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fruitcoops · 3 years

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Hi Eve

It's been a while since we've seen hattie... do you think you'll bring her back? I'd love to read some soft Coops and Hattie fluff.

Or maybe angst and fluff?

Sure! I'm always down to write my girl :)) SW credit goes to @lumosinlove, but Hattie is mine!

TW for panic attack

It started almost as soon as Sirius put his keys on the countertop. He stopped in his tracks as a chill crawled up his spine and a nauseating stone fell heavy in his gut. They were bored.

The logical shreds of his thought process reminded him that no, James and Kasey were actually involved in the conversation, but—no. His palms were too hot on the cool marble counter. You always talk too much. Nobody can understand you.

The second you left, they actually started having a good time.

“Shit,” he hissed through clenched teeth as his vision began to tunnel, bracing himself on the kitchen island so he didn’t wobble and fall. He had taken his meds. He hadn’t dredged up anything particularly new or painful with Heather that week. He had done everything just right, and yet he could still feel the thick pressure in his throat building building building—

Sirius eased himself to the floor without opening his eyes; the lights were too bright for his pounding head and he knew that if he moved too fast, the nausea would only get worse. His chest was constricted to the point where he could hear his own lungs catching. Every inch of skin revolted against the fabric of his clothes.

“James invited me,” he said aloud, resting his forehead on the cabinet door. “He wanted me there.”

But Kasey didn’t.

Sirius took a shuddering breath in through his nose. “They both wanted me there,” he corrected, voice breaking. “And Kasey asked the question in the first place and I didn’t talk for that long—”

Any time is too long. You never make sense to anyone but yourself.

“—and they kept talking to me even after I was done.” Wet warmth trickled down his cheeks and he gripped the cabinet handle even tighter. Any anchor would do before his whole body floated away. The sheer size of the house he was in hit him like a truck; it was empty and lonely and cold. He hadn’t separated himself from the environment he was raised in one little bit.

It didn’t matter what James or Kasey thought, he realized as the ringing in his ears drowned everything else out and he leaned heavily on the wall for extra support. His mother’s words were cemented in his brain and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He deserved it, didn’t he? The second he accepted the spot as captain, every single one of his friends stopped caring about him. He became the cranky tyrant his parents had always wanted him to be. There was no hope to get back into their loyalty or their good graces. You brought this on yourself, he bit out in his head. It’s all your fault.

“No,” Sirius murmured, thudding his forehead against the cabinet. “No, no, no, no, no, I’m sorry.”

It felt like the world was crumbling around him. He had the sudden, terrible understanding that he was going to die right there on the kitchen floor with his lungs folding in on themselves and his stomach hurting and his head pounding and—

Something cold and wet prodded his arm. Sirius’ muscles were made of stone; he couldn’t even flinch at the strange new feeling as tremors rocked through his body. There was a soft whine and another poke, then the creature began snuffling his ear with far more intensity than he was prepared for. Confusion started to leak in around the edges of the banshee-cries in his head.

After one extended sniff by the hinge of his jaw, the fuzzy thing smacked him on the thigh with a more insistent noise of distress, and Sirius managed to release his shoulder joint enough to make room for it to worm its merry way right into his lap.

He stared at it. Large silver eyes stared back. “Hullo,” he managed thickly. It huffed, licked a truly incredible stripe of slobber from his chin to his eye, then rested its nose on his shoulder with a long sigh.

And to Sirius’ astonishment, the shakiness in his abdomen eased. His mother’s voice quieted by a degree; the feeling returned to his toes in pins and needles once he began to match his breaths to the steady rise and fall against his chest.

His fingers creaked as he peeled them off the cabinet handle, but he managed to find his way to the soft black fur making itself at home in the hollow between his body and the wood. Gentle, he reminded himself on instinct. Gentle scratches just by her belly, then up to her shoulder blades.

Sure enough, Hattie gave a happy little wiggle in response. Her pointed ear tickled the side of his face as he leaned into her. Sirius’ heart rate calmed.

“Mon chou,” he mumbled once his voice decided to work again, wrapping his other arm around her in a loose hug. She pulled back to nose around his face and lick at the tearstains streaking his face until an inexplicable laugh bubbled out of him—her tail thumped on the ground and she pawed at his chest. Sirius’ bit his lip and buried his face in the thick ruff at her neck, holding her closer than she usually enjoyed but enough to feel the weight of her across his whole front while the dregs of his anxiety ran their course.

Hattie stayed perfectly still until the sobbing subsided and the shaky hand combing through the fur of her back flattened. Her light rumbles took the place of every screeching thought in Sirius’ mind.

“Good girl,” he finally said, wiping the tears away on his shoulder so he could give her some ear scratchies at the same time. “Good girl, Hat Trick. Mon petit chou. Je t’aime. Merde, you’re such a good dog.”

Her tail continued to wag, but she just watched him with that same easy gaze.

“You can get up, if you want.”

Hattie yawned so wide she squeaked.

“I’m okay now.”

A car backfired outside and one ear pricked toward it. She didn’t so much as twitch from her spot in his lap.

Sirius closed his eyes again with a slow breath and wove his fingers through her dense undercoat, focusing on each silky strand. He still felt a bit sick and the nagging feeling at the back of his mind that told him James and Kasey didn’t really want him at lunch kept on pinching him, but it didn’t hurt as much. He was more tired than anything else. Something about Hattie’s soft fur under his fingers and her familiar weight on his shoulder eased the shrieking panic running riot through his veins and made something that usually had him on the floor for an hour almost…bearable.

“You’re my best girl, huh?” he asked her once he trusted his voice. “You know what best girls get? Treats.”

That got her attention. She let him up with little fuss, her nails tip-tapping in excitement on the floor as he steadied himself and padded over to the pantry. His muscles were weak and he was sweaty all over—she didn’t seem to care a bit as he took the treat bag out, grabbed a handful, and sat right back down to feed them to her one by one.

“Can you sit for me?” Hattie’s body was tense with barely-contained anticipation as she laser-focused on the last cookie and slowly settled her rear on the floor. “Good girl!”

Sirius didn’t even open his hand all the way before she launched herself back into his lap to claim her prize, coating his palm in a layer of slobber before planting herself in the cross of his legs as if she owned the place.

“That was a little much,” he informed her. “But you get a pass because you’re a very sweet puppy.”

Hattie pawed at him for a moment before squirming around to splay across his thighs in a dead-weight blanket, nestling her head in the crook of his knee with a grumble. Sirius paused as tears pricked his eyes again; the house was big, yes, but not empty anymore. Pictures lined the walls. The junk drawer was practically overflowing with trinkets that belonged to everyone he loved. And he had a dog, his dog, that would lay in his lap and never let him spiral into himself again.

Sirius leaned his head back against the kitchen island and closed his eyes, still running his hand in long lines across Hattie’s side as she dozed. A nap didn’t sound like such a bad idea, after all.

#sirius black #hattie #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #panic attack #coops

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and-knowing-is-half-the-battle · 3 years

Text

Winterrogation, Chapter 4: The Experiment

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Summary: The Winter Soldier has had his memory erased, but the doctor has a use for you yet.

Pairing: Winter soldier x fem!reader

Work Count: 1.6K

Warnings: sex pollen, minors DNI, dubcon/noncon, noncon exhibition, penetrative sex, rough sex, biting, fingering, humiliation, creampie.

A/N: Do not copy, translate, repost or rewrite my work, even if you credit me. I do not give my permission for my works to be copied or shared on other sites.

Picture source: bucky-daddy

________________________________________________________

You had sat alone in the Winter Soldier’s quarters for at least a day. You were confused by the recent events between you, but now knew for certain that he was a prisoner as well. A dangerous one. Despite that, you had found yourself actively worrying about him after they had taken him away at gunpoint. And then there were the guttural screams you had heard. You didn’t sleep well, those screams hard to shake from your head.

During your boredom, you had started to leaf through his military strategy books, surprised when a small, white feather fell out of one. You admired it in the lamp light, it’s delicate tendrils long and soft. Maybe there was more to him than you had seen.

While staring at it for the thousandth time, you heard the bars being removed from the doors. You guiltily placed it back in the book and shut it, not wanting him to see you invading his privacy, despite staying in his room. You were surprised to discover two guards behind the door, who once again escorted you without explanation down the hall, holding you by your arms. You lost track of the turns, your heart racing with fear. You found yourself in a room with at least a dozen men milling around and a large observation window behind them. The guards pulled you out of the way, into the corner, and held you in place. You unconsciously craned to see around the men and through the window until one of the guards yanked you firmly back into place.

“Gentlemen, may I have your attention,” one middleaged man said, standing with his back to the window. The room stilled. “Today we have a unique opportunity to test what our research team has developed. We have long been curious about its effects on super soldiers,” he gestured behind him, and you could finally see a nearly empty room, excepting the Winter Soldier in a chair, back rigid, eyes forward.

“Administer the pollen,” he snapped his fingers in the air, and a man left the room, reappearing on the other side of the window. He approached the unflinching Winter Soldier and injected him in the neck with a red substance. “It should take around 5 minutes to take effect. Let us introduce the target,” he gestured again, and you felt yourself being pulled across the room. The guards pulled you through the door and shoved you inside before latching it behind you. You would still hear the man’s words, though it was muffled by the thick glass.

“The target is known to the Winter Soldier, but he has undergone a memory wiping as of yesterday. It is known that they are sexually compatible,” he went on as you struggled to process what you just heard, “now let us observe the results. The pollen has reduced regular men to lustful dogs,” he chuckled, and the room joined, “unable to find peace until they complete in a target, but let us finally see how a super soldier reacts.” You shuddered at their detachment and amusement at your predicament.

You could now see that there was also a metal table to the side, and you gravitated toward it, feeling vulnerable in the large open space. The Winter Soldier continued to sit at attention in the center of the room. Did he even hear what they had said? You decided to approach him, and did so cautiously. They had said his memory had been wiped, which you didn’t even know was possible, but they also said you had a few minutes before the pollen likely took effect.

As always, you were intimidated by his sheer size as you moved in front of him. His eyes took a moment, but seemed to focus on you. You stepped forward slowly, with your hands out in front of you, again feeling that you were approaching a large animal, rather than a man. You searched for any hint of recognition, but were disappointed to find none. Like he was looking through you.

“Are you ok?” you asked in a low voice, “Did they hurt you?” His face didn’t change, but something told you he could hear you. You took a risk and stepped even closer. You could hear his heavy breath and see his chest gently moving in and out. You swallowed thickly, unsure of how to address him, despite how intimate you had been. “Are you alright?” you tried again, afraid to breathe.

The change was sudden. His eyes darkening, his jaw tightening, and his fists clenching at his sides. His groan of pain rang off the walls as he closed his eyes and stood, the chair flung like a toy behind him. Fear ripped through your gut as he towered above you, but your feet felt cemented to the floor.

He groaned again, teeth bared in a grimace, muscles on his neck bulging. His chest heaved and his eyes snapped open, then found you.

Your feet mercifully began to work as you stumbled back, trying to escape. It took him one step to catch up with you, his large hand grabbing your arm and rooting you in place. You turned to face him, terrified of what you would see. You had seen him lustful before, but his eyes were feral. He pulled you into him, biting into your neck with force. You cried out in pain, trying to push away uselessly. While still clamped down on you, he grabbed the hem of your shirt and literally ripped it to the neck, his hands desperately seeking your skin. Despite yourself, you could feel a wetness grow between your legs.

Shit. You forgot he can smell it. He pulled back, forcefully pulling your tattered shirt away from you, then tearing at your pants. His flesh forearm pulled your lower back firmly toward him, allowing you to feel his giant bulge. He growled at the contact, rutting against you while he buried his face against your hair. Your face was pressed against his chest, and his smell overwhelmed you, woody and familiar.

He lifted you effortlessly by your ass, you instinctively wrapping your arms and legs around him to keep from falling. He crashed you onto the table and his face pushed into you, licking and biting along your neck, chest, and abdomen while his hands roamed hungrily. He bit onto your bra impatiently as he shoved his metal hand down your underwear, his fingers entering your pussy with ease. You moaned as he pumped them into you repeatedly, and your head fell back, feeling your self control start to unravel.

That’s when you heard the cheering. The men observing you were hooting at the sight before them, and your cheeks heated in embarrassment.

“Please, no,” you weakly begged as his thumb found your clit, circling it deliciously as he pressed his erection against your knee. When you tried to sit up, his flesh hand found your throat and held you down. This display of dominance worked against you as you felt a familiar warm sensation building deep inside you.

“Not here, not here,” you chanted, your vision starting to blur from his grasp. When his teeth pulled your bra down enough to find your nipple, you snapped, your orgasm coursing through you as you bucked in his grasp, wailing. As you came down, you heard lascivious commentary coming from the observation room.

“Did you see that?!”

“I’d like to try her next!”

“Doc, can I bring this stuff home to my wife?”

The Winter Soldier was unaffected by their noises, dropping his hands to pull at his pants. The button flew off, hitting the wall with an audible crack, as he revealed his impressive cock. You found yourself clenching at the sight of it, wondering if it had somehow gotten even bigger.

He pulled you roughly to the edge of the table and pushed your underwear to the side, entering you slowly and letting out a cry of relief as his head fell back. Your walls accommodated him as you gasped for air, totally stuffed full. You never got used to how he hit all your spots at once. It occurred to you in some corner of your already cockdrunk brain that you had never seen him this raw before. He was usually in complete control.

When he began to thrust, you melted onto the table, keening rhythmically as you held the edge to brace yourself. He held your hips tightly, going deeper and faster than you remembered, and you were lost, everything gone but the sensation. The table scraped loudly across the floor, inches at a time, until it hit the wall and there was nowhere else to go. His face was red and covered in a sheen of sweat, eyes screwed closed, mouth hanging open as he panted. You were mesmerized by his every twitch, drinking in how you could read him so well.

He reached his flesh hand down to play with your clit again, your moans becoming louder. You knew how he liked to feel you cum around him to push him over the edge. This time you paid the audience no mind as you arched, waves of pleasure crashing over you again and again. He groaned in appreciation as he came inside you, his hips eventually stilling. He leaned over you, both of you panting for a moment before he pulled out.

He seemed to come to his senses then, tucking himself quickly back inside his pants and backing away from you, not meeting your eyes. You pushed yourself gingerly off the table, testing your shaky legs.

“Well gentlemen, it would seem it has a strong effect, but he was able to stave it off enough to consider the target’s pleasure. We will continue with our research to see what adjustments need to be made, and will provide you with a copy of our report from today’s findings. Clean this up,” the man waved his hand dismissively, and guards entered the room to whisk you off once again.

Chapter 5

#tw sex #tw smut #winter soldier x y/n #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n

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bloodpenned · 3 years

Note

plz plz plz can you write m!whitney skullfucking pc

wordcount: 2.5k (can’t believe this is the first time i write an actual fic on here.) cw: noncon, detailed ero guro / gore porn, eye trauma, drugging, knives, vomit mention, needle mention, degradation, victim blaming.

or: whitney fucks your eye socket and prepares you for the act. don’t read this to upset or trigger yourself, please.

Since all of your holes have been used by others, Whitney makes one for himself.

“Look at you- You can barely keep your fucking head up, slut.”

The voice drifts to you from far away, a figure leaning over the ice you’re trapped under. Where am I?, you ask, but all your vocal cords produce is a gurgle. Your limbs are made of cement and frozen in place. Letting yourself be dragged back into the depths of unconsciousness is much easier than staying afloat. Through trembling eyelids, you barely make out the shape of the person in front of you. Their legs, to be precise. Pain shoots through your scalp and you jolt, finally present enough for the ties around your wrists and ankles to register in your mind, the cold wall you’re leaning against. That it’s Whitney, because who fucking else would it be, yanking you up by your hair. Your tongue still refuses to move.

“Follow.” His voice feigns disinterest. Yet he keeps shuffling, leaning his weight more on one leg, then the other again. He holds his hand in front of your face, moving it from side to side. Your head is so fuzzy you see no reason to disobey. By the time you’ve caught up with him to the right, he’s already back the other way. Your eyelids droop. He laughs. “God, you’re out of it. Poor you, did I gave you a little too much? You can’t say I’ve ever underestimated you.”

As soon as his grip loosens, your head drops and black dots litter your vision. Drool spills from your mouth. Something bad is about to happen, there’s no other explanation for this. His hands will end up all over your body again. But there’s no chatter of his friends, no flashes of cameras, so different from the usual that you don’t know what to expect. The world fades out, before flickering back in the middle of a sentence.

“...pay me back. Got that? Good.” The hand is back in your hair, keeping you steady. He’s digging around in his pocket. “If you weren’t such a whore, I wouldn’t have to do this. Did you think I wouldn’t see those pictures? Wouldn’t know when my slut’s gagging around someone else? I promised I would beat some sense into you if you didn’t listen, so here we are.”

Whitney’s found what he had been looking for. There’s something in his hand, moving toward your face too quickly to make out. Everything’s so blurry that even while squinting, you can’t immediately tell what it is. You nearly go crosseyed trying to figure it out. A handle clenched in his fist, gray, reflecting surface, ending in a sharp point-

A knife.

“You’re a fucking cumbrain already, but I’ll give you one too.”

You watch the situation unfold from the back of your skull. This is happening to someone else, anyone except you. It’s a movie, and a bad one at that. You can’t pinch your arm to wake yourself up. Whitney had hurt you before, sure, with his bare hands. Never like this. He’s always made fun of Kylar for having to resort to knives, why would he use one now? Is it just a threat? It has to be. Then again, you’re so disoriented you don’t stand a sliver of a chance against him. Your heart hammers against your ribcage, so loud it makes your head throb. The furthest your abilities go is to shake your head and force a whimper from your throat, rubbing your wrists raw on the zip tie. Whitney presses cold steel against your cheek. You try to spit at him, but you can’t put any force behind it. It dribbles down your chin in a slow stream.

Whitney barks out a laugh. “What the fuck are you, a dog?” The knife digs into your skin, a gentle push away from slicing you open. “Don’t get to get too excited yet, we haven’t even started, slut.” He slides the blade up to your bottom eyelid, leaving a shallow cut. (Your brain is fuzzy. Your cheeks are warm, burning- Are you blushing? Is the wetness rolling down your face a tear?) Your fingers twitch, your teeth grind together, every muscle pulled tight like a bowstring.

