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soaps-mohawk · 2 months

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 32: The Tragedy

Summary: Don't trust anyone. That's the advice you were left with. How much should you follow that advice? How much will you have to follow it?

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 8,058 words

Warnings: ANGST, heavy emotional turmoil, very detailed descriptions of depression, ANGST, panic attacks, lots of thoughts of death and crisis, distrust, anxiety, ANGST, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, ANGST, betrayal, weapons, guns, blood (barely), brief violence at the end, drugging (more sedation than anything), ANGST, hurt/no comfort, incorrect medical stuff again, oh and ANGST

A/N: Sorry

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The world is painted in grey as you stare at the wall. Your eyes trace over the pencil lines on the paper as if it might bring you some sort of comfort, as if it might bring them back to you.

Johnny put the drawings up after your heat, ones he'd done while watching over you as you slept the days away. Strawberries, rolling hills, you asleep in a field of flowers. Visages of the outside world, a place that seems almost foreign to you.

Despite their absence you're still a prisoner, still locked in your tower. Dr. Keller is your guard now, dutifully watching over you as she had promised Simon and Johnny she would. She’s done it successfully before, or at least she was as successful as you allowed her to be, as you had kept her in the dark just as much as your pack. Obviously they trusted that she hadn’t known, otherwise they wouldn’t have left you here with her.

It’s not like they had much of a choice.

She's moved into the spare room temporarily so you're not alone. Your pack's barracks are far more spacious than her own room in the barracks with the rest of the medical staff. You almost wish you'd gone to stay with her. Anything would be better than your grey prison.

You get to leave now, only long enough to walk to the mess and back, and occasionally to the med center. You don’t get to eat in the mess, staying just long enough to grab food before you’re ushered back to your grey prison. You've gone to Dr. Keller's office twice, but even then it had been a short stop so she could grab some paperwork before you returned to the barracks.

The grey and white of your home has never affected you in such a way before. You've been able to look past the sterile halls and prison grey walls of the rooms until now, until you’ve become a bit stir-crazy. You’re afraid you might actually go crazy, driven to insanity in your isolation.

There's been no word on when your pack might return. There's been no word at all from them.

For all you know, they’re dead.

You've gone numb to that thought, the tears not even stinging at your eyes at the idea. You're empty, the only thing you're capable of feeling is the steady churning of your stomach. It's been two months since you revealed the cameras and you're still sick, still in pain.

What if they don't come back because they hate you? What if they've abandoned you here?

You're not sure you could even react to that if it does happen. You can’t even react to the thought of it happening. There’s no drive to, no instinct to be upset by the idea of being abandoned. For all you know it’s already happened.

You turn over onto your other side, facing the room. It’s Johnny’s room you’re in, the most welcome place in the barracks. It’s the place you spent the most time before they left, isolated just to Johnny’s arms by Simon’s anger at your betrayal. He’d only cared for you out of necessity, the progress you made with him all wiped out because of your own stupidity.

Those thoughts don’t even bring a tear to your eye anymore. He never wanted you, he wouldn’t have chosen you.

So why did it hurt so much?

Dr. Keller is worried, but it's her job to be worried. You've shut down, shut out everything. You're not capable of much more than laying around numb and depressed. The scents are fading, quickly disappearing and being replaced by the bitter scent of your depression.

Depression. That's what Dr. Keller said. Not surprising given the circumstances. You're not surprised either. Then again, you can't feel much of anything anymore. There’s no hope left, the memories of them fading as fast as their scents. They’ve moved on, or they’ve died. Regardless, they’re not coming back.

You’re alone again, abandoned by those you loved, those supposed to take care of you.

You can only count leaves on the plant hanging from the ceiling of Dr. Keller’s office so many times. You’ve given up sitting, instead curled up in a ball as you stare at the plant, counting leaves up and down the vines. Dr. Keller is at her desk, writing and shuffling papers, doing what she normally does during the day. Doing what she had last time you had been left alone.

She had the idea that leaving the barracks might be good for you. A change of scenery, a more comfortable and warm setting, might help your depression. Escaping the oppressive grey walls of your prison for some fresh air might aid in her efforts to help you wallow less in your misery. Being free of the suffocating walls of the barracks might help free you from the constant memories of what was, what might have been, what’s left you behind.

Your stomach still hurts. The ache had intensified as soon as they told you they were leaving too, that John and Kyle were so desperate for backup they had to call everyone in. It had made you uneasy, the idea of being alone so soon after everything, the idea that things might be going so badly that they need help. The memory of what had transpired while you were alone the first time makes you nervous.

What if it happens again?

What if something worse happens?

You won’t be stupid this time, you told yourself. If anything is off, you’ll notify Dr. Keller immediately. You’re not making that mistake again. If you did make that mistake, the consequences wouldn’t just be dealt out by whoever is so desperate to get to you, to watch you. Your pack will leave you, will mark you as untrustworthy and give you up, or worse, throw you in a cell until you can be sent back home, back to the institute. Maybe they would be merciful and send you back to the CIA. What would the CIA do though? They couldn’t send you to another pack, not in the initiative, not with you already having been claimed. They wouldn’t take that risk when the severing of those bonds would destroy you and everything that you are.

Maybe if you’re lucky, it’ll kill you. Save you from the pain and mental anguish after the severing of a bond.

“Hungry?” Dr. Keller asks. It’s close to lunch, you think. Time is meaningless, the only routine you have left the necessary mealtimes Dr. Keller insists on keeping. Even then, if it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t know when those were supposed to be.

“No.” You murmur, still staring at the plant. The leaves have begun to blur, blending together as your eyes unfocus.

“You should eat.” She says.

“Not hungry.” You say. “Stomach hurts.”

She sighs softly, pushing her chair back before walking over to you. She drops to a knee in front of the couch, staring at you. “How long has it been hurting?”

“Weeks.” You say, still not looking at her.

“Weeks?” She sounds surprised. “You didn’t say anything. Nausea? Any headaches?” She asks.

“Uh huh.” You nod.

“Any fever, body aches, congestion, dizziness?” She asks.

“Body aches.” You say, finally looking up at her.

She hums, staring at you for a moment. Her face is the usual clinical mask she wears when she’s in doctor mode, but you can make out the slight furrow of her brow as she thinks. She puts a hand on your forehead, your skin cold instead of the warmth it would usually have. Even you’ve noticed it in your numb state, your fingers and toes aching constantly from how cold they are.

She removes her hand, letting out a quiet breath. “Well, my dear.” She says, staring down at you. “I’m diagnosing you with stress.” She says, resting her arms on her knee. “It’s been a long few weeks, and then with your alpha leaving on top of it, I’m not surprised by your symptoms. I know you may not feel like it, but eating will help. You’ll be no good to your pack when they return if you’re wasting away.”

“If they return.” You say, not even able to sound worried like you did last time. There’s no tears, no panic, not even a hint of worry.

“They will.” She says, pushing herself up to stand. “They know what they’re doing and all we can do is trust their skills.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You murmur, taking her offered hand to get yourself up off the couch. You’ve heard it a thousand times. “I know.”

“Come on,” She says, giving you a smile. “Let’s get some lunch and then we can eat in the barracks again. Watch some dumb daytime TV show for a while.”

“Yeah.” You say, trying to sound excited as you follow her out the door. It’s been your routine for weeks. You’re growing sick of it, but what else is there to do? Read? Sleep? Lay numbly in bed staring at the ceiling until it blurs together or until you inevitably pass out from exhaustion?

Your life has become sad and pathetic, and it’s all your fault.

The days continue to drag on, every one without a single word of your pack driving you deeper and deeper into the hole you’ve already sunk into. You’re not drowning anymore, not clawing desperately to the surface, praying you can cling to hope long enough to drag yourself out of the depression. Now you’re just sinking, letting the weight of your numbness drag you down until the pressure becomes too much and you implode.

You miss them so badly it hurts.

Do they miss you? Do they think about you? Have they even thought about you? Did John and Kyle ask about you when Johnny and Simon arrived? What did they ask about? What did they say?

Or perhaps they just mutually agreed this was the opportunity to leave you, the chance to move on and make the job 100% of their lives again. No more worry, no more stress, no more distraction, no more needy omega clinging to them every minute of every day.

Maybe you should have been less needy, less reliant. Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten so close. It would at least have been easier on you. The job comes first. Why couldn’t you have kept yourself under that rule, distanced yourself to make this pain less severe?

Why didn’t you just tell them right away?

“How are you doing over there?” Dr. Keller’s voice breaks through the endless haze of thoughts.

You’re in the rec room with her, your most frequented place over the last few weeks. You might as well have moved in there. It would almost be better than the four places that only serve as constant reminders of what is gone. You could sleep in your room, but it’s been tainted, ruined. It’s not safe anymore. Even with your pack you hadn’t felt comfortable to be in there longer than it took to grab clothes.

“They left me.” You say quietly, voice muffled by the pillow your face is pressed into. You’re on your stomach on the couch, a blanket thrown over your back.

“Not by any choice of theirs.” She says. She’s sitting in the chair, Simon’s chair, but you can’t bring yourself to tell her. He’s gone. It’s not his place anymore.

“They’re not coming back.” You say, fingers digging into the front of your sweatshirt where they’re tucked under you.

“You don’t know that.” Dr. Keller says, closing her book. “Those men would fight from the brink of death to make it back to you.”

“They hate me.” You say, nails digging into your palms from how tightly you’re gripping the fabric.

“They don’t hate you.” She says softly. “They may have been a bit upset, but they’d never hate you.”

“Simon does.”

She lets out a quiet laugh. “Lieutenant Riley is his own beast.” She pushes herself up to stand, taking a seat on the edge of the couch next to you. “He’s in his head just as much as you are. In my professional opinion, he could use some therapy as well. Some extensive therapy.” Her hand comes to rest on your back, rubbing it gently.

You’re thrown back to the times you were sick when your mother would rub your back, almost as if she was trying to ease the sickness away. You are sick. Sick in your own grief and disappointment and anger with yourself. The depression is its own sickness eating away at you. You’re not even sure your pack’s return could cure it now. You might be too far gone, your brain too convinced that they’re not coming back that you won’t believe it when they do. They won’t return for you, they won’t be happy to see you. They won’t be real.

Dr. Keller lets out a quiet sigh. “I don’t think any of them are capable of hating you. Even Lieutenant Riley. They love you too much to abandon you like that. I don’t think they’re capable of abandoning you at all. I’m sure they’re just as worried, just as eager to get back here.”

She pats your back before holding her hand still. It’s warm through the fabric of your sweatshirt. It’s almost comforting, almost seeping through the chill that’s taken over you despite the warm summer air outside.

“I’m sorry you have to go through this.” She continues, her voice soft and laced with emotion. “I’m sorry this is happening to you. You don’t deserve it. It’s not good for you mentally or physically. It’s downright cruel. I thought maybe at first that you’d be taken care of, that you’d be taken into consideration as much as they are.” She scoffs. “I was stupid to think they’d ever give an omega the decency of being considered a human being.”

Her voice is determined, almost angry. She’s not angry at you, she’s angry at the program, at the initiative, at those above you making the decision, pulling the strings, controlling every part of your pack. You can almost feel it, the passion, the compassion for omegas that she carries. She knows firsthand what it’s like. Even before she became a specialist she knew. She could have presented as an omega herself. Instead she was blessed with presenting as a beta, able to be seen as a human being, able to have rights and make decisions for herself.

“I’m not going to give up on you.” She pats your back gently. “Once your pack returns, I think we need to have a long discussion about the future of this initiative.”

“Are they going to take me away?” You ask.

“No.” Dr. Keller says. “Your pack will fight for you. I will fight for you. But this isn’t good for you. It’s making you sick. I’m worried about what might happen if it continues.”

You slide your arms up, wrapping them around your pillow. “They’re not going to give it up, their jobs. They won’t. I hate it.” The words come tumbling out before you can stop them. “I hate that they don’t put me first. I hate that they have to hide things from me, keep things from me. Why is it fair that they can keep things that might put me in danger hidden, but I can’t do it without them getting mad at me? I hate that they have to leave, that they can just leave so easily. I hate their job, I hate what they do when they’re away. I hate them sometimes because they don’t even think twice about hurting me.” The nausea churns in your stomach, threatening to rise again. “It hurts a-and t’s not fair!”

Dr. Keller shushes you gently as you press your face down into the pillow, tears pricking at your eyes for the first time in almost two weeks. “I know. The CIA should have had an omega expert in on this from the start. There should have been someone that could advocate for the omegas they want to throw into these positions. I hate this too, what they do to you, what they put you through,” Her voice goes quiet, so quiet you almost can’t hear it. “What they will put you through.” She runs a hand over the back of your head, trying to soothe you. “All we can do is cling to the hope that word will come in soon that your pack is on their way home.”

You want to believe her. You want to believe she’s telling the truth, that they will be coming home. You want to have that hope, but hope has long faded from your mind. You don’t have hope anymore, as much as she tries to instill it in you.

The days continue to drag on. There’s been no word on their status, no calls, not even a text. Dr. Keller has tried to get ahold of Kate, but she’s been unsuccessful. It hurts. You feel abandoned, even by those that were supposed to be available, those that were supposed to help you. It all feels wrong. There’s something happening. You can feel it.

Something is changing, something is ticking at the back of your neck. It could just be the paranoia, the fear, the unease brought on by the isolation and the separation from your pack. It’s not normal. Johnny and Simon promised they’d do everything in their power to get a hold of you when they can.

Unless they can’t.

What if they’ve been trying but no messages are getting through? What if there’s something along the line blocking them? What if there’s someone purposefully keeping those messages from coming through? Purposefully isolating you from your pack.

The thought has a chill running down your spine. There’s things happening behind the scenes you can’t even fathom. Things beyond you, things beyond Dr. Keller and even John. Someone had those cameras put up. Someone was watching you, even after you found them and hid them. Someone wanted to see you, wanted to watch you with your pack.

Why?

It all seems too coincidental. John and Kyle being called away and then Johnny and Simon weeks later, isolating you from your pack. No word has been coming through, possibly no word from anyone getting to them. They won’t know what state you’re in, they won’t know something is wrong. If anything happened to you, they wouldn’t know. They’d have no idea until it was possibly too late.

You’ve been isolated on purpose.

All five of you.

What if it’s Kate?

You don’t want to believe it. You don’t want to even think about it. Who has contact with them during their missions, though? Who has been in control of relaying messages back and forth to everyone? Would she do it? Was she capable of such betrayal? John trusts her more than anyone besides the members of your pack. They’ve known each other for a long time, why would she betray them like this?

You can’t trust anyone.

The nausea churns in your stomach, threatening to choke you for a different reason this time. You’re beginning to panic, and while it’s nice to finally feel something, this is almost worse. You’d prefer the numbing depression, the emptiness, the inability to think. This is worse. It’s so much worse.

So many thoughts are flying around in your head, your stomach aching as you begin to panic. You’re not safe. You’re not safe here alone, not even with Dr. Keller. There’s too many chances. You’re too open and exposed.

You can’t trust anyone.

What if your pack is in on it? What if they were responsible for all of this? What if they knew Shepherd was coming and hid it from you on purpose? What if they had the cameras put up to watch what you do when they’re away? What if they’ve been surveying you to report to the higher ups about your progress and the initiative?

What if they pretended they didn’t know to see how long you’d hide it, how you’d take it if they were upset at you, how far they could push you before you’d crumble?

What if they left on purpose to make you crumble?

You can’t verify it. You can’t even know if those orders were real, if they ever came in. You’ll never know because you can’t because they have to keep you safe. What if Kate doesn’t even know they’re gone? What if they’re sitting in a pub in Hereford watching you fall apart at the seams? You want to leave, you want to run there, comb every inch of town just to find them and scream at them. What if they’re too cowardly to force you out themselves? What if they want you to leave, and they’re pushing you to the point you want to?

“Hey,” Dr. Keller kneels in front of you, her hands on your shoulders. “I need you to breathe for me.”

You stare at her face, the furrow of her brow, the worry in her kind eyes. You feel sick, your stomach churning. You want to vomit, you want to puke up all the worry and the depression and the stress. You want it all to be over with, you want it all to end.

“Come on.” She says, squeezing your shoulders tighter. “In and out, nice and slow.”

You can’t. You can’t breathe. The world is falling apart around you and there’s nothing you can do about it. Your breaths catch in your throat, stuttering as your lungs spasm. You’re beginning to tense, your joints locking into place. It’s not all that different from a few weeks ago in the rec room with Simon as you panicked.

Only there’s no alpha to help you this time.

“Come on.” Dr. Keller says, hauling you to your feet. It’s like trying to move a mannequin, your joints locked into place, dead weight as she half drags you down the hall and into one of the exam rooms. She manages it, stronger than you thought as she moves you easily into the private room. It’s the one you spent your heat in, still set up just like it had been then.

She gets you into a chair, wheeling over the oxygen. It’s cold as it hits your face, a clammy sweat covering your skin. Your hands close around the arms of the chair, fingers clenching until they pop and ache, shaking from the force but you can’t let go. You cling to the chair like it’s the last thing keeping you sane, keeping you in place, keeping you from floating away.

Maybe then they’ll come back. Maybe then they’ll feel guilty for doing this to you.

Dr. Keller approaches with a syringe, wheeling the tray closer before setting it on top. You stare at it, tears slipping around the mask before dripping onto your chest. “It’s a sedative.” She says, putting a damp paper towel on the back of your neck. It’s cold, still dripping water. “If you go into distress, our only option is to put you under and hope it calms your brain fast enough that you’re not going to lose yourself to your omega.”

You almost wish she’d let you. It would be an easier end than finding out your pack was involved in all of this. You’d fade away, let your omega take over until the toll was too great on your body and you died before you even knew what happened.

It almost sounds blissful right now.

“Easy.” Dr. Keller says, cupping your face. “Don’t think too much. That’s just going to send you spiraling even more.”

If only it was that easy.

She gently peels your fingers from the arms of the chair, crossing your arms over your chest. Your hands close around your arms, squeezing until it hurts, until you’re sure you’re going to have bruises. It’s a comforting position though, even without anything pressed against your chest.

You miss your bear. You miss having John wrapped around you, offering you comfort only he can. You want him back, you want to be in his arms again. You want your safe space back, your nest, your pillows and stuffed animals. You want your alpha no matter what. Even if he is behind this or not, if he’s involved, you don’t care. You need your alpha again.

The air in your lungs rattles as Dr. Keller replaces the paper towel on your neck. It drips down your back, sliding down your spine. Goosebumps rise on your skin but it begins to calm you, shocking your system out of the edges of distress it had been rapidly falling towards. It makes you miss being numb. Numbness was at least better than the dangerously high panic of distress.

You can’t even be stressed without being in danger of your own body.

The churning in your stomach intensifies and you rip the oxygen mask off, bending forward as you take deep breaths. You don’t want to vomit, especially not on Dr. Keller’s nice shoes. Your hands grip the arms of the chair again, eyes squeezing closed as you breathe.

“Good.” She says, rubbing your back. “Keep breathing like that.”

She steps away for a moment to grab another wet paper towel as you continue to focus on your breathing, in and out. You pretend John is there, breathing with you slow and even. You can hear it in his chest, feel the rise and fall as he inhales and exhales with you. The steadiness of his heartbeat that never seems to raise, even when he’s stressed, thumps under your ear. He’s always so calm, always so aware, always so capable of acting even in the most stressful situation.

A strength he possesses thanks to his job.

“I miss my alpha.” You whimper as your joints begin to unlock, muscles relaxing.

“I know.” She says, replacing the cold paper towel. She squeezes the back of your neck gently for a moment, sending a cascade of cold water that soaks into your shirt before she releases you. Something prickles in the back of your mind as she moves her hand, the back of your neck tingling and not from the cold.

You continue to breathe deeply, the hitch in your lungs slowly lessening until it's gone, the air flowing in and out evenly. The air in the room is cold, only made worse by the sweat on your skin. You’re trembling, the effects of the almost distress coming down, leaving you a mess. More of a mess than you had just been.

“I just want him back.” You croak out, the tears still falling.

“I know.” She repeats, easing you back so you’re reclined back in the chair. She stares at you for a moment, chewing on her lip before she nods. “I’m going to make a few calls.”

The days continue to go by in a haze. You’re not sure what to think anymore, the numbness and stress battling in your brain for control. The near distress you went into has left you exhausted and burnt out, yet your thoughts won’t let you relax. You just want your alpha, the need sinking deep into your bones, nearly consuming you now.

It’s getting colder, Fall making its rapid approach. A couple short months and it’ll mark a year since your arrival, a year since this entire thing started, since you joined your new pack. To think it might not even last a year. That was the point, though, to test if it would work and how long it would work.

Less than a year. Hope you’re happy with those results.

It’s windy today, blowing hard enough you can hear it inside the barracks. The whooshing as the air hits the side of the building, being forced over the top of the immovable object in its path. It’s grey outside too, the sky cloudy. It might rain, though it’s hard to tell. It’s been grey for the last couple days, the weather always seeming to be in tune with your emotions.

You’re seated on Johnny’s bed, knees pulled up to your chest. It’s been so long since you’ve seen your packmates, since you’ve seen your alpha. They almost feel like a distant memory, thoughts of them floating around the empty barracks like a ghost, haunting your mind. All of them seem like ghosts now. You’re scared you’ll forget what they look like, what they smell like, what they sound like. Your brain is being clouded by your own roiling emotions, slamming up against the sides of your brain like the wind outside.

It’s confusing, the violent rocking of your mind between numbness and stress in the storm that’s raging in your amygdala. It would be nice if it could pick one, choose a direction and send you head on into the storm or the doldrums. You want the numbness back, the clouding of your thoughts, the slowing of your body to a crawl. It would be a relief over the alternative point where you risk distress every minute.

There’s no help for you.

“Ready?” Dr. Keller’s voice sounds through the door as she knocks quietly. It’s lunch, the usual time the two of you go. Early enough the mess isn’t as crowded. The last thing you need is a confrontation, or for you to panic like you did the day you revealed the cameras to Simon.

Dr. Keller could help you, would know how to help you through that, but you’re not sure you could handle that stress, that embarrassment of falling apart in front of the soldiers that already send judgemental looks your way. Falling apart again.

Not when you can’t trust anyone.

The words still float through your mind, one of the last things John had said to you before he left. Before he abandoned you.

Don’t trust anyone.

Anyone could be a threat.

Dr. Keller knocks again, calling out your name softly.

You force yourself off of Johnny’s bed, your joints cracking as you stand. You’ve been in that position far too long. Your body has stiffened, losing the flexibility you once had in the weeks since John left. You’re not even sure you could run as fast as you used to. There’s no space to do it in the barracks, and with how numb you’ve been, you have no drive to even reach down and touch your toes anymore. For all you know you’ll fall forward onto your face and break your nose if you try.

You open the door with a sigh, looking up at Dr. Keller. You’re sure you look like death...you have probably looked like death for a while. The constant rocking between stress and numbness has made you feel that way, and has likely made it worse. It’s been a long time since you’ve looked at yourself in the mirror, you’re not even sure you remember what you look like.

You don’t care anymore.

There’s no one to impress here.

The less alive, the less enticing you look, the more likely it is to keep audacious alphas away.

“Ready?” Dr. Keller asks, her brows furrowed slightly as she looks down at you.

You nod, knowing you have no choice. “Yeah.”

She nods. “Okay, I-” She’s cut off as her phone begins to ring, the loud ringtone slicing through the air. She keeps it on at all hours in case someone calls about your pack.

For just a moment you feel hope, something coming back to life inside of you as her phone rings. Could it be Kate? Could it be someone with word of the status of your pack? Maybe it is your pack, calling just to let you hear their voice.

Maybe for the last time.

That hope fades as Dr. Keller frowns. “One second.” She steps down the hallway to answer, leaving just enough space between you, you can’t hear what’s being said on the other end.

You don’t really care to hear, leaning against the wall as you wait. It’s not about your pack, obviously. The thought stings. Still there’s been no word, not even a text. The drop of excitement is almost worse than the numbness, the acceptance that you’re not getting any word, that had begun to form in your mind.

Dr. Keller walks back up to you, the frown on her face deeper than it had been. It had been a short call, most of the talking done by the person on the other side, you assume. Her answers had been short and simple. Whoever it was...it must not have been good judging by her face.

“I have to run to my office.” She says. “I need you to stay here.”

Your heart rate picks up at her words. She’s leaving you alone? You’ve gone back and forth with her so many times, why does she have to go alone now? Maybe whoever had called wanted to continue the conversation without the risk of anyone listening in.

