#Stop policing how people like their monsters

[lavenderspence]

unexplained sadness | A.H.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader | Word Count: 2.5K

Content warning: pre-established relationship, depression, mental health struggles, mentions of therapy, angst, supportive!aaron

Summary: you've struggled to find a way out from under the darkness for years, but you were thankful he offered the final push you needed.

A/N: I drafted this a few days, contemplating if I should even post it. it's very self-indulgent. I wrote it at a time when I wasn't able to understand my own feelings, and im still not sure how. I think this is the realest my writing has been, but i do think I'm posting this with the most vulnerability as well. I want you all to remember, just in case you're struggling - you're amazing, you're enough and I believe in you. Life is crazy, but it will get better, allow yourself to be patient, and most importantly, take the greatest, most gentle care of yourself 💕

You looked around, well aware of the amount of relief that should be flooding your body right now. It usually did at the end of a case, where another monster was put to rot in a cage much appropriate for its’ sins. 

But even knowing what you should be feeling, the simple truth was - you weren’t feeling anything at all, and you hadn’t for a while. 

And even when you did feel something, you could never explain it. It was a mess, where many emotions fought a battle, but in the end, all it came down to was an endless void where the darkness and despair of the unexplained won out.

The only thing you could feel at that moment was the pressure of the vest compressing against your chest. It stole the little amount of oxygen in your lungs in favor of an overwhelming amount of hidden sadness. 

Even with the sun high up in the sky and the warmth it was supposed to spread all over your skin, you felt cold - no warmth actually penetrated the top layer of your skin. And the chatter - EMTs, police officers, and outlookers, you couldn’t process anything at all. 

It was like you were standing there, like a statue, a headstone to remind everyone of your presence once upon a time, but not anymore. Physically, you were alive and aware, but mentally, you’ve been fighting a battle you could confidently admit you were losing. 

Your thoughts were deeply wrapped in a cobweb of confusion and melancholy, a never-ending cycle that couldn’t stop repeating itself. It felt like you didn’t exist outside the realm of your own despair. Each day the shadows around you persisted in their pursuit of you, dragging in with them this empty feeling, designed to leave you feeling like a loner. 

The string holding you tethered to the person you’d been before was tinning each day as the distance between you grew bigger and bigger. You no longer even felt her presence at all. For weeks you’ve fought a silent battle against your own mind, and even your body sometimes. 

You tried to hide behind a mask of fake smiles and nights spent around the people you trusted most, hoping you’d feel better, but you never did. You only felt this state you were in, as it gained speed and grew in volume. 

But there was a certain pair of eyes that saw the subtle changes in you, straight into a place even you couldn’t see. Warm chocolate, sometimes shining amber in the sun - somehow strict but also oh so soft. 

You thought you hid it well, but you could never hide yourself from him, and you should have known. 

Your hotel room was dark and quiet, safe for the gentle light and sound that came from the TV. A movie was playing, an early 2000s song in the background. The duvet felt heavy over your body, and you longed to kick it off in an effort to feel less trapped, but you couldn’t find the strength to. It was like your whole body was paralyzed in a fatal position with your muscles locked and your eyes open but unseeing. 

Case after case came, and each day it got harder. You had to try and perfect a mask you were getting tired of wearing, tired of hiding behind. You couldn’t skip work, lest you wanted to feel like more of a failure than you already did sometimes. 

You felt scared to admit to your struggles, half unsure what your struggles were to begin with, half unwilling to unload on others. You were willing to suffer and fight this on your own until you either had nothing left to fight against or no strength left to fight at all.

Your mind was working overtime, half empty and dark, half full and constantly spinning, you didn’t even process the foreign sound at first. Only it wasn’t so foreign - a series of gentle raps or someone’s knuckles against the door. Knocking. They were just enough to alert you of a newcoming presence but not disturb you or others in any way. 

You didn’t move a muscle. Even when two more knocks followed, even more gentle than the first, all you could do was blink. Even with the soft call of your name that came seconds later, you couldn’t find the strength to answer or even get up. You couldn’t even twitch. 

You stood there frozen in place, in time. Frozen between the walls of a prison of your own mind’s making. 

The knocks stopped, as did the voice calling out your name, maybe finally resigned to the fact you weren’t answering at all. 

Giving up on you the way you’d given up on yourself. 

You would be surprised if you didn’t feel a tiny bit of relief at being left on your own. Too bad the relief didn’t actually last long - just seconds after the lock beeped, signaling it was unlocked, and the door was slowly opening, bathing the room in the hallway light. 

Even with the small, hesitant steps this person took, you were instantly able to tell by the sounds of his feet hitting the wooden floor who it was. 

“Did you know it’s actually illegal to break into someone’s space?” Your voice came out raspy from misuse. You weren’t sure how much time had actually passed since you made it to your room, but if you had to guess, probably several hours had gone by.

“I do know that actually, it’s criminal law 101.” He retorted before you felt the mattress dip close to your feet, “You missed dinner.” He mussed.

A part of you couldn’t handle having a conversation with him, not right now. Not in the complete darkness, and the quiet stretched between you both. 

“I wasn’t hungry.” You answered simply. You waited for him to say something, and you waited and waited, and he wasn’t saying anything. It was like he was looking for the right words to use, so as not to offend you, or set you off. But you wouldn’t feel any of it if he did - just as the night was dark outside and so was your mind. 

“Just spit it out, Hotch.” You finally used a part of his name, unintentionally closing the distance the smallest bit even when you tried to stay away. Maybe subconsciously you knew you could trust him, if a little.  

“You’re not doing well.” 

You didn’t even hesitate. “Wow, way to show you aren't actually a gentleman.”

“I’m not trying to...” You could almost see him shaking his head, so in tune with his reactions from years of working alongside him, “I’m worried about you.” It left him in a whisper, like he was afraid to admit it. 

“I’m okay, there’s no need.” You denied it like it was your biggest defense against his accusations. Except they weren’t that, genuine worry dripped along with his words, but you had a hard time accepting it. You couldn’t, didn’t want to. Being vulnerable, especially in front of him, could cost you a lot, and with the way you’ve been living, you couldn’t afford it.

Even when deep in your heart you trusted him with everything, even yourself. 

You felt him place his hand on the duvet, enclasping his palm around your calf. “You were okay five weeks ago, and you haven’t been since then. I’ve been watching you wear a mark and barely holding yourself from falling apart. I don’t think ‘okay’ applies right now.” 

“I thought we promised not to profile each other.” You muttered brokenly, feeling parts of the mask he was talking about cracking in places. It was like having him so close, peeling your outer layers slowly, and leaving you exposed, finally making your emotional reactions coincide with your lack of understanding. It was like he was exposing all of you both to himself and you too. 

“Not at the expense of suffering in silence, we didn’t.” He answered with conviction, no hesitation. He was making it apparent your wellbeing was more important to him than any promise he might have made to you or others. He was letting you know he was prioritizing your health over everything else. 

He understood you even without you having to say anything. Just by watching you try to swim to the surface of the ocean and still being pushed by the crashing waves, he could already feel that you were struggling. 

He could see you were self-isolating, even when you were being surrounded by people. He picked up on the signs in the subtle subject changes you made whenever someone asked anything about you. You were unwilling to share, even though you loved sharing any little detail about your interest, allowing others to do the same. 

You let Garcia talk about her software and cute animals and allowed Reid to share any little fact with you he could. But even when you listened, it wasn’t hard to see you really weren’t. Staring into spaces or faking an interest, even though he knew you would be interested in the first place, had there not been anything amis to begin with. 

And slowly piece after piece had started falling together, like a puzzle started, yet left abandoned. 

In the darkness of the hotel room, miles away from your home and mere doors down from the rest of your team, a piece deep inside you started longing for the understanding he was offering. It started building up with worry over the reality of the words you knew you needed to say but were too scared to. It started wishing for a new slate, where the overwhelming amount of confusion and empty darkness no longer followed you like a shadow. 

It slowly started coming to terms with the fact that you weren’t enough to fight this on your own and that maybe you needed help to do so.

For the first time in weeks, months, who knew, maybe even years, you wanted to talk about it. You wanted to admit to your state of mind where reality got mangled with your deepest darkest thoughts imaginable, where self-doubt and the feeling of worthlessness took over. Where giving up sounded so much better than trying out again. Where any positivity was instantly turned into negativity whether you liked it or not. 

For the first time you craved being helped, you wanted to understand your own struggles and get better. You wanted to thrive in the life you were leaving instead of settling for simply existing. You wanted to talk, and you wanted to tell him all that. 

You rolled your lips between your teeth before you bit down until you tasted blood. One of your hands barely made it out from underneath the warmth of the duvet before you grabbed into the bedding with a tight fist. 

“I don’t think I’m doing okay, Aaron.” You whispered into the darkness. The bed dipped and groaned as he moved closer, settling just centimeters away from your cocoon this time. You were so busy looking over the skyline that you didn’t even see his hand move until you felt his warm palm overtop your skin. He held onto you, trying to prompt you into releasing the bedding, tapping his fingers in a gentle manner. 

He was offering you comfort without really saying or doing anything. He was letting you try and put your thoughts together before you entrusted him with the truth. 

“One minute I’m good, and the next it feels like I lose all touch with my own self and my feelings - It’s all empty, or an overwhelming amount of sadness I couldn’t begin to even understand. I can’t even grasp what prompts this sudden change. I’ve tried fighting it for so long, years maybe, and each time it comes back, I’m left feeling more hopeless than the last.” You explained in a small voice. 

A wave of relief, if small, rocked your whole body. There was something freeling about saying it out loud, ignoring the fear of admitting that had followed you for years. 

“Have you ever told anyone about it?” His voice was just another shadow in the room. A timbre so calm, quiet, and soothing that you knew he was listening with no reservations and no judgments. Just a pure need to help.

You went to shake your head, but remembered you were both still looking towards the window. “I’ve always played it off as a joke. I’ve never let it sound like I really mean it. Not like I do right now.” It was one of the many truths you’d admitted to that night. Even when you played it off, you knew deep inside it was a small cry for help you didn’t want to. You were unwilling to take the right steps in order to get the help you needed. 

“Why joke about it?” You thought about it for a second, trying to clear out the fog of the past.

“I guess…” Your fingers clenched underneath his own. “I guess I just wanted to see if anyone cared enough to ask if I was serious. They didn’t.” Realistically, you knew you shouldn’t wait on other people or expect them to see something amiss before you looked for help. But a part deep enough inside you wanted the reassurance that someone loved you enough to notice.

“But you want to get help?” He mumbled, still tapping his finger against your own.

“Yes.” You didn’t even have to think about it. You owed yourself that much, and all the help possible you could get.

“Okay.” He exhaled in relief, “As soon as we get back, we’ll start looking, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You whispered. You felt his hand squeeze your own in reassurance. You turned your palm up, enveloped his own hand, and gave him one back, “Thank you, Aaron.”

A few minutes of looking at the starless sky passed before he prompted you to move, if just enough to walk into the bathroom and wash your face - and you did. When you came back, he’d made himself comfortable leaning against the headboard, legs stretched on the mattress. 

He spent the night sleeping in yesterday’s clothes, trying to make sure you were doing okay and weren’t left feeling lonely. 

You knew there was a long path ahead of you - the path to self-understanding and acceptance of your own flaws and struggles, as well as the changes you may need to adapt to moving forward. Something you were undoubtedly going to have a hard time with. Where you’d need to fight against the days when you questioned whether it was worth it. Where you’d slowly have to come to terms with the fact that as long as you were making yourself happy and keeping yourself afloat, there wasn’t anything worth more. 

The path to recovery was never supposed to be easy or linear, but you had him to thank for being the final push. You had to be thankful for each minute of the time he gave you. And each grain of love he showed you in the process. 

You needed the help - for yourself, your past, your present, and your future self. And for every second you spent failing to understand the person you were and the feelings you held onto.

[phantobats]

Every time Batman faces off against a villain, the age-old debate surfaces: Should Batman finally kill? To many, the answer seems obvious. Gotham's rogues gallery—Joker, Scarecrow, Two-Face—have caused untold death and destruction. Some argue that Batman, with his no-kill rule, is doing more harm than good by allowing them to repeatedly escape and wreak havoc. But this line of thinking completely misses the point, not just of Batman’s moral code but also of why Gotham needs him in the first place.

Gotham City is infamous for its corruption. From the police department to the courts, virtually every institution that should protect the innocent is compromised. Judges are bought, politicians are on crime syndicate payrolls, and even the police force—before Commissioner Gordon’s reforms—was rife with bribery and backdoor deals. In a city where criminals are recycled back onto the streets through corrupt systems, Batman's role as a vigilante isn’t about acting as judge, jury, and executioner. It’s about being a symbol of justice that Gotham has lost.

If we’re focusing on who should be stopping these villains for good, we should be looking at Gotham’s broken justice system, not the moral line Batman refuses to cross. It’s the system’s responsibility to lock these criminals away for good, or better yet, reform them if possible. Batman doesn’t kill because he’s operating in a world where the institutions of law and justice have failed. His presence highlights how far Gotham has fallen, but asking him to break his code and start killing misses the mark.

Let’s imagine, for a moment, that Batman does kill. He ends the Joker once and for all. Does Gotham suddenly become a safer place? Does this action stop the next criminal mastermind from rising up? No. The truth is, Gotham’s problems run much deeper than a few individual villains. If Batman starts killing, he becomes a symptom of Gotham’s sickness rather than its cure. The cycle of violence continues, because the real problem—the corrupt systems that allow these criminals to rise—remains unchanged.

A vigilante who kills is just another arm of Gotham's decay. What Batman represents is the fight against that very decay. He’s someone who can operate outside the law without becoming a monster himself. If Batman starts executing villains, he isn’t fixing Gotham—he’s giving up on the idea that Gotham can be fixed.

