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wing-ed-thing · 3 months

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Foul Creature (Tobirama x Reader) Chapter IX

Synopsis: The territory between the Uchiha and the Senju dwindles by the day. And in an era where social lines have been blurred, and new clan heads have been chosen, you're stuck between a scorned lover and a man who relentlessly pursues your hand in marriage. You don't have much time before you're forced to confront the sins of your past.

Word Count: 6.8k

Tags/Warnings: Warning for dark themes ahead, including tags for blood and descriptions of gore. Fem!Uchiha!Reader. Please consult AO3 for more specific warnings.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

Notes: Hopefully we can wrap all this up soon... god willing... but hey this piece finally has somewhat of a direction (?) now.

An Uchiha warrior with a fatal wound should give his life in a suicide attack, but not Izuna. No, the brother of Madara would not die a warrior’s death on the battlefield. Instead, the Uchiha retreated from their path to the northern shoulder, surrendering the territory to the Senju in a victory their rivals would call “The Conquering of King’s Neck.”

The Uchiha returned suddenly, earlier than they should have, and having lost great numbers. Madara did not use the village gates but shot right over the sharpened walls like a deranged comet falling from the sky. He carried Izuna’s body in his arms, holding his brother close to his chest. Both were covered in blood and heavy wounds. They had been the first to arrive, heralding in the news of their defeat without a single word of it uttered.

Madara shouted for medical assistance loud enough to startle the entire settlement, and in a blur of confusion, agony, and chaos, Izuna was brought to a doctor, and the two brothers were sealed inside a private room as quickly as the commotion had started.

The entire village stirred to life with urgency. People emerged from their cottages and herded their children out of the street as the rest of the battalion emerged from the forest and trudged toward the front gates.

The men who had stayed behind rushed the injured to the hospital and hurried around the newly returned soldiers to assist in treating their wounds. Women gathered water from the well, ready to help receive the weary soldiers.

Most injured warriors were gathered in one large room and treated on cots side by side, but not Izuna. Even in the sunlight, gathered citizens could see Madara’s hulking form pace back and forth from inside their private room.

No one else was allowed in except for the best physician in the village, who was currently facing the brunt of Madara’s furious rage. You could hear the clattering of furniture and thrown items hitting the mat floor from down the road.

You clutched your medicine pack, shouting and shoving through the crowd as you approached the triage.

“Make way for the apothecary!”

You came running as soon as you received word. The medics who went to the scene before you had their own medical packs with prepared remedies within them, but if the medics were to perform treatments on such a large group of men, they would need all the medicines they could get.

Madara had, after all, forbidden you from creating more heavy-duty remedies in anticipation of a victory for the Uchiha. He told you that fast-acting cures would be all that would be needed and did not discriminate when it came to potency. The high ground belonged to the Uchiha, and Madara himself formulated their strategy for the ambush. But Madara was left with little more than the taste of defeat and bloodied hands after the battle.

You hurried across the dirt path, the dry pebbles and earth making hurried scratching noises below the soles of your sandals. You clutched your oversized medicinal bag. The material wasn’t strong enough to carry the number of remedies you had shoved haphazardly inside. Your eyes were set on the treatment center where the soldiers were being taken. The little time you had was crucial for saving as many lives as you could.

Time seemed to slow as you ran past the paper door leading to Izuna’s private room, and you failed to notice the large hand that shot out from inside until it had grasped the back of your robes and pulled you in.

You were thrown onto the woven matt floor with barely enough time to break your fall, let alone catch your compilation of medicines. You skidded against the hard surface, ripping the cloth on your shoulder as the fabric folded under you with the motion. Your arms wrapped against your oversized pack, and the glass bottles rattled against one another as you held them close to your chest.

Madara stood over you: hulking, broad, impeding, and crazed, but still as he slowly slid the paper door shut. His palm splayed out in the middle of the door, leaving a streak of crimson across the delicate white material. The air dried the red color into a muddy rust.

An unmoving, pale hand appeared in your peripheral. You scrambled to your knees, grip still clutching your medicinal bag. You hardly recognized Izuna as he lay in front of you.

All color had drained from his cheeks, but you could hardly pay attention to the grayness of his skin in the face of the massive open wound across his stomach. Izuna bled all colors of red, his gash like a gruesome flower clawing out of his torso and streaking across the room. His chest heaved up and down at an inhumanly slow pace, pumping a wheezing sound out of his throat with every strangled breath. Everything smelled of blood, and what used to be an entirely white room was marred with ghastly streaks of gore.

The doctor worked frantically over him, but even looking at Izuna for a second told you all that you needed to know. His wound was already decorated with herbal remedies, the leaves and ground flower buds a stark, soft contrast to the wet, oozing gash that churned just below. The colors illuminated with an effervescent glow under the light of the doctor’s healing jutsu.

Izuna’s head fell to the side toward you, your name dripping from his lips in a voice hardly above a whisper. You scrambled to his side, shedding your bag, and scooping his hand up in yours without a thought.

“Izuna—!”

Your heart sank into the pits of your stomach, and your face felt numb. Tears flooded your waterline as your pulse started to drum in your ears. One of your hands, now sporting a few streaks of blood that you didn’t notice, came over your mouth in mortified shock.

But even so, Izuna gazed at you fondly. His eyes were lidded, pain written across his face, but he did his best to grasp onto you weakly. You stared widely down at his giant wound, almost hypnotized by the terrible sight of it, before returning to Izuna’s face. Your hand dropped back down to your lap and joined the other in morphing over his palm.

Your lips parted, but no sound left them. They wavered in the bitter-smelling air as an ugly sound stalled in your throat. You didn’t have it in you to tell him that it all would be okay. He wouldn’t have believed you anyway.

“I do not know what to say…” Your voice came out in a breathless hiss, your lips crinkling upwards as your brows creased together into two wavy lines.

“I apologize…” Izuna was barely audible, and his words held an incoherent rasp. “The words I spoke to you last were most regretful… and most dishonorable…”

“Izuna, do not speak like this!” Your scolding was less than a whisper.

You looked at the doctor, whose eyes were already on you. Wordlessly, he confirmed your fearful thoughts.

Izuna wasn’t going to—

“How does he appear?” Madara implored. “I demand you tell me. Tell me that you deem him treatable with your remedies!”

Izuna gave your hand a light squeeze. When you looked down at him, two tears fell right onto his blood-stained clothing.

His other hand slowly rose, shaking as he brought it to his face. It stopped, trembling over his neck as Izuna raised his pointer finger. He brought it over his lips.

The sound of your name boomed across the paper room.

“Why do you fall silent? You are able to revive him, are you not?” Madara thundered frantically. “You told me! You told me of your chakra remedies!” Madara’s hand shot out from behind you but missed your shoulder as his fingers grasped about wildly. You could feel the force of his motion in the air as the slight breeze of his movement rattled the hair behind your ear.

He made another grab for you, and you turned to grasp him by the shoulders as if you were taking a bull by its horns, dropping Izuna’s hand in the process. The metal of Madara’s armor was dirty and solid, pinching your fingers as you tried to keep him at bay as he lunged. He ranted something incoherent, nearly knocking you back into Izuna. Your core tensed, trying to keep yourself from falling back onto Izuna’s open torso as you tried to fight Madara away.

“Madara, this is madness!” you shouted directly into his face. Your arms were beginning to shake under the weight of him, the locking of your joints being the only thing keeping Madara from pinning you down in his deranged rampage. But the fear and confusion in your gaze immediately widened as you met his gray irises. “Madara! Your eyes!”

“Clan Head, that is enough!” The doctor had since stood, stepping over Izuna’s body to ram into Madara with his shoulder. Your limbs were granted relief as the two of them stumbled back, nearly punching a hole in the paper wall.

The doctor was not as large of a man as Madara, but he held his own against Madara’s unrestrained rage. His shoulder dug into the right side of Madara’s chest, and the doctor used all his weight to keep him from charging. But he was ultimately not enough to keep Madara restrained.

Madara shoved him back with a violent push to the doctor’s chest.

“Who are you to cease treatment on my brother?! Who are you to attack your Clan Head— I’ll have you banished for your indiscretion—!”

“Madara, that is enough!” You shot to your feet, placing yourself between the two men. One of your palms splayed across Madara’s chest plate. He continued to scream over your head, gesturing pointedly somewhere behind you. Tears streamed down his face as his skin scrunched up in rage. — “Madara!”

— “You dare to impede me? My younger brother lies dying before my very eyes, and I cannot even see his face! And you dare stand against me when Izuna’s chakra weakens! You are traitors! You are traitors to the Uchiha; I will have you banished and then hunt you down myself— why do you refuse to help my brother? —”

— “Madara, please, I implore you to listen—”

Madara’s hand whipped across your face with enough force to make your ears ring. You fell to the ground with a heavy thud, the power of Madara’s strike making you almost spin as you went down. Your hand shot to your nose, which had begun to bleed. Your blood mixed with Izuna’s.

“Madara, that is enough…” Izuna began to sit up somewhere behind you. He groaned in pain, almost collapsing as he propped himself on one elbow. The doctor was already beside him, urging him to lie back down. But the sound of Izuna’s voice appeared to be enough to sate Madara’s mounting rage. He visibly melted, perking up as he tried to pinpoint where Izuna’s voice came from with a rapid gesture of his head.

You were lost, hypnotized by the red that dripped from your nose and onto your hand. The droplets were thick and hot, only diluted by the tears of disbelief that seemed to fall in sheets from your eyes. You struggled to gather yourself as Madara knelt by Izuna’s side.

“We will find a way,” Madara insisted with certainty. He nodded several times, taking up the straps of your medicine pack in his hand. He rooted around in it, searching for powder. “There is an ointment crafted for deep wounds—!”

“It is too late, Madara.” Izuna collapsed back onto his cot. A sharp hiss of pain tore from his throat. Izuna grabbed at his brother’s sleeve, willing him to come closer with his little remaining strength. The hold he had on Madara’s clothes was a death grip. “You must listen to me.”

Madara bowed like a child in prayer, lending his ear to Izuna’s lips. He crouched on his knees, hair cascading over his brother’s pale face as he blindly clung onto any part of Izuna he could reach. Izuna’s voice, perhaps meant only for Madara, faded in and out.

“For the good and future of the clan, you must not fall victim to Hashirama Senju’s trickery… promise me, I…” You could barely hear him. You hovered just behind Madara, sitting with your knees tucked under you and the fabric that made up the skirt of your robes balled in your fists. You tucked your chin to your chest. Hot tears continued to dribble down your face.

Your head spun, unable to listen to Izuna’s words even if you tried. You became lost in yourself, only resurfacing to reality when the sound of your name rang across the room. It was the doctor.

One moment, Izuna was speaking to Madara, and then the next—

“We will be performing an ocular transplant,” the doctor said. “Are you able to assist?” His grave gaze bore into you.

Your mouth gaped. You shook your head in disbelief. You turned toward Madara, who couldn't see you.

“You are taking his eyes?” you asked accusingly. Your tone held a harsh snap. “Are you so obsessed with battle that you dare take the sharingan of your own brother—?”

“Enough.” Izuna’s voice somehow found its way out of his throat. Just barely. His tired eyes met yours. “I forfeit them willingly… for the sake of the clan.” Izuna’s lids fluttered closed, even as you continued to stare. A new wave of tears welled in your vision. You were growing sick of weeping.

“For the sake of the clan…” you repeated, a part of you hoping that if you spoke the words, they would make better sense to you. You didn’t have to yield advanced jutsu to understand the implications of Madara obtaining Izuna’s eyes. With the Senju closing in, you knew there were few other choices.

