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pandapetals · 12 days ago

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The Wolverine

You tell Logan about the myth of the Wolverine.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

a/n: Im sad that logan doesn't remember kayla. She deserved better, well both of them did. So i wrote this for her. I did some googling and found in Innu culture they see the wolverine in a few different ways so i took that and ran with it.

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

You were curled up in the oversized armchair on the balcony, wrapped in a soft blanket, gazing out over the garden bathed in silvery moonlight. The stars sparkled overhead, scattered across the sky like tiny, far-off promises, casting a gentle glow over everything. Logan sat beside you, his arm draped around your shoulders, thumb tracing slow, absent-minded circles along your upper arm.

After a comfortable stretch of silence, you let out a quiet sigh, eyes still fixed on the stars. "Sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice, you know? Studying literature. Maybe I should’ve gone into astronomy instead." You paused, a small smile playing on your lips. "Stars are just so beautiful. There’s so much out there."

Logan chuckled, a low, warm sound that rumbled through his chest. "Oh yeah? So you could spend your days talkin’ about constellations and meteors? Think I’d go crazy, darlin’."

You nudged him playfully. "Oh, because listening to you ramble about ancient battles and military strategies is so riveting."

He smirked, tilting his head down to look at you. "Hey, at least I know how to make it interesting."

You rolled your eyes, leaning into him a little more. "Sure, you do, tough guy." After a moment, you tilted your head back to the sky, the light of the stars casting a soft glow in your eyes. "But, really... I've always wondered. Why Wolverine? I get the whole 'fierce and growly' thing, but it’s oddly specific."

Logan gave you a look, a playful warning in his gaze. "Watch it, sweetheart," he drawled, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone. He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly as he looked back out over the garden. "Truth is… I’m not sure where it came from. Can’t remember. Might’ve been ‘cause I was a… well, an animal. Felt like one back then, anyway."

You reached over, resting a gentle hand on his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You're not an animal, Logan," you said softly, your voice filled with quiet conviction. "You never were."

He let out a faint sigh as if he didn’t fully believe you, though he appreciated the sentiment. "Maybe not," he murmured, his gaze drifting back to the stars. "But it sure felt like it sometimes."

A peaceful silence settled between you, and you leaned your head against his shoulder, watching the stars glitter above. "Did you know," you said softly after a moment, "that in one Innu legend, the wolverine was actually a creator of the world?"

Logan raised an eyebrow, looking down at you with a skeptical smirk. "Now you’re makin’ stuff up."

You laughed, nudging him again. "I swear! It’s true. According to the story, the wolverine built a boat to save the animals from a great flood. Then he told a mink to dive into the water and gather mud, and he used it to create an island. That island eventually became the whole world."

Logan shook his head, a small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "You always gotta turn everything into a story, don’t you?"

You grinned, looking up at him with a twinkle in your eye. "I can’t help it. It’s what I do." You paused, then added, "There’s another story that says the Wolverine tried to steal light from the midnight sky. He fashioned bits of it into the sun, moon, and stars, creating the northern lights. Kind of fitting, don’t you think? A wolverine bringing light to the world."

Logan looked at you, amusement and something deeper flickering in his eyes. "You got quite the imagination, you know that?"

"Comes with the job," you teased, snuggling closer, resting your head on his chest. "But honestly… you bring light to people too, Logan. Even if you don’t see it. You’re gruff, sure, but there’s a big heart under all that scowling."

He huffed, though his chest rumbled with a laugh as his fingers absentmindedly traced circles along your shoulder. "You’re really layin’ it on thick tonight, aren’t ya?"

"Just stating the facts," you replied, looking up at him with a grin. "You’re kind of like the stars. Tough on the outside, but warm and steady when people need you most."

Logan’s gaze softened, and he reached up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek as he looked down at you. "If that’s how you see me… guess I can’t argue."

You smirked, snuggling back into his chest. "See? Not so bad being the wolverine, is it?"

He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Guess not," he murmured, his voice low and comforting. "Not if it means sittin’ here with you under these stars."

You looked up at him, eyes twinkling with playful warmth as you took in the way the moonlight softened his rough edges. "Who would’ve thought?" you whispered with a teasing lilt. "That the Wolverine could be more than just a trickster… that he could be gentle, even thoughtful."

Logan let out a low, skeptical chuckle, giving you a look that was both amused and exasperated. "Oh, is that so?" he rumbled, his voice a soft, low vibration beneath your cheek. "Here I thought I was just some ornery old fighter."

You chuckled, reaching up to trace a finger along his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble. "You’re definitely more than that. There’s a lot more to you than the tough-guy act. There’s… heart, kindness." You paused, smirking as you added, "Though the ‘ornery old fighter’ part is pretty accurate."

He let out a mock sigh, though his eyes glimmered with affection. "Don’t push it," he muttered, pulling you closer as he looked down at you, the corners of his mouth twitching in a reluctant smile.

You shifted slightly, resting your chin on his chest so you could look up at him. "You know, in some stories, the wolverine’s not just a trickster. He’s a protector. Fierce, unyielding. The one who keeps everyone safe, no matter what."

Logan’s eyes softened, and he reached up, brushing his thumb along your cheek as he gazed down at you. "So you see me as some kinda myth, huh?" he murmured, his voice low, almost vulnerable. "Better be careful, sweetheart. I’m just a man, remember?"

You smiled, covering his hand with yours. "Oh, I know," you whispered, your voice tender. "But you’re my myth, Logan. My hero. The one who showed me what real strength looks like."

For a moment, he looked taken aback, his usual composure slipping as he took in your words. Then, his gaze dropped, as if the weight of your affection was almost too much to bear. "You say all that… but sometimes I still feel like a lost soul," he murmured, his voice rough. "Someone who didn’t know where he belonged."

You cupped his face, guiding his eyes back to yours. "You belong right here," you whispered, your thumb tracing his cheek. "With me. Right where you’re supposed to be."

A soft, genuine smile played on his lips as he leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. "Damn, darlin’," he muttered, his voice barely more than a rumble. "You’re gonna make me go soft."

You laughed, brushing a gentle kiss against his lips. "Too late for that," you teased, smiling against his mouth. "I think I’ve already uncovered the soft side of the Wolverine."

He rolled his eyes, but his hand found yours, his rough fingers intertwining with yours as he brought your hand to his lips. He pressed a lingering kiss to your knuckles, his gaze warm and unguarded. "You really make people question my reputation, you know that?" he murmured, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, am I ruining your whole 'grumpy lone wolf' image?" you teased, grinning up at him.

Logan pretended to be annoyed, though his eyes sparkled with affection. "Damn right, you are," he replied, his voice a low murmur. "Can’t go anywhere without folks thinkin’ I’m a softy now."

You leaned in, your face close to his, your smile teasing. "Well, maybe you are.”

He let out a low chuckle, pulling you even closer, his arm secure around you. "You’re lucky you’re cute," he muttered, his thumb brushing over your hand. "Otherwise, I might actually be annoyed."

You looked up at him, your heart full, and whispered, "I think you’re cute too, even if you try to hide it."

He groaned, tipping his head back. "There goes my whole reputation," he said, but when he looked back down at you, his gaze was filled with warmth, something so genuine that it made your heart skip a beat.

You squeezed his hand, giving him a playful smile. "Good.” You grinned, closing the small distance between you and kissing him, slow and sweet, letting the world fall away. When you finally pulled back, he was looking at you with a smile so genuine it made your heart skip.

"Happy?" he asked, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your hand.

You nodded, resting your head on his shoulder as you both gazed out at the stars. "Always, with you."

#fluff #logan howlett #wolverine #x men logan #x men wolverine #logan x reader #james logan howlett #hugh jackman #the wolverine #logan wolverine #logan james howlett #marvel #hugh jackman wolverine #logan x fem you #logan x fem!reader #days of future past #professor logan #professor logan howlett #logan howlett fluff

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findmeinforks · 1 year ago

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Not Letting You Go Easy - Paul Lahote x Fem!Reader

IM BACKKKKKKK!!! Wow I just checked my last fic and it's been TWO years. Does anyone even remember me? 🥹 I'm back on my twilight bs, this one is my longest ever! Let me know what you think! - 3.2K Words ❤️

*Second Person POV*

The sun poured on your face as you soaked in all the warmth it allowed. You missed the sun, watching the palm trees sway peacefully as the ocean tide rolls in. The goosebumps that arise on your skin as a strong breeze passes, the warmth blanketing back over them.

You keep your eyes shut as your mouth curls up in a smirk, listening faintly to your mom try and convince your sister to stay in Jacksonville. She could offer up the moon and all the stars...Bella would still choose Edward, every time. It's true that you were weary of the vampire, after she flew like a bat out of hell half way across the world to Italy to save him. But could you blame her?

If it wasn't for your sister stumbling her way into the supernatural world, it's possible you could have never met Paul. A blush crept up your cheeks as you crack a full smile, thinking back to the day you met the hot head.

There was absolutely zero hesitation when you followed behind Bella in the truck to go to Jacob's. You had been worried for weeks about your sister, who had been spiraling ever since she was ghosted a second time by someone she trusted. Not only did you care about your her, but Jacob too. He had been around your family for years, and this behavior...especially towards Bella...was concerning. So when she frantically barged in your room asking you to go with, you were out of the house in minutes.

You had taken off in a sprint to try and keep up with your sisters manic running towards the group of shirtless men in Jacob's backyard. You heard rumors of the so called "cult" that had formed in the recent weeks. Jacob's haircut and tattoo had confirmed that part. But seeing the others approach through his window, you knew this was going to be a bad idea. You barely had time to catch your breath before her hand came in contact with one of their faces. You let a gasp slip as you made it in time to yank her back by the elbow.

What had gotten into her!?

Not able to process why she would resort to slapping him in the first place, the man, who looked like a carbon copy of the other ones standing around, began to shake violently. The others were urging you both to get back while attempting to calm him down. Never in your life had you witnessed such immense anger. In seconds his shakes became tremors. It was as if he ripped apart, and in his place stood a massive grey wolf. Mirroring the emotions of the man before, the animal was growling, snarling at your sister with its teeth bared.

Your heart was beating out of your chest. You felt as if you were dreaming, blinking rapidly to make sure this was real. Not standing around to question the animal who could very well kill you, Bella grabbed your hand and you both booked it towards the house. The outburst must have woken Jacob, who was running towards the scene. Bellas blood curdling scream was telling him to go back, though he kept charging forward.

You both fell hands first onto the grass as Jacob launched over you both, shreds of clothes flying as yet another wolf emerged.

Now it was you who was shaking. The only thing that prevented you from having a panic attack was realizing that all the other men were calm, as if this happened all the time. You swallowed your fear as you accepted the hand of one of the younger men, who led you two back to the truck by the order of the oldest one.

As you walked into the cozy secluded home, your mind was running a million miles a minute. They were werewolves....as if after learning vampires existed wasnt a shock enough already.

The oldest one, fiancé, Emily, you had learned, helped ease some of the headache. Besides the scar she wore upon her face that made your stomach drop when you first saw her, she was the epitome of kindness. You could see when she was greeted by Sam that their love was far more deep rooted than the mark she wore. Only knowing her for an hour, you felt happy for the girl.

You vaguely registered Jacob returning, finally looking away from the couple when you heard an unfamiliar voice apologize to Bella. As he then turned your way, you both locked eyes. An electric current jolted through your body, through your veins as you held his stare. You felt a fuzzy warm feeling race its way all the way down to your toes. The feeling lasted what felt like forever, until Jacob's "no fucking way...." pulled you back to earth. It's as if you had been some other place. A place of immense happiness and love. You knew you looked as bright as a tomato when you realized all eyes were on the two of you, mortified they caught you staring.

You did a quick scan of the room, noticing they were paying more attention to the man rather than you, who, was still staring.

When you craned your neck to look at Bella behind you, you found relief in that she looked just as confused.

The man was slapped on the back by Embry, which snapped him out of his trance. He quietly introduced himself as Paul. You blushed hard when you quickly said your name back. As if to break the tension in the room, Jacob asked you both to go for a walk.

Before you left, you had sworn you heard Paul growl.

"Not now. She's been through too much today already." Sam lowly said to him. You furrowed your brows as you trailed behind your sister out of the house.

After a walk on the beach and many questions answered, you were able to take a deep breath. The world was getting scary for you, but Jacob seemed to ease your fears, promising he would always protect you both.

Before he dropped you both off at your house, he had mentioned going to a pack bonfire the following night. You couldn't help but get excited at the prospect of seeing Paul again. You both hadn't even spoke other than introductions, but there was some type of spark in your core when you both met.

Attempting to shove it away, you reminded yourself it was nothing but a crush.

You sat on a log by the fire, rubbing your hands together in front of it. Everyone was up gathering their food, but you were focused on the warmth as it was more than chilly outside. Nerves bubbled in you as Paul approached, asking to sit next to you. Your cheeks heated as he sat, only inches away.

"I just wanted to apologize about yesterday," he spoke, his voice gruff as he looked into the fire. "You could have gotten hurt and I let my anger get the best of me. I promise I'm not like that all the time, and I don't want you to be afraid of me."

Your heart melted at how softly he spoke. "It's really alright. My sister acts out of impulse, if you couldn't tell." This got him to laugh lightly. You laughed too, until a strong breeze made you break out into a shiver.

Paul immediately noticed, grabbing a blanket from the pile beside him. "Here," he said as he wrapped one around you. His warmth radiated off you as he had gotten closer to do so. Not even realizing what you were saying you spoke, "I bet your girlfriend never gets cold with you around." To your embarrassment but surprise he cracked a big smile. "I bet she would, if I had one." It was your turn to smile. "What about you?" You shook your head no as Paul let out a small breath that almost sounded like relief.

Before either of you could say something more, everyone gathered around the fire. The legends of the tribe had you captivated. So much history that you were never aware of, right under your nose. You could feel Paul glance at you every so often, gauging your reaction to everything that was said.

When the fire died down and Jacob's dad came to a stopping point, everyone quietly mingled until deciding to call it a night. You had talked to Paul the entire time, getting to know the basics. You had a lot more in common than you thought. The more you learned about him, the more you liked him. A lot. He followed you to Bella's truck, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"I had a really good time tonight" you spoke softly, now inches away from his face. You were so close you could feel his breath.

"I did too. I hope this won't be the last time I see you?" he questioned.

You glanced past him to see Bella and Jacob making their way up the hill.

"With everything going on, everything that's happening...I have a feeling we won't be going away anytime soon."

Paul smiled.

This is the part where he'll kiss me, you think. Your heart beats fast in anticipation.

But Paul just stands there. Staring. He stood there so long that you cleared your throat awkwardly.

"I'll see you around Paul." You tried to hide the disappointment on your face as you climbed into the truck and shut the door. He had let you, still standing there for a moment before turning around to walk back to the house.

Tears welled up in your eyes. How foolish were you, to think that a guy like Paul Lahote would just sweep you off your feet? Sure, a kiss might be moving fast for the first night, but he didn't even give you his number. You analyzed everything you had said to each other. Nothing was even romantic, so why on earth would you think he liked you back? Pathetic.

Bella said goodbye to Jacob and got in the truck. One thing you loved most about your sister was that she knew you better than anyone else. And if there was one thing you hated, it was when people asked if you were upset. One look in your direction and she didn't say a word, starting the truck and driving off. She knew when you were ready to talk, you would.

*Paul's POV*

I turned around, watching the truck drive away, getting smaller and smaller in the distance. I was frozen in place.

What is wrong with me?

"Everything go okay?" Sam approached, clearly sensing my distress.

"I'm never like this with women, Sam. I should have kissed her, but I didn't. I stood there, right in front of her with my mouth open like a fucking fish. I-I've never felt this way-" I rambled on.