Who called her, and what did they say to get her to break her promises to your pack?

“I’ll be right back.” She says, sounding anxious to get to her office. “You’ll be okay here? I won’t be gone long.”

You nod. You’re not sure you have much of a choice but to agree, but you’re also not about to argue. It’ll be the first time you’ve been alone since the day you confessed to your pack. You’re itching for it now, just a second to be truly alone. Just a second to breathe.

“Don’t leave the barracks.” She says pointedly. “John will have my hide if he finds out.

You shrug. “Don’t know where I’d go anyway.”

She nods, accepting your answer. It is the truth. You wouldn’t have left anyway. “You call me immediately if anything happens. I’ll be just a couple minutes.”

You nod in understanding. “I’ll be here.”

“Good.” She seems satisfied by your answer as she turns to jog down the hallway.

Good thing she’s wearing comfortable shoes compared to the ones she normally does.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief as soon as the door closes. You stand there in the silence of the barracks for a moment. You’re finally alone, the oppressive feeling of being watched, of being held prisoner lifting just a bit. Sure you can’t leave, but you couldn’t do that before anyway. You head for the rec room, walking as silently as you can, almost as if one of your pack members will jump out from around the corner and reprimand you for being alone. It’s not your fault. Dr. Keller was the one who left you.

You try not to think about what that phone call had been about as you grab a snack, tiding yourself over before Dr. Keller returns. She said she’d only be a minute, but you’re not sure how long it really will take. You’re silently glad for the break, silently glad for the ability to rest in silence, even if it is only for a couple of minutes.

You’re not sure what to do with your newfound freedom. It’s not like you didn’t have freedom before, but at least now you feel like you normally do, free to wander around and go to the bathroom by yourself.

You’re going to do just that.

It’s instinctual that you choose Simon’s room. You’ve been using his shower still, comforted by the routine you picked up during the time he and Johnny were still with you. It’s comforting, so much so you’ve made sure you hang your towel where it’s supposed to go, and put your soap and shampoo back in place with his. He’d be angry if he came back to find his room a mess, the order he exists in disrupted.

More angry than he already is with you.

You let out a sigh as you leave the bathroom, eyeing the books on his dresser. You’ve read all of yours already, and there’s nothing new in the rec room. You haven’t felt like reading much, and you’ve already read all of yours. Now, though, as life begins to fill you again, you feel the urge to do something.

The spines of the books are slightly dusty as you run your fingers across them. You’ll need to clean again soon. You’d forced yourself to do all of their laundry once their shirts lost their scent. It was beginning to stink and after being gone so long, you doubt they’ll want to come back to stinky dirty clothes.

Maybe you should clean their rooms too. Dr. Keller has been saying it might be helpful to do something productive.

And this way it might help in case they do return. Omegas are supposed to keep house. It’s what you’ve been taught to do. The last thing you want is for them to be upset with you for not doing your duties.

You grab one of the books randomly before slipping back out of the room, closing the door behind you. Your steps are still instinctively quiet as you make your way down the hallway. Until you freeze mid-step. There’s a sound ahead near the rec room, the wind outside getting louder for a moment before it quiets again.

Someone opened the door. Someone is inside.

Your breathing hitches as you take a step back, then another moving backwards down the hallway. Dr. Keller did say she’d be back soon, but why would she go through that door? She knows your pack always uses the door at the front, the door behind you to enter. That door only gets used when the guys smoke outside, or when Simon and Johnny have to leave during your heats.

Whoever entered wouldn’t know that.

Dr. Keller doesn’t smoke.

You stumble back to the nearest door, fumbling with the handle for a second before slipping inside. You close the door quietly, clicking the lock before pushing the dresser in front of the door. It’s your room you’ve taken refuge in. There’s dust coating everything, floating around you as you disturb the stale air. You hold your breath, fighting the urge to cough as you wait, hoping the air filters hide your scent before they make it down the hallway.

Your hands are shaking, gripping the book tightly in your hand. If nothing else, you can use it as a weapon. Simon would be proud of that, improvising a weapon to protect yourself. The panic is rising in you as you wait, the silence of the barracks the only thing allowing you to hear the quiet footsteps making their way down the hall. There’s a nervous fluttering in your chest as you wait, trying to keep your breathing under control. If it’s Dr. Keller she’ll knock, she’ll say something to let you know it’s her. She wouldn’t sneak around the barracks. She knows how much stress you’ve been under. She wouldn’t try to scare you like this.

A scream dies in your throat as the door handle starts to jiggle, forced back by your own panic. Whoever it is on the other side is trying to get in. You're thrown back into the terror of your first time alone, when someone tried to enter your room in the middle of the night.

You’re not going to be stupid this time. You’re not going to face this alone. Your fingers fumble around your phone, barely able to unlock it as the jiggling of the handle gets more aggressive. Whoever it is, they’re determined to get in.

You press Dr. Keller’s number, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you lift it to your ear. It rings in your ear, the sound echoing outside the door. Your stomach drops, following your phone as it slips out of your hand, still calling Dr. Keller. The ringtone echoes in the empty hallway, quickly drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears.

The sudden phone call, leaving you alone for the first time in weeks to run to her office, entering through the wrong door...

No...it can’t be.

The door shudders as something rams against it. You have to hide, you have to get out. You can’t hide in the closet or under the bed. Even the bathroom wouldn’t be smart. It’ll leave you too vulnerable. If whoever it is can break through your door, they’ll get through the bathroom easily. You turn to look at the window. You have to get out. You have to get help.

There could be others out there, waiting for you to try.

You have no other choice. Better to try and fight than to stand there and let it happen. That’s what Simon always says.

You can defend yourself. You can fight until you get a chance to run. You can run. You’re an omega. Running is what you do.

You barely remember to pick up your phone before you climb onto your desk, not caring as you knock things off. You have to move fast. Whoever it is on the other side of the door probably heard that, probably has figured out you’re going for the window. You have to get out. You have to run. The window slides open slowly, the adrenaline pumping through you, giving you strength you didn’t know you were capable of. You’re not sure you’ve ever opened the window in the time you’ve been here. You squeeze through the opening just big enough to fit you through. You don’t waste time looking back as you take off running, heading in the direction of the trees.

You’re alone, kicking up gravel as you run to the road. You have to find someone to help you before whoever it was catches up to you. Would they be that brave to attack you in the middle of the base? Would they try something with witnesses around?

You can’t trust anyone.

Would they even believe you if you did try? Or would they take advantage of your state, tricking you into believing them before dragging you into a dark corner? Even if you try to go to the higher ups on base, who would you tell? How would you even find them?

You can’t trust anyone.

Instead you choose the trees, racing down the road you had followed Price down not long after your arrival. You thank the CIA for making you run, you thank the guys for letting you run laps to keep your strength and stamina as you tear down the road, getting glances as you go. You haven’t lost much of your ability, not even in the weeks you’ve been almost completely sedentary. It’s partially the adrenaline, partially your own fear, partially your instincts to escape from danger helping you sprint down the road.

It’s lunch time, most of the soldiers probably in the mess by now. Maybe you should have run there. Someone would help you. Someone would help you.

You’ve passed a few on your way down the road, only getting passing glances. If they really cared, they would have followed you, tried to intercept you to ask what was going on.

None of them stop you as you reach the trailhead, breaking through the brush. Don’t follow the trail. Weave through the trees and double back. Confuse them so they can’t follow. Price’s advice rings loud in your ears as you rush through the forest. Confuse them, and then make for the tower. You can hide there, call Laswell, get help. You’re not sure how much help she can provide from across the ocean, but if nothing else, she’ll at least know.

If she answers.

If she’s not behind all of this.

She might rat you out.

Maybe going for the tower is a bad idea. Maybe you should double back and head for base again. If you can make it to the gate maybe you can convince one of them to help you, or if nothing else you can force your way through and get off of base. You recognize landmarks well enough you can hike to Hereford, find the police, find anyone that might help you.

You can’t trust anyone.

Your chest hurts as you run, tears burning in your eyes, making the trees around you blur. You can’t cry now. You can’t let the ache of betrayal settle in yet. You really can’t trust anyone. John had been wrong. But why now? Why wait this long?

Something has happened to your pack.

The whole thing has been organized.

You trusted her.

You dart across the trail, a sharp pain biting through your calf before you can reach the other side. You yelp as you fall into the dirt, your leg giving out from under you. You push yourself up to look, a roughly half inch wide hole cutting through your jeans. Blood is starting to seep into the fabric, darkening it around the edges of the hole.

You’ve been shot.

“You’re a quick little thing.” A voice says, stepping out from the brush next to the trail. “Though, I suppose with all the running they made you do, you would be.”

Tears burn your eyes as you stare at the gun pointed right at you. Will it go off again? Will it rip through your chest, giving you a slow painful death out here where no one will find you until it’s too late? Or will it go through your head, giving you a quick death before you even know it’s happened?

“Why?” You choke out, your heart pounding in fear. You can feel it, the edges of your vision darkening as you begin to panic. You’re going to distress, you’re going to die no matter what happens next.

“Money.” The gun shifts with the accompanying shrug. “Sure the pay in these positions is decent, but it’s never quite enough. And, you know, I’m all for helping with experiments.”

The gun lowers, but that does little to ease the panic flooding through you. You turn your upper body, trying to claw through the dirt away from your assailant, trying to escape the shoes getting closer and closer. They’re tennis shoes, practical and easy for running if need be. Your mouth has gone dry as you gasp for breath, your heart thudding in your ears. It’s getting dangerously high, the dark edges in your vision continuing to get bigger and bigger. Your muscles are tensing, ready to tighten painfully, joints locking into place. It’ll be too late to do anything, but then again, it’s too late now to do anything.

You can’t run. If you try, you’ll get shot again, and maybe this time it will be fatal.

One of the shoes lifts, stepping down on your leg. You scream as pain ripples all the way up to your hip, stopping your movements. Tears slide down your face, dripping down your nose and onto the dirt.

A hand reaches out, gripping your chin and forcing you to look straight again. Fingers dig into your jaw, making you whimper with pain. “I always hate when omegas cry.” The hand releases you as their right hand rears back.

Pain erupts across your cheek, your body being thrown to the side. You fall into the dirt, your ears ringing as the entire left side of your face throbs. You can taste blood, the coppery tang making you want to gag.

“That was for fucking up the cameras and making me do more work.”

You’re forced onto your stomach in the dirt, a knee digging into your back painfully.

“You’re going to go to sleep now.” You can barely make out the words over the ringing in your ears. “When you wake up, you’re going to wish you had never been picked for this initiative in the first place.”

A stinging pain bites into the skin of your neck, but it’s nothing compared to the throbbing in your cheek and the burning ache in your leg. Tears continue to slide down your cheeks as you lay there, your vision going blurry as the sedative kicks in. There’s no help coming.

No one even knows you’re out here.

NEXT ->

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #tf 141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #poly 141 #captain price x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #a/b/o #omegaverse

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yandere-daydreams · 2 months

Text

Title: Going Live.

Pairing: Yandere!Nanami x Reader (JJK)

Word Count: 7.6k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Camgirl!Reader, Kidnapping, Physical Intimidation, Long-Term Stalking, Obsessive Behavior, Delusional Behavior, Slight Exhibitionism, and Panic Attacks + Disassociation. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You were a lot of things to Nanami Kento – his world, his light, his love – but above all else, you were the reason he looked forward to getting home.

Calling it ‘infatuation’ would’ve been a disservice to the depth of his feelings for you. It’d been love at first sight; instant and wholehearted, a shackle snapped shut around his neck that he had no will or desire to escape. His eyes were on his watch as soon as he crossed the threshold, his coat shrugged off and abandoned along with his tie in the doorway. He didn’t bother turning on lights or taking off his shoes, doing anything to make his empty apartment seem more lived-in, his focus solely dedicated to reaching his home office with as few disruptions as was possible, with Gojo and the higher-ups still attempting to contact him about the curse he’d finished exorcising less than an hour prior. They could wait. You wouldn’t.

He was smiling by the time he collapsed into the leather-cushioned chair, his laptop still on his desk from the night before – the last time he got to see you. The motions were automatic, practiced to the point of reflexivity. One hand glided over the keyboard while the other found his phone, silencing it in the same motion as he tossed it haphazardly onto the desk, out of his view. He checked his watch one more time; 6:59. Good. He was early.

His grin brightened, as did his laptop. Your stream flickered to life a second later and with it, your smiling face. The relief was instant, pure warmth accompanying it. The bittersweet tinge – as subtle as it was prodding – came only a moment later, but Nanami did his best to ignore it.

You were the sole reason Nanami Kento looked forward to getting home. The center of his world, the sole light in his otherwise bleak life. The person he loved more than anything, more than everything.

It was only a shame, then, that you had no idea he existed.

One of his favorite things about you had always been your meticulousness. For tonight’s show, you were splayed out across the foot of a queen-sized bed, surrounded by pastel pink satin sheets and a fleece comforter of the same shade, a matching dormant hitachi vibrator (Nanami’s favorite and, guessing from how often it made an appearance in your shows, yours too) nestled between your thighs. Your outfit was aesthetically pleasing – a set of lacey, baby blue lingerie with white, knee socks – but paired with your set up, casual enough to give the impression that you hadn’t realized the camera you were posing in front of was actually on, as if you weren’t entirely prepared to be seen by a thousand or so strangers just yet. The fact that you didn’t start talking right away, only humming as you idly toyed with your hair, only added to the nonchalance of it all. You would make a good actress, if you ever decided to pursue something more, for lack of a more applicable phrase, legitimate.

Nanami’s attention drifted from you to your chat, slowly starting to fill with impatient viewers. Despite himself, he felt his absentminded smile waver, an irk of irritation momentarily tainting his bliss. He knew you weren’t entirely real, that he didn’t have any right to be possessive over a performer, but he loved you. It would’ve been difficult for anyone to watch someone they loved be exposed to so many prying eyes.

user34333: fuck she’s hot

hotbox420: looking good y/n!!!

lostandconfused: why does she still have her clothes on?

The only silver lining was how oblivious you seemed to it. Another minute passed before you straightened, yawning slightly as you pushed yourself up, legs hanging over the foot of your bed. “Welcome home,” you started, with a quick stretch and a playful wave towards the camera. “Everyone’s already put the kids to bed, right? I’ve got a very special surprise I want to bring out a little later, so nobody’s allowed to leave early.”

Your tone was light, melodic, saccharine. Already, Nanami could feel his cock beginning to harden against his thigh, straining at the material of his pants. You were always mobile during your shows, prone to flitting from one position to another, but tonight, you almost seemed antsy as you pulled your legs back onto the mattress, tucking your knees underneath you and bowing your head, your neutral smile taking on a shy undertone. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” you admitted, speaking quickly enough for the words to blend together. Then, with more composure, “Who wants to get us started?”

Nanami’s hand was already on his keyboard, waiting for your cue. Somehow, he was still too late.

blueeyeswhitedragon sent 150 credits!

blueeyeswhitedragon: Bra first, pretty please.

You giggled as you raised your hands, leaning forward to give the camera a better view of your chest as you undid the clasp at the nape of your neck. Nanami’s breath hitched as the thin fabric fell away, revealing the soft curves of your breasts and your pretty, perfect nipples – already hard, already enough to make saliva pool underneath his tongue. The lower clasp was next, undone with more effort and more bouncing than what seemed absolutely necessary, but Nanami couldn’t complain, not when he was struggling to undo the fly of his dress pants without ever looking away from you. There was another giggle as the article fell away entirely, then a third as you cupped your chest with both hands, groping gently. “I used to be so shy about taking my top off on camera…” You trailed off, batting your eyes. “But, you guys think I’m pretty, right?”

Your requested affirmations flooded the chat in an instant. Nanami grinned, slumping back in his chair. He could compliment any part of you earnestly, but aside from donations, he rarely let himself participate in your chat. Speaking to you so openly, being one of a dozen people whose username you’d glance over in a second – that wasn’t what he wanted. Anonymous adoration wasn’t the shape his affection took.

Eventually, you collapsed back onto your bed. “Okay, okay, that’s enough,” you went on, as Nanami wrapped a fist around the base of his cock. “What next?”

There was another offer – 300 credits for your panties, 400 if you took them off with your back to the camera. You obliged, bent at the waist, inching the silken fabric down your thighs at an almost sadistic pace. After you finished, you seemed ready to move onto the main show, but another donation cropped up in your chat.

user34232 sent 75 credits!

user34232: for the socks pls

That, as far as Nanami could tell, seemed to catch you genuinely off-guard. He could see you blushing as you leaned towards the camera – or, he supposed, the laptop you had positioned underneath it, as if you’d misread something. “…my socks?”

Nanami stifled a grown, tightening his hold. With his free hand, he reached for the keyboard,

n. kento sent 200 credits!

n. kento: Don’t take them off.

You played your part perfectly, sighing as you let your head lull to the side. All it took was you batting your eye lashes while letting out the sweetest murmur of “Well, I don’t know if that’s fair, but…” for your chat to dissolve into a bidding war, donations ranging from five credits to five hundred. If you were making any earnest attempt to keep track of which side was winning, you clearly had no motivation to call it too early on – pulling your legs onto your bed and kicking your feet out playfully towards the camera. “Some of you guys ask for such weird stuff,” you went on, rolling your left ankle. “If someone doesn’t tell me what to do soon, I think I’m just going to have to change into another outfit.”

Nanami let out a breath of a chuckle, only half aware he was typing.

n. kento sent 1,750 credits!

n. kento: You look beautiful. Keep them on.

You laughed, and this time, Nanami chose to believe it was sincere. “I get it! We’ll move on.” You were already leaning back, rolling onto your stomach, giving your viewers a perfect view of your ass as you reached for something off-screen. “Normally I’d ask for a suggestion,” you said, as you brought what you’d retrieved back into frame – a pale pink rabbit vibrator, the penetrative half of the forked wand ribbed. “But I have something I’m kind of looking forward to. I promise, I’ll try to get past the boring stuff quickly.”

You thought too little of yourself. Arousal drooled from Nanami’s flushed tip as you positioned yourself on the edge of the mattress, legs spread wide and slick, glistening pussy fully on display. You were already wet, but he knew you would be. It was something you joked about often – how sensitive you were, how something as minor as a wet dream would have you soaking through your panties. Normally, he would’ve figured you were just playing it up for the sake of your viewers, but it was hard to deny the evidence in front of him.

A whimper slipped past your parted lips as you eased the head of the toy past your entrance, stretching yourself out on its bulbed tip. Now, now, he started to move his hand, pumping his fist over the length of his shaft in short, slow strokes, matching your tempo as you rocked your toy into your pussy. A dull hum fills the room as your thumb finds the switch built into the handle’s underside, and your expression immediately goes from dazed to pained, your tongue peaking out from between your lips and your eyes fluttering shut as your hips bucked against the vibrator. “It—It feels—” Your thighs threaten to twitch shut, but you hold them open, determined to give your audience the best possible view of your pussy clenching around your toy. “I really—I wanna get some bondage gear soon, so that I can—”

Whatever you might’ve said was replaced by a bubbling moan, and just like that, Nanami was fucking his fist without restraint. He knew how pathetic it was, but it would’ve been impossible not to imagine it was his cock sinking into your dripping cunt rather than an inanimate toy, not to wish it was your pussy clamping down around his length rather than his own fist. He wondered what you smelled like, if you wore perfume, what it would be like to have his face buried between your thighs. He was aware, vaguely, that your chat was the most active it’d been all night, people trying to catch your attention with donations and tips and compliments, but they didn’t matter. They weren’t watching you, not really, not the same way Nanami was. He knew you, well enough to know that you couldn’t think once something had been stuffed inside of your cunt. He loved you, enough to wish he was the one making your mind go so euphorically blank.

There was more moaning, more failed attempts to speak, but you didn’t let yourself cum. You were visibly trembling by the time you switched the toy off, and it took agonizing seconds to ease the wand out of your disappointed pussy – seconds Nanami watched with rapt devotion. More out of sympathy than anything else, he lets go of his cock entirely, gritting his teeth and attempting to ignore the pulsing ache forming in the pit of his stomach. What was next was better. What was next was worth waiting for.

You took a few panting breaths, your voice still airy by the time you managed to speak. “I have a—” You paused, grinned. Nanami smiled too. “I have a surprise for all of you, tonight. I think I mentioned that already, but— oh, right.” You perked up, playing excited. “We have to move to the floor, for this next part.”

You slipped off-screen, and a second later, the camera shifted to follow you – falling onto a corner of your room less staged than your bed, but just as pristine. Abstract, pastel tapestries obscured the walls, but the dark floorboards were left bare. On one side, most of a dog kennel was visible, decorated with string lights and clearly meant for one of your more niche shows, and on the other, he could make out the bottom corner of a poster – not for anything kinky, or sensual, or in any way suggestive, but an underground band, a local band. You probably hadn’t realized it was in the shot, let alone meant for it to be. You were usually more careful about giving away anything even remotely personal, but Nanami couldn’t be mad.

After all, it’d been that poster that’d let him find you.

He could still remember the first time he ever saw you – actually saw you, not through a screen, but in person. After he knew that you lived in the same city as him (the same district, even), it’d only taken a few more days to find your name, your age, your address. Still, he put off visiting you for weeks, telling himself that it didn’t matter, that you wouldn’t recognize him, that you wouldn’t want to see him. And, in the end, you hadn’t seen him at all – you hadn’t needed to.

That night, he’d watched your show from the rooftop of the building opposite of yours, straining to see you through a bedroom window left carelessly open. Even now, the guilt was almost tangibly agonizing, the shame practically unbearable.

Almost as unbearable as the temptation to go back.

But, that part would come soon enough. You were on screen, again, holding something he recognized.

“I have some exciting news,” you chirped, as you kneeled on the floor, holding a pitch-black dildo, a suction cup attached to the base. Despite its color, Nanami could make out defined veins running down the silicone shaft, a noticeable girth to the base. A perfect mirror of the cock currently pulsing for attention in his lap.

He felt himself grinning, as you went on. “I got my first real fan gift!” You held up the toy to your cheek, like a child showing off their first stuffed animal, before planting it on the floor between your thighs. “It’s so big, too,” you said, showing off its size, where the blunt tip rested well above your navel. “Everyone say thank you, Daddy Kento!”

Your chat was instantly flooded with predictable responses, but Nanami couldn’t look away from you. You were enjoying yourself, clearly. You must’ve thought you were so smart, renting out a P. O. box, going on and on about how grateful you were to your dedicated fans when he reached out to ask if you accepted physical donations, and you were smart. It was only a shame that Nanami loved you enough to look past all of your attempts to keep him away.

As you began to move onto your knees, he allowed himself one more intervention.

n. kento sent 3,000 credits!

n. kento: Take it to the hilt.

It was cruder than he usually cared to be, but as your eyes flickered towards your monitor, your lips quirked into a slight smile. You didn’t respond verbally, but you nodded, and sunk down onto his cock.

Immediately, his hand wasn’t enough, but he tried to make do – matching your agonizingly slow pace, imagining what it would feel like to have you lower yourself down onto his real cock, rather than a cheap imitation. Trails of iridescent slick dripped down the dark silicone, your camera positioned strategically to catch every bounce of your breasts as your breathing hitched, to provide the optimal view of your pussy stretching around the tip, then the head, then the shaft as you lowered yourself slowly. “It—It’s so big,” you repeated, bringing a hand up to your stomach while the other remained on the floor, keeping you stable. “I mean, I knew it would be, but—fuck—” Another inch, Nanami’s fist moving over the same part of his cock. You let out an airy laugh. “Just be thankful I’m so tough.”

“I am,” Nanami muttered, his voice echoing off the bare walls of his office. “You’re perfect.”

“I really wanna cum on this one, too – to, like, christen it, or something. Been keeping myself pent up all day for it.” With a pitchy keen, you brought yourself a few inches higher, then dropped. Your free hand shot away from your stomach and back to the floor as you continued to bounce on the toy’s length, getting just a little deeper each time. “Welcome it to family, y’know? Maybe make it a regular, for you sadists out there.”

Nanami stiffened at the thought of you fucking yourself on a replica of his cock in front of thousands of people twice a week; drooling and panting as you told your viewers how big he was, how good he felt inside of you. With his restraint brought to its limits, he fucked his fist carelessly, his attention fixed on the steady movements of your hips as you rode his toy. Your eyes didn’t flutter closed, this time – they clenched shut, and you couldn’t seem to keep your voice under control, little mewls and half-conscious whines bubbling up from your chest as you struggled to take that much more of him with every thrust. When you did manage to speak, your voice was uneven, whiney, so sweet it made him want to dig his teeth into something and tear. “I’m so close,” and then, as you brought yourself back down, so close to bottoming out, “I wanna cum!”

