, after all. Maybe, one day he’ll be able to experience both at once, to see your face scrunch up, crinkles forming around your eyes and your nose, while his ears pick up on the pearly sound that he’s gotten addicted to. It’s almost embarrassing, how much longer it takes him to listen to tapes when you’re on them. How often he rewinds, how meticulously he commits every single sound that you let out to memory.
It isn’t lost on him that you love your boyfriend. He’s not delusional, after all. You just don’t know how much better you could have it. It’s not your fault, of course. He understands, he wants to help you, wants to make you see. 
You don’t know who the man you live with really is, he doesn’t think. You don’t know about the blood-stained money that bought the house you live in, don’t question when he comes home late at night, when he leaves the room to make a call. 
Dave would never treat you like this. He’d be so, so good to you. Because he knows you, better than that guy ever will, and he hasn’t even met you. Yet. 
It almost seems too easy. He has dirt, more than enough of it, to send your boyfriend to jail for a long, long time. He could finish up the case. But he likes to keep watching. At least until he knows what to do with you. 
It’s late one evening, the golden light from your living room spilling out across the lawn. Dave’s back is stiff from folding his body into the car seat all day, but it’s a price he’s willing to pay. Just a glimpse of you would be enough. Right now, all he can see is the back of your boyfriend’s head behind an armchair.
As if his thoughts had summoned you, you glide into the room, just as gorgeous as always. Wearing nothing but lacy black underwear, a coy smile on your face, directed at the man that Dave has come to hate. The man who doesn’t deserve your smile, doesn’t deserve to lay eyes on you, let alone touch you. The hands roaming over your skin, pulling you closer until it’s body against body— they should be Dave’s. 
The shutter clicks quietly. No one but him will see these photos, they won’t be submitted to the case file. But he already knows that he’ll be looking at them over and over, pouring over them in the darkness of his home, until every inch, every crevice of your body is seared into his memories. 
You giggle, muted by the distance and the windows separating him from you, but he still hears the sound in his ear as if he was standing right next to you. He knows you. Fingers intertwined, you pull your boyfriend with you, up the stairs and out of view. It stings. He’d be lying to say that it didn’t. But not much longer now. He just needs a plan. 
He has already cleared any evidence that even hints at you possessing any knowledge of the criminal activities surrounding the man that you’re with right now. You won’t go down with him, you’re safe. Of course you are. Dave will always protect what’s his. You’ll see.
Later, when all the lights in your house are turned off and he has returned to his own home, his thoughts race with the image of you. All that skin on display, the smiles and giggles, the teasing. Maybe you do know. Maybe it’s a game that you’re both playing, maybe you wanted him to see. 
He lets the hot spray of the shower rain down his back, the heat slowly easing the hardened muscles in his back. Still, all he sees is you. He doesn’t even need to close his eyes. In his mind, you’re right there with him. It’s his body that you’re pressed against, his fingers digging into your flesh. He almost tastes your soft breaths, feels all the mewling sounds that he could pull from you against his lips. He could give you everything you want, could make you feel better than anyone else ever has. You’re meant for him. 
He’d turn you around, press you against the hard wall, one hand on your shoulder, pulling you back against his body as he fills you up. You’d be so tight, so warm and wet around him. He’d drive into you, again and again, over and over, until the only thing you know is his name. Until he’s everything you’ll ever need.
It happens one week later. You were supposed to be asleep. They were going to intercept your boyfriend before he could enter the house. Dave doesn’t know what went wrong, why the team fucked up like this. 
He runs inside when he hears you scream, standing in the kitchen. Your eyes wide, shining with the image of your boyfriend’s blood slowly spreading across the white tiles. With a wild expression on your face, you make a grab for the knife block. 
It all goes by incredibly fast. In the blink of an eye, Dave’s world comes crashing down around him. One of the men lunges at you, attempting to tackle you to the ground. Your head connects with the kitchen counter in a sickening crunch. A second later, your limp body hits the ground. 
It’s agony, waiting for you to wake up. He lets people think that he’s just invested in his case, that he feels guilty about how things went down. No one interferes when he handles the hospital proceedings, knowing better than to question him. Or when he doesn’t let anyone else near you. Or when he barely leaves your side, staring at your unconscious face, your hand weak in his. 
He listens attentively to the doctors, his brows knitted deeply, his lips pursed in worry. No part of it is fake. If his eyes widen at the words memory loss, the only plausible reason is his deep concern for you.
When your eyelids flutter open, when your gaze finds him for the very first time, his heart is racing in his chest. He squeezes your hand, resists the urge to smooth out the crease on your forehead. 
“Thank god you’re awake,” he breathes, not able to stop a smile from growing on his face.
You exhale sharply, pure confusion painting your features. So helpless without him. 
“W— who are you?” 
“I’m Dave, baby. Your fiancé, remember?”
A slow shake of your head, your brows pulling together. Quietly echoing his name back to him, more like a question.
Until the only thing you know is his name. Until he’s everything you’ll ever need.
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thank you for reading, aaaahhhhh! i have never written anything really dark before and i'm a little nervous tbh, so please let me know if you liked this <3
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bellaxgiornata · 29 days ago
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Tell Me
Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader Word Count: 2.3k [Tuna-Tober Masterlist]
Tuna-Tober Prompt: “Why? Why do you love me?”
Warnings/tags: angst, emotional hurt/comfort, almost breakup
Summary: Matt has been acting cold for the past couple of weeks–ever since you told him you loved him.
a/n: Of course Matt was the first one who came to my mind for this prompt. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!
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“We’re done,” Matt stated. “That’s it. I can’t do this any longer.”
A thick and palpable tension hung in the air at Matt’s words, a heaviness so pervasive that you didn't need his heightened senses to feel it filling the apartment. Standing beside the leather couch, your arms tightly wrapped around yourself as if they alone were the only thing holding you together. Heart pounding rapidly inside of your chest, it felt close to bursting straight out if you dared to move your arms even an inch. 
Across the room, Matt stood in front of the large living room windows with his back turned to you. The light from the billboard across the street washed the front of him in a dark crimson, casting looming shadows along his tense and rigid form. His hands were situated on his hips, fingers digging so sharply into his dress pants that they were pulling the fabric even more taut around his waist. Everything about his posture–from his clenched jaw to his squared shoulders–felt as if he was intentionally shutting you out as well as keeping a physical distance between the pair of you.
This is it, you thought. This is where he finally tries to push me away.
You’d known Matt for a while now. Long enough to know how he operated when things became just a bit too much for him or if someone grew a bit too close. Over time you’d slowly learned the signs of when he’d start to close himself off, beginning to read him sometimes better than he thought he could even read you. 
