#youre not going to escape your past scot free

[yanderes-galore]

PLEASE A YANDERE SPRINGTRAP(yes I know i'm obsessed) PLEASE! Plot: Reader actually escapes by outsmarting him(somehow)

I don' t know who made this but it's funny!

I can try to! Also, yeah, the image is funny. Sorry for the long wait!

This sort of implies you were the first nightguard in Fazbear's Fright and William is getting used to being Springtrap.

You Who Got Away

Yandere! Springtrap Short

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Sadism, Haunted animatronic this time, Start of obsession, Murder mention.

Anger made the haunted bot shudder. He had slipped up, let himself be fooled by you, now you left scot free. He kept twitching with rage.

Oh if he was still human such mistakes wouldn't have been made! Thirty years of rotting and he's lost his senses. He can barely function within his mechanical tomb. It will take some getting used to.

This had been his first encounter with you. The first time he's met you and you've already made him frustrated. Not only had you been able to leave, but you left him feeling strange.

In his past he had been a murderer. Ever since his family fell apart he had been cold. Yet here you are, making him feel strange while he's forced to live here in purgatory.

He was either too stuborn to die or was being kept in this state.

When he was transported here he was unsure how to feel. Up until he realized at night security cameras were on. Then he met you.

What a poor soul you were. Trapped here with him for a measly paycheck. When he laid eyes on you... he stalled.

You were the perfect victim. He knew your fate would be to die at his hands. Yet...

He felt killing you would ruin the fun.

He shouldn't waste you. He knew you and him would have so much fun. He couldn't help himself, he wanted to hunt you.

Your fear was delectable when he stared at you from the window. His dead eyes never leave yours. You were more of a rabbit than him.

You sat there in confused fear, hands tapping about on a tablet while quivering. He tilts his head with a wide grin. You had no idea what, or who, you were dealing with.

He hears a distant laughter in the distance. He glances at your hand on a button with disinterest. Audio meant to fool him? Why would that work?

You glance at the clock to see the time. He then takes the time to move closer from the other side. It was 4:50 AM.

"A new soul for me to slaughter, hm?"

The smell of rot makes you recoil, the rabbit standing in the doorway. You shuffle yourself towards the vent. He doesn't notice yet.

"Oh, dear... I think you'll prove to be a fun toy for me."

As if to prove his point, you dart into the vent. He's puzzled for a moment but engages in this game of chase. He knew you'd prove promising.

That was what became of most your night. You trying to run from Springtrap. The longer the chase went on the more he enjoyed you.

He could kill you when he caught you.... But there was so much more he could do. They probably wouldn't give him a victim as good as you again.

You were so clever. You fooled him by making noise and shuffling away. There were times he thought he'd catch you...

Then you'd come up with some new trick.

By the time that clock dinged and you flew out of those doors, he was left frustrated and stunned. He loved the chase yet now he couldn't stop twitching. He's... disappointed among other things.

He was frustrated he made a fool of himself and let you go. He was satisfied that you fueled his sadistic desires. He was also on edge as he may now never see you again.

He doubted anyone would believe you. A haunted robot? That's just the sleep deprivation. Although he was concerned you'd quit before he caught you.

He stares at the door with consideration. Following you wouldn't work as he would quickly be caught. Instead he stays still in front of the exit.

The idea of you quitting made him shake more, you'd think the springlocks were going off on his bones. He was upset. He gains consciousness again with new life, is tempted with such a treat, then loses it in the same night.

He'll just have to have faith that you'll return. Perhaps you're desperate enough for the money, hm? He'll just have to be patient and wait.

He can't believe he wants you to come back...

However, he knows if you do, he'll be sure you don't get away this time.

[whosyourcreepyunclenow]

alright, for some reason this exists. not quite aware about your boundaries, so I'm obligated to warn: this content may not be suitable for some readers

warnings: smut, ust, non-conish dub-con(?), toxic crap, sad silly nonsense, probably weird english

was written to a nice song though

(it's pov Michael but I can only write in second person, so imagine yourself a depressed middle-aged man and go ahead)

It’s supposed to be a fucking jinx, doesn’t it? Just how you missed the old times few crazy weeks ago, so much you hate ‘em now. And of course, hate yourself for missing ‘em, like it somehow brought back that wild crap right into your present day. What a joke.

Memories should remain memories. To indulge yourself in a good old shitty nostalgia, to dive headlong into that abyss again and get off scot-free. Your personal paradise of fun where the heart trembles, the night's still young, and the bullet in your shoulder doesn’t bother like a real one. No bruises from recoil, no shortness of breath. You’re the sharpest shooter, Mikey, the clearest mind, you always make the right decisions.

Such a calming little lie to fool yourself you could be better than this. Not just a drunk old loser, feeling sorry for himself, but a drunk old loser with history, which you wisely choose to left behind and move forward. You were a terrible person, you still are. However even a terrible person needs something to be proud of.

And there must be no way for that special something to become more than just a back door to escape reality. No fucking way.

The old days taste like nauseating warm beer and smell like piss. Stained with blood, sweat and cum, sound like annoyingly loud swearing and crunch of broken glass. It was a lot easier to forget their true colors, so you gladly forgot, leaving the only ones suitable for a proper melancholic reminiscence. You know, ain’t nothing wrong with romanticizing the past. The trouble begins when you're starting regret things. Oh man, you should never trust your memories, they’re such fabulists…

Another bottle became a pile of trash for Patricia to clean up. Not sure how obvious but you kinda hate her for no reason, just along for the ride. She could tidy up this rubbish dump for days, it’ll never get clean. She could call him good, kind, mature or whatever, he’ll never stop being himself. And neither will you.

Trying to steady the swaying room, you stabilize its dirty walls with your hands, occasionally grabbing a poster girl’s ass, she doesn’t get offended. The next one even deserved a slight slap, as if you weren’t already horny enough – to even feel the seductive warmth of skin through the faded paper and sincerely enjoy that little illusion of touch. Same 'bout an illusion of privacy behind the flimsy folding door you keep closed anyway.

At least he doesn’t mind. Being asleep and completely wasted, the only thing his doped body’s still capable of is snoring. Lying on his back, with his arms and legs spread out, in that smelly stretched briefs, he’s utterly disgusting and sexy at the same time.

Well, in the old days you wouldn’t think twice. But it ain’t the old days.

So you just carelessly shoved him aside and fell down with your face in the pillow, warm and wet from his oily hair. Took a deep breath. Fucking awful as always. He murmured something unintelligible, then turned on his stomach too, but faced to the other side. You don’t look at him either.

“Forget any idea ‘bout molesting me, pork chop. Or I’ll get sober and shove a grenade into your butt, you hear me?”

Feels like you’d blow up his butt right now, without any other tools except your own. Why the hell.

“You really flatter yourself, T. Like… greatly.”

Still somehow managed to keep your voice smooth, though the stupid nervous smirk makes it a bit softer. You swallowed hard, throwing the fuck out of your mind that nostalgic bullshit ‘bout using your saliva in a more efficient way. There was times when your fingers woulda been doing their job already, now they simply clenched into a fist, crumpling a checkered blanket. Those times have passed long ago.

“We both know you ain’t too picky.”

Is he taunting or just mocking you? Any mistake could be unreasonably costly in a lot of senses.

“Yeah, maybe.”

The catch is you ain’t even confident about yourself anymore, face it. Desire is enormous, the foretaste drives you crazy – hey, when was the last time you felt so aroused by someone? Or just aroused without any fucking reason, like in your twenties, but still aroused as fuck? Though it doesn’t mean that need can be satisfied, since any little bullshit’s enough to ruin the feeling and turn you off like a broken switch. So you hate yourself again and hate your body, hate your deceptive mind, hate your everything.

Guess getting old is a great excuse for losing interest, yeah? At least it works for Amanda and your other whores who demand from you much more than you're capable of. But the truth is you haven’t ever lost interest, you’ve just become more… picky? Or egoistic. Or less randomly horny for pretty things or simply tired from imitating it – that’s what they usually call sexual problems.

Resumed snoring let you know that T’s asleep again. So alright, you can continue feeling pity for yourself until the morning. The only thing you can do as long as you want.

Or there’s another option. Weirdly compromise, still crazy. Hence exciting.

You cautiously turned on your back and glanced at him to check, as if the obvious sound was not enough. Part of you treacherously want him to wake up at the worst moment possible, but clearly not yet. Man, what the fuck are you doing…

Quietly unbuckled your belt and unzipped your pants, suddenly worrying. Years ago it was his thing to masturbate on you sleeping, what always felt confusing when you caught him doing that. As if you were jealous of him to himself and somehow got offended, what a dumbass. Didn’t realize that every opportunity to touch someone you wanna touch is a treasure.

And now you’re casually squeezing your cock, remembering his. You jerked him half-ass mechanically, roughly, without giving a single fuck about his pleasure, the only one that really mattered was your own. Of course you tried to make it less obvious, but it was obvious – you were awful. And he loved you awful. More than anyone.

“Fuck, Trevor…”

Can’t help but whispering, not expecting to be heard. Your handjob is a lot better when you’re staring at his sweaty back, fighting the urge to remove these shitty briefs. Ain’t no even need to screw, you may climax just from looking at his naked ass.

It's almost perfect time for him to wake up and punch you. Almost.

Luckily, he doesn’t. Even when you’ve finally lost your damn mind and pull off his underwear, then predicably realized you need more than looking. And holy fuck… this was your last meaningful conclusion.

Quite unable to mess around, you got to the point, eagerly lubing up your cock with saliva and pushing apart his buttocks, barely maintaining a sense of reality… With all these toys he regularly shoves in himself, you thought it would be easier, but his hole just doesn’t let you in. So you spat on your fingers once more and smeared on his tight entrance, then tried again. He’s already disturbed enough to start moaning and lazily fidget, but not fully awake yet.

“Hey, T… You wanted the old me? You’ll get him.”

Finally, he howled when you pushed yourself inside, probably too fast. Ain’t exactly how things should be done, you was merely trying to avoid that awkward pause between “I wanna fuck you” and “I’m actually fucking you” stages. Just can’t deal with that clarifying relationships shit, not fucking now…

“FUCK!”

Alright, he woke up. And he’s trying to shove you out, if only you hadn’t held his bottom like a fucking lifeline.

“Am I shitting? Feels like a big turd’s stuck in my butt… Not so big, actually.”

“Hi to you too, Trevor.”

It’s so tense here like he’s trying to bit off your manhood with his anus and chew it. And maybe a little dry, yet not enough for him to lament.

“Remember what I said ‘bout molesting me, sugar?”

You spread out his cheeks slightly, conciliatory massaging them to appease, but he keeps struggling. It’s easier to lay down and put your weight upon him, bury yourself even deeper, softly mutter into his neck.

“C'mon, T, let me love you…”

He smells attractively horrible, alluring your lips to fondle his skin with short kisses. He tastes salty.

“It’s not fucking LOVE, you dick! It’s taking advantage!”

“Call it whatever you like.”

You thrust in him slowly, knead his hips with all tender affection you can muster, what the fuck else does he want? Alright, it ain’t really convenient now but lift him a bit to play with his boy too, and this time do it right… Oh please, just make sure to do it right.

God, he’s hard. He’s hard and hot like hell, goddammit…

“No! Just, NO I said! And pull your junk outta me!”

So this moron just slapped your hand, shoved it away and wriggled out from under your body, making you both highly unpleasant. Fucking great!

He got up, swaying and shaking, put up his briefs back on and somehow fixed his boner. Still doesn’t look at your face, though he’s not the only who hesitates. After all, you have no damn idea what went wrong or what he wanted you to do. From your perspective it felt as good as it could be, unspeakably good.

“Oh seriously, what’s the problem?”

Crap, he clearly didn’t like the question.

“What’s the problem?! WHAT’S THE FUCKING PROBLEM you asking?!”

“Yes, what’s the fucking problem!”

Fuck it. He finally turned and faced you, with so much desperate hate in his eyes that you went numb. Like everything what happened was so terribly wrong he could never forgive. Like you hurt him in ways you can’t even imagine.

“Listen… Right now, I’m making incredible efforts to not kill you, Michael,” his voice got menacingly quiet, yet notes of deeply rising anger strive to break through. “If that ain’t A PROBLEM to you, guess what I’d be doing with your corpse!”

Shit, he’s so fucking fine when he’s mad. Scary to realize, you’d probably rape him, if only he wasn’t a lot stronger, even with a such hangover. Or perhaps what you’ve already done can be as well considered as a sexual violence – of course, how else. So you’re a rapist now. Congratulations, pal.

“A-right, I got it,” but you’re still a human, who has his goddamn feelings too. “Go fuck yourself then.”

That treacherous, suicidal part of you expected him to react – in any way. He could punch you, slam you against the wall, chock you, shove a fucking grenade into your ass, rape you in revenge. You want him to do fucking anything, you just want him. Desperately.

Hastily zipping up your pants, slide open the door and leave. Patricia’s asleep on the coach or pretending being asleep. Who cares.

When harrowing horniness finally let you go, thirst hit. So bad you’d dry up the Alamo Sea despite its saltiness and ask for more. You bursted into a bathroom, opened the tap at full and drunk greedily from your palms until you felt sick, but couldn’t bring yourself to vomit. The water was muddy, rusty and smelled like sewer, lovely taste of a childhood. Lastly, you washed your face and turned to the broken mirror.

Of course, you’re miserable. Fat old fool with shadows under his eyes, saggy skin and smoky teeth. So what goddamn hopes you had for yourself? He might like that perfect old you, young and handsome, everyone’s blue-eyed boy. Oh, you were hot back in the day, admit it.

You were something to jerk on. Now you ain’t even someone to drunkenly fuck.

So go outside, get in the car. Find yourself the ugliest, the dopest hooker and blow your load into her stretched ass to chill out. Kill some strangers, if doesn’t help, trash someone’s car, rob a store. No other entertainment in this fucking nowhere.

[crackedpumpkin]

|| ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ʀᴇᴅ ʜᴀɴᴅᴇᴅ || ᴘᴛ. ᴛᴡᴏ ||

| part one | next | masterlist |

This is fine. 

Everything's fine.

He was definitely not getting chased by the guards after pulling a prank on a few of them.

Leo weaves his way through the crowd, hands on the hilt of his swords. His thumb brushes against the leather straps around the handle, watching warily for the guards that are after him.

Okay, so maybe everything isn't as fine as he'd prefer.

He rolls his eyes when one scans the crowd, ducking behind a stall to hide. Couldn't they take a simple prank? They were definitely too uptight. After all, it wasn't as if the long-lost princess was about to disappear again. 

Even if she did, he and his brothers wouldn't want to be a part of it unless there was a massive reward, of course. Just because they were yokai didn't mean they didn't want money. 

Luckily, his brothers were in the neighbouring kingdom, having headed there to purchase some of Donnie's stuff. Fortunately, they had left him behind alone this year, tasking him with bringing back the snacks he always had every year.