Madara, the leader of the Uchiha, had exhausted his mangekyo sharingan. Izuna, the second strongest fighter in the clan, was fading quickly as he lay before you. And while the Uchiha had more than formidable soldiers, too many had been defeated in the ambush, and the rest had been injured during their retreat. It was truly up to Madara to protect you now.

Izuna spoke your name again. It would be the final time he would do so.

“I implore you… please, do not deprive me of my final wish,” he said weakly, the frailty of his words a stark contrast to the unfair burden he bestowed upon you. You glanced back toward the doctor. “I need you by my side.”

“I— I just make the medicine, although I— I…” You closed your eyes to shed more tears, but none fell. You tried to blink again, only to find your waterline dry. “I can administer some remedies.”

“The extra set of hands is more than plenty,” the doctor affirmed. “But we must make haste.”

Izuna’s hand found yours. His touch was cold. He gave your hand a weak squeeze.

***

It wasn’t enough to hang onto every moment you could. You tried to take him in during every second of the procedure, focusing so hard on being with Izuna for the dwindling amount of time you had left. You could feel the minutes slipping through your fingers. Your eyes searched every inch of him, trying to hang onto the patches of snowy white skin between the dirt and red stains. Izuna was here now, and you pulled a single moment into a thousand.

And when it was done, and Izuna was dead, you sat back on your calves. Madara lay to your left, his face bandaged with wrappings adorned with healing herbs. And Izuna rested to your right.

He had passed just moments before, long before the doctor had left the room. A thin sheet rested over his head, extending down to his blood-stained boots. But even as he lay such a short distance away, all presence of him had been vanquished from the room. The form under the cloth was an object, a thing taking a shape that certainly wasn’t Izuna.

Your skin was taut from all your weeping. The tears still came in bursts, but the muscles in your face felt fatigued by it all. Any noise from the outside sounded muffled. Even Madara’s heavy breathing didn’t make it to your ears.

You could see the light from the sun behind the paper walls. You stared blankly at the random swipes and spatters of red that dotted the room, staining the light eggshell color of all the fixtures.

You lay down between them, letting your body go limp for the first time that morning. Some medics had since taken your bag of extra medication to use outside. The commotion in the village seemed to have dwindled some. You let your eyes fall closed. Exhaustion had grown so great in your head that your lack of energy made you wired. Your thoughts ran across your brain on their own, and you could do little to stop them.

You could sense that Madara was about to speak even before he parted his lips. He breathed in, taking a familiar pause before his voice dared to break through the silence in the room.

“Your resentment radiates off of you like fire.”

In one of his final acts of life, Izuna had sated Madara’s rage, leaving his brother in this world quiet and pensive. Madara had been eerily silent.

You let your eyes open lazily. They traced the outline of Izuna’s face beneath the cotton sheet.

“Now is hardly the time, Madara,” you muttered.

“But it is true.”

You didn’t answer. You shepherded the silence back into the air, hoping that your ignorance of him would be enough. You couldn’t handle his talk in the face of your bubbling and agitated emotions.

“It is true—"

“Silence, Madara,” you snapped, your words lashing across the silent atmosphere you tried to curate. You held your arms close to your chest, nuzzling your cheek into the side of one of your hands. You curled farther in on yourself, only isolating Madara more. “Izuna just...”

“He is passed,” Madara rumbled solemnly with all the clarity of the world. You cast your gaze to the light just outside the paper doors. It looked warm. “And you believe it should have been me in his place.”

“I said no such thing.” Your face was tired and puffy.

“You would be right.”

“Cease with your grandstanding—” You sat up, propping yourself on your palm as you faced Izuna’s body. You could barely keep yourself from collapsing from the mental exhaustion alone. — “It is inappropriate at a time like this.” You could feel the sting of tears shocking the nerves behind your nose, yet your eyes remained dry. “Why must you make these things so difficult?”

“I am making the death of my own brother difficult?” He sat up somewhere behind you.

“Do not twist my words. Timing has never been your strong suit, Madara.” You also rose to sit up straight, now sitting cross-legged near Izuna’s knees.

“You believe that I am not in grief?” He held a thundering bite to his words, although even the slightest increase in volume sounded like a storm within the context of the hauntingly quiet room. “Do you believe that I do not feel deep despair over one who I have loved so dearly?”

“You were not the only one who cherished Izuna!” You snapped around, knees hitting the opposite side of the mat floor. “Of all the times where you must be a fool, Madara! Why must it be now? Why must it have been this past visit to my apothecary? Why must it have been on the battlefield where you could have saved him a hundred times over, and yet you condemn yourself to play the fool!”

You weren’t used to seeing Madara’s face bandaged. He looked like a ghost, sitting upright where he was with his legs outstretched before him. Even blinded, you could almost feel his gaze boring into yours.

When he spoke, his voice was low.

“I am well aware,” he growled, trailing a tense silence in his wake. Madara sat up farther, and it wasn’t until the faint shadow of his large form eclipsed half of your face that you realized how quickly he bridged the gap between the two of you. “I am not blind enough to reflect on my hubris, nor am I blind enough to recognize my own twisted nature in my jealousy.”

You found yourself once again face to face with bandaged eyes, hypnotized by the infinity of cloth strips layered over each other. You took in every fold, watching where blood slowly seeped through the fibers. And perhaps if it had been a more tender moment and if you had loved Madara more, you might have tenderly taken hold of his jaw. But instead, you sat, slowly sobering up to the reality of what just occurred a few moments prior as your face was contorted by a demon of despair.

Your resolve imploded.

“A mere reflection is hardly recompense,” you hissed, your voice coming out as barely a whisper. “How must it feel to have sacrificed your only living blood and continue to prove yourself so fruitless in your rivalry with Hashirama Senju? You have no excuse for your arrogance!” You steadily grew in volume, suddenly finding yourself standing. “So lost in your fruitless rivalry with him, you have indeed been left blind, with your flesh newly broken and easily swayed heart—no, you do not view clearly enough the hubris in your ways! You are a soft man, Madara!”

The tears came back all at once. You shed them like a waterfall as the wind caught in your throat. You gasped for air, hiccupping and choking all at once as the words tumbled from your lips.

“Izuna—" You could hardly get his name out between gasps. “He—! Izuna, he thought—!”

And perhaps if Madara had loved you more, he would have done something other than take the brunt of your broken rambling in silence. To him, that was gesture enough. To you, it was an indulgence in self-pity.

He let you leave, and no one stopped to question you as you quickly pushed through the crowd of people back to the apothecary. Although things seemed to have settled compared to the roaring chaos that captivated the late morning, people still milled around, collecting food and fluttering around the loved ones who were fortunate enough to make it home.

You needed more time to analyze things. You honed in on the apothecary doors, barreling through them without regard for the medics coming in and out.

You said little aside from your curt and adamant wish not to be disturbed before retreating into your loft at the far end of the apothecary. You curled in on yourself for what would feel like days, wrapping your cotton sheets around you as you buried yourself further from the world.

The tears seemed to flow without you completely now, soaking the fabric of your pillow to create a wet circle just below your ear. Your thoughts ran on without you, and your heart ached from what felt like a hole sliced clean through it. The grief rested over you like a blanket, coating you from head to foot in numbing density. You would stay like that for what felt like days, unaware of what was happening outside.

And the world would turn upside down, disrupting the mundanity you were trying so desperately to cultivate.

When you weren’t lying in bed, you spent your hours lazily picking at things in your garden. In the rare moments of mustered energy, you would bathe and tend to your hair— more out of a necessity for maintenance than anything else.

You didn’t even know that Madara had left until he returned. And when he returned to the village, he did not seek you out. Instead, a member of Madara’s council visited you at the apothecary.

A young man with a severe face around Izuna’s age, he stood with his back erect on the porch behind the apothecary. You sat in your herb garden, absentmindedly fiddling with a particularly large flower blossom as a small collection of random herbs sat in a basket at your hip. He had called out to you in that militant voice that soldiers tended to use. You had hummed in response.

“There is a truce,” he said. “The Uchiha and the Senju have agreed to unite.”

***

There were so many questions that the village hall overflowed with people. Members of the Uchiha even stood outside, hoping to catch an explanation.

Madara and what was left of his council sat before the crowd, still adorned in their light wrappings from the Conquering of King’s Neck and the second face-off Madara had apparently had with Hashirama Senju. The room chirped, filling with murmurs and speculation. But when Madara began to speak, all fell silent.

“The time has come…”

You watched from just barely inside one of the wide doorframes. Madara stared straight ahead, his voice confident, stern, and sure.

He held himself like a clan head.

“The time has come for wartime to end,” he announced, surveying the gathered crowd. “It is time to put a stop to a violence started long ago, one that has forced our children to pay the price for a conflict started by the fathers of our father’s fathers. For I challenge you to find me a soul in this room that has not been exhausted from war and the act of burial.”

The room remained eerily quiet. You stood on your toes, trying to catch a better view over a man’s shoulder.

“Let me do away with your primary concern; The Uchiha stand on the same ground as the Senju, as equals, and in collaboration with one another. Our combined power has the potential to create a village where all people shall live without fear of violence, and small hands may never know the handle of a kunai nor the weight of the metal. This is a thing that Hashirama and I agree upon, and as the leader of the Senju clan, he has agreed to honor our terms.”

The room erupted in a low clamor, everyone wanting nothing more than for Madara’s words to be true. They held their questions high, finally breaking their collective silence at the mere mention of Hashirama Senju.

The sound of his name struck your heart no differently, and before you could even think, you were a distance away from the meeting hall. Your spot by the door had filled in swiftly. You had one place to retreat, one sanctuary, and you hid yourself in the loft.

***

“I need you by my side.”

You thought it was cruel for Madara to use Izuna’s last words in such a way, but you doubted that Madara even remembered his brother’s last words to you.

The meeting had adjourned late into the night. The people had many questions, at least, that’s what Madara would tell you later. You hadn’t needed him to tell you to believe it.

It startled you when lantern light from the street flooded through the open door of the apothecary. You sat up in your bed, already halfway between wakefulness and mental exhaustion that kept you from falling into a meaningful slumber. Madara always swung the door open wider than he needed, and aside from that, you could place his hulking form anywhere.

He waited wordlessly as you descended from your tower. You did so lazily.

“Are you ill?” you asked at the bottom of your set of steps that wasn’t quite a ladder or a proper set of stairs. “A physician would have an easier time tending to you than I. At the meeting, I do believe I saw—”

Madara pulled you close in an instant. Your sleep-addled mind had little time to process the action as you stumbled over your feet. Your face hit Madara’s chest. He had a strong scent to him, which, while not unpleasant, was as overpowering as the man.

A sliver of light trickled in from where the door sat ajar. It cast a faint highlight around Madara’s figure. Your tired eyes traced the shadows that the faint glow created on the fabric of his sleeve.

It felt out of place being in his arms like this. You weren’t used to him not wearing armor. You could feel it in the tension of your muscles and the awkwardness of not knowing how to touch him in return. You let him hold you, and yet, for how none of it felt right, there was an odd, fragile comfort that had never belonged to Madara before.

Madara, who imposed himself in every space he ever stood and could never be found wearing not even a piece of armor, felt soft.

“I need you by my side,” he had told you. You felt his cheek against your hair. “I need confidence that I am making the right decision.”

“Madara,” you spoke softly, pulling back to meet his gaze in the dimness. “How do you expect me to give guidance on these things? I am not—”

You stopped yourself right there, feeling foolish in less than an instant. Nothing but the chirp of insects outside disrupted the silence of the apothecary. It felt as if so much of your time with Madara was filled with silence. But Madara’s eyes held no judgment.

“Izuna watches over us from the heavens, and I have thought little more than the day he passed and the terrible way I behaved toward you,” he said with a slow nod. His voice held the rich timber that it typically had. Madara brought a hand gingerly to the side of your face. His skin was rough and scarred. He spoke lowly, surprising you with more softness. “I would feel confident with you by my side. You need not labor yourself, nor would you have to speak a word… For you just to be would be enough.”

