#and i am far too fragile right now to be counted on for coherent thoughts | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

monodipita · 3 years

Text

PET (Yandere!Douma x Reader)

Hello again! I am once again quietly pushing my commissions out and encouraging people to check them out to help me out with vet bills. Please take a look if you can, it’s greatly appreciated!! 🙇🏽‍♀️

Word count: 2,083 Warnings: Yandere content, gore, death (not of reader!), master x pet dynamic (loose) His hands touched your face so lovingly. Each gentle caress came with a new wave of love that washed over you and pushed you deeper into the delirium. His sharp nails dug themselves into your cheek, but it was merely by accident. Every time it happened, it was. His rainbow eyes stared into your own as a smile creeped onto his lips. "How beautiful you are, [Y/N]. My pet."

Your eyes closed and you absorbed his words. Compliments from him never became tiring, that was Douma's charm. How could you have been so afraid before? "You have done so much for me, Douma," your words poured effortlessly from your lips. "Oh?" Douma pressed a bit harder into your cheek before releasing you from his grip. He pulled away and allowed you to rest in his butterfly-folded lap without pestering you for much longer. "Tell me of what I have done for you, dear pet." "You've provided for me in ways I have never seen anyone provide for me before, not even my own family," you told him. You took his hands that rested idly off of his knees and squeezed them tightly while you gazed into his eyes. "You've saved me from a life of running away from demons. I will forever and always be grateful to you, Douma." His smile remained plastered on his lips as he ate up your words. "You are so utterly divine, [Y/N]." He purred and leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. His hands moved from yours and wrapped themselves around your body, pressing against your back and threading themselves together at the base of it. "The only one I need in my life..." his eyes hooded. "No one else will ever compare to you, my love." His words were so gushy. You can tell by the way he looked at you that he truly meant every word that came out of his mouth. "Do you love me. [Y/N]?" "I love you, Douma." "Kiss me." You obliged. Your lips pressed with his, and you instantly melted into his tightening embrace. The tighter it became, the more passionate his kiss became, until you could taste iron in your mouth. You were only given the right to breathe once he felt like it was right to give way. Lightheaded, you pulled away from him. "Was that good?" You ask meekly. "Only the best, as always." Douma responded, his blood-tinted lips showing themselves off. "Now... I believe lunch time is soon." Sometimes it was easy to forget that this was a community home, ran by none other than Douma himself. The people that lived and worked here were all indebted to him in some way, and you were included in that mix. He took you away from your family and gave you a better life. You were his consort, his significant other. Wasn't that such an honor? So many people were envious of you and what you had. Expensive clothing, people to cater to your every whim and need. It was the life of royalty, all given to you by Douma. "Right," you beamed to him with a shy smile before you stood. "I'll make my way to the dining room, then. Will you be joining us this time?" "I have important matters to attend to, dearest pet." He tilted his head and frowned when he noticed your disappointed look. "Must you always seem so saddened by my answers?" "...it's just... I'd like you to join me, this time." You pouted, slightly. What a spoiled brat. "Please?" "..." Douma flicked his fan open, revealing the pristine, sharp, golden blades within it. He hummed aloud for just a moment before standing and making his way close to you. He stopped before you and folded his fan closed, before pressing the golden fan into his cheek dimple. "I'll think about it." He stated. "Is that enough of a sufficient answer for you?" Well enough. The answer didn't vibe well with you, but persisting only put Douma in a strange mood. You nodded your head instead, and the two of you shared another kiss before departing. You stepped out of the room and gently closed the shoji behind you, letting out a soft, dreamy sigh. Yes, dinner was indeed soon, you could smell it in the air. Your stomach growled, making your cheeks flush with embarrassment. At least he wasn't going to hear that. "Are you [Y/N]?" "This must be Lord Douma's room." You turned your attention to whoever spoke, your eyes spotting two timid individuals. You quirked your brow in bewilderment. "What is it?" You asked. Neither of them responded with coherent answers. Instead they rambled, which made your eyes narrow with suspicion. Even moreso when Douma opened the shoji up to greet the two young

women. "Oh, my love, you're still here." Douma seemed surprised by that fact. "These are our newest guests, Aoi and Chieko." "N-nice to meet you," the one identified as Aoi bowed, and the other identified as Chieko followed suit. You said nothing and looked down on them with jealousy, before swiftly turning on your heel and disappearing around the corner. You were undeniably jealous of whatever they were doing. You liked to be the center of his attention. Like many who worshiped him, any attention at all was enough to make your heart pound until it was all you could hear. You needed to know what they were doing. You needed the confirmation that he wasn't doing anything with them... you wanted the comfort in feeling safe. You stopped at the corner, just when you were out of sight. You waited for some time to pass before you would try to figure out what was happening. You could hear people beginning to migrate toward the dining hall for dinner, and you needed to go too, but you held off. It was more important to you to find out what he was doing with those girls. After waiting long enough and hearing the halls go silent, you decided to make your move. You quietly headed toward his room and stopped outside of it to listen in on their conversation, if there was any. At first it was eerily quiet, but there was noise soon following your arrival. They seemed to be conversing about something. "I would appreciate this chance, lord Douma," Aoi's voice sounded... at least you thought that was her name, you couldn't quite remember. "Please use me as your heart...desires..." Silence. You felt your stomach tighten with nausea. What did she mean by that? Was he... performing sexual favors on her!? You felt hurt! You ripped your head away from the door and squirmed in place. You wanted to leave, but you wanted to know what was going to happen. You let out an inaudible sigh and pressed your ear to the shoji again to listen to what was going on. You ripped your ear away as a loud scream sounded from the room, followed by Douma's charming laughter. It became rapidly unsettling, making you swallow thickly with worry as your nose began to flood with the same, familiar smell of iron. What was happening? Did you want to know? No... you needed to know. What was he doing? You slowly pushed the shoji open, slowly enough to not be heard under the loud screams of the girl. You slowly edged into the room to see the horrible sight that you dreaded. Now that the sound wasn’t muffled by the walls, you could hear the disturbing sound of something ripping. Not clothes, not hair, but something else... The smell of iron became too much to bear, it was nauseating, even. You tried your best to beat the smell, just so you could get a good glimpse at what was happening. You... weren’t quite sure why you were pursuing the truth, but something just told you that what was happening wasn’t real. Could it have been true? “Silly, silly humans.” Douma chuckled to himself while his fingers plunged into Aoi’s eye socket to retrieve her eye. Her screams were deafeningly loud, much to his glee, and your dismay. “You almost ruined my day... oh, how I would’ve lost it if you interfered with my pet’s happiness. [Y/N]’s happiness is important to me! But I digress, you’ve fulfilled your purpose. You’re making me a happy, happy boy with your pathetic carcasses!” He purred. ”D-douma—!” You blurted in the form of a scream. You didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but it did. Blood caked his clothing, his face, his fingernails. The more disturbing sight lies within the scene on the ground... the girl’s bodies. The Chieko girl was dead. Blood surrounded her body in a large pool, kept intact, except for the decapitated head sat on her back and was positioned to stare at him while he tortured Aoi. Aoi’s eyes were removed, and her body weakly fought against his while she screamed bloody murder, but it didn’t matter. His thumbs were pressed so disturbingly into her empty eye sockets... “...[Y/N]! My dear pet. You weren’t

supposed to see this...” he tilted his head, a frown appearing across his lips. ”HELP ME! HELP ME, PLEASE!” Her wails were deafening, even when you were so far away. ”Oh, that is so annoying now,” Douma’s frown soured. He looked down at Aoi and shook his head at her. “Pathetic girl, don’t you see that you’re in the presence of my love? Be respectful.” His blue-painted fingers forced themselves into Aoi’s throat, causing blood to splatter on his face while he jerked his hand out of her throat in one quick motion. He undoubtedly just killed someone in front of you. “Oh! She’s dead. I tend to forget how fragile they can be! I lose myself when I play with their intestines... that’s usually how they stay alive the longest. Oops! I forget to control my tendencies...” Douma pouted. “Forgive me, my love. You were never supposed to see me like... this.” He started to walk toward you. You lost it. You doubled over and lost the contents of your stomach on the floor. You placed your hand against the wall for support to keep yourself steady, to prepare yourself to get out of here. You couldn’t even gather your bearings when Douma’s arms pulled you into a constricting embrace. He squeezed you taut against his body. ”You... you’ve been lying to us all,” you croaked through your sobs. ”I’ve only been lying partially to you, my pet. To everyone else, yes.” Douma tilted your head up and forced you to look at him with a firm grip on your chin. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him. ”Look at me with your eyes, [Y/N].” Douma purred sweetly. "Don't make me hurt you." You reluctantly looked up at him. He noticed just how upset you appeared to be and frowned. “Oh, my love! Don’t be upset for what’s happened to those girls. That will never happen to you.” He cupped your cheeks and pulled you closer to him, only causing you to sob more as the stench of iron and flesh wafted off of him in droves. “They’re in a better place now, don’t you think?” ”Why... why don’t you do that to me? Right now?” You asked weakly. “I can’t do this... I can’t do this...” ”Because you’re my pet, of course. Even if I want to eat you, I could never bring myself to.” He reached up to kiss your forehead. “Killing you would be like losing part of myself. I love toying with you, I love your cute little reactions...” he trailed off, before hooding his eyes. “Killing these humans mean nothing to me. But for a pet like you... you mean everything to me.” ”M-my parents,” you sputtered, “w-what did you do to them?” ”They didn’t care about you.” Douma said soberly. “That’s why you’re here, with me. They dumped you here. They gave you to me. We were destined to be together as a man and his adoring pet, isn’t that so romantic?” He smiled at you. You felt yourself beginning to sob harder. You squirmed and thrashed in his arms, but it didn’t matter. He was so much stronger than you. “My poor baby,” Douma frowned and pulled you closer into his arms, reaching up and stroking your hair as if it could calm you down. “Don’t worry, my dear pet. You’ll always be kept alive...”

#kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #douma x reader #douma #yandere douma #yandere x reader #gender neutral insert #reader insert

318 notes · View notes

immortalcoelacanth · 4 years

Text

Smile for Me Oneshot (Reader x Habit): Make Love, Not War

*crawls out of my writing slump*

I live, and bring forth new reader content! This was inspired big time by a fellow Smile for Me fan I met on Discord, so if you're reading this know that this goes out to you!

Word count: 2563

Summary: The last thing you wanted to do was fight Habit, but you had no choice! Unless…

Thinking back to what Kamal had warned you about when you had first expressed an interest in confronting Habit and his scheme, you were not too sure what to expect. You had assumed the towering man would immediately be hostile, that some sort of fight might break out, a fight of the verbal and mental sort rather than physical, and for you to use your wits to secure victory.

But, toothfully-

…

That gas Habit had hit you with was definitely making thinking significantly tougher than usual at the moment.

Truthfully, you had been hoping, praying, that you would be able to get out of this without hurting anyone, or being hurt in the process. Hoping that everything would go according to plan.

Of course, entering Habit’s office and getting gassed, being knocked out, and waking up restrained in some dentist’s chair was the furthest thing from the plan. Essentially being powerless as you were forced to listen to his rambling, only able to nod or shake your head was also something you had not planned for. To see him so… unhinged, to quote Kamal, and so menacing, it was…

Sad.

It made you sad to see him like this, especially with what you knew about his past. Those diary entries, and that slideshow-

The abuse.

You could see what Kamal meant. Habit’s soft spot, something that drove his horribly twisted need to “help” people, was fading. If you took too long or hesitated, it would be too late.

And you did not want to think about what too late would mean, and what you would have to do.

Once Habit left, you made your move and broke free, even though it meant using your teeth to get out.

You… you were going to repress this moment to the furthest corners of your mind, the sight of Habit looming above you in the gloom, the numbness that gave way to panic, fear, and sorrow. The tears that had bubbled up in the corners of your eyes.

It was a good thing you had dental insurance, too.

After acquiring the mirror and managing to hit the buttons in front of you, occasionally missing due to the lingering dizziness from the gas, the restraints popped open and you were free. From there, it took no time for you to get the door open and stumble out into the lobby-

Directly in front of Habit.

You honestly had no clue who was more surprised at your sudden appearance, you or him, but the shock you both experienced quickly wore off as a frown crossed Habit’s face.

“You… You Flower Brat!” He spat as he stepped towards you, his shadow engulfing you.

Why did he have to be so tall?!

Instinctively, you raised your hands and took a step back. Okay, okay, you had to do something. You had to get him to stop, to calm down, to snap him out of his angered state. Unconsciously, your gaze wandered over to the various signs plastered over the walls. You did still have that glove-

No, no! The last thing you wanted to do was resort to violence! You did not want to hit him!

Knock him onto the fragile, glass balcony behind him…

You shuddered in horror at the thought of such a horrible outcome.

Suddenly, an idea came to mind. Just before confronting Habit you had conversed with Jerafina in the Lounge, and gained a very special item in the process. An item that could definitely prove to be useful in this situation.

So, without warning, you jumped up and kissed Habit.

It was, thankfully, a gentle kiss. Your lips brushing against his jaw, the only point of his face you could reach even with your jump. You were just so short and he was so… so tall!

And bright red.

Indeed, the moment after you kissed him, a brilliant blush consumed his face, frown vanishing in an instant. He took a step back in shock, giving you some welcome space, due to the unexpected gesture.

You… you had kissed him. Not hurt him, insulted him, or done anything cruel to him.

No vengeance for all the cruel things he had done to you, said about you.

His mood immediately took a dive as he recalled all the hurt he must have caused you, as well as his employees, the people he was responsible for taking care of and helping. The Habiticians, too, must have been hurt by his actions. He took a step back and looked towards the ground, long fingers knitting together.

He couldn’t, wouldn’t, look you in the eyes.

He was too scared to see what he might find. Was that kiss the last of your compassion? Your empathy? Would you mock him? Hurt him much like his father had-

“Flower,” He began, voice shaky as beads of sweat began to roll down his face. “I… You want to stop fighting, yes?”

You quickly nodded your head, hopeful that you had managed to get your point across. All that was left now was to talk everything out and get Habit smiling again!

“I… see.” The dentist nodded. “Flower, I am… confuzzed. I do not know what to say-”

He cut himself off and let out a quiet, tired sigh. “Perhaps it... would be best if you left. I won’t bother you again.”

Oh, there was no way you would allow things to end like this. Habit was still sad, still hurting, and you refused to stop helping him until you managed to cheer him up. So, you strode over to him and quickly shook your head.

He would have to carry you out if he wanted you to leave.

Habit looked exasperated by your refusal and quickly pointed at the open door that led to the lobby. “Out-”

Deciding to take advantage of the gesture, you quickly reached out and tugged on his arm, still shaking your head. He did not move, you were far too weak to actually pull him around, but hopefully it was enough to help him understand that you wanted to talk. Slowly but surely, you managed to navigate Habit towards the ground where you both sat down beside one another. He still looked confused, but at least he had stopped trying to kick you out.

From your spot on the ground, you carefully pulled on Habit’s arm once more, encouraging him to slowly lay down, his head resting in your lap, his hat falling off in the process, not that he seemed to care about it at the moment. His hair was so soft, so fluffy, but you managed to wrangle your urge to run your fingers through it. He looked up at you in confusion, and you smiled warmly at him while tilting your head to the side.

A compassionate smile that you hoped conveyed the words you wish you could say, but knew he would never understand.

It’s okay, you’re safe with me, I promise.

I won’t hurt you.

You can talk to me.

It was as if a dam broke the moment he saw your smile. Words rushed out of Habit almost faster than you could comprehend, but you were able to keep up. Stories about his childhood, his family, and his pain. The coherency of his speaking fluctuated, and there were times where he started speaking in Russian before switching back to English, but your attention never faltered.

You nodded, and expressed concern, and occasionally pat the top of his head to help him calm down.

“Thank you, Flower. It’s nice two be able too talk.” Habit mumbled as he looked up at you. It was obvious he was doing better than before, more stable and calm, but he still was not happy.

You pouted in annoyance as you tried to figure out a way to cheer him up. You knew you were getting close to what he needed, the conversation had definitely helped, but you just needed a bit more oomph!

Unfortunately for you, you were unaware of Habit’s amusement towards the endearing and adorable expression on your face. He had never seen such a look before, and it made that smile on his face grow just the slightest bit larger.

“Flower cutie…”

Immediately a blush took over as you looked off to the side at the compliment. This was unfair! He couldn’t call you that, especially with that almost-smile on his face! He was the one who was adorable, not you!

Instinctively, flowers started to sprout out of the top of your head, as they always tended to when you were very happy, embarrassed, or startled. Several daisies popped up, petals unfolding and swaying in the momentary breeze. Habit chuckled at your reaction, causing the last flower to bloom.

Pop!

It resembled a typical lily, although there were some differences. The petals held more of an orange and yellow hue, and seemed to smell nicer than the rest of the flowers. The scent was not overpowering, but it was calming, and while you were unaware of the significance of this new flower, Habit was not.

He sat upright in surprise, oblivious to you jolting backwards and nearly falling over. By the time you managed to resettle yourself he had turned so he was facing towards you, a hand stretched out in your direction. His eyes were focused not on you, but on the flower sprouting from the top of your head.

His Lily...

You were quick to let out a cough, snapping him out of his dazed state. He blinked a couple times before looking down at you, clearly trying to figure out what to say. You looked up, tilting your head to the side and causing the flower to sway in the process.

Flower… flower… oh, that’s right!

You held your hands up, before quickly rummaging around in your bouquet. With all the chaos, interactions, and people you needed to help you had completely forgotten about planting the Erythronium seed Millie had given you. It was tooth shaped, which made it seem like the seed had a connection to Habit, especially since Millie had found it in the Habitat. Upon locating the item, you grinned victoriously and held it up for Habit to see.

His jaw dropped, unintentionally exposing far more teeth than you wanted to see. You suppressed your winced and quickly thrust the item in his direction, your intentions clear.

Take it.

As though he were handling glass, Habit carefully accepted the seed and looked it over, a gentle, genuine smile crossing his face.

He looked so cute!!!

“Do you kno what this is?” Habit asked. You shook your head and tilted it to the side to show your interest, and the dentist was quick to answer your unspoken question.

An explanation about the Tooth Lily, the importance of the flower, and how challenging it could be to grow it. It dawned on you that perhaps the reason why the Tooth Lily had bloomed atop your head now had to deal with that kiss you and Habit had shared…

Something that you wanted to do again.

You blushed once more and looked off to the side, quietly frustrated with how emotional you were being at the moment. You were just so… so flustered! The fact that Habit was so cute, and warm, and how safe you would feel if he wrapped his arms around you-

Pop! Pop! Pop!

As more flowers bloomed, you hid your face in your hands to hide from your shame. You were faintly aware of Habit shifting so he was sitting a bit closer to you, that bubblegum smell growing stronger. Curious as to what he was doing, you looked up-

Just in time for Habit to plant a kiss on your forehead.

Immediately, another Tooth Lily bloomed and you swore you were going to pass out with all the blood rushing to your face. However, before you could respond and attempt to get back your dignity, the sound of the door to the lobby opening caught both your attention.

Kamal had, apparently, decided to check up on you, probably since you had been with Habit for so long and to make sure nothing bad happened. You appreciated the compassionate gesture, even if it did nothing but make you feel more flustered.

It seemed as though he was just as flustered as you were, a blush appearing on his face as he started to sweat. Habit was silent, appearing to be completely stunned by the appearance of his ex assistant.

“Erm, uh,” Kamal stuttered as he retreated back to the lobby. “I’ll just be waiting out here for you guys! T-Take your time!”

As Kamal vanished from sight, kicking up a trail of dust in his wake, Habit let out a distressed noise and reached towards him, as if trying to get him to come back. Of course, by the time he moved it was far too late for Kamal to have noticed his gesture. Like a wilting flower, Habit visibly drooped in disappointment and sorrow. Concerned, you reached out and took hold of one of his hands, rubbing slow, gentle circles into the back of it.

“... I hurt so many people.” He said after a couple moments of silence, sounding completely worn down and exhausted. “Kamal, Wallus…”

He nervously picked at his sleeve with his free hand, his anxiety growing. Would any good come from him apologizing? Kamal had to hate him at this point, and even if you seemed to be alright with him, the kissing certainly helped to soothe those fears, who knew if the same could be said for everyone else?

You frowned to yourself. He was starting to spiral again, losing that light you had seen in his eyes. Apologies were definitely going to be awkward, but they needed to happen, for the sake of Habit and those he had hurt.

You pushed yourself up so you were standing in front of him and held out a hand. He appeared confused for a moment before slowly placing his hand in yours. Rather than pulling him up like he expected you would, you turned his hand over, palm facing up, and slowly traced letters into it.

Letters that formed words.

Words that made a sentence.

I’ll help you.

His eyes went wide as he looked up at you, stunned at the offer. You were quick to trace out more words, internally agonizing over how long the process was taking. Perhaps when you got out of here you could encourage Habit and the others to learn a bit of sign language since nodding and shaking your head only went so far.

Or at least carry a notebook around to write in.

Everyone deserves to be happy, and that includes you. You might not be able to fix everything you did, but apologizing is a good place to start.

You gestured for him to stand up as well and then pointed towards the lobby. Kamal had been hurt the worst out of everyone and was the most deserving of an apology, so he would be the best person to start with.

As Habit stood up to join you, you leaned forward and pressed one last kiss against his cheek, your touch spelling out one final sentence.

I believe in you.

