#'if that were real glass it is entirely possible that guy would be dead'

[wantonlywindswept]

Corrie Guard: Fox & Patches

@megneato​​ did two more AMAZING commissions for me (the first was Ma Dong-Seok as Paz Vizsla, he’s beautiful, go look at him), which was to help get my headcanon down for what Fox looks like, and a design for my Corrie Medic OC, Patches! (I belatedly realized that is a common medic OC name. I am. Not sorry. ...or original.)

CC 1010: FOX

tired

like, so fucking tired

Constantly Vibrating Ball of Rage

hair gone white from stress and torture via Evil Sith Shenanigans

lightning scars around his neck, continue below armor on the right side of his torso

no tattoos so that he could pass as some of the other clones (this works up until the scarring and the trauma hair)

CT 9113: PATCHES

MASSIVE baby bro/vod’ika vibes, is from one of the more recent batches

very gentle and sweet and smiley

name comes from his patchwork scars, which were the result of being yeeted through a pane of glass (exact scenario as of yet undecided)

does actually have a kind bedside manner, but do not be fooled: he will also use the big sad eyes RUTHLESSLY

‘i’m not mad, just disappointed’ except instead of disappointed dad it’s your little brother who looks up to you and thinks the world of you and now you let him DOWN

that said, if he’s visibly angry, you should probably run.

[hoffmansnightmare]

Keep Away From The Edge

Chapter 1

Pairing: Mark Hoffman X Emmy Hodges

Canon typical violence, mentions of drinking, hint at alcoholism, hint of death, lacerations

Emmy Hodges had heard of the Jigsaw killer of course, everyone had by now, but like most people she thought that sort of thing happened to other people, not her. That was until she woke up in a game of her own. After barely making it out alive and in one piece, all she wants to do is recover and put it behind her. But she seems to have caught the eye of a certain detective.

(You can also read it here! Keep Away From The Edge)

The first thing Emmy registered when she came to was pain, a great pounding headache that felt like her head was about to split in half. Next was a horrid, sharp pain all over her front, arms, and legs. When she tried to get away from it by sitting up, the pain only dug deeper into her palms and knees. Then she found that something above her kept her from straightening up. It felt like a metal grate against her back. Where was she? Where had she even been before this place? Emmy couldn't remember anything. She had to force her eyes open, her lids heavy with physical weight.

Glass, there was glass everywhere. That's what was digging into her palms and knees. Smashed bottles covered the floor. So many that now matter where she landed her hands or knees there was a sharp edge biting into her skin. Emmy hissed in when she shifted, a new shard cutting into her calf. There were cuts all over her front from her laying down. Emmy lifted her hands, plucking the glass from her palms. There was something around her neck that felt suspiciously like a collar. When she touched it her fingers were met with cool metal, a heavy lock hung from the middle of the collar. Above her there was some sort of track. She felt around the back of her neck and found that there was a cable that connected to the track from her collar.

Blinking, trying to get her eyes to really focus, Emmy looked up and around, there wasn't much to see. The room around her was dark. There was only enough light to see that she was in some sort of cage-like tunnel. She could see that it looked like an entire labyrinth of the cage, and she was at the center of it. Suddenly Emmy's heart began to pound as the reality of her situation began to sink in fully. She knew what this was. This was the work of the Jigsaw killer. She tried to keep her breathing even. Panicking would do her no good. She had to figure out the rules of this game. If she could do that she could win, she'd get to live.

She'd heard plenty about this on the news. This guy trapped his victims in horrible ways, getting them to maim themselves or kill others in order to live. Emmy at least appeared to be on her own, so she didn't have to worry about fighting off another human. She looked around. There was always a tape recorder or a TV. The cops always found one or the other. There was nothing around her, so Emmy supposed her only way was forward. She had to get moving.

Heart still pounding, she balled her hands into fists and put her knuckles down on the shards of glass as carefully as possible, whimpering as razor sharp slivers sliced her skin and impeded themselves into her knuckles. This would at least keep her wrist from getting the worst of it. Forward she went, slowly, placing her knuckles down as carefully as she could. There was no avoiding the glass, but she could at least keep away from the sharpest ones. The cable moved along the track above her. She'd worried that it would make moving even harder, but it slid along with her easily.

A few feet in front of her was an immediate hook to the right, then it was straight for several feet. Dead ahead, was a fork. She could either go left or right, and hanging from the top grate was a tape recorder. Emmy pulled it down with shaking hands. She wanted to throw up, somehow seeing the tape recorder made all of this real, not just a nightmare that she would wake up from.

It was hard to push play with how hard her fingers were shaking, but she managed it, and the dreaded voice greeted her.

"Hello Emmory."

Emmy winced at the sound of her full name, like a child getting scolded.

"You've spent all of your adult life drinking your nights away, looking at the world through the bottom of a bottle. Days slip past you in a drunken haze. Do you drink to not feel? Or drink to feel something?"

Emmy swallowed hard, her throat beginning to close. How could he know how much he drank? How had he picked her out of the thousands of people in this city who drank too much?

"Well now you will face every single bottle you drowned yourself in. You'll have 2 hours to navigate this maze and find the exit. If you do not make it out in time the door will close, sealing you in forever."

Emmy hadn't noticed a clock, or anyway to keep time. She must not have activated that part yet.

"Also, you must have noticed the cable connected to the back of your collar. Have you ever heard of keelhauling? When that two hours is up the cable will activate and drag you back to the center of the maze."

Her entire body was shaking as she imagined getting dragged along the shards of glass, ripped from however far she'd managed to make it.

"Keep your head on your shoulders. You'll be glad you have a clear mind for this. Live or die. Make your choice."

The cowardly part of Emmy's brain told her to back up, return to the middle of the maze, and curl up to accept her face. But slowly starving and dying of dehydration would be a more horrible fate than being essentially keelhauled. She had heard about it. Sailors used to be tortured by being dragged along the barnacle encrusted keels of ships. This would either kill them, or leave them with ragged scars all over their body. But if she bled out it would go by much quicker.

Emmy slipped the tape recorder into her back pocket. For some reason leaving it behind didn't seem like an option. She put her knuckles back down, acquiring some fresh cuts, and began to move forward again. She picked left. As soon as she began to move in that direction her cable caught something in its track. It only took a slight tug to get it moving again, but a loud alarm sounded, and a giant digital clock on the wall Emmy could barely make out appeared. it started counting down from two hours, and she wasted a precious few seconds just staring at it in awe. Time to move!

Emmy stuck with her decision to go left, knowing that any hesitation would mean her death. Every new slice in her skin stung terribly, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. She kept up on her knuckles, keeping her wrists away from the worst of it. After two more lefts she hit a dead end. She turned around, back to the original fork, and went down the right turn, not even bothering to look at the clock. It didn't matter. Either she made it out or she didn't. Fretting over the time wasn't going to help her.

A couple of times a particularly sharp piece would jam itself into the tender part of her knees making her buckle and fall fully into the glass, causing her forearms and biceps to be lacerated quite badly. Blood ran hot down her arms. The tops of her feet were also quite bad, but she refused to stop. She couldn't.

She's moving at a good clip. Mark Hoffman thought. He was monitoring her game from an office in another part of the warehouse that Emmory was being kept in. As soon as she'd gotten her instructions she blazed through the maze of glass. It was perhaps more lenient of a trap than John would have designed, but John himself was gone, getting some experimental treatment in Mexico. He'd left Mark in charge of this test with his usual envelope of instructions. Who to test and for what. He'd let Mark design the test and trap itself, probably as a way to see how Mark would handle it.

Amanda hadn't been impressed, but Mark thought she'd hate anything he came up with anyway. He’d take the criticism from John if he had any, but when it came to Amanda he usually tuned her out.

Mark glanced at the clock. Emmory’s first hour was almost up, but she was making pretty good progress. It looked like she was about halfway out of the thing. Every dead end she turned right around and headed down the opposite direction. After every stumble she was right back up, pulling out the offending shard of glass and continuing forward. Maybe he had taken it easy on her, but he also thought she was a fighter.

She reminded Mark a lot of himself. They had had a lot of the same problems, both drunks who were far too familiar with the bartenders at their usual haunts. Mark had been trying to forget the memory of finding his sister dead with her throat slit ear to ear. Emmory seemed to drink just to get through her days. Was it monotony? Or was it some trauma John hadn’t been able to dig up?

Emmory fell again, this time staying down for several seconds. Mark leaned forward in his chair, his hands clasped tightly between his knees. Would this be it? The camera feed was grainy, really only good for monitoring her movement, but it did look like her limbs were darkening with blood. She must be growing light headed by now. Another glance at the time said she started in on the second hour.

“You’re close.” He said to no one but himself. “Get up.”

That had been a bad fall. Emmy groaned, her arms shaking as she got back up on them. Fresh blood rolled down her upper arms and thighs. She pulled the shard of glass that had caused her knees to buckle out of her skin with a wince. She couldn’t tell how close or far away from the exit she was, but she could tell she was near the outside of the maze. That had to mean she wasn’t far from getting out of here. It felt like she'd been moving for a while, though she still couldn't bring herself to check her time. She just kept winding her way through.

Hoffman was right. She was beginning to feel light headed, growing wobbly and slowing down. The tops of her feet felt as if they had been torn to shreds. Another right turn and she was down a long straight away. Where was the next turn? Had she missed it? Her thoughts were becoming thick, like a quagmire. She found that she couldn't remember what her last turn had been. Should she take another right? Except there were no more turns, just this straight shoot. Wait…was this it? The end?

Literal light at the end of the tunnel, and hanging at the mouth of the exit was the key to her collar. She picked up her pace, still ignoring the time. That didn't matter, she had to keep calm. She reached the key and yanked it down, her hands shaking from weakness this time instead of fear. Her fingers were slick with blood, causing her to drop that key. She swallowed, finding it quickly and plucking it out of the mess of glass. Pinching it fiercely she jammed it into the padlock at her neck and unlocked the collar. It made a clang as it snapped back to the track. She was out! Out of the mouth of the tunnel she could see a larger door that stood open. That was where the light was spilling out of.

Emmy tried to rise from the mouth of the cage, but having been crouched for so long, her thighs didn't want to cooperate, buckling. It was now that she glanced at the clock. Twenty seconds left. The wind rushed out of her chest. She wasn't far from the opening, but it was far enough if she didn't move. Ignoring the pain, ignoring how her body screamed, how the glass dug deeper into her legs, she sprinted for the exit. She crossed the threshold. She'd made it! Then she promptly collapsed back to the floor, unable to hold herself up with the weight of such immense relief.

Fifteen seconds to spare. She'd made it with fifteen seconds left on the clock. He had started to doubt her. She had slowed down so much, it looked like she was going to collapse right before reaching her freedom. But she'd done it. With that amazing will power to live that John was always harping on about.

Mark stood, picking up the prepared hypo needle and pig mask as he did so. He couldn't afford for her to see him, even though he was pretty sure she was passed out. Better to not take any chances. It was a short walk to where she had collapsed. The door had slammed closed behind her once the clock hit zero. She was in quite the pool of blood from her wounds. Mark placed a gloved hand on her head.

"Congratulations." He said, "you made it, and you will live."

Emmory didn't move at his words. It looked like she was out cold, just as he had thought. He slipped the needle into the pocket of his robe for now. No need to dose her with such a low blood supply. Carefully he lifted her into his arms. This elicited a groan from her, but nothing else.

His phone was ringing on the desk when he returned. Mark cursed, laying Emmory down on the bed they kept there. He picked up the phone and flipped it open, discarding the pig mask as he did so. "Hello?"

"Detective." It was John, and his voice sounds strained. "I need your help locating some people."

"What happened?" Mark found a piece of scrap paper and a pen, ready to write down names.

"It's a long story." John sounded so tired. Broken even. "I'll explain more later. For now I just need your help."

"Give me names."

John did. The main one being a Cecilia Pederson. The others were apparently associates of hers.

"Just get me any information you can find on these people."

"Do you want me to fly out there?" Mark asked, jotting down the names quickly. He glanced at Emmory, still passed out on the bed. She wasn't in danger of bleeding out, but he needed to get her wounds treated.

"No, Amanda is coming. There's one man I want you to find state side. His name is Henry Kessler. He was a fellow cancer patient in my group. He's the one who told me about this treatment."

She heard a man's voice. It sounded far away, but she could hear it. It was deep, almost resonant. Was he talking on the phone? Emmy tried to open her eyes, but they were so heavy. She got so far as to see a blurry shape hunched over a desk covered in monitors, then her eyes slid shut again. She was out again. Far away. Out at sea.

Mark hung up the phone, looking over the names he had written down. He didn't know how much he'd be able to find on people that operated out of Mexico, but he'd find everything he could. He'd get started later. For now he needed to take care of Emmory. He turned to see her still passed out. Taking the first aid kit off the wall he knelt beside her. It looked as if the worst of her wounds weren't bleeding as much, the blood growing thick and slow. Her shallower cuts had stopped entirely. Mark pulled his glove off and placed two fingers on her neck. She had a steady pulse that maybe could have been stronger.

To be safe Mark pulled the needle back out. He gave her only a portion of it, not wanting to give her too much and complicate things. He just couldn't risk her waking up. He had to clean the wounds and disinfect them. The pain could wake her up if she were just passed out. Snapping on some medical gloves he got started

The dose he had given her had been enough. Her body automatically flinched when, after he had gotten done cleaning up the worst of her wounds (making sure to swipe his finger prints off of her neck, just in case), he'd sprayed the disinfectant into the cuts. There were no other reactions otherwise. It took him ages to carefully pick out the shards of glass between her knuckles and down her legs with a set of tweezers. She'd managed to pull the worst of them out when they first stuck her, but many tiny slivers remained. He removed all of the ones he could find then set about stitching up the worst of the cuts. Once he was done he looked her over. She'd be fine…well at least physically. Mentally he wasn't as sure.

Satisfied he took off the rubber gloves to replace them with his leather ones. He lifted her back into his arms. He had to ensure her safe retrieval. He'd fixed her up sure, but she'd need more in depth medical attention. He couldn't risk being seen, however, so he brought her to a payphone a few blocks away.

Carefully he set her on the ground inside of the cramped glass box, then he dialed 911. When the dispatcher answered the phone Mark held up a tape recorder to the receiver. He'd pre recorded himself saying the cross streets, and that medical was needed at this particular payphone. He'd then distorted it, just like John's typical Jigsaw voice, so that his own voice was not heard or recorded. Then he hung up the payphone and retreated to a safe hiding spot to watch over Emmory until she was picked up by the ambulance. As he was stepping out he couldn't help but get one more good look at her. She was breathing steadily now. Some blood had seeped through her bandages, otherwise she looked as well as any surviving Jigsaw victim could hope for.

Mark walked to the other side of the street, sinking into a tight alleyway between two buildings with a clear view of the payphone. He was fully prepared to run out there if anyone chose to disturb her before the ambulance got there. Thankfully this area was not frequented by anyone at them time of night, and the ambulance didn't take long. Mark watched them jump out and collect Emmory.

After the ambulance drove off Mark emerged from his hiding spot. Back in his car he let out a long sigh. The tension in his body left him as soon as he settled into his seat. A call would come in for him to go to the hospital to interview Emmory, but he figured he had a few hours to get some rest. They wouldn't bother him until she woke up and was lucid. So he made his way home to catch as many hours of sleep that he could.

So bright. Emmory groaned and tried to lift her arm to shield her eyes. There was an uncomfortable tug, halting her from the action. With only one eye in a squint she tried to see what was wrong with her arm. She saw that she was attached to an IV bag. Lifting her other arm she found it unencumbered and rubbed her eyes before trying to blink them open. Above her were fluorescent lights, the source of the brightness burning her eyes. A hospital? She was in a hospital?

"H-hello?" She felt a little stupid calling out, but the relief she felt when she heard the hurried footsteps come toward here was worth it.

"Oh! You're awake." The nurse came to her side immediately, pressing a hand to her forehead before she pulled out a flashlight. She checked Emmy's dilation quickly, apologizing when Emmy flinched away from the light. Her eyes had just started to adjust.

"Where am I?" Obviously a hospital, but which one? How far away from home was she? Emmy tried to sit up but the nurse pushed her back down.

"Careful, you have quite a few stitches. You're at The Angel of Mercy Hospital." She patted Emmy's hand. "You had been through something that is for sure, but someone had already started to treat you. Do you remember what happened to you?"

At first Emmy didn't. The previous night is stuck in a dense haze, like trying to remember a dream hours after waking up. Then images came to her in flashes, the shattered glass, the cage maze, the horrid pig visage.

Emmy's heart rate monitor started to beep wildly and her breath came in short pants. The nurse took her hand and gave it a squeeze of reassurance. "Jigsaw." She panted out. "I was in a Jigsaw trap."

The police were called. As soon as Emmy said the words the nurse's eyes went wide and she ran out of the room. To tell someone to call them, then she was back to comfort Emmy until she calmed down. There was only what felt like a few more minutes of peace before a couple of beat cops arrived to ask her questions. Most of which she couldn't really answer.

"Where were you when you were picked up?"

"I-I'm not really sure. Walking home from the bar I think? I only lived a couple of blocks away…"

"What is the last thing you remember?"

"Just that, walking home, then a horrible pig's face, then blackness."

"You didn't see who did this to you at any point?"

"No just the pig mask."

"Are you familiar with the area you were found in?"

"No, I don't even remember getting there. I made it out of the maze and then collapsed. Nothing but blackness again."

"No pig mask this time?"

"Just nothingness. I vaguely remember being lifted, but I was so out of it by that point."

"So they were strong enough to lift you?"

"Yeah I guess…"

The officer not asking the questions was writing furiously the whole time. At this point Emmy was desperate for them to just go away so that she could get some sleep. How could she be so tired when she'd been out for who knew how long? She very much just wanted to start trying to put this horrible event behind her. She knew it would be impossible, that this had changed her forever, but continuing to live in this horrible reality where she was a Jigsaw victim was agony.

The call finally came in. There was a Jigsaw survivor at the hospital. Hoffman said he'd be right there. And he was, throwing on a coat he was out the door and at the hospital in thirty minutes tops. Two beat cops had beaten him there, already questioning Emmory. He could tell she wasn't saying much.

"Emmory, isn't it?" Mark stood at her bedside, looking down at her lying there. Her dark red hair looked stark against the white of her pillow. It looked like her head was lying in a pool of blood, but her eyes still had a spark in them. Had that been there before the trap? He hadn't noticed. He'd grabbed her as she was stumbling home from her favorite bar. It had been far too easy for him to wrap his arms around her and jab the needle into her neck. By then her eyes had been glazed over. Out like a light.

"Yes." The confirmation brought him back to the present. Mark reached for the note pad one of the officers had been writing on, looking over the answers they'd already gathered. As he had thought there was nothing of substance. He handed the notepad back to the officer.

"I apologize for the interrogation. I know you need your rest." He put on his best smile. "But we need whatever information you can give us while it's still fresh." She didn't look terribly impressed. Emmory just nodded at him. "And you're one of the very lucky few to have survived."

Suddenly her eyes were searching his face, a frown pulling at her lips. Mark didn't know what to make of what he saw on her face.

"I don't feel lucky." She said, turning away from him to look down at her bandaged hands. Mark remembered how long it took to pull the slivers of glass out of her knuckles. He hadn't needed to do that. He could have let the hospital take care of that. But he'd done it. Held her hand in one of his while he carefully plucked out the shards with a pair of tweezers.

"Do you feel grateful?" He asked. "To be alive." The question was out of his mouth before he realized. Mark bit the inside of his lip. That had been too far. John's rhetoric was creeping further and further into him.

Emmory's brows furrowed up in the middle, and maybe her lower lip trembled. Hoffman couldn't be sure. "I guess…I didn't want to die. I never did."

Mark thought that would suffice. It wasn't the same groveling gratefulness Amanda had had for John at first, but Emmory was still freshly traumatized. It would probably sink in as she came to realize how close she'd actually come to dying.

Or maybe she wouldn't. But she'd survived Mark's test, and all she'd really been guilty of was drinking too much too often. Something Mark had struggled with himself. And sometimes he still partook, when the memories of seeing his sister's throat slashed were too much. He wondered, again, what it was that drove Emmory to drink.

"You can't remember anything else?"

"No, nothing. I already told them everything I know."

Mark nodded. This was good. Emmory was already turning away from him, her eyes half open. He dismissed the original two officers, then pulled out his business card which he set on her bedside table. "If you think of anything else, please don't hesitate to call."

Emmory nodded, looking absent, looking tired. He left her then, feeling somewhat relieved. This was his first one without John's supervision, and he wanted to prove to the old man he could handle it.

Now he'd get started finding those people in Mexico John had asked him to help locate, and Henry Kessler. He still didn't know what these people had done, but it had to be bad if John was calling him out of the blue. He'd get started in this, then check back in with Emmory after she's had time to regain her strength.

Emmy's eyes had grown heavier and heavier. It was so hard to keep talking. She was thankful the detective hadn't asked her any more questions. Not yet anyway. All she wanted to do was sleep, it almost hurt to try and keep pushing the words out.

But there had been something, and itching at the back of Emmy's mind, when he asked if she was grateful to be alive. What a strange question for a detective to ask. Maybe it was just because that was Jigsaw's signature. His survivors were meant to be grateful, and the police were taking notes on if that were true or not. It was still weird.

There was also something else. As her eyes fell closed and she watched Detective Hoffman walk out of her hospital room. Was it the shape of his shoulders? She was fading too fast to focus on the thought. Soon sleep had fully taken her and it was gone.

@grxmreaperx

[prismatoxic]

hurting myself by thinking about otacon actually seeing this picture

what do you think huey told him? personally i'm fond of "she didn't want to raise you, so she left." i think he'd want to make her sound as bad as possible, and a vague "she died" wouldn't really convey that.

i have some thoughts...

imagine growing up without a mom, without even the concept of a mom. when your father remarries in your teens you are so divorced from the idea of A Mother that it's easy for your stepmom to groom you, because she's not related to you and never will be, and you don't understand that kind of relationship anyway.

except that ruins everything. your dad kills himself when he finds out and you run away from home in shame and grief. you are on your own for the first time, for REAL, not just the loneliness of a computer screen while your dad ignores you.

do you wonder about her? freshly eighteen, too smart for you own good but with no practical skills--do you think about how different your life would be, if you knew her? if she cared about you? working for the FBI, hacking into their database--do you look for her? do you even know her name?

years pass--you get really good at what you do. you meet a guy. somehow, against all odds, you start the weirdest little family. (the little girl reminds you of your stepsister, who died in your arms.) you may not have any of your old family left, but you do have this new one.

do you think about her again? do you hold this small child in your arms and wonder what would ever make a mother give up her son?

maybe you stumble upon some of your father's research, somehow. you knew a little about his past (you maybe even knew he was involved with metal gear's inception), but something catches your eye in these ancient documents. the very first metal gear, ZEKE, was created by your father, yes... and someone else.