It had been ten months since you’d met Matt while working on an article for The Bulletin. You’d interviewed him about a case that his firm had won and the pair of you had steadily and easily grown closer together after that initial encounter. Neither of you had been able to stay away from the other. You’d long since been past the point of just dating and occasionally sleeping together–you’d been an official couple for months now. You had clothing hanging in his closet and you knew exactly where he stored the red Daredevil suit that he donned most evenings. You knew about his past from the many late nights he'd opened up to you either after a rough patrol as the Devil or a case he was particularly fired up over.
But lately Matt had started to become prickly around you. Constantly on edge. Canceling dates and intentionally trying to avoid you. He was often gone in the mornings the few times you’d stayed over at his apartment, not even giving you his usual goodbye kiss before he left. He hadn’t invited you over as frequently either because most nights now he told you that he planned to stay late at the office before running out to deal with one thing or another as Daredevil. 
This had all started just over two weeks ago. Right around the time you’d first told him you loved him. He’d seemed off that night, too. You remembered how he’d suddenly grown quiet in bed, his expression shifting to something impossible to read as he almost immediately shut you out. You’d assured him that you hadn’t expected him to say it back in the moment–and you’d meant that. You knew he’d heard the truth in the firm beat of your heart. Because you loved Matt. You knew him opening his heart up to let someone in was not something he did easily, and you were prepared to continue proving to him that you weren’t about to disappear from his life like he seemed to secretly fear.
You’d long since wondered if his sudden coldness was some sort of a test, one he himself wasn’t even aware he was putting you through. As if he expected you to leave at the first sign of difficulty in the relationship which had otherwise been fairly smooth. You’d always encouraged open communication between you both–something else you were aware he struggled with–but you’d always been patient and understanding with him, which was what you’d tried to be over these past couple of weeks.
Until this very moment. Because right now you did not fully understand why Matt had just told you that he couldn’t continue the relationship anymore. You could feel the tears building in your eyes as you stared at the back of his navy blue dress shirt, your eyes fixed on the wrinkles that formed throughout his work day. In your chest, you could feel your heart teetering on the verge of shattering, ready to break into pieces with only a few more words from his mouth. You found yourself wondering if Matt would be able to hear your heart break.
But you didn't want to let him go without a fight. You didn’t want to lose him. You loved him far too much to let him self-sabotage the relationship you'd both created and poured yourselves into over the past few months without even trying to get through to him first.
“There’s no way you mean any of that, Matt,” you told him, shaking your head and ignoring the sting of tears in your eyes. “I don’t believe you.”
His head snapped to the side when you'd finally spoken, the sharp angle of his profile swathed in red just over the top of his broad shoulder. His jaw was set firm, but even in the light from the billboard you could see the muscle jumping in his cheek.
“And what makes you think that?” he asked, a rough edge to his words.
“Because,” you answered, taking a small, hesitant step towards him and noticing the way he flinched. “I know you. I think you’re just trying to hurt me to avoid the perceived hurt you think is bound to happen if you continue getting close to me. Growing comfortable in our relationship. Because you think I’m going to leave you. You think it's inevitable.”
The muscle jumped in Matt's cheek again, the only movement you caught on his otherwise immobile body. Pressing your lips together, you tried to fight the way they'd begun to quiver. In this moment, it felt more like you were approaching a feral cat than a grown man–a feeling you'd experienced a few times with Matt in the past. And you knew right now that if you showed him any sign of weakness he'd pounce on it.
“You're scared,” you continued slowly, taking another cautious step towards him. “I think you're terrified of how great things have been between us. I think you feel as if you don't deserve the happiness I've seen written on your face when we're together.”
Something like an agitated growl rumbled in his chest at your words. Not exactly a noise of disagreement, but also not exactly the sound of a warning. It sounded more alarmed than anything, which had you feeling more confident that you'd just struck the exact problem he'd created in his mind.
“But you're wrong,” you assured him firmly. “You deserve love and happiness, Matthew. And I intend to be here with you. I will happily spend every day right by your side helping you until you see it for yourself.”
You took another cautious and careful step towards him, but you stopped moving the second you saw his lip curl back into something like a snarl. You could see his eyes narrow at you even behind the lenses of his red glasses just before he spoke.
“Why?” he growled. “Tell me why.”
Swallowing hard, your hands nervously curled up inside the sleeves of your sweatshirt. “Why what?” you whispered.
“Why do you love me?” he demanded. “Why? How could you possibly love me?”
Freezing on the spot as your breath hitched, confusion briefly washed over you. Despite having now learned his strange behavior had indeed been brought about by you saying that you loved him for the first time weeks ago, it had taken you entirely off guard that he'd wanted an actual explanation as to why you did. But then again, that really shouldn't have surprised you quite so much considering you knew just how unlovable he thought he was. And you weren’t going to let an opportunity to tell him how you really felt slip between your fingers. 
“Because you have the biggest heart I've ever seen, Matthew,” you began softly, emotion thick in your voice. “You keep it buried deep in your chest, hiding it from everyone, but I see it. Every time you come home with another banana bread or casserole dish and an excited story about how you helped someone in this city who'd otherwise have been looked over because they couldn’t afford good legal representation. I see it when you come home late at night bruised, exhausted, and bleeding but grinning in triumph as you tell me who you saved. I see it whenever you just simply look at me.”
The snarl that had initially curled his lips back gradually slipped off of his face while you'd been speaking, the hard lines of his body slowly beginning to soften. He didn't speak, but his shift in body language had given you some hope back. Hope that you could get through to him.
“And I'm not bothered by how much of yourself you give to this city,” you continued, once more carefully closing the space between you both as you slowly lowered your arms to your sides. “I admire you for it, Matthew. Ever since you told me the truth. I've never disliked that part of you. I’ve never taken issue with it. I’ve never been afraid of you. That part of you has only made me admire you more. Love you more.”
You were standing a few feet away from him now, able to see the faint tremble of his lips with how close you were. Everything you were saying was having an effect on him so you continued, hoping your words would start to sink in. Even just a little.
“And it's not just that I admire that big, beautiful heart in your chest,” you told him, “but I admire that big, beautiful brain in that handsome head of yours.” You paused, smiling a little back at him. “I think you're incredibly smart and brilliant, Matt. In and out of the courtroom. You're fiercely passionate about justice no matter the cost to yourself–whether it's sleepless nights out on the rooftops or hours pouring over files here at your apartment. And you're funny when you let yourself stop being so broody most days,” you said, your small smile growing a bit more on your lips as a tear slipped down your cheek. “You brighten my days more than you know, Matty. Always helping me to find the light in the darkness when I think there isn't any. Seeing the good in everyone…except for yourself.”