Those who call for Batman to kill fail to see the larger picture. When people like Joker escape Arkham Asylum, that’s not on Batman. It’s on the corrupt or incompetent systems that continually fail to contain these threats. Arkham is a revolving door because the people who run it either don’t care or are incapable of doing their jobs properly. The courts release criminals because they’re either paid off or pressured by Gotham’s criminal underground. Batman's real enemies aren’t just the costumed villains, but the failing institutions that enable them.

If we want true justice in Gotham, we need to demand better from its police force, mental health institutions, and political figures. We shouldn’t be asking Batman to kill; we should be asking why Gotham’s mayor is in the pockets of crime lords, or why the city’s D.A. can’t secure a conviction against someone as clearly guilty as Joker. Fixing Gotham’s institutions would do far more good than turning Batman into an executioner.

At the heart of this argument is Batman’s moral code, which has often been a subject of debate. Batman refuses to kill, not just out of personal conviction, but because he understands what it would mean if he crossed that line. He would become no different from the villains he fights.

Gotham needs Batman precisely because he holds to a higher standard. His refusal to kill is a reminder that, even in a city as broken as Gotham, there are still people willing to fight for justice in a way that doesn’t compromise their humanity. In a world of corruption and lawlessness, Batman’s no-kill rule is a beacon of hope. It’s proof that Gotham’s soul isn’t entirely lost.

Rather than debating whether Batman should start killing, we should shift our focus to where it belongs—on Gotham’s institutions. Batman is a vigilante because the law fails. He wears the cape and cowl because the system is so broken that it can’t be trusted to protect its citizens. He fills a gap, but he doesn’t replace the law; he challenges it to be better.

If we want a safer Gotham, it’s time to stop asking Batman to do the dirty work and start holding the city's leaders accountable. The real question isn’t why Batman won’t kill, but why the justice system in Gotham is so corrupt that a vigilante is needed at all.

[nightingale-prompts]

Danny lives in a horror movie-DC x DP prompt

Based on my favorite book series "tales from the gas station"

Its not everyday a mission requires the league to travel to middle America in to obtain a highly cursed artifact but it certainly today.

Locating the Seal of Silent Ashes was a task usually given to Justice League Dark but Constantine was currently busy. So that meant it was left to the poster boys to get this done. They dressed in civilian attire to investigate the last location of the seal starting with the first building on the edge of town. A small dusty gas station near the wood.

The inside had an awful smell, like death and cleaning fluid. The lights gave off a greenish-blue tint. Rats could be seen out of the corner of your eyes. Most of the chip were offbrand and crappy.

Behind the counter was the teenage boy chewing gum. He looked up at the group before going back to reading his book. He had clearly seen better days but didn't show signs of caring about the state of his hair or bags under his eyes. He drank coffee.

The air felt off.

"Hey kiddo, do you mind giving us directions?" Clark started.

The kid narrowed his eyes as he popped his gum.

"You're not from here. That or you're from that cult in the woods. Listen I'm not joining. Seriously cosmic nihilism and fatalism sounds doomed. Hey wait-" the teen checked his notes " No, the cult killed themselves in that mass suicide 2 weeks ago. I forgot."

The teen didn't say anything else as he went back to his book.

The horrified look of the adults shared was almost hilarious. At least to the teen if he looked up.

"Oh, and stay out of the woods. I don't want the police to come back and ask about who saw you last. Seriously if whatever is in there tears you apart I won't feel bad. I put those signs out forever ago and if I get one more girl covered in blood running in here screaming about her dead friends I'll get a headache." The teen shrugged turning the page.

"What do you mean?! Why would-?! Who's killing people?!" Barry asked frantically as Bruce serched for more reports of missing people in the area.

"I don't know. Why would I know? If you want to go in the cursed forest go ahead. I mean that's how they all die. It isn't my job to stop you. My job is to sit here and watch this store." The teen huffed in annoyance.

Before anymore questions were asked the signal of the radio was disrupted and a demonic howl screeched through the radio.

"God damnit. That cunt is back. Stay here." The teen growled as he grabbed his bat from under the counter and walked out the back door. "String bean! Get off the fucking roof you bastard! You know that radio is all I have here!"

A chattering laugh like a death rattle was heard and the sound of 2 sets of feet was heard on the roof then they lept down.

"Come here so I can beat you to death!" The teen ran around the building towards the front of the gas station chasing-what the fuck is that!

It was like a human that was twisted to crabwalk on all fours backwards. Its face was contorted into a black stretched-out smile with no teeth. It had no eyes just black sockets. All its limbs were stretched out to an extra meter in length. It was a skinwalker of some kind with chalk-white skin. It was skittering away from the teen who was swinging his bat at its head.

"Stop running! I told you before what would happen if I found you fucking with me again!" The boy meant it as he finally landed a hit and began wacking it over and over it.

The skin walker screeched and tried to run for its life but couldn't.

After reducing the monster into a black puddle the black-stained teen came back inside to sit back down not paying anymore to the monster blood he was covered in.

"Sorry about that. Most of the freaks around here have learned to stay away from this place. That one is new and he doesn't listen. You'd think they'd learn but Sting Bean thinks he can torment me. Petty bastard." The teen sighed "anyways are going to buy anything or are you going to waste what oxygen we get in here with this shitty ventilation.

Diana couldn't help but admire the boldness of the boy. He had no hesitation or fear against the beasts of this area even if was crude.

"Does Constantine have a cousin or something? Just a more angry one" Barry whispered to Hal.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, yandere, kidnapped reader, murder of nameless side characters

♡ fem reader

Thinking about that moment of violent change you’re forced to go through when your loving boyfriend becomes the terrifying man you don’t recognize—and how it completely eradicates the reality you’d grown so comfortable in, realizing it was all some perfectly orchestrated lie.

Rope burns on your wrists and ankles, tears streaking your chunky cheeks, and a poor soul’s blood on your pretty face belonging to some guy who’d gotten a little too close for comfort.

He’d cut him down like it was nothing.

The knife is held still by his side, a shining red murder weapon, dripping on the floor in the growing pond by his feet. He sighs heavily, casts his head back then looks behind him, beholding you through slim eyes, clicking his tongue, “Look what you made me do…”

He wouldn’t be the only one… several victims followed in his bloody path—witnesses who’d seen him struggle with you, kicking and screaming for all your worth, trying anything to get away. You were all too easily manhandled into the car, and could only watch behind the locked door, banging with bound fists on the glass while he gutted other passersby who’d threatened to call the police.

Driving off, he growls at you, first to shut up and then, “That was your fault—if only you’d been a good girl, none of those innocent people would have had to die.” His knuckles whiten on the wheel, wringing it in his stained grip—scarlet on ivory. “If you don’t want any more blood on your hands, you better sit pretty and not cause me any more trouble.”

You sob uncontrollably and inconsolably despite the threat—you can’t stop yourself—you can’t even comprehend his words. None of it makes any sense. You’d seen it all, and yet you can’t understand it—any of it. You’d watched the sweet guy you knew shed his skin and become a monster right before your eyes. It must be some bad dream, some terrible, awful, horrible nightmare.

But even if it is, you don’t want him touching you ever again. It makes you physically sick to your stomach to think you’d ever shared a bed with him—exchanged sweet nothings in the damp heat of each other. No, no, no, it’s not the same person—it can’t be. It can’t be true. What about the smiles you’d shared over breakfast, those times you’d surprised each other at lunch, all the dates, all the gifts, all the kisses, the future you’d talked about?

You’d fallen in love. But you’ve fallen in love with someone who doesn’t even exist.

He makes sure the door to the bedroom’s under lock and a key he stores somewhere you won’t find it. You squirm in your bonds on the bed when he approaches, shivering with whimpers under his hands, flinching at his touch while he unties you, then cringing as he angles your face to look at him—wanting to pry free, anything not to look into those changed eyes.

You hadn’t thought his build was imposing before, it hadn’t struck you as lethal. Naively, you’d thought him cozy—a big chest and a warm embrace he would scoop you up in, a safe place you could live. He’s cold now, menacing and filthy from his crimes—the body of a killer, a cold-blooded murderer. He’s so big it makes the room feel too small for the both of you. Claustrophobic.

He forces your gaze to him, and it’s all you see, those eyes, those unrecognizable eyes, with that look within you can’t understand, beholding you with burden.

“I still love you,” he states, though it angers him. “Even though you broke my heart. I still love you.”

You shake your head, or you try to, but it results in only tiny tremors caught in his hand where he keeps your chin, bloody fingers buried in your plump cheeks, squeezing so hard you wince.

“But it doesn’t come for free,” he seethes with an awful sneer. A type of grimace you’d never thought him capable of, overfilled with disdain. “My love is earned. And after all you did today, you’re in deep debt.”

He lets go of your face with a nasty shove, taking a mean grip on your shirt instead, using both fists to tear it down the middle. You yelp and cover yourself, but that only angers him further—causing him to grab your wrists and pin them to your side. You think you feel your joints popping.

“Test me, and I’ll hurt you,” he growls, his teeth bared at your ear where your face curls to hide itself in the pillow. “I don’t want to, but if that’s what it takes to make you sorry, then so be it. Be good, and I won’t have to take it that far.”

You lie as still as you can muster while he removes the rest—roughly as he goes—your bra, your skirt, your underwear. You only snivel and toil with the sheets in weak little fists, making your joints cramp up—feeling raw under him, at the mercy of those blood-dried hands.

You understand what he’s about to do, and yet it doesn’t really dawn on you before you hear the sharp ringing of his belt buckle being undone. You don’t look, but you don’t close your eyes either—the room is already dark enough that closing your eyes would make you feel too close to death. So, you keep your gaze fixed to the side, to the stale wall.

The bed bounces you as he shuffles. The urge to run bubbles within, but you know it wouldn’t be to your advantage. So your mind spins, thinking of other possibilities, growing ever more panicked when coming up empty.

He spits on your slit, then rears it with his spitefully erect shaft—pushing in without further prep. And you lose all sense of control.

Twisting at the attack, you scream again, “No! Stop—”

Your hands barely touch him before he’s answered the protest with a tightening grip on your neck. Unrelenting, your throat instantly snares, and you choke on any further outburst.

“I told you,” he chastises. “Why do you have to force my hand, huh?”

You gasp for any sliver worth of air, sipping through the cracks of his chokehold, but it’s very nearly sealed completely shut. You try lifting his grip with your own, both hands holding onto his wrist, wanting to pull loose but achieving nothing.

It’s so pitiful that he ignores the effort. Using his remaining hand to continue what he’d set out to do. Planting his tip at your unprepped entrance, he wasted no time before surging forward.

Your vision starts to spot, and your hands grow weak, barely hanging on.

“That’s good. Lie still and take it,” he groans—his lips on your cheek as he bullies through your dry walls, only aided by his spit. “And I might consider once’ enough.”  

You don’t have a choice, feeling your body go numb. He picks your thigh up over his hip and drives deeper—starting a steady pace without letting go of your throat, squeezing the life out of you. Your hands finally drop, lying limp, and still, you feel it deep within—the thrusting as he beats your sorry cunt into an aching mess, then fills you up with awful warmth.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Naoya

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[yawnderu]

If Simon and bimbo!reader ever had a big fight (not petty disagreements), what would they fight about? How do both handle serious fights and making up?

ahhhh :((( anon when I catch you. It'd likely be at the beginning of the relationship, before she knows about his job and he always leaves for weeks without telling her much about it

>Simon and bimbo!reader fight and make up.

“I just don't understand why you do this to me... just tell me.” Your voice is as pleading as it is demanding, eyebrows furrowed and face scrunched up in a mix of frustration and sadness.

“I can't—” He's interrupted by a small scoff coming out of you, your arms crossed as you look away and take a deep breath. He's never seen you like this before, never so... frustrated and angry. Anxiety starts to fill his soul within seconds, stuck between wanting to keep you away from his job, and wanting to reassure you.

“Do you just.... have a second family or something? Is that what it is?” The accusation makes his own face scrunch up in a mix of mild disgust and confusion. Was his unwavering loyalty to you not obvious? He never even looks at other women at all, his eyes are for you only.

“I don't.” It's all he can say to defend himself. How does he go about telling you he kills people for a living? Sure, he's protecting the world and serving the Queen, but would you look at him differently when you find out the same hands that are so gentle with you will forever be tainted with another's blood?

“Then what is it, Simon?” You never call him Simon. Even when you first met, you've always called him Si. He lets out a small sigh, shaking his head. He doesn't want to be around to fight, he just wants it all to be okay like before— yet he also understands why you're acting that way after months of being kept in the dark.

“I'll be back later.” He turns around to leave the shared flat, only being stopped by another scoff.

“Fine. Leave like you always do.” It was a low blow, you can tell that much by the way his muscles visibly tense up, bulging out of his black shirt. He shakes his head, the hand on the doorknob trembling slightly. He loves you more than anything, but can he really handle seeing the expression on your face when he tells you why he's away?

“'M in the military.” He finally turns around, walking back to you and holding your hand, sitting down on the couch and pulling you on his lap, one of his hands running down the length of your hair.

“SAS. I'll show you my contracts if you don't believe me.” He's willing to do anything to make you believe him. Each silent second only increases his anxiety, barely managing to look down at you just to see the gears shifting in your brain, putting two and two together.

“.... Is that why you always stink when you come back?” There's enough mirth in your tone to let him know you're joking, barely managing to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

“Y'sniff me like a fuckin' police dog when I'm back, love. You like it.” No matter how much you roll your eyes in fake annoyance and pretend you don't like it, you both know the truth. You cuddle up closer to him, resting comfortably on his burly body.

“Y'wear the cool uniforms, Si?” Your voice is softer, almost shy to even ask the question. He knows you like masked men— he's heard you rant about Pyramid Head and Ghostface enough times already. He hums softly in reply, nodding his head.

“Sometimes. Cool mask and all, you'd like it.” He's just teasing you at this point, trying to hold back a smile when he feels you rapidly shifting in his arms just to get closer to his face, unable to hide your excitement.

