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starsofang · 1 month

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CALL OF THE SEA / PART SEVEN

pirate poly!141 x reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, blood, brief mentions of death, ghost is mean, as always, be cautious! masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Soap was an obnoxious snorer. His heavy rumbles echoed throughout the quarters, traveling right over to you and keeping you awake. It didn’t help that you were forced into his bed, either.

Your eyes remained on the ceiling, slowly blinking every few seconds with the ache to sleep but unable to. You felt groggy yet restless, wanting to succumb into a comfortable slumber, but the snores began to make you itch more and more.

You didn’t know what time it was, but you knew it was too early to be getting out of bed. However, you needed an escape. A breath of fresh air.

Sitting up and swinging your legs over the bed, you stood with all the intention to escape the room for a few moments to get a piece of quiet. You gently slipped each foot into the shoes Soap had gotten you, careful not to rouse the two of them from their sleep.

You could only pray Soap didn’t feel the movement in his sleep.

Slowly, you crept towards the door, wincing at every faint creak beneath your footsteps. The two men were still sound asleep, though it was too dark to tell whether that notion was completely true or not.

With Soap still in a peaceful rumble, you successfully made it to the door, breathing out a sigh of relief at the idea of getting a moment of peace.

Price’s quarters were much quieter. Sure, he snored as well, but it wasn��t as aggressive as Soap’s. The Captain had a bad habit of smoking cigars, something you gathered when you’d seen him once or twice with a trail of swirling gray that seemed to linger a second too long.

“What are you doin’?”

The sound of Gaz’s familiar voice nearly had you jumping out of your skin. You muffled your yelp with a hand, whirling around to try and pinpoint him in the darkness.

You could faintly see his silhouette, sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees. He looked menacingly in the dim light like this, a noticeable glint in his eyes that shined back at you from the lick of moonlight that poured through.

“Escapin’ again?” he gruffed, unimpressed.

Soap stirred in his sleep before shifting positions, returning back to his previous snoring.

“No, not at all,” you defended. Even in the dark, you could see Gaz didn’t look convinced.

“Yeah? Then what are you doin’ up, creepin’ around like you’re up to somethin’?” Gaz asked. He stood from the bed, arms crossing over his chest.

“I wish to get some air,” you explained as confidently as you could without waking Soap by being too rowdy. “Soap is not easy to fall asleep next to.”

Gaz was silent for a moment before he let out a quiet snort. “Aye. Well, I’m not leavin’ you unchaperoned. Captain’s orders. Can’t risk a little minx slippin’ away again.”

You went to object. You didn’t wish to have company, you wanted to be alone. Being around men was positively suffocating, and living with them against your own will wasn’t what you pictured for your future.

You wanted to live as a woman again. You wanted to live freely again. You wanted to tour the upper decks alone.

Gaz made his way across the room and over to you, his footsteps surprisingly much softer than yours, even as a larger man.

You began to think maybe he had done the same as you before. Rooming with Soap couldn’t have been super thrilling with him purring like a cat majority of the night.

He stood in front of you, cocking his head in question when he noticed your gaping mouth and a slur of words unspoken on your end.

“C’mon. I’ll join you,” he insisted, opening the door for you and leaving no room for argument.

Moonlight flooded in, causing you to squint. You looked outside of the door, then at him, unsure.

Joining you was nicely saying that he was indeed chaperoning you. You knew the difference.

“I am not going to run away,” you repeated.

“I’m aware,” he huffed, guiding you out with a hand on your shoulder. “But I, too, can’t stand that bugger’s snorin’.”

So really, he trusted you not to run. He just trusted his Captain much more.

Gaz becoming humorous with you was definitely new. He was usually much more serious, down to Earth, well-spoken. Apart from the casual slip of accusation towards Ghost being jealous at breakfast the day before, he had been rather silent.

You had no choice but to allow him the time to take you out on the upper deck, the two of you falling into a calm atmosphere.

The sound of the waves instantly eased the tension built within you, shoulders falling slack and your mind quieting down. Soap’s snores became a distant memory, and you had a moment to think.

Think about what, you weren’t sure. There were a plethora of things that sprouted, not all good. They had unsettled you since your very first steps on to the ship, but only did they come in the silence of the night.

You wondered how differently things would transpire for you if you were still home, safe and sound. You didn’t think much would’ve changed, not for the better anyway. You still would’ve been the crazy girl who had a wild mind and an absent desire to pursue a life like the other women.

Then Mary flashed, only for a moment. You knew the truth. If the rest of the village was dead, she was just as unlucky. As much as you wanted to hate the pirates for shifting her course of fate, you knew it would’ve been an outcome sooner rather than later.

She was old and frail with only her mind kicked into overdrive. She had the personality of just a girl, but her visits for checkups became more and more frequent as the years went by. You knew she was destined to pass somewhere down the road.

You just wish it was a comfortable death rather than one filled with chaos and terror.

Would, if the time ever came, the pirates offer you a death they couldn’t give to Mary? To your people? Or would they grant you the agony of death in cruel ways the moment they sensed a shift in your trust?

“Your mind seems disturbed,” Gaz said, not unkindly. “I’ve been told I’m a rather good listener.”

“I do not think you’d like to hear about it,” you responded, attempting to steer the topic.

“You’re one of us now, whether the both of us like it or not,” he explained. “I believe that it’ll be a much smoother sail if you have an outlet to release your troubles.”

The two of you halted at the ledge of the ship, peering down at the water. The waves lapped lazily tonight, allowing peace for you to let out your burdens.

“I think it’s rather selfish what you men have done to me,” you began. You took a brief glance at Gaz, who had his elbows leaned on the railings, eyes watching the sea. Where you expected a rebuttal, you were offered silence. “I was thinking of home.”

“I see,” Gaz hummed. “And was it a place you were happy?”

You furrowed your eyebrows in thought. You joined him in resting your elbows next to his, lying your chin on top of them. “Of course. I was very happy.”

“That doesn’t seem very convincin’ from you, little dove,” he noted. He still refused to look at you, though his attention was entirely on hearing you out.

It was a change you didn’t expect to see. It caused you to feel… confusion? Apprehension? You weren’t quite sure how you should feel.

“I was happy,” you tried to defend. Now was the time he looked at you, though it was really more of an unconvinced side eye. “On my own. I was happy when I was alone.”

“Was that such a hard confession?” he jabbed. “Go on. I know there’s more.”

You huffed through your nose, frowning at the water. “I am angry at you for killing Mary,” you confessed. “She was innocent. She was my friend.”

“Every soul is innocent under the eyes of the Gods,” he mused. “We simply do not care to be under watch. We have our reasonin’ for what we do. We will never say we’re proud of it.”

“You ask for me to— to unleash my disturbed mind, yet you are only defending yourself!” you accused with a heavy frown, setting a glare on him.

“I said I am a good listener,” he corrected with the hint of a smile. “Not a good friend.”

“Unbelievable,” you mumbled beneath your breath, returning to looking at the sea.

Where before you were surprised yet relieved that the two of you seemed to be getting on much better than before, it seemed he was taking it farther — by being insufferable. It was nearly as bad as Soap when he would take the piss out on you.

“I am merely jokin’,” Gaz assured with warmth in his tone. “I used to be very good with people, mind you. Now, I fear I’m a bit rusty.”

You glanced at him, resting your cheek on your elbows. The moment of tension had faded as quickly as it appeared, leaving the two of you in that comfortable space once again.

“What made you so good with people before?” you inquired, curious.

“I was not always a pirate,” he confessed. “I did not grow up in poverty, sailin’ the seas. I was someone of higher status before I abandoned the title and sought adventure.”

You stared at him, bewildered. The thought of Gaz being someone of importance before who he was now was mind-boggling. He didn’t appear to be posh and proper, rather a bit hot-headed with a loose tongue.

“What kind of status would that be?” you asked.

Gaz finally looked at you fully, turning his head to face you. His smile was more radiant than ever, completely genuine and kind. It was the most emotion you’d seen out of him. He seemed real.

That smile wasn’t one of a cruel pirate’s. It was a boy with a bandaged heart that was still hidden inside and needed to be coaxed out with a bit of patience.

“A prince.”

Gaz didn’t continue the conversation after. He took you back to the shared room without a lick of an explanation, opting to keep the mystery hanging in the air. Even after you questioned him further, he only gave you a slick smile before urging you back to bed.

Now, it was morning, and you had spent the rest of the night becoming friends with the ceiling once again. Soap continued to snore the night away, yet he wasn’t what kept you up.

It was Gaz. You were achingly curious.

It gave you a glimpse of who these men might have been before you, before becoming pirates. The thought of them being rugged and cruel was still heavy in your mind, but there was also a peek of light trying to pour out and shed a bit of sunshine on what you thought was only darkness.

“Ye up, dove?” Soap’s voice flooded the room and when you peeked up from where you buried yourself in your blanket, you saw Soap standing in the doorway, ready to go for the day.

You felt him leave the bed earlier that morning, but pretended to be asleep, hoping you’d finally get some rest alone. Spoiler, you did not.

Gaz stood behind Soap, and unlike before, there was a hint of mischief in his eyes. It was a faint glint, barely noticeable, but you saw it.

The damned pirate knew he was stringing along on a brutal journey of torture for not answering your inquiries and leaving you restless.

“Price wants ye in the kitchen with Ghost today,” Soap explained. “Since ye can’t do any medic duties, he wants ye to help in cookin’.”

“I do not know how to cook,” you tried to reason. “I only ever ate bread and rice. I will be of no help.”

The last thing you wanted was to be in Ghost’s area. You felt as if you took a step too close, he’d bare fanged teeth out from that mask of his and sink them into you like a rabid animal.

“Ghost’s a good teacher. C’mon, dove, Cap doesn’t like bein’ left waitin’, especially in the mornin’.” Soap encouraged you out of bed, and you quickly slipped on your shoes, stumbling on the way out.

Ghost was already present in the kitchen by the time you arrived. He was laser focused, chopping at vegetables on a wooden block with a large knife.

You had never taken note of it before, given his skull ring was the main piece plastered on his finger, but this time, you observed closer.

Black ink swirled along the back of his hand, dipping underneath the cuff of his shirt. You couldn’t make out what the picture could be, but judging from the rest of his themed attire, you had a good idea.

“The hell she doin’ here?” Ghost immediately gruffed to Soap, who was busy guiding you further into the kitchen.

“Play nice,” Soap pleaded. He walked you over to Ghost, pressing you forward when your body began to protest. “Cap wants her to learn how to cook. Be a lad and help the poor bird out, will ye?”

Ghost stared at you with eyes as dark as the onyx on his finger before grunting in annoyance, focusing back on chopping away.

Soap left before you could get a word out, leaving you alone with the Devil himself. Ghost spared you no glance, not for a long while until his vegetables were chopped and placed in a bowl.

“What do y’know how to cook?” Ghost asked, leaning his palms on the counter. “Y’know how to boil water?”

You frowned at him, offended. “Of course I know how to boil water.”

“Good. You aren’t as clueless as you act.” Ghost grabbed a pot hanging from one of the many cabinets of the kitchen before handing it over to you. “There’s some water in that barrel. Go on.”

You turned your head to where he pointed, noting the heavy barrel seated with others in the corner. You gave him a firm nod before making your way. Once you got to the barrel, you attempted to lean it over to pour some water into the pot.

It was heavy. Overwhelmingly heavy. You weren’t weak, but you were certainly in no shape to lift the barrel like Price had done when he ran you a bath.

It was a struggle. You tried not to make it obvious, not wanting to hear more jests from Ghost. Nothing you did would work. Rather than getting water into the pot, it spilled out around your feet, soaking the soles of your shoes.

Before you could express your frustration, scarred hands came around you, lifting the barrel with a deep grunt. The water poured into the pot, and when you looked behind you, Ghost stood over you.

His mask hid his expression, but judging from the way he looked at you briefly, you could pinpoint the annoyance.

“Christ,” he muttered.

When he finished helping you, he trudged back to his station, stomping along the way. You, knowing better than to quip in return, began boiling the pot over the burning embers of a small fire that centered in the middle of the kitchen.

It was nothing like a normal fire, and it was small, but it was amazing that the crew could even manage to start a fire for cooking on a rocking boat at sea.

You stood patiently and quietly as you watched the water jostle from the slight waves, slowly forming bubbles that floated to the top and popped.

Ghost remained silent as well, not sparing a single glance in your direction. This was something you were growing used to, though you wished you knew why he resented you so harshly.

He was the coldest out of the crew. Everyone had been at first, but he seemed to be the one with the most roughness around the edges. Even in his appearance, he was tougher, and the skulls certainly didn’t aid him in coming off as kind.

“Stop starin’ at me,” he said roughly.

You quickly averted your attention away from him, opting to watch the bubbles. “I apologize.”

“Don’t need no apology. Just need you to stop starin’.” He continued to mutter under his breath grumpily, and you regretted even looking his way in the first place.

“You do not have to be so rude,” you reckoned, frowning. “You are the only one with reservations left for me.”

“Because I do not like you,” he snapped, whirling around to face you.

He was menacing, the way he held the knife and stared at you like you had just kicked his puppy. It was terrifying before, but now, it didn’t feel as threatening.

“You have no reason to dislike me,” you defended. “If anything, I have every reason to dislike you.”

“Yeah? If you hate it here so much, I’ll place a plank out just for you so you can walk it.” Ghost’s hand gripped the knife tighter, his knuckles going white.

“I have done nothing to you,” you clipped back.

“You have done everythin’ to me,” he rebutted. “You are only here because of Soap, and that is only because he is more kind-hearted than the rest of us. If we had it our way, we would not have you here.”

You could feel your blood begin to boil like the water in the pot. It was sizzling, steaming, and heated.

You didn’t have a clue why Ghost hated you, and he wasn’t giving you a clear answer. The only thing you knew was that he did, and he stood on it.

“You are the ones who took me prisoner,” you jabbed. “You’re the disgusting pirates who burned down my home and took me as a medic. Who is at fault but yourselves?”

Ghost let out an angry noise from the back of his throat, slamming down the knife — except, in doing so, the blade clipped his finger, pebbling up drops of blood that began to drip down his finger and on to the wooden block beneath it.

Immediately, your fury turned to worry, and you hurried over to check the cut. Instead of allowing you to help, he stepped away from you, holding his other hand up to his bleeding finger, cutting off the blood with a fisted grip.

“I do not need your help, medic,” he spat, turning away and storming out of the kitchen.

You watched wearily as he left, the door slamming behind him. You didn’t like getting into fights, let alone with Ghost. He was harsh with his words and did not hold back on your feelings.

Now, you felt you were the reason he hurt himself to begin with. You were taken in as a medic, and you couldn’t even fix up the one man who had hurt himself thus far.

You let out a heavy sigh, slumping your arms on to the counter to bury your face in them. Before you could, a glimpse of something unfamiliar caught your eye.

Upon closer inspection, you noticed something off about Ghost’s blood that had dropped the wooden block. When it had first dripped, it was a deep crimson.

Now, as you looked, it had changed. It was no longer red and was unmistakably black in color.

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shewroteaworld · 1 year

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I'll Hold Your Weight When You Can't

Premise: Brilliant sunshine!reader gets heat stroke on a case. Your best friend, Spencer Reid, is predictably worried about you. What he doesn't expect is to be forced to come to terms with his feelings for you.

Word count: approx. 3,200

TW: Brief mention of vomit and, perhaps, hospitals

(Y/N/N): Your nickname

Author's Note: Super excited to introduce brilliant sunshine!reader (aka, super smart sunshine!reader) onto my fanfic writing scene! Definitely willing to write more of her in the future if anyone is interested. Hope you enjoy!

“Does anybody have more water?”

“Where is the damn ambulance?”

Perhaps your job classically conditioned you to respond to Hotch’s “I’m seriously not fucking around” tone because your eyes crack open.

Someone put weights on your eyelids and cranked the sun to extra-bright. The harsh rays burned your retinas and washed everything in a white blur. Did someone set off a flash bang?

“(Y/N)? Can you hear me?” Miraculously, out of the screeching white, you made out JJ’s halo of blonde hair.

“JJ?” You groaned. Even though you could barely see, it felt like the whole world was spinning,

“Hotch, she’s coming around!” You recognized Morgan’s voice. “Welcome back to the world of the living, honey. We’re happy to see you.”

Your heart rate spiked. You never died. Did you die?

“Yes, we still need a medic!” Hotch barked.

You winced. “Wha?” Suddenly, your mouth couldn’t handle a one-syllable world. Even more alarming, your brain, the same brain that kept up with Emily Prentiss and Spencer Reid, couldn’t understand what the hell was going on.

“What I do?” You whined.

“He’s not yelling at you, honey,” JJ said like a kindergarten teacher. “You’re just a little out of it right now.”

“Is she conscious?” Another voice entered. Your head spun. “I brought more water.”

You moaned to suppress a gag. Your eyelids drooped, and you relished in the break from the light.

“Hey, smarty pants, stay with us.” Morgan pat your cheek. “Let Emily get some water in you.” You couldn’t force your eyes open more if you tried.

Your friend Emily. That’s who the voice belonged to.

Suddenly, JJ pulled your hair from your face, Morgan lifted your head, and Emily forced a water bottle to your lips simultaneously. The blinding glare seared your eyes and your head spun. You wanted to sob and maybe vomit.

Your chest hitched with a shallow inhale. “Stop.” You whined.

“(Y/N), it’s okay. Take a deep breath.” JJ said.

“No!” You exclaimed.

“Honey–” Morgan tried.

You thrashed against his hold, but your exhausted muscles couldn’t throw Morgan’s gentlest grip.

“Maybe we should let her go.” Emily said.

“She needs water.” JJ countered.

“She’s disoriented.” Hotch cut in. “Let her get her bearings first, but don’t let her close her eyes.”

Gingerly, Morgan lay your body back on the grass. Your head swam, and your vision rippled as if you could see the heat waves in the California air. You tried to take a deep breath but choked.

You sputtered. Every inhale led to a series of dry coughs. In your delirium, you thought of Spencer. Your Spencer. Where the hell was he? Did he not love you anymore?

Suddenly, Hotch loomed over you. His tall frame blocked out the brutality of the sun’s glare, which eased your headache and nausea but not your cough. His eyebrows were so deeply furrowed they formed a trench of wrinkles across his forehead. “Check her airway.”

Suddenly, you stared into JJ’s blue eyes. Other hands tried to manipulate your body. You jerked.

“(Y/N), relax.”

“Honey, please–”

“Turn her on her side!” Morgan’s cut off by Reid, his voice sharper than you’d ever heard.

***

Spencer Reid has survived many traumatic situations.

He's cared for his schizophrenic mother. He’s been kidnapped. He recovered from a drug addiction. And those are just a few items from his dissertation-length “PTSD-Causing Experiences” list.

But many of his worst traumas were a by-product of being a profiler– a job which allowed him to utilize his intellect to help others. He was willing to accrue trauma like Pokemon cards in exchange for applying his genetic gifts to create a safer world.

Reid could have framed your heat exhaustion as another scare in the line of duty. But when Reid saw you, his brilliant girl, on the ground, his heart fell through his feet.

Then, he saw how his the team responded to your medical emergency.

When he witnessed you coughing and writhing on your back as the team leered over with water, he thought he might explode.

You could be asphyxiating, and the team could be letting you choke while forcing more fluid down your throat.

He shivered as he sprinted down the steps of the local precinct and onto the grassy field where you lay.

“Turn her on her side!” He yelled as diagnoses and courses of action fled through his mind on hyperspeed.

“We’re trying, she—”

“Spence?” You choked out through a coughing fit. He’s surprised his ears caught it.

Reid knelt next to you. “Let’s get you into recovery position.” He said, his voice suddenly soft as clouds. Reid gingerly pushed you onto your left side. “Off your back, there we go.” He bent your right leg and slid it in front of your body to prevent you from rolling onto your stomach if you lost consciousness.

“Did she faint?” Reid asked the team. He couldn’t take his eyes from your face.

“We think so. She was dizzy, so she laid on the ground. Then she was unresponsive for at least 40 seconds,” Emily said.

Spencer pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. Predictably, you were feverishly hot. “She’s burning up. Has someone called an ambulance?”

“Allegedly.” Hotch said, an edge to his voice.

“We have, sir. They’re on their way.” A local police officer responded, exasperated.

Spencer’s eye twitched. “How long has she been down?” You whined, and he stroked your cheekbone with his thumb.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He whispered.

“In total, 15 minutes.” Hotch supplied. “Emily, pour some more water on her.”

“This was for her to drink.”

“Use one bottle to pour on her face and neck.” Spencer said. “I ran and got Gatorade. She should start with sips of that when she can swallow. Heat stroke can also be caused by salt depletion.”

Spencer was conversing with a local officer over the safety protocols in the area when a pair of policemen walked into the precinct, gossiping about the FBI agent who “folded fast in the southern Cali heat.”

Spencer’s jaw had clenched. Maybe one of his team members was ill since they put in most of the grunt work to catch the unsub. He would’ve been more annoyed if not for the worry gnawing at his brain. What if they were talking about (Y/N)? She looked a little shaky right after her chase with the unsub, but Spencer didn’t get a chance to ask his friend if she was alright. And, stupidly enough, he forgot to text her to check if she drank any water post-case. Quickly, Reid excused himself, grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge, and rushed to the field where your limp body trembled on the grass.

“I’m going to pour some water on you, honey," Emily said. You flinched as the frigid water hit your hairline.

“Breathe, relax.” Spencer said, shielding your nose. The last thing you needed was some accidental waterboarding.

Seconds after the water drenched your forehead, your whole body relaxed into the grass. “That felt good.” You smiled weakly.

Spencer stroked your arm. “Let’s sit you up in a minute, okay? You should try some Gatorade before the EMTs get here.”

“EMTs? I’m fine.” You whined.