And in the end your belief, your support, was what Habit needed most.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I, like the reader, am an immense simp for Habit hugs, but then again I just crave hugs in general XD

I hope you all enjoyed reading!

- ImmortalCoelacanth

#my story #fanfiction #smile for me #sfm #second person pov #reader as flower kid #boris habit #habit x reader #fluff #kisses #reader didn't grow the Tooth Lily so an alternate route is taken

55 notes · View notes

a-mended-pact · 3 years

Text

Chapter : Seven

This chapter is Reader and Spencer finally discussing what's going on. It's a little angst but a semi happy ending.

Taglist is open. 🥰

Part 6

This one is definitely one of my favorite chapters I've written so far.

Word count: 3,121

I am currently experiencing heavy writers block so I would love to know your thoughts or theories!

If you have questions for the series please message or send an ask.

Requests are open

I ended up walking out of the room and I could feel myself shaking. I was infuriated. I had been so upset with everything that happened between Spencer and Cat that I couldn’t see straight. Maybe I was being overly emotional but to be fair I still haven’t slept yet. Spencer had followed me out but neither of us made it far before I saw Ethan sitting in the break room talking to Jj. I glanced at Spencer then back at him. ‘He deserves to be in a cell, not in our break room. You and I both know that.’ He sighed and nodded knowing damn well now was not the time to fully argue with me. My hands were sore. I needed a release from the stress of the past couple of days. I would much rather the endorphins get released by Spencer and I tangled within the sheets.

It had been sometime since Spencer and I had been intimate due to work and me just not being in the mood because of the recent changes in my medication. We hadn’t openly discussed what had been going on with us to anyone on the team. At least I didn't. I wanted to keep things to myself. I had always suffered with dark thoughts and bad coping mechanisms. It wasn’t until Spencer pointed it out when we started living together. That it wasn't pointed out to me. He had spoken to me about it as gently as possible because he understood it was a sensitive topic that could either make me sob or be deeply upset with him and push him away.

It luckily ended in me trusting his judgement and he set me up with a psychologist. Within a month of therapy they decided I needed meds for my issues. Mood stabilizers, Antidepressants and anxiety medication. It took a lot of trial and error for us to find the right ones that worked for me. I was lucky enough to have a person in my life to love me through the changes I had to experience during that time. I unfortunately suffered from a hazy mind. If I get too focused on something I tend to forget to take all of the above. Spencer always kept a track of when I took them. He’d message me when I needed to when we weren’t together no matter what.

Of course he couldn’t when he was kidnapped. So here I was having a hard time processing everything I needed to. ‘You need to go home and sleep, eat and take your medication my love.’ As he spoke he cupped my face and rubbed his thumb over my cheek. I couldn’t help but notice the way Ethan looked at me with envy from the other room when I wasn’t staring into Spencer’s golden irises. A part of me felt like Spencer was just trying to get rid of me but I also knew he needed to come home and rest too. I can’t imagine he actually got any while he was kidnapped even if he was presumably only with Ethan.

I grabbed his hand and held it to my face as I leaned into it. I didn’t care that I had to stretch out my freshly made wounds. If anything the pain was a nice distraction from the whirlwind my mind had become from the ticking of the hours that had gone by. ‘Please come home with me. Ethan will be taken care of and it’s not like the Kitten can get out of her cell. Please.’ His eyes softened as he heard me speak and he went to shake his head no until Emily spoke up from behind us.

‘Both of you are going home. Neither of you have a choice in the matter. Everyone here has gotten rest but you two. The rest of the team and I can handle this by ourselves for a little while. Go home you two.’ She spoke loud enough to cause a scene and I couldn’t help but wince as everyone stared. ‘She’s right you haven’t eaten a proper meal Y/L/N in days’ Rossi commented from the peanut gallery. I pulled Spencer’s hand away from my face and squeezed it tightly. I hated being called out by anyone that wasn’t him. He has learned how to do it without making me feel guilty over the past couple of years. Right now all I felt was guilt. Guilty over the fact that on top of worrying about Spencer they were worried about me as well. I was such a screw up I swear. ‘ I agree I think I saw you resting your eyes maybe 10 minutes before you headed to the vending machine for an energy drink because the coffee wasn’t working for you anymore.’ Luke commented as he brought me my cardigan that I had draped over my chair at my desk. I sighed as I looked at him.

‘Guys we are going. I promise.’ Spencer spoke as he began to pull my hand lightly to lead me away from everyone. ‘Don’t forget to put him in a holding cell.’ I said as I pointed at Ethan as his eyes never seemed to leave Spencer and I. I locked on to his gaze and followed his line of sight. Correction: it wasn’t on both of us. It was only on Spencer.

I squeezed his hand harder than I probably should have. I didn't care. Ethan was truly creeping me out at that moment. Why was he staring at my husband like a child that had their favorite comfort item taken from them as a punishment. Perhaps in a way that's what I was doing. I knew the moment he and I left they would treat him like an unsub as they should. He'd get no special treatment because Spencer wouldn't be around. I was giddy at the thought and let out a small laugh as I walked out of the building with him in tow.

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

I felt a weight leave my chest when Y/n asked me to shower with her. I logically knew it was probably because she couldn't bring herself to actually wash her hair or even herself. I was just thrilled over the fact that once our front door was locked into place she didn't turn around and snap at me about what happened between Cat and I. I knew what I let happen bothered her greatly. We've spoken about it before many times. I knew this time though I had almost opened Pandora's box. Perhaps I had only placed the key into it instead.

Still pulling her into my arms as the hot water washed over us was enough to make me sob into her freshly washed hair. I never wanted her to doubt my love for her. Yet here I was showing attraction to two different people and that wasn't fair to her. Sure it hadn't been spoken about nor did she know about the relationship Ethan and I shared when we were much younger. She had a right to know. I knew that. I also knew now wasn't the time to mention it.

I felt her put her full weight into me as the water droplets rolled down her soft skin. She seemed so fragile. We seemed so fragile. Maybe I was overthinking. Maybe I was making up scenarios that would never come. Her hand inched up tracing the wound on my chest underneath it's bandage. I tried not to wince but no matter how gently she caressed it with her fingertips it still stung like it did when it was given to me mere days ago.

'I can't believe he did this to you.' Her voice was barely a whisper as if she too were afraid it would shatter the solace we found behind a mere shower curtain. I caught her hand in mine and placed it over my heart. I leaned in and kissed her as gently as I could muster. She returned it in kind but I could tell she had more to say. So of course I let her.

'He hurt you Spence and all you've done is protect him. I want to understand but I can't seem to wrap my head around why you'd protect a man that did such awful things to you.' As she spoke I remembered why I let him get away with it. It was simple. I couldn't remember who had actually hurt me. If it were him or Lindsey. I never coherently saw her. I only saw him and I felt like that was deliberately done.

'Sweetheart, do you trust me and my judgment on the matter?' As I spoke I pulled away from her to turn the water off and grab a towel wrapping her up in one first before I grabbed my own to dry myself off too. I watched in awe as she dried off and her breast jiggled as she did so. I had to turn my gaze away. Now was certainly not the time to be trying to bed my wife. I would be lying though if I said I didn't want to distract myself from everything that had happened these past few days.

Her and I both needed rest. She needed to eat first to take her medicine. That was top priority not my raging lust for her. 'I do. I just. I don't know there's things I don't know that I need to know before I make my final judgement on the situation. All I know is that my husband has been sexually touched, kidnapped and tortured in a matter of days and there was nothing I could do to change the outcome besides not walking out of the bureau when Cat touched you through your slacks!'

I could hear the frustration in her voice as she pulled on her panties and one of my t-shirts from college. I watched her as she quickly left the bathroom to head into the kitchen. I quickly slid on my gray sweats and rushed after her. I didn't like the idea of her being alone when she was angry and not in a great state of mind.

'I'm sorry.' I pulled her into me as she began to make herself toast. I placed a kiss on the junction between her neck and shoulder. 'I should have stopped the whole thing sooner. I just kept trying because I was certain if I did she'd slip up but she never did.'

By now I knew how Y/N's mind worked. 'Spencer you didn't stop her because you didn't want to. Whether you understand your attraction to her or not. You've always wanted to sleep with her. You yourself told me so when we were just friends. Don't start lying to me now about things' She pulled away from me and took the toast and her glass of water to the couch.

I realized then that she had actually made me some toast as well. I turned around to grab my own glass of water and her medicine. I sat beside her and sighed. 'Eat first then take your medicine. If you are feeling up to it I'll tell you before we go to bed tonight. Everything you need to know and probably things you'd rather not hear but as my wife and my best friend you have the right to know everything.'

She nodded as she bit into her food. Tears were silently streaming down her face already. I knew right now that it wasn't because of me. Not fully anyway she was just overwhelmed.

We ate in silence. I handed her; her pills and she took them without complaint. If anything she seemed rather numb to everything around her.

'Maybe telling you should wait.' I said as I pulled her to me. 'Thank you for not fighting with me about taking your medicine.' I kissed her cheek. 'I'm proud of you and how well you've held yourself together while I was gone.' She wasn't codependent on me per say but praise was always something I gave her. Especially after mom started to pick fights with me about her medication. Y/n was a walk in the park for me compared to her. She always felt bad that I needed to take care of her when she wasn't in her right state of mind.

To be honest though I love taking care of her. She was perfectly capable of doing anything and everything on her own but she trusted me enough to shut her brain off for a bit and let me take the reins for a few hours or even days. Right at this moment was one of those times. It's not like I didn't have days and times like her where I shut my mind off as well because I did and she would baby me and look after me like I am her at this very moment.

'I'd rather you tell me right now. I don't have the urge to fight or to do much of anything.' I nodded as I pulled her up with me and led her to the bed laying down with her and holding her from behind.

'First and foremost. I am in love with you with every fiber of my being. I don't ever want you to doubt that but I'll understand after I tell you everything if you do but I need you to always remember I will choose you without hesitation, without question.' She nodded after I was done. My fingers traced up and down her hand as I held her as close as possible.

'I'll always be your best friend first. Then your wife. That was something I told you on our wedding day and I plan to stick by that choice. I only ask that you stay remaining honest with me. I can't stand not knowing what's going on in your mind. As long as we stay honest with one another I know that we can make it through anything.' She pulled my hand up to her lips and kissed it and I couldn't help but sigh in relief. She was more than I deserved and I don't think anyone would ever understand how much I didn't deserve her.

'I'm not sure if it was Ethan that hurt me. I know he was the one to kidnap me but other than that I don't believe it was him. He would never hurt someon-' I stopped myself as I was searching for the right words. I could tell she was waiting with baited breath. 'Ethan would never hurt me like that would most likely be the proper word to say.'

She nodded 'You're holding back love. Just say what needs to be said. I can take it.'

I bit my lip and exhaled. 'Ethan wouldn't hurt me like that because he has been in love with me since college. We um.. he was- i-' I was struggling trying to form words. The past Ethan and I had together was a good one but he was also my first heartbreak.

'He was your first love huh? It's okay Spence we all have a past. Some of us just don't stay close to those from it.' As she spoke she rolled over to face me with a soft smile on her lips. 'Keep going. It's okay.' I know all of her wanted to cup my face but she restrained herself and just made due fiddling with my wedding band on my finger. Which is something she always did when we were having a deep conversation. I knew as long as she was playing with mine and not her own that we were okay.

`We were friends for a long time before him and I became intimate with one another. We always sorta stepped around the subject but one day after class he asked me out on a movie date. One thing led to another and I was in his room and we- we slept together.' She nodded again telling me to continue as her eyes stayed on her moving fingers.

I made a face. It's not the fact that I didn't want to tell her it was just the fact that I didn't know how.

'We dated all of college and then we separated when I joined the academy. I made it and he didn't. We grew apart. One thing led to another and I caught him in a very intimate position with someone. He claimed that the other person involved was the one that started it. He didn't have time to react before I walked out.'

I didn't dare look at her. I knew it was dumb of me to still be so hurt by what happened between him and I but I was. I trusted him deeply even to this day but I just couldn't let go of the way it looked like that wasn't their first kiss. No matter how many times he proved to me that it was.

Her hand moved to cup my face as she kissed away the small tears that I was shedding.

'I'm sorry he broke your heart Spencer. You didn't deserve that.'

'After I left we never fully spoke again. I never gave him the time of day. Not fully. We'd talk as friends and we'd talk for cases such as where Jj met Will but other than that I just shut anything to do with him out.'

I looked at her finally, my vision blurry with unshed tears and she looked at me and smiled softly at me. 'The truth is I was in love with him. After him I fell in love with Maeve. Then I met you and it's like everything started making sense again. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't drawn to you originally because in some aspects you reminded me of him. I think that was one of the reasons I first realized I was attracted to you.'

She pulled me in suddenly and kissed me sweetly on the lips. 'I love you Spencer. You and the things that make you, you now. We need to talk about Catherine but I'm getting very very sleepy and all I want from you right now is for you to let me drown in you and pretend for a small amount of time that these past few days haven't happened.'

I pulled her into me and held her as she buried her face into my hair. 'I love you Mrs Reid more than you will ever be able to comprehend.'

With that we both fell asleep for the first time in 4 days.

Taglist:

@sassymoon @rainsong01 @onlyhereforthefanfics @itsdars

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer x reader #spencer x you #unsteady keys #spencer x y/n #spencer x reader insert

10 notes · View notes

captain-emmajones · 4 years

Note

Here’s a Prompt; Emma’s when she comes back from the Underworld without Killian, pre funeral scene, when she realises she’ll never see him again 💔😉

Hello beautiful angel, thank you for the prompt! This is slightly different from what you asked for, but everything did originate from your idea. I hope you’ll like this <3

Big thank you to @snowbellewells who was a real angel and beta’d this and saved all of our eyeballs in the process <3

Fluff - Angst - Canon Compliant - Ao3 - 2500 words

Summary: This is set at the beginning of season 4 when Killian and Emma start dating and expands until the end of season 5 ... or the times Killian helped Emma make her bed after staying over, and the times he didn’t.

The first time he offers to help her, she is sprawled across her bed like a starfish, as she tries to properly tuck in her freshly-washed fitted sheets.

“Come on guys, you’re making this harder than it needs to be,” she hisses between her teeth, one foot keeping the right corner down while her fingers battle with the left.

“Need a hand love?”

“Thought you were in the bathroom,” she mumbles -- this close from succeeding, this close -- and she doesn’t spin around to face him because the sheets just might escape her and she won’t allow it.

She hears him chuckle behind her back. How dare he be chuckling?

“Aye, well, a man has needs love...But now that I am here, let me help you.”

It’s actually quite funny then, because as she reluctantly raises her chin towards him, ready to tell him that she’s got it covered -- although she has actually broken a sweat over this terrible affair -- well, her eyes meet his and her heart leaps inside her chest just as the fitted sheet bounces back into her face.

Fuck.

Because, see, the thing is the sun is quite a traitor, and it has decided to dabble its most outrageous golden beams into his gentle blue eyes and this absolutely does not stir something weird deep within Emma’s belly -- not at all.

And Emma’s heart tries its best to remain neutral, cold, detached but the only thing it manages to do as Killian Jones offers her a bright smile and a raised eyebrow is to sigh and skip an alarmed beat.

“Y-yeah, sure. Thanks.”

The starfish leaves her natural habitat to stand up and hand him one corner of the white cotton sheets. When his warm palm brushes against hers, playfully, on purpose, she flushes remembering what those fingers did to her the night before.

“There we go, Swan,” he says, casually, as if all of this domesticity is normal and appropriate when her heart is throbbing and threatening to jump out of her ribcage onto the carpeted floor. “I’m actually quite an expert, as you’ll see.”

And because misfortunes never come alone, he has the audacity of gently pressing his lips to her temple and sighing a deep sigh of contentment against her skin, and by that time Emma has completely stopped breathing.

Because the thing is she is fucking terrified.

Later that day, when Killian has ventured out of the apartment, a piece of toast tucked between his teeth, pirate business to attend love, and Emma’s alone with her mother in the kitchen, and her spoon tinkles inside her mug, tinkles and tinkles, Emma wonders aloud:

“Mom, when did dad start helping you make your bed?”

And then it’s quite a scene for the ages because Mary Margaret nearly spits her entire mouthful of tea into Emma’s face, and Emma figures her question might be slightly weird and instantly regrets asking it.

“I’m, I’m…,” Snow White begins, and Snow White is blushing, and Snow White is Emma’s mother and Emma wants to dive into her mug of coffee and possibly drown there. “I mean, I don’t know.” She pauses, winces. “With the Evil Queen, and the sleeping curse, and all of that...your father and I didn’t really get to date, you know…”

Oh, Emma knows. This is all very new and weird to her, the whole dating Captain Hook.

“I see,” Emma replies simply, because Mary Margaret is gazing at her far too intensely and Emma is still contemplating diving into her small mug.

Instead, she stubbornly lowers her gaze and refuses to look back up at her mother, who will not stop staring.

“Why…” Mary Margaret’s voice resonates a few seconds afterwards, “Why are you asking, Emma?”

Emma feels her hair stand on hand.

“No, you know, just wondering…”

The next time he sleeps over, her parents are downstairs when they wake up. Emma feels like she is sixteen and she’s just had her first boyfriend at home, and while it is obviously inconvenient, a part of her cannot help but shriek (very silently) of happiness because this is is silly and dumb and it’s hers.

“Alright. Just stay here, I’ll go grab us some coffee.”

When she climbs back up, cold, morning air greets her and curls around her bare legs. But Emma cannot bring herself to complain. In fact, she can barely bring herself to form any coherent thoughts.

Because, see, the thing is Killian Jones -- her boyfriend, as we’ve mentioned before -- has opened wide the windows and is currently on all fours, busy fluffing her pillow, on top of her already tightly made bed.

Emma blinks, swallows, tries her best to contain the panic birthing inside her throat, ready to roar out of her mouth.

It’s just Killian. It’s just him. It’s just him.

Although her legs seem to burn with the urge to run, flee, disappear, she breathes in deeply, it’s just us, forces a smile on her face and clears her throat to signal her presence.

All it takes to quiet down the voices are his eyes gazing into hers as he turns his face.

And she says, “You didn’t have to make the bed”, but she means something else, something that she isn’t ready to voice, that she is terrified to even think.

And he smiles back at her, rolling back to her side, and she can tell in his “Don’t worry about it, love,” as he springs to his feet and to her lips that he heard it anyway.

As things turn out, Killian makes a far better bed than Emma ever could, and Mary Margaret is quite pleased.

“I have never seen your room so tidy,” she exclaims on delivering a hot cocoa to Emma who is still busy with sheriff files.

Feet propped on her desk, Emma shrugs and scans the room while this silly, little warm bubble of happiness swells inside her chest.

“Well, yeah, Killian always makes sure everything is in order when he--” and abruptly cuts herself.

Emma’s cheeks flush a bright pink then, what the hell was she about to say? and Mary Margaret’s cough is another poor attempt to hide her grin.

“I see...Well, I’ll leave you to it. Say hi to Killian if you see him tonight.”

Emma means to tell her that she absolutely doesn’t want to talk about her boyfriend with her mother, of all people, and she isn’t sixteen anymore and she shouldn’t feel this embarassed, but instead she just smiles, giggles a bit even, for fuck’s sake, and exhales: “Sure.”

And if she wants to slap her own face with her own two hands afterwards, it’s only because this is new and terrifying and the happiest she’s been in ages.

When she sleeps over on the Jolly Roger, and she wakes up to his side of the bed empty, a good sailor wakes up with the sun love, she tries to make the bed like he does...and fails, miserably.

“For both of our sakes, Swan, please leave the bed to me.”

And she wants to be mad, fists on hips, but instead a rare, childlike laughter rattles her ribs as she pounces on top of him and they both land onto the bed.

“What’s the point of having a neatly made bed if we’re going to mess it up anyway?” she grins against his lips, and then kisses him more, and more. She cannot get enough of his kisses.

He chuckles, too. It’s a wonderful sound.

“Point taken, Swan.”

And as she backs away to slowly delve into his eyes, Emma thinks she might need to hear it for the rest of her life, or else she might wither like the poets do.

(When he leaves, she doesn’t wither like the poets do. Emma figures she should have known, should have known that the metaphor was far too delicate and gentle, should have known that death would be fire and ashes and void -- oh, so much void, where he used to live in her heart.

When he leaves, she burns, she breaks, she collapses to the ground in a deafening bang, but she most absolutely does not wither.)

The first time, it is a parallel universe and it doesn’t count, it isn’t real, and she gets to hold him a few hours later, and squeeze him, as hard as she can, against her heart, and she doesn’t say it, then.

Although his smile weakens he lets her love him this way -- with her fragile, imperfect, scarred fingers that tremble even as she brushes his cheeks.

She doesn’t know how else to love him.

(He also loses her, that night. She tends to forget it. That she isn’t the only one bleeding, that he also lost his love when she took on the darkness in a flash of light. He also lost her.)

In Camelot, they share a room.

Although Dark Ones do not sleep she remains by his side most nights, and she watches him.

As the moon and the stars illuminate his skin, trace the shape of his face and dust his cheeks of constellations, she thinks about the time he died, only it wasn’t real but it could have been, and she thinks about how precious he is to her and that death should not be able to touch love, death should remain very far and hidden from her because god knows what she’ll do to keep him by her side.

She brushes a stubborn strand of hair from his forehead and brushes her lips against his warm skin, once, twice, thrice. I love you. I love you. I love you. In his slumber, he smiles.

She loves him. It is the only light in her darkness.

