#Cold Formed Steel Connections | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chvoswxtch · 1 month

Text

i love you

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: everything has led to this.

warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, blood, & weapons, all the angst in the world (like all of it)

word count: 6.6k

a/n: i think this is the longest chapter to date, & definitely the most jam packed. grab a snack, a blanket, some tissues, & settle in. i can't accept your therapy invoices, but i will be here to provide comfort after. :) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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As dozens of Billy’s men filled the expansive underground space you were in, your ears picked up on several different sounds. The click of clips being loaded into guns, the rip of velcro straps on kevlar being pried open, the hiss of steel being sharpened to a fatal point. However your brain could barely focus on any of those sounds because the only ones that registered were the murmurs of casual conversations and the easy laughter that followed crude jokes.

These men might as well have been lingering around at a bar with a drink in their hand, not gearing up to go up against one of their own. Whether they were doing it out of loyalty to Billy, or just for the impressive paycheck waiting for them, you knew some of these egotistical fucks were doing it so they could be the one to say they did the impossible; to be able to say they brought down the Punisher.

Some of their faces you recognized from working with Frank when he was your bodyguard, trading off shifts with him, and providing extra detail when needed. It was a nauseating feeling realizing the entire time you thought you were being protected from the Defenders of Freedom, you were in the presence of an even greater threat and didn’t know it. How many of these guys wouldn’t have even hesitated to flip on you for the right price and take you out themselves?

These men knew where you lived, where you worked, who you knew, where you got your fucking coffee every morning, everything about you and your routine. They were prepping to go up against Frank, but you knew not a single one of them would bat an eye if Billy gave the order to kill you once he got what he wanted. Your eyes flickered over to his tall form standing across the room, watching him bark out orders to a group of men that looked like they were buzzing with anticipation for all hell to break loose. Every single person in this room wanted Frank dead.

And it made you sick.

Your mind was still reeling from learning the truth about him, about his past and who he really was. It was like you couldn’t process it. All the pieces were there, connected into place, but your brain refused to see the picture on top. How could they be the same man?

Frank. Stubborn Frank that put up with your short fuse and shot back at your smartass remarks with his own. Thoughtful Frank that remembered your coffee order, that remembered every little thing you told him no matter how big or small, that neatly packed a bag for you full of your go to essentials and clothes when he brought you to Curtis. Sweet Frank that immediately apologized if he raised his voice too loud, that was going to sleep on the floor of a motel just to make sure you didn’t feel uncomfortable, that touched you like you were delicate glass he didn’t want to break.

Frank that had saved your life more times than you could count, and that had been by your side and protected you from everything he could for the last nine months.

That Frank, your Frank, was the same man that had been painted as a psychopath in the media for murdering thirty-seven people in cold blood.

“You still not talkin’ to me?”

Billy’s boots appeared in your line of sight, but you didn’t look up at him. After he’d forced you to put it all together, you’d completely shut down and gone silent. You weren’t even sure how long you’d been sitting in that chair still as a statue and mute while Billy and his men prepared for Frank’s arrival. While you were struggling to process the bombshell he’d dropped, one question kept popping into your head.

“Why did you give me that file?”

“Thought you’d wanna know. Seein’ as how you were such a big fan and all, writin’ all those articles praisin’ him-”

“I didn’t praise him.”

Billy seemed pleased with himself that he’d finally gotten you to look at him and speak to him. The cocky smirk that fleeted across his lips reignited a flame of resentment within you.

“You sure as hell didn’t condemn him neither.”

Clenching your jaw and setting your lips in a firm line, you looked away from Billy, glaring straight ahead. Your lack of response and attention made his smirk slip, and he let out an exhale of irritation through his nose while looking down at you.

“You know, I really thought you understood.”

Rolling your eyes in exasperation, you looked up at Billy in pinched cynicism and snapped at him.

“Understood what?”

“That things ain’t always black and white. That most things happen in that little gray area, where it gets a little messy. It ain’t always-”

“Oh shut the fuck up, William. Don’t try to preach at me to make yourself feel better about whatever shitty thing you did. I don’t wanna hear it.”

Billy’s eyes darkened at your sharp verbal lashing. He stood up a little straighter and squared his shoulders, his lips pressed together in a bitter line. He watched you turn your head and glower down at the floor as if it had personally wronged you, and he noticed how your bound hands slightly trembled from how pissed off you were. It was a complete 180 from your catatonic state five minutes earlier. He would’ve found it amusing if he wasn’t so annoyed.

Suddenly the lights went out, and the underground space went pitch black. The darkness was so opaque, you couldn’t even see your own hands when you looked down in their general direction. A murmur of confusion and irritation spread throughout Billy’s men, and the sound of guns being cocked and knives being unsheathed seemed to echo in the stillness.

Not even a minute later, there was a loud click as the emergency lights from the backup generator switched on. It took your eyes a moment to adjust to the dull light coming from the intermittently spaced fixtures. All of Billy’s men were looking between each other and the various exit points in the underground basement that were shrouded in ominous shadows. Billy shifted quickly into a more guarded stance, his eyes hard and jaw taut while turning his attention to the man standing closest to his left.

“Carson, take your men and check the breakers. Power station’s on the south side.”

“Yes sir.”

As the team of six disappeared down the hallway on the far right, Billy turned to face the remaining group of his men with a stern expression.

“Alpha team, you’re on the North exits. Bravo, you’re on the South. When Carson gets me an update on those breakers, Echo I want a rooftop visual. You know who’s coming. You know your orders.”

“Kill Castle.”

A blonde man you didn’t recognize had a cocky grin on his thin chapped lips, emphasizing his point by cocking his gun.

“He ain’t gonna hesitate to kill you.”

Some of the men exchanged glances at that statement before looking at Billy with a nod of affirmation. His dark brown eyes flickered over each of them, looking for any sign of fear or weakness.

“He does not leave here alive. You do whatever you gotta do to bring him down. Watch your six. Remember, there’s half a million waitin’ for whoever brings me the body.”

Frantically glancing between Billy and his men as they fully geared up, you gripped the arms of the chair while looking up at Billy in a mixture of incredulity and confusion. You thought Billy had brought his men in for defense. It was evident none of them had a problem killing Frank, but you assumed the whole point of their presence was to protect Billy, and to force Frank to surrender by outnumbering him so that Billy could trade for the intel. If they killed him on sight, Billy wouldn’t have any way to get what Frank found.

“I thought you said this was a trade.”

Turning his head to look down in your direction, Billy could see the clear panic on your face. There was a wicked gleam in Billy’s eyes as a sardonic smirk slowly tugged at the edge of his lips.

“Nah, sweetheart. It’s a trap.”

An icy trickle of dread cascaded down your spine rapidly and your breath hitched in your throat. Billy didn’t give a shit about what Frank had on him. He hadn’t brought him here to bargain. He’d lured him into an execution, using you as bait.

A cacophony of rapid gunfire and shouting unexpectedly echoed from the hallway on the far right that Carson’s team had disappeared down, and everyone’s heads immediately snapped in that direction. Billy’s smirk swiftly dropped from his mouth, and he quickly went rigid. But before anyone could even react, the resonation of bullets ricocheting and panicked yells abruptly stopped, and it went dead silent.

The previous arrogant attitude the remaining men had up until that moment seemed to rapidly evaporate, and their heavy breathing and wide eyed gazes betrayed their true apprehension as the reality of the situation sobered up their egos. They knew what that sound meant. They knew who it meant.

And so did Billy.

“Get to your positions.”

Billy’s dark eyes flickered over his men with a hardened glare when they didn’t move quickly enough, and his voice reverberated off the walls when he yelled.

“Now!”

Immediately, they started to disperse like scurrying ants, and the sound of their boots hitting the concrete floor in every direction echoed like claps of thunder. When you looked up at Billy again, you saw something in him you’d never seen before, something you didn’t even think he was capable of.

Fear.

At first the sound was so soft and quiet that when Billy looked down at you and saw your head tilted downwards and your shoulders faintly shaking, he thought you were crying. But when it grew louder in volume, Billy’s short lived concern turned into pure irritation as it became clear that you weren’t crying.

You were laughing.

The edge of his lips curled into a faint snarl as he lunged at you, slipping his hand into your hair to roughly yank your head backwards which earned a grunt of pain from you. Billy’s nose was barely half an inch from yours as he bent down and glared at you.

“What the hell is so funny?”

Staring him down with equal animosity, your lips slowly spread into a wide and wicked grin. Leaning in even closer to get in his face as much as he was in yours, you spoke in a harsh taunting tone laced with venom.

“You are so fucked.”

Billy stared into your eyes, seeing nothing in them but pure stubborn rage. His own lips spread into a dark smirk, and he let go of your hair to wrap his hand around your throat instead, making a point to apply just enough pressure to make you inhale sharply. He could feel the thrum of your rapid pulse against his fingers, and his breath was warm against your lips when he leaned in closer.

“Nah, that’s where you’re wrong darlin’. I got you.”

The sound of a knife being unsheathed was sharp in your ears, and the glint of a blade reflected in your eyes as Billy held the serrated steel in front of your face. Cocking his head to the side menacingly, he dragged the flat side of it down your slightly heaving chest slowly. He kept his eyes locked on yours, and you refused to look away. A crisp rip suddenly sounded, and the pressure on your wrists was gone as he cut your restraints.

“As long as I got you, I’m gettin’ outta here.”

Narrowing your eyes, you glared at Billy as he bent down to cut the restraints around your legs. When he rose to his full height, he slipped the knife back into the sheath on his hip and reached out to grab your arm tightly, tugging you up to your feet roughly.

“C’mon, you’re with me.”

When he took a step forward, you yanked your arm out of his grasp, glowering up at him as you raised your chin defiantly and spoke through your teeth.

“Pussy.”

Billy’s eyes flickered with both annoyance and amusement. He slipped his gun out of his holster and held it at his side, gesturing in your direction with his chin.

“Think I liked you better all tied up.”

“Yeah I'm sure you did.”

Ignoring your challenging stare, Billy grabbed your arm harshly again and started pushing you towards one of the exits that led down a long tunnel like hallway. The emergency backup lights lit up the path enough to navigate, but there were gaps of shadowed darkness in between them. You still had no idea exactly where you were, but it looked like some kind of abandoned warehouse or factory.

You struggled to keep up with the large stride of Billy’s long legs as he practically dragged you along with him. His eyes were focused straight ahead, his hand gripped tightly around the handle of the gun in his other hand, his index finger resting on the trigger.

“Where the hell are you taking me?”

“Be quiet.”

Your eyes flickered down to the knife in the sheath on Billy’s hip. As your gaze darted quickly between the knife and Billy’s focused face, you took advantage of his diverted attention and impulsively reached for the handle to yank it out. The force of the movement caught Billy off guard and made his grip on your arm falter for a second. Ripping your arm away from his grip, you quickly took a few steps backwards and pointed the sharp tip of the knife in his direction.

A crease formed between Billy’s dark brows as he glanced between the knife in your hand and the empty sheath on his hip before an expression of annoyed realization dawned on his sharp features. Letting out a deep exhale of irritation through his nose, Billy lifted his head and looked at you in pure vexation, clearly not feeling threatened by you in the slightest.

“Why are you so goddamn difficult? Gimme that.”

Billy held out his hand expectantly. Looking down at his outstretched palm, you lifted your gaze and glared up at him as you tightened your grip on the handle and grit through your teeth.

“No.”

Clenching his jaw in frustration, Billy took a step closer and cocked the hammer on his gun.

“Sweetheart, now ain’t the time-”

“You need me. You’re not gonna shoot me-”

Billy took another step forward and aimed his gun at your thigh, glowering down at you with a hardened look in his eyes.

“Not in the head, but if you don’t give me that goddamn knife back and stop bein’ so fuckin’ difficult, you’re gonna be crawlin’ outta here.”

Staring up into his darkened eyes, your heart was pounding in your chest. You knew Billy was serious, and it made the adrenaline induced confidence in you falter. He could see that he’d unnerved you with his threat. He took another predatory step forward and held out his hand expectantly once again.

“Now, we’re gonna do this nice and-”

“Russo!”

Both of you instantly snapped your heads towards the other side of the dark hallway shrouded in unfiltered blackness as a familiar deep voice boomed from the end of it. The volume and intensity behind the war cry seemed to rattle your bones and left you frozen in place. Billy expertly swiped the knife from your grasp in a flash, pressing the serrated blade against your throat before you could even blink. He pointed his gun towards the end of the darkened hallway, his stance rigid.

“That you, Frankie?”

The sound of heavy boots against the concrete slowly started to grow louder as they traveled down the hall in your direction. You knew who they belonged to. You’d recognize those footsteps anywhere. Your heart seemed to pound just as loudly in your ears as they got closer and closer. Swallowing thickly, the movement made the blade just barely cut into your skin, but you couldn’t even feel it from the adrenaline coursing through you. All at once, a sharp gasp escaped your lips and your eyes went wide.

A white skull spontaneously appeared in the darkness, floating through it like an apparition. As it came closer, you could see that it was worn and faded, darkened with dirt and grime, coated in several deep red streaks and splatters of fresh blood with various bullets lodged into it. A merciless and unforgiving symbol of wrath and vengeance the worst of the worst in New York had learned to fear.

Time seemed to stand still when he stepped out of the shadows, and your blood ran cold when you were face to face with the Punisher for the first time.

Frank.

His large hands were covered in blood, and his knuckles were split and bruised. Deep shades of violet were blooming on his left cheek and around a fresh cut that was bleeding on his right cheekbone. There was a small split on the bridge of his large nose, and one on the left side of his top lip. The dim light above cast menacing shadows on his bruised and bloodied face, emphasizing the storm of rage brewing in his eyes.

Frank stopped directly under the light, just a few feet away. You thought you’d seen Frank pissed before, but the way he was staring at Billy made you shudder. He was furious. The anger radiating off of him in waves was palpable.

“It didn't have to be like this, Frankie.”

Frank’s index and middle finger on his right hand twitched twice as he spoke in his gruff voice.

“It wouldn’t be if Madani hadn’t been right.”

“Surprised she trusted you at all. You were there in Kandahar, Frank. Hell, you’re the one that pulled the fuckin’ trigger on her partner. She know that?”

“I was followin’ orders. You were workin’ with Rawlins and Schoonover, sellin’ out your honor. For what, Bill? Money?”

Hearing the blatant disgust in Frank’s voice, Billy tightened his grip around the handle of the gun and the handle of the blade simultaneously.

“You shoulda just left it alone, Frankie. But you chose that bitch Madani over me.”

Frank tilted his head to the side slightly, his dark brows and face scrunched in a concoction of disappointment and anguish as he looked at Billy.

“You think I wanted to believe her, Bill? You think I wasn’t lookin’ for somethin’ to prove her wrong, huh? You think I wasn’t hopin’ to God I’d find nothin’?”

The despair laced within Frank’s rough voice killed you.

“You shoulda come to me. I was your brother, Frankie. All of this, it was unavoidable.”

Billy gestured between you and Frank with his gun before aiming it at Frank again. Frank hadn’t looked at you once. His attention was solely focused on Billy. The second those words left Billy’s mouth, you saw the way Frank’s face slowly morphed into a forlorn portrait streaked in betrayal.

“Was killin’ my family unavoidable?”

Frank’s grief stricken question felt like an electric shock. Snapping your head to look up at Billy, you watched as he visibly stiffened, his grip on both weapons faltering as his face fell slightly.

“You do it, Bill?”

Billy wouldn’t meet Frank’s eye, or yours. He dropped his gaze downwards, and what appalled you was his lack of a reaction. He didn’t look guilty. He didn’t try to deter Frank’s accusation or defend himself at all, didn’t offer any kind of correction or explanation. He was standing there quietly like Frank hadn’t just dropped a grenade of trauma between them.

“Look at me. Look at me!”

Frank’s loud voice booming once again made you flinch, and Billy finally lifted his head to look at him. Standing up straighter, Billy looked at Frank with unnerving calmness.

“I didn’t pull the trigger-”

“But you knew about it.”

Frank’s voice had been reduced to a wavering whisper. The dim light above highlighted the way his brown eyes had glossed over with treachery that threatened to spill at any second. The pain in his gaze and in his voice brought tears to your own eyes as you looked at him. Billy plastered an impassive look on his sharp features, giving a faint nod of his head and speaking with as much nonchalance as if he was discussing the weather.

“Yeah, I knew.”

Frank closed his eyes solemnly, a stray tear slipping down each of his cheeks, the clear droplets turning pastel pink as they mixed with the deep crimson stains of blood lingering on his face. Inhaling sharply, when Frank opened his eyes again, he looked away for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth rapidly as a muscle feathered in his jaw. His nostrils flared and his lips twitched as he faintly shook his head in denial and disbelief.

“She loved you. My kids loved you.”

“It was just business-”

“It wasn’t business when my kids were callin’ you ‘Uncle Billy’. It wasn’t business when Maria was makin’ sure you had somewhere to spend the holidays. It wasn’t business when I heard my family screamin’ for me. When I saw my wife and my boy…layin’ dead in the grass. When I held my baby girl in my arms, seein’ blood and meat pourin’ out of where her face should be.”

Billy’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he appeared to swallow down even the slightest flicker of remorse. Frank’s bloodied and beaten face was stoic, but his eyes gave away how distraught he was knowing that Billy had been involved in orchestrating the massacre of his family. It hadn’t been an inopportune tragedy getting caught in the middle of a shootout. It had been a premeditated execution. The bullet in Frank’s head was meant to be a killshot.

When Frank lifted his gaze and looked at Billy again, there was nothing but pure hatred left.