His breathing is laboured, eyes boring into yours, expression blank for a mere moment. Whitney, as you know him from school, is all but empty. He’s of scoffing and snarling, of laughter and grins- This is nothing you recognize. Your gut twists. Every instinct in your body is screeching at the top of its lungs for you to run. At the same time, another part tells you to stay as still as possible, as if you will simply fade out of existence if you don’t move. (But it’s okay, because none of this is real, and you’re at the orphanage in bed curled up under the covers, and you’ll wake up late and rush to get your uniform to not miss the bus and you’ll be fine, you’ll be fine, you’ll be fine-) Whitney’s tongue darts out to trace his upper lip, his fingers turning white around the handle.

The next, there is a blow of air against your eye before pure, indescribable agony accompanied by a wet squelch. You’re dying, you’re dying, you’re dying, it’s over- Half of your face has been blown off, your brain is exposed for all to see and poke and prod, your lungs collapse with every breath, your throat spasms around vomit. What’s left of your right side of vision is a red and black pulsating blur. The screams, the sole outburst you’re capable of, are mere groans in the back of your throat. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish on land. Blood, sweat, tears, pus, slime- You wouldn’t know. Something oozes down your face, thick mucus, making a mess on your lap. You’re warm, you’re cold, sweat thick underneath your clothes. Everything is wet. Everything is hot.

A hand is on your head, stroking. The sensation dissapears into and becomes one with the pain, the thing that melts everything else away. “There you go, you’re being so good! But I’m not done yet.” He speaks to you in the tone reserved purely for dogs. From the corner of your good eye, you can see him reaching his fist back and pounds it against the handle, your entire world dissolving into nothing as it hits.

When you wake up, you do so to a palpitating heart that’s skipping beats left and right, to a convulsing body, to spit frothing at your mouth and a needle in your leg. The gag in your mouth rubs against your tongue and tastes of sweat. Whitney has discorded the knife, left it at your feet. Your eyeball looks like scrambled egg white on one end, a sloppy mess, and you gag. At one point or another, you will have to come to term with the fact that you’re never going to see from it again.

“Can’t have you leaving before the party’s started.” Your head whips around, the sensation of something sloshing inside your eye socket immediately making you regret it. Wind blows straight into the wound and causes you to ear up. He’s on your right. Somewhere. What you assume to be the syringe falls to the ground with a clatter. There’s no way he isn’t standing there, in the void he created, on purpose. You would’ve preferred to be really fucking dead right now. Let him rape your corpse, at least you wouldn’t have to be there to notice it. Whatever he injected you with, it’s all so much sharper now. The lights are brighter, every little step he takes ringing in your ears, your right eye (or the slurry that’s left of it) aflame. You rock back and forth to shuffle further away from him, but you’re already backed against a wall and the movement makes the blood in your skull slosh alongside it.

“Gotta check if you’re wet enough for me. Thank me later, slut.” Whitney pulls on your eyelashes, the tip of his finger teasing the hole. Once in a while, it dips into the wound, your nerves tingling in anticipation at the near touch. Breath hitching every time, your brain can’t comprehend what’s exactly happening to you. Your heart pounds in your ears, your limbs keep twitching against your will. Now that you can, you want to struggle, but you’re so scared of that pain, terrified that he could choose to take the other one as well.

All you want is for this to be over. You just want to be home. As flawed of a home it is, it’s still the one place you can think to return to. (Robin will be there, waiting for you. They always have. Could you still keep up with them during games, now that you’re like this? Bailey’s presence, suffocating as it is, at least keeps you safe from intruders. How pissed off are they going to be, now that you're a damaged ware?)

“Can’t you sit still for one fucking second? You wanna know what it feels like when I slip so badly?” Your head jerks to the side against your will, foot hitting his ankle. “I guess you do, huh? But, fuck- You keep writhing around, maybe I should give the needy whore what they want. You’re soaked, that’s for sure.”

Whitney pulls away, his fingers coated a pale red. Using your hair as a rag, he smears the fluids in it, tugging on it once for good measure. He takes a step back, descends back outside your field of vision. There’s the rustling of fabric, unbuckling of a belt, a zipper being undone. You begin to plead through your gag, repeating muffled, incomprehensible words, because please, anything but this, not right now, not ever, hasn’t he done enough, isn’t he satisfied, he’s already ruined you enough, please, just please-

“It’s cute you think you have a choice.”

There’d been a nagging suspicion in the back of your head that it would come down to this. Every meeting with Whitney would end up leading down the same path, but this time... You choke on your breaths, chest heaving with sobs. With every shock of your shoulders, more heat leaks out of your eyes, your entire face turning into one throbbing mess. You squeeze your eyes shut. (There’s no way you can move the right eyelid, the knife has torn straight through it. All it is now is limp meat, hanging on by a thread.) His dick presses against your cheek. Fucking hell, why does he have to be so big too? There’s ringing in your ears as he leaves a trail of precum, mingling with the mess already there. His scent overpowered by the metallic smell of blood. Why can’t you just pass out again? But you’re still twitching, thoughts racing faster than you can keep track of.

“You’ve been asking for this, don’t try to deny it. I’m not stupid. Well, you’ve got my attention now. You better be grateful.” He misses the first time, the head of his dick rubbing against your eyebrow. Whitney curses underneath his breath. Trembling fingers tug your eyelids as far apart as possible and you hate it, you hate this so fucking much, you want someone to come by here to save you, you want to sink through the floor, you want to die.

He sucks in a breath through grit teeth, and hits his mark. You’re not sure how much he crammed inside your skull, but all of it was too much, too cruel. The screaming is clear through your bounds, raking your throat raw. Whichever way you move, his cock stays lodged in between the bone. The muscles snap and tear, the bones crack, the flesh, like the tight fit that it is, clings around his dick, and he groans as he pushes himself further inside. An impossible amount of more fat and mucus and slime comes free, clogging your nose. The back of your head slams against the wall with every movement, but it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t compare.

There’s nothing else. There can be nothing else. Your mind is full and empty at the same time. He’s all you can think about, he’s fucking the memory of him into your brain, leaving his permanent mark. Is this what he wanted? You’re being dissected, pulled apart, the creases of your brain violated. He’s saying things, (tight, mess, slut, enjoying, loud.), but he’s pulling out and the scrape of the warm flesh makes the scenery blur. Your throat feels like it was pulled across sandpaper.

The pressure dissipates and you cry in pure relief. But, a moment later, he’s back in and down a slightly different path at a slightly different angle and there’s more snapping, more gushes of fluid. The only thing that will ever fit there again will be him. The perfect little cocksleeve. He’s pushing up against something and you don’t know what, but every time he twitches and brushes against it, your entire vision blacks out. Where the pain reached a crescendo before, it’s turned around to be almost numbing now. Are your nerves torn up? Are you dying?

“Open your mouth. Wait, fuck-” He’s breathless, stuttering over his words. His dick twitches and scrapes against bone. Trembling fingers remove the gag from your mouth. If this were literally any other situation, you might have been almost proud to have turned him into such a wreck. “Stick your tongue out and it’ll be over. Done.”

You latch onto those words like a lifeline. No matter how it ends, you just want it to be over. Without much more than a second of delay you do as he asks, your good eye rolling up to try and look at him. Considering how full your head is, you hardly notice the strings of cum being added to the pool, until some of it leaks through your nose and onto your tongue. He puts one hand on your head, shaking it until more follows. (Though his cum isn’t the only thing there.)

Strings of blood and slime stick to his dick like drool as he pulls out. You hate him. You hate yourself. You hate this fucking town, and you hate every piece of shit in it. Your brain is a cacophony of screaming, of visions of growing fangs and claws and tearing him to shreds, of burning this whole town down. All you do is stare up without really looking, eyes glazed over. You’re tired, so unbelievably tired. All you want to do is rest, even if it’s while bleeding out in some shitty alleyway. His voice drifts to you from far away, smile clear in his tone.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

An eye for an eye has never sounded so appealing before.

#degrees of lewdity #whitney the bully #i knoooow he wouldnt do this but whatever i like writing it and also i can do whatever i want #it was just a top tier request i cant help myself #seriously dont read to freak yourself out !#k.gore #k.degradation #k.drugs #k.knife

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marveldc-imagines-hub · 3 years

Text

Subtitles: Episode 8, Previously On

Subtitles Masterlist

Summary: As they seek out Vision a Westview that doesn’t seem to want them to find him, more memories from [Y/N]’s past begin to appear. They almost seem drawn out of the dark depths of their mind by some unseen force but it’s hard to tell whether it’s friend or foe. Who is forcing [Y/N]’s memories to the forefront of their mind--Wanda or someone else?--and is it tied to the suddenly hostile Westview blocking them from finding Vision? Who is trying to keep them distracted?

Word count: 6,584

Warnings: Cursing, descriptions of death and declining mental health. Mostly angst, tbh.

Tag list: @madamevirgo @ravennight41 @multifandomgirl16 @cyanide-mustard @badasspolygenderfriend @austynparksandpizza @sophster1881 @haileyybird @maceidelic @alexpress @angelvinella