"strangelove".

it's a weird name, sure, but it's also one you've never heard before. you do some digging. records are sparse and sometimes expunged entirely, but she did exist, and she was an AI researcher. she's been MIA for some time now, or at least that's the official word, but you're good at what you do. you can dig deeper.

maybe you never find out just how intertwined your past is with that of the man you live with. maybe that information is gone, or was never recorded in the first place. but maybe--maybe you find out that she's gone. exhumed from one of her own AI projects, unrecognizable. does the record you find mention the c-section scar noted on her body when she was found? does the record show who did this to her?

the pieces are falling into place in the most grotesque way, painting a picture you almost wish you'd never had to see. and there's nothing you can do. your father is dead, and will never atone for what he did. this woman--your mother?--is dead too, and has been for a long, long time. in the end, you always would have been alone.

but maybe. maybe you find some old scan of a photo. cracked and faded from time and misuse, but it exists. probably someone's afterthought, just documenting everything available about her, about the situation.

about you.

because that IS you. no older than three, with a fluffy head of hair and thick, round glasses. smiling in her arms.

your father never took pictures, and there were no family friends to do so either. the oldest surviving pictures of you are either in old yearbooks you don't own copies of, or when you're in your teens at the very least, and god knows you don't have those either. but this--

this is you. and her. and you both look happy. and you wonder: did she love you? what would have happened if she had survived? would she have kept you away from your father, kept you safe? where would you be? who would you be? would you have avoided all the senseless death of just about everyone who's ever mattered to you?

it's bittersweet, really. because she is dead, and there's no way to change the past. but she was smiling. and you were smiling. and you can't remember, because you were too young to remember, but you think you loved her. and you hope she loved you too.

the death in your life is not over. there will be more, and it will even be worse. the only thing you can do is protect the child you have, now, in the way you like to imagine your mother would have protected you, if she could.

it's closure, in a way, isn't it? it doesn't really make you feel better, but you know, now. if there's any way she can live on, it can be through you.

you obtain a picture of the girl's mother, and you tell her that her mother loved her very much. she, like you, was an infant when her mother was killed in cold blood; unlike you, she was never even in her mother's arms. you do not want her to grow up with the uncertainty you did.

maybe you don't tell anyone. maybe it's too hard. but you think about her, about the photo, about a life you never had. and you try to live anyway.

[mzannthropy]

Sam Claflin as Romantic Hero (Linda's Version)

So I thought I'd do a post (posts?) on the topic of Sam playing romantic heroes, bc this is what I disagree with the entire planet most about.

What I mean by "romantic hero" here is someone who I see would make a good partner. Let's go. (Under a cut as got long, no major spoilers.)

William (Snow White and the Huntsman)

A son of a duke and childhood friend of Snow White. When Ravenna, the Evil Queen, takes over their kingdom, the duke and his young son escape to safety. William grows up believing Snow White to be dead. When he hears she is still alive, he doesn't waste a second and goes off to rescue her, as she is being held in prison by her stepmother. His father tries to persuade him not to go, the quest is full of perils and would lead him through the dark forest, but William is determined. He feels he let her down, even though he had no control over the events, being a child himself. He joins the band of Bad Guys, led by Queen Ravenna's brother (who has an unfortunate haircut, but that's for another day) so that he can get to Snow White--this is the "do you need a bowman" scene. Oh yes, William is very skilled with a bow and arrow!

William is loyal, dependable, honourable, a skilled archer and of noble blood, and doesn't hesitate to engage his darker side when necessary--and what is more romantic hero than that?

Philip (Pirates of the Caribbean On Stranger Tides)

Philip is a missionary, a sole survivor of a ship that got captured by Blackbeard. Blackbeard's daughter Angelica persuaded her father to spare the young priest, believing she could save Blackbeard's soul. Philip believes everyone's soul can be saved, even someone as cruel and bad as Blackbeard's. Philip is not afraid to stand up to Blackbeard and even calls him a 'coward'.

The pirates are on a hunt for a tear of a mermaid, on their quest to fin the Fountain of Youth. However, they soon discover mermaids are not to be mess around with. Philip manages to catch one (not realising this very same mermaid earlier saved him from falling debris by pulling him into the water). He stabs her tail with sword, but when their eyes meet and sees her, he instantly changes his mind. It's too late, though, the pirates turn up and capture her in a net. Philip regrets his action and spends the rest of the film doing his best to protect her. When she is being carried in a glass box, she starts choking bc she can't breathe, he insist they let some air in. When they don't listen, he grabs a sword from Blackbeard's quartermaster (who is a scary character), breaks the lock, pries the box open, and uses his Bible in to create an opening, so that the mermaid can have air. When the glass box breaks and she turns human on dry land (has legs instead of tail), she can't walk and Philip carries her. He takes off his shirt and wraps her in it, as she is exposed, after her scales turns to human skin. (This also means we get a shirtless Sam!) Philip and the mermaid, whom he names Syrena, talk and he finds out she saved his life, when Jack blew up a lighthouse. She could see he was different from the others, that he protects.

A clergyman might not be perhaps everyone's choice of a romantic hero, well not mine anyway (I grew up without religion), but it's incredible how brave Philip is. He is the only one who cares about Syrena's welfare and protects her. And he has unshakable faith. A man of principles--certainly a romantic hero to me!

Richard Sharp (Adrift)

Richard is based on a real life person, but for the purposes of this post, I will treat him as a fictional guy. Also I should add that Richard is a sailor and so your relationship would only be possible if you were also a sailor, or at least wanted to sail the seas. (I think those type of people drift together; lol a pun.) It's just a big part of who he is. But it is, of course, possible to imagine him in a different environment, of the same character.

Richard makes it known to Tami that he is interested in her, no fucking around, they have a date aboard his boat. He is certainly helped a lot by the gorgeous backdrop of Tahiti. When he gets an offer to sail his friends' yacht to San Diego, he immediately includes Tami in his plans. During their voyage, he proposes to her with a ring he made himself (he would buy an actual ring of precious stone once they landed). Skilled at what he does and committed to you--a good choice for a romantic hero, I'd say.

Henry Copper (Book of Love)

A point against Henry right from the start is that he is a rather unsuccessful writer. However, this is only bc the film has to be about something (so that he can team up with Maria), but it doesn't mean he is bad at writing.

Why I think he is a romantic hero is that he is most courteous to Maria, even after he finds out she changed his book while translating it. He agrees to work with her without complaining and takes her seriously. He asks what she's writing one night when they're staying at a hotel while on book tour, she tells him she wants to write her own book. She's a single mum and he does his best to bond with her son, attempting to speak Spanish. While they're out on a night walk, he has no problem admitting that he got scared when he heard a monkey scream--Maria remarks that none of the men she knows would ever admit to any such thing. When the book they're working on is ready for publishing, he makes sure her name, too, appears on the cover, so they share the credit. I also like the hot professor look Sam sports here.

There is some romcom-typical angst where he gets jealous of her ex-bf/baby daddy, but it doesn't last long. At the end, Maria publishes a book of her own, and Henry is backstage during an interview she does for a talk show, supporting her.

A man who respects you and takes you seriously and is your biggest supporter--easily spells a romantic hero to me!

[jaythelay]

Alright ya'll I lile a good conspiracy theory as much as the next guy but straight up, the Republican Shooting Dump scenario very much happened. And tbh, it's far funnier accepting the reality than hoping for a funnier joke.

Here's the truth, from what his cronies are leaking, Dump has PTSD and constantly rewatches the footage.

You cannot fake 2 dead 3 injured like that. There's actively no way to fake the shooter.

No. Secret Service didn't allow shit, that's just the average cop's response to anything. The fact it was Dump probably seemed normalized in their minds after having dealt with him for so long.

The blood looking fake is actually hilarious. Because all the bullet did was graze an ear, not badly, but enough to bleed. Essentially he got a bad paper cut.

Meanwhile as his supporter behind him is shot dead or dying, later to die, he stops SS from transporting himself OUT OF THE WAY OF THE ENTIRE CROWD, to pose for cameras, endangering literally every life there for a photo-op where he raises his fist in defiance of himself.

It's genuinely more pathetic, the reality, than the strength of hope, that he'd be remotely capable of planning something like this.

Simply put, Dump would Never put himself in the smallest bout of danger. He'd Never Ever cover himself in fake blood. He's too egotistical. He wants other's to do that for him so he can utilize it for himself. No other reason.

That's why he's no longer doing rallies, or when he does, he does it behind bullet proof glass. Meanwhile he sends Vance out absolutely to be shot. Sad sad people.

But no. It wasn't faked. If it was faked? This would've had more preptime and money, nobody is gonna drop that investment. That's business.

The reality is Dump had actually no angle to go off of that wouldn't immedietely backfire.

We all know it was a Republican.

R's said they'd have started a civil war if it was a Democrat, thus ensuring we all know Republicans are a violent, murderous group that even they themselves accept as such, but view anyone else as bad as them, to be worse than them. Again, sad reality to live.

So of course everyone stopped talking about it. We all reached our conclusions and the event changed nothing for Dump's campaign. So the next time someone asks why we moved on, remind them it was a hell of a damaging story for Dump, and that's why we still know nothing about the shooter other than they were Republican and jerked off before shooting.

It's real, and the apathy is the proof of this truth. Otherwise Dump would never shut the fuck up and Kamala hopping in would've meant little. The fact is, in everyway, it makes more sense for the criminal felon rapist trafficking child cancer research donation stealing, literally anyone who's met him that you'll personally meet has been snubbed by him, old ass fucking man, had some enemies on his own side, than to assume they'd invest this much work into something to then immedietely drop it to focus on Kamala's race.

Fat chance they put money in and didn't obscure facts as much as possible, or drop it for legitimately any reason. Investment is investment. Business is Business

And Donald Trump was shot by a Republican. As every previous assassination attempt has been by.

[panie-wanie-dean-bean]

Name: March

Age: Mid 30's

Pronouns: He/him

Sexy bits: Dick

Species: Human

Looks: Gruff, tall, stocky, wears whatever he can be bothered to throw on that morning, big stompy boots, messy long hair he keeps in a ponytail, nice leather eye patch (He just prefers it over a glass replacement), multiple scars littered across his body (One to note would be the short scar off the left corner of his left eye. Or what would be his left eye if it was still in his skull)

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

Job: Fisherman

Hobbies: March doesn't feel at ease most of the time so he usually keeps his mind busy by working. But, if he can manage to tire himself out enough he likes to read. It's a bit awkward now that he only has one eye but he won't let that get between him and his gooey romance novels

Kinks: Subbing (most of my characters are switches and verses just because I find it more freeing but March might fully be a sub), making love rather than fucking, praise, being cared for, bath sex

No-nos: Doming, being a toy or plaything, any kind of monster role play

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

Friends/family: Was raised by his mom, there were always men coming in and out of the house so his mom doesn't even know who his dad might be

Had an old fishing buddy before the incident

Other ocs:

Linda scouted him when she was visiting the Big City for business. He was barely making end's meat there so when she offered him more than what he made a year every month for taking care of a "little" problem in her lake, how could he say no? Big fella's not so bad anyhow

April comes around every now and again. They don't talk but some times they'll bring over a new book for him and some snacks. They almost haunt him? Not in a bad way, but in the way where they just kinda show up and hang around before eventually dipping back out. He likes them

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

Background: One of his mom's boyfriends took him out fishing when he was about 7 to try and bond with him a bit. He didn't end up sticking around but he left him his old rod and some bait as a goodbye gift. It became a habit for him, any time things got weird or heated at home he'd sneak out to the coast near by and cast a line

As he got older he started to keep what he caught, either to sell or to eat. When he was 19 he offered up a job by some eccentric rich guy. They wanted him and a crew they'd put together to go out to sea and hunt a true, genuine sea monster! Or, that's how they put it anyhow. March never actually believed in the thing but the ship he'd be on was nice and sturdy, big too. They said they'd pay even if they couldn't catch it, and it would get him away from his mom for a few months at least. What was the harm?

There were quite a few people who took the job, but there was only one who mattered. His name was Aaron, and what a sight he was. Broad shoulders, a sweet laugh, and enough optimism for the both of them. The two would often stay up late together, playfully arguing about what shapes they saw in the stars while talking about what they were gonna do after they got back on solid ground. After a few months, their stories wove together, the two of them talking about getting a house together, staying friends, possibly becoming more

They never had the chance to. March never believed in the monster they were hunting until he saw it with his own eyes. He still couldn't as it took one of them. He couldn't believe any of this was real as it stabbed his only love through the chest with some barbed appendage he couldn't recall without feeling ill. Only four of the fifteen men that were hired made it back to port, all in horrible shape, no dead monster to even prove what happened to them

The guy who hired them actually paid them more than they originally offered to cover their medical bills, the extra wasn't enough to cover all of them but it was a kind gesture

After that March swore off fishing entirely, throwing his old poll into the back of his closet to be forgotten. Until she showed up. Linda had heard of his little monster expedition, she actually believed everything he told her which was refreshing after all the jeers and fake sympathy he'd received after coming home. She offered him a deal he really couldn't pass up, more money then he'd ever seen in his life and a way out of the Big City

When she said he'd be "taking care of" her little lake problem he hadn't expected for her to mean "baby sit a fucking kraken" but, the money was good, the town was good, and the big guy turned out to be pretty nice honestly. At least he didn't have to go into The Woods or Mines

How you met: One of the few times he's away from The Lake and his little house is when he needs smaller bait. The Lake fucking provides but it feels like a shame to dress a good fish just to catch something small, so he goes to Lav to get some earth worms from time to time

It's during one of these infrequent sales that he meets you. He swore off of loving anyone after the incident at sea, but the heart wants what it want. And holy shit did it want you. You were perfect, he just knew it, after first sight he was yours. And when you looked at him, those beautiful eyes locking with his, he realized

He was elbow deep in a bucket full of worms

First impressions are over rated anyways! He makes sure to get your address from Lav once you get back to your day and starts to write you love letters. Un-addressed, of course. He'll let you start to like him a bit more before telling you he's the fucking worm guy. Uuuuugh

[bitegore]

cut for length (LONG) and content (pretty explicit actually); oc/canon crossover fic where the Stunticons land in my Closerverse (original universe) a la Headin' Down the Wrong Highway except it's entirely from Rex's pov and he's a bitchy little grouch who cant fucking stand the Stunticons but who is also one of very few people who his Ath can trust to use every method at his disposal to Handle dangerous outsiders who otherwise kind of can't be managed who nonetheless are hanging around with the clan. 3/4ths of it is Rex going "i cant stand these people, i dont trust them and i dont like them and it's weird and bad that they're here and i wish they would die but i'll play nice because Velan told me to. fuck this shit" except then it turns out Dead End is a morbid little corpsefucker just like Rex so (to Rex) it's worth putting up with his personality to get some

Rex rolled over onto his back, panting. The gashes along his throat and thighs still stung like a motherfucker, but now at least they were a little distant, fainter. He was pretty sure he could see the rainbow sheen of smears of his blood drying iridescent across Dead End's glass detailing, but he wasn't sure; Dead End had been damn shiny before they got started and he certainly wasn't any less now.

"Seconds, that was good," Rex managed, and passed out.

-

Dead End was a member of a group of these really odd shaidbloods, a set of five construct type guys who all had some sort of a bone to pick with soft edges or something. They had a real coherent design language, and they all had a real similar set of skills, so it was clear enough that their whole mess of metal and glass and leather without any normal silicon or synthskin was some kind of statement piece, or something. Dead End sure looked like it. He was top to bottom gorgeous, like a piece of art someone'd sculpted and then accidentally given life to.

The rest of his teammates were not so gorgeous. But they weren't trying to be. One of them was even [yellow], for Third's sakes. ANd they all had this attitude to them like they were the biggest and baddest things they'd ever met and everyone around them better fall in line. Every one of them, that was, except Dead End.

Listen. Rex hadn't been a big fan of them showing up to camp. The big one, Motormaster or whatever his name was, had Rex's teeth sharpening and claws twitching every time he made eye contact with Rex. Something about the big construct made Rex real damn uneasy. ANd that was even before the whole… everything about his personality. he judst had something to him that made Rex want to try his luck ripping his spine out the middle of his torso. But [Velan] said they were staying. So he'd reluctantly bitten his tongue and kept his misgivings mostly to himself. That hadn't stopped the yellow one- Drag End? Dead Strip? Some stupid name like that- from picking a fight over. Fourths, what even was it? Speed? Something like that. As though a shaid-powered machine could ever beat a dragon on a short-sprint race through a thirds-damned forest. He'd been even more of a cunt about it after he'd lost, too, tried to start a physical fight and everything and Rex had to let Motormaster come in and "handle" it after he'd put his claws through the only weak points he'd found on Drag Strip and poked out his stupid fucking eyes.

Or. No. Wait. Stupid fucking optics. They got annoyed if you called them "fleshy words". They really did have a thing about that. Rex thought it was asinine, but whatever. They were playing nice, he was playing nice, they hadn't actually hurt anyone who hadn't been giving back as good as they got, Rex would pretend to care about their stupid idiot hangups.

Regardless. Rex hadn't been fond of Dead End at first, either. He was sullen and insular and kind of unpleasant and he made every effort possible to rebuff pleasantries extended toward him from anyone but his own teammates. He acted as though he was better than everyone else around him and he was just sort of a prick, really. That was fine by Rex, as far as he was concerned, for the most of their stay here. He could keep to himself and be a prick over there and Rex could comfortably ignore him and do his own thing over here and they would just never speak and that would be just fine.

And then fucking [Velan] told him that they needed an in on Motormaster's crew as soon as possible and could he [please] try and make sure they had these five on a leash [before] they started running their mouths about how cool financial crime was? Please?

And Breakdown had like an anxiety disorder or some crap and kept getting really aggressive when Rex made eye contact with him even though he was shaking like a leaf in the wind, and Wildrider had more screws loose in his head than Rex did in his project bin. Motormaster had all the pleasantness and charm of sticking your dick in a blender with even less of the fun somehow. And Drag End was almost fine, except for how he apparently couldn't tolerate a loss even when he set himself up to fail and everyone agreed he'd had a suprisingly good showing and had actually been a pretty damn fast weird little metal ground vehicle after all and so now he had it out for Rex personally. The Ninth really were looking down on him for this one. Rex had even known it was going to be a bitch; he was going ones against fives. No wonder it was such a sevenths-damned headache.

Whatever. He'd divide and conquer; it worked when it worked. It was hard with the "Stunticons" but they'd already established they could barely fucking stand each other anyway. Half the reason Motormaster was even traveling with the clan toward the ports in Lozanjela was for the sake of not killing each other, since apparently they'd been stuck together alone for a while and were at each other's throats constantly. So he'd be able to split someone off the main group eventually, get some sort of a grip on them. He'd been thinking blackmail, at first.

At first.

So he'd started in on Dead End, trying to get all buddy-buddy. Turned out kinda quick that his whole miserable shtick was less a thing he put on when hassled by annoying dragons who didn't know how to leave a loner alone and more just his default setting on life. That guy was just fucking miserable. And he didn't seem to know how to stop being goddamn insufferable about it, but that didn't mean he was trying quite as hard as Rex figured to be a dickwad on purpose. He was just miserable and cynical and kind of nihilistic and he didn't seem to see the point in making friends with people who could die, as though he could stave the end off by just making his own life as dull and uninteresting as possible.

Whatever. Rex could bounce cynicism off cynicism and jam with morbid crap. It wasn't terribly hard, when he was working at it, to be the listening ear for Dead End's curmudgeon crap. The more time they spent with Rex playing the little maroon construct, the more he realized that Dead End sas actually kind of not the worst, actually.

They still weren't friends. But just like Wildrider (who Rex had to admit was a good time and would've been good fun if he weren't here at Rex's [camp] instead of kicking it off in Ciranos or something) Dead End sort of just seemed to have some sort of real serious issues trying to figure out how to socialize without being a bit of a douche.

Honestly, the more Rex heard about them from the inside of their little team, the more he got the sense there was something really wrong with them. Even beyond the average shaidblood nonsense, they soert of reminded him of himself.

(A weird thought, to be sure, and one he didn't linger on. But he could see the directions.)

Anyway, Rex sure did get Dead End on the hooks, just like Velan had asked him to. Rex got Dead End to see the point she'd been trying to get him to make to Motormaster, which was that running your mouth about other people's crimes wherever you are is how you get those other people in legal trouble, and Dead End did Rex the enormous favor of letting Rex know well ahead of time that Motormaster kinda didn't give half a flying fuck about anyone else around him outside his team and would sell out whoever to whoever for one single cube of "anner john," whatever that meant. Rex had passed that on to Velan, and Velan had cursed and thrown her iron teacup at a tree and then asked Rex to please for the love of the fucking Second keep the damn Stunticons in the camp when they made it to the EBC, because apparently they were being [audited] and some shaid running his damn mouth was the last thing they needed.

Sure. Whatever.

Rex had no idea how to fucking manage that one short of sleeping with Motormaster, which he wasn't going to do because it was probably going to end with Motormaster dead, and besides, the construct was really only into other machines anyway. Rex was pretty sure he caught Motormaster checking out his radio's left-side audio jack setup more than once. Still, it wasn't like they had anything that "Stunticons" particularly wanted. Rex was good, sure, but this wasn't in his skillset and he wasn't a miracle worker. He was a fucking courier, for the sake of the second. Velan was really putting a lot on him.

He'd been pissed. He was still a little pissed. He'd kept being pissed right up until he'd gone to Dead End, anger loosing his tongue a little more than it probably should've, and he'd bitched a blue streak up about Velan's goddamn practices and Velan's fucking expectations and the slack Velan cut for everyone else but never for [fucking] Rex, which wasn't even fair or true, and how if he was gonna be expected to put up with this shit he might as well just go ahead and sit on a gun and pull the trigger, since that would be less of a pain in the ass. It was really just a dramatic complaint, but it was apparently like unstopping a dam, because

well

Dead End had a fucking [kink].

And. Look. All the "Stunticons" were individually pretty decent-looking, but Dead End was without a question the best of the best. And he was the only one who put any work in to look nice. The others were always streaked with mud and dust and shit, and it showed real bad on them even worse than it did on anyone with that polished silver chrome synthskin that had been popular when Rex was last out east. And it was- it was just- Look. Look. Rex could admire a good-looking construct just as much as anyone else. And their whole mechanical deal was. Just. It was kind of hot. He'd already made a couple passes at Wildrider, but Wildrider wasn't anything like Dead End and he might'e been a fun tussle but that wasn't keeping anyone anywhere. But Dead End--

No point obfuscating it, really. Rex wanted to fuck him.

From there it was, really, just a cascade of successful mistakes and side-steps. And it went something like this:

Dead End swallowed, which was a funny thing for a construct to be able to nervously do, but they ran on some sort of combustion engines instead of the batteries Rex was more used to so it made some sort of sense. His weird little optic band thing flickered left and right. "Um. Sorry. That's. Um."

"I'm immortal," Rex blurted.

Dead End stopped dead. "What?"

"Uh. Or not immortal," Rex said. "The other one."

"Invulnerable?" Dead End asked.

"No," Rex said. "If I get killed I come back. I can die. I'm real good at it. Um."

"That [is] being immortal," Dead End said, visor starting to narrow.

"Isn't the point of it that you just don't die? I die, I just don't stay dead. I'm pretty sure that's different. Um. And more. Uh."

"Um," Dead End said.

"Interesting," Rex finished. "For you."

"For me," Dead End repeated. He swallowed again. "Um."

Rex took a breath. Oh, fuck it, now or never. "You want to, uh, shoot me with a gun and fuck me about it?"

Dead End stopped moving again, looking thoughtful; and then his vents started going and smoke started leaking from under his chestpiece in a weird place and Rex started to get worried before he finally croaked, sounding sort of like someone had punched him in the nuts, "yeah."

-

They'd gotten together in a weird little clearing a ways out from the camp, because Rex was smart enough to know that Velan would have his hide if he got really well and truly fucked anywhere anyone could hear, or see, or more importantly get worried and start calling for help. Dead End clearly thought it was ridiculous, but he'd cooled his jets a little when Rex pointed out that if they found him with Rex's apparent corpse everyone would be mad at him and he would have to deal with their attitudes about it. Practical arguments hardly ever worked on him, but even just a suggestion of some onerous annoying bullshit would have him hauling ass; it was funny that Motormaster had apparently not learned that when Rex could see it plain as day.

So they got together all the way out in the middle of nowhere in some weird little clearing Rex had dug out for the purposes of getting himself really fully obliterated for a few hours. Dead End clearly didn't really know what to make of the whole thing, and he didn't seem real sure of himself at all, actually, constantly looking at his little radio when he thought Rex wasn't looking and sending worried messages off to who Rex could only assume had to be Breakdown. Rex, for his part, wasn't any less comfortable than he'd ever been; but then again, this was only ever going to end one way for him.

Dead End stopped in the center of the clearing like an out-of-place statue, standing still and awkward. His hard edges shone in the dimming midafternoon light. "Um. So. Uh. You said you were immortal."

"Yeah," Rex said, and then made a split-second calculation. They all had so much pride. Fuck it. "Look, I'm not gonna get cold feet, but if you are, you can back out."