Spencer didn’t think it was possible for his eyebrows to crease further.

“You’re not fine.” Gentler, he said, “and it’s okay not to be fine, sunlight.”

“But, I’m alive.” You tried to roll onto your stomach, but your bent leg kept you safe on your back.

Some on the team members chuckled, but Spencer didn’t find your delirium humorous. “I know you’re alive, sweetie. But you’re way too hot. I think you’re a little confused right now.”

“I’m just…” You winced. “I’m alive.”

The knot in Spencer’s chest tightened ten-fold. This could be heat stroke. At the very least, you had heat exhaustion. You were dehydrated. You were delirious.

Best case scenario: you were ill for a few days. Worst case scenario: You had vital organ damage.

Just as he’s about to call 911 himself, JJ interrupted him. “Look–ambulance lights. Help is on the way, honey.”

“You hear that, (Y/N)? You’re gonna be fine.” Morgan said. If only Spencer felt that confident.

“Spence…” You blocked your eyes from the light with your limp right hand. “I’m scared. I don’t feel well.”

“Oh, (Y/N), I know.” He cupped your shoulder and hoped you could feel his love for you through his palm. That sent a jolt down his spine. He wasn’t supposed to comfortably think those thoughts about you.

You were sick. This wasn’t the time. He leaned over your body. He gave you plenty of breathing room, but his torso was parallel to your hip so his eyes could meet your watering ones. “Hey, take a breath for me, Smartie.”

Your nickname for him slipped from his tongue so easily it spooked him. Suddenly, he noticed his thumb stroking over your cotton t-shirt. He should stop. The whole team was watching. He was being was too intimate; he'd face stupid quips from Morgan for days. He kept stroking anyway.

He observed your chest rise and fall. Your breaths were shaky but deeper. He relaxed a tad. Vital oxygen was reaching your bloodstream.

“(Y/N), can we try something?” Spencer asked.

“Yes. Maybe. What is it?”

The knot in his chest loosened. You responded immediately and with more than two words; you were becoming more lucid.

“Can you sit up and have some sips of Gatorade? I got your favorite flavor. At least, if your favorite flavor hasn’t changed from three years ago.” It most likely hadn’t. Once your opinion settled, it was frustratingly hard to erode your verdict.

“I can’t…I don’t know.”

“I know sitting up is hard. I’ll help you. And I’ll prop you against my chest. I’ll hold your weight when you can’t.”

“KK, Spence.” Your childlike tone tugged at his heart strings.

Spencer and Morgan lifted your limp body from the ground. They manhandled you into a sitting position with your head propped on Spencer’s shoulder and your body tucked between his thighs.

One of his arms stabilized you while the other raised a cold bottle of orange Gatorade to your lips.

After nine sips of Gatorade, you spoke again.

“Orange.” You took another sip. "My favorite.”

He smiled into your hair. “When have I ever lied to you, (Y/N/N)?”

***

Spencer nearly created a crater in the linoleum floor of the ER waiting room with his bouncing heel by the time the doctor came back with an update.

“She had a mild case of heat stroke. We currently have her on fluids, and she’ll need lots of rest for at least the next week.” Doctor Bahamani concluded.

“No signs of metabolic dysfunction? Any respiratory distress?” Reid checked.

Doctor Bahamani smiled knowingly. “She’s going to be just fine, Doctor Reid.”

“Can I see her?” Spencer asked.

“Yes. Only two at a time, please.”

Spencer didn’t care who volunteered with him. He moved without thinking. An outpouring of gratitude for his eidetic memory flooded him. Through the thickest brain fog, he could trust his recollection of the hospital to bring him to the correct hospital room.

The security staff practically had to drag him away from your bedside after the ambulance ride. They might have thrown him out of the ER if not for the flash of his FBI badge.

Something nagged at him as he sped past the nursing station.

You were going to be fine. The ER doctor confirmed it. Yet his heart was still pounding and he could barely refrain from running. Even more odd, he wasn’t ashamed of his irrational behavior.

So what if a doctor deemed you were okay? It was you. And he saw you groggier and more out of it than you'd ever been. And who knows how thorough the doctors were with their examination? It was completely reasonable to worry for one of his closest friends.

He just couldn't believe you were alright until he checked you over with his own hands and his own eyes.

***

When you grinned at him from your cot, Spencer wasn’t sure whether to smile or cry.

Tears glazed your eyes. But, your gorgeous smile was back.

“Spencer?” You asked, brow raised and head cocked.

He’d been staring too long. He looked like an idiot, lamely standing in the doorway as if he were the one with heat stroke.

“Straighten your head. Your neck is probably tight.”

You smiled, but this time it was tight-lipped and painful-looking. “You’re too worried.”

He watched saline drip down your IV. “Of course I’m worried, (Y/N). You got heat stroke.” With a deep breath as a shot of courage, he sat in the chair by the head of your bed.

There was nothing odd about sitting with his best friend at the hospital.

His chest twisted at “best friend” and his resolve collapsed. He couldn’t deny it anymore.

He liked you. He really, really liked you. He actually might even–

“Luckily, I got out pretty unscathed.” You snapped Spencer out of his spiral. “A little dehydrated. Achy. Might feel sick for a few days.”

“Or weeks.” Spencer corrected.

“Trying to look on the bright side here, Doctor.” You smirked and Spencer swore his right ventricle tightened.

Then, your nose scrunched and Spencer's wiped clean of any concern about his cardiac health.

“What hurts?”

“Just a little achy, Spencer. I’m alright.”

He shot you a look. He knew all your excuses. He knew you went to self-harming lengths to not worry people.

“You’re not alright.” He reached for the red nurse-call button.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Okay…my body aches, Spence. And the IV burns. But they’ve already told me that’s normal. No need to take nurses away from an emergency.”

The nurses at the station desk didn’t appear to be rushing around for anyone, but Spencer feared this wouldn’t behoove his case.

“They can give you pain medication, if you want.”

You hesitated, and immediately Spencer pressed the button. When you smiled weakly instead of bickering, his worry grew tenfold but not without a rush of heat flooding his entire body.

In Morgan's words, he’s down bad.

“How are you doing, sunshine?” As if he’d been summoned, Morgan appeared in the doorway.

Spencer stepped back from your cot. The part of him riled from Morgan’s “sunshine” moniker wants to shove his hand into yours. Spencer thought he hid his annoyance well, but something about Morgan's smirk told him otherwise.

“Um…”

Morgan’s smirk fell. “You feel that bad, huh?”

You chuckled sadly. “Do I look that shitty or am I an open book today?”

“You never look shitty,” Spencer said. A tsunami of blood rushed to his face.

“Anyway,” Morgan said, “Do you want anything, Beauty Queen? I can grab you some jello.”

“Jello sounds nice.” You said, and something in your voice was so vulnerable and naive Spencer wanted to wrap you in his arms as tight as he could. Which was illogical. That would only hurt you further.

He shook his head as if that would remove the thoughts from his mind. “I’m gonna see if I can check up on your labs at the nurse’s station. I’ll make sure they’re giving you the good drugs.” He smiled.

You laughed– a genuine laugh– and Spencer’s heart soared. “Thanks, Spence.”

“I’ll go grab your jello,” Morgan said.

“Hold on, you should stay with her just in case she needs anything," Spencer said.

“I’ll be fine, Spence.” You said, but Spencer was not prepared to take "no" for an answer.

“If you boys wants to run her some errands, I’ll stay.” Emily stood in the doorway. “JJ is coming soon too– she just got a phone call from a very frantic Penelope.”

Your nose crinkled. “Oh no.” You groaned, but you were smiling.

“Oh, yes. Be prepared for some mother henning," Emily said.

“Garcia can’t be any more mother henning than Reid," Morgan said.

Before his face could turn redder than a baboon’s bottom, Spencer fled.

He’s only two yards from the nursing station when Morgan intercepted him at the end of the hall.

“So, you’re going to make your move, right?”

Spencer's body temperature plummeted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He tried to shoulder past Morgan, but he was no match for his grip strength. “Reid, c’mon. You like (Y/N).”

Part of him wanted to laugh. “Like” seemed too simple of a word to describe the symphony of feelings (Y/N) started in him. “It’s…” He’s too tongue-tied to lie. “It’s complicated.”

You’re brilliant. You’re beautiful. You’re brimming with empathy. You’re everything Spencer could want. And it scared the shit out of him. Because that meant there’s even more to lose. And if he lost you, there would be no one to blame but himself. It was better for his psyche to not go there with you– to step back from the line rather than risk what would happen if he failed to make it work in the end.

And what if you got hurt? What is you fell in the line of duty? Or worse, what if someone targeted you because of your romantic tie to him? Spencer's already experienced the pain of losing a soulmate-- a concept he wasn't even sure he believed in-- once. He wasn't not sure if he could survive it a second time.

There was too much unpredictability in his life. He chose a dangerous profession. He was gifted a ticking time-bomb of dangerous genes. He’d never forgive himself if he inflicted onto you the pain he’s been through; losing loved ones, whether through death or mental illness.

Morgan's expression turned sympathetic. “Reid, you should give it a shot. Our lives our hectic. And if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you.”

Spencer blinked to block tears from welling. “I just want her to be happy, too.”

“And who says you don't make her happy?”

“His idiotic genius brain.” Rossi appeared from around the corner.

Spencer froze. “You heard?” His face flushed yet again.

“Just the tail end. But Reid…” He trailed off.

Morgan took the hint. “I’m going to get (Y/N) some jello. With my charm, I could negotiate for some whipped cream.”

“Don’t get whipped cream on it. She’s lactose sensitive,” Spencer said.

Morgan's stupid smirk reappeared. “Gotcha, Reid.”

Rossi took Morgan's place. Once Morgan was out of sight, he began his speech. “You love her. Don’t get in your own way.” Rossi put his hand on Reid’s shoulder. “And (Y/N) is an incredibly intelligent woman. Don’t insult her intelligence by thinking she can’t decide who is or is not worth taking a risk. And for what it’s worth…a man like you is worth the risk.”

Rossi left Reid staring at his back.

For the longest time, Reid convinced himself he refrained from asking you out to protect you from himself and his hefty baggage. And that’s not completely untrue.

But suddenly, he realized he was primarily trying to protect himself from exposing his vulnerabilities to you this whole time. There’s never been a person whose opinion affected him like yours. There's never been a life he's wanted to protect more except perhaps...Maeve.

But just like it’s up to you to decide who’s worth the risk, it’s up to him to decide as well.

And if today taught him anything, shit happens. And if you slip through his fingers, he doesn't want it to because he wasn't brave enough to make a first move.

And being your person was more than worth the risk of rejection.

Author's Note: Thank you to so much to everyone who stuck around through my hiatus! I appreciate every single one of you! You're super cool :)

Happy to be back! Inbox is open to chat about writing and take requests! Please check pinned "Blurb Requests" post before requesting! (Will update the post as my boundaries update!)

Have an awesome day or night, wherever you are in this crazy world. I am incredibly thankful you spent part of your precious life reading something I penned.

Forever grateful,

shewroteaworld

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid one shot

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haeryna · 8 months

Text

in my dreams you love me back (i still love you) ↪ gojo satoru x reader x geto suguru ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

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summary: soft moments with shoko keep your heart soft as well, but suguru finds something that he wasn't supposed to.

tw: sfw but vague mentions of losing your virginity. your mother MEDDLES but let's be real, we'd do the same. allusions to the bible for the aesthetic but also because i like the imagery of the themes. not proofread.

notes: title taken from red velvet's "in my dreams." the second half of "i would give up heaven if i had to." another short chapter because i split it in two originally! banner from @/cafekitsune

"You look like shit."

You can't stop the huff that escapes your mouth as Shoko peers at you from your phone, propped up against your rice cooker. She's somewhere in the United States right now, attending a medical conference. She isn't wrong; your ten minute break in the bathroom had turned into a full-blown half hour breakdown. Thankfully, none of your coworkers pointed out the redness of your eyes and the sallow tint to your skin. Your manager had practically forced you to go home early. They all assumed that you had broken down about how the Gojo Satoru had demanded you be the one to make his drink. At this point, you were too tired to correct them.

"I just got back from the cafe, leave me alone." Yawning, you reach for a bowl. "I'm starving and exhausted, and now you're going to yell at me, Sho?"

You can hear the heavy exhale, and the camera blurs as she lets out a cloud of cigarette smoke. "I never said that. Did you see them today?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Nobody else can make you cry that hard, and I know it wasn't me."

You hesitate for a moment. "Mom thinks I should hear them out."

"Personally, I would tell them I'll speak to them after a down payment of 5k."

"Shoko!"

But your laughter fills the air, and you can catch Shoko's self-satisfied smirk from the other end. "There she is." A soft haze fills your screen as her voice softens. "Do I need to fly back and tell the two of them to fuck off?"

"I can tell them to leave myself," you protest, but Shoko gives you a deadpan stare. "Okay, well, maybe it'll be hard."

As the silence falls, warm and comfortable, you bustle around the kitchen, spooning rice into your bowl of leftovers. The air is warm, and despite your exhaustion, you can't help but appreciate the dreaminess of the evening. Shoko watches you, dark eyes unreadable. "What?" you finally ask, curiosity lacing your voice.

"Just be careful," she sighs. "Satoru and Suguru will probably do some crazy shit to get you to notice them. I just don't want those idiots to scare you."

"They don't care enough to do that," is your sardonic reply, and this time, it's her turn to laugh.

"If you really think that, then you're blinder than I thought."

He is breaking me down on every side, and now it's too late for me; he has uprooted my hopes like a tree.

When the number of your old landline rings on Suguru's cellphone, he almost blocks it out of habit before he registers the last four digits. Panicking, he immediately accepts the call.

"Hey, is everything okay? I-"

Your mother's voice chirps back at him, a bit staticky from the old phone that he knows she'd insisted on keeping installed in the kitchen. "Suguru, dear, could you do me a favor?"

Ingrained instinct forces a "yes ma'am," from his mouth before he can even process the request. He can practically hear the smile in your mother's voice. "It won't take too long, don't worry. My back has been aching an awful amount after my last surgery, but I've been meaning to wear some of my old church clothes to Bingo Night. Would you mind grabbing it for me?"

The attic is cluttered and old, and the dust stings his eyes, but Suguru can't bring himself to complain as he begins to rummage through boxes. It feels like seeing you again, like being your Suguru again, as he unearths old photo albums, and stuffed toys. There was the rabbit you used to carry around all the time. A picture frame, of you, Shoko, Satoru, and Suguru one summer afternoon. Carefully, he wipes away the dust, smiling at the memory. You'd lost your front tooth that summer; now, it was forever memorialized.

Finally, he reaches a small collection of boxes in the back. The dress lays draped over a small stack of boxes, but as he grabs it, one topples over, spilling its contents all over the floor.

Suddenly, selfishly, Suguru is grateful that Satoru stayed behind back in their hotel room, because inside the cardboard box is envelopes. At least thousands of them, crammed into each possible corner, dates written on the front in the same handwriting you've had since high school. He tears open another box, only to find the same. Three whole boxes of letters. Selfish hope and heavier dread sinks into his skin like the dust that is slowly falling to the floor; Suguru has unearthed something that he knows he's not supposed to see.

Was this how Adam felt, holding the forbidden fruit in his hand? Which was stronger; the will of God, or the love of man?

"You will not certainly die,” the serpent said to the woman. “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.

He's almost frantic as he searches for the first letter, scattering them around himself until he finds it; labelled a week after Suguru had taken Satoru with him to pursue what they had believed to be an impossible dream. Suguru hesitates only for a moment, until with one decisive swipe, he rips the flap from the waxy paper beneath. This one is addressed to him.

Suguru,

My parents put me in therapy. Remember how we always used to joke that if anyone needed it, it would be you? Why did you leave me? What did I do wrong? It hurts, Sugu, why, why, why My therapist thinks that keeping letters will help, and my parents want me to at least give it a try. Mom won't say anything, but I know she's concerned. Dad's already torn into Toru's parents, so the whole town is fully aware of what they've done. Shoko says that they're practically livid with shame, skulking around the town as that'll fix their reputation. You missed it; there was one night when the fireflies came back, and I swear they filled the entire sky. It was beautiful. It reminded me of the first time we met, do you remember that?

I wish you'd been here to see it. I'm sorry, Suguru. I'm sorry that I wasn't good enough to take along. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you I love you. I hope you're safe. I hope you're taking care of Toru for me.

I love you so much that it's hard to be mad.

Water drips down onto the ink of where you'd signed your name, and with a start, Suguru realizes he's crying. Gently folding the letter, he sets it aside, and reaches for the next one.

Mom and Dad have what Grandma had. I'm scared, Toru. I wish you were here. You'd always say something silly that would make me forget for even a moment.

Another.

I saw you on the television today, Toru. You're so beautiful it hurts.

Another.

I've given up on properly going to college. They're so sick that I'm terrified to leave them alone.

More. More. More.

I try my best not to listen, but the radio in the coffee shop plays the songs you make, Sugu. I hate it, but it's selfish of me. The girl you sing about, does Toru get along with her? Does she make you happy?

He can't stop himself from reading any more than he can stop the tears pouring down his face. They'd missed so much of your life, and yet you'd dutifully written letter after letter, as if you'd planned on them seeing it. Like you hoped they would come back some day. The next letter was only written two years ago, but it turns Suguru's blood to ice.

I saw the scandal on one of the gossip magazines while I was out shopping for groceries, Toru. The Chanel model? Really? I was kind of hoping for the Gucci one, she seems so nice to her assistant.

I say this like you're a celebrity. A celebrity that I can just laugh at, and say "must be nice, having supermodels fall into your lap!" You were mine, once, long before you were hers. I love loved you.

I did something stupid, last night. Remember Kenji, from high school? The one you always hated? I can't even explain it, how furious I was, when I saw you with that model. You looked so happy, like it didn't matter that all your joy and abundance didn't come at my expense.

I ended up sleeping with him for the first time, with anyone for the first time really. I'm not going to write more; it's embarrassing, and it wasn't even good, but I think I'm more upset with myself. It doesn't matter.

It's not like you'll ever find out. Even if you do, it's not like you'll care.

It's not like my love mattered to you to begin with.

Suguru's chest feels as though someone has washed his heart in acid. On paper, the person you were after they left was more jaded. Less optimistic. You no longer spoke of things you wished they were able to experience with you, but rather all the things they'd left behind. You thought they didn't care, and as he forces his useless lungs to take another breath, he knows that he can't leave this town until he convinces you to come with him. As he stumbles down from the attic, dress in hand, your mother gives him a knowing stare.

"Did you find the dress I asked you to grab?"

"Yes ma'am," Suguru says numbly. It's all he says. It's all he can say. Your mother sighs, patting the chair next to her. "Why don't you call Satoru over, hm? Try some of the tea I bought. I remember your mother saying you only drink black. You really should call her more."

Why is light given to a man whose way is hid, and whom God hath hedged in?

"I'm home!" you call out, slipping your shoes off with one hand as you balance the full bag of groceries in the other. "Did you take your medi-"

The carrots drop to the floor as you take in the sight of Gojo and Geto sitting at your kitchen table with your mother of all people. "What the fuck?"

Geto's eyes are rimmed red, like he'd been crying, while Satoru stares at you with a hint of anguish. "What the fuck," you repeat again, dumbfounded. "Why are you in my house right now?"

Geto opens his mouth to speak, but your mother waves it away. "You know how bad my back's been lately, I really wanted to wear that old emerald dress your father got me, do you remember?"

Stunned, you can only nod.

"And, I didn't want to have you come all the way back from the city just to grab a dress for me, so I called over Suguru and Satoru to help me out," your mother finishes. You can't stop the panic from leaking into your voice.

"Where was the dress?"

From the look on their faces, you know that Geto and Gojo have found it. All the letters you were too weak to send, too weak to throw away. How much did they read?

"The attic, dear," is your mother's quiet response, and when you turn her attention to her, you can see the quiet love and encouragement in her eyes.

What's more important? The love for all the things they did do, or all the things they didn't?

White noises rushes into your head, and you can barely process your mother's departure. Something about Bingo Night? The door clicks shut and you're left with silence so profound that your body almost instinctively crumples in on itself. Suguru can't look you in the eyes, absentmindedly tracing the rim of the delicate porcelain teacup that looks comically small next to his calloused hands. Satoru merely watches, but you can see the tension in his neck, in the way his fingers flex around empty air.

So, you do the only thing you can do. You run.

Turning, you all but sprint up the stairs. You lied. You couldn't do this, couldn't face them, see them, hear them-

Toned arms reach around from behind, pulling you decisively to a well-defined chest. The air is forced out of your lungs as you yelp, squirming out of the hold, only to freeze as Satoru places his cheek on your head, nuzzling into your hair.

"I missed you."

Tears spring to your eyes but Satoru keeps going. "You were the only thing that kept us going. Our apartment was so shitty, we had to put cardboard on the floor just to keep warm. I thought of you all the time. I thought of which stage outfit you'd like better, how you would get along so well with the other members of the group. We didn't forget you. We love you too much for that."

"Stop," you choke out, as your legs crumple under you. Satoru catches you, tugging you further into him, as tears trickle down your face. A blurred shape; Suguru, kneeling in front of you, gently taking your hands in his.

"One chance, princess," he breathes. "Give us one chance to explain ourselves. After that, we'll do whatever you want, give you whatever you want. We've only ever been yours."

#haerinwrites #idol!satoru gojo #rockstar!suguru geto #satoru gojo x reader #satosugu x reader #jjk angst #jjk x reader #suguru geto x reader #satoru x suguru x reader #satoru x reader #suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto x reader x gojo

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sophrosynesworld · 16 days

Text

The Night Shift

Pro!Hero Dynamight x Doctor! Reader

TW: Slight mentions of blood and wounds, nothing graphic.