“No. It wasn’t just business then, Bill, and it sure as hell ain’t just business now. It’s pretty goddamn personal.”

“I never wanted this-”

“Yeah, well you got it.”

Frank’s bereavement had evaporated from the blaze of retribution that was now burning in his eyes. Billy watched as Frank physically morphed from a brokenhearted man in mourning into a vengeful memento mori right before his eyes. The reality of what Billy had done was so much worse than your wildest imagination could’ve ever conjured. It burned through the short fuse of your temper, and as a surge of adrenaline shot through your nervous system, you shoved the knife away from your throat while Billy was distracted. As soon as he turned his head in your direction, you struck your fist across his face, not even feeling the sharp pain that pierced your knuckles.

“You fucking coward.”

The unexpected impact made Billy stumble a half step backwards, dropping the knife that was in his other hand as it came up to clutch his jaw. He swiftly recovered from the hit and turned the gun on you.

“Whoa whoa whoa, easy there, killer. Let’s calm that little temper down. I’d hate to ruin that pretty face-”

Taking a step closer towards the gun aimed at your chest, you stared him down and bared your teeth in a faint snarl.

“Go ahead. It’ll be nothing compared to what he’s gonna do to yours.”

Billy visibly stiffened at your razor sharp taunt, and his eyes darkened as he stared down at you. Cocking his head to the side slightly, there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he suddenly chuckled darkly at your fearless rage.

“Goddamn, Frankie. She this feisty in bed?”

“The hell are you doin’?”

At first you didn’t realize that Frank was talking to you. In the midst of your unfiltered anger, you were still glaring up at Billy. It wasn’t until Frank called your name in a harsh reprimand that you turned to look at him and saw that he was finally looking at you. A flash of confusion interrupted your adrenaline induced wrath noticing that his anger seemed to now be directed at you instead of Billy.

“What?”

“I said what the hell are you doin’? He’s got a goddamn gun, Y/N-”

“Yeah I can see that, it’s pointed at my fucking face.”

Frank clenched his jaw when you snapped at him with equal frustration. He let out a puff of air through his lips and shook his head as he glanced around in pure irritation.

“For Christ’s sake, you never fuckin’ listen, do ya? You’re always runnin’ your goddamn mouth instead of doin’ what you’re told. What’d I say, huh?”

A look of raw hurt and puzzled betrayal crossed your face when Frank yelled at you. You were taken aback by the hostility in his gaze and in his voice. He was staring you down in a way that almost made you shudder.

“I told you keep your distance, yeah? I said stay offline. But you just push, you can’t ever let go of that need for control, can you? And now look at you, underneath all this shit, got your panties all in a fuckin’ twist. You never hesitate, do ya? Just like that day in the cabin.”

Frank’s angry tirade sent such an unexpected shock through you, it took you a moment to register what he was actually saying, but the mention of the cabin abruptly made it click and a light bulb seemed to go off when you realized what Frank was doing.

Distance. Offline. Push. Control. Underneath. Twist. Never hesitate.

“You always aim for my goddamn nerves.”

Frank roughly smacked his palm against his own shoulder in what looked like a display of frustration, but you understood what it really meant.

“Just do what I said. You got that?”

He stared at you with a look in his eyes only you could decipher, a silent communication passing between the two of you, and you steeled your expression as you swallowed thickly and gave him a subtle but imperceptible nod.

“Yeah. I got it.”

“Show me.”

Billy had been looking between you and Frank, amused by your little lover's quarrel. Frank’s final words made his dark brows furrow in curiosity, and when he turned his head to look at him, you quickly surged forward and gripped the barrel of the gun in your left hand, pushing it away from you and slipping your right hand under Billy’s wrist. Twisting the barrel forcefully to the right, Billy grunted as his wrist unexpectedly twisted with it forcing his grip to loosen. The second you pulled it away from his grasp and stepped back, he lunged forward, and you fired a shot right at his shoulder.

“Fuck!”

Billy’s back collided with the wall behind him when the bullet ripped through his right shoulder, his hand immediately coming up to apply pressure. Before the shock of what you’d just done could even register, Frank rushed forward and nearly tackled you as he wrapped his arms around your frame and forced you forward into a sprint. He dragged you down another hallway, and by the time you finally stopped running, your lungs were burning and your hands were trembling.

Frank grabbed you by your shoulders, ducking his head to capture your frantic gaze.

“Listen to me, I need you to run.”

Staring up at him wide eyed, a crease of confusion nestled between your brows.

“What?”

“Madani’s waitin’ outside, Homeland’s got the place surrounded. Take this hallway all the way down. You run, and you don’t look back for nothin’, you got that?”

Your eyes darted back and forth between Frank’s rapidly. Your brain was still trying to process everything that had just happened, but the thought of leaving Frank seemed to snap you out of your shock. A stubborn look of refusal contorted your features as you looked up at him.

“Wha-no. No, I’m not leaving you-”

Frank cupped your face in his large hands and stared down into your eyes with a pleading expression.

“Hey…hey, listen to me sweetheart, listen. I gotta finish this. I can’t…I can’t let it go.”

Frank paused as he swallowed thickly and looked down at you, a sheen of remorse shining in his apologetic expression. His next words felt like a shot to the chest.

“And you can’t stay. You gotta go, you gotta walk away.”

The second those words left his lips, it felt like the breath had been knocked out of your lungs. You immediately started to shake your head in refusal.

“Frank-”

“Go, now.”

“Frank, don’t do this-”

Frank leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, and you hated how much it felt like a goodbye. When he pulled back, he looked down at you with a tender expression and somber swirls in his warm brown eyes. His voice was the softest you’d ever heard it when he traced his thumb over your cheekbone gently.

“I love you, you got that? I love you, but you gotta walk away.”

Tears immediately sprang in your eyes as you slowly shook your head and begged him in a desperate whisper.

“Frank please-”

“Hey, shh shh shh.”

He leaned in and pressed his lips against your forehead in a delicate show of affection, allowing them to linger for a moment before he let go and took a step backwards.

“You gotta do this for me, baby. Please. Please, just this once, do what I ask.”

As soon as he stepped backwards, you stepped forwards and instinctively reached for his hand, gripping onto it tightly. Tears slipped past your bottom lash line while you looked up at him with raw emotion in your eyes, silently begging him not to go.

“Go.”

Frank spoke in a gentle voice, giving your hand a faint squeeze before pulling his away, the blood that had been on his hand now staining yours. Without another word or glance, he turned to walk away, determined to find Billy and finish this. All you could do was watch him disappear, standing right where he left you, feeling like you’d just been shattered into a thousand helpless pieces.

With tears streaming down your face, you could feel panic start to rise in your chest. Turning to look down at the other end of the hallway, your fight or flight seemed to kick in and you started to run frantically. Just as you rounded one of the corners, one of Billy’s men popped out, drawing his rifle on you. Quickly you aimed the gun in your hand back at him, but before either of you could shoot, something suddenly flew out of nowhere and knocked the guy out.

He dropped to the ground with a thud, and you whirled around to aim the gun in your hands towards the shadow it had come from. Your breathing was ragged, and your hands were shaking as you gripped the handle until your knuckles turned stark white. A deep voice suddenly sounded from the darkness.

“Easy, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Soft footsteps approached, and out of the dark shadows, a pair of dark red horns glinted under the light.

Daredevil.

Your eyes widened as he came into the light, his gloved hands help up in a show of surrender. You were completely stunned as he took cautious steps forward until he was in front of you, reaching out with one hand to gently place it on top of the barrel of the gun, slowly lowering it down.

“Go all the way towards the end of the hall. There’s an exit on your right.”

A look of confusion crossed your features as you glanced down the darkened hallway before looking back up at him. He’d come from an entirely different direction.

“How do you-”

“Just trust me.”

Staring up into the dark lenses of his cowl, you turned your head to look back in the direction of where you’d just run from, where Frank had disappeared. All at once, the gravity of the situation felt too heavy, and you almost buckled under it.

“I…I can’t. I can’t.”

“You need to leave-”

“I can’t leave him.”

Hearing how panicked your breathing was starting to become, he stepped forward, gently grabbing your shoulders to get your attention, and you looked up at him in blurry hopelessness.

“Listen to me, I'm not gonna let anything happen to him, alright? I promise.”

You couldn’t move. The daunting possibility of losing Frank was overwhelming. This whole thing felt like a devastating nightmare you desperately wanted to wake up from. Feeling your hesitation, Daredevil gently squeezed your shoulders again and spoke in an even softer voice.

“Y/N, Frank asked me to help keep you safe. Please let me do that.”

The way he said your name ignited a spark of recognition in your head, and it had a calming effect. You knew that voice. You’d heard it before. Something about him seemed…familiar, and not just because you’d covered articles about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Something about the way he said Frank’s name sounded familiar too. Letting your eyes wander over his figure in the red and black suit, the gears started turning in your head as you studied the bottom half of his face that wasn’t covered.

“Say his name again.”

“What?”

“Just say it.”

Even with half of his face covered, you could tell that he was clearly puzzled by your request.

“Frank.”

Immediately, it hit you like a bolt of lightning. Your eyes widened as you stared up at him in shock, a breathless whisper of his name leaving your lips in disbelief.

“Matt?”

His plump lips parted, and he pulled back as he stood up straight, tilting his head to the side slightly. Before he could stammer out a response, he abruptly turned his to the left, and he dropped his hands from your shoulders.

“There's seven heavily armed men coming this way.”

Turning your head, you stared down the darkened hallway he was looking at in puzzlement. You couldn’t see or hear anything. Looking back up at him, you blinked a few times before tilting your head to the side and staring up at him in complete bewilderment.

“What? How the fuck do you-”

“It’s complicated.”

“Like being a blind lawyer but also Daredevil.”

Matt pursed his lips at your dry tone and sass. He took a step away from you and bent down to pick up the baton up off the floor next to the unconscious man.

“Down the hall. Exit on the right. Go.”

Watching him pull out another baton, you threw your hands up in exasperation, still gripping onto the gun in your hand.

“And what the hell are you gonna do? You said there’s heavily armed men coming and you’re gonna, what? Throw your sticks at them?”

Matt cocked his head to the side as he glanced in your direction, slightly amused by your irritated skepticism.

“They’re batons.”

“Oh, excuse me. Batons. You’re gonna throw your batons at the group of ex-special forces coming this way with automatic weapons.”

A cocky smirk stretched across his lips at your dry sarcasm, and he started to walk backwards.

“Have a little faith, sweetheart.”

When he took off running down the hall, you ran your hand stressfully through your hair, glancing around in complete disbelief. Your boyfriend was the Punisher. Your lawyer was Daredevil. And you were at your wit’s fucking end.

“What the fuck is going on.”

The second you pushed the door open to the exit that led outside, a blinding flash of light had you bringing your hands up to your face, including the one still holding the gun. A swarm of agents wearing protective gear and aiming guns in your direction swiftly rushed towards you, yelling out orders that had you freezing.

“Drop the weapon! Drop it now!”

In a panic, you quickly dropped the gun and held your hands up in surrender. There were police cars, S.W.A.T. trucks, helicopters floating above, and dozens upon dozens of various officers and agents surrounding the area. They were yelling at you to get down on the ground, and you were glancing between all of them anxiously, feeling like you were about to start hyperventilating as you tried to stutter out an explanation.

Before you could get your limbs to work again and comply, a familiar voice carried over the aggressive demands.

“Stand down, now!”

Madani forcefully broke through the line of agents that had you surrounded, shoving her gun into the holster on her hip as she all but ran over towards you. Her brown eyes scanned over you intensely, quickly assessing for any sign of damage or injury.

“What happened? Is Billy still in there? Where’s Frank?”

“I…I shot him.”

A crease of perplexity formed between Madani’s dark brows hearing your shaky response.

“What? You shot who?”

“Billy.”

Madani arched one of her dark brows in surprise, and what looked like a hint of pride. She took a step closer, lowering her voice.

“Is he dead?”

The anxiety coursing through your system was cresting, threatening to crash over you and trap you beneath the tide. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and you were shaking uncontrollably.

“I don’t…I don’t know.”

Madani reached out to grab your arms, giving them a reassuring squeeze as she attempted to keep you calm while she looked at you.

“Y/N, where’s Frank?”

“He-”

All at once you froze. Madani felt you freeze up, and her brown eyes were darting back and forth between your own rapidly for an answer when she saw your eyes go wide with recognition and shock. She called your name again, but it was muffled in your ears and distant, like your head was underwater. A shaky whisper slipped past your lips as they parted.

“I didn't say it back.”

Madani was watching you intently, trying desperately to figure out what was going on and what had happened.

“Didn’t say what back? What are you talking about?”

In an instant, your eyes welled up with thick tears that turned Madani into a blurry silhouette, and you gripped onto her as though someone had punched a hole through your chest and ripped your heart right out. A choked sob caught in your throat when the gravity of what you had missed hit you with enough force to send a crack through your soul.

“I didn’t say it back, Dinah.”

Turning your head to look back at the abandoned factory behind you, the burden of your mistake fractured your rib cage, and a tide of agony and regret burst through the broken pieces like a wrathful flood. Madani caught you in her arms as you collapsed against her, pulling you into her chest when you succumbed to the grief and completely broke down in tears, letting out a wail of his name that tore through your throat and left it raw.

Frank had told you he loved you, and you didn’t say it back.

You didn’t know if you’d ever get the chance to.

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawksfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

#frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle fic #frank castle series #the bodyguard series #bodyguard!frank castle fic #bodyguard!frank castle series #bodyguard!frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher fic #the punisher series

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dragons-and-handcuffs · 2 months

Text

Aemond Targaryen x niece!reader

Cannibal chooses his rider

The battlefield was a chaotic swirl of fire and steel, the air thick with the acrid scent of smoke and the metallic tang of blood. The clash of swords and the roars of dragons filled the sky as the Targaryen civil war, known as the Dance of the Dragons, raged on. Aemond Targaryen, riding his colossal dragon Vhagar, was a fearsome sight as he soared above the fray, his one remaining eye scanning the ground below for his next target.

Aemond's heart beat with a fierce hunger for victory. He sought his niece, the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, a reminder of the rivalry that had fractured their family. The sight of her, a symbol of the enemy, filled him with a cold resolve. He urged Vhagar lower, the massive dragon’s shadow casting a pall over the battlefield, and spotted her below—alone and vulnerable, her silver hair a stark contrast against the dark armor she wore.

He grinned, a sharp and cruel smile. This was his chance to deliver a devastating blow to Rhaenyra's cause. As Vhagar descended, the ground trembled beneath the dragon's immense weight. Aemond could see the panic in the soldiers' eyes as they scattered, leaving his niece isolated. He reveled in the fear he inspired, the power he held over life and death.

But as he prepared to unleash Vhagar's fiery breath upon her, a sudden roar pierced the din of battle. It was a sound unlike any other, a primal, fearsome bellow that seemed to come from the depths of the earth itself. Aemond's eyes widened as he turned, his gaze snapping towards the source of the sound. A shadow, darker and more menacing than Vhagar's, blotted out the sky above him.

It was Cannibal, the wild and untamed dragon of legend, feared even by other dragons. A dragon so fierce and untamable that it had never been ridden, until now. The massive beast swooped down, its black scales glistening in the dim light. Its eyes, a piercing green, locked onto Aemond's niece with an almost sentient awareness. Cannibal roared again, a challenge and a warning, as it positioned itself between her and Vhagar.

Aemond hesitated, momentarily taken aback by the sudden appearance of Cannibal. He had heard tales of the wild dragon, but seeing it in the flesh was a different matter entirely. Vhagar, too, seemed unsettled, growling low in her throat. For the first time, Aemond felt a flicker of doubt. Cannibal was an unknown quantity, a wild force of nature that could not be predicted or controlled.

On the ground, his niece watched in awe and confusion as Cannibal landed before her, its great wings stirring the air into a frenzy. She had always admired dragons from a distance, respecting their power and majesty, but she had never imagined encountering Cannibal, the most dangerous of them all, in such a way. Yet, as she stood there, staring into the dragon's eyes, she felt a strange, inexplicable connection. It was as if the beast recognized something in her, something kindred and ancient.

Cannibal lowered its massive head, and she hesitantly reached out, her hand trembling. The dragon did not recoil or growl; instead, it seemed to accept her presence, leaning into her touch. A surge of emotion welled up within her—fear, awe, and a strange sense of belonging. It was as if the dragon had chosen her, recognized her as its rider.

Aemond, seeing this interaction, felt a surge of anger and fear. He knew what was happening—Cannibal was bonding with his niece, a wild dragon choosing a rider for the first time. He couldn't let this happen; it would be a significant advantage for Rhaenyra's side. He urged Vhagar forward, intending to stop this bond before it could fully form.

But Cannibal was faster. With a roar that shook the very ground, the wild dragon reared up, its wings spreading wide to shield its new rider. Flames erupted from its maw, creating a barrier of fire between them and Vhagar. Aemond was forced to pull back, shielding his eyes from the intense heat. Vhagar snarled, frustrated and enraged, but even she seemed hesitant to challenge Cannibal directly.

On the ground, his niece climbed onto Cannibal's back, her heart racing. She had never imagined riding a dragon, let alone the legendary Cannibal. Yet, as she settled into place, it felt natural, as if she had been meant to do this all along. The bond between dragon and rider was forged in that moment, strong and unbreakable.

Aemond watched in frustration and disbelief as Cannibal took to the skies, his niece safely astride the dragon. He had lost his chance, and worse, his enemy had gained a powerful new ally. As Cannibal ascended, Aemond knew the tides of the war might very well be turning. The wild dragon and its rider would be a force to be reckoned with.