The second time, he lays asleep in a middlemist flower field. She doesn't let him sleep. She wakes him up.

He hates her for it. No one likes to be awoken in the middle of the night, in the middle of an eternal, ghastly night.

When Emma is alone in this big, enormous house, she is quite thankful Dark Ones do not need sleep. She doesn’t have to make the bed. But she does stare at it, the bed where they should be both lying down, curled up together, warm and comfortable and happy.

She stares at it and she remembers his sleepy smile under the golden morning light, not two months ago, she remembers his blue eyes disappearing, one instant, behind yellow sheets that danced in the air between them, she remembers how much love she had seen in his eyes and how much it had frightened her.

She isn’t afraid anymore. Her fingers have stopped shaking.

She only hopes she isn’t too late.

(She is, of course, she is but that will take some time to sink in.)

The third time, she sleeps on the couch, warm fingers against the cold silver of the ring he gave her.

“The Dark One is immortal. Emma isn’t. Bring her home to me.”

Her heart pounds inside her chest for the first time in weeks and it bumps against her ribs, it rattles, it begs, it cries: what is the point anymore? What is the point?

She sleeps on the couch.

It would be too much to withstand to wake up in her bed and forget that he is gone, stretch a hand and not meet his, stretch a leg and only find void, nothing, and remember it all, suddenly -- and stretch the bed cover and find her muscles sore and lonely and how the hell did she manage to do that alone?

She sleeps on the couch.

Until she stands up and decides Orpheus was right and strides to fetch him from Hell.

Is she meant to turn around, and lose him forever? Is there no other ending?

It can’t be. It can’t be, not when his skin still tastes like his skin, and his eyes are still blue and real and he is here with her, and they are going to make it out of there alive, together.

Orpheus failed. She won’t.

She does.

She fails. Again.

She leaves him behind. And when she turns around, her father’s fingers clutched around hers, tugging, tugging, Emma we have to go, she doesn’t even get to see him one last time.

She swallows broken pieces of glass and happy endings and true love, and she suffocates because it is the fourth time and she cannot breathe and this cannot possibly be the end, they deserve time, more time --

-- We already got more time than we were ever meant to.

The day she buries him, she’s staring at her unmade bed when, for the first time, she realizes, understands, that there will be no getting him back this time.

That his warm fingers will not close over her knuckles, his stubborn little sigh, as he mumbles not like this Swan, you have to really tug, just like that…

Her fingers will forever remain stretched, ready to grasp, hold, treasure... but there is nothing left to reach.

Tears burn her eyes as she stares at the stubborn piece of fabric in her hands that will not be properly tucked in.

A breath, a sigh, a sob shaking her spine.

She should have paid attention when he was explaining. Should have remembered the steps. Instead, she stared at him and his mouth and his eyelashes in this golden light and thought she would have him forever.

She thought they would have their happily ever after, so why bother with making a bed?

But now he is gone and she is unable to make the bed like he does, used to -- oh god, will this ever get easier? -- and her fingers have nowhere to hold anymore, nowhere to reach, nowhere to be.

It does. It gets easier.

As things turn out, Fate has other plans than death for Killian Jones.

Emma is forever grateful.

(Their nights are still haunted by terror and grief, but that’s quite alright.

Because, see, every morning, no matter the stormy night they just spent, no matter the nightmares and cries and screams, well every morning they make the bed together, and Emma actually pays attention when he explains, she’s learned her lesson, and they get to face the rest of their lives together.)

#cs ff #cs fanfics #captain swan #amy writes #my stuff #killiansprincss #im sorry i'm taking forever on those prompts but im trying :'))#much loove xxxx

64 notes · View notes

obutsuwrites · 4 years

Text

weak (villain!bakugo x f!reader)

summary: “You… you left me those letters. Why?” Words were intangible and hopeless. The woman’s mind too tainted with dread to form coherency.

“Why? Why?! I’m in love with you,” Ground Zero began, “You’re so fucking stupid. No wonder you didn’t fight me. Too damned weak… and that’s why you need me.” xxx very self indulgent smut with a side of sex pollen and dubcon oops

inspired by this!

word count: 5,394

warnings: yandere elements, non-consensual groping, sex pollen, dubcon, light stalking, loss of virginity, degradation, smut, rough sex

my ao3 for more shitposts

my ko-fi~!

The day began mundanely; a daily commute to work. To a job that slowly sucked away her vitality. ‘Such a bother,’ she thought as tired eyes watched scenery blur into splotches of dull greens and earth tones. Even captivating landscapes failed to bring the office worker to life. A sigh dislodged itself from her, the sound light and careless. Days muddied into weeks. No promotions. No difference in commute. No excitement. Was that what she was looking for?

Her only respite from the banality were the bizarre letters. Originally, there was only one; a heartfelt declaration of love tucked within a neat envelope. The penmanship was precise and delicate, as if the parchment was fragile. Every note was handled with obvious care, but the woman didn’t attempt to reply. There was never a return address and that aspect terrified her; an unwanted admirer brave enough to personally deliver letters. No reply led to hateful scribbles. Scrawled calligraphy that carried declarations of delusion and threats to defile her. Flowery language now replaced with nausea.

The woman shifted in her seat, now unable to get comfortable. Shivers crawled through her veins like electricity. She wanted the letters to stop, but… ‘It’s the only interesting thing I have.’ The thought made her feel pathetic. There was no doubt the sender was a creep -- a real fucking freak, and maybe that was their saving grace. The woman hated the letters. Seeing the bright maroon envelope only brought a sour taste, leaving her mouth salivating. A glint of fear in her eyes and knees weak. And yet, the woman found herself scanning every letter; every affirmation and curse. No two notes were the same. ‘Maybe that’s the excitement of it.’ A smile tugged at her lips.

┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈

She awoke with a start, an eerie feeling finding residency in her stomach. ‘Did I miss my stop? Did I miss my fucking stop?!’ Small hands scrambled to organize. Her bag had shifted in her sleep. Papers and pens now littered across her lap. Embarrassed, pink decorated the woman’s cheeks, lips pulled into a thoughtful pout. Anxious eyes glanced at the train clock.

12 p.m.

“You’re fucking me.” It was excusable to miss work by several minutes, her employer was understanding of public transportation. But this? This was several hours. A death sentence. Frustrated, the woman balled up loose paper and tossed it against the ceiling. As soon as the parchment made contact against the meal roofing, a piercing crack buzzed through the air. It was a sound she had heard before, but only on news programs. Sounds of S-rated villain Ground Zero.

Fear flooded the woman’s system. Her arms felt heavy and impossible; appendages made of cement. The scattered populace within her section recognized the danger and began to clamber towards exits. Human cattle that trampled one other to escape. Death by stomping didn’t seem as horrific as Ground Zero. He wasn’t a man, but a quirk wielding monster. His explosions could level cities -- have leveled cities. The villain was unstoppable; his only rival, the number one pro hero Deku, even struggled against him. Victory was bloody and never guaranteed.

‘But Deku isn’t here.’ The woman’s stomach ached at the thought, goosebumps blossomed under her flesh. Instinct mandated she should run -- she was trapped here. Like dying prey. At least the other people in her carriage possessed some sort of quirk; mutant based abilities were most common among her generation, but she was quirkless. A freak in her own right, the trait she shared with the unwanted lover.

Another boom echoed, he was closer now, the sound harsh and overwhelming. A dull throb spread through the woman’s ears, ‘How is he not fucking deaf?!’ The proximity allowed adrenaline to finally engulf her. Heavy limbs moved as she clambered to her fellow passengers. A handful of people remained now, far less than before. They pushed against each other, against her, as desperate bodies tried to squeeze into an exit.

Unable to contain her voice, the woman shouted, “We -- we can’t fucking trample like this!” ‘Please, please, please fucking move,’ she pleaded; her mind tainted with dread. A primal fear that rotted in her chest. The salary woman's lungs burned for oxygen. She was going to be strangled of air and die like a rat trapped in a cage.

Anguished fists pounded against the man before her. His back was too broad and muscled to squeeze past, a hulking goliath she would die under.

“Move you fucking asshole!”

A final thunderous blast erupted to the woman’s right, her ears rang from the closeness. She could smell him now; caramel and smoke. The smell was putrid and caused her nose to scrunch in disgust. The smell of death.

There was an ample hole -- almost perfectly circular -- to her right. Smoke and sunlight mixed together, forming a sheen of orange tinted darkness. The woman heaved at the sight, ‘Too close. He’s too fucking close!’ Silence resided in the train now, the few occupants robbed of speech. Their tongues tied by the arrival of S-rated villain Ground Zero.

She avoided looking at him as trembling hands palmed through her pockets. ‘I can’t make it out like this. He’s too close. I -- at least, I can delay him.’ The realization stung. A loud stomp punctuated his arrival within the compartment. The sound hardened her resolve; fingers now laced around a shitty keychain pepper spray. It was cheap and never meant for real protection. A simple reminder of safety.

The woman pivoted to face the villain, determined to stand her ground.

“Hey! Hey, asshole!” She sounded unafraid, a stark contrast to the white knuckles that gripped the pepper spray. The trembling was instinctual now.

Violent, maroon eyes scanned her; the phantom of a smile on his face. His eyes held blood lust, like a lion’s during the hunt.

Swiftly, the woman produced the keychain and released a thick spray aimed at the villain. A deep grunt rattled from Ground Zero and gloved hands flew to his face.

His eyes snapped open; furious and bloodshot. The look of a predator. Webs of slobber connected his hands and mouth. Slimy and thick. Ground Zero’s characteristic snarl no longer existed; his expression now neutral with bits of anguish. The woman thought he looked heartbroken, as if he was hurt. As if he didn’t expect her to spray him.

She swallowed the pool of saliva in her mouth. Fear ignited itself in her system like a wildfire. Every nerve was begging to run and run and run until her legs ached and bile scratched at her throat.

“You stupid bitch!” His tone was animalistic and fiery. Deep and thunderous like a storm. Strong hands gripped the woman’s wrists. Hot brands that threatened to crush her. Ground Zero jerked the woman to him, her head bumping against his toned chest. The small crowd within the train stood imprisoned by horror. Tears fell onto the crown of her head, the villain unable to control his watering eyes.

‘I need to get out. I need to get out.’ Erratic thoughts assaulted her mind. She couldn’t control the volume nor intensity of her dread. Impulsive things that ate into her psyche.

“We’re going,” Ground Zero shouted and began to drag the salary woman through the now smoldering hole he created. Smoke and burning debris greeted her; silent tears gathered around the corners of her eyes. ‘I won’t give him the satisfaction.’ She knew how dangerous the man was, struggling would delay her death. She could only deny him the pleasure of shaking and heaving in fear.

Ground Zero looked down at the woman and released her wrists. A gloved hand instead snaked around her waist, grip impossibly tight. “Don’t struggle or I’ll fuckin’ drop you.” An explosion sounded under them, triggering a yelp. Refusing to look down, she buried her face within his clothed chest. The scent of caramel and smoke burned her nostrils. Shaky hands grasped the villain’s suit. Knuckles white and taunt. Wind cut into her face as Ground Zero trekked through the air. The woman’s ears throbbed from the explosions. ‘How can this freak even hear?! ’

┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈

“Stay,” the villain commanded as the couple landed atop a rundown warehouse. This area of the city was unknown to the office worker. Rundown and foreign. Escaping felt impossible now. The woman’s mind visualized her future; body burnt and left abandoned in a shitty warehouse. Her body now food for rats and the earth.

“Am I going to die?” Her voice was small, with speckles of anxiety. She tried to mask her fear, but it was all consuming now. The afternoon was set against the sky. Vibrant oranges that almost hurt to look at. ‘At least it’s pretty when I die. ’

Ground Zero released the woman from his grasp. Her waist hurt from his deathly clasp. He had held her like gold; a treasure he didn’t want to lose.

“No, you fucking idiot,” the man replied, his voice loud and thunderous. He sounded annoyed by the question, as if it were obvious she wouldn’t be harmed. Ground Zero’s lips pulled into a tight scowl, his face tear-streaked and red. He looked like a wounded predator; dangerous and unhinged. Pepper spraying the villain seemed to have angered him further.

The rooftop wasn’t remarkable, except for a skylight that was open, letting in fresh air and the setting sun. It looked new and out of place. Obviously an installment by Ground Zero. ‘A handyman and a monster.’ Ground Zero stopped in front of the skylight and dropped into the building below. Unsure if she should simply jump to her death, the woman decided to follow the villain. Her knees scraped against a dirty floor as she landed. The inside of the warehouse looked as decrepit as it’s outside. Rust decorated bare walls and drops of water echoed.

The man stood with his back to her as he spoke, “Why didn’t you reply?!” Ground Zero’s voice wasn’t anything less than a yell and yet carried the undertone of hurt and anguish.

His question finally clicked for the woman; ‘Oh my god. He sent the fucking letters.’ Goosebumps crept up her arms and shivers crawled down her spine. The feeling was almost painful. A primal feeling that left her exposed and afraid. This man -- this villain -- was responsible for the letters of admiration and desperation? Ground Zero was known for his impulsive nature and brutality. A monster she provoked.

“You… you left me those letters. Why?” Words were intangible and hopeless. The woman’s mind too tainted with dread to form coherency.

“Why? Why?! I’m in love with you,” Ground Zero began, “You’re so fucking stupid. No wonder you didn’t fight me. Too damned weak … and that’s why you need me.” His voice increased in volume as he spoke, ending in a crescendo of a scream. He was almost human like this; a man frustrated and pained. The villain sighed and regained his composure. “Don’t fucking move.”

His footsteps reverberated as he stomped towards the woman. She sat on the concrete and held her bruised knees to her chest, eyes memorizing the floor. The woman was in no shape to run. She knew how fast the villain was.

Ground Zero grabbed her chin and forced the woman to look at him. Hungry red eyes wide with excitement. Dark glints of anger held within.

“I know you’re a quirkless little bitch.”

Thin lips pulled into a carnivorous smile. A predator now left with wounded prey. Smiles -- as she knew -- shouldn’t hold such contempt and thrill.

No light or joy were held in her eyes. An inky abyss that left Ground Zero speechless. A part of him -- deep inside -- craved to see the woman like this. Broken and afraid under his boot.

“Okay,” the salary worker whimpered. Her heart felt heavy now. Dread no longer sat in her veins, the iciness replaced by a dull apathy. Escape was never an option.

The villain released her face, satisfied by her complacency. Crimson eyes wandered to the bruises that decorated her knees, a cosmic mess of purple and red. Blood speckled her wounds. Ground Zero found himself wanting to lap at the blood and circle his tongue around the injuries. Without thought, Ground Zero rubbed a hand against the wound, eliciting a whine from the woman.

“Stop. That hurts…” Her voice wasn’t anything above a whisper.

Ground Zero smacked his hand against her knee, obviously annoyed. The woman bit her lip to muffle a cry.

“I can’t fucking hear you,” he snarled and held his hand over her knee. He was poised to punish her if he deemed the response inadequate.

She wanted to appeal to his humanity. “Ground Zero, please stop that hurts.” This was the most polite the woman ever was. Her voice was shaky and apathetic, but carried traits of a feigned kindness. Would she have to beg? Scream prayers that would never be answered?

Quickly, the villain released her knee, allowing the damaged limb to fall against the concrete. “Call me Katsuki,” his breath was hot against her face, “Clean yourself up. Or are you too fucking useless to do that yourself?” Katsuki hoped he could wash her wounds himself. He wanted to imprint himself against her skin and never let go. Even touching her knee sent his heart into rapid palpitations that hammered against his rib cage. His head pounded with the blood coursing through his ears.

Ground Zero -- an S-rated villain -- kidnaps her and has the audacity to belittle her. The salary worker felt her chest blossom with a heated rage that replaced the dull, apathetic ache. She had pepper sprayed him and stood her ground despite being quirkless. ‘I’m not going to let this freak wash me,’ she thought.

“No. I know how to disinfect wounds, Katsuki,” the woman replied; his name left a sour taste in her mouth and dripped with venom. Heated eyes regarded the villain, waiting for a response.

Katsuki said nothing, opting to instead stand and walk towards a neatly stacked display of water bottles. She hadn’t noticed the mountain before; her eyes too intent on the floor. Looking around the room now, the woman noted the modest abode. A ratty mattress sat off to the side of a makeshift living area, the entire setup looking out of place against the cobwebs and dust.

“I’ll clean your dumbass myself,” Katsuki announced, “Strip.” His heart continued to pound in his chest, excitement boiling in his veins. He had dreamed of this; of seeing his beloved nude and waiting for him. Smoke sparked in his palms from impatience. The sight of the salary woman caused his palms to sweat too much, allowing for extra nitroglycerin to mingle and create sparks.

“I said I can do it myself. Are you deaf?” Once the question left her mouth, the office worker clamped a small, shaky hand over it. She knew the mistake she made. He could burn her alive, ‘He could burn this place down if he wanted to.’

The roar of a laugh vibrated from Katsuki, the laugh of a madman.

“My explosions are fuckin’ loud. I know you’re stupid, but I didn’t think you were this goddamn dumb. It’s hearing loss, sweetheart.” The way he said sweetheart felt vicious, like a threat. It made the salary woman's skin prickle.

Being so vulnerable in front of him -- in front of a villain caused goosebumps to settle underneath her skin. Little beads of anxiety and fear. Spit pooled at the back of her throat; bile that wanted to rise and overcome her. The woman swallowed the thick liquid and nodded. A small, meek action. She felt impossibly insignificant. Trembling hands began to slowly peel off her sweat drenched clothing. The cotton material wanted nothing more than to glue itself to her flesh.

Katsuki rolled his eyes, unable to hide his annoyance. She would come to want this -- to want him.

“If you’re gonna be so fucking slow, I’ll do it.” Heavy footsteps echoed as the villain stalked his prey. His calloused hands gripped the woman’s blouse and ripped the material. Clammy skin shivered under the cool air. A gust had worked its way into the room, perhaps a sign of their altitude. He instinctively palmed her now exposed chest and ran a finger over her collarbone, earning a shiver from his captive. ‘She’s as soft as I imagined.’ The villain absentmindedly hummed, allowing his hands to roam over her clothed breasts. Katsuki’s touch elicited a muffled sigh from the woman. She didn’t want to hide a sound from him. Far too risky with napalm hands memorizing her form, but she grew impatient.

“It’s -- it’s my knees,” the salary worker advised. Her body felt ablaze from the villain’s hands. An inferno that ended between her thighs. A man hadn’t touched her like this before, her skin only knowing curt handshakes and platonic hugs. His touch felt almost sinful. Like a brand that scarred her skin.

The pressure of his palms was replaced by nails. It was a searing pain and pulled a soft yowl from the salary worker. Katsuki found himself pleased with the sound and continued to dig his nails into supple flesh.

“Do you see what you do to me?” The question wasn’t meant for her. No, it was self reflection. An impossible question the young man wondered as he left vicarious love notes that went unanswered. Thinking back to her response -- or lack of -- caused Katsuki’s blood to boil; lava that burned his veins.

Unable to handle the pain any longer, the woman swatted his hand away. An act of defiance she knew she would grow to regret. His hands felt too hot and reeked of caramel. The smell was traditionally pleasant; a smell reminiscent of sweets, but instead, it left her queasy and nervous.

Snapped from his fantasy, Katsuki’s large hands traveled down the woman’s form, ending at her bruised knees. “Whatever. Stay still,” the villain commanded as he produced a worn rag and began to dab at the wounds. The lukewarm water felt pleasant against scraped knees, the flesh irritated and hot. She hummed from the relief.

“You like that?” His face was twisted into a smug grin. ‘See? You’ll learn to love me.’

Embarrassed, the salary worker turned her head away as she spoke, “It just feels good. Guess you don’t have gauze.” It was meant as a joke -- a means to relieve the feverous atmosphere. His eyes still held lust, but his hands were gentle as Katsuki worked.

“No, but I have this,” Katsuki replied and further tore her blouse, the woman’s entire front now exposed to the villain. Before she could respond, Katsuki wrapped a strip around both knees. The material was too thin and eventually crimson would bleed through, but the blond admired his handiwork. She looked so fragile like this. The complete opposite of the woman who pepper sprayed him.

His gaze was piercing and uncomfortable. The woman shrunk under it and wanted to evaporate from existence. ‘Anything,’ she reasoned, ‘would be better than this.’

Katsuki’s hand still rested on the woman’s knee. He couldn’t bear to deny himself the sensation of her. She was like water he desperately needed. An oasis within a hellish desert… All his. Strong hands traced the curve of the salary woman’s knee and ended on her thigh. She was soft here, too. The woman was a stuffed toy; only for him.

“Move your hand,” she began, “please.” It was a simple request, one that she hoped the man before her would honor. Asking him like this -- like a sniveling child -- was demeaning. Begging wasn’t a usual characteristic. The woman considered herself more of a spitfire, despite the lack of a quirk. A trait that drew the villain to her.

The blond ignored her and continued to stroke her thigh. His crimson eyes no longer held carnal desires, replaced by a listful glint. Little cherries devoid of emotion. “Shut up. You don’t know when to shut the fuck up, do you? Just enjoy it, kitten.” Katsuki’s last sentence carried a gentle tone, unlike the brutish voice his captive was accustomed to. He sounded normal; like a young lover caressing his sweetheart. Not the monster of a man that kidnapped her and left red, angry impressions of his nails. His hands were comforting and the salary worker found herself leaning into his hand. Being touched was uncommon and left her touch-starved, but being touched like this felt infinite.