Reaching up, you wiped away another stray tear that had raced down your cheek with the back of your hand. Matt sniffled quietly, his shoulders sagging as he finally and hesitantly turned towards you. His hands had fallen from his hips, hanging at his sides as his fingers twitched.
“Do you really want me to go?” you whispered, more tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. “Because I–I can take my things and leave if that's what you really want, Matt. I can walk out that door and leave you alone.”
Matt shook his head firmly, his mouth visibly trembling at your words. Tears had managed to slide their way beneath his glasses, trailing their way down his cheeks. The sight had your own tears falling faster as he timidly approached you, closing the small bit of distance that remained. 
“No,” he breathed out. “No, I don't really want that.”
Feeling a flood of relief, you reached out and wrapped your arms around his waist. Drawing himself the rest of the way into the front of you, Matt immediately buried his face directly against your neck. You could feel a dampness forming on your skin from his tears, the feeling only causing you to hold him tighter.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed into your skin. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I don’t want you to go. I didn’t mean it. I’m just–just–”
Turning your head, you buried your face into his hair as your hands began rubbing light and soothing patterns over his back while he struggled to find the words he wanted. Your eyelids fluttered shut as you breathed in that warm, rich scent that was always uniquely Matt. With his warm body wrapped around you, your once rapidly beating heart began slowing back to a normal rhythm.
“I know,” you murmured back, lips brushing his hair as you spoke. “I know you didn’t mean it, Matty. Relationships are scary,” you told him. “Giving someone so much of yourself is terrifying, I get it. But I love you and I don’t want to leave you. I’m not going to leave you.”
With his face still buried against your throat, you felt his features screw up against your skin before another rush of Matt’s warm, wet tears began to slide down your neck. Your hands fisted his dress shirt, holding him even tighter to the front of yourself as he cried. You didn’t need him to explain why he’d suddenly begun to weep because you’d already known the answer. He’d heard the truth in your explanation for why you loved him as you’d spoken them aloud. The same unwavering truth that was always present in your words. 
“I love you,” he whispered into your skin. “And I don’t think I could ever stop.”
A smile pulled your lips upwards, tears burning at your eyes for an entirely different reason now. You pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to the top of his head as a warm rush of emotion filled you at hearing him finally say those three little words back to you.
“I love you, too, Matty,” you whispered. “And I don’t ever want to stop.”
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Matt Murdock One Shot Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwlff @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @theetherealbloom @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @ladywholikesreading @millennial-birkin @tartbeanpuzzles @harleycao @sunflower-tia @gamingfeline @juskonutoh @kezibear @ninacotte @withyoutilltheendoftheline @justanerd1 @scriptedmoon @lucienofthelakes @sarahskywalker-amidala @flowher @loves0phelia @a-half-empty-g1rl @zomtart @justvalkyrie @steve-chandler
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emilys-bangs · 12 days ago
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this is me trying | e.p
Tags: established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff at the end, mom!emily, no use of yn, use of petnames
Summary: Emily misses one of Eloise's milestones and tries to deal with it. Requested here.
Word count: 2.7k
A/n: my longest fic is officially a momily fic oops...(gimme more momily thoughts please) also I did the convo with Hotch instead of JJ because he's surprisingly easier to write than her :p
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Emily was having an okay day. It was her second night away on a case and it was unraveling quickly, quick enough that she thought she’d be home for dinner.
She wasn’t.
Instead, she gets a call from you around Eloise’s bedtime. With the ring comes a twist of guilt in her stomach; she’d promised herself she’d call this time instead of you, but her reminder to set an alarm slipped from her mind, and soon she got swept up in an endless whirlpool of case files and paper trails. Silencing her phone, she pushes her chair back and stands up, her eyes flitting over Reid and JJ’s forms bent over the conference room table. They can handle a few minutes on their own.
Emily slips into an empty office, shuttering the blinds as she accepts the video call before it rings out. Crackly noise comes through and she smiles at the sight of you and Eloise on the plush carpet of her nursery, the little girl already in her pajamas and sitting in the cradle of your crossed legs. Some of the tightness in her chest loosens.
“Hi there,” Emily smiles softly as you hold the camera away from Eloise’s grabby hands, her eyes tracing your faces through the screen, “how are my favorite people in the world doing?” She asks, perching on the edge of the table.
“Good,” you say, smoothing a hand over Eloise’s damp hair. “Sleepy, but someone won’t—”
“Bye-bye!” Eloise interrupts cheerfully—her favorite word as of late.
Emily chuckles, her shoulders slumping at the bell-like tinkle of her daughter’s voice. “But I just saw you, sweet girl. I don’t wanna say bye so soon, do you?”
“Bye,” she repeats.
“Think I should go,” Emily wrinkles her nose at you, the playful gesture pulling a laugh from your toddler.
“Maybe she’s finally starting to learn it’s bedtime,” you say, kissing the top of her head. “We’re starting to feel sleepy, aren’t we, Eloise?” Your voice softens as you trace your finger down the soft bridge of her nose, a trick you and Emily use to soothe her to sleep.
But Eloise stubbornly shakes her head. “Nnn.” She turns her face away, placing two hands on your knee.
Emily smiles at the domestic image, her heart tugging with a need to be home. To join your daughter in the circle of your legs, feel your arms around her waist as you both worked to lull her to sleep. 
She breathes through the ache, forcing herself to smile. “Well, we both know where that came—”
Her playful jab falls away when she sees Eloise stand, her hands still on your knee to hold herself up. Emily holds her breath, waiting for her to topple, but her daughter steps over your leg and walks to the drawers behind you. Her movements are wobbly but she doesn’t fall, babbling bye, bye, bye under her breath as she fiddles with the handle of the drawer at her level.
You don’t give a reaction apart from a guilty twist of your lips. Still, Emily waits for something; surprise, shock, excited laughter. The only thing that happens is an apologetic shrug of your shoulders, resigned and defeated.
Her heart sinks.
“She—” Emily sucks in a breath, her throat dry. “She started walking? When?” She hates how her voice is croaky, how it breaks as her heart picks up its pace.
You guiltily chew on your lip. “Yesterday morning.”
Yesterday morning. She was on the jet by then. Something bitter coats her tongue, digging into her molars; the inside of her cheeks pucker.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” 
But it’s obvious why you didn’t.