“You will,” Nanami whispered. He knew you couldn’t hear him, but it was true – you would, and if he’d been able to, he would’ve made you. He would’ve let you fuck yourself on his cock whenever you asked, would’ve woken you up every morning coming undone on his tongue and made sure you fell asleep with his cock buried inside of you. If you were with him, you’d never have to think again, never have to feel anything but pleasure – any time you wanted it, every time you wanted it. He’d make sure—

You didn’t moan as you reached the toy’s base, you screamed. One of your hands moved to the space between your thighs, two fingers rubbing quick circles into your clit as you nursed yourself through your orgasm. Nanami didn’t stand a chance, still chasing his fantasies as he spilled over his hand; searing hot cum pooling on his lap, soaking into the material of his shirt, spilling onto his desk. He didn’t stop moving his hand, though, not until you went limp – bending at the waist, bracing yourself on the floor. Finally, you managed to raise your head, flashing that brilliant smile towards the camera. Of course, Nanami smiled back.

In a daze, he watched you ease yourself off of the toy and wrap up your stream, so familiar from your script that he would’ve been able to recite it with confidence. Even after you signed off, the screen going black, he didn’t move, only letting his head roll to the side with a shallow sigh.

It was pathetic, just how much he loved you. It was painful, being so far from someone who made him feel so irrationally happy.

He could only count the days until he wouldn’t have to limit himself to only watching from a distance any longer.

There was a man in your apartment.

A man you didn’t want to be in your apartment, just to be clear. You’d heard the front door open, seen a bulky silhouette moving through your living room, and now, you were listening to him riffle through your bedroom as you hid in the en suite bathroom – crouched in the smallest corner you could find with both hands locked over your mouth, trying to stifle the sound of your own breathing. The door was locked, but that didn’t matter. You didn’t want to find out how much a thin sheet of wood would do to protect you. You didn’t want to give him a reason to acknowledge you at all.

As far as you could tell, there was only one intruder. You could only hear one pair of muffled footsteps, with second-long gaps between every little movement. The air caught in your throat as you heard him edge closer, closer, then pause. There was a dull clack, the sound of metal clashing against plastic, and you relaxed, sighing into your palms. Your filming equipment. It was expensive, but nothing you couldn’t replace. If you were lucky, he’d take what he could carry and leave.

And that was what he seemed to be doing, too – more rustling interrupted every so often by a few moments of heart-wrenching silence. Soon enough, you heard the intruder start to move again, his footsteps edging closer to the bathroom door as he moved to leave your bedroom entirely, and—

“(Y/n)?”

Fuck.

You didn’t say anything, holding your breath and digging your nails into your cheeks, willing yourself not to move, not to think. You didn’t make a sound, you couldn’t have, and yet he kept talking.

“I know you’re in there. Please, come out.”

He couldn’t know. He couldn’t know. You’d kept the lights off, and you hadn’t moved in minutes, and—

He tried the knob, and something cracked deep inside of your chest. There was an airy sigh, then a dull thud, like he was leaning against the door frame. “Please,” he repeated, sounding more exasperated than angry. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“Y-you can take whatever you want,” you stuttered, your voice unsteady, just a touch louder than it really had to be. That was fine. You didn’t have to pretend to be brave, so long as you made it out of this alive and uninjured. “I won’t call the police – I can’t call the police, I left my phone in the kitchen. You can take it, too. I… I don’t have a lot of cash, but my camera, it should be worth—”

“I don’t want your camera, love.” If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought he sounded wistful. “Come out, or I’ll break down the door.”

Honestly, it hadn’t occurred to you that he could.

It took a second to pry your hands off of your face, and another to push yourself to your feet – your legs shaking as you struggled to stand. Almost mechanically, you moved towards the door; unlocking it in the same motion as you pulled it open. Light from your bedroom spilled into the entryway, revealing—

God.

He was taller than you’d expected him to be.

Six feet at least, with a build to match. The sleeves of his dress-shirt were rolled up to his elbow, showing off arms so muscular, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d planned to tear your door off its hinges with his bare hands. He had a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, visibly full, but you could still see your equipment standing untouched behind him, and you couldn’t imagine anything else he would’ve wanted to take. His blonde hair was swept back, out of his eyes, and he was holding a butcher’s knife in his right hand, the blade wrapped in leopard-spotted fabric. Surprisingly, though, his weapon wasn’t what concerned you the most.

He was smiling. No, actually, that wasn’t right.

He was beaming.

“(Y/n),” he said, again. You didn’t let yourself wonder why he knew your name. “I—I’m sorry, I should’ve introduced myself earlier. I might’ve gotten a little carried away – I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

“…it’s okay,” you managed, your voice barely audible. “Are you going to kill me?”

His expression dropped. “No. Of course not.” And then, after a brief lapse, “I’d never hurt you. I…” You saw his right hand flex around the grip of his knife, and thought you might black out. “I’m a fan.”

Instantly, you felt the blood freeze in your veins.

Fuck. Fuck.

You knew you should’ve gone into accounting.

“I… You’re a fan?” You tried to smile, but it might’ve come across more pained than relieved. “I’m sorry, I’m not used to meeting people who’ve caught my stream. Should I know what to call you?”

And just like that, his grin was back, any momentary tension assayed. You wished he would’ve put down the knife, too, but beggars can’t be choosers. “Kento,” he said, and for the first time, you noticed the pink hue creeping over his cheeks. “Nanami Kento.”

You grit your teeth as you struggled to place him. After a second, it came to you.

Kento. Right. The dildo guy.

Somehow, knowledge provided little comfort. Still, you soldiered on. “It’s really nice to meet you, Nanami.” You clasped your hands behind your back, rocking gently on your heels. “I—I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting any guests. If you want to step out for a couple minutes, I can change into something more comfortable, and show you how appreciative I am for your—”

“I’m not an idiot.” He cut you off, still grinning. “You’re coming with me.”

You didn’t let your smile waver, either. “And, if I didn’t want to go with you…?”

“I’m afraid this isn’t about what you want, anymore.”

You meant to say something – opened your mouth and everything – but nothing came out. Your heart tightened in your chest, a not inconsiderable portion of your mind screaming for you to run, run, run. And yet, when he took you by the wrist in a feather-light hold, leading you through your own apartment and out into the hall, it was all you could do to smile and follow after him.

The first thirty minutes of the car ride passed in silence. Nanami – because you couldn’t stand to keep thinking of him as ‘that guy who bought you a dildo shaped like his own dick and paid you thousands of dollars to ride it live on stream’ – kept his knife in his lap, his hand falling away from the wheel and onto its hilt whenever you so much as took a deep breath. Eventually, your eyes fell to the clock built into his dashboard, and you broke through your paralysis with a nervous laugh.

“It’s a little funny,” you started, for lack of anything else to do. “I’d actually normally be getting ready for my stream, around now.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him swallow, his jaw tensing. “I know.”

Great. Okay. Whatever. “I don’t mind, y’know,” you managed, before you could let yourself fully consider what you were going to say. “If it means we don’t have to go through with the whole kidnapping thing, I really wouldn’t mind sleeping with you – you can even take pictures, if you’d like that, or record, whichever you’d prefer.”

“That’s not what I—”

“I haven’t tried a lot of hardcore stuff, but I wouldn’t mind if that’s what you’re into. We don’t even have to go back to my apartment, you could just pull over, and—”

“That’s not what I’m interested in.” He didn’t raise his voice, but his tone left no room for protest. “I’m not going to… I’m not going to just fuck you once and leave you by the side of the road. I’m doing this for your sake.”

As if you’d willingly climbed into a maniac’s car. “I… I’m not following, Kento.”

“It’s for your own protection. Once I thought to look, it took me hours to find out everything about you.” He spared you a quick glance, that same uncanny smile. One of his hands left the wheel and, rather than moving to his knife, found your knee, squeezing gently. It took everything you had not to scream. “Imagine what someone could do with that kind of information. They could blackmail you, if they found your full name, or track you down if they pieced together your address. It’d be a miracle if they were only a stalker. It just wasn’t safe to let you keep going on that way.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him. “They could even break into my apartment and abduct me at knifepoint.”

His gaze narrowed, but his smile only softened. Neither of you spoke for the rest of the journey.

After far too long and not nearly long enough, you reached your destination: a housing complex, leagues nicer (and more expensive) than your own rundown building. Calling them apartments would’ve been a disservice; they were more similar to free-standing condos, or miniature villas slotted just outside of the city’s more metropolitan districts. Without a word, you let him guide you into a relatively generic home, its only notable feature being the absolute lack of evidence of meaningful life within it. You wouldn’t have been surprised if it was a rental, leased exclusively to give him someplace to do… well, whatever he planned to do to you. It’d be more off-putting to know that someone actually lived someplace so vacant.

He led you through the empty halls and up a flight of stairs, keeping you in front of him and in his line of sight at all times. Finally, you reached the door he seemed to be looking for and, with a nod by way of instruction, let yourself inside.

Before you stood, puzzlingly, your own bedroom.

Or – the parts of it you could make out on camera, at least. The bed was the same size, the same model, made with the same sheets and littered with the same pillows, but the floor was covered in a harsh white carpeting, the surrounding walls soundproofed with suffocating black foam. Camera equipment identical to your own had been set-up at the foot of your bed, but an unfamiliar silver laptop replaced your own sticker-covered monstrosity. You didn’t see any chains, whips, or shock collars, which was good. You still didn’t know what the fuck was going on, which was bad.

Confused, you turned to Nanami as he crossed the threshold and rather conservatively, shut and locked the door. “There are clothes on the bed,” he explained, with a tone that made it difficult to tell whether or not he knew how weird this was. “A script, too. Memorize as much as you can.”

So he still expected you to stream. Or, that was what you hoped, at least – considering the only alternative was that he was planning to make an extremely elaborate snuff film. “I’m not used to using scripts.”

“You’ll manage.”

You didn’t bother trying to argue, only moving towards the bed and attempting to forget he was there entirely.

The ‘clothes’ he’d left for you turned out to be lingerie – the nice stuff, too, white and lacey and bridal with a babydoll cut. You glanced over his script (which, disturbingly, didn’t exactly not sound like you) as you got dressed and fixed your hair, doing the best you could without any of your usual supplies. You wouldn’t be able to reapply your make-up, but you’d put some on earlier, and—

You almost laughed at yourself, stifling a chuckle.

You’d been kidnapped, and you were worried about your make-up. If you got out of this alive, you swore, you’d never touch foundation or a ring light or a camera ever again.

He didn’t have to tell you when it was time – you would’ve known by instinct alone. With Namami watching from an armchair pushed against the opposite wall, you clambered onto the bed and took your usual position, kneeling in center frame. He’d never asked for your credentials, and yet, when you glanced towards the laptop positioned just underneath the main camera, you found that your own profile was already pulled up, a miniature timer in the corner of the screen counting down the seconds until you went live.

As it reached thirty seconds ‘till, it occurred to you that you were in a soundproof room alone with the man who’d kidnapped you and was currently holding you hostage, and that no one could’ve possibly known where you were or, more importantly, who you’d been taken by.

As it reached fifteen, you realized you were being held captive and being forced to wear bridal lingerie that your kidnapped must’ve picked out with the occasion in mind.

As it reached five, for the first time that day, you thought you might actually start to cry.

And, as it reached zero, you put on your biggest, brightest smile and hoped beyond hope that you’d stop thinking entirely, eventually.

“Welcome home!” Skipping over your normal grace period only felt right. You didn’t think you’d be able to survive sitting in silent, motionless suspension for another second, let alone a full minute. “Sorry if I seem a little nervous tonight – to tell the truth, I kind of am. I’ve got a major announcement, and I just can’t put it off any longer.”

Reflexively, your attention drifted first to your own feed – you looked perfect, as always – then to your chat, moving quickly despite your sudden start. You caught a few of the longer messages in your peripheral.

secretary.lover: Is it just me, or does she seem kind scared lmao?

blueeyeswhitedragon: yeahhh i thought her room looked kinda weird too lol

justheretowatch: fuck ur pretty

rapidfire: let me guess, another fake dick?

“I know I probably should’ve given you guys more of a warning,” you went on, fighting the temptation to break, to yell for them to call the police, to give up entirely and make a run for it. “But…”

You forced yourself to laugh, to beam, to clap your hands together in front of your chest like a schoolgirl – excited to tell her friends that she’d gone through with her first ever confession. “I’m getting married!”

You didn’t have a ring to show off, but you tried your best to preen regardless, to not let any amount of fear or discomfort or hesitation show on your shining expression. After a show delay, congratulations and well-wishes filled your chat (some genuine, others more reluctant), and you did your best to go on without letting the sizable knot slowly gaining mass in the back of your throat smother your voice entirely. “This is going to be my last stream – for a while, at least, until we get settled in. And…”

You tried to remember what’d been listed next in Nanami’s script, but your conscious mind was bogged down by a thick layer of buzzing static, your sense of improvisation dulled by a heavy dose of anxiety. Your eyes flickered to where Nanami was sitting behind your equipment, only to find that the chair he’d formerly occupied empty. You didn’t have time to panic before the edge of the mattress dipped under a new weight, and you remembered what you were supposed to say. “My husband actually wanted to cameo on my send-off show. I was a little hesitant—” Another dip in the mattress, this one much closer than the last. “—but he insisted. I thought you all deserved a chance to meet him, too.”

As soon as you finished, you felt a large hand on your shoulder, a sudden presence at your back. Your gaze fell back to your feed, your own image now accompanied by that of your captor – on his knees behind you, one hand on your shoulder and the other on your hip, the framing positioned so that his head was cut off just above the mouth. The lower half of his face was covered with a black surgical mask, and you had to stop yourself from frowning. You hadn’t expected him to be stupid enough to show his face on camera, but still.

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you felt his hand fall away from your shoulder, slipping underneath the lace camisole of your babydoll. You tried not to move, not to flinch, but you couldn’t stop yourself from jerking forward as you felt his hand slip under your bralette, the angular ridges of his knuckles visible through the thin silk. Despite everything he’d said about not hurting you, about doing this for your protection, he made no attempt to be gentle – the calloused pads of his fingers pressing into the curve of your breast with enough force to bruise. You bit back a whimper, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sincere reaction. If you wanted to go home, you had to put up with this. He’d never said anything about pretending to enjoy it.

(In the back of your mind, you knew he hadn’t said anything about letting you go home, either. Still, you didn’t let yourself dwell on such discontinuities).

You should’ve known better than to think he’d attempt to follow the normal flow of your stream, and yet, it still caught you off-guard when his unoccupied hand found its way to the waistband of your panties, then to your clothed sex. You weren’t overly sensitive, despite how you might’ve acted in front of your viewers, but you were still on edge, still panicked, and while the adrenaline being held at knifepoint might’ve sparked was beginning to fade, having your kidnapper grope you on camera was enough to bring on a fresh wave. Reflexively, you pressed your back into his broad chest as his thumb traced over the length of your slit, pausing only momentarily to press into your clit with a dull, oppressive sort of pressure, biting down on your bottom lips to stop anything vulnerable and pathetic from escaping. If Nanami was affected by your stoicism, it wasn’t enough to stop him from pulling the flimsy material to the side entirely and slipping two fingers into you, your now-slick cunt providing humiliatingly easy access. In the same motion, the heel of his palm pressed into your clit, the friction immediately too harsh, too much. It would’ve been too much if he wasn’t touching you at all. It would’ve been too much if he was still sitting alone in his dark, empty house – getting off to the idea of degrading someone he claimed to care about so publicly.

It didn’t help that you were wet. Not dripping, sure, but wet enough for there to be an audible, slick clicking-type noise as he pumped his digits into you, never taking the pressure off of your clit. You could feel his cock pressed into your ass, already hard, already too familiar not to be nauseating, but he didn’t seem to be in a rush to move past your exhibition; his pace measured and experimental, his fingers prone to spreading apart and curling inside of you. To distract yourself, you moved your attention back to your chat, trying to pick out the longer messages between donation notifications.

user84343: girl i call dibs when you’re done with him

hotbox420: no seriously y/n are you okay???

bunnygirl69: still can’t believe you’re leaving us for him </3 can’t say i don’t see why tho ToT

absolutely.soaked: Blink twice if you’re in danger lmaoooo

“G-guys, I’m totally—” Your breath hitched as he forced another finger into you, the stretch now a touch past ignorable. His other hand kneaded at your chest, blunt nails scraping against tender flesh, and momentarily, you wondered if it really would’ve been so bad to take your chances and let him kill you right away. “I’m totally fine, I’m just—” His nails bit into your skin by way of warning, and you allowed yourself a single, stilted moan. “I’m just so happy that I finally get to—to—”

You didn’t know what you were supposed to say, but it didn’t matter. Nanami’s hand dropped from your chest to your side, his arm locking over your midriff and hauling you that much closer. You couldn’t stop yourself this time – whimpering as the tempo of his fingers sped up, as tears started to prick at the corners of your eyes. You glanced around the bedroom, searching for anything familiar, anything you could use to stabilize yourself, anything that you could start to find comforting. Instead, your eyes landed on the duffle bag he’d carried out of your apartment, the zipper now partially undone. You couldn’t see much, but you could make out the handle of a pink hitachi. It wasn’t difficult to guess what the rest of the bag’s contents looked like, what he’d spent so long riffling through your possessions to find.

It wouldn’t been pointless to try and hold back the crooked, ebbing sob that leaked past your lips. This time, when you turned to face your camera, it was with tears just beginning to spill and absolute terror written across your expression. “Call the police,” you managed to spit out, making no attempt to be subtle. “I—I don’t actually know this man, and this isn’t my apartment, and—“

It happened too quickly – like he’d been expecting you to do something so obviously short-sighted. You processed that he was pulling out of your cunt as you felt his fingers entangle themselves in your hair, and then your face was being shoved against the mattress, your body folding over itself as he forced you down. You tried to yell, tried to scream, but your voice was muffled by your own fucking comforter as you heard fabric shifting behind you, as you felt something warm and stiff and leaking align with your entrance. You refused to put a name to it, but that didn’t help. Nothing would’ve helped.

His palm pressed into the back of your head, his body slotting against yours as he leaned down, lowering his head so that he could speak directly into your ear. “I’m doing this for your own good,” he whispered, his voice muffled but still painfully audible. “I’m doing this because I love you.”

You didn’t have a chance to response. He was already inside of you – his cock filling you to your breaking point.

You weren’t sure if your viewers could hear you, but you hoped they could. It would’ve been a pity to sob so loudly for the sole entertainment of the sick, sick man currently rutting into you, grinding into your cunt from behind with a kind of animalistic desperation – all desire and no control. It was a struggle to stay on your knees, not to go entirely limp underneath him, but you doubted it would’ve made a difference if you hadn’t, that he wouldn’t have fucked your limp body just as enthusiastically. Out of the corner of your eyes, you could just barely see the monitor – the miniature image of Nanami’s body moving on top of yours, his blond hair still obscuring the other half of his face, and then next to it, your chat. If you’d been thinking more clearly, you wouldn’t have let yourself look, wouldn’t have let yourself fully acknowledge that there were still thousands of people watching you, but you weren’t thinking at all, and you would’ve given anything for someone to say something that made you forget where you were, just for a second.

sniper727: so the bitch likes it rough? hot

callmeanonymous: FINALLY!!! I’ve been waiting for some cnc rp for actual years.

blueeyeswhitedragon: hey i think i might work with that guy

hotbox420: yeah no i’m calling the cops.

Predictably, your efforts were grotesquely unsuccessful.

Nanami didn’t seem as bothered. The weight on the back of your head disappeared as his hands found your hips, pulling up as he straightened his back. For anyone else, it might’ve been an awkward position – holding up your uncooperative form while bouncing you on his cock – but no amount of unpleasant technicalities could’ve stopped him from burying himself to hilt with every stroke, keeping you in a constant state of mind-numbing fullness. You tried to talk, again, to call for help, but fractured mewls and pathetic whines drowned out whatever you might’ve said, and even those were put to an end as Nanami took you by the jaw, turning you to face him as his lips crashed into your – his mask either pulled down or discarded entirely, you couldn’t be bothered to check. The kiss itself was messy, rough, brutal, his tongue raking over yours as you sobbed unabashedly into his mouth – your connection only growing more chaotic as his hand once again found your clit and ground two fingers into the sensitive bundle of nerves. You knew what he wanted. You knew what he was trying to do.

And you couldn’t do anything to stop him.

With a ragged sob, you came undone around his cock, any strength you might’ve once had flooding out of your body and dripping down his shaft. Nanami groaned into your mouth, drawing back just far enough to bury his face in your neck and mouth meaningless nothings into your throat as he chased his own climax. He thrusted into you again once, twice, and then you felt pure heat pour into you – a new kind of torture that rendered you entirely senseless. You didn’t try to scream, again.

You were distantly aware of him moving, shifting, pulling something out of his pocket as he muttered a mix of ‘you did so well’s and ‘I love you’s into your skin. When you did finally manage to raise your head, you didn’t think to look toward the remote in his hand or your tattered lingerie or the cum slowly leaking out of your entrance. Rather, your attention landed on the same thing it always did during your streams – your monitor.

You’d never know why, but for whatever reason, you could feel your heart break in your chest as you realized that the screen had already gone black.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk imagines #yandere nanami #yandere nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader

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downbadf0rficppl · 8 months

Text

someone's there

Bucky x F!Reader

Summary: When you walk home from the office, someone seems to be following you home. Your best friend is not happy about that.

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: Stalking/Stalker-Ex BF, Domestic Abuse, Anxiety, Angry!Bucky, Protective!Bucky, Panic Attack

Repost

You stepped out of the office, pulling your coat tighter around you against the night. It was mid-November and New York was getting colder and colder every day that passed by. You were excited about Christmas - it was one of your favourite times of the year. The lights that went up from apartment to apartment, the tree and ice rink in Rockefeller center that you and your boyfriend - Nathan - visited every year, you and Nathan driving up to Boston to meet your family. Well, your ex-boyfriend.

You'd broken up a month ago. He'd been laid off about a year ago and taken up drinking to fill the time. Nathan was not a very nice drunk. He'd yell and throw things when he was angry, which was most of the time when he was drunk, and then beg you to come back, saying that he needed you and that he'd clean up his act as soon as he got a job. You had a well-paying job - secretary to the Avengers - but Nathan was always the higher earner of the two of you. You could hardly sustain his lifestyle on your job, but you stayed. Why? You had no idea.

Nathan was a smart guy, he got picked up by some major firm headquartered in Manhattan just over a month after he got laid off. He was back to his old routine of leaving the house at 6 and coming back by 8 - you hardly saw him anymore.

And much to your dismay, the drinking didn't stop. Sure, he slowed down. He couldn't risk ruining his reputation at his new workplace. So he limited the drinking to after work. But he never stopped.

The throwing vases became throwing punches, the yelling became constant threats, consoling words became consoling sex.

You did well to hide the new bruises from your colleagues, although your act was not good enough to fool everybody. You'd let your guard down in the toilet, rolling your sleeves up to wash your hands, just as Natasha Romanoff. Yes, Natasha Romanoff aka the Black Widow aka the world's best assassin.

She didn't mention it there, but you were called to a meeting with her soon after. She sat you down with a glass of water and asked you a simple question: "Are you safe?"

Your wide eyes and trembling figure gave you away.

Nat implored you to break up with him or to at least come and live at the compound for a while - just until you figured out what you wanted to do.

You turned her offer down, stating that you were fine. You'd be fine. She fixed you with a stern glance, but even Natasha Romanoff couldn't force you to do something you didn't want.

Bucky, on the other hand, was a completely different story. He'd noticed the bruises long before Nat had, and gone out of his way to try and make your life easier. He sent you less paperwork to file, fewer menial tasks to do, and even put in a request for you to be moved to the New York office. In his eyes that meant you'd be further away from Nathan.

The next week, you both moved to Manhattan.

The bruises started to get darker, and more visible around your body. You dropped the short-sleeved dresses and low necklines in favour of long-sleeved turtlenecks with trousers.

Bucky worried for you. The dark rings around your eyes, the ghostly pallor of your skin. He was determined to save you. The only issue was he had no idea where you lived. New York was a big enough place that he'd never run into you. He knew you didn't live in Brooklyn, but that was about it.