But as Cannibal and his niece disappeared into the clouds, Aemond felt a cold determination settle in his chest. The war was far from over, and he would not be bested so easily. He urged Vhagar to follow, but the wild dragon had vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him to seethe with frustration and anger.

For his niece, the bond with Cannibal marked a turning point. As they flew together, she felt the wild, untamed power of the dragon beneath her, a power that was now hers to command. She knew the war was not over, and that there were difficult battles ahead. But with Cannibal by her side, she felt a renewed sense of purpose and strength. She would fight for her family, for her mother, and for the future of the realm.

And as they soared through the skies, the once-wild dragon and his new rider, it became clear that the Dance of the Dragons had taken on a new and unpredictable dimension. The flames of war would burn hotter, and the outcome was now more uncertain than ever. But one thing was certain: the Targaryen princess, bonded with Cannibal, would be a force to be reckoned with, a beacon of fire and fury in the cold, uncertain times to come.

#aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond #aemond targaryen headcanons #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x niece!reader #house of the dragon #hotd #game of thrones #game of thrones imagines #hotd headcanon #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd imagines #house of the dragon imagine #hotd one shot #cannibal #dragons #dance of the dragons

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spookyserenades · 8 days

Text

Sanctity - Chapter One TEASER

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

Genre/Themes; Vampire!AU, yandere!AU, horror, themes of the supernatural and mythology, historical topics, vampiric powers, religious themes, violence, romance

Rated; 18+ for swearing, violence/gore, toxic behavior including stalking, torture, and manipulation, future sexual themes. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Word Count; 668

Sanctity Masterlist

Sanctity Playlist

TO JOIN THE TAGLIST PLEASE CLICK HERE!

Ko-fi 💜

Knees wobbling, Y/N lowered herself onto the chair while Mrs. Sloane eyed her like she was a slab of wagyu beef she was preparing to sell to the highest bidder. Biting her lip, she swiftly shut her eyes, heeding Meredith’s earlier advice. Perhaps she could prolong her anxiety attack if she kept her eyes shut the entire time, flinching in the seat when someone was not-so-gently rolling up the sleeve on her left arm past her elbow and swiping an alcohol wipe over her sensitive skin.

“We’ll be taking more than usual today," Y/N’s plans of staying blind were foiled when her eyes snapped open in shock.

“W-what? But taking more than a pint is dangerous, is it not?” Y/N’s voice came out panicked and thin, Mrs. Sloane scowling at her nastily.

“Silence. It is not your place to question,” Mrs. Sloane scolded, Y/N’s breathing becoming fast and shallow. “A new coven has arrived in the area. They have requested a large sample of AB-.”

Dread flooded through every cell of her body, horrified that she was about to be drained dry, two pint bags on the steel table beside her. Barely having time at all to process that there was a coven of vampires that were new to the area, and that there was a great chance that they’d select her as a donor, Y/N yelped when one of the wardens pinned her wrist down and another slid the hollow needle in her arm. Seeing stars dance in her field of vision, Y/N whimpered at the sting of the needle, feeling sick when she felt the warmth of her blood flowing into the tube connected to the pint bag resting on her arm. She absolutely loathed the feeling of her blood leaving her body, like her very life force was being sucked out, and before she could actively close her eyes, they shut involuntarily when they began to water.

“Calm down, AB-,” Mrs. Sloane sounded like she was spitting through her teeth, Y/N unable to feel her limbs. “You should be grateful. You’ll have the rest of the day off to recuperate.”

Y/N hardly heard the woman. Ears ringing, she was drifting away, a cold, sticky sweat coating her forehead. While she was struggling to form a coherent thought, one of the wardens must have switched out the full bag for the empty one, and by then, Y/N lost consciousness.

Several moments later, Y/N not knowing exactly how much time had passed, someone was snapping in her face, jamming a straw in her mouth. Nearly choking on the orange juice that was being squeezed down her parched throat, her eyes opened blearily and all she could see was blinding white light from the fluorescence above her.

“You may sit here for no more than five additional minutes. Then return to your dorm until the dinner bell,” Mrs. Sloane’s arms were crossed, annoyed that Y/N was holding up the line of acolytes outside waiting their turns.

Though she was pretty much completely drained of energy, Y/N’s mind was moving a thousand miles per hour. With a new coven in the area, there was a very real possibility they’d be interested in her blood, considering the rarity of the blood type. She gleaned no additional information from Mrs. Sloane– typical– but how many vampires would be in this coven, if God forbid they chose her? Three, four? Four was typically the largest a coven would get, and the thought of four of them latching onto her at once had her leaning over in the chair and emptying the contents of her stomach into the bucket on the floor.

It didn’t matter that she’d be free of the Sanctuary. Though she’d live lavishly, she’d have constant open wounds and would probably be psychologically tortured by the creatures. Suddenly, meals made purely of beef liver and beds constructed out of pallets seemed much better than cake and down feather mattresses.

Taglist; @hazzadoesnotexist @melidramatic7 @honsoolfilter @lovelyglares @bratalicious777 @xicanacorpse @kaeya91 @the-theban-script @jasmin-loves-k-pop @alessiamalfoyzabini @kayways-blog @maeveontherun @a2zure @adoreyou976 @ancagab16 @adoreyou976 @ancagab16 @artfrhe @lightwxod @drenix004 @yoongtism @mischievouscassie @m00njinnie @justlikecrazy @ellaints @asillyduck15 @darkpuppysuit @lilacdreams-00 @neverthefirstchoice @levislifeline @susi-199 @chibimanda @trustfratedjin @tnafzi @yxmer @monkeytime3474 @tinybasementmaker-blog @cryingnotcrying @moonj-oon @mar-lo @kiki-zb @imnotsleepyo_o @oopscoop @wisejudgepandafan @hemmofluke

Please do not copy or translate my work. Thank you!

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alyrasturnz · 3 months

Note

ONE STEP FORWARD THREE STEPS BACK? WITH ANYONE BTW

ONE STEP FORWARD, THREE STEPS BACK

❐ summary » in the tumultuous world of matt and y/n, nothing is ever straightforward. matt is a confusing guy, perpetually oscillating between cold detachment and fleeting moments of warmth. his unpredictable nature turns their relationship into a relentless rollercoaster ride, where every step forward is met with three steps back. y/n finds herself in a constant state of uncertainty, never knowing which version of matt she'll encounter each day, making their connection both exhilarating and exhausting.

❐ pairings » toxic!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » toxic!matt , sleeping with makeup on…

❐ a/n && w/c » this took a weird amount of time for me to write (4 hours.) • 3.44k

you glanced at your phone, the screen glowing ominously with matt's contact information. the weight of the moment settled on your shoulders as you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come.

with a trembling finger, you pressed the call button, the sound of the dial tone echoing in the quiet room. hope flickered within you, a fragile flame yearning for a warm conversation amidst the storm of uncertainty.

"hey, matt," you began, your voice gentle, as you carefully adjusted your grip on the phone, your fingers tracing the edges of the device. you took a moment to steady your breath, feeling the rise and fall of your chest, before continuing, "how are you?"

there was a pause on the other end, a silence that felt heavy and foreboding. the seconds stretched into an eternity, each one amplifying the tension that hung in the air like a storm cloud. “i’m fine, what about it?" matt's voice finally broke the silence, clipped and almost indifferent, as if he were brushing off an insignificant detail.

a pang of confusion and hurt shot through you, like an icy dagger piercing your heart. you furrowed your brows, the lines deepening as you tried to decipher the sudden chill in his tone. "are you okay? you seem upset," you asked, your voice laced with concern and uncertainty.

matt sighed, the sound crackling through the phone like a distant storm rolling over the horizon. "i'm fine. why do you always have to make a big deal out of everything?" he retorted, his words sharp and laced with an undercurrent of frustration.

your heart ached at his words, a dull throb of pain that resonated deep within. you struggled to keep your voice steady, fighting against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "i was just asking because i care about you," you managed to say, each word a testament to your enduring concern and affection.

"well, don't," he snapped, cutting you off with the precision of a knife. "i don't need you checking up on me all the time," he continued, his words slicing through the fragile thread of connection between you, leaving behind an echo of cold detachment.

you bit your lip, feeling a lump form in your throat, as if the weight of unspoken words was choking you. the warmth of the conversation you had hoped for was slipping away, replaced by an icy barrier that seemed insurmountable.

"matt, it's not about checking up. i just want to make sure you're okay. is something bothering you?" you asked, your voice trembling with a mix of concern and desperation, hoping to pierce through the coldness that had enveloped him.

"just leave it," he said, his voice now a mix of frustration and exhaustion, like the final crack of a weary branch under the weight of snow. "i don't want to talk about it," he continued, each word laden with a heavy finality that seemed to close the door on any further attempts at understanding.

the river of your relationship had encountered a stone, and you couldn't help but wonder how long it would take to smooth it over, if at all. you took a deep breath, trying to keep your own emotions in check, like a dam holding back a flood.

"alright, matt. i'll give you some space. but remember, i'm here if you need to talk," you said, your words a gentle current, offering solace and a lifeline amidst the turbulent waters.

"yeah, whatever," he muttered, his voice a mere whisper of resignation before the line went dead, leaving behind an echo of unresolved tension and unanswered questions.

as you ended the call, you felt a mixture of confusion and sadness, like a fog that clouded your thoughts. the conversation replayed in your mind, each word a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit, an enigma wrapped in layers of unspoken truths. you couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper was at play, something matt wasn't ready to share, a hidden current beneath the surface of his words.

you know that matt's got you wrapped around his finger, twisting your thoughts and emotions like a marionette on tangled strings. he's got you so fucked up in the head that your mind feels like a labyrinth with no clear way out.

each step you take seems to lead you further into a maze of confusion and heartache, where his influence looms like an ever-present shadow. you're caught in a web of his making, struggling to find clarity amidst the chaos he's sown in your heart and mind.

he could utter the slightest things, mere whispers in the wind, and they would still echo in your head for the rest of the day, reverberating like a haunting refrain.

you know that you've never doubted yourself this much, each word he speaks planting seeds of uncertainty that grow into a tangled forest of self-doubt and confusion. his influence lingers, a spectral presence that shadows your every thought, leaving you questioning your own worth and reality.

you love him deeply, with a fervor that consumes you, but you hate how you've surrendered so much power over your emotions to him. you desperately wish you didn't, but this tumultuous rollercoaster is all you've ever known.

he was your first love, the one who etched his name into the very fabric of your being, and now you're caught in a cycle of passion and pain, unable to break free from the hold he has over your heart.

people often say that your first love is the one love you'll never get over, suggesting that their profound affection leaves an indelible mark on your soul. some might mean that in the way they loved you so deeply, their memory becomes an inextricable part of you. but that isn't the case for you.

you know you'll never get over the pain he punctured through your heart, each wound a reminder of the emotional scars that linger, a testament to the anguish that continues to haunt you.

it was toxic. one day, he was fine, showering you with affection and attention, and the next, he would turn cold, retreating into silence and ignoring you as if you didn't exist.

this unpredictable oscillation between warmth and indifference left you in a constant state of uncertainty, never knowing where you stood, and further entangling you in the web of emotional turmoil he spun around you.

and maybe, in some masochistic way, you find it all exhilarating, like a twisted game of chance.

which lover are you getting today? the affectionate boy who showers you with warmth, or the distant stranger who leaves you in the cold? the unpredictability adds a perverse thrill to the tumult, a dark allure that keeps you tethered to the chaos.

»--•--«

you know that you probably shouldn't be doing this, especially after he already snapped at you, but here you are, standing at his front door. despite the rational voice in your head urging you to turn back, the pull of unresolved emotions and the hope for a different outcome have led you to this very threshold, a testament to the complex dance of love and longing that continues to ensnare your heart.

you pressed your lips together, a silent battle waging within you as you debated whether to knock. the hesitation in your heart mirrored the turmoil in your mind, each moment stretching into an eternity as you stood there, caught between the desire to reach out and the fear of further rejection.

this was a bad idea, and deep down, you were acutely aware of it. perhaps it would be wiser to postpone this endeavor until tomorrow, allowing emotions to settle and reason to prevail?

but just as you were about to leave, the heavens opened up, and a torrential downpour began to cascade from the sky, as if the universe itself sought to mirror the tumultuous storm within your heart. each raindrop seemed to echo the unresolved emotions and unspoken words, creating a symphony of melancholy that enveloped the moment.

of course.

you found yourself with no alternative but to rap upon his door, and soon enough, matt appeared, his visage darkening with a shadow of irritation.

"why are you here?" he inquired, his arms crossing defensively, a barrier to the tumultuous emotions swirling within.

“can i come in?" you inquired softly, your voice barely above a whisper. matt, unable to meet your gaze, turned his eyes toward the relentless rain outside, seeking solace in the storm's embrace.

he wasn't entirely devoid of compassion. "yeah, come in," he responded with a frosty detachment, stepping aside to allow you entry, his demeanor as cold as the rain-soaked night.

he closed the door with a soft click that seemed to echo in the silence between you. “okay, what is it?” he queried, leaning against the door, his posture a mix of curiosity and guardedness.

"what's going on, matt?" you inquired directly, your voice slicing through the tension like a finely honed blade.

"what do you mean?" he responded, furrowing his eyebrows in a perplexed manner, his confusion evident in the deep lines etched across his forehead.

"i mean, what’s going on with you?" you pressed, crossing your arms defensively, your eyes searching his for any flicker of the person you once knew. "i know you, matt. this isn't you. this isn't the matt i committed to. the matt i knew was strong, dependable, and honest. but now, it feels like you're a shadow of your former self, and i can't help but wonder what's changed. please, just talk to me."

matt rolls his eyes, a gesture heavy with exasperation, before he begins pacing back and forth in the living room. his hands run through his hair in frustration, each pass through his locks a testament to the turmoil brewing within him. "why do you always have to make everything so dramatic? it's like you're looking for reasons to be upset."

you stand by the door, arms crossed tightly across your chest, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and determination. "i'm not making things dramatic, matt. i'm just trying to understand why one moment you're sweet and the next you're cold. it's like i'm always walking on eggshells around you."

matt halts abruptly and pivots to face you, his eyes narrowing into slits, a storm of emotions brewing just beneath the surface. "oh, here we go again. you always turn things around to make me the bad guy. maybe if you weren't so sensitive, we wouldn't have these problems."

you take a deep breath, your chest rising and falling with the effort, as tears begin to well up in your eyes, shimmering like fragile crystals on the verge of breaking. "sensitive? matt, you never take responsibility for how you treat me. it's always my fault somehow. i feel like i'm taking one step forward and then three steps back with you. it's exhausting."

matt rolls his eyes, a gesture laden with disdain, before throwing his hands up in exasperation, the motion a dramatic display of his mounting frustration. "well, maybe if you stopped overthinking everything, we'd be fine. i can't deal with your constant need for reassurance."

you move closer, each step heavy with emotion, your voice breaking like fragile glass under the weight of unspoken words. "i just want to feel loved and secure, matt. but with you, it's like i'm constantly guessing where i stand. one day you love me, the next day you push me away. it's breaking my heart."

matt scoffs, a derisive sound escaping his lips, as he shakes his head, the gesture filled with a blend of disbelief and contempt. "you're being ridiculous. if you can't handle me at my worst, maybe you don't deserve me at my best."

you wipe a tear from your cheek, the delicate motion betraying your vulnerability, as your voice emerges, barely a whisper, fragile and laden with unspoken sorrow. "i just wish you could see how much this is hurting me. i don't know how much more of this back and forth i can take."

matt crosses his arms, a barrier of defiance, and looks away, his voice cutting through the air with a frigid detachment. "maybe you should think about that."

you feel your heart shatter into a thousand irreparable fragments, the weight of his words sinking in like stones dragging you into the depths of despair. "is that what you really want? for me to leave?"

matt shrugs with an air of indifference, his eyes deliberately avoiding your gaze, as if the very act of looking at you would acknowledge the gravity of the moment. "i don't know. maybe it's for the best."

you take a step back, the ground beneath you feeling unsteady, as the room swirls around you in a dizzying maelstrom of confusion and disorientation. "i can't believe you would say that. after everything we've been through..."

matt finally turns his gaze towards you, his eyes a labyrinth of emotions, his expression an enigmatic mask that conceals the depths of his true feelings. "maybe it's time we both move on."

you turn and walk toward the door, each step weighed down by an unbearable sorrow, your heart a leaden anchor dragging through the sea of your despair. "i never thought it would end like this, matt. i loved you more than anything."

matt watches as you leave, a fleeting shadow of regret flickering across his face like a ghost of unspoken words. yet, he remains silent, his lips sealed by the weight of his own inaction, allowing you to slip away without a struggle.

you slam the door behind you with a resounding finality that reverberates through the empty corridors, each echo a testament to the storm brewing within. without even a flicker of awareness, you step into the relentless downpour, the cold rain mingling with the heat of your unresolved emotions, as if the heavens themselves weep in harmony with the tempest of your soul.

the raindrops, like silent witnesses to your sorrow, mingle with your tears, creating a symphony of despair. your hair, drenched and tangled, clings to your face, while your clothes, heavy with the weight of the storm, adhere to your skin, as if the very elements conspire to mirror the turmoil within.