"I'm not getting cold feet," Dead End said, which was what Rex wanted, and even better, he shook himself off, too, finally loosening up. "I just want to make sure you know what you're getting into."

"It's been a while, but this isn't my first time having someone put a hole in me and fuck it," Rex said. "I got some location preferences, sure, but not a ton. What kinda way do you want me to die?"

Dead End locked back up again. For the love of… "Dead End, man-"

"Mech," Dead End said.

"Mech, you have got to fucking chill out. If you're gonna start steaming every time I say anything about the fact that I want you to kill me and fuck my dying corpse I'm not gonna be able to get off on this. Okay?"

THat was just crass enough that instead of sending Dead End into another fit of-- whatever it was, embarrassment or something, he instead just sort of wilted. "Uh… sorry."

"It's fine," Rex said, which wasn't strictly true but it was obvious Dead End was trying. "You've just never done this before. THat's obvious. It's--"

"Yeah I have," Dead End said.

Huh.

"Just, um," said Dead End, "not with, um… anyone who, um."

Ohhhh, right. Of course. Rex kind of forgot for a minute that he was pretty sure the "Stunticons" were an awful lot like he'd used to be, in all the worst ways. "What, just random people? That's not the same."

"I suppose if you judge me too harshly, I'll just have to kill you again," Dead End said dryly, and visibly rallied. Great. That was what Rex was hoping to hear, basically.

"That's the spirit," Rex said, getting comfortable in a nice coil on the cleared forest floor. Dead End's eyes followed the curve of his throat. Optics. Dead End's optics followed the curve of his throat exactly how Rex was hoping it would. "Slow, you said?"

"Something long enough I can watch you, uh…"

"Bleed out?" Rex offered.

"Fade, I think, is how I'd put it," Dead End said. Which didn't mean anything, but whatever. "If bleeding out doesn't do it for you--"

"No, no, I like bleeding out," Rex said. "I usually go for something a little faster, but I don't know, it works for me. Long as I can still breathe."

"Wouldn't that be fast, if you couldn't?" Dead End said. "I thought you dragons had massive oxygen requirements, or something like that."

"You'd be surprised how many people don't realize that cutting out my heart means my lungs stop working," Rex said, which was true. "Don't worry, I won't lead you wrong. Do you want to get hands-on with it, or--"

"I'd rather not," Dead End said.

"Wait, really?"

"Not in the, uh, dragon sense, anyway," Dead End said. "I'm not looking forward to cleaning your blood out of my joints."

"Alright, sure," Rex said, splaying his legs sideways. "But then how are you gonna fuck me?"

"I," Dead End said. "Um. I."

"Don't worry about it, man," Rex said.

"Mech," Dead End cut in again.

"I'm messing with you. You want me to talk you through the whole thing, or just let you know what I think'll work best and let you play it as you want it?"

"Um," Dead End said again. "I, uh."

"Sit down," Rex said, and Dead End dropped like a stone. "Okay, look at me."

Dead End looked.

Rex took one talon and traced it against the curve of his inner thigh, muscle and vein jumping underneath his claw. "Here's a good place to make a cut. There's an artery underneath that's close enough to the skin. You want to slice through pretty deep, deep enough to sever that. By the bone, basically. Try not to tear my whole leg off though."

"Uh, okay," Dead End said.

"I don't know what kinda, uh, genitalia or whatever you got going on under there. Since you're a construct and all."

"Uh," Dead End said, and ran an aeration cycle. "So, uh, you have, like, uh, a, uh-- I have- uh- we should be. Compatible."

Compatible, huh. "What, you can't just tell me?"

Dead End froze up again, which was just unfair.

"Are you [shy?"] Rex asked, which was already obviously true but it was just fucking annoying. "Do you have a dick? Do you have a pussy? Do you have some other hole I can stick my hemipenes in or some other fucking protrusion you can stick in me? What's compatible even [mean] in this context? Do you just wanna grind me off by hand and call it good, that's fine too, but I'm not signing up for any surprises--"

"I have a cable!" Dead End finally managed.

Hm. That sounded alright, actually. "That'll burn me, right?"

"I, um," Dead End said. "I don't know. I've never really-- I've tried plugging it into pieces of meat before and that was--"

Pieces of [meat?]

"--Do you want me to just-- I can. Take it out so you can [see] but--"

"Wildrider has a whole metal and glass penis on him," Rex pointed out.

"I don't," Dead End said. "I just have a cable. Wildrider's spike is an aftermarket mod and I don't think I've ever bothered looking for one of my own. [I'm] not fragging rich ptrons who'll shell out to buy me fancy interface equipment."

Rex shrugged. "I mean, I can get you hooked up, probably, if you want. Whatever, that's not really important. You've got a cable, do I want to see it. Uh… Yeah, give me your cable."

Dead End winced, and then swallowed and made a funny little weird cog-clicking sound, and his hip-jointing did some weird little thing and then a hidden panel Rex hadn't even noticed slid away and let a massive braided cord slide out.

It was easily the size of Rex's forearm, all smooth rubber with a gleaming metal head. Okay. Not a bad look, honestly, Rex could get behind it. "If you shock me to death that's fine, but you still have to fuck my corpse," Rex said.

"I don't think I'll shock you to death," Dead End started, and then broke off into a startled squawk as Rex put the entire cable in his mouth.

Yeah. That wasn't bad. That would be really nice, actually. A little buzzy, not nearly as high-powered as the toys Ayleh used to play with back in the day. Tasted like ozone, too. He spat the cord back into his forepaw and flared his wings in a shrug. "Yeah. Think we're good."

"Primus," Dead End said, staring at Rex with wide eyes. It took Rex a second to realize that his fans were going at full speed.

"If I'm going too fast for you," Rex started, "you can tell me to--"

"Don't you dare slow down on me," Dead End said. "I just haven't done this before but you cannot fragging hold out on me on this."

"Dead End, buddy, you are the only one holding out anywhere," Rex pointed out, and then finally Dead End got a fucking move on and got to his knees in the dirt next to Rex. Rex shut his eyes, making sure to give Dead End easy reach to get at the arteries in his thighs,

and then Dead End kept not doing anything. "You need a refresher, or…?"

"No," Dead End said. "Just thinking. Um. Can I frag you first, or--"

"Why are you some sort of blushing virgin all of a sudden?" Rex

[unnerving-presence]

Oh I finally have an idea for a request.

Headcanons of The Oni, Ghostface, Michael and Frank getting brutaly killed by the survivor reader because they were fed up with being the hunted one. To the point were the entity doesn't let the reader in trials anymore

this is by far the coolest idea i’ve ever seen thank you for requesting anon!

i’m gonna guess reader isn’t dating them because i imagine that they would rather talk to them about it then… kill them lol.

i’m don’t know how to write murdering people in a cool way because i don’t murder people so i’m sorry if this isn’t that good 💀

this is quite a long chapter, so be aware

Kazan Yamaoka/The Oni:

The last thing he ever expected a survivor to do to him was kill him. He thought that nobody would dare oppose him, considering his large stature and deadly equipment. Though it seemed he was wrong.

He’s very surprised at first. His careless grip on his sword allowing you to easily knock it out of his grasp and take it for yourself. He makes a mental note to never make a stupid move like that again.

He may have had his kanabo, but he couldn’t grab it fast enough as you quickly slashed and stabbed at his body, slicing tendons and breaking skin. It’s obvious you didn’t know how to properly use a katana, but somehow your blind rage made it hurt all the worse.

It was like when he died all over again. Like the mob surrounding him again. Beating him, stabbing him, calling him names. And it seemed you knew exactly where to make it hurt also. Even reopening wounds. It’s quite pathetic that’s he’s dying like this, he thinks. All because he underestimated a survivor and let them catch him off guard.

After the Entity revives him from the dead, he gets quite angry that he even let a survivor lay a finger on him. He takes the time that he has alone to go thoroughly trash his realm. Crushing statues, ripping the foundations off some of the shrines. He messed it up so badly that he had to go to his granddaughters realm so the Entity could fix his up.

He seeks you out after finding that you’re not even allowed in trials anymore. As much as he wants to, he knows he can’t kill you outside of trials. So he takes you to Rin’s realm with him so he can talk with you about why you did what you did.

He can’t speak much english or really understand it, so he has Rin do the talking for him. After you tell him why, he sort of understands. He was like that at some point in his life. Tired of being targeted and treated like an animal. Just don’t do that shit again and you guys will be on pretty good terms. Hes still kind of angry at you though

Michael Myers/The Shape:

It takes a lot to kill someone like him. He’s not an easy target. He’s been burned, beat, shot, stabbed, bit. He’s been through it all, so when you manage to get your hands on something sharp, Michael didn’t really think much of it. How greatly he underestimated you.

He’s not one to visibly show emotion, but damn can you tell that he is angry. How can a shard of glass do this much to him? Why can’t he move his arms? What are you doing to him?

You stab every place you possibly could. His wrists, his neck, his arms, his stomach. Pretty much everywhere. You even stab his eye. The good one i mean. Until you know he’s dead, you’re not stopping your attacks.

He puts up quite a fight, managing to get his hand around your neck before you can stab it. He can’t really do much though, most of his limbs aren’t even functional at this point from how much you’ve stabbed them.

When he’s sent back to his realm alive and well, he quickly seeks you out. He’s going to make you suffer, no matter what the Entity says. Unfortunately the Entity says he can’t hurt you outside of trials. That’s not really stopping Michael though.

Definitely tries choking you to death the second he sees you but a quick stab in the arm from the Entity makes him rethink his actions. Now he just sort of.. stares at you. He probably doesn’t stop until he’s taken into another trial just to make you uncomfortable. Yeah he’s petty like that.

He can only assume that you’re not allowed in trials since he never even sees you in them anymore. This makes him ever the more angry since he can’t even kill you back. He forever holds a grudge against you. Prepared to be stalked from afar until Michael decides to stop being a petty bitch.

Ghostface/Danny Johnson:

I guess this is what he gets for being cocky all the time huh? He’s pretty confident in himself and thought this ‘game’ was well played on his part. The Entity even granted him the favor of killing a survivor. Until he was the one that was being killed.

He does give you a few punches and tries to get you under him, but a quick slash to his abdomen has him on the ground, holding himself up with one hand and desperately trying to search for his knife with the other. Damn it, you have it don’t you?

It takes more to kill him than you thought, but he’s not as tough as most killers. Finally thrusting the knife in through his neck quickly puts him out of his misery. Knowing he’s dead doesn’t stop you from stabbing him a few more times in his chest though.

Apparently he hadn’t studied you as much as he should’ve. He’s very impressed, he has to admit, but he’s been humiliated. In his eyes he has atleast. Looks like he needs to put you in your place and show you who the real killer is here.

Though finding out soon after that you haven’t been seen in any of the other killers trials, he sort of pissed. He can’t even get payback! He’ll probably whine to the Entity about it though he knows she won’t listen.

He’ll keep his distance for now. He’s sort of embarrassed that you, a puny survivor has killed him, a killer. It doesn’t sit right in his head and he’ll probably get a laugh or two if he tells the other killers so he just keeps it to himself.

Still pissed though. If he ever sees you wandering around he might insult you a bit but it’s all he can really do. I wouldn’t get too close though. He might have the courage to give you a stab in the chest if he’s feeling rebellious.

Frank Morrison/The Legion:

I imagine it goes how his mori would. He would try to swing at you but misses as you quickly duck to avoid the attack. He manages to stab your arm as you shove him back. Unlucky for him, his grip loosened on the knife and was now deep into your arm.

The pain didn’t seem to stop you from yanking the knife out of your arm, and giving him a taste of his own medicine, stabbing him in the shoulder and throwing him to the ground. Before he even has a chance to recover, you’re on top of him dragging the knife through his stomach before ripping his mask off and impaling him straight through his mouth.

He doesn’t have much of a chance to fight back. Your anger far surpassing his, caring about nothing more than making him suffer. In the little time he has to think, he wonders why the Entity is even allowing this. More importantly, why are you so damn strong?

He’s sort of scared of you to be honest, and it takes a lot for him to be scared. That look on your face as you clambered on top of him. You looked like you didn’t have even an inch of humanity left in you. Atleast in the moment you didn’t, not when you were so fed up with dying over and over again. He really felt like he wasn’t coming back after knowing you were going to kill him.

He might tell his friends about it, but nobody else. He trusts them enough to take it seriously and to comfort him. As much as a tough guy he is, he’s really just shocked about the whole thing. He’s never the one that has to die, so he’s never thought much about it, but when you’re in a situation like that, he understands how the survivors feel.

He’s sort of glad you aren’t in trials anymore. He doesn’t want his friends to be hurt, and he definitely doesn’t want himself to be hurt if that’s how you’re going to act near him. Though if you do manage to get near him and talk with him, he will start to understand why you did what you did. He’s not sure if he entirely forgives you, but atleast he knows you won’t hurt him again.

[kyberphilosopher]

Androphobia

Requested? No Word Count: 7014

An Android attempts to offer comfort to someone with sleeping trouble.

Androphobia [an·drow·fow·bee·uh]; Fear of or aversion to men. A related concept is misandry, the hatred of men, but not necessarily fear of them.

  * ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

Every woman or female born member of society has experienced an off putting encounter with a man. 

This is not to be entirely blamed on men- not as a whole, no. But individuals, the ones you run into on your way out of the grocery store, the ones who stop you on the streets, they are the ones to blame. Some women have the guts to tell them off. Not an easy task with the given anxiety, but one to take pride in for the capability that comes with it. Some women stay quiet, rush away as fast as their polite feet can take them and hope someone will see the problem. They usually don’t. And some women are outliers, tricking their ways out of interactions with these men one way or another, and to them I take my hat off. 

There are men who are easily construed as monsters, when in the dead of night their silhouettes flash beneath the tallest of streetlights. And there is no reason to not believe them as such right then and there, for as spoken by our Lady Galadriel, “the hearts of men are easily corrupted.” And any look into statistics will back up this fear, any personal experience, any hug that’s gone on just a bit too suspiciously long, any catching of those wandering eyes and it’s easy to feel in your heart that men are not to be trusted. They are not to be confronted, nor left alone with, and they will jump at the opportunity to put down anyone for the validation of other men. 

This is the reality of women and men in 2021. It is the same for several in 2039.

 * ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

You step out of your old, dusty car. Chips of the dark red paint flake away as the raindrops hit it. Above you, the gloomy, warm gray clouds roll against each other in different shades and sizes, high above the skyscrapers and the stress of the world.

Gathering your belongings for the day, you shut the door with your hip and shoulder everything. Then you make your way towards the Police Department, your work, with the heels of your shoes scuffing against the parking lot. 

Across the way, you can see Detective Reid, who rubs his brow while he does his usual slamming of the car door. There’s no point in looking for Hank at this ungodly hour, he’d never be in on time. He’ll probably park his car next to yours as usual- a little too close so it’s hard to squeeze into your own and pull out without causing his vehicle damage, but you never say anything. Not because you are one of the people who feel threatened by Hank as a man- It’s more because you trust Hank as a person, that you’d never bring up the obvious annoyances he places upon you and everyone else. Though, once you had tried. 

(“Cars parked a little close, don’t you think?”

“Shut the hell up.”)

The inside of the Department is bustling. A female Android brushes past you briskly, the others at the front desk all seemingly click clacking away in their own brains. Even months after they’ve gained independence, it’s not uncommon for you to remember how they were before. How still and lifeless they were. And looking back on it, it was awfully sad. They seem busier now, more alive and fast. A strange image, in your mind, but not an unwelcomed one. 

You reach your desk in the lobby, on the right side of the room slightly separated from the officers. You’re a psychologist, so it’s not plausible for you to be seated next to bias. Instead you’re in your own corner, with a rather cluttered desk on the top and empty rows of drawers. You do, however, keep a small japanese cherry blossom tree on the top, courtesy of Hank, though his has all but fully withered at this point. 

And then you’re ready to start your day. Pull out your chair, click your pen and type away reports and notes on the computer to send to the detectives. You don’t have any meetings scheduled today, so there’ll be no need to prepare questions or anything of the sort. Just an easy day. 

And then...

As you and I, the dear reader, have already discussed, finding men to be generally scary is an easy task. And even though you are smart enough to know that it’s simply not possible to truly believe that every man or male presenting individual is terrible, or has done terrible things, or has experienced the desire to do something terrible, there are times where you can’t help the cautiousness. You can’t help the flinch, the distrust, the physical distance, the hand in your pocket grasping for anything to use in self defense. Seeing men like Detective Reid in power, brutish and given guns and easily agitated, certainly doesn’t help.

So when you swish your chair around and come to a stand, your heart drops. You’re looking into the presence of someone tall, with broad shoulders and a strong chest. A man. 

[Sort of.]

“Good morning, Doctor L/N.”

“Connor,” you breathe out, eyes flitting down as you attempt to quiet the thump thump thumping of your heart in your throat. “I- I didn’t-”

“Your heart race has increased. You appear stressed, Doctor L/N.”

He cocks his robotic head to the side, his eyebrows creasing as the literal gears in his head turn. 

“You just startled me,” you admit, grabbing the back of your chair and moving it over as an excuse to create a bit of distance between you and the [possible] threatening force. “What is it, Connor?”

Now, for context, you and he were not considered close. You’ve spoken a few times, though never as friends, only friendly. You remember seeing him last Winter, when he would stand out in the snow outside the station, just gazing up after Hank had already returned to his own home. You remembered how he was different from the other Androids, besides being more advanced to begin with. You’d never said anything about that. It was obvious the only person it would’ve really mattered to, Hank, was already aware of this. And Hank liked Connor. There was no point in interfering. 

In Connor’s eyes, you could really do no wrong. You were smart, intelligent, and diligent in your work. Your job had been threatened by the presence of Androids for years by the time Connor had showed up, but it still appeared that they wouldn’t have done your legacy justice. But despite this, interactions were scarce. You were not friends. You were friendly. And you were always on your guard. 

“I was hoping to hear your thoughts on a case Lieutenant Anderson and I have been working on,” Connor tells you. He’s always made efforts to keep eye contact with people, and the tilt of his head tries to follow your eyeline to do so. But it’s never to any avail. “I apologize for the abruptness, but the thought only occured to me last night and I think it could be a good one.”

“Yeah, sure,” you answer. “I can help with that. I’ll get the details from Hank when he comes in.”

“No need,” the Android quickly assures you. When you look up to him for a brief second, you can see his tongue sway against his bottom lip, creating the softest of imprints. His dark eyes glitter like a beatles in the catch from the light above. 

He produces a light, manilla colored folder lined inside with papers. “I hope you’ll find all the details you need here,” he explains, offering the file to you. 

You take it after a moment, watching his thumb let go in the softest, most normal way possible. 

“Thank you, Doctor L/N,” Connor smiles. “I’ll go get you your morning coffee.”

Connor is like a dog in that way. Not in an insulting way, or an obedient way. In a kind way, in a warm way. With his chocolate eyes and the dimples when he smiles, it’s hard not to want to just believe that he is incapable of hurting anyone or anything. Especially a woman. 

But when you snap back to reality, you can see his male form. His set back shoulders, the robotic strength, the fact that he was programmed to execute any task he so desires. And then you’re right back on edge, wanting to step back from him until you’re sure you can take a full breath. 

It’s easier when he’s taken himself away. You can see him through the glass walls in the kitchen, waiting for the pot to heat up. Doesn’t seem so bad from far away, like most of them do. 

You return to the chair and open the file. At first, your eyes flit to the pictures attached at the top- one of a woman that looks so familiar, another of a man whose angry brows cover his eyes. Then they move to the written report, and something clicks. 

The woman in the picture was an acquaintance from college. The man next to her was the main suspect, and apparently her lover.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

“Morning Doc,” Hank waves tiredly. Then his tone changes slightly. “The fuck are ya doing at my desk for?” 

You push yourself from your lean on the edge of his property anxiously. “I read the report on your case. The Carla Rodriguez one.”

Hank sighs in his classic sigh, tired and grumpy from the morning and being alive. “What about it?” he questions, rummaging through his large bag of prescription pill bottles he’s brought with him every day this year. You suspect Connor has something to do with this.

“I had a... personal relationship with the victim,” you begin, crossing your arms. “I knew her.”

Hank looks at you, bewildered. “You were sleeping with my victim?”

“What? No. What? I- anyway. Carla and I were in college together.”

Hank’s face changes. He leans back with high raised brows in the way he does when processing something. 

“The boyfriend did it. I remember him from back then, I think. Real angry guy.”

“You’re sure you know what you’re talkin about?” Hank questions you, though not in an insulting way. You know it’s anything but that. 

“I’m sure. I can tell you what you need but you know I can’t testify. You won’t be able to use my bias in your report.”

“But the bias is the whole point.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, along with your shoulders. It’s the universal symbol for ‘I don’t know what to tell you’. 

“You talked to Connor about this?”

“Well, no. I- he wanted my opinion but I didn’t tell him this part.”

Hank glances around. “Where's he at anyway?”

You shrug again. You’re thinking about the disposable coffee cup on your desk, left there by Connor a few hours ago, that you’d never brought yourself to touch. 

“Run it by the Android before we do anything,” Hank advises you. “Nutjob’s got this whole system in his head.”

“Yeah,” you mutter as Hank seats himself. “That guy’s weird.”

“Tellin’ me?” Hank groans. 

And the rest of the morning you spend avoiding Connor, thinking at your desk, barely doing your job while you let yourself get lost in thought. You’re not usually like this. You’re very professional at work- you love this job. The thrill, the learning about criminals and their rehabilitation- it makes you feel so tranquil. Complete, even. 

But knowing a victim, knowing the perpetrator, still adapting to the change of Androids looking happy for once, knowing Hank pretends you’re the child he lost- it... it...

You snap your drawer shut. 

What’s wrong with you today? 

You huff out dry air. When you turn ever so slightly, you can see Hank at his desk, eyes already on you with concerned and empathetic brows. Seeing him calms you down a little, at least makes you feel more in the real moment. After a moment, you turn back straight. Then you smooth back your hair, and open a your file again. 

“Doctor L/N?”

You look up slowly, recognizing the boyish, sturdy voice of Connor. Sure enough, there he is. Tall, looking down at you with his warm, brown eyes. They remind you of an excited, loyal dog. Yeah, you think, Connor seems like a dog person. 

And then you catch the sharpness of how broad his shoulders are, how little effort it would take for him to kill you, or pin you down, or come at you in the dark. 

“Can I speak with you candidly, Doctor L/N?”

“You...may,” you say slowly. Connor begins to squat, until he is level with your eyeline, though he’s over on the other side of your desk. From your view, your cherry blossoms pink petals stand out against the paleness of his skin, and then the darkness of his hair. 

“I heard what you said earlier to the Lieutenant,” he begins. 

Truthfully, your eyes flicker around his face, mostly between his lips and his nose and his eyes. They’re all so realistic. Well, obviously that was the point in his creation, but still. They’re so human. Connor is human. Even the way he seems to move his mouth, like his lips are just a little dry, is human. Such a strange detail. Perhaps you would never have noticed it if he hadn’t gotten this close. 

“When?” you question. 

“About 3 hours ago, about the file I gave you.”

Your eyes snap away. Connor’s own eyes follow your movement. 

“I know that this must be difficult for you-”

“Connor,” you sigh, slightly exasperated, but still holding it together. Your eyes close like you can’t bear to look at anything in the present moment right now. You must be trying to pretend that you’re somewhere else. “I’ll be alright. This was in my job description.”

The Android’s eyebrows knit for a split second, confused. “Overseeing the psychology behind your friends death was in your job description?”

And it’s a genuine question from him. That’s what makes it so hard to contain your laughter, no matter how frustrated or overwhelmed you are right now.

“Yeah,” you finally muster with a light chuckle. “Apparently.” Then you’re back to business. “This is my job. I’ll be alright. Thank you for your concern.”

“I just considered that, since you’ve been on the news before, the suspect could know that you’re involved.”

“So?” you ask, slightly more snappy than intended.