The night where it all came to a head was after a Stark Gala. There was a group photo, where Bucky's arm rested on your hip while your arm rested on his. Nathan was pissed. He'd been sitting on the sofa when you came home, the photo open on his phone and a half-drunk bottle of whiskey in his hand. He pushed you into a wall and slapped you, his rings cutting into your face. He yelled every manner of words in your direction, calling you a 'slut' and a 'whore', and telling you that you were worthless. You cried, fresh bruises forming on your neck where he gripped you and blood dripping down your face.

You took his berating for the next few hours until Nathan retreated onto the sofa, sitting down and muttering under his breath. You opened your mouth, trying to defend yourself. Wrong move. Nathan stood up, even more agitated than before. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey that was almost finished and brought it down on your head.

The next thing you remember was waking up to 4 white walls. You were in a hospital, your hand being gripped tightly by someone. You tried to escape from the vice-like grip when a thumb ran over your knuckles. You knew those hands.

"Bucky." You whispered, your eyes still adjusting to the light. Your voice was sore from disuse, but the way that Bucky's eyes lit up, you would have thought that you were singing a love song just to him.

The calmness in your heart faded as soon as your brain caught up with you. You tried to convince Bucky that he needed to go but he shushed you gently.

"Shh. Don't stress yourself out. You're safe. I promise." The red rings around his eyes gave him away. Bucky had been crying. Over you.

You held his hand tightly that day. And the day after. And even the day after that. You weren't sure if you would ever find the strength to let go.

By the time you were out of the hospital, you'd moved back to Upstate New York - Bucky had made sure that you would never have to set foot in the city again if you didn't want to.

You returned back to work as normal - the restraining order you had filed against Nathan made your mind rest easier. The whole team was happy to have you back and smiling again, but they made sure to check in with you a hell of a lot more than they used to. Clint would swing by with an apple, and accidentally leave it at your desk - the first time, you'd felt bad and tried to return it, but you quickly caught on to his tactics. Nat would bring up game nights and movie nights, begging you to come, even if it was just you both.

But most of all, Bucky. Every day, you'd wake up to a text from him, wishing you a wonderful morning and spewing some inspirational affirmations for the start of the day. He'd bring you coffee, made just how you like it, as soon as he was back from his morning run. He'd spent a while perfecting the drink - making sure it was exactly to your standard. He'd walk you to your apartment for your biweekly 2pm therapy sessions (that he'd set you up with after he had realised how much difficulty you were having sleeping), and then off to lunch at some random hole-in-the-wall spot that he knew you would love. He'd call you as you got home, making sure you got home safe, and then a goodnight text to fall asleep to.

To others, his persistent need to be around you would be stifling. But after 4 years of having your needs be put lower than the damn cockroaches in the walls, it was nice to feel wanted.

You set your life up - personal bank accounts, new social media - anything to separate that part of your life from your new one. You got a new phone (courtesy of Tony, who insisted on buying you the latest iPhone, no matter how hard you tried to convince him that he didn't need to do that because 'where on earth would you find the money to pay him back?' He scoffed at that, "I'm a billionaire hun, I think I can afford to buy my secretary a new phone). You went to get your haircut, the shorter length was something you knew Nathan would have hated.

You'd walked into the compound the day after you got it cut, worried that no one would like it as much as you did.

As soon as you made it to the kitchen, you heard a loud wolf whistle. Nat was sitting on the sofa with Sam, and they both cheered loudly as you posed for them.

Bucky's jaw dropped as he walked into the kitchen. You were still showing off for Nat and Sam - you hadn't seen him walk in.

He walked over, reaching behind you to get a pod for the coffee machine, leaning down to whisper in your ear, "Looking good, Doll." His hot breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine.

You smiled up at him, before grabbing an apple and heading back toward your desk. You glanced back at Bucky and your eyes drifted downwards to a very large and very prominent issue. You stifled a giggle before getting back to work.

You'd continued to tease Bucky for a while, inconspicuous brushes and a few comments here and there. Enough to make him flustered, but not enough to make him suspicious.

He continued being the perfect gentleman. Helping you when you needed him to, being there when no one else was.

You started your normal journey back home, getting out of the compound was sometimes a tedious affair because of the thousands of security gates between the compound and the outermost gate. Given that this is where the Avengers live and train, it's justified. Still tedious though.

It was a quarter mile from the compound to the bus stop that took you home - you didn't like driving, especially in the frost and the dark. You put your headphones in, picking back up on the podcast you started this morning. It was an interesting one - some new True Crime podcast that your best friend had recommended to you.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as you walked through a dark and lonely street. You gripped your bag tighter around you and sped up. There was someone following you.

You glanced behind you, your eyes catching sight of brown hair and a blue t-shirt. It had Palm Springs emblazoned on it. Funny. You'd bought Nathan a similar t-shirt a few years ago.

You fished your phone out of your pocket, quickly dialing the one person you felt safest with.

"Doll?" Bucky picked after the first ring.

"Bucky, cred că cineva mă urmărește." You said, your voice loud enough that the other person could hear you were on the phone.

"Tell me where you are, Doll, I'll come and get you." You could hear Bucky pulling on a jacket and grabbing his keys.

"Umm, cred că sunt aproape de Joey's."

"The pizza place?"

"Da, îl văd de unde sunt." The footsteps behind you seem to be getting louder, but you forced yourself to remain calm, "Am să te aștept acolo. Vă rog să veniți repede."

You ducked into the pizza place, walking straight up to the counter. By now, you were sure of who it was - but Nathan didn't follow you into the pizza place. Maybe you were just overreacting. Joey's was mostly empty, with a few teenagers here and there - probably camping out after some house party that got shut down.

"Same as always, kiddo?" Joey asked, and you nodded with a slight grin. You and Bucky came to Joey's Pizza Place a lot - Bucky used to say that it felt like home. You were inclined to agree.

"No metal man with you today?" Joey enjoyed teasing Bucky. His dad, also named Joey, had fought alongside Bucky in the war. Joey had grown up on stories of the greatness of the Howling Commandoes and it had been one of his greatest pleasures to serve him pizza every time they came.

"He's coming - got caught up in traffic."

"Busy men, huh?" You giggled at that.

The door opened again. You turned around to find yourself face-to-face with someone you hoped you'd never see again. Nathan's sister.

"Thought I'd find you here, bitch."

June stalked over to you, her face filled with rage. She had been good friends with you before Nathan and your relationship started going wrong, but when you had confided your pains with her, she'd turned her back on you. Blood is thicker than water. She'd called you names before - filling your comments with every vile comment she could think of, texting and emailing you death threats, anything to remind you of just how broken and damaged you were.

Before you knew what was happening, her hand collided with your cheek. The whole place burst into action.

Joey jumped around the side of the counter as June hurled insults at your face.

You tried to push her away as she swung at you again, but her hand hit your shoulder.

Joey pushed you behind him, as one of the kitchen hands stepped out to pull June back.

A teenager was on the phone with the police.

You tried to cover your ears as the noise built in your head.

The door swung open, letting in a draft.

Boots on the linoleum floor. Familiar boots.

Sirens.

"We were in the neighbourhood, Sergeant." Something about a noise complaint.

A hand pulling you into a firm chest. Tears streaming down your face. Your favourite voice whispering sweet nothings, stroking your hair, begging you to calm down.

"You're doing so good for me, Doll, just keep breathing." Bucky's pulse was steady under your hand. Slowly, your breathing evened out and you lifted your head to meet Bucky's eyes. He kept his arms wrapped tightly around you to stop you from collapsing.

You stayed in Bucky's embrace while the police wrapped up - June was being taken to the local PD for the altercation and also driving under the influence. Bucky told you that Nathan had also been arrested for violating the restraining order. Your heart sunk.

"I'll never escape him, will I?" You whispered to Bucky, as you sat down in your favourite booth to eat.

"You can, and you will," Bucky reassured you, squeezing your hand in his.

You ate your pizza in relative silence after that - most of the shop had cleared out with the police. Joey gave you your pizza for free, along with a tight hug on the side. He told you that you'd always be safe in here, "although metal man seems to have that covered." Bucky glared at the nickname, making you both laugh.

You walked hand-in-hand to Bucky's motorbike - his fingers ghosted over the bruise on your cheekbone from the slap as he fastened your helmet on your head.

"It's nothing, Buck. I've had worse." Bucky gave you a pointed look, "Too soon?"

He threw his leg over the bike and you settled behind him, resting your cheek on his spine. "Forever is too soon for my liking."

You smiled at that and nuzzled further into his back.

"Where to madam?" He said, putting on an exaggerated British accent. You leaned up to whisper in his ear.

"Take me home, Buck."

fin.

buy me a coffee

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky fanfic #buckybarnes #bucky #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader x steve rogers #bucky barns x reader #bucky barns imagine #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes comfort #bucky barnes #no y/n #bucky angst #bucky x y/n #tw panic attack #tw ab*se

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norrizzandpia · 10 months

Note

i am Politely Asking for the lando post-race imagine you mentioned 👀👀👀

Your guys’ wish is my command 🤭

All He Needed Was Her (LN4)

Summary: Following the Vegas ‘23 crash, Y/n and Adam find Lando in his hospital bed, yearning for the comfort of his girlfriend’s touch.

Warnings: a panic attack, inferences of death, Lando crashing

Note: that crash was so hard to watch and i still have not recovered

Silence encompassed the space around her, her mind sick with the images of Lando’s crash. What she thought could potentially be his first race win had turned into her worst nightmare as Lando’s car laid smashed against the protecting fences. Her mouth stayed agape as she listened to her boyfriend’s broken “I’m ok,” followed by concerning whimpers and groans. Her eyes frantically searched the room, the faces of his loved ones burned into her brain with their watery eyes and panicked looks. She couldn’t bear the tension within the space, the expressions of the people around her like he had died. The room closed in on her quickly, allowing for no space to breathe or get out of the anxiety filling her lungs. She felt trapped, a panic attack coming on inevitably when she saw the way his hand shook, his arms trying to push himself out of the car yet failing continuously.

She shoved the headset off her ears, shutting out the taunting sounds, before throwing herself into the crowd behind her and pushing them to the side as she tried desperately to claw herself out. She couldn’t turn her head back to see the screens, not even when applauding emitted and a good sign emerged. Y/n reached the door, her hand grasping the handle and hesitating. A large hand grasping her shoulder called her back, willing her to open her eyes and see the survival of her love. When she turned around, her eyes looking up, she was met with the soft look of Adam, Lando’s father.

No matter how comforting he was trying to be, his bloodshot eyes reminded her of the risks her boyfriend took, the chances of him not getting out of that car after a race.

It was too much.

Her heart beat out of her chest and she struggled to find air, her impending anxiety surely, gradually, painfully encroaching her being.

Adam, being familiar with the anxiety attacks his son got, saw the signs, opening the door behind her quickly and shoving her into the empty hallway. His hands landed on her biceps, gripping them as he shook her gently.

“Y/n?” His voice was distant and Y/n wanted to run toward it, however nothing was ever that easy.

He tried again, “Y/n, breathe with me.”

Her mind understood, her lungs expanding shortly as he began to inhale. Tears seeped through the crack of her lips, adding to the drowning she felt she was enduring.

She blubbered and sobbed as she tried to follow his pattern, proving difficult when suffocation seemed probable.

Nevertheless, Adam’s determination triumphed, her mind slowing down as her body caught up.

He looked at her with pity as she came down, his eyes swimming in a certain sympathy she didn’t recognize. This was deeper, he was seeing the pain she was bearing, relating to it because of the exact connection they both nurtured with the boy.

His hands left her arms, stilling at his sides as he began to coax her toward his driver’s room, “How about you rest for a while? That seemed really bad.”

She shook her head immediately, “No, I need to be awake for Lando. What if he needs to go to the hospital?”

Adam closed his eyes as he nudged her into the small room, “Then, I will come wake you. But, for now, he’s going to go to the circuit’s medical center and there’s nothing we can do. It’s best if you allow yourself to relax after that.”

She knew he was right, more so because he sounded exactly like his son. When she had these horrid experiences, Lando was right beside her immediately, gently leading her to any surface where she could lie down. He knew exactly how to make it go away, she never expected to have to do it without him or because of him. He was consistently advocating for her rest after an attack, something that always helped her recover more quickly.

That memory, those habitual instances, persuaded her to give in to Adam’s pleas. He smiled at her as she brought a blanket over her body, Lando’s scent encompassing her body.

“I promise I’ll be back when I have updates.”

She nodded, trusting him like she had for the past few years, “Okay, thank you.”

He closed the door with a nod, the dark haunting her enough to close her eyes and lean into the quiet, peaceful embrace of sleep.

—

She was awoken by shaking, more specifically Adam’s hands shaking her upper body.

“Y/n, wake up.” He whispered, his words guiding her back to the world.

Her eyes fluttered open, “Yeah?”

He seemed stoic, rigid and stressed, something that made Y/n truly wake up, “Lando’s at the hospital. They said we can meet him there.”

She shot up from her laid down position, “What?! The hospital?! Is he okay?!”

His father sighed beside her, getting up and showing how antsy he was to move when he lingered by the door, “I don’t know.”

—

The pair burst through the doors of the hospital, launching themselves at the nurses who sat behind the desk. Their words mixed together as they sputtered out his name, occupation, and situation. This proved to be inefficient because the women looked back at them blankly.

Y/n tried again, “We are here to see Lando Norris. He is a Formula 1 driver and he was involved in an accident.”

It dawns on the employee and her head tilts slightly, “I can’t give out information on him because of his status and occupation. I am sorry. Unless you can prove you are family to him then I can’t give you anything.”

Adam’s hand flew to his pocket, whipping out his wallet and showing her his identification, proving his blood relation to Lando. Y/n watched with a heavy heart as she realized she had nothing to show, she wasn’t family. She was crushed as she realized he would be able to go on to see their boy without her.

When the woman gave him the room number, she gave it to him on paper so as to deter anyone overhearing, he bolted. He was right at the door that led to another hallway when he stopped and turned around, motions for Y/n to follow him.

“I need to see your proof of family relations.” The nurse beside her said expectantly whilst Adam moved back over to the desk.

She shook her head, “I’m his girlfriend. I don’t have proof of blood relations.”

The nurse shrugged, “Then, I’m sorry, I can’t have you go through.”

Y/n opened her mouth to fight back, but Adam interrupted her, “No, she has to. I’ve just shown you I’m his father, take my word for it. Please. My son needs her right now.”

The nurse seemed to be at a crossroads as her gaze flickered between Adam and Y/n. Finally, she nodded curtly and the two were running throughout the building. Down different hallways within the floor, they quickly reached his room. Without thinking, Adam charged in, a strong wave of emotion hitting him when he saw his son wrapped up in a hospital bed.

“Lando,” He sighed, arms falling around Lando’s body as he squeezed him softly, careful with him.

“Hi, dad. Thank you for coming. I’m sorry if I scared you.” He mumbled into his shoulder, hand laying loosely over the back of his father.

Y/n watched from the corner, tears pricking the sides of her eyes at the sight of him. She watched as they pulled back, Lando’s eyes meeting hers and softening with relief before Adam was coughing and excusing himself from the room.

When they were left alone, she walked slowly to him. She stood in front of him for a moment, both individuals taking in the other after the traumatic time apart. When he had had enough of not holding her in his arms, Lando reached out and pulled her closer to his body, arms linking around her hips as he stuffed his face into her chest. She breathed out as her hands tangled in his hair, both of them memorizing the way the other calmed them in such a state.

He clung to her, breathing steady as she whispered sweet, quiet words of love and encouragement to him.

“Sit with me?” He asked with a low volume, pulling back slightly and looking up at her.

She could never say no to his deep green eyes, “Always.”

He shifted to the side as she slid in next to him. She watched the way his eyes lingered over her lap. Chuckling, Y/n sat further against the wall, “Lay your head on my lap, baby.”

He smiled at her brightly, a childlike grin as he shuffled down and set his curly hair over her pants.

A silence passed before she was whispering again, “I love you so much. It was so scary seeing you crash today and I just could not live a life without you. I love you, Lan. You’ve ruined my life for the better. There’s no way I could ever go a day without you.”

He nodded below her, “I can’t either. I kept asking for you when I was at the circuit after the crash, but they kept telling me I couldn’t have any visitors with the impact I had just endured. I was so angry, all I wanted was you. I’ve been like a sitting duck as I stared at the wall and waited for you to arrive. But, now that you’re here, I already feel like I’m getting better. That’s your impact on me. I love you too, love. Being without you for that was worse than the crash itself.”

She looked down at him, leaning over to kiss his temple. When he felt the pressure, he turned his head. She had been pulling back, but got the hint when he looked up at her expectantly. He giggled as she leaned back down, meeting his lips with her own in an intimate, soft kiss.

When they pulled back, she watched his eyes slowly close when she began massaging his scalp and tugging gently at his brown hair. He moaned quietly at the feeling, stroking his hand over her leg as she comforted him with just her presence.

He buried his face further into her lap, breathing her in. By the change of angle, she lost sight of his face, only relying on the monitor to tell her he had fallen asleep when it evened out, reaching a rhythm.

Only then did Adam return, smiling lightly at his sleeping son laying in the lap of his girlfriend. Truly the sweetest sight, he thought, something he would’ve taken a picture of had Y/n been asleep as well.

He sat in the chair beside them, cocking his head at her.

“Thank you.”

The two words caused Y/n’s eyebrows to draw together, confusion etched into her face, “For what?”

Adam sighed and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, “For being there for him. Not just now, but all the time. He’s always put everyone else first. He’s always made it the biggest priority to make others feel good when he wasn’t at all. Cisca and I always wished for someone to come along and take care of him right back. Turns out our wishing wasn’t in vain. Here you are and he’s finally understanding what it’s like to be loved that way.”

Y/n stared at him for a moment, eyes averting back to her sleeping boyfriend strewn across her lap, before choking out, “Thank you, Adam. That means the world from you.”

“Just speaking the truth.” He shrugged, leaning back in his chair before kicking his legs up toward the end of the bed. He watched her lean her head back, scumming to sleep just like Lando, her hands still buried in his hair.

That was when he took the picture, sending it to the Norris Family group chat, it including Y/n, and assuring the members of Lando’s wellness.

Adam (2:35 AM)

Image Attachment

Adam (2:35 AM)

Lando’s okay! Don’t worry! All he needed was some medication to calm his nerves and Y/n 🧡

#mclaren #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagines #mclaren formula 1 #lando norris fanfiction #lando norris fic #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando norris #lando norris x you #lando norris edit #las vegas gp 2023

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thevoidstaredback · 2 months

Text

Batman pulled up a world map as soon as the alarm started blaring. There was a red dot centered in Illinois, so that's where the map zoomed in.

"That's Amity Park!" Robin exclaimed.

Batman hummed. "Robin, contact Red Huntress and find out what's going on from her end." The boy nodded and left the room. "Constantine, Zatanna, figure out what's going on."

"Already on it, Batsy!" Constantine called in English before going back to his now four alternating conversations in Esperanto and Latin. Zatanna didn't even acknowledge the order.

"Everyone else," he continued as though he hadn't been interrupted, "set up a perimeter a few miles out from the town. Keep it in your line of vision, but don't get too close." He turned to look directly at The Flash. "I want you to run recon. Make sure this is the only place they're coming from. Once we find out their goal, that's what you'll be looking for."

"Aren't they looking for a child?" The Flash asked. He was ignored.

The heroes emptied the room swiftly, quick to ZETA as close as they could to the town before setting up a perimeter ten miles out. Close enough to see the town, but not close enough to cause any panic.

It was nearly twenty-five minutes later before Constantine and Zatanna joined them all. Though, they were both quick to make it known that the town was wholly aware that they were there.

Constantine went to join the hero's block-in, though he didn't stay in one place. He moved from hero to hero, keeping both eyes and one ear on Amity Park. If it was going to move, he would be aware of it only seconds before it did. He needed to be ready.

Zatanna pulled five of the American based heroes away from their posts to explain what she knew. It was barely any better than a recap from the meeting that they had vacated.

"Like we tried to explain earlier, they're looking for a child that the US Government took from them."

"The one from the pictures right?" Aquaman said, "Phantom??"

Zatanna nodded. "Yep. He's the town vigilante; Operating for several months longer than Red Huntress. From what Deadman told me and Constantine, Phantom is a baby ghost; he's only been dead for about a year." She ignored the various reactions. "He's also favored by several Ancient Beings."

"'Ancient Begins'?" Superman asked.

"Think Primordials,"

"Oh, dear," Wonder Woman muttered.

The magician continued, "Don't attack any of the R̶͎͔̿̅ḛ̴̗̦̯̭͇̰̎͑a̸̻̜̤̼͕͔̘̱̫̓ĺ̴͉̘̥͚̪̹́̈́͋̓͜m̶̬͇̅͑͌ṣ̷̨̺̜̣̮͔̤͕̃̍́͂ denizens under any circumstances. They're already going to be hostile towards us, we don't need to give them another reason to be."

"A bit late for that, don't ya think?" A new voice called, startling the heroes into falling into defensive stances.

It took several seconds to find the source. When they did, Batman asked, "Who are you?"

The being, female in appearance, was above and slightly to the left of the group. She looked to be in her late teens with teal-grey skin, a slight teal glow, and flaming teal hair tied in a high pony, bangs framing her face. Her eyes glowed the same radioactive green as Phantom's had in the picture, though less so. She was wearing black pants, a black crop-top, grey knee boots, and a single black elbow glove. There was a guitar strapped to her back that gave off a slight purple glow. Even from where the Justice League heroes were standing, they could feel heat radiating off of her.

"It doesn't matter who I am, does it?" the girl sneered down at them, "What matters is that you dickheads took on of ours, and we intend to get him back." She very obviously assessed the group, not hiding her distaste. "Phantom told me this world had other heroes." She lowered slightly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Where were you."

"Excuse me?" Green Lantern asked.

"Where were you?" she reiterated.

"I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"You're talking about the threats here, right?" Zatanna asked.

The being turned her full attention to the magician. "You knew?"

Zatanna nodded. "My colleagues and I have been keeping an eye on Amity Park since the rifts opened up last year."

The girl's eyes narrowed and she nodded at the five heroes. "These your colleagues?"

"Technically."

"I don't much like technicalities," she hummed. "You must be the one Deadman told us about."

"You know Deadman?" Green Lantern asked. He was ignored.

"Yeah?" Zatanna nodded.

"I'm Ember," she said after a moment, touching down in front of Zatanna. "Deadman convinced the Council to hold in Amity Park until the end of the day. The second the sun goes down, we act on our own."

"I'm Zatanna," she shook her hand, "We're going to find him."

Ember glared, her grip tightening. "You better. He's done more for your world than any of you could ever acknowledge." She turned her glare on the five heroes before flying back up. "And once he's back with us, where he belongs, we'll think about calling a ceasefire." She left before another word could be said.

Zatanna fell into a crouch, her hands covering her face. "This is a nightmare," she whispered before popping back to her full height. "That could've gone better."

"It also could've gone worse." Aquaman tried to console. It didnt work.

"Well, you heard her, we have less than twelve hours to find the kid before the R̶͎͔̿̅ḛ̴̗̦̯̭͇̰̎͑a̸̻̜̤̼͕͔̘̱̫̓ĺ̴͉̘̥͚̪̹́̈́͋̓͜m̶̬͇̅͑͌ṣ̷̨̺̜̣̮͔̤͕̃̍́͂ denizens set themselves loose."

The group shared a loo, quickly moving to pass on the word to everyone else. Off to the side, Superman was relaying to The Flash.

***

Barry had worked on time limits before. Hel, he was usually pretty good at meeting them ever since he got his powers! What he wasn't great at was working under huge amounts of pressure.

He had to cover the entire United States in less than twelve hours. Easy, done. Adding on every out-of-country US Base around the world? Slightly less easy, but still very doable. Looking for a child in what was probably a secret, undocumented, or at least heavily covered, US Base is a bit harder, especially undetected.

Normally, the Justice League would have no problems with making their opinions on matters known, but this was a delicate matter. Even more delicate than the Metahuman Rights Act and Diplomatic Missions to other worlds. This was an issue they'd not been previously aware of, and the dimension that it most affected was now very close to decaring war.

No pressure.