“Yeah? Can I see?” Your giddiness is almost contagious, making a deep chuckle finally escape his lips. You're not looking at him like he's a monster, you're simply excited about the idea of him wearing a mask. Maybe letting you see Ghost isn't a bad idea.

“Hmm...” He drags out, looking away and pretending to think about it just to tease you. The smack to his arm is enough to make him grin at you, stealing a kiss before adjusting you on his lap, finally allowing his body to fully relax.

“Yeah, I'll show you.”

Bimbo!Reader Masterlist

[diejager]

I love your Only Human fics 😭😭 I can’t help but think what Monster AU 141/Kortac would do if their only human got hurt during a mission….

A continuation maybe please?

Only Human pt3

Pairing: Monster 141 + König + Horangi x reader

CW: blood, injury, canon-typical violence, gun violence, flash grenade go boom boom, explosion, tell me off I missed any. wc: 2.4k

Only Human masterlist

previous

They fucked up, they really flicked up. It was a simple mission, simple enough that you were sent with only three operators. Alejandro with his witness, slinked between enemy lines, shooting up and creating chaos once he shifted, his large body ripping through enemy lines like a hot knife through butter. Gaz with his aerial insights, flew over trees and spotted the soldiers you were shooting through and giving pointers to where they split up and where they collected. And finally, Horangi, stalking between the buildings, jumping from shadow to shadow with a slow sway of his tail, pouncing on his prey with the stealth of a tiger. 

Laswell had promised that it was a quick in-and-out op, slipping through the village at night and taking out the leading figure of this hastily-made gang that was blocking the transport route between two important, allied towns. The shared intel was that it was a gang of ragtag rebels, raiding police stations within the mass, overwhelming the officers with their vast numbers of followers. They stole police equipment, vests, guns, batons, and ammunition, using them to power through the lines of officers and breaking through blockades built by the townsfolk. 

While they weren’t trained in military warfare or had prior training with specialised weapons, they had the advantage of numbers, overwhelming any joint forces with their vast numbers of rebels. It was nearly astounding how many people were being paid and supported by Russia's wealthy Ultranationalists wanting to disrupt the trading routes and hurt the opposing team by prying them of a source of gas and material. 

The few joint forces had slimmed down their numbers, leaving Task Force 141 to clean it up and take over their base of operation within the region. You were told that their numbers rounded a skeleton crew of twenty men, twenty-five at most. That’s why Price sent you four for quick and efficient disposal of the enemy. 

That’s what Laswell gave you, the information burned into your mind from habitual memorization to ensure that your team would be prepared, and yet the data was wrong. Gaz had reported twice the promised number, not as well armed as you were warned but their number brought a changing tide to your mission. You wanted to turn back, to regroup and form another plan, but everyone was already in place and calling them back could be as much of a risk of being caught as storming in. 

Perhaps that’s why you were all so careful and conscious of the dangers, moving in two, Alejandro and Horangi in one part and you walking under Gaz’s protective shadow. The initial plan was to box them in, working through both exits to snuff out any runaways and once you entered the compound, Gaz would drop down and lead ahead. 

That was the plan, until, of course, all hell broke loose. It was chaotic, they were trigger-happy and within untrained hands, their guns were as leather as a trained one with how quickly they spent their magazine, cycling through one and spraying the wall you used for hiding. Soap’s wild clean-up would’ve been extremely helpful in a time like this; Ghost’s hungry haze would’ve swallowed them all up, opening up a way for you to pass; and König’s reckless and unpredictable shift that sent him into a wild frenzy while he tore through the base. 

Unfortunately, they were back home, the little base they called their own when you first joined, yet you still had experienced and protective soldiers by your side, all special forces. Gaz led you with a strong hand and clear head, stopping at every corner to look at all sides before moving forward and you watched his back, looking out for any enemy rounding back. 

Your situation would be - at best - organised chaos, made from what you were given at the moment, faced with a group over a dozen times and without backup waiting behind. There were hushed orders and observations sent back and forth between your groups, cautious warnings on your side and growls from the other. Nick had been informed in case of any immediate evacuation and Laswell, of the sudden change in the plan. You did your best with what you had, leaving bleeding corpses in your wake, slumped over the bloodied floor and against the stained walls, but you hadn’t expected the rapid change of shift in the enemy. They weren’t such men with guns and knives, they were trained - albeit sloppy - in ferality and ruthlessness, jumping at you and Gaz without a second thought.

Every lunge was met with a bullet, rifles firing at the advancing numbers holding a gun, a knife or both, leaving you with a graze or scrape, the skin under your clothes bristled and bleeding. They flooded like moths to a flame, one taking the place of a fallen, and two other taking his place. You were pushed back to back, Gaz’s wings fluttering in stress between you, fighting the need to cover you in a protective shield of muscle and feather. 

“We’re compromised,” Gaz hissed into the mic, sending the message to any open coms on your connected line. “Victor-01, moving your way.”

“Copy,” Alejandro huffed.

Gaz tried leading you away, feet moving fast and steady around the halls you had to memorise for this Op. He tried to lead you safely, but they swarmed you like flies, appearing from every corner in an unending flood of shouting, thumping and firing. Gaz was bound to get hit at this rate, with his big wings and broader shoulders. It worried you that he’d take a bullet for you - you knew he would, as would the others - and get dangerously hurt. Through one door was a group waiting for you, gun trained forwards and ready to fire, but they were slow, sloppy, and they lacked the training and reflexes of a specialist. 

You had time to push Gaz through a door and into a room, you hid on both sides, hiding from the straight line of fire. You unclipped a flash from your belt, waving it at him to catch his attention. It did and his lips broke into a grin, wild and electric at your idea. You had him count down the seconds, his fingers lowering until he balled his fist, shaking it as you pulled the pin out and threw it down the hall. Veering away from the door, eyes closed tightly and hands around your ears, the flash grenade blew up with a loud, ear-piercing screech. It sent them into a blind panic, weapons falling from their hands to rub the burning pain in their cornea, ears deaf to your quick-moving steps towards them, down they went, like those behind you. 

Adrenaline pumped erratically through your veins, bubbling and warming your body to an uncomfortable heat that had you sweating under your gear. You turned another corner and you were closer to Alejandro and Horangi’s location, meeting up with them was your current objective, to regroup and take over the base in one group. They were just down the path, behind the sprinting men in jeans and t-shirts holding guns like it was a big, heavy toy. You could see their tense shoulders relax when they caught sight of you, guard still up and cautious, but glad that you were safe. 

“Hunter,” Horangi hissed, his figure trembling as his nose twitched under his mask. He stared at your shoulder, the damp jacket stained with your blood. “You broken?”

“No, the adrenaline’s keeping me going,” you nodded back, trying to soothe his worry. Being the 141’s medic, you knew the benefits of adrenaline, it numbed the pain, the cold and the burns, but once you calmed down, you’d feel every little scratch.

You limped out of the building, body leaning against Horangi for support, his tail curled around your thigh and body tense in a possessive mood. He kept glancing your way, his golden eyes swirling with worry, pupils small and attentive to every wince you made. He moved according to your pain, urging you to put more weight on him when you walked on your bad leg, where a bullet shot straight through your thigh, bleeding through the quickly put gauze you covered it with and wrapped tightly in bandages. You promised them that you’d properly patch yourself up in the helicopter while they watched before you worked on them. 

With your body riding off the adrenaline that kept you going for the past fifteen minutes, you jerked and winced when you walked on your left leg, the white bandage around your thigh staining red on the side. You were sure Horangi and Alejandro could smell your blood, or they'd been able to smell it before you even saw them, the irony tang wafting around them like a haze of their failure. The failure to let you get hurt and unable to properly protect you, you could feel the tenseness in their shoulders, their lowered head at your smile and the jerky movement when they moved around, seemingly pulling themselves back from doing something. 

Nikolai waved at your group, ushering you in from his seat, strapped safely with his headset on and communication clear between everyone. With a short affirm from Alejandro, Nik took off, the bird curving to the left when he turned west, towards the UK. You waited until the flight was stable, flying through the air softly and steadily before you opened up your pack, searching for items to clean and reward your wound until you returned to the infirmary. You checked your tourniquet, tightening it when you saw that it was slightly loose, ripping open the wrapping around your leg, you reapplied the gauze, adding pressure to it to stop it from bleeding even more. 

You winced and hissed under their watchful eyes, between Alejandro and Horangi, their tails swaying and occasionally curling around your forearm. Gaz, however much he’d like to sit beside you, to fuss and worry openly about your wounds, sat across from you, strapped in with his wings spread wide across the seats. 

“Looks rough, Охотник,” Nik called to the back, light glinting off his glasses. 

“Nothing new, Nik, you know that,” you replied through the coms, a lop-sided smile curling the corners of your lips.

He cackled, a full-belly laugh that had all of you smiling in your own ways. Nikolai was rambunctious, loyal and a big bear of a man. He was human, the other human in the Task Force apart from you (Laswell might’ve been the one sending you across the earth and gathering information, but she - regrettably - wasn’t truly a member.). 

“Да! I do!”

When you landed, the rest of the TF was already waiting outside, arms crossed and shoulders tense. It seemed they got the news of your Op, showing their displeasure with deep frowns and deeper glares, none directed at you or the hybrids, it was some sort of self-hatred and anger at the person that gave Laswell the intel, their promise of it being factual and not sending them any updates on the case. Laswell, herself, was fairly mad, her stressed face pulled sombrely down. 

Soap and Rudy rushed to you, voices low and tones raspy, they hovered near your group, fussing about the blood that caked Alejandro’s forehead, a slight graze from a rifle’s butt and other bruises from slamming into obstacles; Gaz’s slight pinch in the back from being slammed into a wall by a bulldozing enemy when he ran out of ammo; Horangi’s ripped sleeves, gashes bleeding lightly from attempts at slashing and stabbing knives by inexperienced hands; but what worried them the most was you, limping and hanging from Horangi’s shoulders. 

Your eyes were hooded, equal parts exhausted and blood lost, placing all of your weight on the Haetae hybrid. While your upper half was unscathed - apart from the slight bruises forming on your skin - your leg, wrapped tightly in a tourniquet and bandages drowned in red. The amount of red would’ve been worrying if they hadn’t known you, but you’ve survived far more dangerous and life-threatening wounds, bouncing back with revenge. As truthful as it was, it didn’t stop them from worrying. You might’ve been more resilient than most - hybrids credited their resilience to their human parent - you didn’t have the healing ability of hybrids or the immortality of spectres. 

“ ‘m fine, Rudy,” you smiled, so bright and reassuring when you were the wounded one. “Nothing a few stitches and rest won’t heal.”

“Si, but-”

“Doesn’t mean we’re not worried, love.”

Like his callsign, he walked in on your little group silently, peering over Rudolfo’s shoulders, his warm, brown hues meeting yours. His voice was strained with concern, croakier than when you left this morning, waving at them. Rodolfo moved over when Ghost brought his hand forward, Horangi passed you to him with careful and tender hands so that you could be brought to the infirmary without having to walk. You hooked your arms around Ghost’s neck, arms crossed lazily over his back and chin propped up on his shoulder. He held you against his chest, one arm under your ass and another carefully tucked under your knees, watching your wounded leg without touching it. 

You looked at Price and Laswell from your perch, their hushed discussion with shrugging shoulders and crossed arms, but neither looked pleased with the outcome of your mission. You blinked owlishly when you couldn’t find König beside them, head turning from side to side to find the 6 '10 Austrian hybrid, but you still couldn’t find him. Just as you were going to ask Ghost where König was, a hand reached out to grip your forearm, thick fingers softly rubbing your strained muscle. You were met with a veiled face when you turned, brilliant, red eyes stared at your wounded thigh in distaste, his mind throwing him into the scene of the moment, turning and ripping the men that dared harm you to pieces, bloodied and unrecognisable parts of a human. 

“Hey, König,” you called out, pulling him back from his violent daydream where his eyes turned crimson, glazed with bloodlust and rage, promising doom. “Do you want to come with us?”

“Ja,” he replied moments later, snapping to your face with blank eyes, now his regular, ice-blue colour. “To the infirmary first and mess all later. You need to eat and rest well to heal quickly, Schnucki.”

“What about the-”

“You need to rest, lovie. Let them deal with the debrief,” Ghost’s voice was stern and commanding, ending whatever protests you had. 

As if to prove his point, he turned to face Price, his head nudging you to look at your captain, the imposing and dominating figure of Price’s horned head, thick, swaying tail and powerful wing. Price replied with a quick nod, curt in a way that shut down any voice, landing the hammer on the gravel with a resounding boom. You sighed, grumbling lowly about them worrying too much about a flesh wound, exaggerating your condition (in your mind) and threatening them with insubordination that had your commanding officers glare your way.

next

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973

[writteninkat]

Special Forces | Bakugou x Villain Reader

synopsis: You've decided to turn over a new leaf and leak intel on the League of Villains, sending the government’s special forces straight to your door. One tiny hiccup—their potty-mouthed leader has his sights set on making you his next target.

w/c: 3.2k

warnings: bondage, oral (f&m receiving), pervert Bakugou, unprotected sex, overstimulation, slight exhibition, not proofread !!

a/n: you've imagined special forces bakugou before. don't u fuckin lie to me

navigation

"I smell a rat." Dabi narrows his eyes at you. "Shigaraki go take a fucking bath." You quickly deflect is assumption, making Twice and Spinner cackle out loud.

"How about you shut the fuck up." Shigaraki sneers at you, resuming whatever the fuck he's doing on the paper on his table.

You return your gaze at Dabi, glaring at him.

Okay—he definitely called you out. But no one at LoV has any reason to believe him. You've done your part in the group; terrorized innocent civilians with a grin so wide your cheeks hurt at the end of the day, tortured members of the police with a straight face, and followed Shigaraki's orders quietly with no questions. But they've been taking twice as much time these past few months.

You've been duplicating each and every document your stand-in leader has sent you, and have been sending them to the Heroes Association under an alias. Hawks has been trying to track you down, asking pressing questions about you to Dabi. But that man never talks—god bless his heart, and you're always hiding whenever you catch a glimpse of those red feathers.