“What do you speak of, Madara?”

Madara cast his gaze off to the side, his jaw tensing slightly.

“Perhaps Izuna would think it weak of me to bring a woman to such prestigious negotiations…” He pulled back, taking his warmth with him. Madara turned with one hand on his hip and the other clasped over his face.

“Of what do you speak?” You nearly choked on air.

— “But what if said woman was close family?

When Madara whipped back around, he did so in the middle of a thought he did not bother to share with you. You blinked a few times, letting your eyes flutter closed as you tried to gather your thoughts, and to your dismay, Madara didn’t speak a word in your silence. You stared at him for answers, prompting him to elaborate.

“Izuna should be by my side,” he finally said, perhaps a bit louder than he needed to have been. When he continued, he did so with a lowered tone. “Our parents passed when we were young. Izuna was my one and only brother, and he is now gone… And so, I implore you…”

Madara took in a sharp breath, not daring to speak the rest.

“Is that what we are now?” you asked. “You consider me family?”

A familiar silence once again took hold of the space between you.

“Is a wife not considered family?”

It was only due to a moment of shock that you let the question sit in the air.

You turned on your heel, your hands coming to your face as you shook your head with fatigue.

“Madara, must I remind you how terrible you are with time? —”

Your name shot from his lips, as did a hand to your shoulder.

— “Perhaps you should see a physician—”

“You are the closest thing I have!” Madara’s desperate cry halted all words on your tongue. He grabbed you hard enough to leave bruises, forcefully spinning you around as he moved forward, caging you against a nearby counter. His face was so close to yours, and when you looked deep into his eyes, you saw Izuna.

“You and I have known each other for as long as I can remember,” he said with faintness. “Has it not always been you and I? Have you not always thought it was destiny how we have always been brought together like this?”

You couldn’t say why tears began prickling at your eyes. It felt as if anything could make you cry nowadays. Madara brought a hand back up to your face, skimming the wetness from your cheek.

“Please—” It was the first time you heard Madara use such a word. — “I can assure you that things will improve, that I shall improve. Be with me by my side. I do not ask you to marry me tomorrow, but perhaps if you may see— perhaps you may come to see things as I see them.”

“You have always been one to set your expectations far too high.”

“Can you deny that we are as close as family? We have only each other.” Madara’s hand traveled down your arm to grasp your fingers in his. “I do not ask for your commitment. I ask only for the openness of your mind.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, and you breathed out a deep breath. Unconsciously, you leaned into him. Nothing made you feel right now.

“With your track record of anger and empty promises? What have we ever agreed upon?” Your words came out weakly as you met Madara’s gaze in the dimness again.

You wanted so desperately to stop staring into his eyes.

But… Izuna…

“You would have protested such things not too long ago. It all seems quite ridiculous, does it not?” You found yourself laughing, and Madara cracked a smile for the first time in a long while.

It was thin-lipped and, indeed, did resemble a crack. The wrinkles that ripped across his face made him look young, a lot younger than he had been looking as of late. A small chuckle shook his chest and hardly made a sound in his throat. You let out a light laugh. What you said hasn’t been funny, nor was it meant to be.

A handful of memories from when you were a teenager sat at the back of your mind, and perhaps if you tried not to think about them, they wouldn’t hold any importance.

***

That had been a foolish thought in and of itself, and in the days following, you wondered why you had let Madara persuade you. You decided that he had beaten you down with sentiment and nostalgia, knowing that considering any other reason would only disturb what little peace of mind you had.

It would have been wiser to give it all some thought. It would have been wiser to have turned Madara away in the first place rather than humoring his charged words, and yet, a part of you wanted to move forward. Even on your way to the neutral meeting ground, you wanted to be a part of the new dawn, spurred on by a nagging curiosity and a morbid sense of fate.

Foolish. Foolish, with little sense to it at all!

You caught a glimpse of white, and you purposefully averted your eyes. Madara stood next to you, sporting his best robes as members of the Senju unfurled two banners to be hung. The amount of Uchiha who came in support of the agreement surprised you. Most of your settlement gathered somewhat behind you, still unsure what to make of the crowd of unarmed Senju directly ahead.

The two groups remained segregated for the most part, standing around awkwardly even as the banners featuring the Uchiha and Senju crests were hung side by side. You glanced to your left toward Madara, feeling the stuffiness and tension yourself. But Madara remained stoic and upright, hardly regarding you even as Hashirama approached.

“Today is a day for celebration! Why must everyone be so serious?”

And from the tales you had been told of Hashirama, he had not been what you expected him to be. He instantly spotted the two of you as he emerged from the crowd. His round, kind eyes seemed to glitter, along with the perfectly white teeth he bared with his smile.

“Madara! My friend!” Hashirama, an already tall man, held his arms up. He only needed to take a few long strides before he was upon Madara, wrapping him up in a hug great enough to cause Madara to take a half step back. (You almost took a step back with him.) Just as quickly as Hashirama embraced him, he pulled back, planting his hands firmly on Madara’s shoulders. And Madara let him. “It is good to see you!”

Hashirama turned to you and positioned himself directly before you, eyes remaining as wide as his smile.

“Madara, how could you not send notice that you would be bringing a goddess to smile upon the union of our clans?” He fell quickly into a deep bow as you gaped. You instinctually turned to look at Madara, a girlish grin of your own contorting your lips. Madara rolled his eyes with a knowing sigh. Hashirama returned to his full height. “You may call me Hashirama. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you hummed, offering your name in return. “I hope you do not consider primary names informal as we have just met.”

Hashirama let out a boisterous laugh.

“Are you not all Uchiha as we are all Senju?” Hashirama chuckled, eyes drifting to the crowd of Senju for a moment before he did a double take. “Ah!” He turned back to you and Madara, gesturing to his right. “Speaking of Senju, might I present my brother, Tobirama.”

“Everything is prepared, brother, the people are waiting on you—”

Tobirama’s gaze latched onto yours like a magnet, causing him to stop short just to Hashirama’s right as his mouth snapped shut instantly. Your jaw dropped, and you quickly clasped your lip closed to not bring attention to your light gasp. You prayed that neither Hashirama nor Madara, who stood between the two of you, noticed your out-of-place surprise. Hashirama seemed to breeze past the micro-interaction entirely as he spoke your name.

“This is my brother, Tobirama. Tobirama, this is…” You didn’t take your eyes off Tobirama’s red irises for a second, lost in the pounding that threatened to burst open your chest. You couldn’t stop yourself from moving. Your foot slid back, positioning you just behind Madara’s shoulder. Your hand tightly grasped the back of his sleeve.

Your movement didn’t escape Hashirama. When you looked back at him, you found his gaze anchored directly to the grip you held on Madara’s arm. You watched as his face seemed to droop, his broad smile wavering for a moment as an expression of what you could only describe as genuine sorrow swept over Hashirama’s face. It was a contortion so sincere that you almost felt bad for how your body reacted. But Hashirama recovered quickly as he faced Madara once again with a friendly smile.

“... your wife, Madara?”

You hadn’t realized that Hashirama was still talking.

You and Madara gazed at each other simultaneously, expecting the other to answer, but instead, you found yourselves engaged in a silent, second-long debate.

“This is, uh,” Madara started, now as thrown off as you were. His forehead twitched as he glanced back toward you instinctually.

“I am an…” You made the mistake of accidentally making eye contact with Tobirama once again. He stood stoically by Hashirama’s side, quietly awaiting an answer. Your panicked gaze once again darted between Hashirama and Madara, who didn’t appear to be in a rush to come to your aid. — “advisor.” You nodded with pseudo-certainty. “I am an advisor on the Uchiha council.”

Hashirama wasn’t allowed time to comment.

“Pardon us.” Two members of the Senju tentatively approached your group. Hashirama pivoted a foot to acknowledge them.

“Yes, what is it?”

“All has been prepared for us to begin. We wait only on the two of you.”

Hashirama turned to spare a half-glance over his shoulder.

“Ah, that is what you were here to notify me of, was it not? Telling me to quit my chatter, eh, Tobirama? Why did you not speak sooner?” Hashirama laughed. “Let us make haste and not leave the people waiting longer than they have already. I am certain that everyone would rather be at the banquet than listen to my dry speech!”

With Hashirama having decided to begin, you retreated to the Uchiha side of the crowd and Tobirama to the Senju.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: Hahaha would you believe that I forgot that healing jutsu existed for, perhaps, this entire fic?? I certainly wrote other things with healing jutsu. Hell, I’ve written whole stories centered on it, but this?? WHOOPS.

I thought to myself that I might add another section to this chapter but I saw that 6.8k and went hahahahaha nope!

My grammar checker no longer works on the document that this was originally written on, so I took the chapter and isolated it to do edits... resulting in weird indentation issues. Ah so goes the world...

@gracefulbumblebee @norasincubi @rahatake

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

Edit: I think I’ll drop the next chapter when this one reaches 100 notes.

#Tobirama x reader #Madara x reader #naruto x reader #reader insert #x reader #naruto #madara #tobirama #Madara uchiha #Tobirama senju #izuna uchiha #hashirama senju #x you #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #izuna #fic: foul creature #naruto fanfic #naruto fanfiction

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emlvi56 · 7 months

Text

"Kim?" "...Yes?" "I have a theory." Dread. "A theory about the case?" "A theory about you," Harrier says. Great. "I think you're trying to convince me that you're boring." Not what Kim was expecting. He glances sideways at Harry. "I assure you, Detective, I am not trying. You will not need convincing to come to that conclusion." "I think I might need some convincing," Harry replies doggedly. "You seem pretty cool to me."

Kim is cool in every universe.

Made a little cover-style art for @davidfosterwallaceandgromit's au fic The Emergent Causeway. I was so enamored by the field autopsy scene I couldn't help myself. No one performs a sexier autopsy than HDB.

Original photo by: Mat Hayward | Unsplash

#digital art #disco elysium #disco elysium fanart #harrier du bois #kim kitsuragi #book cover #the emergent causeway

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lam-ila · 8 months

Text

Sing Your Heart Out as Your Ex Watches || Mat Barzal

Summary: Singer!reader performing at the NHL All Star Game while their ex watches.

Word Count: 851

Warnings: jealousy from an unnamed ex who plays in the NHL, slight mention of said ex being a bad boyfriend (please let me know if you find any more that i should add)

NHL Masterlist

a/n: this short little fic was inspired by this post by @islesnucks and was quickly written (busted it out in an hour)

this is gender neutral. hope you enjoy this! feedback is appreciated

LIKES ARE GREAT, REBLOGS ARE BETTER ♡

You were an up and coming singer, and was pretty well known in the hockey world. Growing up a hockey fan had a big influence in your life; your most famous music video included you wearing some hockey gear, grabbing the attention of hockey players, fans, and organizations.

You were already connected to the hockey world with your boyfriend, Mat Barzal, being a well known hockey player for the New York Islanders. Unfortunately, you were also connected to the hockey world through your ex... who also played in the NHL.

You had been broken up with your ex for two and a half years and you had been with Mat for a little over a year. You couldn't have been happier with Mat, he was everything your ex wasn't: sweet, respectful, kind to your family and friends, the list could go on and on. So when you were confirmed to be at the NHL All Star weekend before your boyfriend was, he couldn't have been prouder.

A few weeks later, the All Stars were announced and Mat's name was listed as one of the players; it was your turn to be proud of him. However, upon reading the list of players who would accompany Mat as All Stars, you frowned at the sight of your ex's name. You brushed it off as your joy that Mat was an All Star overpowered your sadness that your ex was also an All Star.