He'd already cleared all of the known Government Bases along the East Coast and was steadily moving inland. Superman, upon Zatanna's and Constantine's advisement, was being productive away from Amity Park. With The Flash covering the US and Superman literally everywhere else, they had hopes of finding the child within the next few hours. The problems were going to start anew after that.

Batman was already working on several extraction plans based off of the blueprints for every US Gov. Base he has access to- don't ask. But, without knowing the actual building's layout, guard posts, shifts, security, whereabouts, etc., no one could make a concrete plan.

There were too many unknowns and it was upsetting everyone.

Robin had managed to get ahold of both his team, readying them for evacuation, and Red Huntress. Apparently, there was nothing she could do. She'd tried to capture the ghosts - as she'd called them - but they'd quickly overwhelmed her. Everyone was locked in their homes until further notice. Luckily, the ghosts seemed content to them the humans alone as long as they stayed out of the way.

There was now five hours until the sun set in Illinois, and Barry had only just cleared the Midwest.

Nothing. Not a single hint as to where they were keeping this child! They had the two fastest heroes out looking for him, the had pictures of what he looked like! By all means, they should have found him already! And yet, they were still empty handed.

The people of Amity Park were getting restless. The ghosts that had taken over Amity Park were getting restless. The Justice League were getting restless.

Constantine and Zatanna had declared that the town would likely not be moving any time soon, not that anyone even knew what the meant. They'd still be keeping an eye and ear on the town, but it no longer had most of their focus. Instead, they were trying to get ahold of Deadman with little success. If they didn't reach them soon, one of them would have to go into the town proper and talk to the ghosts. No one was very excited for that.

Minutes before the sunset in Illinois, Robin received an emergency call from Red Huntress. One that everyone was patched into.

A boy was missing from his house. Daniel Fenton, son of the town's resident Ghost Hunters, hadn't been accounted for.

The sun set over Amity Park Illinois.

Part 3 Part 5

#Time Loop: Ghosts of the Present and Future #part 4 #dcxdp #dc x dp #dcu #danny phantom #writing #my writing #justice league #justice league dark

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moonieandi · 2 months

Text

snapshots pt. 2 | stanley pines x f!reader

summary: a quick look through concerning the early months of your life “married” to stanley pines, particularly centered around moments in the car

warnings (TW): swearing, illegal activities (of course), descriptions of panic/panic attack or general anxiety, alcohol consumption

tags: fluff, early relationship described, pining, very slight angst, affection

notes: i mean, i liked writing part one? so … i’m just gonna keep writing? do what brings you joy and all that jazz. alsooooo im currently unemployed and have too much time on my hands. any feedback is appreciated, seeing as this is the first (second) time i’m publishing online !

edit 8/27/24: hello! below i have linked my new masterlist that contains updated parts to this series, thank you and hope you enjoy!

word count: 3.7k

| masterlist | part iii |

When you reside within the same place as another, you begin to notice particular behaviors. Of course, Stanley had resided in an unquantifiable number of places in the last decade, but he had forgotten what it was like to live alongside someone.

Forgot about the consideration of messes and manners, and forgot about his socks in corners and cans on bedside tables. These were things he never had to consider when he was confined to a single room and a shared bunk with his brother, but she was different.

The first couple months he found himself stumbling around her at times. Let her lead through doorways, ask her what she would like for dinner, using odds and ends as a coaster here and there.

But she was much the same in that way.

She hadn’t ever had to share her space like this, much less with a man. She fumbled with answers concerning dinner, forgot her delicates in the washer routinely, and had a habit of throwing her feet up on Stanley’s chair when he sat across from her at their poor excuse of a dinner table.

But this was months ago.

No, they both had noticed these intricacies about the other and had more or less adapted around them. Laundry was done half-heartedly, a quick combination of their socks and delicates. A calendar made its home on the fridge with scribbles of dinner plans, and her feet were shuffled onto his lap every night, adjusted to fit across his hips.

But she still leads through most doorways. He would never admit to why.

There were other, smaller things too. These things made him ache somewhere behind his sternum, and he usually shook them off.

Small things like how she curled at her end of the couch, or how she brought her face to any page she was scribbling on, always squinting. How she tidied the living room every morning like they would be having guests. How she came to the kitchen every morning, hand outstretched for the mug he had deemed hers.

He decided to forget about these things. At least some of them that is.

He knew for a fact that she loved it when he drove the most. She enjoyed the movement of the trees out the window, enjoyed stretching her feet up to his dash (despite his initial protest), and she loved the radio in particular.

Common law says to keep your eyes on the road, and both hands on the wheel. But it was very hard to conduct when she leaned forward towards the radio, singing under her breath. She was so relaxed here beside him on the long bench in the front of his long-loved car.

The car had been through hell and back, but he was sure it’d never encountered anything as enchanting as her bellowing singing. It would ring through the car, only ever on the way home, and only ever after a bar visit. The buzz would stray his eyes from wheel and headlights to her, head thrown back singing.

He swerved on the road more than he cared to admit when she was in the car. The reminder of her safety usually woke him up from his fantasies of her with her head thrown back, with her hair spilling around her, and a flush on her cheeks.

But he rarely kept both hands on the wheel, to begin with anyway. His right arm always flung behind, scrunched on the back part of her seat, itching to find the soft back of her neck.

Clearing his throat, he adjusted himself in his seat, both hands returning to the wheel. A smile never leaving his face, a laugh rising as she scooted closer, incoherent 70’s BABBA lyrics sung into his right ear.

He’d admit he likes driving her, in particular, around.

They had made for town for a handful of differing supplies that day.

Stanley, Stan, had a bright idea to earn some seasonal money by making the front half of the shack into a tourist attraction. After an explanation of his initial encounter with a group of town folk upon his first couple days in the shack, she had nodded along in agreement.

They needed money, and the need was only growing of course.

She was the farthest from a financial advisor, but she knew the reserve of money she had come to town with was dwindling, and with them both diving head-first into Ford’s basement business, the idea of money had seemed trivial, at least to her, those first couple months.

She knew though that money wasn’t a trivial thing for Stan (Stanley). That he hadn’t had a successful last decade, and that her life strayed from his own background astronomically.

That was one thing that grated her slightly. How flippantly he spoke of Ford to her, but how he had not shared himself as willingly. It didn’t make him a liar to withhold said information, but the state of Stanley’s (Stan’s) car backseat that first month spoke of a man on the run.

But he had lit up so differently when he dragged her to the front of the shack's cluttered room. Explaining where things would go, a cash register, a display case, and certain merchandise. She’ll admit to perhaps not completely listening to him at the time, but later she would look back and reflect on how he was unsurprisingly a great salesman.

He had been so happy, dragging her from corner to corner, painting pictures with words, but he had looked too enchanting for her to really hear it. One hand in his pocket, the other gesturing, and a smile upon his handsome figure. He had reached back out, dragging her back to the front door, hand on the small of her back as he ushered her around.

It was a dump up here, truly. The one place in the house she hadn’t gotten to scouring for clues yet. She was unsure as to why she left the room untouched at the moment, but she thinks it had a lot to do with the panicked memory of meeting Stan (Stanley), and how the glow of the backroom reflected on his face made her wander in through the front door like a madwoman.

She made for the car very soon after his explanation, eager to get the supplies he would need to renovate the front of the room. He had beaten her of course, opening and closing the passenger door without so much as a prompt, and making his way to the driver's side.

The drive into town had been great as always. It was one of those mid-spring days. Wet on the windshield and crisp until 10 a.m. The hardware store served its purpose, as they wandered from aisle to aisle, looking for particular wood stains and sandpaper.

“Here it is Stanl-” He had come up behind her abruptly. Hand coming up to her mouth, stopping her sentence, flicking his eyes up and down the aisle.

She turned to face him, an apology already on her lips. But he was already looking down at her, a hidden heat behind his eyes.

“What did I tell ya, hun?” He whispered it in the space between them. “I told ya, I can’t be that here.”

He couldn’t be him anywhere anymore, at least not in the light of day. She had tried to shake the old him, but somewhere in the far reaches of her mind, she had a hard time calling him Stan.

Because she knew it meant he was being Ford, not Lee. And it was hard to lie about anything concerning him, concerning Stanley.

He sighed, his hand leaving her lips and running through his long hair. “We gotta get outta here anyways. Come along, hun.” A practiced smile reached the corners of his mouth, another lie.

Unfortunately for his psyche, the cashier wanted to talk their ear off also.

“Oh hiya, Stanford!” And of course, they knew his brother.

A smile crawled up his face anyway, making nice like he figured his brother may have done all those months ago.

“Getting supplies? Any new projects?”

“Uh nah nah, not at the moment. Looking into renovating parts of the shack for some business right now.”

“Business? Really? Never took you for much of a businessman.” The cashier continued to bag their samplings of wood stains. “But hey, life takes ya in odd directions sometimes!”

He tisked. “Don’t I know it buddy.” He shook his head a little, grabbing the bag, peering over his shoulder checking for his smaller shadow. She followed in his wake, slightly downtrodden to have cut their store visit short with her stupid mouth.

“Oh, Stanford!” The cashier called, but he didn’t turn until she reached for his jacket’s dirty red sleeve, tugging to turn him back. Flushed, he meets the cashier's outstretched hand.

“The receipt! You always want the receipt.”

He crushed the receipt in his hand. “Right… right ya, thanks.”

She followed him back to the car, her hand never leaving his sleeve, brushing her warmth against his slightly shaking palm. He doesn’t forget to open her door or to slam the wood stains and sandpaper into the back of the car.

The ride back was tense, and not of its usual bravado and fanfare. He had peeled out of the parking lot all too quickly and regretted it the next moment as he looked over and watched her pale in the passenger seat.

She didn’t reach for the radio, hands folded on her lap. She didn’t look out her window, as the trees blurred differently under Stanley’s hasty speed.

Under Stan’s hasty speed.

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this mess. And he definitely didn’t want to upset her. His arm never met the back of her seat, his knuckles tight around the steering wheel.

He didn’t think of pulling over until he looked at her halfway home. Ram-rod straight, pale as all hell, and eyes blurry with undescribed grief.

He cursed under his breath, pulling the car off to the side of the road, gravel underfoot.

She got like this at times, at his temper. He knew at times he could be loud, that he raised his voice at inconveniences and the T.V. Knew that her lip curled in a particular way when on a very off day, his frustration explodes in her face. He was quick to anger at times, and she was quick to cover.

He made himself so big in the face of things, but she folded into a different shape when he did. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he prayed she knew that he would never turn his anger to her. That he had raised fists before and spilled blood, but he’d never raise them again unless it was for her, if she would allow it.

But he doesn't want her to get small in the face of his, well, everything. Because he had been angry at so many things in succession in his life he lost count, and he doesn’t want to lose the part of himself that cared for her in his anger, and he doesn't want her to fold into odd shapes and shadows in the face of him anymore. But above all, he didn’t want the reminder of his father to taint whatever the hell this was. It was bad enough he saw glimpses of him in the passing reflections from time to time.

He loved the fight in her eyes when they spat back and forth sometimes, a sarcastic, fake fight brewing between them. That’s how they both always ended up laughing at the dinner table most nights, and how he felt closer to her most days. His anger was never her responsibility, or her doing. She had never truly upset him once, and the way they played with words back and forth over a meal like an old married couple rattled a few rusty cogs in his brain from time to time. That his anger could at least be amusing, because when she smiled he forgot all about it anyway.

So he parks the car in Spring and turns to her with his guts in his lap for the first time since he spoke to her that Winter night when he thought his prayers had been answered when she plowed through the shack’s door like a tidal wave.

“I hate this.” He sighed. “And I can’t stand when you fucking look at me like that.”

Her lip curled. Fuck fuck fuck.

“I know.” It wobbled out her mouth. “I ruined the day, I’m sorry.”

He leans back, his hand meeting the back of her seat. A beat, before he turns to her completely, like he does every night across the dinner table with her feet propped across the entirety of his lap.

“I don’t want you to apologize to me. You should never have to apologize to me. I don’t want you to, ever fucking think you gotta hand that over to me again. Because you’ve never done anything to upset me doll, not ever.”

She sniffles, a moment of crisp silence. Spring rain beats on the windows in a mist. A smile comes to her lips, and he sags in relief, anger fading.

“Except when I forget the laundry on the line.” She’s cracking jokes now?

“Except that ya, because I kinda need socks and underwear mmk?” He laughs only slightly, a tiredness seeping into his posture.

“I didn’t used to be like this.”

“Like what?”

“A bad liar.” He admits. He hadn’t disclosed much of his past to her. He wasn’t ashamed of it much when it came to disclosing his long resume to others, but she made him nervous. And he hadn’t been really, truly, honestly nervous in a long time. So he did what he does best, and he lied.

“I could buy the shirt off your back from ya in under 10 minutes I swear.” He readjusts in his seat again, hand slowly creeping up the back of her seat still. “I’m a great liar, it’s how I made it from state to state, and the reason I’m not allowed back in Pennsylvania.”

She laughs truly now. She had figured that was what he was used to. Long trips and longer fibs. She didn’t care much about the morality of it, because when she imagined him somehow corrupt in her mind's eye she remembered him bent over her on the couch, and how it felt to listen to the T.V. fade into the background as he carried her up the stairs. The faintness of her sheets, and the brush of his hand on her hairline.

“But I can’t lie about this, or at least I'm really fucking bad at it.” He interrupts her thought. “I’m the farthest thing from Stanford Pines.”

“Perhaps you are, Lee.” A name she hadn’t used out loud fell between them. “But no one ever asked you to be him.”

She realized quickly in her desperation to reassure him that she was also being a hypocrite. It was hard to call him Stan, she realized, but only because she was afraid of hurting him. The memory of Stanford still lived between them, and although they tried to shutter his existence in the basement they both weren’t very good at playing pretend yet.

But they would need to be. It’d need to be the best con he’d ever pulled, that they had ever pulled. He just wasn’t used to having a partner quite yet. But they needed to be honest now if they were gonna pull it off and bring Stanford home.

“You don’t need to be him. I know you aren’t him Stanley, and I don’t want you to be.” She paused, considering. “If we are going to do all this though, we need to work together. I-I need to get better, I need to call you Stan, and you need to believe me when I tell you I’m staying for the long haul.”

He sighs again, readjusting to look over at her.

“I lived a long time trying to be something great like I thought he was, like I know he is. But I haven’t, I hadn’t, seen him in so long. I don’t know who he is anymore.”

“You both have a surprising lot in common, actually.” She shrugs, a smile coming to her lips in memory. “You both smile the same, and you both doodle the same way, and you both tilt your head to the left when I ask a dumbass question.”

He laughs at this, a memory of passing scribbles and doodles in class back and forth, and the comic books he would spend all night drawing in their shared room’s lamplight. Some things always stick, at least.

She bridged the gap of some odd ten years, and he could at least be thankful about that.

“I just want you to know… Stan. That when I do call you Stan, I mean Stanley- not Stanford.” She shrugs again, nervous. “Because you’re not him, you're right, and if you don’t want me to lie about this one small detail, it can be between us.”

She had somehow come to the heart of his predicament without much digging. He had worn many hats in his time bouncing from state to state, a conman, a businessman, a thief, and a liar. But he didn’t wanna make her one of those things, and he knew by associating with him she would need to be. Just in the blur of it all, he didn't want to be someone else to her. Not even in name. He wanted there to be honesty between them because otherwise, it wouldn't work. What wouldn’t work?

He finds resolution in her answer. That he will always be Stanley to her, and Stanford to others, at least for the time being. Oddly intimate, closely personal. He wouldn't linger on the thought.

“You’re right as usual, doll.” A smirk comes to his lips. “Team?” He questions, fist uncurling from the back of her seat, brushing between them to meet for a bump.

She smiles brightly now, meeting him in the middle. “Team.”

He sinks in the seat, beat from the emotions of the last hour already. “Okay we need to do something fucking fun now.”

“Like what?” Amused, she reaches between them to turn the radio back on, sick of the silence in the shell of the car. A hum already on her lips.

He smiles, a scheme on his lips, a memory playing in his head when he looks at her.

She flushes, a quick shake of her head. “No, no, no Stan, no I am not doing it no.”

He loves how she fights it but he knows how to get his way with her already, even if it has only been a short six months. Flushed in her seat, and begging him. Fuck.

All he has to do is fucking smile, with that stupid glint in his eyes. “Yes, ya are!” He taunts, a laugh already bellowing. “You’re driving!”

“I don’t fucking know how and you know it!” She had been embarrassed to admit it to him that one night, that she had made it this long without a driver’s license, but he had all but said please that night, vying for blackmail from her. He had told her about his kiddy comic books, so she had to fess up to something stupid of equal measure he felt.

“I’ll teach ya!”

He was already out his door and around the front of the car, opening her own, and reaching across her lap to unbuckle her from her seat when she continued to shake her head.

She moved only when he began slipping his hand under her thigh and around her back to move her across the long bench to the front of the wheel. He sometimes forgot about where he put his hands on her, when he was giddy like this. She never minded, though.

She was still shaking her head when he reached back over her to buckle her into her new spot behind the wheel, laughing all the way. Amused by her protest of this simple thing. Only amused, because he knew deep down she was actually okay with it. Another fake fight ongoing between them, some old cogs moving in his head.

He moved back some, but resided half in the passenger seat and half in the middle, his big hand on her thigh. Fuck.

He leaned down (Fuck), his other hand pointing at things she should have been paying attention to. This is like the shack all over again.

He looked back at her, even more amused by her flustered face, and repeated himself like he knew what was going on in her head. Because, well, he kinda did.

“This is the petal to the right, and the break to the left, doll.” He brings his hand back to the wheel. “This stick on the left is the turn signal, and this stick on the right is the shifter.”

She began to breath again when he moved away, but he was still chuckling through ever sentence of course. Too handsome for his own good.

“Now all ya gotta do, doll, is shift from park to drive, but put ur foot on the break first.”

“Uh… this one?” She put her left foot on the left most pedal.

He squeezed her thigh, goddamnit, leaning back into her to basically physically move her foot.

“No, no, ya gotta only use your right foot. You can’t use both.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs, tilting his head left at her dumbass question. “Because I said so.” He laughs again, hand still very warm and very present.

“Okay, okay… okay.”

He nods. “Okay okay okay, now just shift the right rod up here.” He grabs her hand, bringing it up and showing her the different gears and how to count through them. Forgetting himself in his amusement, hand still on her fucking thigh.

He laughs all the way home, and she thinks it’s worth the constant breaking she does in the middle of the road when she gets spooked by the speed of the car. The road is luckily empty, and the radio is drowned out by Stan’s commentary. She doesn’t mind the jabs at her newfound skill, and he takes jabs right back when she slams the break particularly hard and his head gets precariously close to the dash. She doubles over at that one, amused by the sudden shock on his face, but quickly distracted by the hand still on her fucking thigh. He thinks she looks nice like that, behind his wheel.

They make it back to the shack in one piece, but he’s the one that has to reach over to shift the car back into park.

He realizes when he looks back over at her, that he had forgotten his anger a while ago, and that his hand had made a new home on the soft of the back of her neck, moving from her thigh when he shifted gears.

He would let her drive again, if it meant this.

She’d admit she likes driving him, in particular, around.

He’d just need to stock up on brake pads.

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls imagine #stanley pines #stanley pines x reader #stan pines #stan pines x reader #grunkle stan

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pit-and-the-pen · 3 months

Text

When Things Come Back to Haunt You

I finally finished this request: to the anon that requested, I’m so sorry how long it took, my brain was not letting write angst.

Summary: When Azriel hurts his mate in the war, guilt eats him alive.

Wc: 2.6k

Warnings: character injury and near death.

Azriel tried his best to focus on the events unfolding around him. The last wave of Hybern soldiers were still coming down around them and all he could focus on was the fact that he could only watch as your body slipped into the crowd right out of his view. He sent a sharp tug on that golden thread and felt nothing but a solid wall. She blocked him out. His skin crawled at the thought. He wouldn’t be able to know if you were okay. He sent out another powerful blast of his siphon, taking down three hybern soldiers and ran off after you. Wave after wave kept coming. Everytime he would catch a glimpse of you, you seemed to slip off again.

Azriel knew you could handle yourself, he had trained you personally. But that didn’t stop the utter panic that was consuming him the longer you two were separated.

The bodies slowly thinned down to the few remaining stragglers and he finally was able to catch up with you. Going to shout your name as he saw your sword cleave through a line of enemy soldiers. You were surrounded on all sides, the two you took down in front of you only distracting you from the ones behind you. Azriel shouted out your name. Lost over the sounds of the commotion around them. The words get carried away in the wind.

He surges forward with Truth Teller, running through fae with no regard. He had to get to you. He could have reached forward and pushed you out of the way but all he could do was yell your name again. You were still fighting off the bodies in front of you.

He watched, almost frozen in horror, as one of the figures behind you surged to swing their own sword right into your back.

“Get down!” Azriel shouted and he could only watch in horror as you turned at the sound of his voice,a small smile graced your face before the power of his siphon blasted into you. You took the brunt of the power of his siphon to the center of your chest. You collapsed like a rag doll, legs crumpling underneath you. The scream that ripped through him left his ears ringing. He didn’t care that your would-be attacker was on the ground unmoving besides you. All the sounds of the battle faded away as he rushed to get to you. You had to be breathing. You had to be alive. He would have felt it. Felt that precious golden bond snap. Wouldn't he? But your shields were still up, still blocking him up.

He was finally able to get his arms around you. It wasn’t the triumphant reunion that he thought the two of you would get. Your face was bleeding, sliced up in the impact. Your arm was twisted at an unnatural angle. He pressed his ear to your chest. He wanted to cry with relief when he heard the tell tale beating. But it was weak. Forcing itself to beat against the force of power you had absorbed,

He scooped you up in his arms, no longer caring about the events around him. He had done his fair share. The King of Hybern was dead and the others could clean up the rest of his soldiers that kept pushing on. His mind was racing as he rushed to the only place he could think to take you. The tent that Rhys had set up was far enough away that he cursed himself. Cursed himself for not taking note of where any of the healing tents were. Even if he got you to a healers tent it was no guarantee that they would be available to help you. No amount of threatening would force a healer to help if they are already up to their elbows in injuries.

He flew you to Rhys’ tent in record time. He didn’t even process that his brother was already laid out on the floor. He could only focus on your slowing heartbeat.

“Help her.” How he could even speak at this moment was beyond him. The words didn’t register in his mind, he didn’t even realize that he shouted them. He felt your weight leave his arms and he lunged to attack the source. A strong arm wrapped around his shoulders to keep him restrained and he fought to push them off as well.

“Calm down. Az, you’re going to hurt her.” The voice of his brother, Cassian, filled his ears. He willed his mind to take in the words, His heart sank.

“I already did.” He choked on the words. He had hurt his mate. Had nearly killed you. The one person he was supposed to keep safe. He felt the hot tears sliding down his face. His body went limp as the fight drained out of him. He kept tugging on the bond, searching for any part of you that he could hold onto. Nothing. Just that same wall that blocked him out.

The healer got right to work on you. Chanting over you with their eyes closed. The light haired healer gasped quietly, muttering words to herself as she went to collect something from the numerous bags that littered the tent.

“What are you doing?” He shouted to the healer. The female flinched before taking a deep breath.

“ Either calm down or get out. I cannot heal her if you’re shouting at me everytime I move. I will kick you out of this tent.” She bit back. Azriel felt the growl leave his chest and suddenly he was being yanked outside by Cassian.

Azriel roughly shook off the touch and went to enter again. A hand on his shoulder stopped his movements.

“Azriel. Stop.”

“I can’t! I nearly killed her, Cassian. I can’t just leave her alone.”

“What happened?” Cassian all but whispered. Azriel could only shake his head like it would remove the memory from him. The look of your smile before you were thrown back. His throat felt tight, he couldn’t breathe as he replayed the scene again and again.

Cassian was shaking him lightly. As he got pulled back to the present, he felt the tremors rack through his body. His knees threatening to give out under him.

“I can’t lose her. Cas, this can’t be how I lose her.” He couldn’t stop the sobs that left him. He sunk down to his knees. Not caring about the mud that shifted under his weight. His wings drooped closer to the wet earth. Cassian swore softly from behind him before he joined him on the ground. His brothers arms wrapped around his neck and pulled his into a tight hug. Azriel felt his whole body tense before he returned the hug. Clutching to the only suppor6 Cassian could offer in this moment.

The healer worked on you for what felt like hours. Eventually the healer rushed out, pushing the flap of the tent open.

“You’re her mate right?” She spoke almost too fast for Azriel to catch the sudden question.