Katsuki’s heart began to pick up in pace again, the organ now hammering in his chest. He allowed his warm hands to wander to her heated center and palmed her clothed crotch. The sudden touch caused a mewl to escape the woman. A soft and quiet sound that Katsuki strained to hear. Blood pulsed through his ears from the sound. His ears reddened and light rogue across his cheeks.

“This,” the villain gently slapped her crotch, “is mine.” The sentence came out as a growl. Hungry and predatory. “You’re mine. Say it!”

Unable to avoid the blush across her cheeks the woman nodded, strands of hair cascading down her shoulders. ‘Why do I feel like this? Why am I letting him do this?’ A part of the woman hated herself for it. It was weak. Only a weak minded woman would allow a villain to feel her up in a dingy warehouse.

“See? You’re too fuckin’ weak to even answer. Want me to undress ya, baby?” Katsuki finally began to rub the woman’s clothed core. “Say it!”

Her tongue was dry and tight. Saliva evaporated and she struggled to speak, “N-no…”

The blond’s hands suddenly left her wanting core, causing the woman to stifle a whine of disappointment. “No? No?! I touch you, make you feel good, and you won’t even fucking give a damn. Don’t care about anyone but yourself, huh? Fine.” She missed his warm hands. A lack of warmth that made her feel dirty. Katsuki reached into his pocket and revealed a small orange handkerchief. “I didn’t wanna use this goddamn thing on you, but you’re making me, kitten.”

A wave of shock splashed across the woman’s face. Eyes impossibly wide and afraid. ‘He’s going to drug me!’

“You don’t --” Her sentence was muffled and lost by soft fabric pressed against her mouth. The scent of flowers wafted from the material. She held back the urge to choke and splutter, the smell too floral and nauseating, as if the villain shoved her face into a rose bush. Her breath was hot against Katsuki’s palm and caused blood to rush between his thighs. He resisted the carnal urge to trace the salary worker’s lips. They felt like delicate petals underneath the handkerchief. A plush gift only for him.

A part of Katsuki hated himself for this. He didn’t want to use this; it was his final option. He didn’t like to think of himself as desperate like this… She… She should understand how much -- how fucking much he loves her! His heart didn’t ache and hammer in his chest for anyone else. The feelings he experienced were foreign at first. A woman had never made the villain florid and shy, but this pathetic woman brought forth lewd thoughts that consumed him. Like a fire he couldn’t extinguish.

She struggled against the blond’s grip. His strong hands felt heavy, like weights that threatened to crush her. After inhaling the sickeningly sweet handkerchief, the woman’s body began to heat up; a fever she couldn’t escape. Sweat beaded against her skin. Sticky and humid. Rapid breathing slowed into soft, agonizing pants. Sounds that Katsuki cherished, sounds he had dreamt of. The uncomfortable warmth spread down the salary woman’s body and ended between her thighs. The sensation was familiar, almost like the heat from Katsuki’s touch, but somehow more intense. More needy.

“Please…” Her voice sounded alien and lustful. A tone of voice she hadn’t used before. The sensation between her thighs only bloomed once the villain removed the handkerchief and traced his calloused fingers over gentle lips. ‘She’s so soft. So soft and wanting.’ “Please,” she begged again, “t-touch me, Katsuki.” The woman was unable to stifle her plea, her sentence loud and wanting.

Without responding, thin lips locked her in a feverish kiss, afraid to lose the woman. His teeth gnawed at plush lips and left red welts in their wake. The beginnings of Katsuki marking his property. Large, calloused hands roamed her form; desperate to memorize the valleys and curves of his captive’s frame. He lacked the gentleness of a lover.

Breaking the kiss, Katsuki growled, “This is mine. You’re mine.” To prove his point, the villain’s nails dug into her fleshy thighs and elicited a groan. Encouraged by the woman, Katsuki’s palms traveled to the woman’s chest and began to grope her breasts. Unable to muffle herself, the woman allowed a moan to escape. The sound was angelic and ethereal and left Katsuki throbbing for more. Roughly, the villain took a delicate breast into his mouth, his tongue swirling around his captive’s sensitive nub. Her sounds of pleasure echoed off the walls, lewd sounds that Katsuki had dreamed of.

“Don’t stop…” She grinded her feverish body against the blond, causing his muscles to clench. “You -- you feel so good, Katsuki.” Without agency, small hands began to trail down Katsuki’s toned body. He fit perfectly against her, ‘Maybe it’s fate,’ she thought. Her mind buzzed and hazy from the handkerchief.

A satisfying ‘pop’ sounded as Katsuki released her breast. He turned his attention to the woman’s neck and began to suck on the supple flesh. Katsuki needed to brand her as his. A woman that belonged only to him. The blond left a trail of hickies as he sucked and kissed her neck. She palmed at his hair, pulling and ruffling the soft strands. The pressure -- the burning pressure between her thighs ached, leaving her frantic for relief. Her other hand crawled in between her thighs and rubbed her clothed crotch. ‘It’s too hot. I need… I need relief. ’

She whined when the blond suddenly removed his hot, wet mouth from her sensitive breast. He reached down and swatted the woman’s hand away from her sweltering core. “I’ll make you feel good. So fucking good.” A warm hand stroked her swollen lips and circled around her mound. Embarrassed by her blatant need for release, a blush crept across her face. ‘Let me make you feel good, too.’ Inexperienced hands trailed down Katsuki’s muscular form, stopping between his thighs. She gripped the villain’s clothed member and began to stroke him. A guttural groan rattled from his throat. Thunderous and vibrating his chest.

Katsuki mumbled her name against her skin, his breath clammy and humid. She felt a jolt of excitement shoot through her. Her name on his lips was euphoric. A mortal being acknowledged by divinity. Katsuki’s palm ignited atop the woman’s crotch -- burning her garments. The salary worker yelped from the sudden spark, her mind still hazy and wanton. She shuddered as a thick finger pressed against her entrance. Katsuki wanted to draw out every sound from her, but his lust proved too powerful. He shoved the finger inside and began to quickly pump into the woman. Brutal and forlorn. Her breathing was reduced to hectic puffs, the woman unable to regulate herself. A calloused finger traced circles around her clit, the stimulation sending her into a frenzy of moans and huffs. Unable to close her mouth, drool began to dribble down her exposed chest.

“Katsuki…”

“Yeah, baby? Ya want my cock? Say it,” the blond demanded. His tone gruff and obviously excited. “Tell me how badly you fuckin’ want it. Beg.”

She hated being this needy -- this reliant on a villain. A man that wanted to violate her -- was violating her in a dirty, abandoned building. The salary woman hadn’t been touched like this before, but the fire between her legs roared for him. For Katsuki.

Swallowing the saliva in her mouth, the woman mumbled, “Katsuki, I want you.”

Katsuki withdrew his finger from her wet cunt. It left her wanting and empty. Only Katsuki could fulfill her. She whined and grabbed onto the villain’s shirt, desperate for his touch again.

He wiped his soaking hand against her plush thighs. “No. Say it.” A rough hand reached up and clasped around the woman’s throat. Almost like a warning. A threat. ‘Don’t do anything you’ll regret, sweetheart.’

“Please fuck me. Please. Please. Please,” she begged. Words spilled forth from her like a spring. It physically hurt to not have her aching core stimulated. Her body was burning and Katsuki was the well that would extinguish her.

Instead of a reply, the blond only grunted. She reminded him of a virgin first exploring the landscape of a man. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you? No one would fuck you, huh? Too damned shy and weak, kitten.” Katsuki moved swiftly to undress, the man now standing nude and proud. Her eyes crept down his nude frame. A shameless act she would otherwise not allow.

‘Touch me. Touch me, touch me, touch me.’ The thoughts assaulted her as Katsuki ran a finger down her body, eliciting a shudder of anticipation. His fingers hovered over the woman’s entrance. Her cunt was soaking, but Katsuki wanted to stretch her further. Without mercy, he plunged two fingers into her sensitive core. His captive cried out in shock and slight pain. One finger had made her feel full, but two left the woman feeling stuffed. Little droplets of tears cascaded down her cheeks as meaty fingers mercilessly pumped into her.

“Don’t be such a fucking baby,” Katsuki chided, adding a third finger. He continued his vigorous pace. The villain was unswayed by her blatant discomfort. “Relax, dumbass.” As if on cue, the woman melted into Katsuki’s touch. His fingers pumping in and out, the squelching noise vibrating through the room. Three fingers now curled inside her, causing a long wanton moan to rattle from the woman. “Just like that, kitten.”

A part of her wanted the villain’s encouragement. She wanted his rough hands to lay waste to her body and claim her as his. She… She wanted him.

“Please fuck me, Katsuki,” she moaned into the blond’s hair.

‘Finally.’ Katsuki slid his fingers from her heated, drenched core and lined his cock up at her entrance. “Hold still.” His member sheathed into her with ease and slowly began to roll his hips against the woman. Their sweat mingled together; the scent of caramel and perspiration drifting around the room. Her body finally felt complete. The sweltering heat wave no longer threatened to burn her alive. Katsuki was her saving grace. A waterfall she plunged into. Slowly, Katsuki picked up his pace. His hips now slapped against hers, the sound loud and sickening. She knew -- she knew this was wrong, and yet her body craved the villain and wanted to savor every push into her wanting cunt.

The woman snaked a delicate hand down her body and stroked her clit; little circles that only intensified her need. She felt a bundle of pleasure start to build within her stomach; the feeling foreign and yet blissful.

“F-faster.”

Katsuki rammed himself into her cunt, loudly swearing and panting. Like a dog in heat. “You feel so fucking good. Your pussy was made for me, kitten.” His voice rumbled from his chest; deep and guttural. Primal. A predator finally seeking their claws into prey.

Unable to withhold her pleasure any longer, the pressure erupted as waves of euphoria crashed into her. Her mind slowly started to seep back into reality. The reality of a villain -- a monster -- buried within her now hypersensitive cunt. Fear swelled in the woman’s eyes; nervous and trapped.

“Don’t,” she pleaded, “Please, dont.” Tears stung in her vision. Katsuki appeared blurry and carnal; like a man possessed. ‘Don’t cum in me. Not here. Not with you.’

“I gotta st-stop, baby. I’m gonna fuckin’ cum.” The last word came out a whimper as the woman felt her juices mix with the blond’s cum. An unholy union of bodies and filth. She choked out a sob, the woman unable to hold back her agony.

Katsuki brought a finger to her lips and softly shushed her. “I know, baby. I know. You’re just so happy you’re all mine.”

#katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #yandere #yandere bnha #bakugo katsuki #smut #villain!au #villain bakugo

184 notes · View notes

writersindigestion · 4 years

Text

taken | edward nygma x reader

“beware of the snakes.”

reader gender: female

word count: 2464

warnings: drugs, violence, suicidal ideation, abuse

notes: i mean, y’all wanted him back, didn’t ya?

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE

Vaguely, she remembered someone handing her a doggy bag, and being driven to the precinct, where she was promptly handcuffed to a cot. She was vastly unimpressed with this treatment, and made it a point to everyone who so much as walked into the med bay. “What the fuck is this? Shouldn’t I be at, I don’t know… A real hospital?” [Y/N] inquired unhappily, rattling her cuffs around - just to annoy her caretakers, of course.

Unfortunately, Dr. Thompkins was the one watching over her, for the most part, and she was very close to smacking her patient for being so insufferable.“You’re under 48-hour suicide watch. They brought you here, because they thought this was the best place to keep you safe, as well as the people around you,” Lee explained, peeling off a pair of thick, plastic gloves with practiced monotony.

[Y/N] tried to cross her arms, but was restricted by the metal cuffs. A discontented scowl made its across her face, she settled again for making as much noise as physically possible with her restraints. “Yeah, yeah - I get it,” She deadpanned, staring blankly ahead of her, “Aren’t they better prepared to deal with suicidal patients at, I don’t know… A real hospital?”

Lee wasn’t pleased, “The order came from a higher authority - I had nothing to do with it. Evidently, my medical opinion doesn’t matter.” She scrutinized her patient for a moment. “How are you feeling?”

The detained woman stopped rattling just long enough to think past her own indignance. A higher authority? It was obvious who that was, regardless of how vague the title. What did he gain from her being at the precinct? What did she lose by being at the precinct? “What higher authority? Why do they want me here?” She was starting to sound like a paranoid addict - which, she was, but that didn’t mean she had to admit it. “I’m terrible. Thank you for asking. How are you? Why am I here?”

Dr. Thompkins’ face grew more serious, and she pulled a stool up next to the bed. “I’m just fine, [Y/N],” She replied, her brow knotted tightly together, “It’s not really my place to question orders - I do it anyways, but that doesn’t mean I get answers.” The doctor gazed over the other woman, observing her anxious, unfocused expression and jittery movements. She was suicidal - that much seemed obvious, but what was going on beneath, if anything? “You are here, because you seemed very intent on killing yourself not even a few hours ago, to the point where you were fighting the cops and were tased. You are here, because we need to watch over you, and make sure you are safe. Do you understand, or are you worried about something else?”

[Y/N] gritted her teeth at the inquisition, goosebumps rising along her limbs. What did he want? What was his plan? What did he gain from this? She shouldn’t say anything. It wasn’t secure here - or anywhere, really. She shouldn’t say anything. She should say nothing. Not anything, not anything, nothing. Words flew from her lips before she could stop them, “Something else.”

Lee leaned closer to her patient, resting a careful, tender hand on top of the other woman’s. Clearly, there was something wrong, and her charge did not feel safe enough to say what that was. She gripped lightly, trying to draw her attention. “The door is closed - are you afraid of someone seeing you? Or is it something else?”

A short silence. “Something else.”

“The handcuffs are in place to keep you here, so we can watch you, and to help make sure you won’t hurt yourself,” She explained, “Are they too tight? Or is it something else?”

“Something else.”

The doctor searched for more things that could be wrong, running over the situation in her head. She blinked, her eyes catching sight of a small pendant around [Y/N]’s neck - a tiny, no-nonsense heart that rested easily near her sternum. Extending from another cord was a shiny cross. Briefly, she checked the area for burns from the earlier tasing. “... Is it your girlfriend? She tried to see you, but we couldn’t get clearance. We sent Chrysanthemum home, and will be calling periodically to check on her. Is that worrying you? Or is it something else?”

The patient’s fingers curled into a fist, her nails digging into her palms. “... Yes.”

“I can try to get her clearance again, if you want to see her. It will probably go through if I make a case for you. Is that what you want?”

Her answer was immediate, “No. Keep her away.”

Dr. Thompkins was obviously troubled with her vehement demand, and tried once again to wrap her mind around it. What higher authority? Why do they want me here? “Is someone trying to hurt you? Is someone trying to hurt Chryss?”

[YN]’s tongue wrestled with itself, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the thing that was screaming at her temporal lobe. She wanted to tell her. It would be so easy. Who would it put in danger? Her lover? Her doctor? Her old coworkers? Herself, least importantly?

Lee didn’t need a response. She pulled her phone from her pocket, swiftly selecting a number and waiting to hear the series of rings - or better yet, an actual reply. No one would pick up.

She called three times to find no answer.

A door opened to their right, an alert-looking officer striding in. “Dr. Thompkins,” He called, an urgent look on his face, “They need you out there. I was sent in to watch the patient.”

The medical professional glanced between her coworker and her charge, concern creating valleys across her smooth face. She leaned in towards the other woman, giving her hand a squeeze. “I’ll be right back. Yell if you need anything.”

[Y/N]’s heart dropped, a renewed sense of dread washing over her like a tidal wave. As Lee rose from her seat to leave the room, she made a grab for her arm, but the cuffs ceased her movements. She nearly whimpered to see the door swing closed behind the doctor. Her attention redirected to the nameless man she was placed in the care of, a snarl painting itself onto her visage. “Don’t you fucking try anything, cocksucker.”

The man’s mind was adrift with conflict, with confusion, but he had been given orders, and it was his duty as a cop to fulfill them. His face steeled, and he crossed the room to her side, smothering a scream with his palm as he fumbled with a syringe. He tried to keep quiet, tried to keep his trap shut, but it wasn’t in his nature to cause distress in an otherwise harmless person. “I’m really sorry about this,” The officer stuttered, his hand making its way towards the meaty part of her thigh, where he inserted the needle

She did not immediately quiet, like he’d seen in movies and tv, but his ‘superiors’ had warned him about this. He simply kept his hand pressed to her mouth, his free arm stopping her from struggling too much. After only about a minute and a half, he felt the woman in his grasp slowly decompress, and fall lax. The man removed his hands from her personage, taking a step back to observe. It was incredibly unnerving - her eyes were open, though half lidded, and it was easy to pretend she was awake.

Except she still was, barely.

A gurgle rose up from [Y/N]’s throat, and her head lolled to the side, lips parted just slightly. The cop panicked, reaching forward to cover her mouth again. Briefly, he felt her fingers start to curl around his wrist, and he relented.

[Y/N] was fading fast, and had she the mental capacity to feel afraid, she would, but the strongest part of her knew that something had to be done. She had things she needed to say, topics she needed to address - there was a very, very tiny allotment of seconds in which to speak. Operating her tongue had been getting increasingly hard over the past few months, but never before had she been so thoroughly tranquilized that she literally couldn’t talk. Finally, with her mouth stuffed full of rubik's cubes, and her muscles full of cotton balls, she managed to slur out, “He’s gonna hurt me.”

The officer almost screamed himself, hearing the words that she had to say. He panicked four times over, trying to shake the woman awake. A door opened behind them, and his voice lowered to a frantic whisper, “Who? Who?” But she was too far gone this time, her eyes glazed over to meet the figure that entered into the room.

[Y/N] woke up probably twelve hours later, her body wrapped in slimey, icy tendrils and her hair wrenched back. She screamed, squirming away from the tentacles that swarmed her figure, but they only pulled her tighter.

The foreign limbs were scaly and had the strength of 1,000 men, tugging her deeper into their coils with every passing second - no matter how hard she struggled. And they grasped around her throat, coveting every fragile, raspy breath that she tried to draw.

Minutes passed by, though they seemed like hours, and she couldn’t help but feel that her life should have ended several moments before. She was choking, she was unable to breathe, but she still lived, she still struggled. It was just another nightmare that she couldn’t wake from.

Except she was awake - sort of.

Eventually, it occurred to her that someone was speaking - a nearby voice, a cruel, smooth tone. She knew who it was, but who was it? Her consciousness would not allow her to access that part of her memory. The voice continued, rattling on about things she could not comprehend, and all she could do was listen as the tendrils fell away from her body.

“Are you coherent now? Nod if you understand.”

[Y/N] wasn’t sure what coherent meant, still seeing the tails of snakes in the corners of the room. She nodded anyways, breathing heavily against the soft fabric below her. It didn’t feel like her bed.

The other person hummed, a vague sound of disbelief. “If you could see yourself right now, you’d understand why I doubt your coherency very much. It’ll just be a few minutes now.”

None of their words quite held in her perforated headspace, just as they failed to before. She watched the bodies of reptiles creep about the floorboards, her eyes trailing behind each creature. One of them moved close to the bed, winding up the leg of a rustic-looking chair and across the lap of a long, thin man who sat with his ankle atop the opposite knee. The woman almost cried to see the snake disappear behind his figure, and desperately waited for it to return. They almost felt like friends now. She wondered what its name was.

How strange that something so sinister had become an emblem of consistency in her otherwise tumultuous life?

She ran her tongue around the cottony caverns of her mouth, staring just past Edward onto the ornate wallpaper behind him. Her voice was croaky as she spoke, “Am I allowed to ask why I’m here?”

He’d been reading a newspaper, which he folded carefully and placed on the bedside table. His hands clasped together, a quirky little grin etched onto his cheeks. “You may ask whatever you wish - you’re a guest in the mayor’s house, after all.”

[Y/N] narrowed her eyes, the wallpaper still holding her rapt attention. “Why am I here, then?”

“You’re on suicide watch, and the precinct no longer felt that they could care for you,” Ed started, idly checking his watch, “You should be thankful. This was the best alternative.”

She was quickly becoming annoyed, and made a move to sit up before realizing that she’d been strapped - on her stomach, spread-eagle - to the bed she lay on. This distracted her from his vague explanation, if only briefly. “Does the mayor normally let his guests be held captive by his employees?”

“You misunderstand - you’re technically being hospitalized.”

“Yes, because you are the best ‘medical professional’ to watch over a suicidal woman,” [Y/N] deadpanned, “What do you mean by alternative? Where else would I have gone? A real behavioral center? A real hospital?”

“Well, they did mean to send you to Arkham-”

“Arkham?” The female shrieked, lifting her upper body off the mattress to the best of her ability, “I’m not a fucking criminal, Nygma. They would never send me there. I’m not insane, either, unlike your sorry ass.”

Edward’s face cinched dangerously, and he uncrossed his legs, leaning closer to impose on [Y/N]’s space. “You’d do good to watch where you throw words like that - you just might hurt someone’s feelings,” He warned, “And if I remember correctly - you disrupted public peace, assaulted a police officer, and resisted arrest. This town cares little for the mentally unstable, and they’d think little of you as well.”

“You and I both know that’s not true. I want to see a lawyer. There’s no legal way for you to keep me here,” She rattled, grasping at straws that she knew would only be ripped away from her.

“No self-respecting lawyer in Gotham would represent you against the mayor,” Ed countered, “They think of him as a saint for sheltering a poor, suicidal woman rather than letting her rot in the asylum. They think of him as an advocate.”