He grinned at the thought, looking forward to your reactions this time when he'd get away scot-free yet again. 

Speak of the devil.

He peeks out from a hidden alleyway, spotting a familiar face in the crowd. Cerulean blue catches his eye, and his brows raise with intrigue under his hood, watching you make your way through the crowd in your dress. He notices how your brows furrow, bumping into a few people with apologetic smiles. 

He chuckles, considering portalling over to scare you. After all, he rather enjoyed getting a rise out of you. He watches as you chat with the tailor's daughter, leaning against the brick wall, out of sight.

His breath hitches as he spots a guard alarmingly close to his hiding spot, grabbing the side of his hood and covering his face as best he can. The cloak brushes against his legs, the soft fabric ticklish. 

He moves quickly, barely escaping the notice of the guards. He breathes a sigh of relief, hands on the hilt of his katanas. He could leave now, he supposed.

But where was the fun in that?

He briefly considers his options. One: to make a portal and escape. Two: to stick around and explore the wares in this year's market. 

Or, his mind briefly considered, make himself known to you. After all, five years of stealing from the exact same person each time is bound to forge a certain relationship stronger than most. 

He decides to go with his gut, smirking when an idea forms in his mind. He saunters towards you, avoiding getting his cloak stepped on. He makes his way to you, grinning under his hood as he orchestrates the perfect way to make himself known. 

He shoves past a stranger, bumping hard into your shoulder. You looked up at him with such disapproval, your lower lip jutting out slightly as you studied him, waiting for an apology. 

So, he did what any confident, handsome turtle yokai would do. "Well? Aren't you going to apologize to me?" He asks, the lilting playfulness in his tone irritating you. His grin grows when you process his words, a frown on your pink lips.

"Excuse me, you bumped into me." 

Well, that was true. Leo ponders for a quick moment, eyes landing on the lone cookie in your basket. Perfect! He was just getting rather peckish. 

"Well, you weren't really looking where you were going. Oh well, I'll take this as an apology." He swiftly reaches out to grab the cookie, holding it up and scanning it as if it were a curious gadget that his beloved brother had invented.

He longs to take a bite, his mouth watering at the sight of such a delicious treat in his grasp. But he pauses at your protest, sliding it into his pocket. 

"What about all the other cookies you were handing out? Aren't they yours too?" He points out nonchalantly, getting even more amused as your cheeks turn red (from frustration, he presumes). 

He smirks when you can't retort, loving how your brows furrow. If only you knew the very thief that haunted you for the past four years (soon to be five) was standing right before you!

But alas, he wouldn't reveal himself. Not unless you finally catch him, something you had unsuccessfully attempted to do for the last four years.

"So, you're a baker?" He pretends to not see how you look at him quizzically, glancing back down at your basket and back up at him as if he were blind.

"Yeah, I am. So you'd better enjoy that cookie because there sure won't be any left tomorrow." 

"Is that so? Well, I'll be sure to stop by then." He pulls out the cookie he had tucked away earlier, a devilish smile on his lips as he takes a bite. He fights back a blissful hum, chewing slowly and thoughtfully. 

He sees your inquisitive eyes, how you try to hide your curiosity about how he liked the cookie. He chews some more, the crumbs and chocolate chips practically melting on his tongue. 

It's delicious, as always. It looks like he'd steal a bigger batch this year, purely so that he can hide away a secret stash from his brothers.

"Kinda salty." Leo hums, watching you grow baffled at his response. He's sure you've never heard such feedback before, your cookies practically inviting cavities regularly. But the look on your face is too amusing, and it only spurs on his mischief.

"Well," Leo shifts to rest his weight on one leg, leaning against the wall as he watches you try to control your temper. "Thank you for your feedback, but I will not be changing the recipe to suit the taste buds of one man when many others enjoy my baking." 

"Goodbye." He watches you turn around, brushing past him so coldly that he could've sworn he shivered. He stifles a chuckle, watching you groan loudly through the glass-stained windows of your shop. 

He heads toward the forest, munching on the cookie he'd swiped from you earlier. He looks around, taking in his surroundings before heading to the abandoned tower. 

It was where the princess had once been trapped, but he and his brothers had never revealed themselves or even hung around it in fear of being discovered.

But now, with no one in sight, he could enjoy the peace and quiet. He climbs to the rooftop effortlessly, sitting down on the tiles with a grunt. He chews on the last bits of the cookie, brushing off the crumbs around his lips and licking his thumb after.

There he sits for the rest of the night, watching the sun slowly set as the moon starts to rise. It's his private spot, one even his brothers don't visit often. Even if they did, he had practically laid claim to this place.

He drifts to sleep, the thought of the next day's heist causing the corners of his mouth to quirk upwards.

He couldn't wait.

------

As it turns out, more people were visiting the Sun Festival than ever, celebrating the joyful news about the royal family. He groans, peering over a wall and grinning when he sees a bored guard. He slashes his sword in the air, forming a small portal that connects to another right next to the guard's shoulder.

He pokes his finger through, prodding the guard's shoulder. Leo makes the portal disappear, and the guard turns to see the yellow concrete wall behind him. He shrugs, turning back around.

Leo smirks, repeating his earlier actions and stifling his laughter when the guard grows angry, looking around with a glare.

He leaves before he's discovered, barely able to contain his laughter. He spots your store just steps away, a long line trailing out the front door. He lingers around the windows, peeking inside. 

His mouth waters at the smell of your scrumptious baked goods, stomach rumbling. 

He spots you chatting away with a customer with a bright smile, and he stays for a short bit before heading off to the other booths in the market, swiping some other goods and going unnoticed by most in his getup.

Now that night had fallen, he approached the closed door of your store. Leo spots the last customer leaving and peers through the glass of the locked windows. 

He sees the empty shelves, moving to hide away when you enter the storefront with some more loaves of bread. 

Should he risk it and portal inside?

The temptation is too great, adrenaline coursing through his veins. However, he merely slashes his sword through the air once more, shoving his hand through and grabbing the last bag of cookies on the table. 

It lands in his hands, red dust staining them. He frowns at the sight, trying to blow it off before it hits him. He looks back up in realization at your oblivious figure, your innocent humming drawing out a chuckle from him.

So this is your trap for him this year. Was this really the best you could do?

He pushes his hand into the portal again, carefully tracing his call sign on the wooden table. He flinches when the bare skin gets pricked by a splinter, drawing it back and letting the portal close.

He watches your stunned figure freeze when you turn back to an empty table, biting his bottom lip to prevent another laugh from slipping through.

His eyes widen when you march to the door, hiding in the alleyway behind your store. He breathes a sigh of relief when you don't notice but is intrigued when you begin to run after someone else instead.

He follows you, making sure to keep a reasonable distance. When you stop and confront someone else who looks absolutely bemused by your accusation, he's incredibly amused. He leans against a booth, shushing the owner and watching you afar as your head drops in defeat.

He can't help the chuckle that slips past his lips, surprised when you look up instantly. He ducks down, fighting back the grin on his lips. The look on your face makes his getaway worth it, practically risking his life just to secure your cookies.

He follows you back to your store again, silently praising himself for such stealth. Of course, his brothers would probably still find something wrong with it, he thinks with a roll of his eyes.

Oh well, another day, another successful heist. 

He heads back home, eager for the next day to come. Like today, he'd make no mistake getting away scot-free with his bag of goods.

-----

He made a mistake.

The temptation had been too great to resist. Sure, it was obviously a trap, but Leo couldn't bring himself to not take the bait. He had spotted the five loaves of herbed bread sitting out in the open where the cookies from yesterday were.

You were nowhere in sight, the bread unguarded. So he portals in, his entire body standing in the middle of the empty storefront. He grabbed the loaves of bread until he tugged on the last one.

"Whoa!" He cries out, something tightening around his ankle and pulling him upwards. The bread drops to the ground, and he almost groans at the waste.

"Just great. Juuuuust great." He grumbles, crossing his arms as he dangles upside down in your storefront. Sure, he could just cut himself free and portal out of there, but some part of him wanted to be found, to finally meet you face to face instead of hiding like he always did.

He hears the jingle of a bell, looking up at its source and noticing how it connects to the last loaf of bread and the rope around his ankle.

Smart.

He realizes that his legs are exposed, the cloak covering his face. He scrambles to pull it down, trying to hide his green skin as best he can. He hears an audible inhale, turning his head to see you in the archway connecting your kitchen to the storefront.

"Juuuust great," He says sarcastically, his elbows brushing against the hilt of his katanas on his waist.

Hold on. 

Were you staring???

He gasps, noticing your eyes fixated on the part of his legs that were exposed. "Uh, rude?? You can't just stare at people like that, pervert." He throws the wild accusation your way but flinches slightly when you approach him with a frying pan in hand.

Aw, how cute.

"Ow." His words are emotionless, giving you the barest reaction as you prod his chest with your makeshift weapon. "Look, this is all just a misunderstanding. I came here to check out the cookies again, and your stupid trap thing," Leo gestures to the rope around his ankle, "is making me late to meet my brothers." In a moment of carelessness, he lets go f his cloak, which falls to his chest. He yelps, clumsily grabbing it and pulling it back down.

He stiffens when you lean in, your eyes studying his body until your gaze lands on his hands.

Crap.

He had forgotten about that. He thought the red pigment would've worn off by now.

You're giggling gleefully, realizing that you've caught him. He shrugs. May as well give up the jig. "Yeah, fine, you got me."  

He wants to laugh when you threaten him, but the fire in your eyes makes him think otherwise as you press the tip of the frying pan so firmly into his chest that it almost leaves a dent. 

"Wait! I don't have money. Can't you just put it on my tab, and we can settle this later. You can contact me through my lawyer!" Leo cries out. Surely Donnie would save him. 

He pauses.

Scratch that. Surely Raph would save him!

He winces when you make a move to flip back the hood that covers his face, half expecting you to scream at the sight.

It's almost comical, he thinks, the way your jaw goes slack as you scramble to find the right words for the situation you're in.

"So, this is awkward," he says with a sheepish smile and a shrug. He watches as you fall to the floor, entertained by the variety of emotions that flash across your face. 

Bemusement, astonishment, shock...

Acceptance?

Well, that's a new one.

"What are you?" 

"See, that's a good question. Some might call me the charismatic master, the rogue thief. You, however, may call me Leonardo." He answers with a lazy lilt in his tone.

"So, Leonardo, give me one good reason I shouldn't turn you in to the guards right now." 

He begins to stammer, heart racing in his chest at the threat. "W-well, I can deliver your baked goods to your customers!" 

"Don't need that. They'll come to my store if they want any of my products."

He grits his teeth, sweat forming on his brow, "I mean, don't you need help around the store? Instead of paying you back, how about I work around here?" He offers, eyeing the empty shelves with eager eyes as he faces you.

He crosses his arms, watching you deep in thought, weighing your options. 

"Agh!" He drops to the ground in a crumpled heap, his face bruised from the hard landing. He's propped upright into a seating position, his arms fastened behind him with a sturdy rope. 

"Hey, my swords!" He whines, noticing them in your grip.

"Just in case you get any ideas." You toss them into a cupboard, locking it and fastening the key around your neck.

"Can't I at least get those?" He nods towards the loaves on the ground, deflating when you toss them in the trash instead. 

"No way am I letting you steal any more from me than you already have." You say with a huff. You bring him upstairs, and he whistles at your firm grip.

"What is this." He stares at the barely furnished room upstairs, taken aback by how minimal everything is. With the amount of money he saw you rake in each year, he thought you'd at least have better interior design.

His question goes unanswered, and you secure the rope to the foot of your bed. He lands on the ground harshly with a grunt, frowning at your rough handling of him. Sure, he was technically being held hostage, and rightfully so, but you could at least have a heart!

"Tomorrow morning, you'll start working for me. Don't get any funny ideas, or your swords will be with the guards before you can say Flynn Rider." 

"Flynn Rider."

Your glare is all it takes to shut him up.

He leans back against the wooden bedframe with a sigh, sitting on the ground.

What had he gotten himself into?

[waywardxrhea]

Chapter 11 - Face Your Demons

What happens when you lie to the Devil? How long can one woman keep a lifetime of secrets from the Devil of Hell's Kitchen? The answer may surprise you...

installment list

pairing: Matt Murdock x enhanced!fem!OC

series content: coffee shop AU, fluff, humor, friends to lovers, pining, language, canon typical violence, angst, drinking, implied smut, medical emergencies, mental health disorders (PTSD, panic disorder).

"hear these words: i'm gonna make sure that you remember the night when you stole from her. the beautiful life, the only one. how dare you, be the fire that burned the branches off the tree, be the storm that disrupts the sea. you are the reason. now face your demons" - face your demons, i prevail

word count: 3.9k

The past she was running from finally catches up to Crystal.

When Crystal came to, she blinked hard a few times to try and regain her senses, taking in the room around her as she pulled on the restraints holding her to the chair she was in. As she struggled desperately against the ropes, she heard a pair of hands slowly clapping as their owner emerged into the clothing-packed room, flanked on either side by his right and left hand men. “You really put on a show now, didn’t you, Julianne? Or should I say Crystal?” Dean Porter asked as he approached his daughter who began trying to use her powers to escape to no avail. The room she was in was filled with fabric and linens, the racks made of wood just like the chair she was in. In an environment like this, Crystal was powerless and they knew it…

“You don’t get to call me that!” she spat, fury in her eyes as she looked up at her father, her twin brother, and the man who she used to oversee as head of her father’s security detail back in London. 

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” Dean shouted, rearing back and using his full strength to slap Crystal across the face. He grabbed her face harshly and brought his own close to hers before snarling, “You pull a stunt like you did with the O’Hares and you think you get off scot free? You think you get to come over to the States and start a new life after you got the love of mine killed?!” 

“Go to hell,” she whispered through gritted teeth. The statement only earned her being shoved to the floor, the chair toppling over with her, causing her to land in an awkward pile on the ground. 

“Up! Get her up!” Dean shouted as he paced the floor like a lion stalking his prey. When she was sat back upright by the two other men, Dean walked up behind her and roughly grabbed her shoulders, squeezing tightly as he said, “You lost me millions! You lost me business! And most importantly you lost me my wife, and you’re going to pay for that.”

“Mum wasn’t-” she tried, but stopped and shouted in agonizing pain as he rammed his thumb into a pressure point near her neck. 

“Wasn’t your fault? Is that what you were going to say?” Dean shouted, pulling out a knife from the holder on his hip and bringing it to her throat. He lowered the blade and slowly began running it over her collarbone, causing white-hot pain to course through her body as he growled, “If you hadn’t been on a date with that good-for-nothing bartender your mother wouldn’t be dead! I texted you about that last minute meeting I had with the Webb clan, but your whore ass was too preoccupied to come and protect your mother while I was away!” 

“Don’t you dare-!” She was cut off abruptly this time though by a sharp slap across the face with the butt of a pistol. 