Since you were performing, you were listed as one of the four celebrity captains. You of course drafted your boyfriend as your first pick resulting in the fans, both yours and his, going wild in person and over social media. Your and Mat's names were all over social media the entire weekend with your ex's name sometimes following your names as he seemingly didn't even try to hide his jealousy that you were happily with Mat. Your ex's obvious jealousy didn't bother you at the time, you were secure in yourself and your relationship as was Mat.

Your and Mat's names appearing on social media only increased on the Saturday, when you were behind the bench that Mat sat upon. Clips of you strategizing play and semi-flirtatiously bossing Mat around were all over the tags relating to the both of you and the NHL All Star Game.

You were set to perform after the second game of the day before the third and final game of the day. At first, you were excited to perform, however, as the All Star weekend went by, you were increasingly getting nervous about performing in front of your ex. As you were getting ready with your backup dancers in the arena's home team locker room, you realized how un-ready you were to perform in front of him. Your backup dancers noticed your nervousness and one of them texted Mat that he needed to come to calm your nerves. Once Mat arrived, you didn't look his way as he expected, signaling that you were lost in your thoughts.

"Hi." He said after cautiously approached you and sitting next to you, worried that he would abruptly break you out of your thoughts.

"Hi." You repeated, a slight smile accompanying your greeting as you met his gaze.

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" He asked, gently grabbing your hands and holding them in his as if saying 'you can't avoid this conversation'.

"I have to perform in front of him." You didn't have to say his name for Mat to know that you were talking about your ex. "Him being here wasn't bothering me Thursday, or yesterday, or even earlier today, so I don't know why I'm worried."

"I do," You looked at Mat, confused as to how he knew, but you didn't. "You're worried because it's the first time you perform in front of him since you broke up with him. And I completely understand that." Mat paused, allowing you to talk if you wanted to, but your silence showed him that he could continue. "But you know what? He's been jealous this whole weekend. He can't stand how well you're doing for your singing career without him by your side."

"And he can't stand that I have a boyfriend who's better than him in every way." You added, causing Mat to giddily smile and blush. You took a deep breath, your hands still in Mat's, before adding, "I can do this."

"Now that's the positive self talk I want to hear!" Mat squeezed your hands before letting go, standing up to lean down and give you a chaste kiss on your lips. "I want you to go out there and sing your heart out while your ex watches. Relish in the glory because you've earned it."

"I have?" You asked, standing up in front of Mat.

"You have," he reassured. "and that's all your work that allowed you to get to this point." With one last kiss - the good luck kiss as Mat called it - he was gone, re-joining his NHL peers on the ice waiting for your performance of a lifetime.

——————————

NHL taglist: @readyfreddy @jostystyles @jimothystu @typical-simplelove @2manytabsopen @11livpangburn @matthewkniesys @lifeofpriya @fallinallincurls

join my taglist here

#maleeha writes #mat barzal #mathew barzal #mat barzal x reader #mathew barzal x reader #mat barzal imagine #mathew barzal imagine #mat barzal fanfic #mathew barzal fanfic #mat barzal fanfiction #mathew barzal fanfiction

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ofthebrownajah · 1 year

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Marcus: The Great Hunt is one of my favorite books in the series I'm excited for Perrin's arc this season

Donal: I use the books to enhance my performance as Mat

Josha: I can't wait til Rand goes in the Box

#wheel of time #wot on prime #interviews #wot book spoilers #rand al'thor #perrin aybara #mat cauthon #josha stradowski #marcus rutherford #donal finn

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sunflowersandsapphires · 6 months

Text

Waste away with me

Of Oak and Ivy, Chapter 6

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: In college, Matt Murdock had two best friends, Foggy Nelson and you. However, life had no intention of letting you graduate with him. When he reconnects with you in adulthood, he is troubled to see the hand God has dealt you and vows to use every tool at his disposal to save you from damnation.

warnings: swearing, brief descriptions of illness (obligatory sitcom sick episode alert), Matt being dumb, disgusting levels of pining

a/n: This was originally part of Heaven Help the Fool but that chapter would've been almost 9k so I split it up. I'm pretty proud of this half so I hope you all like it! As always, reblogs and comments are especially appreciated.

w/c: 4.4k

Swaying your hips to the rhythm of the song blasting through your headphones, you scrubbed at a particularly stubborn spot of food on the pan you were cleaning. Your sock-covered feet bounced from side to side as you danced, traipsing around your kitchen as you washed the dishes. Waltzing another sudsy item over to the drying rack, you giggled to yourself as it nearly slipped from your grasp.

It had been ages since you’d danced around a kitchen, something that had brought you joy since you were little. You were hesitant to let yourself act so carefree, even in front of Jen and Oscar. The only person who had ever witnessed your uninhibited performances before was your mother, and spinning around on the wood floor of your kitchen when you were home alone was a great cure for your homesickness—giving you a taste of home right here in New York City.

As you rinsed soap from the rubber gloves you were wearing, you were startled out of your daydreaming by a shrill ringtone. Peeling off the banana-yellow gloves, you answered your phone with a frown.

“Hey Matt, you ok?” You weren’t sure why this call had already set off alarm bells in your brain. Perhaps it was because of how frustrated Matt had seemed lately, even after you’d helped him organize his room. The poor boy was drained, only more so over the last two days because Foggy had fallen ill and Matt had taken it upon himself to nurse the blond boy back to health.

“Uh, yah. Yep, I’m good.” Matt’s voice was breathless and almost sluggish, the words spilling through the speaker just too far apart from one another to sound normal. The response did nothing to quiet your concerns.

“Ok…did you need something?” You prompted after he failed to explain himself.

“Oh right, um, it’s raining and I, uh, I was wondering if you could give me a ride home?” Was he drunk? His sentence was a complete thought, but it seemed like he was barely stringing it together coherently.

“Yah, of course.” You responded, slipping a pair of shoes on and searching for your keys. “Where are you, trouble?”

“Er, the pharmacy by the auditorium.”

“Ok, trouble, stay dry. I’ll be there soon.” You promised, hurrying out the door and into the stormy weather.

When you arrived at the pharmacy, your chest squeezed in sympathy at the pathetic sight before you. Huddled on a bench under the awning of the pharmacy was Matt, his hoodie soaked with rain. You could see your poor friend shaking from the cold, arms huddled around his waist as he waited. After parking your car hastily, you dashed over to him with an open umbrella, understanding beginning to flow through your mind as you studied his appearance.

Up close, his trembling was vicious, shaking drops of rainwater off of his hair and glasses. He was breathing heavily and his nose was bright red. And, perhaps more worrying than all of those things combined, he hadn’t noticed you standing right in front of him.

Matt always knew when you were around. It was almost scary. You and Foggy liked to joke that he had super powers, but he explained he was just used to relying on his other senses to inform him of his surroundings.

They clearly weren’t working properly right now, though.

“Matty?” You asked softly, braving the puddles and kneeling in front of him. Holding the umbrella up higher to shield both of you from the pelting rain, you flinched as his hand shot out, grabbing you by the lapel and yanking you forward before recognition relaxed his jaw.

“Bug?”

“Yah, trouble, it’s me.” Shaking off the shock that had brewed in your throat when Matt yanked you to the ground, you continued. “Let’s get you into my car where it’s warmer.”

Taking his arm gently, you guided him under the umbrella and towards your car. Matt’s body sagged against yours as you walked, dampening your own sweater with the moisture from his clothes. Once he was settled in your passenger seat, you closed the umbrella, tossing it in the trunk before racing to the driver’s side and hopping in the car.

“Ok, Matty, am I taking you back to your dorm?” You asked, restraining yourself from brushing stray raindrops off his flushed cheeks.

“Yes please.” His voice was hoarse, quiet. Too distant from the charming, velvet tone you loved so much.

Nodding habitually, you backed out of the parking space and drove faster than normal through campus.

“Why were you at the pharmacy in such shitty weather?” You wondered aloud, unsure if he had the energy to respond.

“Getting cold medicine and tissues for Foggy.” He answered tiredly.

“Sounds like you might need some of that yourself, trouble. How long have you been sick?”

“‘M fine.” Came Matt’s gruff response, shutting down your genuine concern with two words.

“Alrighty then.” You said, more to yourself than him, but you didn’t say anything further.

The rest of the car ride was spent in silence, save for a few stifled sneezes that you pretended not to hear for the sake of Matt’s dignity. In no time, you were rolling up to the front door of his building.

“Did you want me to walk you up?” You asked cautiously.

“No, I’ll be ok, sweetheart.” Matt sighed, seeming a bit more lucid after warming up. “Foggy is really gross right now and I’d hate for you to catch this.”

“Ok, well, take good care of each other. And, maybe take a few days off? To rest so you don’t get sick too?” You proposed, hoping he wouldn’t be too grumpy with the suggestion.

Matt nodded heavily, running a hand under his nose. “Not a bad idea. I'm sorry for calling you for a ride but the buses weren’t running and—“

“Matt,” You placed your hand on his thigh. “It’s ok. It’s disgusting outside. Even if the buses are running, you can always call me. Always, yah?”

“Ok. I’m sorry.”

You chuckled, squeezing his leg. “You’re forgiven, trouble. Go get some sleep please.”

“I will. Text me when you’re home so I know you’re safe?”

“Of course. Have a good night, bubs.” With a final pat on his thigh, you watched as Matt left the safety of your car and braved the rain as he headed up to his room. Shaking your head, you hoped he’d hold up his end of your agreement.

Sinking into the tiny fold-up chair, you closed your eyes as the legs squeaked against their corresponding bolts. The empty chairs bordering yours did nothing to protect you from the draft that kept bursting through the door every time a student entered. Usually, there were two people sitting on either side of you to shield you from the bitter cold in the city outside.

Holding back a sigh, you wrapped your arms around your stomach in an attempt to retain heat. You were grateful that the boys had stayed home to rest, you supposed, but their absence still weighed on you. Biting your bottom lip before it could shift into a pout, you shuddered against an especially fierce gust of wind as someone stumbled in a minute before class was supposed to start.

You ignored their footsteps, until they entered your row; the shadow of the newcomer blocking the side of your face from the flickering fluorescent lights as they shuffled towards you.

A pit formed in your stomach as you turned your head; deep regret surging through you for wishing you had company when you took in his appearance.

“Matt?” You whispered, laying a hand on his arm as he tumbled backwards into his usual seat to your right.

If you thought he had looked rough last night, he looked positively deathly now. His skin was pale and shining with sweat, no doubt from the exertion of getting to class. A bright pink flush stained his cheeks and nose, accentuating the hollow circles under his eyes.

“Oh bubba,” You gasped, reaching out to touch his heated cheek. To your surprise, he flinched at the movement, suspending your hand in midair, doomed to hover around his face as you scolded the dreadfully ill boy. “What are you doing here?”

Leaning into your touch sloppily, apprehension abandoned, Matt exhaled raggedly. “We had class.” His voice was strained beyond recognition, causing your own throat to throb painfully in sympathy.

“You sound like you feel awful, Matty. You knew I would be here taking notes, why’d you leave your bed?” You tutted in soft disapproval. Fighting the urge to hold him close in front of the entire lecture hall, you moved your hand to his arm, sliding it into his elbow. His skin was burning, even through his layers; your shivering a distant memory as his fever warmed you both.

“Didn’t want to be a burden.” Matt murmured, facing the front of the room rather than your surprised gaze.

“Matthew, you are never a burden for needing help,” You admonished gently, stroking your thumb over his forearm. Before you could attempt to drill that fact into his stubborn mind, your professor began lecturing. “We will talk more about this later. I will take good notes, you focus on not fainting.” You hissed, withdrawing your hand from his arm.

“‘M not gonna faint.” He muttered, but even he didn’t seem certain of that fact.