“Emily…”
“Mmamamama,” Eloise comes over again, her small, onesie-covered feet showing up on the screen. She grabs the phone from your limp fingers, her sweet, clueless face reaching the edges of Emily’s phone. “Ma,” she babbles, and Emily forces a smile.
“Mommy’s here, sweetheart.” She says hoarsely. 
Her voice cracks around the blatant lie.
___
They’re on the jet home less than twenty four hours later. It was as happy an outcome as they can possibly hope for; unsub in cuffs, airtight evidence, families reunited with their loved ones.
And yet everyone notices Emily’s mood. 
They notice it but say nothing about it, letting her churn in silence as she bypasses all the seats in the jet to sit in the back. Her go bag is thrown under her chair, her arms tightly crossed over her chest as she looks out the window and toys with her ring.
Takeoff is a blur. The lights dim and she chances a glance at her watch, hopelessly willing the time to go by faster. As she’s turning her head, she spots movement from the corner of her eye.
Hotch sits down across from her. He’s quiet as he places a mug of tea next to her phone, but when he leans back into his seat, she sees the concern—and the question—in his eyes.
“You’re upset.” He says.
If Emily wasn’t feeling so miserable, she might have scoffed. Maybe she could have deflected, or lashed out and told him to leave her alone and wallow in her self loathing. 
But she’s too tired for that. And Hotch has kind eyes; he understands, what she’s feeling, more than anyone.
So Emily finds herself cracking. 
“Eloise. She, uh…she took her first steps two days ago.” Emily says quietly, staring intensely at the mug he’s placed in front of her. The lump forms yet again, the threatening press of tears just behind her eyes. Her own words only make her gut churn. “...And I wasn’t there.” She adds unnecessarily, her voice lowered to a whisper because any louder and she’s sure it’ll break.
Her daughter crossed off a huge milestone. And instead of cheering her on, taking her into her arms and kissing her little cheeks, Emily was off hundreds of miles away, hunting down a pathetic, homicidal man rather than being there for her own child. Emily had promised herself that she’d always be there—for every dance recital, every parent teacher meeting. But she couldn’t even be there for Eloise’s first steps.
She’s just as bad as her mother, prioritizing a job over her own daughter. The thought makes her bite down on her lip, hard. The metallic taste of blood floods her tongue.
“How do you deal with it?” She asks thickly. Emily doesn’t look up at him as she twists her fingers into her necklace, smoothing her thumb over the engraved E and staring intently at the mug he’s placed on top of a coaster—because of course Hotch got a coaster.
The answer she gets is a low, heavy exhale that she feels in her bones. Emily looks up, chancing a glance at him even though she knows her eyes are probably shining under the low lights of the jet.
Hotch swallows, carefully measuring his words before he speaks. “I try to remind myself that I’m making the world a better place for him. Though most of the time it’s a lousy excuse.” His lips press together in a small, bitter, smile. A hand goes through his hair and a few strands flop back into his face; for the first time, Emily sees a rumpled, exhausted single dad rather than her put together Unit Chief. “I guess I try to deal with it by giving Jack 100% of my attention when I’m home. I shut everything out and focus on him, for however many hours I can get. I’d like to think I’m making a difference, but…” He trails off, shrugs. 
Emily’s stomach sinks then. She presses her lips together, fighting against the shine in her eyes that now reflects in Hotch’s. 
There’s no good answer. No way to make herself feel better about it. She knew that, and yet hearing it from him somehow makes it worse. The chain of her necklace tugs sharply against her throat.
“It helps,” he speaks up again, a tinge of sadness to his voice, “knowing that she’s not alone. She’ll always have someone. And no matter what, she’ll always know you love her.” He says gently. Somewhere in the shadowy corners of her mind, she realizes she’s never heard him talk this softly before, at least not to her.
Emily swallows hard. “What if—” Her voice shakes. She snaps her mouth shut, grabs the mug and takes a scorching sip. The chamomile doesn’t register on her taste buds, neither does the sweetness of two Splenda’s. Emily wraps her cold, trembling hands around the mug, looking into it as she forces herself to say the words. “What if she wants me? And if I’m not there…” Her voice grows hoarse again.
She swallows again. Drinks her tea, again. Closes her eyes against the tears, digs a thumb into her wedding ring. “What does that tell your child about you, Hotch? When you’re not there and they need you to be?”
Emily pretends not to hear the crack in her own voice. Hotch pretends, too, as he leans forward on the table. “You’re not a bad mom,” he says quietly. His tone is firm, unwavering. “You care and you’re trying and they’ll know that.”
They. Their combined children, victims of their job. He says it like he’s begging for it to be enough. For his sake and for hers.
Emily tries to believe it. She really, truly does, but she can’t stop the whispers that say it’s not enough.
___
When she walks into your home, the living room is empty.
Emily follows the sound of your voice and Eloise’s, her breaths coming easier as her feet lead her to the nursery. She inhales the scent of home; baby powder and your perfume and the detergent all of your clothes are washed with.
Finally, she stops at Eloise’s nursery. You’re sitting on the floor just like you were yesterday, Eloise again sitting between your crossed legs. There’s a book in her hands that she furrows her brows at, intently studying the colored pages as if she’ll be quizzed on them. 
The sight makes Emily smile.
“Knock knock,” she says softly, briefly scaring you. The tension in your shoulders melts when you see it’s her, a small smile curling your lips as she toes off her boots and walks into the nursery.
“Hi,” you whisper. Eloise finally looks up from her book just as Emily settles next to you on the floor, where she wished she would be just last night.
“Mama!” Her baby squeals, and Emily’s heart constricts, and her vision blurs as she reaches her hands out to carry her into her arms.
“Hi, Eloise,” she whispers. She feels the scrape of tears in the back of her throat and swallows, pressing her lips to her daughter’s soft cheek to stifle them. “I missed you.” Another kiss goes to her other cheek, then one to her forehead. 
Your hand falls to her knee and squeezes; Emily takes a hand off of Eloise’s back, places it over your knuckles. She skates her thumb over your skin, squeezes her daughter with her other hand. 
“I heard my sweet girl started walking.” Emily murmurs, letting go of your hand to smooth Eloise’s hair behind her ears. It’s an adorable mess, the way it springs right back in her face bringing a smile to Emily’s lips. “Can you show Mommy, honey?”
Her dark eyes stare into Emily’s; twin pairs. “Hi,” Eloise mumbles.