“He may know you’re here and subsequently attempt to cause you harm.”

There are two conflicting sides in your brain right now. The first one says: Now think about this. How could he harm you in a place full of cops? It’s not like he knows where you live or anything. How could he even find that out? When they bring him in, he’ll be in custody the whole time. Gavin won’t let him out of those handcuffs. Everything will be just fine. 

And the other part? It shows you a dark, masculine figure, looming over you. Police department or not, he is there. He will cause you grief and harm, do something so terrible to you you could not even fully imagine it enough to anticipate yourself. 

And, despite your better judgement, and to your full awareness, you listen to the second half. 

“Okay, so,” you breathe out. “So what are you saying?”

Connor’s eyes draw to his left in a stutter, his mouth parting as if he’s in consideration. “The Lieutenant and I had talked about... having you stay in a... safer place.”

Your eyebrows pinch together. “What do you mean by that?”

Connor looks so human in this moment. it’s so apparent, and piercing in this exact second. The details in his eyes, slightest of blemishes on his cheekbones. 

Connor leans in, his eyebrows raising. Subconsciously, you lean back ever so slightly in response. 

“We were thinking of taking you to the Lieutenants place.” He sees your eyes widen, getting ready to give a vocal response. “It’s a very safe place,” Connor promises. “I can assure you there are many rooms to your liking.”

You take a minute, looking the Android right in his warm, hopeful, perfectly symmetrical eyes. “Connor, I’m not interested in having this discussion right now.”

“It’s just-”

“Back off,” you snap. It’s assertive. Something you don’t usually do towards masculine presenting beings. 

As soon as you say it, you regret it, however. The person across from you just looks so heartbroken, almost. His big brown eyes, the ones that remind you of a loyal dog, are looking right at you. How could you not feel bad for snapping at Connor? Sweet Connor, who doesn’t take pleasure in hurting people no matter how much you convince yourself he does. 

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

The Carla Rodriguez murder case went on for two more days. Her boyfriend, unfortunately, was not yet found. Hank was working on obtaining a warrant based on your instincts that would give him access to search family members houses for the man. Things were becoming focused. 

Each night you went home, you struggled to sleep. You did in fact, find out that Connor may have been onto something when he suggested the consideration of safety. You indeed stayed up later than usual, using both locks on your dirty apartment door for once. It was hard to fall asleep. Whenever you did, it became all too easy for you to imagine a solid, big, broad shouldered figure standing over the foot of your bed, waiting to strike. 

A man, as usual. 

Ironically, you did feel better when Hank- a man- would come into the station. And then there was Connor, who was somewhere between a puppy and a wolf, half following Hank, half fully capable of loading and discharging a gun. Connor made you feel safe too, but only by association. It felt bad to think about him after the snapping that occurred Thursday, but it could’ve made you feel worse to act unprofessionally in the work place. It was best you try to forget it, and try to forget that Connor has unlimited and invincible memory. 

On Sunday, you and Hank had your weekly scheduled lunch. Nothing fancy, just fast food from a food truck by the train tracks. You’ll both probably get burgers, except Hank will try to add lettuce and some vegan bullshit to convince you he’s sticking to his diet. Of course he will. 

You throw the keys to your locker in the backroom into your desk drawer, and slip it closed. Across the floor, Hank is already ahead of you, tugging on his crappy jacket and somehow standing patiently and grumpily at the same time. 

“Ready to go?” you ask as you approach him, your own jacket in hand. 

“Yeah, just waitin’ for the kid,” Hank replies casually. 

“The kid?”

“I’m ready to go, Lieutenant,” the enthusiastic voice of Connor rings out. He has one of those voices where you can tell when he’s happy and smiling too, and he is in this very moment. 

Nobody ever joins you and Hank. You knew Hank had taken Connor to the truck before, but that was just between them, and this was just between you. An odd decision on Hank’s part to make such a change. 

“Alright,” Hank calls back. Then he turns to you, the smallest of knowing grins on his face. “Ready when you are, Doctor.”

You just nod your head and start walking out to Hank’s car, unsure of what to do think. In the end, you decide to just not think at all. 

“What are you doing this for?” you’d ask Hank as you were walking, when the Android known as Connor was out of earshot. 

“What? You got a problem with Connor?” You shake your head no. “Well good. Because besides bein’ a freak he’s perfectly fine.”

Yep. Thanks, Hank. 

The drive over is silent, besides Hank’s music. You like his taste, but it doesn’t make you feel less tense around Connor. On the other hand, Connor is completely oblivious of said tension. You can see him in the rearview mirror, smiling and looking out the window every now and again. 

Once arriving to the scene, Connor gets out first. You click your seatbelt away, about to pull the handle open when you notice Hank hasn’t moved at all. 

“You coming?”

“Mm,” Hank fake thinks, flipping through his cd cases. “Nah.”

“Well then... well then are you even hungry?”

“I got food back at the office,” he sighs, not even looking up at you. “Indian from last night. Gonna wreak havoc on the ol’ plumbing.”

“Then what did you bring me here for?” you question finally, developing a tension headache from how often you’ve been knitting your brows together lately. 

Hank looks up and over, an almost offended expression on his face. You can see it in his wide old eyes, the angry eyebrows, the slightly opened mouth. 

“Because I’m trying to create a warm and loving social circle.”

“You one time told me die because I ate your jar of pickles!” you cry. “Oh my god- Hank, is this about me and Connor? Is that it? You want us to get along?”

“Yeah, and what if I do?” Hank turns to you fully, putting an angry hand on the steering wheel to clutch something. 

“It doesn’t matter!” you exclaim. “It literally doesn’t matter at all!”

Hank is quiet. You can see his beady, angry eyes on you, his jaw clenching. “Get the fuck outta my car,” he says at last. 

“Gladly,” you mutter. You open the door and slam it closed. 

Looking across the wet, rainy street, you can see Connor looking up at the sign of the food truck known as Chicken Feed innocently. You breathe out, feeling the heat from the previous ‘discussion’ beginning to melt away. 

Okay, Y/N, you tell yourself. Just go talk to him. 

You begin your walk across the street, hearing the light tapping of the rain hitting the asphalt all around you. His back is getting closer and closer. You still have a chance to turn around. 

“Hey, Connor,” you say lightly. 

“Hello, Doctor L/N,” Connor greets in return warmly. 

“Whatcha... thinking about eating, there?” you ask, both of you knowing damn well Androids can’t eat. 

“I’m not sure,” he admits. Then he shrugs, and very genuinely says, “I guess I could have some french fries.”

“Alright. I’ll get you some.”

And you do. And you feel so stupid while ordering it. The guy in charge, Gary, looks at you with an ‘are you sure?’ expression on his face, but you only continue with the order, confirming that, yes, you are sure. Then you and Connor sit next to each other in silence, waiting for your food to be ready. You pretend to be very interested in a stain on one of the back menus for about three straight minutes. 

“Here you go,” Gary hands you the food. You take the bags and speed off immediately to an umbrella by the place. Even though you’re essentially powerwalking at about 6 miles per hour, it doesn’t feel fast enough in the moment. Connor is right there beside you the whole time. 

“Here’s your fries,” you mutter, pushing the bowl towards him. 

“Thank you,” he says, formally. Then Connor just stares down into the bowl. 

“I appreciate you paying for this meal, Doctor L/N,” Connor decides to say after another moment. When you look up, you can see he’s leaning down ever so slightly so that he’s closer to your height, and making pretty sturdy eye contact. It’s moments like this that you think you’re talking to Connor’s social programming, and probably not him naturally. 

“You don’t have to call me Doctor, Connor,” you breathe. “We’re not at work right now.”

“I apologize. How would you like me to address you then?”

“Well... how would you like to address me?”

Connor thinks for a moment. You can tell because his led is switching between yellow and white. Then the beginning of his eyebrows start twitching, along with the corners of his mouth, just like a human would when they have several thoughts on the tip of their tongue but none of them seem just right. It’s cute when he does it. 

“You can just call me Y/N,” you rush out in an attempt to save Connor from quite possibly exploding. 

He does the twitching once more, then looks up to the top of the umbrella without moving his head. “And, is this outside of the workplace or in it as well?”

“What would you prefer?”

His led goes yellow again. He looks back to you. “That depends whether or not you consider us friends, Doctor L/N.”

This takes you back. You’re silent, stunned, looking at him with slightly widened eyes for a few seconds- maybe a whole minute- before you make the decision to look at your burger and change the subject. 

“How’s been adjusting to life as a free man?” you ask, unwrapping the foil from your warm food. 

Connor adapts to the subject change after a few seconds, and you know that he’s seen right through you. “It’s strange,” he tells you, deep in thought, but sincere. “But, people seem happy.”

“Are you happy?” you prompt further, biting a big bite into the meat. 

Connor thinks again. He thinks a lot. “Yes,” he decides. “I suppose I feel alive,” he admits. It sounds like a confession, and when he turns his head to look over to you, he sees your eyes are already on him. “Are you happy?”

“Am I happy?” you repeat in question. “I... guess I am, overall.”

“Do you enjoy working as a criminal and forensic expert?”

Now it’s your turn to think. You swallow down your bite. “Yeah, I think so. It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time. And now I have it, and I’m comfortable and all. So yes... And you? As a detective?” You bite into the burger again.

“Well, it is what I was created for,” Connor tells you, with an almost charismatic, joking tone. It looks like he’s smiling a little, too. Cute. “I think so. Working with Lieutenant Anderson has gotten better.”

“God, I remember when you first came in,” you roll your eyes. “Hank was all in a mood. One of the grouchiest days for him. But he likes you now.”

Connor watches you pull the burger away from your face. He’s thinking again, but also admiring your features from up close. He doesn’t usually get to do this with you. The proof is in the lack of response to the ‘would you consider us friends?’ question. 

“You know,” Connor says, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice for the millionth time. “I really admire how talented you are in your line of work.”

You feel heat in not just your cheeks, but in the rest of your face as well, as if you have a very sudden fever. You decide to keep your face down, trying to naturally make it not look like you’re using your burger as a shield. “Thank you,” you respond. 

The heat begins to subside, so you look back up to him. “I admire your...” and you can’t finish the sentence. Not because you can’t think of anything to admire. You know you had a good one in mind to say to him. But when you look up at his boyish face, with the innocent smile and the comforting eyes and the most human details in his skin, you lose your train of thought. 

It seems too late and rude to continue by the time you regain it, so you just decide to leave it and eat your burger as quickly as possible. 

“Are you done with your fries?” you ask, as Connor looks down at the untouched basket.

“Yes, thank you.”

You don’t even look into the waste of 2 dollars as you speed walk to the trash can and dump it full of everything. Then you hop across the street, Connor right behind you.

Getting back into Hank’s car makes you roll your eyes. It’s not that you’re mad with Connor anymore so much- not that you would describe the feeling as mad in the first place. You’re not even sure you’re ‘mad’ at Hank so much anymore. It’s more like you’re in the area that you previously had a yelling match in, so all that energy is still there. So stupid.

“Hey, you two,” Hank greets, though to you it sounds condescending.

“Hello,” Connor chirps back.

You just shoot Hank a glare.

“How was lunch?” The old man prompts, holding your eye contact knowingly the entire time.

“It was fine,” you tell him.

“Fine?”

“Yeah,” you practically seethe. “Just fine.”

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

You stay in your house for another two days. Sleeping has become far more difficult, though you’d never openly admit it. Hank can see it in your face. There’s dark circles under your eyes, far more noticeable than before. Your eyes are dragging themselves down, along with the rest of your body which seems to be in a constant slump. 

You’re like a zombie. You’re just carrying yourself around, mindlessly doing your tasks while you try not to nod off at work. Hank hasn’t said anything. He just watches you from afar, not knowing how to apologize because he’s never been able to pull himself into one. 

Connor hasn’t said anything either. Hank’s pet has continued his daily routines around the precinct, going where he’s told and sitting on the other side of the older man. You haven’t been observing them much lately. Been a bit too preoccupied with the threat of sleep paralysis to do anything that you find matters in a social sense. 

Carla’s case is still open. Her boyfriend is still out there, watching and waiting. Maybe for you. Maybe for some other innocent woman. You keep picturing him towering over you, his shoulders looming, strong jaw twitching with anger. Those masculine brows, defined with the intent to strike at you. Kill you, like your old friend. 

Finally, on the fourth day of little to know sleep, you fell asleep at your desk. Completely zonked out, your head slumped against the surface, squishing your cheek in the process. Connor jumped up from his seat, Hank following shortly after. But there was no threat, you were simply resting. Once the two realized this, they calmed a little. Hank opted to send Connor over to you to check you out, crossing his arms as he got ready to observe. 

The Android creeps over. Your breathing is steady. So is your heartrate. You’re not in shock or anything at all. You’re not even hurt. 

“Y/N?” he prompts lightly, now crouched to be close enough to your ear so he can whisper. His chocolate eyes glance around the precinct, looking for anyone who might have noticed you to try and save you some embarrassment. Then he glances towards the Captain in his office, and he knows he has to hurry himself so you don’t get caught and reprimanded. 

“Doctor L/N?”

No response. Connor looks back at Hank, who shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly with little help. 

“Doctor L/N, you have to wake up,” he tells you, poking the back of your slumped shoulder. 

You were asleep, yes, but apparently not very deeply. You stir from your slumber, raising your head and your mousy appearance to look over at Connor with confused eyes. 

“What happened?” you strain, stretching. Connor detects a bit of drool on the corner of your lips. 

“You fell asleep at work,” Connor explains slowly. 

“I did?” you squint, obviously still out of it. 

“You have... drool on your lips.”

You wipe the left corner. “The other side,” Connor gestures lightly to his own lips. “Yes. You got it.”

“Was I out for long?” you look around, adjusting to the so very bright lights of the building. 

“No,” Connor answers in that sweet, sweet voice of his. “Maybe a minute, or two.”

“Oh,” you say, your eyes wandering around. 

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

That night, it rains. 

Thunder echoes, with  ripples of light from the lightning that bears across the sky like great claw hands. 

You watch the view out your window from the middle of your bed for a long time. You’re curled up in a ball on the blankets, not even under them. You’re just there, watching the sky that reflects in your eyes. 

A sudden stir in you gives you a change of heart. Something you can’t explain to the fullest extent, something not even I, the one in charge of relaying all that’s happening to you, could explain the exact feeling. It’s like the snapping of a rubber band at 2:15 in the morning. 

You can’t stay in this apartment anymore. Not even two locks are enough to protect you. Not your kitchen knives, or the gun given to you from the department for self defense. None of it seems like enough, because all of those things are used after something happens. They don’t prevent it. 

You’re in a hurry. The comfiest pajamas you own are soaked in the salty rain water and protected only by the simplest of winter coats you own. It’s nice, though not appropriate for the current weather of course. Your hair gets drenched fast. Every individual drip that falls from the tip of your nose is felt, like you’re more hyperaware than usual. 

Now you’ve arrived at a house. A one story, fairly inexpensive home with a garage and recognizable old car out front. As you approach, you can already hear the barking of a dog, see a neighbor turn their lights on briefly to observe you, and feel the shivering of your knuckles as they tap on the door sporadically.

Come on, Hank, you think.  Please protect me. Please do this for me. 

And, believe me, Hank Anderson would’ve done it had he been awake. But he hadn’t been, and so he didn’t answer the door. Instead, the door swings open, and inside you see an Android. 

A tall one, with soft facial features. He has long, dark eyelashes framing dark eyes, surrounded by dark hair. He’s clean and clear cut, very put together. It’s Connor, Hank’s pet that you’ve never been able to get the hang of knowing. And he’s as shocked as you are. 

Your drenched hair, shivering body, distant look in your eyes. Though, Connor’s unsure of how he would appear if he had to show up to anyone’s house at 2:34am. Probably unwell. Probably a little bit like you. 

“Doctor L/N,” he says, though it seems mostly to himself. His parched lips barely move, though you notice how pink they look in comparison to everything else right now. 

“Can I come in?”

Connor is still for a few seconds, obviously still processing your appearance. For what, you don’t know. Must’ve been one of the few things he’s simply unable to calculate. But then he moves himself to the side, and you carry yourself in. 

As soon as the door closes behind you, everything is so much warmer. You haven’t been to Hank’s place in months, but it still feels as homey as it did before. It’s cleaner than it was a year ago. There’s more pictures on the walls, more clutter lining the shelves. He’s starting to care about things again. That’s good. 

“What are you doing here?” you suddenly ask, turning around to face Connor. 

That’s right- what is he doing here? He and Hank couldn’t be living together, could they? Or is... or is it that Hank is pretending Connor is someone else, too?

Connor’s led goes yellow, then blue, then back to yellow. “Lieutenant Anderson has offered me a place to stay until I’m ready to go on myself,” he explains, though the way it looks at you makes it seem like Connor doesn’t want to tell you this. Like he feels the need to explain himself. 

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

You wipe your face, smearing your leftover makeup from your eye with the rain water. It burns, but you can’t feel it over the cold. “I uh- um... I’ve been having trouble- trouble sleeping.”

Connor’s lips close, and he looks at you in understanding as you stand there, now feeling your own pressure of having to explain yourself. 

“Just like... at my place I can’t- can’t sleep. Not a lot of it.”

Connor knows he shouldn’t, but it’s right there on the very tip of his tongue. It’s so close to just spilling out, until finally it does, all at once. He’s too curious to try and stop it. “Why?”

“I just- I can’t-”

You’re looking everywhere. The floor, the wall, covering your eyes with your arm or your hand, shifting back and forth between feet, making a soggy spot on the floor from your dripping clothes. 

“Can’t sleep.”

When you look up to Connor again, you feel better. Still panicked, but like you’re not in trouble. His eyes are so soft. They’re so human, and comforting. He looks at you like he understands, and like he’s not upset. You can see why Hank would pretend he is who he is now. But there’s no one for you to pretend who Connor is. He’s just Connor. And he’s better than you. 

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

Connor lets you wear one of his sets of identical clothes. It’s a grey t-shirt and blue pajama pants. Your hair is still wet, but Connor doesn’t say anything. He lets you sit on the couch and watch one of Hank’s basketball recordings while he goes to make tea. 

He brings it to you and sets it down on the coffee table in front, but like days ago, you can’t bring yourself to touch it. Connor’s made himself a cup too, but doesn’t drink it. It’s deadly silent, the only light coming from the faint glow of the tv, the only sound coming from the biases of those annoying sports commentators. 

“Connor?” you whisper hoarsely, turning your body to face him. 

He looks over at you, at full attention. Such a soft boy. 

“Do you think I’m afraid of anything?”

Connor’s led goes yellow. It flickers in circles until finally he says, “What do you mean, Y/N?”

You look down at your hands. “W-when I try to sleep, I see someone,” you say, not bearing to look at anyone from that gender for a moment. “He never leaves me alone. I feel like I- like I’m seeing this thing everywhere. I can’t avoid it. It won’t leave me alone.”

“What is it?” Connor prods gently, leaning in in that innocent, but curious way he does. 

You open your mouth like you’re going to answer, but then your mouth goes dry. Instead, you just shrug your shoulders in a weak attempt of lying. 

“Um... why are you still awake?” you ask instead. 

“Androids don’t need to sleep,” Connor explains to you. “We just power down to conserve energy, but I don’t need as much as others.”

A light puff of air escapes your nose in time with the flickering of the corners of your lips. “Sounds like you’re bragging,” you tease for a second. 

Then it goes quiet.

“I don’t think you’re scared of anything,” you hear Connor’s voice say clearly. “At least, not that I’ve seen. You’re very diligent in your work.”

You take the compliment. It warms your chest for a moment, but the pit inside you is not so easily gotten rid of.

Your nails scrape against each other, breaking while you pick at one of your index fingers. “I think I have like... this fear of men. Fear of something.”

Connor’s led goes yellow.

“Androphobia, also known as the fear of male presences, affects nearly one third of the current female population.”

Connor watches you continue to pick at your nails. The memory of you standing at the door step, shivering like a kitten, drowning in the rain water stays on his mind. “Is this what you think you have, Y/N?” he asks, though this time it’s far more soft.

It sounds like he really cares.

You look up to him, your eyes glossing over from stress and the incoming wave of tears you can feel in the back of your throat.

“I can assure you, Doctor L/N, you are safe here,” Connor continues, holding eye contact as he speaks. “I won’t let any kind of harm get to you.”

The tears in your eyes seem less violent now. Like they’re disappearing already. And that’s how the story ends, in fact. With you, looking up at Connor, seated on Hank’s couch with your hair dripping around you- him promising not to hurt you. It ends on the silence that follows, right between the stare the two of you share.

  * ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

This is the first thing I’ve proof read. Also one of the longest things I’ve written somehow? It was fun. I apologize for any mistakes as English is not my first language.

[cat3ch1sm]

🌿| ok we aren't gonna talk abt how long i procrastinated on this okay i had finals all week and spent every waking second studying pls forgive me

🍃| request from @darkrose33 <33 it is just after l's funeral (reader's s/o) and the reader is feeling sad and alone. light decides to take advantage of this. this is part one- which doesn't consist of NSFW, but part two def will :) this part got hella long y'all

🍃| hope u enjoy ur request, reader! <3 for more info on my account click here!

light yagami x fem!reader~ part 1 (sfw)

All you felt was empty.

You'd seen it coming, sort of. You'd prepared yourself as best as you could for the strong possibility that maybe L wouldn't make it out of the Kira case alive. You'd tried to get used to the idea of losing him. You'd spent long, melancholy nights planning your future alone and spent some days distancing yourself from L as to adjust to the idea of him not being there. You had sought out outside help such as therapy, using an alias and saying that you had a terminally ill relative. You'd thrown yourself into your work, often staying up late nights and waking before dawn to immerse yourself in it as much as possible. You had prepared yourself for the likelihood that the very man L had suspected of being Kira, the mass murderer of thousands, would step up and play the part of L. Every possible road had been traveled, every path traversed in your effort to mentally, physically, and emotionally prepare for the death of L.

But it hadn't changed the fact that, at the time, L had still been there. It was never a reality then, you didn't really have to face it- and thus your attempts had been in vain. Now, here you were in the back of the cathedral, struggling to even breathe.

L was dead.

The only thing that you could see in your head was the perpetually repeating scene of L falling out of his chair to the ground, not a single detail missing. The metallic clink of his teaspoon when it hit the floor. The convergence of the entire task force on L's fading body, all yelling in panic and concern. The sudden disappearance of shinigami Rem. The white screen displayed on every device in the room, void of any images or text except for one line- All data deletion. Light clutching the limp detective"s body in his arms, face hidden by his brown hair. L's eyelids slowly fluttering shut. The ensuing frenzy that followed after Light came to the grim conclusion that the remainder of the task force would be killed as well. The pile of shimmering silver dust, later found in the back of the headquarters, along with the Death Note and a single black pen.

Every last detail.

It didn't feel quite real. There was still a substantial portion of your mind that refused to process the reality that L was dead. Gone. Much of you felt numb and shocked, while still other parts of you wanted to drop to the floor and never stop crying. It was the feeling of utter despair, loneliness- and bitterness. Why was L ripped away from you so violently? In front of your eyes, no less? It didn't seem fair. Weren't you both the good guys? Just once, why couldn't there be a happy ending?

You were sitting beneath the sill of a large stained glass window, almost like a mural, a beautifully crafted image of Jesus Christ with beams of radiance emitting from his head, various Biblical images depicted in the space around Jesus. There was an image of the stone tablets containing the Ten Commandments, a chorus of angels playing a variety of instruments, an effigy of a Nativity scene, and most notably, a large tree holding several red apples, and a nude woman beside the tree plucking the apple; the fruit was beside a sly-looking snake shrouded in the bushes, watching as the girl took the fruit. This room in particular had a rather eerie ambience, only enhanced by the fact that just beyond the walls, the corpse of the greatest detective to ever live lay pale and limp in a furnished casket.