"Dude it's alright" Sam interrupted, "Did you tell her that she's your imprint?"

I sighed. "I didn't even get that far. I don't, I don't want her to feel forced to like me like that right away. I want to treat it like a normal relationship....but I think I went ahead and screwed it up anyways." I huffed.

Sam placed his hand on my shoulder. "Deep breathes. You didn't screw anything up, you just met her. You can tell her about the imprinting when you're comfortable....as far as the kiss, well, it's never too late." Sam held up keys to his vehicle, putting them in my hand. "Only if you need them." He slapped me on the shoulder, winking, as he walked back to where Emily was.

I watched him sneak up behind her, she giggled as he peppered kisses on the back of her neck. I knew what he was doing. And it was working, as I made my way towards his car.

*Back to Second Person POV*

You sniffled, taking a deep breath. You were done crying over this man. This man you had literally just met. So what if he didn't like you? There is a million other people out there. Why did you care so much?

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts. Charlie was gone over night on a hunting trip and Bella was fast asleep.

Another knock. It was almost damn near midnight. As you slowly approached the door, bat in hand, you looked through the peep hole.

It was Paul.

You flung open the door, ready to ask him what the hell him problem was, when he lunged forward. Grabbing you by the face, he kissed you feverishly. Your heart pounded in your chest as you melted into the kiss, tongues dancing together in perfect harmony. One hand held you by the hair as the other grabbed you by the waist, pulling you impossibly closer. When you both needed to breathe you pulled away, Paul's hand held tightly so you couldn't go too far. He leaned his forehead against yours, panting.

"I am so sorry I didn't do this when you left. You, you make me nervous. It's a feeling I've never really had before. When you left I- I didn't want to let you go that easy. I'm sorry." He said.

You leaned in to kiss him once, slowly, softly. "I've been waiting for you to do that," you smiled. "There's a lot more where that came from...if you'll have me." he said, his hand sliding down to interlock with yours, bringing back up to place a gentle kiss on the top.

"I couldn't imagine anything better." you grinned.

*Paul's POV*

Y/N guided me to the couch, asking to stay awhile. We held each other until the sun came up, just talking. It was as if everything right there had changed for me. She would be my number one priority, to have and protect. I vowed to myself that I would do anything she asked, that I will love her no matter the cost. Whatever makes her happy.

I had to leave before Charlie got home, but not without a heated make out session at the door. It took everything in me to pull away from her, both of us lingering. Despite her not letting go either, I could see the bags under her eyes forming.

"Get some sleep baby, text me when you wake up okay?" She nodded, and after a good 20 minutes of more kissing, I left.

I understood why Sam was always mopey without Emily around. As I drove away I could feel my heart ache like something was missing. This was a whole new feeling, and for the first time I thanked whatever spirits gave me her.

My imprint.

I bit my lip as I remembered I still had to tell her. I'm worried about how she'll take it, but there was something heavier on my mind.

Victoria.

Part Two Anyone? :)

#paul lahote #imagine #sam uley #twilight #bella swan #new moon #embry call #eclipse #breaking dawn #quil ateara #emily young #wolfpack #jacob black #edward cullen #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote x you #fanfic

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himezoro · 9 months ago

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Can you do head canons of how the straw hats would cheer you up if they noticed you were sad?

— thank you so much for requesting, and being my first request ! ୨୧ i mainly focused on the monster trio, i'll be happy to do a part 2 with other straw hats if you want to (tbh i was so excited to write after work that i could not wait lmao). i hope you'll enjoy it as much as i liked writing it for you ⋆˙⟡♡ i didn't know if it was meant to be their s/o, so i went for both hypothesis.

— ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ : how would the monster trio cheer you up if they noticed you were sad ?

wc : 1400+

warning! : mention of gender (female) in sanji's part !

sailing with the strawhats has always been pure magic and ectic each day. watching the sun sets in the most beautiful places, feeling the breeze tickling your nose, discovering nature in all its glory, dancing to the rythm of the waves. but traveling the seas had its tough times. who could have thought that your inner demons would catch up, when the thousands sunny would go so many ways ?

during these tempestuous times, with a forced smile on your face, the light in your eyes dimmed, and when you thought (or, your inner demons so declared), no one noticed, or that no one cared...

monkey d luffy

[ if you were his friend ]

luffy brings light with each blink of his round, bright eyes. he is the life of the party, hell, he is the party.

and even though he is used to having some more quiet souls around him, like zoro or robin, he sure can notice when someone is feeling sad, especially a crewmate. a friend.

when he noticed your absence during the time the ship decked on a beautiful beach, luffy asked for you, as he would for any of his comrades.

when he heard you stayed on the ship "to get some rest", he nodded and kept on having fun with usopp and chopper.

but the time flied, and you did not show up.

luffy would scream for you at the top of his lungs for you to come out and look at him pull pranks and build a really fun castle. he would do anything to make you laugh. even if it meant getting dugged in the sand by his friends or used as a kite for kite-surfing.

if his screams didn't make you come out (or, get him killed by nami), he would run to the ship and offer you a present : seashells he collected.

he would offer his biggest smile and tell you that he will be back soon with a giant fish for everyone to eat.

needless to say, he ended up drowning and that, made you laugh.

[ if you were his s/o ]

again, luffy may look a little over the moon, but he can make the difference between introversion and sadness.

if he would do anything to make you laugh as a friend, as a partner, luffy would tend to be more quiet.

luffy immediatly feels your sadness, even from miles away. it clenches his heart. he hates it when he knows his antics are not enough to make you smile. he feels like he failed in some way.

luffy's love language is physical touch. be prepared for a lot of cuddling sessions where he would not.let.you.breathe.

he hopes to bring warmth to your heart. he would not kiss you, but trap you with his elastic arms for as long as you want, or until he has to eat.

if you say you need space and alone time, luffy would respect that. instead, he would put his hat on your head and patiently wait until you're ready to be welcomed in his arms.

he's a sweetheart overall i want to squish him

roronoa zoro

[ if you were his friend ]

roronoa zoro is a quiet animal, a man of a few words. he respects boundaries more than anyone on the ship, which is why you liked having him around, especially during these dark times.

but just because zoro is quiet doesn't mean he does not notice. boy, does he notice. that man is always on watch, his guard on, he can feel the switch in the air the second he saw you sitting in a secluded space of the ship.

he knows he's not skillfull with words, and he knows he does not like prying. so, he does not ask questions. he just acknowledges your current state, and leaves you space.

when other crew members would ask for you, he would lie and say you're asleep in your quarters and do not want to be disturbed. he would make sure no one gets close to the place you're currently hiding, knowing that if you were there, it meant not wanting to be seen dealing with these emotions.

he would yell at luffy for being too loud and pretend it disturbs his own peace.

when he sees you come out looking sad again and cross his path, he would not talk or say anything. instead, he would give you a small, silent, yet, eloquent nod.

in other words : zoro would be the greatest gardian

[ if you were his s/o ]

zoro often felt like he was not a great partner. he's not energetic like luffy, romantic and eloquent like sanji... he feels like a brute.

but if there's one thing zoro is confident in for sure, in his relationship with you, it's his ability to protect you, to shield you from harm.

as a friend, he always feels protective of his crewmates, but when it comes to his s/o, this boy would build a whole planet just for them to be safe and sound. at peace.

so he immediatly notices you were sad with the way you bid "goodnight" after dinner.

he left you alone for a couple of minutes, just so you would not feel oppressed. again, this man knows boundaries.

yet, he is unable to stay away from you and leaving you alone in such state. his duty is to protect you from even the smallest ant. even if he has a lot of trust in your strength, he cannot help but to come into your room and sit, lay by you. he would not ask you to talk, but he will. after placing a kiss on your wet temple and a hand on your shivering shoulder, he would quietly state, with determination and pure adoration : "i'll be waiting by your side, if you need anything."

he would probably fall asleep, but he kept his promise, and his hand remained on your shoulder the entire time.

vinsmoke sanji

[ if you were his friend ]

sanji cares about the well-being of his crewmates like no other. after all, he is the chef, he is responsible for your health, and you know what they say : le bonheur est dans l'assiette (translation, happiness lies in the plate).

so when sanji notices you have not finished your meal last night, he figures that you just didn't like its taste.

so the next day for lunch, he tried to improve his recipe and served the meal once again, but to no avail. you did not eat a bite and quickly left.

sanji then understood the meal was not the issue here (he's a great chef after all, i cannot see him fail a recipe), but it was something else. you were sad. and this man cannot let a pretty lady in such dismay (or a friend in general).

sanji would bake your favorite cookies and, if you're a female, bring them over to you on a silver tray with the most marvelous bouquet to make you feel like a princess. it would be difficult for him to hide his excitement when he sees you, but he would understand your need to be left alone if this would please you.

but if you needed someone to talk, female or not, this man would pour down a cup of wonderful tea and listen to you for minutes, hours, hell, even for days, and provide a lot of advices and support.

he would not eat the treats he made for you, claiming they were yours and he "feeds off your growing happiness".

[ if you were his s/o ]

he would do everything he would do for a friend. after all, sanji is known to be kindhearted, thoughtful and attentive.

but when it comes to his s/o being sad ? he would feel it right away, like lightning.

before checking on you and reacting, sanji would think. this boy is sensitive, filled with empathy. so he would question himself and wonder if he is the cause of your sadness. is he too cliché ? is he too pushy ? does he not compliment you enough ? is the attention he gives to other ladies problematic ? he would think a lot about his own actions to make sure he can comfort you the right way.

so even though he notices your sadness really early on, he takes a while to react.

but when he does, expect your favorite treats along with a wonderful handwritten note under the plate where this boy tells you everything he wants you to know, "so you can cherish these words forever and hold them to your heart when feeling sorrow"

he would not give you the plate in person if you asked to be left alone, instead, he would silently leave it by your window and wait until you open it to offer you a sweet, loving kiss, on top of your forehead. like la cerise sur le gâteau (translation, the cherry on top of the cake).

2024 © himezoro - do not repost or translate my work. likes, reblogs, and comments are welcome

#one piece x reader #one piece headcanons #one piece x you #zoro x reader #luffy x reader #sanji x reader #roronoa zoro #monkey d luffy #vinsmoke sanji #one piece headcanon #one piece imagine #op #op x reader

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captain-mj · 6 months ago

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Bad dog

Been a while since I did something with muzzles and had an idea

Ghost had come back from a very successful mission, the captured creature had been locked away and catalogued. Another win for him and the fucking scientists.

He lit a cigarette and watched the... things in their rooms and cells. The scientists assured them that none were human, but he wasn't sure he completely believed them. Some were very good at mimicking people.

His personal favorite was A21987028. Or Soap. Scientists liked spouting off that long string of numbers, but Ghost preferred the nickname given. It was like how the dog like creature in cell 483 was named "Riley" because of the collar it had on when it was found. And while yes, she was a little maneater, Ghost still snuck her biscuits and things to eat and she liked him better.

Soap was interesting. Brimming with intelligence, perfectly mimicking a Scottish man, and friendly.

Ghost went to his room and sat with him, likely he usually did. He sat across from him and Soap perked up. The brown leather across his face was the only grim reminder of what he was. Otherwise, he looked normal. Even his clothes were nice, of the latest fashion.

"Hello, Simon." Soap said with a smile, teeth flashing under the brown leather. Same one Riley wore. Same one everything in this building wore but the guards. "Come to chat?"

Ghost shifted, legs spreading to fill out the chair. He looked at Soap. "Another mission. Caught a thing that looks like a mix between a raccoon and a sparrow. Its wings are too small to fly."

"How did you catch it?"

Ghost had speared it like a fish and held it down, blade causing yellow blood to gush out until it had the good sense to stop fighting. He had thrown it in the cage and heard the useless wing snap.

"Used one of those loops on the poles. It hooked around it's neck and i dropped it in the cage. No harm, no foul."

Soap nodded and walked over. There were strict rules on most of the creatures, but Soap was different. Intelligent enough to know that fighting back was futile. Friendly enough to be able to play nice. In the fifteen years there, he had never once caused an incident.

The muzzle stayed, so did the chains around his ankles, but his hands were freed. His room decorated. Books were given to him. A tv. He had plenty of enmities.

Ghost still felt guilty. If he could, he'd let Soap leave. But Soap was not truly Soap. He was A21987028. A thing that had appeared out of the sky and ate flesh.

For now though, it wasn't feeding time. Ghost could be here, with him. In this space.

Soap leaned down and brushed the muzzle against Ghost's mask. Like an animal.

"Simon. Do they listen to our conversations?"

"Don't necessarily listen, but they do record them. If there was ever a need, they'd review them. But you won't do that. You're a good boy." Ghost meant it as a joke. A fucked up version of one, but a joke.

Soap looked at him, that brilliant blue was wrong. It happened occasionally. Soap wouldn't look like Soap. He'd look like someone or something else. Usually they were so subtle, Ghost would be unsure if they really even happened.

"Shame. Sometimes, I want to tell you things. Tell you secrets. But I can't. Things listen."

Ghost had no doubts in his mind that Soap didn't mean the microphones.

"I apologize, Soap. Lights out soon, I'm on night duty."

"Will you come say hi to me as you pass?" That wasn't what Soap really wanted. He wanted Ghost to sneak him food.

“Maybe.” Ghost smiled at him.

Soap brightened considerably. “I’ll wait for you.” He smiled and went around the room, a sway to it.

Ghost left, as always, wondering what Soap would feel like if they could touch without his gloves between them. He’d show Soap the sun. The moon.

Instead, he had to have a picture of them on the wall.

Ghost thought of the dozens of documentaries over space and human history and war. Soap requested to have a documentary over bombs, but they denied him immediately.

He'd do wonders in the human world. But it wasn't human. It was hard to remember that at times.

Ghost made sure before he went back by Soap that he had a candy bar to slip into his cell. A candy bar that was grabbed by a hand with too many fingers.

"Simon?"

"Yes, Soap?"

Soap looked at him, eyes glowing enough so Ghost would surely see him. "I appreciate the time we spend we spend together."

Ghost smiled at him and he could tell, despite the mask, that Soap could see. He pulled away and kept walking through the yard. Creatures tried to get his attention. All hoping that he'll be the one to slip up and let them free.

The night ended like all nights ended. With him turning into his own bed in a different barracks. With Simon laying down and remembering that he's doing good for the world.

He couldn't have been asleep long when the alarms went off. He assumed it was Protocol L at first, a common break they had was that particular one. But then he heard the numbers that followed and realized more than just one had escaped. He grabbed his gun and checked his gear, happy he hadn't taken much of it off, and got out the door.

Ghost put the majority of the creatures back in their cages, safe and sound. Most were intimidated by him, despite being able to grow much bigger than him.

Then his gun came face to face with Soap.

The muzzle was still securely on, but the chains had been broken. "Simon. Don't make me hurt you."

"Think you have the nerve?"

"Come with me. We can go somewhere else. Somewhere just the two of us." Soap grabbed his hand and moved closer. "I promise, I'm really not like the others. I don't want to hurt you.""

Ghost put his gun under Soap's chin. They had about five minutes to leave. "How can I trust it? How do I know you weren't playing the long con?"

"You know me. You love me. i love you. Let's go." Soap squeezed his hand tight. "Please. I want to see the world. See everything."