All that damned association knows is that they've been getting pretty intel regarding this cursed group from a nameless and faceless informant. They should stop looking at a gift horse in the mouth, especially bird man. But his ego's hurt because someone is giving out better data than him.

"You smell like blood." Toga points out, smiling up at you with a feverish smile. The first time you met her, she was sweet and cute. That was quickly squished the moment you saw her fight. Now, she gives you the heebie jeebies.

"I'll go wash up." You mutter, unable to cut the eye contact until you had to physically force yourself to look away.

As you walk towards the stairs leading to the basement, you feel Dabi's piercing eyes on you. God, you hate it when that man stares at you like that. He never fails to send goosebumps scattering your skin. He somehow makes your blood boil with the absence of anger, and something tingles. You don't know what, but something definitely tingles.

You ignore that usual feeling when it comes to the dark-haired man and continue down the basement and into your room. Quickly turning the lock, you strip out of your boots, leggings and halter turtleneck, undoing your ponytail to quickly enter your bathroom. Doffing off your underwear, you turn the knob and let the cold water spray your body.

Fuck these villains. They bring nothing but havoc and destruction. If you're going to ruin people's lives, at least get rich too.

You look down, taking note of the pinkish liquid going down the drain. One thing about wearing black- it's difficult to spot blood. Especially when you're constantly staying at low-lit areas.

You sigh, "Guess Toga wasn't lying."

You massage your scalp with your favorite sweet-smelling shampoo, rinising it out before applying conditioner, clamping it up as you work through scrubbing your entire body.

If you were going to live with the rats, you made sure to at least clean yourself properly every time you shower. You were a villain, not a monster.

As you begin to finally rinse off everything, you feel the air growing uneasy. The con with your rooms being underground is that you can never hear what goes on upstairs and vice-versa. You hate not knowing what's going on, so you quickly but thoroughly rinse off your body, wringing your hair before wiping your arms off with a towel.

You manage to begin your shoulders when a loud bang freezes your body.

Fuck.

Your eyes are wide as you look around your small bathroom, looking for a way out. Of course you don't find anything. This is underground, for god's sake!

You drop your towel, activating your quirk. Red aura engulfs both your hands as you get into a fighting stance. Whoever was outside your bathroom door, they knew exactly how to be quiet. They were good at it.

One second passes.

Two.

The air is stuck in your throat and you feel like you might throw up.

Three.

I should just go out there and start killing the first person I see. My members be damned.

Four, five-

A loud explosion has your bathroom door flying off it's hinges and towards you. Quickly, you use your quirk to destroy it into splinters.

Your quirk- red ruins. Telekineses with a hint of disentigrating everything in your path within a hundred mile radius. Yes, it's incredibly powerful and violent. Problem? It's strength depends on your cardio. And you hate exercising.

"Whose pussy do these pretty panties belong to?" A deep voice rumbles through the cloud of smoke and dust. The scent of burnt sugar fills your nostrils before the sense of dread washes over you like a bucket of cold water.

There's only one person in the Heroes Association who is widely known for such a scent.

"These smell incredibly sweet." In front of you, a man five feet and eight inches tall stands. On his head is a mask that covers almost everything but his vermilion eyes. His hand is raised to where his mouth and nose are located, and it has something pink and lacey crumpled in it.

"Panties..." You breathe out, watching Hero Dynamight take a deep breath in, smelling your panties without shame.

He has on a fitting shit with a bulky vest, cargo pants and boots. Any other time, you'd find it incredibly hot. Especially with the way the sleeves of his shirt struggle to enclose his biceps- biceps so big they look like they take up your entire thigh. Maybe even more? [Any other time], not now, though. His palm is glowing orange and one mistake will have you burnt to crisps.

"They are. Seem familiar?" He asks, dangling the small piece of fabric in the space between the two of you. Ypur cheeks flush at the obscenity unfolding infront of you.

"Yeah, they're mine. Give 'em back." You demand, holding your hand out as he simply eyes it.

"C'mere 'nd take 'em then." He teases, hanging the strap of your underwear on his pointer finger. You frown, taking a step before stopping yourself. You use your quirk to flick it from his fingers. Right before the lace makes contact with your palm, a white steel-wire encircles itself around your wrists, pulling you forward, making you wat dirt.

"What the fuck!" You exclaim, trying to get on your hands and knees but Dynamight pushes you down by your head with his booted foot. With your head turned to the side, you strain your eyes to the corners, watching him catch the thin scrap of fabric easily.

You begin manifesting your quirk once again, but come to a dead end when nothing happens. "What the-?"

"Technology is amazing these days, isn't it?" He chuckles, playing with the lace between his gloved fingers. "It's managed to copy Aizawa's quirk. With this, those smartasses integrated the power into this scarf."

He takes his foot off of you, replacing it with his hand instead. "Whatever target this scarf is locked to, their quirks vanish like that."

You helplessly try to push him off of you, but with little to no strength training, you're a puddle of defenseless goo underneath him.

His eyes lock into yours before drifting down your naked back, piercing onto a part you know very well. Right below the middle of your back, the words "Favorite crime" is tattooed in a type writer font. It's quite small, four inches long, inked when you were seventeen after deciding maybe the good citizen life wasn't for you when the government took both your parents and labelling their quirks as something 'hazardous' to the public. They helped you escape but that left you with nothing.

It's cringey and cheesy, but you were only seventeen.

Five years later, and you don't regret it.

"Maybe you will be." Dynamight mutters, smirking as he grabs you by your hair, looking deep into your eyes. "Pretty." He grunts before flipping you around, pulling you to your feet as he wraps the scarf around your wrists.

"Let go of me!" You demand, the feeling of being pulled up by your wrists forces you to stand on your tippy toes. Barely.

Dynamight has you hanging by your wrists onto the shower curtain rod, the scarf disabling your quirk. You take note of your naked state, your cheeks flaring at how exposed you are for him.

The hero's eyes glances you from your hands to your toes, agonizingly slow, before making it back up your cunt.

"Which part of our interaction did you like?" He takes a step forward, unjustly stealing the last bit of air between the both of you. Caramel and smoke fill your senses, making you light-headed.

"Was it me stepping on you? The simple fact of being held down? Or being tied up? Huh?" He stands toe to toe in front of you, having to crane his neck down at your short stature. He slips his gloves off, showing off clean fingers.

"What's got you this wet, baby?" With that, his fingers press against your cunt, moving across and between your folds.

Your back arches at the lewd feeling, a moan threatening to escape as he finds the ball of pleasure in your center, making you bite down on your lip.

"F-fuck! Fuck!" You whine, your thighs squeezing together, wanting to stop his hand from moving but [needing] to keep it there.

Despite being villains, the group you joined in engage in everything [but] sex. For months, you've been teetering on the edge, unable to find the time or energy to get off.

Now, however...

"Such a soft cunt." Dynamight whispers, pushing a digit inside. His thick fingers surprised you, causing a loud mewl to slip from your lips. Without warning, the hero shoves your panties inside your mouth. "I've got my squad upstairs, can't have them hearing that pretty voice of yours."

His digit continues pumping inside you as his thumb traces circles on your clit, your body shaking in pleasure. "You should see how you look right now, pretty girl." Dynamight grumbles, pressing his forehead against yours. "Gonna cum for me, pretty? Gonna cum for your daddy?"

Your eyes roll back and nod your head as your legs begin to give out from under you. Just as you're about to climax, he drops to his knees, pulling his finger out. He hooks his thumb under his mask, swiftly taking it off, revealing his blond locks and hellishly beautiful features.

You look down at him, just now understanding the term "pretty like the devil".

He replaces his finger with his tongue, burying his face into your cunt as he sucks. He lifts you up by the backs of your thighs, sliding them over his shoulders, tongue-fucking you until you're seeing stars, your thighs shake as his abuse on your clit fail to falter.

"'S even sweeter from the core." He grumbles into your cunt, lapping up your juices until your muffled whines tick him off.

He pushes your legs off of him as he glares at you, standing up to his full height once again. "You just don't know how to shut up, huh?" He tilts his head to the side, undoing the scarf bounding your wrists in one swift tug. You fall heavily on your knees, unable to collect yourself when he tugs on your hair, forcing you to look up. He pulls the panties from your mouth, pocketing them.

You meet his fiery gaze, but your eyes quickly drop at the sight of him undoing his belt with one hand. The scene has your pussy pulsing once more.

I may be a slut.

He makes quick work of his belt and button, but he stops there. He bends over, tying your wrists together behind you. "Take me out." He orders, his grip on your hair tighter than before.

"I- What?" You ask, confusion distinct in your voice. He's bounded your hands behind you, how the hell does he expect you to work?

"With your mouth." He answers, as if reading your mind.

Your cheeks heat in embarassment but you quickly gather yourself once more. Raising yourself up a bit, you bite down on his zipper, pulling it down. Underneath it, you find the outline of his cock under his boxer briefs, hard, big, waiting. At the tip, you find a damp spot.

Precum?

You look up at him in question and he looks down at you with a brow raised. "Well? Keep going." He urges you by pulling you towards him, your face pressing against his cock.

You bite down on the garter of his briefs, pulling it down the best you can. You catch sight of a patch of blond hair and before you know it, you've pulled down enough for his cock to spring out, hitting you on the cheek.

Dynamight smiles maliciously, giving your head a soft tug. "Open." He whispers.

You follow his demands, parting your lips.

"Wider."

You follow once again.

"Even wider, pretty. You're gonna have to do more than that if you want me to fit."

You glare at him. Cocky motherfucker.

Instead of doing as he says, you stick your tongue out, licking him up from base to tip. Dynamight lets out a deep grumble from his chest, but you don't stop as you toy at his tip, tasting the salty precum, smearing it around your lips.

"Stop bein' a tease and wrap those pretty lips around me, darlin'."

You bite down on your lip before opening once more, taking him as best as you can without your jaw falling off. Dynamight's breaths are erratic and inconsistent as you hallow your cheeks, sucking him as hard as you can.

"Fuck!" He breathes out, his hips fitful as you take him deeper, the corners of your eyes stinging with tears at the feeling of his head touching the back of your throat.

You pull away quickly, creating a string of saliva connecting his cock with your lips as you look up at him. "C'mon pretty girl, I know you can do better than that."

You look back at his cock to see only half of it wet with saliva. Your heart poinds in your chest at your new goal—take everything Hero Dynamight has without throwing up.

Fucking gag reflex...

With new incitement, you find your lips wrapped around his cock once more, only this time, you try to push yourself down, closer to his base this time.

You swirl your tongue around him, thinking about anything else but his tip slipping down your throat an inch every moment.

His hot, must scent.

His big fingers gripping on your hair.

His cock inside your throat-

And with that, you trigger your gag reflex, the movement of your throat tightening around him has the hero moaning loudly. He pulls his hips back for a moment and you begin to thank multiple higher beings for such sweet air, but the prayer dies quickly when the blond pushes himself back in.

"Gods, this mouth was made for fucking." He cries out, looking down at you. He continues thrusting with reckless abandon, the muscles in your throat constantly tight.

God, if you exist, please don't let me get a sore throat tomorrow.

His hips snap with hasty thrusts, his moans bouncing off the four walls of your bathroom, and his fingers dig even deeper through your hair, on your scalp.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He cries, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as tears run down your cheeks, snot trickling down your lip.

With one last thrust, he buries himself down your throat to the hilt, your nose pressing against his blond patch as he comes down your throat, his chest rising and falling rapidly, jaw clenched, and eyes brimming with desire.

When he finally pulls out, you fall on your side, coughing and gasping for the dear air you've craved so badly. Your thighs clench together as you think about what you believe is to be the single most hottest thing you've ever done.

"You like that, you little slut?" The hero taunts, pulling you and dragging you through the floor by your ankle. He pushes you on your back, hands on both sides of your hips as he taps his dick on your sensitive cunt.

"Hold on a minute-"

Without wasting another moment, he pushes inside you, your walls stretching for him in welcome. His size has the air inside your lungs locked in, your lips part and you have the strongest urger to scream. But you can't.

He's just so...

"Big!" You manage whine out, making Dynamight cackle. "Fuck yeah, that's right pretty." Unlike the throat fucking, his thrusts this time are slow and languid. As if he has all the time in the world.

"You take my dick so good, pretty girl." He praises, your walls fluttering around him. You can feel every detail. Every vein, every curve, every pulse.

Slowly, you begin to notice his thrusts progress faster and faster until loud slaps fill the bathroom. Your tits bounce with every drive, making the hero slap them once, twice- before grabbing onto them forcefully, tugging and playing with your nipples.

Your breathy whines begin to join his whispered cursing, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel the impending feeling of an orgasm right at your fingers.

"Open your eyes for me baby." Dynamight whispers, "We have company."

Your eyes instantly open, the hero pulling your hips up as he fucks you, leaving your head on the floor. His eyes are trained infront of him, a cocky smirk gracing his lips. You follow his line of vision and your eyes fall upon an upside down sight of Red Riot. His eyes are wide, jaw slack, and a tent evident in his pants.

Immediately, your orgasm takes you, waves upon waves almost drowning you. The feeling of your walls clamping down on him has Dynamight chasing after his own high. Just when he reaches it, your pleasure ceases. He grits his teeth, slapping your overstimulated clit, forcing another orgasm out of you as spills inside your cunt. You scream and shake through this one, tears streaming down your face as you thrash away from the hero.

You're out of breath, sweaty, sticky with cum and your body feels like it's a heartbeat away from collapsing.

"Not gonna lie, that shit was hot but..." You hear red riot chuckle and through your blury vision, you see his red boots infront of you. He's crouching over you, the movement on your wrists a tell tale sign of the scarf being hndone. "Will she be okay?"

"My pretty girl is a strong one."

My pretty girl...?

"Don't tell anyone else about her." Dynamight orders.

"What are you-"

"I'll take her to my place, so keep your mouth shut and I might share her with you." You can [hear] that bitchass smirk in his tone.