»--•--«

the morning after was a wretched affair. you had barely crossed the threshold of your sanctuary before succumbing to the weight of your exhaustion, collapsing onto your bed as if the very essence of your being had been drained.

you lifted your head, the pillow bearing the telltale signs of your turmoil—mascara and tear stains mingling in a somber tapestry. with a groan, you came to the disheartening realization that you had succumbed to sleep with your makeup still on, the remnants of yesterday's trials etched upon your face.

you sat up, your feet meeting the unforgiving chill of the floor as you made your way to the bathroom. there, under the dim light, you meticulously rinsed away the remnants of your makeup, each stroke a small act of reclamation. finally, you brushed your teeth, the rhythmic motion offering a semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos.

you walked back over to your bed, sinking into its embrace as you reached for your phone. with a weary sigh, you began to scroll through it, the soft glow of the screen casting fleeting shadows on your face as you sought a momentary escape in its digital realm.

but then, the tranquility was abruptly shattered by the resonant chime of your doorbell, echoing through the stillness and pulling you back to reality.

you placed your phone gently on the bedside table, rising from your sanctuary and making your way towards the front door, each step a deliberate movement through the quietude of your home.

your fingertips grazed against the cold metal of the door handle, the chill seeping into your skin as you clicked it open, revealing matt standing outside, his presence stirring a whirlwind of emotions.

anger and fury surged through your veins, propelling you to slam the door shut with a forceful resolve, but in a swift motion, matt's hand intercepted it, halting its closure and igniting a silent, yet palpable, confrontation.

"wait, i just wanna talk," he uttered, his voice laced with a desperate urgency, each word a fragile plea hanging in the air between you, seeking to bridge the chasm of misunderstanding and hurt.

you stepped aside, granting him passage, and with a hesitant breath, he crossed the threshold, his presence altering the atmosphere with unspoken tension and unresolved emotions.

you both made your way to the living room, each step laden with the weight of unspoken words and simmering tension, the air thick with the anticipation of the conversation to come.

the morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft, ethereal glow across the living room, illuminating the dust motes that dance in the still air. matt sits on the edge of the couch, his shoulders hunched and his head cradled in his hands, a picture of silent despair.

as you cross your arms and step into the light, he looks up, his eyes brimming with a rare vulnerability, a silent plea for understanding and connection, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between you.

“okay,” he begins, his voice softer than usual. he shifts slightly, the tension in his shoulders visible as he takes a deep breath. "i’ve been thinking a lot about what you said last night. i know i can be cold and push you away, and that's not fair to you. i guess i’ve been scared to let you in completely, but that’s no excuse for how i’ve treated you."

he stands, his movements slow and deliberate, as if each step is weighed down by the gravity of his words. he takes a hesitant step towards you, his gaze earnest and unwavering. "i’m sorry for making you feel like you’re walking on eggshells. you deserve to feel loved and secure, not constantly guessing where you stand. i’ve been selfish, and i see that now."

matt’s eyes meet yours, and for the first time, there’s a glimmer of genuine regret. he takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly, as if gathering the courage to speak. "i don't want to lose you. i promise to work on being more consistent and taking responsibility for my actions. you mean too much to me to keep hurting you like this."

his voice breaks slightly as he continues, his hands trembling ever so slightly. "please, give me another chance to show you that i can be the partner you deserve. i love you, and i’m willing to do whatever it takes to make things right."

he takes another step closer, his hand reaching out tentatively, fingers trembling as if afraid you might pull away. his eyes, brimming with unshed tears, lock onto yours with an intensity that speaks volumes. "i know words are not enough, and trust must be rebuilt. but i am ready to put in the effort, to prove to you that i can change. every day, i will strive to be better, not just for you, but for us."

matt’s voice trembles with emotion, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "i’ve realized that pushing you away was my way of protecting myself, but in doing so, i’ve hurt the person i care about the most. i can’t bear the thought of a life without you. please, let me show you that i can be the man you fell in love with, the one who cherishes every moment with you."

he pauses, taking a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as if he’s trying to steady the storm of emotions within him, "i understand if you need time to think about this, and i will respect whatever decision you make. just know that i am here, ready to fight for us, ready to love you the way you deserve to be loved."

matt’s eyes are now brimming with unshed tears, his vulnerability laid bare before you, like an open book revealing its most fragile pages. "i love you more than words can express, and i am willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. please, give me another chance."

you connect your lips with his, and for once, it feels as though you’ve taken a monumental step forward without the burden of retreating several steps back. in that fleeting yet profound moment, the weight of past missteps and hesitations seems to dissolve, leaving only the pure, unadulterated connection between your souls.

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midastouch013 · 6 months

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The Assassin and The Sunshine

Summary: You and Yelena were the most least-likely pair, or atleast that's what the avengers (Minus Natasha and Wanda) thought. So what happens when they see how the blonde acts when you get hurt

Warnings: Gunshots, medical stuff (minorly). Angry Yelena

----

Yelena Belova, with her steely gaze and lethal precision, was the epitome of intimidation among her peers. Her reputation as a formidable assassin preceded her, casting a shadow of fear wherever she went. With every calculated move and icy demeanor, she commanded respect and evoked a sense of unease among those around her. She was a force to be reckoned with, leaving a trail of apprehension in her wake.

And then there was you, Y/n Y/L/n. With a personality as bright as the sun and a heart as pure as gold, Y/n brought warmth and positivity to every situation. Her infectious laughter and unwavering kindness had a way of melting even the coldest of hearts, earning them the affectionate nickname of "the team's golden retriever."

Your gentle nature stood in stark contrast to Yelena's, and yet, somehow, the two of you had found a connection that defied explanation.

It wasn't easy, navigating a relationship with someone as closed-off as Yelena. She was slow to trust, and her walls were fortified with layers of steel. But you were patient, willing to chip away at those barriers bit by bit until you reached the heart of who she truly was.

The rest of the team couldn't understand it. They saw Yelena as an enigma, a formidable presence to be feared and respected. They couldn't fathom what you saw in her, why you would choose to be with someone so different from yourself.

"It's just... I don't get it," Tony remarked, glancing over at Yelena and you conversing in the corner of the room. "What's the deal with those two? Yelena's like a walking arsenal, and Y/n's... well, Y/n."

Steve nodded in agreement, his gaze following yours and Yelena's interaction. "I know what you mean, Tony. It's hard to imagine what they see in each other. They're like night and day."

Clint, who had been listening in on the conversation, chimed in with her own thoughts.

"Exactly! I still can't wrap my head around it," Clint admitted, scratching his head in confusion. "Yelena and Y/n... they're just so different from each other."

Bruce chuckled softly, glancing towards where you and Yelena were sitting. "Love is a strange thing, Clint. It's not always logical. Maybe Y/n sees something in Yelena that we don't."

Clint sighed, shaking his head. "I guess you're right. I just hope they know what they're doing."

It was a cold autumn day, and you found yourself on another mission alongside Natasha Tony, Steve, and Clint. The tension hung heavy in the air as the team moved with practiced precision through the dimly lit corridors of the enemy's stronghold.

The mission had been intense from the start, nearly dodging attacks at almost all turns, but as you ventured deeper into the heart of the HYDRA base, the atmosphere grew even more charged. Every step felt like a potential trap, every shadow a potential threat.

Suddenly, chaos erupted. Gunfire erupted from unseen assailants, and you found yourself instinctively stepping in front of Clint, shielding him from the onslaught. The impact was immediate, a searing pain lancing through your side as the bullets found their mark.

"Y/n!" Natasha's voice was a mix of alarm and concern as she rushed to your side, her expression tight with worry.

Clint knelt beside you, his hands hovering uncertainly over your injured form. "Y/n, are you okay?"

You managed a weak nod, gritting your teeth against the pain as Natasha and Tony quickly moved to assess your injuries.

"We need to get her out of here," Natasha declared, her voice firm as she glanced around the chaotic scene.

Steve's voice crackled over the comms. "Quinjet's on its way. Hold tight, we'll get you out of there."

As you were carefully lifted onto a stretcher, the team worked quickly to stabilize you. Despite the pain, you managed a weak smile, reassured by their presence.

"We've got you, Y/n," Tony said, his tone determined as he helped load you onto the Quinjet.

Clint squeezed your hand gently, his expression filled with worry. "Hang in there, okay? We'll get you patched up in no time."

You nodded weakly, feeling a surge of gratitude for your friends. As the Quinjet engines roared to life and the aircraft lifted off, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you, knowing that even in the midst of danger, you had your closest friends by your side.

----

As the Quinjet touched down back at the base, the team wasted no time in transferring you to the medbay. Before Yelena could arrive, the medical team swiftly brought you into the operating room, shielding you from her sight.

Moments later, the door burst open again, and Yelena stormed in, her expression a mask of fury. Kate Bishop, who happened to be sparring with her when FRIDAY had informed Yelena of the news, was right beside her, offering silent support.

"Where is she?" Yelena demanded, her voice a dangerous growl, her eyes scanning the room for any sign of you.

Natasha stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. "Yelena, they've taken her into surgery. They're doing everything they can for her."

The blonde's tension only seemed to escalate at Natasha's words. "They better be taking care of her!" she barked, her tone sharp and threatening.

Tony and Steve exchanged uneasy glances as Yelena's fury filled the room. They shuffled awkwardly, intimidated by the practically burning blonde.

Yelena turned her rage on them, her eyes blazing with fury. "This is all your fault!" she accused, her voice cutting like a knife. "If anything happens to her, I'll make sure you all pay!"

Steve, ever the voice of reason, tried to reason with Yelena. "Yelena, we understand your concern, but right now our priority is getting her the help she needs."

Yelena's eyes flashed with fury. "Your priority should have been keeping her safe in the first place!" she shot back, her voice sharp with accusation, her Russian accent adding an extra edge to her words.

Tony, normally quick-witted, found himself at a loss for words in the face of Yelena's anger. "We did everything we could," he insisted, his tone defensive.

Clint, usually unflappable, shifted uncomfortably under Yelena's intense gaze. "Yelena, we're all worried about her. But yelling at us isn't going to help," he reasoned, trying to diffuse the tension.

But Yelena's rage was unyielding. "You think I care about your excuses?" she spat, her voice dripping with disdain. "All that matters to me is her. And if anything happens to her because of you…"

Natasha exchanged a knowing glance with Kate, silently acknowledging that it was time to intervene and calm Yelena down before her fury escalated further.

"Yelena," Natasha spoke softly but firmly, stepping closer to her friend, "I know you're scared. But yelling at them won't help Y/n."

Kate nodded in agreement, placing a gentle hand on Yelena's arm. "We're all worried about her," she added, her voice calm and reassuring. "But right now, we need to trust that Dr. Cho and Bruce knows what they're doing."

Yelena's anger seemed to waver for a moment as she looked between Natasha and Kate, her resolve beginning to soften.

Natasha continued, her voice gentle yet persuasive. "Y/n needs us to be strong for her right now. She needs you to be strong."

Kate nodded in agreement. "We're all in this together, Lena. We'll get through this, but we need to stay calm and focused."

Yelena's shoulders tensed, but gradually, the fire in her eyes began to dim as she took a deep breath, her anger giving way to concern for you. "I just want her to be okay," she admitted, her voice softer now, tinged with worry.

Natasha squeezed Yelena's hand reassuringly. "We all do," she said, her voice filled with empathy. "And Helen and Bruce will do everything we can to make sure she is."

As the tension in the room began to ease, Yelena nodded in silent agreement, her gaze lingering on the closed doors of the operating room where you lay.

Natasha gestured towards a nearby chair, silently inviting Yelena to sit beside her. Yelena hesitated for a moment before finally sinking into the seat, her body trembling with emotion.

Natasha wrapped an arm around her sister's shoulders, offering a comforting embrace. "It's going to be okay, Lena," she murmured, her voice soft and soothing.

Yelena leaned into Natasha's embrace, her walls crumbling as tears streamed down her cheeks. She buried her face against Natasha's shoulder, her sobs muffled against the fabric of her sister's uniform.

The other Avengers watched the scene unfold with a mixture of surprise and understanding, their eyes widening as they witnessed a side of Yelena they had never seen before.

Tony exchanged a glance with Steve, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Well, I'll be damned," he muttered under his breath, a hint of admiration in his voice.

"She's stable"

---

The steady beeping of the monitors filled the room as you blinked away the fog of anesthesia, your senses gradually coming back to you.

As your eyes fluttered open, you were met with the sight of Yelena sitting beside you, her expression soft and full of concern. "Hey," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you reached out to her.

Yelena's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of you awake, but she quickly composed herself, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she took your hand in hers. "Hey," she replied, her voice gentle and full of warmth.

Relief flooded through you as you squeezed her hand, grateful for her presence by your side. But, as you squeezed Yelena's hand, a wave of concern washed over you when you noticed the tears welling up in her eyes. "Lena, what's wrong?" you asked, your voice filled with worry as you reached out to gently cup her face with your hand.

Yelena's lower lip trembled slightly as she tried to compose herself, but the floodgates had opened, and tears began to trickle down her cheeks. "I was so scared," she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought... I thought I might lose you."

You pulled her into a gentle embrace, holding her close as she cried softly against your chest, which hadn't be affected much, and was already fixing up thanks to Bruce's cell regenerator.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm right here," you whispered softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Yelena leaned into your embrace, her tears gradually subsiding as she took comfort in your presence. "I was so scared," she admitted again, her voice trembling slightly.

You brushed a strand of hair away from her face, offering her a small smile. "I know, Lena. But I'm okay now. You're the one who's always saving me, even when you're not anywhere near me," you said sincerely, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

Yelena's lips twitched slightly, a hint of amusement flickering in her eyes. "Yeah, well, don't expect me to always save you," she teased lightly, a small chuckle escaping her lips, as she resorted to her usual coping method of humour.

You grinned, feeling a surge of affection for the woman in your arms. "Oh, come on, Lena. You love playing the hero," you teased right back, trying to lighten the mood.

A genuine smile spread across Yelena's face for the first time since you'd woken up. "I kinda do" she chuckled, shrugging nonchalantly, before the both of you started laughing.

But as the laughter faded, a heaviness settled in the air once again. Yelena's eyes clouded with sadness, the weight of the situation crashing down on her once more.

You reached out, cupping her face in your hands. "Hey, Lena. It's okay to be scared," you said softly, your voice filled with empathy. "But we're together now. And we'll get through this, I promise."

As the Avengers stood at the door, watching the unexpected tenderness between you and Yelena, they exchanged surprised glances.

Tony raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with disbelief. " The White widow is a softie after all, what would you know?"

Steve nodded in agreement, a small smile playing on his lips. "Seems like we all jumped to conclusions too quickly."

Bucky, who had been silently observing, chimed in. " I guess, they are perfect for each other hm"

Clint chuckled, shaking his head in amazement. "Never thought I'd see the day when Yelena Belova was making someone laugh."

As they listened to the laughter emanating from the room, as you and Yelena continue to make each other laugh, the Avengers couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for the unexpected bond between you and Yelena. It was a reminder that sometimes, people were more than their tough exteriors.

#avengers #anon ask #anonymous #yelena belova x female reader #yelena belova x reader #natasha and yelena #yelena belova #yelena and natasha #yelena my beloved #requests open #request #reqs open

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zafill · 1 month

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Demon slayer pt.2

DEMON SLAYER PT.2

WARNINGS!!: self-harm, fights, bad thoughts.

pt.1

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The air was thick with the scent of pine and the lingering warmth of a setting sun. Five years had passed since Kagaya Ubuyashiki had taken me in, and in those years, I had changed. I was no longer the scared, broken child who had been dragged across the cold ground by a mother who wished she had never given birth to me. That girl was gone, buried beneath layers of strength and determination that I had forged with my own hands.

In the beginning, the other recruits had received guidance, training, and instruction from seasoned Demon Slayers. But not me. I had always been different, set apart by my past and the darkness that still clung to me. I had learned early on that if I wanted to survive, I would have to rely on myself. And so, I trained alone.

Every morning, before the sun had even risen, I would leave the camp and head deep into the forest. There, in the silence of the early hours, I taught myself the ways of the blade. My katana became my closest companion, its cold steel an extension of my will. I learned to move with precision, to strike with speed, and to endure pain with a stoicism that came naturally after years of suffering.

The forest became my teacher, the rustling leaves and the calls of distant birds my only company. I would practice for hours, my body moving through the forms I had observed the other trainees perform.

When I wasn’t practicing my swordsmanship, I was honing my physical strength—running, climbing, pushing my body to its absolute limits. I knew that I had to be stronger, faster, and more resilient than anyone else if I was going to make it as a Demon Slayer

One day, as the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the forest floor, I was deep in my routine. I had just completed a particularly grueling series of strikes against a makeshift wooden dummy when I sensed a presence behind me. Startled, I whirled around, my katana raised defensively, only to find Kagaya Ubuyashiki standing a short distance away.

His appearance took me by surprise. His hair, a cascade of dark waves, framed a face that was both gentle and severe. His eyes, or rather, the one eye that was still unclouded, observed me with a mixture of curiosity and understanding. The other eye was obscured by a faint, purplish mass, a sign of the blindness that was slowly creeping across his vision. He was not yet fully blind, but the signs were there, a reminder of the burden he carried as the leader of the Demon Slayer Corps.

“Master Ubuyashiki,” I breathed, lowering my sword and bowing respectfully. I hadn’t expected him to come so far into the forest, much less during my training.

He smiled softly, the kind of smile that held both warmth and sadness. “You’ve grown much, (Y/N). Your dedication is evident in every movement you make.”

I felt a flush of pride at his words but quickly suppressed it, focusing instead on the humility I had learned to adopt. “Thank you, Master. I’ve been training hard.” Kagaya nodded, his expression shifting slightly, as if he was about to share something important. “Your progress has not gone unnoticed, and I am pleased to see how far you’ve come on your own.