Katsuki Bakugo was never the type to fall in love. He had ambitions far bigger than settling down or starting a family. From a young age, he knew he was destined for greatness—nothing less than becoming the number one hero. Every party skipped, every night spent training while others rested—it was all for that singular goal.

Love? That was a distraction he couldn’t afford. Or at least, that’s what he thought. So, why have you taken over every corner of his mind?

The first time he saw you, he was barely conscious, his body screaming in pain after a brutal battle that had left him battered and bleeding. As soon as they unloaded him from the ambulance, there you were, waiting at the entrance of the emergency room. Bakugo could feel the weight of his injuries pulling him under, but he fought it, every muscle tense as he struggled to keep his eyes open—for just a moment longer.

You leaned over him as the medics rushed him in, your voice steady but soft. You rattled off medical terms he couldn’t make sense of, words that blurred together in the haze of pain. But he didn’t need to understand them—the look on your face said it all.

Bakugo didn't care about himself in that moment. He was too busy trying to memorize the way your hair framed your face, the way your eyes flicked down to meet his, offering him a brief, reassuring glances. Everything hurt, his body was a mess, but he kept forcing his eyes open—just to catch another glimpse of you.

The room was a blur of chaos—nurses and doctors rushing around, the smell of antiseptic mingling with the metallic tang of blood. He could feel every pulse of pain in his body, but you... you led your team into battle. A calm figure in the middle of it all, your white coat splattered with red, eyes sharp and focused.

Today, he walks through Central Hospital, a deep cut stretching across his abdomen, hidden beneath his leather jacket, the pain gnawing at him with every step. Despite the agony, he refuses to see anyone else. He needs you. Only you.

No one questions him. Heroes walking through hospital halls isn’t unusual, especially with the kind of battles they face daily. The hero ignores every nurse who tries to greet him, their words fading into background noise. Bakugo's eyes dart around, scanning the sterile white walls and bustling medical staff.

Finally, he spots you just as you pull back the curtain of a patient’s room. You step out, looking weary, your hair slightly disheveled from what must have been a grueling shift. Bakugo stalks toward you, his face a hard mask of determination. When you turn to head to the front desk, he clears his throat loudly to stop you in your tracks.

You blink in surprise, seeing the imposing figure standing there. “Dynamight?” you question, pushing a few strands of hair out of your face, trying to mask your exhaustion behind a professional demeanor. The weight of the night shift is evident in your voice.

He grimaces slightly, glancing around as if asking for help is somehow beneath him, but he can’t hide the urgency in his tone. “I need your help, doc.”

Your eyes narrow as you study him, sensing something is off. “You’re hurt, aren’t you?” you ask, more a statement than a question.

Bakugo doesn’t answer, but the way his jaw clenches tells you enough. You grab his arm, ignoring his attempt to pull away. Without hesitation, you motion him into an empty room nearby, your tiredness momentarily forgotten as your instincts take over.

“I swear, you heroes are all the same,” you mutter, carefully helping the hero peel off his shirt to reveal the deep gash running down his side. The wound looks worse than you expected—raw and jagged, as if it hasn’t been treated since he received it. You frown, surprise evident as you examine it closely.

“How long ago did this happen?” you ask, your voice sharper than intended. “Why didn’t the medics treat this on site?”

“I don’t need some dimwit touching up on me,” Bakugo grumbles, his jaw tight as he looks away, stubborn as ever.

You raise a brow, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “So, you wanted me touching you instead?”

His reaction is immediate. His cheeks flush red, and for a moment, the usual cocky, arrogant hero seems flustered. Bakugo avoids your gaze, clearly rattled by your words.

“What were you thinking?” you whisper, the teasing edge to your voice softening as concern creeps in. You’ve only known him through his media presence and the few times he’s been under your care after his last few hospital stays. But still, some part of you aches seeing him like this.

Bakugo smirks, leaning back on the bed with his usual arrogance. “I was thinking I’d beat the crap outta that villain, and I did,” he replies with a cocky grin. “You didn’t see me on TV?”

“I’ve been dealing with the mess left from your ‘victory.’ So, no.”

Bakugo’s gaze follows your hands as you prepare to use your quirk. He knows what it does to you—how much energy it takes. He’s seen you drained more than once after patching him up. Still, you never hesitate, even when your hands tremble, and you border on the edge of passing out.

He lets out a low chuckle. “You’re always scolding me, doc. Starting to sound like my old nurse in highschool.”

You roll your eyes, unable to stop a small smile from tugging at your lips despite the exhaustion weighing on you. “I feel bad for your nurse." You reply laughing. "Maybe if you’d stop showing up here all busted up, I wouldn’t have to.”

The room falls quiet for a moment, the chaos of the ER fading into the background as Bakugo watches you work. Your hands move with steady precision, the glow of your quirk illuminating his wound as you begin to heal it. He doesn’t say a word, just watches, his eyes tracking every careful movement you make.

You shouldn’t care this much. He’s just another patient, just another hero in a long line of people you’ve treated. But as your fingers brush against his skin, feeling the tension in his muscles, that ache in your chest tightens.

“You’re quieter than usual,” you say softly, breaking the silence, glancing up at him briefly before returning to the wound.

He huffs, trying to mask the way his body stiffens under your touch. “Not much to say,” he mutters, eyes still fixed on you.

You chuckle under your breath, shaking your head. “That’s a first.”

Another pause fills the air, the quiet settling between you again. You steal a glance at him, catching the way his eyes flicker away from yours, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. Something about this moment feels different—more intimate than it should be.

"You're tough, I’ll give ya that," he says quietly, his tone a touch softer than before. "Most people would’ve cracked by now."

You glide your hands to the other side of his chest, the soft glow of your quirk casting a gentle light over every muscle and fiber, illuminating the intricate details of his form. “Guess you haven’t pushed me hard enough yet,” you reply with a smirk, though your voice wavers slightly as the energy starts to drain from you.

His eyes narrow slightly as he watches you. “Careful there, doc. Don’t go passing out on me. You need your strength.”

“I’m fine,” you insist, even as you feel the weight of the healing tugging at you more than usual. When it’s finally done, you exhale shakily and pull your hands back, trying to steady yourself.

Bakugo catches your wrist before you can move away, his grip firm. “Don’t push yourself too hard for idiots like me,” he mutters. “You don’t have to waste all your energy every time.”

You blink, surprised by the sudden shift in his demeanor. For a moment, you see through his rough exterior—the concern in his eyes that he probably doesn’t even realize is there.

“Since when do you care?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Katsuki shrugs, leaning back with a smirk once more. “Don’t get used to it, doc. Just thinkin’ it'd be a shame if you burned yourself out before you get to see me win that number one spot.”

You laugh, the sound light but genuine despite your fatigue. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Bakugo grins. “Maybe. But you like it.”

Part 2:

Author's Notes: I'm gonna be honest. I had 3 espresso martinis at dinner, I thought this made sense when writing it, but the words aren't wording anymore.

Okay, goodnight nerds.

#mha #my hero academia #mha x reader #katsuki bakugo #fanfic #mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo mha #dynamight #bakugo katuski #katsuki #lord explosion murder god dynamight #great explosion murder god dynamight #mha dynamight

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snoopledrooplecheesedoodle · 3 months

Text

Yandere! Slasher! Heartslabyul Headcanons

Just a quick ramble hopefully because I saw something by @lustlovehart about serial killer Floyd and Jade and I was like: Jade Leech would make a convincing Hannibal Lector. Then I was like Deuce but Jason Voorhes. Now is the product of my brain rot. Non-Twisted Wonderland setting. Reader is gender neutral unless explicitly stated. Minor characters aged up.

Tw: yandere behavior, medical professional abuse, gore, murder, cannibalism, mentions of murder being recorded, forced cannibalism, verbal abuse, ooc Dylla mentions of some other real nasty shit

17+ CONTENT, DO NOT INERACT IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE TRIGGERED BY THE FOLLOWING CONTENT. IF YOU INSULT MY WORK BECAUSE YOU IGNORED MY WARNING YOU WILL BE BLOCKED! BY CLICKING KEEP READING YOU CONSENT TO READING THE FOLLOWING MATERIAL!

Riddle Rosehearts:

Bros the perfect serial killer I mean he's got it all:

Perfectionist attitude, dedicated to his work, abusive mom. I mean the slasher film practically writes itself.

I'm going with Riddle becoming a doctor like his mother was and being known for being one of the most successful doctors in the city. People are waitlisted trying to visit this "miracle doctor".

By day Riddle is the strict perfectionist who cares deeply for his patients, by night Riddle is meticulously finding and sadistically torturing criminals and "rule breakers" before beheading them. At first, he is seen as a benevolent force for ridding the city of its criminals and scum. However, The Red Queen, as he is called, swings her axe indiscriminately and soon beloved public figures are on the chopping block.

You could meet Riddle a multitude of ways, for this I'll say you are a critically ill patient who is in and out of the hospital. Hearing about the "miracle doctor" lead to you pleading with the red head. Riddle was moved by the "innocence" in your eyes and your desperate tone of voice. You needed him. He agreed and started your treatment.

Riddle grows feelings because of your kind and forgiving nature. You don't hold his strict and commanding behavior against him, only seeing it as him doing his job. Finally, someone worthy of the help of the Red Queen.

The problem came when you came into the office battered and bruised one day. Riddle demanded to know who the perpetrator was, but you kept you lips sealed. Riddle grew angry at your defiance, how dare you defy your queen, your protector. He screams at you, causing you to cry and curl into a helpless ball. Riddle feels guilt at making you feel this way and apologizes before gently encouraging you to tell him who your abuser was.

Riddle felt his rage hit an insurmountable amount when you revealed your abuser was the personal nurse your family hired for you. How dare this insolent peasant lay a finger on your divine form? No matter, Riddle will look through your patient files to find information about this personal nurse. He finds out that this nurse lives with you as a live in nurse, Riddle takes this information in with a sadistic grin.

Time to pay them a visit

You heard a garbled croak as you exited your ensuite bathroom. What could be making such a terrible noise? Cautiously you peeped through the door and crept towards the source of the noise. It was coming from your living room. You pattered over to the living room in bare feet, when a strong odor hit you. Iron. TWACK something slides from the living room to your feet. It was a head, YOUR NURSE'S HEAD! You opened your mouth to scream when a gloved hand silenced you. You stiffened as you hear a familiar voice.

Quiet my patient, you don't want to be framed for murder, do you? They were breaking the rules so I must punish them. The rule being one must never harm the spouse of the Red Queen!

Trey Clover:

Yo can you imagine though?

Your sweet town baker feeding you treats he made with love and your ex-boyfriend's flesh and blood (don't worry you'll only taste it a little). All with loving golden eyes and a knowing smile.

After some time in the big city for college, Trey moved back to his hometown to take over his family bakery. He is immediately accepted by the community at large for his amiable and brotherly aura. In no time at all the bakery becomes popular to people outside of the town as well (particularly cannibals and other shady characters).

People come to the front for sweet treats and are led into the back to become the fresh ingredients. Trey mostly murders people that come from out of town and tourists, people the town folk won't miss. However sometimes he has to make do with the outsiders within the town. Anything to feed his clients and himself.

Let's say that you moved to this small town of Bakersfield (name of town) for a fresh start in life, leaving your toxic family and manipulative ex-boyfriend. You decided leaving the city would allow you to escape your problems (plus there were serial killers loose, you didn't want to be beheaded or killed on tape). You like the idea of being part of a small tight knit community that work as one big family. However, you were disappointed when the community greeted you with a cold shoulder. Already your thought new life was going to be a disaster until you met Trey.

Trey met you when you visited his bakery, he doesn't remember seeing your face around (he wonders what you would taste like). He turns on his customer service smile and greets you kindly. Your glum expression immediately turns into a cheery grin. That's strange he kind of likes making you smile. You order one of his special desserts, which he whips up fresh just for you and your beautiful smile (men have pretty smiles too male readers, if I have any).

You end up coming to the bakery pretty often, not only for the sweets but the charming baker who works the front counter. You're surprised that he's single because you think he's quite handsome and kind. You gotten a tiny crush for the man who serves you pastries with a smile, and gives you back your money claiming your presence is enough. Trey put you in such a good mood that you brought some of the extra sweets for your neighbors and actually started making connections with the town's folk.

Trey saw you becoming more welcome with the townspeople and that left a sour taste in his mouth. He had to bite his lip to the point of bleeding to prevent himself from scowling when you rambled about how nice everyone has been. He was the first person to be nice to you and this is how you treat him? Looks like he'll have to play dirty to get back into your good graces. He may or may not have found the number of your old abusive ex and revealed your location. He knows that its wrong, but he'll make it up to you by being your protector.

Soon enough you'll only depend on him

This man was sick. No person you met could look at you so lovingly while bashing your ex's head in with a crowbar. This psycho killed people and ate them and was forcing you to play a twisted form of house. The chain around your leg reminded you of this fact. Every. Single. Day. "Open up my love, you're losing weight far too much, I can't have you wasting away." You look the devil who called himself your husband in the eyes and glared weakly. "I won't eat anything you make!" Trey laughed callously at your scorn. "It's funny that you think you have a choice." A rough hand grasps your jaw while the other pushes its way inside. You knew better than to bite his fingers, pain was a cruel teacher. The spoon of stew lays in your mouth and the hand holding your jaws puts more pressure on it causing you to whimper.

"If you swallow, you won't have to stay in the cold and lonely basement. Won't that be nice, sweet pea, you'll get to sleep in our nice warm bed. Only if you're a good for me and swallow.

Cater Diamond (longest one by far)

Hoo boy, this dude also is prime slasher material.

We'll keep the backstory of overbearing sisters and constantly moving due to his dad's job. This wore on his psyche harshly and made him more shut off from the rest of his family. Of course, his family only started caring when his grades start to slip. He was diagnosed with depression and ADHD. The medication only helped him get better at faking being happy and carefree all the time. His life allowed for him to become a very good liar and mask emotions very well. When in high school and during his current adult life social media was his one safe place where he could feel happy. Everything was fake and that gave him comfort that others people's lives were probably as miserable as his. He perfected his camera work and putting on a cute face for his audience and became quite a successful instaounce model (haha I made it more American) and influencer. When Cater graduated (barely) he refused to go to college and instead focused on pursuing his dreams of becoming a full-time influencer.

While Cater may seem cute, sociable, and relatable online, he also is jealous, vindictive, and murderous offline. He sees other people who are pretty and popular as a threat to his online presence, and threats must be eradicated. Enter his other pastime on the internet, streaming himself torturing and killing popular people on social media for an eager and sadistic audience. He goes by the username Killer_Diamond 💎💎♦️ and has millions globally bid to see who's suggested method of torture will be expertly carried out by Cater's creepily cheerful persona.

For this we'll say you're the cute new barista at an aesthetically pleasing cafe Cater frequents for coffee pics. You greet Cater with the same positive energy he exudes. He orders a very complicated coffee, and you create the coffee right the first time. No one in all the time he's been here has gotten his order to his high standards. Why are you so special? It almost makes him frown how flawlessly you completed his order, but your genuine smile makes the sides of his fake grin wobble. How could you so openly and freely be happy?

Let's say that you were adventurous and decided to peruse the dark web for some spooky content to sate your curiosity. When you stumble into a red room by accident. What you saw horrified you a person who you recognize as some model your friend gushes about being hot was being tortured as the live chat was filled with other horrific suggestions as what else to do to her. You felt bile come into your mouth as you saw the person in a bunny mask rip the model's eye out, causing her to scream loudly. The bunny mask turns back to the camera and chirps "Ooh a new person tuned in, say hello to them." You slam your laptop shut and lay awake in bed all night.

Cater felt like he had a new pep in his step, humming to himself a popular song he made his way to the cafe. Murdering always cleared his head and helped him destress, much more affordable than therapy. He greets you with a genuine zeal to see you, poor thing with large eyebags and a shell-shocked expression. He didn't like seeing you so disturbed. He asked you what was wrong, only for you to fake a cheery expression and ask him for his order. Cater knew you didn't trust him, so he'd have to befriend you if he wanted you to speak. Perhaps even kill the person who made you so upset.

Wait kill? Why did he care what happened to the person who upset you?

Cater offers you to sit and have a coffee with him, you try to explain that you're still on shift but Cater doesn't hear it and sits down beside you. Cater knows how to keep a conversation going and knows just the right things to say to make you more trusting of his intentions. He's a bit irritated that you still won't tell him why you're upset, but no worries he'll get you to open up.

You were losing sleep over the murder you saw take place. It had been weeks ago, but you still could see that eye on the tip of that knife. Should you call the police? No, the murderer might be able to trace it back to you. What on Earth are you going to do? Your phone pings notifying you that Cater or Cay-Cay as he prefers you to call him was messaging you.

Hey babe<3

Found this cute little hole in the wall sushi place, thought it'd be good for you to come and eat some food with Cay-Cay😘💕

Well, you'd always have Cater.

On my way Cay!

Cater has never felt love before. His family meant nothing to him, and he would never reach out to a fan in distress. However, you were perfect, so sweet and friendly. He felt like he could hide his murder stream from you and just pretend to be your normal loving boyfriend. He felt a blush come to his face at the thought of you being officially his partner. You'd take so many cute couple photos! However, you were too cute for your own good, attracting boys, girls, and others by being your sweet little self. It's not fair that you're so charming that other people want you! THIS WILL NOT STAND! Cater ramps up the murders and even ignores his chat pleading for him to drag them out longer. He just needs you to see that he's your perfect match, even if he must kill the ones, you love and isolate you.

No matter what happens Cater will have a place in your heart. Even if he gets that place by killing.

You were terrified, one night of drinking away your sorrows and now you woke up to total darkness. You tried to feel you way out, but your hands were bound behind your back. Oh god you've been kidnapped! You were going to die! A blinding light turns on revealing a luxurious room with red walls. Oh, seven this was the red room you saw! The person with the rabbit mask walks to the camera which was pointed at you. "Hello again my lovely viewers today I have a very special guest, my lovely!" You shake as tears fill your eyes; you try to scream but the tape covering your mouth prevents you. "Ah, ah, dear, wait till we get home to let out those pretty screams. My audience is not allowed to hear them." Another spotlight lands on a terrified friend of yours who you remember vanished a few days ago. They looked to be in rough shape. The rabbit figure bounced on their heels and walks very close to you with his back to the camera. "Before we start, I'd like to give my co-star a quick kiss for good luck. The figure takes the mask off and you gasp at the familiar face of you friend Cater.

"I know it's not the real thing, but I'll kiss you right on the tape. Oh, don't cry darling you'll have all of Cay-Cay later tonight. For now, we have an audience to entertain!

Deuce Spade:

Bro's literally just Jason Vorhees and Bubba Sawyer I mean come on, a puppy dog like killer who listens to the dead voice of his mother and you only.

Let's say Deuce was raised alone with his mother in the woods, his mother only leaving him to go gather supplies in the town. His mother had to raise him on her own and instilled in him a fear and hatred towards outsiders. Due to his mother raising him by herself and him never attending school, he isn't very educated and had delayed speech. His mother died when he was ten making him officially go crazy and hallucinate his mom still being with him. He's a hermit who lives off the woods and kills anyone who steps foot on his property.

You were a case worker who found a case of a woman who "abandoned" her child in the woods. Weird it's been swept under the rug for twelve or so years. Well, you weren't one to heed the warning of other case workers who begged you not to go. You weren't going to let some child continue to be neglected.

Deuce was going through the motions of his routine. Waking up, dressing, putting on his mask, kill something for breakfast, cook it, and he was currently repairing the small cabin. His mother had gone silent for some time, and it was worrying Deuce. Did his mother abandon him? A loud noise shakes Deuce out of his thoughts, as a terrifying metal monster approaches the house. Mother what do I do?

You drive your car through the woods towards the address on the file. Weird there's no official road up to the house nor any signs signifying that you are going in the right direction. Suddenly an item came hurtling towards your wind shield causing you to scream in terror. Holy shit is that an axe?! You hear a figure thunder up towards you and you scream in terror. A lanky blue haired man with a hockey mask covered in blood grabs the axe from the windshield and raises it above your head. You are prepared to ram the car into his body until he freezes.

Deuce what are you doing? A familiar feminine voice reproaches in his ear. His mother didn't want him to kill the trespasser? Mother I'm getting rid of the trespasser, like you've taught me. A ghostlike pinch formed on his cheek. Why would you try and kill your spouse that I handpicked just for you? After I put all that effort in Deucy you're still so ungrateful! Deuce grunts as he puts a hand up to his masked cheek. No mother I am grateful...they're actually quite attractive. Then stop wasting time and grab them before they drive away!

You scream as a hand breaks through your window and tries to pull you out of your car. You frantically swat at the hand that pulls you out of the driver's seat and places you over his shoulder. You kick and scream as he walks back to the cabin with you in tow, it was insulting how easy he managed to pick you up (Deuce is super strong in this, so fat readers you weigh nothing to him). You didn't want to die before finding the kid. "Hey, let me go, I need to find this kid named Deuce Spade!" The hulking figure freezes.

You are now being held off the ground and, in his arms, (if you're tall your feet are dragging) looking you dead in the eye. You try to maintain calm but who the hell would maintain calm when this muscular hermit is mouth breathing directly on you. The figure takes his mask off to reveal a handsome yet scared face of a man with blue hair, that looked a little too familiar. "Mother was right, you really are made for me." You open your mouth to protest when a pair of rough lips make contact with yours. You pound his firm chest with your fist, to no avail. The man pulls back to look at you with lovesick eyes and a heavily flushed face. "I'm Deuce Spade and mother said you are mine. How wonderful it is to have someone else in the family now!" Oh, geez what have you gotten yourself into.

Ace Trappola:

I heavily dislike Ace, like he rubbed me off the wrong way when we first met him in the game. I know everyone is supposed to be a villain but for someone who's one of our best friends he likes to insult us a little too much (more than the actual ex-bully). I'll try to do my best besides the biased (there are others who I didn't like on first meeting but grew to like).