Dean circled the chair a few times before pondering aloud, “Now, do you think we should make this quick like your mother?” He pushed the barrel of the gun into the side of her head as he asked this. He barked out a humorless laugh as he took the gun away and asked, “Or should we make it slow and painful? Just like we took care of your precious Kit? James, why don’t you show her how we took care of her lover boy?”

“Gladly,” he said with a gruesome smirk on his lips, cracking his knuckles as he approached his sister who now had tears streaming down her face. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “I hope you know how much I’m going to enjoy this, freak,” before taking his first swing at his sister, knocking her to the floor once again. 

He let out a twisted laugh as he wailed on her, using his fists and feet as he shouted, “You really wanna know what happened to dear old Kit?” A kick to the ribs. “It was me!” A kick to the stomach that knocked the wind out of her. “Dad told me to deal with the problem and I got to get rid of that pest!” He motioned for Ridge to sit her up. “But now? Now you’re gonna see that what I did to Kit was child’s play!” A slap across the face. “Now I get to get years of rage out on the little bitch that made my childhood hell!” With the last sentence he loosed a punch to her cheek that caused Crystal to see stars and made her taste metal in her mouth. 

She spat out the blood and without thinking countered, “I made your life hell? What about you always sabotaging me? You always found a way to screw up my combat lessons! You always somehow managed to get into my homework and change all the answers! You were the one who wanted to expose my powers to the public when you knew what would come out of it! You hated me!”

Another slap crossed her face before he snapped, “Oh boo hoo little miss I have superpowers! You were always the favorite! Always the first to get private combat lessons! Little Miss Julie, always the center of attention!” He took her by the shoulders and violently shook as he shouted, “You took my life from me! You took the job I always wanted growing up and you fucked it up! You turned your back on your family! And now Mum’s dead because of it!”

Tears streamed down James’s face as he slapped her once more and Dean chuckled as he said, “That’s it! Let it all out, son!”

James rounded on his sister once again, laughing maniacally as he said, “They all thought I was crazy at first! When we got the photos from the O’Hares evidencing your death, I knew it couldn’t have been true. Call it an epiphany or twin telepathy or whatever you want, I knew you weren’t dead!” He punched her once more before spitting on the ground near her feet, telling her, "It was only a matter of time before you screwed up and showed your face!"

Once he punched her, Crystal slumped over in the chair and gasped for air, but felt unable to due to the sharp pain every time she inhaled coupled with the fact that panic filled her body as the situation seemed to become more and more bleak. At this point even trying to use her powers was futile as they seemed to turn tail and hide dormant in her battered body rather than come to her aid in her time of need… 

“Can I get a turn, boss?” finally came the voice of Ridge who was now standing in front of Crystal spinning his knife deftly in his hand. “This little slag needs to know that she can’t boss me around anymore. Needs to know that it’s my turn to put her in her place.” 

“Be our guest,” Dean replied, offering out his arm as if he was letting him into one of the most gruesome meetings in history. 

“Ridge, don’t do this I-” Crystal said weakly, but didn’t get to finish as she instead let out a scream of agony as his blade sunk deep into her thigh. 

“You aren’t in charge of me anymore! All those years of listening to some puny bitch who was only put in charge because she had magical powers are over! Someone who isn’t afraid to get his hands messy is in charge now and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!” he shouted as he pulled the blade out and turned it to her arms, carving into them causing more and more blood to leak from her body. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him as he brought the knife to above her eye as he asked, “Now, how about I make the playing field even for you and that pretty boyfriend of yours huh?”

As the blade sliced into her skin starting above her eyebrow, Crystal screwed her eyes shut to try and avoid as much damage as possible, a dangerous growl leaving her chest as she spat, “Don’t you dare bring Matt into this!”

“Don’t you listen? You aren’t in charge here! You don’t make the rules anymore!” he shouted, the knife leaving her face in a rage as he wrapped his large hand around her throat and began squeezing. 

By now Crystal was sobbing pathetically due to the excruciating pain she was in as she choked out, “Please… No more! It’s my fault! All my fault! Mum’s dead because of me! Now please-!” 

“You’re pathetic!” Ridge shouted before throwing her to the ground, a sick smile on his lips after he felt something pop under the pressure of his grasp. As she hit the ground, Crystal felt her heart kick into arrhythmia, the effects of poor perfusion hitting her faster than usual due to the low blood volume resulting from her injuries.

As she laid on the ground trying to maintain consciousness, she heard Dean shouting, “You still don’t get it do you, you daft bitch? There’s no getting out of this! The only way this ends is with your lifeless corpse on this floor as payment for what you did! Crystal Shaw, Julianne Porter, it’s all the same when you’re reported dead on the news!” Right as he said this though, the lights in the room blacked out and he muttered, “Bollocks! He’s here. Ridge man the door! Not even the Devil is going to stop me from murdering my daughter tonight!”

Matt stood pressed against the wall of a building, listening into a conversation on the street below between two men talking about the woman he couldn’t get out of his mind, this mysterious Julie woman who this whole drug gang seemed to be revolving around. As he listened to the two men talking in whispers about planning to go rogue and nab the woman in order to surprise their boss, Matt felt the burner phone in his pants pocket start buzzing. He ignored it though and continued listening to the conversation down below, finally feeling as though he would be able to get a lead on where to find this woman and save her from these men.

His concentration was broken though as the phone started buzzing again. Tearing his ears away from the conversation below, Matt leaped a few buildings over to get out of earshot of the men before pulling the phone out of his pocket as it began buzzing again. “Foggy, this better be a goddamn emergency because I was just about to get a lead on the woman we’re trying to save!” Matt said sharply into the phone.

“I don’t care about her anymore, it’s Crystal I’m worried about!” Foggy shouted into the phone, stress evident in his voice. 

“Crystal? What happened to Crystal?” Matt asked, his tone softening. 

“I don’t know man! All I know is that she called me saying that she thought someone might be after her and she didn’t want to bother you in case it was nothing. I guess because she knows how important busting this drug operation is, but she’s freaking me out and I didn’t know what to do besides call you!” Foggy rambled. Matt could hear him pacing back and forth as he added, “I think she’s in trouble, Matt! I tried calling her back a million times and she still isn’t picking up and-”

“Fisk,” Matt whispered, his free hand curling into a fist at his side. 

“What?” Foggy asked, confusion evident in his tone. 

“Fisk. Is he still in prison? If he’s out and found out about my relationship with her and figured out she’s Rockie, then this could be him!”

“Slow down, buddy, Fisk’s still in supermax, this isn’t him!” 

“Fine, let’s say it isn’t him,” Matt said, giving up the prospect for the time being. “Where was she when she called you? And how long ago was it?”

“In her apartment about twenty minutes ago,” Foggy replied. 

“Why did you wait so long to call me?” Matt snapped, his breath coming in sharp as anger began filling his body. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t wait the half hour she told me to!” Foggy countered. “She told me that if she didn’t call back within half an hour to send Daredevil to her place. Not Matt, Daredevil! I think she knew more than she was letting on man…”

“Shit…” Matt whispered, his heart beginning to pound in his ears as his body began moving without much thought as to where he was going. As he jumped from building to building, Matt told Foggy, “You keep trying her cell, I’m going to find her.”

“Keep me updated,” Foggy replied before the line went dead and Matt shoved the device back into his pocket. 

Before fully realizing what he was doing, Matt found himself back in his apartment shoving aside the suit jackets in his closet and feeling around for the false back he had installed in the closet after dealing with Fisk. Once he located it, he quickly opened it and grabbed the last suit Melvin Potter made before being taken into custody. If Crystal was asking for Daredevil he knew that whoever he was going up against meant business and he’d be damned if he let what Poindexter did in this suit stop him from using it to save her.

After getting suited up in record time, Matt bolted up the stairs in his apartment and flew out the rooftop access door, coming to a stop at the edge of the building so he could concentrate. He took a deep breath and began listening for any sign of Crystal through the chaos of the city - the distinct sound of her heartbeat, her soft accent, or even her quiet singing he knew she did when she was stressed - anything that could give him a sense of where she had gone or been taken. 

Matt didn’t hear anything though and opted to start making his way to her apartment building to see if maybe she left him any clues there. As he made his way there he started to pass above Stardust when he finally heard her. Matt stopped in order to determine where he heard her weak voice coming from, but what he heard instead was a sound that made his blood run cold, the sound of Crystal screaming. Honing in on the location of where the scream came from, Matt was off again, his boots skidding to a stop atop the building he first heard the drug gang members talking about the mysterious Julie woman. 

Matt’s eyebrows knit together under his helmet as he realized what location he was at, but tried to ignore the confusion as he started listening to how many people were in the building standing between him and Crystal. As he listened, Matt heard three voices in the main room of the shop, one from that first night he scouted the place, and the same two from earlier before Foggy called. 

“So?” the man from the first night asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “Did he take the bait?”

“Did they get her?” one of the gruff men from tonight asked, ignoring the question. 

“Yeah they got her, are you bloody deaf?” the first man snapped.

The second man from tonight chuckled before saying, “Elton, relax my boy, all is going according to plan! We distracted the Devil long enough for James to get his hands on the bitch, so our job’s done for the night! We should go grab a pint while they finish up out back.”

Distracted the Devil? What did they mean by that? That was Crystal they had in there, not someone named Julie… Matt furrowed his eyebrows together in confusion as the dots started to connect in his mind, but everything snapped into place as he heard a different voice shout, “The only way this ends is with your lifeless corpse on this floor as payment for what you did! Crystal Shaw, Julianne Porter, it’s all the same when you’re reported dead on the news!” 

In the seconds that followed everything seemed to go in slow motion as Matt tried to process what he just heard. Crystal - his Crystal - was the mystery woman he had been trying to locate and save from this drug gang? It all started to make sense though as he remembered how scared Crystal was the night she used her powers in that bodega, how paranoid she had gotten since that night, and how high her cortisol levels had been lately… It was because she was the woman who faked her death in order to escape this drug gang!

Acting on instinct alone, Matt made his way to the power supply for the building and shut it down, hoping that the distraction would help save Crystal’s life as he heard her heart fluttering irregularly in her chest from the innermost room of the building, away from any sort of concrete or metal she could use to her advantage. As Matt breached the building, and took out the two men he had been following in quick succession, he heard the man close to Crystal shout, “Not even the Devil is going to stop me from murdering my daughter tonight!” Upon hearing those words, Matt froze for a moment. Daughter? The man in charge who wanted Crystal dead was her father? 

Trying to push his inner turmoil aside and get to Crystal’s aid before it was too late, Matt turned toward the third man in the room who swung at him, but he easily stopped the punch. As Matt held the man’s fist in his own, he told him, “Don’t do this. I can tell you care about her. I do too. So let me save her.”

“H-he’ll kill me if I let you go…” the man whispered shakily, a tear escaping his eye as he did. 

“I can protect you.”

“You couldn’t protect her,” he said before swinging with his other fist, taking a shot at Matt’s armored abdomen. The statement threw Matt into a rage as he threw a punch right to the man’s jaw, feeling the bone fracture on his knuckles, but he didn’t care as angry heat filled his chest - at the man or himself Matt wasn’t sure…

Working quickly though the small building’s few rooms, Matt located the room where he could hear Crystal’s labored and wheezing breathing. He kicked down the door and was met with fists flying from both sides as he was ambushed upon entry into the room. Not necessarily caring about how much he injured his attackers, Matt fought back, not pulling his punches as he worked to incapacitate the two men before him. 

When the men were down, Matt turned his attention to the final one standing above Crystal’s almost lifeless form on the floor. “So we finally meet, Mr. Devil… I’m sure my lovely daughter has told you all about us, why, she indulged our biggest secret to a complete stranger in a glorified Halloween costume. I’m sure she told you all about her past life… Or as usual she was a lying bitch who only thought about herself!”

“Step away from her,” Matt said, his voice low and nearly unrecognizable as Matt Murdock’s. This was the voice of the Devil. 

“Or else what?” the man asked as he cocked his pistol and aimed it at Crystal’s head. 

“You don’t want to know what punishment the Devil is capable of…” Matt warned, beginning his advance toward the man in a hurry. 

Right as he pulled the trigger and the bullet intending to kill his daughter flew, Matt grabbed his arm and aimed it toward the man’s own foot, blowing a hole clean through and resulting in a howling scream from his lips. “You’re going to pay for that!” he shouted as he took aim at Matt with the gun. 

Matt once again intercepted his shooting arm and aimed it this time at the other foot, growling in his ear, “You don’t learn do you? You hurt my partner and you’re going to pay for it. If that means breaking every one of your limbs one by one then so be it. I’m not afraid of punishing people who hurt those I care about.”

“You’re deranged!” he choked out as he army-crawled over to the other two men, slapping them to rouse them as he tried to make a swift escape. 

As the three men got away, Matt turned his attention to Crystal’s form on the floor, not giving a damn about the men at the moment, that would be a problem he could deal with later. For now he needed to get emergency care for Crystal before she faded away just like so many others in his life had before her…

Matt located a landline on the wall and called paramedics before turning his attention back to Crystal. “Sweetheart, can you hear me?” Matt whispered as he gently caressed her face, afraid of touching her more than that due to the multitude of fractures he could hear scraping around in her battered body. Matt could sense her eyelids flutter open momentarily upon hearing the question before her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she went limp once more. “No, no, no, no, come on stay with me, stay with me, damnit!” Matt cried, his voice breaking toward the end. 

Before Matt got totally lost in his emotions, he heard the sound of ambulance sirens blaring outside and pulled himself together and away from her body just in time for the EMTs to come running into the room with their equipment. One of them turned their head to Matt as he asked wearily, “D-Daredevil… What happened?”

“That’s what I intend to find out…” he responded before stalking out of the room and building, heading to the rooftop in order to find out where the pigs that did this went.

Matt sought refuge atop a nearby building before he pulled out the burner phone from one of the suit’s hidden pockets and hit the redial button to get a hold of Foggy. His friend picked up on the first ring, asking quickly, “Did you find her?!”

“On the brink of death, yeah. Fractured ribs and hyoid, stabbed in the thigh, concussion, heading toward a collapsed lung, and knife lacerations all over her body,” Matt replied. “They’re taking her to New York Presbyterian. Claire’s working there now. Get in contact with her and make sure there’s security posted on the floor at all times, the men who did this might come back to finish the job… Make sure she’s a pub four when you get there, the only ones to know she’s admitted are me, you, Karen, Marci, and Raeyes, got it?”

“Woah, hold on, you gotta give me some details here, buddy! What happened?” Foggy asked.

“I can’t answer that right now,” Matt told him.

“Well where are you if you aren’t going to the hospital to be with her right now?” When Matt didn’t respond, Foggy sighed and said, “Fine, if you don’t want to tell me, whatever, but I can assume you’re going after whoever did this. Just…be smart.”