But I have another reason for coming here today, (Y/N). We have a new member joining the Demon Slayer Corps, and I wanted you to be among the first to know.”

A new member? My curiosity piqued as I wondered who this person might be and why Kagaya had chosen to share this news with me personally.

“His name is Gyomei Himejima,” Kagaya continued, his voice filled with a quiet respect. “He is a man of great strength and even greater compassion. Though blind, his senses are extraordinarily sharp, and he has a deep connection with the world around him. He possesses an unmatched inner strength that I believe will be invaluable to our cause.”

I listened intently, intrigued by this new addition to the Corps. A blind man with such strength and presence—it was both surprising and inspiring. I wondered what kind of person Gyomei must be to earn Kagaya’s high praise.

But as Kagaya continued to speak, a knot of unease began to form in my chest. “Gyomei has faced many challenges in his life,” Kagaya went on, “but he has emerged from them with a heart full of kindness and a spirit unbreakable by the hardships he’s endured. I believe that the two of you could learn much from each other.”

His words were meant to reassure me, to make me feel a sense of camaraderie with this new member, but instead, they stirred something dark and unwelcome inside me—an emotion I hadn't expected to feel: jealousy.

Kagaya had always been a guiding light in my life, the closest thing I had to a father. He had taken me in when I was lost, nurtured my potential, and given me a purpose. I was the first person he had "adopted" into this strange, new family of Demon Slayers, and in many ways, I had come to think of him as mine alone. The idea of someone else stepping into that space, especially someone as remarkable as Gyomei, made me feel threatened.

I tried to suppress the bitterness rising in my throat, but it was difficult. Kagaya had always been kind and supportive, never showing favoritism, yet the thought of sharing his attention and approval with someone else made me irrationally hostile. I didn’t want to feel this way, but I couldn’t help it. It was as though this new member, despite having done nothing wrong, was somehow encroaching on the bond I had so carefully built with Kagaya.

"Master," I began hesitantly, trying to keep my voice steady, "are you sure... are you sure we need someone like him? I mean, with his blindness and everything, won’t he be at a disadvantage?"

Kagaya’s expression softened, as if he could see right through my facade, recognizing the fear and insecurity I was trying so hard to hide. “(Y/N),” he said gently, “Gyomei’s blindness is not a weakness. If anything, it has made him stronger, more attuned to the world in ways we might never understand. But I can see that you’re worried.”

As Kagaya continued speaking, my irritation grew, feeding on the sense of encroachment that Gyomei's arrival represented. The calm demeanor I had worked so hard to cultivate began to fray, replaced by a surge of anger and resentment I couldn't quite control. My hands clenched into fists, and I struggled to keep my voice steady.

“Master,” I said, my tone sharper than I intended, “I appreciate your confidence in this Gyomei Himejima, but I don't see why we need to bring in someone new right now. We’ve been managing fine on our own, haven’t we?”

Kagaya’s smile faltered slightly, his gentle gaze assessing me with a mixture of concern and sadness. “(Y/N), it is not just about our current capabilities. Gyomei possesses unique qualities that will be invaluable to our mission. His strength is not diminished by his blindness; rather, it has been shaped by it.”

I could feel my pulse quickening, the anger bubbling up despite my efforts to suppress it. “But why does he have to come here now? Why can't we just stick to what we know? Adding someone new... it’s disruptive. I’ve worked so hard to prove myself here, and now it feels like it’s all being undermined.”

Kagaya’s eyes softened with understanding, but his expression remained steady. “(Y/N), it’s natural to feel apprehensive about change, especially when it feels like it threatens what you’ve worked so hard to build. But remember, the strength of the Corps comes from our unity, from our ability to accept and support each other. Gyomei is not here to diminish your place but to enhance our collective strength.”

My jaw tightened, and I struggled to maintain control over my emotions. “I just— I don’t want to feel like I’m being replaced or overlooked. I’ve worked so hard for this, and it feels like now I have to compete with someone who is being praised for qualities I don’t understand.” Kagaya's gaze grew more intense, though his voice remained calm and reassuring. “(Y/N), you are a part of the Ubuyashiki family. You are like a daughter to me. Your place here is not in jeopardy. No one can replace you or diminish the importance of what you’ve accomplished. You are needed, just as much as ever.”

Despite his heartfelt words, I felt a storm of frustration brewing inside me. The notion of being told I was needed, while comforting, seemed insufficient in the face of my growing insecurity. I felt as though Kagaya’s assurances could not bridge the gap between what I had come to believe and the reality he was presenting.

“I’m sorry, Master,” I said, my voice thick with frustration. “I appreciate what you’re saying, but it’s hard to just accept that everything will stay the same. It feels like everything I’ve worked for is being overshadowed by someone who hasn’t even proven himself yet.”

Kagaya’s expression did not waver. He stepped closer, his voice carrying a gentle firmness. “(Y/N), I know this is difficult. Change often is. But your value is not determined by how you compare to others. It is inherent in who you are and what you’ve done. You have a unique place in this family, and no one, not even Gyomei, can take that away from you.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Years had passed, and with each new addition to the Demon Slayer Corps, my sense of displacement and hostility grew. The family I once thought was my own had expanded beyond recognition, and with every new face, I felt a little more like an outsider in the world I had fought so hard to be a part of.

When Gyomei Himejima joined, his presence had been intimidating but not unwelcome. He was a reminder of the change Kagaya had spoken of, the new dynamic I had to adapt to. I had grudgingly accepted him, though it took time for me to see his value. The same could not be said for every new member that followed.

Tengen Uzui, with his flamboyant demeanor and larger-than-life personality, seemed to clash with everything I valued. His bravado grated on me, and I struggled to understand his place in our ranks. His presence felt like an intrusion into a space that was already crowded with my insecurities.

Sanemi Shinazugawa arrived with a fierce intensity that mirrored my own frustrations. His abrasive nature and fierce attitude seemed to resonate with my own feelings of anger and resentment. It was as if his presence was a reflection of my own hostility, magnified.

Kyojuro Rengoku brought a fiery passion that was undeniably inspiring but also made me feel inadequate. His unwavering optimism and dedication seemed to cast a shadow on my own struggles. I felt a growing sense of competition, a fear that I would never measure up to his bright, burning spirit.

Giyu Tomioka, stoic and reserved, was a calming presence but also a constant reminder of the expectations I struggled to meet. His quiet strength was both reassuring and intimidating, a contrast to my own volatile emotions.

Mitsuri Kanroji arrived with a warmth and kindness that was difficult to reconcile with my own growing bitterness. Her gentle demeanor and unyielding support seemed to highlight my own struggles to connect with the others.

Obanai Iguro’s strict discipline and unwavering commitment to the Corps served as a constant reminder of the standards I felt I was failing to meet. His dedication, though admirable, only deepened my own insecurities.

Muichiro Tokito, with his enigmatic and detached nature, was a mystery I struggled to understand. His aloofness felt like a barrier to the camaraderie I longed for, and his presence seemed to accentuate my own sense of alienation.

Despite my efforts to push past my feelings of resentment, I found it increasingly difficult to accept the growing number of members. The constant influx of new faces only heightened my sense of isolation, making it harder for me to find my place within the expanding Corps.

Tengen Uzui was hard to ignore—everything about him was larger than life. From the flamboyant way he dressed to the booming voice that seemed to command attention wherever he went. He was always at the center of everything, with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. For someone like me, who had spent so much time in quiet solitude, his presence was overwhelming.

One afternoon, as I was practicing alone in a secluded part of the forest, I heard the unmistakable sound of his voice cutting through the air. Even before he came into view, I could feel the vibrations of his footsteps, heavy and deliberate. My sensitive ears twitched in irritation.

"(Y/N)!" he called out, his tone bright and enthusiastic as he approached. "Why are you always hiding away in the shadows? Come join us, we’re all family, you know!"

I grimaced, trying to focus on the movements of my sword rather than the intrusive sound of his voice. Tengen wasn’t someone you could easily ignore, though. He strolled right up to me, his presence impossible to overlook.

“I’m not hiding,” I replied curtly, keeping my eyes on the blade in my hands. “I’m training.”

He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that made my ears ring. “Training alone is fine and all, but it’s no fun if you never get to show off what you’ve learned. You should come spar with us sometime—let’s see what you’ve got.”

His words were friendly, even encouraging, but to me, they felt like a challenge. The thought of sparring with someone like Tengen, with all his bravado and flair, made my stomach twist. It wasn’t that I feared losing; it was the idea of being under his scrutiny, of having to endure his overbearing energy.

“I prefer to train by myself,” I said, trying to keep my tone polite but firm.

Tengen tilted his head, his expression curious. “You know, you’re way too serious for your own good. Lighten up a little! We’re all here to support each other, not compete. What’s the point of being so isolated?” I narrowed my eyes at Tengen’s remark, a spark of annoyance flaring up. His relentless optimism and insistence on camaraderie grated on my nerves. “Maybe some of us don’t need to be surrounded by people to feel validated,” I shot back, my voice carrying a sharp edge. “Not everyone thrives on being the center of attention.”

Tengen raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by my snarky tone. But instead of backing off, he smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Oh, is that what this is about? You’re just too cool for the rest of us, huh? Or maybe you’re just worried you won’t measure up?” He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper.

“You know, for someone who’s supposed to be part of the Ubuyashiki family, you don’t really look the part.”

That was the last straw.

The blood rushed to my face, and before I could stop myself, I exploded. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I shouted, my voice shaking with fury. “You think because I don’t look like them, I don’t belong? I’ve fought for my place here every single day! I’ve bled for it! And you—” I jabbed a finger toward his chest, “you have no idea what it’s like to feel like you don’t belong anywhere! You with your perfect family, your perfect everything!”

Tengen’s playful expression faltered as he realized he’d struck a nerve, but I wasn’t done.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be taken in out of pity, to constantly feel like you have to prove you’re worth the space you take up! So don’t you dare stand there and question my place in this family just because I don’t fit your picture of what it should look like!” My voice rose with each word, the frustration and pain I had kept buried for so long finally erupting in a torrent of emotion. "You think it's easy, don't you? Being surrounded by people who were born into this, who have families and histories that tie them to this cause? You think I haven't noticed how everyone looks at me, how they wonder why Kagaya chose someone like me?"

I was dimly aware of others gathering around, drawn by the commotion. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw familiar faces—Gyomei, Sanemi, Mitsuri, and the others—watching with various degrees of surprise and concern. But I couldn’t stop now, not when all the hurt and anger I had bottled up for so long was finally spilling out.

“And you, Tengen,” I continued, my voice cracking as I fought to keep the tears at bay, “you with your flashy demeanor and your perfect life, you stand there and judge me? Do you have any idea what it feels like to be constantly reminded that you don’t belong? To know that every time you walk into a room, people are wondering why you’re even here?”

Tengen, who had been so confident and carefree just moments before, looked stunned. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. The others looked just as shocked, their eyes wide as they listened to me unleash years of pent-up frustration and insecurity.

“I’ve fought tooth and nail to be where I am,” I went on, my voice trembling with emotion. “I’ve trained alone, bled alone, cried alone, all because I didn’t want to be a burden. I’ve seen how the rest of you bond, how you look out for each other, and I’ve never once felt like I was truly part of that. And now—now you’re telling me I don’t even look like I belong?”

The silence that followed was deafening. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I stared at Tengen, daring him to say something, anything. The weight of everyone’s eyes on me only made the tension more unbearable, but I couldn’t bring myself to look away.

Finally, Tengen took a step back, his face serious and his voice low. “(Y/N), I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I was just… I was just trying to understand.”

But I wasn’t done. The presence of the other Hashira, the ones who had unknowingly made me feel like an outsider, only fueled the fire inside me. “Understand?” I scoffed bitterly. “You can’t understand. None of you can. You all have your places, your roles, your families. But me? I’m just the stray Kagaya took in. The one who doesn’t fit, no matter how hard I try.” My voice trembled as I continued, the words tumbling out like a dam that had finally burst. “You think you know pain? You think you understand what it’s like to be unwanted?” I could feel the tears welling up, but I refused to let them fall. I needed them to hear this, to understand why I could never just fit in like the rest of them.

“My father… my so-called father, wasn’t even really mine,” I spat, the bitterness seeping into my tone. “He was a drunk who hated the sight of me because I wasn’t his. My mother—she had me with some man she hooked up with, and when my father found out, he made my life a living hell. He couldn’t stand to look at me, to touch me. And when I tried to reach out, to be a part of their lives, do you know what they did?”

I held up my hands, the scars still faintly visible from where the boiling water had seared my skin so many years ago. “They poured boiling water over my hands. They told me I was filthy, disgusting, that I didn’t deserve to touch them. They wanted to destroy me, to break me, and they almost did. But I survived. I survived all of it, and for what?”

The others were silent, their expressions a mix of shock and horror as they listened to the ugly truth of my past. But I couldn’t stop now, not when everything I had buried for so long was finally coming to the surface.

“My real father didn’t want me either,” I continued, my voice cracking. “I found him once, and he looked at me like I was nothing. Like I was a mistake he wished he could erase. And my mother, she was no better. She sold me to Kagaya for 5000 yen, like I was just some piece of trash she needed to get rid of.”

My chest heaved with the effort of holding back my sobs, but I forced myself to keep going. “So don’t stand there and tell me I belong here, or that you understand. You don’t know what it’s like to be cast aside by everyone who was supposed to love you, to have to fight every day just to prove you’re worth something. Kagaya… he saved me, but even now, I feel like I’m just that unwanted child he took in out of pity.”

I finally let the tears fall, unable to hold them back any longer. “I’ve been fighting my whole life, not just against demons, but against this feeling that I’ll never be enough. That no matter what I do, I’ll always be the girl who wasn’t wanted, who didn’t belong.”

The weight of my confession hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. The Hashira stood there, their faces pale with the realization of just how deep my wounds ran. They had seen me as strong, maybe even intimidating, but now they saw the broken pieces beneath the surface.

“Maybe… maybe I don’t belong here,” I whispered, the words barely audible as I finally let the despair take hold. “Maybe I never did.”

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The warm glow of lanterns filled the dining hall of the Ubuyashiki estate, casting a soft light on the low table where Kagaya and Amane Ubuyashiki sat, waiting for the evening meal to be served. The gentle hum of conversation from their children filled the room, but there was an undercurrent of unease that neither Kagaya nor Amane could ignore.

Kagaya’s usually serene expression was tinged with concern as he glanced at the empty space at the table. “(Y/N) hasn’t arrived yet,” he murmured, his voice gentle but laced with worry. “She’s never this late.”

Amane nodded, her eyes reflecting the same concern. “It’s unusual for her to miss dinner. She’s always been so diligent about joining us, no matter how intense her training.”

Their children, who had been quietly conversing among themselves, began to notice the absence of their elder sister. One of the younger girls, a delicate child with soft, dark hair, looked up at her parents with wide, innocent eyes. “Where’s big sister?” she asked, her voice small and worried. “Is she okay?”

Kagaya reached out to gently pat his daughter’s head, offering her a reassuring smile. “I’m sure she’s fine, my dear. Perhaps she’s still out training and lost track of time.”

But even as he spoke the words, a sense of unease settled over him. (Y/N) had always been a pillar of strength within their family, someone who, despite her struggles, had always made an effort to be there for her younger siblings. Her absence now felt like a dark cloud over what was usually a peaceful evening.

Amane rose from her seat, smoothing her kimono as she did. “I’ll go check on her,” she said softly Amane was halfway to the door when Mitsuri Kanroji burst into the dining hall, her usually serene expression now marked by a flurry of worry and urgency. “I’m so sorry for interrupting,” she began breathlessly, her cheeks flushed from running. “But something’s happening, and I thought you should know right away.”

Kagaya and Amane exchanged a glance, their concern deepening. “What is it, Mitsuri?” Kagaya asked, his voice steady but laced with apprehension.

Mitsuri’s eyes were wide with alarm. “(Y/N) and Tengen… they’re fighting. It’s not just a verbal argument. It’s a full-on hand-to-hand fight. They’re outside, and it looks like it’s getting out of control.”

The room fell silent as Kagaya’s face hardened with determination. He stood abruptly, the calm demeanor he usually projected replaced by a stern urgency. “Amane, stay with the children,” he instructed. “I’ll handle this.”

Amane nodded, her face pale but resolute. “Please, be careful.”

Kagaya and Mitsuri hurried outside, the cool evening air hitting their faces as they made their way toward the training grounds. The sounds of grunts and the clash of limbs grew louder, guiding them to the scene of the confrontation. As Kagaya and Mitsuri approached the training grounds, the sounds of the fight grew louder, their urgency pushing them faster. They rounded a corner to find (Y/N) and Tengen locked in a fierce struggle, their movements a whirlwind of punches, kicks, and defensive maneuvers.

Tengen was clearly showing signs of exhaustion, his breathing ragged and his stance unsteady. His speed, which had been his advantage, was faltering under the relentless assault from (Y/N). Despite his agility, he was struggling to keep up with the sheer intensity of (Y/N)’s assault.

(Y/N) was equally battered, her face streaked with sweat and dirt, her breathing heavy but determined. Her eyes were focused, each strike driven by a mix of anger and frustration. Her movements were fierce and precise, each punch and kick a testament to her inner turmoil.

Kagaya stepped forward, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Enough!” His tone was commanding, carrying the weight of authority that both combatants could not ignore.

For a moment, both (Y/N) and Tengen paused, their bodies freezing mid-action as they turned toward Kagaya. The intensity of their fight still lingered in the air, but the immediate clash of fists and feet ceased.