Ace Trappola and you are childhood friends to your families. To you he's been a monster hell bent on torturing you till the day you die. He'll play the sweet golden boy next door to your parents, asking politely if you're home. Your parents sacrifice you to the demon in front of you to "play". They always blame you for the scratches and bruises you have after the "play date". He always gives you the same sadistic grin when others aren't watching.

Ace is a messed-up boy who wants to make you scared of him. He thinks it's funny when you cry in pain as he tugs your hair or punches you in the face. You're so much weaker than him and that gives him a high like no other. When puberty hit however, you grew much taller and stronger than Ace and wouldn't be pushed around anymore. When he brought a knife to school to scare you, you beat him to a bloody pulp. Something changed in him when you stood over him, once docile eyes filled with rage. It was kinda hot not gonna lie.

Ace goes from the bully to a psycho who stalks you constantly. You must have hit him too hard because instead of wanting to hurt you, he's hurting others who try and be around you. You think he's disgusting every time he groans when you hit him to get him to stop following you. Ace gets taken away to a psyche ward after the Senior Prom massacre. Let's say he didn't take to kindly to you asking someone out to the prom who wasn't him and killed almost every senior in your class including your date. You were the one who knocked him out for the cops to take away. His and your parents were distraught as they never thought an angel like Ace could do something so terrible. You were just glad you'd never have to see him again.

You moved on with your life and worked your way through college getting a degree in your dream field and meeting someone nice. Unfortunately, nothing goes your way as news broke out that an escaped mental patient had fled after a transfer to the mental institution in the town you were in. Ace knew where you planned on going to college and meticulously planned a way to get there so you can be reunited.

You were having a quiet night in, house sitting for a relative who lived nearby. You had ordered some pizza and put on some horror movies. You were watching Hallow's Eve (spoof on Halloween) when the doorbell rang. Must be the pizza guy. To your horror a familiar red head was at the front door in a blue mechanic suit holding a kitchen knife and was drenched in blood. "Hiya (Y/N) hope ya didn't miss yer boyfriend too bad? Cause I missed you a lot. You promptly slamed the door in his face. You don't have time for this.

Mwah different horror tropes hope you liked it. Now that I think about it, Ruggie and Leona or Ace and Deuce would make a pretty good Billy and Stu. Love ya bye!

#yandere x reader #yandere twst #yandere obsession #yandere male #yandere slasher #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere ace trappola #yandere deuce spade #yandere trey clover #yandere cater diamond #slashers #yandere heartslabyul #riddle rosehearts #trey clover #deuce spade #ace trappola #cater diamond #tw yandere

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depravitycentral · 1 year

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Yandere! Illumi Zoldyck General Profile

Yandere! Illumi Zoldyck x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, non-con, breaking and entering, slight somnophilia, misogynistic undertones, traditional gender roles, mentions of forced breeding/forced motherhood, murder, violence, lots of descriptions of killing methodologies, slight mentions of self induced wounds, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 11K

DARLING PROFILE:

Gentle

It takes Illumi a long time to develop feelings for his darling for a multitude of reasons.

Emotional unavailability, high expectations, and disinterest, just to name a few, and while he isn’t actively searching for a partner, there are a few base requirements he knows his future partner must meet.

Strong, intelligent, hard working, everything desirable that he knows both he and his family would approve of.

But once he meets his darling, his interest slightly peaked in them, that list begins changing slightly.

Because while the feelings are slow to solidify, Illumi notices quickly that his darling is so, so painfully averse to being harsh.

They’re not confrontational, treat others with a level of attentiveness and care that initially makes him scoff, and he doesn’t think he’s once seem them ever lose control of themselves and explode.

It’s uncanny, unnatural, as far as Illumi is concerned, and yet it’s fascinating. He slowly grows to admire this trait in his darling, how they can be so unconditionally soft with everything and everyone around them, eventually finding himself more and more attracted to them with every kind deed they do. It makes them weak, easy to manipulate, easy to kill, but Illumi finds it oddly endearing.

He’s always firmly believed that mothers should be nurturing to their children, to help them grow and shape them into the best versions of themselves possible, and while they’re opposite to his mother in many ways, maybe that gentility they possess is a the perfect thing needed.

Once he’s decided that his darling is his future wife, he’s immediately moving to experience this kindness for himself.

He comes back from missions with a little more blood and bruising than was necessary, but the way his darling gasps and quickly grabs the medical kit makes Illumi blink in wide fascination, unsure what drives them to eagerly spring into action but more than ready to feel their soft touch.

(They don’t need to know that Illumi allowed the target to get a few more hits in than necessary, just to keep them fawning over him as long as possible, or that he had to refuse ten different medical personnel in the mansion before making it to their shared ‘bedroom’.)

He likes the juxtaposition between his darling and him, and while it occasionally irritates him that they’re so soft and weak, it’s more endearing than anything else – just don’t be soft with anyone else but him, yes?

Smart

Illumi may be morally misguided, but the man is intelligent. He knows more about the human body than many doctors, and is skilled beyond belief in the art of combat and stealth.

He understands the best ways to go about gathering intel on a target without being traced or caught, and is able to apply that knowledge to set up traps correlating to his employers’ requests.

And this is a trait he’s simply unwilling to compromise when it comes to a partner – they must be able to keep up with him mentally.

They don’t need to have the same kind of intelligence as him, but the ability to critically think and quickly understand is a necessity. Illumi has very little patience for stupidity, and the thought of spending time with someone who doesn’t understand most of what he says is irritating.

And so, once his feelings for his darling begin appearing, Illumi is putting them through a small series of tests to make sure they live up to his expectations. It’s nothing too intense, nothing he wouldn’t be able to do himself.

He’s leaving extra clues that he’s been in his darling’s apartment – clumsy signs that he’d never normally leave, in the hopes that they’ll realize they’ve had an unwanted guest.

Cabinets are left ajar, their bed slightly unmade, though the thing that really clues them in is the presence of long, dark locks of hair around their apartment that they know aren’t theirs.

They’d never leave hair on the kitchen table; they’d see it and remove it, mildly disgusted. And yet, here three locks lay, making them a bit paranoid as they call the police.

Illumi intercepts the call, making sure it never rings through, but he’s still proud of his darling, satisfaction pooling in his chest because he just knew they’d pick up on it.

He likes knowing his darling is competent, and that their future children will be so too – the next Zoldyck heirs can’t be clueless, after all.

Generous

In general, Illumi isn’t particularly selfish with those he holds dear.

With the exception of Killua, Illumi has always willingly done as he’s been told.

He’s never demanded much from his parents, never insisting on material goods. He’s never felt cheated out of anything, either – his parents have molded him into the perfect assassin, and he couldn’t be more grateful for the rigor and training he received as a child.

And yet, once his darling enters his life, Illumi finds himself feeling strangely overwhelmed. They always seem to be giving things away – their time, bits of food they’ve cooked, their love, other things material and not alike.

It confuses Illumi; it makes him wonder why they’re wasting their resources on people they don’t know well, on those who likely wouldn’t reciprocate.

It’s a mystery, and frankly he finds his darling to be foolish for it – until one day it’s focused at him.

Illumi can’t comprehend why his darling is willingly giving away a bit of their time when they encounters him – in another body – disguised as a homeless man begging for change.

There’s a pitied look in their eye as they hand him the bills – two dollars, just what they had in change and could afford to give away – and tells him there’s a gas station nearby with cheap snacks he can eat.

Illumi just stares at them, not understanding why they’re helping, and soon he’s asking just that.

They startle and awkwardly laugh, telling him it’s because they don’t like seeing others in need, and they were only planning on spending that money to buy junk foods for themselves, anyways.

Illumi blinks, but his darling is soon speed walking away, the interaction feeling strange and uncomfortable.

Illumi still doesn’t understand, but it becomes another one of the facets of his darling that he simply learns to enjoy.

He yearns to understand what compels them to put others before themselves (something that yet again irritates him a bit), but he finds that the more he interacts with them, the more he enjoys being the recipient of it.

He’s finally receiving a bit of love and support that isn’t forced from his parents, and he quickly grows addicted.

Enjoys children

The reality of the situation is that as Illumi’s darling, they will be forced to interact with children whether they want to or not.

Namely, their own.

Having a family with him is not optional, and Illumi will never present it as such – once he decides his darling is to be his partner, they automatically become his future wife, the future mother of his children.

He cannot be swayed, regardless of what his darling wants.

However, while it’s still possible for him to grow obsessed with a darling who isn’t especially fond of kids, it’s much more likely that he grows attracted to the ease with which they’re able to communicate with them.

He likes the way they get so happy when a child walks up to them, how they’re immediately squatting down and smiling, playing hide and seek with their own face as the child giggles and beams.

He never knew that sort of innocent and sweet interaction when he himself was a child, but he doesn’t view it as a bad thing if his darling is able to make a child happy.

It’ll only benefit them as parents – it’ll help strengthen the bond, and make their children more malleable and receptive to their guidance.

Besides, there’s something about seeing his darling next to a baby that makes his skin feel hot, eyes blowing wide and his trousers tightening.

The image just looks so right, so natural and perfect that Illumi has to hold himself back from bending them over and fucking them right then and there.

Talent with children is an incredibly attractive trait for Illumi, and likely it's the final nail in the coffin that seals his obsession with his darling – one giggling toddler is all that’s needed to seal their fate.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Stalker

More than anything, stalking you is the only method of ‘interaction’ with you that Illumi feels truly comfortable with.

He knows how to stay invisible; tracking others is easy, as is staying in the shadows and keeping that wide, unnaturally glassy stare on them. He’s used to watching but not being seen, and it’s only natural to extend this towards you. It feels right to be watching you, like he’s where he’s meant to be, and for the beginning of his obsession he spends every free moment stalking you, hiding in corners or shadows and just staring.

(And really, this behavior lasts all throughout his infatuation, even when he’s got you trapped in the Zoldyck manor, even when you’re nursing his baby, even when you’ve both grown old and death approaches – it’s just that in the beginning, you’re not aware of the black eyes that follow your every move. And that’s a luxury that gets taken all too soon, as you find yourself longing for ignorance of Illumi in every possible way.)

Not to mention, there is no part of him that feels any guilt for it – he’s a cold-blooded assassin, of course, but at no point does it occur to him that it may be strange to be following you, or that you wouldn’t appreciate him watching over you (and watching you, generally).

He doesn’t understand that he shouldn’t approach you like he approaches a target – of course, you won’t be on the receiving end of his needles (at least, not with death his ultimate goal – perhaps something less lethal, like love or submission or lust), but otherwise his intentions are the same.

(Well, mostly – not really, actually, because Illumi doesn’t feel this strange, pleasant warmth in his chest when he’s watching his targets, nor does he feel particularly intrigued when he’s staring at them as they sleep, watching their chest rise and fall and the relaxed, utterly content expression on their face.)

The process of stalking you is remarkably similar to his jobs – first, he’ll choose a place within your home that gives him a good, solid vantage point with minimal risk that he’ll be noticed.

(Though, it’s not exactly hard to hide when you’re so damn oblivious – Illumi swears you have little to no awareness of your surroundings, if the way you sometimes knock into tables or trip over shoes in your doorway is anything to go by.)

His stand-by places are usually in a rarely used storage closet with the door cracked open, just wide enough for his dark eyes to peer through, or perhaps behind a chair you rarely use, crouched and peeking behind the cloth, and when you sit down in said chair, it gives Illumi the opportunity to stand up slightly, towering over you and getting a perfect view of your pretty body and smelling your hair.

But if it’s nighttime and you’re already snuggled up in your bed, eyes glued to your phone screen as you scroll and scroll and neglect your sleep, he'll stand silently and deathly still in the corner.

He’s able to stay perfectly still and maintain the same position for hours at a time, hardly blinking, hardly moving, hardly even breathing, it seems.

And he’s utilizing this skill set to its full potential when it comes to you – Illumi is greedy, and while this doesn’t initially get channeled into being overly possessive of you (though that certainly comes later), it instead translates into this insatiable need to constantly have his eyes on you and to be in your presence every moment he isn’t needed on a job.

There are no boundaries with him, because Illumi genuinely doesn’t see the need to have them. You’re already destined to spend your lives together, so why shouldn’t he start the process of learning more about you?

Autonomy doesn’t really exist with him – he could be considered clingy if his view of your lives being so irreversibly intertwined wasn’t as clinical and matter of fact.

And so Illumi doesn’t operate barred by any sort of moral guidelines – so when he’s using his needles to morph into another face so that he can practice the lines and compliments he’s been told by his mother that will make you swoon, it doesn’t register to him that it might be creepy that he’s practicing wooing you in another body.

(The man is disturbing, and you’re uncomfortable with the way this stranger doesn’t seem to be getting the hint that you want him to leave you alone; why is he standing so close to you? Why is he staring at you like that? Why is he following you?)

It doesn’t register to him that it’s a breach of trust to be pretending to be someone you love and trust, just to extract more information about you.

(Your cousin is acting strangely when they speak to you – their words are clipped and sound just slightly off, and you’re sure they already know what your dreams for the future are. You’ve talked about this with them before, so why are they questioning you on what your ideal house looks like, your ideal partner, your favorite baby names?)

He spends a lot of time observing you, collecting information on you in every way he can, and this doesn’t stop once you’re trapped by his side and with the rest of his crazy, horrible family – it’s a habit, more than anything, but it’s so much worse when you’re aware, when you can see and feel his dark eyes boring into you, making you squirm under the intensity of his gaze.

Of course, talking to him about it won’t do a single thing – only earning you a slight head tilt and a question of does it bother you when I watch you? I apologize, I only meant to keep an eye on you, my dear.

He genuinely doesn’t understand that stalking you and keeping a tab on you at all times is something that you very much don’t appreciate, but you’ll quickly come to learn that with Illumi, there’s only so much you can change – so much being quite literally nothing.

Controlling

This particular manifestation of his obsession with you is a culmination of many different things.

Firstly, it’s simply his personality – when he loves, he possesses, this ugly, carnal feeling stirring in his gut that pushes him to be in control, to guide and oversee every little thing the target of his love does. He’s always felt this way with Killua – he loves his brother immensely, but that love translates as being controlling and always keeping a finger on what Killua does, says, and feels.

Secondly, it’s the intense pressure coming from his family. Kikyo expects your total obedience both to her and her son, and while Illumi can sometimes stand up to his mother on matters where your safety and wellbeing are concerned, he can’t deny her expectations of you being absolutely subservient to him, bending to his every whim and allowing him to dictate every aspect of your life.

And finally, it’s his own paranoia that pushes him to micromanage you in every way possible. He’s never had someone to call his before – he’s unselfish in nature, dedicating himself to his family in every possible way, and now that he’s been given a woman to call his own, to spoil and love and keep by his side, he’s not entirely sure how to react.

Your presence soothes him in a way he’s never experienced before; you’re so soft and caring and warm, all things he’s never had. His life has been hardships and tough love, training and never being good enough, and now that you’re in the picture, Illumi isn’t entirely sure how to handle himself.

He doesn’t doubt himself, per se, but he’s unsure how to successfully navigate a marriage. Would you like it if he was more physical with you? Perhaps you’d like more hugs or for him to hold your hand or kiss you more often – that’s what all the popular media resources he’s looked into have told him.

Or maybe you’d prefer a more quiet, subtle kind of love, where you both support one another with meaningful looks and the occasional touch, whispered words that carry more weight than they seem.

He’s not sure, despite all the stalking and information retrieving he’s preformed in your name, and that makes him nervous. He doesn’t like that he can’t anticipate what you’ll want or how to make you happy – it makes him feel less-than, as if he’s not quite the perfect match that his mother and father have always said his wife will be.

He doesn’t like not being sure of himself, and so this worry manifests itself as becoming firmer in his treatment of you, locking down on the few things he’s absolutely sure of.

It comes off as controlling, sure, but Illumi doesn’t mean to be when he’s telling you what to wear, rifling through the closet he procured for you and pulling out a dress he thinks suits your complexion – you may hate it, but he likes it, so you’ll wear it.

He’s not trying to be controlling when he’s clicking his tongue lightly and telling you to keep your posture straight, dear every time you sit down, even if your shoulders are only barely, slightly slumped.

He’s not trying to be controlling when he’s standing over the bathtub and watching you wash yourself, telling you to use more soap, darling, don’t you want to be clean?

(Nevermind his dark eyes blinking slowly and getting stuck on the soapy outline of your breasts under the warm water – surely you’re just imagining that, along with the tent forming in his trousers.)

He’s not trying to be controlling when he’s roughly grabbing your hand and forcing you behind him when you’re walking through the hallways of the manor, his gaze narrowing at the butler standing at attention, paranoia eating away at him because he could have sworn the man was staring at you as you entered the room, and he can’t have that. Even as an employee of the family, no one but Illumi can look at you with any degree of desire – you are his, and if it means cleaning up a body and finding a new butler to replace him, Illumi will do what is needed to keep you his.

IIlumi is quite frankly totally unaware of his controlling behavior – he doesn’t realize anything is wrong because in his eyes nothing is wrong. This is love – it’s how his father always treated his mother when he was young, his eyes cold and his heart even colder, his words cutting her down and remolding her into a woman more fitting of being the matriarch of the Zoldycks.

And while he doesn’t want to break you down or remake you, he’s following his father’s example in making sure that you’re entirely accounted for. You’re his responsibility, and while he doesn’t view you as merely a pet, you’ll often feel like a glorified dog with the way he controls your life down to every second, always telling you that it’s time to go eat, or time to sleep, or time to shower, or time to kiss him and let him undress you.

He's pushy without even meaning to be, but if you bring this behavior up to him, he’ll be surprised. Genuinely – his brows will quirk up ever so slightly, his already wide eyes getting a hair wider because really? I had no idea, my dear. Thank you for bringing this to my attention; I will reduce the frequency on my instructions towards you.

But he doesn’t, even if he promises he will.

And it’s not entirely his fault – he thinks he is, even going so far as to be expectant of your praise when he holds himself back from telling you to use the other fork when he’s dining with you privately. Surely you must be proud of him – he’s doing as you asked, being a good husband and fulfilling your desires and wishes.

So why aren’t you praising him?

Why aren’t you mentioning anything about how generous he’s being, how considerate he is?

You’ve blatantly disregarded his attempts at trying to be less ‘controlling’, as you claim, and Illumi takes this as a sign to only double down and become more omnipresent, because obviously you haven’t quite learned how to be a kind, grateful, adoring wife.

You haven’t quite yet learned the lessons he’s been trying to teach you – so you need more guidance. You need more advice, a firmer hand to push you towards becoming the best, most noble version of yourself, and lucky, lucky you has a loving, oh so eager husband right there willing to step into that role.

He’s domineering and in control of every aspect of your life, but there’s almost a small sense of relief that you’ll eventually feel. Because really, while it makes you feel weak and pathetic and pitiful to have him controlling how long you brush your teeth every morning and night, isn’t there something kind of nice about relinquishing your responsibilities? Isn’t there something oddly nice about not having to make your own decisions, to let Illumi take care of everything, to not have to worry about anything ever again?

It's the Stockholm Syndrome talking, and you may even know it – but it doesn’t matter, because the longer you spend under Illumi’s thumb, the less you’ll find yourself caring about things like choice and autonomy and preference. All that matter is what he wants, what he thinks is best – because really, doesn’t he know best?

Isn’t he superior to you in every possible way?

Protective

Illumi has a very, very good understanding of the human body.

He has to – his job depends on it, after all, and Illumi is nothing if not dedicated to his work. He knows every muscle, vein, and bone, their purpose and exactly what it would mean if it was removed.

He knows what organs must stay in tact for survival, how much blood a person can lose and stay conscious, how cold temperature can drop before hypothermia begins, even how long a person can survive without sleeping.

And it’s this wide breadth of knowledge that leads Illumi to know just how pathetically weak you are.

There are so many possible ways to hurt you – everything from a gunshot to a paper cut could potentially end your tragically fragile life, and the longer Illumi watches you, the more uncomfortable this knowledge becomes.

It’s not that you’re objectively incapable of defending yourself – perhaps you know some basic self-defense, or perhaps your survival instincts are sharp enough to keep you away from dangerous situations. No – it’s more that Illumi knows what other people are capable of, what nen is capable of, and he knows that you’d simply be no match if someone were to attack you.

And so, this puts him into a rather uncomfortable spot; at the beginning of his obsession with you, when his feels were still freshly formed and underdeveloped, he felt no sense of protectiveness over you. You’re an adult, you can care for yourself – you’ve survived this long, haven’t you?

But then he starts noticing how wide your smile can get, or how soft your hand is when you’re sleeping, or how pretty your voice sounds when you’re singing in your kitchen and making yourself dinner.

He starts noticing that you’ve been biting your lip, the skin a little puffy and swollen and stinging a bit. Did you know that your lip could get infected, and if you don’t get to a doctor fast enough, that infection could cost you your life?

He starts noticing that the skin of your hands is a little dry, and you keep getting hangnails. Did you know that dry skin can be a sign of serious nutrition deficiencies, and if you don’t enough potassium you could end up in the hospital and slowly waste away until you eventually can no longer hold on?

He starts noticing that sometimes your voice gets a little hoarse after you try to sing a particularly high note, your voice cracking and a series of coughs racking your body. Did you know that if you cough too hard, you can actually strain your lungs and affect their ability to take in oxygen, potentially suffocating you?

Time passing brings him to the realization that the idea of you dying makes him frown, something unpleasant brewing in his chest that he guesses is sadness. He doesn’t like the idea of you passing away – he wants you alive, and if you were to die, he wouldn’t be able to watch you anymore, to feel that warm, addicting feeling in his heart you give him. If you were to suddenly keel over and die, he’d be left all alone – like normal, yes, but now that he knows what it's like to have someone, to want someone, Illumi doesn’t think he could return to his old existence.