At least the church was pretty- the whole place looked like this, the ceilings displaying paintings of angels and the floors in red carpet, the whole cathedral smelling faintly of frankincense. The funeral had been limited to just the task force, and the church had been tightly locked down in order to keep outsiders out. As of now, the funeral had officially ended, and Matsuda, Aizawa, Soichiro, and Mogi had left about a half hour ago- but not before asking you over and over if you were alright, which made you smile a bit amidst your dripping tears. L's body was to be buried that midnight by affiliates of L, wanting to do so in secret as to not run into any unwanted visitors. But as for L's body now- it still lay in the closed casket in front of the congregation, a grandly blooming bouquet with many kinds of flowers tied with a white ribbon to the lid.

Your partner was now a corpse.

Now you inhaled shakily, wiping at your tears. It was time to put your emotions aside as best as you could and think rationally. L wasn't going to come back, and no amount of crying was going to change that. He'd probably be telling you to pull yourself together right around now- there were things to be done, cases to be solved. Emotions were only a liability, and you were not to allow them to interfere with business.

Still, a choked sob escaped you as you thought about this. You would give anything for L to be here, chastising you now.

But he never would again.

"Y/N?"

You startled, jerking your head up to search for the source of the voice echoing throughout the back of the cathedral. Your gaze came to rest on none other than Light, nothing more than a tall, shadowy silhouette in the dark lighting of the church, standing a short distance from you.

"Light." You blinked your eyes hard and violently rubbed at your cheeks, eliminating the last of the tears as you got to your feet and dusted off your long, elegant black gown. As you did not want Light to see your current state, you couldn't help but feel a rush of relief that the light radiating through the glass windows was only minimal.

"Um- is there something you need?" you asked airily. Light stepped closer to you, entering the light to reveal his sharp black suit and tie.

"Is there something you need?" Light returned, making your brow furrow in slight confusion. "I know L's death must be quite hard on you- I want to make sure you're okay."

"Ah, it's- it'll be fine." Wow, that wasn't very convincing, and you realized this with a slight grimace. Waving it off, you pressed forward, hoping to sound more okay than you actually felt. "I suppose it was all but inevitable. The odds were against him; that's all there was to it." You let out a somewhat bitter laugh, lowering your gaze to the velvet carpet. "I'm a bit impressed L didn't pass sooner..."

Light eyed you a little suspiciously, and it was clear he knew you were not alright in the least. You could sense his burning yet warm eyes on you, observing your body language as you continued to stare at the floor, not knowing what else to do.

"Really, I'm fine." You tried again, fiddling with the pendant around your neck that you'd saved for a special occasion. Feeling tears begin to prick at the backs of your eyes once more, you opted to change the subject. "How about you? How are you doing?"

Now it was Light's turn to look dubious. "I don't know how to feel, really- but if I had to pinpoint it, I'd have to say nervous." At nervous, he winced a little- which caught you rather off guard.

"You're nervous?" You blurted, unable to hide your surprise. "Um... that doesn't really sound like you."

"Ha, it's not." Light smiled sheepishly and put a hand behind his head, the other in his pocket. "It's just the prospect of taking over as L... I know it's something I can probably handle, but I can't help but feel a little intimidated.."

"Oh, who wouldn't be? It's a daunting task. But I'm certain you'll act accordingly as L." This was a lie on your part, actually- since L's death, your suspicions of Light being Kira had gone through the roof. But obviously, you couldn't let that be known to Light.

Light gave you a grateful grin. "Thank you, Y/N."

"Of course."

Light began to move closer still to you, and a little off-put, you stepped backwards closer to the stain-glass mural. "Is- is there anything else you need?"

"Well, I do have something to ask you." He was even closer now- your body was completely pressed against the window now. Too late, the feeling of something being wrong began to arise in your mind.

You hesitated. There wasn't very much you could do about that now. "Go ahead."

"What did you see in L that you didn't see in me?"

Your eyes flew wide open, shocked. What the hell was Light saying? Knowing something was definitely wrong now, your fists slowly began to rise to your hips, ready to swing if Light were to try anything. "What?"

"You heard me."

Oh, hell no. A furious expression taking hold of your facial features, your fists instantly flew upward to reach Light's face- only for a single hand to stop them both, long fingers wrapping around both of your wrists. In one swift move, Light swung your wrists and arms backward, slamming them against the shining glass behind you, holding your hands captive above your head. Your breathing began to speed up, and you glared up at Light with equally incensed and terrified eyes. What was he doing?

"Don't look so scared," Light told you, feigning comfort as an almost diabolical smirk spread across his lips, the glimmer of the sun through the window behind you reflecting in his greedy brown eyes. "I won't hurt you- that is, unless you don't cooperate."

You had no clue what was even really happening, but you damn sure weren't about to play along. "Cooperate? Light, what the hell? Let me go!" With a strained grunt, you wrenched against Light's grasp, twisting your body this way and that to try and tear your hands from his grip. However, your attempts were in vain, and didn't even seem to phase him. Instead, Light let out a derisive chuckle, licensing you even further.

"It's pointless to resist, Y/N." Light told you matter-of-factly, appearing almost bored as he held your body fast to the wall. "If you'll only stop moving so much, this doesn't have to be so bad."

Your eyes were ablaze with anger and humiliation- but you knew Light was probably right. You would only wear yourself out if you kept struggling against him. Taking this into account, you reluctantly ceased your thrashing, breathing heavily as you allowed your chin to drop down to your chest as you hung your head in defeat.

"What is it you want from me? Please, just get it over with." Your voice was muffled as you stared forlornly at the floor. Whatever Light wanted- you simply couldn't do it today. Any day but today.

"I want nothing from you- I want you." Light's hand slid under your chin and gently lifted your head up to face him. Your eyes were gloomy and half-lidded as you met Light's stormy eyes, alight with the wistful golden glow emitting from the stained glass window. His body was against yours now, the fabric of his suit touching the cloth of your dress, falling half off your shoulders from the prior encumbrance. You could feel the faint thumps of his heartbeat on your skin, and your breath hitched a little. This could not be happening. Today.

"Want me." you spat icily, almost a little too scornful. "I take it you've been after me for a while? I knew it. I could tell."

"Aren't you clever, Y/N?" Another sardonic chuckle. "You're quite correct- since the day I first laid eyes on you, you were the only thing I could think about. I memorized every last one of your features, even those that weren't necessarily physical- your smile, your laugh, the way you fidget with your hands- and the way you used to look at L." At this line, Light's face tightened, and you couldn't help but choke back a slight gasp. Your instincts were screaming at you to kick him, to fight back, to do anything- but you found you were simply unable to move.

"You're insane." was the only thing you could manage in a biting tone, jaw clenched and diction clipped. Light only responded with an unsettling smile before resuming his lament.

"I was... rather dismayed when I found out that you and L had begun a relationship- a romantic one. All I could think about was how it was supposed to be me- you were supposed to belong to me. And when L went and handcuffed himself to me, all I wanted to do was kill him. I was forced to watch you kiss lips that weren't mine, throw your arms around a body that wasn't mine. Likewise- I was made to watch his hands run along your waist, caress your skin, smooth back your hair- skin I should have been touching, hair that should have been tangled in my own fingers."

"And for what? For him to dismiss you, ignore you half the time, and behave as if you meant so little to him? When I could have granted your every wish, showered you with my love every second."

So Light had noticed the growing distance between you and L- realizing this, you couldn't bring yourself to keep looking at him, and instead dropped your head again from Light's grasp, hot tears dripping down your face and blurring your vision. L had been quite alienated from you in the days leading up to his death, and it had made you suffer greatly as the looming threat of Kira grew closer every day. All you had wanted to do was be there for L, save him somehow from going in too deep and endangering himself even further- and your efforts had only been proven futile. L had quite blatantly dismissed your attempts at assistance- ignoring you, rejecting any forms of physical affection from you, even going so far as to flat out tell you that he didn't even want you present at times, which had hurt you greatly. It had made you feel unwanted, inferior, and useless. And now that L's murderer had thrown it all back in your face, it was like a wound in salt, stinging like the tears spilling from your eyes.

"Look at you. You're still crying over L- even when he's no longer here." Light leaned down a little to meet your height, while still holding your wrists with one hand, and peered into your red and glassy eyes with a strangely affectionate expression. "Do you see now? Do you see how much he made you hurt? Do you see how good I could make you feel?"

You were too distressed to answer, face completely wet now as the whole day hit you at once. Light, however, didn't seem impatient with you- instead straightening up and at last releasing your hands, your arms limply falling to your sides, and sliding his hands slowly around your waist in an act of comfort. He began to rub your skin through your dress soothingly, easing your tears some as you began to relax a little. "It's alright. It'll be fine, Y/N- okay?"

You nodded shakily, no longer paying much attention to what you were actually doing, only wanting to find comfort somewhere, anywhere.

"I can make you feel better again. I can make you feel safe. You just have to let me."

You sighed, wiping at the tears on your cheeks.

"Okay."

[wallflowerimagines]

Hi! I looove your posts! Thank you so much for sharing your writing!

I was wondering… could you maybe write about the Four Lords with a shy S/O that gets bold and defensive when someone insults the lords? or calls them names? And the Lord’s reaction to the S/O acting different? Dk if im explaining myself >.<

Again! Love your work! Have a great day!

We stan protective partners on this blog!!

Warnings: uh...insults? They're pretty over the top😅 Also swearing.

Alcina Dimitrescu

Honestly, Alcina is more than able to defend herself.

She's got a tongue like a viper, and the thickest skin imaginable. If you really want to hurt her feelings, you have to be someone whom she already respects to a certain degree, or she won't even be phased.

Still, when she leaves a room, there's always some idiot that thinks it's a smart idea to talk shit.

Maybe it's a maid, maybe it's a guest in the Castle, but either way you're not having it.

"God, you're annoying." There was a pause before they opened their mouth again, and you rolled your eyes. "No please, by all means, continue to share your lack of taste with the rest of us."

You disassemble this dumbass, starting small with comments about their personality (trying to keep it classy), but escalating the more they choose to double down on the comments.

Alcina comes back into the room to find you practically screaming at this asshole.

"Look, all you have accomplished here today is revealing that you are a fundamental disappointment on every possible level. My life is worse now that I've heard you open your mouth, you disrespectful, shit licking worm fucker."

Alcina is stunned. You do not give off "aggressive guard dog" vibes at all, yet here you are defending her tooth and nail. While she had seen brief moments of your inner strength and protective streak (mostly towards her daughters) she just...never thought you would do the same for her.

It's not because she doesn't trust you or love you! But nobody has ever done something like this for her before? Ever? She's never had anyone try to protect her--not physically, and not even verbally. She's been so independent for so long that it's... Strange to see you support her so openly.

She doesn't need you to do this for her, she doesn't even expect it, but you do it anyway for no other reason than the fact that you love her. You want people to give her the respect she deserves.

I'm going to be real here: Alcina has never been closer to swooning before in her life. You're overcoming your shyness because you believe in her so much-- it's not a gesture meant to be romantic, but Alcina can't help but see this as a massive statement of your commitment to her.

Seriously. This is such a massive thing for her that if proposals weren't already on her mind, she is mentally picking out a ring for you the minute this happens.

Then, of course, she glides into the room, kisses you until you're breathless and babbling, and smirks at the unfortunate peon who thought they could get away with insulting House Dimitrescu.

She's in such a good mood that she's considering going easy on the idiot. Maybe removing their tongue would be enough of a warning?

Donna Dimitrescu

You don't really know how it's possible but apparently some people don't like Donna Beneviento? Some people think she's scary and unpleasant????

Wild. Can't imagine what that's like.

The two of you are honestly the sweetest, most toothrottingly adorable couple-- blushing when you hold each other's hands, sneaking glances at each other across rooms, giving each other kisses and forgetting whatever was on your mind...

Honestly, anybody who's critical of your relationship with your girlfriend is just a hater. Fuckers can pound sand😤

Still, you are pretty shy, so it takes a lot for you to defend yourself if someone comments about you. It can take a lot of courage to stand up against rude remarks, and sometimes it's easier to walk away.

Defending Donna, on the other hand?

The minute someone even thinks about dismissing her, you are ready to throw hands.

"My lovely girlfriend already said no, meaning you're either deaf or too stupid to pick up on simple social cues," you purse your lips and give the rude and pushy Villager a patronizing once over. "You and your opinion are equally useless. Get the fuck away from us."

Donna blinks.

She... Was not expecting this??? At all?? You're so nice! You always tell her about your attempts to avoid confrontation! What's going on??? How did you get the guts to say what she's always wanted to say?

Meanwhile, Angie is LIVING.

The little doll chimes in to assist you with the verbal homicide, working as a tag team to absolutely murder this moron. She's half partner, half hype man, and is so excited to do this with you. Normally, she has to protect Donna all by herself, but she's relieved and reassured that you stepped in first.

'USELESS IS TOO NICE, THOUGH! THAT IMPLIES THEY AREN'T A POINTLESS, RANCID, LONELY FREAK. THEY LOOK LIKE THEY CRY WHEN THEY MASTURBATE.'

You high five Angie, still glaring daggers at the unfortunate villager.

The two of you continue to ream into the villager, while Donna hovers nearby.

As surprised as she is, she's also grateful. She's only really ever had Angie to help shield her from insults and disrespect (and occasionally inducing horrifying hallucinations that make people claw off their own skin), but having you in her corner makes her feel safe.

Not to get totally sappy, but you're like her knight in shining armor in a lot of ways. And the fact you two are so similar is really motivating-- She wants to one day be confident enough to return the favor. Until then, she's happy to watch her two favorite people have fun insulting some stranger ❤️

Salvatore Moreau

With you being so shy, Salvatore is surprised how often he takes the lead in your relationship.

He's not normally all that outgoing, but you seem to bring out a side of him that's very protective. Whenever you have a bad day he wants to bundle you up and keep you safe from the world.

If he so much as holds your hand you start stuttering and avert your gaze. It creates a feedback loop where you both get flustered, but Moreau has never felt steadier. Despite your shyness, you make sure he knows how much you love him.

You're sweet as pie and twice as kind--Salvatore is the luckiest man in the world, nobody can convince him otherwise 💕💕

So it comes as a total shock that when a passing fisherman spits in your path and calls him a freak, your entire demeanor does a 180.

Your posture straightens and you look the villager dead in the eye, "I don't believe anyone asked your opinion."

Salvatore: 😳

This is not the time, and he totally knows it, but, uh, something about your tone??? Really does it for him???

While he's attempting to process why exactly he's starting to short circuit, you proceed to verbally shred this person to bits with clinical efficiency-- nothing is off limits.

They might try to defend themselves, but it's useless. You do not let up.

"Ugly? Monster? Bitch your teeth are throwing gang signs, don't throw stones from your shining glass house."

You insult their appearance, what they're holding, their smell-- you get so fucking mean that you might even make them cry.

Moreau is just lost right now, trying hard to figure out how exactly you were able to gain all of this confidence so quickly.

He's not upset! In fact he's very flattered! But, he also doesn't want you to get into a fight with some unimportant stranger. (After all, if they so much as throw a punch, they're straight up dead. Moreau is a patient man, but he's not that patient. You do not hurt his partner and live to tell the tale.)

He may a healer but...

Eventually he steps between you and the fisherman in an attempt to deescalate the situation, but you just kiss him on the cheek and step around him, determined to make your point.

Blushing hard, Moreau lets you do what you want. What can he say? Fish man likes himself a protective partner 💞

Karl Heisenberg

Magnet Man is not the most social guy to begin with, so any opportunities you have to stick up for him are already pretty slim.

He mostly knows you as the shy, sweet, easily flustered partner that lets out a cute squeak every time he sneaks up to hug you from behind.

Karl's honestly happy just to spend time with you all alone in the Factory. It's not the best or healthiest mindset, but he'd be perfectly content to only ever see you for the rest of his life. Spending time with anybody else feels like a boring waste in comparison.

But occasionally, you do head out into town with him. Heisenberg wants you to be safe so he doesn't do it often, but running errands with you is a weakness of his. It's domestic in a way that he's never experienced before.

He likes it ❤️

What he does not like is the shopkeeper starting to give their opinions on the quality of your relationship with him.

Most insults Karl will let slide because he doesn't particularly care. However if anyone makes a comment on how scared (shy) you look around him, how you must be being threatened into being with him, how poorly Lord Heisenberg is treating you...he won't stand for it.

But before his fingers can even twitch towards his hammer, you snap.

"You're clearly the blindest cocksucker I've ever met--so wipe the cum out of eyes and mind your own fucking business."

Karl does a double take.

He's heard you curse before, but quietly. The words coming out of your mouth are WILD right now, he has NEVER seen you so angry. You're defending him with the aggression of a wild animal, and it's simultaneously HILARIOUS, but for some reason he's also getting a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest?

He doesn't need you to protect him like this, but seeing you blatantly argue how much you love and cherish him in public reassures him in a way he didn't know he needed.

Still, hearing you call the shopkeeper "shit for brains" is the funniest thing that's happened in years.

Heisenberg starts laughing, and the more you shout at the idiot, the harder he laughs. Is it weird how hard he wants to kiss you right now?

Eventually, he just has to drag you away, cackling as you continue to shout insults at the unfortunate shopkeep. There's got to be an alley around here for some good old fashioned privacy 💕

[diamond-coral]

Bargaining Chip

Hello! This is my first time posting on Tumblr ever:) I pulled this one-shot from a fic I posted on AO3 a few months ago but the plot is irrelavent and I changed it from first person to second as well as some details so it can be read as a stand alone. There’s some plot from the actual story but you really don’t need to know it at all.

There might be a few errors, especially because I changed the entire point of view and converted it to present tense from past tense so sorry:) 

Loki manages to get his hands on you and exchanges you and your body for his ticket to independence from the Avengers. Bucky gets to go first.

Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Characters included: Loki, and a little bit of Tony, Steve, and Thor

WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY!!! SMUT (NON-CON TOUCHING, FORCED ORAL SEX (m receiving), KNIFE THREATS, DARK! AVENGERS, BUCKY’S AN ASSHOLE IN THIS, DEGRADATION, BASICALLY FORCED PROSTITUTION) READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

You awake in the passenger seat of your own car with only foggy memories of you and your partner before everything had gone dark. Your mission from the CIA...breaking and entering the motherfucking Avenger’s facility and managing to escape...you were so close. If it weren’t for him. In your haze, you look to see who could possibly have the audacity to be driving your car, and there sits Loki, the God of Mischief, who you had only scene on the news, driving one hand and inspecting something in his other.

“Good evening my lady. Sleep well?” he mocks without taking his eyes off the item in his hand which upon further inspection from you looks to be... a red leash?

What the hell?

“I do hope you like your outfit,” he continues. “I think I assembled quite the get up for you.”

Looking down, you let out a muffled scream that was cut off by a strip of duct tape. Your hands are bound in your lap, but that isn’t what horrifies you. It’s what’s underneath them. You take into account your bare legs, fully on display, with a black dress leaving little to the imagination. The top half is just as horrifying with it’s plunging neckline. Your legs end with a pair of strappy gold heels that ensures any chances of running away to be futile while your upper arms are adorned in golden bracelets accented with emeralds. Whether the emeralds were real or fake, you could care less. You have bigger problems to worry about.

“What the fuck?!”

Is what you try to say, but the gag only makes it come out as a mangled ball of muffled murmurs. Though the chuckle Loki lets out implies he understands your enraged speaking attempt.

“You, my dear, are going to be a bargaining chip. I heard about your little escapade at the Avenger’s facility last night. Impressive, I must say, but my brother and his little hero posse had been looking for you relentlessly after that. They are practically obsessed with catching the women that managed to break into their high security building.”

Loki takes a sharp turn into a parking garage, narrowly missing the wall. You squeal as your precious car runs over the curb.

“I forgot how much I hate mortal transportation devices. But Stark had to build this tower in the middle of New York to feed his ever-growing ego and now I’m the one that has to rely on a car to get me there,” he grumbles while pulling into a parking space. He takes a deep breath once the car is parked. “Now, I’m going to remove that gag out of your mouth, and if you scream, I will peel your skin off of your body in the slowest, most painful way imaginable. Understood?”

You nod frantically and he rips the tape off, extracting a whimper from your now stinging mouth. You open your mouth for him to take the wad of cloth out that was under the duct tape. As he extracts it, you snap your mouth shut in an attempt to bite him, but he’s quick to evade and grabs your jaw harshly.

“What did I say before?” he seethes. 

“You said not to scream. I didn’t scream. Now let go of my face.”

Loki roughly throughs your face to the side, letting go, and looks around the surroundings of the car, probably checking for any unwanted onlookers.

“Out of the car. Now,” he orders and you hastily oblige using your bound hands to open the door.

As you shut the door, you catch a glimpse of your own reflection and grimace. You look like a hooker. Aside from the skimpy outfit, your hair was pinned up and intertwined with gold strands. Your makeup is done as well. Sultry eye shadow and dark red lipstick.

“I didn’t know the God of Mischief was a makeup guru,” you jab.

He ignores you and harshly pushes you forward. “Walk.”

“Where’s my partner?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Loki replies. “She has other uses than the one I currently need you for.”

“And what use am I needed for?”

“I already told you. By the gods, you mortals are stupid. You are to be a bargaining chip, (Y/N).”

Your blood runs cold. “How do you know my name?” you ask.

“I know everything about you. Including your peculiar abilities.”

You stop dead in your tracks.

“Now, don’t worry,” he adds. “As amusing to me as it would be, I have no interest in enlightening the Avengers to your secret identity. As far as they will know, I am simply giving them the criminal that broke into their compound.”

“And what’s in it for you?” you ask as he guidesyou into an elevator.

After pushing a button, he goes to fix his dark green tie. “Clever girl now aren’t you?”

“Answer the question.”

“How about-no?” he muses and a soft ding resonates through the elevator.

The doors opened and, for a moment, you forget the predicament your in. Inside was the most beautiful penthouse you had ever seen. The opposite wall was made entirely out of glass allowing a view of the New York City night skyline. Everything little piece of furniture each looks as expensive as your car, but your focus becomes drawn to the minibar. The Avengers were all sitting there, laughing, and most were obviously drunk.

“Here James, try some of this,” Thor booms.

Bucky makes a face. “Why would I drink something from another planet meant for Gods?”

“Jeez Buck it’s the only thing that can get you and I drunk,” Steve slurs and claps Bucky on the shoulder. “It’s your birthday. Live it up a little.”

Bucky hesitates before grabbing the flask Thor offers him and throwing his head back, downing the flask in one go.

Loki seems to have enough of the party scene as he clears his throat to interrupt them.

“Gentlemen-”

Before Loki uttered another word all the Avengers clambered from their seats to grab their weapons, but their intoxicated state just makes it a comical sight. Captain America falls over in an attempt to reach for his shield below the table. Tony Stark’s iron man mask smacks him over the head as he fails to turn in time to catch it on his face. Sam Wilson chokes on his drink and falls backwards off his barstool in shock.

“I come bearing no ill tidings.” Loki spread his arms.

“Then why bother coming at all?” Thor growls, shifting his hammer to his right hand.

“I’ve come to make an offer.”

With that, Loki snatches your wrist and throws you towards him and the other men. You stumbled in you stilettos and let out a yelp as you land on the floor looking up at the 5 present Avengers: Thor, the Winter Soldier, Captain America, Iron Man, and the Falcon. They all look down on you with perplexed looks etched onto their faces.

“You guys have been so caught up and stressed about finding your security breaches that I was generous enough to do some finding myself,” Loki explains.

“And how do we know you didn’t just pluck some prostitute off the street?” Caps eyes rake up and down your body.

Loki scoffs. “Always the skeptic captain. Does this answer your question?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a flash-drive.

Tony snatches it from his hands. “Jarvis, what’s on this drive?” he asks, holding the drive up to a scanner in the glasses he’s wearing.

“It appears to be the files you have been collecting the 2 vigilantes you have been tracking and-.”

“Okay thanks J!” Tony interrupts quickly before Jarvis could spill any more information. He proceeds to storm up to your cowering and kneeling form that hadn’t dared move and harshly grabs your jaw.

Jesus, what was with these men and your poor, bruised jaw?