Frantically, she looked for an argument - as if her fate wasn’t already sealed. Just as she was about to open her mouth, the head of a snake crawled out of his sleeve, its body extending gracefully to the bed. She was immediately entranced by the movement, watching intently as it moved towards her.

The reptile slithered up to her face, greeting [Y/N] with a familiar smile, and she smiled in return, her lips parting over her teeth. It responded by pushing past her gums, pressing down her throat until she swallowed it whole.

Edward watched in amazement as the woman before him choked and gagged on nothing, a deep chuckle rising up from his chest. “Ketamine is a hell of a drug, isn’t it? A perfectly safe tranquilizer - given that you don’t mind the hallucinations upon waking.” He reached forward to wipe the drool from the side of her cheek, and she visibly cringed away from him.

The female breathed heavily, tears welling up in her sinuses as she tried to recover. “You’re the fucking devil, Edward,” She droned, unable to find the energy needed to curse him out like she really wanted to.

#edward nygma x reader #edward nygma fanfiction #gotham fanfiction #dc fanfiction

60 notes · View notes

bonesofapoet · 4 years

Text

Blood of the Holy

[matt murdock x you]

author’s note: hey hi hello, if some of you recognize this format + writing style but not the blog, i used to share my work on my main @ladyofstardvst and caved on making a writing blog. yall dont need to sift through my non-writing shit just to find my work. i’ve never written for this nerd before but here we are with a study of a sort! be kind! i take requests now! tw for blood, implied violence, swearing

word count: 1894

ao3: here

Most people couldn’t stand the neon in the dark.

It was garishly bright, it was harsh, it was annoying at best. The sign would blink and linger behind your eyelids, stain the shadows in the dark like sunspots, make an impression that washed out the relaxing calm, the blanket of the night.

It keeps most people awake, Matt Murdock explained on that very first night. It doesn’t bother me, obviously. Take the bed. It’s not as noticeable in the bedroom.

But it didn’t bother you either. The contrast caught your eye on the second night; the colors would paint the monochromatic neutral tones of the apartment, how they would mix and melt into the chipped brick walls, the trim, the beams of the ceiling. How if you were in the right place – the right cushion on the couch, far enough back into the kitchen – it looked like a painting come alive right before your eyes. Something that would go on to live in a local indie gallery, something inspired by vaporwave, or whatever they were calling neon nostalgia these days.

Still. Silent. Chiaroscuro. Art in the wild.

It was like clockwork, the blinking. The colors coming and going at the first peek of evening shadow, only to blink right off at the first knock of the sun’s rays on the horizon.

After the third, fourth, tenth, twentieth nights it had become a comfort of sorts, namely for the days Matt Murdock wasn’t there to press you into the wall and kiss you senseless, or weave each other stories under the moonlight with a nest of blankets and concrete beneath you. When he wasn’t there to ghost his fingertips over your skin as you drifted off to sleep, so painfully content that you always wondered if this beautiful man with a devastating secret would be the end of you.

You never knew, but he often asked himself the same thing.

Then there were days that damned neon was the only constant about Matt Murdock, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Daredevil.

Moments of lovesick peace would only last so long.

Your skin would crawl on the nights sleep wouldn’t come. Mug of tea, coffee, something stronger cradled in your hands while your mind wandered, your feet wandered, your eyes drifted around this space of his, this little hideaway of yours. You would always hear him before you saw him, adrenaline spiked and oh so weary. Some nights he was covered in so much blood you didn’t know where it ended and his own crimson suit began.

“You’re still awake,” he would say, scowl tugging his mouth down, always sounding surprised. As if it was unusual, for you to be restless on the nights he donned devil horns to go hunting.

And you’re still alive, would be your reply.

He would stay close until dawn. You would gravitate toward him just the same, moths to flame, flowers to the sun. Conversations were hazy and hushed in the early morning-late night blur. They walked that fine fragile line between this is not okay, Matt, and you know you can’t shove me away as easily as everyone else, you stubborn ass.

Unspoken vs spoken. Horror vs love.

Clockwork, nonetheless.

Until one day, the clock shattered.

Matt Murdock doesn’t come home.

Then it’s days. Weeks slipped into months. Months slipped into a blend of minutes, moments, denial casually catching hold within as you found yourself still in his apartment – your little hideaway - watching the steady blink blink blink of the neon sign through the dirty, frosted window panes of the kitchen. Then the living room, then the kitchen counter. Cold tea, day old bitter coffee, something stronger untouched and unloved in the mug that hung loosely in your hands.

Those feelings of heartache and unease and an angry I fucking told you so lingered at the back of your mind, the tip of your tongue. The last time you saw him had been reenacted so many times, it began to feel like a dream. A nightmare. The flesh made into ghosts. Phantom lips brushed yours in such a gentle, such an urgent way that your pulse began to spike at the memory. The loss. The longing.

You thought about how you had gotten here, of all places, here – this apartment, this man’s life, both of you entwined with secrets and lies that could end both of you forever-

Everything was safer in the dark. What Matt Murdock hadn’t known – well. That wasn’t how he had met his end, after all.

It was almost too much to think about, on some occasions.

Until one day, when the clock began to tick once more.

You heard him before you saw him, the familiar cadence of his footsteps descended from above. The quiet slide of the roof access door snicked open and closed in the unholy hours of the night, the unholy hours of the morning.

The silence was new, however, and your eyes drifted up to see a shadow at the top of the staircase, frozen and tense and so very familiar.

“You’re still awake,” he said, and the tears were suddenly there; the ones that could never come, the ones that never seemed to leave. They were present, and the noise that left your throat wasn’t coherent, wasn’t normal, but a strangled laugh escaped your lips anyway.

“You’re still alive,” you replied. If not for the routine, your answer wouldn’t have been so intelligible. “You’re alive.” came the raspy whisper.

His silhouette nodded, began to limp down the stairs into the apartment proper. Began to finish his long journey back to you, back to everything, really. The mug in your hands was no more – placed safely, if not hastily – on the table, and you met him halfway.

“Yeah,” he said, voice quiet and so very hesitant as he clawed off the scarf covering his eyes. “I’m alive.”

There’s the hint of a smile that catches in the neon blink, one that you dreamt of sometimes, on the long nights. Shared breaths, lovesick grins, stray tears being gently brushed away followed in a fog, in a rush, in slow motion that threatened to dismantle so many things about his time away.

And then -

“Where the fuck have you been?”

He’s holding your waist, fingertips splayed, grip firm if only to convince himself that finally – finally, he’s here, you’re here, you're together. Your own hands slid to his shoulders, but you stepped back to keep him a few inches away.

Your gaze was hot and strong and analytical – Matt could feel your eyes as they saw bruised skin, torn clothes, battered, bloody knuckles. He’s been in worse shape, both you and he knew that, but he also knew he was no drawing, no painting, nothing close to a work of art worthy of a museum either. There were bloody, violent masterpieces under guard at the Louvre more worthy than he.

Had he asked you, you would have disagreed.

He can’t see the sorrow drowning the color of your eyes or the way softness carved a home on your expression, carefully melting away the tension, the anger, the fear. He can’t see you, but he does and even after all this time he still knew how to read the air around your mood shifts and the lilt of your voice. Still knew that after all he’s put you through – he felt a weight lift off his shoulders, Atlas freed at last.

He may have lost touch with many things, many people, but not once had he ever lost you.

“I’m sorry,” he began, emotion becoming thicker in his voice with every breath, every word that tumbled past his lips. It had always unsettled him, how you could unearth what he tried to hide, tried to bury.

Moths to flame, flowers to the sun.

He condensed the happenings since the building collapse after his stint with the Defenders, his words spilling out quick and quiet, rushed and worried.

But if he hadn’t finished what he started, what was he doing here? What was he doing with you? Why now?

“Let me – let me get this straight. Were you going to let us think you died, until – when? You got your shit together? Killed Fisk?” his fingers tightened where they held you, unseeing eyes wandered anywhere and everywhere except right in front of him, right on you. You knew that look. Your voice softened. “Or were you just going to disappear? Like this meant nothing – like this means nothing? And as grateful as I am that you are – why are you here, Matt?”

He shook his head, ignored the cracks that broke open his heart like dropped glass. Your name spilled from his lips like a holy hymn that golden haloed angels could never hope to sing. No one could recreate the most divine sound in all of creation. Matt Murdock would always swear you were a goddess incarnate, no matter how sinfully blasphemous it was. “You mean everything.” he pulled you into him, moved so his face was close to yours.

“It’s not that simple,” he said after, and you deflated in an instant. The amount of times a variation of this conversation had been voiced between you – you would never know. It was like a renegade wildfire: possible to lessen, impossible to tame.

It was as quick as the changing of the seasons, how he took on the urgency you’ve only witnessed a handful of times - when he allowed you in the presence of Daredevil himself. You remembered what he asked of you lifetimes ago, between hushed words and bloody gauze, hands slick with red and a needle poised between your fingertips. How if danger ever came to your door, you would listen and you would trust, and you would let him do whatever it took to keep you safe.

To keep you both safe, you tried to correct. He would nod, and you would ignore that he never agreed to such a thing.

“We need to go,” was all he said, but you knew. You remembered.

The strongest jolt of fear slammed into you, bleeding a black and white, us and them mentality. It threatened to smother the blinking neon, the bright washes of blue and white felt muted, felt so very distant when you realized that someone was coming here, someone figured it out, figured it all out.

Oh.

That wasn’t the answer you hoped for.

Us vs them.

“So it’s finally happening.”

Matt’s hands fell away from you, one slid to twine your hands together and squeezed. He was solid, he was grounding. You looked into his eyes. “You know I won’t let anything happen to you,” he took his free hand, lifted it to brush your cheek with tattered knuckles, bruises blossomed like night blooming flowers. He left a trail of soft burning flames when he traced a path down to your jaw where he stopped and cupped your face ever so gently. “That’s the one promise I knew I’d never break.”

Fear melted away when you closed the distance to kiss him, felt that heavy soul twine with yours; all was suddenly right with the world for the first time in a long time, even if the anguish of this city was about to come crashing down on your shoulders all over again. It tore at your heart, this kiss, because it was so very reminiscent of the first time he ever kissed you. Bright eyes, flushed faces, the thrill of something new ignited all around you. The future painted with vivid neon instead of muted pastels. It felt bittersweet, and you knew down in the marrow of your bones that this could very well be the last thing you would ever share with Matt Murdock, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Daredevil.

“I know,” you whispered against his lips. “I trust you.”

Once those words were in the open, there was no going back.

Your secret could wait.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock imagine #daredevil imagine #matt murdock oneshot #daredevil oneshot #matt murdock #daredevil #charlie cox #kas writes #marvel imagine #marvel one shot

154 notes · View notes

lilixloveswhump · 4 years

Text

“Everything is okay.”

Whumptober Day 6 (Prompts: “Get it out”, “Stop, please”)

Fandom: X-Men

Characters: Erik Lehnsherr, Peter Maximoff, Charles Xavier, Raven Darkholme, Hank McCoy, Kurt Wagner

Word Count: 1980

A/N: IHATETHISSOMUCHOMGGG and it’s FUCKING LATE it’s 12:12 AM and I have a class tomorrow at 9:05 AM and I still need to shower and I might have a breakdown so much for getting this out on time hAhA. bUT aT lEaSt iTs dOnE!!1! I didn’t proofread because I hated it while writing it and I go back and read it in the state I am I might really actually cry :) So please excuse any errors, my mental health and self confidence literally cannot handle fixing them right now. We will try again tomorrow :)))

TW: blood (like a lot, but not all that graphic cuz i got lazy with description), guns? bullets? one swear word (poop), peter gets shot

He swore to God he was cursed. Why else was everyone around him constantly dying? It was God’s punishment for something, he just wished it didn’t always have to involve the people he loved; His mother, his wife, his daughter, and now…

Erik was going to watch his son die too.

It was supposed to be a simple mission. Some mutant children were being held hostage by a group of Purifiers; they were just supposed to grab them and get out. Kurt, Raven, and Peter had volunteered to go first and Charles was happy to send them. The only reason Erik was sent along was that the kidnappers were armed, Charles had said with guns. For once, Erik was there just in case things got out there hand.

Of course, he didn't let it get that far, disarming them as soon as they'd arrived but restraining himself from aiming their weapons back at them, as he didn't want to traumatize the children anymore than they already had been. The underdeveloped mind was a fragile one, and Erik thought it important to look out for the kids.

Turned out he was focused on the wrong ones.

How could he have not felt it? The one, lone gun hidden in the bushes on the edge of the woods, why didn't he check the woods? He didn't even know it had fired until Peter cried out in pain, clutching at his calf as Kurt was bamfing them all back to the jet. He was immediately checked on once inside, but he insisted he was fine, instead concerned with getting the children buckled safely in their seats. There was a little blood, but Peter barely seemed to be affected, so they believed him.

That is, until his leg gave out. Right out from under him, he crumpled to the ground, seeming just as surprised as everyone else by the paralysis. Panic had slowly begun to take over his face as Kurt and Erik moved him to a chair, and by the time he was strapped in he was sweating bullets. They hadn't been in the air for longer than ten minutes before he'd started seizing.

Hank met them when they landed, though Erik would have preferred Kurt to bamf Peter straight to the medbay, the blue mutant was tasked with settling the rescued children.

It was quite the monstrous task, wrestling Peter onto the stretcher as he squirmed and shook, seemingly completely out of control of his body. Raven helped to push it, as did Erik despite their constant complaint of him going too fast. In his opinion, they weren't moving nearly fast enough.

He was cut off by Charles, nearly tripping over his chair as he came zooming around the corner. Raven and Hank raced on, and Erik scoffed as his attempts to follow were constantly thwarted by Charles's maneuvering. It was when the doors to the medbay closed when he got desperate, a devastated gasp leaping from his tongue and he was suddenly acutely aware of the layer of sweat on his palms.

"Get out of my way!" Erik shouted, taking another step to the side, his path immediately being blocked. "Charles-"

"Erik, I'm sorry, if you're in there-"

"Charles, he's my son!"

"Which is exactly why you shouldn't be in there with them. You want Hank to be able without you breathing down his neck-"

"CHARLES, PLEASE!" His plead clawed its way past his throat, leaving the extent of his vulnerability on full display. A rational Erik Lehnsherr would never dare let anyone perceive him to be weak or emotional, but right now that was the furthest thing from his mind.

Something changed in Charles’s eyes before he moved to the side, finally allowing Erik to pass through. Not that it mattered, if he’d said no, Erik would have simply moved him himself.

They had the doors open in a matter of seconds, and Erik was quickly at Peter’s side, though Charles seemed hesitant to allow him in the room. Raven pressed another sticky pad to Peter’s face, lighting up yet another machine before moving on to the next. Hank on the other hand was rushing around doing God knows what, Erik wished he was paying more attention to his son.

“Hank, what are you doing? Put him out!” Raven scolded the doctor, clearly struggling to clip the restraints as Peter thrashed on the table.

“I can’t! His blood pressure is too high!” Hank shook his head, scoffing as he pulled the thermometer away from Peter’s forehead. “His temperature is 104, Erik what the hell happened out there?”

“I...I don’t know. He was shot-” Erik breathed, suddenly faced with the difficulty to form a coherent sentence.

“And you didn’t stop the bullet?!” Hank whipped around, preparing a syringe as Raven finally tightened the buckle on Peter’s left arm.

“I didn’t…” Erik whispered, flashes of the scene playing out in front of him like a projector screen. He could never stop anything, not when it mattered most. He only ever brought pain to the people he cared about.

“You can.” He couldn’t.

“Everything is okay.” No, it wasn’t. It never was, and it never would be no matter what he did. Peace, war, pacifism, genocide, it all ended the same: with the people he loved caught in the crossfire.

“ERIK!” Hank snapped at him, adjusting the IV bag as it rapidly filled with Peter’s blood. “Did you see what hit him?”

“No, I-” Erik shook his head maniacally, his fingers finding themselves ripping away at his scalp. Didn’t Hank think that if he’d seen what hit him he would have stopped it?

“Did the bullet come out?” Hank asked, turning his attention to the makeshift tourniquet on Peter’s calf, blood dripping from the ends onto the floor.

“I...I don’t-”

“Come on, Erik! What the hell am I working with here?!” God, how Erik would have quite literally killed to know.

“Erik, think.” Charles’s hand on his arm brought him a bit of clarity, and he momentarily wondered if Charles was in his head, but his mind was too much of a mess to tell.

“I-I...no. No! No, it didn’t.”

“There’s no exit wound.” Raven said, Hank working at the knot of the gauze they’d wrapped around Peter’s leg, and though he was tied down, Hank’s fingers continued to slip as he writhed in agony.

“Hank, why is there so much blood?” Charles asked and Hank huffed, a shrug falling off of his shoulders.

“I-I don’t know. There aren’t any major arteries the bullet should have hit. He shouldn’t be bleeding this much unless he was on blood thinners, o-or maybe...bitten by a snake or-”

“Wait!” Raven silenced him, and they all turned to her, eager to hear her input. “Like...like poison?”

There was pause...then, “Shit.” Hank tore off the tourniquet, stuffing Peter’s oozing wound with gauze. “How long has this been in his system?”

Erik and Raven exchanged a glance, neither of them seemed able to latch onto a sense of time since Peter had been showing sign of decay.

“How long, Raven?!” Hank snapped, the panic in his voice doing absolutely nothing to quell Erik’s continuously rising anxiety.

“I don’t know, maybe twenty…?” Raven stammered, blinking down at Peter rolling his head around in pain as anguished moans tumbled from his mouth. Charles moved to sit behind him, shushing him quietly as he placed his fingers to the boys temples and shut his eyes, likely in an attempt to provide him some kind of comfort.

“Thirty.” Erik jumped in with confidence at the sight of his son’s face screwed up in pain. “It took about ten minutes for him to show symptoms.”

Charles flinched, a quiet gasp escaping his mouth as Peter’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, his jaw clenching up with the rest of his muscles as he quaked severely on the table. “He’s seizing!”

Hank cursed, waving Raven over to take over where he was putting pressure on Peter’s leg before springing up and rushing back over to his desk. He yanked open drawer after drawer, slamming each closed before moving on to the next.

“Hank, what are you doing? Get it out!” Raven shouted and Hank growled, slamming his fists on the desk after yet again searching through another useless drawer.

“I can’t just take it out, it obviously wasn’t a normal bullet. It could have attached itself to multiple arteries and veins, he’s already lost too much blood, we can’t risk anymore he might go into shock.”

“Well, how long does he have left? If you don’t do something now, the poison will kill him before you can even worry about the bullet.” At her words, Peter’s body went limp, and Erik felt his heart stop. Charles placed his fingers on his head again, the room completely silent before a Peter gasped shakily, his heart rate monitor screaming as it raced to keep up with his pulse. The boy began to sob, his silver locks sticking wetly to his forehead as he banged it into the cold table beneath him, glassy eyes flying open to desperately search the room for help. They land on Erik, whose heart shatters when the lost look in them grabs hold of his soul, even more so when the words that follow leave Peter’s mouth in a tortured sob.

“Please, make it stop.”

It froze him for a second, their locked gaze slowing the entire world around him as Erik moved his feet, his calloused hand falling to Peter’s hair and his thumb brushing away the stray tear running down his cheek to his ear. The boy whimpered creakily at his touch, and Erik pressed his forehead to his son’s, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath before whispering so that only Peter could hear, “Everything is okay.”

He pulled away, eyes still shut as he relocated to that place Charles had helped him find so many years ago, the pull from his hand to bullet buried in Peter’s leg like that of a magnet. “Hank.” He started, tuning in on the feeling, emptying his lungs of air and stilling the shaking that had raked through his veins. “Get his bleeding under control.” Before any questions could be asked, Erik gripped onto the bullet, enveloping it in his magnetic field and ripped it out of Peter’s leg, with it a hoarse shriek straight from the boy’s core. Multiple “ERIK”s rose from his friends, Peter once again falling limp as an ocean of blood poured out onto the floor. It was all blur after that, lots of shouting and moving and the beeping of Peter’s heart rate monitor slowly growing slower until Erik found himself in a shroud of indigo smoke outside of the emergency room.

“Hey man!” A pair of golden eyes stared up at him, his head bobbling as the blue mutant jostled him about. “Wake up!” Kurt snapped in his face and Erik knocked away his wrist. He glanced around the hallway before stumbling over to the wall and leaning back onto it, sinking to the ground as his hands dug their way into his hair. He heard footsteps approach before catching a blur of blue in the corner of his eye as Kurt sat down next to him.

“...It’s my fault if he dies.” Erik whispered, and he could see Kurt turn to look at him before he pushed himself up on his knees, bowed his head, and pressed his hands together.

“Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…” He mumbled, just loud enough for Erik to hear and join in if he so wished, but not too loud as to be overbearing.

And for the first time in a long time, Erik was glad that someone had faith. Even if it wasn’t his own.

23 notes · View notes

plus-size-reader · 5 years

Text

The Dealer pt 2

Thomas Shelby x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1412 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Reader realizes something about Thomas that means something to her. Something about him that is different than any other men you’d ever met.

———————————————————————————————————

You agreed to go with Thomas to the garrison, under the condition that it would be after hours so you didn't have to worry about all the other patrons, drunkenly rambling and making fools of themselves.

Large crowds had never really been your cup of tea, and drunk, blabbering men were even less so.

Luckily though, Thomas didn't seem to have a problem with that.