And so, the solution is simple: keep you alive.

Except, it’s much harder to keep someone living and breathing than it is to simply kill them, and quickly Illumi is realizing just how tall an order this is. Because really, there’s just so much that could potentially injure you, that could potentially lead to your life being in danger.

You’re just so damn clumsy – he’s watched you trip over air, and if you’re that naturally unaware of your surroundings, who’s to say you wouldn’t be susceptible to even the most minor injuries? How can he be sure that you’ll manage to evade even the most innocent of accidents?

You won’t. He’s sure of it.

And so, he’s growing slightly paranoid because every new object you encounter is immediately a threat to him, five different ways that object could endanger you immediately flashing through his mind.

A pair of car keys? They’re dull and blunt, sure, but if they were thrust into your chest just right they could rupture something, cause you to bleed out, give you tetanus or metal poisoning.

A book you’re obsessing over? You could get a papercut, a slice across your pretty skin, and Kalluto has proven that paper can be incredibly deadly.

Your damn cell phone? Well, the screen is horrible for your eyes, your information could be sold and land in the hands of someone nefarious, and he knows you look at it while you’re walking on busy streets.

There’s just so many avenues for you to get hurt, and Illumi works himself to the bone to prevent any of them from successfully causing you harm. And he’s effective, too – you’ll find your knives have suddenly disappeared, your razors too, even any sort of pill you have that’s stronger than Ibuprofen.

All your outlets have suddenly stopped working, your ovens too, even your dishwasher.

Your shower doesn’t seem to be able to get as hot as it used to, and you don’t remember your pillows being as fluffy or numerous as they currently are.

You’ll know something is wrong, your anxiety shooting through the roof because someone must be robbing you, setting foot into your home and stealing all your things.

The reality is much more sinister, much more terrifying, and as soon as you wake up in Illumi’s hold, you’ll realize that your situation is much, much worse than you’d imagined.

He’s going to every length to keep you safe and sound from potential harm, even if it leaves you feeling pitiful and beyond ashamed, the babyproofed bathroom he lets you use making you ill when you see the way there’s locks on the cabinets to prevent you from rooting around for anything that could cause irreparable damage.

It’ll make you feel incompetent, embarrassed even when Illumi tries to comfort you by saying that he doesn’t think you’re incapable, just not entirely trustworthy, my dear. There’s a difference.

(His voice is always just slightly condescending when he talks to you, and this is surely no exception – it’ll make you feel worse, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care.)

Because really, all that matters to Illumi is making sure that you stay alive – he’s selfish, wanting to keep you solely to himself, and even if that means making sure you go nowhere unaccompanied, to nothing without his help, make no decisions by yourself, he doesn’t mind.

He’s doing it for you, for your shared love, for the good of your relationship.

And if you don’t seem to understand that for now, he’s sure someday you will. Someday you’ll realize the extent to which Illumi cares for you – why else would he do so very much for you, his devotion to you spanning long before he finally got to sink his claws (and cock) into you?

So really, shouldn’t you be grateful?

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Jealousy is very much not something Illumi has ever really had to deal with.

His whole life has been training, killing, devotion to his family and the Zoldyck name, and as an assassin he’s never really been envious of anyone, or really had strong enough feelings about anything to want something.

It’s a concept he understands in theory but begins questioning it when it comes to the way it makes people crazy, the way people act so strangely in circumstances where envy and jealousy are concerned. It seems entirely stupid, something that only serves to derail situations.

And yet, once a strange nagging feeling begins at the edges of his mind, Illumi finds himself wondering if this is the famous jealousy he’s always heard of.

It doesn’t feel good – it’s like there’s something pulling at his heart, a hand wrapped around it and squeezing every so often, the feeling almost painful and certainly irritating.

But the more he’s around you, the more it persists – almost seeming to grow by the day, even if you’re fully alone, in your apartment reading a book or scrolling through your phone. Illumi very suddenly understands why jealousy is known as something so horrible, something that eats you up inside and won’t leave you alone – that is, Illumi quickly begins noticing that he isn’t the only man vying for your attention and love.

Because he’s constantly watching you, following you and making sure that he knows everything there is to know about your life and relationships with others, he doesn’t miss the situations where you interact with another man, where you smile and laugh and even compliment other men, all right in front of him.

(Illumi tends to conveniently disregard the fact that you aren’t able to sense him, that you aren’t aware that you have a dangerous, murderous stalker trailing your every move.)

It’s irritating, frustrating, distracting enough to be seriously affecting his work – he’ll have a fleeting thought of the way you’d smiled at that other man a week ago as he goes for the final stab into the target’s chest, but the slight snarl he lets out has him missing just slightly, instead nicking the target in the shoulder and giving them an opportunity to scramble away.

Illumi’s irritation only increases at that, and soon there’s blood splattered along the floor as he breaths deeply, the red staining his clothing standing out bright.

He really tried to ignore it at first, but once it began affecting him even when he’s not in your presence, Illumi knew he had to solve the problem. And after a quick, rather detached conversation with his father about it, Illumi was quickly enlightened that he was in fact jealous, his father having laughed lightly and patting him on the arm, telling him that it’s natural to feel that way about your wife, Illumi. Your duty is as an assassin, but as a member of this family. If the woman you’ve chosen to bear your heir is giving you such feelings, I see no harm in acting upon them. It will serve you well to focus more on your work, as well.

And so Illumi embraces this newfound permission to foster this emotion - it’s odd, the way what he’s fairly confident is anger coils around his heart, making his fists clench slightly, his nails digging into his palms as he watches you talk and laugh with that man. That man, who probably doesn’t even know how to use nen, who probably doesn’t even understand how perfect of a wife you could be, how good of a mother and perfect addition to his family you’d be.

It’s strange, and while Illumi doesn’t particularly enjoy it, he can’t deny the odd sense of finality that comes with killing without being paid to, the strange sensation of enjoying ending a life. He finds himself smiling after plunging his nails into a man’s jugular, but Illumi isn’t too horribly bothered.

It’s new and strange, but so is everything else you make Illumi experience, after all. Why should this be any different?

As he trails behind you in the shadows, his dark eyes train in on your figure as you bite your lip and look over the selection of fruit displayed out on the cart of the farmer’s market.

Illumi stays perfectly still, completely focused on watching you. You’re wearing a pair of jeans today, pants that hug your figure a little too tightly for his tastes, along with a sweatshirt that does quite the opposite – hiding your upper body, which Illumi only finds slightly more agreeable.

(In the back of his mind, he makes a mental note to have a talk with you about proper dress for a woman such as yourself – a woman who’s to become part of a powerful, wealthy family, and as such must represent them - and her husband - with her head held high and confidence oozing from her. He’s sure a nice skirt and blouse will do the trick – silky or satin, shimmery and soft like you. Or, perhaps, a dress – maybe a floral pattern or a deep magenta. Of course, you’ll eventually be wearing purple, the Zoldyck family color, but he knows women enjoy fashion, and he's interested to see what you’d pick.)

As he thinks through what he’ll say to you, already planning out how the conversation will go, he notices a man with shaggy brown hair and honey brown eyes take a deep breath and walk beside you, standing next to you and looking over the selection of apples, pears, oranges and various other fruits.

Illumi’s expression makes no change as the brunette says something about how there’s always too many options at markets like these, types of fruit that he’s never heard of making it difficult to choose, to which you laugh and full heartedly agree.

The assassin makes no move, but as he watches and listens with distaste lodged in the back of his throat, you continue on the conversation, asking the man’s advice on which type of apple you should get.

It’s a short interaction, in all honesty - maybe a minute maximum, but Illumi is still watching with a heavy, piercing gaze, feeling the same odd, sickly feeling rise up from his chest.

He’s already decided that if the man moves to lay even a finger on you he’ll emerge from the shadows, swiftly and triumphantly piercing his chest with his entire hand.

Maybe that’ll get him to stop talking.

But the man doesn’t, and so Illumi begrudgingly lets the conversation run its course. You eventually say goodbye to the man and ask him if he’d like to meet up at the same booth in a week to compare the types of fruit.

Immediately Illumi’s fist clenches, his nails sharpening and digging into his palms, drops of blood littering the pavement below him as his eyes never stray, keeping trained on you as you walk in the opposite direction of the man, who is now blushing and smiling like a fool.

Disgusting, Illumi thinks as he follows the man.

The world won’t miss him, is all he’s thinking as he pulls a pin and flicks his wrist, the needle sinking into his neck. He watches with a dull gaze as the fast acting poison renders the man immobile, falling to his knees as his chest slows its breaths, eventually no longer moving.

You most certainly won’t, he thinks as he picks up the body, unsheathing the needle after life has left the body, finding a nearby trash bin to stuff the man into.

It isn’t the most efficient method of dealing with a body, but Illumi can’t be bothered – after all, in the some thirty seconds it’s taken him to deal with the man who thought he had a chance with what Illumi has already claimed as his, you’ve managed to make it a bit further from him, wandering through the maze of stalls with the bag full of produce in your hands.

He’s immediately falling into step behind you, the flexing of his fingers doing nothing to distract him as he brings back his stare, internally sighing as he sees another man – this time blond – look over at you and not so subtly rake his eyes up and down your body.

Illumi’s brow twitches – he only brought twenty needles this morning, and you’ve only been at the market for some fifteen minutes. Already he only has three left, and with a small sigh he reminds himself to bring more tomorrow, as he’ll surely use them.

And really, while Illumi doesn’t enjoy that other men are looking at you, being deluded enough to believe that they have a chance with you, he needs to make sure that there are no complications with your union, that there will be no problems to take care of when he eventually whirls you away to his home, where you’ll be his lovely wife that provides him with children and a warmth he can’t explain.

There’s a certain thrill that comes with letting himself feel, with not pushing down the emotion as his father said – a certain thrill that he can only feel where you’re concerned.

After all, you’re just that special.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

From the moment Illumi decides that you’re a good match for him, it becomes a known fact (at least, among his family) that you would eventually be living alongside him in the Zoldyck manor.

You don’t have a choice, really – all of his family lives together on the mountain, and you will be no exception, despite your temporary status as an honorary member.

(This status is temporary if only because now you aren’t an official Zoldyck, but the moment you become pregnant with his child, this status changes – you’re a real Zoldyck then, because inside you grows the family’s next assassin, a product of Illumi’s devotion to you and proof of your resolve to commit yourself to the Zoldycks. It’s all terribly romantic to Illumi, even if it makes you want to hurl, and he’ll have no qualms telling you this information – he’ll even frame it as if it’s some sort of incentive to get you eagerly spreading your legs for him. He treats it like you want to be accepted into the family – like it’s your deepest desire, and no amount of arguing or pleading with him will convince him otherwise.)

You will be sharing a bed with him, living under the same roof and spending all your time beside him when he’s not away for a job, whether you like it or not, and Illumi has known this from the very beginning. You’ll be curled up in his arms, his skin cold and slightly clammy as he holds you, his grip much too tight and stiff even as he sleeps – you can hardly move, every breath you take feeling constricted and controlled, as if Illumi is doing you a favor by allowing you just a bit of space to breathe.

It takes him a while to fully develop and understand what his feelings mean, but once he does he isn’t holding back in any form - his family was, for lack of a better word, floored the night that their eldest son casually mentioned having selected his future wife. Kikyo was immediately pressing him for details, wanting to know every fact and scrap of information about her future daughter in law, which Illumi was happy to provide.

He immediately spouted off your name, age, basic personality, physical features, hobbies, interests, important life events, past and current jobs, relationships with your parents, friends, partners, anything and everything he can think of, Kikyo listening all the while with a scowl on her face. She’s confused on why her precious son has chosen you, considering you weren’t a skilled nen user, a fighter or even someone of great importance.

She’s not completely convinced of her son’s choice, but there’s a strange determination to Illumi’s normally lifeless eyes that she can see that makes her back off a bit, leaving her with an odd sense of finality in his words, confidence in his decision that makes it hard to argue.

(Besides, everyone knows Killua is the true heir of the family – as long as Illumi produces members to join the Zoldyck ranks, it’s not so important who chooses to wed. As long as they’re suitable for conception, she’ll begrudgingly accept – perhaps not with enthusiasm, but she’ll relent nonetheless.)

Silva is listening as well, though not as intensely as his wife, and after Illumi finishes his some twenty minute recall of your information, he merely takes a sip of his drink and nods, telling his son to treat her with care, she sounds weak in comparison to you.

Milluki is rolling his eyes, wondering why his brother decided on someone so normal, though he doesn’t dare say anything. Internally, though, he’s already imagining what you look like, his mental picture of you built upon Illumi’s descriptions, but with just a bit more detail – things his brother hadn’t mentioned, like the size of your chest or if you’re clumsy or if your voice is high and feminine and whiny.

Kalluto only nods, wondering what you’ll be like in person if you’ve managed to catch his older brother’s eye.

His mother is still disappointed in his choice, but wastes no time helping Illumi prepare for your eventual arrival, helping him create a regiment for how to integrate you into the family, how to work with your needs, considering your status as a mere commoner.

And while Illumi lets his mother plan and schedule and bustle about, he’s merely thinking of how he should take you away, tuning out his mother’s shrill words as she yells and commands butlers, telling them to prepare and clean and do everything so that Illumi’s new wife will be received well.

In all reality, Illumi – while very much concerned with his family’s acceptance of you, considering the tightness and loyalty instilled into him – isn’t especially concerned about the plans his mother is running wild preparing. He knows that with enough time and training, you’ll eventually fit right into the mold his mother wants you to, or at least as far into it as Illumi is allowing.

Because really, while he agrees that you need to be toughened up at least a little bit in order to survive in the mansion and be strong enough to bear his children, he doesn’t want your core personality to change – he fell in love with you for a reason, and while you must be trained a bit to survive as a Zoldyck, he doesn’t want you to become a stranger.

And so instead of listening to his mother’s plans, he’s slipping out under the cover of nightfall and climbing through the familiar window of your bedroom, your sleeping form laying so still and peaceful, like you’re just waiting for him to come steal you away.

A pin (as much as he hates piercing your skin with the needle, it must be done) is applied to your shoulder and your sleep is suddenly much heavier, your body visibly going limp, your breaths getting longer and deeper, and for a moment he worries that he’s infused too much nen into the needle, that your breathing will just keep slowing until it eventually stops.

His grip against his spare needles tightens at the thought, the force so strong that it snaps the metal in half, the sound knocking him from his thoughts as he blinks down at you, a small sense of relief filling him because your chest is still steadily rising and falling.

Illumi carries you in his arms back to the manor, not minding the weight of your body holding him down.

And just as he passes through the gates, he feels what he thinks might be excitement brewing in his chest.

Life with Illumi will be, in all honesty, hell.

It’s not so much that he enjoys making you miserable or seeing you uncomfortable, but rather that he’s grown up with such intense expectations, such strict regimes and schedules that he upholds you to similar standards.

Of course, you won’t be going through training to become an assassin while you’re with him – no practice with combat or anything so violent, if only because Illumi’s worry over your safety prohibits him from allowing you anywhere near a knife or a fist cocked and ready to be swung.

(Not to mention the fact that he plans on you going absolutely nowhere without him, and as such there’s no reason for you to learn how to defend yourself. You don’t need to build up immunity to poison, how to most effectively snap a neck, or to learn any number of the cruel things that he thinks are much too unwomanly for someone like you.)

No, the schedule and timetables he puts you on are much more general, humiliating, dehumanizing – being told when you can and can’t use the restroom is something you’ll quickly come to realize takes away even the barest scrap of dignity and independence you have left under Illumi’s control.

He dictates what time you wake up, what you eat for each meal of the day, and your activities between meals - comprised mostly of more feminine things, as his mother advised you learn, like sewing and mending, floral arrangement, proper dining etiquette, and of course, lessons on how to properly raise children, taught by Kikyo herself.

(From the get go, it will be extremely apparent to you that the entirety of the Zoldyck family – Illumi included – expect offspring, assuming with little thought that you’ll be bearing the eldest son’s children in what Silva has expressed as sooner than you think with a small nod and poignant stare. Shivers had run down your spine at the way Illumi’s gaze on you seemed to only grow in intensity at his father’s comment, his cold fingers pressing against the small of your back in a way that made your skin crawl. Besides, the built in conception time, as Illumi so lovingly puts it, makes it more than obvious that he’s fucking you with the intent of getting you pregnant.)

It’s demeaning, the way you’re treated like some toddler, some incompetent idiot with the way Kikyo flutters around you, her shrill voice echoing through the corridors as you cower and obey.

It isn’t that you want to be obedient to a family you’ve come to realize is beyond fucked up, but you’ve also seen Illumi at work. He’s come home to you covered in blood, giving you a small smile as he awkwardly leans down to press a chaste kiss against your lips, his dark eyes staying open the whole time.

You don’t particularly want to be the submissive, obedient future mother of Illumi’s children like everyone in the manor is expecting you to be (with the exception of Killua, whom Illumi desperately wants you to get along with, and he may honestly be the only ray of light within this dark, musty home – at least he somewhat understands how fucked up the situation is, though he’s told you many times that there’s nothing he can do to help you).

But the constant threat of the fact that anyone in the house could kill you with a simple flick of the wrist is not lost on you, and while Illumi genuinely terrifies you for much of the first few months of your captivity, you quickly learn to obey his every word, to live to please him.

He’s really the only ally you have – he’s more forgiving, easier to try and wiggle your way out of a less severe punishment with, especially as you learn to predict his wishes.

He wants you to wear a certain kimono that he thinks looks beautiful on you? You hate the pattern on it and the way the style makes your figure look, but you scramble to slide into the fabric, trying to ignore his ever present stare boring into your naked body.

He wants you to come play with his hair, because he’s been told by his father that it feels nice and he’s seen couples do it? immediately you’re clambering to sit on the chair behind his seated position on the floor, running your fingers through his dark locks while he sits stick straight, silence enveloping the two of you.

He wants you to lay beside him while he rests, recovering his energy from a recent mission? You’re already slipping underneath the sheets, clearing a space for him and letting him wrap his arms around your waist and pull you against him.

(He’s so stiff even when he ‘cuddles’ you – his skin is so cold, his back straight, his grip on you tight enough to make you squirm, and the hot breath against your neck when he tells you that he’s missed you, my dear, my day is less bright without your presence will make you wince.)

Some of his wishes are, admittedly, much more difficult to obey than others, however – when he tells you to lay back and spread your legs while he’s shimmying off his pants, it’s difficult to not fight, to not cry and scream as he pushes into you, his eyebrows twitching together and his pale fists clenching by your head as he slowly begins humping into you.

He isn’t necessarily bad to you per se, though quickly his family picks up on his cluelessness on how to truly treat a spouse, and so after a few comments from Silva about how to properly woo you (maybe she will be less unruly, and you may have more luck producing children this way as well) he actually does take his advice and try to make at least some attempt at romancing you.

He’s telling you robotically delivered compliments, buying you bouquets of roses, even rewarding your good behavior with small knick knacks from your old apartment and life – but it’s not enough; the fear of him is still far greater than the almost charming awkwardness he exudes in moments of intimacy and tenderness will ever be.

You’ll essentially become a submissive, sweet little housewife under Illumi’s care, and even if you hate it, even if you try with everything you have to not be subjected to the future of bearing his children, holding the famous last name of Zoldyck, and being completely subservient to the man who kidnapped you and forcefully began a ‘relationship’ with you, Illumi and the rest of his family have ways of making sure you stay in line.

And before long, you’ll grow to accept your place, to realize that there is absolutely nothing you can do.

PUNISHMENTS:

In all honesty, Illumi rarely gets actually mad at you – he’s much more frequently disappointed when you don’t behave correctly, when you fight him or make some weak attempt at escaping.

He doesn’t get mad, but there is this small sense of pity that he feels when he watches you cry and beg him to not come any closer, to please let me go, I promise I won’t tell anyone what happened! Please, I don’t want to be with you or your sick family!

It hurts, if he’s being honest, but he knows that in order to train you, to mold you into the perfect spouse and future mother of his children, he needs to be patient.

Dogs can’t be expected to follow commands from the very beginning, right?

And so, when he kneels down to where you’re curled up in the corner of your shared room, his dark hair hanging around you like a curtain while his wide eyes never blink and stay situated on you, he’s merely tilting his head and asking in a voice much too serious to be natural, oh but darling, can’t you see you’re already part of this family? Now, dinner is to be ready in thirty minutes. I need to properly prepare you.

He actually has a surprising amount of patience with you – you make him soft (or at least as soft as he can be, though anyone that knows him well can spot the differences in his treatment and air around you), and he doesn’t really want to harm you or scare you.

It’s a necessary evil in his eyes, though if he had his way, he’d train you to the point where you’re willingly looking at him with love.

He’d train you until you’re welcoming him home with a sweet kiss to his cheek after a long job with a toddler clutching at your legs, a baby suckling at your breast and a swollen belly telling him and the rest of the world exactly who you belong to, your lovesick cry of his name when you see him making the smile plastered onto his lips that much more genuine.

You make him feel, something so foreign and strange, and to Illumi this new, small amount of emotion feels downright overwhelming, something so strong and powerful and wonderful. It’s addicting, truly, something that he finds himself actively wanting, a concept he’s never felt before towards anything except bringing back Killua.

And so while he doesn’t particularly enjoy punishing you, it’s worth it to keep those feelings alive, to build up to the point where his fantasies of your domestic future with one another come to fruition.

So really, while he doesn’t get mad at you very often, he won’t hesitate to dole out punishments where he sees fit – it’s all for a greater purpose, he tells you, though you have your doubts.

Besides, there’s something even more disturbing about him punishing you when he isn’t even angry – it’s worse because it all just seems so pointless; maybe if he was yelling you would understand why he’s doing what he’s doing. He’d seem human, maybe, capable of emotion – instead, you get those familiar, dead eyes staring at you, his expression carefully neutral as he tells you that this is for your own sake, my dear, and one day you’ll see that.