The 150 minute class ticked by idly, the scratching of your pen diligently scribbling on paper slowly drove you mad as Matt slumped further into your personal space; his chin slowly inched towards his chest as he fell asleep to the sounds of your professor’s absurdly boring speech. Every instinct in your body was telling you to grab the kid and bolt, somehow getting him home and bundled up before he contracted pneumonia.

After what felt like days, your professor finally dismissed you. Sighing harshly, you smiled at Matt’s sleeping face, almost feeling guilty waking him.

“Ok, trouble, up and at ‘em.” You nudged his shoulder, catching him as he almost tumbled out of his seat with a start. “C’mon, bubs. We gotta get you home.”

“Home?” Matt slid his glasses off, rubbing at his eyes blearily.

“Yah, Matty. Back to your dorm, so you can sleep some more.” You explained, stroking a hand over his back as the students around you filed out of the lecture hall.

“But…we have class.” Matt’s lips slid into a pout, his nose scrunching in confusion.

“No, trouble, I have class. You are going to sleep off this wretched bug while I take notes for you and Fog.”

Matt grumbled, but didn’t argue further. Gently tugging on his hand, you pulled him out of his chair and out the door, holding him tightly against your side as you both braved the freezing weather.

By the time you reached his building, your jaw was stiff with concern. On an average day, Matt’s movements were graceful and calculated. As he descended into his feverish delirium, however, he began to rely more heavily on your strength to keep him from crashing to the pavement. Dragging him up the stairs, the two of you miraculously stumbled to his door without injury.

Passing you his lanyard, Matt shifted his weight to the drywall surrounding his door as you unlatched the lock and pushed into the room. The space was shrouded in darkness, a set of thick sheets draped over the window panes to block out all natural light.

Allowing your eyes to adjust, you rested a hand on Matt’s shoulder as he shuffled into the room. “Hey, Fog. Sorry to bust in unannounced. Wanted to make sure that Trouble here…” Trailing off, your strained eyes flitted over Foggy’s empty bed. Brow furrowing in confusion, you looked back to the dark haired boy for an explanation.

“Where’s Foggy, Matt?”

“Went back to Hell’s Kitchen for the week.” Frowning, Matt’s brow pinched in distress. “Thought I told you that.”

Holding back a sigh, you fiddled with the straps of your backpack as you debated how to best help the ill boy who was currently kicking his shoes off and collapsing into bed.

“Ok, bubba,” You crouched beside him, fussing with his comforter until he was properly bundled. “Have you taken anything for that fever today?”

Shaking his head, which knocked his glasses askew, Matt’s frown deepened. “Didn’t know I had to.”

“You don’t have to, but it’ll help you feel better.” Gently sliding his lenses off of his pale face before they were damaged or lost, you scanned the grim space for anything that could help. Lips twitching in satisfaction when you spotted a container of Tylenol, you handed Matt a few pills and his water bottle.

“There. That should do for now. Will you be ok if I head to class?”

A muscle in Matt’s jaw twitched as his expression turned stony. “Yes.”

Brushing a strand of hair from his forehead, you nodded hesitantly. “Ok, trouble. I’ll be back later to check on you. Call me if you need anything.”

Matt nodded, but you doubted he took your request to heart.

Shifting your backpack to your other shoulder, you sighed as the weight refused to distribute in a more comfortable way across your upper back. The fluorescent lights above you buzzed as you ran your fingers over another blanket—still unsatisfied with how soft the options were. If they weren’t perfect to you, they might not even be bearable for your friend and his sensitive skin.

Stopping at Target before returning to Matt wasn’t strictly necessary, but the boy had seemed so chilled in class, you figured he could use a nice soft throw blanket to add to his bed. You weren’t quite sure how to care for a sick person, but you had a few ideas give your own experiences.

You’d picked up soup from a local deli, printed off the notes you’d taken in class today using the braille printer, and were tossing the softest blanket you could find into your cart before hurrying to check out. Though it had only been a few hours, you were growing increasingly worried about Matt and the fact that he was all alone in his dark room, hopefully not coughing his lungs out or burning up with fever.

Setting the bagged blanket back in your passenger seat, you blew out a breath before shifting your car into drive. The city lights blurred in the corners of your vision as you jerked forward in the line of evening traffic, worming your way closer to Matt with every lift of your foot from the brake pedal. Eventually, you were able to squeeze into a well-worn parking space. Flipping open your phone, you hoped that your ill friend would be coherent enough to grant you access to the building.

After a ring, an out-of-breath Matt answered with a brief, “Hello?”

“Hey! I, uh, brought you some stuff. Are you able to let me in or should I lurk until someone leaves?” You asked distractedly, craning your neck to see if you could dash for the exit as a group of boys left.

The boy huffed a laugh, knowing you were only partially joking about waiting for entry. “I'll be down in a second, Bug. Please don't scare the regulars.“ His voice was still more stuffy than normal, but he seemed to know what was going on--which was an improvement from this morning.

You snorted in response. ”No promises, Matty. I'm impatiently awaiting your presence.“ Your voice sing-songed with the last sentence, making him groan.

”Alright, alright, I'm coming.“

Sure enough, a few minutes after he abruptly ended the call, a hoodie-clad Matthew leaned out of the door frame and waved you over. ”Hurry up, sweetheart, it's cold outside.“

Smiling at the familiar fond-exasperation and sarcasm that your friend had been lacking lately, you darted across the parking lot, squeezing his bicep as you passed. ”Maybe you should've worn a jacket, trouble.“

“Maybe I should've.” He smiled, letting the door whoosh closed behind the two of you. “You didn't have to come back, you know.” His voice shifted into a murmur, his expression becoming unreadable as he slipped his hand into your elbow thoughtlessly.

Gently bumping your hip into his, your face flooded with warmth as he smiled at the action. “Course I did, trouble. I wasn't about to leave you here to wallow in your misery alone. Being alone when sick is the worst.”

Matt shrugged as you reached the top of the stairs, panting slightly from exertion as he pushed his door open for you. “I wouldn't know.”

Smile falling, you looked back at Matt, his body turned away from you as he closed the door and slipped out of his shoes.

“What do you mean, Matty?” You wondered aloud, settling yourself on his bed and clasping your hands around the handle of the shopping bag you held as you waited for his response.

”Oh, I mean, growing up in an orphanage and all,“ Matt chuckled hollowly, keeping his face tilted away from you, his body desperately trying to stop you from seeing through his stoicism, as you always did. ”Always too many kids and too little time, the sisters couldn't exactly sit at my bedside. And I wasn't exactly popular amongst the kids, so I guess I never had anything to compare the loneliness to.“

Matt tangled his hands together, squeezing them as he spoke, as if he wasn't quite ready to sit back down.

”I mean, I'm sure my dad was good about it, but I can't really remember--“ His voice cracked off into a jagged coughing fit. Sliding from the mattress, you ushered him into a seated position.

”Careful there, trouble. Still gotta breathe.“ Rubbing his back as he caught his breath, you handed him his water bottle--grimacing when he grinned at you maniacally.

”You sure? Choking to death is pretty fun.“ He rasped, sipping the water slowly.

Scoffing through a laugh, you shook your head, planting yourself next to him on the bed. ”That's dark, trouble.“

Smirking as he finished the water, Matt gave a one-armed shrug. ”You've heard darker.“

”Touche.“ Kicking your feet like a child on a swing, you chewed the inside of your cheek. ”About what you said, Matty--“

Groaning, Matt fell backwards onto the mattress, bouncing you with his weight. He threw an arm over his face. “I was hoping we'd just move past it.”

“Were you?” You raised an eyebrow, unsure how truthful the statement was.

“I mean, nothing we can do about it now.” He muttered, his jaw tensing beneath his forearm.

“Well, that's not exactly true...” You argued, unwrapping an item from the thin plastic bag you'd hauled in. Unfurling the large square of fabric, you draped it over Matt carefully, quickly turning back to organize the rest of the supplies you'd brought. “I'll just have to teach you.”

”Teach me what?“ Matt croaked, lifting his head to allow his ears to track your movement as you bustled about, his fingers absentmindedly petting the soft blanket you'd thrown across him.

“How to be sick,” You responded matter-of-factly, not entirely alleviating Matt's confusion.

“Pretty sure I'm doing that just fine without a lesson.” Matt chuckled, gesturing to his pale face.

“Oh, you have definitely got the pathetic wallowing handled.” You nodded, returning with a container of soup and a spoon.

“Pathetic?” Matt pouted, his nose crinkling in offense.

Ignoring him, you withdrew one of his hands from the blanket envelope, placing the plastic tub into it. “I'm going to teach you how to be cared for. Lesson number one: Letting people bring you soup. It's the first step to a speedy recovery“

”These lessons feel incredibly subjective,“ Matt groused, face briefly lighting up as he placed the first spoonful of soup into his mouth, digging into the container earnestly as the taste hit his tongue.

”To the contrary, Murdock, these lessons are based firmly in statistics.“

”I'd like to review your citations.“

Pretending not to hear him, you continued. ”Lessons two and three are soft blankets and rest--two things that I know you're not familiar with, so I'm afraid to say you might not be credible to comment on the validity of these remedies.”

“My blanket is plenty soft.”

“Oh is it? I mean, I can take this back if you don't want it.” As you moved to retrieve the blanket from around him, Matt growled, hands clenching around fistfuls of the fuzzy material.

“I'm sorry, would you like to keep it?” You grinned, your smug attitude seeping into your words.

Matt feigned an eye roll. “Well if the experts think it'll help me feel less shitty, I guess it's worth a shot.”

“See, that's the spirit!”

Smiling, Matt cocked his head at you. “What's next on the syllabus, Professor?”

”This is the best part, Matty,“ You said excitedly, rummaging through your bag to find the item you were thrilled to share with him. ”Jen let me borrow her iPod! I downloaded an audiobook for us.“

Taken aback, Matt had to consciously remember to breathe before responding. ”That's...you didn't have to do that, bug.“

”I figured you'd probably be bored, sitting here without Foggy all day. And, I haven't passed the bar yet, but I'm pretty sure it's illegal to do homework when you feel like crap.“

Matt shook his head with a small laugh. ”What book is it?“

”It's called The Alchemist. I read it with my mom last year when she was undergoing treatment. I think you'll like it.“

”Thank you, sweetheart.“ Matt could feel a flush spreading over his cheeks that was unrelated to his current fever. Feeling entirely exposed and vulnerable, he took a leap. ”I...uh, I really didn't enjoy being by myself this afternoon. I'm happy that you came back.“

”Of course, Matty.” You murmured, stroking stray wisps of hair from his forehead. “I never want you to be alone if you don't want to be. I'll always come back to you.”

The heaviness of that statement didn’t escape either of you. Sitting in silence for a moment, Matt was unsure whether he wanted to laugh or cry.

“Even if you're ridiculously grumpy when sick.” You sighed dramatically, shaking your head.

Your stupid joke decided his next move, startling a laugh from his mouth. ”I'm not that bad, am I?“

”I guess we'll find out, won't we?“ You giggled. ”But don't worry, I'm not easily scared off.“

Maybe you should be. His brain immediately supplied. Praying his face didn’t betray the immense doubt that abruptly smacked him upside the head, he focused on the feather-light touch of your fingers in his hair.

Before his mind could spiral any further, you spoke again. “If you ever need space, say the word and I'll be gone. It has been recently brought to my attention that I'm not great at taking hints.” Your thighs brushed together beside him as you shifted nervously.

Frowning at your words, he leaned into you. “What do you mean, sweetheart? Who brought it to your attention?“

Huffing a bitter laugh, Matt could practically hear your walls going up as you backpedaled. ”It's nothing, Matty. I didn't mean anything by it–”

“Bug, please don't lie.” Sliding a single hand out from his blanket cocoon, he groped around until his fingers found yours, intertwining them. “Talk to me?”