Instead, he only smiled, informing you that he would be back once the sun went down to pick you up. The entire idea made Louis a little nervous, but you never really payed the young man any mind.

If something did happen to go down, your men would tear the entire Shelby family apart. Thomas knew that and had nothing but respect for your brutality and strength. It was rare to meet a woman who didn't care much for her image.

You cared much more about running a successful business than anything else. Most other women he knew spent far too much time focusing on their appearance than their personalities. He found most of them terribly boring.

But not like you.

You help yourself in a completely different way, a way that he longer to understand.

"I don't know about this boss, do you think going into their territory is a good idea?" Louis questioned, pacing around the room like a wind up toy with a stuck string. He was going to drive you made if he didn't stop soon.

Louis was bad enough when he was in a good mood, and that had no comparison to the way he was acting now. You had seen more composure in a freshly decapitated chicken.

"God Louis, sit down" you bit, flicking a cigarette in his direction that he was quick to stomp out before doing as you said.

You had no intention of ever talking to him when he was acting like that. If he wanted to treat you like a disobedient teenager, the least he could do was form a coherent sentence.

"Now, what would you have me do to make it safer? I am going with him, whether you advise it or not" you informed, taking a long sip of whisky as he thought over your words. He didn't like it but if you had to go, at least you could take precautions.

For starters, he would have a few of your men posted outside the bar, armed of course. That way if there was a commotion inside the bar, you wouldn't be all alone. In addition to that, he suggested that you were armed yourself.

It was only a precaution, he kept repeating.

You didn't like it.

"Are you suggesting that I cannot protect myself against a man like Thomas Shelby, Louis?" you wondered, danger lacing your gentle voice as you eyed him across the room. If there was one thing you couldn't stand, it was being underestimated.

You had been treated like a fragile little girl all your life, and you weren't about to take it from him. Louis was nothing more than a freckle-faced little ingrate, and you weren't going to be questioned by him.

It wasn't going to happen, today, tomorrow, or six days from Sunday.

Luckily for him though, the boy was quick to cover his mistake, "Of course not boss, I only want you to make sure you're safe" he stammered, hoping that his words were enough to dull your anger...which it seemed to be.

You had been known to throw full glasses of liquor across the room at him, or point a gun in his face when he angered you and when you made no motion to do either, he assumed he was in the clear.

Even if only for a moment.

Instead, you nodded taking in everything he'd said in the last few moments. As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point.

Forming a good relationship with the blinders would be good for business but getting yourself killed in the event of it going south wasn't good in the least. There was no business without you after all.

It would be stupid to die due to your stubbornness alone.

"You'll find these men yourself" you ordered, finishing the last of your drink. You were tired of having this discussion, but when you set the glass down, you frowned when you saw the man still sitting there.

How fucking dense could he be.

"Now Louis, go now!" you suggested, venom in your voice as you watched. As soon as the words left your lips, he scrambled from his seat, leaving as quickly as he could down the hallway of the warehouse.

You swore, if he wasn't family, you would have put a bullet between his eyes years ago.

Eventually though, he gathered the men who would accompany you to the garrison, which was in Shelby territory. As a general rule, your men didn't go there, but tonight, you were sure that Thomas would make an exception.

If he didn't of course, there would be no chance to get to know you better.

Your footsteps were slight on the cobblestone as you made your way over to him, a few men on your tail.

At first, Thomas smiled, until his eyes fell on the men behind you. "I was under the impression that it would just be the two of us" he commented, smiling once again when he met your gaze. To which, you only smiled back.

"It will be, they're just going to stay outside the garrison" you hummed, knowing he was in no place to refuse them, but before you took the hand he offered to you, you smirked a bit to yourself, "they're under strict orders to behave, don't worry" you winked.

The last thing you needed was a war between your two groups. The Shelby's were a powerful family, and together you could be unbeatable but apart, the streets would run red with blood. Neither of you needed a war right now.

"And what about you? Do you have orders to behave?" he teased, entwining his fingers with your own as you walked. It wasn't too far of a ways to get to the garrison but it was enough that casual conversation was a must.

A walk of any altitude in complete silence was never fun.

"Never, who would dare give them" you countered, now wishing the men you'd brought with you were gone. You didn't want to have to keep up your unbreakable, hard as a rock image all night long.

But until you were out of earshot of your men, you didn't have a choice. It had taken you a long time to earn their respect, and you weren't going to risk losing it now.

...Not even for Thomas Shelby.

"So Thomas, do you take all your potential business partners to get drunk? Is the plan to get me all liquored up so I'll agree to a less than fair proposition?" you wondered, only half kidding as you eyed him.

You hadn't looked at him from this angle earlier, and you had to admit that his profile was remarkable nice. You had never seen a man with such an even and pleasing bone structure, but it was clear to you that Shelby was different.

Thomas Shelby was unlike any man you'd ever met.

He had to be in order to accomplish the things he'd accomplished in his lifetime. Hell, he'd been through war and still maintained relatively sane, not to mention breathing. You had lost a number of great men in that war, and the ones who weren't killed just didn't come back the same.

"You would be the first, I'll admit" he allowed, though you doubted his honesty. Men liked to bond over alcohol and women but you understood that this was something different. If you didn't know any better, you'd think that Thomas was a bit sweet on you.

Not that you really minded.

In some ways, you were sweet on him too.

Thomas was the first man to really look at you for what you were. He saw you as a boss and a powerhouse but he also saw you as a woman. He saw you for everything that you were, in every different facet of your life.

"Well Mr.Shelby, in that case I'd be happy to spend the evening with you" you smiled, following him into the garrison, several ideas about how this evening would go swirling around in your head.

#thomas shelby #thomas shelby x plus size reader #thomas shelby x ps reader #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders x plus size reader #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x ps reader

194 notes · View notes

k-pop-imagines · 5 years

Text

Aurora || Chapter 1

> Aurora Masterlist <

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x OC

Story summary: Following her parents’ divorce, Yeseul moves to Seoul with her mother. Leaving behind half of your family at the other end of the world isn’t pleasant but now she is finally able to follow her dreams of becoming a singer. It’s a difficult road and falling in love on the way doesn’t necessarily make it easier…

Word Count: 1.2k Warnings: none

A/N: So, I just said ‘fuck it’ and decided to post the first chapter. Seonghwa doesn’t show up until the next chapter, by the way. I hope you enjoy what I’ve come up with so far!

° ÜBERRASCHUNG °

-> surprise, astonishment

“Thank you, sir! Have a nice evening!” Hwang Yeseul said with a bright smile on her face. As soon as the customer left through the door and she was once again alone in the tiny convenience store, she plopped down on a chair behind the counter. She sent a quick glance around the room to make sure everything was still in order and place before reaching for her phone. 9:45 pm, 15 minutes left on her shift.

The young woman swiftly checked a few messages from her friends, opting to answer them after she got off. She’d gotten a few invitations to go out to a party which she’d have to decline. It was a Friday night and it wasn’t that Yeseul hated partying. Sure, she wasn’t what you’d call a party animal either but she did enjoy a night out once in a while, especially with the right company. Tonight, however, she was just too tired. The owner of the store she worked at was sick with the flu and due to the lack of employees the small business had, she had spent most of the day running the store all on her own. She couldn’t wait for her co-worker to come in and relieve her from her shift.

Exactly at 10 pm, said person came shuffling through the door. Jinwoo, a university student who had been working at the store for only a few weeks longer than Yeseul, looked like he wasn’t exactly thrilled about getting the night shift. Throughout the whole week, at least once a day, he had excitedly mentioned his plans to go clubbing with his best friends. It would have been the first time in ages for him as he had finally finished all of his exams for the semester but now he was stuck at work. She would have gladly taken the night shift but the owner didn’t let her, saying someone so young and fragile like her shouldn’t be working alone at such hours.

Despite his frustration, Jinwoo gave her a tired smile and a small bow as he laid his eyes on her. He immediately went towards a fridge in the back and grabbed an energy drink while she gathered her belongings and got ready to leave. “Noona, thank you for taking care of the store for so long, make sure to get some rest.”

“I will, Jinwoo. Take care, okay? And call me if something’s wrong!”

With a wave, she exited the store and stepped into the cold night air. The streets were completely empty, except for a delivery man on a moped who almost ran her over. She secured the scarf around her neck as the wind picked up when suddenly her phone buzzed in the pocket of her coat. Yeseul took it out and checked the display only to see a number she didn’t recognize. She contemplated for a second whether she should pick up a call from an unknown number, it might just be a scam call and she usually had a hard time turning down these people because she hated being mean to people just doing their job. But then she remembered that she was actually expecting an important call so there was no way she could ignore it.

“Hello?” “Hello, am I talking to Hwang Yeseul?” a male voice spoke. “Yes, that’s me, how can I help you?” “My name is Kang Haejun. I am a manager at KQ Entertainment.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. This was the call she had been desperately waiting for. The man continued: “First of all, I’m very sorry for the late call. We had to fit in an important meeting. Anyway, we have reviewed your original audition tape and the recordings of your second audition at our agency last week. I’ll just be blunt: We want you to become one of our trainees, when can you begin?”

Yeseul took a few seconds to collect her thoughts, forgetting to breathe in the process. She couldn’t believe her ears. This was really happening. She stammered for a second as soon as she found her voice before she remembered that the person on the other end was expecting a coherent response soon.

“Whenever you want me and allow me to, sir. I’m fairly flexible.” “Wonderful! We’d like you to come to the agency at 8 am tomorrow to discuss the contract, your training will start in the afternoon. Is that alright with you?” “More than alright, thank you very much!”

The call ended. Yeseul stared at her phone’s display for a good minute, processing the conversation that had just taken place. Then, she squealed and allowed herself to jump from excitement, knowing no one would be watching at this time of the day in an empty alleyway.

She made it! She actually got accepted! The hard part was only starting now but she’d already gotten one step closer to fulfilling her dream.

She didn’t live too far from the store she worked at part-time, so she started walking again, even picking up her speed until she was almost sprinting, desperate get home and share the news.

As soon as she entered the small apartment, she was hit with the smell of dinner. Her mother was in the kitchen, apparently making Kimchi stew, as she guessed from the scent. Yeseul went over to her, leaning against the door frame and trying to play things cool. She soon failed, however, as she couldn’t keep a proud smile off her face.

“Now, what’s up with you? I haven’t seen you this happy in a while,” her mother mentioned, an eyebrow raised questioningly. “Did something happen?” “Oh, nothing special happened.” Yeseul went over to the cupboard, getting out dishes to set the table. “I just may or may not have gotten accepted into KQ Entertainment.” She heard the chopsticks clink as her mother set them down to look at her with widened eyes. There was a smile on her face but also a hint of worry in her eyes.

A sigh left the young girl’s mouth at the reaction. “I know you’re worried, mom...It’s a small agency and I might not even get to debut. But I want to make this work, I have to. This is my dream.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you, I really am. It’s my duty as your mother to be worried but I will support you nevertheless. I trust you. So, when are you starting?”

“Training starts in the afternoon but they want me to come in the morning to talk about the contract.” “Then let’s eat and after that, you should go to sleep immediately! You don’t want to show up with circles under your eyes, do you?” Yeseul playfully rolled her eyes at the teasing words.

After dinner, her mother gave her a tight hug and a kiss on the forehead before sending her to bed, just like a child.

Sleep didn’t find her easily, that night. Yeseul’s thoughts kept racing as she kept wondering and worrying about the next day. She was finally beginning her journey and her feelings were a mix of excitement and anxiety. ‘You’ll be fine’, she kept telling herself in an effort to calm her nerves but in the end, it took her a few hours to fall into a dreamless sleep.

#ateez imagine #seonghwa imagine #ateez scenario #seonghwa scenario #ateez fanfiction #seonghwa fanfiction #kpop imagine #k-pop #k-pop imagine #kpop scenario #k-pop scenario #park seonghwa #seonghwa

15 notes · View notes

inkstainedfanfics · 5 years

Text

My One and Only Shot

Summary: Clint’s by your side, always, except for the one time he isn’t. A study in love, loss, and healing.

Word Count: 1,549

Pairing: Clint Barton x Reader

The arrow clatters to the ground, and so does your hope of ever improving.

Bow to thighs, you stare at the arrow, one among many scattered over the floor, shaking your head. “I can’t do this.”

“You do realize you have a world-class archer right here, right?” He grins in the doorway, leaning against the metal frame. Withering. You think it may destroy you, that smile of his.

“I’m not sure even a world-class archer could save me right now. I’m ten feet from the target, and I still managed to miss.” Arm out, you gesture to the blue and yellow target and the smattering of arrows around its base. Failures. A massive pile of failure after failure.

Clint, though, merely raises an eyebrow, the smile still playing on his lips. “You know, some people might say that missing from that close takes talent.”

“And some people might say that it means I suck. Because I do.”

He straightens, then, and stretches. “Well, I wasn’t planning on performing a miracle today, but what the hell, I’ve got some free time.”

With a quick roll of your eyes, and with burning cheeks, you counter his joke with your own sarcasm. “Wow, it’s almost like you’re funny.”

He laughs, the sound wide and adoring, and you’re already lost in this man you’ve only known a few months. “It’s a talent.” His smile returns, sharp and quick like an arrow, and you swallow your heart, failing to shove it from your throat back into your chest.

“Whatever you say,” you manage. You should say more, you think, but then he has his arms around you, and you’re a goner.

He lifts the bow, adjusts your stance, and fixes your grip. Your heart is in your throat again and refusing to budge as he places two hands on your waist, twisting your gently. Chin hovering over your shoulder, lips near your ear, he nods. “Now,” he says, voice low, soft, “Shoot.”

It’s a bullseye.

He asks you out a week later.

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

“I can’t do this.” Words broken in a sob, hardly coherent, but he understands.

Blood on hands, you can only see the blank gaze, the reddening blue of Pietro’s suit. Can only hear the crumble of gravel under his body as he falls.

“I can’t do this, Clint,” you say, voice quaking. The tears come hot, streaming over your cheeks, past your mouth, to drip off your chin and onto Clint’s shoulder.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Hands rubbing circles against your back. You clutch his jacket, hold him tight, cling to him and try to swallow the guilt of knowing you’re glad, too glad, that it isn’t him lying motionless in the dirt.

What a horrible person you are.

“I’m here,” he murmurs into your hair, holding you as tightly as you hold him, running tears away with a thumb. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

You hold on tighter, praying you do not fall apart. It almost seems like enough.

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

“I can’t do this.”

Clint knows what you mean. An ache in the chest. He’s so far away. “I know, babe. I’m sorry.”

“They just…vanished. Just gone. Poof. Dust.”

Clint runs a hand over his face. You can’t see it, but you know. You know him as well as he knows you. The crush in the archery range seems like eons ago.

“Clint?” Voice fragile and soft, you worry Clint can’t hear you over the static of the phone.

But he does. “Yeah?” He asks, voice stronger than yours.

You can hear the weary in his voice, the exhaustion, and guilt overtakes your chest. “I’m glad you’re still here.” The words are still quiet, softened by the memory of so many others that were less lucky.

A pause. A deep breath on the other end of the line.

“So am I. I’m glad…” He trails off, and it sounds as if tears, a hiccup in his breath, the grateful turning into relief that makes it hard to breathe. “I’ll be home soon. I promise.”

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

“I can’t do this.” Words shaky, uncertain, said aloud, searching for a response, but there is nothing. Of course there is nothing.

There is no smile, no laugh, no touch. Just silence. A new, cold silence in his room, one you’d never heard before. His room, filled with blankets and clothes and memories, but still so very empty without his smile, his laugh, to fill it.

You draw your knees to your chest, one of your shared quilts wrapped around your shoulders. It smells like him—warm, home. “I can’t do this,” you mumble again, and the tears that come must be chased away by your own hand. You wait for a hand against your back, kisses in your hair, comforting words in a voice you would give anything to hear.

Instead, nothing.

“I can’t,” you say, and fingers curl into fists, dragging tiny scratches into biceps, “do this.”

As if the mantra will draw him back, as if he will return from some long-running mission, as if he’s just a continent away and will rush to your side as he has so many times before, you repeat it. Over and over and over again, louder each time. Louder and louder, until you can’t hear the silence, until you can’t hear the sound of your heart breaking. You can’t do this. Not alone. Not without him.

“I can’t,” you say, the words hoarse after so much repetition, now nearly a scream as you stare at the high ceilings of his bedroom, nestled in the very blankets you’d both shared after long nights and missions, “do this! I can’t do this!”

Then, finally, the breakdown. Voice lost to tears, you crumble.

Nat finds you, rubs your back, up and down, not in circles. How strange it is that such a small thing could make such a massive difference.

Heroic, she says, though you both know that’s a worthless word here. He was always a hero. This was just death, nothing more.

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

I can’t do this anymore. Words you can’t quite say, not anymore. 90 plus years have taken their toll, and today is the day you pay to cross the bridge from life to death.

“I was wondering how long you’d make me wait.”

A voice, familiar despite the years, and you spin around, heart in throat, hoping against hope.

And there he is, the same as he was when you last saw him. Dark hair, bright eyes, arrow sharp smile with a bow slung across his back.

“Miss me?” He asks, and you are running.

Grey hair shifts, returning to color you never thought you’d see in your hair again. Wrinkles fade, worldly aches and pains wither, and suddenly you’re young again.

You hardly notice.

Arms around his neck, you slam into him, holding him, face nuzzling into his shoulder, smile so wide it hurts. He smells the same, and he’s warm, so warm.

He stumbles back with a laugh, but he wraps his arms around your waist, one hand on your back, and that ache so heavy in your chest since Nat delivered the news fades. You’re home again.

“Is it really,” you ask, stepping back, hands lingering on his arms, “you?” The question is breathless, tinged with laughter and disbelief.

“In the flesh.” A pause, a smile. “Well, maybe not flesh. But ‘in the spirit’ doesn’t have quite the same ring.” A joke, a stupid joke, and yet tears well in your eyes.

“I missed you,” you say, and then you’re in his arms again, clinging to him.

He chuckles into your hair. “I figured you would,” he says, and jokingly winces as you squeeze him.

“You didn’t miss me?” You ask, knowing by the way he’s holding you that he did.

He draws back, meets your eyes, stares at you as though you’re made of stars. “I missed you,” he says, voice low and rough and honest, “more than anything.” His words ache as he runs his hand up your arm, cradles your face. He is, for a moment, utterly serious as he memorizes you like you memorize him.

“I thought I’d lost you. Forever. I thought—thought that—”

“Hey, hey, I know. I know. I thought that at first, too, but look, we’re here, we’re together again.”

There’s so much you want to say, to tell him, but for now, here, caught in his gaze as he rubs circles on your back, you can only manage a simple “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he says, looking at you like you’re made of stars, and your heart slams in your chest, stomach flips over and over and over and finally, you remember what happiness feels like. “But,” he interrupts, smile turning a smirk, “we’ve got a lot of stuff to catch up on, and an eternity to do so.”

“Oh?” You manage, sniffling.

“So how about we get started?”

You grin back at him as he presses a kiss to your nose, then swoops you into his arms.

Your laughter reaches across the fields of white that stretch beyond the two of you. You can settle with peace, you think, as he spins you around and around, into your future, your shared eternity. Together, you think, is more than enough.

#clint barton #clint barton x reader #marvel fic #marvel #hawkeye #clint x reader #hawkeye x reader #clint barton fic #clint barton imagine #this is what had me out for like five months and it's still something I'm going to return to eventually #but I need to post it and get it out there so I can move on for a while #bonus points if you know what song the title is from #had to name it after some of the lyrics bc that song inspired this entire thing #also sorry if this is formatted oddly on mobile I couldn't copy + paste the section breaks in

13 notes · View notes

thirstyforbishiesimagines · 6 years

Note

Hello gorgeous hoomans! May I have a normal request? Maybe... Lawrence X Reader, much fluff. Maybe reader keeps him from murdering everyone? Thank you! *huggles you*

Hellooo gorgeous Anon! My love for angst was hard to resist in this one so I hope it’s fluffy enough! *huggles back* Enjoy~

Broken - Lawrence x Reader

* image from LucyDreams, Dangerous Fellows

Word Count: 3,356

Fluff (minor angst)

Warning: Mild Profanity

Recently, things have been oddly… concerning.

Lawrence has been giving off a certain vibe as of late, and it’s been plaguing your mind ever since. You’re not sure why, but you’ve been increasingly attentive towards his expressions and mannerisms. This feeling of unease began after he had consistently visited your room late at night, requesting to speak with Judy alone. Anxious, you had somehow convinced Lawrence to allow you to tag along.

Most of their talks ended up entailing plans of future patrol locations and food runs. It seemed harmless… yet your gut feeling screamed that it wouldn’t have been. Thankfully, his attention nowadays seemed to be occupied by something else as he was no longer interested in seeking out Judy alone.

Perhaps he genuinely needed Judy’s advice and you were overthinking things… But then why couldn’t you shake that feeling of dread that dawned on you when hearing those three, perfectly timed knocks against your classroom door? Why Judy? Why alone? Why not Ethan? He always runs through plans with Ethan beforehand… It just didn’t add up.

Something has changed… Things had been getting more and more taxing on you, dangerous even. First, getting stuck inside your classroom with Judy and then the incident with that shadow chasing after you. Goose bumps spread upon the surface of your arms as the sound of its scratches against the door continues to echo in your mind.

You shake your head against your folded jacket, erasing the sound from your thoughts as you focus your attention on Judy’s carefree, sprawled out sleeping position. It was then that you realised the tears dampening your makeshift pillow.