“Yeah,” Matt said before closing the burner and sliding it back into the pocket of his suit, turning his attention back to the noise of the city to track down the men that did this. 

next chapter

[tsarisfanfiction]

#4 (Sing A Song of Seven)

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rating: Gen Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort Characters: Michael Yew, Baird McNeilly (OC), Lee Fletcher, Ceri Priddy (OC) A series of Cabin Seven oneshots.  This time: A burnt leg. This idea would not leave me alone today, so have some more Michael content, and also some of my Apollo cabin OCs finally make an appearance! This is set significantly pre-canon - Michael is ten, Lee is eleven. Warning for a burn description, and shout out to my sister for providing the Gaelic! Reminder that there’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi! <<#3

“I’ve got him,” Michael heard, the voice familiar through the darkness.  “Go give Ceri a heads’ up, and see if you can find Lee, too.”

Muffled words, further away from him and too hard to make out, replied.  Michael frowned, trying to peel his eyes open – why the fuck where they closed?  What the fuck was happening?  He’d been on the climbing wall.  That wasn’t black.  The lava made sure of it.

Arms slid underneath him and then he was floating and oh no they fucking weren’t.  Suddenly no longer glued shut, his eyes snapped open as he squirmed.

“Put me the fuck down!” he demanded, not even looking at the fucker that had picked him up as he writhed, pushing to get away.

His leg moved and he screamed.

“Hey, hey!” the fucker – Michael recognised that accent but his leg hurt and he couldn’t think – protested.  “Relax, Michael.  You’ll hurt yourself more if you keep moving.”  The arms holding him tightened, pinning him against a much larger body.  He tried to wriggle his torso free without moving his leg, which fucking burned, but everything went white and he screamed again.

“Naw, I’ve got this,” he heard the older demigod say as the white faded away.  “Don’t crowd him, guys.  Shoo, shoo.”

Michael cracked an eye open and glowered up at the other son of Apollo.  “Put.  Me.  Down,” he growled, tilting his head back to glare past the demigod’s long dark ginger hair where it spilled over his shoulder and at his half-brother directly.

Fucking half-siblings.  He’d run away from the fucking things; there weren’t supposed to be more where he ended up!

Even if these ones didn’t treat him like shit.

Baird shook his head.  He was one of the oldest of Michael’s newly-discovered half-siblings, seventeen and broad-shouldered, as well as a fucking good archer – Michael had spent a lot of the time at the range with him, learning about shit like technique.

He was also proudly Scottish, with a soft accent that was distinctly not-American but also not how Michael had thought Scots sounded – not that he’d asked Baird about that.  He wasn’t that interested.

He had, however, told him that he had better be wearing fucking boxers under the kilt he frequently wore.  Several times.  Baird just grinned at him and told him not to look every time, which wasn’t a fucking answer.

“No can do, a ghille,” his half-brother told him, a small smile on his face.  Michael had been promised it was a term of endearment and not an insult.  He didn’t know if he believed it, but he wasn’t the only one Baird called that, so he let it slide.  “That lava chewed your leg up pretty good.  You’re not going to be walking on that.”

The fucking lava had what.

Michael twisted, putting his escape attempt on hold for the moment in favour of trying to see his leg.  Now he was aware of it, the pain was impossible to ignore, and Michael had a horrible feeling it was making him cry.  His eyes were itching.

Baird held still as he moved, although his grip was tight enough that Michael couldn’t really move much.  Still, he managed to tilt his head enough to catch sight of pale, waxy skin blotched with red and pink and looking entirely too wrong, never mind the fact his pants had singed away to the knee.

“Fuck.”  The word came out like a sob.  His eyes prickled more and his cheeks stung.  Baird seemed to take that as a cue to start walking and Michael glared at him.  “Put me down.”

“You need the infirmary, Michael,” Baird told him, raising one shoulder in half a shrug.  “I can call for a stretcher instead if you really want, but this is faster.”

Michael was no more impressed with the idea of a fucking stretcher than he was about being carried.  “I heal fast,” he protested, scowling as salty water trickled into the corner of his mouth and rubbing at his eyes furiously.  Why the fuck was he crying?  It was only a bit of fucking pain.

“And you’ll heal even faster when Ceri gets a look at that leg of yours,” his half-brother countered immediately.  “So is this okay, or do I need to get someone to bring a stretcher instead?”

Neither option was fucking okay, but Michael shoved his face into Baird’s chest, using the bright orange t-shirt to soak up the fucking tears.  Being carried like a kid was fucking embarrassing but a stretcher would be even worse.  “Hurry the fuck up,” he mumbled.

“Okay, okay.  Hurrying up.”  True to his word, Michael felt Baird speed up, taking bigger steps and holding him a little tighter.  If anyone was looking – they had better not be, Michael would shoot anyone that ever fucking mentioned it – no-one said anything and Baird didn’t acknowledge anyone, either.  Michael kept his face pressed against his half-brother’s t-shirt until the noise of Baird’s steps changed.

“Michael!”  Lee’s voice had him raising his head.  His blond half-brother was looking at him with wide eyes from inside the infirmary.  Next to him, long red hair shoved back in a messy bun, Ceri was pulling on gloves, barely looking at them.

Lee’s presence made Michael feel a little better, not that he’d ever admit it.  Baird wasn’t terrible – his archery coaching did put him in Michael’s okay books despite his refusal to admit if he wore boxers under the kilt or not – but Lee was Lee.

Michael would never fucking admit it, but Lee felt a lot like how he thought safety should.

Baird sat him down on one of the beds, and Michael couldn’t stop the whine of pain as his burnt leg straightened.  Immediately, Lee and Ceri were there, shooing Baird out of the way and taking his place.

A moment later, the bed behind him dipped, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Baird smiling at him reassuringly.  Michael hadn’t expected him to stay.

“Here, drink this.”  Lee caught his attention again, dragging it away from Baird and focusing it on the cup of golden liquid Michael knew was nectar.  It tasted good, like cherry candies, but best of all it stopped his leg from hurting.

Ceri knelt on the floor in front of his leg and gently dabbed at it with water while Lee grabbed his attention and started asking exactly what had happened, as though he thought Michael could fucking remember.  All he remembered was climbing the fucking lava wall, then Baird’s voice as his half-brother fucking picked him up without even fucking asking.

“Michael missed a foot-hold,” Baird filled in after Michael replied to Lee’s worried questions with a non-answering shrug.  “He got caught by the lava when he fell.  Fainted for about half a minute, Ceri.”

“Noted,” Michael’s older half-sister said, setting the cloth aside and softly laying her palm over where the burn was the worst.  Like Baird, her accent was decidedly non-American.  Michael hadn’t asked where she was from but she and Baird both liked to mock Geoff from cabin eleven for being English.  All three of them were about the same age, although he was pretty sure Ceri was at least younger than Baird.

It wasn’t like he actually cared about that shit, though.

“Hold still, Michael,” Ceri told him.  “Lee-”

“I’ve got him,” Lee interrupted, a bright smile crossing his worried face.  He sat on the bed next to Michael, completely ignoring Baird behind them.  “Ceri’s going to fix you up, okay?” he said.  “It’ll feel weird, but a good-weird.”

Before Michael could ask what the fuck that meant, she started to chant softly.  The words weren’t in English, but Michael understood them perfectly in the strange mindfuck way that Ancient Greek had.

He’d seen Ceri and Lee both healing others over the summer, as well as some of the other half-siblings whose names he didn’t remember because they’d fucked off at the end of August and there were too fucking many of them to remember, anyway.  He knew they sang to Apollo, to the guy that used to pop into his dreams almost every night and now only showed once a week, and that that was somehow enough to heal injuries.  Sometimes it was even faster than Michael’s natural regeneration.

This was the first time he’d been hurt badly enough that the cherry-candy flavoured nectar and his own fast healing couldn’t heal him since arriving at camp.

It tickled.

Michael squirmed at the golden light brushing over his leg, then glared at Lee when he put his hand on his upper leg to hold him still.

“Stay still,” his brother told him firmly.  Baird pressed a hand against his back.

“You’re doing good, a ghille,” he said.  “The less you squirm, the more healing Ceri can do.”

Michael sent him a dark look but tried to stop moving.  It fucking tickled, though.  Lee’s hand on his leg helped keep it still, but did nothing for the tickling as Ceri’s healing chant continued, a faint golden glow around her hand and his leg.

After an eternity of what felt like fucking tickle-torture, Ceri stopped chanting and pulled her hand back.

“Third degree,” she rasped, voice hoarse.  Baird leaned past Michael to give her a bottle of water, which she threw back without hesitating.  “But it’ll be fine.  Your healing is something else, Michael.  I don’t think it’ll even scar once it’s done.”  She waved a hand loosely at Lee, who slipped off of the bed to kneel in front of him, next to Ceri.  Michael leaned forwards, surprised to see his leg had already lost the weird pale look and was a shiny pink.  It disappeared under the bandages Lee started to wind around his leg.  “Take it easy; stay in here until dinner time.”

Michael frowned.  “You just said it was gonna be fucking fine.”

Ceri sighed.  “You still have to give it time to heal, Michael.  Baird, go grab him some fresh trousers from the store.  I’ll see if Marian can salvage these, or the harpies if she can’t.”

“Sure.”  The bed shifted as Baird stood up, and Michael glanced back at him.  The Scot grinned at him.  “Listen to Ceri, a ghille.  She knows what she’s talking about.”  A large hand rested on his shoulder and he twisted around to glare properly at him.  “And be a bit more careful on that wall in future, yeah?  I’m not a fan of charbroiled kid brothers.”

Michael’s stomach did a little twist, the same way the fucking thing did when his half-siblings – these half-siblings, the ones that shared his dad – called him their brother, like it was natural and he was one of them.

“Whatever,” he muttered.  Baird squeezed his shoulder slightly and grinned at him.

“Back in a bit,” he promised as he walked away, “with trousers.”  He paused in the doorway and a smirk spread across his face.  “Unless you’d rather a kilt?”

Lee laughed and Ceri sighed as Michael swore viciously at the now-empty doorway.

#5>>

[thebearchives]

The humidity of the Singaporean early autumn weather wrapped itself around you like a cloak, suffocatingly so. Every touch of fabric, metal, and skin on your own was too much to handle. You watched on in jealousy as your boyfriend, and his teammate lowered themselves into their little tubs. He had given you his cross necklace on Thursday, tasking you with keeping it safe for the weekend. Pierre's chest glistened from sweat, and his hair looked no less drenched in it than you felt. Still, he was a sight to behold; Pierre looked almost pornographic. And had the social media team not decided to film him and Yuki in their tubs, you would've considered joining in on the icy fun. You couldn't take your eyes off his chest, his face, the way he smiled at something Yuki said. His ocean eyes hypnotised you; they were what first drew you to him, the depth of his soul clear from those blue eyes. So when Pierre, that fucker, stole a glance in your direction and proceeded to do the most unholy things to his lips, you wanted to make sure he would suffer. A lick here, pursing his lips far too long for it to be unintentional, and even giving them a subtle bite. As if Pierre had to think about his answers. You weren't sure of the reason why your face felt flushed anymore, but you were thankful for the sweltering heat of Singapore. It gave you the perfect excuse. When the social media team had gotten enough footage of Yuki and Pierre, they excused themselves to escape into the cooled sanctuary that was the Alpha Tauri hospitality. As much as you longed to go with them, you couldn't let Pierre get away scot-free. So when Yuki drew Pierre's attention to some meme on his phone, you made your move. The Alpha Tauri polo Pierre had wrestled you into clung to your skin, and the shorts you wore left very little to the imagination. Walking over to Pierre, you made sure to swing your hips a little more than strictly necessary. You could see his eyes darting past the screen of Yuki's phone; he licked his lips in anticipation of what would happen. Little did he know. You ran your hand through the hair on his chest, enjoying how he shuddered under your touch. You let your hand rest over his beating heart for a second, feeling the uptake of his pulse, before you dragged your fingers through his unkempt hair. Reflexively Pierre leaned his head back to look at you; it didn't go unnoticed that his pupils had dilated since the last time you looked into his eyes. A smile stretched across your lips as you squatted down next to him. Your devious revenge plan was taking shape. Pierre sighed a French term of endearment when you let your nails drag along his scalp. Leaning yet a little closer to him, you whispered into his ear, "I don't know if it's the weather or you that has me more drenched." You dragged a little on the ends of his hair, making sure he looked you straight in the eyes. "How sad that this close to the race we won't be able to find out." Before Pierre could even so much as groan in protest, you stood up and let your hand slip from his hair. "Have fun in your ice baths, boys. I'm getting a drink." You walked off towards the hospitality with a pep in your step.

no because who gave you the right to do this to me on a friday morning? give me more, crowd my inbox with more pierre content pls

i can’t wait for midterm season to be over so i can start writing again omg i have so many ideas

[hummingbird-of-light]

Against All Odds

Part 515

McCoy

The week had passed quickly, settling back. McCoy hadn’t missed practicing for the swim team while they had been home, but he had missed the team in the water with him. Classes went well; they had kept up quite well with Dr. Boyce’s help.

It was good to be back with their friends and classmates though. McCoy hadn’t realized how much he missed the school until they were back at it. His new courses were still a bit trickier than his others, but they were becoming easier.

The best part about being back was having a room with Scotty. Everything felt right when they finished the day and drifted off together. And their nights had been peaceful the past week. One of them was always looking out for the other to take the pills to help them sleep.

“…But how do you feel Leonard?”

Dr. Hudson’s question pierced to his core. He couldn’t help but stare, and could feel the familiar pricks beginning in his eyes. He blinked quickly to keep them at bay, but a few still escaped. He swiped his free hand quickly at them, as his eyes darted to Christine, sitting at Scotty’s desk. Her face was gentle with sympathy.

Scotty’s hand squeezed his.

“I—”

Dr. Hudson was watching him patiently.

“I—”

He looked down and closed his eyes. Behind his lids he saw Scotty, on the floor in the Romulans brig, both legs broken, face pinched in pain, trying to hide the whimpers from McCoy hearing.

His eyes shot back open and he swallowed.

“It’s been hard,” he finally admitted. “It- it was my fault Scotty got taken and hurt. They wanted me and knew they could get me to do what they wanted through him.” McCoy took a deep breath. “I’m to blame. Because of who I am and have always been.”

A spark began to burn in McCoy’s chest.

“It’s my fault,” he said again, as Scotty tried to protest. “And that makes me feel awful. I couldn’t keep you safe. What if I can’t keep you safe in the future?”

He heard his own voice crack. His free hand came up to his face again. The bed dipped next to him as Christine sat. Her arm joined Scotty’s around his back, and suddenly his face was wet. He couldn’t stop the tears washing down his face.

Everything was his fault. All because he had been born the prince of Georgiares II. Scotty had been drug into a limelight he didn’t like or want. His private family memories had been aired to the galaxy. Everywhere they turned someone followed them: reporters, security, regular people wanting a bit to gossip about.

McCoy’s chest tightened.