Ghost squeezed his hand back and made a decision.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #ghostsoap #cod #soapghost #ghoap

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jujutsukgojo · 2 months ago

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Sleepyhead

Dabi x Reader

Summary: You wished him good luck every time. Should you have kept them to yourself and let him die? tw: minor character death, major bnha manga/anime spoilers, implied abuse, attempted su*cide, tried to edit (pray)

Sleepyhead has finally woken up. He stumbles out of the room and looks at you. His eyes are crystal blue haloed with fluttery white lashes. Now that he’s awake, he’s prettier than when he was asleep even though Mr. Sunny disagreed with his looks. Mr. Sunny said something about him being beyond disfigured from the fire. To you, he’s still strangely handsome. You continue to chew on a bag of chips against Mr. Sunny’s wishes. “Hi, Sleepyhead. Nice to meet you.”

When he frowns, you immediately go on the defense. “Don’t tell on me, okay?”

He looks at you confused and nods. He hasn't talked yet, unfortunately; hopefully he can. It must have taken a lot for him to wake up and move around. It'd be a shame if he couldn't speak.

“They’re over there.” You point down the hall, and he takes off in that direction. You don’t know why Sleepyhead is so eager to meet Mr. Sunny and the rest. He’s never seen them since he’s been asleep this whole time. In fact, you came in at the same time he did and never has he woken up. It's a bit of a running joke. All of the kids draw pictures of him being sleeping beauty. Those drawings are even in his room, wishing for him to wake up. So, seeing him actually move is weird. You have watched him grow and now he's mobile. It's hard to explain why his open eyes throw you off.

You overhear that one girl be her own version of a welcoming committee. She calls for Mr. Sunny. You quickly finish your snack and put the wrapper in the band of your pants. Mr. Sunny walks by. He stops and looks at you. The saltiness of the chips stick to your throat.

“What’re you doing, little one?” His voice holds a fake sweetness. You curl your toes in your slippers, hoping for something to ground you. “Nothing. Sleepyhead just walked by.”

“Oh! Did you say hello?” You nod. His face looks like the sun but underneath is evil. Yet somehow, there is an even greater evil behind him, behind this whole operation. “What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“Hm. Open your mouth.” He looks at you like he's appraising you. You swallow and give a thin, shallow smile. The empty bag of chips becomes more obvious to you as it touches your body. Your sweat slightly sticks to it.

“Where am I?” The teenage Sleepyhead asks. He whispers a question of his voice and caresses his throat. Mr. Sunny turns his attention to him. “Todoroki! Nice to see you. Come with me and everything will be explained,”

Your hands are behind your back. He stops and looks at you. “Show me what’s behind you, my dear.”

You show him your hands then turn around in a circle. “Mhm. Open your mouth for me.”

Your heart rate speeds up. There are still some crumbs in your mouth. Sleepyhead interrupts him. “What’re you doing? I’m serious! I need to see my family. Mom, Fuyumi, Natsu, Shouto, my dad!”

As he says this, he makes eye contact with you. “My apologies, Touya Todoroki. You’ve been through a lot. I should prioritize that. Follow me.”

Sleepyhead walks behind him. In the distance Mr. Sunny asks, “What was she doing when you saw her?”

Fear settles in your stomach. “Nothing. Just standing there.” Before he goes in the room, Sleepyhead makes eye contact with you. You nod and leave the area, not wanting to be anywhere near Mr. Sunny.

Quickly, you dispose of the wrapper, take a drink of water then brush your teeth. Laying on your bed you draw another picture for Sleepyhead. There's no sun, sky, or a moon. Instead, there is a familiar building that you loved before you were swept up here. You color it with open doors and a red curtain in the back. On the stage is a small drawing of the familiar woman who sang beautifully. Sleepyhead will like this. You put him on a bench next to the building with a bag of chips in his hand. The next time you have them, you will give them to him as a thank you.

Suddenly, the building shook. You gasped and sat up in your bed. Dust from the ceiling falls. Not feeling safe, you get up and leave the room. The hallway is warm like when you open an oven. You head deeper into it, confused on why it’s so hot. At the end of it is a bright blue, consuming light. It eats away the walls and ceiling. There is only one person in the facility that can do this.

You gasp and head in the other direction as it travels in every way it can. At the end of the hall is a window. If you can get to it, you can jump out and be free. The problem is, is that you tried that once and it wouldn’t budge without Mr. Sunny’s permission or at least a strong enough quirk. You bang on it and try to open it. The building gets hotter and hotter. “Open, open, open!”

You hear people scream and Mr. Sunny yells for a straight line. His voice is hoarse, and he’s obviously hurt with the groans and hisses he makes. They’re going to leave you?

The banging, pushing, shoving, the window isn’t helping at all. Its steel frame refuses to let the window move. The heat increases and sweat pours off of you. Smoke surrounds the area, even the outside. They’re leaving you.

Suddenly, you hear footsteps behind you. You turn to see Sleepyhead walk through the flames. “Where’s the door, dolly?”

He stands on the fluttering blue light. You tap on the window behind you. Sleepyhead frowns but heads straight anyway. “Move.”

You follow his direction and shriek when the panel flies off the wall and the glass is melted off. Sleepyhead exits the window. You can’t make it across without hurting yourself. How is he able to? Ah, that's right. He cannot feel pain. Before he can leave, you lean and grab his shoulders. He looks back at you with furrowed brows and misty eyes that are not from physical pain. Without even asking him, you press your weight on his shoulders and jump out the window, missing the embers wanting to expand and the melted glass painted on the grass.

He growls and swings to pick you up. You're safely in his very warm arms. “Get off of me.” He puts you down on a safe spot and takes off. You run too and when he sees you follow, he pushes you down. “They’re over there!”

“You don’t understand…”

“Get away from me!” He runs again. You follow him much to his annoyance. Then, you see which direction he’s headed. “No, this way!”

He yanks his arm back. “I am not going back there. I have a family, friends, people that love and need me. I am not like you guys.”

It stings. “That way,” You point to his set direction. “Is where the doctor is and where the big boss goes sometimes. If they see you, they’ll grab you. I know a good way out.”

Interested, he follows you. There’s a buzzing noise over your heads. You gasp and grab his hand. You run to the trees. “W-why are you so fast?”

“Nomu! That’s what we’re gonna be if we don’t run!” Sleepyhead looks at the sky behind him. There are large bodies with their brains showing, flying around. They look under themselves and scout, no doubt for the two runaways. Your heart is pounding in your ears as a white one goes right above you, its eyes barely missing you.

Finally, you reach the edge of the cliff. A few tufts of grass surround the dirt. Beyond that is a river that gently flows. You’ve made it to this part before and know what’s at the end. “Can you swim?”

“Um, yeah? Not the best, though.” He looks down with fearful eyes.

You hold his hand tighter. “Hang onto me.” You grab his hand and jump. He screams as the two of you descend into the cold water. You hang onto his hand as you travel through the water. It chills you down to your bones but it is better than the alternative. If Doctor Garaki talks to Mr. Sunny and finds out that the two of you are gone, it could mean that the big guy, All For One, or something, could come.

The water pushes you two around and neither of you let go of each other. With grace, you dodge debris and pull him closer, encircling your arms around him as the rushing water guides you away.

Pebbles curl underneath your fingers when you pull yourself out with Sleepyhead’s hand in yours. He coughs and breathes heavily. “We have to keep moving. Down here is a street.”

“A street,” He coughs. “To where?”

“People that aren’t them. I remember seeing it.” You spotted it when you were pulled out of the water by a flying nomu. You have yet to touch the pavement of the street or smell the lavish perfumes from the boutique at the corner or get a good look in the pet store that is a few doors down. Colorful clothes and expensive cellphones have been next to the facility where children were held for years.

He gets up shakily and goes with you, his hand still in yours. The wind blows against you, chilling your body through your wet clothes. You gasp but keep on with the plan anyway. You and Sleepyhead have gotten far. There’s no turning back now.

You push the tree branches and leaves out of the way and show that you were right. The street is busy with people and life. The sun shines bright on the passing people who go about their daily lives, not once thinking that there is a monstrosity not too far from them.

“I…I know this. I know this! I can’t be far from home!” Sleepyhead yanks his hand away from yours and goes to the left. You follow him.

“What? No! Go away. This is my family. Go to your own.” He pushes you down to the ground, the pavement scraping against your palms. Someone scolds him. “Young man, control yourself! Now apologize.”

He growls and clenches his fists. “Sorry.” The old lady nods and helps you up then leaves. You notice how she didn’t even bother to comment on both of your appearances. Clearly, there is something wrong with the two kids in front of her, yet she walks away.

“Happy?”

You shrug. Sleepyhead turns around and continues to his home. Once again, you run behind him. At first he growls in frustration but ignores you in the end, except for running faster and using evasive maneuvers to lose you. Of course, they all fail.

The soles of your feet take a toll. Now that the adrenaline is wearing down, you’re beginning to feel the weight of everything. This is enough physical activity for a lifetime. Thankfully, you’re not the only one who feels that way. Sleepyhead slows down to a halt. He’s breathing heavily and has his hands on his knees. “Come on. If you stop, it’ll be harder to finish.”

He pushes himself up and jogs. The two of you come across a street that no doubt belongs to the rich. There are kominkas and modern homes next to each other, all different yet have a lavish quality. It’s something that you know you’d never be able to afford. It’s a miracle you’re even here.

“Are one of these yours?” You shake your head no. “You can’t,” He gasps for breath. “Come with me.”

“Where do I go?”

He cocks his head. “Fine, fine.” He grabs your hand roughly and limps to another house that isn’t quite as big as the kominka down the road. Sleepyhead brings you to the gate. “Knock on the door, alright?”

Before he leaves, you say, “Goodbye Sleepyhead, and I wish you good luck.”

“My name’s Touya.”

“I’m (Y/n).” He looks back at you. “Thanks for everything, doll.” He limps around the corner. You have a small smile and flutters in your tummy. Taking a deep breath, you push the button on the gate and it opens. Your legs are aching, and your feet are blistered. Whoever owns this house must be good if Sleepyhead dropped you here.

You knock on the door.

----

You walk home from work with the streetlights that are just now flickering on to guide you. Right as you are rubbing your shoulders, you hear voices to your right range in pitch and volume. You tread along the sidewalk and hope not to run into anyone unsavory. Suddenly, right when you come across an alley, it erupts into flames that create a woosh sound.

The heat is intense and consuming. People scream so loud it echoes on the brick buildings’ walls. There is nothing you can do for them except watch in horror. Some of the people move around frantically, and others roll on the ground. Lucky for them, their pain is soon gone as the flames ended them in seconds.

You are at the end of the alley, clutching your purse for dear life. Smoke blows your way as the assailant walks closer to you. His black boots don't melt and his trench flows behind him, letting him look like a true villain, even without his dastardly deeds

Now he is feet from you, you remember who he is. He has changed a little but looking at his face for three years straight lets you recognize him anywhere. His eyes are still jewels and have hardened, purple scars have spread, and his hair is dyed. He has staples rather than the bonded skin he left with.

And yet, you see him even though it’s been years. "Are you scared, doll?" His voice is deeper and smoother than it was last time you saw him.

You shake your head no. He doesn't smile but cocks his head to the side. He is letting you go. Before you can leave, you turn back to him and say, “Wish you good luck, Sleepyhead.”

Nothing else needed to be said between you two. Not even a nod or wave. There is a sense of familiarity, a camaraderie, a bond, that was created in a facility designed to abduct and trick children into nomus and spare quirks for All For One. There is nothing needed when it comes to you two.

-----

Lately, there has been a terrorist organization that has grown drastically. Among them is a blue flame user named Dabi. Without seeing him, you know who it is and have a feeling of what he is doing. He had dropped you off at his neighbor’s house and went to his family. He made sure you knew about them and how desperate he was to go back to them. If he has turned into this, it has to do with them.

On every screen is a shirtless Sleepyhead. He is covered in staples and scars. He talks about an unfair justice system and fake heroes. You look around and see everyone’s reactions to him.

He goes on about his backstory and doesn't bring up the facility, only Endeavor and his crappy parenting. You don't know whether to be offended or not. No, this is a wish for good luck. Because if he did, you'd be in deep shit. So instead, you nod and say, “Good luck, Sleepyhead.”

You walk away and head home, not paying any more attention to the man on the screen or even to the people who whisper the name, Dabi. There’s no need for any comments or corrections. At this rate, you may see him again.

This thought occurred again when he decided to attempt suicide. It was painful to see that because you saw Sleepyhead still and not Dabi. You saw Touya, who ran away with you and the one who didn't tell anyone about the potato chips, and the one who spared you from his flames twice. You can't listen to the fear and cries of others anymore. You sit on the bench with your hands in your lap, holding the wish of good luck. It is his if he wants it. And with this oncoming explosion, he doesn't want it this time.

In the fortress of U.A, you can’t do anything but have him on your mind, and the question of if your wishes meant anything.

---

Not too long after, you’re called to go to a special secured room. It’s one for the extremely injured patients or the dangerous. You knock first then open the door. Inside is a vault with a charred person inside. There is no one in the room but there were visitors before your arrival. You spot the vase with pretty blue flowers in it, a food tray with what looks like a single soba noodle lying in the trash, and a book on the table.

"Sleepyhead?" The machine beeps in response. In the doctor's notes, it says he is only able to speak for a few minutes a day. Since his family was here, those minutes are probably used up.

You enter deeper into the room and stand in front of Sleepyhead. "I'm only here to get your vitals, I won't be long." Another beep. You check the machine then gently touch him. He cannot feel pain, but it is still considerate to be careful. His skin is completely charred, his fluffy hair is gone. He may not be able to physically feel pain, however, that doesn't mean he cannot feel the burden of it. The fact that he knows his condition is painful enough.

After a few short minutes, a hoarse voice says, “Should’ve kept your wishes for yourself. They did me nothing.”

Sleepyhead's eyes follow you. “They were yours, nonetheless.”

There's a deep humorless chuckle. His voice sounds slurred almost. His tongue is probably burnt again. “You aren’t grossed out, dollface? Not even a little?”

You shake your head no. “I’ve seen worse,” You settle down on the chair that is to his left. “That one was you, by the way. When you first came in, you looked a lot like this but a little worse.” You hear a shuddered breath. “This is the most we’ve ever talked, ain’t it?”

“I think? When we were running, we might've talked more?” It's crazy how that is. You feel connected to him but have only spoken a few words to each other.

“(Y/n),” You don’t comment on how he remembers your name despite only telling him once. “I messed up, messed up badly. I’m dying.”

“Isn’t that how you wanted it?”

“Not now. Not when…everything is getting clearer.” You raise your brow. “Clearer?”

He takes a deep breath. "I hate him, that old bastard. But it cost me my life and siblings. Everything could’ve been different. There's still so much I hav-" He coughs.

"Don't waste your energy, Sleepyhead."

He sighs. "It feels good to talk about it," You nod, encouraging him to continue if he wants. Sleepyhead looks to the ceiling and continues. "His favorite food is soba, just like me. We have the same favorite color, too. Dollface, I messed up. I broke my family." You don’t know who exactly he’s talking about, but it isn’t Endeavor. Endeavor doesn’t look like the type to like soba.

"That wasn't just you, Touya. You were just the biggest crack in the glass house." You write down his numbers. "Honestly, Sleepyhead, I think this was bound to happen. Your home was built on glass when it’s not supposed to be, I think."

"So positive." He wheezed. You look at him, not moving from your seat. "No one can change the past, it’s set in stone and the future is just bare pages. That is how I think of it at least.”

He listens. “You can’t rewrite history but you can learn from it. Bear that burden in your current and write the lessons on the future pages. Endeavor made his bed and will lie in it. You can too, if you want."

After a few beeps, you speak. "I think it's evil of them to let you suffer though. You should die in peace. You got to say and do what you wanted." His eyes trail to you. "What would you like, Sleepyhead?"

"Bare pages."

"What if it ends up the same?"

His chest rises and falls. Sleepyhead lifts one finger to you. "It was you, right, angel?" You nod. He was bound to piece it together. It's just unfortunate that he figured it out eleven years later. Sad that on death’s door he figured out who you were.