He could only nod.

“Then I need your blood. Right now. Come.” She pulled on his wrist. He didn’t move at first as her words sunk in but then he was tripping over himself to get to you. He didn’t know he knew but you were dying. Your skin had lost the flush look from exertion, instead you had a slight sheen of sweat sticking to your skin.

“Hand.” The healer demanded. Azriel’s body didn’t feel like his as he extended it to the healer. He didn’t even flinch as she dragged a small dagger across half of his palm. He watched as the small stream of red pooled up along the cut. The healer guided his hand to your mouth, squeezing your cheeks slightly to part your lips. He watched as a single drop pooled out of your mouth. The healer wrapped his hand quickly before dismissing him. He couldn’t move. Feet rooted to the spot as the healer pressed her ear against your chest. She cursed loudly and Azriel felt like something in his chest has cleaved him in half.

“What’s happeni-”

“Get out. Now.” She all but growled at him. And there was something in her voice that made his legs follow her orders.

Your heart had stopped. That is what he learned within the next few minutes. Twice. The healer restarted your heart twice. And twice Azriel could do nothing but stand around as he felt like it was to lose you. More of his family had joined him now. Mor was inside the tent, assisting the healer. Cassian was trying his best to distract him from the twisted mess his mind was at this moment but even through his grief, he could tell not even Cassian knew what to say to make this better. Azriel was sitting with his knees curled up to his chest as the healer came out again. His heart sank at the look on her face.

She held up a small hand to him, a silent request for him to stay still.

“She’s stable. Her body is healing slowly. But the blood did its job. She’s lucky she has you or she would be dead right now.”

Mercifully, your eyes started to blink open. A rough breath pushed through your mouth as you tried to sit up. Azriel’s hand was on your shoulder instantly, urging you to lay back down. His heart broke when he heard a small whimper of pain from you at the contact. He withdrew his hand quickly. Pulling them both onto his lap. The tent was slightly too small for him, his wings tucked in tight against his body. It was difficult to sit without touching you, both because of his desperate need to feel your skin under his hands and because of the tight space.

You looked at him and he instantly felt sick to his stomach at the pure joy across your features. The warmth he felt tinting the edge of the bond that you finally opened up.

He couldn’t sit there and stomach your love for a second longer.

“Rhys will find you a new apartment. And I can start packing your stuff the moment I leave.” Azriel forced the words out. Breaking the silence in the tent. Your eyes widened at his words.

“Why would I need a new place to live?” The rasp in your voice hit him in the face. Your words didn’t make sense to him.

“I almost killed you. You were… your heart stopped twice. All because I couldn’t protect you.”

“Az-”

“No. You will never be put in danger by me. Never again.”

He watched as your face contorted with pain as you tried to sit up. The blanket across your chest slipped a little and he saw the hint of a scar marring your skin. An angry lighting like pattern, cutting across the mark of your mating bond right above your heart. You followed his eyeline and pulled the blanket tighter around yourself.

“Don’t you want to hear what I think?”

“N-”

“I think you saved my life. I was surrounded by soldiers. If you hadn't taken out the one behind me, he was going to kill me.”

“But I al-”

“This is war Azriel. People get hurt.”

“Not by me. Not you. This isn’t up for discussion.”

——————————//——————————

Azriel had managed to keep his distance while you healed. Moving you into your old room despite your amend demands that you would sleep in your shared bedroom. It was harder to avoid you once you started to be able to get around by yourself, no longer requiring assistance from Cassian or Mor. You somehow always found your way into the room he was occupying. Never speaking, you had figured out that speaking would have him all but running out of the room. Azriel felt every single tug from your side of the bond, could practically taste the way you were begging for him to talk to you. As much as it killed him to deny you, Azriel would not allow himself to be that selfish. His skin was crawling with the urge to touch you, to kiss your soft lips and play with the loose curls of your hair. He missed the pressure of your hand intertwined with his. He was sleeping like shit, he had grown so accustomed to your presence that he no longer could sleep without you. But he also had the image of his power hitting you burned into his memory. The scar on your chest would be a reminder enough.

You would not budge on your choice to stay in your house. Despite his best efforts, Rhys would not force you to move out. His brother, his high lord, would not order you to move out even if Azriel thought he was doing it for your protection. So Azriel hid like a child. Avoiding you in your very own home. But he could never fully escape you. You were everywhere in the house, if not psychically, then in the pictures on the wall, on Azriel's favorite pillow that you had gotten him. There was not a place in the house that he could distance himself from you and it was killing him.

It took two weeks to the day from when you moved back to the house that you broke. You had walked into the small nook of a library and Azriel softly put his book down and tried to slink out of the room. His shadows had drawn close to him but you had no problem reaching your hand out and closing it around his arm. You pulled him closer to you and his shadows immediately disappeared. He stood there, watching your chest rise and fall. He couldn’t bring himself to pull out of your grasp, savoring your touch before he would be denied it again.

“Az…”

“Please don’t do this.”

“Me? You don’t do this.” You felt your anger from the last few weeks building up.

Azriels face twisted, looking so pained that you couldn’t help the hand that reached out to try to brush his cheeks. He leaned in for a second before jumping away like you had burned him. Tears formed in your eyes as he tried to slink off again.

“If you don’t love me anymore, at least have the decency to tell me instead of avoiding me.” Your voice cracked and Azriel froze. His shadows wrapped around your arms, a ghost of a touch but not the one you wanted.

“I love you so much, that’s the problem. I almost watched you die. I did watch you die. In case you forget your heart stopped two times.”

“You cannot protect me from everything.”

“But I should be able to.”

“You’re so insistent on keeping me safe but did you ever sit and think about what I want?”

Azriel’s face dropped, giving you the answer you needed.

“I love you, no matter how much you wish I didn’t. I will be here until you figure that out. You’re the love of my life, my mate. I waited three hundred years for you and if you think I’m giving that all up-“

Your words were cut off by his lips crashing against yours. For the first time since the accident, you felt his side of the bond open up and the flood of emotions almost knocked your knees out from underneath you. His hand came to rest on the small of your back and yours rested against his face. The stubble on his chin tickled underneath your fingers. The kiss was slow, a building inferno that did nothing to satisfy the fire roaring in your veins.

You both pulled away gasping, his forehead resting on yours.

“Don’t ever leave me.” He whispered so softly that you almost missed it.

“Never.” You pulled his lips back to yours and flooded the bond with all the love you could. Happy to have your mate back

#azriel angst #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #acotar azriel #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar #acosf #acomaf #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames

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munsonsmixtapes · 4 months

Text

Paint Me

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!inexperienced!American!reader

cw: MDNI (18+) Benedict receives a handjob, suggestive language, reader has a complicated relationship with her family, reader has a nightmare and has a panic attack

word count: 6k

part one part three part four part five part six part seven

Tag list: @allyjoe755 @syraxnyra @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @pumkiinpasties @werewolf-witchboy

February 12, 1817

You never thought that living in a bigger house would actually have been worse than your small one. Your mother had gotten meaner and your sister had been named the diamond of the season so she was even more confident than usual because she was the center of attention. Because that was exactly what she needed. More attention. You had attended multiple balls over the past few weeks and Kate had stuck to you like glue, helping you through everything, giving you pointers and even having you meet men to dance with.

You reminded her so much of Edwina that she felt the need to help you realize your full potential. Telling you that even though you were supposed to be seeking a husband that you didn’t have to have one of that was not what you wished. It was frowned upon, but she felt the need to support you in whatever you wanted to do since none of your family seemed to do so.

You entered the ball with your mother, father, and sister and Kate made a beeline for you, curtsying to all of you and you couldn’t help but notice the tension between her and your mother. Unbeknownst to you, they had been butting heads as far as your potential husband had been concerned. Kate had insisted that you didn’t have to marry and your mother wouldn’t have it. She needed you to be married off so she never had to speak to you again.

To keep the peace, you pulled Kate along to get some lemonade. She handed you a cup and you sipped on the drink, eyeing her, wondering what was going on in her head. But she wouldn’t tell you. She already knew that you relationship with your mother had been rocky so she decided to keep what had been said to her behind closed doors a secret to prevent the tension from getting worse.

You looked around the room and spotted Benedict by the wall, scribbling in what looked like a small notebook. You were surprised to see him since he hadn’t been at any of the other balls since the one where you had danced together. You wondered if he would have danced with you again if you had asked. Or maybe he had been avoiding you. That would have made sense. It seemed that everyone always did that.

Benedict continued his sketch, waving off everyone who had tried to speak to him. He was obviously busy. The lighting was perfect where he was standing and he was able to get the details perfect. It was a rough sketch, but once he put it on canvas, it was going to easily be his best work.

“What are you working on, brother?” Benedict shut the book quickly as Anthony approached and he shoved the book in his pocket so it was out of sight. There was no way he was letting his brother see what he had been drawing. That was between him and God.

“Nothing,” the younger brother shrugged. “Just a little something to keep my mind occupied.”

“Right,” Anthony nodded. He knew his brother was private when it came to his unfinished work, but it almost seemed like Benedict didn’t want him to see the sketch at all. Something was very strange but he wasn’t going to press. “Are you going to be a wallflower all night or are you going to dance?”

“We both know the answer to that,” Benedict gave Anthony’s shoulder a pat.

Anthony stepped closer, resting a hand on Benedict’s shoulder as he brought his lips round his ear so no one else could hear.

“You are nothing but an embarrassment to this family,” he said, his words sounding like poison in Benedict’s ear. “This whole “rake” business needs to be put to rest. You are about to be thirty and haven’t even pursued a single woman or done anything with your life besides your artwork. You promised mother you would find a wife this season only to be running around with whores, completely abandoning your duties to this family.”

Benedict gulped as his brother spoke. Fear coursing through him. He was very well aware that Anthony was not opposed to a duel and could have easily put him in a hospital just from one punch. His threats were not empty and he was afraid of getting hit, his prized possession being ruined and he could no longer mess around like he had been.

“Stop with the silliness and find a wife or I swear everyone will know just how disgusting you are and you will be left with nothing. You will die alone and I will make sure that no one will show up to your funeral. Are we understood, brother?” With that, Anthony turned on his heel and went to look for his wife, feeling a weight life off him now that he had told Benedict what he had truly thought about him.

“Lady Danbury, this is y/n l/n,” Kate introduced you to the host of the evening to which you curtseyed gracefully.

“It is lovely to meet you, Miss l/n,” Lady Danbury nodded. “Viscountess Bridgerton has told me nothing but good things. She says you’re quite the artist.”

“Well-” you tried to deny it, but Kate cut you off.

“Oh, she is, Lady Danbury,” Kate told her. “She could easily make a living off of her work.” You didn’t think that was true in the slightest, but you were going to let her brag about you anyway.

“Are any of your pieces in the gallery tomorrow?” You had wanted to, but by the time you had heard about it, submissions were closed, which was really disappointing because you knew the exact one you were going to submit.

“I’m afraid not," you pursed your lips. "By the time I arrived, it was too late to submit.”

“That is too bad," Lady Danbury replied with a shake of her head. "I must host a gallery of my own to see your work.”

“Oh, that isn’t necessary, Lady Danbury," you let out a nervous laugh. "I’m afraid you’d be sorely disappointed.” You thought that to be true. you were always your harshest critic and always thought that compliments aimed towards you or your work were just people being nice, never quite believing the words no matter how true they were."

“I’m sure that’s not true. You must show me some time. I'd love to see it all." You knew you weren't going to win, so you decided to give in to appease the woman. You didn't want to upset the host, after all.

"Of course," you nodded and watched Lady Danbury's face light up as she caught sight over someone who was behind you. You turned around only to be met by a man you hadn't seen before. He had curly blonde hair and the prettiest hazel eyes that you had ever seen. What was a pretty man like him doing approaching you? He was the kind of man that Lilith would have ended up with.

"Nicholas Fitzwilliam," he introduced himself with a bow. "I saw you across the room and felt like I owed the prettiest woman in the room a dance."

"Oh-"

Your mouth went dry as his eyes looked into yours, a warm smile making its way upon his pretty, pink lips. You turned to Kate and Lady Danbury as if to ask for permission and they waved you off, encouraging you to dance with the stranger.

Nicholas offered his hand to you and you wordlessly took it, letting him lead you out onto the floor. The dance started not long after you got into your spots and you immediately recognized as the quadrille which you knew involved moving about the floor and joining hands with people who weren't your original partner.

As soon as Benedict saw you accept that dick's invitation to dance, he knew he had to find a partner and quick. He didn't know what he was doing, but what he did know was that he wasn't going to leave you out on the floor alone. He was just making sure that you were following the steps correctly, that was all.

He approached the first woman he could find and dragged her onto the dance floor as the music started. He watched you move about the room seeing that fucker making you laugh made him feel something he had never felt before when it came to other women: jealousy.

The man whispered something into your ear as the two of you spun around and seeing you throw your head back in a loud laugh was enough to make Benedict see red. He could hear his dance partner say something as the two of them spun around, but he couldn’t hear her. In fact, he didn’t give a single fuck. All of his focus was on you.

You were nervous to dance at first, but as Nicholas guided you through it, you realized just how much fun it was and he was even cracking jokes to make you feel better. If all of the men were guaranteed to be like him, maybe finding a husband wouldn’t have been so bad.

You slowly got to Benedict and the two of you joined hands as you made your spin and he wanted to know what your hands felt like without the gloves. If they were soft or rough. It didn't really matter, though. He just wanted them wrapped around his neck, choking him until he was gasping for air. He still wasn't able to shake his absolutely filthy thoughts about you. And now that you were right in front of him and that he could see the tops of your breasts, all he could think about was how much he wanted them in his mouth, licking and sucking on your nipples until your back arched in pleasure, screaming his name as your reached your orgasm.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, pulling him out of his thoughts and he looked down at you, his signature smirk making it's way upon his pretty pink lips. You had never had a thought like it before, but you found yourself wanting to know what they felt like. If they were as soft as they looked.

"What do you mean?" Benedict knew exactly what you meant, but he wanted to hear you say it. He wanted to hear you tell him that you missed him.

"You haven't been at the last three balls so I was surprised to see you here." He thought it was adorable that you had noticed that he wasn't there and

"Oh, so you noticed I was missing?" He put on a cocky smirk. He had you right where he wanted you.

"It was difficult not to when Anthony was complaining about it every time." You were mumbling your words, but Benedict was still able to hear you. The smirk faded and he didn't like the way his cock twitched at the fact that you didn't seem to notice that he hadn't been around until his brother mentioned it. You didn't seem to give a single fuck about him, but by the end of the season, he was going to make you care.

With that, you separated then joined your original partners and Benedict was still watching you, feeling jealousy rise as the man whispered in your ear again, making you giggle. He didn't know why he cared. He wasn't going to court nor marry you and clearly this man was a better fit for you. And maybe Anthony was right, all Benedict was was a rake and that's all he knew how to be. He wasn't fit to be a husband and he was just going to have to accept that.

He was going to give up all of his fantasies about you just so you could end up with a man who actually cared about you. That was what you deserved. Not someone who was only interested in having his way with you only to never want to see you again. He was perfectly fine with letting you slip through his fingers if it meant you were going end up with the right person.

The dance came to a close and Nicholas led you back over to Kate and Lady Danbury, his hand still holding yours as you stood there making conversation with the three of them. He then turned to you and bowed and for whatever reason, you didn't want to see him go. You had such a nice time with him and almost wanted to ask him to dance again, but you couldn't get yourself to. You didn't have the confidence. Lilith would have, though. She would have and Nicholas certainly would have said yes. But you weren't Lilith. You weren't your sister and you never would be and you just wished that people would realized that you were your own person.

"It was an absolute pleasure, Miss l/n," he said and you smiled in response, feeling your heart swell because someone was dancing with you because they wanted to, not because of your mother forcing them.

"The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Fitzwilliam," you curtsied, a small smile making its way upon your face. He took your hand and pressed lips to the fabric covering it, his eyes never leaving yours as he did so.

"No, really, the pleasure is all mine." He emphasized the last two words and your cheeks heated as he let your hand slipped out of yours before turning on his heel to cross the room.

As soon as he was gone, you turned back to Kate and Lady Danbury in a giggly mess. They both smiled at you, seeing you so lively and animated warming their hearts. In the few weeks Kate had known you and with all of the balls, she'd seen you at, she had never seen you so smitten after a dance and wondered if Nicholas could be the one. Maybe, just maybe there was an engagement in your future.

Nicholas crossed the floor and stood next to your mother, putting his hands behind his back as she leaned towards him to whisper to him. they were trying their best to be discreet, knowing that if you caught them, the whole operation would be over.

"Is it done?" Vivian asked, her eyes not leaving you as she spoke. If you weren’t going to find a husband, she was just going to have to do the job for you. She couldn’t risk you being a spinster and living with her and your father for the rest of her life.

"It is," Nicholas nodded, his eyes on you as well. He didn't feel good for lying to you, but the money was going to make it worth it. He was going to use it to buy a nice art piece that he had been eyeing for a while. It would look so lovely in his study, hanging among the other artwork he had purchased over the years. And he had you to thank for it. You were the perfect, unsuspecting target.

Benedict left as soon as Nicholas left you and had every intention of getting out his anger. Maybe not in the healthiest way, but he was going to be gone as soon as he was done with whatever woman on his list was available.

He knocked on the door and leaned himself against the doorframe, an attempt to make himself attractive, but something was off. His need suddenly went away and he was having flashbacks to the ball. Everything was swirling around his head and he felt an ache coming on.

Stop with the silliness and find a wife or I swear everyone will know just how disgusting you are and you will be left with nothing. You will die alone and I will make sure that no one will show up to your funeral.

Maybe Anthony was right. Maybe he should have stopped literally fucking around and started a family. Maybe he should have gone home. But not tonight. Tonight, he was going to be taken care of and not by his own hands.

The door opened and he was pulled inside, the woman that he couldn’t remember the name of grabbing hold of his coat. The door slammed behind him and she shoved him against it. Her lips went to his neck and she gave it a rough suck while her hands went to unbutton his breeches. She pulled them down only to be met with Benedict’s very limp cock. They both looked down at it and Benedict felt his cheeks blush in embarrassment as this was never something that had happened to him.

“Don’t worry, I can help with that.” The woman-Caroline, maybe?-spit into her hand and grabbed hold of his dick, giving it a few slow pumps. When that didn't work, she moved faster, pumping as hard as she possible could and Benedict was panicking because receiving a handjob always did the trick. And now that it wasn't working, he was worried.

"I don't know what's going on Benedict, but you need to leave now." They couldn't exactly sleep together if he couldn't get it up. And it was all thanks to his oldest brother. Benedict pulled up his breeches and let out a loud sigh before turning to the door. He gave her one last look then opened the door and slammed it shut before heading down the road. He couldn't go home. Not with his brother there. There was somewhere else he'd rather be anyway.

Benedict got to the studio, but not after having a few drinks. His night had gone to shit and if he couldn't remedy it with sex, alcohol was surely going to do the drink. Not only had his brother called him out on his bullshit, but then he watched the woman that he liked dance with someone else who was confirmed to be a terrible person, and now he couldn't even cope with it all the way he wanted to.

He stumbled into the studio where he usually spent his late nights, but no one was there. This was usually when everyone was so lively and now there wasn't a single soul. Something was wrong, but he couldn't figure out what. He approached the room he usually worked in to work on his piece, but when he entered it, the piece was uncovered and there was already someone in the room. He slowly opened the door all the way and the creaking of it made the stranger turn around so Benedict could see his face. No fucking way. Standing there in his studio, holding the sheet that covered his painting was Nicholas fucking Fitzwilliam.

The carriage rolled up to your house and you stepped onto the concrete, feeling lighter than ever. As your family was leaving, Nicholas had told you that he'd see you the next day and you were nothing but elated at that fact. You couldn't believe it. It had only been a few weeks and you already had a suitor. And he was nice and not to mention, very easy on the eyes. According to what he had told you at the ball, he didn't have much, but that was perfectly okay to you. He'd give you a great life and that was all you could ask for.

You went up the steps and for once, your mother's and sister's words couldn't get to you. Because they didn't matter. All your life, you had been second to Lilith and now you finally had something she hadn't and you could tell that she was furious. She stomped up the stairs behind you and you tried to fight back your smile at the sour look that had been in her face since you had told her the good news.

You went to your room and heard her stomp to her own before slamming the door. You got ready for bed with the widest smile on your face and got into your bed dreaming about nothing but rings and weddings and your possible children. The future was very bright and you had somehow beat the diamond of the season to getting a suitor. And maybe if you played your cards right, an engagement would follow soon after.

"What are you doing here?" Benedict asked, making such tight fists by his side that he could feel his nails digging into his skin, but that was the least of his worries. He really needed to get rid of the pest that was taking over his room.

"Oh, are you the artist?" Nicholas asked, reaching for the canvas, but Benedict was quick to stop, him, standing in between his body and the canvas. There was no way he was letting that little worm anywhere near his artwork.

"I am. And I'm going to ask again, what are you doing here?" There was a fire burning inside him and this time, he wasn't going to put out the flames.

"Well, I was going to ask you if I could buy this lovely piece from you." He'd get the painting from Benedict's cold, dead hands. No way he’d ever sell anything to that pig.

Benedict snatched the covering from Nicholas and draped it back over the painting before crossing his arms over his chest so he wouldn't do something he'd regret.

“It’s not finished and not for sale. And even if it was, I most certainly wouldn’t sell it to you.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, why not?” Nicholas had no idea what was going on. He just wanted to get what he had had his eyes on for months when he had passed that very room seeing Benedict work on it.

“Because again, it's not finished and even if it was, I still wouldn't sell it to you." Clearly there was something he was missing and he wasn't sure what it was.

"Why?" Nicholas was starting to get angry and a smug smirk was making its way upon Benedict's face. What did he know and what was he going to do about it? He didn't think he was the type to get into a fight, but he really knew nothing about him so he was to tread lightly.

"I know your secret.” Nicholas felt his blood run cold at the words. He had many secrets but he knew exactly the one to which Benedict was referring and he had half a mind to make a run for it.

“Secret?” He supposed that the best way to get out of it was to feign innocence. He wouldn’t be caught if he didn’t admit to it.

“Your little deal with Vivian. I heard you on the way out of the ball tonight." Oh, this was the big secret. Maybe running was still on the table.

"What do you want?" There was only one thing Benedict wanted and Nicholas had it.

"I want you stay away from y/n." Benedict jabbed his finger into the man’s chest.

"Or what?" Nicholas pushed his hand away but Benedict only stepped closer.

"You don't want to know what." His threat was empty, but maybe it wouldn’t have been if Nicholas tried anything.

"Are you gonna tell her?" No. He thought it would have been even more painful for Nicholas to tell you himself.

"I might if you don't." He wouldn’t, but Nicholas was looking nervous so Benedict had him right where he wanted him.

“I see,” Nicholas let out a laugh. “You’re jealous.”

“I am not.” That was not an emotion that Benedict felt. He was never jealous and especially not because of you. He just felt like you deserved to know the truth, that’s all.

“You are,” Nicholas smirked. “I saw it in your face when you mentioned he. There was a fire there. Well guess what? You can have her. I don’t want her. I was just going to marry her, use her for her body and then leave.” Benedict didn’t need to hear anymore. He was seeing more red than he ever had before.

Without another thought, he punched Nicholas square in the nose, causing him to hunch over in pain but not before he got his own punch in. Benedict threw another punch and while Nicholas was hunched over once again, Benedict pushed him to the floor, loving to see the man’s pretty face look so bloody and broken.

“If you so much as lay a finger on her, I promise that things will be much worse than this.” With that, Benedict wiped the blood from his nose and fled the room, finally heading home to get some much needed rest and maybe some help from a doctor.

February 13, 1817

You woke up the next morning with the brightest smile on your face as your lady’s maid helped you get ready for the day. Nothing could ruin your mood. Not even your mother. Because someone had finally showed romantic interest in you and no one, not even your mother or Lilith could bring you down.

You descended the stairs and headed towards the dining room to have some breakfast when you heard voices coming from the study. You slowly opened the door that was cracked and saw Nicholas inside arguing with your mother. You gasped not only at the fact that he was there but also because of the dried blood coming from his nose.

What was he doing there and why was he arguing with your mother? Clearly there was something that you were missing and you didn’t like all of the possibilities that your mind was coming up with. It was always your own worst enemy.