Kagaya’s eyes softened with a blend of concern and disappointment as he took in the sight before him. “This is not the way to resolve your conflicts,” he said, his voice steady but heavy with emotion. “We are a family, and families support one another, even in times of disagreement.”

Tengen, breathing heavily and visibly wounded, looked down, his face flushed with both anger and regret. “I’m sorry,” he managed to say, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to push her so far.”

(Y/N) stood there, her chest heaving as she struggled to regain control of her emotions. Her anger had dissipated, leaving behind a raw vulnerability that was difficult to hide. She looked at Kagaya, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. As Kagaya called out to (Y/N), trying to bridge the gap that had formed, she ignored him, her steps quick and purposeful. The weight of the confrontation, combined with the emotional strain she had been carrying, propelled her forward with an urgency that left no room for pause.

Her room was her sanctuary, a place where she could hide from the eyes of others and the expectations placed upon her. She rushed through the hallway, her heart pounding in her chest, and threw open the door with a force that made it slam against the wall.

Inside, she collapsed onto her bed, burying her face in her hands as the tears she had fought so hard to contain finally spilled forth. The raw vulnerability that had been exposed during the fight now gave way to an overwhelming sense of despair. She had always prided herself on her strength, but in that moment, she felt utterly defeated.

As the tears streamed down (Y/N)’s face, the weight of her own anguish became unbearable. Her room, once a refuge, now felt like a prison, enclosing her in her darkest thoughts. She buried her face in her hands, the raw emotion making her shoulders shake with each sob.

In her desperation, (Y/N) reached for a pot she kept hidden in the corner of her room. It was a vessel she had used in the past to punish herself—a cruel reminder of the torment she had endured. She filled it with water from the small kettle she kept on a low flame and watched as it began to heat. The steam rising from it seemed almost to mock her, a cruel echo of the suffering she had faced.

The minutes ticked by painfully slow, each one amplifying her internal struggle. Finally, she lifted the pot, her hands trembling with both anger and fear. The boiling water sloshed ominously, a dark promise of the pain she was about to inflict upon herself.

She hesitated, her breath catching in her throat. The old scars of her past—her mother’s harsh punishment, her father’s neglect—flared up in her mind. The boiling water was more than just a tool of self-harm; it was a symbol of everything she wished to escape but felt unable to.

In a moment of bleak determination, (Y/N) held the pot over her hands. The thought of finally ridding herself of the hands that had once been subjected to such cruelty was almost seductive. Yet, a part of her clung to the hope that there might still be a way out of the darkness that had consumed her. Her grip tightened on the pot, the steam curling around her hands and face as she wrestled with the decision. The weight of her past pressed down on her with unbearable force, and in her mind, the boiling water symbolized a final escape from the relentless torment of her memories.

With a shuddering breath, (Y/N) tilted the pot, and the searing hot water cascaded over her hands. The immediate pain was intense, a white-hot agony that sent sharp cries escaping her lips. The sensation of the scalding water was like a cruel echo of the suffering she had felt throughout her life.

As the water flowed, the agony became a paradoxical release—a physical manifestation of the emotional pain she had struggled to articulate. The searing heat burned not just her flesh but also her heart, giving a fleeting, tangible form to the suffering she had been grappling with in silence.

The burning sensation intensified, and (Y/N) gasped, her eyes widening in shock and torment. She dropped the pot, the remaining water splashing onto the floor, leaving her hands red and blistered. The pain was blinding, almost overwhelming, but in its brutal clarity, it forced her to confront the depth of her self-destructive desperation.

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pt.3? anyone??

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sallyamongpoison · 2 months

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Graceless Gabriel standing in the middle of a motel parking lot while a thunderstorm rages. He tips his head back, rain soaking his face and hair, and opens his hands to feel the water on his palms. It’s dark. Lightning makes it seem like midday in angry flashes overhead. The thunder is deafening. The ground seems to tremble in time with the sound. The wind whips his hair, but he seems unfazed.

Sam runs out to meet him, jacket pulled up over his head in an attempt at staying dry. He stops just short, flinching as another wave of thunder and lightning rolls and fills the sky, with his focus fully on the angel in front of him. He shouts, asking what the fuck Gabriel is doing out in the storm, and reaches out to grab for one of Gabriel’s hands.

Gabriel doesn’t move. He hardly acknowledges the interruption. His eyes are closed. Water streaks down his handsome face like he’s under a shower head. Sam doesn’t know how long he’s been out there, only that he saw Gabriel’s familiar silhouette in a flash of lightning. The weather is raging, but for the first time in a long time Gabriel seems calm. Quiet without the undercurrent of anxiety and fear. He breathes deep and slow as the water pours over him.

Sam yells again, asking what he’s doing and that they should go inside, and it’s only then that Gabriel seems to hear him. He slowly lowers his chin and opens his eyes. They’re wet, but in the random flashes of lightning and the quivering light of the lone street lamp at the end of the parking lot Sam can see that it isn’t rain that’s on his face. Not just rain, at least. Tears. The same kind of tears that are cried in the shower when there’s already water on your face. They mix with the rain, salt lost in the fresh water that’s coming down in sheets from the sky, and Gabriel swallows hard. Maybe he’s swallowing a scream.

He steels himself, golden eyes looking up at Sam’s slightly hunched and completely soaked form. It’s like Gabriel is taking him in for the first time as he stares with almost unseeing eyes. His jaw is trembling. It’s not cold, summer storm that it is, but Sam can see Gabriel’s shoulders shaking. Another lightning flash, and the shadow on the ground is incomprehensibly large with wings spread out like they’re trying to soak up the storm. It’s Gabriel, but not as Sam has ever known him. This is angel. This is a broken angel standing alone in the middle of Creation.

Sam feels a hand wrap around his own. He’s still reaching out, but is suddenly unsure of what might reach back. Gabriel takes his hand, squeezes it as another bolt of lightning streaks across the sky and the air is filled with the cacophony of thunder, and their eyes meet. Gabriel’s, usually so full of mischief and laughter, are dark. They’ve been dark for a while now. They’re dark and scared, like a child in the night, and Sam squeezes Gabriel’s hand back in what he hopes is a comforting gesture.

“I can feel Him like this,” Gabriel says, but it’s so soft that the noise of the storm almost drowns it out, “like He never forgot about us,”

The storm rages. Sam wonders if this is what Heaven was like before Gabriel left. He can imagine Michael and Lucifer warring with the storm in the background like a Renaissance painting come to life. Gabriel doesn’t let his hand go. They’re both soaked to the bone, but Gabriel looks as though he has no desire to move. It’s dangerous, Sam knows that, but another plea to go inside dies in his throat.

They stand outside until the thunder fades and it’s just steady sheets of unending rain. Sometimes Sam thinks he can hear Gabriel sob, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead he lowers the collar of his jacket and stands up straighter. He holds Gabriel’s hand and squeezes it when it seems like it might all be too much. Inside might be more comfortable, but outside is the connection Gabriel needs.

Gabriel never lets go of Sam’s hand. He stays grounded to the spot: all the things he loves swirling in the dark with him.

#sabriel #sam winchester #gabriel #sam x gabriel #fanfic

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steelnetwork99 · 8 months

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Leading Cold Formed Steel Connections - The Steel Network

Introducing The Steel Network, a cutting-edge solution for Cold Formed Steel Connections. Engineered with precision and innovation, our brand offers a wide range of products designed to enhance structural integrity and efficiency in construction projects. With a focus on quality and reliability, The Steel Network provides superior connections for cold-formed steel applications, ensuring durability and performance. Experience the strength of our products and elevate your construction projects with The Steel Network.

#Cold Formed Steel Connections

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atarathegreat · 8 months

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Angry-Chiro Shinichiro Sano

Nestled down a dark, wide alleyway between two much larger buildings was SS Motors. A squat little mechanics shop where you could buy spark plugs, gas caps, and tools on the shelves, and in the back was the garage. The garage was a little smaller than the whole building, big enough to fit a car while still having enough room for the mechanic to shift how he needed.

Shinichiro Sano took tremendous pride in his little shop, even had dreams that it would be bigger and placed in a more accessible space in the city. Fixing things was his passion, ripping out the bad parts or, in his current case, gutting a whole bike frame, was also part of the fun. Normally.

"Mother-" The sounds of ricocheting tools echoed up to the shop where you were helping customers. Steel on concrete or bouncing off the other metal work tables made you cringe as you hurled excuses again and again at Shinichiro's expense.

"Our mechanic is currently indisposed." You were all kind smiles and soft words when people were asking for him. They would sigh and nod and leave names and numbers, all while hearing the temper tantrum from the back of the shop. It wasn't new and many of the patrons were ignoring it for the most part, but you still worried about Shinichiro and the temper you knew he was capable of having.

While the rest of the shoppers were busy, not that there were many in such a secluded shop, you snuck back to the garage and peeked in. Shinichiro was fixing the bike frame back on a stand, leaving you to assume that maybe he'd gotten pissed enough to kick it over. "Shini?" The sound of your voice was enough to make him take a deep breath and look over his shoulder. He looked tired, his dark eyes not even really looking at you, "It...the bike...bolts..." Shinichiro was so mad he could hardly form a coherent sentence as he waved both arms at the frame, and that was fine, you were used to piecing together the issues. "It's alright. Steady hands, remember? Take it slow." Another soft smile and a little wave as you returned back to the front counter.

Closing early was surely going to set Shinichiro off even more, if he ever came out of the garage, but you closed early despite that. It wasn't good for business if the manager slash mechanic slash owner was seen as an angry man who couldn't keep tools from becoming an airborne item. Wrenches weren't meant to be birds and bolts definitely weren't rain drops.

"Son of a bitch!"

You sat up in bed, rubbing quickly at your eyes as more clanging woke you from a short nap. It was dark and your eyes hadn't yet cleared enough for you to see the bright red lines on the alarm clock. Moonlight almost kept you from tripping over the pile of shoes, your stumble becoming a valuable reminder that you would, eventually, have to buy a shoe rack. Cold air hit you quickly as you stepped from the mini living quarter and you reached back in to grab a coat before heading back out to trudge through the shop and to the garage. It got colder the closer you got.

"Shinichiro?"

The man turned quickly, a glare set in his features, as if a sculptor had snuck in and using clay and water to fix his beautiful smile into a scowl. "It's freezing, darling, come inside." You crossed the coat over itself to pull it tighter in hopes to keep some semblance of warmth for your skin.

"Can't. This stupid fucking thing isn't working with me and now this bolt won't even line up correctly." He slammed a wrench to the ground, glaring at the gas tank he was trying to connect to the newly cleaned bike frame. "To top it off, the rust took me nearly all day to get off and I can't even track down the right kind of seat for it!" Shinichiro huffed, leaning back against the toolbox, "How am I supposed to fix this by my deadline?"

Tools and dirty rags covered the garage floor as you stepped around and over them and bigger parts, crouching next to him, "How about I hold the tank steady and you secure it, and then we go in so you can get a drink, eat dinner, then we'll go to bed?"

Shinichiro shook his head, wiping a rag at the frame as if he was doing something, though he knew he just wanted to look busy, "I set a deadline for myself, Y/n, I want, need, this damn thing to be on the streets come spring." He always reached the goals he set for himself, so you knew it would kill him for yet another deadline with this particular bike to be pushed back.

It already wasn't a promise that he would've found the frame in Puerto Rico, and then the airlines tried to run you both around in circles over the metal until you went in and dragged it out by yourself. And then all the parts up to this point had to be ordered and the deliveries were delayed due to the winter weather, further ruining Shinichiro's plans. He stayed up night after night just to get a little bit further along in the process, all while neglecting his bodies needs for food, water and sleep. Being cooped up in the cold, horribly lit garage wasn't good for him. He looked gaunt and exhausted.

A heavy sigh fell from his lips, getting trapped somewhere between the rusty trashed parts and pile of boxes filled with new parts that had yet to be used. "I can't let it sit for a long time, I'll never get back to it." His bones spoke loudly as he stood and stretched, each pop was another cry for rest.

"You'll return to it, Shini." A weight was lifted from his shoulders when you smiled like that, like you believed in every move he made and every decision he was set on. "You never leave anything unfinished, y'know." The warmth from your hands was stolen from you as you held the tank steady for him, "And you can always call on me if you need help. I can work more than a register."

He was sure you could absolutely do more than a register, but your hands weren't supposed to be covered in grease like his, or calloused like his. You were supposed to have clean hands, manicured hands, dainty hands. Yet you didn't seem to care about any of that. Not as you leaned over the de-rusted handlebars to hold the gas tank so Shinichiro could fix the washer and bolt where they belonged and tighten them.

#anime #manga #x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #tokyo rev x reader #shinichiro sano #sano shinichiro #shinichiro sano x reader

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mortalheartache · 9 months

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Bloody Love

Sam Monroe has a knife kink… and a blood kink. You give him what he needs. (Requested by @zapernz 🤍)

Tags: Smut, NO Y/N, blood play, knife play, sub!Sam, dom!reader, consumption of blood, degrading (slut, pathetic), use of “good boy”

Word Count: 0.62K

─── ⋆⋅ ☆ ⋅⋆ ───

Dragging the knife along his pale skin, you watched the little beads of blood appear in the knife’s wake. Sam squirmed under you, lowly whining.

“You wanted this, no? So shut up and take it.” You sneered at him, punctuating your words by increasing the pressure of the blade along his collarbone slightly. You reached your free hand down to his cock, not missing how it twitched as you dragged the knife further down his body.

You gave the base a little squeeze, and Sam moaned pathetically. Lifting the knife from his flesh, you removed your free hand from his throbbing dick and ran your fingers along the blood pooling along his collarbone, then brought your fingers to your mouth, sucking the blood off of them. He looked at you in surprise that quickly morphed into some fucked up kind of lust. His pupils were blown wide, and his chest heaving as he panted.

Smiling at him, you dipped down to lick the blood off of his body, twisting one of his nipples sharply then toying with the barbell through it. He cried out and squirmed further, but quickly stopped when you brought your mouth to his, his own blood still on your tongue. His response was borderline pitiful as he lapped the blood from inside your mouth, the metallic taste making his face twist up briefly.

You sucked on his tongue and brought the knife up to his throat, pressing the cold steel against it. His mewls were music to your ears as you kept the blade flush with his skin, but didn’t draw blood. Pulling away from his mouth, a thin string of red-tinged saliva connected your lips to his pink, kiss-swollen ones momentarily before breaking and falling onto his chin and labret piercing.

You kept the knife steady and moved your hand back to his cock, smearing the precum from his twitching tip along the shaft, his moans getting higher in pitch every time you touched his poor dick.

“You’re pathetic, you know that? You’re getting off on me putting a knife to your throat and making you swallow your own blood. Disgusting.” You muttered to him, his cock jumping in your hand. You snickered at him, lips curling into a cocky smile.

“Fucking pathetic.”

His blissed-out face was angelic as he struggled to form words, groaning at the feeling of the knife’s pressure increasing as he tried to speak.

“P- Please let me cum. I’ll be so- so good, I promise.” He whined, looking into your eyes and searching for your mercy. He was so gorgeous, who were you to deny him.

Without warning, your furiously pumped his shaft, biting your lip to hold in a moan as you felt the velvety skin in your hand. He almost screamed at the sudden stimulation, trying his best not to writhe so as not to injure himself on your blade.

“C’mon baby, you asked for it.” You taunted, picking up the pace on his dick, swiping your thumb over the tip periodically. His hips lifted, bucking into your hand violently as he whined. His dick twitched more and more and his thrusts into your fist got shakier, a sign he was moment away from cumming on your hand.

You pressed the knife harder against his throat while you squeezed him, and he came undone deliciously easy, almost screaming in relief. His eyes welled with tears at the sensation, and he babbled a string of “thank you”s and “oh my god”s, interspersed with expletives. His cum painted your fist as you jerked him through his orgasm.

You removed the knife, setting it on your bedside table.

“You’re such a good boy, taking that for me. What a pretty slut.” You cooed at him.

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Want more? Check out my taglist for notifications when I post!

A/N - Thank you for reading, I hope you all liked it! More dom!reader to come teehee, and more Sam content as well!! xx

@jadegmfu @fuckmyskywalker

#thirza writes #sam monroe x reader #sam monroe #hayden christensen #hayden christensen x reader #hayden x reader #sam monroe smut #sub!sam monroe #tw knife #tw blood

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theitgirlnetwork · 4 months

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Earn It

Ch. 5: Pretend With Me

Note: Hello! Thank you for all of the support you've all shown this story. Thank you for the notes, reblogs, messages, and comments I love interacting with you all! We've got our first time skip so I hope it's not too confusing. Once again, I'll remind everyone that the characters are meant to be just as complex as those in the movie and so they will do...questionable things. But that's part of the fun...not being them! So I hope you all enjoy! <3

Warnings: Cheating (fr this time y'all :(), explicit sexual content (MDNI!!!!!), small mention of disordered eating, and some strong language.

Taglist: @spookystitchery@anehkael@fkaams@butterflyybabe@sun2flower @holierthancunt @silkenthusiasts @wolflover384 @liziihorta @summerssover @jackierose902109

Present Day (California) :

“They won’t answer any questions about that, don’t bother asking. Make sure there’s at least one close up on the ring and we only film from the angles we discussed, understand me?” Kiely takes a deep breath, brushes her hands down her dress, straightening out the wrinkles at the bottom and noting to herself that she needs to stop by Target today to get a new steamer.

This job is a big opportunity, she can’t afford to fuck it up. Out of all the applicants they decided to give her a chance. She pushes through the dark front doors, fixing a potted flower plant hanging near the doorway before glancing back sternly at the camera crew and closing the door.