“I’m sorry Scotty, I’m so sorry for everything.”

Part 516

Scotty

Scotty's heart sank as he listened to his fiancé's apology. Never before had he seen how much Leonard blamed himself for everything.

"I'm sorry you're being hounded by the press because of me. I'm sorry that your secrets are being revealed to everyone. I'm sorry you were kidnapped and tortured because of me."

Leonard buried his face in his hands and Scotty pulled him into a tight hug.

Leonard - the strong and confident prince he admired and loved so much - broke right before his eyes.

How hard it must have been for him to stay strong? How much he must have bottled up the worries and fears?

"What would you have done differently, Leonard?"

Dr. Hudson's voice filled the room again and Leonard dropped his hands to his lap, looking at the woman.

"I..."

The psychologist said nothing, simply waited for a response.

"I... I should have known in the first place. I should have known I was destroying Scotty's life."

At these words, Scotty quickly shook his head.

"Ye're not destroying my life. I love ye, mo ghràdh, and you've brought a side of me to life that I didn't know existed."

All the time Scotty had been concerned only with spaceships and technology. Never had he really lived, felt real love for another human being. Leonard had shown him that there was more to life than his tinkerings and models.

"Scotty... terrible things have happened to you. Things that most don't have to go through. What would you have done differently?"

The Scotsman looked briefly at Dr. Hudson and then back at Leonard.

"I... should have been more suspicious of Khan. I was... naive. I followed him into an ambush and... put Leonard in danger. That shouldn't have happened."

Before Scotty could even apologize, Leonard was already putting a hand on his cheek.

"You're just a good-natured person. You believe in the good and... I love you for that."

It felt like they had had this conversation a thousand times before. And then again, as if the words had been unspoken between them all along.

"There would have been ways to stop it all. But... what would it have done to you, Leonard? If you had known in the first place. If you had possibly stayed away from Scotty in the first place."

Leonard blinked a few times.

"I... I don't know. I... probably always would have wondered what life would be like by his side. I... would have missed the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me."

"Scotty?"

Dr. Hudson looked to the young Scotsman.

"Without Leonard by my side... I would have missed so much. Of course, it's not easy, but... I wouldn't want to miss him."

Scotty took Leonard's hand in his again and squeezed it.

"I know you guys have a lot to work through. But you have to understand that worry and fear about the past can't move you forward. What is your goal? What do you want to achieve?"

Scotty looked to Leonard.

"Be aware that those goals can be different," Hudson reminded him.

"I... I want to get better at dealing with my anxiety. I want these panic attacks to be less."

Dr. Hudson nodded in understanding.

"You have to realize, Scotty, that in order to do that, we're going to talk about things that upset you. Things that may hurt you."

Scotty swallowed.

"A-aye, I know."

But he would do it if he had to.

"Leonard?"

Scotty looked to him. What did Leonard want?

[muhammad-ubaidullah-khan]

Sentences of everyday use translated

(1) تم بے فائدہ قسمیں کیوں کھاتے ہو۔

Why do you take oaths for nothing ?

(2) جناب یہ کپڑا بہت سکڑتا ہے۔

Sir, this cloth shrinks much.

(3) آج مجھے فرصت نہیں کل سہی۔

Let it be tomorrow, I have no leisure today.

(4) اصلی مجرم صاف بچ نکلا۔

The real culprit got off Scot free.

(5) ڈاکٹر ایک دن چھوڑ کر مریض کو دیکھنے آتے ہیں۔

The doctor pays the patient a visit every other day.

(6) اب ساڑھے دس بج چکے ہیں اور تم گھر پر ہی ہو۔

It is half past ten now and you are still at home.

(7) آج پونے گیارہ بجے جانا ہے اور سوا چار بجے واپس آنا ہے۔

Today I have to reach at a quarter to eleven and come back at a quarter past four.

(8) اب دس بجنے میں آٹھ منٹ ہیں۔

There are eight minutes to ten now.

(9) چار بجکر پانچ منٹ پر گھنٹی بجتی ہے۔

The bell rings at five minutes past four.

(10) سکول کی گھڑی 15 منٹ پیچھے ہے۔

The school clock is 15 minutes slow.

(11) میری گھڑی پانچ منٹ آگے ہے۔

My watch is five minutes fast.

(12) ہیڈ ماسٹر صاحب کی گھڑی ٹھیک وقت دیتی ہے۔

The headmaster's watch gives correct time.

(13) آج میں اپنی گھڑی کی چابی لگانا بھول گیا۔

Today i forgot to wind or wind up my watch.

(14) چابی ختم ہو جانے کی وجہ سے گھڑی بند ہو گئی۔

The watch ran down.

(15) کل میں تار گھر کی گھڑی سے ملاؤں گا۔

I shall set it by the Telegraph Office clock tomorrow.

(16) آپ کی گھڑی میں کیا وقت ہے؟

What is the time by your watch ?

(17) وہ چار بجے کی گاڑی سے جا رہا ہے۔

He is going by the 4 o'clock train.

(18) وہ ساڑھے بارہ بجے کی گاڑی آیا۔

He came by 12-30 train.

(19) وہ مشکل سے بچا۔

He had a narrow escape.

(20) ریل کے ڈبّہ میں اتنی بھیڑ تھی کہ دم گھٹا جاتا تھا۔

The railway compartment was full to suffocation.

(21) کیا تم اس کو منا سکتے ہو ؟

Can you bring him round ?

(22) آپ نے کل بنک میں کتنا روپیہ جمع کرایا تھا۔

How much money did you deposit in the bank yesterday ?

(23) میں نے اپنا تمام روپیہ بنک سے نکلوا لیا ہے۔

I have withdrawn all my money from the bank.

(24) بنک میں چک کا روپیہ دس بجے سے تین بجے تک مل سکتا ہے۔

A cheque can be cashed in the bank from ten to three.

(25) وہ میرا ہم نام ہے۔

He is my name-sake.

(26) ڈاکٹر صاحب نے نہایت احتیاط سے مریض کا ملاحظہ کیا اور اس کے لئے دوائی تجویز کی۔

The doctor examined the patient carefully and prescribed medicine for him.

(27) ڈاکٹر صاحب کو بلاؤ۔

Call in the Doctor.

(28) ڈاکٹروں نے مریض کی حالت دیکھکر جواب دے دیا ہے۔

The doctors have declared the case hopeless.

(29) آج دریا چڑھاؤ پر ہے کہیں بارش ہوئی ہوگی۔

The river is in flood today it must have rained somewhere.

(30) ڈاکٹر صاحب میرے پیٹ میں درد ہے کوئی اچھی سی دوائی تجویز کریں۔

Doctor, I have stomach-ache Please prescribe some good medicine.

(31) شراب خوری بھی ایک لعنت ہے اس نے کئی گھر برباد کر دئے ہیں۔

Drinking is a curse, it has ruined many families.

(32) کئی لڑکے چھوٹی چھوٹی باتوں پر جھگڑ پڑتے ہیں۔

Many boys quarrel over trifles.

(33) میں نے اُس کو کئی نصیحتیں کیں مگر اس کے کان پر جوں تک نہ رینگی۔

I advised him much but all fell flat on him.

(34) اس کی اپیل نا منظور ہوئی اور اسے پھانسی کا حکم ہؤا۔

His appeal was rejected and he was sentenced to death.

(35) جہاز چٹان سے ٹکرا کر ڈوب گیا اور تمام مسافر بھی ڈوب گئے۔

The ship struck against a rock and sank and all the passengers were drowned.

(36) یہ میرا جانی دشمن ہے۔

He is my deadly enemy.

(37) سب لڑکے مل کر گا رہے ہیں۔

All boys are singing in chorus.

(38) بھیڑوں سے اُون اتاری جا رہی ہے۔

The sheep are being fleeced.

(39) یہ پیچدار سوال ہے۔

It is a knotty question.

(40) ململ کے کتنے تھان چاہئیں ؟

How many pieces of muslin do you require ?

(41) اس کا پاؤں پھسل گیا۔

His foot slipped.

(42) نلکہ بند کر دو۔

Turn off the tap.

(43) اس نے دیا سلائی جلائی۔

He struck a match.

(44) بہت سے درخت جڑ سے اُکھڑ گئے۔

Many trees were up-rooted.

(45) آج ہمارے ہاں چند مہمان آگئے۔

We had a few guests today.

(46) وہ ایک پکا نشانہ باز ہے۔

He is a dead shot.

(47) کیا یہ مکان کرایہ کیلئے خالی ہے۔

Is this house to-let?

(48) اسے دبا کر چپٹا کر دو۔

Press it flat.

(49) وہ غصّے کے مارے آپے سے باہر ہو گیا۔

He was beside himself with rage.

(50) میں تمہاری اس تجویز کو نہیں مانتا۔

I do not agree to your proposal.

(51) ایک ٹانگہ کی موٹر سے ٹکر ہوئی۔

A Tonga ran into a car.

(52) دھوبی کپڑے کو استری کر رہا ہے۔

The washer man is ironing the clothes.

(53) ایم ۔ اے کا امتحان پاس کرنا کوئی خالہ جی کا گھر نہیں۔

It is not a child's play to pass the M. A. examination.

(54) کل رات سے بوندا باندی ہو رہی ہے۔

It has been drizzling since last night.

(55) یہاں کی آب و ہوا میرے موافق نہیں آپ میری تبدیلی کسی اور جگہ کر دیں۔

The climate of this place does not suit me please transfer me to some other place.

(56) باسی روٹی کھانے سے طبیعت میں سستی آتی ہے۔

Stale food makes one lazy.

(57) یہ جہاز جدّہ جانے والا ہے۔

This ship is bound for Jadda.

(58) ادھر سے مت گزرو یہ شارع عام نہیں ہے۔

Don't pass this way, this is no thoroughfare.

(59) پھول توڑنا منع ہے۔

Plucking flowers is prohibited.

(60) اشتہار لگانے والوں کو حوالہ پولیس کیا جائیگا۔

Bill stickers will be prosecuted.

[justmybookthots]

The Only One Left

5/5 stars

This book is… superb. Just… wow. 

This is my first Riley Sager book, even though I've known of him for, well, ages. I kept adding and deleting his books off my TBR, and just... never got to his stuff till now. Oops. Well, I'm so glad I gave this one a chance (the blurb was hella interesting) because it's absolutely fucking incredible. 

Easy to read and really addictive, it starts off a lot like most decent thrillers. But I wouldn't consider this a simple popcorn thriller. Nah, no popcorn here, just me gawking because this had me by my throat. I loved the atmospheric, haunting set-up of the rotting mansion and all the creepy events that unspooled page after page. 

Also, there's this section here that really got to me because it echoes what I feel so well, and this is written by a man:

Moving on: while yes, I already predicted the plot twist about the old lady and Mrs Baker—I did not predict the other twist about Ricky. My jaw was on the fucking floor. I was switching back to the earlier pages, looking at them in a new light, realising certain things I'd assumed but had never actually been written. 

Well done, Riley. Bravo. That was an excellent piece of misdirection, and I never saw it coming, overly smug as I was about predicting the first plot twist. 

But this novel isn't just five-stars because of its good twists, which, to be fair, are usually enough to seal itself as a satisfying thriller book to me. It's great because it kind of made me feel things too (other than shock, obvs). I was overcome with heartbreak for poor Miss Hope, and everything she'd gone through. And what she did go through is the reality so often romanticised by fiction—a charming, wolfish, handsome man that was a dream come true, who seduced her into bed, and upon getting her pregnant and jump-starting her descent into hell, got off practically scot-free. This is the reality behind romance books like A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime. It's disgusting, but indubitably true. The hero of that story is just another Ricky. 

(I don't begrudge anyone their escapism. I only hope people know when they're consuming something that is very unrealistic.)

And the ending really got me, when Miss Hope wrote that letter to Kit. I'm glad she found happiness in the end, in her own way—to reclaim all those years she lost. After I finished this book, I had to lie there for a while, just letting everything digest and settle.

Were some of the events a little far-fetched? Yeah. Definitely. But unlike certain thrillers I've read, I found I had no trouble practising some suspension of disbelief with this one. 

On a side-note, Miss Hope is said to be a good writer in this book, and yes, she was! That point was portrayed quite well in all the pieces of her writing. Woven with reveals of the past, the impact of her words definitely hit. 

Now, this is a book where I understood the buzz around it. Damn. I just hope the rest of Riley's books include a gem anywhere as good as this. 

- 1st Aug 2023

[thevenusgreen]

Shut up, Canvas!

Pairing: Viktor x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none, just fluff

Description: you go visit your crush, Viktor, after class to pester him and end up in a…more favourable situation :D

A restless night lead to a rushed morning, featuring an inside-out shirt, mismatched socks and scattered notes. Thankfully you got to class on time, but you had to sacrifice your much-needed morning coffee.

Class……focus…caffeine…caffeine, caffeine, caffeine. Viktor.…caffeine and Viktor. Yes. Good.

As soon as you were freed from your desk, you practically ran to the kitchen to get your fix, and one for the tortured scientist — as you liked to call him. You had always preferred milky coffee (adding copious amounts of sugar, naturally) as opposed to Viktor's black coffee. You thought there was too much caffeine in it to drink several times a day, and continuously reminded him that sleep was the better alternative. However, since there was no avoiding the insomnia juice, you often added a few drops of caramel to his mug.

You didn't usually knock before entering the lab because nobody other than you came to visit…and why waste the extra energy?

You entered the room, Viktor not even looking back because he knew who had come to disturb him. He never admitted it, but you were the highlight of his day, with your beaming smile and that weird thing you did with his coffee. You walked straight towards your designated chair, right next to his desk.

You leaned over his arm to observe his latest experiment. "Whatcha workin' on?"

'Mmm. Work?" He mumbled between scribbles.

You scotted and flicked his temple, "No way…really? Thought you were writing in your diary. Wasn't as pink or sparkly as I imagined but I guess this'Il do."

A sigh escaped Viktor's lips, followed by a crooked smile. It accentuated his puffy, exhausted eyes. While he hadn't been sleeping well, if at all, he always seemed to enjoy your witty banter.

He slid you a sheet of paper with his free hand. "Here. You're smart. Do equation. Distract."

"Gee, running out full sentences, are we?" You grumbled and took the paper. Instead of solving the equation you began to draw little constellations; to you, it sounded like Viktor knew the night sky like the back of his own hand.

After about ten minutes, you grabbed his free hand and began to doodle on him. Viktor, so engrossed in his work, barely registered what was going on until you pulled his sleeve up to his forearm. A visible blush dusted his cheeks. "Wha- (y/n)? Why?" He stuttered.

"I ran out of paper and you're not giving me any attention," you huffed. "Hey, I didn't get Jayce any coffee. I’ll just go over there and.."

"Ehh, no need. Proceed. Doesn't drink coffee during the day anyway." Viktor pushed his sleeve up past his bicep and rested his hand on your thigh so you had more canvas.