You didn’t want to believe it, you didn’t want to doubt the man you had fallen in love with. To doubt the times you’ve spent together laughing, sharing intellectual topics or simply enjoying each other’s company. How could you, when your heart continues to flutter from the memory of his gentle caresses along your cheek as he promises to protect you? Better yet, the times when you drown in the longing desire within his gorgeous honey eyes before pulling away, never allowing himself to indulge in your anticipating lips.

You sigh, long and heavy; convincing yourself that it was your anxiety eating away at you. You curl your legs towards your chest into a foetal position, encouraging yourself to sleep your inhibitions away. There’s no way that every warm smile, every reassuring head pat, or every hug of comfort was some kind of… facade… right?

The next morning you all meet in the main classroom of 1-C as Lawrence assigns today’s tasks and night watch partners. You watch Lawrence as he confidently instructs the group, calm and reliable as always. You really must be over analysing things… Lawrence catches your stare and smiles warmly at you before continuing his directives. Zion and Eugene watch you curiously, sporting identically raised brows. Embarrassment flushes over your now sweltering face from having been caught. Your awkwardness was short-lived however, as Scarlett’s piercing loud voice fills the quiet room.

“YOU MUST BE JOKING! YOU EXPECT ME TO SPEND ALLLL DAY WITH THIS… THING?!”

Here we go again. You think as you roll your eyes.

“Why is she still here anyway? It’s not like she’s capable of anything. I mean… Look at her face! She can’t even take care of herself much less keep me safe!” Scarlett gestures towards your obviously swollen eyes accompanied with the dark circles that had formed from your failed attempt at sleep last night.

“I clearly need to be paired with someone of worth, like Zion for example!”

“Noooo thanks! I like my bud for today.” Zion beams, his elbow resting atop the hood of a certain annoyed blonde.

“Stop using me as an arm rest, dickhead.” Eugene snaps, swatting away Zion’s arm.

“Urghhhh! It’s not fair! Why her of all people? Boo hoo, look at me! I’m sad! I cried all night so I can’t sleep.” She taunts before facing you again, a malicious grin forming on her lips.

“You know what will put you out of your misery? How about you reunite with your whore of a mother in the horde and die already like the rest of your family?”

Usually you’re able to ignore Scarlett’s absurd remarks about you but with everything going on lately, her words continue to fuel your deteriorating tolerance.

How dare she have the AUDACITY to bring your innocent mother into her petty insults?!

The last of your patience shattering, you lunge towards her, fist raised and ready to strike at her annoyingly perfect face before a strong grip pulls your arm back. Your burning (e/c) eyes were met with Lawrence’s stern face.

“You’re better than this.”

His firm words stabbed at your fragile resolve. You knew he was right, and you were disappointed in yourself for letting Scarlett get under your skin; but to hear it from the one person you believed would defend you after he made a promise was… heartbreaking. Dejected, you jerk your arm from Lawrence’s grasp and hear him yell your name as you run off towards the lower floor. You situate yourself upon the stairway across the forbidden cafeteria, not caring about the heightened risk to your safety, as long as you were far away from Scarlett as possible.

As you bury your face into your knees, you notice the sound of approaching footsteps and groan loudly, knowing exactly who chose to follow after you.

“Not now, Lawrence.”

He doesn’t respond, instead you feel him lean against your side and envelop a reassuring arm around your shoulders. The familiar scent of him wraps around you, and you sigh angrily for giving in to his comfort.

“You said you’d protect me.” You whisper into your knees, refusing to look up as droplets threaten to escape your tired eyes.

“I am protecting you.” His voice was gentle and kind, yet it broke you even more. Your body began to tremble as you fought against your weakening front. Lawrence tentatively places his fingers under your chin, finally lifting your face to meet with his loving gaze. It was then, that you lost and crumbled within his touch, tears now streaming down your cheeks.

He waited patiently for you to cry it all out, wiping away tear after tear silently, his affectionate stare never faltering. As you finally begin to calm, Lawrence leans in to kiss away the last teardrop waiting to fall from the corner of your eye. Your face flushes from the unexpected intimacy, as it was rare for him to initiate any form of physical contact besides his usual caresses and holds. He always seemed to hold himself back and you never understood why. It was as if he’d switch a particular side of him off when things got too close for comfort. You always supposed you were wrong about his feelings for you, but now… you don’t even know what to think anymore.

“Let’s go back.”

“But-” You fail to protest, finding yourself speechless as he reaches out to tuck the fallen strands of hair behind your ear adoringly.

He smiles confidently, “I’ll handle it.”

“How?”

You watch as his face darkens slightly, that feeling of dread returning to the pit of your stomach. “You don’t have to worry about that.” He whispers as he stands and makes his way back. Rejecting the chill along your spine, you shake away the thoughts screaming incoherently within your head and trail behind him.

As night falls, you reluctantly shove the essentials needed to get you through your upcoming patrol with Scarlett.

“Ready to leave partner?” Judy chirps excitedly. You shoot her a puzzled look.

“You didn’t know? Since Lawrence was my partner tonight, he switched with you so you wouldn’t have to be stuck with that witch! Wasn’t that why he went after you?” She asked innocently.

His words then replayed within your mind and your eyes grew wide with terror as you came to the realisation of the true meaning of his statement. Finally accepting the fears you constantly denied, you rush out of the room; praying you weren’t already too late.

“Wait… Where are you going?” Judy quietly questions to herself, dumbfounded from your sudden disappearance.

With no clue of their location, you sprint towards Scarlett’s room, sliding the door open hurriedly.

Empty.

Panic settling in, you head off towards Lawrence’s room and somehow end up slamming yourself into Ethan. He turns to look at you, his expression inquisitive.

“W-where’s… Lawrence patrolling… tonight?” You stutter between pants.

He continues to stare at you, expressionless, “…Cafeteria I think?”

“No…” You whisper under your breath as you set off again.

Eventually reaching the stairway, you notice Lawrence hovering over an unconscious Scarlett at the foot of the stairs. His head snaps back at your presence, a cold look plastered on his face. You ignore his stare for now as you make your way towards her fallen body and hurriedly check her pulse before finally releasing your unknowingly held breath.

She’s alive… you made it.

Your legs give out from exhaustion and you brace yourself for the upcoming pain against your knees; but it never comes. Lawrence’s arms were wrapped around you, saving you from your fall. It was different, however. You couldn’t feel that sense of security that usually enveloped you within his embrace. This was cold… and unfamiliar.

“What have you done?”

“Nothing… yet. Dumb bitch fell on her own, I didn’t even need to do anything.” He scoffed, shrugging indifferently.

Frozen and in complete shock, your mouth hangs open, unable to form coherent words from his complete change in character.

“People are so weak and useless. So naive… So easily fooled and oh so easy to control. They don’t deserve to be called human. They’re better suited as sheep, so why not allow them to frolic with their herd?” He snickers as he gestures towards the barricaded middle school entrance before returning his hands to trace the contours of your face with his thumb.

“Not you though. You knew, didn’t you? No matter how hard I tried, you just wouldn’t allow me to be alone with your foolishly carefree ‘friend’. That selfless character of yours… even to someone who caused you such pain a couple hours prior. They’re not worthy enough to deserve it…Though, I guess that’s what drew me towards you in the first place.” He smiles, yet his warmth was no longer present. You struggle to identify the man you had come to cherish and push him away from you.

“Why are you doing this?!” Finally finding the courage to speak.

“I promised you, didn’t I? I promised I would protect you.”

“This is NOT what I meant! I didn’t want you to harm others at my expense!” Your voice trembles, something you had so much faith in had a completely different reasoning behind it all along. You felt sick to your stomach.

“Well… How else would you be happy and safe? Their words won’t hurt you anymore, their stupidity will no longer put you at risk of danger.”

“YOU ARE HURTING ME MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE RIGHT NO-!” You cry out before being silenced by Lawrence’s strong grip covering your mouth. His expression faltering, appearing to be genuinely upset before reverting back to his cold exterior.

“Shh. We don’t want them to start bleating now do we?” He presses an index finger over his mouth and chuckles softly; your eyes now glassy and quivering with fear. He notices your appearance and scrunches his face in annoyance.

“Stop that! I’m doing this for us! …You’ll understand soon enough.” Finally releasing his hold from your mouth, you hear Scarlett groan and rush to her side.

“Please Lawrence, we need to take her back.”

He sighs, defeated. “Guess I can wait a bit longer.”

A chill creeps through you, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You force yourself to ignore his words for now, as Scarlett’s moment of safety became your number one priority.

Once Scarlett was out of harm’s way and resting in her room, you watch as Lawrence withdraws himself into his own. Now out of sight, you sneak your way over to see Harry.

You knock gently.

Seconds after, you are greeted by your yawning silver haired friend. He shoots you a look of confusion before rubbing his eyes sleepily and stepping to the side to allow your entrance. You stare towards Lawrence’s room a little while longer before finally closing the door and unleashing your troubles onto him. Harry responds easily… understanding; explaining he had suspicions about Lawrence way before and agrees to keep things silent for now. Glad you had confided in him for help, you both make a pact to work together to keep everyone safe as you try to get through to Lawrence.

The days have been quiet and calm. Lawrence, again, seemed preoccupied. You and Harry take the opportunity to meet in his room and plan ways in which to prepare everyone in case of an emergency. During your hushed conversation, you notice a slight shadow underneath the crack of the door before suddenly moving away. You look back at Harry, your heart pumping from horror.

“Go! I’ll handle everyone else!” Harry yells as you fly out the door.

Without thinking, your legs were drawn back to the cafeteria and sure enough you spot Lawrence making his way forward to a now, clear entryway towards the middle school.

This was it… this was what he had been planning all along. He was planning on unleashing the horde into the building!

As realisation struck, you scream his name and he turns back. His expression was unsettling, however it hinted a look of sadness and it pained your heart to see him misunderstand the situation.

Dare I hope? Does he actually…?

You had fallen so deeply in love with Lawrence, that there was no question as to whether you could love any other with the same burning intensity.

“Harry huh…?” He spits, as if the name was venom to his lips.

“It’s not what you think.”

Lawrence shrugs, his face now completely emotionless and distant. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll be together soon. Nothing will interrupt us now.” He calmly continues his journey towards the door.

“If you do this, you could die too!”

“It’s worth the risk if I can make you mine.” …was this why all along?

“You don’t have to do this! I already-” You take a deep breath, “I… love you, Lawrence.”

He pauses to look back at you again. His eyes grow wide with shock before squeezing them shut, gripping his hair in frustration. It was as if your words we’re causing him physical pain. He regains his composure, that same cold-eyed expression on his face once again.

“You don’t. How could you love me after seeing me like this?! You’re only saying that to stop me! It’s fine… I don’t expect you to understand. I’ll make you like me properly later, but for now… I need to do this. This is the only way we can truly be together!”

“I’M NOT JUST SAYING IT! I really do love you Lawrence! Every moment we’ve spent together gave me more and more hope that there was a better life out there. A carefree and happier place. When I first arrived, I felt lost, dark… empty even; but you welcomed me with open arms and filled me with nothing but light. I never would have hoped for any of those things before, if it weren’t for your leadership and compassion. Even now, I wouldn’t dare dream for any of that, if I couldn’t experience it by your side. Just… Please! Listen to me!” You plead desperately.

He looks away, refusing to give in to your glistening eyes.

“You don’t know what I’m thinking when I see you, what I think when they get close to you, touch you, laugh with you… insult you. These thoughts of mine… I know it will only hurt you, but… my desire for you, is much more important to me than my wish for you to be happy.” He reaches out towards the door knob, the muffled groans of zombies getting louder by the minute.

You sprint towards him, legs burning from the sudden exertion as you cry out his name with desperation. Relief courses through you when he hesitates, his thoughts fighting against his wavering conviction.

Unable to halt yourself in time, you crash into his back and wrap your arms around him, locking his arms down against his sides. You bury your face into his back, soaking his jacket with your tears as you beg to him between sobs.

“Please… Lawrence! Please don’t do this.”

“It hurts… But… My mind, it’s…” He whimpers, clutching his chest as he struggles to rebuild his defences.

“I’m broken.”

You shake your head against his back, your hair sticking to the sides of your face from the friction of his jacket.

“Let me help you! Whatever it takes, I’ll do it.” Your desperate voice rings out through the hallway.

“But why?” You barely catch as he whispers under his breath.

“I’ve told you. I’m in love with you… I have been for a while now.”

He doesn’t respond, his hand still hovering over the door knob. You slide his hand down and interlace your fingers through his as you move in between him and the door, now facing his downcast eyes.

“You don’t have to hide anymore, I promise to stay by your side. No matter how long it takes you to heal, I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Your hands reach up to cup the sides of his face and he places his hand over your own. You watch as his face slowly transitions from his usual cold facade to an expression that looks as if he’d shatter from the slightest touch. Tears begin to fall silently upon your fingers, it was the first time you had genuinely seen him show any kind of emotion towards himself. Your heart tightens in pain to know he was hurting as he struggles to fight against the inner demons that had consumed him for so long.

He dropped his head, hiding what he believed was his weakest form, not wanting to believe that this was the side of him you also came to love. You could tell that he struggled to believe your words, to let it pierce through the wall he had built around himself from years and years of family pressure.

He keeps his gaze focused on the ground, unwilling to meet yours. You slowly remove his glasses and set it on the ground before moving onto your tippy toes and leaning in to press a soft kiss upon his lips.

If your words weren’t enough to get through to him, then perhaps your actions would help him to understand and trust in you. At first his lips stayed motionless, but it wasn’t long after that he finally responds to your touch and gives in to your kiss. You feel warm tears fall onto your flushed cheeks unfamiliar to your own and in response, you move one hand behind his neck, the other sliding through the back of his chestnut coloured hair; deepening the kiss as if it would erase all the pain that he was suffering. You stay in each other’s arms until he lightly pulls away from you.

“Heal me.”

As if a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, you slump into him, embracing his returning warmth and holding onto him for support as your body gives out from relief.

You were finally able to get through to him.

Tears now glazed your eyes once more, however this time from sheer happiness. You look up to him and beam a loving smile before nodding. Lawrence responds by placing another kiss on your lips, gentle and full of warmth and affection. The last remnants of dread flows out of you, and it was at this moment you knew… That things were finally going to be ok.

x mod luna

271 notes · View notes

clairekatswritingcorner · 6 years

Text

Distraction

Word Count: 1,348

Summary: D loves a lot of things about Rhys, often becoming helplessly swayed by his charm. Although it’s hard for her to comprehend, her charms are just as compelling to him.

*Author’s Note*: Another commission for @robotarmjokes! This was really fun to write…I love flirty situations, especially when the people involved end up getting overwhelmingly flustered :P I hope you enjoy!

Although he tried to use his cocky side to his advantage, it usually came out at the worst times. To her, any time he flaunted his charisma was the worst…well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. She couldn’t really make up her mind about what her feelings were, about whether she actually appreciated his obnoxious, flamboyant personality or not. If he asked her, she’d probably say she did; she was just that helpless when it came to him. A charming smile here, a heart fluttering kiss there. She was like a fly in his web, and it wasn’t even a particularly well configured one. More like a series of strings he’d just frivolously thrown together, and she was the prey that’d been foolish enough to waltz right into them.

She didn’t like knowing he held so much power over her. Perhaps it was actually beneficial for her to be aware of it, since it meant she could at least try to intervene on her own behalf when she felt like things were getting out of hand. She was so used to going along with what other people said, blindly following them down whatever path they happened to be treading. That’d been her downfall for several years, the fact that she couldn’t break away from the negative influence of others. She’d had a lot of help recognizing that side of herself, confronting and rejecting it all at once. The process was far from over, and she was sure it wouldn’t be for years to come. It would take her a lifetime of unlearning to move past all of that, but things were getting better. Currently, she was confident that he was the best thing in her life.

There was no way she could be the best thing in his life, though; not in her eyes. He did everything he could to convince her that the opposite was true, but teaching herself to accept such a statement was just another step in the healing process. Agreeing that she was good and lovely and worthwhile, worth knowing, worth being friends with. She’d improved his life in so many ways, stayed by his side even in his bleakest moments. Working as the newly appointed CEO of a resurrected weapon’s manufacture wasn’t easy; sometimes even Rhys found himself questioning how he’d managed to make it this far. He knew it would have been impossible without his friends, the ones that’d been with him before the tipping point of the Hyperion disaster, and the ones he’d taken solace in after the fact. D was a member of the latter category, and he wasn’t sure he could have kept himself together without her.

Two misfits taking refuge in one another, finding comfort, a partner that they knew didn’t exist anywhere else. D was tinkering with something in Rhys’s workshop while he was out scouting for some materials; a typical afternoon for the two partners in both love and business. The broker was particular engrossed in her task, completely oblivious to the sound of his return as he traipsed down the stairs, strolling into the workshop. He saw her bent over the shop table and smiled, leaning his elbows against it as he set a sack of something that sounded heavy and full of metal on its sturdy surface.

“Don’t you ever take any breaks?” he teased with a grin, but D wasn’t going to fall for his instigation just yet. She kept her eyes focused on her work.

“You probably take too many of them,” she rebuffed, although her tone indicated that she was more neutral than mad, as if she was simply stating a fact. “Especially for someone in your position. What do you think some of your employees would say if they knew how much their boss slacked off?”

“I don’t know. What do you say about me?” he goaded, and this time her eyes snapped up in both embarrassment and exasperation. The image they fell upon left her speechless, starstruck, and paralyzed by a combination of anxiety and appreciation.

He was still propped up against the table, resting his cheek on his hand and giving her that smirk he knew she couldn’t resist. She knew she couldn’t resist it, and that only made her heart thump harder. His skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, evidence of the significant physical exertion he’d been doing just before his return. It made his vibrant tattoos seem like they were shining, glowing with a faint light that the broker couldn’t distinguish between her imagination and reality.

For an office worker, and one that she presumed to be especially lazy at that, the nature of his physique was still a mystery to her. He must have just been born with impressive genes…actually, she was sure that was the case. She couldn’t help finding everything about him magnificent, wonderful, and breathtaking. She’d cursed him since the day they met for making her feel such irrational, pointless affection towards him. But she couldn’t deny how much happiness those emotions brought her, that he brought her. It was a gift that couldn’t be bought, that was rare to find, and even rarer to get lucky enough to hold on to like she had.

“Hey, are you feeling okay?” His question wasn’t jarring enough to snap her out of her trance. On the contrary, the proverbial hole she’d gotten herself stuck in only seemed to grow deeper. “Earth to D, what’s going on in that pretty pink head of yours? And I mean literally, your whole head is pink. Your face is the same shade as your hair…was it something I said?”

His words triggered something inside her, but her reply got jumbled up in her throat. She could barely articulate a coherent sound, let alone a full word. His smirk intensified, and her hands gripped whatever objects happened to be occupying them so tightly she was glad they weren’t more fragile. He tilted his head and kept his expression coy, drumming his human fingers against the table. He was scheming something, that much was clear, but right now D was in no position to figure out what it could be.

“Am I distracting you?” His tone was alluring and smooth as velvet; the sound of it made the broker’s arms erupt in goosebumps. “Is it because I’m gorgeous?”

If she’d had any strength left after that finishing blow, she would have used it to deck him. And if he’d thought her face was colorful before, he was in for a surprise. He could almost see the mushroom cloud rising from her neck to the top of her head, leaving a bright crimson shade in its wake that made laughter bubble behind his lips. But it also made him smile, turning the expression in his eyes into something warm and tender. One of them looked like melted chocolate and the other like honey sparkling in the sun. D swallowed hard, trying to find the strength of will to do something, say anything…but she was putty in his hands.

That description became quite literal as he reached across the table, caressing her face with his human hand as he drew her lips into a searing kiss. He tasted salty from the perspiration mixed with the fine grains of Pandoran sand, but his mouth was soft and gentle. He pressed his forehead against her own, lips parting just enough that he could speak. They still brushed against hers with every word.

“I think you’re gorgeous too, you know. The most beautiful thing in the whole universe.”

There was no way she could believe him, but his words and gestures kept her from immediately refuting his observation like she usually would. He meant what he said, and even if she found it impossible, she couldn’t deny the depth of sincerity in his words. She threaded her fingers with his robot ones where they rested on the table, trying to compose herself. No matter what it took, he was determined to never let her doubt or forget the strength of his love for her.

#self insert #selfinsert #self ship #selfship #oc x canon #self insert fic #self insert fanfiction #selfship fic #selfship fanfiction #self insert commissions #selfship commissions #my writing #claire writes #one shot #robotarmjokes #commission

15 notes · View notes

katecarteir · 6 years

Text

baby we can make it if we’re heart to heart

pairing: richie tozier/eddie kaspbrak

summary: prequel/companion fic to no you cant stop time and you cant fence lovebut you don’t necessarily need to read the first part to understand this one

words count: 2.4k

read on ao3

The first time Eddie Kaspbrak and Richie Tozier ever talked about running away together, they were six years old and it hadn’t seemed serious. Richie had just found Eddie forced into one of the intermediate lockers by Henry Bowers nasty gremlins. It had taken several minutes for any sort of authority figure to finally take Richie’s claims seriously and the two boys now sat in the waiting area of the principals office, Eddie crying and Richie feeling like he was about to.

“I hate this place,” Eddie sniffled. Not really thinking about his actions at all, Richie’s arm jumped up to drape around Eddie’s shoulders. Richie’s arms were rather too long for his body; his mother told him it was a sign that he’d grown to be very tall, but right now it was just something else for kids to tease him about.