“Hi, my love. I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” she says, her voice cracking on the last word. Her daughter doesn’t notice, too busy with reaching out to fiddle with her necklace. Emily runs her palms over the soft cotton of her onesie, hugging her close and trying to remind herself that she’s here now. “I’m so proud of you, Eloise. Mommy’s always proud of you, you know?” Tears balance on her lashes as she turns her head again to kiss a soft cheek. “You’re my girl.”
Emily didn’t used to be an easy crier. 
Having a child changed that; she cried at Eloise’s ultrasound, cried at her birth. She cried when her daughter said Mama and when she was running a mild fever of 99.5. Tears were easy to come, at bumps and bruises, at small snippets of her personality that start to form with time, at a singular candle blown on her birthday. Undeniably, her daughter is her Achilles heel. Emily is still trying to deal with that, trying to adjust to having her heart walk around unprotected on tiny, wobbly legs that still don’t know where to go.
Emily doesn’t realize she’s been rocking her daughter back and forth until your arm wraps around her shoulders. The weight of it forces her to go still; when she leans back, she leans back into you.
“I’m sorry,” she sniffles. Eloise wriggles in her arms and she lets her go, only for the little girl to plop between both of you. Her small hands fiddle with the badge on her hip; Emily’s eyes dart down to her, a wobbly smile pulling on her lips.
“Em,” you whisper, cupping her chin in your hand. Her gaze meets yours again. “You have nothing to apologize for.” You say quietly. With more tenderness than she deserves, you wipe the wetness under her eye.
Emily shakes her head. “I wasn’t there.” She says, her lip trembling as more of her tears drip onto your palm.
An adamant frown pulls your brows together. “Look at her.” You murmur, both firm and soft as you catch a tear before it falls onto Eloise’s head. Emily does, her heart clenching when she finds Eloise’s chin already tipped up, their eyes clashing in identical shades of brown. “She’s just happy you’re home, baby. We both are.”
“But—”
“Mama cry?” Eloise’s sweet voice pipes up.
The palpable sadness in it breaks Emily’s heart. Eloise frowns fiercely as she shoves her small palms into Emily’s knee, steadying herself before standing on her own and taking two steps to reach her mother. 
Pride flares in her chest. Eloise stands on her tiptoes, her small hands falling on her mother’s face; Emily’s hands go to her waist, steadying her. “Mama cry?” Her baby asks again, her eyes far too serious for a just turned one-year-old.
Emily smiles and this time it’s more genuine. “I’m okay, sweet girl.” She lifts a small fist off her cheek and brings it to her lips. “I love you.”
“Wuv.”
“You tell her, Ellie.” You lean against Emily’s side, your hand going to her cheek to wipe the remaining tears. Eloise’s hand joins yours and Emily laughs, shaky and wet even though your daughter is being none too careful. “That’s what we like to hear,” you murmur, tucking Emily’s hair behind her ear. Eloise falls into her lap and she instinctively holds her, her hands secure around her body even though she doesn’t break eye contact with you.
“Listen to me. You’re here now. That’s what matters, okay? It could’ve happened at any time—hell, I could’ve been at work when it happened. This is not on you.” You say firmly, your voice almost scolding. But your hands on her face are soft, cradling her cheeks with gentle care; the pad of your thumb skims absently over her jaw.
Emily’s lips twitch. Your words go through one ear and out the other; nothing against you, but she’s never relied on them for comfort. Instead she leans forward and presses her forehead to yours, closing her eyes as your noses bump together. Her shoulders slump, her body relaxing when Eloise presses her cheek to her chest.
“I love you.” She says, soft, pressing the statement into your lips.
“I love you too.”
“Wuv.” Eloise joins in.
You and Emily both laugh as you look down at her, a familiar warmth returning to Emily’s chest at being home, with her family. She lifts her daughter back into her arms and kisses her until she giggles, until the sound of her laughter drowns out Emily’s thoughts. She’s not sure if she trusts your words, trusts that your love and Eloise’s won’t simmer to resentment when this situation is inevitably repeated in an endless cycle.
But for now, she’ll believe them. Believe you.
taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi
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animeyanderelover · 1 month ago
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I already did this concept with Dazai in those Hc's so I will not add him in here again.
Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, clinginess, manipulation, blackmailing, bribing, paranoia, attempted murder in Nikolai's part, isolation, abduction, death of reader in their previous world
Tags: @shumidehiro @izanami78 @leveyani
Isekai'd into their world
Nakahara Cuuya
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🟠Bullshit! That’s the initial reaction that Chuuya has when he finds out. There’s a limit to how much he is willing to believe even though throughout his life he has seen some things you’d have to witness with your own eyes to believe in them. It is true that there is nothing about your past he has been able to dig up as your life has seemingly started the moment you were discovered by an elderly couple on the streets. You’ve always claimed that you couldn’t remember anything before you where found and since there has been nothing the police was able to find out about your past, they gave up on the case as you were slowly assisted into society. Chuuya doesn’t believe your claims though that you suffer from amnesia. He might be hotheaded but he’s been working for the Port Mafia for years now, has even been made an Executive. The one skill you develop in this position is to get a fairly good read on the person in front of you, on their body language as well as on whether or not they speak the truth or not. So whilst he has no solid proof about whether you lie to him or not, there is this intuition that he has in his guts that there is something you are hiding.
🟠His overprotective and paranoid thoughts tend to spiral so his first assumption is that maybe there is someone after you and that you’re on the run. If that is the case you don’t have to worry. Chuuya can and will provide protection if someone is after your life. The longer you remain silent about your past, the more impatient he grows. Chuuya hasn’t always been honest to you either, especially regarding his position in the Port Mafia. But you needlessly fuel his anxiety as you don’t reveal anything, only feeding his paranoid thoughts as he wonders what you could hide that is so atrocious that you don’t even want your lover to know. Yet when you tell him the truth finally, sensing that he is close to snapping, he gets mad at you. Are you mocking him?! Don’t lie to him now! He doesn’t believe you. He doesn’t believe you until you see yourself forced to reveal everything you know about him. You know about Sheep, about Arahabaki, about the Port Mafia and about so much more. Only then does he believe you. The truth did not ease his worries though. No, instead Chuuya feels betrayed. Betrayed that you have known everything about him from the very beginning.