While looking completely nonchalant on the outside, inside was a different story. You couldn't believe he was touching your thigh. Your thigh. "Look everyone, he's so tried he’s rhyming!” was all you could muster.

You could tell the pen and, occasionally, your fingers, dragging across the inside of his forearm was making him sleepy. This was the perfect moment to con him out of pulling yet another all-nighter. You knew he wasn't going down without a fight.

You ruffled his hair. "Hey. Hey. Hey. Psst. Hey. The light's bad here. I can't see what I'm drawing. Can we move?"

For the first time in hours, Viktor lifted his gaze off of his work and looked around. His brow furrowed and he argued that the light was perfectly fine, if not a tad too bright.

"Shut up, Smartypants. Be a good canvas and don't talk!" You dragged him to the couch by the elbow and resumed your drawing cross-legged. His hand automatically flew to your thigh and you had to use all the willpower in your body not to squeal.

As time went by, Viktor put more weight on your leg as he was drifting off. He began to tilt towards you and eventually ended up with his head in your lap. The sleep in your system began to take over, too, and soon enough, you found yourself cuddling with your tortured scientist. Playing with his fluffy hair, lightly dragging your nails down his neck, until you yourself fell asleep.

@hyperactiveravenclaw for writing :))

[maxwell-grant]

Who's your favorite Batman villain?

The Penguin. Was gonna put off this ask for a bit but I got surprised today with an incredible rendition of him, so now the dastardly bumbershoot waddled and squawked his way into my thoughts again and I gotta talk about him.

Penguin's not just my favorite Batman villain, he's my favorite DC character and comic book supervillain, the main reason I even want to write a Batman story someday.

I love the imagery that surrounds him, the trick umbrellas and the birds he so lovely dotes after and the WAKs and the Iceberg Lounge, which has become maligned in recent years as a sign of his downfall, but I very much appreciate as a concept in general still. I love a lot of the performances and actors who've taken him over the years. Burgess Meredith and Danny DeVito are some of my favorite performers of all time, Paul Williams has a wonderful voice and starred in my favorite film of all time. Tom Kenny, David Ogden Stiers, Robin Lord Taylor, Penguin's just had such great, terrific performances and adaptations. Batman Returns is my favorite Batman film by far and it was what got me to start paying more attention to Oswald.

I love the roles he can play in any given Batman story and how he's managed to endure all of his falls from grace by becoming an indispensable part of Batman's worldbuilding. I love his varied dynamics with Batman and Riddler and Catwoman and Gordon and his henchmen and those who get close to him. I love his style and the way he conducts himself when he's allowed to be more than just a generic mob boss. Penguin's design has, by simply staying unchanged over the decades, gone from "common rich person wear draped over a funny cartoon gangster" to "he is so out of touch and desperate for respectability that he dresses like an 1930s capitalist caricature, like a little kid's idea of what a rich and respectable man looks like, and Penguin's still stuck in that mindset". I love how absurd and plausible he is.

I like that Penguin can very easily fit just about any kind of Batman story, from the campy supervillain plots to the gritty urban crime ones. You can tell stories about Penguin falling in love, pretending to be legit because he doesn't want his aunt to learn he's a criminal, and opening up a comedy act with a talking penguin, or stories about Penguin terrorizing the city with giant robots and guided missiles and driving people to suicide. I like that he's a character who both relishes in his lifestyles of supervillain and crimelord alike, and yet is perpetually restless because the minute he acquires what he wants, he immediately starts wanting something else. He could have Batman and the Batfamily and all other supervillains wiped out and have Gotham in his pocket and maybe even become President of the United States, and he'd still want more. Because Oswald is nothing but wants, the wants of a traumatized manchild in a funny costume throwing money and toys and brute force and tantrums at the world until it makes sense, which only makes him far too fitting as a Batman villain.

Everyone forgets that Penguin was canonically the first villain to ever successfully escape Batman at the end of a story, completely bypassing the usual "villain swears revenge behind bars" ending to instead escape scot-free, and went on to establish himself as one of his biggest, most inventive and most cunning villains, second only, if not equal, to Joker. I love that he's ruthless and inventive and classy and cunning and brutal and how his main trick is using the fact that everyone underestimates the short fat man to his advantage. He's taken traits that got many of us in real life relentlessly tormented for them, and he uses them to pull the wool over those who think they are better than him.

It'ss a trick that works because even in real life people can't stop looking at this weird and silly little man and think "that guy's too silly for a Batman villain, he's not a murder clown or musclebound monster, what's he gonna do" and, yeah, that's the point, that's been the point from day one, he doesn't look scary or intimidating or even that evil, and he's the guy who pulls the rug under supergenius fighting machine Batman and becomes the top crimelord of Gotham City, a city ruled by terrors and manias and monsters infinitely bigger and scarier and stronger than he is, and he STILL made it to the top and he STILL maintains it, time and time again even when newer and flashier and scarier villains come and go. Batman is, at it's core, a fundamentally absurd character, and Penguin acts as a reminder of that. Because the minute we accept a man can terraform himself with training and money into a living legend on the level of gods, there's no reason why a tiny fat man with similar drive and resources can't likewise throw his weight with monsters and warriors far above his station.

Despite how ridiculously often he's disrespected by writers and fans alike, how far he's fallen off his former position in Batman's Rogues Gallery, and how often he's used as just a punching bag for assorted Bat-people, Penguin never goes away. He's the biggest survivor of all of Batman's villains, more so than the genuinely immortal ones, because he's the cockroach that won't go away no matter how many times you flush it.

Because once you get past the piles of money and the lounge fortresses and the armies of goons and the piles of cartoony gadget toys not too dissimilar from Batman's own, what the Penguin has is brains, and spite and hatred on a scale no other Batman villain has. He hates Batman, because Batman is nothing but yet another bully who thinks he can push Oswald around just because he's bigger and stronger. He hates the lower class for it's unsophisticated brutes and boors that made his childhood hell. He hates the upper class that's rejected and also tormented him since infancy, that he desperately spent so long trying to be a part of. He hates the monsters and supervillains he works with and has to associate with to stay alive. He hates the city that he fights to rule over tooth and nail.

And although he may never admit it, he hates himself, because he'a short paunchy man with a beakish nose who's brutal and immoral not just because those are the cards life dealt him, but because he likes what it affords him too much to give it away. Because he's never going to have the love and acceptance he desperately craves, he will never be able to accept it or keep it. Because he can never fully be a gentleman, or a monster, but instead a sad mix who belongs in neither of their worlds. Because at the end, he doesn't look like anyone else. He looks like one of him.

And still, I like Penguin because he's a Gentleman Villain. The one Gentleman Villain of Batman's rogues gallery, even if that's faded from a lot of his recent appearences that pushed the crimelord aspects to the forefront. He dresses like a gentleman thief, he's canonically a huge A.J Raffles fan, he's one of the most cunning brains of Gotham, he's got the money, resources, and adventurous spirit. Problem is, he's The Penguin. And suddenly, all that he has becomes overblown, outlandish, theatrical, and out of touch purely because it's him trying to do all those things. He's a gentleman adventurer gone rogue, the Count Fosco of the DCU, and that only makes it amusing, even endearing, when Penguin does engage in the swashbuckling antics he's so fond of.

When all his plans go to hell and so he starts fencing Batman, or when he commands henchmen with superflous fancy language, or even when Oswald gives the whole "hero" thing a shot and we see he's actually not bad at it, maybe he actually could have been one if it wasn't for the bile drowning his heart and the hellscape that warped innocent young Cobblepot into Gotham's Penguin, a name that immediately denotes something silly and ridiculous, and he carries it with pride, because he will make you respect that name.

And that's just a couple of reasons. I really, really love this character to the point of obsession and the main reason why I ever wanted to write stories for DC was to get to write Penguin and at least try to do the character a little more justice. But if nothing else, Penguin endures, regardless of what happens to him, in and out of universe. If nothing else, that's a very admirable quality in a supervillain. Oswald is the best.

[victoriaserum]

Post War — Draco x Hermione

cw // dark, mentions of self harm

Azkaban was normal. There was the illusion of fairer treatment, no dementors, time to walk around, meals with other inmates. But it was still damp and cold and life draining.

Azkaban was normal to Draco Malfoy until Hermione Granger was locked up in the cell next to his.

It seemed insane to him. Many sympathisers and unofficial death eaters had escaped imprisonment, yet here she was behind bars. The golden girl, war heroine.

When Draco asked the aurors, they never gave him an answer.

Men and women weren’t out of cells at the same time, so Draco only stole glances through the bars as he walked by.

She still looked fresh and strong, sitting prim in her cell like she was still sitting in class. Draco knew time would corrode the straightness of her spine, the brightness in her eyes. She never looked at him or anyone as they passed. His skin always prickled.

It was so unfair. It couldn’t be real. Still, he tried to pry information out of the aurors. They exchanged glances and kept moving, not a word to him.

The dementors were gone, but the effects of years on his mind in a place like this weren’t pretty.

Was she real?

The moment the aurors had dragged her past his cell and he heard the lock, something gritty and dirty had burrowed under his skin. When he thought about her presence for too long, he couldn’t breathe right or eat.

Was she real?

Was she a manifestation of his permanent guilt like the grime under his fingernails? He scrubbed and washed, cleaner than most prisoners who’d given up on presenting themselves, yet the dirt stuck. Sometimes he thought he could feel it in his nail beds, poisoning the roots. And sometimes when he turned his hands, he thought he could see it. The mixture of oozing black from dark magic and blood that he’d scrubbed from the drawing room floor. Mudblood.

The scratching was bad again. They wrapped up his left arm and cut his nails to the nubs. He could still feel the dirt.

Was she real?

He woke up one night to hear singing. His first thought was sirens, until he recognised the gravel voice. He crawled across his cell to the sea side wall and leaned his head back. The singing was terrible. And sad.

When he looked out, he saw her arm dangling out through the bars and it looked very real. Cold, purple at the fingertips.

“Granger?” His voice was as rough as the waves below them.

The singing stopped and her thin arm receded.

It didn’t matter who he asked, no one had heard the singing.

He realised he’d stopped eating. He was shaking now, his gloved hand working desperately at his arm guard.

He took his time walking aimlessly.

Maybe his feet took him here because he was thinking of her, though he often thought of her. He didn’t realise where he was until he saw the auror stationed in their corridor, leaving through the door at the other end.

At first, Draco kept walking. He was glad not to walk past the auror, he had hard eyes and a harsher hand.

Then he heard feverish mumbling and his heart skipped a beat. He turned slowly, back towards his cell, where the mumbling echoed from. He took careful steps forward, lowering himself to sit in front of her cell.

Granger had a book and a notepad, even a quill and ink. That couldn’t be real. He wasn’t allowed quills.

She must have noticed him, waving the feather around, “I’m not on watch. I’m allowed sharp objects.”

Draco pulled his sleeve lower over the guard he had to wear now the scratches were healed, hot with humiliation.

She chose that moment to look up, impassioned to see him. “You were my inspiration, you know.”

She wasn’t real. Hermione Granger could never go to Azkaban.

“You got off scot free, could’ve lived a cushy life with your mum because she saved Harry, saved him for you.” She sidled over and slid down the bars to sit next to him, her eyes aflame. “But you didn’t. You did the right thing.”

Wrong. She wasn’t real. He’d never done a good thing in his life.

“Mind you, right isn’t always good. He was your father.”

Draco couldn’t move or breathe.

“I don’t think you feel guilty either. You’re not haunted like the others here, mulling over what they regret. But you’re different. Like me. We chose to be here.”

“You’re not,” he said, resisting the urge to scratch. The crawling under his guard. “I’m pretty fucked up.”

“You don’t know me, Malfoy. I’ve always been willing to go too far.” Her eyes softened. “So thank you. Or I wouldn’t have had the courage to do the right thing either.”

He licked his dry lips, though his tongue was sand paper. “What did you do?”

Granger’s eyes looked past him, lost in a memory neither fond nor regretful. More like cataloguing many, many items.

“What did you do?” He croaked.

What was he asking? She wasn’t real. She wasn’t like him. She wouldn’t go to Azkaban.

Her lips curled into a smile, “Justice.”

The siren singing returned that night, her bony little arm dangling out her bars.

“Granger.”

Quiet. Then, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you again.”

He felt calmer now he knew he wasn’t crazy. He wished she hadn’t put him through that manic episode. “Why didn’t you talk to me sooner?”

“I was scared of being disappointed. I didn’t know if you’d still hate my blood.”

“I cleaned your blood. It looked like mine.”

“I know.”

He jammed his shoulder between the bars, reaching as far as he could. “Granger.”

Her arm reappeared through the closest gap, fingers only coming far enough to rest on top of his.

Her touch ran through him.

“I do have one regret.” There was a smile in her voice.

“What?”

“We should’ve done this together. It was impressive what you achieved in a week, but I wasn’t caught for years.”

“Actually...”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been thinking about the death eaters in Azkaban.”

“So have I.”

“The aurors wouldn’t stop us.”

“I know.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

FIN.

Was she real?

[kpoptwitches]

Wrong Decisions

Pairing: Mafia!Namjoon x Reader

Summary: You made the unfortunate choice of ratting out your dear fiancé to the police then attempting to make a run for it. 

Your leg anxiously bounced up and down at a rapid pace as you stared out your living room window. The street outside was completely empty. No other house lights were flickered on. There was no movement of traffic. Your entire neighborhood was seemingly deserted. As for inside, the house around you was eerily quiet, the only sounds able to be heard was the thumping of your foot and the occasional sigh that escaped past your lips. 

Come on, you thought to yourself while ripping away the skin on your bottom lip. 

The taxi was suppose to be here by now. Actually, it was suppose to arrive nearly fifteen minutes ago. Your suitcase sat perched beside your feet as you had no choice, but to wait patiently for your driver to arrive.

Guilt was eating away at your chest for what you had just done. Not too long ago, you made the anonymous phone call which will evidently wind your fiancé up in jail. 

You spilled every last gruesome detail you’ve memorized during your time stuck with Namjoon. Every last death, robbery, and scandal you knew he was involved in. 

But despite the overwhelming guilt, you realized it had to be done. No matter how much love you had for him in your heart, he was a monster. A sick and twisted individual who made a living based off of bloodshed, corruption, and fear.

And all you wanted was out of a life like that. You wanted to be away from all the guilt. All the pain. All of the death that followed him wherever he went. You wanted to stop needing checking your shoulder every single time you left your own house. Or having one of his lackies invade your personal space, just to keep your safe from a potential threat. 

Unfortunately, you knew he would never let you go willingly. Namjoon had told you countless times how he would chase you to the ends of the earth, just to have you back in his arms, where you belong. Or so he put it. 

Leaving you no other choice but to turn him in.

Suddenly, you were abruptly woken up from your dazed state when the front door was pushed open, revealing your fiancé, who was surprisingly calm. 