Ko-Fi Shoppe

~~~

You were too busy trying to calm the anxious gnawing in your stomach to notice Westview subtly changing around you. It wasn’t until a vine wrapped tightly around your ankle and made you almost trip and fall face-first into a fire hydrant that you looked around with a frown.

The vine itself—thick, spiky, and definitely not native to the suburbs of New Jersey—had sprouted from cracks in the sidewalk, which spread and opened further as other vines crept after it. After tearing the one holding you off and stepping out of its reach, you noticed the fences of houses reaching far past their yards to create maze-like paths that covered the sidewalks and street ahead of you. The houses that these fences belonged to were also warped in a way that made them look like you were viewing them through funhouse mirrors, stretching far into the sky and bending overhead in your direction like they meant to block you from leaving in that direction—or meant to block you from being seen by anyone flying overhead.

Your eyebrows arched so far up on your forehead that you weren’t sure that they were still there. “What the fuck is going on?”

You weren’t as concerned about the magic happening itself—if some random civilian walked by, they’d barely react at all and the maze and houses weren’t causing any actual damage, just being incredibly annoying—as you were by the fact that you couldn’t tell who was doing it. Your first thought was Wanda, naturally, but it made no sense that she’d be trying to keep you from finding Vision when she was the one who’d originally sent you to go get him; not to mention that she’s never created such a bizarre display of magic, at least intentionally. You considered yourself next, as you’ve known yourself to cause random transmutations when you get too antsy, but this wasn’t the type of power that you controlled and when you tried to reach out to interact with the energy, you received opposition instead of energy bending to your will. It was somewhat difficult to pick out because it seemed to hide away under the blanket of Wanda’s magic that reached across everything in Westview, but the aura of the twisted architecture surrounding you was dark and hostile.

You first attempted to humor whatever magic was at play and made your way through the maze but as you did so, the fences shifted around you to extend their white picket prison. You stopped and sighed. “The end is nigh… and I am not going to spend it dealing with this shit.”

A little voice in the back of your head told you that you could probably set fire to the whole magic mirror setup and be done with it but you ultimately decided against it; Wanda would probably find out and definitely wouldn’t be happy when she did. Instead, you placed your hands on the fence and as you did so, posts morphed into gates that you could easily pass through. You continued through the maze via this method and were surprised to feel the opposing magic back away from you after your pushback.

“Oh, thank god,” you grumbled under your breath as you made it through the last of the maze.

Unfortunately, you celebrated too early as the cement underneath your feet suddenly began to melt back into its liquid form. It would have been fairly easy to use your powers to reharden the cement but exhausting yourself fighting with the opposing force until the sidewalks of Westview shifted into grassy fields on its outskirts seemed like a bad idea in the long run, especially with the twins’ disappearance, Wanda dealing with Agnes’s strange behavior, Monica’s return, and the warning churn of your stomach telling you to stay alert. So, you settled for trudging along through wet cement until the magic decided to back off again.

Not so much trying to cause damage as it’s trying to mildly inconvenience me, is it? you thought.

Just as before, once the magic trying to keep you distracted was rivaled by your own, it receded and you were soon walking on the regular, hard sidewalk once more. You cleaned your pants and shoes up by turning the wet cement still clinging to them into something much more manageable—water—and continued on your way. Sorting through the mix of concern, nips of mild hunger, and the energy-seeking compass in the center of your now twisting in every which direction, you managed to eventually focus back into the feeling of Vision somewhere in the distance. It got stronger as you walked, so you began to pick up the pace.

Then your unseen opponent returned, stronger and now in the mental realm instead of the physical. At first, you thought the kickback was just Westview’s borders—the Hex, Monica had called it—trying to right the wrongs of someone within it having memories of the outside world, something you’d experienced before. However, you felt the menace rippling underneath the surface of the haze and when you tried to fight back this time, you were met with an angry strength. The fog making your head feel heavy seemed to spread through your bloodstream and take home in your bones, weighing your body down until you stood still and lame in the middle of a random neighborhood. You were a prisoner in your own body; you couldn’t move even if you wanted to, but you didn’t even know if you did because your brain was so full of dark storm clouds that you couldn’t think straight. You knew that you stared slack-jawed into space but it felt more like you were sitting in a dark room inside your skull and watching the outside world from a TV screen. As you watched on, the fog that took over your mind and body took your eyesight too.

===

The first few memories were fleeting.

You were a few years old and holding your mother’s hand. It was much less boney and knotted than you remembered your mother’s hand being, as was the rest of her. She was younger and stronger, standing next to you in a worn nurse uniform and overcoat and staring ahead with a scowl, concealing whatever emotions she was feeling otherwise. You were in a bedroom that was only vaguely familiar to you and the two of you watched an old man that was barely more than a skeleton slept under a heap of fraying blankets. As you stared on through the wide eyes of your child self, your grandfather heaved a final breath before falling into a deep, eternal slumber.

A couple of years older, you were in the old but cozy, sunny yellow kitchen that your mom love to cook in. You sat at the dining room table, kicking your legs and picking at the splitting wood as your mother and a stranger argued in the other room. You had never heard your mother raise her voice to such an extent before but at the time, you were much more concerned about what kind of sandwich you were going to help her make for lunch. You never saw the stranger aside from a flash of [H/C] as he left and he was never seen or heard of again.

You were still in the kitchen but its appearance had changed ever so slightly. Yours did too, as you were a teenager now, and now your mother sat across from you at the table. Though she was still healthy now, her overall haggard appearance would be one that she carried on for years to come. She was telling you about her doctor’s appointment but you were only somewhat listening as you were stressed about high school drama and final assignments to be turned in before summer break. You heard words like “dementia” and “Alzheimer’s” but the meanings were lost on you in that moment.

Then you were in a nursing home. You could feel the harsh lighting, hear the TV from the lounge behind you. The smell of cleaning supplies burned your nostrils but the smell of your mother’s stale perfume soothed it. Unfortunately, nothing could soothe the ache that made your heart feel like it was going to shrivel up and die when you came to tell her that you changed your major in college so you would be better equipped to help her, only for her unable to recall having a child at all.

You were pinned against a wall in a Sokovian HYDRA base, although you didn’t know the organization that you were studying with was HYDRA at the time. Shivers of equal parts fear and exhilaration made your entire body quiver and the clipboard you’d been holding clattered to the ground. While a large group of Sokovian war protestors had to hunch together to fit in the cramped and cold holding room, Wanda seemed to take up the majority of the space just from her spot of holding you into place. Her hair was a mess and her face and clothes were dirty but her eyes were full of more life than you’d experienced during your entire time working in the base. She was angry and determined and powerful and gorgeous, and she told you that if you ever ran into her again that she’d kill you—and you were surprised with how okay you were about the idea, as long as you got to see her again. When she let you go and you apologized, she told you what she and the others were doing here; this was the catalyst that sent you investigating into HYDRA and finding out about their much more sinister nature, as well as the pain you’d helped cause.

Finally, the slide show of memories slowed and instead of being confined to your brain, you were back in your own body—or so you thought until you looked around and found yourself staring at a younger copy of yourself. Instead of Westview, you were in a HYDRA testing room, and instead of simply re-experiencing, you were quite literally watching a memory unfold around you as if you were an unwanted audience member standing around the active set of a TV show. Or a ghost, you decided, as the younger you walked through you as if you were nothing but air.

Your younger self was dressed in an all-black work uniform and lab attire, with an identification card clipped to your chest that granted you high-level clearance. You’d worked immensely hard playing HYDRA’s game to get to where you were now, which was standing in the control room with two other agents and preparing to analyze the test about to unfold on the other side of a large glass window. In the test chamber, a door slowly slid open and Wanda, unkempt and spacey, entered.

You wanted to break her out. Judging by the way your younger self tensed up—not enough to be noticed by your superiors; you’d mastered your mother’s emotional lockdown of a scowl at this point—your feelings weren’t far off from the initial experience.

Wanda made her way farther into the room, closer to a scepter with a glowing blue stone that was being held on a pedestal. As she did so, the younger you readied their clipboard and pen to take notes and one of the two agents spoke, “For our notes, Miss Maximoff, can you please state your name and confirm your status?”

The younger copy of your current partner did as she was told. “Wanda Maximoff. Volunteer.”

“Begin experimentation,” the other agent—a doctor and one of your immediate superiors—stated.

“Doctor,” the first man said, “with respect, not one subject has survived direct contac—”

He was broken off as the doctor flicked on the intercom to speak to Wanda again. “Touch the sample.”

Wanda made her way forward but before she could do much, the stone suspended in the scepter—the mind stone, you knew now—detached itself and floated towards her. As it got closer, its glow grew brighter and bright blue magic wafted over Wanda as she stared before reaching out to touch it. While you remembered this situation thus far, what happened next was completely new to you. The mind stone shattered before Wanda’s eyes, revealing yellow golden yellow magic that poured from the remains. There was an explosion of light and within it was a flash of a shadow. From where you were standing, you couldn’t quite make out the shape.

Then the light died and Wanda collapsed, and the rest of the memory ran as you remembered. The scientist and doctor ran out to check that Wanda was still alive, while your younger self recollected themselves enough to take pictures of notes and research reports from the control desk with an old school digital camera that they’d managed to sneak in.

“Well,” a familiar, incredibly out-of-place voice sounded from behind you, “that’s a surprise. I had no idea you and [Y/N] went so far back.”

You spun around to see Agnes and a modern Wanda standing just behind you. Agnes watched your echo with mild curiosity as they carefully rifled through the control desk and gathered as much information as they could to examine at a later time. The dark energy that radiated off the woman was the same that you’d sensed earlier, hiding just underneath Wanda’s own. Being this close to the unhidden source now, the magic felt sharp and acidic and tasted like bile on the back of your tongue. The anxiety that had been gnawing at your stomach increased tenfold as your guts twisted around themselves. It had been Agnes all along.

Past you finished their investigation as they were called in to take Wanda to solitary by one of the other HYDRA agents. When they rushed out of the control room, they passed through Wanda and Agnes, confirming that the women were in a similar state of being to you.

Surprisingly, Agnes was completely unaware of current you’s presence. She walked casually over to the desk and attempted to make sense of younger you’s rummaging before making a face and shrugging.

Wanda, on the other hand, was staring directly at you. To anyone else, it could be said that she was simply looking through you who the commotion happening in the test chamber, but when you met her gaze, the slightest of jaw clenches told you otherwise. While it was Agnes—Not Agnes, a ghost of a whisper in sounded in your head—whose magic had been toying with you, it seemed that it was Wanda’s doing, at least to some extent, that brought you to watch this scene with them.

“You know,” the ravenette said, “I really did like them for a while. They were fun to string along for entertainment, and they were a hoot at events and to run errands with. Such an awkward little thing. I could see their crush from a mile away whenever you three were around each other. I just thought they’d be the out-of-place, pining neighbor whose love was unrequited, a comedic plot device of sorts. I didn’t think you would actually return their feelings, let alone both you and your husband, you naughty dogs. I should have known sooner that something was up.”

You and me both, sister, you thought with a soundless snort.

“Oh well,” Agnes—question mark?—said with another shrug, “our friendship was fun while it lasted. Let me know if you ever get bored with them. We did often flirt a bit, [Y/N] and I.”

“What do they have to do with any of this?” Wanda asked, throwing a mild glower in the other woman’s direction.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Agnes responded with a sickly sweet smile, then walked past Wanda and out of the testing room. “Come along, dear! We’ve got much more digging to do.”

Wanda glanced at you one last time before following. After a moment, you trailed after them.

===

Past Wanda was sitting and watching sitcoms via the one amenity she had the dungeon-like room she was held in when your past self walked in.

“Wanda,” past you gasped and moved to rush to her side before freezing and throwing a glance towards a security camera in one corner of the room. The faintest blue-black light danced appeared to dance around your echo’s fingers as the lens of the camera warped and changed into a round silver disc, then the light disappeared and you watched yourself hurry to younger Wanda’s side.

She didn’t acknowledge you until you placed a gentle hand on her back. She jumped a bit and turned her glassy-eyed, hollow-cheeked face towards you; in the same instant, the TV turned off.

Past Wanda offered past you a wobbly smile that you returned. You reached into your pocket and pulled out a candy wrapped in colored foil that looked neon in comparison to the dull coloring of the rest of the environment.

“Hey, look, Wanda,” you tried, offering the candy to her, “I brought you something. Remember these? You told me once that they’re your favorite.”

Wanda stared blankly at your gift. After a moment, she took it and began picking at the foil.

Past you gave past Wanda another strained smile. Your furrowed brows caused deep lines to be etched into your forehead, showing no lack of concern, but you tried to stay positive. Gingerly running your hand up and down Wanda’s back, you carefully looked over as she freed the chocolate-covered candy from its wrapper. “You look good. You’re doing much better than you were when we brought you back.”

Wanda’s eyes lazily traced the pattern of the room’s stone walls as she brought her treat to her lips and carefully nibbled at it. When she found it free of tampering, she relaxed a bit and popped it into her mouth.

You watched as your past self rested their chin on her shoulder and squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m going to get you out of here, Wanda. I promise that I’m going to save you. I just… wish you’d let me help you more.”

Well, young me, you thought, you certainly broke that promise, then went off and murdered a bunch of people. Nice job.

Wanda’s past self finally fully acknowledged yours; she rested her head on top of yours and her thin fingers brushed brushed over the knuckles of one of your hands. She shook her head and mumbled, “I have to do this. For my people.”

Your echo sighed. The two of you sat like that together for a few moments longer before you separated yourself from her and headed out of the room. As you walked out of the room, the silver that blocked the security camera transformed back into a lens. Wanda looked back to the TV and blinked, and the television turned back on.

“Huh,” Agnes piped up to Wanda again, “they were just as piney here as they are in Westview then. Weird. I thought they had a reputation as a crazy psycho killer outside? Hoo boy, did you see any of the work that they did after Sokovia? I looked into it when I figured out that they weren’t just another ordinary townee. The Alchemist? Wished I’d managed to keep them on my side; I’d love to sit down and talk about all the ways they tore up those agents.”

You grimaced. You never regretted going on a HYDRA manhunt but it wasn’t exactly one of your most redeeming qualities.

Wanda frowned. “Trying to cope with all they had done while working with HYDRA was too much and they had to do it alone. I told [Y/N] I would return but then I never did. They thought it was their only solution.”

You were surprised to hear her empathize with you, let alone know about your revenge spree at all. You hadn’t realized how much it felt like a secret that you had been keeping from her until a weight was lifted off your shoulders when she talked about it.

“Still,” Agnes said nonchalantly, “turning an alive former HYDRA agent into a very much not alive scarecrow and leaving posting him up in his own field? Genius and I love the creativity. And the way they turned the guy who shot them into a bloody bag of bones? Delicious.

“But anyway,” she went on, the glee in her voice shifting to something more pensive, “little orphan Wanda got up close and personal with an Infinity Stone that amplified what otherwise would’ve died on the vine. The broken pieces of you are adding up, buttercup. I have a theory, but I need more.”

With a wave of her hand, a dark wood door appeared in the room’s far wall. Wanda’s eyes widened slightly with recognition and she immediately walked forward and through it. Agnes trailed cheerfully after her.

You made a move to follow them but you didn’t make it before Agnes shut the door behind her. You jiggled the doorknob but the door wouldn’t budge, and then it melted back into the wall and vanished altogether. While you were relieved to be away from Agnes’s acrid magic, panic rose in the back of your throat at the idea of Wanda being alone with Agnes and you being trapped in a bizarre memory realm with no idea of how to get out. You ran your hands along the wall in hopes of finding the door’s outline once more, to no avail. You spun around to search for another route—

—and you were suddenly standing on a street in Westview.

This wasn’t Westview as you currently knew it but Westview before Wanda had turned it into her special little safe haven. Instead of watching this memory like a movie, you were now involuntarily reliving it as a prisoner of your head again as your body and mouth move on its own accord.

You were paused mid-walk across the street and staring at a breathtakingly gleeful Vision for the very first time. He was standing out in the open without a human disguise of any kind, wearing a very attractive form-fitting turtleneck and looking over an empty plot of land. He must have felt you staring because he turned his warm, earth-shaking gaze towards you.

“Hello there!” he hollered with a friendly wave and a smile that made you wonder if one look from a stranger could make you weep over how attractive they were. He stepped from the dirt plot to the sidewalk, then made his way to the curb. He held a slightly crumpled piece of paper in one hand and you could see a red heart in its center out of the corner of your eye.

For whatever reason—maybe because of the fact that there was a very inhuman-looking man, who was causing your body to have all sorts of reactions, walking towards you—you felt compelled to walk over and meet him.

“Excuse me,” Vision said as you got closer and pointed to the lot behind him, “I’m looking to buy this spot here. Do you live around here?”

Temporarily, while I try to look for a cure for my dumb-bitch memory disease, you thought. Instead of saying this aloud, though, you said something much more stupid. “Are you aware that you’re red?”

Vision blinked. He looked at his hands if he was in fact just now realizing this, then looked back at you with wide eyes. One hand moved to touch the golden gem embedded in his forehead, which you now connected to the mind stone on the previous memory that you had experienced—Wanda’s memory.

“Oh, goodness,” Vision said, “yes I am. I’m sorry, I hope my appearance doesn’t make you uncomfortable. If it does, I could make a more appealing one—”

You felt yourself break into a grin and one of your hands waved itself dismissively at him. “Not sure there’s a way to make yourself any more appealing than you already are. It’s just unusual is all.”

Vision chewed on one side of his bottom lip before smiling sheepishly at you. If only you’d been able to tell when this interaction had actually happened that he was “blushing” in the only way his synzethoid body allowed over you complimenting him; you would have had a field day with making him flustered.

Then his eyes drifted slightly above your eyeline and the hand touching his forehead gem fluttered slightly to the right—his left. Without thinking of how it might come off, he said, “You’re unusual-looking yourself.”

Luckily, you weren’t too easily offended. You briefly touched the gunshot scar on your forehead with one hand, the exit wound scar on your neck with the other, before dropping them both and shrugging. “Got shot in the head once. Operation gone wrong.”

“A soldier?”

Unfortunately, the version of you in this memory was already struggling to recall memories. Instead of telling the pretty stranger that, though, you said, “Something like that.”

Vision nodded and awkwardly fiddled with the paper in his hands. His gaze flitted around before settling on you again, “Well, I think you’re appealing too.”

You felt your cheeks grow warm but you hid your embarrassment with a snicker. “Thanks.”

The man cleared his throat. “Yes, well, that’s good then, isn’t it? That we both like each other’s looks just fine. Not… that I want you to find my visuals appealing. Not— not that that’s a bad thing to be doing so either! It’s just that—” he paused to collect himself. “I have a partner. A girlfriend of sorts.”