"Can I still wish you good luck?" He can no longer talk today, so he'll blink.

You get up and walk to him. "Then I will see you later, Sleepyhead." You kiss his nose, just as you did last time. He looks shocked at you then closes his eyes. You will see him again, just like before. However, you are sure to piece him together right this time. With every wish good luck to pump his heart and organs again, every stitch to his skin is more careful. You don't have pressure or evil behind you, breathing on your neck.

Now, you can take your time piecing Sleepyhead together and hopefully, it won't feel weird seeing his eyes open.

#bnha #bnha manga spoilers #bnha spoilers #boku no hero academia fanfic #boku no hero academia spoilers #mha spoilers #mha #mha fanfic #dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #todoroki touya x reader #my hero academia #q #boku no hero academia

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ellesthots · 2 months ago

Text

Fateful Beginnings

XXXIII. “night light”

parts: previous / next

plot: not a week after the publishing of your interview, Bruce’s vulnerability is exploited when someone enacts revenge.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, physical assault (threats/guns (in mouth/pointed at head)), description of injury (blood/mild gore), hurt/comfort, angst, fluff (<3)

words: 8.1k

a/n: hi lovelies !! i’m so excited to hear what you think about this chapter 🤭 we got the angst, we got some FLUFF finally !! AGHHH i love them

Why did he say that?

It took a few turns and back alleys for Bruce to lose the paparazzi, but soon enough he was driving on the road of the fight. The thighs of his pants were damp from rubbing his hands on them to dry; he needed to check the side-effect list of his meds. His body felt alight with tension and activation, and all he could think about on a haunting loop was: from the bottom of my heart. He didn’t say things like that. Why did he say that?

Now that he was further from the trigger, and not yet at the scene, he tried to dehaze the memory of what it felt like to sit across from you. If he could pin himself to that moment, investigate those feelings… he was drawing a blank. He focused in on the apprehension, the hesitation that stopped him from saying goodbye, or even good riddance. It wasn’t often he couldn’t drudge up any possibilities. He shoved his foot on the gas, frustrated.

The sun had fully abandoned the sky, and the moon was shrouded in clouds. The dim street lamps didn’t do much, so he double-clicked the headlights, thankful for the apparent lack of other drivers to render sightless with his ultra-brights. Seemed like no one had been to the complex yet; at the entryway, a small pile of decaying vomit engraved itself below the side railing. Some specks of blood could be seen on the steps—his eyes narrowed. He hadn’t felt a cut on your head. Maybe Miller’s?

His nagging thoughts fell by the wayside as he noted no one around the apartment complex. He slid the car down an alleyway across the street, cutting the lights as he turned off the motor and unbuckled his seatbelt. That familiar tingle came back into him like a breath of life. The feeling of adventure, the feeling of duty, of purpose. It wasn’t the longest he’d kept from this, and he took a forceful inhale as he recalled the period after the flooding. All the blood that had been in the street, the bodies, the animals, the glass scattered everywhere… he’d drifted around in the weeks following, and he always heard someone scream from a cut. Every walk. The sound of the city’s sobs hadn’t left his mind for months.

A car drove past, then backed up. Bruce sat forward in his seat, his jaw locking tight as he soaked in the environment. Black Chevy truck, 832KZY license. Dent in the left flank by the brake light. Dusty. Faded paint. The driver was a petite woman with olive skin and mid-length dark hair. Bangs. She looked down at something to her right with annoyance. After some lurching, she grinned, and the car sped off. He relaxed. Stick shift issues. That year’s model was notoriously difficult.

As he reclined in his seat just so, the weight of speaking in front of the crowd thudded into him. His insides felt hollow, scooped out; his eyes stung like staring straight at the sun on a blazing summer day. He’d have to watch back the footage, even though the thought skinned him alive. It was necessary to study how he came off, find areas to tweak, improve. He slumped further into the seat. He would’ve much rather had a gun to his head. At least then he’d feel less lost. Less drained. Might even jolt some rage-fueled energy into him.

He was disappointed there wasn’t more to sink his teeth into; he longed to investigate. The cut-and-dry never did much for him. He lived to find the detail everyone else overlooked; to forge a bond between two things no one thought could be connected. God, even imagining doing that brought a rush… the pulsing throb of electrum whispered behind the past week’s curtains.

He redirected himself, pulling out a small journal from the glovebox. He clicked the pen.

Electrum. John Doe. Gordon. Investigate.

More thoughts came to him. Every other word he paused, flitting his eyes up to check for changes.

Hady, Grange, March. Research.

Bella Reál. Investigate.

He put it back in the glovebox and readjusted in his seat. Early on he’d tried to carry everything all at once, following the natural direction of his thoughts as if it were logical to rely on intuition alone. It was distracting. Inefficient. One thing at a time.

After a paltry fifteen minute stakeout, Alfred lit up his phone. Bruce hated how worrying he was lately, but what he hated more was he had good reason to. As severe the desire to ignore the man’s calls was, he knew he couldn’t keep him waiting… he grit his teeth. Under the present circumstances. While it wasn’t rare for him to daydream about time machines, he’d never before wanted to jump forward in time. He kept his eyes trained to the building, but there was no movement. “Yeah?”

“Did you see Y/N leave the meeting?”

You’d done precisely what Bruce had instructed, save your addition of turning off the lamp. Even after minutes spent gasping air into your lungs, waiting for an Uber to arrive, pretending that conversation with him had just been a figment of your imagination, you still struggled to catch your breath walking through the foyer.

Half of it was nerves about him going out again so soon, and the other was a sensation you couldn’t pin down, but it had you sweating and shaking. Fear? Anxiety? Sadness? Tension! More than anything, you’d felt tense. Bruce was intimidating, especially so when he held a metaphorical pair of scissors. And when they were aimed at you.

Mar had answered your third phone call as you walked down the city hall steps, berating you for interrupting their ‘jam session’. Faint guitar chords were heard in the background, the acoustics isolated and muffled. It sounded like a house party. She dismissed your concern about staying away, finally conceding and telling you she’d avoid it for a few weeks. “And to think I was practicing all my trivia skills for nothing.”

You should’ve realized by the beanie pulled nearly covering his eyes, but your usual vigilance had been halved as you came down from your interaction with Bruce. Sliding into the seat had you wincing at the pain in your thigh; you berated yourself for not bringing Tylenol with you. It’d been shockingly effective; you’d barely felt your injury on the walk here.

The drive was normal for the first half, so much so that you relaxed against the window and stared blankly at the people milling the main street, speed blurring them like ants. As the streets wound toward your apartment complex, you thought about how you could’ve feigned innocence, inputting the destination as the area of the fight. “Get a ride?” You’d tell him, when he glared at you and questioned your arrival. “I thought you meant here!” It was embarrassing roleplaying conversations with him, so you rid yourself of the thought. You’d feel it all in the morning and think about what to do next when your head was less scrambled.

The driver took a sharp left, cutting the lights as he pulled into an alley. You realized a second too late to reach for the door, ready to drop, roll and run. He’d child-locked it, and by the time you manually unclicked the lock, he pointed a gun at your head. The beanie slipped higher, and you could see clearly it was Miller. No other thoughts formed as the reality of having death pointed at your skull set in.

“Try to leave and I’ll blow your brains out.” He had two black eyes and a smushed nose. His lip was busted open and you swore he was missing a tooth. The rest of him was covered in thick industrial clothing. Bruce had effective punches. He hadn’t been on the guy more than a few seconds. Even Bruce began to slip away as you felt the cold metal jam into your temple. He pressed it harder and harder with every word he spoke. “Who the fuck was that guy?”

The dizzying adrenaline made the blood leave your body and rush into your head; he pressed right on a nerve that coaxed out every last bit of sting and throb from your concussion. You could barely focus on what he was saying. Breathe. Breathe. Your body stilled outside of your heartbeat and wincing eyelids.

“I’m not gonna ask again, bitch. Who the fuck was the guy last night?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know,”

“Bullshit. Call him.”

You stared back at him, unable to move. He stuck the barrel of the gun into your mouth, slacked open with debilitating fear. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. You slapped around for your phone that had fallen at your side, unable to look down or move your face even an inch.

“Show me your call log.”

You strained your eyes to look down, fumbling with your apps, accidentally opening the likes of Old Navy and Target, tears threatening to slip with each passing second. You held it up to him, hands almost too shaky for the screen to be legible. ‘Alfred’ was listed for an eleven minute call at 11:49pm Wednesday. “It’s my, my stepdad,”

“Call him.” He pressed it and held it out to you, clacking the tip of the gun against your front teeth. You swallowed, thinking death only seconds or minutes in the horizon. He picked up on the third ring. Not long enough for you to plan much. Or at all. The man was deadly serious, his eyes a frenzied mess of bleary red as he jostled the gun against the roof of your mouth.

“What’s going on, Miss?”

The man withdrew the barrel just enough for you to speak unencumbered. You rushed the words to refuse him time to say something that would give him away. “Hey Dad.” You let out a small sigh. “I just wanted to call to see how the cats were doing.” You paused, then hurried more out with a hollow laugh. The man narrowed his eyes, cocking the gun. “Probably lost on the upper floors of the house. Or stealing some soup, you know how they love it.”

You were saying too much. If the roles were reversed, you’d think you were speaking in code. A predetermined plan. A keyword to let people know things were not alright.

Alfred chuckled on the other end. “I think Camelot is nestled on my bed. Everything go well at the meeting? After your call last night, I’ve been worried.” His tone was conversational, but concerned. You wanted to fucking bawl, reach out to him and wrap him in a tight, tight hug, mutter a thousand thanks. It felt like there was an ocean between the both of you. He’d fucking caught on.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You stuttered forward. “And just more boring election stuff. Not much to go off of.” It was fucking incredible you could speak. You were starting to regain some more of your breathing. The clouds were beginning to lift. The environment slowly moving back into focus. Even with him however many miles away, you knew he’d be looking out for you, and do his best to help.

Alfred sighed, a light but impatient one. He rustled something in the background that sounded like metal on metal. “Well, hurry back. I’ll bring over some lasagna later. I have your locale, but… the streets are dangerous at night. I worry. Your screams were terrible.”

Maybe not as subtle as you would have liked, but you knew what he was trying to do, and you trusted him more than yourself in this moment. He muttered something. “The ricotta… Jane, I told you we needed the automated mixer.” He let out another sigh. “Call me when you get back, sweets. I’ve got to put some muscle into this.”

Alfred ended the call. You tried not to have it feel like the beginning of the end. If it took Bruce, or Batman, or the police longer than it took for him to shoot you in the head…

He drew closer to you, hucking spit onto you before he spoke. It slid down the sides of your nose. “Who was the guy?”

It was difficult to speak. “I don’t know,”

“YOU KNOW!” He jammed the gun further into your mouth, and you kept your mouth wide as you felt a small chipping.

The words were swallowed against the thickness of the gun. “I don’t, I just screamed and then he came and, then the, police,” He pressed the gun to your uvula and you gagged. It was humiliating, and your blood boiled when you saw him grin at it.

He spit in your face again, this time just below your eye, and pressed the gun until it scraped the back of your throat. Tears sprung to your eyes and poured down your cheeks in reflex. He ripped the gun out of your mouth, keeping it focused at your sternum. He cursed and slammed a fist against his seat. He began muttering, his eyes ablaze. “No one has ever fought me like that, no one but...” He punched the center console, sending a part of the plastic flying in front of the passenger seat. “Immediately booked, too. Only happens with him.”

Oh. You opened your mouth to speak but he shouted at you instead. “You’re gonna help me, or you’re fucking dead.”

He taunted you by shoving the gun toward you. You considered making a break for it, but figured you wouldn’t get far before all you saw was black. How the fuck did Bruce face this every night? Even if his suit was bulletproof? You stared back at him while he laid out his plan, starting to wonder if Bruce was actually a masochist.

“I know you got that Wayne guy in your pocket.”

It was whiplash having them mentioned so close to each other, and made you paranoid the man was reading your mind. You began to shake your head but he cocked the gun again, grazing the trigger. “You’re gonna leave, and you’re gonna get him on our side.”

“I don’t—”

“If you alert anyone to this shit, I’ll hunt you down and kill you with my bare fucking hands.”

“I only did an interv—”

“That’s more than anyone else fucking gets.” He bared his teeth in a snarl. “You’re gonna get him to give me his best fuckin lawyers. And get me back in school, full fucking ride.”

You didn’t have a response queued, which seemed to escalate him. He lunged, grabbing you by the throat with his left hand. He smelled like cigarettes, booze, and Drops. That familiar citrus scent; the type that made you afraid to put it in your eyes. The type of acidic smell that made you wonder how every Drophead hadn’t yet lost their vision. Some did. His hands were rough and dirty as his fingers closed on your larynx.

“That’s the only money I fucking get; I’ll get life before going back to Pointe.” He sniffed, adjusting his posture. His arm strength was faltering. You wondered if you could disarm him yourself… knock his left arm into his right before he pulled the trigger... “If he gets wind of this little deal, I’m ending you.”

Crown Pointe. A neighborhood absolutely decimated by the flood, and more or less abandoned by the local government. It was entirely written off, as the highest percentage of the houseless and impoverished population lived there. You didn’t know too much about Gotham’s ecosystem, but you did know that they didn’t give a fuck about Pointe. You nodded. “Okay.” It came out in a croak. “I won’t tell.” It was surreal feeling a wash of relaxation pour over you, but you understood it was either being held like this, or looking down the barrel of something that could kill you before you’d even realize what was happening.

He released his grip and you sputtered. “You have until the thirteenth to kill it. I’ll kill you and your friend.” His gun was lowered, but still pointed to you, like he’d forgotten he was holding a powerful, terrifying weapon. His gaze focused above you and his glare set. He spun in his seat and floored it before you even realized what was happening; the alley was long and straight, but thin. As the bricks around you blurred, you thought about what had the highest survival rate—staying in the car, or jumping?

The speed of the car made you stay inside; you even thought about buckling your seatbelt as you noticed the end creep closer and closer; a giant brick wall with a hard ninety-degree turn. Miller kept looking in his rearview mirror, each time nearly slamming the car into the side of the tight alley.

The wall was a football field away. Your hand shot for the seatbelt as Miller realized he needed to brake, squealing tires skidding, slipping on the concrete. Pure instinct, nothing more, made your call; you jammed open the door as far as it could, sparks flying off of it as it slammed against the brick, and tossed yourself out ass-first.

The first part of your body to hit was your left thigh, leaving you screeching on the impact. The second was your back, knocking the wind entirely out of you. You had the good sense to tuck your hands behind your head, and you felt the knuckles skid against the rough, chunky street. Almost in unison, you heard a petrifying, deafening crash of metal crunching. You laid there gasping at the sky, your vision swirling, heart racing, leg throbbing, hands numb.

The dark sky above only made you more dizzy, giving you nothing to concentrate on and cling to. You heard footsteps further back from whence you came, and the sound of a car door wrenching open. You sat up on your elbows, forcing yourself back up. Your body felt battered and bruised, your left leg now bordering on unusable, but you managed to get up to your knees. You panted at the ground until you caught Bruce’s cologne run past. He wasn’t in the suit. No!

You reached out and grabbed his ankle, shouting weakly for him to stop. He shook you off but you yelled louder, lunging forward, scraping your elbows as you barely caught his calf with both hands. You heard more creaking, and suddenly Bruce’s face was inches from yours, dropped to a squat. His cheeks were flushed and his breath was hard and full against your sweaty, spit-sodden cheeks. His brow furrowed, his mouth curled down into an exasperated scowl. “What are you doing?!”