Did the police not get to him, yet, you thought to yourself once again, while scanning his appearance. His hair was a tad disheveled and by the sluggish pace of his steps - he seemed visibly exhausted. But what caught your attention the most was the twitch of his brow. It only ever appeared to happen when he was extremely aggravated. 

“Hello, darling,” he spoke while simultaneously shrugging off his jacket, his tone sickeningly sweet like honey, “What are you doing up so late?”

This had to be some type of hallucination. A disgusting joke your own mind was playing you. There was no way he could be home yet.

There was no way he could’ve got off - scot free - with all the information you spewed.

Using your heel, you carefully pushed your suitcase under the sofa before forcing a smile his way.

“I .. I just couldn’t sleep.”

It wasn’t necessarily a lie. If you were to try and get some much needed rest, you know very well that the pure anxiety that's wracked throughout your body would not allow it.

But you watched with slight apprehension - and on high alert - as Namjoon paced over to your form, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. In a matter of seconds, his lips were on yours. 

The kiss was rough, causing you to whimper at the sheer force of his lips molding with yours, but it was nearly inaudible, the sounds were ultimately muffled by the kiss. After a few agonizing seconds, he finally forced himself away, but his own lips morphed into a menacing grin.

“And why is that? Guilt keeping you up, perhaps?”

In a moment of shock, your eyes snapped up to meet his fury-filled gaze. You felt stunned - frozen - like a startled possum. A deer caught in headlights. 

You wanted to question how he knew, how he was home - since you were so sure you’d have more than enough time to make it half-way across the country before bail was even posted.

But as you noted his unwavering stare, the tightness of his jaw, how his aura seemed to dare you to play dumb, you couldn’t bring yourself to utter a single word.

And to that, he dramatically sighed, “Oh, my foolish little sweetheart .. Did you really think your plan would work? How many times do I have to tell you .. You’re not getting away from me.”

Taking a few steps back, Namjoon tapped his chin in a taunting manner. His body paced around the room - resembling a shark looping around it’s unsuspecting prey. 

“Now, what am I going to do with you? Locking you away sure didn’t teach you a lesson last time. You’ve made that very obvious. Oh, decisions decisions.”

This was becoming too much. The burning pit of nausea within your stomach. The tremble coursing through your frame. The anticipation of what Namjoon will finally decide on the appropriate course of action for your betrayal.

You couldn’t take the whirlwind of emotions any longer, so while Namjoon shifted slightly to the far end of the room, you pushed yourself off the safety of the sofa and dashed towards the door. 

Footsteps almost instantly pounded against the floor behind you, and right as you yanked the door open, a hand flung out and slammed it shut. The sheer force making the door visibly vibrate a few seconds past the impact.

Your chest was then pressed into the cool surface as Namjoon trapped you in place - against the door.

You were so close to freedom, yet so far away.

The two of you remained like this - completely still - for what felt like an eternity. His chest huffing against your back and you stayed facing the door, trembling worse than a leaf in the wind. 

“Are you going to k-kill me?”

After such a long pause of silence, you finally gained enough courage to speak, but your voice quaked with every passing syllable. 

“Kill you,” Namjoon chuckled at your question before leaning down to whisper against the shell of your ear,

“Oh, no, darling, I’m not going to kill you. I’m just going to teach you a little lesson about making the wrong decisions.”

[nev3rfound]

someone i once knew : b.b - p.3

tony has questions, but he isn’t the only one wanting an explanation (2.6k)

(anything in bold/italics are flashbacks/memories!)

masterlist / permanent taglist

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website without being credited, it has not been approved to be shared by me. all rights reserved.)

PART ONE . PART TWO . PART THREE . PART FOUR . PART FIVE . PART SIX

(also thank you for the insane amount of support for this series! you guys have taken me by such surprise and i am so grateful you’re all invested :) ) 

Tony steps into your suite, trying to subtly notice the changes you’ve made whilst he was gone.

“Look, Tony, if this is about the files I’m really sorry,” You sigh apologetically, catching Tony’s attention as he turns to face you. “sometimes my R’s end up looking like N’s and I didn’t mean for it to look like I’d written Tony Stan-”

Holding his hand up, you stop your rambles as Tony raises a brow. “Y/n, that’s not why I’m here.” Tony interrupts you. “Wait, it said that?” He questions and you weakly nod, but quickly he returns to his original thought process; why he is here in the first place.

“Then, why are you here?” You ask nervously, feeling a pit begin to form in your stomach.

“Nat passed on a message, that you didn’t seem very well.” Tony explains, now pacing around the entrance of your suite whilst you remained still, too still for his liking. “And I overheard a conversation from two super soldiers discussing you.” Tony motions to you, catching sight of your eyes widening.

“I, why would they talk about me?” You question in disbelief, hearing multiple voices run through your mind, some yelling over Tony as he continues to talk to you, but you can only see his lips moving.

“-and that you know them somehow, funny really.” Tony huffs to himself as he walks in the direction of the small kitchen you have, noticing a glass half-filled with a single flower, dried out, dead. “Don’t you think, Y/n?”

The prolonged silence from you catches Tony out as he glances over his shoulder, seeing you stood calmly, tears streaming down your face.

“Y/n?” Tony calls out, carefully nearing you as he waves his hand in front of your eyes, but there’s no response. “FRIDAY? Get Banner for me.”

With a deep exhale, you collapse down to the ground. “I, I, I’m sorry,” You breathe out, coughing loudly on a sob that chokes your throat.

Kneeling down in front of you, Tony eyes your movements carefully. “What’s going on with you, Y/n?” He thinks aloud as you manage to sit upright, clutching your legs to your chest as a look of horror solidifies across your expression.

Bruce opens the door to your suite, looking alert as he notices both you and Tony on the ground.

“Everything okay, Tony?” Bruce asks hesitantly, seeing a level of concern cross Tony’s frown.

“Just, sit still, okay.” Tony instructs you, but you’re barely responsive as Tony walks away, taking Bruce outside of your suite as the door remains slightly ajar.

Rubbing his temples, Tony sighs. “What’s going on with her? Bad day or something?” Bruce jokes, but Tony shakes his head.

“I think she might be a plant.” The tone leaving his voice is enough to remove any humour from Bruce as he straightens up. “Somehow, Steve and Bucky know her, or at least knew her.” Tony explains. “But she seems oblivious, and I’m just wondering if she’s just like Barnes, waiting to be activated.”

Bruce hums in response. “What’re we supposed to do with her then if she’s potentially some killing machine?” The words feel sour leaving his lips, but Bruce has read the files on HYDRA.

Over Tony’s shoulder, Bruce watches as a small hand reaches out to the door and pulls it open.

Tony can’t help but tense as you stand against the door frame, a weak smile forming on your lips despite the dried tears lining your cheeks.

“I don’t know what’s going on with me, Tony.” You sadly admit. “Do, do you think you can help me, please?”

“Come with us, Y/n.” Bruce forces a grin as he walks toward the elevator, Tony hanging back as you slowly walk out and stand beside Tony.

“Can you help make it stop, Tony?” You plead to your employer who seems conflicted.

“We’ll do what we can.” Tony coldly states, walking behind you to the elevator, ensuring you stand between him and Bruce, just in case anything happens.

*

Your footsteps can be heard throughout the base as you follow behind the woman in charge. Heads turned as she walks with confidence, no one taking notice of who you are in her presence.

Pushing the door open to her office, you follow in and hover by the chair. “Please, Y/n,” Peggy motions to the chair as she closes the door, lowering the blinds too to ensure privacy.

“Thank you for meeting me, Ms Carter.” You speak politely, trying to keep a facade up that everything will be alright, but if there’s anyone who can see right through it, it’s Peggy Carter.

Rifling through the files on her desk, Peggy opens up a series of them as the papers cover the space in front of her. “Oh Y/n, call me Peggy.” Her red lips rise to a sincere smile, hoping you’d ease the tension you’re holding. “Well, the good news is I’ve had the report in from the Doctor, and you’re fit and healthy all around.”

You can’t stop the giggle of excitement escape you. “Sorry,” You mutter, but Peggy doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest; it’s the most positive you’ve sounded in the past two years you’ve known her.

“No need to be, there are still a few more tests we have to run on both you and the machinery. However, if all still stands, we should be able to do our first test run within the year.” Peggy explains, catching sight of the frown on your lips deepening. “I know this isn’t the news you hoped for today, but trust me, this is progress.”

Peggy reaches out, placing her hand on the desk. Slowly, you extend your arm, allowing her to take your hand in hers.

“We both lost, Y/n. But we can move forward.” She assures you once more, hoping someday you’ll believe it yourself.

“It happened again,” You explain, looking up directly to the clock, noticing five minutes have passed since you focused on it. “it keeps happening, more frequently than before and I can’t control it.” Panic rises in your voice as you perch on the lab bench, studying Tony and Bruce's reactions as they monitor you closely.

“So these, ‘memories’ aren’t your own?” Tony asks uncertainly.

Rubbing your eyes as they continue to pound, you shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know, they’re in my head, and I can remember aspects of them, certain noises, settings and sometimes people. I, I was with a Carter,” You squint, trying to remember her name, but you sigh heavily. “I can’t remember, sorry.”

“Carter?” Tony repeats, and you nod. “Interesting.” He mumbles as he helps Bruce hook you up to the systems, hoping to catch your next ‘memory’ and see your brain activity whilst monitoring your heart. “I, I’ve gotta make a call.” Tony excuses himself, nodding to Bruce before exiting the lab.

“If you can just lie down, Y/n.” Bruce asks you gently, seeing the fear in your eyes as you lie back. “I’m just going to place these on your head and chest.”

Closing your eyes, you try your best to relax whilst images of a brunette with red lipstick form in your mind. You can hear her faintly saying two names, but your ability to focus is gone once again.

Across the compound, Bucky is barely able to focus as he slams his fists against the torn punching bag whilst Steve stands on the other side, keeping it in place after Bucky nearly threw Sam across the room.

“Are you sure she’s okay?” Bucky shifts his attention across the gym to Natasha and Wanda’s conversation.

Natasha shrugs her shoulders as she stretches out. “I don’t know, she went dead behind the eyes and as I left her, Tony was heading her way.” Natasha explains, and Bucky looks over to Steve.

“Buck, I’m sure it’s fine.” Steve tries to help, but Bucky shakes his head.

“I can feel it, Steve,” Bucky mutters. “somethings wrong, I, I can’t just leave it.” He explains, swiftly walking off out of the gym as eyes turn to Steve holding the rocking bag.

Scoffing under his breath, Steve pushes the bag away from him. “Bad day.” Steve comments before running after Bucky before he can do any potential damage.

Sitting with his fellow soldiers, Bucky tries to disguise his rising fears, but his foot continues to tap against the ground. “You got a dame back home, Barnes?” One of the soldiers, Johnson asks and light laughter echoes through the cells as they all wait for some movement to be heard.

Lifting his head up, Bucky focuses on each of those he can see from his regiment, those who are left at least. No one is sure who captured them, but Bucky knows they aren't likely to get out of this scot free, or alive for that matter.

“I do,” Bucky admits quietly. “and she’s the most wonderful gal I’ve ever laid eyes upon.”

“That’s sweet,” Johnson comments, sitting opposite Bucky as he wipes his bloodied nose with his palm. “just, just keep thinkin’ about her, alright? That sorta thought helps.” He nods to Bucky before resting his head back against the metal bars.

“Yeah,” Bucky whispers as footsteps can be heard, heading directly towards his cell. “if I don’t make it out, can you tell her I,”

Before Bucky can finish his sentence, two large men unlock his cell and grab him. He manages to catch a glimpse at the red band on their arms, noticing a different symbol than the Nazi one branded in his mind.

“Please, just tell her!” Bucky yells as he’s dragged out of sight, unaware of the horrors he’s about to face.

Focusing on Bruce, you tense as the stickers are placed on your forehead. “Sorry, did that hurt?” Bruce asks timidly, but you shake your head.

“Just kinda cold,” You nervously remark as the rest are slowly placed. “where did Tony go?”

Bruce looks past you at the glass walls, seeing Tony walk out of sight with his phone against his ear. “He, er, had to make a quick phone call. I’m sure he’ll be back shortly.” Bruce reasons as he attaches the last sticker to your chest before averting his attention to the computer systems.

Closing your eyes, you listen to the methodical tapping of keys and the sudden sound of your heart rate beside you flashing up on a monitor.

“Okay, all systems in place. Now it’s down to you to induce a ‘memory.’“ Bruce forces an anxious laugh as you simply look at him before tilting your head back to focus on the blank ceiling, a shame they couldn't cover it in stickers like the dentist used to, you think.

“Do you think I’m evil?” You ask, not daring to move your vision from the ceiling, unaware of Bruce stepping back.

“No.” He responds quickly. “I think you’ve been manipulated with, but I don’t think you’re evil.” Bruce justifies, checking the brain activity to see any spikes, but it remains standard.

“You’re acting like I’m made of glass.” You comment, now moving your head to see Bruce rubbing his hands together as he watches the monitors. “But I’m not, I, I know my parents, my childhood home and school." Your voice begins to waver, but you carry on regardless.  "I can tell you the classes I took in college, my first boyfriend and my first time drinking.” You ramble, but Bruce is trying to ignore you. “Please, I, I know who I am.” You whimper, slamming your head back as you stare at the bare white walls above you.

Outside, Tony listens as the line ends up with him left answering a voicemail for the third time.

“Fury, it’s Stark, listen, I need to speak with you urgently. There’s something going on with my new assistant, Y/n Y/l/n. She, she knows Peggy Carter and, just call me back, ASAP.” Huffing, Tony leans against the wall, wondering how he got himself into this mess.

Yet, his moment of contemplation is short-lived as yells from Steve can be heard up ahead.

“Buck, just stop!” Steve shouts as Bucky comes into view, eyes dark and fists clenched as he marches down the corridor.

“Woah, woah, where do you think you’re going?” Tony asks, standing in front of Bucky as Steve catches up in time before Bucky raises his fists.

Holding Bucky back, Steve grunts as Bucky fights against his hold.

“Where is she?” Bucky can feel the anger rising through his veins as Tony buries his hands in his pockets, remaining perfectly calm.

“Where’s who?” Tony asks, looking up to Steve who shakes his head, still struggling to hold Bucky back.

“Come on, Tony. We know you have Y/n down here,” Steve sighs, a brief moment of weakness that Bucky detects as he slams his elbow into Steve’s stomach, causing him to recoil and release Bucky.

Without a moment to lose, Bucky rushes forward to the lab and before he’s stunned by Tony, he catches sight of you on a metal slab, hooked up to machinery with tears streaming down your face.

“No, Y/n!” Bucky screams, pausing by the glass wall, his metal hand resting against it as you begin to turn your head, a second too late as Tony fires a stun at him, forcing Bucky to the ground.

Your breathing increases, causing your heart rate to spike and Bruce rushes over. “Hey, Y/n, it’s fine. Tony has just er, stunned him.” Bruce explains, but your eyes widen.