“Of sorts?”

“It hasn’t really been discussed,” he clarified, “but we are deep in the throughs of our relationship.”

“Congrats? Also yeah.”

Vision blinked. “I’m sorry?”

You pointed over your shoulder. “I live around here. In a hotel more often than a home but I’m considering getting a rental a couple houses over.”

Because if I don’t find who I’m looking for—a doctor? Scientist maybe?—I’ll be stuck here until I remember where I came from.

You were brought out of your grumbling thoughts by the childish excitement that erupted from Vision’s shining smile and spread throughout his body until he was practically vibrating. He quickly scrambled the rest of the way over and flashed the paper he held at you, then almost immediately folded it up before you could actually see anything other than a flash of red on white. He told you how wonderful it was to be meeting someone from the neighborhood and before you open your mouth to say anything in response, a billion questions seemed to pour one after the other from his mouth. You caught a few—did you know why the plot he was looking at was open, if there was a nefarious reason behind it lacking any home already? Was the neighboorhood safe, did you like it there?—but you soon found yourself distracted by the way the gear-like patterns in his blue irises swirled faster as Vision became increasingly giddy.

Then one word came flying out of his rambling mouth and you felt like you had been hit in the gut with a sack of bricks. You actually had to stop yourself from choking on a gasping breath and steel yourself in preparation in case he said her name again. Luckily, Vision seemed too deep in his his own thoughts that he didn’t notice you blanching from the kickback of yours.

Wanda? It couldn’t be. It wasn’t like there weren’t any other Wandas in the world. Then again, you’d never met another Wanda since your Wanda and there was something about her name coming from his mouth that assured you that his Wanda was yours too.

Is that why you had come to Westview? Was Wanda the one you were looking for?

You placed a hand on Vision’s shoulder, both as a way of grounding yourself and grabbing the man’s attention. It worked and Vision’s bumbling died off as he looked at you with wide eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, and lifted his free hand to scratch at the side of his neck, “I got quite carried away there, didn’t I?”

This past version of you wanted so desperately ask about the Wanda he spoke of, to confirm that she was the Wanda that you’d known in what seemed to be a past life at this point. You wanted to know if she was safe, happy, and if he was taking care of her in the way that she so needed after everything she had been through. When you looked at Vision, though, and the plot plans in his hand and the place of his and her future home, you bit your tongue. Something told you that it wasn’t your time to ask nor was it your right to do so. It had been so long since you’d tried to help the Sokovian woman escape a dingy HYDRA base and failed, and wherever she was now, she was probably better off without you intruding.

You put on a mask of a friendly smile to hide the way your heart was being picked to pieces by a thousand imaginary needles and gave Vision’s shoulder an equally friendly pat. “No worries. I do have to stop you, though, have an appointment to get to. I’m really not the person to ask about future home life—like I said, usually a hotel—but if I have anything to tell you, it’s that this is a good place to settle.”

Vision beamed. “Really?”

You dropped your arm and stepped away from the robotic stranger to take your leave. “This place is easy to turn into a home. You’ll love it here.”

Vision heaved a sigh a relief and he waved to you and you gave a parting nod and began walking. “Thank you! Oh, and it was nice meeting you, neighbor! Hope to see you again soon!”

Something deep in your heart told you that you wouldn’t be seeing the British gentleman again, or maybe you were finally coming to terms with the fact that your brain would drop yoru memory of him before the day was over. You cast one last glance over your shoulder, trying to commit every detail of Vision to memory the best that you could, before heading back across the street.

“Looking forward to it!”

===

One minute you were walking and the next you couldn’t feel any part of your body that was below your waistline. The scene had shifted again and you now found yourself staring spacily off ahead. You were outside and you felt the familiar presence of a large facility behind you but you couldn’t place what the building was for or why you were there. In fact, try as you might, you couldn’t place much meaning to anything. Your brain was blank aside from several questions that you had no answers to.

Why were you in a wheelchair? What had happened to your legs? Why were you outside? Why were there old people and people in scrub uniforms milling around you and talking to you in passing as if you had any idea who they were? Where was your mom? You had classes to attend and needed a ride.

You took a sighing breath and felt a tanginess of citrus on your tongue that sent shockwaves throughout your body—or what left of it that you could feel. Your eyes shot open wide and you swung your head around, looking for the source of the taste of candied citrus, the feeling of thin fingers carefully brushing across your knuckles. There was a memory there, clawing just under the surface of thought-killing fungus that seemed to have taken over your head over… however long it had been now. You just had to remember—

Before you could could remember, you saw her appear before your very eyes. She was walking down the street past you with only a green yard and strip of sidewalk separating the two of you. She wore a dark outfit and her hair cascaded behind her in the breeze, fluttering like flames. You couldn’t see her face well because of the distance you could feel the deep, powerful sadness radiating off her in waves; it was almost strong enough to force you into tears. Still, she walked with purpose and she held a piece of paper in her hand that she glanced at every other second. She happened to turn her head to toss a stray chunk of her back over her shoulder and for a brief moment you thought that her dark eyes met yours.

You screamed her name and attempted to chase after her. However, in that moment, you forgot that you were paralyzed from the waist down and stuck in a wheelchair, so when you lurched forward to stand, you were quickly greeted by hard earth knocking the wind out of you. You hissed in pain but the impact didn’t stop you, nor did your lack of working legs. You shoved the wheelchair away in a fit of irritation, then began crawling your way across the public yard, following a trail of a very specific shade of red as you dragged your body along.

You didn’t make it very far before you felt strong hands grasp your shoulders. You flailed around, prepared to fight whoever was trying to disrupt your mission, only for you stop struggling altogether when a flash of reddish hair appeared in the corner of your vision. You looked up at and stared at the only face that held solidity in your mind with eyes the size of dinner plates as she knelt next to you and helped you into a decent sitting position. Once you were settled, her hands moved from your arms to cradling your face and when you could see the heartbreak in her eyes this time, you actually did feel a few tears wet your cheeks.

Your eyes fluttered shut as her gentle hands caressed your face, brushed away the tears that were now flowing like a waterfall. Your own hands found their way to her waist and you held on for dear life. With a wobbly voice that was barely above a whisper, you gasped her name again, “Wanda…”

You felt the warm touch of her forehead pressing against yours, her nose ungracefully bumping against your cheek as she held you. “[Y/N]?”

Hearing your name on her tongue sent you into a fit of sobbing laughter, though you weren’t sure why. Goosebumps erupted across your skin and you felt the stuttering of a billion bird’s wings in your stomach, pounding against your ribcage. You had so many things you wanted to say and yet you could remember a single word, so you merely fell into a bumbling chant of “My Wanda, my Wanda, my Wanda, my Wanda…” Your eyes stayed squeezed shut for fear that if you opened them, she would no longer be there.

Wanda’s lips brushed against your eyelids and then your cheeks, not quite leaving kisses but a warm, tingly feeling nonetheless. A smile was there, you could feel the curve of it as her mouth traveled from your temple to your hairline, but it was one of the same sadness that you’d seen in her eyes. She mumbled against your scarred forehead, “Oh, [Y/N], what happened to you…?”

You finally opened your eyes—luckily, she didn’t vanish into thin air once you did—and finally met her gaze again. You moved your hands to cover hers that still held your face and pressed them harder against your cheeks, as if you could imprint her fingerprints into your skin.

After a moment of just silently basking in her presence, you sighed softly and replied, “I don’t know.”

Pain further etched itself into the lines of Wanda’s face; you quickly reached out to smooth them out with your fingertips.

“You don’t remember anything?”

“Not much,” you replied. Then you smiled. “I know you. All I know for sure is you.”

Wanda looked like she was on the verge of bursting into tears herself but she swallowed her sobs instead. She adjusted her position and sat back slightly, scrubbed her hands over her eyes and looked around at your surroundings. She glanced at the paper she’d once been holding but now sat in the grass next to her before her gaze settled back on you. Sadness shifted into determination as she took your face her hands once more.

“I’m going to get you out of here, [Y/N],” she said, “I promise I’m going to save you.”

You went to nod but the sound of something flying overhead caught your attention, then a flash of yellow light over Wanda’s shoulder.

A powerful jerk in your stomach seemed to control your entire body, forcing your head and body upward. Then you were standing on the sidewalk on the outskirts of a neighborhood with a maze of twisted houses and picket fences behind you. You were no longer trapped inside your own head, watching or reliving memories, but standing mid-step in the Westview that was bubbled by a Hex of modern Wanda’s own creation.

Vision was flying through the air nearby and approaching fast.

Your powers seemed to move one step ahead of your mind; before you finished the thought, one of the fun mirror houses was turned into a staircase that led to nowhere in the sky. As you turned and began racing up them, you waved your arms in Vision’s direction and hollered, “Hey! Toaster oven!”

Vision was clearly on a mission home but you managed to catch his attention before he flew too far past you. He rounded back around and met you at the top of your stairs. He quickly surveyed your immediate surroundings, taking in the bizarre scenery before casting a concerned look your way. “What in the world is going on here?”

“Uh, well,” you paused and took a glance around yourself, then rambled off, “I just spent a nondescript amount of time trapped in a mental live-action remake of my past and I’m pretty sure Agnes is not Agnes but some unpleasant, magic-y person who kidnapped our kids and now is trying to get… something, I’m not sure what, from Wanda. Also, I think she might have a crush on me and I’m pretty sure she caused the carnival set-up next to us.”

Vision blinked. “Well, that’s… a lot.”

You hummed your agreement and nodded. Then you held out your arms to him. “Shall we?”

Vision eyed you from your place on a freshly mutated staircase then snorted softly as he gathered you into his arms, bridal style. “Surely there must be a way for you to travel with those powers of yours.”

“There is,” you affirmed, “but this is probably faster and I should probably keep my strength to save our kids and your wife. Oh, by the way.”

Vision gave you a questioning him as he prepared for flight. You wrapped your hands around his neck and brought your lips to his in an quick kiss. When you pulled away, you met his curious gaze and said, “I’m so happy to have met you.”

Vision’s expression grew warmer and returned your kiss with a softer one of his own. He briefly nuzzled his forehead against yours before pulling away.

“I’m glad to have met you too,” he said softly. Then he shifted his gaze to look past you, towards home, and he said, “Now, let’s go get our family.”

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mianavs · 4 years

Text

the room

Falling in Stockholm part 2

a/n: this sets really sets the mood for the story and where it’s headed

tw: sexual assault, physical abuse, imprisonment

Falling in Stockholm

Coldness. Hardness. Ache. Those were the sensations you could identify after the thick fog in your head dissipated and you were able to process your thoughts. You were sitting up but the moment you tried to move your aching limbs, you realized they were bound by tight restraints that dug harshly into your skin.

The realization you were bound had your blood pumping fast and you darted your eyes open feeling fully alert. You were leaning against a cement wall while your ankles and wrists were bound together by thick rope in expertly tied knots. Instantly, you tried to activate your quirk but found it was to no avail—that fact alone had your heart beating wildly as you took in the situation. The room you found yourself in was made of cement walls and flooring. There was a single panel of fluorescent lights that brightly illuminated the room that differed from the one’s in the warehouse and indicated this was another location. You continued searching the room and found a plain bed in one corner of the room that looked to be for one person. Beside the bed was a small wooden dresser with a reading lamp that was switched off. Across the room was a small fridge that stood next to a door left slightly ajar and you could make out a sink. There was also a small table and two wooden chairs to match between the bed and the bathroom. The most glaring feature of the room, however, was the tall mirror attached to the exit. It almost covered the entire door and, in its reflection, you could see the state you were in.

Your hero costume was torn open near your wrists and ankles as well as across your waist where your supply pack had been. Your gloves and shoes had also been taken and you tried to tuck your bare feet under your legs to shield them from the cool air. Upon glancing at your face, you took in your haggard face covered in sweat and dirt. Your eye bags were darker than usual and your lips were chapped while your hair clung to itself with oil and dirt. All key indicators that you’d been out for days after the incident.

Footsteps interrupted your observations and the mirror rattled a bit as the door was unlocked and swung open to reveal your kidnapper. Upon seeing his scarred skin, you quickly recognized him as the same person who’d knocked you out in the warehouse and you tensed as you took him in. His messy black hair, his dirty clothes, large trench coat—they were all standard for a criminal but it was his piercing cerulean eyes and the burgundy patches of marred flesh that made him stand out. Then, after crouching down in front of you could you make out the staple-like metal that seemed to hold the scarred and unscarred skin together. You couldn’t help but shudder in disgust as his cold eyes wracked over your body not leaving one piece of exposed skin untouched.

“…you finally woke up.”

“Who the hell are you and what do you want from me?!”

The calmness of his gruff voice pissed you off but the assailant seemed indifferent to your little outburst. He merely stood up, headed to the mini fridge, and took out a bottle of water and a beer can. The sight of water reminded you of how parched you were and the man didn’t fail to notice how you opened your mouth ever so slightly at the sight of the bottle. He then pulled one of the chairs and straddled it in front of you while opening his beer and setting the water next to him. A smirk etched his face seeing the way your eyes traveled to the bottle neck to his foot. In your frustration, questions tumbled out of your mouth hoping he’d answer at least one of them.

“Why the hell do you have pictures of me from my childhood?!”

His eyes were indifferent as he took a sip of his cold beer and your eyes, like magnets, were on the drop of malted brew that escaped the corner of his scarred mouth and began to languidly trail down his face. You ran your tongue across the same spot on your own face while he simultaneously licked the beer up and maintained his eyes your mouth. Upon registering what you’d been caught doing, you averted your eyes in embarrassment but converted it back into anger.

“Why didn’t you kill me?!”

“Where are we?!”

“WHY DON’T YOU ANSWER ME—“

The pungent smell of beer assaulted your nose after you found yourself drenched by it. You blinked away the burning liquid and made out the bastard crushing the empty can and getting ready to chuck it at you. You braced yourself for the hit but instead it hit the wall next to you with a harsh clang that left you paralyzed. The next thing you knew, the chair was tossed to the side and the offender was straddling you legs, locking your feet in place, and held your tied arms above your head in a position that had your muscles screaming in pain. You used all of your strength to push him off but he was stronger, despite his lanky figure, and he used his free hand to strike your face with a resounding crack that blurred your vision. Hot tears framed your eyes and you coughed out the iron-tasting liquid that had filled your mouth. The same hand then forced you to face him by holding your jaw in a death grip that had blood oozing out of your mouth and onto his hand.

“Hmm…you don’t remember me, do you?” He sounded amused and disappointed as his deformed mouth twitched into a sinister smile. You racked your brain trying to remember his voice, his face, and his form from any altercation you’d had with villains or with members of the Hole, the illegal fighting club from your early teen years, but you drew blanks.

“It doesn’t matter since you’ll have plenty of time to remember.” A feeling of dread spread from the pit of your stomach to your throat as the implication of his words sunk in. He released your face when he got the reaction he’d been seeking.

“Why won’t you just kill me?” You were dumbfounded and you kept your eyes downcast. He raised his hand and you flinched thinking he would strike you again but instead his calloused hand cupped your cheek gently and raised your head to meet his cruel gaze.

“And why the hell would I do that when I’ve been waiting six years for you?” The toothy maniacal grin on his marred face made your blood run cold and your worst fears came to life as he closed the space between you to assault your lips with his.

He lapped at the blood around your mouth when you gritted your teeth denying him access to your mouth. It was only after he realized, no matter how much he licked and drew more blood from your lips, you wouldn’t relent that he decided to use his quirk. What began as uncomfortable heat you attributed to struggling against your binds quickly escalated to fingers like a branding irons that dug into your skin and burned the flesh in its path. Accustomed to pain since childhood, you held in your cries until you felt flames licking your lower arms and the bubbling of blisters forming.

His heavy tongue was in your mouth before you could react and lapped at your own. The heat of his breath filled your mouth and clouded your mind—that is until you felt his free hand travel south to the apex of your legs where he began to rub that bundle of nerves. You were reduced to a gasping mess as he continued his assault on your sex and your mouth. Strings of saliva connected the two of you when he pulled away for air and your moans that had been muffled by his mouth escaped your swollen lips. This only seemed to encourage him as he activated his quirk and burned though the material of your suit near your inner thigh.

“NO, PLEASE DON’T!”

Your blood curdling screams evoked his wrath and he burned the skin on your thigh until you were reduced to a sobbing mess from the scorching pain. Your suit was torn to expose your drenched underwear and he wasted no time discarding it to shove two fingers into your slickened hole. Your cry was muffled by his mouth as he harshly thrusted his fingers in and out of you while his thumb rubbed circles around your clit.

Betrayed by your body, you closed your eyes and tried to escape your reality the same way you’d done many years ago when your small body had been subjected to torturous amounts of pain. Your abuser, noticing your closed eyes, increased the speed of his ministrations until your fleshy walls fluttered and your eyes darted open while you cried out your release. Stunned and mortified by your actions, he pressed a wet kiss to your neck before whispering in your ear.

“Such a good girl cumming on my fingers.”

He removed said fingers from your still twitching sex and raised them to his face where, to your horror, he licked your fluids off them. “I think you deserve a reward.”

He climbed off your lap and reached for the bottled of water. You were far too exhausted, both physically and mentally, to try to fight him off so you sat there limp while he uncapped the bottle and carefully tilted it into your mouth. The refreshing liquid was heavenly as it went down your parched throat. You drank it greedily and whined when you felt some of it trickle out of the corner of your mouth. Your kidnapper, of course, noticed this and licked if off your chin, but you were focused solely on the steady stream of water on your lips and didn’t voice your disgust.

After finishing the water, you let out a groan wanting more but before he could react a phone went off. You froze as you saw him stand up and fish the phone from his pocket to answer it. A switch went off in your head and you were screaming like a banshee for the person on the line to hear you.

“HELP! HELP ME, PLEASE! SAVE ME! I’VE BEEN KIDNAPPED BY—“

You let out a choked grunt as he lowered the leg that had bashed into your stomach and glared at your crumpled form before returning to his call. “Nothing, just my girl acting up. Alright, I’ll head out soon.”

You couldn’t breathe as you laid there in the fetal position; the warm pain spreading to your entire torso. You were reduced to a wheezing mess of blood and tears while your lungs desperately tried to retain air. Your kidnapper regarded you with disdain as you convulsed on the floor before clicking his tongue and dragging you up to your knees by your hair.

“I was going to clean you up and feed you but after your little outburst, I don’t think you deserve it.” He pressed a cruel kiss to your cheek before throwing you to the ground, your vision blurry from the impact. Making his way to the door, he stopped and regarded your fallen form.

“To answer your first question, the name’s Dabi and I took you because you belong to me.”

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goodlucksnez · 3 years

Text

a sky full of stars

Hello everyone so I wrote a er//aserm//ic fiction and it’s 5513 words I know right what the fuck I just kept writing and I didn’t want the story to end but it came to a lovely end

TW WARNING it deals with sui//cide depression,anxiety,panic attacks as well as medical surgery