Maybe it wasn’t what you thought it was. Maybe he was there to see you and was just waiting for you to finish breakfast first. Suitors did that all the time, right? There definitely wasn’t anything suspicious going on between him and your mother.

“What happened?” Your mother asked in a tone that you thought has only been reserved for you.

“I don’t know, Vivian,” Nicholas replied, looking like he was seconds away from pulling his hair out. He looked tired, like he hadn’t gotten much sleep and the blood around his nose made him look even worse. “All I know is that I was trying to buy a piece from him and then he punched me.”

“And that was before he threatened you?”

“Yes! He told me that if I so much as laid a finger on y/n that he’d kill me! I know I agreed to court your daughter, but no amount of money is worth this,” he referred to his nose and headed for the door where you were standing.

You pressed yourself against the opposite wall of where he was exiting and felt tears prick your eyes as your world came crashing down. So all of that the night before was all because of your mother? All for money? You supposed that it made sense as to why someone as beautiful as him would approach you.

As soon as Nicholas was out of sight, you made a beeline for the stairs, heading to your room so you could cry alone. You felt so stupid. Your own mother had betrayed you in a way that you hadn’t even thought she was capable of. And for whatever reason, you felt like your sister was also behind it.

You headed to your room and slammed the door before letting out a loud scream before throwing yourself into your bed to have a good cry. All of the years you had suppressed your emotions were all catching up to you and you began to sob into your pillows.

You really thought that your father would have come to your rescue, but just like always, he’d rather stand by your mother when she was participating in all of the wrongdoing. He seemed so distant from you lately that it was almost as if he wasn’t even there at all. And maybe it would have been better if he wasn’t. At least then, he would just be gone instead of sitting on the sidelines, doing absolutely nothing.

You cried yourself to sleep, trying to fight off your nightmare. There was a red filter over it and the audio was distorted. Your mother, father, sister, and Nicholas were all laughing at you, pointing fingers and telling you just what they thought about you, holding absolutely nothing back as they did so.

It all felt so real that you had to wake up and shake it all off. You sat up in your bed and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. Just then, your lady’s maid entered the room to get you ready for the gallery. Had you really slept all day? And no one had even thought to come and wake you up? You supposed that showed you just how little your family actually thought about you.

“Esther?” You asked the woman who had laid your dress for the night out onto your bed.

“Yes miss?” She asked, pausing her duty to give you her full attention.

“Would we be able to try something different?” You could see her eyes light up at your suggestion and she immediately pulled you to your vanity, pulling out all of your makeup to get to work.

“I know just the thing,” she smiled as she dipped into some eyeshadow and applied it to your eyes.

—

You told your mother that you weren’t feeling well enough to go to the gallery and to your surprise, she didn’t put up a fight and left the house without a word. As soon as your family was gone, you threw off the blanket to reveal your dress that was absolutely nothing like you. It was black and dark purple and you had a choker to match that had an amethyst gem in the very center of it.

Esther had done your makeup dark, but tastefully with diffused black eyeshadow and a bright pink blush on your cheeks. When you looked in the mirror, you had looked nothing like yourself just like you had wanted to. You thanked her and fled the house to the carriage that had been left behind.

You entered the gallery by yourself and as soon as eyes were laid on you, whispers were spread around just like you had wanted. You were not dressed appropriately for the occasion and for once, you couldn’t have cared less.

You fiddled with your necklace as what you were doing had set in. You had only put on the dress with the intention to anger your mother and clearly it had worked with the way she was eyeing you. But that wasn’t your focus at the moment. You were just interested in seeing all of the art pieces. Upsetting your mother was just a little bonus.

Benedict let out a gasp as he caught sight of you. You were one of the most beautiful women he has ever seen and now he was beginning to think that his fight with Nicholas was all worth it. He at least hoped that his threat has sent the man running.

After you made your grand entrance, you continued to fiddle with your necklace as the whispers got more intense. You had been so focused on upsetting your mother that you hadn’t thought about the fact that other people would probably be upset as well.

You felt yourself begin to panic as the whispers seemed to get louder and you could feel your heartbeat quickening and breathing was getting harder to you. You had had many panic attacks in your life to know that this was one and needed to get out of there as soon as possible.

Just as you were about to leave, you were approached by Lady Danbury. If it has been anyone else, you would have politely declined, but she had a lot of influence and you felt like you could have used that to your advantage. So, you took a deep breath and put on your fakest smile as she got to you.

“Lady Danbury!” You greeted, smiling brightly and she smiled in return.

“Miss l/n. So lovely to see you again.” Out of all of the people there, why was she talking to you? There were so many others who were of higher status or at least had more to say than you did. And you really weren’t in the mood to be cordial at the moment. You had too much on your mind.

“And you as well, ma’am,” you curtsied. You wanted to impress the woman. She was good friends with The Queen, after all and knowing someone who had an in with her could have opened so many doors for you.

“Have you had a chance to look around the gallery?” You had too much on your mind to put your focus on something like that even though you had been so excited to

“No, not yet.”

“Perfect, you shall join me.” Join her? As in walk around the room with her?

“Lady Danbury-” You tried your best to get out of it, but she cut you off before you could make an excuse.

“That wasn’t a question. Now come along dear. I want to hear your thoughts.” She linked her arm around yours and let you lead her around the room, stopping at every individual piece, wanting to know your honest opinion. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought that she just wanted to hear you talk badly about someone. To get the quiet girl out of her comfort zone.

But she wasn’t going to win this round. It turned out that every single piece so far was lovely. They were all so detailed and told the most beautiful stories. You were in awe of every single one and still wished you had the time to submit your own, wondering what people had thought about it.

You stopped once you got to the last piece and that one didn’t wow you like the others. Something was wrong, almost as if it had been incomplete. All of the colors melted together in a brown, muddy mess and you were having a hard time keeping your eyes on it.

“Well?” Lady Danbury asked and you were hesitant to tell her the truth, but you were becoming a ticking time bomb, ready to explode any second. Everything with your family and Nicholas was all piling on you and you couldn’t take a single second of it.

“The colors are too muddy,” you mumbled and the woman was having a hard time hearing you.

“I’m sorry, dear, could you repeat that?” She asked and that absolutely broke you. You were about to tear into whoever the artist was and for once, you didn’t have a single care.

“I said the colors are too muddy!” You replied, maybe a little too loud, but you hardly cared. You just needed her to know what you really thought. That was the kind of person you were now. Someone who said exactly how they felt, not caring whether it hurt their feelings or not. You didn’t have it in you to please anymore. What good had it done you, anyway?

“The artist obviously didn’t wait long enough between layers for the paint to dry. Oils are still wet after many hours. Before adding more layers you have to wait for them to fully dry. It’s an amateur mistake for some ‘professional’ artist to make.”

Lady Danbury had to admit that she was enjoying seeing that side of you and hoped you’d bring it out more often. As much as she liked how reserved you were, she believed that you were allowed a moment to break free of it every once in a while. It looked tiring having to behave like that all the time.

“That’s a very interesting, Miss, l/n,” she replied then turned to who you assumed was the artist of the piece you had just ripped to shreds with your words. “Mr Bridgerton why didn’t you wait long enough for each layer?”

Bridgerton? So that meant-no. Just your fucking luck. You turned around and sure enough, there Benedict was, looking as beautiful as ever. You noticed that he has a bruise around his eye and wondered what it was from and how you could have tended to it and made him feel better. It looked like it hurt and you almost wanted to ask if it did and if you could have kissed it better.

“If I’m being honest, Lady Danbury, I was nearly late submitting my piece for the gallery, so I needed to cut some corners. But you are correct, Miss (l/n), it is a very amateur mistake of me.” With that, Benedict turned on his heel and exited the gallery, leaving you with nothing but guilt as you watched him walk away.

Benedict had stared at that painting for hours after he had finished and hadn’t even noticed the imperfections you had pointed out until you had said the words. And he hadn’t even been upset about it either. It had been an amateur mistake to make and now he was wondering why he was even accepted into the gallery in the first place.

And now he was wondering where you got all that knowledge from because clearly you knew your stuff. Were you an artist as well? You must have been since you seemed to know so much.

And that was when it all clicked. The critique, Anthony saying that you were a family friend from the past. Of course! Now he remembered. He could clearly see the two of you drawing each other in the study of the Bridgerton home and him sneaking you into one of the studios he went to one night where the two of you laughed and painted for hours which had eventually turned into a paint fight that the two of you had gotten into a lot of trouble for.

So he wasn’t an ass, he just genuinely hadn’t remembered you. But why? Was his mind trying to protect him from something painful? It must have been considering how quick you had been to forget him after not having seen him for a few weeks. He had hoped that the memory would come to him soon so it would stop bugging him. Maybe he’d ask you why his memory of you was fuzzy. Maybe he’d just talk to you because he wanted to. With Nicholas out of the way, he certainly had the opportunity. And maybe he’d actually listen to his brother and finally find a wife.

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x fem!reader #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton smut #bridgerton

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heartfullofleeches · 2 months

Note

What if someone from "Sheep"'s old pack came back around and tried to expose them, maybe for joy in suffering or to get people to split away and have an easy meal?

Sorry if this read weird I'm tired as hell

(I doubt any of them would recognize "Sheep" after all these years, but here's what would happen if any predator tried to reveal "Sheep's" identity.")

[Warnings Physical Violence, "Sheep" has a panic attack.]

"How stupid can you lot be?"

No...This isn't real. It's all a bad dream, right? You'll wake up any minute now, surrounded by all your friends and neighbors you've yet to acquaint yourself with. Perhaps you'll finally join Rabbit on one of their picnics. Or maybe Swan can teach you how to play chess - surely he must be tired of you asking which piece is which every time you play.

Claws digging into the meat of your shoulders stake you within the world of this cruel reality. This isn't a dream. You can't wake up, even if you chewed your own tongue off and suffocated on the blood as every cell in your body screamed at you to do. It would save you the torment. Your mouth hangs open, ragged draws of air and the smooth, filed surface of your canines preventing you from carrying out the deed.

"A sheep? This thing?" The cackle he barks causes your knees to curl against your chest - body instinctively trying to make you as small as possible. What do you have to be do afraid of? If you weren't so spineless you could've done something by now. Everyone is going to die now, and they'll die hating you.

"I wouldn't be surprised if we grew up from the same pack!"

It won't be long now- the concern for their fellow neighbor bleeding away to further terror and confusion. Were you responsible for the recent disappearances? How long until you devoured everyone? Monster. Beast. Wolf.

The townspeople are in a frenzy. What should they do? If the wolf's claims are true.... No- That could be dealt with that. The most important thing was getting you away from him before he hurt you anymore. They're so many of them. It'd be easy, right? The thought crosses their minds, but no one dares to speak first. A rabbit grows annoyed of their hesitance. Whilst the town is bickering amongst themselves, you're laying there - cowering for your life as that wolf threatens to ruin it for you. It isn't fair. The knife in their basket was for cutting cakes for you to share...

"Liar....."

As the rabbit weaves through the crowd, another resident of the town returns home from her daily gatherings. Rocks weight the pockets of her dress - the shouts and panic from her fellow neighbors channeling miles throughout the forest. Scrambling to find the sharpest one, she throws it directly at the back of the wolf's head.

"You damned liar!"

The wolf staggers forward - a pitiful whine escaping you as his claws retract from your shoulder. Blood gushes from the back of his cranium, a sharp ringing in his ears bring him to his knees - landing center on the blade aimed at his stomach.

"About a week ago, Sheep and I found a robin's nest in my backyard.... They got all teary eyed when the last egg wouldn't hatch... Tell me.... Would a wolf do that?"

Rabbit plants their foot on the wolf's chest, twisting the handle of their knife as they rip it from his bowels. The wolf grabs into their ankle, using what little strength he has to shove them off of him. Mouse leaps onto him from behind, slamming another rock into the nape of his neck.

"Take it back! Take it back! Sheep isn't anything like you! How dare you accuse them! You monster!"

Stop....

Your voice is too quiet for any of them to hear. You doubt that'd stop them anyway. They'll kill him. He came here to do the same, but does that make it right? Strong arms lift you from the dirt floor - mindful of their antlers as they place your head to their shoulder. Mayor Moose always knew you best - hushing your sniffles as soon as they begin. Swan stands off to the side behind him, refusing to meet your eyes. He tucks the coat of his suit over the handgun strapped to his belt.

"I'm sorry..... I'm so sorry."

"What are you apologizing for?" Swan still fails to look up at you. He knows if he does- there's the smallest chance he'll give into your pleads.

"Get some rest. You'll need it after the day you've had."

Carried away from the commotion, the defenses your fellow townspeople confess, the blood they spill so that your innocent is kept - the blood loss and sheer shock of it all lulls you into a dreamless slumber.

It's the best sleep you've gotten in months.

#yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere headcanons #yandere blurb #yandere drabble #yandere imagines #yandere hybrid #hybrid reader #sheep reader #wolf reader

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its-avalon-08 · 5 months

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hi !! can you do headcanons max verstappen X senna’s daugther!reader?

thank uuuu

hii !!! if i were to imagine senna's daughter!reader she would be so talented. she isn't a driver because of her built up trauma. (im fully aware that the timelines don't add up, don't add logic into it <3) she is an aerodynamic engineer, mainly responsible for making the car. she is secretly in love with speed and racing.

max and y/n met when they were just kids. max was a menace on track and y/n was terrified of racing. she saw speeding cars as a reminder of her father's passing. being good friends, y/n has a tradition of kissing max's helmet as a feeble attempt to keep him safe.

they started dating in 2019, and have been together ever since. y/n being the absolute genius she is, continues to work in redbull and delivers top of the line car designs leading to the dominance as seen on track.

max leaves a single, perfect red tulip on y/n's desk every race weekend, a silent promise to return safely.

y/n hides little notes in max's helmet before qualifying, each one a technical insight phrased like a love letter.

max, despite his aversion to early mornings, wakes up before y/n on important presentations to make her breakfast, his way of calming her pre-work jitters.

y/n, who finds airplanes stressful, uses a calming app max downloaded for her whenever they travel together.

max, after a particularly grueling race weekend, finds y/n curled up on the couch with a book about aerodynamics. he joins her, listening intently as she explains a new concept she's been working on, his full attention the sweetest victory lap.

max knows how deeply the lack of a father figure affected her, causing under-confidence and a constant need of validation. max knows this and never stops giving her words of affirmations.

everyone of the grid adores y/n. they see her spirit and her beautiful face reflect senna's in so many ways. max is fiercely protective of y/n, often defending her from questions about her father and his death.

y/n hates jos verstappen from the bottom of her heart. she is not scared of yelling at him when he berates max. she whispers affirmations into max's ears after a bad race (which was rare but not impossible)

when max crashes, y/n is the first to suffer from the highest intensity of a panic attack. she shivers and trembles until max gets out safely. after the crash in 2021 with hamilton which caused max to fall over in the medical center, y/n angirly stormed towards the cheerful hamilton, shouting angrily.

here's what happened ↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓

the smile evaporated as y/n marched towards him. it wasn't a walk, it was a storm surge. "congratulations? you call pushing max off the track at 200 mph congratulations?" her voice, usually calm and collected, was a tightly leashed fury. lewis blinked, his smile morphing into something defensive. "it was a racing incident, y/n. we both went for the corner." her voice cracked. "racing incident? you call leaving him stranded on the gravel, risking his life, a racing incident? do you have any idea what it's like to watch someone you love walk away from a fireball?" the room held its breath. lewis's face paled. "y/n, i…" "no, you don't," she cut him off, her voice thick with emotion. "you don't get to pretend you know what it's like to see your dreams vanish in a cloud of smoke. you don't get to understand the terror of every single corner, every single race because you haven't lost anyone on this damn track!" tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the accusing stare she fixed on him. "max is more than a rival, lewis. he's a friend, a teammate, a human being. and today, you gambled with his life for a trophy." the silence stretched, suffocating. finally, lewis spoke, his voice devoid of its usual bravado. "y/n, i… i didn't…" "you didn't think," she finished the sentence for him, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "just like some people never think about the consequences of their actions." turning on her heel, she stormed out of the room, leaving behind a stunned silence and a champion stripped of his celebratory air. as y/n reached the red bull garage, she found max emerging from the medical center, a sheepish grin on his face. relief washed over her, so strong it brought her to her knees. max rushed to her side, his concern a warm balm on her raw emotions. he held her close, whispering reassurances into her hair.

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

well i hope you liked it! thank you for sending in your request and do send more <3 happy reading!

leave a like! leave a note!

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

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vanteguccir · 6 months

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── ୨୧ !　𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗟𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗛

　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: The Hanahaki Disease is a rare illness where the patient throws up and coughs flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. In order to fully recover from the disease, it's necessary that the one they're in love with fall in love with them too. Or to fall in love with somebody else.

WARNING: Throwing up, blood, stomachaches, lung aches, one-sided love, crying, death talk. PURE ANGST, with a happy ending.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Part 2

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Panting and covered in a thin layer of sweat, Y/N found herself emerging from the whirlwind of bad memories that enveloped her sleep. Her heart hammered in her chest, echoing in the silence of the night. With numb hands, she reached for the bedside lamp, bathing the room in soft yellow light.

Her heart seemed to be squeezed as the images still danced in her mind, an unwanted reminder of the emotional turmoil that consumed her.

In the center of his room, Y/N remembers seeing Chris sitting on his own bed with a relaxed expression. Next to him is another girl, perfect, with long hair and a radiant smile, who seems too comfortable in his presence. Their gaze met briefly with a complicity she knew very well, but at that moment, it cut through her like a sharp blade. His sparkling blue eyes carried a glow of intense love that she understood well because she saw it in her own eyes every time she thought of him.

Y/N closed her eyes tightly, running her trembling fingers through her hair, trying to ground herself when a sensation that was already quite common for her captured her throat. Coughing softly, she felt something strange shifting from her lungs. A heavy sigh escaped her nostrils at the sight of small rose petals cascading onto the fabric of the sheet covering her legs.

The initial feeling of sameness quickly turned into panic as she felt increasingly suffocated. The petals continued to sprout, climbing up her throat like a reverse slide and sliping from her lips between each cough, like a dark warning of an unrequited love that was eating away at her insides.

In a moment of frightening lucidity, she seemed to remind herself that this was just another attack of the dreaded Hanahaki disease. Flower petals, once symbols of beauty and romance, have become signs of a silent curse for Y/N weeks before.

The famous, but so rare illness that haunted the passionate hearts of those who dared to love without restrictions. When a soul found itself consumed by unrequited love, its body rebelled, expelling flowers and petals through painful coughs, a physical testimony to the deep emotional wounds that afflicted the heart.

It was quite hypocritical of the universe to create such a disease that affected those who love. Suffering from unrequited love was already too much, but apparently not enough.

Each cough was an explosion of petals that escaped her slightly bruised lips, dark red blood vibrating against the yellowish light, leaving a messy and disgusting trail. Y/N clenched her hands into fists on her sides, feeling her limbs give involuntary spasms, the flowers gathering on the bed around her more and more.

The strange, distressing sound of coughing echoed through the hallway of her house, cutting through the silence like a cry of distress. Nick, who was staying in the guest room - better known as his own room - wakes up suddenly.

His brain barely had time to register his sleepy mind or what time it was, worry consuming him as soon as his eyes opened, getting up from the bed abruptly. His feet tripped over the pieces of clothing thrown on the floor while his hands rested momentarily on the wall decorated with posters, trying to regain his balance.

The boy runs towards his best friend's room blindly, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He pushes the door open hard, finding the devastating scene. Y/N was above her own bed, curled in on herself, surrounded by a sea of petals, her face contorted in agony.

Without hesitation, Nick approaches, calls for her name escaping his mouth, desperately seeking a way to ease her pain.

"Shh, I'm here, I'm here." Nick whispers softly, kneeling on the floor next to her body and reaching out to gently stroke her back with one of his hands, his other one hovering over the sheets, feeling imposing at the sight of the confusing and unlikely mess of blood. "It's going to be okay, I promise."

With difficulty, Y/N looks up to meet the blue ones looking back at her, her teary eyes reflecting a mixture of pain and gratitude.

"Nick, I don't know what to do anymore..." She murmurs, her voice weak and shaky. Nick smiles tenderly in response, his free hand traveling to her clenched one, grabbing it firmly.

"Let's take one step at a time, okay? First, let's help you calm down." He carefully helps her to her feet, guiding her to the bathroom while whispering words of comfort.

Upon entering the small room, the brunette quickly guides her to sit on the closed lid of the toilet, moving nimbly to turn on the bathtub with warm water, adding a few drops of lavender essential oil that he knows is her favorite, with the intention of helping her body relax.

"Come here." Nick helps her stand again, helping her trembling arms undress her body, keeping it covered only by her underwear. "Let the water soothe you."

He holds her right hand firmly, guiding her until she sinks into the hot water. A sigh scapes Y/N's lips, feeling the heat enveloping her tense limbs as Nick sits on the floor beside the bathtub edge, ready to help her with the necessary.

"You will be okay." Nick whispers gently, watching the girl close her eyes and try to control her coughs.

While he offers her support with a calm aura never seen before in Nicolas Sturniolo, his heart is torn between care for her and a fierce anger toward his own brother that boils inside him, fueled by pain to see her in that state and injustice by what he witnessed every day since Y/N discovered the consequences of her unrequited love.

Nick holds himself back from screaming, from letting his fury consume all the space between them. But even in his silence, the girl could feel the tension emanating from his body, the intensity of his emotions throbbing in the air.

Nick vividly remembered the day he discovered the terrible truth about the Hanahaki disease that afflicted his best friend. He could almost see her anguished expression again, the silent tears that ran down her face as she confessed what a torment her unrequited passion had become. The memory of the revelation echoed in his mind like an incessant echo, mixing with Chris's trembling image.

Nick quickly shook his head, expelling the bad thoughts and feelings, focusing all his attention on the girl in front of him.

After Y/N had calmed down a bit, he helped her out of the tub, wrapping her in a soft towel before guiding her back to the bedroom, where he had her sit on one of her pink puffs, seeking for a comfortable set of sweatshirts, ironically, from Fresh Love in her closet.

"Are you feeling any better?" Nick asks her softly after making sure that her body was already covered in the warm outfit, his eyes observing her figure hugging the wet towel in her arms as if it were a teddy bear.

"A little." Her voice came out hoarse and worn out by the force she exerted when expelling the petals and flowers, feeling her throat scratchy with each breath.

"Come on, let's change the sheets so you can go back to sleep. You need the rest more than ever right now."

Together, they remade the bed, removing the scattered petals and replacing the sheets with fresh, clean ones, where the two lay down together, Y/N gently asking Nick not to leave her alone again.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The next day, Tuesday, after a restless night, Y/N and Nick headed to his house. It was recording day, and the oldest triplet couldn't find the courage to leave her behind. The atmosphere inside the car was tense but comforting. The girl drove cautiously, keeping close attention to the sensations in her body.

Upon climbing the entrance stairs, the two were greeted by the random sounds of a movie that escaped from the television sneakers and the silly fights between Chris and Matt, who were in the living room, thrown comfortably on the soft couch.

The wooden kitchen table was already filled with 21 different drinks that the boys would have to try and blindly guess the brand and flavor for that Wednesday video

YN tried to smile in greeting, but the weight on her chest seemed to suffocate her. A small "hi" escaped her lips, her hands quick to place her purse on the floor, next to the couch, before sitting on the other end of the upholstery, bringing her legs together beneath her body.

As she watched the triplets go over what would be done on the video, her gaze inevitably turned to Chris. Her heart sank as she saw him break into the most radiant smile at the mention of his girlfriend after Matt said something that reminded him of her. Every word that escaped his lips was like an arrow piercing her soul, reminding herself of the cruel reality that he belonged to someone else.

Y/N quickly looked away, trying to hide the anguish that was boiling inside her, but every passionate detail he shared about the other girl only intensified her own silent pain. She found herself caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, desperately wishing he could see her while fighting the sadness of knowing that would never happen.

And then it happened. A sudden coughing fit took her by surprise, shaking her body violently. The girl bent her upper body, undoing her intertwined legs and resting the soles of her feet on the floor, panting as the three brothers turned to her with concern. She quickly brought her right hand to her mouth, covering it.

"Is everything okay, YN?" Chris asked, frowning as his eyes ran over her figure.

Y/N tried to smile, but another wave of coughing overcame her. It was as if invisible thorns were piercing her lungs, tearing her from the inside.