When it comes to actually punishing you, Illumi’s aversion to causing you any sort of physical harm prevents him from inflicting a whole varietyof punishments onto you – he doesn’t want to taint your delicate skin, to break a bone, to do any number of things that he’s been told over and over by his family would help.

(Milluki insists that breaking both of your legs would be a good way to prevent any kind of behavior targeted around trying to escape, and while Illumi understands the logic and even agrees with it, the look of your teary eyes staring up at him and your desperate pleads to not hurt you are simply too much.)

(Milluki also suggests, with a crude grin and a gulp, that perhaps letting him try a hand at getting you to cooperate would be helpful – besides, he’ll add with a smarmy smile and his tongue flicking out over his lips, a Zoldyck heir is a Zoldyck heir, doesn’t matter who knocked her up, right? That night, Milluki ended up with the broken bone rather than you.)

He isn’t sure why he’s so incapable of hurting you considering his profession, but he just can’t – and so, he finds other methods.

Namely, your mental state is completely fair game; he’s training you after all, and when the basement of the Zoldyck mansion is just so expansive, so cold and wet and so very dark, how can he not use that to his advantage?

Your eyes are casted downwards, your voice soft and unsure as you ask if you can see my family again? Kikyo mentioned that it’s December, and there’s an important birthday in the family this month that I’d like to celebrate with them…

Illumi had been cuddling you (or, at least holding you in his arms while he lay on his side, completely frozen and inhaling the scent of your hair again and again while you uncomfortably squirmed around), but the moment those words tumble from your lips, he’s blinking pensively, pondering your statement.

I don’t know of any birthdays in the family this month.

When you try again, telling him that it’s your family you’re talking about, the one you were raised in and that you love, immediately he’s cutting you off.

My dear, you must be mistaken. The nearest birthday is Grandfather’s, and that isn’t for another month.

His voice is firmer this time, as if he’s trying to tell you something, but some part of you refuses to silently accept his blatant dismissal of your request.

Illumi you don’t understand, it’s –

his grip is tightening even more, practically suffocating you as his nails dig into your exposed arms, his voice somewhere between a hiss and a scold.

No, my love, you don’t understand. Don’t speak of them. They are no longer your family – you are a Zoldyck now, and you’ll forget all of those past imposters. You will not, under any circumstances, be allowed to see them again. Now, come with me.

And it’s not like you have much of a choice – as he picks you up and brings you down the stairs, endless winding hallways that steadily grow colder and colder the deeper you head, you’re flailing, apologizing profusely, anything to not have to spend another few nights in the basement.

And while Illumi doesn’t enjoy the tears that stream down your cheeks, he stays strong and ties you to the chains connected to the walls – loose enough that you can be seated on the ground, but tight enough to restrict any movement.

Once you’re stationary, he stands before you and stares, the light from the door behind him illuminating his figure.

I expect you to tell me who your real family is when I return.

And with that, he’s walking out the room and slamming the door shut behind him, leaving you shrouded in darkness, with nothing but the sound of your own breathing and heartbeat to entertain you.

He generally leaves you down there for three days, give or take – enough to have you dehydrated, your stomach growling and rumbling painfully at the lack of food, cold seeping into your bones and leaving you shivering and shaking, all the while fear envelopes you because there’s something here with you, you just know it.

The sounds coming from the corner of the room are too difficult to ignore, though you have no idea what it could be. You presume it’s some sort of creature, designed to kill you if Illumi so desires, the scuttling noise making fear creep up your spine every time you hear it. The sounds are ryhtmic, predictable, always going off in roughly thirty minute intervals, leading you to believe the creature is smart, or at least trained to be so.

It’s terrifying and your mind will conjure up images of terrifying, grotesque beasts in its bored and fearful state, but in reality the monster in question is Illumi himself – he grows so dependent on you that he can’t be away from you for more than about a day, so he treats himself to hiding in the shadows and simply watching you.

You’re very pretty, even when you’re crying and covered in dirt and covered in your own piss, and it’s in those moments that Illumi truly realizes how deeply his feelings for you run, how badly he wants you to be his everything. He just can’t stop looking at you, those dark eyes raking over your figure over and over and over, moving his position roughly every thirty minutes to get a new angle of you.

(Though, it’s not like he needs to see you to remember what you look like from this angle, he’s stalked you so thoroughly and so heavily that he could draw your face in his sleep with pinpoint accuracy, your features metaphorically carved behind his eyelids so that he’ll always see you you you when he blinks.)

And when he eventually opens the door once more, light cracking into the room and making you violently blink, he’s asking if you’ve learned your lesson yet, if you’re finally understanding who your real family is, and immediately you’re practically yelling that yes, I understand! I’m a Zoldyck, the Zoldycks are my real family! I love them and I love you, Illumi, because I’m your wife and that’s all I’ve ever wanted to be!

(If you were in a better state of mind you’d have the energy to be ashamed of yourself, but you’re so desperate to get out of this cellar and into the warmth, to drink something and eat something and be away from the thing trapped in there with you that you just don’t care.)

He nods, satisfied, and opens the locks, only to blink in surprise when you wobbly embrace him, sobbing into his chest and clutching onto his clothes because even though he’s unnaturally cold, he’s still warmer than the hell you’ve been in for the last three days.

And while he’s not the best at physical affection, he’ll wrap his arms around you and pull you tighter, crushing you against his hard chest whispering in your ear that he’s so glad you’ve finally accepted your place.

OVERALL DANGER:

9/10

The danger that lies with being Illumi’s darling is honestly just the fact that once he chooses you, there is absolutely no chance of escaping him.

He’s a trained assassin with connections everywhere; outside of death itself, there’s no way for you to get away from him, no matter how hard you try or who you manage to recruit into aiding you.

(And even if you were to somehow manage to kill yourself, Illumi will keep your dead body by his side – holding it at night while he sleeps, propping you in a chair across from him while he eats and carries on a one sided conversation about work that day, even going so far as to fuck your cold, lifeless body just to feel you.)

He’s lived his whole life feeling nothing at all, and the second that you inspire any bit of emotion within him, his whole perspective seems to alter just slightly, something warm and strange and good blooming in his chest. It’s something completely foreign, but the longer it goes on the more he decides the likes it, growing used to the feeling and craving more of it, finding himself yearning – yes, yearning – to feel it once more when he’s been away from you for long periods of time.

Once he realizes that the common cause of this feeling is you, Illumi is deciding that you’re the one he’ll be adding to the Zoldyck family as his partner, his spouse, his lover.

You’ll be the one to bear his children and continue on the name, all while he gets to enjoy the strange warmth in his chest, the odd protectiveness that forces him to keep you locked up, safe from the outside world, the strange urge he feels to reach out and touch you, to see you smile, to feel your lips against his own.

And so while he won’t ever directly physically harm you, your mental state will be destroyed, and you’ll be in constant fear that someday he’ll decide you aren’t worth the trouble, that once he impregnates you and you give him a few heirs, he’ll kill you off effortlessly.

These fears will never, ever see fruition of course, but the trouble with Illumi is that you just never know.

He’s skilled in the art of killing, but his skills in lying are quite formidable as well – you can never truly tell when he’s being honest with you, and while he’s never fully lied to you (only misrepresented facts and led you to believe something that may not be entirely true), you’ll live in a constant state of unease because you’re so, so very aware that he could kill you with a mere flick of his wrist if he so desired, and what’s stopping him? He claims to be in love, but in what world is this love?

And you, lucky lucky you, get the lovely package deal of not only him, but his fucked up family as well – so good luck, and really, just let him mold you into the perfect, obedient little wife he wants you to be.

You’ll be much, much happier in the end.

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere illumi #yandere illumi zoldyck #_hxh #_illumi zoldyck #_lee's profiles

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bouncybongfairy · 6 months

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Sleepy

Simon (Ghost) Riley x Fem Reader

Summary: After going days without sleep, you start to experience the effects of sleep deprivation: anxiety, hallucinations, irritability and lack of appetite. Ghost helps calm you down and rest after an intense mission.

Word Count: 1.0k+

TW: Protective Ghost, Comfort fluff, Soft Ghost

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

As a new recruit, you were getting chewed up and spit out everyday. The days were slowly starting to blur together and you weren’t sleeping well. The tiniest of sounds scaring you awake at least twice a night. Or having recurring night terrors from more gruesome missions. Everyone on the task force was starting to get concerned, it was evident you were suffering from a lack of rest. The group, you included, were walking back from a mission. You were drenched in blood after going completely feral in combat. Even strangers, you were walking ahead of everyone. Making it clear that you didn’t want to converse with anyone. Walking past Soap to get to your room, his eyes widened and looked over at Ghost and Keegan.

“What happened?” he asks.

“I don’t know, she just went crazy,” Ghost sighed, the situation clearly stressing him out.

“Crazy is a nice way to put it,” Keegan scoffed, Ghost shot him a death glare but he continued anyway, “don’t look at me like that bro, you were there. You saw for yourself, she bit and I repeat: bit that guy’s finger off,” he defended himself.

“y/n did that? You know she hasn't eaten since last night? And when she did it was only peanut butter and an apple,” Soap said, taken back by this report. Ghost gave both of them a dirty look before walking to your shared room.

He walked in and saw you sitting on your bed. You haven't taken any of your gear off, just sitting in dark silence. Unlike others in your platoon, Ghost had a first hand look into why your behavior was so erratic. All he hears at night is you tossing and turning, not even mentioning your night terrors. He just pretends he doesn’t notice, he couldn’t ignore it anymore. Shedding his gear but leaving his cotton mask on before walking over to you. He rests his hand on your shoulder, making you jump up. Slightly disoriented from being broken out of a haze, you pull out your knife. Ghost grabbed your wrist, gripping it so tight the blade drops from your hand. Slowly starting to come back to reality, sinking to your knees and crying. He helps you to the ground, letting you rest your weight against him.

“I’m sorry,” you kept mumbling weakly. Still having full combat gear on was making you sweat. He was slowly taking your stuff off, unloading your gun and tossing it onto his bed while coaxing you down.

“It’s okay, don’t worry. I’ll take care of you,” he said, standing you up and walking you to the bathroom.

Sleep deprivation was starting to kick in, you haven’t eaten anything in a day. After the burst of adrenaline on the mission, you could barely walk. Sitting on the bathroom floor, enjoying the cold tile against your hot and flushed skin. Ghost turned on the water, letting the tub fill up then turning his attention back to you. Resting his hand on your forehead and cringing when he felt how warm you were. He lifts you up bridal style, letting your feet dip into the water first. You jump and cling onto him so tight, it makes two of your fingernails start bleeding.

“Holy fuck it’s freezing,” you gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I know but you have to break the fever, and you’ll throw up if you take any medication right now,” he said, trying to pry you off him.

“Please,” you pleaded with him, death gripping his neck and wrapping your legs around his waist.

After struggling trying to get you off, he was becoming overwhelmed. Your face was tucked into his neck and your cheek was resting on his shoulder. Breathing hard against his ear while unknowingly rubbing yourself against his erection. Once he came to the conclusion that he couldn’t get you off, he got into the water. Figuring he was killing two birds with one stone by killing his hard-on with the freezing water and getting you into the tub. You struggled underneath him for a while, until the small amount of strength you had was gone. Teeth chattering and sniffling as you cried quietly, keeping your grip around his neck.

“I’ve gone fucking crazy,” you whispered, ghost looked down at you.

“No love, you’ve just gone days without sleep,” he said, wetting his hands and whipping the blood off your face. Trying his best to untangle the strands that were caked to your skin.

“Stop. You know, like my brain is fucked up. I’m fucked up,” you cried, working yourself up again. Hyperventilating and trying to get out of the tub.

He changed your positions, sitting up and pressing his back against the tub. Pulling your back into his chest and changing the subject. Resting his chin on the top of your head while he talked, gripping your wrist so you couldn’t get out.

“You know I used to have night terrors because my brother would scare me awake?” he said, using his thumb to stroke your hand.

“Yeah?” you mumbled.

“Mmhm, but I grew out of it, just like you will eventually,” he said.

“I have blood on my hands,” you slurred, at first he thought you meant metaphorically. Until he saw you looking down at your palms, trying to wash the ‘blood’ off. Ghost isn’t a rookie and knows what sleep deprived hallucinations look like. In his experience, validation rather than conflict helps deescalate things.

“Let me wash it off, don’t worry about it,” he said, rubbing your hands under the water.

After a few moments of this, you finally fell asleep against his chest. He got out of the water, changed the two of you into dry clothes before joining you to get some rest

#simon ghost riley #cod ghost #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon x reader #ghost fluff #protective ghost #soft ghost

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ghostbxne · 9 months

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a bit self-indulgent edward nashton headcanons bc im going insane and i have to share my though with the world

- he guessed the joker’s riddle wrong. joker didn’t mean to call himself his „friend”, he literally introduced himself as „ the joker” - the card. the less you have the more one is worth (jokers in a deck of cards) (but maybe im overthinking this lol)

- his teeth are not taken care of. the orphanage did not provide proper dental care for the children, so his teeth are crooked and he has a few cavities. he would like to get braces but still can’t afford it

tw: self harm mention in the next one

- he self harms (honestly thats canon, in the year one comic we see him as a child and his hands with very prominent bite marks). he also punches walls (implied in the batman movie when he slaps a wall in his cell in the asylum)

- he stims (in the year one comic he thinks to himself „stop chewing on your glasses, edward”) and is autistic (literally gets called „rain man” in the year one comic) but undiagnosed due to his financial situation and fear of any doctors (my personal headcanon, but also implied considering how the medical staff at the orphanage treated kids)

- cannot cook to save his life. he buys pre-made food or makes really bad watery soups so he can put them in cups and drink them while working

- usually keeps his nails a little longer. he picks at his skin a lot so it annoys him when his nails are very short

- has ocd (implied in the year one comic (intrusive thoughts) and in the movie (compulsive writing))

- has anxiety (pretty much canon)

- doesn’t really listen to music, he prefers podcasts (canonically listens to a motivational podcast in year one) and audiobooks

- usually wears a few layers of clothing. he’s usually cold and also insecure about his body. (i love his year one cardigan)

- really likes animals, especially dogs. he likes how they don’t leave their owners and are always on their side. would like to have a dog but can’t (obvious reasons)

- has very big trouble managing his emotions (canon) and gets incredibly upset when something doesn’t go his way, even the small things

tw: animal abuse mentioned in the next one

- has a fear of water and drowning (might be from that one time when the guy at the orphanage forced him to drown a rat)

- doesn’t really know how to take care of himself due to childhood neglect

- has nightmares every night. after seeing the batman in real life they stopped for a while (he’d just have no dreams at all and occasionally a very distorted fever dream, but still not a nightmare), but he still kept repeatedly waking up in the middle of the night

alright thats it for now, i might edit the post and add more later or idk😭

#danonation #edward nashton #the batman 2022 #paul dano #the riddler #riddlebat #dano riddler #the batman #edward nashton headcanon #headcanons #edward nashton headcanons #riddler: year one #riddler 2022 #dano edward nashton x reader #edward nashton x reader

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nardo-headcanons · 7 months

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About Shisui Uchiha

just some shower thoughts i had about him. this is very headcanon heavy and rather vague at times.

tw for talks about suicide, manipulation, trauma, abuse, etc

tagging: @uchihaharlot @pxssy-stuntin-for-itxchi @lalalover33-blog @burning-bubble @naruto-scribblings-j

Unlike Itachi, who was born during the last year of the great Shinobi war, it is safe to say that Shisui was born while it was still going on. So naturally, he was exposed to the worst side humanity had to offer, most likely traumatizing him in the process.

His mother is never mentioned, so I assume she must have died during his birth or in his early childhood. His father, most likely ravaged by illness before he even entered the battlefield, lost his left leg, leaving him with phantom pains and high medical bills. As a born shinobi, Shisui’s father lacked the funds and education to pursue any other path of career, leaving his child as the only breadwinner of his family. Shisui probably had to spend his entire childhood and youth slaving away just to keep his father and himself afloat. Additionally, he took care of a terminally i’ll man who didn’t even remember his son’s name. Of course, this would lead to Shisui being very perceptive of the psychology of the ones around him, how else could he search for a sign of his father’s state health changing?

Shisui often spent time wondering what it’s like to have a family, a family in which he is allowed to be what he is: a child. Someone who is cared for, someone who is looked after. Despite being an Uchiha, his relation to Kagami Uchiha - the Uchiha allied with Tobirama, the very person planting the seed for all the discrimination the Uchiha would face, up to a point of their genocide, would probably lead him to feel ostracized within his own clan. And like everyone of us, he is trying to find the balance between individuality and belonging - the latter being the one he lacked. His abilities as an Uchiha become a defining factor of identity for him, leading to him being willing to let a comrade via withholding aid - just on the basis of that comrade potentially being stronger than him. Once his comrade dies, the young Uchiha is ravaged by feelings of guilt, by the awareness that the blood of his friend is on his hand.

But nevertheless, he is blessed with a new Uchiha ability - the mangekyou sharingan. His entire life he had to enter a role he didn’t want to be in, robbing him of memories he could have had. So what better mangekyou ability to have than the one that alters memories, and, in extension, alters your role in the world?

Shisui’s resentment against his Uchiha identity starts bubbling up inside him again, and being a shinobi who frequents B- or even A-Rank missions as a literal teenager (how else would you pay for your father’s medical debt as a shinobi, eh?) he was closer to the village from the start. Hailed as the strong and talented Uchiha boy, taking on missions to serve his village, behind the facade a broken kid forced to grow up way too quickly. His first serious doubts begin when he is forced to kill Mukai Kohinata, a direct reflection of Shisui, just the other way around: a father wanting nothing but funds to care for his dying child.

Things don’t get better when the tension between the village and the Uchiha rise. His own brethren or the collective - who will you support? Getting into Shisui’s mind and twisting his perception of what’s right is an easy game for Danzo, almost too easy. A civil war breaking out in Konoha would be a repetition of his initial trauma - the one thing Shisui wants to prevent the most. Shisui starts feeling conflicted, until he finally stumbles upon THE miracle solution: forcefully keeping up the status quo by manipulating the leader of the revolution - an unpleasant reality, but better than the Uchiha clan’s extermination or a civil war breaking out, right? To Shisui, atleast. And honestly, who could blame him? As a ninja who graduated young, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he lacks the methodical and critical thinking outside of the parameters of violence and manipulation he is used to from Danzo and the shinobi world.

And then it happens. He agrees to suppress the revolution of his own ethnic group just for the sake of keeping up a false sense of peace, and suddenly, his co conspirators, the man that is supposed to be guarding him, leading him, suddenly abandons him and steals his eye? Shisui’s entire identity as the Uchiha boy from Konoha collapses and he doesn’t know what to think or believe anymore. In his last moments, he becomes aware of the utter pointlessness of the killing and the brutality of the shinobi system, the sheer feeling of powerless overwhelming him. At this point, death seems like a sweeter option than continuing to live powerlessly in such a system.

Shisui is a skilled ninja, but not always in contact with his emotions. Therapy is a rarity in the leaf, with even the counselors themselves not being able to give advise outside of the parameters of what’s “acceptable” in the hidden leaf.

So, what better way to hide your agony than behind a -albeit manufactured- goofy smile?

#naruto #naruto shippuden #naruto headcanons #naruto scenarios #naruto imagines #naruto fanfiction #shisui #shisui headcanons #shisui uchiha #anti shinobi system #anti hiruzen #anti danzo #anti tobirama #anti will of fire #anti konoha #naruto meta

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starsofang · 3 months

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CALL OF THE SEA / PART THREE

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, mentions of violence, blood, injury, 141 are still mean pirates, very brief mentions of death masterlist

The words of Captain Price weighed heavily on your mind. With little distractions to guide you away from them, they were all you were left with. They replayed on a consistent loop, like a broken record player. It was taunting, the way your own mind betrayed you after pleading with it not to think of the cold dose of reality the Captain had given you. It denied your requests for soothing calm and gifted you with roaring waves of chaos.

The Captain had been right. Every last word was coated in nothing but bitter truth, and you hated it.

Your village was nothing but unkind to you, and you knew it. You tried to defend them, tried to reason with why they could have been so cruel to you, but with only yourself and the sounds of the sea to fill the abyss in your head, your defense was bound to crumble.

It wasn’t your fault you were different, at least compared to the traditionalists you grew with. Being born in a secluded hamlet separated from the bustling mainland meant the people were just as isolated. Hermits, they were. They sought simplicity through actions shown by the book. Marriage, children, with women to remain in their place at home. It was a dream to some, and a nightmare to you.

You wanted more. There was a vast world out there for you to mark your claim on, yet your own people disregarded your desires. They turned on you, taunting you as the village outcast, one that many continued to torment well into adulthood. You were one against many, and you only had yourself in the long run.

You worked hard for what you had. Despite the consistent abuse your people had given you, you sought out adventure like a moth to a flame. It called out to you. Learning of medicines and practices to become more of the miniscule woman everybody saw you as was your safe haven. You wanted to explore the world and take your practices to a place where you’d be accepted as one’s own.

Then those pirates had taken that away from you. Not only had they stolen your dreams, but they had stolen your home, people, and passion. Everything was lost at the drop of a hat.

Being a medic for a scroungy group of thieving pirates was not in your cards. Before, you hadn’t even known pirates were existent. They were a simple folk tale, something to share on quiet nights when the village had grown bored. Never did you think you would come across one, let alone four who had taken it upon themselves to make you their problem.

You feared that you would never achieve your dreams of being a proper medic. Of never escaping to the mainland where you could begin a tranquil life consisting of you and your studies. Now, it seemed that you would never experience peace or independence. Your dreams were embezzled, lost in the foamy waves that lapped against the side of the ship.