You glanced above him to the left, noticing Miller jump face-first out of the car, bolting down the turn in the alley. Bruce turned to look with you, but felt the tightening of your hands around him when he tried to move forward. Your fingernails dug into his skin, even through his pant leg. “Stop, don’t.”

“He’s gonna get away—”

“STAY!”

This was the first time you’d yelled at him, and it was like scolding a dog. You didn’t have time to feel bad yet, letting your arms limp and lying flat on your stomach. Disgusting, wet, smelly ground. You caught the rest of your breath, staring intently at his feet. You could hear him scowling, groaning and mumbling.

You took a few beats to catch your breath and orient to your surroundings. It took a few minutes to catch yourself, bring your chest back to a normal percussion. Took half as long for your eyes to unblur, but they kept darting across the ground, and the first few bricks along the sides of the alley.

“Let’s go,” Bruce grabbed your wrist and tried to help you up, but you weren’t ready yet. Your head swirled, the pain was just beginning to surpass the adrenaline…

“Let’s go.” He pulled harder, his voice cracking. You yelped, your knee skidding on the upheaval. You slammed back down on all fours, tears springing to your eyes. You couldn’t see him, but you could see his feet pacing. Tight, muffled sounds came from above you. You dry-heaved against the cement, nothing spurring but hot bile that soured you, furthering more pitiful attempts at retching. Your arms shook and fingers scraped the jagged ground as you tried to sit up on your own again.

Every time he saw you in an alleyway, he wanted to jump off a cliff; seeing you unable to stand, gasping, sputtering against the ground in one threatened to kill him. His cheeks got hot, the world got wobbly, and his legs felt like jello. He probably looked like an asshole, but the flashbacks were ripping at him, his feet unable to be stilled. If you were anyone else he might’ve just ran. Phoned Gordon. Maybe if it were anyone else he wouldn’t have panicked, though, and he didn’t want to interrogate that.

You held out your arms for him to help you up. He took a deep breath and knelt down, focusing on the mechanics of the moment. He held the brunt of your weight, and you stumbled like that to his car on the street, your left leg a mess of pain, your head rapidly catching up. You gasped into the back seat as your thigh scraped against the leather. He shut the door gently, but quickly.

He drove you around until you were on the outskirts of town, and pulled over beside a throng of trees, the gravel loud under the tires as he parked. He turned to look at you from the driver’s seat and you flinched, glancing down at where the gun had been. Without fanfare, he got out and sidled in beside you in the backseat. It hurt to turn your head, but you did enough to at least see some of his body in your vision.

“What happened?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but he pummeled more questions your way. “Why’d you get in the car with him?” “Couldn’t you tell it was him?” “What was he doing?” “What did he want?”

You held a feeble hand out to him before moving it to your temple. Gently, you set your head against the leather seat, needing a moment to gather yourself. Your blood was still pumping like you were sprinting fifty miles, everything, everything wildly unstable. By some miracle Bruce obliged and stopped talking.

You didn’t know if it had been ten seconds or ten minutes by the time you opened your eyes again and started to speak, and you kept an arm outstretched to keep his interrogations at bay. “He wants the charges dropped.” You swallowed hard, trying to think of anything else besides the pain in your head and leg—or how bad the chip might be. Your voice was dry and scratchy. “Wanted me to use your connection. For lawyers. Retract our statements.” You took another breather, heard him draw in a breath to speak, and shoved the rest out before he could. “I stopped you going after him.” Another gulp, a wince. You’d never been more desperate for sweet, sweet Tylenol… “Because he also.” It was impossible to speak. You let your head fall back in failure. He needs to know this. “He knows whoever fought him last night was Batman. Felt it. Same fighting. Feeling. Booking.” Your lashes fluttered open with a rush of pain in a circle around your skull.

Bruce didn’t know how to respond; he didn’t want you to have to speak more without medication, so he instead faced the back seat, head spinning. You spoke anyway, confirming a fear he’d had since the day his parents died in that alley, a fear that had been poked, prodded, and split entirely open seeing Alfred in the hospital. “Said if you got wind of it, he’d kill me. And Mar.”

You bolted up, startling him. “Mar!”

He sat up and shook his head at you. “I’ll watch her. I’m taking you back to my place.”

You did not want to go there, but your brain was slow to think of anything, slow to form words, and by the time he shut the driver’s door and started for Wayne Tower, you realized he was right. His house was a fortress of safety. Wasn’t like he could be in two places at once.

As the trees thinned out and gravel turned to road, he told you to lay back as flat as you could. He’d be going through the front entry, which had ramped up security now. He muttered something about reporters lingering on the grounds after the interview, and you struggled to focus on it. Being horizontal in a moving car was nauseating when you weren’t in body-buzzing misery, but it was excruciating now. If you had the strength to sit up again, you would’ve. Fuck the paparazzi.

Bruce’s mind was a mess.

Not even one week since the interview’s release and you’d been held at gunpoint over him.

It was hellish attempting to concentrate on the road. It would be hard to convince you to leave Gotham, but it had to be done. Another conversation with you, and one he would ensure didn’t go awry. He swore he felt his teeth splitting against each other as he mulled over how to bring it up, and when. Not now. Tomorrow. You needed to recuperate, and he needed to find Miller.

Once in his garage, you scooted yourself up by fumes of sheer will so Bruce didn’t have to help you out. Forcing each foot in front of the other as he pushed the door open to the foyer, where Alfred stood, holding his glasses in his hands. Bruce walked ahead of you and gestured for Alfred to step into the kitchen for a minute. You supported yourself against the doorframe, taking out your phone to message Mar.

The screen assaulted you, peppering your vision with black spots and squiggly lines.

The guy from last night got released on bail, and he held me at gunpoint trying to get information out of me. I was able to escape, but I’m worried he’ll come after you. Stay inside, officers will be watching the area to see if he tries to come after you.

Her location showed she was at home; apparently, the ‘jam session’ was being held at her place; you looked up to remind Bruce to leave, but he was already gone, Alfred walking toward you with a lukewarm smile. He handed over a glass of water and the same little white pill, both of which you took with a desperate gulp. “Miss. So glad you’re alright. Bruce informed me about what happened. Do you know the address of your friend?”

You told him, and he texted it to him. A strange, temporary thrill flit through you thinking that he was just a few levels below, suiting up. So fucking weird. So fucking wild. Alfred helped you up the stairs, escorting you to the same room as last Spring. “Our housekeeper keeps things tidy, so you shouldn’t be left wanting. I’ll grab fresh clothing.”

Standing in the room again was one of the most disorienting experiences of your life. Everything was the same, as if you had left it yesterday. Almost as if he hadn’t left, Alfred reappeared in the doorway, holding a pair of black sweatpants and matching tee. Before he left, he asked if you wanted anything to eat, or any company. “These events can be traumatizing.”

You declined it all, wanting desperately to both be alone and be smothered by someone else, but confused enough by it you chose solitude. You thanked him, grabbed the clothes, and exchanged a solemn look. After an encouraging nod, he left, letting you know the same standards were in place; if you wanted anything from the kitchen, or to visit in his study, you were free to.

You slunk out of your dress and threw it into the corner, hastily pulling on the outfit you were desperate to forget was likely Bruce’s. The feat was easily won, though it was tight in some places, loose in others, and entirely too tall—because your nose was too blocked with snot you couldn’t smell anything.

The next two hours passed in a montage. Sitting on the side of the bed in a blurry haze. Every time you looked at your phone was like a knife to the chest recalling your dad’s text in June, which led to the room with the doctor, which led to the wheelchair, which led to the trial, which, which… your brain was numb to pain at this point.

Your limbs moved in slow-motion when they did adjust to laying. Mar had texted you that she was okay, and she’d heeded your warning. She’d asked if you were okay, and you’d said you were safe. She didn’t comment past that, only giving occasional check-ins to let you know she hadn’t been captured. At one point you’d texted Alfred through a mess of tears, asking him if he’d heard any updates from Bruce. He responded immediately, explaining that his suit was active and on Mar’s street. You let your head hit the pillow hard after that, which reminded you of the clack of the gun against your teeth and its pressure against your head.

Your head ached. Jabbed. Punctured. Shouted to be witnessed. You chose not to do anything about it. You took a selfie on your phone to check on your tooth, and noticed a noticeable tick on an incisor. Your cheeks were crunchy with dried spit, and you bolted to the bathroom as fast as your hobbling leg would allow. You scrubbed your face in the sink, taking the soap bar and shredding it against your skin to erase the attack.

In the mirror you noticed the bleeding crusties along your knuckles and the rippled shreds of skin hanging off your elbows. You plucked the shreds off carefully, giving your arms and hands a thorough wash. The skinning was artificial. No gravel lodged anywhere. You felt the wear on your body and slumped back to the room, landing hard against the pillow.

You woke up with a scream.

The gun’s muzzle had penetrated your skin, digging deep into your flesh, making hot, wet blood stream down your face in a thick river. You’d tried to scream, but blood had erupted from your esophagus, mixing with the vomit curdling your stomach. It felt like you sat there like that forever, screaming and gurgling and writhing before he’d pulled the trigger.

Apparently it’d been a dream.

A knock on your door made you jump, another yelp escaping.

“Can I come in?”

Bruce. You shouted a yes, or at least something similar, as you tried to catch your breath. It felt so impossibly real, every sensation filling you still, like your head was still dripping, your mouth was still full…

He opened the door, fiddling with the button on his pants. He was shirtless, his torso and hair dripping wet from what appeared to be him fresh out of the shower. His eyes were wide, searching around the room before landing on you trembling in bed. He noticed Alfred brought you the outfit he’d set out for himself—no wonder he couldn’t find it. The sight of you in it made him anxious.

“What happened?”

You thought you mumbled “Nightmare” but you weren’t sure. Sniffled, soft cries filled the space between the both of you. You were staring down at your hands fiddling with the top sheet, rubbing along the seam.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, then shook your head, his question propelling barely-quelled sobs out of you.

Bruce didn’t know what to do. At all. He figured all he could do was offer logistical support. “Need more Tylenol?”

The vulnerable peculiarity of the situation spurred a laugh as you sniffed up more tears, your voice muffled from your stuffed nose. “It’s like I’m a toddler.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He had no idea what a toddler acted like. He waited, awkwardly, for your sniffing to pause, and spoke. “Miller’s been booked.” You looked up to him, interest piqued.

“Found him walking around your friend’s neighborhood. Watched Gordon take him in. He had an unregistered weapon on him too. He’ll be in there a while.” He hoped it would be some consolation, because you looked like you needed it. He forced himself not to think about what else you might need; thinking about you was starting to feel like holding his breath.

You sighed, your shoulders dropping a few inches. He looked away, too much relief filling him seeing it. “Thanks.”

He nodded, then turned to leave. “If you need anything, just shout.”

You nodded in response, and the door had almost shut when you spoke, tentative. The question not only gnawed at you now, it had been one of the first things you’d thought about with a fucking gun to your skull. “How do you do it?”

He did not want to go back in… He propped the door open and sidled halfway. “Do what?”

“Get shot at every night, it’s fucking horrifying.” More heat sprung to your face, and you pressed your palms to your eyes to force them back.

Admittedly, he’d forgotten how affecting those experiences could be. Even two decades later he couldn’t think too specifically back to Crime Alley or he’d succumb to panic. He stepped the rest of the way in, ashamed that he’d been subtly trying to slip away and ignore you.

You peered at him with a tear-streaked face and he averted his eyes, goosebumps prickling his skin. He swallowed back a lump that’d found its way to his throat. “Already happened, so. Not much to lose I guess.”

He wasn’t looking at you, but you couldn’t stop looking at him. Why did he think so low of himself? Why didn’t he think his life was worth protecting? That night he’d talked about feeling like he’d died with his parents, and suddenly his ghostlike demeanor made a lot of sense. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” You’d caught your breath by this point, the haunting images falling back the longer he hung around. “I know you probably hate to hear it, but I am.”

You weren’t surprised when he deflected it. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

You wiped the pool of tears in the troughs of your cheeks. “It’s not even close.”

That struck a nerve. Few things had been more exasperating to him growing up than having every person’s problems minimized while he was around. “Sorry, Bruce, I mean, it’s nothing compared to what you went through.” “I shouldn’t be talking.” “What do I have to complain about?” Somehow, his words blurted out harsher and gentler than intended. “You’re allowed to be hurt by it.”

His face was contorted into a grimace. You didn’t know what else to do, the vibe entirely shifted, so you just sat, and nodded. When he turned to leave again, anxiety barreled into you like a truck. “Can you turn on the light?”

Tick. You squinted to adjust, the monsters creeping back into the closet.

“If you want anything, don’t hesitate.” He shut the door.

Your dreams had been shitty, but they hadn’t been horrifying.

It was four in the morning when you woke up next, officially well past needing another dose. Forgetting Bruce had essentially offered on-call service, you padded your way out to the stairwell, and jumped with his shadow already at the foot of the stairs. “I told you to shout if you need anything.”

He had a shirt on now, something you were grateful for. “I wanted more meds, thought I might want a walk.”

“How’s your leg?” His voice echoed in the foyer as he walked to the kitchen. He returned in a similar fashion as Alfred, but faster. You’d only made it down a few steps. As he walked to hand you them, you saw the bags under his eyes, creeping in under the moonlight. How every blink looked intentional and forced, designed to keep him standing and conscious. His shoulders were pulled forward, ragged with exhaustion.

You didn’t want to trouble him, scooping the pill out of his hand and grabbing the glass. “Hurts.” You drank it, popped it, and walked slowly back to your sleeping quarters. “Thanks.”

Except… standing in the doorway made you pathetically sad. Gazing at the big, empty room that wasn’t yours in the big, empty tower. Every anxious, miserable thought crowded closer. Your body ached, your spirit was absolutely obliterated. You’d almost died today. I almost DIED today.

More than anything, you wanted to be held. And you didn’t hear his footsteps leaving.

You squeezed your eyes shut until you saw stars, as if it would make it easier. “Can I have a hug?” The request was needy, breathy, feeble. You couldn’t muster a shit to give as the abyss circled you. It was silent.

Bruce froze. He wanted to deny you; after all, what good was a hug if it was hollow? If he was to force you out in the morning, planning ways to convince you to never, ever come back?

You looked over your shoulder, a slow, shakey glance dripping with sorrow. His lashes fluttered as his lips pressed into a thin line. He set the glass on the ground, and his body finished walking up the steps before he nodded. “Sure.” Your eyes focused on the floor as you stepped toward each other, as if looking him in the eye would scare you both off.

When you fell into him it didn’t feel hollow. He felt so full of empathy he could burst, his arms moving instinctually around your back like he’d hugged you a thousand times. His face naturally settled into concern, his chest caving in ever so slightly to welcome yours. You whimpered at the collision of your bodies. In dissent to his earlier apprehension, he pulled you closer, deepening the hug he realized you both so desperately needed.

Falling into his arms was easy. Wrapping your arms around his back was easier. Wailing into his shirt while you clumped fists of it around his back felt as simple as breathing; without beckoning, instinctual, like hot sand lapping up its first wave. The release fell out of you, and you didn’t even register you could be too loud, too much, or too rough. He was as sturdy as the oak tree in his backyard, and just as unyielding—except for now, as his strong hands wrapped around your back and squeezed.

Time paused and the world stopped turning as you were gifted a portal for your pain to fall into. A river to erode the rocks piled in your stomach. You clutched him, your chin tucked into your chest, soaking his shirt until it clung to your cheeks. You bawled until you were coughing, until you felt rugburn on your palm from fisting the cotton so tightly. When you started to shake, he hugged you tighter.

You finally managed to croak out a word, but your mind was undecided between ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you’. “Th-orry.”