Kiely does wish that her trial week wasn’t the same week as this interview.

She presses her finger to her earpiece to turn on the speaker as her heels click across marble floors, her steps are long strides. “Crews’ in place, we need a clear house, just the family. They want this in one take. Let’s go.”

The blonde woman raises a shaky fist to the Grenadil African Blackwood door, knocking softly once before steeling herself and knocking more assertively the second time.

“Yeah?”

Kiely turns the cold golden door knob and stops right at the threshold of the master bedroom, her back rod straight as she addresses the people in front of her.

“Mr. and Mrs. Donaldson? They’re ready for you.”

12 Years Earlier:

3:22 p.m.: So, that smoothie that you recommended? It’s fucking disgusting.

Heaven giggles at her phone before flipping it over so she can’t see the front of the screen, sliding down into a split to complete her stretches. She hums in satisfaction to herself as she stretches forward to reach her front foot. It’s peaceful like this.

She loves coming to the studio early. After the bullshit classes she takes to remain eligible for the dance program, she rushes here to just dance. No other dancers, no teacher or choreographer watching. Heaven can just be with the choreography.

She has a habit of getting fixated on a piece and doing it over and over until she masters it. Then, she does it over and over until it’s not fun anymore. It’s her award winning strategy, to actually fall in love with the pieces she dances to.

For some reason, she was struggling to become Juliet. She knows she has the technique for the dance, that much is obvious. But something about this role wasn’t connecting for her. She just feels like she can’t force herself to give the vibe of a 15 year old girl whose parents were absent enough to let her fall in love with a 20 year old loser.

Oh and Romeo can’t fucking dance.

Correction. Peter who is supposed to be Romeo can’t fucking dance.

Heaven stands from her split, grabbing her phone with her to respond to the text waiting for her, not noticing the uncontrollable smile that had formed on her face.

3:30 p.m.: It’s not supposed to taste good, it’s supposed to be good for you, Arthur.

They had been texting back and forth a lot since the birthday party. Not many phone calls, but messages here and there. They range from checking in to arguing about the various media they both consume. It’s like an unspoken agreement they have not to talk about Tashi or Patrick. Anytime they did the jokes would halt and suddenly Heaven would feel a rock in her stomach, unable to text back.

Her phone buzzes again and before she can open the little white envelope on the screen she hears several sets of footsteps behind her. Without turning around she rushes over to put her phone in her duffle bag and heads back to the middle of the room, settling into first position next to Peter and staring tensely forward as they wait for the rest of the cast and the premier maitre de ballet, Madame Fontaine. Along with the older woman is her assistant choreographer, Fallon, the only other person who will acknowledge that Peter can’t fucking dance.

“Afternoon, all.” Madame Fontaine offers the group a brief, tight smile as she stands before them, her flats clicking on the stage. “Romeo, Juliet. We will work on the pair of pas de deux performances after warm-up.”

“Madame.” Heaven nods, turning to go to the bar toward the back of the room. She can feel Peter behind her, looking at her. His cheap ass cologne fills her nostrils as he leans forward to murmur in her ear.

“Think you can actually act like you at least like me today?”

Heaven slips into third position, facing forward as she continues through her warm up, shrugging at his question. “I don’t need to like you, Juliet needs to be in love with Romeo. The dance will show that.”

“Maybe if we spent some time together-”

“I’m in a relationship.” she dismisses.

“Really?” He scoffs. Gripping the bar Peter stretches his leg into the air, watching Heaven do the same, he strains to get his kick as high as hers. “What does your boyfriend do?”

“He’s a professional tennis player. So is my girlfriend.”

Peter’s brows furrow as he watches the woman in front of him wrap up her warm ups, cracking her neck absently as he stares at her. “You…so…”

“Okay.” Heaven huffs, turning to the man, craning her neck and fixing him with a wary look as she stands facing him with her arms crossed. “Yes, I have a boyfriend, his name is Patrick. I also have a girlfriend, her name is Tashi and she is the girl you saw here before. Yes, they are also together, no we’re not looking for a fourth and if we were it would never be you. No, we aren’t open so don’t ask me out again. And Peter, even if I was single, I would literally fucking never fuck someone who can’t do a simple fucking lift.” With that she pushes past him to find Madame Fontaine stopping when she hears him over her shoulder.

“Well maybe if you weren’t so heavy I could lift you easier.”

Heaven doesn’t even bat an eyelash at the insult, instead just pursing her lips and getting into the position for the first pose of the “Love Dance”, the first pas de deux of the piece. As she goes through the movements on the stage no one would be able to tell that Peter had said what he said.

She holds him close and twirls prettily. She leans into him with all of the trust of the world as he butchers his half of the piece, failing in the lift not because of her weight, she tells herself, but because his hand placement is wrong.

Heaven thinks logically, like Tashi would tell her to. Other people have lifted her before. It’s not her.

So she can swallow the lump in her throat until after rehearsal is over.

“Answer.” Heaven bites her lip as she drums her fingers against the steering wheel, her phone is balanced between her cheek and shoulder, vibrating against her ear as it rings. “Tashi, answer.”

Hi, this is Tashi Duncan, leave a message after the beep, thanks.

She shouldn’t have come. Tashi has two matches this week, Pepperdine and then Princeton, she doesn’t need to be distracted. She doesn’t have time to be distracted. That’s not what they do to each other, she knows Tashi needs to focus before a match just like Heaven needs to be distracted before a performance.

But after rehearsal ended, her focus on the beautiful dance, and getting her body to move the way it needed to to tell the story faded. Then all she was left with was the sound of Peter’s voice mixing with her mother’s and the personal trainer she’d hired her when she was only 10. And suddenly she found herself speeding down the road in a silent car, driving 5 hours and 13 minutes to Stanford.

She told herself as she weaved through the cars that she just needed to get away. That this was okay because she was supposed to be heading down the next day anyway. That she was only here to see Tashi.

“Fuck.” The girl huffs, pulling the phone away so hard one of her hoop earrings falls out of her ear, tumbling to the floor as she dials another number. Unlike Tashi, he actually picks up.

“Hey, babe.”

“Hi, baby, hi.” She sits up against the leather seat. “Are you, um, busy, or…”

“Uh, no, not-not really.” Patrick’s muffled voice through the phone settles her nerves a little. “What’s up?”

“Nothing I just wanted to talk to you or something-” Heaven hears laughter and the clattering of glass in the background. She can faintly make out the words to Candy Shop playing in whatever bar he was pretending not to be in. “You’re out.”

“Babe, I can talk, are you okay?”

“Mhm.”

“I hate that ‘mhm’, ‘hm’ shit you guys do just…Heaven, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I had, like, the most shitty rehearsal.” Heaven looks out at a couple of students stumbling drunkenly, shaking her head to herself as she sees a t-shirt with distinct letters spelling out “The Duncanator” on it. “The guy playing Romeo, he’s like a fucking idiot and he wants to fuck me-”

“Don’t most people?”

“I’m not-” Heaven huffs out a breath, head dropping forward against the wheel in annoyance. This is who her boyfriend is. He makes jokes about serious things. He doesn’t take anything serious because it never fucking is. But what is she supposed to do? Berate him for trying to make her laugh when she’s upset. Get mad at him for perpetually being in a state of relaxation that she’s almost never in. Heaven doesn’t want to live in the land of not giving a fuck about anything, she isn’t built like that. “H-yeah. That’s funny.” she forces a giggle, scrubbing her hand angrily at the drops that managed to squeeze their way out of her eyes.

“Good, you’re laughing, m’glad you’re feeling better.”

“Yep, thank you, Patrick.”

“No problem, Hev, look I’m out right now but I’ll see you tomorrow right? You’re coming down to Stanford right?”

“Um, yeah.” She says staring out at the school buildings from the parking lot. “I’ll be there.”

After a couple more slurred jokes from her boyfriend who shouldn’t be drinking while on tour and a couple attempted calls to Tashi, Heaven climbs out of the car, deciding to just go to the girl’s building herself.

She was determined not to go crawling to he who shall not be named. No. She would not see Art, because then he would give her that look. That look he does with his stupid monochromatic eyes that puppy dog look he gets when she’s happy, when she’s sad, when she’s anything. Like he’ll just do anything. It’s distracting and it makes her feel weird.

And she’s taken. So, they’ll stick to texting, that’s safe. So, no, she won’t call him. Not to tell him about her shitty day. Not even to ask him where the actual hell Tashi’s building was.

So instead she planned to wander aimlessly until she saw a building that looked familiar.

She walks along the cobblestone roads, squinting to find something that would remind her which direction she was supposed to be going in.

“Heaven?”

The woman freezes at the voice behind her, cursing herself and whatever god that curated this situation as she slowly turns to see Art. “Arthur.”

Her breath catches as she gets a good look at him. He’s even hotter than she remembers, standing tall amongst a group of his teammates. His racket bag slung across his back, the strap tight against his chest that was currently filling out the dorky ass Stanford Men’s Tennis shirt that he was somehow making look like the sexiest outfit ever.

This college tennis shit was really working for him.

But what brings the wide smile to her face that she couldn’t bite back, despite how much the logical part of her brain telling her she needed to, is those damn puppy dog eyes and the bright crooked smile he offers her.

Art takes a step forward, it almost looks like a reflex, but he pauses, smile dropping slightly as he tucks his hands into his tennis shorts, waiting to see what Heaven does.

And she can’t help it. Her legs move on their own, she can swear she didn’t consciously take three quick steps over to Art. And she didn’t take two more big ones when he met her the rest of the way, arms open as he dips low lifting her up and hugs her waist. And she definitely doesn’t wrap her legs around his waist when they meet. “Hi.” he says softly, swinging her back and forth.

“Hi!” she smiles back.

“What are you” he places her down so close to himself that their chests brush, craning his head down to look at her, brushing his thumbs over her hips through her t-shirt before releasing her fully. “What are you doing here?”

“Um, Pepperdine.” She tries to shrug easily, struggling to focus with him this close.

“You’re…uh, you’re a day early.” Art says, biting his lip a little, rocking on his feet.

“I know, I just had a rough day and I came to, um-”

“See Tashi.” He finishes for her, nodding his head. “You had a rough day?” He asks, eyes searching hers as he ignores the calls from his friends behind him, demanding that he introduce them to his hot friend. Art’s lips part as if he’s planning to say something before he snaps it shut, a beat passes before he trusts himself to speak again. “She’s gonna be on the court until late.”

“Fuck, yeah, she’s gonna be pissed, she hates when I throw her off before matches, she has this whole ritual situation, I just really couldn’t be at school right now.” Heaven groans, tossing her head back in frustration.

“You could, you could come with me. I’m gonna go off campus for a little bit, go to Dave & Buster’s with my friends, you should come and blow off some steam, Hev.”

Heaven glances around suddenly conscious that she drove all the way here in a haze like a maniac and despite telling herself she wasn’t here for Art she managed to be here, standing in front of him, notably not with Tashi. And yet, next thing she knew, she was kicking her feet, sitting on Art’s bed while he took a shower, so they could go to Dave & Buster’s.

Art knows that what he’s doing is not…healthy. It’s not good that he’s currently out with his best friend’s girlfriend (though one might still argue that Patrick had two and Art had none.) and he was enjoying the fact that everyone here thought she was his.

It had started with his teammates. They’d seen the movie scene-esque display of Art lifting the girl in the air in excitement upon seeing her and suddenly, murmurs of the fact that Art doesn’t really entertain any of the girls who talk to him on campus seemed to make sense to them. They nudged him as they walked and wiggled their eyebrows as he held the door open for Heaven, guiding her with his hand on the small of her back.

He’d tried correcting them. Originally. Sort’ve.

Well, Matt asked if she was his girl and he’d responded with ‘c’mon man, what does it look like?’

Jesus, maybe there is a reason me and Patrick are friends.

But they were having so much fun, playing games and Heaven had been smiling so much. At him. And he didn’t have to share it. He was fucking happy.

“Let me get you something to eat, on me, Hev, come on.” Art says nudging her as he pulls their game card out of the skee ball machine. “Then we can talk about your shitty day.”

Heaven’s nose scrunches in a way that makes Art want to kiss it, her lips, whatever else she has to offer and she snatches the game card from him and takes a couple of steps back, a smirk on her face as she holds it away from him. “Or…we could play some more games.”

“I’m hungry.” Art cocks his head to the side, reaching for the card and laughing when she snatches it away. “And I want you to come eat with me. Please.”

“One more game.”

“Come on, Art, the lady wants one more game.” One of his teammates, Kyle says smugly, tossing his arm around Heaven as he approaches from behind.

Heaven’s lip curls in dismissal for a moment before her expression morphs into something more sinister. “Yeah,” she says sweetly, “M’just asking for one more.”

“Hev.” Art scoffs, holding his hand out again, embarrassed at how irritated he is by Kyle’s arm over her shoulders.

“How about ping pong? If you win, we’ll go get some food and talk about whatever you want to talk about. And if,” her manicured hand reaches up and pats the one Kyle is dangling off her shoulder. “Kyle wins, I’ll play some games with him.”

Something feels so familiar about this moment. The innocent look on her face was only marred by the challenging raised eyebrow that Heaven couldn’t help but have. The look of expectation. It reminds Art of the day he’d lost to Patrick. The expression of ‘is that all?’ on her face.

This is stupid. He thinks, working his jaw as he stares down at the girl. It’s dumb.

“This is really fucking dumb.” he laughs, bouncing the ping pong ball on the table, rolling his eyes when Heaven shrugs, tilting her head as if to say, ‘go on’. “You’re seriously gonna go with him if I lose?”

“You’re not gonna fucking lose.” she murmurs under her breath. “We’re just having fun.”

“You’re trying to get out of talking about whatever you’re upset about, but m’not gonna forget-”

“Kiss for good luck?”

That has him whipping his head to her. He would be embarrassed if he could think about anything other than the offer she’d placed on the table. Like a dog to a bone immediately all of his focus is drawn down to her lips. “What?”

“You heard me, Arthur.” Heaven grabs his hand holding the paddle and brings it up between their faces, switching it’s position so that he’s holding the handle out to her and brings her glossed lips down to it, kissing it softly. “Kay, good luck!” she chirps, bouncing away from him to watch the game.

“That’s not fair!” Kyle calls from the opposite end of the table.

“Shut the fuck up, Kyle.”

As dumb as Art thinks this stupid little was, he absolutely demolishes Kyle. Like it wasn’t even fun, at least, not for Art’s opponent. The blond played like he was at the fucking US Open and didn’t let the guy get more than one point that he only got because Art briefly looked away, eyes following Heaven as she skirts off to use the bathroom. “I think I won that one, Kyle.”

“Jesus, Donaldson, I wasn’t really going to get to go off with your girl. It’s fuckin’ ping pong at Dave & fuckin’ Buster’s.” His teammate rolls his eyes, tossing the paddle on the table before stalking off.

Art feels the heat rise to his face. All night while he’d been enjoying playing pretend he’d somehow avoided Heaven hearing what the guys were saying. He was quite literally ready to tuck his head to hide from the embarrassment when he felt an arm slide and loop with his.

“Oh, what the fuck ever, he’s a sore loser, you were better, that’s why he’s not fucking ranked like you are.”

He wants to ask her how she knows that. Did Tashi tell her or did she look up the men’s teams rankings on her own. But instead he just guides her over to a table to collect his prize.

“Take the last one.”

“Mm no, can’t have it.” Heaven says, taking a sip of her water.

Art’s jaw clenches as he thinks about how the smallest attempt at a bullshit comeback from some dickhead had her questioning herself when Art thinks she’s the most beautiful thing in the world. “He’s an asshole.”

“I agree.”

“And he’s wrong, Hev.”

“Not completely.” she shrugs, swirling her straw in her glass. “Not statistically…for a ballerina.”

He crosses his arms, leaning back against the red booth seat. “Well, maybe male ballerina’s need to work out more then, I can pick you up just fine.”

“Art.”

“I’ll come be Romeo. Put him out of a job and get to kiss you, that sounds like a pretty good deal.”

Heaven laughs, shifting in her seat, lifting one leg into the chair, wrapping her arms around it and resting her cheek on her knee. “Thank you for letting me talk about it.”

“Yeah.” Art smiles, quietly taking a sip of his own water.

“Now say what you wanted to say.”

“I didn’t wanna say anything.”

“Yes you do,” Heaven scoffs, you’ve got that look on your face, you wanna say something just say it, Arthur.”

“I told you I hated that name and you haven’t stopped saying it since.” he snorts.

“It’s your given name.” She exclaims. Her big brown eyes stare up at him from across the table and he can feel his heart racing in his chest. “Okay. Art. You always let me talk to you. Talk to me.”

Art swallows deeply. This is the part where she runs. He gets real and honest about his feelings and she retreats to Tashi’s side or under Patrick’s arm. He knows this isn’t healthy to do to himself. But then he has the shittiest thought that crosses his mind.

This time they’re not here.

He’d won the game today. There was no Patrick to beat in tennis, he wasn’t in a tug-o-war with Tashi. He wasn’t distracted by anything. He should at least try, shouldn’t he?

Like, how long could the situation between the 3 of them last anyway. Here she was again, upset, alone, and where were they. Tashi might have some years on him regarding Heaven but Art knows Patrick. He loves the guy, but he’s not good for them, either of them. This was just some fantasy for him, having two girlfriends, it wasn’t real for him. That’s why he’s here and she’s not. That’s why he was there when Heaven needed him when Patrick was out doing god knows what.

“Why didn’t you call me when you were upset? We text all of the time.”

Heaven breathes out heavily as she nods her head, as if she’d been expecting this conversation. “I called my girlfriend. She was busy.”