A moment passes.

"Alright." Red Riot finally concedes, "What are you gonna do with her?"

You feel rough hands pull you up until strong arms engulf you.

Who's carrying me? Red Riot?

Sweet caramel fills your senses.

Dynamight?

"Whatever the fuck I want." The blond spits and by this time, your eyelids have fluttered shut.

"Be careful with her, Bakugou." Red Riot hastily adds.

"Bakugou..." You whisper before nothing.

[harunayuuka2060]

MC: Good day, sir. Is there something I can help you with?

A police officer: Well, there was someone who visited our station this morning. He was saying that you killed the rest of his gang.

MC: *blinks their eyes in disbelief* *then chuckles*

MC: I'm just a simple florist.

A police officer: I know. Actually, I'm here to offer you protection. Have my men walk around your place so no one would bother you.

MC: *smiles* I appreciate your kindness, sir.

A police officer: That's all I came here for. And uh, it's my wedding anniversary. Can you arrange a bouquet for my wife?

MC: Sure. And I'll give you a discount for that, sir.

A police officer: Thank you so much. My wife really loves your shop.

MC: *chuckles*

The thug (the who survived): You-!! Why won't anyone believe me that you're a monster?!!

MC: *looks at him like they have never seen him before* Pardon?

The thug: DON'T ACT DUMB!!! *starts to destroy the flowers nearby and knocks down the shelves*

MC: ...

The thug: WHAT?!! YOU'RE NOT GOING TO DO ANYTHING!!!

MC: *picks one of the destroyed flowers* *then looks at him pitifully*

MC: It must've been hard for you to lose people you loved.

MC: *walks up to him*

MC: *then smiles* Poor thing.

The thug: *about to stab them* *but was stopped by Eligos*

Eligos: What do you think you're doing?

The thug: THIS IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!!!

Eligos: *breaks his hand*

The thug: *screaming*

Eligos: Are you alright?

MC: Yes. *smiles* You're just in time.

*The thug got arrested by the police and they asked MC to give a statement and felt sorry that their flowers were destroyed.*

MC: It's alright. I can always grow new flowers.

The police officers: If only we have arrived earlier...

MC: Oh! Please don't feel bad! *smiles* No one was hurt and that's what's important.

The police officers: *their mood brightened up*

Eligos: ...

MC: You must be hungry after all that.

Eligos: Yes. But I don't think any food here in the human world can satisfy me.

MC: I'll just give you a snack then.

Eligos: ...

Eligos: His Majesty Mammon sent me.

MC: Yes. I figured. His devils were always strong and adorable.

Eligos: !!!

Eligos: W-Wait! I'm the only devil of His Majesty Mammon who is like that!

MC: What's your name then?

Eligos: Eligos— Hm!

MC: *feeds him with a spoonful of their homemade pudding* Nice to meet you, Eligos. *smiles*

Mammon: ...

Eligos: *staring at the pudding he brought for him*

Mammon: ...

Mammon: Do you want to eat this?

Eligos: *nods*

Mammon: ...

Mammon: Here you go, Eligos.

Eligos: Thank you, Your Majesty!

Bimet: ...

Bimet: How was your meeting with the human?

Eligos: I like them! I REALLY REALLY LIKE THEM!

Mammon: *smiles in satisfaction*

Bimet: ...

[insuke69]

What's in a name?

✰⁂ Hobie brown × Rich!Osborn!reader

Part I, Part II

1/3

Synopsis: Osborn is almost a disgusting name because of the messed up things it has and the dirty money that holds it up by threads. And here is the child that sneaks out one night and meets a punk that goes directly against her father.

✩Warnings: cussing, Some angst, 'crybaby' reader, misunderstandings.

(mostly based on how earth-138 is)

Rated 13+(??).

✰5.7k words.

⚥Afab reader

_________________

Osborn.

“Norman Osborn”

A name everyone has learned for the worst part, the name ‘Osborn’ has run though the streets of Camden through the blood and dirt that drips through its pristine and marble image, spoken like the candyman–as if it were uttered three times, they’d be cursed and face the consequences. The man who hated the poor and less fortunate that were scattered through England. The man who kept his paws clean by hiring those who needed the money, then turning them into the crooked police for the crimes he made them do. The cruel family man who’s destroyed homeless shelters and remade them into his own buildings for business, legal or not.

“(Y/N) Osborn.”

Here she was. The daughter of this monster, the girl who receives bloody money that her father steals from the innocent, The daughter who people are afraid to even talk to out of fear of her dad, the girl who can’t refuse what she’s given because she understands how much worse it can be. That doesn’t stop her from still trying as much as she can. Sneaking out of her mansion most nights to try and get a taste of college parties. Whenever she goes out during the day with her dad’s black card, She spends it on clothes and gives it away to those she knows really needs it, always wearing a face-covering balaclava so her father doesn’t somehow find this out. Instead of the piano lessons she attended where her fingers gracefully flowed between those white elegant tiles to create beautiful classical music–she tried to learn the electric guitar, mostly teaching herself to the rhythmic sounds and rough rumble of the guitar that Hobie Brown wields.

“Hobie Brown“

A name recognized as well throughout Camdon but for the exact opposite reasons, a name that drips with earned respect, a firm rough hardwood image that's covered in stuck-out nails and splinters. A Punk that directly strives against fascists like Osborn, and who’s blood boils when he learns Osborn’s cruel plans to begin using the old Canals again–mostly to flush out the homeless that reside there, The homeless who Spiderpunk always seems to be visiting and helping out.

“Spiderpunk” 

Oh. Spiderpunk. A name Y/N can recognise due to her father’s phone calls that she overhears late at night, a name she always hears that is spit out with venom through her fathers and his colleagues lips, the name she sees in bold graffiti almost daily on her dads main company building. Jet black graffiti and red with blue undertones that drip almost beautifully down the glass panes it was sprayed upon. She always bites back a grin smile whenever she hears her dad ranting about the punk he ever so clearly despises.

_____________

Rough Meeting.

It was one of those days, those days where you despised everything in your life–that was unlucky, bad luck of yours to have been born in this universe. Bad luck that you were the daughter of a sadistic monster, how you were seen as a monster for even being related to him.

Guilt.

Rage.

Frustration.

These emotions burned through your veins, making your hands tense and chest heavy. These emotions pool in your eyes the moment you walk through your large white bedroom door and crash into your Jado Steel Style Rose-Gold Bed. Your tense body relaxing but messy black mascara tears flowing down your face. Nobody understood, it's like you were speaking their language on deaf ears that didn’t care to hear you out. They didn’t care to hear out the brat, The Spoiled girl who has her life handed to her, the brat that no matter how hard she tries-

Can’t prove anything to everyone who is dead set on her being a spoiled daddy’s girl.

With boiling tears drying upon your soft smooth skin, You get up and change out of the clothes your main ‘Maid’, Roxanne, had put out for you earlier for your Dads event of a damn Factory opening that was built over another destroyed shelter. Removing the ruffle black dress with small cute green ribbons to show off your dads company colors along for him to display his gorgeous daughter. It’s not like he cared for anyone's image besides his own anyways.

Glancing at the clock, you sigh and dip your head into the pillow again,

6:36pm

You take a calming breath and change into some jeans and a loose black tee after crying some more for a few moments, the shirt only allowed for you to wear at home since it wasn’t perfect and elegant enough for the Osborn image. Ugh. You enter your private marble bathroom to wash your face free of those streaks of ‘weakness’ as your dad would call it. 

“Hey! Uhm, Roxy?” You call out softly, your door soon opening with Roxanne standing by it and looking over at you expectantly.

“Yes, Miss?” Roxy said back in her usual calm and blank expression, her expression shifting ever so slightly at the sight of you wearing your usual clothing you do whenever you plan on sneaking out without Osborn knowing.

“Don’t let father see me going out, if he asks about me, tell him that I’m upset and tired from the event and to not disturb me.” you tell her as you reach under your bed to grab a shoebox where your balaclava, hoodie, and gloves are stored and hidden away. You wish you didn’t have to wear all this just to be an actually not-bad person, but you can’t risk angering your dad. He always told you to never dwell on what has to be done. 

“It’s a dog eat dog world, You can’t cry about others who don’t have the guts to do what has to be done.”

Those words are always playing in the back of your head, your own dad telling it to you soothingly to help stop your tears–when you were about eight. You were crying because you were thinking about the lives he’s ruined and took for you two. Well.. More like for Oscorp. 

You snap out of that memory as you clear your throat and put everything on to hide the safety of your identity while Roxy watches with that neutral face you’ve seen and known your whole life. She’s the closest thing you’ve ever had to a mother, by textbook definition because she brought you up with care and some affection. But your actual birth mom had died while giving birth to you, you never met her once besides the moment she passed with you in her arms. Since then, Your dad has seen you as if you were the last living part of her that he has besides memories and pictures of her. He's always telling you that you’re her spitting image but you just.. Can’t see it. Probably because she is always glowing and happy in her pictures with anyone, she had a normal college student experience with friends and parties, she didn’t have an overprotective dad. 

You roll the glove over your wrist, pausing ever so slightly at a white gold bracelet your dad gave you when you turned thirteen, with your grandmas and mother’s name engraved into it, and yours engraved below theirs. An important and old heirloom to your dad since he wants you to always remain in touch with your moms side of the family–not like your dad spent much time with his family anyways.

“When are you going to get over this phase?” You suddenly hear Roxy ask from behind you which makes you jump ever so slightly before subtly moving it a bit lower on your wrist so the bracelet chain does not get caught in the fabric of the gloves.

“You really want me to answer that?” You ask rhetorically before fixing the balaclava over your features while walking to your window and sitting on the sil, Kicking your legs out and looking out on the city and lowering sun before actually answering Roxy, realizing she sounded even a little.. Disappointed.. in you.

“The Osborn name has done- Irreversible damage, And I’m just trying to help out the people who need it, and pay for my dads actions with actual kindness.” Your tone is soft and a bit honest, you adjust your hands to push yourself out of the window before Roxy can even reply. 

Your thick black boots break your landing as you fall in the green fluffy grass garden that surrounds your mansion, rose bushes and flowers adding some color to it since your dad agreed it would look good for our image, as if it wasn’t soiled already.

You make your way out of your house and just walk, stopping by an old tree that stood beside the path from your house to the city. Your foot stands on a nook where the tree had a brach that went out and folded in itself and your hand stretched up into one of its hard woodend pockets until you feel a familiar fabric, you pull on it until the backpack falls out with your hand holding it by the handle and hopping off of the tree.

This was your secret backpack that you didn’t even want on your own property so you kept it safe in a tree. This bag contained little necessities along with spray paint, some basic tools, cash, and pepper spray. You keep walking down the path and arriving at the city, where the air was polluted and slightly hard to breathe while the rest of the city had occasional litter, trash, and shady looking people who make it seem like it's better to walk across the street to the other sidewalk. 

You usually went out at night to be able to put some of your art on display in the streets: You had a sketchbook full of small things that you usually spray-painted on canals, or outside the wall of abandoned buildings. You didn’t know what this secret ‘hobby’ was really called, you just walked the streets of the city until you found a good spot and started to make your art. 

Nothing was out of the ordinary until you walked past an alleyway and in the corner of your eye, you saw someone in dirty clothes wearing messed up jeans and a worn out jacket, sitting on the ground outside a little blue tent with a small fire in a bin that lights up some of the alley.

You come to a small halt and debate whether walking over to the person or leaving them alone, your vision focusing in the dim lighting and revealing the other few tents there, some of the tents zipped up and indicating that whoever is in there is sleeping, and some people standing around with a lit cigarette in their calloused hand.

You swallow that gut feeling to leave them alone and walk over to a gas station, buying some instant pizza, sandwiches, and food for the people you told yourself not to bother and walk back over to them with the plastic bag in hand. 

You approach the person you saw, but they look over at you and seem to tense and quickly stand as they face you.

“Hey! Hi, relax, I brought some things for you and your friends?” You said with a gentle soft tone as you stepped closer slowly since the vagabond seemed wary of you with their eyes locked on your face.

“Oh! Damn, I forgot, hang on.” You murmur as you reach up to pull your mask over your eyes to show your face so that the person would be less afraid of you, holding out the bag of food.

Their face changes into a grimace, as if disgusted at how you’re trying to help them out. Recognizing you as the creation they and their whole community despised due to the cruel name that comes after your first.

Osborn

They grimace at you and stare at you as if you were the one trying to drive them out of the city. The one that’s destroying non-profit shelters, as if it were your company that’s dumping all kinds of waste to the community- but that didn’t seem to have any matter to them anyways. 

Staring at you like you were some Monster.

“You’re not welcome here.” The person murmurs with a coldness and genuine hatred in their tone, sharp like an icicle that cuts through your heart sharply. It’s not like you couldn’t understand that, they didn’t know anything about you besides what your dad has done.

Before you can respond, they continue as they walk closer to you with their hands fisted to their sides,

“You aren’t welcome anywhere around here, you don’t even know what has been going on here, ‘princess’. You’re just some brat who needs some kind of sick ego boost to try and make people love you and respect your image.” Each word spat like venomous cold spikes as they gesture one of their hands, as they get closer–you can see the other people in the alley look over and seem to tense up and get worried in some way.

“I know what my father does, I’m so s-” You begin as you take a step back, but being cut off be the person speaking louder with exasperation in their tone.

“No you don’t! You don’t have any idea what Norman is even doing to us! You just sit there and look pretty while your dad is ruining lives!” And if there weren’t other people around- well, if there weren't one of their friends, a girl with baggy jeans and a gray beanie holding them back, you don’t question what would’ve happened to you or what they would’ve done if that girl wasn’t holding them back. 

“Dude..” The girl whisper yelled as she pulled the person yelling at you away from you and closer to herself, “What the hell are you doing? Don’t piss her off because she’ll tell her dad and he’ll fuck over each and everyone in this damn alleyway.” and she swats them on the shoulder.