The grieving of your loss didn’t stop, even during Soap and Gaz’s visits. They kept it minimal, presumably under the Captain’s orders, or because they simply didn’t like you enough to further interaction. Not that you wanted them to, anyway, though it would’ve made the aching loneliness a bit more bearable.

They noticed, of course. The way your eyes began to sink in, casting a grim shadow across your face, or the way you no longer bared your teeth at them when they approached. Pirates like them didn’t care for people like you. You were a pawn in whatever game they were playing, and you didn’t know the rules.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the deck above you rattled you awake. The cot was fairly useless in providing you comfort, but you had succumbed to your eventual exhaustion over the course of your capture that you had grown used to it.

Unlike normal days, where their steps were more quiet and calculated, this time sounded like a frenzy. Uncoordinated, merging together in loud pitter patter. It was unsettling, lighting an icy chill in your bones. Even in the seclusion of the brig, the air felt thick with tension, as if the pirate’s suspense had crept through the crack under the door and spread throughout the ship.

The floorboards creaked menacingly from above. Your ears pricked at every stomp, every slam of the soles of their thick boots against the old wood. It was as if death was stalking you from the shadows, creeping in, jeering at you. You were in the dark, unaware.

You wondered if other pirates had invaded the ship. Perhaps this was your end. You’d be found by enemies and treated much more unkindly in the hands of men who only saw you as a mere woman and not the potential to be a medic.

Though your pirates were just as cruel, they hadn’t harmed you. They hurt your people, but salvaged you to make use of your knowledge. They weren’t as terrible as what may have lurked the waters. Maybe it was simply the fear talking, but if what you thought was true, then you prayed to whatever god was listening that you remain in the safe hands that had yet to pose a threat to you.

Your prayers were answered by the harsh sound of the door opening. It wrenched open, slamming up against the wall with a crack. Dim light poured through, down to your cell, illuminating a faint glow enough for you to see.

Atop the stairs, a large figure lurked, blocking out the light. It cocooned around him, casting an eerie shadow and successfully masking away his face.

Fear shot through your veins, burning like a raging fire, lighting you up from the inside. It threatened to combust, inching you towards a scorching agony. It clouded your mind, fogging over the logic and replacing it with racing thoughts of choking terror. You thought of death, torture, being swept away from this brig, only to be placed in a more torturous one with strangers out to harm you. To be used for pleasure and entertainment by a group of savage pirates unbeknownst to you.

“Get up,” a voice barked at you. It was rough and throaty, exuding pure authority. It was also familiar.

The sound of metal clanking on metal filled your eyes and once you had pieced together your mind enough, you realized it was the key unlocking your cell. The door opened, the figure stepping into your cell and closer to you, where you lay on the cot. It loomed over you, shielding you away from escape.

“Get up,” he ordered again. A hand reached out to you, cold, rough fingers wrapping around your bicep and lugging you off of the cot and on to your feet. There was no time for arguments. You recognized Ghost’s stony mask, and you knew fighting him would prove fruitless.

“What’s going on?” you asked, legs straining to keep up with his pace as he tugged you up the rickety stairs.

“Captain’s hurt,” Ghost gruffed, only the narrow of his eyes peeking through the eye holes of the skull mask, giving you a glimpse of his disgruntlement. “Need a medic. That’s you, birdie.”

Your heart sank to your stomach for numerous reasons.

For one, the smallest part of you worried for the Captain. No matter his actions thus far, he was hurt and required medical attention, enough of it that Ghost had prompted you out of your cell after residing there for the past month.

Then there was the fact that they were asking you for help. Sure, you technically were a medic. One in practice, but you knew the basics of medicines. However, the problem arose that you didn’t know much beyond that. If the Captain truly was injured to an extent beyond your skill, you feared they’d throw you over the ship and into the murky waters once they deemed you useless.

The misty air hit you the moment you stepped out of the brig and on to the upper deck. It was chilly despite it being summer, with the ocean breeze curling into your dingy hair and across your cheeks. The feeling was nothing short of relieving, to breathe in fresh air that filled your lungs, clearing them of the musty tang of brig air.

It was still midnight, but the moon was bright enough to have your eyes squinting, adjusting. Even the feel of it on your skin was like sweet kisses after a period of solitude.

That wasn’t what was important, though. Ghost had your arm in a chokehold, and he was urgently dragging you across the deck and towards the front of the ship. None of the other men were found, but you’d quickly find them when Ghost yanked open a door leading to the Captain’s quarters.

Inside, Captain Price was propped up lazily against the side of a large table, covered in maps and quills. A small pot of ink had been tipped over and spilled, tainting the papers with splotchy black. Drips of his blood had swirled into the mix, and the sight of it made you sick.

Price’s hand was smothering a gnarly gash on his side, fingers seeping over with crimson blood. Soap stood beside him with Gaz, the two of them seemingly anticipating your arrival. The moment they locked eyes with you, they stood up straight, expressions impatient.

“Took ye long enough, Ghost,” Soap boasted snarkily. Ghost huffed from beside you, pushing you by your arm and sending you towards Price.

“Fix him up,” Ghost commanded, stern. You blinked at him before switching to look at the Captain.

Price was a bit paled, skin clammy with sweat despite the chill in the air. He seemed more annoyed than pained, face pulled taut with a frown deepened beneath his beard. His eyes bore into yours threateningly.

“I don’t—“ you stared, stumbling over your words. “I don’t know how to stitch, I told you, I’m not a professional—“

“Surely you’ve had practice once or twice, haven’t you?” Price reckoned, cocking his head at you.

“Only on injured animals,” you defended. “I don’t know how to stitch on people.”

Price clicked his tongue, a hint of agitation gesred behind it. “Can’t be much different. Allow me to be your experiment, dove. You want to be a professional? Figure it out.”

You stared at him, bewildered. You knew there was no room for argument, nor was there any time. He was bleeding into the palm of his hand, wound sliced open from what you assumed was a sharp blade. You didn’t have the chance to think about how he possibly could’ve been injured in that way.

“Well? Go on, dove, it ain’t goin’ to heal itself,” Soap urged in annoyance, giving a light shove to your shoulder. Not enough to move you from your position, but enough to snap you into order.

“I need my supplies,” you explained. “Surely, you kept them.”

“Tch. Not stupid, dove,” Price snipped. With his free hand, he clumsily fumbled for one of the drawers of the table he leaned upon. Yanking it open, it was sent to the floor with a crash, sending its contents scattering.

The action was savvy and if you weren’t in a frenzied rush, you would’ve had the mind to be irritated. However, you remembered your place, as well as the people you were being forced to serve. It wouldn’t be wise to bark back at them for throwing around your work so carelessly.

You were quick to drop to the floor and begin retrieving what was necessary. Supplies were scarce, seeing as you weren’t fortunate enough to grow up on the mainland where demand was much more accessible.

Making a mental note to ask for them to collect more items for you, that is if this was really going to be your life, you clattered the items on the table Price rested on, making quick work of tugging stitching thread through the tiny needle.

The job would be sloppy, especially with the way your hands shook. You knew good and well that if anything were to happen to these pirate’s Captain, you’d be first one off the ship, sent to God knows where.

All eyes were on you. It was unnerving.

Soap remained next to Gaz, both watching you like a hawk. Their eyes studied every movement of your fingers as they worked through the threads, preparing to stitch up Price as requested.

Ghost stood near the door leading to the deck, arms crossed and eyes piercing into you like a warning threat. And really, you knew that’s what it was.

Price was awfully calm for a man who’d been stabbed, and you briefly wondered if this was something pirates were used to. Harming others was one thing. Gaining injury themselves was another.

Lucky for you, the Captain wasn’t wearing any fabrics. He must’ve taken his shirt off when he returned to his quarters, which made things easier for you.

“Remove your hand,” you said, before adding on, “please.”

Price huffed out what could’ve been mistaken as a laugh, though you highly doubted it. He carefully pulled his hand away from his wound, slippery with blood. The sight was quite gruesome, though you were sure it was just the blood making it so.

Taking a deep breath, you positioned yourself in front of the Captain. You dug deep in your memory of the times you’d operated on helpless animals you’d found in the outskirts of your village.

Animals were easier. They were more pliant and obedient. Some were squirmy, though being much smaller than you gave you advantage over them.

Price, though, was significantly bigger. And human. He was far from any animal you aided.

With his arm out of the way, you had a showcase of numerous scars scattering his torso. They were white, indicating they were much older, but some were still risen with pink tissue that revealed being more recent.

You had your hands full. Truly.

“I’m going to begin now,” you told Price.

“Don’t need to narrate the whole operation to me, medic. Just do it.”

Price’s tone was sarcastic and a tad bit mean. If he was aiming to offend you, he was doing a poor job. You’d taken ridicule all your life.

Brushing it off, you used nimble hands to make the first insertion of the needle, threading through the first stitch. Price showed no discomfort, though the eyes of the others didn’t help your unease. You felt like a lab rat and they were the ones operating on you.

The stitching became easier the more it went on. He needed quite a few, though the practice was appreciated. Your hands became more steady and your heart was no longer in your throat.

The room was at a standstill up until the very moment you tightened the stitches, tying them off and pulling yourself away from Price. Your work was far from perfect, but it was doable.

“Finished, are you?” Price hummed. You nodded in confirmation. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You bit your tongue to hold back mockery until the taste of metallic flooded your tastebuds.

“I’ve only worked on animals. It appears you are no different than one,” you bit back calmly, shiftingyour attention to organizing the supplies Price had so carelessly tossed to the floor.

Soap let out an obnoxious snort, while Price only cocked his head in faint amusement.

“You might want to watch your tongue there, dove. Ghost has taken out many,” Price informed.

That was enough to send shivers down your spine because you knew he was being truthful.

A quick glance to Ghost showed no indication of lies, so you quickly averted your eyes, opting to avoid him. You didn’t want to imagine the horrors Ghost had caused from his hands alone. He was a force not to be reckoned with, and you’d happily stay far, far away.

“I still need to apply an herbal balm and wrap it.” You changed the topic in hopes of forgetting your slip of tongue. You rather liked keeping it in your mouth.

“Very well,” Price sighed. With a gesture of his head, he signaled the other three men out of his quarters, leaving you alone in the room with him.

It was eerily quiet between the two of you while you worked a calming balm into the tender skin around his wound, careful not to touch the fresh stitches. The herbs were a mixed paste you had created back in your village from the supplies Mary had gifted you, and they proved futile now in a sensitive time.

You wished she were here to take you away from this nightmare fueled ship. Though, you couldn’t deny it any longer — you knew she was dead, just like the rest of the village. There was nothing you could do about it.

This was your life. This was your journey. Your opinion on the matter wasn’t valid.

“Quite the snippy one, aren’t you?” The Captain’s voice broke the tense silence, though it did nothing to calm you. “I heard from a little bird that some fortnights ago, you threw your porridge on to Gaz.”

Your shoulders pulled taut in a mix of embarrassment and shame. It was as if you were a child being scolded.

“I did,” you admitted quietly.

“And you do not feel bad?” Price questioned.

“No.”

“Hm.” A smile tilted on his face, lazy just as the other ones, as if he had no energy to display the true nature of a smile. “I will hand it to you, dove, he can be quite a brat sometimes. Perhaps he deserved it.”

You glanced up from his injury to look into his eyes. Your eyebrows tugged together in confusion.

You were fully expecting outrage, or perhaps the Captain to reprimand you for taking your anger out on his crew. Instead, he seemed almost like a jokester.

That couldn’t be. He was cruel and heartless, just as the others were. It didn’t matter how much Soap jested with you, or Gaz no longer glared at you. They were still pirates.

“I am all finished up here,” you explained, clearing your throat and taking a step back. “May I return to my cell?”

The cell was the last place you wanted to be in, but it was the only haven you’d found on the ship. You certainly didn’t want to stick around the other pirates for longer than necessary.

“Nonsense,” Price mused. “You have proven to have enough skill as a medic. You’re useful and resourceful. You won’t be able to work well in that dingy cell.”

You felt a pit of nervousness fill the void in your stomach. It did somersaults, making your mouth water with the need to be sick.

This was what you wanted, right? To be accepted into the crew so that you may plot your escape down the road when the time proved right. So why did it feel strange to be praised by the very man who had slaughtered your village?

“I will be staying in the upper decks, then?” you assumed, and he chuckled.

“We don’t quite have a cot set up yet, dove. We weren’t exactly expectin’ you to last, yet here you are.” He sounded almost prideful saying that, and you weren’t sure whether to feel comforted. “You’ll join me in my quarters for now. It only makes sense while I’m healin’ up, hm?”

That pit in your stomach turned into a canyon. To share a bed with the Captain of a malicious pirate crew, watching over him as his nurse? Perhaps this was your way out, or the start of your downfall.

Either way, you either ended up dead, imprisoned, or homeless on the mainland. Homeless, but free. You’d be an idiot not to play into the game.

You could do nothing but bow your head in silent agreement, unable to decide your fate once again. You were at the hands of the Captain and his crew, and those hands may be bloodied and mean if you said otherwise. hands may be bloodied and painful if you said otherwise.

874 notes · View notes

joelslastofus · 8 months

Text

[SUMMARY:] PRE OUTBREAK. Joel takes care of his girlfriend who struggles with anxiety, depression and insecurity with being plus size.

“Now tell me, baby. This why you gone MIA on me?”

Tw: mention of anxiety, depression, bulimia.

It had been two weeks now since you hadn’t answered Joel’s calls. You would listen to the voicemails he’d leave you, asking you if he had done something to upset you.

Still, you chose to ignore it.

You had only been dating Joel for three months, you tried your best to keep your distance knowing he most likely wouldn’t want you once he knew the truth. Taking medication for your depression and anxiety, you decided you wanted to feel normal and quit them cold turkey. You thought you were feeling better at first until your thoughts slowly began to build up inside you in the worst way.

You found yourself forcing yourself to vomit after each meal, self sabotaging thoughts the second you saw your reflection, what the hell were you thinking?

There it was again, your phone ringing as you were getting ready to go to work. Joels name lighting up but you quickly ignored it shoving your phone in your purse. Leaving your apartment you headed down the stairs to find Joel sitting at the bottom step, he immediately stood up noticing you didn’t look well. You knew what he was thinking, you looked sick, pale with dark circles around your eyes.

“Joel..” you took a step back as he stepped forward.

“What’s wrong?” he asked with concern.

“Nothing, I’m fine. I’m about to head to work-“

“You look sick”

“I’m not” you insisted but you knew you didn’t sound convincing, you could barely look him in the eye.

“Look at me-“

“Joel, I have to get to work.” You adjusted your purse on your shoulder but he wouldn’t move.

“Why don’t you call in sick today, get some rest-“

“I’m not sick” you insisted, Joel now more concerned with how fragile you looked over the fact that you hadn’t been speaking to him.

“Look I have to go ok?” You attempted to walk past him only for him to block you.

“I don’t want you driving like that,” you rolled your eyes in frustration but you knew he was right. Angrily you turned away from him walking back up the steps just as a wave of dizziness hit you. Stumbling side ways Joel quickly caught you from behind, his hand around your waist as his boot held your foot in place.

“I’m fine” you whispered but you had no strength. Slowly taking your hand Joel let your body lean on his for support.

“Can you walk?”

“I…I don’t-“

“I got you” he proceeded to position himself as if he was going to carry you but you quickly pushed his hands away.

“No,” you spoke with a bit of embarrassment.

“You can barely walk”

“You won’t be able to carry me” you responded without looking up at him.

“Is that what you think?” Before you could say another word he swooped you up in his arms making you gasp as he climbed up the stairs.

“Joel!”

Ignoring you, he stopped at your door as you sighed.

“The doors open” you mumbled as he reached his hand to turn the knob and kicked the door open.

“My god Joel” you whispered.

“What?” He gently lay you on the couch.

“I’m suppose to ignore how weak you are?” He gently held your face observing your eyes and any other signs of dehydration.

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“What’s it matter?”

“When?” He repeated stubbornly furrowing his brows.

“I haven’t” you admitted shamefully as he noticed your body begin to tremble.

“You’re shaking” he quickly grabbed a blanket that was folded behind him and covered you up. This was embarrassing…never had he seen you like this before. Looking up at him you could see the focus in his eyes, the worry. Never had a man reacted this way before to you.

He silently stared down at you before walking to the kitchen and going through your cabinets.

“I don’t wanna eat” you weakly called out to him attempting to push yourself up as the trembling subsided.

“Like hell you don’t”

“Eating is the last thing I should be doing” you rolled your eyes making Joel look up. It suddenly came to him, he knew what this was about.

“Did your sister say something to you again?”

“What?” You looked at him confused as he made his way towards you.

“I heard what she said to you when I was on the phone with you a couple weeks ago, you were trying on a dress for our date” he recalled, your cheeks turning a dark shade of red.

“You heard that huh?” Your voice cracked. He crouched down before you taking your hand in his.

“Mhm. And I’m so glad you didn’t listen to her, you looked gorgeous in that dress, baby” his words making you crack a smile.

“Besides, she was probably just jealous she didn’t have a big ol’ southern man taking her out on a date” he smirked leaning in to kiss your cheek. You chuckled playfully pushing him away but he could still see the sadness in your eyes.

“Please, jealous of how huge I looked in that dress, I looked…disgusting-“

“Hey, don’t you talk like that about yourself you hear me?” His tone making you look up.

“Now tell me, baby. This why you gone MIA on me?” You nodded. The negative thoughts of how a man could put up with you and all your flaws, physical and mental…it just didn’t seem believable.

“Joel, I have serve anxiety and depression. I take medication and I decided to stop-“

“Without telling anyone?”

“I didn’t think it would affect me this bad” you began to cry, he instantly took you in his arms.

“It’s alright, baby. We’ll get you back on whatever you need-“ you looked at him confused.

“You’re not…mad at me?”

“Now I wish you would’ve come to me sooner, darling. My girl feeling like that and not telling me? I can’t have that.”

“I’m surprised you even want to be with me still.” You wiped away your tears with a sarcastic chuckle.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He raised a brow.

“I don’t know..I have a lot going on, I don’t think you’d want Sarah around someone like me”

“Like who? A woman who’s unaware of how amazing she is just because she needs some help?” You smiled looking down but he quickly bought your eyes back up to his.

“I’m not going anywhere, I don’t care who left you before. It’s their loss,” he whispered.

“You can tell your sister that” you knew he meant every word he said. He leaned in and kissed you softly until your phone rang.

“Shit. It’s my boss, I gotta say something” you quickly picked up the phone as Joel remained before you.

“Hi, Tom. I..I meant to call you but-“

“You’re late for your shift” Tom could be heard loud and clear speaking on the other end.

“Yes um , something personal came up and-“

“That’s not my problem, you need to show up there’s no one to cover for you” Joel furrowed his brows hearing his words.

“Tom, I really can’t. I’m really not well, I almost fainted and-“

“Well drink some water and have a cab bring you in, if you miss I’ll have no choice but to terminate you.” Joel’s expression quickly changed and you noticed but before you could even respond he grabbed the phone from your hand.

“What the hell did you say to her?”

“Joel!” You whispered.

“No, my girl isn’t feeling well-“ he began as he stood up turning away from you.

“And you’re threatening to fire her? Aren’t you the jackass who still owes my company a grand?” You looked up at him confused.

“Mr.Miller?” You could hear the sudden worry in Toms voice.

“I’m sorry there must be a misunderstanding, please tell her she can come in when she is feeling better.” Tom quickly hung up as Joel turned to you flipping the phone closed.

“What was that about?” You asked confused.

“Long story” he set your phone down on the table before making his way back to you.

“How about I order us some food and I run you a warm bath… how’s that sound? Can I do that for you?” How could you resist puppy eyes as he asked.

“That sounds good” you smiled. The happiness in your heart that Joel wanted to do this on his own and make sure you felt loved.

#pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fan fic #joel miller fluff

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haeryna · 8 months

Text

feeling so high but too far away to hold me ↪ gojo satoru x reader x geto suguru ;༊

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summary: satoru and suguru come to a critical conclusion, but is it too late for them to mend what was broken?

tw: angst, homophobia, abandonment, mentions of (unintentional) self harm, mentions of illness, barely proofread

notes: title taken from halsey's "without me." all images were taken from pinterest and are NOT mine! i'm not sure if i like how this came out but oh well gotta get through it lol. banner is from @/cafekitsune!

Lately, Satoru has been thinking a lot more about you.

He shouldn't be. Choso's been on his ass for stupid mistakes, like a slight misstep during practice, or the way his voice wavers ever so slightly on notes that are well within his vocal range. Nanami grumbles a bit more when recording sessions extend even further. Haibara brings him an extra water bottle during practice. Even Sukuna is slightly nicer to him, as if he can see how much Satoru is struggling.

Satoru hates it. It makes him feel weak, because he knows now that he misses you more than his heart can bear. He has women throwing themselves at him left and right, so why does a girl from a town he left behind make something in his chest twist? By all accounts, Satoru is thriving. He has a wonderful relationship with his boyfriend, his boy group has broken record after record with each single they release, and Satoru has just signed onto a brand deal with Chanel.

(He knows you're not just a girl, you were his. The only person he could bear to share Suguru with, the only person who could see past his flirtatious facade and say, "It's okay, 'Toru, I'm here for you." He knows the reason why he forces himself to believe you would have only shunned him like his parents, is to run from the realization that he abandoned you in the most horrific way possible.)

It doesn't help that his managers handle all of his social media accounts, and go through all his mail. As soon as him and Suguru signed onto the same agency, their phone lines were decommissioned, and they were given highly protected personal phones. You wouldn't be able to reach him even if you wanted to. Hell, they barely even saw Shoko, and the only reason was because they were both the only people who trusted her to take care of their medical needs.