“Why would you possibly need this information?” he asks calmly, but his eyes are feral. He studies you and his brows furrow. Did he manage to piece it all together that you were the alleged vigilante they had been hunting? He lets go of your jaw and throws you back on the floor. “What business do you have looking for them?”

Looking for them? You let out a sigh of relief.

“None of your business,” you spit.

“Anyways,” Loki continues, and the drive suddenly disintegrated in Tony’s hand while reappearing in Loki’s. “I will happily hand over this seemingly important information along with the girl for you to do with her as you please, but…” He pauses. “Only if you stop tracking my current whereabouts.”

“And why would we do that, Loki? You’re dangerous,” Steve notes.

“I was dangerous,” Loki interjects. “I have been a good boy haven’t I? I would like to lead a normal life without you imbeciles tailing my every move. If I slip, Thor here will know within the second if I’m involved with anyone wrong doings, won’t you brother dear?”

Thor grunts at that statement.

“Besides, Stark’s satellite can track any magical energy if I use it. Which I won’t.”

“Fine. Now hand over the drive,” Tony snaps and holds his hand out.

After Loki drops the small gadget into Tony’s hand, he hauls you up and spins you around to face him.

His voice is quiet and low. “Be glad I didn’t tell them about my plans for you friend. It would be a shame if they found out about her abilities...and yours.”

He spins you back around to face the 5 men whose eyes were now raking up and down your body. “Easy on the eyes isn’t she?” Loki mentions, hands falling on your waist making you squirm. “You know, I almost considered keeping her for myself. Her exotic beauty is that of a pleasure maiden on Asgard.” Your struggles are invigorated at his implications. “Enjoy your whore.” And with that, he gives you one final shove before vanishing.

It’s silent for half a minute before one of the men speak up.

“Alright who wants to take her for a spin?” Tony asks, clapping his hands together. “I vote the birthday boy gets first dibs. Huh, Buckaroo?”

You blanch at the idea. Were they really going to go through with what Loki wanted? What happened to the valiant heroes you saw on your screen?

“Wait Tony, you can’t be seriously considering Loki’s suggestion?” Sam Wilson sounds surprised.

Tony shrugs. “Why not, Birdie? It’s either this or high security prison and I don’t think she wants to rot in a cell.”

“She is standing right here and would rather rot in hell than do what Loki had in mind,” you hiss.

“Well it’s a good thing we weren’t asking for her opinion,” Tony says.

“Tony’s right, Sam,” Steve adds slowly. “We bust our asses out there. We deserve something nice.”

“Day after day we save this pathetic world, and no thanks are given. Just everyone saying what we did wrong. We should’ve left the world to fend for itself after they tried shoving those ridiculous accords down our throats,” Thor murmurs

Sam raises both of his hands up in defense. “Fine. Do what you want with her. I’m gonna head out.” And with that he leaves. Your heart sinks, watching the only glimmer of hope, your knight in shining armor, walk out the door. Your self-pity party is cut short by an arm snaking around your waist.

Bucky Barnes, trained assassin, mass murderer, and now current Avenger, puts his face in the crook of your neck and inhales deeply, sending shivers down your spine while you stand frozen like a deer in headlights. “What do you say, doll? Wanna finish what we started the other night?” His hand on your waist slowly drifts down to your ass.

You stomp your heel down on his foot eliciting a groan of pain. “Last time I checked, you were in the dirt, and I was driving away that night after a successful robbery. There’s nothing to finish.”

He moves quickly as he rips your hair out of what’s securing it up, using the opportunity to tangle his hand into the roots and drag you away to a separate room. He wrenches open and throws you in, leaving you to stumble and trip. A searing pain on your forehead signaled that you hit your head.

“How about we use that snarky mouth of yours for something better hmm?” His voice is ice cold with malice as he grips your hair and yanks you up.

You cry out in pain, tears pooling in your eyes.

“Not so tough now, are you?” he sneers down at you. Hearing the sound of a belt unbuckling and pants unzipping, you shut your eyes.

A tear escapes, cascading down your face, but his thumb gently wipes it away.

“Open your eyes, doll,” he coos.

You shake your head and screw them shut even tighter.

“I said...OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES!” he roars and your eyes fly open only to see his member sticking out of his slacks right in front of your face. He’s almost fully hard as precum dribbles out of the tip. “Good girl,” he praises. “Now, since you can’t seem to keep your snarky mouth shut, let’s put it to better use. How bout that?”

You don’t move, and he sighed as you look down to the floor. You hear some shuffling, a small click, and suddenly something cold and sharp is pressing under your chin, tilting your gaze to his steel blue eyes.

“Let’s try this again.” He pushes the knife harder, digging it a little deeper, but not enough to draw blood. A knife. This dirty bastard has a knife. “Suck. My. Cock.”

Pushing all your pride aside, you direct your gaze to the task in front of you. Bucky lets out an approving hum and the knife is removed from your throat. You swallow before opening your mouth and dragging your tongue from his base to the tip before wrapping your lips around him and sucking lightly.

Bucky was no slacker down there, you had to give him that. You ease your mouth down his shaft and his head tilts back.

“Oh fuck that’s it,” he moans. “Take my dick down your throat.” He grunts. His metal hand fists your hair to push your head down, sliding a few more inches into your throat. “Oh-that’s a good whore,” he breathes.

A gag is torn from you and you slap your hands against his thighs to imply you couldn’t take much more. Bucky’s only response is another grunt as he jams the rest of his length down your throat leaving your only intake of oxygen to come from your nose which was now mashed right above the base of his thick cock. As quickly as he pushed you down before, he pulls you back off by your hair, letting you go to wretch, gasping for air and freedom. A strand of saliva still connects from his tip to my lips.

“I’m not done with you yet.” He snags your hair again. “Open wide, slut.”

You do just that and he begins to fuck your throat at his own pace, sliding his entire length down every time. Tears brim at your eyes, not just from the lack of oxygen, but the humiliation of the moment as well. The time passes much too slowly for your liking, minutes dragging on for eternity, before he begins to reach his climax.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” His cock twitches in your mouth.He holds your head with both hands as he releases straight into your mouth, warm thick strands of his release coating the back of your throat. He pulls out  with a pop and smirks down at you. “Good little sluts swallow” he orders.

You glare up at him, making a show of not doing anything.

“Well?” he demands and raises a dark brow.

You spit his own climax onto his expensive shoes.

“Why you-!” He raises his hand, getting ready to send a smack to your face.

“Barnes!” A female voice comes from the doorway as the door flies open. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

There stood none other than the Black Widow.

[qillmhi]

So I'm like... Never a fan of the 'Imma kill my bros for u' kind of scenario especially since I very much love all the turtle bros, so here's my version of an obsessive lover 2012 Mikey!

🖤🧡🐢

Dark!2012!Mikey x Reader

-Michelangelo is the youngest out of the four turtle brothers, so he was easily the most childish and energetic one, much to his older brothers' annoyance.

-He was loud yet small. Just a few inches shorter than you. A social butterfly, but can be oblivious to most things.

-Mikey may not be the smartest turtle, but he does have own way of getting what he wants.

-And he has his eyes dead set on you.

-When he first realised his crush on you, he openly welcomed it with zero resistance. It felt great being in love so why should he deny it?

-He loves expressing himself so there was little to no filter when he's showing you his love.

-"(y/n)~!!!!" Mikey threw his arms around you "I missed you so much!!!!!" He cried in excitement rubbing his cheek on yours.

-You laughed at the youngest turtle and placed your hand on his head "Mikey! I just went for a glass of water!"

-"Yeah! But you took sooooo long so I still missed you!"

-He would be all over you. Wherever you go, Mikey is expected to be following close behind.

-Sometimes without your knowledge.

-Whenever his brothers weren't looking, he would slip by to your apartment to watch you sleep.

-But he did it to make sure you're safe! Don't worry!

-He would always be the first one to tackle you as soon as your foot entered the lair. Then proceed to trap you in a cuddling session with him for hours before anyone could get to you.

-"Oof--!"

-"Dibs on (y/n)!!!!"

-"Ow--Mikey!!" You groaned in protest.

-"No time to talk dudette! Look--" He held up a glowing flower watch "--it's hug time!"

-You squinted your eyes at the familiar looking gadget "Did you force Donnie to make you that hug-watch thing from the Trolls movie?"

-"Maybe~!" Mikey avoided your eyes "So hug time...?"

-Physical contact is his love langauge! Mikey's insides would be all mushy and gushy if you respond to them even the slightest bit. And if you return the favor? This little boy will melt into your arms!

-When you do ask him to let you go, he would just simply say "Nope!" popping the 'p' then proceed to tuck himself below your chin.

-"Awwh come on!!"

-Everytime he feels your soft hands scratching his shell, he immediately starts churring in delight. You thought it was cute, so you'd pat him in the head which made him even more happy!

-He can't help it! Mikey is just obsessed with how soft and plush you feel against his skin! He would definitely glue himself on you if you'd allow him to.

-"You are so squishy~!" Mikey mumbled against your shoulder while hugs you from behind for the nth time today.

-You flicked his forehead earning yourself a small 'ow' "And you are a big baby."

-You didn't mind his clinginess thankfully. It was just Mikey being cute as always. For real how can you resist this baby?

-He's loves it when you give your full attention to him. But if you're talking to someone else, he would just simply have an arm over your shoulders. Silently brooding towards the intruder, giving them a silent warning.

-If the boy isn't hugging you or initiating some kind of physical contact with you, he would be content holding the hem of your shirt or any kind of clothing you own (he may or may not have kept a few in his room that he may or may not have been using as a pillowcase to cuddle). Something that became a norm whenever he's at your apartment and you preparing both of your meals.

-Damn he loves your food! It was then only food he worships other than pizza! He especially loves watching you cook. Like an angel preparing to give him heaven.

-Speaking of Heaven.

-This orange fluff have TONS of pictures of you saved in his phone. If you ever made the mistake of sleeping in the lair, this guy is just snapping pictures of you in every possible angle. Sideways? Upside down? Close up? Bird's eye view? They all made you look perfect!

-His wallpaper is a selfie of you and him enjoying your home made chocolate icecream pizza that you made just for him. Aren't you just the sweetest? He considers that as your first date even though you two aren't official.... yet.

-I mean you made that treat just for him so it must mean that you return his feelings right?

-As time went by, his little crush for you grew into something more.

-You were starting to see his brothers and your other friends a little less and him and little more.

-It was just Mikey. Only Mikey.

-Just the way he likes it

-Everyday you'd wake up and find him cuddled up to you. When you ask him what he's doing he would just look up at you with his innocent baby blue eyes and say "But cupcake! I'm cold and you're suuuuper comfy~!" Cue those puppy dog eyes and you're 100% powerless.

-He would bring you all sorts of goodies like food, favourite drinks, movies, videogames--anything he could carry just for you!

You couldn't say that you didn't like the attention. Mikey is just so sweet especially whenever he brings little trinkets saying "They reminded me of you!" With that adorable freckled smile of his! It just makes you blush every time.

His innocent sweet smile just melts through your heart!

His brothers thought it was weird when he's always out and about after training and patrolling. But hey! The lair is a lot more quiet and Donnie doesn't have to worry about his stuff being broken anymore. Besides they knew you, you were a great friend so they trust you.

After a while you started to miss your friends. Having Mikey around was fun but you wanted to see what the other guys are up to these days.

One day you decided to visit everyone in the lair with pizza and had a great time chatting and playing with the turtle brothers. Oddly enough Mikey wasn't there.

But he was. Mikey was there. Hidden in the dark corners of the lair. Not even his brothers noticed him. His smile was gone. His eyes were dark as he kept himself one with the shadows, silent as a ghost.

He didn't like the way you were smiling with other people. Of course he was fine with letting you talk to his brothers sometimes, but still there were some boundaries to be made.

"Mine..." Michelangelo silently growls.

Although he doesn't favor this image of you with other people, he does take pride in the way your eyes would flicker to his bedroom door every now and then. Good. Very good.

Finally it was time for you to go. He immediately left. Time to take action.

When you got home you saw your favorite orange turtle curled up on the floor sobbing. Your heartached at the sight of the big crocodile tears falling from his face.

-You dropped down on your knees and asked him what was wrong.

-"I was waiting for you here all day b-but you didn't come home... you left me.." He cried miserably "I-I understand... if you don't want to h-hang out with me anymore... no one really wants to. I p-promise won't bother you anymore.." Mikey sniffed then left before you can get a word out.

-That was three days ago and you haven't seen Mikey since. He stopped visiting, stopped replying to your calls or texts. He was just gone.

-You realized just how much you loved having the small orange ninja around. Your home became cold and lonely. You started to miss him terribly.

-You went back to the lair, ignoring the others as you went straight for Mikey's room and knocked on his door.

-Mikey opened the door for just a crack. His eyes were red from crying. He looked absolutely miserable, but you pushed the door open and pulled him into a hug.

-You apologized to Mikey. You told him that it wasn't your intention to make him sad or feel neglected. That you loved having him around you.

-Mikey hugged you back of course. He closed his bedroom door to give you both privacy while you continued to hold him tight.

-He nuzzled his snout on your chest and told you he missed you too.

-Your soul ached when his shoulders started to shake. You placed your cheek on his head with your hand on his shell to calm your crying turtle.

-Except he wasn't.

-Mikey's smile was as wide as it could ever be. His eyes held a victorious sinister glow as he felt his entire body shake from excitement when he as in your addicting scent.

-Mikey was a good liar.

-He didn't mean to make you this sad. But he had to in order to make you come to him.

-And believe me when I say those three days of not seeing you was torture to him. Sure he had a folder full of your pictures saved on his phone (and his cuddle pillow) but it just can't compare to the real thing.

-But it was worth it though.

-He already had you right where he wanted you. He just needs to give you a little more push for you to confess your love for him and you two will be happy together forever!

-He knew he couldn't keep you to himself. You would surely retaliate if he forces you.

-But that doesn't mean he can't push you into making you claim him as yours instead.

-Oh how it feels so good to be in your love and care again!

-Mikey started churring as he pulled you even closer.

-Yeah Mikey definitely wasn't the smartest.

-But he's definitely the most cunning.

-And he would do anything to have you.

[wh6res]

three's a crowd | nomin

synopsis. picking favorites is impossible when you like neither of them.

warning. read at your own risk. abuse, bullying, poly relationship, yandere themes, manipulation, nonconsensual touching, noncon, degradation, smut threesome oop

disclaimer. i do not condone whatever tf i wrote in this nor does it reflect my beliefs or values or morals and such. it is all pure fiction and i also dont think jaemin or jeno would act like this in real life.

note. this was meant to be a new year's gift lmao i obviously got a lil carried away 👀 anyway a late happy new year to you all! we survived 2020, let's start living in 2021, yeah? lmao if covid lets us grr mwah!

the relationship you had with the two of them was a weird one, bordering on taboo, but it wasn't as if you willfully chose to be who they wanted you to be and it took jaemin's unwanted pining and jeno's intimidating demeanor for you to fall right into their arms.

it was a joint effort on their part, you couldn't've possibly stood a chance.

"this many?" the cashier asked. "are you sure?"

stepping back and studying the whole situation, you figured you only had your addiction to caffeine and procrastination to blame. it was a chain reaction you didn't even know will lead up to your inevitable doom.

if you hadn't been slacking off during your first semester of junior year college, you wouldn't be forced to overwork yourself trying to catch up to the looming deadlines, but to be able to 'work yourself to the bone' you need your boost of energy… and that was when you met one of them.

"uhm," you scratch the back of your head sheepishly as you eye the six glass bottles of iced coffee. sure, it looks bad and you kinda appreciate the look of concern the cashier throws your way but it was none of his business.

"yes. now could you, like, you know… hurry up? i'm in a little bit of a time crunch right now."

screw it. although you hardly snap like that with other people on a daily basis, it'll be a whole different conversation if you were under a significant amount of stress and today, unfortunately, is one of those days.

now can he just fucking stop asking questions and give you your six bottles of death drink to keep your fucking brain going so you can pass an eight-page essay tomorrow? thank you very much!

the guy snickered, the beeping sound of a barcode being read sounding a thousand times more annoying than it usually sounds as he keeps his hand busy by punching your items out.

you fail to notice how he studies you through the gaps of his lashes, finding you interesting rather than threatening as you stood before him with your messy hair and oversized hoodie.

"haven't seen you around university grounds 'till today," he tries striking another conversation with you. "you new? i'm jaemin."

this was your first mistake, you shouldn't have been so… downright rude when you met him. if you were granted the miracle of meeting him a 2nd time, you would've acted more nice, throwing yourself at his feet even to blend in with the rest of his fangirls you didn't even know about at the time. you would've done anything to make sure he never gives you a second glance, to never pique his interest.

jaemin is the pep squad captain. flying over colored blue mats and doing tumblings in the air with no ounce of fear. he was the best in his team, that much was evident when your friend dragged you into watching a pep rally practice. his landings were clean, balanced, and executed to the best he can at all times.

no wonder he was popular, his talent is outstanding and his looks are a bonus. his killer combo of a smile and wink after pulling off a tough flip is enough to send them squealing in their seats.

he spotted you that day and since then, he snuck the quickest glances at the bench during practices. recognizing you as the coffee girl he met during his convenience store shift. jaemin tries not to let his disappointment show too much when he doesn't see you, but of course, a pair of cold calculating eyes could see right through him.

"i saw that," his boyfriend said, hand darting forward to hold jaemin's gym bag for him. "you kept looking at the crowd. do you want to see her that much?"

"but she reminds me so much of you, jeno!" he retorts, pouting at the slight grumpy tone the other boy used. "i can't help it. she doesn't seem to give a fuck around me so she's quite interesting. maybe she can even be a great addition to our relationship!"

"well," jeno replies after a beat of silence, plastering a small smirk on his face before slinging an arm around jaemin's shoulder.

"convince me?"

you don't like jaemin's attention. not in the slightest. and it seems that was enough reason for the reign of terror his little fanclub has subjected you too.

it wasn't the petty elementary forms of bullying like pulling at your hair or calling you names. they pale in comparison to the other things they do to you—beating you up, messing with your homework, "accidentally" dumping their food trays on you.

and you weren't stupid.

you knew exactly who was behind it, knew how jaemin spectates the whole thing from afar so that he can swoop in at the end to play your knight in shining armor.

"oh, you poor thing. do you need help?"

the first time you accepted his "help" you ended up in a supply closet near the gym during your free period, cornered and weak as your cries for help drowns under the squeaking of shoes and the booming sounds of rubber balls hitting the floor.

if it weren't for jeno appearing out of thin air and prying the boy off of you, you would've been painted blue and red from the death grip he had on your wrist, neck, and waist.

you can still remember feeling the soreness of your scalp from when he pulled your hair too hard. remembered feeling his teeth gnawing at your lips as if he wanted to tear them off.

that time hadn't been the first time you saw jeno. you've shared a few classes with him and it strikes you how polar opposites they are with one another.

while jaemin likes to bask in his professor and classmates' recognition by confidently reciting his answers, jeno would rather keep to himself. liked sitting at the last row, near the window, so he'd be the first to go once the professor ends their lecture. while jaemin loved the attention of his fangirls, jeno preferred solitude. while jaemin is impulsive and wild, jeno liked to think things through.

it was within these reasons that you decided to do what you did. but your judgement of character has never been more wrong.

you approached jeno one day in the library, tried to make yourself appear as stoic and confident as possible. but your constant slouching and averting eyes was a dead giveaway.

you came to talk to him about what jaemin has been doing, hoping there's one person left in this entire school that isn't under the cheer captain's trance. the one reasonable person that has already saved you once and (hopefully) is willing enough to save you again. the only one that probably has a certain level of control over jaemin, if the supply closet incident is anything to go by.

but you've overestimated lee jeno.

"you should've just given jaemin what he wanted."

"but—but aren't you two lovers? isn't it bothering you?"

you try baiting him, only for an uncomfortable shiver to start crawling down your spine when he chuckled humorlessly, pushing his school materials to the side while pinning you with an unreadable stare.

how can a person make someone feel so small just by a gaze alone? it was nothing like you've felt with jaemin. this is way worse.

"the only thing that's bothering me is why you're not ours yet."

you feel cold fingers creeping their way under your shirt, going higher and higher until it brushes against your bra. and when your eyes meet, the look on his face was unmistakable—what are you going to do about it, huh?

you stood up in lightning speed, the chair you've been sitting on scraping loudly against the floor.

you've never ran out as fast as you did.

and jeno swears it'll be the last.

you tried everything in your power to ignore them for the next following weeks but it soon became useless when the two boys took it upon themselves to give you your space.

although judging by the pinpricks you feel on your back, and the constant weight of a stare you feel on your shoulders, you knew they weren't done with you yet. far from it. and for some reason, you just knew they wanted to lull you into a false sense of security first before striking again.

and while they continued to ogle at you from afar like a hawk circling its prey in a desert, you took it upon yourself to return the favor. not because you were the slightest bit interested in those creeps but maybe, just maybe, if you look hard enough you'll find a way out, a weakness.

but what you realized made your insides churn in great discomfort—although it may seem that jeno holds the reins in the relationship since his reserved nature fits the role, it's actually the other way around.

jaemin might appear too self-centered, too focused on himself to give a fuck about his surroundings but in actuality, he has quite a knack for reading people. even more so than jeno. and it was scary how he used it to his advantage, and paired up with his devoted fangirls? it was hell on earth.

you found it alarming how the two seem to magically appear wherever you are.

although you weren't in the least bit surprised. for some reason, you can't take your eyes away when jaemin's devotees flock around him (and jeno) in a circle.

it almost reminds you of a shoal of piranhas, waiting for their meal to drop into the water before ripping it to shreds with their teeth. only their "meal" isn't actual flesh but the carefully crafted words jaemin says that drive them into a sick frenzy.

one that has them doing everything in their power to satisfy him like the loyal dogs they are.

so this was how he got them to bully you?

"oh, that? don't worry! yangyang just ran into me during cheer rehearsal. no biggie. my cheek stung a little bit, though…" is what he said but really he's telling them "scruff him up a bit for me, why don't ya?"

"of course, i can't be the best all the time. haechan is just too good, maybe even better than me…" is what he said but really he's telling them "can you remind him where his place should be?"

all the while jeno did nothing to hold him back.

no matter how wrong jaemin is, how much of an asshole he is, jeno will stick by his side through and through. so as much as jaemin is a puppeteer that gets a kick for controlling people, jeno is as much at fault for looking the other way.

because in jeno's perspective, why the fuck would he do shit when he can just get off from the entertainment that comes with jaemin's sweet little mind games?

we lost :(

you had been busy sorting through paperwork for one of your professors in the faculty when your friend texted you the results of the intercollegiate cheer dance competition. a frown paints your face, heart feeling heavy at the bad news.

in all honesty, you still supported the pep squad—you just hated the captain and his boyfriend. they've been practicing non-stop for this and prior to the weeks of the competition, jeno looked a lot more tense and jaemin less smiley than usual. you swore you even saw the latter snap at one of his fangirls.

not to mention, they paid less attention to you, too, and it was the best three weeks of your life.

tension starts rising in your shoulders, fingers absentmindedly running through the edge of the papers you had been sorting until you became immersed with your thoughts.

jaemin must be in the worst mood yet.

and jeno too, probably. if anything, that guy gets triggered the most when something bad happens to jaemin or when he catches snippets of people talking shit about his oh so "perfect" boyfriend.

jeno is a lot scarier when jaemin is in one of his mood swings, you noticed. he steps up in the relationship to offer comfort to the other boy and for outsiders? it isn't a great experience to go through—being on the receiving end of jeno's ice cold stare is a position you don't want to find yourself in after that time in the library.

he is still as much a threat to your peaceful life like his lover.

you snap out of it when the blinding headlights of a vehicle seep through the closed blinds. you hear the gentle hum of an engine switching off as the headlights vanished as quick as they had appeared. that must be the cheer squad's bus.

as you look around the empty faculty room, something in your gut tells you to ditch file sorting duty for professor kim tonight and fucking get the hell out of campus grounds as quick as you can.

after haphazardly throwing the unsorted papers back into the cabinet, you groan aloud when the keys to the office drop out of your skirt’s pocket.

the indoor gym where the cheering squad practices is right across the hallway. you sure as hell don't want to bump into jaemin. or jeno, too, if he had decided to ride along the cheer squad's bus on the way home.

you kept looking for the keys underneath the cubicles, cursing aloud when you heard the telltale squeaks of shoes rubbing against linoleum. you almost hit your head against a table when you quickly got back up your feet, darting forward to shut the lights for the faculty room.

they can't know you're here. alone. and if it meant sitting in the dark for a few hours 'till they leave, meant going back home a little later than usual is what you have to do then so be it.

you try not to react so violently when the door you're leaning on jolts when someone from outside slams their back against it.