You shriek-laughed and cried some more, feeling a gentle rumble from his chest. The humor was quickly lost as you sunk into the sadness again, beginning to hiccup as your cries intensified. Time evaded you as you stood there sniffing, hiccuping, and crying, with your eyes squeezed shut, for what simultaneously felt like five seconds and twenty years.

As your sobs quieted, and your hiccups intensified, you were forced to right yourself, unlatching your hands from around him and wiping your eyes, peeling your skin off his soaked clothes. Your head throbbed. You needed more water, a shower, to sleep, you needed to do anything besides what you were currently doing. He didn’t want this.

You cleared your gummy throat and moved further back to fully wipe your cheeks, tucking your chin under the collar of your shirt—his shirt—to soak up the water. You felt how hot and puffy your face was, the tired sting of your strained eyes. Bruce must not have slept for two days at this rate; what the hell were you doing? I’m just making things worse on him again.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

No conscious thought brought your eyes up to his, only shock at hearing him sound so gentle. His tone was soothing. His face matched it, which sent a jolt through your system remembering, seeing this was BRUCE. You stepped back, embarrassed tears threatening to overwhelm you. “I’m sorry.” You shook your head, realization sinking in staring at his wrinkled, soaked shirt that you’d just bawled—

“I don’t mind.” He gestured toward the kitchen down the steps, turning his body with it like he’d already made up his mind. You didn’t know it, but the embrace had temporarily quelled his inhibitions, replacing them with a profound desire to help. At least for tonight, he wanted to sit with you as long as you’d let him. Hear every bit of the pain that kept you from turning off the light. “Let’s talk.”

Your cheeks heated, intimidated by his new tenderness. “You’ve been awake so long,”

“Is that a no?”

You sighed, your shoulders rising high and dropping low in a huff. “You need to sleep.”

“I’m not tired.”

You wanted to cry again. He’d been so obviously weary. “Yes, you are.”

“I can wait.”

“I can wait. My problems will still be here in the morning.”

He hesitated, but obliged. He asked if you wanted more water before he went up, and you let him. He handed it off to you without fanfare, like this was your nightly routine. “Shout if you want anything.”

You walked up the stairway above his floor, and walked into the barren bedroom. You took a sip of the chilled water, feeling the weightiness of the glass, and turned off the light.

After a few minutes of stirring, you couldn’t ignore going to the bathroom. Padding out of your room turned into sneaking to check on Bruce’s door, which was half open. It hadn’t been that way in Spring. Your heart caught on the thought he’d done it so he wouldn’t miss if you yelled.

You’d been correct in your estimation of his fatigue; that, or he was the fastest sleeper you’d ever known. He was fully conked on his bed, facing the door, his mouth slacked ever so slightly open, the deep rise and fall of his—bare—chest matching his gentle snores. He was on his right side, his left arm half slung over. Your eyes followed down to his shirt abandoned on the ground beside the bed. Even in the low light you could see darker patches from where you’d filled the fibers with your tears.

You forced your feet toward the bathroom, struck with self-consciousness at having spied on him. The marble was cool on the soles of your feet, still not used to walking barefoot on floors with no give. You sat in the small hallway bathroom, the toilet seat frigid against your flushed skin.

You stared absently at the wooden door. The shiny golden handle. The unmoving glint of the static overhead lighting against it. The total silence was unsettling. Both of your apartments in Gotham had ample noise pollution being downtown. Back at home, there was a small littering of the occasional car passing through, a coyote, or Walter licking himself.

This silence was empty. Your mind didn’t waste a second filling it.

You wanted another hug from him. Your heartbeat quickened thinking about it. You moved your focus to the floor, the downward movement bringing Bruce to your nose. You lifted your shirt to bury your nose in it, bringing more depth to the smell. It was ambery and warm. In addition to whatever fragrant detergent he used, he used some sort of masculine body wash.

For a minute you sat there basking in it. Feeling held, wanted, and seen, without shying away. Letting your body relax into its intuitive trust in him. Taking a full, lung-satisfying breath into his comfort. The comfort of being held by him. The comfort of him being alive. The space he’d made for you. Even venturing into the what-if of what he might have said, how he might have looked at you, if you’d poured your grief in front of him.

But it was short-lived. With greater force than your appreciation swept in a current of shame. He didn’t want your tears. He probably thought he had to take them. Had to humor you. Had to make sure you were okay after the lie.

You walked back to your room still in a slurry of painful, self-flagellating emotion. You’d have to clarify in the morning. Tell him it was because of your mom, and the stuff online, and your ex-friends, and the gun shoved in your mouth. The attack. The threats. But you couldn’t very well leave out his attempt, could you? Would it make it seem like you didn’t care about him?

A thought dawned on you before you went to sleep, spurred by the flashback sensation of the gun on your temples. I could’ve just done my paper on the club shooting. Then none of this pain would’ve happened. To either of us. You wanted to curl up and die.

Distracted by the mystery of Batman and the reclusiveness of Bruce Wayne. Forcing his hand. Denting the doors of his life breaking in. Shattering all the glass inside, stealing the valuables. It was pathetic. You were pathetic. A pathetic, annoying, disgusting liar sitting in this room for the second time, of your own doing, of your own mistakes, your own fucked priorities and selfish interests.

But it was a lie that was keeping him alive.

After an hour of tossing and turning, fighting the harassment you flung at yourself with reckless abandon, you forced yourself to get up. You remembered something you learned in therapy when you were younger, something to stop these anxious, ruminating thoughts, to help the room feel less like you were drowning in it. Get an orange. Pay attention to it. Peel it slowly. Focus on the texture in your mouth. The zing. The juiciness in its crunch.

Opening up his fridge, you realized they didn’t have much outside of veggies, protein shakes, and meat. Absolutely not wanting to cook, and being put off by the grainy texture of past protein supplements, you opted for a stray apple in the back of the fridge. It was a bit bruised. You didn’t mind.

When you shut the fridge, the freezer popped slightly open. Instead of just shutting it, you peeked inside—more meat, and a tub of Breyer’s. The apple fell out of your hand and you felt wobbly. More memories flooded your veins already primed to panic. Just one week ago. Hospital. Lingering. On autopilot you shut the freezer, swooped the apple and brought it to the sink to rinse. The water was freezing on your hands. You hoped Bruce wasn’t a light sleeper. You didn’t want to subject him to you again.

The apple was surprisingly crisp, save a few spongy parts. You ate it as you walked up the stairs—one bite per step. You shut your eyes and let your senses guide you, zooming in and slowing down. The tang of the apple. The crunch on the first bite. The coolness of the marble steps. The height and slickness of the railing as it skimmed your palm. Crunch. Step.

You made it back to your room calmer than you left it. The apple was nearly eaten to the core, and you discarded it in the trashcan by the side table. You slipped into bed methodically—left leg, slowly, carefully, then the right. First cover, then comforter, then head to pillow. Eyes closed. Slow, deep, gentle breathing. The only thing you had to do right now was sleep. The only task you had to do was let your body relax. Everything else could wait until morning.

Bruce Wayne could wait until the morning.

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loveslibrarywp · 11 months ago

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Little Red

Aemond Targaryen x Stark!reader

Summary: After only wanting to take a simple stroll in the evening, you end up getting chased through the woods by a mysterious stranger..

Warnings: NSFW. Outdoor sex (she gets fucked behind a tree). Non con (at first). Breeding kink. Praising + degradation kink. Werewolf!Aemond. Reader is Helaena’s friend. Aemond lowkey obsessed with reader (Joe Goldberg type shi).

Requested by: @slytherincursebreaker

“I don’t know Helaena, I just want to be married and have children like you!” The young stark girl complained to her friend whom sat beside her on the loveseat. “My marriage is the least bit happy!” Helaena protested with a sigh as she continued to stitch onto her cloth.

“Some women have happy marriages, though I’m sorry yours isn’t..” she said as she placed a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder. “It is alright, I find solitude in being alone anyway.” She said with a bright smile.

“Well, it is getting dark and I don’t want to talk your ear off, my dear friend. Shall we continue tomorrow?” She asked as she placed down her embroidered cloth on the seat. Helaena agreed as she went to tend to her children.

Y/N tied on her red coat and walked towards the exit of the castle, though she didn’t feel the eyes on her as she did so, nor had she felt them the entire day while with Helaena.

She made it to the entrance of the forest she adored taking long walks in. She loved nature and all of the animals she saw as she strolled through the path. Little did she know, something was following her as the sun came down and the moon hung in the sky.

The stars lit up the gravel path as she walked through the dark forest. She watched little squirrels run up the trees, fighting over the nuts they had collected from the day, she giggled at the small animals but she felt silent when she heard a twig snap behind her.

She whipped towards the sound to see nothing, just the dark abyss between the trees. She let out a deep breath she had been keeping in and decided to just keep walking.

With her foot in front of the other, she heard another stick snap under something foot. Her heartbeat began to pick up as well as her speed. She quickly walked through the trees and began to think if it was time to go home.

The sound of leaves crunching filled the quiet forest. She stopped in her tracks, “hello…?” She called out. Once she heard the sound again, she took off as fast as her feet could take her.

Another figure ran right after her, practically announcing that they were following her. Her heart was beating out of her chest from running and from fear.

Softly and low growls came from the figure chasing her. ‘What was it?’ She thought. She continued to run throw the thick trees of the forest. She looked back to see the figure but she only saw a dark cloak hiding the figures face and body.

Her hair and red cloak flew behind her in the wind as she sprinted. She was terrified for her life. What did this thing want from her? She panted and gasped for air.

She quickly turned and hid behind a nearby tree to maybe lose the creature. She quickly caught her breath and hid her body behind the big tree.

The forest was silent. Too silent. She felt a hand cup her mouth and grab her waist to pull her towards its body.

She screamed into its hand. It’s long claws caressed her cheek. She was then pressed up against the tree she was hiding behind.

The figure only looked down so she couldn’t see its face. Yet, it towered over her. “Please, let me go!” She shouted at the tall figure. She was shaking in fear, fear the she may not see the light of the day again.

“I’ll do anything! Please!” She pleaded. The figure finally spoke, “anything..?” It said with a masculine voice, one she had very well heard before. Tears painted her red cheeks, “please..”

The cloaked man took off his hood to reveal its face. Aemond. It was Aemond.

“Aemond? Why are you doing this? Let me go!” She cried out. Why would her best friend’s younger brother try to scare her like this? Was it a prank?

“I’m going to finally have my way with you, little one..” he growled into her ear as he grabbed her neck. “You said you’d do anything, right? So, just listen to me…it’s that simple, lovie.” A sly smirk was plastered on his face.

“Why? What are you going to do to me?” She asked as she shook in fear and confusion. His hand that wasn’t pressed up against her neck slid down her leg and up her white dress. His long fingers caressed her thigh and her hip as he slid into her undergarments, snapping them off her hips.

“I just wanna play with you, baby..” he whispered with a soft smile, she just stared at him in shock. The names he was calling her and the way he was touching her left her with a burning sensation in her belly and an ache in her cunt. She didn’t want to feel like this for him, not at this moment that is. Not when he was scaring her.

He dipped his fingers into her panties felt the growing arousal she had felt just moments ago. He laughed when his fingers felt the wetness of her cunt, “you like this, don’t you, little girl?”

“Tsk, tsk…sweet girl. What are we going to do with you?” He asked with false worry. She couldn’t draw her eyes away from his face no matter how bad she wanted too. She hated how attractive he looked in this moment.

She let out a small whimper as he flicked over her clit. Her noises made him smile, oh how sick he was. “Aemond, please…” she begged. She didn’t know what she was pleading for, multiple things maybe.

“Don’t worry, lovie. I’ll take good care of you.” He nipped at her neck and moved his hands down her body. He tugged her dress up and over her hips and lifted her off the ground.

She didn’t know what to do, she didn’t even know if she wanted this. He unlaced his breeches with one hand and pulled out his leaking cock. She didn’t know something so vulgar could be so pretty.

He swiftly pulled her panties the side and ran his tip through her slit. He tapped his tip against her swollen clip. She whimpered and whined at his actions, “please…” she begged.

“Please what?” He asked, he dragged his cock against her dripping cunt as he waited for her answer. “Fuck me, Aemond.” She pleaded.

He plunged his cock inside of her in one thrust. She almost fell over as she moaned before he held her up. His pace moved fast and uncontrolled, yet so good. The quiet forest was filled with her moans and whimpers and his low groans.

“What a little whore you are…getting fucked behind a tree, where anyone could stumble upon us..” he groaned in her ear. She could only respond with her whines.

He let out a low laugh at her little noises. They only fueled his desire and drive to fuck her stupid. He pounding into her, her back was hitting the tree but she could only focus on the pleasure the man was giving her.

“Oh fuck!” She gasped as he repeatedly hit that special spot inside of her, “that feel good? Fucking slut..” he said as his fingers moved towards her clit. He pressed lighting into the small button and rubbed little circles into it, earning him a loud moan.

“I heard you with Helaena today. You want a husband, lovie? I can be that for you. I can make every desire of yours come true.” He admitted, making her gasp as he continued to fuck her. “What that to happen? want me to be your husband?” She nodded against the tree even though she hadn’t completely comprehended what she was agreeing too, she was too fucked out to even think.

“I bet you do, sweet girl. I’ll give you anything you want.” He smiled as his thrust became short and scattered. He was reached his peak as was she. She clenched around his cock and her moans became even louder than they were before.

“-so close!” She shouted. He picked up his pace with his fingers, her peak came crashing over her. She came with a groan. Aemond fucked her through her orgasam as he approached his. “Gonna let me fuck a baby into, lovie?” He groaned at the thought of her pregnant with his child. “Yes! Please, Aemond! Let me carry your children!” She gasped.

He groaned as he came inside her at her words. All of his dreams were coming true at that moment, she was finally his.

“You’re mine now.”

#aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond smut #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen

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anonymous-dentist · 3 months ago

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Part Nine of the Catboy in the Village AU

Part One | Part Eight

Cellbit realizes that it's gotten bad when he finally gets permission to go to the castle's gardens and he feels the urge to cry upon seeing the sun. The sky is so blue that it hurts his eyes to look at. And the clouds?

Roier sighs contentedly and immediately faceplants onto the lawn, nuzzling his face against the grass. He's so embarrassing.

"You're embarrassing," Cellbit tells him, very matter-of-fact.

He settles next to Roier and pulls his upper half into his lap, anyway. Roier already has grass in his hair; Cellbit resists the urge to pick it out.

The guards escorting them stand at attention next to the door leading back into the castle. There is another set of guards at the far end of the garden on either side of a large wooden gate that presumably leads to the outside world.

Cellbit stares at the gate hungrily. So close...

Roier raises a hand and pinches Cellbit's cheek.

"You're embarrassing," he teases. "What did you say? 'Please let us outside, please, please, please, please'-"

Cellbit covers Roier's mouth with his hand. Roier keeps talking, anyway; his eyes crinkle up like he's smiling, and his shoulders shake with the effort of not laughing.

(Behind them, grass crunches.

Ah, Cellbit thinks. The little spy is finally back.)

"Cállate," Cellbit huffs, mispronouncing the word just to finally make Roier laugh. And he succeeds!

Roier explodes into giggles, rolling onto his side and hiding his face in Cellbit's stomach and wrapping his arms around Cellbit's middle and squeezing lightly.

Cellbit's heart flutters. He feels like he's on the moon. Roier's laughter sounds like what an angel's must sound like, it's just so heavenly.

Smiling, Cellbit flops backwards, pulling Roier with him. He makes sure his hat doesn't fall off with one hand; his free hand grips the back of Roier's tunic loosely.