Suguru had tried, once, to ask about you, to get a way of contacting you. Shoko had looked him dead in the eyes, steel hidden behind soft brown, and told him that, "if you were just going to abandon her like that, at least have the decency to stay gone until they could commit to her fully." The way Suguru's face had paled only confirmed the worst for Satoru; you hadn't understood. You had seen their leaving as the worst kind of betrayal. Shoko had refused to tell them more, stubborn in her loyalty to you.

At first, it was easier to hide shame behind a kind of disdain. Of course you hadn't understood what it had been like, being rejected so violently by parents you once loved. Of course you hadn't understood what it was like to feel the noose tighten around your neck until you knew you would either run, or die. Maybe if you couldn't let them go, it meant you truly had never loved them anyways.

As the months grew, slowly and surely, the tangle of excuses unraveled. You might not have understood, but you had defended him silently in small rebellious ways. The eyeshadow palette that still sat at his vanity. The birthday card you'd made him when you turned 14, with a small rainbow under the phrase "I'll love you no matter what." You too had felt the noose; you'd spent years fighting it, fighting your hatred of the small town you were forced to grow up in. "Satoru, Suguru, Shoko," you would tell them, "one day we'll all move out of here into the nicest, fanciest apartment in the city."

Grief was love with nowhere to go, and in that particular moment, Satoru found your absence particularly painful. Sighing, he stretches, resting his chin on the back of the couch to stare at the clock. 12:36; Suguru was probably still awake. Quietly, Satoru pads to the spare room in the apartment he shares with Suguru that they'd converted into their music and production room. Unsurprisingly, he finds Suguru perched on an old barstool they thrifted, gently strumming the strings of the guitar you'd gifted him so long ago.

"Satoru," Suguru says softly, pausing. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be asleep by now."

Wordlessly, Satoru wraps his arms around him, nuzzling into the slope of his neck. After a few moments, he speaks.

"I miss her."

He can feel the way Suguru stiffens slightly in his arms, before exhaling, tension releasing from his shoulders. "I miss her too. I've been thinking, Satoru."

"That's dangerous for you," Satoru chides, and Suguru rolls his eyes fondly.

"You're such a brat. I've been thinking, what if we went back?"

Satoru blanches, staring at Suguru. "What?"

"Not permanently," Suguru hastily amends, knowing how deep Satoru's scars run. "Just enough to...I don't know, Satoru. We messed up really badly. I know there's a large chance she won't even be there anymore. She used to always tell us about how she couldn't wait to move to the city. But we can at least start there, right?"

The news of Satoru's hiatus caused enough ripples for even you to notice it. Despite the fact you avoided anything to do with both his and Suguru's music career, every news outlet, radio channel, and social media post had something to say about it. Hell, you couldn't even open the local newspaper without seeing his face plastered on it, lamenting his temporary break from the group's next comeback.

Frowning, you slam the kitchen cabinet door a bit harder than necessary. Why should you care? If anything, you should be gloating with this piece of information, that not everything was perfect in Gojo Satoru's idol career. Yet, a small part of you still worried. Was he eating alright? Did something happen to Suguru? Should you call Shoko?

The door chimes, startling you out of your thoughts. Your parents are back in the hospital undergoing another round of treatments but they could have came back early. Sighing, you walk over to the door, opening it without a second thought.

"Hi, what-"

In that moment, you feel several emotions. Regret, that you hadn't checked who it was before opening it. An odd blend of concern and fear; why had they come back, was something horribly wrong? Most overpoweringly, was the deep sense of anger that welled up inside of you, seeing both Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru standing on your doorstep.

"You're here," Sator- Gojo, breathes, crystalline blue eyes greedily drinking in the sight of you. He reaches for you, but you flinch back.

"What are you doing here?"

You're surprised to see that Gojo seems hurt by that statement. Sugu- Geto steps closer. "We wanted to see you."

"Oh, so a whim?" You can't help the harshness of your voice, or the way that your voice trembles ever so slightly. "Its been years, Geto. Five years since you left, and you come back now? What am I, just an afterthought? I already knew that but my god you're such an asshole."

"That's not what I'm saying," Geto sighs, and you want to throttle him. "We missed you so much, I can't even-"

You can't help but cut him off, fists clenched and hot tears pooling in your eyes. "You could have left a note. You could have left me an address, could have reached out once you settled in, anything!"

It's Gojo's turn to speak, hands fidgeting as if he wants to pull you close. "Our managers-"

"I don't care!"

A hush falls after your outburst, and you can't help the tears that slip down your cheeks. "Did I really mean that little to you? I would have left with you, I would have done anything for you, so don't you dare try to come up with an excuse. Don't try to tell me that your managers stopped you. I loved you." Your voice breaks. "How could you?"

Both men look ashamed. Geto is the first to speak. "We thought you would have moved away. We lost our original numbers, and Shoko refused to-"

Your eyes flash. "Don't try to blame Shoko for this. Unlike the two of you, she stayed with me."

Gojo flinches. "That's not fair. We didn't have a choice, why can't you see that?"

A sardonic laugh escapes your lips. "See what? All I see is the choice you made in leaving me behind."

"What happened to you?" Geto breathes, and you fight the urge to slap him. "You were so adamant that you would get out of this town."

"Well I can't," you hiss. "Not all of us can abandon their loved ones without a second thought."

Gojo's face looks like you've just shattered his world. "You never left?"

Something in the way he says that breaks something inside of you. "Mom and Dad have whatever Grandmother had," you tell them. You're not even sure why you're saying this, but there's a sick sense of pleasure in watching it start to sink in. "There's nobody else to help take care of them. Whenever she can, Shoko will try her best to stop by."

"You've been alone," Geto murmurs, horrified.

Venom fills your mouth. "I have been since I was sixteen, thanks for asking. You think I didn't notice that you two were together? You never even said anything to me and I still figured it out." Gojo's face pales but you plow forward. "It was always Satoru and Suguru, Gojo and Geto, but what about me? I was there too, wasn't I?" Blood drips down your palms; you're digging your nails in hard enough to cut. "You two forgot about me. You discarded me, left me behind. Did you really think so little of me? Did you really think I would treat you like everyone else in this town?" You can see the pain in Geto's eyes. "As if it wasn't enough, I had to see you everywhere. It's nice seeing how quickly both of you replaced me with other women."

Gojo calls your name but you shake your head, vision blurring. "Go fuck yourself, both of you. Don't talk to me. I wish you'd never come back." Whirling back inside, you slam the door, ignoring the frantic banging and shouts. As you sink to the floor, you finally allow yourself to sob, curled up against the solid wood doorframe. I thought it was over, you think miserably. But somehow it hurts more than the day they left.

#haerinwrites #idol!satoru gojo #rockstar!suguru geto #satoru gojo x reader #satosugu x reader #suguru x reader x satoru #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #gojo x reader #jjk angst #satoru x reader #suguru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you

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zer0brainc3lls · 17 days

Text

My compass: The prologue

masterlist

Story summary: Thomas has finally made it to the right arm, but to his shock and dismay Teresa has revealed their location to Wicked. in the crossfire Newt gets kidnapped by Wicked. will Thomas be able to save him and figure out their complicated relationship? or will Newt never return and will Thomas be left yearning for his "best friend" to return?

TW LIST: typical dystopian violence, mentions of kidnapping, and super super gay yearning LOL

Genre: canon divergence (what if Newt was taken instead of Minho?), Friends to Lovers, Angst

Word count: 2.9k

“Please don't fight them Thomas.” Teresa turns back to Thomas, tears flood her eyes as she begs. The world seems to stop spinning at the words, as if time itself came to a halt the moment Thomas's eyes landed on the bergs in the distance, their light’s burning his whole body with rage and terror.

“What have you done?? What have you done?!” his nerves ignite as he speaks, his body searing with hatred and the heartache of betrayal. He stumbles back, the rocky mountain hard against his heavy feet. The whirring sound of the bergs getting closer brings his body to life once more, turning around and flying down the mountain, his feet barely making contact with the ground before taking another long quick stride. Paying little to no mind of the descent, his legs were much less mindful then when he made the journey to Teresa not even 5 minutes before.

He makes it down the mountain, screaming the whole way as a warning and to attempt to lift the pain in his chest. He dashes across the now flat ground and watches the helicopter rain down balls of fire onto the right arm, the impact of the bomb forces his legs to fumble, almost tripping over his own two feet as he picks himself back up into a run towards the medical tent. It feels as if his body caves in on itself at the sight of the now alit tent, heat from the fire warms his face.

“BRENDA?!” his voice tears out from his throat as he screams for her, he feels smaller hands grab onto his jacket. He whips around to see Brenda, buzz cut and all behind him. His terror comes to a halt for a brief moment at the sight of his friend, before coming back in full swing once she once brings him back to the present moment.

“You dumbass!” she exclaims, grabbing hold of his jacket sleeve pulling him away from the ablaze tent. He stumbles after her, her legs much more stable than his own as she pulls him behind a large plastic box, Jorge already behind it.

“We have to go, now!” Jorge commands, his wide eyes trained on Thomas. The smell of ash and.. Electricity? Stings the inside of his nose.

“We have to go find Newt and the others-” his tongue moving before his brain, his tone distant as his subconscious already begins to brew an impulsive plan.

“NO! NO!” - Jorges voice booms through his skull, a hint of desperation in his tone. Thomas has only heard him speak like this in times of Brenda's safety, if it weren't for the circumstances Thomas would feel cared for but in this moment all he can feel is worry. Jorge grabs the back of Thomas's jacket and yanks him back, using his other arm to point to the chaos in front of them. - “DON'T GO OUT THERE! LOOK! LOOK!” Thomas forces himself to let the chaos sink into his bones and allow himself to keep his feet unmoving as he watches as wicked soldiers stun teens and adults to the ground, bodies litter the ground that got hit in the blast.

Thomas’s eyes search frantically for Newt and the others, his eyes fall on his friends and Newt huddled around a tank with firearms laid in hands and bullets finding homes in wicked soldiers' limbs and chests. Thomas’s attention is turned to what seems to be a black cylinder with parts that glow.. Blue?? What is that-

The cylinder lands in the tank before Thomas gets the opportunity to process what was just thrown, he realizes too late that it's a stun grenade as he watches as his friends bodies convulse violently and flop to the ground like ragdolls, even worse? The soldiers nod to each other and approach them as if they are ragdolls. defeat bubbles in his gut at the sight, a soldier goes to lift Newt by the arm. Thomas turns around and sits against the box as nausea threatens to take over.

“I'm sorry. There's nothing you can do for them, if we don't move now, we won't be much better off.” Jorges tone starts as comforting and slowly twists with commandment, Thomas knows he can't go with them. Brenda and Jorge aren't the ones they want, and he doesnt think he would be able to live with himself at the thought of his friends being tortured while he lives.

“You guys gotta go right now.”

“What?!” Brenda questions harshly.

“They're not looking for you, you’ll be safe but you have to go now!”

“Thomas..”

Thomas pauses as he tries to convey his thoughts into sounds. “I cant leave without em.” he reasons, Thomas looks between Brenda and Jorge and notices how Jorge’s eyes flick to Brenda at his words.

“Good luck kid. Bren we have to go c’mon.” his voice thick with understandment, a weight is pulled off Thomas’s chest and he finds air again. He can't watch as Jorge and Brenda run off, his eyes trained on the bag Jorge left behind. The bag.. With the bomb..

He shoves the bomb and the trigger into his red pocket that rests on the inside of his jacket. Newt had sewn on the secret pocket for him days prior, his lean hands steady and unwavering as the needle with thread tied to the end was pinched between his fingers stitched mismatched fabric to his jacket. He shakes the distracting thought out of his mind as he stands up and walks over to the scene, the people who survived the bombing were on their knees lined up in groups. He pauses for a moment and gains his composure, the bomb pressed against his ribs giving him courage.

“Where's Thomas?!” the navally voice that belongs to the Ratman shouts out.

“Right here.” Thomas announces, slowly putting his hands up as a wicked soldier grabs him like an object to be thrown around. The soldier shoves him forward towards Janson, bright lights move across the ground but his eyes aren't focused on the light, or Janson. His eyes search for golden hair in the sea of people, eventually his eyes land on Newt. The boy's hazel eyes wide in shock and worry as his eyes lock on Thomas, Newt’s hair is covered in dirt and his face adorn a few new scraps and cuts.

Before he knows it Janson has socked him in the gut, he doubles over in pain as he is shoved to the ground next to Minho.

“Why didn't you run?” Minho questions, not looking at Thomas as he asks but instead to the ground. Thomas takes in a breath of air that's thick with dust and heat that’s now thicker in the air due to the rain of fire.

“I'm tired of running.” he answers, his eyes trained on Ava as she speaks to Janson. His mind drifts from everything and focuses on Ava Paige, she looks as if she's discussing the product of merchandise. Disgusting. His body urges for movement, for action. But he keeps his knees planted into the hard ground, well at least until a soldier forces him to his feet once more. He locks eyes with the icy haired women before him, willing his eyes to burn through her skull.

Her attention is turned to Teresa, who is walking to stand next to her.

“I'm glad you're safe.” she says softly, gesturing for her to stand with her.

“What the hell..? Teresa?” Frypan begins, pain swirls in his voice.

“Wait what's going on?” Newt's tone layered with no pain but instead confusion, and anger if you look hard enough.

“She's with them.” Thomas answers, venom on his tongue.

“Since when?!” Minho starts, denial thick. Both him and Newt turn their heads to face Thomas for answers.

“Oh Teresa has always had an appreciation for the evolved greater good, once we restored her memories it was only a matter of time.” Janson replies to the question despite it not being for him to answer, speaking as if discussing the weather. As he walks over to join the conversation he walks behind Teresa and Ava, eventually landing on Ava's right. Minho and Newt turn to Teresa, Minho's eyes layered in disbelief, disgust in Newt's. Teresa lifts her head and her eyes widen slightly at their expressions, somehow surprised by their clear indifference.

“I'm sorry. I had no choice, this is the only way! We have to find a cure.” Thomas’s repulsed at her words, his neck turning away on its own. Ava begins to monologue but Thomas doesn't listen, her speech being a washed out and overused reason for torture and pain hes sure hes heard before.

“We just need more time.” she ends, her tone going from harsh to desperate.

“More blood.” Mary's voice picks up from behind them.

“Hello mary. I’d hope we’d meet again, I'm sorry it had to be under these circumstances.” Ava responds with genuine sadness in her voice. Well that's a first.

“I'm sorry ‘bout a lot of things too. But not this! At Least my conscious is clear!”

“So is mine” Ava responds after a moment's hesitation, her voice deadpan. A gunshot rang out as maries body dropped to the floor, Vince pushed himself out of soldiers hands and held her, shouting out her name and pleads of denial. Thomas’s eyes trained on Jansons handgun he tucks away carefully into his own jacket pocket, maybe if he had someone to sew on his jacket pockets he wouldn't have turned out so cruel, so vile. His body courses with hatred for the Ratman and sadness for Vince, Ava’s voice begins to bark out orders to soldiers.

A soldier goes to grab him by the sleeve but they are too little too late because his fingers have found a home around the bomb tucked in his jacket, he pulls the bomb out while elbowing the soldier in the jaw. “GET BACK!! GET BACK!” he shouts, the thin trigger for the bomb in his other hand, the bright red button covered with his thumb. He throws his body around frantically showing the bomb to all. Janson barks out orders to the soldiers to hold their fire, step one.

“LET THEM GO!! LET THEM ALL GO!!” he demands, his eyes widened with rage. His hand with the trigger gesturing wildly to the immunes being loaded onto bergs.

“You know I can't do that!” Ava steps forward, Teresa following suit.

“Thomas please stop! I made a deal with them, they promised! They promised we’d be safe, all of us!” Teresa pleads, as if her voice would be the one to guide him.

“Yeah so I'm supposed to trust you now?!” He spat back, avoiding her eyes.

“It's true it was her only condition!” Lies. all lies. He can't trust them, all Wicked does is lie lie lie. The fake sun in the glade, Janson being “against” Wicked, and now this?! He can't trust anyone except the people beside him now. Newt and Minho, the only one he would bring his walls down for. From the moment the doors to the box opened and his life began they were the only people still around who would follow him to the ends of the earth, he too, would follow them into the belly of the beast if the time came.

“SHUT UP!!” His grip around the trigger tightens, along with his throat.

“Everything can go back to the way it was, Thomas. Do you really want all of them to die?” Ava’s words make it through his ears, this, he cannot ignore. Can he really press the button, killing all his friends and Newt? Could he die with their blood on his hands?

“Listen to her, Thomas, think about what you're doing.” His nerves no longer buzz as tears fill his eyes, his breath shaky as he looks at Ava and Teresa side by side. The ground crunches with footsteps walking behind him.

He turns around to see Frypan, Minho and Newt all standing with him. Their final stand.

“We’re with you Thomas.” Newt says with no tremor, the use of his name instead of the endearing nickname he was given showing the extent of his words.

“No..” Teresa's voice fades.

“Dont.” Ava says, shaking her head.

“Do it Thomas.” Minho nods reassuringly, courage thick in the action.

“We’re ready.” Frypan follows up, his voice breathless.

“We’re not going back there.” Thomas finishes all their thoughts.

“Thomas-” Ava begins

“This is the only way.” Thomas interrupts, his thumb shaking with strain above the trigger. Thomas pulls his eyes closed bracing himself for the impact, just as he's about to press down he hears the blaring of a car in the distance..?!

Jorges truck comes back in full swing, driving manically with no sense of direction as he crashes into a large helicopter, the chopper falls to its side, the propellers being crushed.

That crazy son of a bitch!

Members of the right arm move frantically at the opportunity, punches thrown at the opposite side and Vince’s voice urging them to run. Thomas and the small group around him stumble back to their feet from falling during the vehicles colliding, Thomas turns around to see Wicked soldiers' stun guns raised barking orders to Thomas. Thomas chucks the bomb towards them and shrieks for everyone to get down, taking a few long strides before collapsing to the ground, pulling the trigger forcing a large blast to take out the Wicked soldiers.

Thomas crawls through the crowd of dust and smoke, Janson somehow spots him through the dust storm and backhands him across the cheek, Thomas rolls to the ground at the impact and turns up to see the Ratman pointing a large handgun towards his forehead.

“What a waste.” he comments with a stern expression, just as he's about to pull the trigger a gunshot blasts from somewhere in the distance, hitting him in the shoulder causing him to fall to the ground. Thomas turns to see the shooter to be Brenda. Brenda!!

Brenda and Jorge’s spray of bullets cause Wicked soldiers to fall to their feet in a puddle of their own vile blood, Thomas takes the opportunity and dashes towards Minho and other members of the right arm.

“Go on Tommy I got it!” Newt stands with a sniper in his hands, gesturing for Thomas to run past him while he covers.

“Be careful Newt!” Thomas quickly replies, patting Newt on the shoulder as he runs past. A careful smile plays on Newt's lips before turning back into a scowl as his sniper spits bullets into soldiers' flesh. Thomas runs behind a large supply crate accompanying Minho and Jorge, Jorge urges him to stay down but Thomas can't pull his eyes away from the mop of blonde hair meters in front of him. Thomas silently urges him to run, to move to do something besides stand there, His heart swells with pride despite this at the fact Newt is making a stand and assisting in their escape.

Newt's head lowers for a split second to reload his gun, and in that split second a soldier raises their stun gun and pulls the trigger, forcing a wavering groan from the blonde as he collapses to the ground. This time Thomas's mouth moves before he does as he shrieks his name.

“NEWT!!” he rises to his feet to run to the crumpled boy, hands grab him and pull him away from the scene in front of him. The world spins as he fights back against the unforgiving hands, shouting out pleads and begs to be let go.

“WE CAN'T LEAVE HIM THERE!!” His voice tears through his throat.

“JORGE LET ME GO.” He thrashes his arms violently.

His loud cries turn into soft begs and eventually he finds himself being dragged away from the berg, his feet somehow moving backwards as he repeats Newt's name, as if maybe just maybe, if he calls for him loud enough Newt will rise from his dazed state come running just as he has done countless times before. As if his cries will be enough to bring him back to Thomas.

Somehow, someway he is pulled away as he watches Newt’s limp body be pulled onto the berg. Once the remaining gladers and the right arm realize wicked is no longer coming after them they all come to a stop and Thomas's eyes follow the soldiers dragging Newt forward as if his heavy gaze will be enough to make them drop Newt to the ground. Thomas’s eyes trail down to the white fabric tied to Newt's wrist, the same white cloth with small red flowers sewn onto the inside of his jacket. Thomas can almost hear Newt's voice insisting on keeping the remaining fabric “since you're a klutz you’ll probably tear it wont ya tommy?”

His fingertips rub the pockets delicate fabric, tears pool in his eyes and wet his cheeks as he watches Newt's body slowly leave his view, the bergs doors coming to a close. Thomas’s gaze follows the berg until it disappears into the starry sky. His breath shaky as he presses his lips into a tight line. “I'm coming for you Newt.” he whispers to himself softly, a wave of déjà vu crashes over him. He drops his head to the ground and closes his eyes, silently promising himself to bring Newt back to him, that tonight will not be the final time he gets to see Newt's smile.

Authors note: THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE HELLO?!?!? i know the part up to Newts kidnapping was basically just a novelization of the movie an i apologies, i really didn't want to skip to the part where Newt is taken as the moment Teresa betrays him is super important to the story. this will most likely be a 3-5 chapter story not including the prologue so i hope yall enjoy the ride ahead lol!! buckle up cause its about to get angsty

my ao3: n0th0ughtz

people who wished to be tagged: @ermdotorg (if you want to be added to the tag list just say so in the comments and ill tag ya next time <3)

#the maze runner #tmr #maze runner #newtmas #tmr newt #tmr thomas #tmr fandom #newt tmr #tmr brenda #tmr jorge #tmr fanfic #the scorch trials

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