Breathing deeply, you confessed. “At the Halloween party, a couple weeks ago, I heard Everett talking to his friends, they were ragging on him for being whipped or some stupid bullshit and he...fuck I can't believe I'm still upset about this.”

You scoffed at your own frustration, running a finger over Matt’s knuckles absentmindedly. “Instead of defending me, or even just saying nothing, he called me clingy. And, ever since, he, like, refuses to acknowledge me in public.”

“I'm so sorry, sweetheart.” Matt felt a familiar rage bubbling in his stomach, churning fiercely at the thought of you being so insecure because of an idiot like Everett.

“It's fine, I mean, I talked to him about it, he apologized, I just...” There was a small thunk as you leaned your head backwards against the drywall. “I dunno, clearly I can't stop thinking about it.”

“You're not clingy, bug. You're sweet and attentive and he's–” He's an idiot if he doesn't think that. He couldn’t say that, could he? God, he was too sick to be thinking this hard. “He's probably so mad at himself for saying it.” He finished. Why was he defending this asshole?

”You're probably right. I just...what if he was right?“

”He wasn't.“ Matt snarled, deflating as your touch reminded him of your fragile emotional state. ”I mean, hell, if you're clingy that would make me a parasite.“

Tutting in disapproval, you nestled closer to him.

Chuckling morosely, Matt continued. ”Fuck, bug, I mean–when you left for class, I almost lost it.“

”Aw, Matt, you should've called me.“ He could hear your brow folding in concern.

”It's fine, I mean, I've done this alone for 10 years, I don't know why it was so hard all of a sudden.“ Matt scoffed, trying not to dwell on how weak he felt for admitting that.

”Well that's probably why, isn't it? This is the first time in 10 years you've surrounded yourself with your people, trouble. Once you've found them, it's hard to let them go.“ Squeezing his hand, your lips twitched up. ”Especially when you're not at your best.“

Nodding in agreement, Matt sighed. “Sometimes, I can hear the voice of my old mentor. Telling me not to trust people, not to get attached. And, when you two aren't here, it's harder to ignore that voice, to remind myself that it's ok to...to not want to be alone.”

“Of course that's ok, bubs. No one wants to be alone, not even your asshole of a mentor.“ Matt laughed at the anger in your tone. ”I know it doesn't make up for the fact that I left, but I brought you my notes so you won't fail?“

Smiling, Matt rubbed his face into your shoulder. ”Of course you did.”

“What?” You giggled, admiring his sleepy grin.

“Nothing, bug. You're just good at this. Taking care of people.” Burying his face in your neck as your arms wrapped around him, he whispered, “I'm so happy I met you.”

“I'm happy I met you too, Matty. Wanna listen to the book as you fall asleep?”

“I'm not gonna fall asleep.” He argued, his words muffled by your shirt.

“Sure, Matty.” You adjusted so that you were properly holding him up, your hand once again taking up residence in his soft hair. The narrator began reading the book's publication details and you settled in, tipping your head until it rested against Matt’s.

Taglist: @eugene-emt-roe@abbyhaslongshorts@mrs-bellingham@abucketofweird@yeonalie@jadeunstablexx@spider-murdock@0ctober-writes@danzer8705@mattmurdockstateofmind

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acknowledge-reigns · 1 year

Text

There Goes My Baby (Roman Reigns x Fem!OC SMUT) 18+!!

Warnings: Dom/sub dynamic, spanking, fingering, vaginal sex, light degradation, praise kink, daddy kink, teasing, bratty sub, filth. Just filth. 18+!! MDNI.

Summary: Lilah decides to be a brat and tease Roman durring a show.

Note: Lilah is a character originally featured in a couple of fics of mine Jealous and 34+35. You do not have to read it to understand this one at all, but you can if you'd like! Face claim for Lilah is Jaylen Barron.

Lilah excitedly took her seat in the front row of the arena, She didn't have a match of her own on the card tonight so she got to participate as a fan and watch Roman do his thing up close. The best part?Roman assumed she'd be watching from backstage as usual. He had no idea she'd be right there in the front row. Some days Lilah just felt like being a brat. Today was one of those days.

Dressed in a sexy outfit that showed off her ample cleavage. A little black dress that hugs her curves just right in all the right places. It wasn't over the top revealing but she knew that tonight she was going to drive him crazy. She paired it with some matching heels and her signature necklace that had the letter J for "Joe" on it. This particular dress was his favorite, and everytime she wore it he just couldn't wait to get her out of it. The anticipation sent a shiver down her spine.

Roman's entrance music blared through the speakers, and the crowd erupted standing to their feet with their one finger in the air to acknowledge him. Lilah's heart raced as she caught a glimpse of him making his way towards the ring. The intensity in his eyes was unmistakable.

Lilah leaned forward, ensuring her curves were on full display, knowing that every movement she made would be etched in Roman's mind. As he stepped into the ring, his gaze locked with hers, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

The match began, and Roman effortlessly dominated his opponent, showcasing his incredible strength and overall greatness. But as the match progressed, Lilah noticed him occasionally breaking character, his eyes wandering towards her, unable to resist her seductive allure. There's a reason they call her "The Succubus".

With each glance, Roman's desire grew more intense. He couldn't help but mimic taking off his belt, a playful gesture that sent a clear message: she was going to get it later. The crowd, unaware of the intimate connection between the two regarded it as part of his performance but Lilah knew and she couldn't help but giggle.

As the match came to a dramatic climax, Roman hit his opponent with a powerful spear before pinning him to the mat. The crowd erupted in excitement and disbelief and the usual range of emotions you see at the end of a match, but Roman's gaze remained fixed on Lilah.

As the show ended, Roman made his way backstage to his locker room where Lilah was supposed to meet him. When she knocked on the door, He opened it and grabbed her hand, pulling inside and towards him with a fierce determination. The raw desire in his eyes was electrifying as he closed the door and locked it.

His grip firm yet gentle. Behind closed doors, the intensity between them both exploded, his hands exploring every inch of her body with an intensity that left her breathless. The raw desire in his eyes mirrored her own.

Roman's kisses were a mixture of tenderness and hunger, his lips trailing down Lilah's neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She couldn't help but gasp and moan with pleasure, amplifying his desire even more. The sound of his deep, husky voice filled the room as he whispered promises of ecstasy in her ear. Every word sent shivers down her spine, igniting a fire within her that burned hotter with every passing moment.

With a commanding yet gentle touch, Roman guided her towards the nearest wall, pressing his body against hers. The intensity of his gaze was captivating, as if he could see into the depths of her soul.

He wasted no time in removing her clothes, his hands tracing the curves of her body with reverence. The air crackled with anticipation as he pressed himself against her, his hardness evident through his wrestling gear. "Little fucking tease." Roman growled.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Daddy." Lilah teased playing innocent.

"I'm talking about that slutty little outfit, babygirl. How you knew I was gonna be dying to rip it off of you." Roman stated, his lips found hers once again, the kiss deepening as the desire between them intensified. "Such a naughty girl," Roman said as he softly smiled, tilting her chin up so that he could look into her eyes. "And what does a naughty girl deserve?"

Lilah looked up at him, a blush on her face, a mixture of excitement and fear filling her. "A spanking, Daddy," she replied, her voice barely a whisper. She had been teasing him, and she enjoyed taunting him in a playful way, but she also knew that she deserved to be punished... and it all turned her on even more.

He pulled her over to the bench and over his knee swiftly. "You remember your Safeword, baby?" Roman asked as his hand brushes over her bare ass.

"Pickles" Lilah repeated the safe word.

"Good girl." Roman says.

Roman's hand came down hard on Lilah's bare ass, with a firm and dominant smack that reverberated and echoed throughout the room. Lilah moaned, her body jolted from the sensation. It was like a jolt of electricity running through her body, and she had to fight to keep her breath. She wanted more.

*SMACK*

His hand came down again, and this time, Lilah's body shivered as she took the spanking, soaking in that delicious mix of pain and pleasure.

Lilah feels Roman push her thighs apart exposing her glistening pussy to him. He runs a finger slowly, deliberately through her wetness. His hands wander and his thumb ghosts over her clit. She whimpered, her body begging for more.

"So wet for me." Roman chuckled deeply, bringing his coated fingers up to her lips. Lilah instantly begin to suck them clean, her eyes fluttering closed in pure bliss. She releases his fingers with a slight pop, and feels an unexpected slap on her ass. She yelped from the unexpected smack, her hand instinctively going back to protect her already stinging ass from another blow. Roman easily grips both of her hands in one of his, holding them securely against her back. Lilah felt herself growing more aroused by the second. "Naughty little brat." Roman smirked, "My naughty little brat though." He adds as his hand comes down again. This one not quite as hard, but still leaving a sting and a reddening patch of flesh in it's wake.

"Daddy.." Lilah whimpered needing more. More of his touch, whether it brought with it more pain, pleasure or both. "Fuck me. Please." She begged.

Answering her pleas, he placed her on her hands and knees on the padded bench and positioned himself behind her.

The room filled with the intoxicating scent of passion and the rhythmic sounds of their bodies moving together in perfect harmony, skin slapping against skin.

Time seemed to stand still as the night unfolded, with each moment becoming more intense and filled with pleasure. Roman proved himself to be not only a dominant force in the ring but also as usual a master of pleasure behind closed doors.

As the night drew to a close, they both basked in the afterglow, feeling the warmth of his body against hers as he whispered reassuring romantic words to her, telling her how well she did. Lilah smiled. Her front-row distraction had gone even better than planned.

"I wouldn't change this feeling for nothing..." Roman said.

#roman reigns #the tribal chief #wwe roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #the only one #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns smut #roman reigns fic #head of the table #the head of the table

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youunravelme · 1 year

Note

“What do you want to watch?” tatgylb. i imagine mat getting home from a game after mama bear puts ella to bed. mama bear sitting on the couch not doing much and when mat gets home they decide to watch a tv series (right after she moves in)

perfect! i loved this request (i love writing scenes for tatgylb, especially when i'm procrastinating on part 6 lol). and what a soft moment i never ever thought about! thank you for your creativity!!

here it is!

it had been a long day. ella didn't sleep well during the night, and was cranky all day until her afternoon nap (she hardly slept during her morning nap too). when she woke up, she was an angel, but by that point you were dead on your feet.

so you sat her down in her play pin while got her dinner ready. things moved pretty quickly after that, with ella eating dinner and then taking a bath before you put her down to sleep.

you immediately fell into the couch and turned on mat's game while the sound of ella's sound machine reverberated through the baby monitor on the coffee table.

truth be told, you weren't super into hockey before you met mat. you picked up a few things from just the amount of highlight videos you've watched to get a feel for what's impressive and what's not allowed.

but you were still kinda lost without mat there to explain things. you supposed you could text sydney, but she was probably at the game.

so google was your only option. you found yourself googling calls the refs were making at different points in the game.

it wasn't long before the third period ended with the isles losing 4-2.

you were scrolling on your phone when mat came home. he dropped his stuff down at the entry way and mumbled a hello to you before heading back to his room. you thought that was the end of it until he came out in basketball shorts and a seattle thunderbirds tee shirt.

"what're we watching?"

you shrugged, too exhausted to have an opinion. "what do you wanna watch?" you held the remote out towards him and he took it albeit hesitantly.

"anything but espn, i don't think i can take another highlight reel or analytics of my shitty performance tonight." he scrolled through the channels before exiting out and going to disney plus.

he stopped over the animated movies and hesitated. "what's your favorite disney movie? and don't say the lion king, i can't take more sadness."

you shrugged. "maybe you should pick tonight, after all it seems like you've had a shitty day."

"you're slouching and you look dead inside, i think it's safe to say you also didn't have a great day today either."