“And then?”

“And then I called my boyfriend, Art. Your best friend, Patrick, remember him?” Art scoffs, shaking his head and Heaven sits up fully. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what?” she persists.

“It’s just, what makes him your boyfriend? Because I just…Patrick Zweig isn’t really the boyfriend type, is all.” He shrugs.

“Maybe he changed for me and Tashi. We tend to have that effect on people.” Heaven jokes.

Art laughs humorously. “I know.”

“Oh.”

“I just want you to be with someone that loves you.” He says in a tired tone. “That’s all I’ve been wanting for you-” He knows he should stop here. That placing seeds of doubt wasn’t the way he should win her. This was fucked up. She’s his friends’ girlfriend. His friend.

“And, you don’t think I have someone like that now?” She asks. That same brow raised as she crossed her arms, staring him down. It's the same bone chilling look she gave Tashi when she’d asked her about her audition dance. He can’t help but wilt a little under the stare, not backing down completely but suddenly questioning his decision to open this line of discussion.

“I…I just want you to be with someone who loves you, Heaven.”

Her face softens and Art can breathe a little easier. Brown eyes wide as she takes him in, shifting in her seat back and forth as if she was really thinking.

“You really mean that, don’t you?”

Art nods solemnly, hesitating slightly before standing, stepping out of the booth and walking over to Heaven’s side, holding his hand out to her. “I know what I’m about to say is so fucked up, and if you dont want to, I’ll listen. We’ll be friends, but…let me show you. I’ve, jesus this is embarrassing, I’ve been pretending you were mine all night. Pretend with me for tonight. Let me show you. Please.”

They're quiet the whole way back to campus. Heaven held Art’s hand, or maybe she let him hold hers…neither of them were quite sure. And they made their way back. And they both waited. They both were on the edge of their seats to see what happens next. They waited for Heaven to open her mouth, to ask him with indignity to direct her to Tashi’s dorm because, surely, the girl was back from the gym now.

They waited for the wave of guilt to hit Art, for him to remember who she actually belongs to, to remember that she’s only his in his fantasies and send her on her way to wait for Patrick to get here tomorrow. But instead, when his phone vibrates in the cupholder of his car with a text from his best friend, he simply flips it over before Heaven can see.

Once they’re safely inside his dorm Heaven is basically shaking next to him and he pauses, brushing his thumb against the smooth skin of her cheek. “Sweetheart, we don’t have to do anything.”

I’ll just die if we don’t, that’s all. He thinks.

Her eyes are shut tightly but she leans her face into his hand. “I’m scared. Meeting you guys was just supposed to be fun. This feels…” serious. “I’m…I’ve never felt like this for anyone other than her. So I was trying to avoid you.” she whispers, finally opening her eyes to look at him.

His heart almost hurts because he’s causing her stress. Almost. But this was the first time that she’s been clear that she’s feeling what he feels, and he physically cannot stand not kissing her. “I’m sorry.” He breathes, leaning down, brushing her lips with his own. “M’sorry.”

The gap finally closes between the two of them and Art feels like he’s really breathing for the first time. Like, up until this point he’d been holding his breath his whole life, like he had a taste of real air when they’d kissed in that theater and now he was breathing. The only air worth breathing is Heaven’s.

Heaven’s head swims as Art lifts her up, laying her down onto his small bed, placing her gently as if she was fine china. It feels unfair. She didn’t know that something could feel this good. Being with Tashi and Patrick, it’s the first time she’s really felt something. Tashi was the first person Heaven ever loved. But it was so alarming how quickly Art was making all of that feel less all consuming. All she could think about was him. The only time her mine was this clear, this focused, was…when she danced.

Art places kisses along Heaven’s cheek, jaw and neck before making his way to her ear, groaning when he feels her hand in his hair. “Heaven, baby, let me touch you, please.”

He pulls back to look at her to wait. He needed confirmation. He needed to know she was okay with it. That it would make her happy. “Okay.” she looks up at him from his pillow with a soft look, lifting her hand to his cheek and smiles gently as he kisses the palm of her hand.

“Yeah?” He asks desperately as he kisses his way up her arm.

Heaven brings Art’s hand to her lips, mirroring his action and kissing his palm before nodding.

That’s all he needs.

He has to focus hard as he breathes in her sweet, flowery scent as he drags his lips along her torso before he reaches the edge of where her t-shirt meets her pants, nudging the fabric up with his nose to expose the skin of her stomach and kissing his way back down. He feels himself hardening in his own pants and wills himself to calm down so he doesn’t cum before he even gets to really touch her. He reaches his hand down, undoing her buttons on her pants and looks up to the ceiling briefly as he hears her kicking the fabric down her legs, counting backward from 20.

“Kiss me again?” she asks sweetly.

The question barely leaves her lips before he’s racing up to meld their lips back together, humming in relief when he gets to breathe from her again. When he finally lets her get some real air, she takes his dominant hand this time holding it in both of hers. “I love your hands, Art. They’re strong,” she kisses one finger, “and talented,” she kisses the next, “and part of you. Let you play some really good fucking tennis.”

Art’s laugh turns into a moan when she places the two fingers into her warm mouth, staring up at him through her lashes. “Oh fuck, Heaven.”

She pops his fingers out of his mouth and she wraps her arm around his neck to hold his face close as Art slides hand down her body, holding the wet fingers away as he pauses briefly to squeeze her breast, drinking in the sound she makes. He would say he wants that noise as his ringtone, but then other people would hear it. Heaven. That’s what she is. His own personal heaven.

As he pushes his fingers into her his own grunt frustrates him as he tries to memorize the gasp that falls from her plump lips and chases it with his own. He pushes his fingers in and out of her again and again to hear her voice pitch as she chants his name and gasps obscenities. His own moans and whines fall from his lips and his ears and cheeks turn red at how loud he is.

His suitemates have to be used to the sound of him cumming with her name on his lips by now, especially considering his one attempt at not being in love with his best friend’s girlfriend that led him to stumble home from a bar just off campus with a sorority girl who promptly slapped the shit out of him and stormed out of the suite screeching when she’d given him head and he cried Heaven’s name when he came. To be fair, he’d gotten her off first…and apologized immensely.

But this? They weren’t gonna wanna room with him next semester. Fuck them.

He shivers as he feels her tugging his shirt over his head before pulling him back down to her, kissing him deeply again. “I’m gonna cum.” she whimpers, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Wait, wait, wait, please let me look at you.” Art pleads. Heaven��s head falls back against the pillow as her back arches slightly off of the mattress as she reaches her peak and Art nearly loses it from the sight. Not yet.

“Shit.” Heaven breathes kissing his cheek and neck, running her hands through his blond hair. “Let…let me-”

“One more.” Art blurts, sitting up and looking down at her, smoothing his hand along her body in awe. “Let me have one more, please. Let me taste you, baby. You’re so pretty, Hev. You’re,” he kisses her lower stomach, blue-brown eyes on her as he bites her panties, pulling them down with his teeth. “You’re a goddess. I want…I love you.”

“Art-” she gasps, pushing up onto her elbows to look down at him between her legs.

“One more, Heaven, please.” He pleads one more time, stopping just short of his destination to give her time. If…if she didn’t want it he wouldn’t do it. But he’d die. He would, he’d fucking die.

But all she does is bite the collar of her shirt. And Art could fucking cry at how good she tastes. He kisses her center deeply, licking his way up her slit, sucking on her clit, holding her legs open as she squirms above him. Murmuring against her through his own moans. “I know, baby, I know.” He reaches his hand up tugging the fabric of the shirt to pull it from her mouth to stop her from muffling her cries. “Heaven, beautiful, talk to me, honey, please.”

“I-I’m, it feels so good.”

“Yeah? I wanna make you feel so good.” he whines against her thigh.

“Fuck, Art-” she turns her head to muffle into the pillow, squeaking when he gently tugs her down the bed away from it.

“Please don’t fight it. Cum for me baby, please. One more, Heaven.”

“Fuck.” She gasps.

This time when she cums Art can’t help it. Between her sounds filling his ears, her scent in his nose and her taste on his tongue, he was moaning out her name and cumming in his pants before he could stop it. He breathes heavily and sits on the bed because he’s genuinely worried he’s gonna pass out, the black spots in his vision apparently an after effect of coming harder than he’d ever had. “Fuck, Heaven. Heaven?” He breathes, confused when he can finally see again and the girl is no longer in his bed and his room door is open.

She comes padding back through his door and Art thinks if he wasn’t empty, he could cum again to the sight of her stumbling back on wobbly legs, wearing his shirt, holding a washcloth. “Least I could do since you tried to kill me by making me nut.” She sits next to him and he intakes a breath as she unbuttons his pants, coaxing him out of them and his boxers and taking the warm cloth and cleaning his dick.

“Fuck, baby-” he whines, burying his face in her hair. “Okay-”

“You know you sound like you’re having sex when you play tennis? Or you’re playing tennis when you have sex. Since you played tennis first.” She smiles, smoothing his messy blond hair.

“Fuck tennis, I wanna do that.” He jokes, lifting his head and reaching for a clean pair of boxers from his drawer before climbing into his bed and holding his arms out for her to climb into.

“As a pro? That’s prostitution, handsome.” she smiles, laying herself between his arms and entangling their legs.

“M’not chargin’ you.” he mumbles sleepily, kissing her head.

“Shut up, go to sleep.”

#oc #love #art donaldson #art donaldson challengers #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x tashi duncan #art donaldson x oc #art donaldson x patrick zweig #patrick zweig x oc #patrick zweig x tashi duncan #patrick zweig #tashi duncan x oc #tashi duncan x reader #earn it #challengers spoilers #challengers movie #challengers 2024

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kingsnake101 · 4 months

Note

For the WIP game, Goth Four has me intrigued :))

SO this one begins with Time, Sky, Legend, and Wind getting captured by dark link. This is another one that I think can mostly speak for itself, so I'm gonna put what I have under the cut. Also I've never played any of Legend's games so I kinda just made up a magic item :/ sorry diehard legend fans

“Maybe if you pace long enough, it'll wear a hole through the floor and we can escape,” Wind commented, receiving a sharp glare from Legend.

Wind was leaning against Sky, who fiddled with his tunic anxiously. Time sat cross-legged on the other side of the cell, face creased in thought. Legend, meanwhile, resumed his pacing.

The walls were dark and cold, the smell of old stone bricks and dark magic permeated the space. It was humiliating, really, that they were captured so easily. It looked like any other shadow portal, why would he have assumed it would teleport them to some creepy dungeon?

Wind looked like he was about to say something, but was interrupted by a cool wind breezing through the cell.

“The hell…” Legend thought to himself, stopping to stare at the small magical tornado that had begun to form on the other side of the bars. It reeked of dark magic.

That seemed to snap Time out of his trance, the older hero rising to his feet and glaring at the disturbance. Legend shivered. He had seen a lot of things in his time, but damn if that wasn't a terrifying look.

The wind picked up, yanking his hair as it swirled around the small room. If Legend squinted, he thought he could see a small figure within the whirlwind.

Shiny black boots emerged from the storm, steps tapping gracefully on the stone floor. A silhouette appeared, form whipping around with the wind. Finally, the figure stepped forwards, backlit by the only light in the room, a single candle behind them. They looked… oddly familiar.

And then, with a snap of their fingers, the wind halted and torches flared to life. There, finally illuminated, stood a goth copy of their smith. His skin was an ashy gray, red eyes framed by dark purple hair. His tunic was similar to Four’s, if Four had an emo phase and dyed everything black. Dark, glittery eyeshadow shone on his face, pairing nicely with lipstick so black it seemed to absorb light. He stood in a dramatic pose with his back straight, not a single hair or thread out of place. A sly grin pulled at his face.

“Greetings, heroes,” dark-Four sneered, leaning forward into a mocking bow. “It’s a pleasure,” he purred, a black forked tongue flicking past sharp teeth as he spoke.

“What do you want with us?” Legend spat, sneering as he stepped up to the bars.

“Well, it wouldn't be any fun if I just told you, now would it?” Dark-Four grinned, a black claw tapping at his chin thoughtfully. A silver ring was wrapped around his finger, a delicate chain connecting it to a matching wristband. Legend swore that it wasn't there earlier. “No, I think I'll leave you guessing. I'm just here to have some fun before Dark Link rips you to shreds,” the grin widened, all the more sinister. Legend swore he could feel Time’s protective, angry aura increase. He didn't miss how the dark refused to look at their oldest member.

Legend heard shuffling behind him, and looked over to see Sky walking up to the bars. A tremor ran down Legend's spine. The skylian’s gentle features contorted into something sharp, something dangerous.

“I suppose they call him ‘godkiller’ for a reason,” Legend assumed, almost feeling guilty for the dark on the other end of that glare. Almost.

A flicker of fear and uncertainty flashed across Dark-Four’s face, before he steeled it back into a lopsided grin. Before Sky could open his mouth to speak, the dark cut him off.

“Don't worry, the prick upstairs specifically told me not to lay a finger on you,” The dark clarified, rolling his eyes. “What he didn't mention, however, were your things.”

Legend's scowl deepened. If that asshole even thought about touching his stuff he would-

Legend's worst fears were confirmed when his own pack rose up through a puddle of dark magic on the floor. The shadow saw his reaction and grinned.

“Ooh, sorry, does this bother you, Pinky?” He mocked, carefully flipping open Legend's bag and peered inside.

“I swear to Hylia, if you even think-” Legend's rant was cut off by some sort of dark magic gag slapping onto his face. He growled in frustration, which only seemed to make the dark smile more.

“If any more of you have any words to say on the subject, I have plenty more,” he warned, dark magic swirling around his fingertips.

Wind, unfortunately, seemed to take this as a challenge rather than a threat. “You bet I do, you slimy bottom feeder son of a-” Wind half grinned, half sneered, before a similar gag slapped onto his face.

“Anyhow, let's see what the so-called ‘Hero of Legend’ has in here~” the dark drawled, rooting through Legend's bag. Legend cursed at him through the gag. He ignored him.

The dark pulled out a familiar wooden box, shaking it slightly to hear metal bouncing against itself. The box was opened, and his eyes widened in glee. Legend cursed his luck. Out of all the things he could have grabbed, why did it have to be the box full of magic rings?

The dark began carefully picking through the rings, lifting a few up for inspection. He lifted up a particularly gaudy one, before looking Legend in the eye and grinning. Legend recognized that ring. It was one he rarely used, due to its headache-causing abilities and moral implications.

“I must say that I am impressed, Hero of Legend,” the dark smirked at him, holding the ring of mind reading in one hand and the box of rings in the other. “I really thought the most experienced savior of Hyrule would have better fashion taste.”

And if that didn't catch legend off guard.

“These are hideous! Why would you ever carry these around! Half of these clash, and the other half are eyesores,” he scoffed, holding the ring of mind reading like it personally offended him.

“Wait, can he not sense the magic? How?” Legend gawked internally, although he kept his face a mask of anger.

“Here, you can have this one. My eyes can only take so much,” he complained, dramatically shielding his eyes before flicking the ring into the cell. Legend practically dove to catch it. How a reflection of Four could be so stupid, he had no idea. Legend slipped it on.

A swarm of thoughts rushed over him, and Legend internally grimaced. Wind was still spewing some awfully creative insults, Sky was angry and worried, and somehow, the old man was just as unreadable as before.

Legend took a deep breath, focusing on the individual in front of him. He leaned away from the angry thoughts of his comrades and towards the smug cadence of Four’s doppelganger.

“Poor fools. They'll never find the exit, I can barely find it even though I know that it's behind a false wall at the end of the hallway. And even then, they'll never get past the guards watching their stuff. Sure, they tend to fall asleep after dinner at around 8 o’ clock, but the heroes don't know that. They also have no idea that Dark Link and I are constantly doing patrols, except for tonight because Dark is going to look for the other heroes and I'm leaving so I can have a spa day. I bet they don't even know that my Link likes to secretly sew lockpicks into his friend’s clothes. Fools. They'll never escape. Muahahahahahahahaha-”

Legend discreetly slid the ring off his finger. He was already getting a headache, and the maniacal laughter was like a stake being driven into his skull. Besides, he has already gotten plenty of information.

“Well, it seems our time must come to an end. It was an honor to meet you, truly. Hopefully I get to see you again before Dark rips you apart,” he sneered, bowing again. “I bid you adieu,” with one last dramatic twirl, he sunk into the shadows once more.

As soon as the shadow was gone, Legend turned his attention to Wind. “What? What's that look for?” Wind questioned, scooching away from Legend. It seems the gag had disappeared when the shadow did.

“Give me your tunic,” Legend demanded, holding out his hand.

Wind curled back, clutching his hand protectively to his chest. “No way! Ayrll gave this to me!” Wind huffed, scooting back.

Sky leaned forward, trying to seperate the two heroes somewhat. “Do you want mine?” he offered.

Legend nodded, scooting over to Sky. He ran his fingers along the hem, looking for anything that seemed out of place. Sky eyed him with confusion, but didn't comment. He found what he was looking for in the seam, right before the hem of the shirt. It seemed like a small piece of fabric had been added, with a wide stitch that could easily tear away with the help of the lockpicks inside. Legend made quick work of it.

“Wait, what? How did you know that was there?” Wind questioned, leaning forward. Sky picked at his tunic with confusion.

Legend stood up, wincing when his joints protested. He brushed himself off before making his way to the cell door. “I remembered that the smithy likes to hide lockpicks in our clothes,” Legend explained as he fiddled with the lock. He decided not to mention the whole mind-reading thing. Maybe another day. The door swung open with a soft click.

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