Damn.

You really are just ‘daddy’s girl’.

You stay quiet and just place down the bag of treats and just walk off, out of the alleyway. Feeling the earlier emotions come to a boil once again as you fix the balaclava back on your face and walk down the pavement of the dimly lit street.

Rage.

Guilt.

Frustration.

With your eyes prickling with tears and resurfaced emotions following, you decide to walk to a part to calm down as the hot watered sadness drips from your eyes, down your cheeks and soaking into the fabric covering your face.

You find yourself here. Late at night. Silently sobbing your eyes out on a cold metallic bench you vividly remember your dad showing it to you when you were a kid.

You were about seven and you had fallen off a swing set and scraped your knee badly, you still have it slightly scarred on your knee if you looked for it enough.

Hot tears because of the burning pain on your soft flesh, you were sitting in this exact spot as your small hands were holding up your black and white striped leggings with your leg up, and Roxy tending to your wound with your dad sitting right beside you with his hand on his shoulder.

“You were reckless, and your mistake cost you. You don’t want to be getting hurt,” He begins before gently taking your chin with his calloused hand and making you look at him through sniffled sobs, “and you can’t be showing this weakness unless you want it to hurt you later on.” Your dad continued as he wiped away your tears with his leathery thumb brushing against your babyfat-filled cheeks.

And Now.

Crying like now you always did, as if you didn’t change. Still that little girl who only knows one thing: how to cry.

You sit back and hold your legs with your face in your knees, it's like everything that has been being held in–caused by your father or not.. Was crashing down and flooding your eyes like a broken dam through a canal. The balaclava grew damp before you hear an odd THWAP sound which makes you raise your head and look in the direction of the sound.

You see a familiar man with his gaze focused on you, wearing what seems to be a red spandex suit below a torn blue t-shirt and black ripped jeans that accentuate his already skinny and lanky body with a spiked leather jacket over his shoulders with several pins that decorate the chest  and a spiked mohawk on his head.

Once you notice him approaching you quickly reach your hand under the balaclava to wipe your cheeks from the excess tears, internally grateful that your mask was already dark and the moisture from your tears won’t be too visible to this man.

“Excuse me? You- you alrigh’?” The man asks, his soft yet cockney voice immediately making you recall who this man specifically was: You’ve heard his booming words at protest rallies but never saw from who the vocal fighting came from because of your dad and his security quickly ushering you away to keep you safe–or to keep you unaware of your father’s negative popularity. 

You sniffle for a second before answering “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just been a shitty night.” while you clutch your bag a bit closer to you since he was still a stranger to you. He sees you tense and he chuckles while shaking his head and putting his hands into his pockets.

“Calm down there, ‘m just making sure you’re not some dealer tryna make bad lives worse.” He says jokingly as he glances at the bag you’re clutching, but also at your body language, “You’ve gotta understand how it looks for me, to find some masked person sitting in a bench in the crappy part of town.” His voice was playful yet gentle as if to calm you, he had some kind of charm that made him seem almost easy to talk to–especially since this is the first conversation you’ve had in a while that wasn’t swayed against you due to your name.

“And imagine how this looks for me, some dude walking up to me as I’m sat happily on a park bench.” You say back to him with a smirk under your mask.

“Touché.” He chuckled as he shook his head and stepped closer while offering his hand, “The Name’s Spiderpunk.” Once he introduced himself, you felt a splash of relief as he confirmed who he was. His name is said in his own way, in such a calm manner that contrasts the venomous words your father speaks of him when he thinks you can’t hear his disrespectful language. “And you are..?”

His body language is weirdly calm and relaxed, not at all judging you or making you uncomfortable.. Is that a green flag or a red one? You take and shake his gloved hand with yours. This was the only time a stranger wasn’t immediately hostile or rude to you, and you didn’t want to lose that. ..So what’s a little white lie?

“Emily.” You answer him with a soft nod. Your mothers name? Why say her name?

“Emily,” Spiderpunk echoed with a smile in his voice, “And uh.. Wha’s with the whole.. getup?” He asked as he gestured to you vaguely, mostly to your mask that's covering your face and only shows your dark eyes and long lashes, that were ever so slightly red and puffy because of the earlier crying.

“Don’t worry about it, just- lets just say my face around here is.. Disliked.” Because of my damn father. 

He nods slightly, if he has some kind of expression on his face then you can’t even tell what it is because of his mask, you open your mouth to at least try and ask about that but he continued without realizing he practically interrupted you: your face is equally as covered.

“And uh.. Not that I don’ believe ya for your word, but I’ll have ‘o check that bag.” He says while gesturing at your backpack that you're clutching against you.

What? What kind of request is that? It’s not like you’ve even done anything to prompt this question in the first place, and who is he to ask about the bag or something?

“What are you, a cop? Some kind of narc?” You ask with your tone slightly more hostile than you’d want it to be. It’s not like you’re hiding anything either, but you literally have money and spray paint: You can get in trouble for some vandalism you haven’t even done yet.

He pauses for a second, seeming genuinely offended that you accused him of being a cop, as if you called him something below the respect that even vermin have.

“No. Nothing of the sort, never compare me to a cop.” He tells you firmly before muttering under his breath, “fucking pigs.” and without warning, he thwips a white silky rope out of his wrist and it attaches itself to your bag and rips it from your grasp.

You find yourself staring at Spiderpunk as he starts to casually go through your bag as if it were nothing and like you fully offered it to him. He chuckles as he sees some of your spray paint, you hear the cans clink as he shoves his hand into it and checks everything out.

“Tha’s it? Here I was partly thinking you’re some dealer trying to make sure this part of camden stays ghetto, but nah,” He hands you back your bag–He seems mostly amused by the obvious grin in his voice, “You’re just a stree’ artist?”

Street artist? That's what it’s called? You always loved art ever since you were a kid–So your dad always provided you art lessons, good paint, expensive sketching pencils, but he always made you draw boring things like fruit bowls or paint sunsets. But you even one time helped him with ideas for the Oscorp logo! That was fun for you at the time before you knew the shit Oscorp was doing.

But you realize he was pretty much asking for you to confirm if you’re a street artist or not. “Yeah- Yeah, I’m a.. Street artist?” You respond as you take the bag back, not even knowing if you’re saying it right, but you shouldn’t rely on someone to teach you so you reword what you said with a bit more of a firm tone “Yeah. I’m a street artist, tonight I haven’t really done art though.”

He nods and stays quiet for a moment as he looks at your masked face before he looks around and holds out his hand for you as if to help you up.

“Come with me, I know a good spot where you can put up your stuff. I was on my way there anyway so I could show you.” He had this tone where you knew you could say no, swat his hand away and run, politely decline and leave, Something but.. 

“Sure.” 

You take his hand and stand before slinging your backpack handle over one of your shoulders. His mask hiding every bit of emotion he can possibly be showing besides the lenses over his eyes that squint slightly at an expression every once in a while but beyond that–you have to heavily rely on reading his tones and body language.

“Do you trust me?” He asked as he glanced over at you. He seemed like he wanted to do something and just wanted some of your approval. He seems strong and like he’s able to do a lot–and he leaves the decision all up to you.

With an unsure nod of your head, he pulls you closer and wraps his arm around your waist, "Hold on." He told you before shooting a web of his up to a building, your arms wrap around his neck–over his shoulders.

You shut your eyes tightly as you suddenly stop feeling the ground below your feet and cold air hitting and blowing against your body as you swing through the city and hold onto him for dear fucking life.

“My god, holy shit.” You say as you try not to yell but unable to be silent. Spiderpunk holds on to you with one strong slim arm around you and the other expertly shooting webs and slinging through the streets of Camden as if it's some common occurrence for him–well, it was.

Your vision is slightly blurred with the lights and the slight tears forming because of the dry wind blown against them. But before you know it–you’re on the ground again with a soft thud with Spiderpunk still holding onto you like it's nothing.

“You alrigh’?” He asks with some kind of smug tone that implies he somehow finds how you clung on to him amusing.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It's just that not everyone is used to slinging through the air.” You respond sarcastically as you let go of his with his hand on your waist lingering for a second before it falls to his side and his other arm raising his hand to gesture where you guys are and you feel your stomach drop once you see a familiar green logo- no, a familiar cut ribbon as well.

This is the new factory my dad opened.

Well, it wasn’t completely new that Spiderpunk was on his way to vandalize your dads newest business- how could you have forgotten? Your heart beats in your ribs as your eyes dart to the hidden cameras you know are there because your dad asked you to adjust them and help so you make sure they cover the whole area. “W-we shouldn't be here, at all.” you tell him as you grab his arm to keep him from getting too close to which he fully laughs while shaking his head and putting a hand over his eyes, Is this some sick joke to him?

“Didn’ think of you as the type to be afraid of Osborn. You’re full of surprises.” He coos while softly clutching his stomach teasingly.

“What? No! It’s just- there's security and-” You begin, before being cut off before he shoots webs in all directions and corners of the wall as though to cover the cameras- he over did some webs but they are definitely covered now.

“And we’re wearing masks. Osborn has nothing on us- and that sadistic fascist probably can pay someone to clean up. Bet this is worth pennies to him.” Spiderpunk scoffs, his voice full of disdain and genuine venom towards your father–and he doesn’t even know it.

Something about his words ring into your ears, it’s not like you didn’t know your dad was practically hated by everyone that wasn’t rich and privileged.

So why did this feel more.. real?

More true? 

As if watching these acts in person other than the news you secretly watch is more.. In your face about these situations?

You swallow a big gulp and nod and take out your bag and open it to show the spray paints. Spiderpunk’s lenses squint as if he were smiling at you.

“Good girl.” He teased

The rest of  the night is a bit of a blur. A blur full of laughter, smiling, story telling, and paint. Spiderpunk makes his usual tag on the building as you try to get the hang of using spray paint cans. Genuine laughs from Spiderpunk when you have a stupid yet funny comment, and a smile seen in your eyes when he has a joke. Something warm develops in your chest and cheeks by being in his playful presence, a bit foreign but it's a nice feeling. Like a warm hug..

At one point you two actually get to painting, with a practice ‘drawing’ being a little spider like the one he has on the back of his jacket. “Aw, nice! Am I like your muse?” He coos as he looks at the art you’re making with a hand on his hip.

You chuckle as you glance at him then look away to focus on the spider itself, “Like it? It looks l-” You pause and cut yourself off at the sound of a camera and a light flashing. Your head whips towards the sound and you see Spiderpunk took a polaroid picture of you.

You watch as the picture prints and he shakes it while it develops before giving it to you with a squinted lensed smile again. You see the picture is of you with your back turned and the spray paint can in your hand while it decorates the blank gray wall it's on.

“Keep i’, let it be a reminder of the time you met Spiderpunk.” He comments playfully as he picks up another spray paint can and goes to the free spot of the wall beside you which makes you laugh and shake your head while he chuckles softly.

But then you think of a question that ends up erupting from your throat as you put the picture into your jean pocket.

“Hey, Spiderpunk..” You begin as you spray a line of your paint, leaving a streak of black since you’re starting on the outline.

“Yeah?” He responds as he holds his own spray paint can in one spot to create the little dripage to give his tag the right style.

“Why do you hate Osborn so much? I mean, I dislike him too, but do you have a specific reason to hate him?” 

Spiderpunk pauses slightly but keeps his gaze to the wall instead of looking at you.

“He is ruining lives and screwing people over for his own selfish gains. He’s a fascist twa’ that likes the power trip. And I can’t stand his pompous daugh’er either.” He answers while going back to what he was doing with his paint.

At this, you’re the one who pauses and keeps your gaze away. Before you can ask a little follow up–your phone goes off and you check it with eyes going wide once you see the time.

1:03am

Shit.

How long have you two been spray painting? You have to seriously get home before Roxy worries- 

Or before your dad finds out you’re gone.

“I have to get the hell home- like.. Right fucking now.” You say as you scramble to grab your things and shove the almost empty paint cans into your bag, suddenly aware of what can happen to you if you arrive late- Roxy is always giving passive aggressive threats of telling on you to Osborn if you arrive home late.

Spiderpunk gets confused at how you suddenly have an urge to leave but helps you pick up your stuff anyway. “Heh, did you sneak out or something..?” He asks with a chuckle but is mostly curious as to why you’re leaving in such a hurry now.

You breathlessly chuckle before zipping up your bag. “Yeah, something like that.. Can you-” You cut yourself off as you realize you were about to ask him to take you home. Obviously he can’t know who you are- you cant lose this friendship.. Or whatever this is.

“Take me over to the park you found me. Now. ..please.” You say as you sling your bag over your shoulder and wrap your arms around his neck again–even if this time his body is warmer and there's something there that makes your heartbeat a little faster.

“Wow, and I was ‘bout to ask if you were sick of me already.” He coos teasingly before putting his arm around your waist, and with a secure grip you’re swinging through the air again.

You roll your eyes and hold onto him, he comes to a stop at the park and leaves you exactly where he found you-

On the bench.

You awkwardly say your goodbyes before bolting away in the direction you first came, you hastily put your backpack back into the tree and make your way through the dark garden. You smile to yourself as you think back on everything that you and that masked punk did tonight.

You climb up the tree beside your window and jump into your warm bedroom where the only lighting was the bathroom light you probably forgot to turn off and the hallway light outside your bedroom door peeking in from below the wooden barrier.

You kick off your boots and start removing your mask as you walk back over to where the shoebox under your bed hides. You enter your dimly lit room and see it just how you left it. You take a breath of relief and smile to yourself like an idiot as you think about Spiderpunk, walking to your bed as you remove the balaclava from your face and put it into the box along with your gloves and the picture.

Once you close the box and safely hide it under your bed, your dad suddenly bursts through your bedroom door and Roxy behind him.

“No! Mr. Osborn, She’s-” Roxy was saying to your dad before she looks at you and stares daggers for a moment before continuing more calmly, “See, sir? She’s right here.” 