"we could watch mulan?" mat nodded and pressed play on the movie.

when the music of the intro started playing, you could see him look at your from the corner of your eye.

you hesitated but looked at him anyway. "are you okay?"

he nodded. "in case i don't say it enough, thanks for helping with ella. it means the world to me."

you smiled back, a genuine one that almost hurt your cheeks. "it means the world to me too, mat."

#tatgylb #1k celebration #mat barzal #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal imagine #mathew barzal imagine #mathew barzal

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asgoodeasgold · 25 days

Text

Matthew Goode "has that fire behind the eyes"

Incredible praise for the performances in Freud's Last Session, particularly Matthew Goode, in this interesting podcast about the film (link below). I must listen to their podcast about The Offer because they loved Matthew as Bob.

I have extracted the most interesting bits from the transcript (that is, the MG bits 😆).

I do agree with them Matthew is at par with the great and the good and that he was snubbed by awards more than once (but I think it's more than twice!).

I love that they have picked up on his non-verbal communication. I love that quote "fire behind the eyes"!

Interesting they think his lack of visibility despite the brilliant acting is because he is in a crowded field (many good actors in his generation). I think it's a bit more complicated than that, a confluence of circumstances and choice perhaps 🤔

📷 Freud's Last session (2023) stills from Sharmill Films

Freud's Last Session, A Discussion | Cinema: A to B (August 2023)

I felt like the acting was operating at a higher level than the source material.

2.46 Amazing neither of these guys got any sort of other nominations for acting and I'm not talking about necessarily Academy Awards but I'm talking like maybe baftas or something else. I think is kind of a shame frankly this is like the second thing I've seen mat Matthew Gooden that he was completely like ignored via nomination

3:35 … the acting's tremendous.

5:11 Watching two masters work and I'm going to use that with Matthew good I've seen him now on enough stuff and how he can change and how he and he holds his own with Anthony Hopkins I did not feel it was like Anthony Hopkins was at this level and Matthew good was at this level or what like you know low that was a little bit lower or whatever like they're equal like they are it's a nice repertoire or you know reper of the two of them going back and forth and I'm just super impressed

5:40 I mean obviously we talked about the offer already I think he was amazing as Bob Evans like really just changed his entire personality to really mimic Bob Evans and here he's nothing like it he's very reserved very intelligent very academic like he really pulls that off I mean Matthew good I really feel like is one of those like that unknown I want to say like the poor man's Benedict Cumberbatch but only in the sense of the Poor Man's because he's not as well known as Benedict Cumberbatch like he's got that acting chops of Cumberbatch he should be playing roles that Cumberbatch isn't heck he's been in movies that Cumberbatch is in imitation game …he held his own there I mean so Matthew good is amazing and it as so fun to watch him

14:13 Freud just wears his emotions on his sleeve and then good is really great at having that restrained but that fire burning behind the eyes which is something that he did so well in um The Watchmen yeah so really spot-on casting

14:31 I mean yeah and he he was able good was able to like internalize a whole lot of that but yet still like you said kind of show it Through The Eyes through the facial features of Lewis's has great respect for Freud

16:44 Matthew's like holding his own and countering properly and yeah they're they're good they're good together

16:52 I'm excited to see what Matthew does what what he goes on to do to see if he starts getting some bigger roles and more important stuff I mean he does have a small body not I don't know small is the the right word for it I know he does have a body of work already but it's not as robust as Hopkins you know and it definitely hasn't the same trajectory as Hopkins did yeah and he I think he lost out roles that went to Christian Bale yeah I can see that or like Bale's a little older but I just looked up Matthew was born in 78 so I think it's kind of just a circumstance you know luck of the draw kind of thing yeah cuz he reminds me quite a bit of Bale the way he kind of moves and Carries himself and the British actor that that category is kind of crowded with like really good actors I mean if you look guys like born in the 70s like mid to late like that's just a ton of them it's super crowded so I think he's run into some of that yeah and there's I mean obviously there's only so many roles and people.

youtube

#matthew goode #matthewgoode #anthony hopkins #freud's last session #the offer #robert evans #cs lewis #Youtube

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oftenwantedafton · 10 months

Text

Marked - Steve Raglan/William Afton x College Student Female Reader

Finale

Rating - Explicit

Warnings for sexual content and mild violence

Also available on AO3

The apartment is unlocked when you return.

The doorknob feels loose in your hand as you push the door open cautiously.

Inside, the breakfast bar is illuminated by a pair of candles. You see wine and glasses and dishes laid out. A vase of red roses sits nearby. William is at the stove, immediately setting a ladle down on a spoon rest and walking over to greet you.

“Welcome home.”

“How did you get in?”

“Spare key under the mat. Remembered that time you locked yourself out. Wanted to surprise you. Come here.” He pulls you against him, capturing your lips with his then draws back to study your features. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes,” you reply honestly. You look up at him through your lashes. “Did you miss me?”

“You have no idea.” He kisses you again, deeper this time. “I would show you how much right now, but then dinner would be ruined.” He steals one more kiss before turning his attention back to the oven. You remove your coat and scarf and put your travel bag on the floor in the bedroom, deciding laundry and unpacking can wait.

You return to the kitchen to find William humming softly, working on opening up the bottle of wine. He seems especially happy and you think it must be relief that you’re back. Flattered that he’s missed you so much, you prattle about your time away and help him with dinner, completely forgetting any misgivings you’d had before.

“Anything interesting happen while I was away?” You’re feeling a little lightheaded from drinking alcohol on an empty stomach. The candlelight already seems hazy.

“I finally found the perfect candidate for the security position,” he says.

“Well that’s great! Hopefully you can get things repaired and up and running again soon.” You set a colander full of pasta down in the sink and turn to him, frowning. “Didn’t you hire someone already though?”

“It didn’t work out.” He pulls the oven door open, the hot air wafting over you as he slides a loaf of garlic bread off the rack.

“Oh.” You sense a shift in the mood suddenly.

The older man drains his glass, setting it down softly on the counter. “Let’s not discuss work any further tonight.”

You nod and he finishes preparing the meal as if nothing had ever happened.

***

You’re seated on the couch, feeling guilty when William insists on cleaning up and doing dishes. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt to perform the task and you can’t take your eyes off the springlock scars after he’s finished, sinking into the cushions beside you. He sees you looking, sucking in a deep breath when you gingerly begin to trace the patterns, equal parts terrified and fascinated by them. You know what they represent but you can’t help but stroke them, eliciting a soft moan.

William reaches for the button of your jeans, hurriedly tugging down the zipper. He slides to the floor to his knees in front of you, tugging until the clinging denim and spandex material releases your hips, then your knees, then finally your ankles before you’re free of them. Your panties rapidly follow suit and then he’s between your thighs, eyes locked with yours as he grazes each side of your pelvis with a light kiss. You whimper, scooting closer to the edge of the couch, closer to his waiting mouth.

He teases you still further, planting kisses inside your thighs, narrowly missing the core where you need him most. You know you’re drooling already for him, the honey of arousal slick along your entrance, dewy across your nether lips. His beard chafes your skin, heightening your anticipation. It’s gone beyond wanting; you need him, right now.

His tongue dips between the folds and you arch your back, knotting a hand in his hair, grinding your body against his mouth. He flicks over your clit, thrusts inside your pussy and laps the nectar. He growls against you and the vibration feels amazing. You tighten your grip on his hair and beg for more. A pair of fingers slip inside your well lubricated entrance, curving to massage the inner wall, stroking against your g spot. He sucks your clit hard and you see stars, bucking your hips up, biting your lower lip to keep from screaming. Relaxing your grip, thighs trembling, you struggle to breathe but he’s relentless, continuing until you’re quivering. You feel as if your entire body is liquid, throbbing and tingling.

Somehow he’s managed to open his pants in the process of pleasuring you, trading probing fingers for his cock. He thrusts into you surprisingly gently, taking his time, stoking the flame once again. He sits beside you again and grabs your waist, pulling you back onto his erection. You raise and lower yourself, finding it wet and sloppy like his mouth on your throat. He kneads your breasts then braces your hips as he matches your rhythm and you’re begging for another release, for his release, mewling until you feel him shudder. You taste the salted skin of forehead and massage the crescent scars at the nape of his neck until his breathing returns to normal.

After he’s departed you bring one of the gifted roses to your lips and brush them with velvet petals. The light floral fragrance stirs the air but it’s his body you still smell and feel and taste.

***

It’s several days into the new year, cold but sunny and you can’t help but feel good.

Customers are always more generous with tips near holidays and you’re enjoying your new classes so far. You’ve managed to keep your grades up in spite of all the distractions. You’re in love and maybe the conditions are less than ideal but you’re content.

You volunteer to clear the previous customer’s table, humming the same melody William seems fond of and that’s the precise moment when fate decides to intervene.

If the folded newspaper had been in any other position, you’d probably never have noticed the headlines. But the words security guard and Freddy Fazbear’s immediately catch your eye and you instantly grow silent, lifting the folded print with a feeling of dread.

Local man missing. Authorities have no leads.

Your heart pounds and your hands shake as you continue to grasp fragments, like a drowning person clinging to driftwood.

Last known whereabouts at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria. Recently employed as the night shift security guard. Personal vehicle in parking lot revealed no details. Owner unavailable for comment.

You think back to your conversation with William. How he’d claimed the recent hire “didn’t work out.” How enthusiastic he was about the new employee.

What possible motive could he have for employing these men other than as actual guards?

There was the fact that he was using a false name, too. And the manner in which he insisted you stay away and not get involved. Denying answers to your questions. Not to mention the disturbing rabbit costume.

You roll the paper up, nearly tossing it in the trash before you decide to tuck it into your backpack instead.

If William won’t give you answers, you’ll have to discover them on your own.

***

The campus library is less busy at the start of a new semester, when many students are not as enthusiastic about prospective projects and prefer to procrastinate. You think you’re somewhere more in the middle of that line of thinking, but schoolwork isn’t why you’re seated at one of the desks this evening.

There are a few more moments of hesitation, your fingers poised hovering above the keyboard. You could just ignore the article. Forget about William’s false identity and the strange yellow rabbit costume and his penchant for knives and just pretend you’ve seen nothing. Once you cross this boundary, there’s no going back.

You sigh. That’s just the problem. It’s pretending. And you want it to be real. You want to know the truth. You need to know.

You type in Steve Raglan and find no results. Well, you hadn’t really expected any. Chewing your bottom lip, you enter a new query:

Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria.

A flood of links pop up, detailing the hours of operation, menus, and prices for a variety of locations. Nothing useful, so you decide to narrow the search by entering the name of the town as well.

Child goes missing from popular family restaurant.

You frown, scrolling down the page. Apparently a young boy had disappeared during a birthday party. You click the link hurriedly, scanning the archived article.

Authorities still have no leads and are asking for citizens’ help with the investigation.

You hit the back button on the web browser and select the next link. Yet another child missing. Another, and still another.

You swallow, feeling nauseous. You don’t know what you’d expected, but it surely wasn’t this. What happened to these children? What did William know about it?

Who was he really?

You add grand opening to your previous query.

There. You’d found it. The owner’s name was William Afton.

As you continue browsing, you see an individual standing next to a bear mascot, the face all too familiar.

It’s your William.

There he is, the laugh lines smoothed away, brown hair absent of any gray strands, slightly longer and wavy. No glasses, and clean shaven. The eyes were the same, though. There was no mistaking them.

So he didn’t just buy the place recently. He’s the original owner.

Which means he knows about everything that’s happened.

You close the browser, hand shaking on the mouse. This is the man you’ve given yourself to.

Did he…?

You shake your head. There has to be an explanation.

Surely he didn’t have anything to do with the disappearances personally. So why conceal the truth? Why let the building decay and change identities? Just to get a fresh start? To avoid being associated with the tarnished reputation? Maybe save the family some embarrassment?