"it's not like we didn't do our best, right guys? i don't have regrets. it might sound fucking cheesy and although i'm sad myself, atleast we did what we can."

it's jaemin. his voice clear as day.

you try peaking, craning your neck up from your place on the floor. only to see the back of his head leaning against the glass section of the door. someone else joins in on the conversation, followed by coach park himself, and you slowly tune out whatever they're saying as you stealthily start scanning the faculty room.

you curse under your breath. is there no other exit other than this door? jesus christ! even classrooms in this university had two doors—

"what are you doing here?"

the switch flickers on, basking the once dark room with light. only when you hear an echo of your name being called, did you snap out of it and quickly picked yourself up from the floor.

"i said, what are you doing here?"

their coach asks, drilling the question as he looks at you skeptically with his arms crossed. you try not to look at the people behind him.

particularly, not at his cheer captain standing on his right.

particularly, not at jeno, who stands out like a sore thumb with his blue hair, a protective arm snaked around jaemin’s shoulders.

this isn't your lucky day, too, you guess.

"i was…" you cursed yourself for stuttering. "i was, uhm, i was file sorting for prof—professor kim, sir."

coach park looked like he didn't believe you as he narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. your nerves are going haywire and you can feel the sharp pins of their stare with how close they are.

you kept juggling your weight with the balls of your feet, hands fisting and unfisting behind your back. you want to leave. you have to leave.

"file sorting… in the dark?" he asked incredulously.

fuck this.

"uhm, you can ask professor kim himself tomorrow, coach. for now, uh, i'll be going now. i'm sorry you guys lost…"

originally, the exit is on the right side, at the end of the hallway. but no, you are not going to pass by those two while on your way out so you ducked behind a random student standing on the coach's left instead and practically ran away from the scene.

everyone had been too busy. too busy looking at your retreating form to even notice jaemin and jeno exchanging glances, too busy to notice the latter untangling himself from their captain to slip away unnoticed, his hurried steps filled with a burning purpose.

you didn't know why you ran, but you did. your shoes practically booming against the floor as you sped away through darkened hallways. you're sweating profusely, heart hammering in your chest. you can worry about professor kim tomorrow but right now you just had to—

"why are you in such a rush, pet?"

crashing into jeno felt like crashing into a wall. if it hadn't been for his arm quickly wrapping around your waist, then you would've landed on your butt before him.

with the small distance between the two of you, jeno could see as clear as day through your eyes.

jaemin was right.

it was addicting to stare into them.

especially when he can see every single one of your thoughts flying through your pretty little head. but hey, it wasn't their fault you were so easy to read.

jeno barely conceals the wicked smirk on his lips when your hands come up to his chest, trying to push him away but to no avail.

he can see your eyes shifting from shock, to confusion, until it finally settles on fear—to which it's slowly becoming a favorite emotion of his to see on your face.

"you know, jaemin is in a really shitty mood right now. and we were wondering, maybe you can cheer us up?"

no. this can't be happening.

"jeno, please." your dilated eyes and disheveled hair made his blood run south. "let me go. you don't want me. you don't need a third party in your relationship."

you yelp when he lets you go, literally shoving you against a wall—which you found out is actually a door, as it swings open as soon as your body crashes against it.

with jeno looming unforgivingly before you in his full height, the tears stung extra hard but you won't let them fall.

if he wanted to bask in the image of your weakness then it'll be something you'll deprive from him for as long as you can.

"i don't need a stupid bitch like you to tell me what i feel." he scoffs. "don't fucking kid yourself, you little whore—i don't want you. i'm not jaemin."

the echo of the classroom door shutting closed surged through you like a wake up call.

this is really happening.

you've always led a decent life, had done nothing too questionable and you've always thought maybe life will spare you if you lived quietly enough. but the feel of jeno's freezing hands crawling against your skin felt like life itself had spat at you in the eye and left you to rot in a ditch.

"i've always liked how you wore skirts," he comments. playing with the ruffled hem of the soft fabric as he purposely grazed his knuckles against your supple thighs. "gives me easy access, don't you agree?"

you scream when he flips your skirt up to reveal the innocent pink of your cotton panties. it was as if a switch had flipped inside of you and the will to fight started coursing through your veins.

"stop! jeno! i don't want this!"

his brows furrow, grunting as he struggles to push the waistline of your skirt up higher with how much you're thrashing underneath him. you buck your hips, tried curling in on yourself, anything to prolong what he wants to do to you.

with your legs trapped underneath his, you blindly reach forward, relying on your upper body instead to push and scratch whatever your palms and nails reached.

you continue screaming like a banshee until he shoved two fingers into your wet cavern.

"stop fighting me," he sounded strained, as if he's holding himself back. you feel him fisting the fabric of your skirt and you fear he's simply going to rip it apart.

you tried responding to him, only the sound had been muffled, gurgled by the flat of his fingers pushing down against your tongue mercilessly. when you reach forward to push him away, your hands land on the apple of his cheeks, nails digging through skin.

until it slips and—

you lie rigid when red scratch marks in the size of your fingernails slowly appear on jeno's skin, his head turned to the side as he paused. your actions slowly start sinking in to him as he shuts his eyes and bit his lip 'till it looked like it was about to bleed.

oh no.

"jeno—"

the slap he planted on your cheek left your ears ringing. all those hard earned muscles of his put to good use—if the tears hadn't fallen for the last few minutes, then it definitely started falling now.

the hit had been so strong, a few of your hair flew astray, the buzzing feeling of your skin tempting you to reach a hand up to soothe your abused cheek.

until jeno let out a low growl and your hand immediately drops limp against your body, afraid of whatever else he can do to you other than a slap.

"that's more like it," he whispers under his breath. you let out the tiniest of whimpers when his hand darts forward to fist your hair. "do you know what happens to bad girls? they fucking get busted up. do you understand me?"

his patience is nonexistent.

jeno slams your head against the floor when you don't answer because you thought his question had been rhetorical. it felt like your skull had been split in two as you wail in pain.

"are you fucking deaf—i asked you a fucking question!"

the hand that cups your jaw is painful as he squeezed your cheek with his blunt nails. your hand shoots up to wrap around his wrist, silently pleading for him to let up as you sobbed out loud. you started nodding as best as you can despite his firm grip on your face.

your reply was nothing short of pathetic. with lips forcefully pursed and the steady stream of your tears and snot rolling down your face, your response is gargled and hardly incoherent and jeno seemed to thoroughly enjoy your anguish if the condescending curl on his lips is anything to go by.

"look at you," he whispers, his face coming close to yours as he holds you down. there was something in the way jeno stared so intently that it made your skin crawl.

"i think you're prettiest when ruined like this."

with his nose touching yours, he felt too close, bordering on intimate as you felt his hand creep back up your thighs, trailing up with feather-like touches that made goosebumps appear on your skin.

you tried wiggling your legs underneath him but one sharp look from jeno is enough to make you stop.

the hand holding your face moves. coming down from gripping your face to encircling his hand around your neck.

"do you like it when i touch you? freaky bitch."

his hands trail further up, up, up until you felt him slotting a finger underneath your panties.

jeno didn't like how frozen you were underneath him as he pulls at the hem before letting go. the elastic snapping back against your skin.

the action evokes a strong feeling through the young male, promising to have you writhing and screaming and begging because by the end of all this, you'll be so needy and frustrated that you will have no choice but to give in to what your body wanted.

"jeno, didn't i tell you to play nice?"

someone stands by the door, the minimal light from the hallway creating a silhouette with his form but you knew who he was. that deep voice, with the same annoying flippant tone, is a dead giveaway.

you didn't know why you even hoped in the beginning. as if there'll be someone who can save you from these two.

you thought the flash of hurt in your eyes was quick to disappear but jeno noticed it quicker.

in a span of seconds, he pulled you up from your position from the ground and tugged you towards his lap. you haven't even gotten the time to settle on your new position when he already smashed his lips against yours.

it was messy. too much saliva. too much teeth. no tenderness to it at all.

the fabric of his jeans felt rough, not to mention the ice cold belt buckle made you severely uncomfortable as it seeps through the thin fabric of your skirt.

when you attempt to hover over his lap, jeno grunts as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back down without your lips breaking away from each other. you didn't know why he let out a whine, but you understood the moment you fully sat down on his lap and you felt a tent on his jeans hitting your clothed entrance perfectly.

in a normal circumstance, you would've found everything hot and might've actually gotten off from it but not when it's him who’s doing this to you and you didn’t consent to any of this.

you start squirming again. palms lying flat against jeno's chest as you attempt to push him away and jaemin sees this as the opportune moment to slot himself behind you, caging you in between them.

“i want my turn,” he hisses and without an ounce of hesitation, jeno stops to do what he's told.

jaemin doesn't waste any second to grab your face, awkwardly craning your neck up to meet his lips in the same feverish kiss.

while jeno had been all teeth and aggression, practically forcing you to open your mouth and kiss him back, jaemin on the other hand is more soft, more romantic, you daresay. he seemed to like taking his sweet time by clutching your face, kissing you like he actually meant it.

he pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against yours as he murmurs something incoherent under his breath and then he's kissing you again.

you think you heard something along the lines of, "finally."

you've been too distracted by jaemin to notice jeno's nimble fingers quickly fumbling with the buttons of your blouse. it was only when you feel the sensation of his tongue laving against the swell of your breast did you turn away from jaemin, jerking backward in surprise.

"no—!"

your scream is cut off by a hand cupping your mouth. jaemin pulls your back towards his chest, molding your body against his as jeno licked and suckled all he wanted, thankful to have the other boy there to not worry about restraining you and keeping you quiet while he has his fun.

"ah, ah, ah," jaemin teases, going hard over the pleading and teary look you sent his way. it looked pathetic, he wasn't going to lie, but it doesn't mean he didn't love it. "just keep still and appreciate jeno's efforts to take care of you, alright baby?"

you don't like how he talked as if this was all a mutual thing, how he talked slowly like you were some toddler who didn't understand anything.

it's cruel how jaemin giggled and basked in your vulnerable state as he kept his eyes pinned on you while undoing the zipper of your skirt. your muffled cries of his name only serving to egg him on.

the way he stared was similar to jeno, too intently and intrusive, like he wants to burn your image of despair in the back of his head.

you whined involuntarily when jeno got bored of all the licking and thus decided to start biting and nipping at your chest instead. he was hypnotised by how responsive you were, how every little bite and nibble made you shudder.

it was a shame that jaemin had to cover your mouth. he didn't get to hear your pretty mewls but it wasn't as if he'd let the night end without hearing them loud and clear.

jaemin is fast in undressing you, feeling slightly betrayed by how quick your skirt and blouse fell under his hands.

you know what he wants, what he's going to do, and the tears fall harder when you can't dodge away from him. forced to endure and accept whatever they give you.

"you act like you don't like it but look how fucking wet you are," you bit your lip hard when jaemin starts circling the pads of his fingers against your clit, fascinated by how more juices streamed down your thighs.

"jeno, do you see this? fuck."

you can only blink in defeat, staring off to the side as you force down any noise bubbling up your throat, forcing yourself to think of anything else other than what's happening right now.

you try not to think about how they managed to tear all of your clothes off while they're left completely dressed. tried not to think about the fingers lazily drawing up and down your slit to collect your essence.

if they're doing this as a way to further humiliate you, it's working.

"slut," jeno mocked, a wicked curl on his lips when he wraps his fingers around your throat. the moment he dives down to claim your lips again is the same time jaemin pushes two fingers inside you.

"look at how wet you are because of me," jaemin whispers hot against your ear and you feel a sick churn in your stomach when you feel his smile against your skin.

he purposely drives his fingers in and out quicker, settjng a brutal pace, wanting you to hear the lewd squelching sounds. "hear that? do you hear that, darling? that's because of me—"

"don't go talking big now, jaem," jeno retorts, pulling away from your lips to start nibbling on the back of your ear. "i was here first. did you see how she fucking reacted when i sucked on her tits?"

you're quick to catch how jeno particularly loved degrading you. but how he talks about you as if you're literally not in front of him naked made you hit a new all-time low.

you felt… filthy.

his hands find purchase on your butt—only because jaemin has already claimed the front. for now.

you close your eyes tight when he painfully squeezes the flesh of your ass. you swear, his blunt nails will paint your skin black and blue.

"i'm the favorite!"

"i'm the favorite!"

as someone who's part of a varsity team, you already knew a competitive nature runs through jaemin's veins. but never had you thought jeno would share the same sentiment. once again they prove that they're cut from the same cloth.

all of a sudden it wasn't all about claiming you as theirs anymore rather it was all about who can make you moan the loudest, who can make you cum the most, who can make you feel the dirtiest you can be.

you're absolutely terrified for the hours to come.

thankfully, they have yet to ask for your verbal opinion or validation. they let your body do all the talking—every repressed shudder and sharp gasp is enough.

but it's game over once they pop the million dollar question.

"who do you like best?"

you don't want to find out the consequences if you actually answered their question because you didn't know what could be worse.

jaemin's manipulation or jeno's aggression?

but it was all normal. trial and error is inevitable in order to build and mold you into the ideal lover for the both of them.

because adding someone new to the mix has never been easy—after all, three's a crowd.

[honeypiehotchner]

Looking Too Closely (Bucky x Stark!Fem!Reader) -- part one

I know, I know. I just finished a 100k fic about Aaron Hotchner, I have another fic for him coming in May, and yet here I am, writing a Bucky Barnes fic. The Falcon and The Winter Soldier has done things to me, guys. I knew I was going to fall right back in love with Bucky and I totally did. So here’s this xx.

(Also, as for the timeline, don’t question it. I’m kind of imagining this on its own separate timeline, but I’ll pull details from everywhere)

Summary: You’re (possibly) Tony Stark’s daughter. You’re also (possibly) on the run from the law. What better place to show up than the Avengers Tower? [Oh and no Bucky in this one! He comes in part 2]

Warnings: angst, mentions of death (your mom), mentions of homelessness, Tony is kinda an asshole (but I still think it’s in character)

BUCKY BARNES MASTERLIST 

You weren’t going to come here.

It was a last-resort kind of option. A I-don’t-want-to-sleep-on-a-park-bench-(again) option. An is-going-to-jail-really-better-than-just-knocking-on-a-door? Kind of option.

Turns out, knocking on a door is better than going to jail. Especially when Tony Stark’s shocked face is almost as comical as your mom’s.

Currently, you’re soaking wet (damn skies decided to open up before you could get to the Tower) and sitting in Tony’s office while he paces and talks on the phone.

“Pepper, honey, I know this is bad timing, but I need you to pick up, okay? I have a kid here— Okay, she’s glaring at me, so not a kid— No, you know what? She is a kid and she’s getting water everywhere and she says she’s my kid and I’m two seconds from going into crisis mode.”

You and me both, you think to yourself. If you knew Tony was this much of a drama queen, you would’ve just gone to the police station. It was closer, anyway. Damn.

Tony ends the voicemail (which is his fifth one, you believe) and spins around to face you, a nervous smile on his lips. “Okay. How old are you again?”

“19,” you repeat tiredly. It was one of the first questions he asked you. “And I don’t actually know if I’m really your kid, okay? My mom says you are, but I don’t know.”

“Where is your mom?” His eyebrows raise like he’s brilliant and has found a way out. “Can you call her?”

“I don’t have a phone, but even if I did, no, I can’t,” you pause, rolling your eyes at his confusion. “She’s dead, Tony. She passed away last month.”

His confusion settles into shock. “Oh.”

“Oh is right,” you chuckle, ignoring your teeth chattering. “And trust me, I wouldn’t be here if I had literally anywhere else I could go.”

Tony opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by his phone. He hurriedly answers and returns to pacing. “Pepper! Hi!— Okay, slow down, yes I’m telling the truth! Why would I lie— Okay, that was one time. Listen, this time, I’m not lying.” Pause. “Yes, there really is a kid here. You’re serious? Okay, fine, hang on.”

You watch as Tony starts a video call, and then turns the phone around on you.

Pepper Potts’s eyes widen when she sees you staring back at her, a cold and shivering mess.

“Um, hi?” Your voice is small and wary.

“Shit,” Pepper replies, and Tony turns the phone back on his face.

“See? Not lying.”

“For God’s sake, Tony!” Pepper yells. “Get the poor girl some dry clothes! I’ll be there as soon as I can, but try not to freeze her to death before I can get there. Christ.” The call ends.

You muffle a giggle in your hand, looking up to find a tired stare from Tony. Your laughter ends and you mirror his expression. “I told you dude, if I had literally anywhere else I could go, I’d be there.”

“Homeless shelter?” Tony questions.

“A homeless shelter in New York? You mean a breeding ground for disease and sexual assault?”

Your blunt reply has Tony faltering, but he accepts it. “Right. Let’s just— Let’s get you into something dry and warm and maybe get some food in you.” His eyes graze over your form. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Do you really want to ask me that?”

He thinks it over, and nods. “Never mind. Follow me.”

You stand and follow him, leaving a trail of water wherever you step.

He grimaces, pausing in his steps to say, “FRIDAY, will you dry the floors in here before I get back?”

“Who the hell are you talking to—”

Your question is promptly cut off by a female voice answering Tony. “Yes, Mr. Stark.” The voice echoes all around and sounds human, but distinctly sounds like it isn’t.

“What the fuck was that?”

“FRIDAY,” Tony replies. “Stands for ‘Female Replacement Intelligent Digital Assistant Youth’. A mouthful, I know, so I just call her FRIDAY. She’s my AI and she’s all over this building.”

“She— Never mind,” you shake your head. “Cool. Weird, but cool. I guess.”

Tony smiles, but then continues walking, exiting his office.

You follow closely behind, trying not to get too distracted by everything you’re seeing. All you saw on the way up here was the lobby, the elevator, and then right into Tony’s office. Now, you’re seeing out glass windows and down into the rest of the Tower. You have a clean view into what looks like a lab, and you see a few people working in there, but they’re too focused to even bother looking elsewhere.

After stepping into the elevator with you, Tony says, “Wanda should have some extra clothes you can borrow and if not she can at least help you...find some.”

He eyes you like he doesn’t quite know what to do with you, which you think is remarkably humbling of him. Part of you expected (what with all the stories you’ve heard and read about him) that he would act like he knew exactly what to do — regardless of whether it was right.

Maybe he will act that way later, but right now he almost seems frightened, and it’s weirdly comforting.

“Wanda is one of the…” Tony pauses. “You know where we are, right?”

You raise one eyebrow. “You mean do I know this is the Avengers Tower and that the Avengers are real people?”

“Yes…”

“Then yes.”

“Okay,” Tony says, straightening and composing himself once more. “Wanda is one of the Avengers.”

“I know.”

Tony hesitates, and the elevator is still going. “You’re not some crazy fan, right?”

“Dude, I told you. If I had anywhere else to be, I would’ve gone there.” You shrug. “Yeah, it’s cool or whatever, but I’m not going to faint.”

“Good to know,” he says, though you faintly hear him mutter, “cool or whatever,” to himself.

Finally, the elevator stops and the doors open to a new floor, one that you quickly realize is what can be described as the residential area for the Avengers. Their rooms are on this floor, along with a kitchen and a living area of sorts — both of which are empty right now.

Tony notices you looking around and says, “Most everyone is out on a mission right now, so it’s just me and Wanda around.”

“Okay,” you say.

Tony takes you down a hall and around a corner, and stops at a door. He knocks a couple times and then says, “Hey Wan, it’s me and I have a...an issue that I need your help with.”

The door opens a moment later to reveal Wanda Maximoff, a younger woman closer to your age wearing a confused expression. “An issue?” She questions, and then her eyes land on you. “Oh, hi.”

“Hey,” you offer a small smile. “I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Wanda,” she replies, offering a smile in return. But when she looks at Tony, it drops. “What did you do?”

“Why does everyone always assume that I’ve done something?”

“Because when have you not done something?”

Tony pauses. “Fair point. Look, the kid needs some clothes, and I figured borrowing something old of yours would be more comfortable than Avengers workout gear.”

Wanda seems surprised Tony even thought of that. “Of course,” she looks at you. “You can take a shower to warm up, if you want. But I definitely have some clothes you can borrow.”

“Thanks.”

“Just uh…” Tony pauses, waving around like the words will appear in thin air. “Bring her to the kitchen when she’s done.”

“Standing right here,” you mutter, earning a laugh from Wanda.

“Go away,” she waves at Tony. “I’ve got this.”

Tony walks away, clearly elated to be rid of you and have you in the hands of a responsible adult that is not himself.

Wanda shuts her door with a roll of her eyes. “Sometimes I wonder how Pepper keeps him afloat,” she murmurs. “Anyway, on to you— Oh, before all that, I can read minds, but I am actively blocking that right now. I’ll try really hard not to be nosy, but don’t worry, I am really good at keeping secrets because of it.”

You can’t help but smile. “It’s okay. There’s not much that goes on up here anyway.”

She gives you a skeptical look. “I may not be listening, but the amount of energy I am using right now to not listen tells me that’s far from true.”

You just shrug in response, not wanting to get into it.

Thankfully, she keeps her promise and moves on, too, walking toward her closet. “I have loads of t-shirts and hoodies, skirts, too, but I do have some leggings. Do you have a preference?”

“Just whatever you’re comfortable with letting me borrow.”

Part of you thinks she read your mind, though, because she hands you leggings and a t-shirt, along with one of her many zip-up hoodies. You were silently wishing she wouldn’t hand you a skirt.

“My bathroom is just through there and there’s clean towels on the shelf if you want to shower.” Wanda smiles, gesturing toward the open door at the other end of her room.

“Thanks.” You walk over and quickly pee, not realizing until you entered that you’ve desperately had to piss this entire time.

You decide against a shower for the sake of not wanting to take up too much time, and not feeling up for being naked in a stranger’s shower (albeit a kind stranger).

After changing into Wanda’s clothes, and hanging your wet ones over the shower curtain, you go back into Wanda’s bedroom. She’s sitting on her bed, mindlessly moving a red ball of energy between her fingers and up her arms.

She smiles upon seeing you, but doesn’t drop the energy. “Feel better?”

“Yeah,” you nod, mesmerized by the glowing ball of red in her palms. “That’s so dope.”

“Dope?”

“Really cool,” you clarify.

“Oh,” she giggles, and the energy evaporates. “I think I’ve heard Peter say that a few times.”

You have no clue who Peter is, but you don’t question it. “Should we go out there?”

“Yes,” she slides off the bed. “I’ll come with you. Tony can be a handful.”

That’s what your mom used to say about him, too.

You follow Wanda silently out into the hallway, and as you both get closer to the living area and kitchen, you hear two voices this time. One is Tony’s and after a few more steps, you find out that the other voice is Pepper.

“You’re saying she just showed up out of nowhere?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying because that’s exactly what happened.”

“And she says you’re her father?”

“Allegedly,” Tony scoffs, resting his hands on the kitchen counter. “I don’t actually know. I can’t remember that far back.”

“How far back?” Pepper asks, arms crossed over her chest.

“She says she’s 19.”

“I’ll be 20 this year,” you interject, enjoying the way Tony fumbles and tries to put on his mask one more time.

“Hey kiddo,” he says. “This is Pepper Potts, she’s the one who wrangles me in.”