Roier resettles so that he's laying entirely on top of Cellbit- still hiding his face, but not uncomfortably diagonal. His legs tangle with Cellbit's, and his smile burns through the thick cloth of Cellbit's shirt.

Cellbit stares directly at the sun. His eyes water, but those might be tears of another kind.

Once a week, he and Roier and the kids would make the trip to the Águila Kingdom's palace for a playdate with Leonarda. The palace gardens are massive: there are acres of trees of every kind, beds of flowers from every corner of the world, a life-size pirate ship on a pond for Leo to play pretend on with her fathers, a literal zoo filled with every animal the princess could ever imagine, and more that Cellbit hasn't gotten to see yet but that Roier assures him is real. Like the greenhouse filled with every medicinal herb that has ever been discovered, and a thick bed of roses.

While the kids played, Cellbit and Roier would sit somewhere and let the guards keep watch. Sometimes Jaiden would sit with them. Sometimes it would be Etoiles. Foolish, usually, though he always left the second he heard his daughter call for him.

The Gato Kingdom's garden doesn't seem to be a thing like the Águila Kingdom's. It's just the one spot of land, for one thing. There are a few trees and some empty flowerbeds, but that's it. The grass is green, but it's thin, and Cellbit can feel the dirt under him.

It's... small. Clearly neglected.

I could fix it, Cellbit idly thinks. And then he mentally rolls his eyes. Yeah, right. As if he'd be allowed to, "lost prince" or not. He's still a prisoner; he had to resort to literal begging to get the guards to escort him and Roier out. It's the same yard time that Cellbit was given back in prison, just with fewer prisoners.

Besides. Why should Cellbit care what the garden looks like? It's none of his business.

...Still. Pepito would like it. He likes anything, really, but he especially likes open spaces that don't have things for him to trip over. Richarlyson would hate it, but he hates everything that his sibling likes. That's just how he works.

After adjusting his hat one final time, Cellbit shifts that hand down to caress the back of Roier's head; Roier hums, quieting down with his laughter.

He must be thinking about the same thing as Cellbit, because he quietly asks, "I wonder if they have a graveyard here, too."

Cellbit winces. "They aren't dead."

"Maybe. Probably not."

"Roier..."

"But! If there is a cemetery here, wouldn't the prince be in it? Just dig the body up, prove there is a body, then we can go. Easy!"

Roier props his head up on Cellbit's chest, looking at him with bright, teary eyes. He's smiling, but only because he thinks that it'll keep Cellbit from worrying.

Cellbit sighs. His hand travels from the back of Roier's head to his cheek, cupping it; he wipes a tear from under Roier's eye with his thumb.

"If they were dead, we would have heard about it by now," he assures Roier, voice low; the guards don't need to hear any of this, it isn't any of their business.

(The grass beside him shifts.

Cellbit, caught up in his husband's sad little face, doesn't care to think about it.)

"Unless they ran away and died," Roier argues. "They're shitty kids, they'd do it."

"Be nice. They're perfect."

"Perfectly dead."

"Roier."

"Gatinho."

Cellbit opens his mouth, about to argue, when the grass next to the two of them crunches just a bit too obviously.

In a heartbeat, Roier is ready for battle. He's pushing Cellbit to the side and lunging for the invisible spy before Cellbit can say anything.

There's a screech, and then the invisibility potion wears off to reveal Princess Empanada kicking at Roier and clutching her little notebook to her chest.

The guards by the door immediately rush into action, tackling Roier to the side and pinning him to the ground.

And then Cellbit is immediately rushing into action, pushing himself to his knees and lunging for the guards with bared teeth.

The fight lasts for approximately five seconds before the princess stands and shouts, "Everybody, stop it!"

Everybody stops it. The guards look up at the princess reverently. Roier looks at the princess confusedly. Cellbit looks at Roier concernedly.

The princess' notebook has been abandoned to the grass, and her hands are over her ears, pinning them to her head. She looks positively overwhemled, and Cellbit's heart breaks just a little for her (he definitely understands the feeling.)

Grumbling, Roier pushes the guards off of him with ease. Gods, he's strong...

"How dare you attack the prince's husband?" he snaps. "Imagine what the queen will say!"

The guards cower before him.

Cellbit just rolls his eyes. What a drama queen...

While Roier and the guards argue, Cellbit stands and brushes the grass off of him. He spits at the nearest guard's feet, sneers at them, scoops his hat off of the ground where it had fallen and firmly pulls it down over his ears.

Then, he walks around the guards and Roier and bends down to pick the princess' notebook up. He holds it out to her, not making eye contact.

"Thank you," she mutters.

She takes the notebook and tucks it under her arm.

"Let me guess, you made a potion that can last longer, but you made it so that it wears off as soon as someone touches you," Cellbit says.

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. "Rookie mistake. What is the healer teaching you?"

He yelps as the princess smacks him with her notebook hard.

"She's the best alchemist ever!" she huffs. "You're just a bully."

And then she yelps as Roier, suddenly, swoops in and picks her up and dangles her above the ground by the armpits.

"He is a bully!" Roier agrees. "And you are an eavesdropper! What, isn't there anyone else you can get your chisme from?"

The princess squirms angrily.

Notably, the guards have vanished. Cellbit can't see them anywhere.

"Guapito," he mildly asks, "where did the guards go?"

Roier shrugs. "Who knows? All I did was threaten to get them fired for trying to kill us. Maybe they fell over and died and the demon ate them."

The princess freezes briefly before resuming her petulant wiggling.

Cellbit nods. "Makes sense."

He leans in towards the princess and whispers, "Remember when I told you about the half-spider who followed me around?"

She nods.

"Well, this is him. So it's best to behave."

Her eyes widen. She stops fighting, but she still looks pretty pissed.

Humming, Roier turns the princess around and raises his arms until he can look the her in the eyes.

She sticks her tongue out at him.

He sticks his tongue out back.

Then, he looks at Cellbit and asks, "Do you think they have mail here?"

The princess scoffs, "Of course we have mail. The war was forever ago. Mamãe fixed the mail immediately."

Roier quirks an eyebrow at Cellbit. Cellbit gestures towards the princess' cat ears with his eyes. Roier's own eyes widen in realization, and he nods and mouths, "Right."

"Well, your highness, we need you to send a letter for us," Roier says. "I'll use your little note-thing, and then you send the letter, and then we're even."

He glances at Cellbit before continuing, "I mean, this guy is the prince. He's your uncle! We just want to know if your cousins are okay. Then we'll leave you alone, and you'll leave us alone, and we can pretend that we never saw each other. Deal?"

The princess bites her lip and looks away. "Mamãe says that you aren't supposed to know that I'm here."

Cellbit nods sympathetically. "And she won't know that we know, because you're going to help us, and then we won't see each other ever again. Nobody has to get in trouble."

Does he feel bad about blackmailing a child? A little, he's never liked hurting kids, especially now that he has his own children.

But if it'll make Roier feel better, Cellbit will do anything. He'll kill everyone in this gods damned castle if it means getting Roier back home to their children. Blackmail is nothing.

Eventually, the princess nods.

Grinning, Roier puts her down on the ground. He accepts the notebook when it's offered, and he starts to write.

(A shiver runs down Cellbit's spine. Why, all of a sudden, does he feel like he's being watched?)

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#catboy in the village au

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call-sign-shark · 2 years ago

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Heaven In Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary: Beaten with guilt and shame after losing his temper again, Arthur's aimless wandering leads him to church. There she is and, after diving into her heavenly eyes, he is convinced God has sent him His sweetest angel to save his bastard soul.

Words: 2.6k

TW: Blood, a bit of angst, slight blasphemy and bad use of holy water, reckless x caretaker Inspired by the prompt "Where does it hurt? - Everywhere" by @the-three-whumpeteers

Notes:

✞ Timeline: between seasons 2 and 3

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here). Heaven’s voice and song is linked, all you have to do is click on the lyrics.

NEXT CHAPTER || Masterlist

The stumbling tall silhouette of Arthur Shelby was crossing through the thick haunting mist of Birmingham. As unwelcoming the town was during the day, it was nothing compared to night time. When sun faded behind the horizon, chased by the pale glowing face of the moon, the whole city turned into a cut-throat area. Arthur brought the neck of the bottle he was holding to his chapped lips and gulped down a mouthful of pure Irish whisky. The fire trail the beverage left behind it as it went down his throat reminded him he was alive — he could still feel something, even though it was the alcohol’s burning. An animal growl escaped from his lips when the bottle left them only for him to lean his back against one of the church’s gigantic concrete walls. A loud raven’s croak torn the silent veil of the night, making him swears. The gravel in his voice answered to the dull bird, which was watching him from a tree with his tiny and beady eyes.

« Fooking bird, laughing at me like the rest of ‘em eh? »

The raven — which was rather large for a bird — tilted its head to the side and kept staring at the drunk man with a cunning interest. Its black eyes, shining under the moonlight, seemed filled with both a wise glare and a mocking sparkle. Soon, Arthur’s curiosity for the raven’s unusual behavior turned into a senseless anger when he understood why the bird was focusing on him, his explosive rage strengthened by the incredible amount of alcohol he had drunk a bit earlier.

« It’s the damn blood is it? Stop lookin’ at me like I’m — I’m some kind of monster, or a beast or I don’t fookin’ know what else! Go to Hell! »

The bottle flew towards the raven but it did not flicker, as if it knew Arthur was not in the shape of being quick nor particularly precise with aiming. As the glass smashed into the ground, Arthur hit the wall behind him with the back of his head and let out a frustrated scream. No more cocaine, no more auto destructive behavior nor suicide attempts for two years straight, and tonight he fucked it all up. He was convinced he could get better, and God knows he tried his best to do so. Got sober from every poison he used to take, got a religious wife that was trying to turn the wolf in him into a sheep… Hell, he even brought her flowers every damn day. But then came troubles, taking the shape of his little brother, Thomas Shelby.

He asked him to do the dirty job — again.

With his calloused hands, he took another man’s life. At first Arthur thought he would not be that disturbed at the idea of killing someone, after all he had done that almost his entire life. Just one last time, he told himself, just one last time and I’ll go back to my little peaceful life with me wife.

Yet, the guilt and the shame that struck him after bashing the lad’s head against the edge of a sink until his face became a pile of squishy flesh soon became too much to handle.

As the last spurt of blood spattered his face, Arthur’s clouded mind became suddenly crystal clear: it would never stop. After that epiphany, the older Shelby brother contemplated how everyone he deeply loved tended to use him. For Thomas and the rest of the family he was a mad dog, the combat brute whose only times he could enjoy life without a muzzle were when he had to rip someone’s throat apart. For his father, he had been nothing else than a poor naive hound that would have done anything to receive his respect. As for Linda, her love was a cruel mirage he wanted to believe with all his heart — but the illusion had vanished in smoke. Whether she considered him as her personal test subject for Christian brainwashing or as a tool to get what she wants, Arthur could not tell. What he could tell though was that he knew she did not really loved him. She wanted to mould him at her will, but he was no lamb. He was a wolf, a beaten and lonely wolf, but still one. And there was no love for rabid wolves, only a bullet through the brain to cure the madness.

As his skull buzzed with macabre thoughts, whose unpleasant noise reminded him of a furious beehive, a bewitching voice pulled him out of his auto-destructive spiraling. Standing at attention and listening carefully, he came to realize that someone was singing inside the church. Arthur’s eyelids fell on his steel blue eyes and the back of his head gently rested against the cold wall behind him, the same wall he had been previously smashing it with. A sighed escaped from his liquored lips as the angelic and hypnotizing voice, slightly muffled by the church’s heavy wooden doors, plunged him into a soft but oh-so-warm haze.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold…

Lulled by the sad melody carried away with Birmingham’s cold night breeze, the swarm of raging hornets in Arthur’s brain stopped crashing against the bony walls of his skull. Another sigh — one of relief this time, for the unbearable noisy thoughts and violent buzzing had vanished. His trembling fingers, numbed by the blows he had hit his target with one hour ago and still covered with half-dried blood, slid along his temples and slicked his hair back. The utter and feral anger he had felt was reduced to void, for even his old heart had slowed its pace down in his ribcage.

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold…

The tune, embedded with melancholy, soothed his troubled mind and to be honest, he could barely believe it. When that switch in his brain flipped, God knew he was not in control anymore - even dear Linda, who still managed to hush down some of his tantrums, could not tame the beast inside when it broke free a bit more fiercely than usual. Yet, this voice did so. This stranger, faceless and nameless ghost of the night, brought him back to sanity with the sole power of her voice. The words she was singing, with her a juvenile and enchanting tone, were wrapping his heart. Arthur sniffed and fought hard against the dawning tears that were forming delicate crystal beads at the corner of his closed eyes.

If he had been the jolly sailor bold, he would have thrown himself out of the boat to join the siren that was singing.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold.

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold…

She repeated, sadder than she previously sang.

Her song sipped through his heart and filled the cracks with molten gold. Arthur’s lips stretched in an almost invisible grin without even realizing it — By her voice, he was convinced she could repair the damaged creatures like him and make them even more beautiful than they were before they had been dragged through the trenches’ mud and shit. He had barely came to his senses, almost miraculously sobered up, when silent fell again in the church. Arthur reopened his eyes, and shook his head - Had he dreamt? Had it been the whiskey singing to him? No, he could not be that crazy right? Not quite sure if he was starting to hear voices and see things, Shelby decided that he had to found out who had been singing to his very own soul. He wanted to see her, the girl who soothed his foul heart and his twisted mind. He wanted to know, no, he HAD to know, even though his whole being was fragile like a flickering candle flame caught in a hurricane and would probably shatter in million of pieces if she turned out to be an illusion.

Gathering all his remaining strength, Arthur grabbed the handle and opened the church’s door.

[…]

A shiver ran down your delicate spine at the loud silence that floated in the gigantic and empty church. The peculiar sweet yet strong scent of myrrh, wood and frankincense filled your lungs with its holy fragrance. The vibrations of the last word you sang was still echoing in the room, swirling to the high and sculpted ceiling, from which marble angels were watching over you. If someone would have told you two years ago that the only place you would find comfort would be a church, you would not have believe it. You had never been particularly fervent about religion, but you did believe in higher forces whether they were good or bad. More than a matter of faith, the church itself was an old friend of yours. A gargantuan friend of stone, holy titan always welcoming you even in the darkest moments of your life. What you liked the most were these lonely moments at night, during which you could light up dozen of candles and sing your sorrow to the status and colorful stained-glass windows. No gossip from the parish, no believers swarming like ants within these mighty walls. There were just you, the candle lights and the soothing silence. For a few hours, you could finally find peace.

Brushing the varnished wood of the altar with your thin fingers and painted-red nails, you let your mind drift and, suddenly, the world around you vanished. You sunk so deep in the abyss of your thoughts that you did not hear the creaking sound of the heavy door opening, nor the footsteps that followed. All you could heard were the « Burn witch, burn! » that hundred of villagers screamed at you in the woeful remembrance of your past. And in spite of your immaculate porcelain skin, you bore the scars of their words deep in your soul.

[…]

Arthur made a few steps before freezing, his body refusing to come closer as if the aura around the creature that was standing back to him , right in front of the altar lightened up with dozen and dozen of small dancing flames, was too sanctified to be violated. Bathed in the soft and warm orange hue of candles, the long white hair of the woman fell down the small of her back like an ivory waterfall. Right above her the pale glow of the full moon coming through the stained-glass window formed a luminous halo around her head.

His breathing stopped, choking in his throat at such a divine vision. The gangster opened his mouth to speak but no words managed to come out. He had never been good with words anyway. Instead he moistened his lips and swallowed, his mouth dry. The white-haired girl had started to hum the same song she had been singing a bit earlier, not aware of his presence — and he did not dare to disturbing her as if he feared God’s punishment. He took another step, the wooden floor creaking under his sole.