"I...I'm fine." The girl muttered, struggling to catch her breath. Her eyes quickly found her palm, blood smeared on her skin, along with small broken petals. She swallowed hard, struggling to control her overflowing emotions. "I think... I need some air." Finally, she confessed, her voice shaking.

Without hesitation, Matt suddenly got up from his seat, walking towards her with agile steps, stopping in front of her body and extending his right hand, offering her help.

"Come with me." The brunette suggested softly, grasping her hand and guiding her out of the room slowly, Chris's confused question about what was happening fading behind their backs.

The two went down to the garage, and despite the pain in her body, Y/N smiled as she stepped foot in the room that was so common, but that meant so much to them. Sunlight filtered between the small windows of the gate, naturally illuminating the space that became small with the van.

Together, they sat on the floor, their backs against the back of the car, the silence comforting as she tried to calm her rapid breathing. Matt remained by her side, offering her silent comfort, his eyes conveying deep empathy, concern, and a hint of something that, despite it being hypocritical of her, Y/N didn't seem to recognize.

"You know..." Matt began, his soft voice breaking through as he fixed his eyes on the gate in front of his outstretched feet. "You could still consider having surgery to remove the flowers."

Y/N nodded slowly, pondering his suggestion.

"I know." She murmured, her voice thick with resignation. "But... I don't know if I can. I don't want to lose our memories."

Matt frowned, his orbs traveling to her side profile, running over every little detail momentarily.

"I understand." He whispered, even if internally, he didn't completely. How could he understand that the love of his life preferred to suffer in an unimaginable way for someone who didn't look at her in the same way that he himself did? "But you know that if you keep going in that way, it will only get worse."

Y/N looked down, tears starting to pool in her eyes. She knew what Matt was talking about.

Hanahaki disease doesn't have many cures, but those that did exist were intense; Having surgery to remove the flowers and, consequently, forget about the love feeling and all the memories that surround it, or having the feeling be reciprocated, or survive with that until your body can't take it anymore.

She knew that if she didn't remove the flowers, she would die. Eventually.

"I know." She admitted, her voice shaking slightly. "But... I can't, Matt. The memories with him, with you two... they mean so much to me. I can't just give them up."

Matt nodded momentarily, his own anguish rising in his chest along with the urge to scream to the seven seas how much he loved her and that he was there to give her the love she deserved.

It was an indescribable pain, witnessing the girl he loved more than anything in the world be consumed by a passion that wasn't towards him, and Matt wished with all his being that he could ease her suffering, even if it meant sacrificing his own heart.

"He's an idiot. For not seeing you, I mean." The brunette muttered, lowering his gaze to the ground between his legs. "He's lucky to have your eyes on him and to receive a love like yours."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N's condition only seemed to worsen, leaving her increasingly weak and vulnerable. Vomiting entire flowers became a frequent occurrence, a constant reminder of her miserable situation.

Now, she was no longer left unsupervised, Matt and Nick taking turns looking after her, despite her complaints and constant fear of becoming a burden.

On a particularly difficult night, she was at their house, in Matt's room, where she would sleep since Nick needed to edit the last Cut The Camera podcast.

The sound of loud laughter came from the living room next to the small hall that led to where she was; Chris and his girlfriend were playing some video game on the television. The sound was like a knife to the heart, and Y/N couldn't help but curl up beneath the thick duvet, feeling a wave of nausea and despair approaching her.

Matt, who was sitting in his gaming chair while answering some emails on his computer, soon realized her imminent agony, rising from the chair abruptly as violent coughs echoed through the walls of his room.

"Hey, hey, I'm here." Matt crouched on the floor next to her body, murmuring softly. His blue eyes ran over her fragile figure while his hand quickly found home on her back, massaging the covered skin.

Carefully, Matt pulled the duvet down her body, straightening his posture and picking her up in his arms, quickly carrying her into his bathroom. The boy helped her sit on the edge of his bathtub comfortably, with her face above the open toilet.

The boy gathered the loose strands of her hair into a loose ponytail secured by his right hand. He grabbed the washcloth from the sink, dipping it into the running water of the tap before pressing the wet fabric over her forehead.

"That's it, let it all out, sweetheart." He whispered, his voice soft like a comforting breeze.

His blue eyes squeezed shut as the sound of a loud sob followed one of her coughs, his own eyes filling with tears. Matt caught his bottom lip between his teeth in a death grip, swallowing back his sobs.

As the coughs slowly subsided, Y/N felt relief seep into her being, small sniffling escaping her nose while thin tears ran down her reddened cheeks, a deep sense of tiredness taking over her body. She felt completely exhausted.

"Are you feeling like throwing up again?" Matt asked gently, stroking her shoulders with his free hand, receiving a small shake of head in return. "Okay, do you want to go back to bed?"

"I... I don't want to get the sheets dirty if... If another crisis comes." She murmured, her voice weak and tired.

Matt nodded understandingly, a gleam of determination in his eyes. He quickly reached out with his hand that was previously on her back, pressing the flush and closing the toilet lid.

"You're okay." The boy whispered, his voice soft like a comforting breeze. "Come here."

He settled on the cold bathroom floor, resting his back against the freezing walls. Matt gently pulled her to sit next to him, his arms wrapping around her shoulders in a protective hug.

Y/N leaned against him, laying her head on his right shoulder and looping her arms weakly around his torso, feeling the comforting warmth of his body against hers. Their hearts beat in unison, sharing the weight of their worries, fears, and loves.

"Sleep, honey. I'll be right here when you wake up." He murmured softly in her ear, his words echoing almost as a promise of comfort and safety.

For a moment, Y/N allowed herself to close her eyes, letting herself be carried away by the feeling of peace that Matt's arms gave her, which she never felt anywhere else. Her breathing began to get lighter, indicating that sleep was finally approaching.

With a heart heavy with love, Matt gently leaned his head over hers, his lips delicately brushing her hair as he whispered words of love in the silence of the bathroom, believing that the girl was sleeping.

"If you only knew how much I could love you the way you deserve..." He murmured in a soft, loving tone. "I love you more than anything in this world, and I promise to take care of you forever, even when you are not aware of it."

The girl was slightly startled when she heard the words, her heart beating wildly in her chest and surprise flooding her mind. She expected everything but that. However, she remained quiet, savoring the comforting warmth of his arms and words, which unconsciously touched her heart in a different way. A good way.

Maybe the universe had better things for them.

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 2 years

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Danny had no idea what a meta was, but appearently he had something called a meta-gene. One would think a mutation that can cause people to manifest superpowers from lab accidents would explain his disastrous career as a superhero, but they would be wrong. Dannys meta gene was never activated and the whole ghost fiasco was just eldrich shenanigans at its finest.

No, Danny's meta gene activated just two weeks ago on his fifteenth birthday where he was celebrating at Sam's place with Tucker. They had gotten into one of thier usual fights about food and Danny just did not want to deal with it and went into another room.

Sams cat didn't love him per say but it usually didn't hate him either. Today was not his lucky day. The kitty scratched him and wouldn't you know? His meta gene wasn't activated by an interdimentional portal opening up on top of him, it wasn't activated by the numerous energy blasts he had been hit with nor the various electric shocks.

No, it was activated by a freaking cat scratch.

He stared at himself in the mirror, glowing green eyes with slit pupils stared back at him. His kitty ears were folded back to show his shock and displeasure over the situation but it was still rather obvious what they were. The tail wagging slowly behind him was the same snowy white as his hair and ears.

He looked like Phantom. He looked like Phanton as Fenton. Ancients. There was no way he was going to be able to hide this. Transforming brought about no change other than the hazmat suit. He was so screwed. He couldn't go home like this.

Breathing heavily and on the verge of a panic attack he called Jazz once, twice, three times, but she didn't pick up. Danny knew he couldn't stay in the human world, it was too dangerous.

But if he wasn't there to protect the ghosts than it would be too dangerous for them to stay too. He knew for a fact Dani was staying with Dora while she taught her how to read and write so he had pretty much no qualms about destroying the portals and outing Vlad through a pre-made video of him transforming and boasting about his crimes to Phantom, courtesy of Tucker and him filming it all.

He felt bad about ditching his friends one last time, and at his own birthday party no less! But he knew if he tried to say goodbye they would guilt him into staying and it would end horribly so he left a note explaining what happened and bounced.

Destroying the portals hadn't taken much time or effort nor did destroying over 20 years of research between the three. It was exploring the Ghost Zone that was giving him problems. He was always warned by Wulf not to open portals in the Ghost Zone unless you were very experienced cause if you screw up theres no telling when or where you will land. He thought back to Wulfs lessons and tried to conjure the image of lush wildlife and abundant food.

The place he ended up portaling to had neither of those things. In fact if felt like the opposite when he landed in a grimey alleyway in the dark of night.

A spotlight was pointed toward the sky, painting the clouds above in a yellow light holding a stylized image of a bat in the center. Danny wondered what that was about for only a minute before he heard the tell tale whoosh sound of someone landing in the alley behind him.

Dannys new instincts reacted before the logical part of his brain took hold causing him to whirl around with his ears flattened to his head and he hissed so furiously that the man with the red helmet (mask?) back up several paces while cursing furiously. The man also mentioned something about a "Pit" but Danny wasn't paying attention, he was scared out of his mind and bolted down the alleyways and out of sight before phasing into a dilapidated building and hiding under some rubble.

Later, Red Hood told Nightwing about the Lazarus Pit catboy demon and described it as nightmarish as possible before adding that it was kinda twinkish. He also added "for the love of God dickwing, don't let demon brat adopt that thing"

In Damians defence, he found Danny asleep next to Alfred the cat in Batcows barn and just decided he was thier new cat. In other news hes far more concerned with hiding Danny From Catwoman than from father.

#dp x dc #fanfiction prompts #prompts #danny phantom #danny fenton #batman #robin #damian wayne #can be dead serious #dead serious #ot it was supposed to be #something went wrong and now damian is adopting a catboy #like father like son i guess #danny has sharp little fangs and hes not afraid to flash them in threat #kitty instincts

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writersblockiskillingme · 9 months

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Jabberjays | Johanna Mason

Pairing: Johanna Mason x fem!reader (District4!Finnick's sister!reader)

Summary: During the attack of the Jabberjays Katniss is introduced to a whole different Johanna.

Warning/s: a bit of angst, a bit of fluff, the quarter quell, jabberjays, panic, screaming, weapons, you know typical hunger games stuff, also this is more like a short blurb but yeah, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: I always wanted to write something about the Jabberjay attack so I absolutely loved the request! Also I made the reader Finnick's sister, I hope that's okay. Hope you enjoy!!

Request -> hi! i have a request for johanna!! could u do one where fem!reader and her are in a relationship that’s not secret just private (like only finnick knows) but something happens in the arena where johanna gets worried about r & finnick and katniss have a talk like johanna and katniss did in the movie abt annie? sry if that was too long or didn’t make sense! ty <33

Johanna just went into the thick forest to get some water with the spile that Haymitch send them so that they don't die of dehydration. She was regretting it now.

Katniss, Peeta, Beetee, your brother Finnick and you were on the beach. You were sitting with Katniss on the dry sand as you anxiously waited for Johanna to return from the forest as you stated at the hole in the sand that Johanna's ax made.

Thankfully, you thought to yourself, she took it with her.

Everything was relatively peaceful, too peaceful even. You didn't like it one bit. Something was coming. The game makers wouldn't allow the things to be so peaceful for so long. You were soon proven right as you heard the ear piercing scream that only seemed to shake through you.

"Johanna!" Your voice screamed back, every bit of common sense leaving you as you bolted towards the sound of Johanna's bloody-like screams.

You left your knives on the beach, along with the rest of your team that were screaming your name, confused from your actions as they tried to keep up with you. You were in a vulnerable place as you waved your hands around, trying to keep the thick leaves, that were swang down blocking your vision, away from your face as you ran still screaming Johanna's name as much as she screamed yours.

"Johanna!" You shouted as you reached the center of the forest where Johanna's screams were.

You were moving around in the circle, trying to determine where exactly her voice was coming from. After a while it hit you as you realized that her screams were coming from above. High in the trees. Then you saw the jabberjays flopping their little wings in the air, swaying the leaves of the trees and you knew that you fell right in the Capitol's trap.

"Y/N!" Finnick's muffled voice came towards you and you quickly turned towards him. Katniss, Beetee and Peeta were there with him, looking extremely concerned.

But why were they not coming closer?

The painful sounds of Johanna's screaming was messing with your head, panick gripping onto each and every fragment of your mind and body.

Why were they not coming over? Why aren't they helping? Why are they just standing there?!

Your felt your arms moving up, your hands gripping your head to try and kill the ever racing thoughts and the continuous mocking of the jabberjays. Then, as your eyes frantically searched the area, you spotted Johanna. Her eyes full of concern only reserved for her close friends and her love.

Then, the next thing that happened just confused you even more. Finnick grabbed her arm quickly, stopping her as she moved forward towards you, ax in her hand. She twisted her arm, releasing her arm from Finnick's grip as she yelled at him while he talked to her about something that you didn't hear. Her expression changed from concerned to utterly horrified.

"Y/N!" You heard Johanna's muffled, concerned voice mixing with the imitation of the screaming that the jabberjays provided.

You didn't think, the constant screaming was too much. You ran towards her, but came to a stop when your body hit something invisible. The force field. You started banging your hands against the force field trying to ignore the looks of pity and concern from your lover, brother and allies. You didn't want to except this.

The screaming intensified as the birds got closer to you, and you found yourself sliding onto the ground, screaming bloody murder just so you could tone down the sound of Johanna's and Finnick's torturous screams. Johanna was taping on the force field shouting at you something that you didn't understand.

That's how Johanna found herself banging her ax forcefully against the force field, trying to break it. Finnick next to her, hitting the force field with his trident, his eyes full of concern as he watched his baby sister's torture.

The new hour began and Katniss watched the scene in front of her not believing the state that Johanna was in. The hurried movements with her ax, the horrified expression on her face, her eyes full of concern. She cared about someone here. She actually, genuinely, cared about someone here.

"Y/N!" Johanna's voice reached your ears, tearing through the ringing in them as you swayed back and forth on the ground. "The hour is up! You okay! It's over! I'm here!"

After you finally came to your senses enough to look at her, you immediately wrapped your arms around her as tightly as you possibly could, not letting go.

"Johanna," You gasped through neverending sobs as your body shook against hers. "You're all right."

"We're both alright." She answered you with the softest voice Katniss ever heard.

Later on you all gathered at the beach once again. Peeta and Beetee went of a bit further away on the beach, looking for some food. Johanna and you settled down on the edge of the beach away from the rest of the team, but still in their eyesight, and finally Katniss and Finnick sat down, learning against the trees.

"Are they together?" Katniss asked Finnick, breaking the silence. "Johanna and Y/N?"

"Yes." Finnick answered immediately, his sea-green eyes snapped to look at her gray ones. "They didn't really keep it a secret, it was private. Only Mags, Annie, Haymitch and I knew really. They wanted to keep it in the close circle of friends."

"I've never seen Johanna act like that before," Katniss quietly murmured as she processed this new information that Finnick told her. "It was quite terrifying."

"Yeah, well," Finnick couldn't help himself as he chuckled playfully at her confession. "Johanna loves her so much. It is terrifying, honestly." He, however, continued on a more serious note. "Y/N won her games a year before Johanna. She helped her when she was going through tough times after she went out of the arena. Johanna lost her family. Y/N is the only thing that she lives for, now. She said it herself when I gave her, correction," Finnick held his finger up in the air, noting that he expressed himself wrongly. "Tried, key word tried, to give her I'm-her-older-protective-brother-so-you-better-not-hurt-her speach."

"And how did that turn out?" Katniss couldn't help but to ask, given how Johanna was she knew that his answer was going to be good.

"Oh, she smacked me across the head." Finnick smiled and Katniss found herself laughing at his answer just like she expected to.

Finnick and Katniss gazed to the couple that was still knee deep in the water, arms wrapped around each other as you sat in between Johanna's legs, your back leaning against her front.

"I'm glad that they have each other," Katniss spoke her thoughts out loud. "Even though they are so different they just seem to fit so well with one another."

"Definitely."

"What the hell are you two gossiping about?" Johanna called out causing you to giggle softly as you spoke.

"Yeah! And why the hell didn't you invite us?!"

TAGLIST:

@caroline-books @thecrowdedstreetin1944

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orphicdreamers-wp · 9 months

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It’s Not Christmas Without You— Quinn Hughes

Summary: Your seasonal depression gets the best of your relationship leading to an awkward Christmas

Content Warnings: Seasonal depression, panic & anxiety attacks, use of antidepressants, ocd, chemical imbalance, angsty hughes brothers

Pairing; Ex Gf! Reader x Quinn Hughes

September

You had never quite understood why your brain felt so hardwired to the point you couldn’t comprehend anything happening around you. It affected everything you did, but no one could put their finger on why sometimes things got to be much for you it brought you to tears. For the most part, your boyfriend Quinn tried to help you but when the weather in Vancouver shifted just as he’d been named captain. He just couldn’t do it anymore, he tried but it was draining him.

You sat cross legged in the center of Quinn’s living room, reorganizing his CD collection for the third time this week. Quinn sighed as he entered his apartment, coming home from a rough roadie, all he wanted was to take a scorching shower and talk to you while you guys laid in his bed watching a cheesy movie. He didn’t utter a word as he walked past to his room and dropped his stuff off before returning to his living room and letting out a sigh, “The CDS haven’t magically moved since Tuesday dollface.”

You ignored your boyfriend, again. Quinn blew out a breath he’d been holding in for god knows how long, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” He expected you to protest against him trying to break up with him, but you didn’t. Which somehow made Quinn more upset at the entire ordeal, “So your fine with just throwing away the last 6 years?” You kept quiet, knowing that if you dared to speak you would say something that you and Quinn couldn’t come back from. So you stayed silent as you stood up and slipped on your shoes and grabbed your coat and walked out of Quinn’s apartment and his life.

You returned to your shared loft with your friend Tess and finally let your composure fall. A wretched sob ripped through your chest as you leaned against the door and slid to sit against the wall. Tess hurried out of her bedroom and was at your side in seconds, “Oh honey. It’s okay.” You felt like someone was wrapping barbed wire around your throat, “I can’t, I just don’t know what’s wrong with me. Something isn’t right Tess.” Your breathing began to quicken as your chest tightened. Tess rubbed your back reassuringly, “I got you.” You closed your eyes and focused on your breathing. Once you were calm you turned to Tess, “Quinn and I broke up. I think I need to go home and get help.” And that was exactly what you did.

You went back to Toronto and moved back into your childhood bedroom, went to a neurologist and found out that your brain had an insufficient amount of neurotransmitters which could play part in your moods. The doctor told you that you needed to boost your serotonin and dopamine levels and prescribed you antidepressants and referred you to a women’s mental health clinic. You noticed slowly that your mood became less negative and you were able to focus better. But you also noticed that you began to get thinner and no matter what you did it never seemed like you gained weight.

December

You were reluctant to go to the Hughes Christmas dinner, although Ellen had reassured you that you were more than welcome. You still had your bad days and didn’t know if being around Quinn would make you snap and you didn’t want to snap at him. So you told your mother you’d think about it but that she should go. Which she did. You mother and Ellen were in grossed in a conversation over linens when Luke finally mentioned you, “So I guess she really doesn’t have anything to say to you Quinn. She would never miss out on Dad’s meatballs.” Quinn shot his brother a glare as your mother spoke softly, “She’s just having a hard time right now, her meds are messing with her.” Ellen smiled solemnly, “How is she adjusting to her antidepressants?”

Quinn looked taken aback learning your on antidepressants now, “Is she okay?” Your mom smiled as she lifted her wine glass to her lips, “Her doctor told her she doesn’t have sufficient neurotransmitters and it’s a chemical imbalance in her brain that’s made her feel like this all these years. The doctor said there’s a good chance coupled with the harsh weather and seasonal depression that’s what made her feel so poorly. Nothing you could have done would have helped Quinn.” Jack rolled his eyes subtly, “So because she’s mentally not okay, we’re supposed to be fine with her destroying Quinn?” Ellen glared at her middle child, “Jack! If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say sit.”

You stared at the stack of wrapped gifts you had gotten for each member of the Hughes family. You sighed as you slid off the couch and pulled on a dark red sweater and some jeans and took the gifts to your car and made your way to the Hughes family home. You were unsure of what would happen when you walked in but you were facing your fears today. You rang the doorbell, not expecting Quinn to be on the other side of the door.

His eyes held an unreadable expression that you had grown to miss. You were almost positive that you had lost your voice when he spoke, “Hey.” You smiled, “Hi, you look uh great.” Quinn rubbed his neck as a deep blush rolled over his cheeks, “Thanks. You do too.” He took some of the gifts as you I walked inside the house and placed your gifts with the rest of the gifts under the tree. You slipped your coat off and hung it in the closet with the others. Quinn frowned ever so slightly when he took note of how the jeans that had once hugged your body in all the right places were loose on you and how you looked at him like you might break if you looked at him long enough.

Ellen’s voice rang out from the dining room, “Who was it honey?” You smiled warmly as you entered the dining room behind Quinn, “Hi.” Ellen’s eyes glimmered with excitement as she hopped up and pulled you into a bone crushing hug, “We’re so glad you could make it after all. Right guys?” The Hughes men muttered out agreements. You sat down at the only empty seat which, as the universe was punishing you, was directly across from Jack with Quinn sitting beside you. Conversation flowed between you and everyone besides Jack and Quinn.

Jack spoke up in condescending tone, “So Y/N what have you been up to since you and Quinn broke up?” Jack let out a groan as Quinn swiftly kicked him underneath the table. You felt your smile drop, “I moved back home like 3 days after. I’ve been getting a lot of help. Working on understanding my feelings.” Jack hummed, “Seeing anyone? You sure are slimming down.” You tensed as you drew in a deep breath, “Nope. Wouldn’t be fair to a poor guy. I’m still in love with someone and I’m not sure relationships are for me. But can we just talk about your game against the Red Wings? I mean I was on my seat the entire time.”

Jack’s smirk fell, “You still watch my games?” You shrugged, “I watched Trev kick your ass. I also watched Quinn hand the Sharks the biggest loss. I didn’t stop watching hockey because I got broken up with.” You melted into Quinn’s touch as he placed a hand on your thigh. He mouthed inaudibly, ‘Thank you’ Dinner ended and Ellen insisted on going straight to presents. You smiled warmly as Jack and Luke opened their gifts from you. You You played more into a joke with Jack. It was a shirt that read ‘Straight Outta The Penalty Box.’ Jack’s gift sent his brother’s into laughter while Jack sent you a playful eye roll, “Now I know she actually watches my games still.” Luke’s gift seemed to be more fitting for him, he opened the box and ran his fingers over the soft tie that was adorned with red hockey sticks, “Thank you.” You smiled as Quinn picked up his gift from you, “I didn’t know what to get you so with my luck you’ll probably hate it.”

Quinn opened the box and his eyes softened as he looked at the gift, “You remembered. Why would I hate this?” He pulled out the large cooling weighted blanket. You barely remembered him mentioning wanting one. Apparently your subconscious remembered. Quinn’s eyes softened as you began to tidy up the wrapping paper as everyone continued to open gifts.

Without being noticed Quinn slipped into his childhood bedroom and opened his bag and pulled out a small gift wrapped box. He slipped it into his pocket and returned to the living room. His eyes immediately were on you as you clasped a necklace around his mother’s neck. Soon enough all the gifts were opened and Quinn spoke warmly, “I actually have a gift for you Y/N.” Your eyes widened, “O-okay.” Quinn slipped the small box from his pocket and placed it in your hand. By the size alone you knew it was jewelry of some sort.

You opened the box and your eyes widened and swelled with tears, “You can’t. Not with how horrible I was to you.” Quinn shook his head, “No I can. I have loved you since I have known you. I don’t care if your going through the worst thing possible. I love you and I just wanna be there for you no matter what. For the rest of my life. I want to be your husband. Marry me.” Your eyes welled, “I don’t know if I can give you the life you want Quinn.” Quinn shook his head as he pulled you closer to him, which you didn’t think was humanly possible, “The life I want is waking up to you pressing your ice cold feet to my legs to warm them up, the life I want is holding your purse so you can stop and pet every stray cat you see. The life I want is anytime and everything as long as you are there. You are the one good thing in my life.” You sniffled, “Fine I’ll marry you.”

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x you #hockey player x reader #fanfic #hockey #nhl #nhl fanfiction #jack hughes x reader #qh43 #jack Hughes #luke hughes

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