She had been distracting your dad while you were gone and you definitely owed her something since she was busting her ass. Your Dad seems like he was fuming but his gaze softened when he saw his daughter in her room like roxy had been saying to him.

“Hey, sweetie.” He greeted, almost awkward because of his aggressive entry. “It’s late, you should go to bed.” Osborn says as he walked over to you kissed you on the forehead.

“Yeah, I was just about to do that.” You retort in the usual chipper tone you used with him so he really had no idea of all the things you did against his back.

___

The next morning you go downstairs to your kitchen but overhear your dad livid on a call, so you stand by the door and listen in without making yourself known.

“What?! What do you mean he already hit the damn new factory at Elm street?” He practically roars but keeps mind to his volume since he thinks you’re asleep.

You smile to yourself as he begins ranting about Spiderpunk, the grin widening once he says something that made your heart pump slightly faster.

“A second one? Who the hell does he think he is, bringing some kind of date to ruin my work.”

___ @eyesxxyou .... I did it.

I'll make part 2 if this does well since I also have sm shit to do now that I have a job.

[mint-8]

Platonic Yandere Doll Monster

Trigger/Content warning: Mentions of blood and dismemberment.

You received a little rag doll as a gift for your birthday when you were a child. A little toy that looks oddly like one of those voodoo dolls, for some reason. They have no clothes, nor hair and their body is littered with cuts and holes, with their old stuffing barely holding within the stitches. Only 2 button eyes, a little smile and stitched rosy cheeks.

- Yandere Doll who has always been somewhat sentient. Ever since their creator made them to curse their boss, or when they were gifted to that kid who wished for their parent to die, and when they were found by and elder that wanted to kill their spouse, to finally finding it’s way to your tiny hands. They have only known dead and suffering, with painful needles and cuts in their soft body, they assumed you would throw them away for being a creepy doll and would eventually have a new owner.

- Yandere Doll who is shocked that, instead of seeing them with disgust, a certain shine is in your eyes. You wish to fix this doll, and make them the most adorable companion ever! Or perhaps you want them to look badass? Perhaps making them even creepier? Either way, they love that you are seeing them with such warmth!

- Yandere Doll who loves you even more with each passing day. You always work so hard to fix their scars with needle and thread, making them outfits on the side and filling them with new stuffing. You take them anywhere you go, as a little companion on your backpack or bag, cuddling them at night and during naps, and keeping them close while you are relaxing, eating or working.

- Yandere Doll who, one night, hears something weird coming from outside your room. They aren’t sure what it is, but they don’t like it. They don’t even realize their tiny body is slowly moving towards the door, careful in not waking you up, and notice someone in the hallway, seemingly trying to not make their presence known. A burglar, perhaps? Or could it be a stalker or a vengeful ex? Either way, your doll isn’t happy with this intruder.

- Yandere Doll who stealthily avoids the stranger in your house, finds the kitchen and takes out the biggest and sharpest knife you own.

- Yandere Doll who charges in blind rage when they notice the intruder getting closer to your room. Forgetting to be silent, their steps become louder and heavier, their tiny body grows rapidly as to one of a small child and, when the stranger looks behind them, your doll has already tackled them to the ground and start to violently stab them in the neck. They don’t stop until their head has been chopped from their shoulder and only the horrified, yet lifeless face is left.

- Yandere Doll who doesn’t question how they grew in size or where their sudden strength came from, they only know that they must clean this mess before sunrise.

- Yandere Doll who searches all around your apartment for cleaning products and trash bags to get rid of the corpse and blood. They are so glad you took the medication that makes you extra sleepy.

- Yandere Doll who has successfully cleaned everything and use tons of air fresheners to hide the smell, and all that it was left was the bloodied remains of the stranger they just maimed. They can’t just leave it outside, your neighbors might find it and call the police! Then you could be sent to prison! And it’s not like they could just drag it all the way to the outskirts of the city, it would be morning soon and people will notice! Pondering on the best course of action, your doll looks at the knife they’ve just cleaned and their enlarged body. If they have changed so much outwardly, what about the inside?

- Yandere Doll who cuts open their stitched mouth with the knife, and discover rows of sharp teeth among the stuffing. They look at the cold corpse and start to enjoy their night snack.

You wake up. It’s the best sleep you have gotten in ages! As you start to move around your bed and stretch, you notice that your doll isn’t by your side. Perhaps you dropped it? You check under your bed, but it wasn’t there. Strange.

Once you leave your room, you notice how there are some of your cleaning supplies and trash bags in the middle of the hallway, for some reason. Perhaps you forgot to put them back when you were done with cleaning yesterday.

As you go on with your day, you keep searching for your favorite doll. Not in the shelves, or in the cupboards, nor in the closets. Were could it be? You don’t notice how the hydrogen peroxide bottle is almost close to empty, or how your knives aren’t arranged as you left them, or how the aire smells oddly like flowers, you simply keep going as usual, thinking that you will eventually find your dolly.

Night comes and who do you find under your desk? Your little doll! You can’t believe you missed it when you searched for it earlier in the day! You do notice that it smells somewhat different and that their mouth was somehow open wide, letting some of their stuffing escape from it’s insides. You chuckle to yourself, you must have thrown or kicked it in your sleep and it got torn open when it slammed against the wall. How silly of you!

You give your little doll a kiss as a sorry and start sewing their mouth back together while listening to the late night news. Apparently there has been an increase on crime lately, so you decide to shop for some new locks tomorrow. You’ll bring your little dolly with you, of course. Your little luck charm!

- Yandere Doll is so happy that you didn’t notice anything. They weren’t sure when their body was going to shrink back to it’s original size, so they hid from you until they got back to normal. The stranger was surprisingly tasty and they couldn’t wait for the next idiot who tries to enter your home! No matter their size, no matter their kind, your little doll will make sure to deal with any pesky flies that dare to hurt their precious owner. They won’t let anyone hurt you.

[fatkish]

Hello, can I request some inner child HCs featuring Gang Orca? Where he saves a kid who has a quirk that makes them appear frightening, like, they turn into a monster when their adrenaline spikes and/or they get emotionally distressed. They were abandoned by parents who couldn't deal with the child's "outbursts", had a panic attack, and turned into the monster form. Heroes are called in to fight what appears to be a villain threatening civilians (actually just a child in a large, frightening body who is struggling to regulate their emotions). Orca realizes what's up and stops other heroes from attacking before he calms the kid down.

Inspired by how I'm haunted by the fact that Orca is on the heroes that look like villains list and is secretly upset that kids find his appearance scary. Let him adopt one with similar struggles who isn't scared of him!

Okay so I’m thinking that the reader would be similar to The Hulk as where the child will unintentionally transform after a certain amount of adrenaline is in their system and I’m thinking they’d be a buffer and more muscular version of RWBY’s Grimm Hound

Basically it’s got super intelligence and can even grow wings but with Hulk’s strength. That’s the idea.

Gang Orca x Child Reader:

Monstrous transformation

It was a disaster. Carnage and wreckage everywhere. You had been living on the streets since your drunken father kicked you out for being a monster. You had a hard time dealing with your quirk. You knew it was some kind of transformation quirk, but you had yet to fully transform. Until you did. You had been minding your own business walking down an alleyway towards where you had been sleeping. You hadn’t eaten much in the last few days and you hadn’t slept well. All of this was too much for your child brain so you broke down. You had a panic attack.

As you sat clutching at your head you didn’t notice how you seemingly grew and changed. Your bones shifted and realigned, muscles grew and redeveloped, you grew shard claws and fans as you turned into a beast. So caught up in your emotions, you were startled by a passerby who screamed at the sight of you. You then lost it. As something primal decided to act on the rage and pain you felt and built up over the years.

A hulking monstrous bear, wolf, human hybrid thing that looked like it was born from nightmares tore out of the alleyway past the innocent man and into the street where traffic pulled to a stop as people began to scream at the terrifying creature. The creature began to destroy its surroundings and cut cars in half, throwing them everywhere, damaging buildings as it wrecked everything and people scurried away in fright.

Heroes were called in to deal with this supposed villain. Amount the heroes was Gang Orca. As the creature threw heroes out of the way and tore through them it dodged their attacks and took heroes down. It wasn’t until Gang Orca used his sonic attack on the creature that it finally seemed affected and halted as it shook its head. Your head was splitting as the ringing got worse. It managed to snap you out of whatever was happening to you. As you decreased in size and eventually became your normal self, you fainted. Seeing that it was actually a child, Gang Orca quickly realized that what happened was most likely unintentional and was the result of a powerful quirk that got out of control for a child.

He took the child to a hospital where the police informed him about the child’s living condition and situation. When he thought about how everyone was scared of you, even your own father, he decided to take you in. When you wake up you start to panic as you’re in an unfamiliar place. Gang Orca hears this and enters your room and tries to calm you down. Upon seeing the Orca hero the first thought that comes to your mind, comes out of your mouth.

“Can you talk to whales?”

You look up at him with that childish curiosity and wonder. He can’t help but smile seeing that a kid isn’t actually afraid of him for once. He chuckles and pulls a chair up to your bed and sits down at your bedside.

“I don’t think I can, but I’ve never really tried.”

“Do killer whales like you and think you’re one of them? Oh, do you eat seal meat? Are seals scared of you? oh oh, do sharks swim away from you cause they think you’re an Orca? Would a pod of Orcas accept you as one of them? How fast can you swim? Do you like cold water or warm water better? Can you breathe under water like a whale? Who would-“

Gang Orca just laughed a deep belly laugh at your onslaught of questions. He even slapped his knee in delight as he tried to rein in his laughter. He smiled at you as you tilted your head in curiosity, not able to understand what was so funny.

“Alright, I’ll answer your questions one at a time. But after I do that, do you think you we could talk about you a bit and that quirk of yours?”

“Um… sure. But my questions come first okay”

“Okay. Well first, I’ve never met any killer whales but I guess maybe I should. I don’t eat seal meat, I eat normal food like beef and pork and yes, I’d probably assume that seals are afraid of me. I’ve never been close enough to a shark to tell if they’re afraid of me. I think I’d have to find a pod of Orcas to see if they’d accept me but I doubt they would. I can swim pretty fast, at least faster than average. I don’t really have a preference on water temperature but I guess I’d have to say cold. And as for breathing like a whale, I do have a blowhole, whales don’t have gills since they’re not fish so they breathe air like you and me.”

“Wow, you’re so cool”

“Why thank you”

“Can I be as strong as you someday?”

“Well actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. How would you feel about coming to live with me and having me help you with that quirk of yours? I’d be your new legal guardian and I’ll take care of you and help you with everything. How’s that sound”

“Does that mean no more sleeping on the ground outside?”

“Yeah, we’ll go and get you a nice soft bed and we can even decorate your room however you want.”

“Can I have glow in the dark stars on the ceiling? And a pet bat?”

“Yes to the stars but I’m afraid bats aren’t the best pets but we can probably talk about some other kind of pet once we get a better understanding of your quirk. You wouldn’t want to accidentally hurt an animal.”

“I guess that’s true. I’m kinda tired. Will you stay here?”

Gang Orca smiled as you yawned and looked at him with tired eyes.

“Yeah, I’ll be here when you wake up”

“Okay, goodnight”

“Goodnight”

[eufezco]

LOVER – XAVIER THORPE x READER

MAJOR WEDNESDAY SPOILERS !!

SUMMARY – You go to Xavier for comfort.

Xavier knew something was wrong when he discovered that you were the person knocking at his door, chewing at your lower lip and looking so close to tears.

Since you started dating Tyler Galpin, you stopped visiting him at that time of the night. He understood that those encounters you two had could no longer happen now that you had a boyfriend. What you and Xavier had was already a thing of the past. You were still friends, even though he didn't like your boyfriend. Tyler tried to talk to him and apologize but there was only one thing Tyler could do to get Xavier's forgiveness and that was giving back what once was his.

—What happened? —Xavier asked. Instead of answering his question, you jumped into his arms, and he had to take a few steps backwards to keep himself from falling.

Xavier quickly hugged you back. His arms squeezed you against his body just the way he knew you liked, tight enough to make you feel safe but still soft to not make it suffocating. Both of your hands were on his chest, covering your face as you sobbed in silence, while one of his caressed your back, and his other one was at the back of your head, doing the same thing with your hair.

—Okay, let's go —. Xavier carefully pulled you away from him, holding your face in between his hands to make you look at him. His thumbs wiped the tears that rolled down your cheeks but it was useless because you couldn't stop crying. —Come here —. He grabbed your hands with his and guided you to his bed. You sat next to each other but Xavier didn't let go of your hands. —What happenned?

Your bottom lip quivered before you told him that Wednesday finally found the identity of the Hyde. Xavier's eyes widened after you told him and he quickly understood why you knocked on his door crying. He hated Tyler, but he did not believe him capable of doing something like that to you.

—I'm so sorry, y/n —. Xavier put one hand over your shoulders and you rested your head on his chest. —You don't deserve this.

While you sobbed on your friend's chest, you couldn't help but feel stupid and regret every single moment you spent with Tyler. Xavier warned you about him and you didn't listen, yet he was there, not making you feel worse by saying I told you, not closing his door at you for having been so naive, just comforting you and helping you to realize that it hadn't been your fault. You should've chosen Xavier, he had always been the right one.

Xavier wanted to kill him. At that moment he didn't care about how many people were killed by Tyler, Xavier only cared about the way he hurt you, about the way he lied to you. His jaw clenched thinking about how much you've loved Tyler, about the way your eyes shone every time you talked about him or after one of your dates, about how he played the nice guy around you but then was a true monster behind your back.

After what felt like forever, you were able to calm down and move away from Xavier. Your friend arched his eyebrows with concern. —How are you feeling? Any better?

You nodded softly. Xavier knew you were lying.

—Look, I'm not letting him anywhere near you. You would never have to see him again, okay? It's over. Wednesday willl go to the police, and everything will be over soon —. You didn't know if Xavier's words were making you feel better or reminding you of how you fell for Tyler's lies.

Besides Xavier's soothing words, there was something else that could make you feel better.