Pepper shakes her head before offering you a warm smile and her hand to shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m sorry you seem to be going through such a tough time.”

“It’s okay,” you say while shaking her hand. “I’m sorry for barging in and all. I didn’t know where else to really go.”

“Nope, that’s okay,” she assures you. “We’re going to get this figured out. Do you mind if you and I just talk for a minute?”

“That sounds good.”

“Awesome,” Pepper smiles. “Okay, Tony, just...go to the lab or something. But...go away.”

You and Wanda share a look as Tony saunters off, no doubt muttering under his breath.

“I’ll leave you guys to it,” Wanda says, gesturing between you and Pepper. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You too,” you smile. “Thanks again for the clothes. I’ll try to give them back soon.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Wanda shakes her head before heading back down the hallway to her room.

You’re left alone with Pepper, who doesn’t terrify you, but the prospect of what conversation is going to come next does.

“Do you want something to eat?” She asks. “I can order something while we talk.”

“Um...pizza?” It’s inexpensive and never fails you in terms of being able to eat it.

“Sure,” Pepper smiles gently. “What kind?”

After telling her your favorite toppings, the two of you take a seat on one of the couches. She finishes placing the order on her phone before she sets down the device and gives you her full attention.

“So. Tony told me your mom passed away,” Pepper pauses. “I’m really sorry for your loss.”

“It’s alright.”

“He also told me you didn’t show up with anything at all,” Pepper says. “Do you mind if FRIDAY does an identity check?”

“Is that like a background check?”

“Essentially, but it’s not that extensive. It’s just so we know the truth about who you are.” She pauses again, sensing your hesitation. “Unfortunately, it’s just a precaution we have to take.”

“Okay,” you agree, realizing you have nothing left to lose. “Uh, how do I…?”

“Right,” Pepper chuckles. “FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Ms. Potts.”

“Will you please do an identity check on…”

“Y/N M/N L/N.”

“One moment.”

“It should just take a few seconds,” Pepper explains. “Oh, and there will be a hologram that will appear— Right there.”

“Identity confirmed.”

The hologram appears in front of the TV, showing general information about you alongside a picture of you — a picture that you think is on your driver’s license, wherever the ashes of that is.

“Y/N M/N L/N, born to Isabella L/N in 2001 in a hospital in Newark, New Jersey. She was born and raised in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.”

Your eyes widen. “That’s weird.”

“Thank you, FRIDAY,” Pepper says, and the hologram disappears. “It is a little freaky. I’m still not totally used to all of Tony’s tech, but I’ve stopped worrying about it. Good news is, you are who you say you are.” She pauses. “But I do have to ask why you decided to show up here? You told Tony if you had anywhere else to go, you would’ve, so I understand.”

“It’s the first place I could think of,” you admit quietly. “I’ve been living on the streets for a few weeks now.”

Pepper pales. “You’ve been homeless?”

You nod. “Mom died in a house fire. It was our house. I was on a walk to the gas station to get her favorite candy bar because she had been having a rough time.”

“And she…”

“By the time I came out of the gas station, fire trucks were blaring past and I could smell the smoke. The flames were high enough to see from a mile away.”

“I...I am so sorry.”

You shrug, surprised you’re not crying. “Everything I had was in there, except the clothes I was wearing when I got here. She had my cell phone because we could only afford the one, but it burned, too. Everything burned.

“Anyway, she… She always told me Tony was my dad and I didn’t believe her, but then she showed me pictures of them together, and it made me believe her. So I figured coming here would be better than staying on the streets or going to another shelter.”

Pepper nods. “Okay, well, I’m glad you came here. I am. But...Tony can’t do anything for you if he isn’t your real father.”

“I understand.”

“We can do a paternity test,” she offers. “If you want to, I’ll get him to agree. It wouldn’t be the first one he’s had to do, but this one…this one would probably be the first I think he’d do willingly.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Really?”

She nods. “The others have been infants and the mothers have mostly been after money. The paternity tests were used in court.”

Your eyes widen. “I do not want to go to court.”

“You won’t,” she says. “The test could be done here and kept between the three of us. But, until then, it is up to Tony what he wants to do — whether or not he wants to let you stay. I’m not saying I will allow him to kick you out, but if he doesn’t want you to stay here, I will do everything I can to make sure you are somewhere safe.” She pauses, watching your expression as it changes. “I’m sorry if this sounds so harsh. It’s a recycled speech I’ve had to give a thousand times,” she laughs airily. “But I do mean it when I say I will make sure you’re safe. I don’t care if it comes out of my paycheck.”

“No, you don’t need to do that,” you start shaking your head, but she stops you.

“You are special, I can tell,” Pepper says. “And Wanda seems to like you, which is telling. In the time that she’s been here, it hasn’t been easy to get her to open up to others.”

You felt comfortable around Wanda, too. The same kind of comfortable you feel with Pepper right now.

Before anything else can be said, footsteps are heard and the smell of pizza fills your nostrils.

“Did you order me pizza? You’re too kind, Ms. Potts,” Tony’s voice floats from the hallway before he enters the living room, pizza box in hand.

“Actually, it’s for Y/N,” Pepper says.

“It’s fine,” you wave them off, but neither of them let it slide.

“Nope,” Tony says, placing the box down on the table in front of the couch. “I’ll get plates. You’re eating.”

“But if you—”

“Ah-ah,” he holds up his index finger, raising his eyebrows. “No arguing.”

“Seriously?” You deadpan, rolling your eyes.

You open the box and pull out a slice while he’s busy wasting time getting plates. When he returns, he hands you a plate, even though you won’t use it. He plops down next to Pepper and grabs a slice, shoving half of it in his mouth.

“Want some?” He gestures the half-eaten slice toward Pepper.

She shakes her head. “No, it’s your favorite, not mine.”

Your chewing slows. “It’s your favorite?”

“Yeah,” Tony replies, eating the other half of his slice.

“It’s my favorite, too,” you reply slowly, reaching for a second piece.

Tony smiles, grabbing a second slice, too. “You’ve got good taste, kid.” He takes less of a big bite this time. “So, what’s the consensus? How much money do you want?”

“Tony—” Pepper starts, but he doesn’t let her finish.

“Or, let me guess, paternity test. And money. College? I can give you a scholarship.”

With every word that falls from his lips, you get more and more angry.

“Or are we just waiting for the police to pick you up? I have to admit, that’s boring, but if that’s what we’re doing—”

“That is enough,” Pepper hisses.

“Um,” you swallow the bite of pizza that you had in your mouth. “Thanks for the pizza and...dry clothes and the talk, but I’m gonna go.”

“Y/N--” Pepper tries.

“No, it’s fine,” you shake your head as you stand. “It’s okay, it was a bad idea anyway. Don’t worry about the test, I mean, I’m an adult anyway, it’s not like it would make any difference.”

“She has a point,” Tony adds.

You ignore him. “I’ll just...yeah.”

The two of them are still bickering when you run off, toward the elevator. The doors open quickly and you let the elevator swallow you whole.

You were stupid, so stupid for coming here. You would’ve been better off on another park bench or something.

When the elevator reaches the lobby, you’re running out as fast as your feet will carry you.

+++

You’re thankful for Wanda’s hoodie when the cold wind of New York starts biting into your skin. It’s a miracle to find an open park bench, and it’d be a miracle if it could be a few degrees warmer outside, but you know that’s asking for way too much.

Still, you try to relax and rest. You have no clue where to go from here. Maybe back to a shelter, but the idea of that makes your body shiver for a different reason other than the cold.

You zip the hoodie up to your chin and wrap your arms around yourself, keeping the heat in as much as you can. Eventually, because of the exhaustion, you find yourself drifting off.

When you wake, it’s with a jolt because the empty seat next to you on the bench is now filled.

“What do you want?” After realizing the person is none other than Tony Stark, you can’t be bothered to be polite.

“For you to come back to the Tower before it starts raining.”

You sit up straighter, shaking your head. “No thanks. Did Pepper put you up to this?”

“Actually, I put myself up to this,” he replies. “I was a jackass. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it, kid.”

“Maybe stop calling me ‘kid.’”

“I will when you quit acting like one.”

You lift your head to glare at him. “That’s a low blow. Even for you.”

“I just want you to come back to the Tower with me,” Tony says. “I’m sorry. It was a low blow, and so was everything else I said earlier. But I refuse to let you sleep here when there’s a perfectly fine and vacant room at the Tower. Right next to Wanda’s room.”

You mull it over for a second. The mention of Wanda is enticing because despite today’s circumstances, she did seem kind and harmless. The two of you seemed like you could get along well, too, which is rare for you — and her, apparently.

“Fine,” you cave. “But only because this bench is uncomfortable as hell.”

Tony sighs, but doesn’t comment on that. Instead, he stands, gesturing for you to follow, and you do. “Okay, come on. I parked over here.”

“Parked?”

“Yeah, ki— You walked a good thirty minute drive from the Tower.”

“Oh.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “But it is about to rain, so.”

He clicks something and what was once a black smudge in your vision suddenly lit up as the car’s engine roared to life, turning the headlights on, too.

You can’t help but scoff.

“What?” Tony asks through a laugh. “It’s my car.”

“It’s so flashy.”

He accepts it. “Fair point.”

You have no clue what make or model the car is, but regardless it’s too sleek and too low to the ground. Thank God you aren’t driving.

You hop in the passenger seat, unashamed that you want to get out of the wind. Tony silently turns the seat warmers on when he gets in.

After driving for a few minutes, Tony breaks the silence.

“I need to call Pepper to let her know I found you,” he says, and without another word, the car begins calling Pepper. Well, FRIDAY does, because she’s in his cars, too.

Pepper picks up almost immediately. “Please tell me you found her.”

“I did, Pep.”

“Thank God,” she says, exhaling deeply. “Is she in the car? Y/N?”

“I’m here,” you speak up.

“Good,” she replies. “I was scared he made you angrier instead of apologizing.”

You’re still angry with him, but you don’t say that. “He apologized.”

“Good,” Pepper says. “Drive safe, Tony, please.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll only go ten above the speed limit.”

“Tony—”

“Call disconnected.”

“Oops,” Tony says. “Do you want a milkshake? Late night snack?”

“I’m good.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugs, speeding up.

+++

You got a milkshake.

Not because you really wanted one, but because Tony ordered you one anyway. He guessed your favorite — it’s the same as his, but still — and didn’t let you argue. And you’re not one to let something go to waste if it’s right in front of you.

Pepper and Wanda look more than relieved when you enter the Tower beside Tony, milkshake still in hand.

“I have returned with the… With Y/N.”

You roll your eyes.

“Thank you,” Pepper says, but she still gives Tony a glare. When she looks back at you, her expression is soft. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “I won’t stay for long, I promise.”

Pepper shook her head. “You can stay for as long as you need to. There’s no sense in you sleeping anywhere else when there’s a room here you can have.”

“I could use the company,” Wanda adds, smiling gently. “If you want.”

You smile in return, but you’re still wary. You look at Tony to see what he thinks, but to your complete surprise, he doesn’t look angry or anything.

“As long as you don’t ask for an entire floor, you can stay,” he says.

That’s about as good a response you’re going to get out of him, it seems, so you accept it.

[elftwink]

no thoughts only taakitz superhero/villain coffeeshop au. taako’s power is shapeshifting but he has a cool gun from lup. kravitz’s power is Big Fuckin Scythe With Unspecified Abilities. also there was no time to get into it but fantasy starbucks isn’t a real starbucks it’s a borderline illegal unaffiliated bootleg starbucks that taako and lup own. like dumb starbucks was.

By all rights, it should have been a fairly routine night for the Reaper. Go out, stop some crimes, arrive just in time to prevent whatever scheme the Mongoose had cooked up this week, exchange some one liners, make some threats that essentially amounted to ‘same time next week?’, the works. A regular Tuesday as a superhero in Neverwinter.

But Kravitz is tired, and more than a little distracted, so he’s not doing so hot on the one liners, and the Mongoose’s attacks are a little closer than they would normally be. He doesn’t even have a good excuse, it’s not like he’s injured, or that he has anything pressing to think of.

It was just— this morning his barista (who he may or may not have been harbouring a small crush on) had mentioned offhand that he thought the Reaper was ‘probably hot under the stupid all-black getup’, and Kravitz didn’t really know what the protocol was for someone complimenting your alter-ego was.

“I think if you were gonna go for the strong silent type, you had to start doing it months ago. Now it’s just acting like an asshole. Are you mad at me?” the Mongoose cuts into his thoughts, firing off another few missiles from his stupid umbrella gun (Umbrastaff, he called it, although it was a gun and not a staff so Kravitz had no idea why he insisted on calling it that).

“We are literally fighting as we speak,” says Kravitz, playing up the cockney accent, spinning his scythe to deflect the missiles off the blade, sending them ricocheting around the room. He’d said something like ‘how can you tell’ to Taako— the barista (well, they’d been on a first name basis for a few weeks, so, Taako), and he’d said ‘I can just tell’ which was not at all helpful in getting Kravitz through the conversation without saying or doing something to give himself away.

He’d almost given Taako his number, but how was he going to justify that? Hey, it’s me under the all black getup. Do you want to go out sometime? As if.

“You can have fights without being fuckin’ rude,” says the Mongoose, firing off another few rounds, which Kravitz deflects again, advancing on him.

“You’re right, sorry. I’m a bit scattered. Not exactly my A game.” As if to prove his point, the Mongoose easily dodges his next couple swings with the scythe, not even bothering to leave his range.

“Clearly. I mean, normally you’re at least close enough that I can feel the breeze from your sword.”

“It’s not a sword, and you know that.” Kravitz brings down the scythe in the space where the Mongoose was only seconds before, having already backflipped out of the way and landed a few metres back. Show off. Not that Kravitz had room to complain about that. The Mongoose spins to face him again, at least this time seemingly aware of what a close call that was. He’s tense, and his hair, which Kravitz supposes has thus far been hidden underneath his costume, has come somewhat unravelled, black braid falling to the middle of his back.

It seems... familiar?

He doesn’t have time for that right now. Kravitz draws back the scythe, feeling the hum of energy under his fingers, swinging again, and—

“Wait! Time out!” the Mongoose puts up a hand and Kravitz, for who knows what reason, stops his scythe mid-swing. The familiarity sticks, so it’s not just a trick of the light. It takes him a second to place, but the hairstyle... it looks a lot like a certain barista he’d been spending all night thinking about.

He shakes his head, trying to clear it. It’s because he has Taako on the brain, is all. Besides, he has other things to worry about besides seeing his crush in his enemy. Namely the fight currently happening with said enemy. “What? You can’t call a time out.”

“I just did,” says the Mongoose, fishing through his pockets and pulling out several bobby pins, sticking them in his mouth so he can use both hands to fix his hair. Kravitz blinks, still trying to shake off the sense of deja vu, but it won’t quit nagging him. “It’s a whole safety issue to leave long hair down.”

“It’s still in a braid,” retorts Kravitz.

“Somebody never took Foodsafe.” the Mongoose gives him a lopsided grin that Kravitz fucking knows he’s seen before, and suddenly it’s more than just passing familiarity, and how could he possibly have not noticed before, and— the Mongoose finishes putting up his hair, raising an eyebrow at Kravitz and his private crisis. “Alright. Ready—”

“You work at Fantasy Starbucks,” blurts Kravitz, without even thinking about it. The Mongoose stops dead in his tracks, and Kravitz can see his eyes widen even behind the mask. He splutters for a moment, and then seems to find his footing, already ready with a snarky remark.

“Yeah, well— your accent is fake.”

Shit. He’d forgotten. At the only time so far that having it would have been useful too. Still, he pushes it out of his mind; the Mongoose hadn’t denied it. And, well, he’s already solidly derailed this fight, so he might as well get some real confirmation out of it.

“...Taako? It is you, isn’t it?”

“Just who the fuck are y—” The Mongoose— Taako— levels the Umbrastaff at him, and then stops again. “...Kravitz?”

Well. Shit. Again. Kravitz doesn’t bother to affirm that; his silence is more than enough confirmation. One of them has to say or do something, but the seconds stretch on.

“You’re telling me I said all that shit to your face this morning?” says Taako.

“That’s what you’re worried about right now?”

“Uh, yeah—” Taako is backing up now, and they’ve fought enough times that Kravitz knows when the Mongoose is looking for an escape route; Kravitz’s feet still feel glued to the floor, even when Taako reaches the window, fingers already turning to talons around the Umbrastaff. Taako breaks the glass (because of course he does, even though the windows aren’t even fucking locked), breaking eye contact with Kravitz in order to swing his legs through the window before his form changes too much. “Look, this is like, a lot right now, and I— I’m getting the fuck out of here,” he says, and then drops. Whatever had been keeping Kravitz in place, slack jawed, ends as soon as Taako leaves his sight, and he’s moving before he has time to think about it.

“Wait—!” Kravitz runs for the window, but by the time he gets there, the bird clutching the Umbrastaff is nearly out of sight.

Well. That could have gone better.

***

Kravitz doesn’t go for his coffee the next day. Or the next day, either, although the day after that he’s sick of making his own coffee. And frankly, he misses chatting with Taako. Even if the guy was trying to kill him like once a week. He couldn’t just avoid this forever.

Still, the fact that Taako is working cash when he comes in makes him want to turn tail and run back home. He conjures up the memory of yesterday’s shitty coffee and pushes onward. The shop is mostly empty still, so there’s no line.

“The usual?” says Taako, like nothing abnormal has happened.

“Please,” says Kravitz, and then, before he can chicken out entirely, adds, “Uhm, do you have a few minutes?”

“My shift isn’t over until—”

“I’ll cover you,” comes Lup’s voice from the back room; she pokes her head out and gives Taako a look that is clearly significant, but that Kravitz can’t quite puzzle out. “Take five minutes after you’re done making his coffee.”

Taako scowls at her, and she smiles brightly before heading to the back again.

“Okay. I guess I have five minutes. Talk to you after I make your coffee.”

Kravitz nods, and goes to hover around the pickup counter, pretending to be interested in things on his phone. Taako makes his coffee in a ceramic mug, which at least means he doesn’t want Kravitz to get the fuck out as soon as possible, so that’s... something.

Taako slides the finished coffee across the counter, circling around to join Kravitz on the customer side as Kravitz grabs the mug.

“Lup!” he hollers, and then starts walking towards one of the corner booths without checking to see if his sister is headed to cash or if Kravitz is following. Kravitz does, though, sliding himself into the seat opposite Taako, hands wrapped tightly around the mug.

Taako speaks first. “To be honest, I kinda thought you would rat me out.”

“That would be shitty of me, to just sic authorities on your place of work without so much as a warning.”

“So is this the warning?”

“No,” says Kravitz, taking a sip of his coffee, “I... can’t really make coffee without burning it. And this is the only place for miles with tolerable muffins.”

Taako cracks a grin, like Kravitz knew he would. “Flattery will get you nowhere.” His smile falls, and he crosses his arms and leans back. “So. Reaper. Why didn’t you rat me out?”

Why indeed. Kravitz takes another sip of his coffee and thinks for a second, not even sure himself what his explanation will be once he starts talking.

“It didn’t seem... fair. You’re less of a villain and more of a pain in my ass—” Kravitz ignores Taako’s indignant noise and keeps talking, “—and while we always have cause to fight when on the clock, you’re not doing anything that I feel needs to leave the bounds of those... work hours, I guess.”

Taako is trying to pick him apart with his gaze; it’s something he’s been subjected to several times, although normally in costume, and in retrospect it’s difficult to imagine how he spent so long not noticing the Mongoose in Taako.

Whatever Taako is looking for, he must find it, because he relaxes a bit, and shoots him a lazy grin. “Plus, Mongoose related insurance just got rolling and it would be fuckin’ rude to take me out of commission before anyone got to use theirs.”

Kravitz laughs. “Sure.” He’s silent for a second, before adding, “You aren’t planning on revealing my secret identity, are you? Awfully rude of you to double cross me like that.”

“Wha— You didn’t even give me a chance to respond! Maybe I wasn’t!”

“Were you?”

“I was,” admits Taako, not even pretending to look sheepish. Kravitz raises his eyebrows, and Taako shrugs. “Oh, like you didn’t think about revealing my secret identity? And could you imagine the hype if I unmasked the Reaper? I was tempted.” He sighs. “But I figured then you’d have no reason to keep my identity a secret. No way am I risking a backfire like that.”

It sounds callous, but Kravitz has been talking to Taako almost daily for months; at this point, he can pretty reliably pick up on when Taako isn’t being entirely truthful about something.

“Hmm. Then I suppose it’d be in my best interest not to tell you that I wouldn’t reveal your identity even if you revealed mine?”

Taako narrows his eyes. “Why not?”

Kravitz makes a face. “It’s just in poor taste. I just think we all go through all the trouble to hide who we are and use these powers for good— or whatever it is you do— that it’s always going to be such a low blow to reveal who we are. There might be times where it’s necessary, but petty revenge is not one of them.”

Taako’s expression hasn’t changed; if anything, he’s narrowed his eyes more. “God, you are like— fuckin’ irritatingly nice. Fine. I wasn’t going to reveal your identity. That would be fuckin’ annoying to deal with. Plus I’m having fun.”

“Fun?”

“Oh don’t— don’t fucking lie to me. I know you’re having fun out there too. With your stupid accent and one liners and shit.”

“Alright, alright,” says Kravitz, rolling his eyes. “But I’m not supposed to be having fun, so keep it quiet.”

“See, that’s why I market myself as a villain. No dumb rules.” He puts an elbow on the table and leans on his hand. “Why do you have a fake accent anyway?”

Heat rises to Kravitz’s face, and he’s hoping he looks less embarrassed than he feels. “It’s my— I do it so people don’t recognize my voice.”

Taako laughs. “Well, it doesn’t really do that if you immediately stop using it when you realize you might know someone.”

“I was caught off guard!” defends Kravitz. “It’s not every day you find out your nemesis is your barista.”

“Nemesis, huh?” Taako grins. “Didn’t realize it was that serious to you. You know I have other heroes to fight.”

Kravitz rolls his eyes again. “I don’t see how you have the time, considering how often you’re causing trouble for me.”

Taako laughs, and it’s so contagious and the whole conversation is so surreal Kravitz can’t help but laugh too, before they both lapse into a comfortable, if drawn out, silence.

“So, uh,” says Taako eventually, “what now?”

“Well,” says Kravitz, “I want to keep coming in for coffee in the mornings. And I assume the Mongoose will continue with... whatever chaos it is you currently have planned.”

“It’s not chaos,” insists Taako, “I have plans. But yeah. And I assume the Reaper is gonna show up and throw a wrench in those plans?”

“Yes, probably. So we’ll just be enemies by night...” Kravitz trails off, not entirely sure how to refer to their by day relationship. Friends? Potential love interests? Acquaintances? There’s a few seconds of awkward silence before Kravitz gives up entirely.

Taako pulls and pen and a napkin out of his pocket, jotting something down and pushing it towards Kravitz.

“Here’s, uh, here’s my number. If you give me a heads up five minutes before you get here, we can have your coffee ready by the time you walk in. If you’re nice to me out there.”

“I don’t take bribes,” says Kravitz, grabbing the napkin and pulling out his phone to type in the number.

“That wasn’t a bribe, it was a threat. You don’t even wanna know what I’ll do to your coffee if you fuck me up.”

Kravitz doesn’t bother to point out that neither of them have ever caused any extreme bodily harm to one another and instead says, “So you’re asking me to go easy on you? I thought you were having fun.” He sends Taako a ‘hey it’s kravitz’ text before he has time to second guess himself.

“Could you stop poking holes in my threats? You’re harshing my fuckin’ vibe, Krav.” He sounds irritated, but Kravitz can see the smile tugging at his lips as he texts Kravitz a couple of skull emojis. “I should get back to work before my sister kicks my ass,” he says, standing back up. “I’ll see you tonight, nemesis.” Then he turns on his heels and heads back to the counter, saying something to Lup as he walks by. Kravitz watches him disappear into the back room.

Tonight.

Kravitz had better make sure he had hung his cloak up to dry.