TO NOTE In the story endeavor is not a hero and is a local tea maker and his wife is the surgeon which I just think it’s cute it comes together in the story it will make sense don’t worry

This is using my original AU with the Quirk flu

And lastly I hope you enjoy it I had a lot of fun riding and it has definitely improved since my last fic enjoy

you can read it on A03 or down below

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33360760

How Shouta got here was anyone's guess. Sitting on the edge of the roof of UA looking at the shifting colors as night began to fall around him. As the shades of reds mixed with the blues and yellows, how they washed over the buildings and trees with a gentle golden glow, Shouta closed his eyes and smiled. The tear-stained face of the Pro was hidden from view under foundation and tired eyes. With the still night air, he heard the roof entrance unlock and movement behind him.

“Hello, old friend,” Shouta said not even turning to look at him.

“What the hell are you thinking, step away from the edge now.” Mic's voice boomed over the concrete and echoed in the tranquil night air. “Please, people need you…. I need you.”

Shouta took a deep breath and stood to face his old friend. Mic’s face was panicked and he could see the crumpled note in his hand. Shouta was glad to see his friend one last time. He shook with adrenaline as he spoke in a quiet voice barely louder than a whisper. Years down the road Shouta in the confession of therapy would say he said it this way because whispers make people listen while shouting just falls upon deaf ears.

“All my life, I have been in love with the sky. Even when everything was falling apart around me, the sky was always there for me. I’m glad to see it hasn’t changed. Goodbye old friend.” And he stepped off the roof Mic’s voice echoed in the night sky as Shouta plummeted down and down until darkness.

---

That was five years ago. Shouta had been getting better about talking about his depression and the struggles but the one thing he could not do was hurt Mic again. Hizashi also died that day, his cheery disposition of the world changed, and he hasn’t been the same since. He had improved but Shouta still had guilt deep down but would never admit it. Hizashi's confidence was always so fragile, like a child’s, it took him years to return to radio and music. He once in a foggy drunken state told Shouta that music died the day he fell and all the sounds of the world that created such unique and beautiful different melodies, fused into one agonizing wave of sound that made Hizashi hate music and his Quirk. He had gotten better they both had recovered from that day but if they were both being honest, they were still those scared little Pros inside.

When winter came the vows of in sickness and in health were tested. Hizashi got sick first and Shouta played the role of nursemaid and helped him get better therefore it was no wonder Shouta got sick. When he was a child Shouta would hide under his bed to avoid being seen as sick, he had enough of name-calling at school he did not need it at home too. This continued into his adult life even after the accident 5 years ago.

The next time he had woken up he almost suffered acute heart failure from the number of stress hormones that were immediately pumped through his system as long-term best friend and husband Hizashi better known as Present Mic had busted through the bedroom door with a shout of “Shouta” with his remarkably deafening voice. “Wow were you sleeping?”

As if it would be a shock that he was. He has been up most of the night coughing and generally feeling ill. Shouta was having trouble getting out of bed today as a dull pain racked through his body pulsing through every limb. He merely grunted in response and the strawberry blonde-haired man sat down and rubbed his back.

“Shouta,” he asked his voice worried with concern and suddenly Shouta was back on that roof. He shut his eyes and winced at that memory and shook his head. The movement of his head caused the room to spin and he reached out to grab onto something stable the only thing near him being his husband.

The pressure in his cranium had built itself up to the point where he knew he had to get away to get checked out. Somehow, he had to take a trip to get medicine, the question was how would he succeed with such a mission when Hizashi worried about his every movement.

Mic continued to rub his husband's back. After receiving no answer, his usual jovial expression continued morphing into one of pure concern. “Hey, Shouta are you okay?”

The tired pro sighed but when he went to open his mouth the tickle which had been prominent in his sinuses flared to life and he quickly turned his head to the side gripping the side of the bed as the sneezes ripped through his body.

“Heh-R'SSHH! Hh-Hih-AET’SCHHH! ESCCH!”

Hizashi jumped in surprise. “Woah, many blesses,” he said. “I’m going to pick you up some meds, okay?”

Shouta grabbed his arm and said, “no you barely over being sick, I can get some.”

As he went to put on his shoes, he sniffed back the congestion that was threatening to flow. Hizashi watched him gathering his wallet and keys before hugging him tightly and whispered in his ear.

“I know how you get with these things; I call you in a few hours and you better pick up or you’re in trouble. I love you Sky.”

Shouta hugged him back and said, “I love you to songbird.” And he left the house with the sound of thunder in the sky boomed over him.

---

His feet hurt.

It was a stupid thing to focus on. Stupid because Shouta was still heavily limping his way through darkened alleyways and shuffling through crumpled up newspapers and puddles of...something. His breath came out in ragged gasps, the medicine still clutched close to the chest. Shouta had no idea where he was going. He just kept moving- one hand drifting along chipped brick walls and graffiti-stained cement, something to keep him steady. Focused. Home was the mission but it wasn’t the goal. The goal was-

Freedom from the pain.

His knees buckled and Shouta couldn’t stop himself from tumbling forward. He smacked into a dumpster; the weak thump of a body against rusted metal ringing in his ears. The stench of rotten food clawed its way into his nose; the pain now liquid fire in his veins. Get up Shouta told himself even as his eyes started to flutter close. You have to get up. His fingers twitched; they landed in a puddle of something gross. “Please,” Shouta whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please~” Thunder rolled off in the distance- a heavy, almost shuffling sound. Maybe- maybe he could get clean in the rain? Maybe-----

“Ah, your awake!”

Fuck! Shouta started, brain a sluggish mess. He- the last thing he remembered with solid clarity was collapsing against a dumpster. Rain pattered against the rooftop- a strange melody that did nothing to put the Pro at ease as he stared at the old man before him. He was heavyset, a long red beard neatly trimmed and a topknot giving him off an old school look. Shouta glanced around the room, just a little more awake now. He still felt like shit, wet from the clothes he had when-

“My shoes,” Shouta rasped, gaze falling to his feet. They were bare, his socks neatly placed on the floor with his shoes beside this...futon. A sad, threadbare thing on the floor. It took all he had not to run his hands over himself-no. No injuries. The only thing Shouta wasn’t wearing was his shoes. Shouta inhaled congestion thick and he wiped his nose on the back of his hand. An oven mitt was sitting on the floor between them, a teapot gently clutched in the old man’s hands. “You put band-aids on my heels?”

“I did,” came the quiet hum. “You’ve traveled quite a way. Those blisters are impressive.”

Shouta’s gaze flicked to the two clay cups- one by his feet, the other next to the old man’s knees. Steam started to curl out of the teapot; a fire Quirk perhaps? “...You’ve got a fire Quirk.”

The old man smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You’re very observant. Yes, I do. Would you like some tea? I have some delicious Herbal Spring at the moment it might help with that cold you got.”

Shouta eyed the teapot in question- the steam was barely more than a little trickle of a cloud. Could he have poisoned it while I was out? He shrugged, looking away.

“Ah good!” The old man leaned forward to pour tea- Shouta first, then himself. “Herbal Spring is a very fragile tea, you know. Raise the temperature too much and you’ll ruin it. Keep the water too cold, and it loses its flavor.”

Shouta didn’t reach for his cup. He heard the soft clink of China being set down on the oven mitt. He- he saw the near-empty room he was in. “Where am I?”

“My tea shop! Aaah well,” the old man smiled again as he reached for his cup. “Soon to be my tea shop. This is a storeroom of sorts.”

Shouta watched the old man drink first. A happy hum, a deep sip that made the Pro finally reach for his cup. He brought it to his lips, taking a tentative sniff. Even with his blocked nose, it smelled sweet. Shouta took the tiniest of sips; the warm liquid sliding down his parched throat with ease. It had a soft note to it; sweet and almost fruity, enough to make Shouta …breathe. “Who are you?”

“Just a simple tea maker.” Another calm sip, the old man closing his eyes for a moment. “Who are you?”

It...it lacked the same venom that Shouta’s question had. The same cautiousness, an almost feral edge to it. The old man’s question was simple. Calm and steady; Shouta bit the inside of his cheek before he took another tentative sip. “No one.”

“It is an honor to meet you, No One.” The teapot was held out like a porcelain olive branch. “More tea?”

Was this...a joke? Shouta bit the inside of his cheek before he held out his cup. There was still plenty of tea left in the small cup and it took all the Pro had not to wince at how hands were still shaking. Hot liquid sloshing about, threatening to go right over the dull rim. Yet...if the old man was going to say anything, he didn’t. He merely poured Shouta more tea, careful to keep the liquid from the rim.

Shouta brought it up to his lips, taking a bigger sip. “You’re,” this time he winced. His throat was still a raspy mess. “You’re not going to ask me why I was outside?”

“Mmm, you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

Shouta watched the teapot be set gently on the oven mitt, the old teamaker once more quietly enjoying his cup. The two sipped their drinks in relative silence- only broken by the steady drumming of the rain overheard and Shouta sniffling. An odd sort of silence, almost peaceful; Shouta wasn’t bombarded with questions. The old tea maker was content to drink his tea; he’d already downed three cups by the time Shouta had managed to finish one. He sneezed 3 harsh sneezes and drank more tea hoping to soothe the throat. The teapot seemed to rise without being asked; a second cup poured, a second cup that Shouta found himself willingly drinking. “Aizawa,” he whispered, staring down at the amber liquid. The Pro’s voice was painfully loud in the quiet. “My name is Aizawa Shouta.”

The old man gently smiled; callused hands curled around his cup. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Aizawa Shouta.”

“What-” Shouta shifted on his futon; the tremors had finally left his hands. “Who are you?”

“Just an old man with wisdom and regrets,” came the happy reply. “You can call me Enji if you wish.”

Enji? It was a familiar way to address someone he’d just met. Right. “...I’m not calling you Enji.”

“Fair enough,” the old man chuckled and there was something warm in his voice that begged the Pro to relax. Maybe he has another Quirk? Can someone have two Quirks?

Shouta glanced down at his cup, his thumbs brushing the rim. “Why are you doing this?”

“Sharing tea with a fascinating stranger is one of life’s true delights~”

That...was not what Shouta was expecting. He frowned; was it too late to make a run for it? He was pretty sure he had strength in his legs now, even if he still felt awful. “That’s some bullshit,” the dark hair huffed, settling on something solid. Something he could trust. He attempted to rise to his feet and he wobbled for a moment. Pain that rolled through Shouta, begging for him to plop his ass back down. “You’re crazy, old man.”

The old man didn’t move from his spot on the floor. He merely hummed, a red eyebrow rising at the uptick of rain against the roof. “You will need a proper raincoat then. You’ll be soaked if you leave now.”

“...You’re not going to stop me?”

“I cannot stop you from your long journey, Shouta. Just as we cannot stop the fire from burning the log or ice freezing a pond.” Shouta watched the old man set his cup down; empty. “But please,” he groaned as he lumbered to his feet and Shouta was pretty sure he heard joints pop. “Let me get you an umbrella at least.”

His chest hurt. Shouta’s throat was stupidly tight. Painfully tight as he stood there, watching Enji dig around in the storeroom for an umbrella. “...You,” Shouta tried to clear his throat. To stop himself from crying like the idiot he was. “You don’t have-”

He shouldn’t have wasted his breath.

The umbrella was pressed into his hands with care. It was an old thing that had seen better days- a raggedy blue thing with a few frayed strands and a scuffed handle. It was old and worn and the most precious thing Shouta had ever held in his life. “Thank you,” the Pro whispered, clutching it close to his chest.

“Of course,” Enji hummed, bowing in return. “Please stay dry.”

---

Shouta descended the step of the tea shop, his body aching with every step. The medicine still clutched to his chest. The words still echoed in his mind. “You tell me when you’re ready.” He found himself walking the feeling of cool water running down his wet body was quite unpleasant. The wind blustered and the rain pattered on the antique umbrella and the way home seemed twice as long as usual. His mind raced, how could a stranger see so clearly into his mind was it that transparent to everyone that he was broken. As his feet hit the sidewalk a single thought crossed his mind. Hizashi. His songbird. His love. He was probably worried sick. As he pulled out his phone, he saw the screen was broken and as the light lit up his face, he could see 54 unread messages. Fuck. He ran, he didn’t even notice the tightening of his chest and the pain in his limbs, as he rounded the corner almost slipping on the wet pavement. He saw the lightly tan building of his home; the outside light was still on. As he unbolted the door and took a step inside, his heartbeat deafening in his ears, a pair of arms wrapped around his torso and pulled him inside.

As Shouta panted, Hizashi's grip gets getting tighter and tighter. No words were said but the silence spoke volumes. Shouta felt tears spring to his eyes and choked back a sob as Hizashi guided him to the living room sofa and sat him down. Wordlessly Hizashi began to take Shouta's shoes off, gently searching his dark eyes for some kind of answer of where he was. Shouta could not meet his gaze, and just shook from the wet clothes and clutched the sofa tighter. Hizashi nodded and went off down the hall. He returned a moment later with fluffy towels and the first words were spoken.

“Out of those clothes.” Shouta blushed but did as he was told and as each soaked article of clothing was removed from his body it was replaced with a warm fluffy towel. However, it didn’t stop his shivering and Hizashi started rubbing the frozen skin of his lover. After a few minutes, Hizashi suddenly stopped and stood up, turning his back from Shouta.

Suddenly the blond jolted forward. “heh… ehh…. heh'ISSShooo!" and went into the kitchen to grab a box of tissues.

As he sheepishly returned and met the gaze of his husband, he muttered an apology. “Sorry.”

Shouta was at a loss for words. Why was he sorry? It was not his fault Shouta got sick, not his fault he was broken. He had done everything right, Shouta was wrong. He blinked in rapid succession before finding his voice. The voice of Enji filled his head ‘When you’re ready. He spoke with a voice broken and small.

“The day that the rain smelled like ice cream, my cat went to heaven in front of my eyes. The day that the copper pipes in the old building smelled like burnt food, my best friend... went to heaven in front of my eyes. I couldn't save them. It's sad. Neither one had the chance to become an adult. They should have become adults. They should have had children of their own and loved those children. And I want to make that possible for other people. So don’t be sorry. You saved me. I love you.”

He had never expressed that amount of raw emotion in his whole life, not even to his therapist but it felt right. The nerves he felt flowed out of him as his tears decorated his face. As he sat covered in the towel he sobbed, all the emotions he had been holding released like the steam from that teapot that brought him warmth not a few hours before.

Hizashi cradled him, as his body racked with sobs, gently like how a mother would cradle a baby, pausing to kiss him and repeat gentle nothings. As Shouta began to wind down, all the strength he had been pretending he had disappeared and he slumped against Mic and closed his eyes and soon unconsciousness took him.

Shouta slept for hours it seemed like. Each dream he had was confusing and odd as if he had two brains competing for the dream. His tired muscles ached and the dull pain between his eyes had increased to a dull migraine. Truth be told he felt awful. But soon his body had had enough and he felt the being of a sneeze. He tried to hold back for a while longer but found it futile. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling as the tickle reached its climax.

“Eschht, Eschht eh ugh sniff heh hhh AET’SCHHH!”

The last sneeze ripped through him with such force all the blankets and towel that had kept him warm fell off of him and he was left sniffling chest exposed to the room and his husband who look just as surprised as himself.

“Goodness bless you Sho, you have caught my cold.”

The tired man just groaned and said with a voice still raspy and strained “Not a cold, it's probably the flu, I should have told you sooner, I just- ugh sniff again heh hhh Hit'choo!! Hih-tschh!! Hihh…hih-tsCHEW!”

With the last sneeze, he felt his Quirk go haywire and soon his hair was floating above him and his eyes had turned a red hue. Luckily for him, no one was in the radius but he still felt awful. A hero could only depend on two things in this world, their Quirk and the one they loved. If Shouta could take one of those away without realizing it, it could mean trouble.

Mic had knelt in front of the laying down Pro and gently cupped a tissue around his husband's nose. “Bless your hon, come on blow for me.”

Shouta did a wet gurgling blow and groaned as the Quirk deactivated his dry eyes yearning for water. Mic dabbed at Shouta slowly being red nose and stood. He made his way over to the linen closet and grabbed the warmest winter sweater and returned to his sick husband.

“Arms up you know the drill.” As Mic helped the Pro get dressed, he called out to Siri.

“Hey, Siri, text Doctor Green we are coming in an hour.” As Shouta's head came through the sweater hole he simply frowned. This Doctor had treated him after the accident but was a close friend of theirs. As Siri confirmed the appointment Mic sensed Shouta's discomfort and replied to him. “I know sweetie you don’t like the doctor but you know he can help better than over-the-counter drugs. He continued and I will be there the whole time.”

Shouta shook his head. “Together,” he said in a small voice

Mic helped the sickly Pro stand and guided him to the mirror next to the door and kissed him on his flushed skin. “Forever Together.”

The train ride for the first leg of the journey was uneventful. The hum of the fluorescent lights and the moving subway train was distracting enough to distract other passengers from Shouta's constant sniffling. Mic was stood holding on to the overhead bar while Shouta was sitting with his head in his hands. Mic was constantly asking if Shouta needed anything even though he would not be able to provide much relief besides encouraging words. As the overhead speakers announced their stop Mic helped Shouta stand as the train came to a hard stop be cursed in English as Shouta stumbled forward again him.

The misty afternoon after the rainstorm was heavy in the air but still, Shouta shivered a clear sign of a fever and the couple picked up the pace to the doctors. As they rounded a corner a few blocks away they were met with the flashing blue and red of a line of police cars. As heroes, they knew a situation was happening. Mic half dragging Shouta went to them who seemed to be in charge of the crowd of citizens and asked what was happening. The short man with light brown hair replied with the normal answer for any citizen. “Nothing to worry about Sir heroes will handle it.” Mic frowned and dug in his pocket and grabbed his Hero license and flashed it at the man. Taken aback the man quickly responded. “Oh, um sorry, a Jewelry store has been taken hostage, he paused before continuing “my chief might need an extra few hand…he paused and looked at the struggling man Mic was holding up “is he also able to help.” Mic didn’t have time for this and he ducked below the police tape and began walking to the line of cop cars. Shouta followed but sluggishly. As he neared the chief of the police, he quickly scanned the street. He could see the jewelry store in question had a broken window and was heavily surrounded by local heroes as well as other members of the police task force. As Shouta caught up his eyes were half-closed and looked like he was going to pass out any second. Before Mic could attend to Shouta a round of gunshots filled the air and out of instinct he grabbed both of them and they hit the pavement hard. After a few moments, he helped Shouta lean against a cop car tire and checked over his body. ‘No wounds’ Mic thought ‘I don’t have time for this we need to get through this street.’

Mic looked at the task force and saw the numbers had decreased whoever was in the store had an amble firearm. As a local hero approached the car Mic asked what the status was and what they know. The local hero stating that the man inside the store had a bullet-type quirk and could shoot many rounds of ammo and was demanding everyone to leave and no one would get hurt.

Mic thought ‘a bullet type quirk, like Pro hero Edgeshot’ Mic continued to question. Did they have any other people with them? The local hero shook his head no they are alone. Mic could work with this. He waved over the chief, a man he had worked with a few other times.

If they could stop the man quirk do, they have enough to help the hostages and defeat the villain. The chief simply nodded his head and Mic set to work.

He gently shook the arm of Shouta who barely raised his head. “Hey love I know you are exhausted but we need you Quirk right now can you aim your Quirk over to the storefront.

Shouta tried Mic had to give him credit for that, but as soon his hair started to rise it quickly fell. Shouta mumbled a response thick with congestion. “I. Can’t…tired”

Mic rubbed his arms in understanding and replied “What about if we use your illness as an advantage, you can’t control when it happens right, what if we use that.”

Shouta turned to look at Mic. “What are you suggesting?”

Before he could reply another round of gunshot shot at them and he quickly covered Shouta's body with his. He immediately felt the sharp pain as a bullet entered him under his ribs, and he could feel the blood start to spill. With an adrenaline-filled body, he quickly pulled Shouta into a somewhat kneeling position and aimed his head toward the storefront. “I’m sorry about this love this isn’t going to be big on dignity.”