🟠He can’t hide. He can’t pretend anymore either. What’s the use? You know everything about him. With no facade to hide anything anymore Chuuya grows weirdly aggressive yet vulnerable. He doesn’t know how he should deal with this situation where he had no control over what he reveals about you and what not. It is fucking weird to know that in your world he doesn’t even exist and is instead a fictional character. What do you even think about him when he stands in front of you? Do you even see him as a real person? With really nothing to lose anymore Chuuya just abducts you then and there, unable to come up with another solution on how to handle this situation. Obviously he doesn’t tell anyone else about you though as he himself has to properly come to terms with the truth. As heavy as the feeling of betrayal sits though, there’s also desperation and paranoia. Desperation because he feels like he deserves to find out more about you as well since you already know far too much about him and paranoia now that he understands that you’ve died before in your world. You can’t be fine after all that happened, right? He’s going to help you.
Fyodor Dostoevsky
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🍎Fyodor has always deemed you to be someone who stands out from the common crowd, for reasons he doesn’t understand either. Perhaps it is because your eyes perceive what others can’t see as he will never forget his first encounter with you. The glimpse of pure fear in your eyes as you gazed at him, seeing the demon disguised as a man. The way your body flinched away from his touch as he reached out to you, sensing the doom that would befall you the moment he’d feel your body. Only very few people have ever been able to realise him for the higher being that he is and it is the fact that a common sinner like you sees right through him upon first meeting him that makes you special. Fyodor tests his theory out only once by cornering you, giving you no chance to hide behind others as you are left alone with him. The sadist in him is relishing in the untarnished fear he sees in your eyes, purple orbs gazing at you as you slowly move away from him. He doesn’t follow you but he doesn’t have to. You poor thing now can’t run away from him anymore. You’ve dared to catch the devil’s interest and for that you will greatly suffer for Fyodor only knows how to take and destroy.
🍎It is when he figures out that you have no past that you only deepen his obsession. It’s intriguing. No past sins to judge you by, no trace of an existence stained in impurity before you appeared in this city. No matter how much research Fyodor does, he’s unable to figure you out. You’re a mystery to him, to a messenger of God. Oh, it is indeed a dangerous game you are playing. What could you be possibly hiding from him that is so forbidden that not even he can know? It’s like you’re trying to trigger him and it is this lack of control, the inability to cast divine judgment upon you as you are incomplete without a past to hold you accountable for that leads Fyodor to do something he normally never does. He rushes the process slightly, lures you faster into the spider’s web until you are trapped. The first thing he asks of you to confess is your past, the one thing he can’t find out about you. What are you? Are you a sinner or are you something more? No normal human should be able to deprive him of information he can always gather. The time for your confession has finally come, the day of your judgement has at last arrived. Now then you little mouse, confess.
🍎If only you would know how much you fuel his obsession the moment you are forced to reveal the truth to Fyodor. A sinner always pays with death to free them of their sins yet you have already died in your own world before you were brought to his own. You are free, or at least freer, of sins than anyone else on this planet. So before this world can ruin you once more he is going to isolate you, to shield you from the impurities of this world. After all it is the duty of an angel to bring salvation to those who are worthy. Now he also understands why you were so afraid the moment you saw him. What was the first time for him to ever meet you was after all only the first time for you officially meeting him as you had seen him multiple times before as nothing more than a fictional character in your own world. Maybe there is a scientific explanation of how it is possible for you to be transported into a world that was only fictional in your old reality but Fyodor pushes another agenda onto you. Have you ever considered it to be the will of a higher being? Have you ever considered it to be a second chance given to you? Don’t you worry too much. He will help you flourish in this world.
Jouno Saigiku
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♦️​BadumBadumBadumBadum. The melody of your heart when Jouno finds you one day stranded in an alleyway is certainly a good indicator of the fear and the anxiety currently swirling around inside your mind. Be assured though, he is here to help the little wounded puppy he's found himself right now. You'll just have to tell him who you are and where you are from and he'll get you safely back. That is at least the plan, the only problem is that you refuse his help. Hmm, that is strange. You're acting a bit suspicious, you know? Your little heart is telling him that his appearance seems to have only increased whatever stress you've already felt before. Is there something you're trying to hide from him? Even though his eyes are not able to perceive you, you don't strike Jouno as someone who has done something wrong that would force him to take actions against you. Still, he interrogates you, at least until he has gotten his confirmation that you haven't done anything criminal nor plan to do so. Technically that should be enough yet your heartbeat still hasn't calmed down. He's the reason. You're afraid of him. A reaction that usually only the bad guys have when seeing him.
♦️​The Hunting Dogs are heroes even internationally, normally citizens like you rejoice when seeing him. There are still things he'd like to ask you but you actually seem to gather some courage, tell him shortly that he has no reason to keep you trapped any longer since he has gotten his comfirmation. He isn't exactly pleased with the tone you use but he lets you go, though he's still quite dissatisfied with what he has gotten. As if fate is smiling down upon him though he soon has the pleasure to meet you again. You're still as close-lipped as the first time he met you but since he has now figured out where you work he decides to make acquaintances with your co-workers who are far more talkative. He can sense you standing there in the corner, your heartbeat going crazy as they tell him that you've recently started working here and haven't told them much about your past either. So you really just keep it a secret from anyone. That only makes him more curious, you know? With his position it is relatively easy to gather intel on you though it is when he is served with little to nothing that he truly starts realising that you must carry quite the secret around.
♦️​That is the kickstart of his obsession as he wants to figure out what it is you are hiding. What is the dark secret you don't want anyone to know about? His only clue lies in you and so he torments you with his visits, constantly attempting to guess what it is you are hiding only to never figure it out. How could he have known that you died in your previous life only to be reincarnated into a world that was purely fictional in your old world? It is after the abduction that you are left with no choice but to spill out the truth and as much as he would like to ridicule you for such an otherwise blatant lie, your heart is not lying. You're actually speaking the truth. And Jouno doesn't know how to reply to that, just staring at you with a furrowed face as if considering what the best response or even best reaction is to the truth he has so desperately wanted to know for so long now. You think that you see a glimmer of unease appearing on his face before he suddenly bends down, his hands grasping your chin. Just how much do you know about him? Even though you are his beloved Saigiku has ever considered revealing too much to you yet perhaps you already know too much, leaving him strangely vulnerable.
Nikolai Gogol
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🕊️​To Nikolai you have always been entertaining. He has the fondest memories of the both you meeting for the first time, a sentiment you most likely don't share with him. After all it was obvious from the very first encounter that all that you felt for him was dread even though his disguise should have been immaculate, able to fool anyone else. He hides his sinister and twisted character when he needs to do so yet you have seen right through him and it is this seemingly keen intuition of yours that has gotten him so invested in you. Nikolai has never meant for this interest of yours to stay nor to develop into a burning passion that threatens to rip him off the wings he so desperately hopes to obtain. The demon threatening to steal his soul is none other than you, his crooked feelings for you spinning and turning as Nikolai finds himself trapped between two clashing desires. One is to obtain his freedom by murdering you, another one is his desire to keep you and share his sad fate of isolation and oppression due to his own feelings with you. It is a constant inner fight and more than just once has he considered ending your puny life yet there is one factor that ultimately stops him.