This time the angel — because he was convinced it was one — jumped and turned around, an expression of utter surprise veiling her sweet face. Her fox eyes, adorned with two iris so fair it reminded him of aquamarine stones, scrutinized his slightest movements. She remained petrified for what felt eternity for her but, regarding him, time had stopped for good. Arthur finally inhaled sharply, coming back to life.

All those endless nights of crying, all those endless nights of praying in vain for something or someone to save him, and here you were… His salvation.

He had asked God to send him, the most desperate sinner of all, His most beautiful Angel and He had done so.

She was not just pretty. She was otherworldly and vaguely threatening. Almost ethereal in her short white dress whose cut let her naked back for the world to see.

« I waited for ya. » He whispered.

She blinked, her full and juicy lips opening with surprise.

He stuttered, looking down and decided it was better for you if he stopped talking. The gravel in his hoarse voice, as strong as it was, sounded indescribably frail. As if this tall and slightly threatening man could shatter at your single touch. Now he felt stupid, clumsy with words contrary to Tommy and his naturally eloquent and charismatic speech. In addition to the unpleasant impression of being a fool, Arthur’s own whisky-scented breath and the strong metallic smell of blood reminded him of his horrific appearance. Overcoming the awe you infused in him, panic started to kick.

You frowned, and all of sudden he did not look that impressive anymore. Swept away by the wind, your face relaxed and wrapped itself with a calm, almost placid expression. You exhaled through your nose and walked towards the gangster, who had brought his bloody hands to each side of his head and was now pulling his own hair in a desperate attempt to not lose track.

« Where does it hurt? » You asked with a quiet and soothing tone, for you were concerned about all the blood he was covered with.

Arthur raised his gaze toward the petite white-haired doll who had just pressed one of her cold little hands on his. Your ice against his fire made his legs weak and his heart missed a beat. How his breathing calmed down at your touch was a mystery, but it did. Not quite comprehending why you did not seem scared of him, he stuttered again, all flustered.

« Shhh, shhhh. Everything’s okay, take a deep breath and answer with all the time you need. » Your hand gently tightened its grip, willing to show him you were there and you were not going anywhere until he feels better.

« Where does it hurt? »

« Ev-Everywhere love. It hurts everywhere. »

His hands, his face, his body, his brain, his soul, his damn tortured soul… It all ached too much, and too constantly for him to bear anymore. E-ve-ry-where, that was all he could say because pain was all he could feel.

Without answering, you pulled him to the altar and invited him to sit on the marble stairs. The strong and fierce gangster followed you without the single physical resistance and gave in between your hands, as a rag doll. All he did was looking at you with his charming but oh-so-exhausted blue eyes as you tore the fabric of your dress near your thighs and soaked it in holy water.

« Let me wash away the blood. » Your voice echoed in the vastness of the church, enticing and haunting at the same time — enough to send a pleasant shiver down his spine. You had barely finished your sentence when you started rubbing the wet cloth against his hollow cheek to clean his pale skin from the dark red blood. Once again, he could not help watching you during the whole ordeal all the while enjoying the fresh sensation of the holy water cleansing the dirt of his soul. Not minding his stare filled with fascination, you focused on your task, brows slightly furrowed and fingers blessing him with the softest and most caring touch someone had given him.

« Yer an Angel. I swear you are eh. »

You quickly glanced at him, a sparkle of amusement shining in your cunning celeste blue eyes, before looking back at what you were doing. The weight of his gaze brought fire to your cheeks, for he looked at you like he had just realized what love was.

He looked at you, and to his greatest surprise, found Heaven in your eyes.

I'm super new in the Peaky Blinders fandom, so please bear with me... Especially since English is not my native language. To be honest I am kind of scared to post it so any comment, review, reblog or constructive criticism is welcome. Also, I'll be more than happy to meet people in the Peaky Blinders fandom! In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed some Arthur and Heaven. Still don’t know if I’ll write a full series or snipets of these two love birds.

Tags: @areyenotfondofmelobster

#Arthur shelby #Arthur shelby x reader #Peaky blinders #Peaky blinders x reader #Arthur shelby x oc #arthur shelby x ofc #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fluff #Arthur shelby imagine #Thomas Shelby #Tommy shelby #Arthur Shelby x Heaven #Heaven Shelby #Arthur Shelby fluff

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llamaisllama777 · 2 months ago

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LAES,TSAMS,EAPS WEEKLY*/*DAILY REVIEW SHOW!!!!!

Okay, we had a lot of really good episodes today, so let's hurry up and talk about them!

First up, FAMILY MOMENTS! I love this thumbnail so much, especially Moon's face.. I .. I just love it!

I love how we get to learn about everyone's movie preferences. It's interesting learning these little random tidbits about them. It's fun. Also Sun...

SPY KIDS 3 IS GREAT, AND I WILL NOT HEAR OTHERWISE!!! 😡

Also, Prince of Egypt is a really good movie. You all should go watch it. Even if you aren't religious, it's really good and has some awesome animation and music. Seriously, if you haven't watched, please do. I think it's on YouTube for free???

This episode was cute.... ONTO THE TRAUMA!

Bout time, I was wondering when Nexus would try to kidnap Sun. Took longer than I expected... I wonder why? 🤔

This episode I think confirmed a theory I had...

New Moon/Nexus never cared.

I had this thought in the back of my head that Nexus never really cared about them. He never thought of them as family. He just saw them as people he was told to call family. They were NEVER his family. He never really cared. He just cared about Solar, but Solar never saw him as a brother. OOOFFFFF!

That hurts!

But I'm glad we know because DANG! The angst there!

Also, Sun is stronger than Nexus' chain ability (That ability where he forces people to the floor. I like to imagine purple chains form around the person when he uses that move)

Nexus was so close to kidnapping Sun....

BUT MONTY CAME IN STINKIN' CLUTCH!!!!!!

Monty FINALLY got to use the shotgun! He nearly killed Nexus there! Thank you, Nebula, for the starshells! The Astrals are starting to grow on me.

(Okay... maybe a was a little rash on the whole "Down with the Astrals" "Viva la revolution" thing!) Sorry, Astrals. Still don't really trust Taurus or Leo tho.

Things are getting serious! October is in like two weeks! The creator is still out there! Rez and Cetus are out there! And Dark Sun still has a stinkin' dragon! This is gonna be an exciting October! I'm so excited!

Also, thank you, Davis and Reed, for this picture of Monty with a shotty.

And lastly...

Okay, Eclipse looks like that one guy from the office that conspiracy theory guy. And Puppet just looks depressed.

Puppet really wants to catch the killer. It's really affecting her. It's the MCI incident all over again. And she clearly doesn't want anyone or herself to go through that again. Eclipse still won't watch movies with anyone. It's only a matter of time, though. The moment he says yes and joins them is the moment his redemption arc is complete for me!

So, Eclipse and Puppet have narrowed down the killer to 4 suspects. All employees of Fazbear.

1. Vincent

2. Some lady named Margo

3. A teenage intern who works in the daycare named Josh

4. And the repair man whose name I forget.

I don't think it's any of these guys. But I have a few theories on who the killer could be..

1. Michael Afton of this world. Eclipse did mention in one of the early episodes of the EAPS that the Michael of this world was/still is an employee of Fazbears.

2. Henry Emily. Just cause the angst that it would cause Puppet.

3. The Charlie of this world. Just cause again the angst it would cause Puppet being the killer of this world!

There is no way it's Wanda(the William of this world)

And I highly doubt it's Vincent or some rando employee.

It has to be someone important.

These episodes were amazing!

Davis, Reed, Kat, Valentine, you guys did amazing on these episodes again!

12/10!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Extra point cause WOW!

Also shout out to this commentor for having the funniest comment on there.

Nebula, you are starting to become my favorite Astral!

Also, Patchnotes is a ship I really hope happens now!

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darkdevasofdestruction · 1 year ago

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Hello, could I request a Heimdall x reader, like soulmates, as if the bond between them was pain, as if one of them was hurt the other would feel it and only the touch of the soulmate would make the pain stop? or something about the first kisses between them, I'm really pleased with anything about this man

Hmmm, let me see where I can go with this~

---

✬Ever since he was created, Heimdall has been a non-believer in the silly idea of a romantic relationship - The single notion that there may actually be someone out there, who could possibly be up to his level, or anywhere close to it.

✬He hadn't cared, nor did he even attempt to try to find out his soulmate - He didn't believe one existed to begin with - A counterpart of his own, someone whose personality and heart could mirror his own, complete him wholly.

✬He was already perfect to begin with, he needn't someone to complete him - He was complete by himself!

✬He couldn't even imagine allowing some filthy mongrels who consider themselves 'Gods' touching him, let alone stay in their disgusting proximity. A few hours once in a blue moon was enough for him to satisfy his carnal needs. No one was worthy of him.

✬Heimdall is a pure Aesir God, the Foresight haver, the Holder of Gjallarhorn, the All-Father's most trusted person, the Protector of the Asgard. What more could he need in life?

✬For some odd reason, he felt a peculiar pang of pain in his chest, where his heart area could be, though there was no particular reason for it - It happened out of nowhere, even when he was relaxing with a book by the fireplace.

✬Not only that, but on even fewer occasions, his body would feel uncharacteristic aches - He wasn't some clumsy idiot, he didn't get himself hurt - Hell, he never got touched without his consent before, let alone get his flesh harmed - So what was this all about?!

✬His only saving grace was the night, when he would allow himself to rest and enter a deep sleep. Sometimes, he would enter the dream world, the only place where his heart, soul and mind could feel at ease and genuinely happy.

✬Every time, he was teleported in a forest clearing, in a beautiful flower clearing, next to a rapid river breaking through the stones. A warm ray of Sun peeked through the large crowns of the tall trees, caressing his pale face, making his golden hair shimmer ethereally.

✬He felt happy. He felt content. He smiled.

✬Every time, without fail, a gorgeous white deer, mystical and glowing silver, with the most kind eyes that looked more human than animal would approach him - Afraid, but curious. It was a repeating cycle every time, yet without fail, the deer would trust him, nuzzle her wet nose into his palm, and even lick his face.

✬Her eyes... Kind, yet sad, nostalgic, melancholic... Lonely...

✬An animal hiding a pool of humanly emotions, as if she wished to be found already.

✬Or maybe he was going mad.

✬Heimdall didn't feel anger, nor disgust for anyone, he didn't scowl or frown, nor did he sneer or scoff at the idiocy surrounding him. Instead, he felt content and at peace, with his heart bursting and glowing with joy and love every time this deer would rest her head on his lap.

✬Could this deer be his Fylgja? His guardian spirit? The embodiment of his soulmate's soul and spirit, watching over him, completing him, just as those silly stories tell? Was there someone out there, that could heal him, his mind and heart? Could there be someone out there having similar dreams as him, with a white, mystical stag watching over them, protecting them, caring for them, the same as this doe is healing him? Could there be someone out there, with his soul connected to them?

✬He doubted that.

✬Still, he relished in the escapism that was created as a gift for him.

✬Surely, the universe knew how much stress and pressure he was under, especially having to keep around all those fools who consider themselves Gods. Thank the All-Father he was tasked with guarding the wall, and his home was far, far away from the village, otherwise he doubts he'd be able to keep himself in check and not murder everyone.

✬They say that your soulmate appears out of nowhere, when you least expect it. It was then that Heimdall felt sheer terror in his heart, for the first time in his long life - The time when he witnessed Y/N getting slammed into the tavern wall by a clumsy, drunk Thor, and he felt his spine ablaze with pain.

✬ He felt her pain. That was impossible. That couldn't be.

✬But that wasn't the only thing terrifying Heimdall.

✬Her eyes held the same innocence and loneliness as his spirit deer.

✬Since then, not only did he avoid Y/N like the plague, but he actively kept away from all the Gods, except the All-Father. It was the perfect excuse - He just hated everyone.

✬But no matter how much you try to run away from fate, it always finds a way of catching up to you.

✬A knock on his door disturbed him, and he felt compelled to slam his book to the ground, angered that someone dared disrupt him from his leisure time. He swung the door open and war ready to yell at the idiot barging in at such a late hour at the night.

✬But as soon as his glowing purple eyes met those beautiful doe eyes of hers, Heimdall's body froze, and the yell got stuck in his throat.

✬"Forgive the intrusion at such a horridly late hour of the name, Heimdall. I just finished work." without realising, his heart was beating so fast, pouding in his chest. "I... thought you've been looking rather upset lately. I... I don't know what bothered you, but... I thought I would bake you a few snacks." she rose the basket to eye-level, and Heimdall could feel the smell of delicious pastries and freshly baked bread. When he didn't respond, or even sketch a single reaction, Y/N smiled sweetly, causing the Aesir's snow-pale cheeks to flush up a little. "Are you feeling quite alright? You seem feverish." she tried to place her hand on his cheek, feel his temperature up, but Heimdall overreacted and yelped, roughly grabbing at her wrist before she could touch his skin. He feared that, should her touch be magical, then the truth would be revealed and affirmed. Soulmates existed, and even he had one. "Oh, forgive me for overstepping my boundaries. I was just worried for you."

✬Heimdall looked away with a scoff, only for his face to redden up even more. Though he despised the idea of love and being vulnerable, his hand moved on his own, allowing the Goddess to feel his skin.

✬At once, he shuddered involuntarily, and a warm, tingling sensation took over him. He loved it, it felt so good, it was unreal.

✬After a few seconds spent like that, Heimdall dared shift his gaze at her. Y/N was smiling. "You knew, didn't you?" he mumbled under his breath. Y/N nodded gently. "I have known since we were children." the man's eyes widened in shock. "There aren't all that many people in Asgard with eyes as beautiful as yours." she giggled sweetly. "If you knew it was me, why didn't you come sooner?" he asked, pulling her inside his hut, protecting her from the cold outside. "You never did look at me." her comment stung his heart. "Or, at anyone else, for the matter." she sat on the couch by the fireplace. "Besides, I did tell you, didn't I? Through your dreams, I was there. I waited for you, every night, in that clearing. I could feel the pain of your soul, and I was there, waiting to take it all away from you. To heal you and erase all of you worries." it wasn't just her touch, but that warm smile on her face that made the man feel ablaze with love. "So the deer was you, not my Fylgja." he muttered, more as an affirmation, than a question. "I could see you, the same as you saw me. It was my soul that you saw, not my body. It was my soul healing you, the same as your soul protected me from the animals trying to harm me." Heimdall looked up at her, realising their dreams were slightly different. He saw how scared she was at first, as a young child, being surrounded by fiersome bears, wolves and panthers, only for this strong, large white stag to prance over and protect her from harm, throwing all the predators away with his huge antlers. "Soulmates complete each other." Heimdall found himself saying, realising that what Y/N healed, he protected. That god-awful statement was true. They completed each other perfectly. He may be whole as a singular person, but it felt even better, without his soul honeyed by another. "Ah, to hell with this." emboldened by Y/N's mere presence, Heimdall shot up from his couch and dragged her up, gently cupping her face and pulling her into a sweet, gentle kiss.

✬It felt as though the whole universe disappeared completely, and it was only them present. Not in two physical bodies, but two souls connected, intertwined for eternity.

✬A sensation of deep love and warm, like honeyed milk at night, before falling into a deep sleep. The gentle caress of nature and the healing touch of a lover.

✬That which angered him the most through its absence, became Heimdall's most cherished possession.

✬ His soulmate's eternal love.

#gow #gow x reader #gow imagine #gow ragnarok #gow heimdall #heimdall #heimdall x reader #heimdall imagine #god of war #god of war ragnarok #god of war heimdall #god of war x reader #god of war imagine

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