He grabbed the end of his ponytail and brought the split ends to the underside of Shouta's nose. The already irritated organ began to twitch as the strands of hair slowly twisted around.

Shouta tried to ignore the incessant prodding of the frizzy hair against his sensitive nose, but with each swipe, the tiny hairs that shook loose were soon sucked up into his twitching and quivering nostrils. He shuddered and froze in place a tear slowly trailed down from his eye to his cheek as his nose began scrunching and wriggling from the irritation.

“Come on Shouta you can do it,” Mic said. Shouta’s chest heaved and he couldn't help but give in to the itchy and tickly urge to expel those irritants from his nostrils.

“H...hhih...” The beginnings of a sneeze showed as his eyes began to droop. His chest expanded further “Haaahhh! Aaahhhh!” His eyes fully closed, head tilting back and signaling the oncoming release. Mic aimed his face toward the storefront and sent a silent prayer that this would work.

“Hit'choo!! Hih-tschh!! Hihh…hih-tsCHEW!”

As Shouta sneezed his hair lifted with ease and soon the storefront was temperately Quick free. Mic activated his Quirk and told the task force to go. Shouta was still panting from sneezing but his eyes were open however Mic didn’t know how long he could keep them open. As the task force ran in the subject found his Quirk would not activate and soon found himself being put in handcuffs and a medical device being placed that would stop his Quirk without the help of Erasure.

As Mic received the thumbs up, he spoke to his shaking husband who was struggling to keep his eyes open. “Bless your hon you did it, you can relax now.” As Shouta did all the energy slipped from him and he lost consciousness and slumped over on the wet pavement. Mic grabbed the fragile man and began to walk to the nearest ambulance, as he stepped into the back of the ambulance the medic and himself helped Shouta into the gurney, and soon the siren wailed and they were finally off to their destination.

As they entered the hospital fast lane and the medic was ready to receive both of the ProS, Mic was insistent to be placed near Shouta as he wasn’t comfortable around hospitals. The medic nodded and escorted them to their joined room. Shouta was seen to first. They took blood and gave him fluids; they also provide pain medicine and sadly they had to wait until he woke up.

Mic surgery was quickly scheduled. He met with the surgeon while sitting next to Shouta and rubbing his arm. The female was fairly tall and had blue tint to her eyes and white hair. She explained the surgery before Mic consented.

“Upon examination, we identified 1 cm diameter entry wound at the left lower abdominal wall, Sir. The images we took showed the bullet in the peritoneal cavity but no injured intraperitoneal and retroperitoneal viscera. We decided to remove the bullet laparoscopically.” Mic nodded. She noticed the band around his finger and smiled. “How long have you two been together?”

Mic smiled and replied “4-year next month, but I have known since we were 14 that this is what we both needed.” He paused before swallowing hard “We've been through a lot but I can’t imagine life without him. He is my whole life, my Sky. He bent down and kissed the sleeping man's hand. The surgeon smiled and spoke “I see, well that must be hard with both of you rushing into battle all the time,” she looked down at her clipboard before continue “I have treated a lot of patients in my day but never have I seen a love quite like your, it’s very special.” A monitor beeped and the surgeon motioned him to follow. “Well, shall we take care of the bullet Mr. Hizashi. Mic kissed Shouta’s hand before leaving the room.

Shouta was hot. It was too bright wherever he was. His mind was foggy. He groaned as he sat up, he immediately recognized the smell of a hospital. What happened. The last thing he remembers is the sound of gunshots and Hizashi…Shit Hizashi he jerked into a sit-up position and looked around. The nurse that had been changing his fluid jumped back. “Calm down you’re okay! Just relax.”

“Where is he…what happened?” He asked rage filling his croaky voice. The nurse replied, “Sir he is in surgery he will be out soon don’t worry he is okay.” She laid him back against the pillows before continuing “We need to make sure you’re okay Sir make sure you don’t have a concussion. He pulled out a light and shown it in his eye without much warning. The tickle flared to life and he turned his head.

“Issh’iIEWW!....hhh..heh… “TSCHTIEW” Thankfully his Quirk did not activate he wiped his nose on the back of his arm as the nurse apologized.

“Sorry Sir, but the good news is you don’t have a concussion so you will be out of here as soon as we can get some medicine and your husband is awake.”

Shouta relaxed slightly and closed his eyes and tried to keep the panic from getting too much to handle. Within the next 2 hours, Shouta tried to not be a bother to any of the staff but his flu had proven a little too much for him to handle.

As a nurse with a gravity-type quirk was walking down the hall with floating plates of dinner, he groaned as another tickle forced him to sneeze and he felt his quirk activate and he heard the crash as the dinner plates fell and crashed on the floor. Many of the nurses were understanding but he still felt awful. When his husband was wheeled into his room Shouta's eyes began to water and he had to fight back tears. The surgeon explained the surgery was a success and he would be discharged later today. She told Aizawa in a voice soft and comforting. “He loves you so much, you are a very lucky man.” She sat on the edge of his bed and looked into his eyes. “I know you feel broken but he is trying so hard to make sure you are taken care of. The world is a cruel place and I know you have suffered more than most. But know this, he loves you and has sworn to protect you. You might be a Hero to the public but he is your Hero, let him save you. She wiped a tear from her eye and turned to leave. Before leaving the room, she said “Oh and you have a gift make sure to grab it before leaving.” And placed a small box on the counter next to the door before leaving him.

When Hizashi woke and passed all the discharge tests and Shouta had his medicine they left the hospital holding each other’s hand and holding a box of tea that they would use for the rest of their life.

The end.

#Vic writes #vicwrites #bnha fic #fanfic #my fanfiction #My fic #sneezefanfic #sneezefic #sneeze fic #mysneezefic #bnhafanfic

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itswildwinters · 3 years

Text

D R A B B L E.

main tags: werewolf, larry, short, long-haired Louis, violence, blood. tw: mention of death.

The thrumming of the night was in tune with his heartbeat.

The sky was pitch black and the stars far away, shining in harmony, patches devoid of light where clouds gathered. The hooting of owls ricocheted throughout the forest, reached his eardrums abruptly. He blinked and glanced to his right, the fabric of his hood partially obscuring his sight. He had always wondered what laid beyond the high fence. What it meant that all around, there were signs saying, Raging Dogs; Keep Out.

He thought the whole ordeal ridiculous. The countryside coloured green every single stereotypes he had nurtured regarding it ever since he was a toddler. His father would spew his nasty thoughts regarding this side of the country. Sometimes, it was something along the line of, a bloody safety hazard is what this town is, or other times it was a bit more extreme, a notch darker, usually when there was liquor dancing tango in his father’s round belly; it’s a town full of murderers, son. Louis used to hum and grab the bucket whenever Dave burped, knowing it was code red that a wave of bile was about to spill all over the damn floor if he wasn’t fast enough.

He didn’t miss his father.

The numbness in his heart was the thing of a nightmare. He had wondered, many times before, what it was that made him lack empathy. What it was that made him stare blankly at his parents’ gravestones. He didn’t remember wasting a single tear over both death. Actually, he didn’t remember much of his life before he showed up at his grandmother’s doorstep, clothes wet and shoes muddy; eyelashes sticky and lips chapped and bleeding.

A cat was dead on the side of the road, most likely from a car. Dead on impact. He stared at its tiny body twisted at an odd angle. Perhaps if he were to lean to the right, and come a little bit closer, he’d see one of its bones jutting out. He’d smell the blood tainting the cement.

He blinked and carried on walking.

Six more triangle-shaped signs appeared in the span of five minutes, all of them reading, Raging Dogs; Keep Out. What a sick sense of humour, he always thought, whenever he came across one of them. It was funny because after nearly eight months watering his grandmother’s plants and drinking fresh cow milk, he had never met a dog. Not even once.

One of the overhead streetlamps kept glitching. It was broken.

Once again, he froze, eye-level with yet another sign. It was kissed brown from weeks of accumulated dust. After all, it seldom rained there, to his great chagrin. He loved the rain. Whenever the drops touched his skin, he felt as if his sins were stripped off his flesh and thrown down the sewers.

It rarely rained, though, and standing under the shower spray was nothing like the real thing.

His left hand slowly went to his hoodie’s left pocket, and met with something familiar. He never went anywhere without it. He took it out and flipped it open with one precise flourish of the wrist. The silver didn’t shine as darkness slowly closed in.

The light from the streetlamp had gone out.

Wordlessly and holding his breathe, he held the blade to the thin fence. It was a pathetic excuse of a fence, actually. It could be chewed open. Huffing, he started to cut the thin wires until he was creating a wound big enough for him to step through.

And just like that, he was in the forest.

He chanced one last look over his shoulder. The roads were empty and the pretty rolling hills were plunged into gloom. For the first time in a long time, he let himself smile.

His body disappeared further down the slope, trees growing thicker and more abundant. All around it smelt pure and damp, and he could barely see anything if it weren’t for his phone’s pathetic flashlight. There were no reasons for him to risk his safety and come to a place that his grandmother made him swore never to go to — but he did cross his fingers behind his back, and he would be lying if he said that there ‘were no reasons’.

There was one, actually.

It was called Curiosity.

There was a crack somewhere to his right and he stopped walking, instantly directing the back of his phone towards where the sound came from. He didn’t feel any fear, not yet at least, so he licked his dry lips and proceeded his slow descent to the unknown. It could have been a bunny or a squirrel — hell, he could deal with a snake.

There was another crack, this time behind him.

He was about to turn around when something collided with his body, making him fall forward. His phone flew a few meters away, light down, making his surrounding even darker. His knife was knocked out of his hand when he opened it to cushion his fall, but before he could move, or even proceed that he was no longer standing, he felt sharp pain in his left calf.

A scream was torn from his throat.

Over the chaotic white noises echoing around his brain, he heard panting. Dog panting? Then he felt something hot on his lower body — his face was pushed down into the wet mud, cutting his breathe. Pain erupted in his hip, and then a warm liquid seemed to gush out of his body... it was hard to tell.

But he could smell it. It was blood.

Shock made him unable to mutter a single sound. His throat hurt from the one scream he let out, unfiltered and laced with pain. He should try harder and call out for help, but he knew, God he knew that it would be useless.

He was turned on his back and was left staring at the canopy; it was too thick to let the stars peak through.

There was another stabbing pain, this time in his right shoulder. Something soft brushed the side of his face, and when he dared moving his face towards it, it tickled his nostrils. He couldn’t sneeze because that was when blood started oozing out of his mouth, making him garble. He felt the weight remain over him for a while as life slowly left his body. He didn’t feel pain. His entire body had become numb.

But he could feel It, whatever It was, sitting on top of him, covering his body entirely — ironically keeping it warm —, except for his face; as if it were permitting him to dream about the stars.

He felt wetness on his cheeks, and closing his eyes, he knew he was crying.

It became harder and harder to hear, and soon, the panting that had lullabied his downfall disappeared.

Now he understood why the signs were triangle-shaped.

They warned foolish souls about upcoming hazards.

#i was sad and wrote this and now i'm better #idk about the typos i didn't re read #Drabble

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hawklanthebard · 3 years

Text

Fractured Diamond Chapter 4

(TW: Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault)

Mondo didn't know how long he sat there. He could see no indication of light anywhere in the room, although the cloth tied around his eyes didn't help either. The gang figured a blindfold would provoke more fear, thus better reactions, better screams. Not that it would even matter, Mondo couldn't even see if he wanted to. His left eye was swollen shut, and his right was sealed under a thick line of blood from his forehead. He figured the gang preferred it anyway for twisted aesthetic purposes. The cement chamber had proven to be soundproof, so it wasn't like he could call for help anyway, his throat felt like sandpaper. Every breath he was forced to take was agonizing, even shallow ones were labor. Every time his chest expanded was as if his ribs were stabbing him through his lungs and sides, fractures creaking against each other like an old wooden door. Breathing through his mouth would result in him gagging blood from where his rear teeth used to be, only furthering his burning chest. Breathing through his nose was his only choice, forcing him to take in the horrid stench of blood, sweat, and urine that lingered in the air. He remembered their jeers before leaving him in his "pigsty". He should've been humiliated, but breathing was taking up all the energy he had left.

No one was coming for him. And why would they? What samaritan would wanna fought off one of the most dangerous gangs in Japan to save some lowly biker who probably screwed them over somehow? Was this the price for being in a gang? For being a Diamond? No, he wasn't a Diamond. Not anymore. Or maybe he never was.

'Just a shiny piece of glass, shiny piece of glass, shiny piece of glass...'

Intrusive thoughts were nothing new to Mondo they were his only company at this time. Every taunting word stuck to his brain like a hair on honey. Not once did he try to shake them out. At first, he did, but eventually learned to like it. Like a dog learning his name, Mondo learned his place in the world.

A faint but alerting metal clashing against a concrete wall crawled its way through Mondo's intrusive thoughts, he was too familiar with it by now. His body instinctively curled in on itself as much as his bindings and injuries would allow, which wasn't much, prepared to take whatever beating he was about to receive.

'...notadiamondnotadiamonddnotadiamondnotadiamondnotadiamond...'

Mondo wheezed in a small whimper as inside and outside voices blended in his skull. "..Okay...I...I get it..!" he slurred in a half-sob "I...I'm not a Diamond..! Okay..?! I get it...! You were right..!"

'notadiaMondnotadiamOndnotadiamoNdnotadiamonDnotadiamOnd..'

He jumped as something or someone grazed his bruised face. He cried out as loud as his broken ribs would let him. "S-stop...! I'm sorry, okay?! Jus...just lemme...lemme...d..!"

"--MONDO!"

He felt something touch his cheek again, but something felt different. Familiar. He hadn't realized his blindfold had been removed when he forced his swollen eye to open. He almost believed what he saw was real.

Daiya, his brother, standing before him at eye level. His figure was silhouetted from the illuminated doorway, but there was no doubt it was him, Mondo recognized those sunset-orange eyes anywhere, glistening like dim but burning embers. But something was off about his face. It seemed to be stretched in an expression Mondo wasn't familiar with. Panic? That wasn't a face Daiya was known for. He always kept a cool front, no matter how fucked the situation was. His thick, black eyebrows were always furrowed, and his lips in a permanent half-smile to assure anyone he's ready to take on anything. So why does he look so scared? Mondo could see his lips moving, and it only took a moment to finally snap out of his daze and hear his brother.

"--ondo! Can you hear me?" he moved Mondo's crimson-caked bangs from over his eye, and Mondo was finally able to open it.

"Gnhh...D-Daiya..?" he said in a hoarse whisper

Daiya rested his chin on his chest as he heaved a brief sigh of relief. "Thank god, thought I lost ya there, Lil bro." he half-chuckled, "It's okay, you're safe. We're gonna get you out."

'We?', Mondo thought.

As if hearing his thoughts, Daiya turned behind him and called out. "Michi, guys, he's over here! Come help me out with this!"

"Got it!"

Another voice. Mondo recognized it; Takemichi, their youngest brother. Mondo was still trying to fathom it all, but there wasn't any room for doubt. This was all real, happening right before him, and he could not be more ashamed.

Takemichi's darkened figure appeared through the doorway and froze where he stood, eyes fixed on Mondo. "Holy shit..." he breathed. Michi hasn't been in the gang for very long, probably less than a year now. He was still a middle schooler, still had some childlike innocence in him that was reignited after he ran away from his abusive household and found a new home with the Diamonds. Daiya wanted to preserve that innocence as much as possible, keeping Michi away from the action when things got bloody. So much, he wanted the boy to stay at the base while they rescued Mondo, but his stubbornness was like that of an ox. He was a Diamond, after all. Most times, Mondo believed him to be more so than himself.

An orchestra of boots stomping grew heavier and heavier until the room was flooded with Diamonds, all exchanging looks of shock and even concern when they saw the room and Mondo's fragile form. It was overwhelming, for them to see Mondo so pathetically mounted like this, like a prisoner, the fact that this image of him will be burned into their brains forever, Mondo felt as though he could just die right then and there if the universe showed him a glimmer of mercy.

"Woah, stand back, guys." Takemichi directed the other gang members, "Give him some air. We only need a few men in here."

Daiya peeked over his shoulder to meet eyes with the gang. "You heard 'im. Clear out," he said in a stern tone, firm enough to command his team but soft enough not to frighten Mondo. Understanding the order, most of the members left while only a select few remained. Michi turned to Mondo and have him a reassuring smile before going to help Daiya.

Mondo felt the two crouched on each side under his arms as the other Diamonds cut through the rope binding his wrists. Losing the support of the rope, he fell and would've crashed onto the concrete if Daiya and Michi weren't ready to catch him. He wished it was comforting as it was, but their support reignited his bodily pain. Crouching forward brought agony to his ribs, but straightening up burned the cuts on his back. He let out a dry painful groan. As if remembering, Daiya quickly reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a water bottle, offering it to Mondo's lips. Mondo winced at the sight of the object, visions of past events screamed in his head, but his thirst screamed louder as he chugged the bottle.

"Woah, hey. Easy, bro, easy." Daiya cooed softly, as he directed Mondo to drink slower. He didn't blame him one bit but knew Mondo would only feel worse if he chugged it. Taking his time savoring the liquid, Mondo had finished the bottle, sighing a relaxed breath as best as his burning lungs would allow.

Daiya returned the empty bottle to his pocket. He gazed at the rope still loosely binding Mondo's wrists and gently removed them. He winced at the raw ligature wounds, old and new blood alike, coating Mondo's skin. He heard Mondo weakly hiss in pain. He only dared to look at the rest of his body. That didn't matter now, the only thing that did was getting his brother out of this hellhole. "I'm sorry, bro..." he breathed softly.

Letting Mondo's head rest wearily on his shoulder, Daiya scooped him up in his arms as if he were carrying him to bed when Mondo was a little kid. As they left the room, Mondo felt Daiya nonchalantly step over something, probably some fallen furniture, though judging by the disgruntled expression plastered on Daiya's face and the faint groan under his feet, Mondo figured it was more like someone. The hallway was littered with limp beaten figures of Reapers, only Diamonds standing above them, pinning them down under their feet, giving them a boot to the face if they so much as twitch. Mondo glanced at Daiya's bruised and bloodied knuckles. Of course, his brother wouldn't go on without caving in a few faces of his own. Daiya stopped in his tracks when heard a wet cough behind him, his scowl grown deeper.

"Hey, Owada..!" Several feet away from the Diamond leader lay the grey-clad Reaper leader, beaten and broken. One of the larger Diamonds stood above him with his foot on his neck, although judging by the man's unnaturally bent knee, it was apparent he couldn't return to his feet even if he wanted to, the stance was more for physical empowerment than provided security. The grey man spat out a few bloodied teeth before continuing. "How does it feel...when you lose a brother..?" he wheezed painfully but sternly. "Bet it makes ya feel...fuckin' powerless, knowin' you... coulda done some'in ta prevent it..! My brother...is gone...and so's...yer's. Tell me...how does it feel..?"

Daiya stood strong and firm as a diamond, his expression hadn't faltered. Barely even breathed.

The grey man growled, face contorted in hatred. "What? Ya don't remember me..?" his scowl turned into a sinister smirk. "He does."

Daiya glanced down at Mondo's body curling up in reminiscent fear. He could only pray those words had an empty meaning. Still, he couldn't help but recall how fragile and painfully Mondo fell to his knees as if he were suffering from a terrible stomach ache. Bile crept up Daiya's throat.

The man noticed the reaction and his grimace twisted further, showing bloodied teeth. "He knows my name. I...made sure...he never forgets it. He was...beggin' me ta stop, y'know. Beggin' for you...ta save 'im. His whimpers were so...beautifully pathetic. I wish...I recorded it for ya. But I figured it'd be better if ya...imagined it yerself. If ya didn't...drag ya feet, maybe...he'd still be your brother. But now...he's my pet." he let out a wet chuckle as he saw Mondo tremble like a leaf in Daiya's tensed arms. "Go on, boy...tell 'im..! Jog 'is memory..! Say my--"

"Sasaki!"

Came a deep voice. Mondo would've thought he said that if his throat wasn't already so torn up from screaming that cursed name, his lips couldn't even form the word. He looked up at his brother's discontented face. Surely, he didn't. Another wet laugh from behind. A sharp pain shot through Mondo's heart.