“Bruce, I, I need to see him, please, let me see Bucky.” You practically beg, trying to pull the wires from yourself but Bruce manages to hold you down before you notice a needle piercing your arm.

With heavy eyes, your focus on Bruce begins to fade. “I’m sorry, Y/n. We’ve gotta keep you here.” His voice sounds too far away as your vision darkens, the last of the ceiling disappearing as your eyes close.

Bucky grunts as he remains on the ground, but turns his head to see Tony stood with his hand covered by his Iron Man tech, a glow of pale blue emitting from his palm, yet to be fired.

“You alright, Buck?” Steve calls out from beside Tony.

Not responding verbally, Bucky nods as he uneasily stands, holding his hands up and remains on the spot where he fell, out of sight from you.

“Tony, lower your hand.” Steve scoffs, and Tony hesitantly obliges, powering his charge down. “I told you not to come here, Bucky,” Steve comments like a disappointed parent, but Bucky’s jaw clenches as he looks at the floor beneath him, the scuff marks from where he fell moments prior.

“Are one of you planning on telling me what the hell is going on here? Because I’ve got a delusional assistant having a brain scan in there who might be a potential HYDRA plant and I want answers.” Tony steps forward, looking between the two super soldiers. “No, you don’t wanna tell me?” Tony raises his arms in defeat and begins to walk away, back to the lab.

“Bucky,” Steve mutters to his friend who eases his jaw and finally looks up.

“Y/n Y/l/n,” Bucky speaks up, and Tony spins on his heels, facing Bucky. “she was my fiance.”

Tony stares at Bucky in disbelief before whistling loudly. "Well, I didn't expect that."

P A R T  F O U R 

(thank you to the following for all the love in the first two parts! if you’d like to be tagged in this mini series do let me know) (tagging those who wished to be tagged from p2!) 

@mellmellmell12@theofficialzivadavid @fandom-princess-forevermore @lokilovefoever @vivalakatee @chgevorgian @captainwinterwriter @carliewinchester @spn-obession @buckysquad @shower-me-with-roses @basicgukk @yasminwashere @sunfouler  @feminist-fan-girl @stealapizzamyheart​

[wasabito]

hate to love you | dabi x reader

18+, minors dni please! 

wordcount: 2.4k

tags: smut, rough(ish) sex, fingering, slight choking, Dabi’s lowkey manipulative

synopsis: did your traitorous heart make the stupid decision to fall in love with him again, or had you always been his to keep?

“You seriously can’t keep coming here whenever you feel like it, Dabi,” you whisper while scrubbing at your weary eyelids, “If someone sees you, you’re gonna get me in a lot of trouble.”

A true statement and yet it takes no further prodding or convincing at all for you to crack open your window at three in the morning, and allow your ex to clamber through the fire escape. There are sirens blaring in the distance; the high-pitched wailing of fire trucks are a familiar sound, especially in this part of the city. You’ve told yourself that intrusions like these are exactly what you deserve for not cutting him off like the cancerous leech that he is.

Willpower alone can’t keep you from wrinkling your nose, considering how his clothes smell of ash under a faint layer of nicotine. It tells a far better story of his recent crime than anything he could ever say out of his mouth. These days you don’t bother asking. There isn't much of a point in doing so when all you are sure to receive is another sugar-coated lie.

“Don’t be like that, doll face,” he smirks. “I’ve gotta lot more tact than you’re giving me credit for. ”

Terrible, you think. And shameless too. Yes, Dabi is undoubtedly these things, but for all of his depravity and lack of care, you still can’t find it in yourself to turn him away.

He cracks a little smile at you, like he’s read your very thoughts. “What? You don’t trust me anymore?”

You don’t respond, and simply climb back into bed, pointedly ignoring the dark stain of blood on his coat. He may have your heart, but your trust is something you vow to never let him have again. With classes resuming for the semester, you are far too preoccupied with internships and scholarship applications to entertain an ex-boyfriend slash wanted criminal, especially one recently associated with The League of Villains.

It had been different back when he was just some nameless petty criminal, but these days his face was plastered all over the news. That wasn’t the kind of person you ever foresaw yourself getting involved with and yet here you are.

You hear the rustling of clothes and figure he’s probably going to steal one of your oversized hoodies again, all the while leaving his bunched up coat in the laundry bin for you to take care of later. It would give him all the more reason to return to your apartment under false pretenses.

Over the past few months you’ve learned to anticipate his tricks, it’s the only way you can keep yourself from living the rest of your days behind bars. Aiding and abetting is what this is… if you were to ever be caught, you’d have to say he forced you. That you had no choice. That you feared for your life.

“You seriously mad at me or what?” He drawls. The thud of his heavy boots echo through the room, but a quick glance over your shoulder tells you that he’s merely taken them off. Dabi pins you with a stare, brows quirked like he’s genuinely confused, if not mildly annoyed, but that doesn’t shake you. You only freeze when you feel the mattress dip under the weight of his knee.

The warmth of his breath ghosts your cheek as he says, “Scoot over.”

Is he serious right now? Why should you let him back into your bed after all he’s put you through?

“No.” you turn away, “Just take whatever it is you need and leave.”

There is silence for a few seconds but you know he hasn’t moved yet, not even an inch.

“C’mon, angel,” he pokes your side playfully, gazing unwaveringly at you from under his hooded eyelids. “I’ll be out of your hair before you even wake up.”

Chewing your lip, you heave out a sigh, and shift forward to make enough room for him to join you. No matter what you’ve said in the past, he’s always been the one in control. You feel like such an idiot, merely posturing while Dabi holds the reins.

He slides in behind you, pressing his body against yours; his arms looping around your waist in a way that is so familiar a pleasant hum nearly falls from your lips. You realize belatedly that he’s shirtless and the fabric of your tank top is far too thin to block the feel of hard sinew and muscle pressed so nicely against your back. Your shaky resolve crumbles to ruin in the presence of his blue flames.

Dabi continues to chat you up, regardless of your lack of response. You’re surprised. He isn’t usually so talkative, but apparently outmaneuvering the cops and getting away scot-free has a way of raising one's spirits.

Your body is slotted against his like a puzzle piece, like you are made for one another. Mid conversation his warm hands palm the fleshy skin of your stomach, giving you a soft caress. So caught up in the feel of it, you almost miss his next words.

“—missed you.”

Your thoughts stutter. For the briefest of moments, you think the words have come from you, but they surely haven’t.

Dabi presses a light kiss to your neck, as if to show that he means it—that in the month spent apart, he had missed you more than anything. And you can't help but shiver; you blame the staples on his chin that are cold in contrast to the heat from his mouth.

His kisses become firmer, and more intentional as he lures you into a feeling of contentment. Your body remembers him oh so well—and it wants what it clearly shouldn’t have.

“We aren’t together anymore, Dabi,” you rasp, “We shouldn’t even be doing this.”

And why not, a tiny voice chimes in the back of your head.

There are several, logically sound, and pragmatic reasons as to why you shouldn’t let Dabi fuck you into next week. It’s a shame, really, you’re far too tired, far too bewitched by this man to really sum up the effort to name them. Not even for your own sake.

“Just a quickie,” he mutters, lips brushing the shell of your ear. One of Dabi’s hands dip between your thighs and he knows he’s won when you part them without thought.

He squeezes the fat of your thigh like he’s done so many times in the past, fingers digging deliciously into your skin. “Mine.”

His fingers encourage you to loosen up a little, as he grinds his clothed dick against your ass.

The trail of kisses start from your shoulder and lead up to your jaw. All the while, Dabi keeps his other arm around your waist to hold you close. He sinks blunt teeth into the crook of your neck, licking languidly at the crescent shape left behind. He continues to nip and suck on the skin there until your heady moans leave you breathless and whiny. But none of it is enough to get your attention off the way he prods you with his index and middle finger through your shorts.

“You sound so sexy, baby.” he chuckles, “You gonna make more of those pretty sounds for me, hm?”

You don’t have an answer, simply put, you can’t think of anything else right now, other than the hand slipping past your panties, rubbing slow circles against the hood of your clit.

“Da-Dabi, please... more,”

At the sound of your wanton voice, Dabi sinks two fingers into you, thrusting his long digits, and coaxing you until you’ve soaked them with your juices. In response, you grind down against his hand, thighs clenching. He hits you with a series of slow pumps each time his wrists twist. You reach forward and grip his hand, wanting nothing more but for him to curl his fingers and hit the sweet spot.

“I know, babe, I know.” He murmurs, kissing your neck, but instead of continuing, Dabi pulls out you. He shifts until he’s quite literally looming over your form.

Though the room is mostly dark, the street lamp outside your window casts a slant beam of orange light into the bedroom. It’s more than enough for you to see Dabi’s grin, and the way his lips pull back to reveal a row of perfect teeth.

He’s handsome, even with the scars, and damaged skin. You could even argue that Dabi is increasingly more handsome because of them.

“You’re lookin’ at me pretty funny,” he says while straddling your hips. “Got something to say?”

You’ve been more silent than usual during this entire exchange, barely saying more than a few whispered pleas for more, but the heat in your belly grows. Heart pounding and tongue dry, you somehow manage to maintain eye contact.

Dabi was your first. The first person to make you feel wanted and alive. The first to bring you to the precipice of mind-boggling pleasure until you were quite literally seeing stars. It’s true that he was an asshole, and it’s true that this new route he’s taken scares you more than anything. But when you look at him, your heart insists that this is still the same man you had fallen for.

“Handsome.” You mumble, averting your eyes. “I was just thinking… about how handsome you are.”

At that admission, you take his fingers, the same he’d just fingered you with, into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it, sucking lightly. Dabi shudders. His blue eyes seem to glow with want and... something else that you can’t describe, but it’s tender and unguarded.

Dabi pulls his fingers from your mouth, replacing them his own. His lips shift against yours, tongue prodding until you open up. Looping your arms around his neck, you pull him flush against your chest, dragging him into your orbit. You aren’t certain when he had become the very moon on its axis, keeping the tides and seasons of your earth in perfect rhythm, but you do know that the emptiness you feel without him isn’t normal.

Fumbling hands follow the shirking of jeans. At some point your thin little top is pulled off and tossed into a corner. And soon enough, he’s pressing himself into you. The tip of his cock is just barely past your folds before you’re taking him in.

“Fuck!” Dabi braces a hand on your pillow. The other rests on your throat with a slight pressure, enough to make your walls clench around him.

It’s been a while for your ex; you can tell by the way he keeps his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. It shouldn’t surprise you, but it does anyway, because you’d thought he would have moved on to someone else by now.

Dabi’s brows are pinched, and he’s being rougher than usual, still you get the sense that he’s savoring this. Like it’s his last meal. Like he may not ever get a chance like this again. It’s ridiculous for you to lament the final nail in the coffin of your relationship with Dabi, especially considering all the shit he’s caught up in now.

But, unfortunately, your heart operates on a separate plane from the rest of you.

It wants what it wants.

His hips snap forward, knocking into yours in a rapid pace that has tension knotting in your gut. You wrap your legs around his hips, high off the feeling of him so deep in you. The drag of his cock in your pussy has your toes curling. The pleasure is so much you can barely think. His groans and your choked back whimpers fill the room. You even attempt to bite into the back of your hand, just to keep them at bay, but Dabi isn’t having any of that.

“Don’t you dare hold back. I wanna hear you tell me how good I make you feel.”

The look in his eyes is so fervent and heated and feral, it sends a shock of pleasure straight to your core. Your thighs are coated in your own slick enough for him to slip in and out with ease. He smirks, licking his thumb and pressing it against your clit, eager to get you off. Your hips jerk in response to the way he’s rubbing and fucking you all at once.

“Dabi,” you cry out. “Yes!”

Sweat licks at your brow causing the little fine hairs around your hairline to stick to your skin.

Dabi presses his face right into your neck, and with each throaty groan that escapes his lips, you feel your gut twist with yearning. You reach up and grip his hair, causing him to groan even louder as he fucks you into oblivion.

“You feel so fucking good, angel, goddamn you’re gripping me so damn tight, fuck—” his babbling continues and you know he’s getting close. Dabi knows it too, so he slows down enough for him to reach around his back and grasp your ankles from around his waist. “You want me to fuck you harder? Hm?”

“Please—I want you so bad.”  You’re almost there, you just need a little bit more. Hearing you say those words makes Dabi chuckle.

He parts your thighs as far they can go, pinning them to the mattress. You hadn't thought it possible, but in this new position he sheathes himself even deeper than before, so much so, that your pussy milks him for all he has, walls spasming uncontrollably around his cock. The cry that falls from your mouth is smothered by a pair of lips.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train and soon Dabi’s hips are stuttering against your own. He pulls out quickly, cumming all over your stomach, with a growl and a stroke of his hand.

For a moment the room is silent, save for your harsh breathing. Dabi collapses at your side, all fucked out and sweaty. His eyes never leave yours, even as he battles with fatigue.

As for you, the ache between your legs is a pleasant one you don’t bother complaining about as you clean yourself in the bathroom.

Upon return, you find that Dabi is sitting up in bed with a contemplative look on his face. You don’t ask what he’s thinking, instead you pull him into your arms and allow his head to rest against your chest.

If this is your last official night together, you’d rather spend it in his arms than alone.

🖤

[rcress232-blog]

Happy cop

I was starting to feel invincible. 

It had been years that I’d gotten away with my scheme, stealing hundreds of thousands of dollars in very small increments from my company. I was starting to believe my crime was perfect and untraceable. Two years ago, I’d even been approached by a female financial crimes investigator, Lin Lei-Mei, who’d told me “I know you’re guilty, I just can’t prove it.”

She’d been by a few more times to check my computer and she’d even searched my home, but nothing had come of it. Now nearing the million dollar mark in stolen money, which would be my cut off (I would retire after that to a foreign country) I was getting set to leave and escape scot-free.

I had just shut my computer down and was getting ready to go for the day when suddenly Lin Lei-Mei appeared in my doorway, and she was grinning broadly, which made a pit form in my stomach.

“Hello,” she greeted cheerfully. “It looks like you’re getting ready to go for the day. Do you have big plans for the evening?”

“Please leave me alone,” I told her, my voice gruff. “Haven’t you harassed me enough? And why do you look so happy?”

“I’m glad you asked,” she said. “I’m smiling because I finally got that warrant I always wanted for your arrest.”

My jaw dropped, and she giggled like a schoolgirl. “That’s exactly the look I was hoping for, and now I get to say the words to you I have always wanted to say. You are under arrest. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

I went into a daze of disbelief. How had this happened? I numbly turned around and put my hands behind my back, and the female investigator handcuffed me, the clicks drawing me back to reality. She began to search me.

“With what I have on you, you will spend the rest of your life behind bars,” she informed me, smiling. “You’ve taken your last free breath, and it gives me so much pleasure to capture you.”

I blushed, and she led me away, past my gawking co-workers, and into my new life as a prisoner.