🕊️​He plans to torment you, to ruin the life you have so carefully built for yourself and the freedom you have in it yet it is the little information he can gather that has him pausing. No family, no friends, no past. You are essentially like a ghost who appeared overnight. He has no past which he could use to chain you down, nothing personal he could hold against you and that knowledge that he can't properly oppress you unless he knows about it torments him and only infuriates him more as if you were indirectly mocking him. Fine, he'll cut the games short then. When you wake up the next time, it is in a little cage with a cheerful Nikolai asking you how you're doing and if you have slept well. That grin only widens and turns into somethin hideous when he sees your eyes overflowing with fear. Yes~ Let that fear corner you and tie you down. Share your suffering with his own. There is still something, you precious dove, that he really needs to know. Only then can he fully drag you down to the bottom of despair with him after all. You need to tell him a bit more about your past. Your family. Your friends. He needs them for his plans. Imagine his surprise when he sees the relief appearing on his face.
🕊️​That grin on his face disappears as he realises the truth, even if only for a short moment. It isn't the fact that you are from a different world, it isn't that you died in your previous world either that sobers him down for one or two seconds. It is the realisation that you will always be freer than he will be. There are no family, no friends, no pets he could use to play with and to break you with. There is no information he can obtain about you unless you tell him yet here you are, knowing already so much about him since he was a fictional character in your old world. Half of your wings he will never be able to clip off. For one frightening moment his hands suddenly wrap around your neck and start squeezing down with enough force to have you gasping and choking before all of a sudden he lets go, leaving you to cough for air. When he bends down he has put on that playful appearance once more, whispering to you that it's still too early for you to die. He must say, you managed to catch him off guard for a moment there but that's alright. If things are more difficult there are more entertaining after all. He will make sure to plug every single feather off of your wings until you're just as broken as him.
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astradreaming · 7 months ago
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Please write ares x percy's older sister!reader i have read literally ever fic of him on here
I personally have been reloading the ares tag way too often 😫😫 Sorry the ending is kinda rushed, my duolingo streak nearly finished and then i got distracted 😔
masterlist
Caught.
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Percy Jackson had been through a lot.
From quests to prophesies, from Alaska to Greece but he finally thought he'd lost his mind.
He had been having a relatively quiet morning, from having his favourite blue breakfast to having a day off of activities due to the hot summer day.
He was currently walking around the edge of camp for something to do when he froze mid-step in shock at the sight of the God of War standing at the gates of Camp Half-Blood talking to none other than you, his dearest older sister.
At first Percy thought he was offering (demanding) you a quest, it had been known on occasion that Olympians would sought out both you and him for their bidding.
As Percy got closer to you (about to demand that Ares find someone else to bother) he realized that that wasn't the case at all.
Ares stood with crosed arms leaning against the gateway, his head would tilt to match yours as you talked. You were standing close, too close. Everytime you laughed at something he'd said, which Percy doubted was even that funny, your side would brush his.
A werid contrast of orange camp shirt, light blue summer shorts, white sneakers next to his leather jacket and dark blue jeans, black boots.
Percy could now see Ares disgusting face against yours in a heated kiss.
"You know that offer is still on the table" Ares' voice in a playful tone that had Percy involuntarily gagging at.
"Not just yet" To Percy's utter surprise your voice was soft as if you were sadden at the fact you could take whatever offer he'd given you.
"What the actual fuck?" Percy's words slipped before his mind caught up.
You jolted away at the intrusion, your wide eyes meeting Percy's. Ares barely turns his head at the abruption, the only indication he'd even heard Percy was the way his eyes narrowed at him.
"Percy! Why aren't you with Annabeth? You said-"
Percy harshly cut you off, stepping closer to you.
"Why aren't I with Annabeth? Why are you with him!"
Percy watches as you start blubbering trying to figure out what to say, when a hand lands in your shoulder, Ares' hand.
"Get off my sister! You fucker!"
Percy reached out to wack his hand away from you but Ares pushes his shoulder, evading Percy's grasp.
"I fought you once Ares I'll do it again!" He said digging his feet into the ground, reaching into his pocket for Riptide.
Just as Percy was about to uncap Riptide, Ares turned to face you, eyes speaking in a silent conversation, making Percy pause his movements before Ares turned back towards Percy.
"Look kid, as much as I would love to send you on a permanent vacation down with uncle H, I've unfortunately promised a certain someone to not to that" He shrugged as he spoke as if this entire conversation was boring him to an early death.
"Who has made you swear it? My dad? Beacuse when have you ever-"
Ares scoffed quickly dismissing him to face you instead.
"This kid's a fuckin idiot, how's he still alive I mean seriously-"
You glared at Ares as you moved closer to Percy, blocking the two from each other.
"I made him swear it, because you're my little brother and I knew if you found out you'd flip out!"
Percy's heart nearly gave out and if it weren't for years of training to fight he was sure it would have.
"Found out? Oh my gods you're- with him? Him! Ugh, this is the worst day of my life." Percy whined, he knew he sounded like a brat but truthfully the whole thing was making him cringe but one look at your face told him to quickly drop it.
After a moment of painful awkward silence that had Percy's mind running in circles trying to move on.
"How'd you even get him to swear that" Percy said finally finding his voice.
You glanced behind you before quickly looking back at Percy, leaning in as if to tell a secret, Percy leaned in too, not wanting to miss hearing what dirt you had on the Olympian.
"I told him I'd swear I wouldn't speak to him again. He lasted a day" You voice broke off into a fit of giggles.
He found it too funny.
Ares. God of War forever bloodthirsty and always a prick, was whipped for Percy's older sister, who looked after Percy throughout two titan wars and was the same girl who practically raised the younger campers so they wouldn't be lonely. A weird duo.
Percy Jackson looked up to see you shaking your head as you laughed at the memory. He also caught Ares looking at you too.
Although traumatized by the thought you two together he quickly brushed it off. It was unusual and unfortunate for Percy to admit but he and Ares did have two things in common.
Both of them would fight fate for you. And of course, Percy looks at Annabeth the same way Ares looks at you but Percy wouldn't exactly admit that too soon.