"So, you do know! Good boy!" the grey man cackled. "Try an' remember that now...! Remember the name...of the man who destroyed you and your brother..! I would say we're even...but there's no reason I can't still have fun with your gang..!" Daiya could feel Sasaki's eyes shift over to Takemichi. "Like him. He's fresh. Doesn't matter if 'e's...just a kid...He's in a gang...an' is better to...learn the hard way. Are you broken yet, Daiya Owada? Or do I...have--"

"Just shut the fuck up and listen, Reaper," Daiya growled, making it clear he wasn't finished talking. The grey man listened on, slightly disappointed at the white-clad man's retaliation. Daiya turned to gaze down at the man with eyes burning like the sun.

"I killed your brother Chisaki." his words flew from his mouth as if it were the most natural thing ever to be said. No hesitation, no remorse, not even a hint of regret. Mondo blinked and looked up at his brother. He couldn't remember the last time Daiya said something so cold, or if he ever heard him speak that way at all. Still, Daiya's eyes hadn't left his target.

"He didn't seem to get my last message about staying out of our turf. He knew what he was risking when he crossed our path. And he paid for it. I pulled the alarms, I alerted the cops, and I left you all to die. I trust you and your colleagues have enough pattern recognition not to follow in his footsteps. Do what your brother couldn't do, and stay out of our way. If I ever see you or any Reapers on the streets again, it's kill on sight. Consider this business and personal."

The grey man shuddered but let out a low, blood-curdling growl. "Do it, then!" he coughed and wheezed. "I ain't goin' nowhere, so...ya might wanna finish the job now! Kill me, an' there'll be no more Reapers, no one ta take my place..! So, do it! Kill me!"

Daiya didn't turn back, nor did he respond. He just walked away, his gang followed, leaving the grey man broken on the ground.

"Come back an' finish this like a man, Daiya Owada!" Sasaki cried, struggling to pry himself from the floor but to no avail. He heaved in one shaky breath after another as something wet splashed on his hand.

Daiya heard one last pathetic scream as the door slammed behind him.

"OWADA!"

#danganronpa #mondo oowada #mondo owada #Daiya Oowada #daiya owada #takemichi yukimaru

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ratmonky · 3 years

Text

Bloody Valentine

Word Count: 1.2K

Warnings: guro, non-con, torture, fuck or die

AO3 Link

Your vision was getting blurry, you had lost too much blood already and your throat was sore from screaming.

The faint sounds of huffing and a nail impaling soft flesh with a click sound when the hammer hit its back was echoing in the abandoned warehouse.

Mouth agape, you wanted to scream but the pain wasn’t tangible anymore. It could be because of the amount of blood you lost during the interrogation part. Ahh, what had happened? You couldn’t even think straight anymore.

Your eyelids started to get heavier, you were exhausted to keep them open.

“Hey, don’t pass out on me.” The cold and wet metal head of the hammer poked your cheek. You didn’t know if you were smelling the weird coppery smell of metal or your own blood on the hammer.

You groaned loudly and blinked your eyes rapidly. Once your eyes adjusted to the darkness you saw a thin figure looking down at you and a hammer being pointed at your face.

Although you wanted to push the hammer away from your face, your arms wouldn’t budge. they were literally nailed to the ground.

The brunette stared down at you and then crouched next to you on the cement floor. Her skirt was barely covering her pink panties. The sight of the wet stain on the fabric made you blush unwillingly. You looked away. Upon moving your head, the unbearable pain returned. Your mouth opened in a silent cry.

She put her hand on your chest and slowly made its way down until she reached your skirt. Lifting the cute fabric up, her fingers gently drew circles over your panties before she roughly grabbed your pussy.

Kugisaki threw her leg over your chest and sat on it, still holding the hammer up to your face. She was lightweight and very, very wet. Her panties were wet enough to soak your shirt with her juices.

You tried schooling your brain back online, you had to remember what had happened. You were walking back from work and then and then…

“You dared to disrespect me,” she sighed. “And you don’t even have any cursed energy.” She slowly made her way up to your face. She squatted over your head, “You run your mouth too much for someone as pathetic as you, it’s kinda erotic.”

With an excited moan, Kugisaki lowered her clothed pussy onto your face after retrieving the hammer from your face. She had been sweating and her pussy had been leaking for who knows how long. She looked like she waited for this moment, to have your face right up in her pussy.

She smelled nice. The smell of sweat and her cute perfume kind of complimented each other.

“Put your mouth to use,” she demanded and moved her underwear to the side. “If you convince me, I might let you go without a fuss.”

“I didn’t do-”

“You called me weak.”

“It was just a joke!”

“I can’t take a joke.”

“You’re sick-”

“You want a nail to your face?” Her tone was threatening, she glared at you, telling you to get to it.

You tested the waters by giving her leaking cunt a lick. Kugisaki moaned and arched her back. After circling your tongue around her clit, you took the sensitive nub in your mouth. Kugisaki clenched onto your hair and grinded against your face. Her juices started running down your chin as you tried to fuck her with your tongue. She tasted amazingly sweet.

Each moan leaving her lips was making you excited too, whether you liked it or not. You were getting wet. You found yourself wanting Kugisaki to do things.

She moved her hips to remind you to keep licking her pussy.

She must have noticed your growing wet spot on your panties because you felt her hands move south. She moved slow, almost teasingly, keeping a firm pressure as her hand moved over your underwear. She let your juices soak your underwear, even more, to make you keen and shiver as she teased your clit through the fabric.

“You’re getting wet from this? What a weirdo.”

Your toes curled and your heels dug onto the cement floor as you desperately lifted your hips up to her face but the nails on your ankles stopped you.

“Maybe I should’ve gone easy with the nailing part.”

Kugisaki giggled at your desperation, she lightly blew air on your now soaked underwear to tease you. Then she pulled the thin fabric to the side to put her mouth against your cunt meekly. Her tongue moved across your slit and lapped at your throbbing cunt. Her lips were soft and her tongue, oh, it was hot. Wet. Perfect.

Your lips trembled and you pushed your tongue inside her glistening entrance, moving your lips to give her the same pleasure she was giving to you.

She moved her tongue repeatedly and quickly on your clit. You weren’t going to last long. As your legs started spasming with the threat of your incoming orgasm, you felt something thick and firm entering inside your pussy, then the pain as it abruptly began thrusting in and out.

Kugisaki’s juices started leaking out more when you cried out in pain, her hips kept grinding against your face, and used the back of her hammer to fuck you out of your mind. It hurt like hell and you squirmed uselessly underneath her. Her gushing out juices covering your face.

Somehow, whether it be because you were going insane or how much you liked her taste, you licked her cunt, trying to savor all of her juices without letting a single drop go to waste.

“Good girl,” she breathed, swirling the end of her hammer inside you violently as her hips moved frenziedly over your face to ride out her orgasm.

Your own orgasm shook you to your core, Kugisaki proceeded to fuck you with her hammer frantically without letting you rest. Her free hand rubbed tight circles over your swollen clit and laughed when your hips started bucking against her.

“Needy, aren’t we?”

It wasn’t a question you needed to answer. Kugisaki pulled the hammer out and took a long, skillful lick against your pussy.

You squirmed in pleasure, you were already sensitive and your pussy was still spasming yet it didn’t stop her from inserting two digits into your cunt. Your gummy walls sucked her fingers in. She chuckled softly before starting to scissor her fingers in and out of your throbbing pussy while sucking on your clit.

You rolled your hips, rutting against her face, your juices covered her entire mouth and dripped from her chin.

The second orgasm made your mind go blank, completely taking over all of your senses. The pain of being nailed to the ground vanished, white pleasure washed over you, making you feel euphoric.

Once she pulled herself back, you were breathless, still shaking on the concrete. “You still think I’m a prude wimp?” she scoffed. “Huh?”

You mumbled something.

“I can’t hear you, speak up, wimp.”

“I’m sorry.”

Kugisaki clicked her tongue, cocking her head to the side. “I don’t wanna hear an apology. I wanna hear you say it.”

“Go to hell,” you whispered, a sick smile on your lips.

Furious, Kugisaki grabbed her hammer and pulled out three nails from her small tool bag around her hips. She noticed how frenzy your expression looked and a lustful grin matching yours spread on her face. Sick and depraved. “I’m going to put more holes I can fuck into your body.”

#nobara x reader #kugisaki x reader

44 notes · View notes

omnitf · 4 years

Photo

Credit to @fitaestheticguys for this image. I got it from his blog.

As usual, if you want to help me earn a living writing these kinds of stories/scripts (and just writing in general), please subscribe to my Patreon. For just $3 a month, you get access to unique muscle, hypnosis, and transformation stories that you won’t find anywhere else on the web. You may also find the occasional hypnosis script, and will have the right to request certain story ideas and scripts to be written and posted for your viewing pleasure.

Thank you so much for your support. Now, without further ado, the post.

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Warning: This is a hypnotic script. Be sure that you will not be driving or operating any heavy machinery when you read this. It is preferable that you do so in a relaxed environment. As I have said in previous hypno posts, I am not a professional hypnotist. You read this script at your own risk, and I am not responsible for the results. However, I assure you that, as in my other scripts, I will include prompts to wake you back up and ensure that you retain your freedom.

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Sand

Curious thing, sand, isn’t it? We never seem to really question it. It’s a fine powdery silicate that grinds between the toes and melts into glass. We enjoy its warmth on a cool day and curse its heat in the dog days of summer. And yet, it has so many uses that we always seem to take for granted. Such tiny particles. So puny. So weak. So still. But it’s always the BIG things that are made from the little things.

Take this scene for instance. You can picture it, can’t you? The surge of the waves as they wash over the shore. The sea breeze blowing over the sand to raise playful eddies or simply to brush the cheeks of the beach goers. Gulls cry and call in the air. And sometimes you can see people building wet sand into castles and sculptures. All those little things bound together, molded into a single purpose by hands that are not their own, wills that are not their own, voices that are not their own.

All made possible by the crashing, whispering, rolling waves. Rolling over the shore. Rolling and absorbing into the sand, the sand that accepts so readily, that gums and clods and clumps at the insistence of the waves. So thirsty to take more. To absorb those waves deeper and deeper. Absorbing with every crash, every whispering sigh.

Absorbing every time.

Absorbing.

Every.

Time.

Time that slows and stills with every breath. Every passing second becoming a minute, an hour, a week, a month, a year, an eternity.

Time that slips through the hourglass so freely, clumps like your thoughts under the crash of the waves. The waves of my words. The building condensation that slips through your walls like the meeting of hot and cold.

The hot sand of your thoughts with the cool, refreshing flow of my words, my waves, rushing over the hourglass. Rushing, whispering, cooling, waiting to quench your thirst. The thirst of the sand. The sand of your thoughts waiting to drink deep and absorb my words.

And though you may not hear everything, condensation still occurs. The distilling of water. The distilling of my waves, my words, my will, forming within those walls, past those barriers, deep, deep within your mind.

Forming and growing and dripping ever so slowly. Slow, like the ebb and flow of the waves. Slow, like the steady trickle of my words, the distilled words, the words that are now seeping, forming, uniting, dripping, dripping, dripping to the sand. The sifting sand of your thoughts. Your thirsty thoughts. So dry. Waiting. Wanting.

You want to hear my voice. You want to let that water in. You want to let it flow over you. You want to hear its whisper as it ebbs and flows. You want to drink deep. So thirsty. So wanting.

Drink deep.

And a droplet begins to slide.

Deeper.

Down the glass it comes. So slowly. So heavy. And yet so refreshing. So clear. So cool and wonderful.

Drink deep.

The sand waits. It wants. You want. You want to drink deep. You want to listen and drink deep.

The droplet meets its fellows. It grows larger. More compelling. So cool. So calming. The promise to relax to stop the flow and merely be. Be silent as my words slip through your brain. Be relaxed as the water flows gently, slowly.

Gently.

Slowly.

Down, down, down.

Down...

Down.......

Down...........

And ... CONTACT.

My words have reached you.

My words have touched you.

My words have absorbed into your sand, the sand that is your thoughts, the thoughts that are even now beginning to clot.

And like a tiny river, the condensation of my words, my deep, refreshing, heavy words, flow along the trail to reach the point of impact. And you absorb them. Your thoughts soak my words up like a sponge. Growing thicker. Growing heavier. Growing sluggish and thick.

So heavy. So clodded.

So very hard to move on their own. But you don’t care. Because you would have to think to care. And all you can do now, all you want to do, is drink my words.

Drink and listen.

Listen and drink.

They are one and the same.

The same as the moisture from the waves that even now is seeping into your mind, into the sand.

Time has started to slow. It is slowing the more you absorb. The more you absorb, the deeper you go. The deeper you go, the slower your thoughts become. The slower the hourglass trickles. Deeper and slower as we count down from ten. And when we finish counting down, the hourglass will stop.

Your thoughts will stop.

You will stop thinking.

And you will wait. Wait for those hands to shape your thoughts into something different, something new. My hands. My voice. Quenching your thirst. Molding, directing, sculpting you into something new.

And you want that. Because my words are your water.

And you must absorb the water.

TEN.

The words are seeping into your mind. Seeping as the moisture spreads and binds those little grains, those various thoughts, into something larger. Something that begins to cling to the glass. Not because it is scared, but because it wants more. It wants to stay.

NINE.

To stay and focus to stay and listen as my words drip and slide and spread. Spreading, like the slogging stiffness that is gradually consuming your thoughts, consuming your head.

EIGHT.

Slower and slower. Deeper and deeper. The grains are running less and less through the neck as the water continues to trickle and seep down. Deep down.

SEVEN.

Down the slope. Down the edge. Clotting. Slogging. Slowing. Stopping up the neck. Stopping the flow of thought, the flow of consciousness.

SIX.

The sieve-like nature of the sand works against you now as the water pools deeper, lower, surrounding the dry sand in a layer of wet, a layer of water, a layer of my words waiting to seep deeper and deeper.

FIVE.

To quench the thirst.

FOUR.

Wetter and wetter. Thicker and thicker.

THREE.

Binding into an heavy glob, a sodden mass that must stay. Must listen. Must be molded.

TWO.

Molded by the flow. Molded by my words .Because the sand cannot move on its own. It does not want to. It wants to absorb. It wants to be sculpted. It wants to be shaped, because it cannot move on its own. Every thought, every grain, bound into a solid mass by my words, my will, my will that is now overtaking yours, consuming yours, transforming your thoughts from so many grains to a dull dark cement that only I can move, only I can shape.

ONE.

No more flow.

No more thought.

When I reach zero, the hourglass will stop. The glass will break. And your thoughts will pour into my hands to be molded, to be shaped, to become whatever I will.

Because that is what you want. That is what you need.

Your will is my will. Your thoughts are my thoughts.

I think for you.

I choose for you.

And that is what you want. You want what I say. You do what I say. Because I shape your thoughts.

Obey.

I mold your thoughts.

Listen.

With my words.

Obey.

keeping you bound.

Listen.

Quenching the thirst.

Obey.

The thirst to LISTEN and OBEY.

Because it is time for the hourglass to stop.

ZERO.

Time to obey.

You are mine to mold and command as I see fit.

I can shape you, shape your thoughts, shape your very being.

In this state, you are mine. And you will acknowledge this now by saying so. If there are others around you, you may whisper it under your breath. I merely require acknowledgement.

And you will acknowledge.

You will comply.

You will obey.

And you will do so now.

The waves of my words, my will, shape and scatter your thoughts as I see fit.

But I am not heartless. I know that there may be some desires you bore once before I brought you to this state of emptiness, of obedience, of blissful nothingness. So, here is what we’re going to do.

I am going to plant a trigger in you, a trigger that only works for me. That trigger is: Omni says it’s time to sculpt.

You will remember this trigger. And when it is used, you will verify that you have entered trance by responding with: I am ready to be sculpted.

Repeat it.

...

Good. This trigger will remain in those who wish or consent to be molded by me of their own free will after this session is complete. Remember, the trigger is:

Omni says it’s time to sculpt.

If you desire to be molded by me in your conscious state, then when you wake from trance, you will like this post and reblog it with the comment: I am ready to be sculpted, Omni. You may then message me privately to discuss the nature of this sculpting. I reserve the right to refuse, and you will respect that right, should I choose to exercise it.

When I bring you out of trance, you will be your full former self. Your faculties will be yours, and you will be under no compulsion of any kind. Your will will be your own again. Your thoughts yours to choose and shape. You will not be bound to me in service. You will be your same self, except perhaps feeling a little better rested and relaxed, perhaps even a little happier. And in the event that you truly desire to be molded by me when you are conscious, you will feel the desire to follow the instructions I listed previously.

Now, for those who do not desire to be molded, but still sincerely enjoyed this script, you will like this submission and leave a comment.

That comment will begin with: Time has resumed.

You may then add whatever you wish in addition to it, whether it be constructive criticism or a discussion of the experience, or something, or nothing. It is up to you.

I also encourage you to reblog this script, but you are under no compulsion to do so, and may do so or not as you wish. And in the event you do choose to reblog, you are not under compulsion to follow the instructions of those who desire to be molded.

This next instruction is for all of you.

When you wake, if you sincerely desire it, and only if you really desire it of your own free will and have the financial means to support it while still living comfortably, you will scroll to the link embedded at the top of this post and subscribe to my patreon.

You will also follow my tumblr, assuming that is what you really desire.

Take the time to understand and incorporate the instructions that apply to you from the trigger to this point. Read through them again, if you must, to make sure that you remember and execute them properly. When you are certain you understand and remember what to do, you will continue to follow the script below.

...

Now then, it’s time to wake up. So, when I *SNAP!* my fingers on the count of TEN, just like that, you are going to come back to consciousness. This time, we’re counting up from zero.

ONE.

The sun is shining. The sand is beginning to harden as the heat wicks the moisture away.

TWO.

The wind is whipping at the remainder of the moisture, blowing the hot air radiating from the sun to speed the process.

THREE.

Some grains are beginning to fall away. The droplets are long since gone.

FOUR.

Thoughts unclogging. Mind beginning to think clearly again as the flow of consciousness resumes.

FIVE.

The condensation has disappeared from the glass, and the hourglass is repaired. It awaits the sand.

SIX.

The darkness is flowing away as the hardened clods break apart into glistening golden grains again.

SEVEN.

The grains are flowing back into the hourglass. The surf resumes its harmless pounding as it retreats.

EIGHT.

The sand flows easily through the neck of the glass, ensuring proper flow of thought, letting you resume where you left off before trance.

NINE.

You are almost there. On the next count, I’ll snap my fingers, and you will be fully awake and fully restored. You will follow the instructions you choose to obey of your own free will, having all autonomy restored to you with your consciousness.

Ready?

And...

TEN.

*SNAP!*

#hypnosis #script #trance #induction #hypnosis file

167 notes · View notes

comic-brew · 4 years

Text

Anemos

Summary: Grief is like a toxin, invading your every pore and spreading like the plague, leaving behind nothing but a jade black painted husk. Hollowed out, resembling more of a dead shell than a man.

Notes: Another last minute @jaytemisweek2020 fic! I really am incorrigible. Song: Anemos by Katherine Duska and Leon of Athens. I'm sorry in advance

Reading time: 18 mins (2.2k words)

Warnings: dealing with grief, fake character death, angst angst angst

Or read here on ao3!

***

Hurried wind, blowing forth

"Hey, Princess... It's Jason."

The phone had already started recording, the whooshing sound of passing vehicles was simply a miserable undercurrent to his already bitter voice.

He looked around at the city's skyline. It seemed so familiar from his spot on the rooftop, yet the empty, discarded bottles of scotch in the far back reminded him just how bloody different everything was. How it would never be the same.

"Well uh.."

He trailed off, coughing dryly and staring at the seconds passing on the screen. He scrambled to find the right words. He had so much to say -too much- so he might as well end up saying nothing. It didn't matter anyway.