You stared at Xavier's lips, and when he noticed, he found himself with his eyes locked on your lips, thinking about how bad he had wished to have them so close to his again. He clenched his jaw, knowing this was wrong. You were having a breakdown. That wasn't a logical way of dealing with your problems but an emotional one that would not solve anything. An emotional response. Did that mean that that was what your heart was telling you to do, right? Not your brain, not what you were supposed to do but what you wanted to do.

Xavier softly shook his head, he was overthinking this situation. This was wrong, you were not okay. He called your name while sighing against your lips right before you finally kissed him.

Oh, but your lips felt so good moving against his. They were wet and salty because of your tears and he could do nothing else but kiss you back. Quickly the kiss got more intense, your hands held both of his cheeks as his helped you to sit on his lap. Your hands moved to the back of his head and your fingers tugged his hair at the root. Once you pulled his hair, he gasped and finally realized what was going on.

—We can't do this right now... —Xavier said while his hands went to grab your wrists. Your lips were still on his while he talked.

—Please, I need it —. You begged him as tears started rolling down your cheeks again, and how could he say no to you? Your eyes were red from all the crying you did, your cheeks were wet because of the tears, your bottom lip quivered softly but enough for Xavier to notice.

He could feel your hands shaking under his grip. And if he was honest with himself, he had missed your kisses so bad. Not only your kisses but your giggling at his door after you dodged Thornhill, your hums and snuggles when he kissed your forehead at night, your hands braiding his hair... He missed what you two had before Tyler Galpin. He wished you had come back to him in other circumstances, but as you said, you needed it.

You needed Xavier.

Your lips ghosted over his, Xavier swallowed nervously. Your breathings were heavy, your lips half-open making it easy for them to mix. —Please, Xavier. Just let me have this —. You mumbled. Now it was Xavier the one that kissed you, holding your hips in place as your hands dug into his scalp again. This was exactly what you needed. When your lips were connected with his, you weren't able to think about anything else besides how good it felt. And he didn't mind if you were using him to forget about Tyler because as hard as he tried, he could never say no to you.

Xavier tucked your hair behind your ear after breaking away the kiss.

—Where's him now anyways?

—I don't know, I think Wednesday is torturing him in your shack.

Xavier blinked slowly. —Wednesday is doing what?

[voidandabyssal]

Hi, I came across one of you're post and I loved how you write! I was hoping to out in a request!

So in this, could I ask for undertale sans, underfell sans, underswap papyrus, and horrortale sans? In this, they are with reader out in puplic (you can choose whatever) and while reader talks to them, they see in the corner of their sockets, somone reaching into readers purse/backpack and steals their wallet, behind readers back. How would they react and what would they do?

Again, I like you're writing but if you are to busy, don't worrie about putting this out immediately!

Thank you for the compliment, I hope I live up to your standards!

Sans:

Subtly makes the thief fall on his face and drop your wallet

Then just non chalently floats your wallet back into your bag

He prefers to avoid conflict rather than face it head on

Though he does take a little joy in watching the guy eat dirt

Then Sans just swings his arm around your shoulder and walks away, easy as pie

You probably dont even notice the whole thing has happened

Luckily for the thief, because Sans would also call Undyne if the guy kept giving you trouble

Red (uf sans):

Reds not the type of guy to just let it happen

Or resolve it peacefully like Sans

He grabs the thiefs hand, crushing it in his grip

The thief quickly runs away not even risking taking your wallet with him

Red would also loudly yell after him, threats and insults and whatnot

He does not care what everyone else thinks

Letting something like that go in the Underground would almost guarantee being made an target for anyone looking for easy exp

So he’s making sure everyone knows not to mess with you

You will have to calm him down afterwards. Stop him from chasing the guy down for a proper battle

Maybe with a kiss?

Stretch (us paps):

Also another one of the boys who prefers a calmer approach

He wraps his arm around your waist and drags you just out of the thief’s reach

Stretch glares at the thief, lighting one of his sockets with a menacing yellow eye-light

Blows smoke into the thief’s face as well

Stretch seems lazy, and he is. But he really does care for people, if he has to put a little energy into scaring off some low life loser then he will

You notice him doing this and happily press a kiss against his cheekbone.

Stretch blushes before dragging you over to Muffets, he needs some honey😅

Axe (ht sans):

Props to whoever has the guts to rob you while ace is around

I mean??? He’s a hulking 6’0 skeleton Monster with a resting bitch face?? Why would you tempt

Well, to whoever this brave fool is, they have just made a horrible mistake

Axe grabs their wrist, lifts them into the air and snaps said wrist in half

He’s holding onto you tightly, making sure you don’t see what he just did to that poor criminals hand

A small crowd gathers around you and him, some people are calling the police, most are just staring in shock

Shit.

Aliza is going to be so pissed at him.

He drops the the thief and shortcuts back home with you (even though he shouldn’t be shortcutting anymore due to his head injury)

The day ends with some heavy lectures from your more responsible friends and some cuddles between you and Axe

[webq84]

soft yandere killer who've lived his entire childhood completely lacking of love, making him believe that he would be truly living the rest of his days as a heartless killer. but after meeting you, though he's still a murderer, his once dead heart now beats with life, just like how you've always brought life to your many genius artistry.

soft yandere killer who is reborn through the series of horrifying events that happened in his life and curses the very town that gave birth to him as the monster he is, the simple whisper of his name blowing shivers down anyone's spine.

he haunts the people, chasing them even inside their dreams and thoughts, leaving them anxious and restless at night wondering if they'll be the next unfortunate victim within his sadistic hands.

with his lingering presence, some can't continue living their normal lives as even the slightest movement from the shadows of their feet scares them to death. the majority decided to take action. escaping into a faraway country until their selves and their families are tucked away safely from his rotten gaze. while others remained in their homes despite the ongoing chaos.

they can only pray to the gods that they believed in, while also entrusting their faith and trust into the shoulders of their hardworking police officers and detectives.

though many residents have fled to a much safer sanctuary, there are those few who moved in and replaced the empty homes they left behind. perhaps they were too late to hear the news. but nevertheless, you were one of those people.

aspiring, yet you were also a lazy painter. unless your creative mind is inspired by something, your fingers would be even too lazy to lift up a paint brush. the exhaustion that was never there before suddenly slugging your movements.

but the moment you picked up that familiar spark that makes the gears in your head suddenly work, you never waste a moment spilling every hard work to create that masterpiece, refusing to let go of the firm grip you had around the paintbrush until your eyes find satisfactory.

and it happened on one particular night on your way home. but unfortunately, not in the same way you did in the past when you would come across a beautiful scenery.

you weren't expecting to stumble across the killer murdering one of the townspeople, the smell of iron strongly hitting your nostrils the moment their blood splattered across the cold ground. your wide eyes couldn't leave the gruesome sight, just as your whole body froze on the spot you're standing on.

but when the killer was about to turn around and see you, a witness to his heinous crimes, the freeze spell casted to your body breaks and you dashed off into a different direction, almost tripping on your wobbly legs.

you were able to get away. but that's because the killer let you ran off. you weren't fast enough to escape his vision. he caught you running away, presumably because of what you just saw. but for some reason, he didn't chase after you. he just stood there with his back facing the mangled corpse he was just toying with earlier.

it would be a lie to say if you continued living normally after that night passed. you couldn't get rid off the image of the horrified expression plastered on the victim's face as they stared at you with their lifeless eyes. it frequently appears in your slumber, turning your dreams instantly into a nightmare, keeping you awake for the rest of the night.

it came to a point where you don't even want to go to bed, fearing the scene will replay again once more in your sleep. you know to yourself that you can't continue living like this. you needed to do something.

just like how every artists paint their ideas into their canvas, you thought that if you paint that haunting memory, it will finally stop latching onto your brain like a living parasite. you would finally be able to rest.

day and night, you never stop painting, cooped up inside your little studio. the only sounds you could hear are your own breath and every stroke of your paint brush. because of how focused you are, you never realized the set of killer eyes watching you.

ever since that night, soft yandere killer have been stalking you. memorizing your routine. when he saw what you were painting, he was struck with amazement at how detailed your art is. it was even more special to his heart because it was the very night that he first saw you. the first meeting you two had inside his delusional mind. he thought you admired him, just as he's now admiring you in your natural place.

when you finally finished creating this horrible piece of art, you thought that your painting of him would stop there. it didn't. that scene still never left your head, so you continued, painting them in different ways, as if you're trying to appease a god that is dissatisfied with your offering. each painting you make, it becomes more and further disoriented from the original piece.

you started painting the killer in different situations, all in which are him murdering other people with different creative weapons. soon enough, your room is filled with his heavy presence despite him not being actually there, suffocating you.

and upon seeing the many paintings of him, soft yandere killer completely misunderstood the intentions behind your ongoing spiral to madness. you love him just as much as he loves you. and to honor the love that you're pouring into every hard work that you're putting in each masterpiece, the obsessed killer took it as a challenge to recreate every painting into his next murders to prove how much he loves you.

you two are beyond obsessed with each other. just not in the same way he thought you were.

[not-terezi-pyrope]

I think that living in a culture where we expect almost all narratives to exist primarily in a textual form has left us woefully complacent to the intangibility of oral stories, where they still exist.

For instance, when I was a small child, my grandmother would during her visits regale me with episodic installments following fictional characters that, as far as I can tell, were entirely of her own spontaneous devising. The two of these I can remember most clearly are "The Forgettis" and "Rebel and Jim".

The Forgettis was a comedy following the misadventures of an absurdly over-extended family of Italian nationals, The Forgettis, who were cursed with a sort of hereditary amnesia that would cause them to periodically forget all prior context of their lives and invent new ones. After all several dozen of them visited the UK on holiday, they promptly forgot that they were on holiday at all, and settled into an abandoned petrol station on "Gasworks Lane" after their tourist coach stopped there to refuel and they never got back on.

The patriarch of the family, Giuseppe Forgetti, was often at the center of things, but most episodes would involve several family members getting lost and subsequently adapting to fulfill some bizarre new occupation based on whatever they found in their surroundings. A particularly memorable episode involved most of the family leaving the Gasworks, only to return and find it had overgrown into an indoor jungle, and the sole remaining member of the family had adapted into a sort of safari hunter persona, managing the population of unlikely exotic animals that had taken up residence.

Rebel and Jim was a fantasy crime procedural about police constable "Jim" and his talking dog, "Rebel", who would make use of a number of supernatural items and allies to catch ne'er-do-wells. Their signature tool was their flying cloak - a cloak that allowed Jim to fly when worn, so long as Rebel sat on top of his head to also be under the cloak. They were also friends with the "Rock Monster", a sort of granite earth elemental who lived underground, but who was frequently confused with the identically named "Rock Monster", who as best as I remember was a sort of "rock and roll elemental".

These stories were pretty formative to my childhood, looking back, but the sad things is that the above recollections - the most I can recall concretely after thinking for ten minutes or so - are likely all that is recoverable of what I know were some pretty sprawling sagas with many episodic story arcs. I can no longer ask my grandmother, as she passed away from dementia two years ago. I can barely remember any details of Rebel and Jim at all, and I'm fairly sure there were other stories I can't even remember the names of. What I have written above may be the only record of them that will survive into posterity, which seems so sad for something that had a pretty big impact on me and are some of my fondest memories of my grandmother from my childhood.

The really frustrating thing is that I am sure that at one point she made attempts to write parts of these stories down - I remember seeing word documents! - but I have no idea where those would have survived, if at all. As far as I know we don't have any of her old computer hardware from what would have been 15-20 years ago. And that's still so recent! Imagine the equivalent when a story has been lost for several decades or centuries, no matter how impactful in its time.

So much so easily lost. When oral storytelling was the only storytelling form, people knew what was up and would make efforts to memorize and preserve stories. But instead if something isn't written down it so often just slips away.

[thebramblewood]

The dawn of the final day.

Previous / Next

Julia: [muttering shakily] Come on, Jules. Just hit the button. You have to tell someone. It’s the right thing to do.

Helena: [whoosh] [thump] Julia? Shit, how’d you even-

Julia: Helena, w-what did you just... I don’t understand what’s going on!

Helena: If you’d let me explain-

Julia: No, no, no, this can’t be happening! Vampires aren’t supposed to be real!

Helena: [narrows eyes] Who are you calling?

Julia: No one! I was just thinking about it, I swear! [flinches away] Stop! Don’t come any closer!

Helena: Julia, please, I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you.

Julia: [tearfully] But you could have!

Helena: What?

Julia: It was you who hurt my friends, who hurt all those people! I hang out there with them all the time. If you’d seen me, would you have been able to resist?

Helena: Of course!

Julia: Oh, so you were in control? You knew what you were doing and you did it anyway. Who are you, Helena? What are you? Because I don’t think you’re my sister anymore. You’re a-a-a... a monster!

Helena: Please don’t say that. You have no idea how sorry I am. The way I left them... it just loops like an endless nightmare in my head. I didn’t mean to go that far. I just wanted the hunger to stop, but it never does.

Julia: They might still die. Because of you. [scoffs] Migraines. You’ve been lying all along! Helena: What could I have said? You wouldn’t have believed me.

Julia: How did this even happen? Why are you… like this?

Helena: Oh, Julia, I was so stupid! Ulrike and I had just broken up. I was in a bad place, and I trusted the wrong person. I didn’t want it! I barely remember what happened. I just woke up with this fire burning inside of me.

Julia: Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the cops right now.

Helena: Because you love me. Because I’m leaving.

Julia: What? Where will you go?

Helena: I don’t know. But it’s obvious I can’t stay. I’m not fit to be around people now. Maybe I never will be. I’m too dangerous — to myself, to you, to Mom and Dad, to this entire fucking town.

Julia: There must be another way. If you turn yourself in, then maybe-

Helena: What, the police will go easy on me because I’m sorry? I kill the police because they don’t? It wouldn’t end well for anyone, Julia. [sighs wearily] At least I never finished unpacking.