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blueparadis · 1 year ago
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LEMONADE + SHIU KONG // f!reader ( she's a sniper), smoking, mention of murder and violence, implicit smut, semi-public ( happens in a car ), little tension between them, rivals to fvck buddies dynamics, he is such a tease here. 1.3 (w.c)
special thanks to @poohbea for beta-reading. without her, i really wouldn't have posted this. i had something in mind and this is entirely different. so i said better luck next time to myself and found the courage to post this. | back to nav. | also tagging @yuujispinkhair
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“You’re not nearly as inconspicuous as you believe yourself to be.” Kong mutters off-handedly under his breath, reaching for the latch of your belt. His minty tobacco-laced breath paired with that familiar musky cologne threatens to send your nerves into a frenzy. He’s too close for someone who claims to ‘just wanted to undo your seatbelt’. He had no reason to but he did it anyway, probably because you were asking too many questions. He could have easily pressed one of those buttons on the driver’s side door, the one that unlocks all seat belts at once. The car is fancy enough to have those kinds of luxury features anyway, but you can’t help the racing of your heart when his fingers brush your skin. It’s only when he sits back in his own seat do you register his remark. Did he just scold you? The possibility alone has you licking your bottom lip nervously. 
It’s not as though he never has, but given your history with him, he rarely comments on your professionalism. He has been your handler for almost a year now and has yet to actually correct or complain about the way you do your job. He’s proud of your skills, he has to be, otherwise, he wouldn’t be hiring you for every sniper-kill case he gets.
“I heard you were back in town,” he starts, tapping on his cigarette packet before taking one between his lips. “But I couldn't contact you until I got the green light. That, and I’ve been too damn busy with the bounty offers that keep coming up.” He digs into his breast pocket to fish out a lighter, the flame flicking to life as his thumb rolls over the spark wheel. You look at him visibly confused, something he acknowledges with an amused huff. “Were you really so busy that you couldn't read the briefing I sent you?” He is definitely scolding you, but for what exactly? Trying to stay neutral in the face of his crude teasing, you let out a small breath, choosing to keep his gaze despite the nagging need to look away. He’s changed a bit. There’s worry in his eyes, more than usual, eyebrows creased as he continues. “Ah! I can't let you slip up now — ” 
“Why am I here?” You interject with a frown. 
“What?” He has the audacity to look at you surprised, as if he wasn’t the one to call you here again.
“This is the third time this month you’ve had me meet you… and in case you haven’t noticed, I have a bit of a busy schedule.” Kong lets you speak for longer than ten seconds for the first time in a very long time, his bad habit of interrupting taking the backseat for once. When he doesn’t answer you, you click your tongue, irritation evident in the furrow of your brow. “Why am I here, Kong-san—?”
“Shiu.” He corrects. Guess you spoke too soon. “And you still didn't answer my question. Did you or did you not—”
“I did.” You respond sourly. “And it told me a whole lot of nothing. Which is why I'll ask you again. Why am I here, Shiu?” Despite your irritation, the glaring fact of his contributions to your career as a sniper sits heavy on your shoulders as you sit in weighted silence. He knows it too, and never fails to bring it up every time you try to walk away, try to tell him you don’t need his help. He’s pushed you farther than anyone else ever has. Certainly, you owe it to him, but his ego is already big enough without the offer of such a confession, and you would rather put a bullet in your skull than admit that. 
The air inside the car grows thick with smoke as he takes drag after drag of his cigarette, not that you minded, you’re a smoker yourself, but just to spite him you opened the window by your side. “Isn’t it obvious?” Kong soon discards the butt out of his own window, studying you all the while, observing the mix of question and frustration that creases your forehead as your frown deepens. His lips tug up in one corner ever so slightly, too slight for anyone else to spot, but being around him as often as you have, you knew it was coming. “I’ve missed you.”
You blink. Once. Twice. Thrice. What a horrible man… he’s toying with you.
“Hilarious,” you mutter, offering him a sarcastic chuckle. He doesn’t waver, doesn’t look away, that small smile growing at your skepticism. The realization has your heart beating in your ears, and suddenly finding it difficult to keep his gaze.
“Want me to prove it to you?” He dips his head slightly, the leather of his seat squeaking in protest as he leans closer.
“No.” Your reply was instantaneous but you do not move, his hand reaching to play with the necklace resting against your collarbone, the very someone he gifted you after your first successful case. “Aren't we supposed to be doing a job here?”
“You tell me. Haven't you read the briefing?” Again with the same question. He is far too calm in this situation, fingers caressing the hammering pulse that lies just below the surface of your skin. “You weren’t lying to me were you—?”
“This is going nowhere.” You huff, finally breaking the intense staring contest he had trapped you in, finding the courage to withdraw from his touch momentarily. 
“It could if…” he guides you back to him, grasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, gaze dipping to your lips. “If you wanted.”
You bite your lip lowering your head to hide your merriment. “Like the last time?” You ask with a knowing smile. If you wanted. Yeah. Sure. As if he didn’t. Because during the ‘last time’ in question, things were entirely different. You two weren’t out for a job. In fact, you were in a situation similar to this one, in his car, engaging in your usual back and forth. It’s unclear exactly what came over you that day, but those sly eyes and that cocky smile had you seeing your handler as less of a mentor and more of the man he was. The conversation devolved into his lips against yours, his hands against your hips as he encouraged you from your seat onto his lap. Thunder rumbled the heavens and rain battered against the windshield, the perfect mask for inevitable heavy breaths and throaty moans. Your skin tingled beneath his touch, his lips, his teeth, the press of his thigh between your legs that had electricity crackling up the base of your spine. His name fogged the windows, each syllable working its way through the tresses of your mind till that was all you could utter, all that truly mattered. He reveled in that, in the way you gave yourself to him almost entirely. How your body grew hot with every caress, every thrust, every kiss. What did you even call this feeling? Neither of you knew, but it was clear that either didn’t want it to stop. By the end of it, his presence spanned your body, inside and out. 
Shiu laughs at your subtle accusation. It has the kind of warmth that reminds you of cozy mornings during winter. There is a pregnant pause after he says. “Yeah.” Bobbing his head in a ‘yes’. You shake your head slowly, an amused breath leaving your nose as your nerves buzz with memories past.
You sigh, assessing him with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out what exactly he’s hiding beneath that elaborately organized talk of his. But the man is a vault, hiding behind dark eyes that threaten to reel you in again. It has you playing with your tongue, curling it against the insides of your mouth before smacking your lips. “Was there really any job for me to begin with?” You retort. 
Shiu Kong smiles, his carefully crafted demeanor crumbling in the face of the woman he’s slowly beginning to fall for. “There wasn’t.” He says bashfully.
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