"It's Wednesday today. We… we had plans for this morning. We were gonna grab breakfast at that terrible diner that you somehow like so much. Shaw's."

He chuckled bitterly.

"I seriously don't know why you like that crap. I'd rather eat Dick's cooking than go there again, and that should be saying something. Although-"

His eyes glistened under the moonlight, tears fighting to be spilt out of their glacial blue. Jason tried to swallow back the lump in his throat. He had to do this.

"I would relieve Quraq all over again if it meant getting to be dragged there -or anywhere- by you again- I-"

His voice broke, bent like a flower's rachis crunched beneath a boot. Jason finally gave way to the tears, flowing in beads across his cheeks. He put the phone down for a second, to brush away the salty waterfalls.

Hurried wind, he whispered to me: 'stay

"You know what? This is stupid"

A small scoff evaded his lips. A little insane. Perhaps a bit more of a sniffle as his kevlar enhanced shoulders drooped even further down.

He sat back down on the cement. Plopped the phone down on the ground next to his helmet, his forehead burrowed in his hands. Perhaps to hide the pain, to keep it locked inside. Trying to hold the weight of his head so that his neck wouldn't have to. It felt so heavy. Everything was heavy and fuzzy, thick and inky like a bog eager to consume him.

There was no bog, of that he was sure. So.. that left only the gaping hole in his chest.

Yeah, that should be it.

Dark matter was devouring him, sucking him from the inside, to make up for the absence of a heart beneath his ribcage.

I'm becoming one with the wind now

Lifting his head up from his gloved palms, he rested his fingers on his chin. Limbs huddled closely together, in a small bundle of 6 foot tall boy. A small bundle screaming in despair, even without the air tingling at his vocal chords. His every cell was radiating anguish, Jason could almost reimagine the bleak stench of death encompassing his meager existence.

He drew in a deep shaky breath, shuddering at the sudden chill blowing against his body. He kept shivering even after the soft gust had dissipated.

Blow forth with the wind, a kiss piercing me like a bullet in the middle of the night

The sharp 'ping' indicating the halt in the recording was almost lost amidst the cacophony of horns and shouts rebounding from the city streets. Gotham highway was hazardous on normal days. Only a more terrible place for grieving souls, even above it and by the familiar coldness of a gargoyle made of stone.

Jason would push this all aside and bury the pain deep down, he really would. But he didn't- he didn't get to say goodbye. His eyes welled up once more as he gazed solemnly down at the passerbys, going about their lives while his felt almost frozen in time.

Seconds weren't ticking anymore when the clock on his phone was pointing at midnight all of a sudden. Tears had been closely followed by sobs as he gulped down the last drop of liquid numbness.

It didn't numb the pain nearly enough.

At the final hitch of his breath, Jaso let his feet dangle from the edge of the rooftop as he was picking up the bloody device with Artemis' name and smile displayed, captured for eternity in an almost mundane moment of joy that he recalled being so heavenly.

It was at the beach. He remembers the feel of sand and wet hair between his fingers, remembers the soft crashing of the cerulean waves and how those same waves felt against his bare skin, and how his skin felt encompassed in her warmth.

Take me far away from here, you're the only one dressing me in light amidst the darkness

Jason remembers the tender whispers of nothings that held more value than all the knowledge in the universe. Those everythings now were truly nothing, if not for sharpened blades slashing deep into his skin. The faint aftertaste of salty lips and a smile so lovely in his eyes it could outbrighten the midday sun, now simply reduced to the shine of a katana embedded in his chest.

Twisting.

God… Why does it hurt so much?

He started another recording. The words kept nagging at his brain, they needed to be let out lest they ate away chunks of his soul. His soul that had already been split in half, drowned out in the haziness of regret and guilt.

His hand shot up to wipe at the tears but they were already dried roads carved into his flesh.

Grief is like a toxin, invading your every pore and spreading like the plague, leaving behind nothing but a jade black painted husk. Hollowed out, resembling more of a dead shell than a man.

I'm becoming one with the wind now

"It's me again. One more and I'll let you rest" he paused. "I promise"

Taking a deep ragged breath, searching his mind for any and every final bit of strength and courage, he continued.

"I-I love you, princess. I love you so damn much"

He sighed.

"I should have said it sooner, but my fucking trust issues… I just- I just thought we had more time"

This time when his eyes flooded he let the tears flow freely. There was nobody there to see them, nobody there to ask.

Nobody

My dream, my secret, sink me deep into the wind

"And it fucking hurts that you're gone, you can't even begin to imagine just how much... I don't- I don't think that much pain is able to be measured. Every time I even think of you my heart is just.. shattered -no- shredded into a million pieces I know I'll never be able to put back together"

If he was gonna do this, he was gonna do it right. No holding back on his emotions, no use trying to conceal the aching claw impaling his heart, stopping it from thumping in the right rythm. Broken, every attempt at pulsing was as good as a heaving sob of loneliness.

Broken..

"A thing that breaks is never the same, huh?"

The words were said in a somewhat joking manner but his lips hadn't got the energy nor will to twitch into a smile. His muscles felt like marble, securely tight into place no matter how much his brain ordered them to unclench. The pain tugged at his soul, wanting to pull him down, down below and sink him right through the murky depths of its abyss, until pain was all he could sense.

>I want the pain in my eyes, the ashes, the fire

The pain was close- he was already starting to asphyxiate, he wasn't prepared to hold his breath when his head was pushed underwater.

"And Biz.. he misses you a lot too. He's obliterated, and that's putting it mildly"

His voice was rasped and broken when he next spoke, the ever growing lump had almost clogged his throat.

"Please come back"

It was merely a whisper, the exhale of his final breath of hope assuming a material from. The desperate last stand of a wildflower against the harsh cold of winter. Jason closed his eyes, shutting out the harpies' eerie songs reminding him that she's truly gone, drifted away with a wind that never quite got to caress his skin.

I'm not afraid, you're here now

Next thing Jason knew was he'd been yelling, shouting loudly for the words to beat the lump and the anxiety. The air rising up his throat clawed against his trachea but he didn't care as long as his feelings weren't lost with the breeze. Even if the person they were aimed at never got to receive them.

His passion finally died out, turned to ashes smoldering miserably beneath his scarred flesh. Who would know when he saw him, that the most painful of his scars was the one nobody could ever trace with the pads of their fingers.

I want to last another breath in the deep

The sorrow was starting to become unbearable as that wonderfully radiant smile disappeared from the screen, belonging to a different lifetime. One that ended when the spark of fire wavered in her emerald eyes, much alike the fainting last flame on the wick of a candle.

With frantic movements he fumbled to whip out his pack of cigars and lighter. He held them in front of his chest, staring holes in the nicotine filled package, guilt settling in the pit of his stomach. Artemis never wanted him to smoke and continue ruining his lungs, she didn't want him to let the it slowly chip away at his health. He hadn't felt the mellow sensation of his worries evaporating and blending in with the smoke in months. She was all he had needed to feel whole.

I'm not afraid, you're here now

The guilt was drowned and lost beneath the pain as Jason placed the cigarette between his lips and set it aflame.

Artemis wasn't there anymore to care.

***

"Just- I know it's hopeless, but if it happened to me, then why do the people I love keep dying?"

Even the mechanical sound of the recording couldn't dim the pain that laced Jason's voice, bitter like a bird that broke its wings.

She let a stray sniffle escape her.

"First Roy, now y-you.. Is this some short of sick joke, universe?! Alright, Jason, you come back, so you can get attached to people and witness everything fall apart so you can feel it. Yeah, the irony wouldn't have worked if I hadn't died, right?!"

The pointy lines of the recording ascended, indicating the increase in volume. Still, there was no way to show the despair with which he clung to the rage.

She pushed back the tears.

"Oh, Arty…"

He was crying.

The tears fought harder to be freed, somehow proving to be even stronger than an Amazon.

I want to run, to leave, go to the open sea

"I have no fucking idea what I'm supposed to do!" the voice uttered. That deep timbre that could soothe and comfort her in a heartbeat was reaching her thorn studded, tying her insides in a knot.

She started weeping quietly. A duet for two broken hearts.

There was a big pause in the sound, yet the needle kept running to reach the end of the voicemail, she was beginning to fear that tinted in pure anguish would be his last word she'd cherish in her memory.

A snort interrupted her abrupt panic. She wiped at the tears as she let old memories be carved into her brain.

I want to touch the sun before I fade in the dark

"Look at me. I'm ranting in a voicemail meant for you. I must be fucking delusional but... I still- I still believe you'll hear all of this someday.."

Her chest heaved with increasing difficulty as the guilt gradually consumed her. He was mourning the loss of her, oblivious to the fact that her heart was still beating, and aching with every poisoned word.

He was going to hate her, but she preferred the man she loved to be able to loathe her, than to take this futile love to his grave.

I'm becoming one with the wind now

She would protect her little one, no matter the cost doing so already relayed upon her heart.

"Well I.." he begun, clearing his throat. "I guess this is goodbye" he said softly, cautiously, and the message ended with a pained 'I love you'.

Artemis murmured back a goodbye. Her breath caught on her throat, she had to exert herself to convince her lungs to draw another sharp intake of air.

She stared at Jason's contact before she'd have to dispose of her phone and everything that bound her to her previous life. She gave the picture of the man a tight lipped smile, tears running down her skin as she muttered an 'I'm sorry'.

I'm not afraid, you're here now

A finger hovered above a tear tainted delete button as wreaked sobs echoed throughout the dark room. The dark room where the shadows danced a walz of death and chaos, giggling under the starlight pouring in from the only window.

Someday.. Perhaps someday she could see her love again.

The finger came down and the shadows danced no more.

I'm becoming one with the wind.

#jaytemis week #jaytemis week 2020 #jason todd #artemis of bana mighdall #artemis grace #jaytemis #rhato #batfam #batfamily #red hood and the outlaws #red hood outlaw #batman #dc comics #my fanfiction #my fic #my writing #tw grief

23 notes · View notes

maladaptive-ninja-returns · 5 years

Text

Stinky Love

Sam Wilson x Fem!Reader

ONE SHOT

Warnings: NSFW! Stay safe kiddos! No funny business till you know what you’re doing. Okay?

Word Count: It’s weird. Not bad. Not good weird. But it is weird nonetheless. I might be stuck in the middle. I want to make healthy decisions. The start of it? Hmm...let’s see...today I consciously did not get into hyperactive mode when I had nothing to do at work. I told myself it is okay to rest for ten minutes without thinking of having something in hand every second! Another thing I did was greet the guards at the entrance (Anxiety- 0 Me- 1). Oh aaaand I wrote this! Despite my block. Because someone really special requested it. :D

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"Easy. Easy. Eeeeasy. EEE-"

"SHUT UP, SAM!"

"Okay."

You put your hand on your knees, trying to get some air inside your lungs while the tears basically flew into the relentless wind that tried its very best to crack open your cheeks until the blood gushed out.

"Oh fuck!" You sobbed, not knowing what to do with this poisonous feeling in your gut right before you felt the rush and out came the contents of your stomach.

Sam’s hand was already on your back making gentle upward strokes to get everything out once and for all, all the while trying his best to soothe you through the pain and embarrassment.

"Oh my God ," you cried a bit louder this time.

"Shh," Sam cut you with his soft voice, "it's okay. It's perfectly normal. It could happen to anyone. Not everyone has the stomach for...this. Here."

You took the bottle from his hand and rinsed your mouth of the toxic kick of your insides lingering in every taste bud and stood up straight- measuring the straightness of the spine with the amount your gut could take without throwing anything more out. Once you were sure of it, you sighed with ease and cut a look at Sam.

"I puked. On my shoes. Because I couldn't handle a cable car, Sam."

Sam tried to form words in his mouth but all he ended up doing was making funny faces that had no idea what they were trying to achieve. "Wel- I mean...I'm sure someone else might've"

" A CABLE CAR !"

Sam sighed and took your hand, walking away from the snowy edge towards the gazebo resting on the hilltop that was one way of him sheltering you from the cold winter breeze trying to ruin your perfect cheeks. The wooden chairs had fluffed Tibetan cushions and a corner by the thick cement pillar to sit over the traditionally made mattresses and enjoy the fire from the fire pit kept in the centre of it all. He took you by the corner and sat down with you.

"I am pretty sure something was wrong with that cable car, babe. Even I'm feeling a little weird in the stomach," he assured you and wiped away those precious tears off your face gently, not taking his stubborn eyes off you till he was sure you believed him.

"Liar," you muttered, your voice still broken from all the crying, your body pushing itself closer to Sam, who was more than happy to wrap his arms around you. "Don't you dare tell the rest about this. Or I swear to God, Samuel Thomas Wilson, you will regret it for the rest of your life."

Sam suppressed his giggles but his eyes were giving away the humour they found when those brown eyes saw the cuteness that erupted out of you whenever you threatened him. Hell, he'd been turned on on more than one occasion when you'd been trying to fight him, never taking the situation where it was supposed to go.

"Okay. Yeah. I can promise you that. Sure." Sam shrugged and nodded, his smile growing wider with every second when he could see your nose flare up at the thought of finding your misery so funny.

So he kissed your nose.

"Stop it," you groaned, scrunching your nose, "I stink."

"Oh," Sam tilted his head, "no you don't," and ended up kissing your cheek before moving to your jaw and then down your neck, nearly catching your sweet spot till you wiggled and closed yourself like a touch-me-not at his caress and giggled. " Staahaap ! Stop it! I really do stink." And to not give his sex-brain an edge over you, you got up and stood three feet apart from him, smirking with victory.

Sam exhaled. And for some reason, you could see that familiar heavy gaze in his melting eyes- the very gaze that meant he was wondering, of all the ways to turn you on in such a way that you just couldn't resist.

Oh no.

"Sooo," he nearly whistled the word, "if you don't drink anymore, you won't stop running away from my sloppy kisses."

Okay...this is a trap.

This definitely has to be a trap.

"Whatcha say, Y/N?"

Trap. Trap. Trap.

"Yeah sure. Why not. But I don't see a way of getting out of this stink filled clothes and boots any time soon. We're four hour's hike away from Tony's summer house. And the weather doesn't look like a good time to travel."

You stood there, quite proud of yourself at counting down all the possible ways he could get his expert hands on you- damn those hands, they really know how to work you. There was no way out of here unless by some miracle-

"Friday," Sam announced out of nowhere, lounging back onto the seat, "give us some privacy, would you?"

What?

"Wait-"

"Here you go, Mr Wilson," Friday's voice echoed through the gazebo before you saw walls rising up from the stones in the ground- with fucking windows at that- and tiny partitions divided that space to welcome- out of the ground like some grand revelation- a cosy bed in one corner with a shower attached in the wall across the glass partition. The fireplace crackled to life and warm lights flooded this small yet unimaginably comfortable little place.

"Would you like some music?" Friday asked politely.

"Yes, please," Sam announced, quite proud of himself, "put on something slow and sexy for my woman here."

You looked at him, eyes filled with equal amounts of shock and appreciation.

"You knew ," you mention, "that's why you brought me here."

"It was hard getting some alone time with you back at Tony's place. Of course, I had to get you away from there."

And that's why I love you.

You took a step towards him before going back, making Sam raise his brow in questioning confusion.

"I really want to kiss you right now but I would hate myself if you smell all the vomit on me."

"Okaaaay..." He sang softly while getting up and closing the distance between the two of you, his fingers undoing the zipper of your jacket, "how about we get that stink off you so that I can kiss you as much as I want you."

And as soon as your head nodded an approval, a slow dance began to get you- and him- out of the clothes.

The jacket and sweater were already on the floor when you were moving away from the little living room space towards the bedroom and bathroom space, Sam helping you out of your blue t-shirt- his favourite- and folding it neatly before putting it on the bed.

You, on the other hand, had already got him half-naked, reaching for his belt but not quick enough for he already had his thumbs hooked into your jeans, twirling you to get his hands on your bra, unhooking it to let it go of your breaths, kissing your shoulders as he does so.

"Wha-hey!" You tried to refrain from giving in. "That's not our deal!"

You could feel the vibrations of Sam's chuckle on your shoulder, his hands already done with the jeans, sliding them down your legs with a little help from you. You were throwing the pair away when Sam pressed the shower controls, letting a gush of effectively warmed water hit you with the right amount of pressure. You turned around to catch your boyfriend in his boxers, wiping away his face of the stray water beads before reaching for the shower gel by the slot in the wall.

His hands massaged your muscles in the shoulders, your arms and stomach and then took the help of the loofah to make foam up his work. Soon enough, every last trace of the stink along with fatigue was gone, washed away by the water, the stench of gory sickness leaving you to be replaced by a wave of everything fresh.

It was a task to get Sam away from you just so he could let you brush your teeth- thanks to Stark's complimentary toiletries- but you somehow did escape his arms to get that bit done and wrap yourself in a robe and walk out into the bedroom.

The bed was too enticing after that five-hour hike and your legs did not have the energy to do anymore. Though watching Sam's lusty eyes, you felt he had some other plans.

"Sam, babe, I know this-"

"Shhhh..." He was already on the bed, shushing you by his fingers before planting a light kiss on your lips and planting himself behind you on the bed where you sat. "Let me help you get rid of it."

His hands picked up a slow, sensual pace, grinding his thumbs into your shoulders and back, letting them feel the pain, winding up the fatigue itself before releasing the grip to make everything feel five times lighter than before. Your moans were just a bonus, which, it's quite obvious to say, was turning Sam on, making him leave deep kisses where his touch would leave marks where the pain left and relief entered.

"I-ahh didn't know I could get turned o-oohhh-on by a massage!"

Yup. Your words were becoming an incoherent slur just as time passed by and his hands were finding there way down your waist, forcing you to lie down and let your body enjoy the much-needed love and sweet sweet torture.

"Oh...but I'm just getting started, pumpkin," he announced before slapping your butt cheek and turning you on your back and opening your legs.

"Well, who am I to say no to excellent service," you shrugged and pressed your lips to prevent the cheeky smirk about to land on your face while Sam chuckled and kissed your thighs, leaving wet kisses and nibbles on his way to your core.

His hot breath was your undoing. His touch dropped every last chain of restraint while his tongue called the Goddess of sex to come out and play.

And play, they did. The best concert on your aroused instrument, his tongue the professional conductor, knowing which swing and twirl of his will bring the perfect symphonies out of you, making you writhe under him with rising pleasure that was the quickest high on record.

"Sam," his name was coming out as a breathless chant from your lips, your hands finding his hair while his tried to keep your hips in place. "Please," the Goddess was begging to let the waves rise above the dams to let the floodgates be opened, either way, the high wanted to end with a thundering roar.

The moans grew louder once his fingers found your sweet spots and his tongue worked its magic around your clit. The tightness of your walls around him were telling him to increase the pace, making the Goddess dance with pleasure unknown before. The torrents rose, taking all your senses with them before breaking with a bang, their echoes coming after as Sam made sure he let you enjoy every last drop of nature's nectar.

Breathless.

Both you and him.

He flumped into the mattress beside you, watching your flushed face with a chuckle.

"How ya feelin'"

"...lucky?"

The walls vibrated with his laughter. Sam turned to you, picking the box of tissues- luxurious, of course; thank you, Stark- from the bedside table to help clean up the mess before taking you in his arms and wrapping you both in the duvet.

You kissed him. Once. Twice. Thrice. Okay, just one last time , because the number of kisses you wanted to shower him with was not enough.

"Okay, alright, sweetheart," Sam stated, taking another love-filled kiss from you, "your eyes are half open and you are on the edge of falling into a coma if you don't sleep right this second."

You groan. "Lemme kiss youuuuhhh."

Wrapping you in his arm, bringing you closer to his warm chest, Sam planted a peck your forehead.

"Sweet dreams, honey."

You yawned, tickling his chest with your breath. Your body bringing itself closer to his for the attractive abundance of love and warmth, your lips wearing a smile at the thought of him loving you even when you were a stinky mess.

"I love you, Samuel Thomas Wilson."

"I love you too, Y/N Y/L/N."

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