“Then I’ll take you away,” Richie had promised, tears stinging behind his pre-glasses eyes. “I’ll take you somewhere far, far, away from here where there’s no Bowers or anybody else that could hurt you again. Maybe we can even find somewhere in the world that doesn’t have germs.”

“Everywhere in the world has germs, stupid.” Eddie rolled his eyes, but he still cracked a smile. While Richie didn’t know how he’d get Eddie out of this place, or even what that meant, the smile made him want nothing more than to try.

///

The next time it came up, they were nine and sitting in Eddie’s attic. It was one of the only places Eddie had been allowed friends growing up, because his mother couldn’t make her way up the fragile stairs. She wasn’t a fan of Eddie spending too much time up there (“there’s so much dust up there, Eddie bear! You know it’s bad for your asthma to be around that.”) but she begrudgingly allowed him to send a few hours up there on Saturday afternoons with a friend.

That friend had once been Bill Denbrough, but had become Richie Tozier more and more. Eddie told himself that it was because Richie had better comics than Bill did, that his parents bought him more of a selection, but even at nine years old Eddie had that sinking feeling in his chest that he’d learn to associate with lying to himself about Richie Tozier.

“You know what, Eds,” Richie said, tossing his copy of Captain America. Eddie sighed to himself. Inviting Richie over for comic book reading left very little time for reading comic books, he knew.

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie said automatically. The nickname had only started within the last couple of months, and Eddie hated them. He didn’t know why they’d started, Richie had always called Stanley “Stan the Man” for as long as Eddie had known them. Lately though, he’d started picking up nicknames for Bill and Eddie, too, but Eddie felt like Richie attacked him with them more than anybody else.

Richie ignored the request, as he always did. “I think we should run away.”

Eddie wheezed and reached for his inhaler. “Run away? How would we live Richie?”

Richie just shrugged and smiled. “I’ll run away with you someday, Eddie Spaghetti. Watch me.”

“Stop calling me those stupid names, Trashmouth!”

///

It was brought up again they were twelve and Eddie was throwing it back in Richie’s face. Eddie had been leaning up against the brick wall behind the pharmacy, face starch white and broken arm cradled in his lap when Richie and Bill had found him.

After rushing over, Eddie had barely been able to get out the explanation of what had happened, what Bowers had done to him, through his sobs and shuddering wheezy breaths. Richie had forced the inhaler into Eddie’s mouth, releasing it. It hadn’t done anything to help Eddie’s wheezes and that’s when Richie’s true panic set in. Eddie was going to die, he was going to die, he was going to die. As Bill ran off to find help, Eddie’s blazing eyes found Richie’s and he looked surprisingly coherent in that moment.

“You promised me,” Eddie choked out, voice shallow but angrier than Richie had ever heard. “You promised you’d take far away and they never hurt me again. You lied.”

Tears blurred past Richie’s eyes. He hadn’t lied, he hadn’t. He was going to take Eddie Kaspbrak away from Derry and the terrible people in it if it was the last thing he ever did.

“I’m going to snap it back into place.”

“DO NOT FUCKING TOUCH ME!”

The snap of Eddie’s bone and then Eddie’s blood curdling scream echoed through the empty alley.

Richie promised Eddie again when they were fifteen and kissing.

“No, no, no,” Eddie gasped suddenly, pulling away. He crawled silently away from Richie, not far enough to break all content, but enough to let Richie know not to lean back into his space. Eddie glanced around the area frantically. It was nearing on nine (oh god, he’d need to go home soon for curfew. Fuck, fuck, how could he look at his mother after this?) and he knew that the quarry was empty but he couldn’t control the burning anxiety in his chest. “We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” Richie’s face curled up into confusion. A deep frown burned across his lips, lips that were still tingling. “I don’t…”

“It’s wrong!” Eddie whined. “We can’t, okay? What would people think? My mother, your parents, everybody in this stupid ass town?”

“I don’t care what they think,” Richie said, almost harshly. “I don’t. Eddie, I love you. I have loved you since I was like, eight.”

Tears burned Eddie’s eyes and he kept his gaze stubborningly on Richie’s dirty blue vans. “Richie, it’s not that simple, you know that. Maybe… maybe if we lived somewhere else? I know there are places that are better but, Rich, we don’t.”

“Then we’ll go there.” Richie promised, his voice softer and more genuine than Eddie thought he’d ever heard the Trashmouth sound. “I swear to God, Eddie, we’ll go. We’ll go, okay? We will.”

“That would be years from now,” Eddie said quietly. “I can’t ask to you wait until we live somewhere else to be with me, Richie. And I just… we couldn’t be together like real couples here. That’s not fair to you.”

“How come you get to decide what’s fair to me?” Richie laughed softly. “Didn’t I just say I’ve loved you since I was eight? I’d take being with you anyway we can be, Eds. It doesn’t matter if people know or not. We know.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Trashmouth Tozier?” Eddie scoffed teasingly, his voice thick with his tears. Richie let out a similar laugh.

“Get the fuck back over here,” Richie gestured towards his lap. “I wasn’t done making out with you, Kaspbrak.”

“aaaaaand there he is,” Eddie giggled, already quickly crawling over.

///

When a sixteen year old Richie brought it up next, he wasn’t even talking to Eddie. Stan had always known about him and Eddie, even if nobody else did. Stan had been aware of Richie’s aggressively painful crush on Eddie Kaspbrak since before Richie even had been. It had only been logical that he’d told Stan when they finally gotten together.

“I’m going to spend the rest of my life with him,” Richie said wistfully, staring up at the ceiling in Stan’s bedroom. Stan had been sitting cross legged on his floor, flipping through a comic book. He turned his head over his shoulder to look at his best friend.

“Eddie?” Stan asked, as if he didn’t already know. Richie turned to give a disbelieving look.

“No, Ben,” Richie snarked. “I’ve secretly been cheating on Eddie, the Love of My Life, with him this whole entire time. Surprise.”

Stan let out scoff. “Go back to being a sappy in love idiot, please.”

“Happily,” Richie said. “I was saying that I’m going to spend the rest of my life with Eddie. I am going to marry him.”

Stan frowned slightly, biting back the response that gay people couldn’t get married. He knew this and he knew that Richie knew it, too. There wasn’t any harm in letting him ignore it, even if it was just for one afternoon in the safety of his best friend’s bedroom.

“Not here,” Richie continued. “We couldn’t… not here. We’re gonna run away. Maybe after graduation or something. I don’t know how, but we will.

“I’d help you,” Stan said, turning back to his comic book. He turned the distinct ruffling on Richie sitting up on the bed.

“Wait, what?” Richie squeaked. “Really?”

“Sure. We could consider it my teenage rebellion.”

///

When Richie dropped the bomb on Eddie, he was seventeen, a few months shy of being eighteen. It was Eddie’s birthday, and everybody had already gone home from his gathering. Stan had given Richie a knowing look when Richie had said he was spending the night, but nobody else had questioned it. They never had. It was routine at this point. They’d all come to expect it.

“Hey, Eds,” Richie said mildly. “Remember when I told you that I’d take you away from here?”

“Uh, yeah, Rich,” Eddie laughed, tossing his boyfriend a pair of sweats he kept there for sleeping. “You say it at least once a week, how could I forget?”

“I know, I know, it’s just,” Richie fiddled with the pants. “It’s your birthday. You’re eighteen now, and I… I’ll be eighteen in a few months.”

Eddie raised his brow, watching his boyfriends’ nervous, jerking hands and the way he nibbled on his bottom lip. Eddie’s heart began to race, Richie couldn’t really be talking about what Eddie thought he was talking about… could he?

“We’ll both be adults,” Richie continued, his speaking voice slowly getting faster. “They couldn’t, they couldn’t… control us anymore, you know? They couldn’t..”

“Rich,” Eddie cut him off, heart practically in his throat. “I love you but please, for the love of God, get to the point.”

“We could go,” Richie cried out suddenly. “We could leave and nobody could stop us or make us come back here ever. Just like I promised, Eds, I’d never break that. I’d never-“

“I know,” Eddie said softly. He sat on the bed beside Richie, grabbing his fidgeting hands and pulling them close to him. “I know I wouldn’t. Hell, Richie, you made that promise when we were like… seven-“

“Six,” Richie corrected quietly.

Eddie’s eyes widened slightly and he sucked in a deep breath. “I just, I know you mean it. I mean it, too, I always have, okay? But a few months from now, are you sure you’re ready to do this now?”

“I’ve been ready for years,” Richie said, voice so full of truth and vulnerability that Eddie wanted to cry. “I’m ready whenever you’re ready.

Eddie looked his boyfriend up and down slowly, from his messy halo of brown curls and glasses crooked from being broken so many times. To his chapped lips and stained Hawaiian print T-shirt that even at seventeen years old Richie didn’t feel embarrassed to be seen wearing. His jeans were ripped, not from style but from ridiculous amounts of accidents caused by limb he hadn’t quite gotten used to yet, and the mismatched socks on his feet. Eddie swallowed hard.

“I think I-“ Eddie nodded, a slow smile growing across his face. “I think I’m ready.”

Richie’s face broke into the widest grin Eddie though he’d ever seen and he kissed Eddie, hard. There was no thought, no rhythm, just a complete mess of overwhelming emotions that neither knew how to describe. Once they pulled apart, both still grinning messes, Richie reached back for the sweats.

Eddie grabbed them from him and chunked them across the room. Richie started at him, brow crinkled. Eddie launched himself into Richie’s lap, clasping his hands behind Richie’s neck and stared deep into his eyes.

“You don’t need them,” Eddie said firmly. Richie blinked for a moment before his face blazed with understanding.

“Eddie, Eds, are you…” Richie cleaned his throat, hoping it would clear the hoarse sound. “You…?

“I’m ready,” Eddie whispered as he sealed their lips together again.

///

Richie was the one to step out of the truck first, walking towards where Stan stood at the end of the driveway. His best friend gave him a sad smile and Richie felt a terrible burning in his chest and stomach. Wordlessly, Richie launched himself forward and yanked Stan into his arms. Even though it was Beverly he always had height wars with, it was Stan whom he’d always been bouncing back and forth between with. Richie now had just enough inches on Stan that he had to tilt his head to bury it into his neck.

“Oh, fuck, man,” Richie said, voice gruff and quiet. “I fucking love you.”

“I love you too, brother,” Stan whispered back.

Richie kept a hand clasped to the side of Stan’s neck as he pulled away, and nearly lost it himself when he saw the misty look in Stan’s eyes. “Alright,” Richie cleared his throat. “No fucking crying, you hear me? Jesus Christ.”

Stan swallowed visibly and pursed his lips. “Rich-“ He cut himself off as he caught sight of Eddie approaching. He pulled the smaller into a hug, too; a softer hug, a shorter one. Richie could’ve burst into tears in that moment, could’ve turned around and gone back home just watching his best friend and the love of my life hugging. Thoughts of potentially never getting to see that again ate at Richie’s mind.

He forced the thoughts away, there wasn’t a choice. Not really.

“Thank you so much, Stan,” Eddie whispered as he pulled away. If Eddie was wiping at his eyes, nobody chose to acknowledge it.

“Yeah,” Stan replied, voice cracking like it always had during puberty. Stan had had worse than anybody aside from Richie. Richie had promptly called them The Crack Brothers for a week until Stan told him that if he didn’t stop, he was going to shove a clarinet so far up his ass that it would come out of his mouth. “It’s no problem- really.”

“Teenage rebellion,” Richie said simply. Eddie crinkled his brow in confusion but Stan shot Richie a smirk, and really, that had been the reaction he’d been looking for. “Come on, good chaps,” Richie said, letting an arm drape around Eddie’s shoulders. “We have tones of work ahead of us, on this lovely fortnight!”

“Oh my God,” Eddie complained with a grin. “Do not do the British guy right now, I beg you.”

“Especially since you don’t know anything about British slang, clearly.” Stan added, knocking his elbow against Richie’s.

“And here I thought you loved me.”

“How disappointing for you.”

#reddie #reddie fic #it fanfiction #tozbrak #my writing #am i making this verse into a series?#maybeso.gif

197 notes · View notes

manlyman06 · 6 years

Text

Katara and Toph or how to make strong women

I talk here about stRong in the term of good writing no just strong about badass skills even if this have a important part in their developement.

Let describes each of this character:

You will find the entire article in the great blog: http://femalefortitude.blogspot.com I advise you to go take a look ;)

Katara : She should have been the heroine of the serie in my opinion, she is a young girl who despites her young age take many responsability, she take care of her family and organize the most part of the journey with their group, she is very interesting beacause despites having cleary amother role, she have goals she have doubts and defaults, she thinks about her and have a strong wil.

Her dreams it’s to becoming a Master in water bending, by make her dream comes true she doesn’t hesitate to steal a trarining parchement, that can be view as a bad thing but it is very coherent due to the situation that she see Ang becoming more and more powerful with the water bending, and i don’t think it’s jealousy i think is ambitious, but the moment in the serie where we see that is real deveolop character and not just a female support for the hero is in the Northern Water Tribe episode.

Having worked with Aang to develop her ability, Katara seeks a master to train her. Unfortunately, the best instructor available, Master Pakku, refuses her entry to his program. In the Northern Water Tribe, he tells her, female benders learn how to heal while their male counterparts learn how to do everything else. Katara rejects this model, saying, “I don’t want to heal, I want to fight!”

She soon gets her chance; Pakku dismisses her as a “little girl,” and Katara challenges him to a duel if he’s “man enough” to take her on There are in this scene a very important moment in my opinion where Ang says to her “ do not do it for me as if in every serie the female support doing thing only because of a male character, and she replies i’m not doing this for you i’m doing rhis to teach him a lesson Aware of her own inferior bending technique and the reality of her inevitable defeat, Katara nevertheless chooses to face Pakku and forces him to fight her

IInn “The Runaway episode,” Sokka reveals that he relies on Katara’s strength and responsible nature. He describes the role Katara has played in his life since their mother’s death: “I’m not sure I can remember what my mother looked like. It really seems like my whole life Katara’s been the one looking out for me.

Her important personal quest is getting revenge on the Fire Nation soldier who killed her mother. Both Sokka and Aang try to dissuade her, telling her that she should forgive the soldier and move on, but Katara says that that would be impossible. When Zuko tells her to save her strength, she tells him that she has plenty: “I’m not the helpless little girl I was when they came.” Implicit in this statement and in Katara’s recollection that her mother sacrificed herself to protect her is Katara’s feeling of guilt. She has immense power now, but she couldn’t protect her mother when it counted. She had to rely on her mother’s strength so that she could one day increase her own. For Katara, a child who not only suspects, but knows that her mother exchanged her life for her own, it would be impossible not to think of her death as Katara’s fault. Tracking down and punishing the man who physically did the deed might allow Katara to feel less responsible.

This doesn’t mean that Katara is above doing terrible things in her quest for revenge and redemption, which becomes evident when Katara bloodbends the man she suspects is Kya’s killer. When it proves to be the wrong man, she appears disheartened, but not particularly remorseful. The weapon that once horrified her is now just another in her arsenal. Still, when she finds the killer, she uses only normal waterbending, which suggests that some of that initial reticence has been restored. She still resists becoming Hama’s successor.

When it comes time to make a decision, Katara decides not to kill the former soldier. She explains the situation to Aang: “I wanted to do it. I wanted to take out all my anger at him, but I couldn’t. I don’t know if it’s because I’m too weak to do it, or if it’s because I’m strong enough not to.” Aang tells her that she did the right thing, and that forgiveness is the first step toward healing. Katara replies, “But I didn’t forgive him. I’ll never forgive him.” She does, however, forgive Zuko. This is a significant point in Katara’s characterization. Whole episodes are devoted to Aang learning how to let things go, and we know that he has had to overcome the loss of his people in order to become a better Avatar. We appreciate his thoughts about forgiveness because we know that he knows what he’s talking about. But Aang and Katara are very different people, and her inability to forgive is just as important to her character as his unwillingness to take revenge. After watching three seasons of A:TLA, the viewer knows that she holds grudges, that she has immense stores of rage, and that the loss of her mother has informed much of her personality. To take violent revenge would be to become Hama, but to forgive Kya’s killer would be to stop being Katara.

Source : http://femalefortitude.blogspot.com/2013/08/the-last-waterbender.html

Toph : Is my favorite in the entire show she is funny, endearing, stubborn or determined ^^, I find in her all the i love about my girlfriend ^^

Toph’s introductory episode is an explicit rebuttal to the typical portrayal of people with disabilities. The first time we meet her, she is defending her title at a WWE-style earthbending competition as the Blind Bandit. Aang, Katara, and Sokka are initially skeptical; surely a tiny twelve-year-old blind girl couldn’t beat a bunch of full-grown men. However, she can and does, and she is only defeated when Aang unfairly uses airbending in his challenge for the title.

Later in the episode, after she and Aang have been kidnapped, Toph’s father reveals that his primary reason for keeping her close is her blindness. When Sokka and Katara ask for her help to save Aang, her father states, “My daughter is blind. She is blind and tiny and helpless and fragile. She cannot help you.” Toph, confronted with her father’s low opinion of her ability, says simply, “Yes, I can.” Sokka and Katara offer to help her, but she declines. Then she takes on all seven adult earthbenders at once and she wipes the floor with them.

Toph’s father is presented as controlling and irrational, and the show condemns his point of view. He is wrong for controlling her and for viewing her in terms of what she can’t do instead of who she is. By condemning him, the show rejects the usual approach to the mainstream portrayal of disability. It strengthens this message by having Toph defend her actions with very little reference to her blindness, instead framing the conversation as a matter of agency versus control. She doesn’t explain that she has devised a method of sight that involves reading vibrations in the earth, thereby “overcoming” her disability. Rather, she points out that she’s good at fighting, that she loves it, and that she deserves to exist and be accepted as she is. Ultimately, she joins Team Avatar because they can give her that acceptance.

The shift in Toph’s loyalty from her biological family to her found family forms the bulk of her character arc, and it is best exemplified in the development of her relationship with Katara. In “The Chase,” nurturing team mom Katara comes into conflict with the recently liberated Toph. Toph refuses to help the others set up camp, claiming that she can pull her own weight. The tension increases over the course of the episode, in which Team Avatar endures a sleepless night spent fleeing from Azula’s relentless pursuit, eventually causing Toph to leave the group. She runs into Zuko’s uncle, Iroh, to whom she confesses, “People see me and think I’m weak. They wanna take care of me, but I can take care of myself, by myself.” Iroh tells her that there is nothing wrong with getting help from the people who love you, and she decides to rejoin the team.

Katara tries to re-define their friendship as a relationship between equals by offering to pull a scam with Toph. In this way, she can show Toph that she’s fun while hopefully removing the baggage of projected parental failure from their relationship. At the end of the episode, Toph tells Katara that she was right and asks Katara to help her write a letter to her parents, thereby relieving her of her role as maternal figure as Toph seeks to re-open communication with her actual mother.

The exchange that follows is remarkable. Katara tries to tell Toph that the girls had no idea what they were talking about, but Toph assures her that “It’s okay. One of the good things about being blind is that I don’t have to waste my time worrying about appearances. I don’t care what I look like. I’m not looking for anyone’s approval. I know who I am.” Still, she’s crying as she says it. Katara notices and tailors her response to reinforce Toph’s value as a person, even as she also addresses the unspoken question: “That’s what I really admire about you, Toph. You’re so strong and confident and self-assured, and I know it doesn’t matter, but you’re really pretty.” This response earns Katara the (should-be) coveted Beifong shoulder punch of affection.

This is particularly interesting in light of Toph’s complicated relationship with gender performance. Whereas Katara fights to be allowed access to traditionally male spaces, Toph’s domination in Earth Rumble V and VI proves that she’s already there. As far as we know, she spent all of her time at home with her parents and servants, with regular visits from her earthbending teacher, Master Yu. It’s no surprise that a sheltered, disempowered kid would want to emulate the competitive earthbenders’ overt displays of strength and forge a place for herself among them. Joining their ranks, however, necessarily requires her to immerse herself in their hyper-masculine subculture, based on violence and trash talking. Toph happily becomes a master of both.

ne of the incontrovertible truths of the A:TLAworld is that it is impossible to bend metal. Xin Fu says as much when he tells Toph, “You might think you’re the greatest earthbender in the world, but even you can’t bend metal.” For a time, even Toph believes this. As all of her ploys to get out of the box prove unfruitful, however, she looks to the metal itself. Overlaid on the scene is the voice-over of a guru, telling Aang that all of the elements are connected. Even metal, he says, is just “a part of earth that has been purified and refined.” Without the benefit of hearing this voice-over, Toph nevertheless finds the impurities in the metal box and physically pries it apart. When her captors come back to investigate, she imprisons them in the box, exclaiming as she leaves, “I am the greatest earthbender in the world! Don’t you two dunderheads ever forget it.” In this scene, we see the essence of Toph. She finds herself in a seemingly impossible situation, so she does the impossible to get out of it. She has been locked in a cage -- a metal box, the prison of her parents’ house, the jail of their controlling affection, or the dark dungeon that others assume she is confined to due to her blindness -- and she forges her way to freedom. Ultimately, Toph Beifong is a character who finds empowerment in disempowerment, turning perceived weaknesses into real strengths.

All the analysis belong to femalefortitude.blogspot.com

Source :http://femalefortitude.blogspot.com/2013/08/the-greatest-earthbender-in-world.html

#katara #toph beifong #feminism

3 notes · View notes