It just doesn’t make sense.

***

William’s waiting for you, leaning against his car when you emerge from the library and start across the parking lot. It grows dark early now, the street lamp from a nearby post vaguely illuminating the tall figure. His arms are folded across his chest, breath clouding in front of his face.

“Hey,” you greet him nervously, stopping when you’re still some distance away.

“What happened this afternoon? I was going to pick you up from work, remember?”

“Yeah, sorry, I had some research to do that I really needed to get going on.” You readjust the bag on your shoulder, attempting to distribute the weight more evenly.

“You could have called me.”

“I should have, you’re right.”

“Door’s unlocked.” He abruptly pushes off of the car and walks around to the driver’s side. You walk forward slowly, setting your bag on the floor before you sit down.

“You’ve been waiting awhile.” The interior of the car is cool.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“How did you know where I was?”

“Lucky guess.” He makes no move to start the engine. “So what’s this assignment you’re working on?”

“Um, something historical.” You reach for the seatbelt and he leans over, his hand covering yours, squeezing lightly, and you freeze.

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

His grip tightens. “No, I think you do.”

“Is your last name Afton?”

The pressure abruptly vanishes as he leans back, releasing you. “Where did you hear that name?”

“I saw it in the newspaper. The security guard that didn’t work out? He’s missing. The police are looking for him.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” he declares, gaze sliding from yours.

“And then there’s all of the missing children. What happened to the children, William?”

“Is this what you’ve been doing in the library this whole time? Dredging up old news stories? I’ve already told you the police never found anything.”

“But you know what really happened, don’t you? I mean, how could you not? You own the fucking place!”

You expect him to rage after this accusation, but his voice is deathly quiet, and entirely more frightening for it. “What is it that you think I’ve done?”

“I don’t know.”

“You promised me you would stay out of this.”

“I have tried to be patient and understanding, William. I really have. But this is just becoming too much.”

“Is that so?” He turns the key in the ignition, still pointedly avoiding your gaze. “Well, don’t let me keep you any longer then.”

You blink at his sudden dismissal, reaching haphazardly for the nylon strap of your bag. “I wish you would just talk to me. Trust me.”

“The feeling is mutual.” His fingers curl over the top of the steering wheel.

“William—“

“Just leave. Now.” He looks at you then, stormy gray eyes locking with your own.

You want to slap him. You want to kiss him, shake him, cling to him and demand answers. You hate how much you still desire him, even in that moment.

In the end, you do none of these things and just walk away.

***

It’s been a week since you’d confronted William, and you still haven’t seen or spoken to him.

You reach for the phone dozens of times, wind the cord around your fingers and think about him tying you up in the back of his car. You think about wrapping your arms around him as he stands before your kitchen sink, the warm slide of his tongue on your body, the silvered scars beneath your fingers and then the news articles flash in your mind and you don’t know how to feel. You look for him outside of work, nearly miss the bus waiting. He’s never on campus and his car isn’t parked on the street outside your apartment. Sometimes you consider betrayal and going to the police, but immediately discard the idea. What would you tell them? What information did you have to give them, really? It’s like he kept insisting; there was nothing to find.

So your life returns to what it was before you met him. You make coffee and serve customers and study. You order takeout and flip through television channels and you cannot bring yourself to sit on the side of the couch which had become his. It’s a safe and mundane routine, until you finally decide to break the pattern by taking the bus that leads you closest to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria.

***

It’s late when you finally finish walking to the restaurant. The air smells like snow, brisk and moist against your face. The parking lot holds two vehicles: one you instantly recognize as William’s, the other a rusted sedan. The front gate is undone and you can see neon colors glowing indoors. The marquis lights around the sign above the entrance hum loudly as you reach for the door handle.

You move through the arched entryway and jerk to a halt.

In the distance you can make out the infamous animatronics gathered in a cluster, their eyes glowing crimson, clicking with each blink of metallic lids. You haven’t seen them since you were a child, and never off of their respective stages. They sway slightly and you can hear the internal metal workings whirring, joints creaking with each twitch of limbs.

Another mascot is poised to strike a fallen figure wearing a uniform: a tall yellow decaying rabbit clutching a butcher knife.

“William!?”

His head snaps up and the luminous silver eyes of the headgear fixate on you.

“I told you not to come here without me.”

You recognize your lover’s voice, distorted within the confines of the costume. He reaches up to remove the headpiece, discarding it onto the floor where it lands with a heavy clank. His hair is saturated with sweat, several strands plastered to his forehead, and his own silver eyes are bright and feverish.

“Why couldn’t you just listen?” He takes a step towards you and you take a step back, glancing at the unconscious figure lying at his feet. He’s a young man around your age, bleeding from multiple injuries.

“What are you doing?”

He clucks his tongue and shakes his head impatiently, the movement made more difficult within the constraints of the springlocked outfit. “It’s much too complicated to get into now. Just go back outside and wait in the car. This won’t take long.”

“Are you joking?” You keep reversing until your back collides with something solid. You think it might be a crane machine, the joystick jamming into your lower spine.

“I told you again and again not to get involved. Not to ask questions. Not to pry. The less known the better. But you insisted on disobeying me.” Each remark is punctuated with a gesture in the air with the blade followed by another step closer. Your hands scrabble for something, anything to aid in your defense but you find nothing.

William halts, as if finally noticing your fear. “Do you honestly think I would hurt you?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” you whisper.

The man shakes his head. “I thought we were kindred spirits. I thought I’d finally found someone that actually understood me.”

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this. Why you had to hurt those children…”

“It had to be done!” he yells, lurching towards your cowering figure. You gasp when a hand reaches out, cold metal wiping tears from your cheek. He’s panting, his breath hot against your face. “It’s the only way. I told you forever, and I meant it.”

He turns back to find his victim has just awoken, blinking groggily. The quartet of animal characters shift restlessly, waiting for instructions.

“Don’t do this. Please.”

William ignores you, moving towards the security guard.

“William!”

It happens in an instant, and it’s difficult to determine who’s more surprised. You try to grab his arm, stepping forward just as he’s trying to shake you off when the blade makes contact, piercing your abdomen.

The pain is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. It’s hot, burning, you can already feel the blood oozing around the buried weapon. Your knees give out and you sag to the floor.

“No!” William drops to his knees beside you, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other reaching for the knife when something strikes the back of his head and he collapses, revealing the injured security guard, struggling to stay upright.

You see the red glow fade from the animatronics’ eyes, the connection broken, and then everything goes dark.

***

It’s bright when you awaken, the sunlight filtering though the window a warm band across your face.

You blink, struggling to sit up and instantly wince in pain, reaching for your stomach. It’s covered by a hospital gown and padded with bandages beneath. Your throat is parched and you struggle to work moisture into your mouth.

“Hey. You’re finally awake. Take it easy.”

You turn and find the security guard from Freddy’s seated nearby. Sterile strips hold a wound at his temple closed and a pair of crutches lean against the armrest. Dark circles beneath his eyes speak volumes of a lack of sleep.

“How…how long have I been out?”

“A few days. It was dicey in the beginning, but it seems the knife just barely missed doing lethal damage. I should go get a nurse, let them know you’re awake.”

“Wait. Just…just talk to me for a minute.”

“Okay.” He rakes a hand through cropped brown curls, looking a bit nervous and uncomfortable. “Um, are you sure you don’t want me to get someone?”

“In a minute. I just…I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Mike.”

“Mike. You saved my life.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, yeah. I guess I did. And you saved mine too, come to think of it. So that makes us about even.”

You swallow, gathering courage to ask the next question. “Where is he?”

“You mean Steve? I don’t know. No one does. One minute he was knocked out, then I went to the security office to call for an ambulance and when I got back he’d just disappeared. Cops have been looking, but…” He spreads his hands. “How did you ever get mixed up with a guy like that?”

“I met him at my job.” You remain silent for a few moments, grimacing as you struggle to sit up. “How about you? Why…why did he want to kill you?”

“My brother died when we were kids. When I went in for career counseling he was there. Recognized my last name. Decided I was a loose end he needed to take care of, I guess.”

“I’m sorry.”

There’s a long pause. “So you knew he killed all those children,” he says quietly.

“Not until the very end. And even then I still didn’t want to face the truth.” You feel unshed tears burning your eyes. “I wanted to believe the lies. That I was the one he wanted. I was the one he loved. I wanted to be enough.”

“It’s not your fault he was a monster. He was obviously very good at deceiving people. Some people are broken beyond repair. I’m sorry,” he apologizes, struggling into a standing position with the crutches. “I’m going to go get a nurse now, okay?”

You nod, watching as he makes his way to the door.

“I’ll um, check back in later to see how you’re doing. If you want,” he adds, hand resting on the doorknob.

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

The door clicks shut and you bury your face in your hands.

***

It’s spring and the winter thaw leaves behind fresh green buds on tree limbs and purple and yellow crocuses peek up around the sign for the cafe.

Your family has just left after ascertaining that you have in fact recovered and you do intend on remaining at the university. Your wound is a scar now, a dark line along your abdomen that will continue to fade as time wears on.

If only the memories and the feelings could dissipate so easily.

Mike becomes a regular and you’re grateful for his company. He’s managed to get a security job on your campus and seems content. You share coffee and talk about safe topics, pointedly avoiding anything to do with the traumatic event you’d both survived.

It’s early afternoon one day when a coworker taps your shoulder and says someone left a keyring for you. You begin to protest you aren’t missing any keys when you catch sight of the familiar rabbit’s foot decoration and you freeze, staring at the offering.

“Who gave that to you?”

“I don’t know. Some guy in the parking lot.”

You lift the keyring, heart pounding, racing towards the door but you know before you reach the exit that he’s already gone.

The police had interrogated you after the incident, of course. And you’d told them what you could. The office of William’s alias Steve Raglan had been emptied out. The pizzeria showed no evidence of any violence. The animatronics were reportedly back on their stages where they belonged. William Afton had vanished once again, leaving behind no trace.

Except for this cluster of metal and fur in your hand.

You tuck the keyring into your backpack and ignore it until the end of the shift. Waiting at the bus stop, you waver about your destination. At the last moment you choose the stop nearest to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria.

***

The parking lot is vacant.

You step towards the gate and pause, trying to peer though the diamond shaped pattern but it’s difficult to make out anything inside. It takes you a few tries before you find the correct key, unfastening the padlock and dragging the metal encasement to the side. Another key fumbled and the front doors are unlocked.

What am I doing?

You pull the handle and step inside. The lights are on, the neon signs illuminating the dining room. The stage curtains are closed once again. Tables and booths wait for meals and guests that will never arrive.

You inhale deeply and make your way towards the manager’s office. The final key slides home and then you’re inside.

The desk has a single sheet of paper on it.

You examine the drawing, recognizing William’s handiwork immediately, touching the corner and rotating it to face you. It’s a new animatronic, something decidedly more human in form.

You sense someone behind you, have no chance to move before arms wrap tightly around you, one hand draping against your throat.

“William,” you gasp.

“It’s my finest work yet, I think. But that's for later. I missed you.” His lips hover just outside your ear. The hand at your waist fumbles a button of your uniform dress open and then searches, stroking across skin until it reaches your scar. “You’re marked like me now,” he says, nuzzling at your throat. “I knew you’d come find me.” He caresses the damaged flesh and you find yourself relaxing against him, even as your mind screams at you that he’s a murderer, you shouldn’t be here, you almost died by his hand. You still love him, in spite of everything he’s done. Your body still aches for him. It’s so easy to let his mouth rediscover yours, voracious and wet. You surrender to his touch, let him manipulate your body, until the pleasure immolates any coherent thought.

Tucked in the opposite corner of the room, the yellow rabbit mascot head sits, patiently waiting.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you

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